In Dreams

by Patricia Rosemoor

He slid slowly out so that just his soft tip was buried in her folds. She made a small sound of complaint and he laughed before slowly sliding back in, filling her fully once more.

  Better, she thought with a sigh.

  She stretched out for him, her hands tangled around tree limbs on either side of her for balance. She arched her back hard, shoving her breasts toward him. He showed his appreciation, cupping them, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, setting her on fire inside.

  She wanted to come right then.

  He wouldn’t let her.

  Every time her breathing quickened for more than a few seconds, he stopped moving his hands, stopped moving his hips.

  How could he be so cruel?

  She would see to the matter herself then….

  Letting go of the tree, she arched back even farther, her long hair dripping with water behind her. She cupped her own breasts, tugged at her own nipples, and was gratified when his breathing matched her own.

  He liked watching, she thought with a smile.

  No longer slowing down, he made his forays into her shorter and sharper. His hands found her buttocks and steadied her as he drove himself faster and faster.

  She lifted slightly so she could watch his face…his bedroom eyes…and when they began to cloud over, she flashed her hand between them to find her clit. She was ready to come, and at the first stroke, she felt the strong, deep pulls that signaled release.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Now. Now!”

  He came with a shout and she pitched over the edge with him, feeling as if she were sliding down a rushing waterfall….

  Awakening with a start, Lucy realized she’d been dreaming again. Another psychic erotic dream in which Justin was the star.

  What in the world was wrong with her?

  Why couldn’t she stop having these visions…or wanting more than anything to make them come true? If she were a man, she would be walking around with a perpetual hard-on. She hadn’t known a woman could be this horny.

  Slipping out of bed, she moved to the railing and glanced over it, wondering if she would get a glimpse of a nearly naked Justin in broad daylight.

  No luck—he wasn’t there.

  A cold shower helped her regain some of her sanity. Afterward, she bandaged her wound, which was healing nicely—not so much as a twinge when she touched it.

  Then she quickly dressed and twisted up her hair, securing the masses in place with a fancy hair clip. Feeling better prepared to face the man haunting her sleep, she went down to find him.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her to the counter where a mug sat in front of the coffeemaker as if awaiting her. She was filling it when she heard the door and turned to see Justin enter, carrying a white bag.

  “I hope you like beignets for breakfast.”

  “My mouth is already watering.”

  But her mouth was watering for him as well as for the freshly fried puffs of pastry doused with powdered sugar. He looked equally yummy in a pale gold shirt and tan pants, sunglasses tucked up in his dark hair.

  “I’m glad you approve,” he said with a slow smile. “I’ve been gone long enough that I don’t have anything safe to eat in the fridge. I thought we could get started on these, do a little research, and when we couldn’t stand it any longer, we could go out for a proper meal.”

  “Whatever you say,” Lucy told him, meaning it.

  If he wanted to eat her, or vice-versa, she would be hardpressed to deny him.

  But she settled for the beignets and coffee, laughing as they both covered themselves with powdered sugar. The breakfast sweets were impossible to eat without making a mess.

  Lucy was careful not to get too close to Justin as they cleaned up the counter and poured fresh mugs of coffee, but then her plan to keep her distance went astray when they settled in front of Justin’s computer and their knees knocked together. Swallowing hard, she scooted her chair a few inches away from him to give herself room.

  Though one dark eyebrow raised at her action, Justin didn’t comment on it. Instead, he said, “I figure we should check yesterday’s Times-Picayune online first, see if there’s a report of any body being found.”

  The seriousness of their quest drove away frivolous thoughts, and Lucy asked, “What if there isn’t, Justin? Will you think I’m crazy?”

  “I already think you’re crazy, chère…in the nicest of ways.”

  She relaxed a little. “No, really.”

  “If we can’t find it here, we’ll use other avenues. I have sources.”

  But other avenues didn’t prove necessary. Skipping past the latest election headlines with councilman-at-large Charles Cahill decrying Louisiana senator Carlin Montgomery for being a suspect in a bribery case, Justin easily found a headline that read “Murder In The French Quarter.” Justin clicked on the link that took them to an article about a couple of kids finding a woman’s body dumped behind a live oak in a courtyard near Canal. And from the description—a light-skinned black woman in a flowing white dress—Lucy knew this was the one she’d seen murdered in her dream.

  “That’s her. It has to be,” she said, her eyes racing over the article.

