Give Me Fever

by Karen Anders

  “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

  Her eyes popped open and her deep brown eyes widened a bit. “I do. I trust you.”

  He easily nudged her feet farther apart and slipped his fingers along the crevice between her legs, teasing the swollen lips of her sex before retreating again.

  She moaned as he used his thumb against her clit. He readjusted the shower head so the water poured along her back. He chased the soapy suds down her spine with his palms, leaving her skin satiny soft from head to toe.

  She gasped as his parted lips skimmed the side of her throat and his tongue licked the moisture beading on her skin. Her nipples puckered.

  She slanted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck as the water sprayed over them.

  Moving behind her, he pressed on her back until her hands were braced against the tiled wall and she was bent at the waist.

  “Damn, you have a gorgeous ass,” he said, pulling her against him so that her backside was pressed against his hard, hot cock. He nudged her legs open, crooking her knee.

  “Christien,” she pleaded.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said.

  She pressed herself against his bold caress. Nuzzling her ear, he pulled her earlobe between his teeth and nipped it. “Tell me.” His voice challenged her, soft and taunting.

  He pushed her thighs apart and slid his finger inside her. Her hips rocked and she released a moan. He slid his hand out and thrust again, with two fingers, deeper.

  His own hips thrust forward when she clenched around his fingers. His fingers slipped tenderly along the delicate folds of her sex, his other hand cupping her breast and tweaking the nipple, making her cry out.

  “Christien, please stop fooling around.”

  She knew he grinned even though she couldn’t see him. “If this is fooling around, I’m never leaving this shower.”

  “Damn,” she said softly on a puff of laughter. “You are a tease.”

  “I am, but in a good way, right?” He rolled a condom onto his shaft and slid his thumb tenderly around her clitoris. She moved against his hand, seeking more contact.

  “Christien, put that hot cock inside me, now.”

  He nudged his thick shaft against her and Tally’s breath flowed out of her. Pushing a little deeper, she pushed back against him. He flexed his hips, pushing deeper still, his breath ragged. “Will that do?”

  She wiggled against him with an impatient gasp. “No.”

  “You want more? How do you want it? Deeper?”

  “Deeper,” she whispered.

  His fingers curled around her hip. “Harder?”

  She nodded, opening and reaching for him with every part of her. “Yes,” she demanded emphatically. “Harder. Now, Christien.”

  He thrust deep, his body slapping against her backside, jerking a sharp cry out of her throat. “Like that?”

  “Yes.” She sought his rhythm and pressed back to meet him. With each stroke, she was more soft and wet.

  He pulsed his hips against her, using controlled strength while his long fingers coaxed, caressed, undid her. Satisfaction spiraled inside him as she clutched at his cock with small tight spasms.

  She arched and worked herself against him frantically. Christien fought the intensity of the explosion gathering in his gut. He followed his instincts, gathering speed and force and giving her exactly what she wanted. One final hard, relentless thrust and she hurtled, yelling into another orgasm.

  The feel of her orgasm was too much for him, the sensations thundering through him almost too intense to call pleasure. He surged into her, tight and unbearably intimate, his arms locked around her as he finally let himself get lost in the cascade of hot bursting pleasure.

  SQUEAKY CLEAN AND SATED, Tally smoothed foundation onto her face, taking in a deep sigh as she heard movement down in her kitchen. Christien had promised to make her more eggs, but it was too bad they didn’t have time to savor them and each other in her bed.

  She felt the urge to go running down the stairs and tell him everything about the treasure, the captain’s ghost and why she really needed to find her brother. But Christien was temporary. When it was over, as it would be, she would still have her plans and her independence intact.

  Christien was the kind of man who made a woman realize she could lean if she needed to and he wouldn’t think any less of her. The trouble was Tally would think so much less of herself.

  She’d been honest with him in the kitchen. She didn’t need a hero.

  Yet, the moment she thought about what had happened in the shower, the more she felt her resolve weaken. She wondered if she just let herself go…

  “You’d be making a big mistake.”

  The whisper lingered in the air like the threatening hiss of a coiled deadly viper. The hair on the back of Tally’s arms lifted. Cold crawled over her skin and seeped into her bones.

  “Love will only bring you pain.” Anger strummed through every carefully enunciated word.

  Tally backed away from the mirror and turned towards the door, but it slammed shut. The lights in the bathroom flickered on and off. Drums started to sound and a shaky voice chanted.

  “Ambition is the key to your happiness.”

  Tally tried the knob, but the door wouldn’t open. She whirled to face the mirror. A vision, shadowy and insubstantial, floated there. The air was full of death and beneath it all, a citrus smell, cloyingly sweet. In the glass a face formed—the face of a very old woman, wrinkled like an apple too long left in the sun, her eyes a piercing blue, her hair as white as salt.

  “The man will ruin everything.”

  Tally watched the mirror with a sense of dread pushing at the base of her throat and a strange, lethargic numbness dragging on her. Dreamlike. No, nightmarish. If she could believe this was a nightmare, then it wouldn’t be real. A trick of the mind. She couldn’t decide what would be better—to be alert and terrified with the reality of the situation, or to be stunned senseless and believe it was all a bad dream.

