The NOLA Heart Novels (Complete Series)

by Maria Luis

  She wouldn’t ever see this one coming.

  “Tell me something, Shae.”

  Although she raised a brow, there was no missing the way she pointedly didn’t respond.

  “Shae?”

  She blew out the breath she’d been holding. “What, Brady.”

  Not a question, he noticed. He could tell from the set of her shoulders that she wasn’t in the mood to dance to his tune. Good, because he was done playing her games.

  “Tell me, if you think that I have ways to find Julian’s father, what makes you think I don’t have ways to figure out other stuff.” He dropped his foot to the floor, pushed away from the desk, and brought both hands down on her chair’s armrests.

  Lowering his voice, he ducked his head and met her gaze. The green specks in her hazel eyes flared to life, reminding him of hundreds of different memories in which she’d grin widely at him before snuggling against his chest. Not now, he warned himself, don’t think of that now.

  He moved his left hand to cover hers, and purposely lowered his voice when he said, “If I can find Julian’s dad, why couldn’t I figure out that your engagement was a sham? That your precious Ben is married to someone else?” He caressed the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me, Shae, do you think I’m an idiot?”

  9

  Tell me, Shae, tell me.

  Oh, she’d tell him all right. She despised that softly patronizing tone of his, and if she had been anywhere else but at NOPD Headquarters, she would have given him a piece of her mind. But no way did she need an arrest to top off this already shit-tastic day.

  “Back off, Brady,” she hissed.

  Arrogantly, he cocked his head to the side. “I’m experiencing déjà vu.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Back to the time I kneed you in the balls?”

  “Nope, not the time I was thinkin’ about.”

  “What a shame.”

  Yanking her hand from his, she planted it on his chest. His freed hand came round, curling over hers. In another lifetime, he might have placed a kiss to the center of her palm. Now, his fingers circled her wrist to hold her in place.

  She wasn’t scared of him, exactly, but of their shared history. Well, that, and also her body’s inexcusable response to his pheromones or testosterone or whatever it was that made her pant like a dog in heat. The brown leather suspenders crisscrossing over his shoulders didn’t help matters, as they only further impressed the fact that he was a big, strong, male.

  As if she could ever forget.

  “Did you make up your engagement for revenge?” he whispered huskily by her ear.

  Rolling her eyes, she pulled at her hand once more, not the least bit surprised when his hold didn’t slacken. “Get over yourself, Brady. Not everything revolves around you.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m thinking that your grandmother told you way too often as a kid that the world’s your oyster.”

  He ignored her. “You’re not the sort to mess around with married men, Shae. Not without a good reason. Getting revenge, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t that reason.”

  This time she yanked harder. Unease settled in the vicinity of her lungs, limiting her breathing to short, shallow inhalations. “Let go.” Anxiety sprung to life in her chest. She had to get out of here. She had to—

  No. No. She needed to calm down. She needed to remind herself that she was no longer in New York. More to the point: she was no longer Carla Ritter’s employee. She’d left that life behind—for good.

  She averted her gaze. She hadn’t fooled around with Ben, but Brady had no idea how close he’d come to hitting the target. Familiar, grimy shame clawed at her. Almost blindly she focused on the buttons of Brady’s shirt. She was embarrassed to find that the hand she had pressed to his chest to push him away was now gripping the white cotton like a lifeline.

  Her mouth twisted in self-disgust. Brady wasn’t her lifeline. Hadn’t been so for over a decade.

  “Shaelyn—”

  When she again tried to tug her hand from his, he finally let go. She carefully lifted the fallen strap of her purse to her shoulder. “You don’t know what type of woman I am, Brady,” she said. The lack of emotion in her voice should have frightened her. Instead, it acutely reminded her of the last four years when she’d functioned on autopilot.

