Teague lowered his chin and barked, “Now!”
Just then two men in dark clothes appeared from the path behind Erin. Within seconds, Marshall was handcuffed and taken away. A half-dozen other men infiltrated the area, coming out of the surrounding trees like elves.
She saw the pitch on their faces, the weapons strapped to their bodies.
Elves with deadly force.
Teague crossed the clearing, pointedly not watching his half brother being taken away.
Erin helped Belisaire to her feet, neither one of them speaking as they watched the well-choreographed scene being executed before them.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Teague, I—”
“Thank you for your quick thinking.” Then he turned to Belisaire, shutting her out. “Grand-mère?”
“Ah, chèr.” Belisaire’s voice trembled, barely covering the short distance between them. She lifted her hand, dropping it again when Teague flinched. “Mon dieu, what have I done?”
Teague simply turned and walked away.
Another man came over to them and took Belisaire by the arm, explaining that they needed to question her, even though they knew her involvement was innocent. Belisaire seemed to sink even further into herself. Eventually she nodded, but removed her arm from his grasp to turn back to Erin.
She laid her hand on Erin’s cheek. “You made the right choice, chèr. Take that with you.”
Erin shook her head, feeling her eyes burn and her throat tighten. “We both failed him, Belisaire.”
“Mais yeah. The very last thing I meant to do.” She let the agent lead her away.
Another man approached Erin and introduced himself as Agent Moses Sketowski. Special investigator for United States Customs.
And Teague’s partner.
She looked at Teague, who was about ten yards away. After a moment he turned, his gaze pinning her.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, knowing he heard her. Tears tracked silently down her cheeks. “So sorry. I know it’s way too little, way too late, but I have to say it.”
When he said nothing and turned away, it was as if a cold wind blew through her.
Her shiver was delayed reaction. The enormity of Teague’s role in what had transpired became clear as his partner recounted the apprehension of ten other men, from both sides of the drug cartel. Three men had been shot, one of the drug dealers was dead. All, including Marshall, were in custody.
She stood silently, feeling as if her whole world had just been turned upside down. She wondered if she’d ever get it right again.
And Teague. She looked over at him, deep in conversation with one of the policemen. She couldn’t even imagine what he felt at this point.
Once again, he’d been betrayed. By his family. By her.
She couldn’t forgive herself for that. She certainly didn’t expect him to.
Agent Sketowski touched her arm. “Dr. McClure?”
She blinked once. “Yes?” She felt numb.
“We need you to come with us back into town. We have some questions we’d like you to answer.”
“But Teague—”
“Agent Comeaux asked you to come with us. He’ll be quite busy for a while. We’ll handle this from here on out.” He stepped past her and gestured to the path. “Ma’am?”
She looked back at Teague, taking in everything about him, knowing it was likely the last time she’d ever see him.
“Good-bye, mon Cajun,” she whispered. I love you.
Erin pushed open the door to her apartment. She should be elated. She’d just found out her grant was approved. Twelve more months. One whole year. And there was already talk of broadening her area of research, possibly bringing in other scientists with related interests. Their joint study could have a major impact.
“Damn.” The apartment was a steam bath. The air conditioner had finally died the week before. Mr. Danjour had fixed it twice, but apparently the problem was irreparable.
She walked over to the air conditioner just to check. Nothing. A movement by the bathroom caught her eye.
She turned, her heart catching in her throat. But the French doors were closed. Her pulse plummeted, along with the rest of her spirits. It had been ten days since she walked out of the bayou and away from Teague.
She’d seen Belisaire twice since then, but despite the older woman’s continued help, she was remarkably, frustratingly, closemouthed about her grandson. And Erin hadn’t been too proud to ask. If Belisaire had seen or talked to him, she wasn’t saying. Erin knew she should just be thankful she had the woman’s continued cooperation. And she was. But …
“Another cold shower it is.” She stepped into the bathroom and flipped on the light.
“Hello, chèr.”
Teague was stretched out—fully clothed this time—in her tub.
She had no idea how she remained standing.
He was wearing a snug black T-shirt and well-worn jeans. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Her chest ached at the renewed impact of what she’d lost.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hiding out.”
“Jealous husband or drug runners?” Her attempt at matching his relaxed humor fell flat. That level of sophistication was simply beyond her. Hundreds of times she’d imagined what she’d say to him if ever given the chance. Now nothing seemed right. Least of all joking.
“Neither.” He climbed out of the tub and walked over to her. She trembled, but stayed where she was. She’d withstand anything he had to say if it meant he’d be in her life for at least a few minutes longer.
“I’m hiding from myself.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Actually, I’ve stopped hiding. That’s why I’m here.”
“Teague, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let me ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“Are you glad I’m here? Do you want me here?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Oh, yes.”
Looking down, he blew out a long breath. “Thank God.”
