Erin felt her knees weaken. Teague continued to accept her invasion of his mouth, but his hands slid around to hold her waist, pulling her hips away from the tree.
Erin’s hands tightened on his scalp. She ached so badly.
When he pulled her hard up between his hips they both groaned. And then the kiss changed.
He began to take what he wanted. He gave her his tongue, the sweet pressure of his hips cradling hers.
Never, not once, had she felt anything remotely like this with a man. Until now. With Teague Comeaux.
He released her mouth. Breathing heavily, he lifted his head and looked at her.
Both of them stood there, in the growing dawn of Bayou Bruneaux, and stared at each other.
Erin wondered if he felt the same inescapable sense that nothing would ever be the same again.
“Erin—”
“We’d better go.” Suddenly Erin was afraid. No, she was terrified. Of what he was about to say. What he might be feeling. Even more of what he had made her feel. “I’ve got to get back. And you—” He brushed his thumb over her still-damp lips and she shuddered as pleasure rocked her.
“Will taste you again, Erin McClure. And again.”
“Teague.” The pleading was there again. But this time she knew it was for escape. Her world was suddenly and very rapidly spinning out of control. She badly needed some time alone to sort things out.
She sensed he knew exactly what she was thinking. And she felt all the more naked and vulnerable for it. Without a word, he drew slowly away from her. But just as she let her breath ease out, he lifted the thumb that had traced her lips and pulled it in his mouth.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“He won’t help you here, chèr.” He let his hand drop to his side and put more distance between them. “In the bayou, I’m your only hope.” He turned and walked away.
Erin watched him, the strong line of his shoulders.
Was he salvation? Or sin.
She found she wanted him to be both.
“Did everything go well last night?”
It wasn’t until Marshall dropped by the lab that Erin remembered the clandestine meeting she’d overheard the night before. Teague had completely dominated her thoughts since then.
She didn’t like the suspicions that raised in her mind.
Tired and confused, Erin worked up a smile for Marshall. “Better than I’d ever hoped. I take it you talked to Teague.”
Marshall pulled out a lab stool and sat. As always, he looked expensively rumpled. Erin found herself looking for any similarity between the casual blond man sitting in front of her, and his dark intense half brother.
“No. But word travels fast in Bruneaux. Your visit to Belisaire has already made the rounds.”
Erin raised her eyebrows in surprise, though she supposed she shouldn’t be. “She’s a fascinating person. I’m lucky to have her cooperation.”
Marshall laughed, and for some reason, the sound was more chilling than warm. “Belisaire has her reasons for helping you I’m sure. She doesn’t do anything without purpose.”
She’d felt the same way. But her curiosity was piqued. What exactly was the history between these two men? And Belisaire. “Teague said she raised him. At least part of the time. Did you live with her too?”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Heavens no.” Suddenly restless, Marshall slid off the stool and paced to the door and back. His attention strayed, as if distracted by thoughts of the past. “She took Teague in after his mother committed suicide. She’s his maternal grandmother. He even took the Comeaux name when Belisaire retained custody.”
Her mind stuck on one word. “Suicide?”
“It was ruled one anyway. She was Belisaire’s daughter through and through. Involved in God knows what out there while growing up. She might have lived in town, on the Sullivan estate, playing the charming hostess to Father’s endless social affairs, but no one forgot where she came from. You can’t escape the bayou. Or Belisaire’s influence. So who knows what really happened?” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, then began pacing again, picking up various implements littering the table and replacing them without really looking at them. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard the story. It wouldn’t take more than a question or two about Teague to any of the locals to get the whole grisly tale.”
She tried not to let her sudden tension show. Carefully relaxing her fingers on the keys of her laptop computer, she turned her attention back to the monitor. “I’m here to research plants used in voodoun rituals, not your brother.”
“Half.”
Erin glanced up at him. Had she imagined the slight edge in his voice? “I take it you two aren’t close then.”
“We were never given a chance to be. Father married my mother less than a year after Teague’s mother died. I was eleven, Teague was almost fifteen. He had already disappeared into the swamps by then.”
“But you are half—” Erin stopped, knowing she should just get back to work. Marshall answered her anyway.
“Yes, we are. My father is my natural father.” He smiled but it was empty of humor. “One thing we have in common, our bastard heritage. At least Father married them eventually.” He didn’t sound the least bit grateful about that.
Erin swallowed the questions begging to be asked.
“Obviously you have formed some sort of relationship as adults. You asked him to help me.”
Marshall stopped abruptly. He turned and sank back onto the stool, looking suddenly tired. “He took off over ten years ago. The day he turned eighteen. No one knew where he went. Not even Belisaire, or at least that’s what she always maintained. He’s been back in Bruneaux for close to a year now, running the Eight Ball. I guess he plans to stay.” He raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. “So, I figured it was time we both started acting like adults. When your program was proposed to us, I just acted on it. Worst he could have done was turn me down.”
Somehow Erin knew Marshall had never doubted Teague would help him. Just as she knew that Marshall wasn’t entirely comfortable with that fact. There was more going on here, obviously. And it was none of Erin’s business.