  A sudden sense of sorrow that she hadn’t felt before filled her, maybe because until this very moment, part of her held out hope that for once her vision was skewed and that the victim had survived the attack. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for the poor woman.

  “No clue to her identity,” Justin said.

  “That was yesterday. Maybe there’s an update.”

  Justin checked the latest edition of the Times-Picayune, but to Lucy’s disappointment, the dead woman’s identity still hadn’t been determined when the update had been written.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “I have a feeling we’re spinning our wheels here, but let me check other sources.”

  He typed in keywords—French Quarter, murder, courtyard—and got several sources to check. Unfortunately, none of these revealed the woman’s identity, either.

  “You don’t think they’re just holding the identity back until they contact the family or something?” Lucy asked.

  “I doubt it. That’s not the kind of information the police can suppress.”

  “What kind of information can they suppress?”

  “We’ll have to find out.”

  “One of your sources at the New Orleans Police Department?”

  Justin nodded. “An old buddy of mine, Michael Hebert, was recently promoted to detective. He happens to work the French Quarter. We can go look for him right after we get some serious food.”

  Considering her stomach was demanding to be fed, Lucy wasn’t about to argue with that idea. Besides, getting out of his apartment was a stellar idea considering the dreams she’d been having of the two of them in that bed upstairs.

  AFTER THINKING ABOUT IT, Justin decided to call Mike and see if he could get him to meet them at Crescent City Oyster House for an early lunch.

  The popular restaurant was just off Decatur Street and usually filled with tourists. They were seated right away, making Justin realize they were smart to have decided on an early lunch. The tables were mostly small, and half the place was taken up by a long counter where lone diners sat. The floors were well-worn pegged wood, the walls a dark burnished gold and hung with the work of local artists.

  Mike had claimed he was too busy working on a case to go out for lunch, but Justin had guessed the case was the courtyard murder and had said he was pursuing it from a different angle. Mike had to be content with Justin’s mysterious comment—he wouldn’t say more—and Justin had to be content with Mike’s promise to see what he could do about getting away long enough for a bite and an exchange of information.

  In the meantime, Justin could concentrate on Lucy.

  “So what’s your pleasure, chère?” he asked, his own pleasure being the opportunity to make her blush.

  She gave him a wide-eyed look over her menu. “What?”

 
“What are you thinking about…in the way of food, that is?”

  He’d seen her staring at him when she thought he didn’t notice. He’d noticed all right. She was interested but didn’t want him to be aware of the fact. And he couldn’t help but be curious why. What was making her shy away from the obvious attraction they shared?

  “Give me a chance to get a good look at this menu and I’ll decide.”

  Justin watched her. Not only was he familiar with the restaurant, he was equally familiar with the menu. He already knew what he would have. Though the menu was extensive, the restaurant was famous for the oysters that came in various guises.

  “The raw oysters here are premium,” Justin said, and solely to see Lucy’s cheeks color continued, “and they have the added benefit of kicking up your libido a notch.”

  “My libido doesn’t need to be kicked…or prodded or poked, for that matter…thank you very much.”

  “I’ve always appreciated a woman with a healthy libido,” he murmured.

  Lucy’s cheeks filled with even more color, which she hid by lifting the menu higher. Justin grinned. He was liking her more and more.

  “You don’t need to hide behind your menu,” he said softly. “Not from me.”

  She slapped her menu down on the table before looking around as if to assure herself they wouldn’t be overheard. “I wouldn’t if you would simply stop trying to torture me.”

  So she knew he was doing so on purpose. Justin leaned in closer. “Are you tortured, Lucille? That means you’re attracted to me.”

  “Hah.”

  “Hah?”

  “Hah!”

  “There’s more than one way to find out.” He reached across the table to touch her hand, and when she recoiled, he nodded and said, “Hah!” in triumph.

  “I hate interrupting this interesting conversation,” drawled a familiar smooth voice, “but I can only spare about ten minutes.”

  Justin looked up to see a man with brown hair spiked in every direction and blue eyes filled with amusement.

  “Well, then, what are you waiting for?” Justin asked. “Pull up a chair. Lucy Ryan…Detective Mike Hebert.”

  Mike snagged a chair from a nearby table and shoved himself in between Justin and Lucy. The waitress arrived just then. Justin ordered a dozen raw oysters and a fried oyster platter, while Lucy ordered the obviously safer chicken gumbo. Mike ordered an oyster gumbo to go and asked that the waitress speed up things if she could.