More than a little confused, she said, “Teague, listen. I know I hurt you. God, that’s not even close to what I did to you.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I didn’t trust you when I should have. I didn’t make the right choice. I listened to my head when I should have listened to my heart.”
“I won’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, Erin. More than I thought it would. More than I thought it should.” He took a deep breath. “That’s partly why I’m here. I understand, Erin. I know how hard it is to believe in someone else. And how much it hurts when you do and they don’t.”
She looked away.
“Don’t. Look at me.”
She did. “I’m so sorry.” The ache in her chest threatened to choke the breath from her.
“My first instinct was to walk away. Not to put myself in that position again. I beat myself up pretty badly for allowing it to happen in the first place.”
“You shouldn’t have had to do that. You had enough to deal with. Oh, Teague—”
“I’ll come to terms with my family, Erin. Marshall. And, in time, with Belisaire. I even plan on meeting with my father. I’ve asked to be reassigned to New Orleans for at least the next two years. Not too close, but not too far either.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open. “Oh, Teague.” There was relief and hope in the sounding of his name.
“I won’t say what happened didn’t throw me, or that I’m not still confused and angry. But with my family—” He swallowed hard on the word. “Maybe it’s because my whole life I’ve thought the worst where they are concerned, but strangely enough, I know that in time, I’ll come to some sort of peace with it. At least within myself.
“But I should have been different. I should have believed you.”
He looked up at her, his anger and hurt clear in his eyes. “This last week and a half I als
o realized something else.”
“What?”
“I’ve been running too long, Erin. Hating my past, telling myself I didn’t need a home, that I didn’t miss the ties of family, of friends. Of people who cared about me.”
“And now?”
“I was wrong about the bond of family.”
“How can you say that after—”
“Shh.” He reached out and traced a finger across her cheek. She shuddered, not expecting to feel his touch. But she didn’t look away.
“I walked out ten years ago. I have no idea what kind of relationship I would have had with them. But I do know I have to participate. Without working at it, I’ll get nothing.”
“Teague, just because you weren’t here—” She stopped, then said, “You didn’t deserve what happened.”
“It’ll take time, Erin. It may never be right. But I’ve realized that what I need goes beyond blood ties. It’s about feeling connected. Even if it’s disappointing. Even if it’s painful.” He let his hand drop. “I was wrong about needing a home.”
Tears tracked unheeded down her cheeks. “I wish it had turned out differently for you. For all of you.”
“Shh,” he whispered. “No, chèr. You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I’m not talking about Beaumarchais. Or even Bruneaux. Or even my family. Belisaire will always be a part of my heart. The rest I’ll figure out in time. But there is something special for me here. Something that binds me in a way that has nothing to do with place, birthrights, or blood.”
She looked away, but he gripped her chin and turned her face back to his. “You.”
She gasped softly.
“You are my home, Erin. I think of you and I feel … connected. Stronger. Whole in a way I’ve never felt before. For the first time I have a purpose. The place doesn’t matter. You give that to me.” He pressed her hand to his chest. “Here. With me. Always.” He pulled her into his arms. “I need that. I need you.” He grazed her lips with his. “I love you, Erin.”
Teague waited. He’d never wanted anything so badly. Anyone.
“I’m so tired of running. Can I come home, ange?” he asked, his voice breaking.
In answer her arms went swiftly, tightly around him, her mouth fused with his so completely his breath became hers. When she finally lifted her head, her smile was so bright he felt as if he’d just stepped into the sun.
“Always, Teague. To me. With me.” She sniffed, then laughed and kissed him again. He could taste her joy. Savored it, reveled in it.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth.
Relief was a sweet drug that immediately intoxicated him. Pure blinding joy filled him until he thought he couldn’t contain such pleasure. He ran slow kisses along her jaw. “For what?”
“I’ve never had a home either.”
He stilled, then lifted his head and looked at her intently. “You do now.”
“Mais yeah, chèr.” He kissed her hard and long. On a soft gasp she added, “Oh, mais yeah,” then kissed him again.
“Let’s get out of here so I can tell you I love you again.”
Her breath caught at his wide, sexy grin. He was her Cajun bad boy once again, but fully open, the shadows haunting his eyes gone.
“More intimately,” he added.
She laughed. “What’s wrong with right here?”
He looked at her. “I promised you air-conditioning.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “I’m yours for life.”
He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her soundly. “You will be if I have anything to say about it.”
“Then say no more.”
“But there is one thing I need to hear.” He pressed a kiss to her jaw, then gently bit her chin. “Badly, chèr.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Tell me.”
“I love you, Teague.”
He groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“That was way better than I thought it was going to be.”
“Well I plan to say it often, so get used to it.”
“Then you’d better get used to being naked and under me in some unusual and not always convenient places.” He tugged her blouse from her shorts.
She yanked his T-shirt from his waistband. “Airconditioning is highly overrated.” She lifted her arms so he could take her shirt off.
He dragged his off next, then groaned when she undid the snap and zipper of his jeans. He nuzzled her neck, pulling her hips hard to his.