  This was why she never let herself think about Carla. Why she would never return her former employer’s phone calls. For however much her coworkers had argued that they were helping people, Shaelyn hadn’t fooled herself. Money had been the sole reason she’d stuck around, not some skewed sense of charity. Until, of course, money too had proved a hollow existence.

  Realizing that Brady had turned silent, Shaelyn bit her bottom lip, wondering how in the world their conversation had turned from uncomfortable to Britney Spears Toxic.

  He placed his hand back on the armrest, though this time she had ample breathing room. “You’re not a petty woman, Shaelyn.”

  “How do you know?” she taunted. “I’m not that same girl you knew in high school.”

  “You’ve already said that. It’s getting old.” His face was all that she could see. He was all that she could see. “I’m not that same kid I was twelve years ago, either. So how about you stop telling me that I don’t know you, and why don’t you just tell me what I need to know?”

  Tell me, Shae.

  Even in her thoughts, he mocked her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to curse him.

  “Even if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me,” she said.

  “Try me.”

  With his hooded gaze and his gravel-pitched voice, was it any wonder that her thoughts immediately turned sexual? No way was she “trying” Brady Taylor in any way. Not even if he offered to never speak to her again. Hell, not even if he agreed to never contact her again and promised to find Julian’s dad.

  “Can you give me a little breathing room?” She waved her hand between them. “I’m feeling claustrophobic and that’s not a compliment.”

  A small grin quirked his lips, drawing the right side of his mouth marginally higher than the left. It would have been endearing, except for the fact that he drove her crazy.

  “Is that a no?” she prompted when he didn’t move.

  “It’s a no.”

  She shook her head, muttering, “You’re not even pretending to feel bad.”

  “I guess my acting skills aren’t nearly as good as yours, what with you almost having me believe that you were engaged and all.” His smile momentarily slipped, revealing frustration and disappointment that once again had the guilt raining down on her. “Now tell me what made you do it.”

  She dropped her head against the back of the chair with a heavy sigh. “Meme Elaine thought that if I faked an engagement, it would prove to you that I’ve moved on.”

  His expression turned blank, and the ensuing silence only heightened her need to fill it. “I told her that it was a stupid idea. I mean it’s not like I care if you like me or not.” She found herself staring at the third button on his shirt, because that wasn’t all true. She did care what he thought of her. Sort of. “Anyway, I wanted to say no but she’d already enlisted Ben. I don’t know why he agreed to my grandmother’s scheming, though. I was under the impression that he and his wife are happily married.”

  “They’ve got kids,” Brady said like he still thought she might flash her home-wrecker side and break out in song and dance. “Twin boys.”

  “Yeah, I know. Two little hooligans. My guess is that Ben and Josie are swingers.”

  His mouth pressed into a firm line. “What I don’t understand is why you went along with it, Shae. You’re an adult. You can say no.”

  His tone implied that she should have said no. She agreed with him a hundred times over. Except . . . “Do you remember anything about my grandmother?”

  His eyes glimmered with laughter. Memories, too, maybe. “She never let me leave without taking home the
cookies she’d baked.”

  “Yeah, well, take the cookies and multiply it by a thousand. The woman is a menace to society and she prides herself on the fact.”

  That smile grew, becoming more dangerously appealing. “You said something similar that time she walked in on us hooking up in the living room and yelled, ‘Don’t forget to wrap it, Taylor. I’m not ready for great-grandkids.’”

  Shaelyn brought her hands up to her face, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. The only thing worse than being caught buck naked by your grandmother was being reminded of the event by the man you’d been buck naked with in the first place. She told Brady just that, adding a flick of her middle finger to show that she meant business.

  Strong, lean fingers pried at her right hand. Chuckling, he murmured, “Don’t hide from me, Shae.”

  With her left eye shielded by her left hand, her right hand clasped within his, and their gazes meeting easily, Shaelyn wondered . . . what in the hell were they doing? She’d accustomed herself to the tension and arguments, but this easy camaraderie reminded her of when they’d been best friends. Before she’d learned the taste of his lips and the feel of his body settling between her legs.