“Well, if it’s any help, I’m truly grateful to you for asking. I know now that without his introduction, I’d never have gotten in with Belisaire like I have.”
Marsh’s smile made him look more little boy than man. She wondered if Teague had ever looked like a little boy. Thinking of his tragic background, she doubted it.
“I can only imagine how the two of you got on. Though I’m sure having Teague there helped to diffuse the tension somewhat.”
She thought of their enigmatic meeting in the woods. Belisaire’s words rang in her ears. Choices. Erin tuned it out, as she had all day. “Actually she was charming.” Erin smiled. “Though rather intense. Teague didn’t stay.”
Marshall’s brows narrowed. “No?”
“It’s okay. I think it actually went smoother that way.”
“Yes, Teague can be …”
“Equally intense?”
“Quite.” His smile faded. “He did stay to take you back out, didn’t he?”
“I had to hunt him down, but yes.” Without warning images of his body pressing hers against that tree, of his mouth coming closer, his heated words, assaulted her. She felt her face blush and she turned back to her computer. But not quickly enough.
“Is everything okay? Did something happen out there?”
When she didn’t answer right away, Marshall leaned in closer and put his hand on her arm. “Erin, if he—”
“It wasn’t anything he did, Marsh.” It was everything he did. It was clear Marsh didn’t believe her. And Erin was definitely not ready to discuss her feelings about Teague with anyone. Not even herself. She blurted out the first thing she could think of. “I overheard a couple of men talking, that’s all. It disturbed me at the time, but I’m sure it was just the nature of the surroundings that made it seem nefarious.�
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“Nefarious?”
Damn. This wasn’t exactly something she wanted to discuss either. “I’m being a bit melodramatic. Must be the combination of sleep deprivation and spending time with someone as unusual as Belisaire.” Her light laugh sounded hollow even to her ears.
Marshall’s look of concern deepened. “What did you think you heard?”
She waved her hand, as if the whole matter was easily brushed aside. “Nothing really. I discussed it with Teague.”
“What did he say?”
“That even if I had overheard something—illegal, or potentially illegal—taking place, it wasn’t enough evidence to make contacting the police worthwhile.”
She looked back at Marshall, but he seemed lost in thought.
“I’m sure he was right,” he said after a moment. “After all, he would know all about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really. Just that when you live out there, you know things, see things. If there was cause for concern, I’m sure he’d know about it.” He moved to the door. “Well, I’d better get back, leave you to your work. If you need anything, just leave a message in the office.”
Erin had the strongest sensation that Marshall was purposely evading the issue. Exactly what that issue was, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Her gaze slid to her tote bag and the small recorder tucked inside. The one she’d flipped on by instinct the previous night in the woods. Maybe a visit to the sheriff’s office was in order.
Teague hooked his hands on the black wrought iron and pulled himself up and over the balcony railing. He silently eased open the French doors and slipped inside Erin’s apartment.
He’d been home for less than a year, and coming in the back way was already becoming a habit, he thought with a smile.
He hadn’t seen Erin since dropping her off at the college early that morning. Or more precisely, she hadn’t seen him. After getting Ruby set up for the midday crowd at the Eight Ball, he’d stopped by the campus lab. Just in time to see Marshall slip inside.
Teague had come on business. But the image of her and Marshall talking, laughing, as colleagues, as friends, took him down like one of Ti Antoine’s sucker punches. They would suit each other well, he’d thought, fighting hard to be objective. Marshall was part of Erin’s world in a way Teague never would be.
The sudden overwhelming desire to storm into the lab and yank Marshall away by his silk, limited edition, hand-painted tie had sent Teague back to his truck. Back to the bayou.
Now he was in her apartment. Smelling her in the air. The chill air. He stepped silently into the other room, flipping the air off. That was better. Sultry temperatures suited Erin’s scent better, he thought, finally allowing his gaze to travel to the narrow wrought-iron bed.
Her long lean form was covered with a sheet. And nothing else. He felt his body stir to life. Not like you haven’t seen what’s under there, Comeaux. But something about the way that white sheet was draped over her waist, contrasting the gentle line of her spine and the soft curve of her hip, made him want to slide in next to her. To run his fingers into her short hair, hold her still while his mouth explored hers, turn her to him so his hands could discover what his eyes already had …
He swallowed a groan and moved to her knapsack and tote bag. He’d sunk to many lows, but voyeurism wasn’t one of them. At least not when the other party wasn’t aware of his presence.
Images of Erin moving on that bed, knowing he was watching her, had him tightening further. And cursing silently.
He lifted her gear and moved to the bathroom, gently closing the door and shoving the floor mat into the gap under it before switching on the light. He caught his reflection in the mirror and immediately looked away. That instinctive move bothered him enough to make him turn back and face himself squarely.
What was he afraid of seeing?
He swore and looked away again as he slid open the tote’s zipper. He was just doing his job, if sneaking into an innocent woman’s apartment and rifling through her things could be called that. Telling himself he was looking out for her safety didn’t wash either. The job dictated he know what, if anything, Erin had recorded of that conversation in the bayou. And that’s exactly what he intended to find out.