  But she’d already been visited by one ghost today and recognized the silliness of the thought. She wasn’t Scrooge and Christmas was over.

  “I make the decisions about my own life,” she said to the apparition.

  “Ha, just like my granddaughter. Giving her heart to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Remove him from your life.”

  “I do as I please.”

  A wind howled around the bathroom, tearing at Tally’s robe, clawing through her hair like bony fingers, as frigid as a winter’s kiss. The drum cadence intensified and the chanting turned into a shriek.

  “This is just a warning!”

  Tally covered her head. There was a great whooshing sound as if she were suddenly in a vortex, and then everything went quiet. The door flew open and a great splintering sound rent the air like ice shattering over a frigid lake.

  When Tally removed her arms and looked again at the mirror, a giant crack split it from one end to the other.

  WHEN TALLY CAME DOWN the stairs, she was met with a half-naked Christien whistling a jazzy tune while he shook drops of Tabasco sauce over the eggs. It was pretty obvious that he hadn’t heard a thing. Not surprising, since he couldn’t hear Dampier or see him when he’d been standing not more than a foot away. She hadn’t been prepared for another ghost and the old woman was really quite angry with Tally’s decision to date Christien. Too bad. Her life was her own and no one was going to tell her what to do.

  With the incident pushed to the back of her mind, Tally gathered her hair together, her hands still trembling as she took the last few steps, and pulled it into a long ponytail. “Mmmmm, I think it’s a good idea for guys to cook.”

  “You’re looking at my butt,” he said, turning around to give her a wink and a knowing grin.

  Tally laughed softly, feeling a little catch in her chest at the audacity of this man she’d allowed into her hea…home.

  She came around the counter and sidled up to him. “So, is this one
of your father’s recipes?”

  “Non. This one is all mine.”

  He forked up a bite for her and blew softly on the steaming eggs, colored a smooth red.

  “What else did you put in these?”

  “Ah, Tabasco is the only ingredient I’ll give you. See if you can guess the rest.”

  She took the bite into her mouth and rich fire burned her tongue, flaming hotter as she chewed. “Hmmm, cream.”

  “Yes, and…”

  Tally let the flavors roll around on her tongue. “Pepper.”

  “That’s an easy one.”

  “Give me a minute.” He forked up another bite. “Yes, cayenne and something…I can’t figure it out.”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Delicious.”

  “Have a seat and get to chowing or you’ll be late for work.”

  He dished up her eggs and set two slices of toast on her plate.

  “Food is a way of life for Cajuns. Right?” Tally asked.

  “It’s very closely tied to our culture. When we settled here, we used what was around us. Most of the dishes we’re famous for were born out of necessity.”

  “I’d be willing to bet money that Louisiana seduces its visitors the way clever women often find their way to men’s hearts—via their stomachs. What else do you like to cook?”

  “Gumbo. It’s one of my favorite dishes.”

  “Every Cajun has his own idea about what makes a good gumbo. But everyone agrees that the key to a good gumbo is in the roux—that wonderful flour and oil combination.”

  “It’s the base for many Cajun dishes. My brother and I call it Cajun napalm.”

  “What do you put in your gumbo?”

  “The holy trinity of Louisiana cooking—celery, onion and green bell pepper. Cajuns don’t need to fix what isn’t broke.”

  Tally polished off the eggs, washing away some of the burn with the rest of her coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “Antoine’s has been serving Cajun food for 165 years, with only subtle changes to its menu.”

  “I see your point.”

  “I have a question for you. What are you going to do with all that stuff you have piled in your office? I tripped on a box coming out of your bedroom. You’re exploding into the hall,” Christien said.

  “I’ll have to put some of those boxes in the attic where I have stuff piled to the rafters. I told you I wanted to give the captain his due.”

  “Part of the museum exhibition?”

  “Yes, if I could be sure of what was his and what wasn’t. I’ve got a lot of cleaning and cataloguing to do.”

  “I can help you. I used to be pretty good with paperwork.” He captured her chin and said, “You look beautiful all ready for work.”

  Tally smiled wistfully. “That’s what Mark used to say before he went to school.”

  “Did he give you a hard time when he was younger?”

  “Yes, he did, but nothing serious. Just teenage stuff. He was a good kid and a good student.” She bit her lip, sighing softly.

  “What?”

  “I’m beginning to realize how little I know about my brother’s life and how narrow-minded I’ve been.”

  “You want the best for your brother, that’s understandable.”

  “You should hear him sing. He can compose and write songs that are so beautiful. I’ll be singing one of them tonight at the Blue Note.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing it. You want your brother to go to school for music, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Best way to stop him from doing that is to push him into it.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that.” It was clear to her that she’d hurt Mark with her criticism and her nagging. She cringed thinking about all the times she’d sucked the joy out of one of his stories about the band. He’d taken it, too. She’d never once praised him for holding down a job, being responsible. The knowledge weighed heavily on her heart. The fact that she’d only wanted the best for him seemed empty. She could have been much more open-minded and understanding while Mark found himself. She regretted that the last time she’d talked to her brother, she’d criticized him for something he loved doing.