  It was too familiar. Too dangerous. She couldn’t allow herself to think for one moment that something could happen between them. So, why did it feel that way now, with their fingers intertwined and his face barely a hand’s width away from hers? She could see the dark stubble lining his jaw; how the straps of his suspenders created thin, folded creases in the white fabric of his shirt; and how his lips parted on each exhaled breath like he might just say, to hell with it, and lean down and plant a kiss on her.

  Would she like it?

  Don’t think about it.

  Easier said than done. Hussy that she was, she hadn’t thought of anything else since stumbling into him at his grandparents’ BBQ.

  Brady’s lashes fluttered as he dropped his gaze to their locked hands. It stayed there—his gaze steady, thoughtful. Tingling tugged at her lower abdomen, fanning downward until she was practically squirming in the chair. His sooty lashes were long, too long for any man and certainly too long for this man.

  His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Shaelyn drew in a deep breath, wishing that one slip of his tongue hadn’t been the most erotic sight she’d seen in years. Was he going to kiss her? She was probably overreacting. Her free hand jumped up to smooth the chaotic curls on her head that could put her in the running for the next casting for Medusa.

  His head dipped.

  Oh Lord, she was not overreacting. He was going to do it. He was going to kiss her. Immediately her mind launched in a myriad of different thoughts. What had she eaten last? Had she remembered to brush her teeth that morning?

  All coherent thoughts fled as his gaze shifted to her hair, his thumb and forefinger pinching a strand and letting the curl wind itself tightly around his finger. Had she said that watching him lick his lips was hot? It had nothing on this moment, nothing on the look of intent in his expression. He wanted her . . . . And, oh, that want terrified her most of all. What if he learned about everything? Shaelyn swallowed. She couldn’t risk exposing her past, unless she wanted to hand over her dignity, too. Plus . . . what if she couldn’t be normal with him?

  The tightness in her lungs returned at the same time that Brady whispered her name. Said so softly as though it was for him and him only. Her want kicked into overdrive. Was it shameless to say that one word from his lips, and her insides quivered and her legs parted on demand? Only, theoretically wanting Brady and actually engaging in bedtime activities with him were two very different things. One ended with her in her own bed getting off to the self-stimulated orgasm that was her vibrator, and the other landed her in his bed.

  Could she do this?

  As if sightseeing from some alternate universe, she watched him erase the distance separating them. His lips swooped down to lay claim and she, she . . .

  You turned your head?

  With an awkward smacking sound, his mouth landed on her cheek.

  For a moment, there was only silence. She could practically feel the embarrassment rolling off him in waves, and that hand which had fastened around hers loosened and then let go. She heard, rather than saw, the soles of his shoes retreat.

  Good, she told herself. Space was good.

  Except that the quivering in her belly hadn’t ceased and, oh God, she realized with horror, she was wet. She could tell. It was just one of those things that a woman just knew, and she squirmed again in her chair. Heat swept up over her cheeks.

  This was bad, really, really bad. On a scale of Flying Snakes (1) to Chronic Diarrhea (10), Shaelyn rated the situation at a (12): a world in which country singer Luke Bryan stopped singing.

  A world without Luke was bad, but this was worse.

  Shaelyn couldn’t even summon courage to meet Brady’s gaze. Which meant that she was left to her own thoughts, and they were . . . confused. That anger she’d felt for twelve years was nowhere to be found. Instead she felt suspiciously like crying, because while he might think otherwise, Shaelyn’s inability to accept his kiss had nothing to do with him. Well, for the most part anyway. But explaining the why would reveal way more than she would ever trust him with.

  Gathering her courage, Shaelyn stood. She walked behind the chair, placing her hands on the rounded back for stability.

  “Will you help me?” She forced herself to lift her gaze to his face.