  Then Mike looked from Justin to Lucy. “So why are you investigating the courtyard murder? Does Ms. Ryan here have a personal interest?”

  Justin evasively said, “We were hoping you could tell us something about the victim not reported in the media.”

  “And I was hoping you would tell me why her murder would interest you.”

  Mike was focusing on Lucy and Justin feared she would give herself away, so he said, “You know I cooperate with the NOPD any chance I get. But my saying anything now would be a little premature.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  “C’mon, Mike, you’ve trusted me with information before. And I’ve always come through with my promises.”

  “That’s just it. You haven’t made any promises.”

  “You give me a name and in seventy-two hours, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  “Forty-eight.”

  If he didn’t have a handle on what went down in two days, he would be glad to bring in the police. Though he would still play bodyguard to Lucy himself, of course.

  Mike shrugged. “I can live with thirty-six.”

  Jumping in, Lucy said, “Great, that’s settled then. So, what do you know about the victim that wasn’t in the morning newspaper?”

  Mike gave her an intense stare, as if trying to figure out her angle. Then he said, “That she was carrying a fancy tarot deck.”

  “Who in the French Quarter doesn’t have a tarot deck,” Lucy muttered. “Besides, all tarot cards are fancy.”

  “Not all of them are hand-painted, gold-leafed scenes from a bordello.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows raised. “Really.”

  “Does that mean something to you?”

  “Just that the deck sounds unusual, Detective. Were the cards signed by the artist?”

  “Initials only—L.L.”

  “Lamar Landrieu.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Lucy grew thoughtful. “Considering he died some time ago, his already valuable work would be worth quite a bit.”

  Mike nodded. “But oddly enough, the victim wasn’t dressed like she had a lot of money.”

  “I know—”

  “How was she dressed?” Justin jumped in before Lucy could say that she’d seen the victim.

  “In a simple, flowing white dress…as reported in the media.”

  Now Mike was glaring at him with suspicion, Justin realized. So he snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, yeah, now I remember reading that.”

  The waitress arrived with a brown bag and handed it and a check to Mike.

  Justin reached over and took the check. “I’m buying,” he told the waitress.

  Nodding, she said, “Your order should be just a few more minutes.”

  “Why in such a hurry to leave that you can’t even have a decent lunch?” Justin asked Mike. “Hot lead?”

  “I wish. We’re still trying to track down the source of the tarot cards. Maybe whoever sold them will remember to whom. Do you have any idea of how many stores sell tarot decks in this city?”

  “I imagine most of them,” Justin said. “And then there’s the Internet, of course.” He couldn’t let the detective go without asking. “Hey, Mike, about the Vaughn case—”

  “Nothing new, sorry.”

  “Just thought I’d ask. Thanks, Mike. I owe you.”

  “And you’ll be paying in exactly…” Mike checked his watch “…thirty-five hours and forty-nine minutes.”

  With that, Mike whistled some jazz tune and headed for the door.

  Lucy waited until the detective was actually out of the restaurant before she asked, “Vaughn case?”

  “Just something we were both working on before I went AWOL to bayou country,” Justin said, not wanting to talk about it. Lucy never needed to know about Erica Vaughn. He turned the questioning back on her. “So what do you know about those cards that you didn’t tell Mike?”

  “Maybe nothing.”

  “Or maybe something?”

  “I might have seen them before.”

  “Where?”

  “In a shop called Taboo. The owner is a voodoo priestess—Odette LaFantary.”

  “You know her?”

  “Only in the sense that we’re both businesswomen and run into each other once in a while.”

  “Maybe that’ll be enough for her to give you a name,” Justin said.

  Once they knew the identity of the dead woman, the rest should fall into place. Then he could call Mike and return the favor. Whether or not Lucy liked it, though, he would stick to her like glue until the murderer was in custody.

  And after that?

  Justin didn’t want to go there just yet. No premature conclusions. He didn’t want to make another mistake. Didn’t want another client killed. Not that Lucy was a client. Not exactly.

  One step at a time….

  TABOO WAS LOCATED in a busy part of the French Quarter, just down the block from Lucy and Dana’s Bal Masque. A couple of giggling tourists came out of the shop just as Lucy led Justin inside where exotic scents assaulted them.

  Dressed in a loose red and gold caftan—the same colors that decorated the rear of the store which was devoted to voodoo, Odette, the self-styled priestess looked up from the makeup counter she was rearranging. