Night Game

by Christine Feehan

  His mind seemed sluggish, working at slow speed, and that bothered him. It made no sense why he couldn't turn his head and look at his brother to observe his reaction to her, he could only stare, transfixed at the woman playing the piano. He saw the silk of her red hair, individual strands begging to be touched. Her skin gleamed, impossibly soft and inviting. Her neck was slender, bare when she turned her head, driving him to the brink of insanity. All he could think about was pressing his mouth there and wandering, exploring, losing himself in the lushness of her body.

  One song led into another while he struggled to control himself. His jeans were so tight he was afraid he'd burst, his aching, throbbing body hardened to the breaking point. In the end, he resorted to his old trick, tapping his fingertip on the table, establishing a counter beat, one he could concentrate on. Almost at once he realized how much power her voice wielded. Flame wasn't simply mesmerizing with her incredible, sultry voice, she was hypnotizing her audience with her music and he had fallen into the trap right along with everyone else.

  He took a cautious look around. No one moved. No one drank. Every eye was on her, everyone entranced by the seduction of her smoky, sultry voice. She didn't look at them, didn't catch anyone's eye and flirt, she simply bent over the piano and allowed the music and song to carry her away. Her audience was transported right along with her into a world of satin sheets and steamy nights. He felt her under his skin, fingers stroking and teasing, her mouth hot satin . . .

  Gator shook his head hard to clear his brain. She had an amazing gift, far too powerful for anyone, even Whitney, to conceive of. What would the doctor have done had he known she could captivate an audience the way she did? He was aware of the hypnotic effect of her voice, yet he still had to fight it. He tapped his finger harder on the table, counting out a rhythm in his mind to keep from losing himself in her voice. Lily would want to know. She maintained several contracts with the government along with a high-security clearance, and the government would definitely want to know what Flame could or couldn't do with her talent. It was no wonder there was a flag on a computer somewhere trying to monitor where she was and whom she associated with.

  Where would that leave him? He rubbed his temples and hummed to himself to keep from drowning in her voice. He had the same gifts, the same talents. Once it was known, how much of a guinea pig would he become? And if his past experiments ever came out, if the government--or Lily--figured it out, what would they do to him? He'd probably be sitting right alongside Flame in a cage somewhere.

  The last notes of music drifted away. Her haunting voice died away, and the patrons of the club began to come to life, glasses rattling, voices raising, feet shuffling, and the inevitable crunching of peanut shells. Flame rose gracefully and smiled at the band. "I'm thirsty, any of you want a drink?"

  "Oh, baby," a man called out. "I've got something for you to drink."

  Flame turned her head, her gaze moving over the heckler with bored tolerance. "Lovely. But not happening." She turned back toward the band, but Gator noticed she was in a defensible position and, although her head was averted, she was watching out of the corner of her eye.

  Gator recognized Vicq Comeaux, one of a large family of brothers and cousins, mostly boys, he and his brothers had drunk and fought with since they were about fourteen.

  Vicq yelled another lewd comment and pushed his way to the front of the crowd to stand directly in front of the stage. Something dark and dangerous swirled deep in Gator's gut. A stillness took over. His world narrowed, tunneled, until there was only the newcomer, him, and the red haze of temper riding him hard. The rest of the crowd disappeared. He stood up, a fluid easy motion that propelled him toward the heckler.

  "Gator . . ." Wyatt stepped in front of him, put a placating hand on his arm. "You don' want to be fightin' and me havin' to explain to Grand-mere what happened. She'll think I started it."

  Gator shook the hand off and stepped around his brother, brushing Ian's hulking frame out of his way as he proceeded toward the band. The crowd parted for him until he was standing directly behind Vicq Comeaux.

  "I don' think you want to be sayin' anything else to my woman," he said, his voice pitched low and soft, almost gentle. "Not another word. You have anything else you want to say, you do it my direction."

  There was instant silence. The music faltered as the band lowered their instruments and Flame turned back toward him. Gator barely registered the movement. His attention was completely focused on the man in the red shirt and cowboy boots.