  She immediately wished she hadn’t, and she swallowed audibly. His smile had flattened to a firm, straight line. And his eyes . . . . Shaelyn shuddered at the pure, undiluted anger that swirled around in those blue depths. The fire was licking at her feet again, but this time all she felt were the cold waters of the Arctic gripping her. Not a single trace of heat or lust slipped through his stone façade.

  “Was mentioning Beveau’s ‘cheating’ your way of striking back at me?”

  Her fingers tightened on the chair. One downward glance showed that her knuckles had gone white. No doubt the blood had vacated her body entirely, thanks to the all-out chill in his glare.

  “Shaelyn,” he clipped, “yes or no?”

  Karma was a nasty bitch. This was what she got for ignoring her intuition. Shaelyn squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the look of disgust she knew twisted his lips and darkened his gaze. She whispered, “yes,” and waited.

  And waited.

  She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, maybe for him to yell or rant or throw things, but all she was given was silence.

  Opening her eyes, she found him seated at his desk, that stupid black pen twirling once more between his thumb and index finger. His attention was trained on the screen of the computer like he’d already mentally dismissed her.

  “Brady?”

  Even if he had planned to answer, he didn’t have the chance. Like a bad comedy, a group of guys chose that moment to come stumbling into the office.

  “The Saints have got it this year,” one of the men said loudly.

  “When Hell freezes over. I’m telling you, they’re never gonna make another run like they did in 2010. Repeat after me, Danvers: luck not skill.”

  “Fuck you, man,” another guy exclaimed. “What do you even know? You’re a fucking Falcons fan.” He spat out the word “Falcons” the way some might say “Satan.”

  None of the men seemed to notice Shaelyn as they barreled past her to their desks. At a different time, she might have wondered why they weren’t concerned that a random woman they didn’t know was standing in the middle of the homicide department.

  She shot another wary look at Brady. He had yet to tear his attention from the computer. A legal pad was flipped open and he’d dragged a stack of papers close to his elbow.

  Awkwardly, Shaelyn hovered, unsure of her next move. It was safe to say that her plan had imploded. Next time, she was definitely going to avoid the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants method and head straight for plan-your-shit-out.

 
; Rocking on the heel of her shoes, she pressed her hands flat against the spine of the chair, her fingers spread wide. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the boisterous detectives who were now arguing over whether the Saints’ quarterback had it in him for another year. Although Brady didn’t turn around, she could have sworn she saw his wide shoulders jerk at the sound of her voice. She bounced her hands atop the chair. “Right. Okay. Well, have a good day, Detective.”

  This time she didn’t wait to see if he might have something to say. Call her a coward, but Shaelyn hightailed it out of the office as fast as her legs could take her. She cut the corner of the hallway, passed Lieutenant Cartwell (who stared at her with a suspicious look like he knew what she’d done and disapproved), and rushed outside.

  The hot, humid air hit her like a freight train. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. She navigated through the parking lot to her car, unlocking it as she approached. She yanked at the door handle and threw herself into the safety of her Ford.

  If she never saw Brady Taylor again after today’s little debacle, it would be much too soon.

  Her hands gripping the lower half of the steering wheel, Shaelyn pressed her forehead to the rounded upper curve and attempted to even out her breathing. She hadn’t had an anxiety attack in months, not since the last job she’d done for Carla. The one in Brady’s office hadn’t been nearly as severe as the attacks she used to suffer on an almost daily basis. Still, the humiliation stung.

  And the guilt of hurting him hadn’t yet dissipated.

  It would be so much easier to pretend that the thought of kissing Brady disgusted her, except that wasn’t true. Her body’s response to his was a sure-tell sign that Shaelyn felt anything but dislike for him. It was just that she hadn’t been touched in so long. And it had been even longer since she’d even wanted to be touched . . .

  Shaelyn heaved in a shuddering breath, as she tried to register the fact that, despite any inner misgivings, she wanted Brady’s hands on her body. She wanted it like she hadn’t wanted anything in years.