“There is one thing I’m dying to know, though, ange,” he said, his breathing deeper, harsher. “It’s been driving me crazy since the night we met.”
She shifted so he could slide her shorts over her hips. “And what is that?” she panted against his chest.
He stilled her motions.
She frowned. “What is it, Teague?”
“Just what did happen in Nairobi when you were eighteen?”
She slowly smiled and twined a strand of his hair around a slender finger. “If I tell you, can I be on top this time?”
He laughed. “Dieu, you can have whatever you want, chèr.”
She leaned over and whispered in his ear.
He sighed low and long. Then pushed her up against the bathroom wall.
“You’ll owe me for this one,” she scolded, not in the least concerned.
“Mais yeah, chèr, but I have the rest of my life to pay you back.”
And he did. Slowly. With a great deal of interest.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
We have an irresistible e-original for you coming next month: Juliet Rosetti’s sexy and wickedly fun THE ESCAPE DIARIES. In this hilarious debut, we’re introduced to appealing heroine Mazie Maguire as we follow her on an outrageous adventure on the run. Don’t miss this e-original — I guarantee you’ll fall in love with Mazie and her funny antics.
We’re also offering four more spellbinding and thrilling books from Donna Kauffman: BOUNTY HUNTER, TANGO IN PARADISE, ILLEGAL MOTION, and BLACK SATIN, as well as THE MAGIC, an enchanting medieval historical from Juliana Garnett.
If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: We start 2013 with a fabulous new e-original from Wendy Vella, THE RELUCTANT COUNTESS, Donna Kauffman’s captivating WILD RAIN, Karen Leabo’s moving MILLICENT’S MEDICINE MAN, and three fantastic titles from Linda Cajio: SILK ON THE SKIN, HARD HABIT TO BREAK, and THE RELUCTANT PRINCE. In February, we have another alluring e-original for you, Sharon Cullen’s THE NOTORIOUS LADY JANE, Patricia Olney’s touching and funny JADE’S GAMBLE, Linda Cajio’s sexy STRICTLY BUSINESS, Sally Goldenbaum’s wonderful A DREAM TO CLING TO, and two enticing books from Sandra Chastain, LOVE AND A BLUE-EYED COWBOY and MIDNIGHT FANTASY. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come.…
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles…
Read on for an excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s
About Last Night
Chapter One
The Pigeon Man was usually here by now. Tuning out her companion’s self-serving story for a moment, Cath double-checked the LED display suspended over the station platform. Ten minutes until the train. In this woman’s company, it would feel like a lifetime.
Resigned to her fate, Cath crossed her legs and relaxed back against the bench. At least she could enjoy the unseasonably cool morning—the first break all week from the miserable July weather that had been tormenting London.
“… and they told me it was the most brilliant way to add a tactile element to protest action they’d ever heard of. I happened to mention you wanted to put the piece in your exhibit, but they didn’t know who you are,” Amanda said, her prep-school English accent turning the statement into an accusation.
Cath perke
d up. “I’m with the V and A. They know the V and A, right?” She was a small cog, but she worked for a big machine. Surely even Amanda’s hard-core activist cronies had heard of the Victoria and Albert Museum’s world-renowned collection, even if they hadn’t heard of the upcoming exhibit on the history of hand knitting that Cath had been hired to assist with.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Amanda said dismissively, and Cath spotted the sun gleaming off the bald pate of the Pigeon Man as he made his way up the steps. He took his place in front of the map kiosk and fixed his eyes on the ground. Calm today, then. When he didn’t talk, the Pigeon Man could pass for normal. It was when he launched into agitated conversation with a stranger that he began thrusting his head forward in a bird-like manner and his beady eyes and beaky nose took on greater prominence.
He pulled a candy bar out of his pocket, and she remembered it was Friday. He was often late on Fridays, no doubt because he stopped at the newsstand to buy himself some end-of-the-week chocolate.
The thought caught her up short.
Shit, did she really know the habits of the train station regulars that well? She did a quick survey of the sparsely populated platform. Emo Boy was wearing his favorite pair of skinny jeans this morning, and Princess had gotten her roots touched up.
Sadly, yes, she did.
“The next person who comes up the steps will be an older lady carrying a purse the size of a bus and a bakery bag with a croissant in it,” Cath said.
“What?”
“It’s a prediction.”
“You’re clairvoyant now?” Amanda asked, her pert nose in the air.
“Sure.” Cath was beginning to see how her pathetic store of knowledge might come in handy. “I know who’s coming up the stairs next, and I know you’re going to do the right thing and give me that straitjacket for the exhibit.”
Thinking of the exhibit reminded her that she and her boss, Judith, would be pawing through sweaters from storage this morning. Cath rummaged through her bag for her antihistamines, freed two from their hermetic blisters, and swallowed them with a sip of water. Curatorial work could be sneezy. She’d learned to arrive prepared.
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