  "He's drunk, Gator," Louis Comeaux said hastily, leaping up to defend his cousin. "Vicq don' mean nothing by it."

  "She looks good enough to eat," Vicq said, ignoring the men and taking a step up onto the small wooden platform that served to separate the band from the rest of the rowdy crowd. "I'm hungry, baby. Come to Daddy." He reached out to wrap his hand around Flame's bare leg.

  The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the silence of the bar as Gator caught Vicq's arm to prevent him from touching Flame. Gator's hand squeezed Vicq's wrist like a vise, jerking him down and away from the singer. "I guess you didn't hear me." He enunciated each word between his teeth. "You're about to become alligator bait. Leave my woman alone. Don' look at her. Don' talk to her and don' be thinking about her. I will tear you up and spit you out, do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

  Vicq's first reaction was obviously to fight, but something in Gator's face must have given him pause. He shuffled his feet and looked toward his cousin, suddenly much more sober than he'd been minutes earlier.

  "Gator." Delmar Thibodeaux sidled up, baseball bat in hand. "We don' want trouble. Not with you."

  Gator didn't glance at him, but kept his entire attention centered on Vicq. "There isn't going to be trouble, Del, not unless Vicq here forgets to apologize to my woman for his big mouth. I don' take kindly to anyone speaking to her that way. Then he can sit quietly and enjoy the music and I'll buy him a drink, or he can leave and we'll call it good." He never raised his voice, but it carried throughout the building.

  Flame found she was holding her breath. Everyone's attention was so riveted on Gator and Vicq, they didn't notice the walls of the club expanding and contracting as if breathing. They didn't notice the vibration resounding through the wooden planks, or the peanut shells jumping on the floor. She saw a small crack begin to travel in the mirror behind the bar. Everything was going to go to hell fast, if something--or someone--didn't stop Gator.

  She pushed past Vicq and slung one arm around Gator's neck. He didn't look at her, didn't break eye contact with Vicq. The floor trembled hard enough to be a small quake. Desperately, Flame circled Gator's neck with both arms, leaned her body into his and kissed him full on the mouth. She meant to get his attention. Nothing else. Only a small distraction.

  Electricity sizzled and arced between his skin and hers. His mouth was hot and sexy, his arms coming up to trap her, to hold her even closer, so that his body was imprinted on hers. His strength was enormous. He took control of the kiss and damn him, he knew what he was doing. Fire raced through her veins, poured into her belly, and tightened her body. Her nipples peaked and she actually felt her womb contract.

  She forced herself to pull away before it was too late, but even so, she had to cling to him like a weak-kneed groupie. Rubbing at her mouth, Flame glared at him for taking advantage of her. He knew his kiss affected her, she could tell by his quick, knowing grin and the sudden wicked glint in his dark eyes.

  Gator slid his hands possessively over her rib cage to her hips, leaned down and pressed kisses against her stomach.

  "Cher. How is mon enfant this evening?" His voice was tender as if he cherished her. His breath was warm right through the thin material of her dress and his kisses incredibly intimate. "You aren't giving your ta mere trouble are you?" His whispered words slipped inside her skin and wrapped around her heart to squeeze hard.

  Flame froze. He was outrageous. She'd saved him. Saved him,
the ungrateful wretch! And he was mauling her in front of the entire club. No one was going to make a move on her as long as he was around. It was clear even the infamous Delmar Thibodeaux with his silly baseball bat wasn't going to cross Raoul Fontenot.

  She caught a fistful of his silky black hair and yanked his head up. "What do you think you're doing?"

  He caught her hand, pried open her fingers, and pressed another kiss to the center of her palm. "I'm talking to our baby, cher. The doctors say babies can hear early. I want him to know the sound of his father's voice."

  She closed her eyes briefly, counting to ten. The chatter in the bar resumed as Louis Comeaux pulled his cousin away. Thibodeaux went back behind the bar and the band took a break. At once the jukebox was blaring. She noticed everyone was smirking. Gator was back in good graces. According to the law of the bayou, he had every right to protect what was his.

  "Come outside with me," Flame demanded.