  His cell phone rang and Christien pulled it out of his pocket and answered.

  He turned away while Tally picked up their plates and went to the sink, rinsing them under the tap, setting everything into the dishwasher.

  “That was Jim. I’ve got to go meet with him,” Christien explained.

  “No problem.”

  As he neared, she could sense the power he exuded, could feel the eroticism of his hot stare as he watched her. Could feel her own body respond instinctively to that intense awareness of what was happening between them. By the time he stood next to her, she was breathless and battling the urge to rip off his clothes and have her way with him.

  Summoning a bit of defiance to keep from giving into that urge, she lifted her chin and pinned him with a direct look. “It’s time for you to go, sugar.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Tally nodded.

  A lazy, seductive grin curved his lips. “Can I get a kiss before I go or are you just going to tease me with that mouth?”

  She tried to ignore that jump in her stomach.

  “I think we both know the answer to that question,” she replied.

  He leaned in so close, his warm breath fanned her neck and his lips brushed the lobe of her ear. His damp tongue multiplied the shivery sensations tenfold, and he added in a rough wicked whisper, “I think we do.”

  Tally gave herself over to the delightful feel of Christien’s questing mouth along her lips. He brought every nerve ending to life, to the point of dizzying torment.

  Hard, masculine contours of his broad chest pushed against her sensitive breasts as he pinned her hips and thighs to the counter.

  He deepened the kiss, voracious and hungry, and she answered, sliding her arms around his neck and holding him tight.

  He broke the kiss and kept her close for a few minutes.

  “I’ll see you tonight, chère,” he said, separating himself and turning to go.

  “Tonight,” Tally echoed.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Tally heard the eerie sound of drums. She rolled her shoulders and refused to let some old woman ghost get to her. “You can stop with the theatrics,” Tally shouted, with more bravado than she felt, her voice echoing in the empty house.

  The problem was the old woman’s words made Tally want to strengthen her resolve against letting Christien any further into her heart.

  WHEN TALLY APPROACHED the café, it looked as if it were already filled close to capacity. Perry Brazille fell into step with Tally. She was very gypsy-looking, with dark thick curly hair, and lived in number sixteen. Tally only knew her as a customer, one who loved Chloe’s creole hot sausage po’boy sandwiches.

  “Hi, Tally. I need coffee.”

  “And a po’boy?”

  Perry grinned. “Oh no, you’ve got me pegged.”

  “Come on in.”

  “I need an injection of caffeine before I go to my aunt Della’s shop to help her out.”

  “What kind of shop?”

  “Metaphysical stuff, charms.”

  “Really. Does she have charms to ward off evil ghosts?”

  “Sure. Do you need one?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Perry must have caught the undercurrents of Tally’s nervousness because she took her aside and said, “You didn’t answer my question, Tally.”

  “I think my place is haunted, okay? I need the charm.”

  Perry eyes filled with sympathy. “No problem. I’ll write down the directions for you. There’s a really good psychic there, Kachina Leaping Water.”

  “Sounds Native American.”

  “She’s Choctaw.”

  “Thanks. Sorry to be so snappy.”

  “I guess evil ghosts give you the right,” Perry said and shivered.


  CHRISTIEN ENTERED THE PRECINCT for the first time in six months. The usual din of ringing phones, clattering keyboards and raised voices seemed as familiar to him as a well worn pair of jeans—jeans he’d discarded.

  At reception, Christien picked up his visitor’s badge, took some good-old-boy ribbing from the sergeant there and headed up to the robbery division.

  Jim was on the phone but he motioned Christien to sit at the desk across from him. The desk that had once belonged to him. It seemed like another lifetime as he planted his backside into the cushy chair, one he’d specifically ordered himself. On the desk in front of him was a file. Jim motioned to it and Christien opened up the file.

  Inside were unsolved cases of robbery/murder over in Baton Rouge and Christien realized that the suspect they’d been trailing had been fishing in a different stream.

  Jim hung up the phone. “Your hunch was right on the money. I pulled those today. That’s our guy’s MO.”

  Christien nodded, sorry he’d been right. “I knew the dirtbag couldn’t control himself for weeks, let alone six months. How many?”

  “Three. They may not all be his, but I bet at least two of them are.”

  “Does an older woman live at that house he cased?”

  “Yes. I knew that was a sucker’s bet.”

  Christien rubbed the back of his neck, reaching down to adjust a gun that was no longer on his hip, a badge that was no longer in his pocket.

  “How does it feel being back in the driver’s seat?”

  “I’m a P.I., Jim.”

  “And that’s a very admirable profession, but it’s more exciting to be on the front lines instead of behind them.”

  Christien snorted. “You’re so full of it.”

  “All you have to do is apologize.”

  “I’d rather eat glass.” Christien remembered the day he’d lost the case. The self-recrimination had been running through him, thick in his blood. Memories of his inability to name his mother’s killer jumbled with the self-recrimination. He really didn’t deserve to be a cop.

  And this was no longer his desk.

  “Chris…”

  Christien decided it was time he let this go. He needed to attend to his real job, the one that paid the bills. “Look, Jim, you’ve got him in your sights, you make the collar.”