He found three minitapes in the bottom of her bag; two were carefully marked. Her conversations with several locals filled the first one. The second was marked Personal Observations. His fingers tightened on it. Just what were her personal observations about him? About what they’d done in the bayou?
He slipped the tape in his pocket. He doubted she’d wasted any tape space on him, but she might have mentioned something else about the previous night. He tapped the third unmarked tape on his palm, then tucked it in his pocket also, before continuing his search. She’d said she intended to spend the day transcribing her taped notes and conversations. Where was the conversation with Belisaire? It wasn’t in her office. He’d already checked.
Erin had said she filled more than one tape with Belisaire. Had she transcribed them first while the meeting was still fresh in her mind? He had to get his hands on that last tape. Find out just what Erin might have overheard, and, God help them both, recorded.
“Teague?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
He stilled. And went rock hard. Damn, his mind had gone into his shorts and his instincts had gone to hell. In any other situation, he’d be a dead man right now. A dead man with a hard on.
“Mais yeah, chèr,” he answered quietly, stifling a disgusted sigh. “It’s me.”
There was a pause on the other side of the door, then, “You just hanging out in there, or do I need to call paramedics?”
He fought to keep his smile out of his voice. “No blood. But you’re welcome to check for yourself.”
“I’ll take your word for it. You going to be in there long?”
He held his breath. Caught red-handed and he still couldn’t get his mind in gear.
“Because if you are, perhaps it would help you to know that the rest of the tapes are locked up in the lab safe on campus.”
That did it. He kicked the mat away and opened the door. “And why would that interest me?”
He hadn’t expected the stomach clutch on seeing her again. But she was all soft, too soft, for the take-charge woman he knew her to be. And her hair, that angel hair which should have been way too short to be this sexy, was all tousled and finger raked. She was wrapped in a sheet. He gripped the edge of the door to keep from reaching for her.
“Because Sheriff Bodette mentioned you seem to have an interest in what’s going on down near Bayou Bruneaux.”
“Of course I do, I live there. Care to tell me why you and Frank Bodette were chatting at all?” he asked.
He wanted to wring her slender white neck. He also had an overwhelming desire to run his tongue up that same soft spot. Make her gasp again, the way she had in the woods. Make her stop worrying about overheard conversations and think only about him and what he wanted to do to her … with her.
As strategic tactics went, seduction was far from overrated.
Which was precisely why he couldn’t do it. Not with her. Not that way. He didn’t bother to ask himself why.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, the certainty in her tone wearing away the last traces of sleep from her voice.
“You have no idea what I think, ange.”
She took an unconscious step backward.
“He was on my interview list. I wanted to ask him about his interaction with the voodoun culture, determine what types of activity they monitor and why. What he’d actually seen, if anything, of their rituals. I set up an appointment earlier this afternoon. He was very friendly and helpful. You’d be surprised what local law enforcement can contribute to these kinds of studies. Sometimes they have access to knowledge no one else does.”
Suspicion tightened the back of Teague’s scalp. “How coincidental.”
To his surprise, sh
e looked away. Guilt. Ah, chèr, he thought, what have you gone and done.
She looked back at him. “Okay, so I carefully—very carefully—felt him out on what other activities he monitored down there.” She stood straighter, assuming a casually defensive posture. “I’m sorry, but that conversation I heard last night still bothers me. I guess I just can’t shove it all aside and pretend it never happened.”
“Did you tell him about it?”
“No.”
He tried not to sigh out loud in relief. “Then why do you think I care about your tapes?”
“Just something the sheriff said. Since I was taping our conversation, he knew how I worked. He was talking about the various things he keeps an eye on down there and I joked about my recorder possibly coming in handy sometime. I guess I wasn’t as offhand as I thought, because he gave me this look.”
“Erin—”
“It’s okay. I covered it. I’d already pretty much come to the conclusion that you were right and what I’d heard wasn’t strong enough to risk Belisaire’s trust.”
“Well now, that’s a comfort.”
She made a face. “Don’t be snide. I’m not an ingenue in these things. I’ve dealt with complex tribal politics that would confound you. And in those countries, one wrong step and you could be dinner.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s any different here, ange.”
“I’m not,” she said evenly. “Bodette said that if I ever did think I saw or overheard anything unusual or suspect, that I run it by you if he couldn’t be reached. Said you’d know if it was cause for concern or not.”
Teague bit down hard on a string of curses. Damn Frank Bodette and damn Teague’s own superiors for letting the sheriff know about Teague’s role down here. He’d told his boss that letting local law in on this was a mistake. Frank was the only one who knew why Teague had really returned to Bruneaux. And that was one too many.
“Not surprising, chèr.” He fought to sound calm, dismissive. “Local law doesn’t have time to patrol everywhere. Frank knows I keep an eye on things down there, that I’m aware of what goes on with Belisaire and her followers, and that the Eight Ball is a natural place for information to get passed around.”
Bayou Heat Page 7