  Gator grinned at her, his dark gaze never leaving hers. "I'd follow you anywhere, especially into the night." Raising his voice he called to his brother. "Wyatt, I'm leaving with mon amour. Catch you later." His fingers shackled her wrist as she started toward the door. "Stay right beside me."

  Flame shot him a venomous look. "Don't think you can order me around."

  "You asked me to go outside with you, cher." He pushed open the door but retained possession of her wrist. "And I'm obliging."

  He was strong. She should have taken that into account, that whoever was sent after her would have had at least muscle mass enhanced. His body was fit. When he held her, he felt like iron pressed up against her, no give to his body at all. Flame let her breath out slowly, trying to swallow her anger as she moved away from the light and the possibility of anyone overhearing them.

  "You can let go of me now."

  "Not quite yet." His free hand slid down her back and over her buttocks, lower to her thighs. He pushed the hem of her dress up, his palm sliding over her bare bottom, finding the small tee of lace that disappeared between her bare cheeks. His hand moved lower still, between her legs to the inside, slipping over the soft skin of her thighs until he found the leather scabbard. Due to the uneven length of her dress, the knife was positioned high up on her thigh and as he removed it, his knuckles brushed multiple times against the most sensitive intimate spot between her legs.

  Flame clenched her teeth together and refused to acknowledge the shock waves rippling through her body with each feather-light contact. "Did you enjoy that?"

  "More than you'll ever know." He shoved the knife into a short leather scabbard looped through his own belt. "My grandmother is expecting you for tea tomorrow. I told her I'd bring you."

  "I want my bike back."

  "Then I guess you'll be comin' for tea, won't you?" His grin widened. "You do get yourself into scrapes, cher."

  "If you're referring to that drunken idiot, I could have handled him. I'm working. The last thing I need is for you to drive all the men off."

  His black brow shot up. "Working? Working on what?"

  She curled her fingers into two tight fists. "It isn't any of your business what I'm doing. Suffice to say, I can't have you scaring men off."

  "Suffice to say, you're engaged to me and you're carrying my child. The entire bayou will know by morning. No other man is coming near you, not without me ripping his head off and everyone will think it's my right."

  "You told them all that."

  "I did announce the news," he agreed smugly.

  "Will you stop! This isn't funny. You know damn well I'm not pregnant and we're not engaged. So stop acting like a Neanderthal."

  "Oh, I beg to differ with you, cher. My grandmother believes you are carrying my child." His palm slipped over her stomach, the lightest of touches, but it sent her pulse racing. "She insists I do the right thing and marry you and I told her, of course I would. We're officially engaged."

  A sound of pure exasperation escaped. "Look. Be reasonable. I know you may have a teeny reason to be upset over the knife at your throat, although you did steal my bike, but I can explain to your grandmother . . ."

  He shook his head. "She has a heart condition. I don't want her upset in any way. You should have thought about consequences before you told such a whopping lie. My grandmother values family and tradition. It would kill her if I didn't live up to my responsibilities, especially involving a child. And you can take responsibility for your lie. You told an elderly woman with a heart condition something bad about her beloved grandson. She wants it fixed."

  Flame let her breath out in a long hiss. "Listen, you lunkhead. You brought this on yourself, not me. All I wanted was my bike. You shouldn't have taken it."

  He glanced at the airboat, relatively rare for the patrons of the Huracan. "That your rig?"

  "Yes. And I didn't steal it, either."

  "No, just the money that paid for it." He took her arm and propelled her toward the edge of the pier. "Let's go."

  She resisted, stepping closer to the boat, more to get away from his touch than to obey him. "I'm not going anywhere with you unless I have my knife."

  "Oh, for God's sake, get in the damned boat." He picked her up, his hands hard, biting into her waist, and tossed her into the airboat. "If I was going to kill you, Flame, you'd be dead already."

  She glared at him, rubbing her sides where his fingers had dug into her skin. "You just think you're that good."

  "I know I am." He deliberately crowded her, so close he could smell her faint perfume. She stepped away from him, just as he knew she would, giving him control of the airboat.

  She stayed a distance away from him, watching him closely as he took them out into the bayou. "You may as well relax, Flame. I can't very well kill you and dump your body in the bayou, as tempting as that may be for me. My grandmother comes first and she wants to see you tomorrow. I promised her you'd be there."

  "Why?"

  He was aware she was listening intently to his voice. Sound was their world and it was also their greatest ally. He could manipulate sound waves and interject the exact notes needed into his voice to convince others of his utter sincerity--with the possible exception of Flame. He wasn't certain how to answer her because he didn't know what the truth was.

  His grandmother wanted to see her again. Nonny was shrewd. She probably didn't believe for a moment that Flame was pregnant, but it suited her to make them all think she did. She was demanding he bring Flame home again. More than that, she wanted a firm commitment out of him to "make things right." He had no idea what she was up to, but he respected her judgment. He also realized Flame would never allow him close to her without a good reason.

  "In spite of what you might think, cher, I love my grandmother. If she wants to get to know you better, then I'm bringing you home."

  It was the wrong way to put it. Gator could see that immediately. Her eyes flashed hotly at him, a quick glimpse of temper and then she turned her face away, obviously struggling for control. She brought out the worst in him, the need to dominate, the need to possess, traits he usually kept under wraps. He wasn't the easygoing man he presented to the world, and Flame was seeing the real Raoul, not the one he usually projected. It wasn't like he could take the words back and he meant them, damn it. He was going to bring her home, one way or the other.

  "You go for the best, don't you, Flame?" He put genuine admiration into his voice. "This is a nice rig. What kind of engine?" Anything to change the subject and judging by her motorcycle, the woman knew and valued good machinery.

  "V-eight, very powerful," she answered. Her eyes immediately went bright and she ran her hand over the seat. "Runs through shallow water like butter and does the same on land. She's fast too, even hauling weight, and she turns on a dime."

  He took the opportunity to run the boat down the narrow channel and out into more open water. Neither spoke as he put the airboat through its paces, deliberately making a ninety-degree turn, giving Flame time to relax with him. She was a natura
l on the boat, the same way he was certain she was with the motorcycle. "You like toys."

  For some reason, the way he lowered his voice, the note of sensuality, made her blush and lower her gaze. He was immediately aware of the tension stretching between them. His body still ached and it was a miracle he could walk. It was no wonder Vicq Comeaux had tried to approach her. He was surprised there hadn't been a riot.

  "What was that all about?"

  "I beg your pardon?" She tilted her head, slightly haughty, princess to peasant.

  "At the club tonight. What was that all about?" He tried not to be angry. Or jealous. What the hell did he have to be jealous about? But she damn well had better not have been looking to take a man home.

  "Is it any of your business?"

  "I'm making it my business so pretend it is and answer me. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if those men had gotten out of hand? There could have been a riot and quite frankly, cher, I wouldn't blame them." He rubbed his hand down the front of his jeans in a casual display. "I'm still feelin' the effects and I knew your song, your voice, was a weapon."

  Her color deepened. "It's never been that strong before. That was your fault. You were amplifying my power."

  "I was not. Don' you go blamin' me for that little exhibition. You were deliberately drawing men to you and you were very effective."

  "I'm telling you, it wasn't all me. I can keep everyone . . ." she hesitated, searching for the right word. "Enthralled. I can soothe people and I can draw them to me, but it's never been like that before. You were amplifying me."

  "I'm not an amplifier," he denied.

  "How would you know? Are there others like us? With the same talents? You stopped the guard dogs from barking. You're just as capable of manipulating sound as I am. You let Whitney make a freak out of you when you had a family. A home. People who love you." She stepped close to him, itching to slap his face, fury building so that the water churned around the airboat. "You threw it all away. What did he promise you? Money? Power? What did he give in return for your family, Raoul?"

  Gator guided the boat into the middle of the canal and cut the engine. There were only the sounds of the bayou, the hum of insects, and the splash of water. "Tell me what you were doing in the club tonight and I'll tell you why I volunteered to be a genuine psychic guinea pig."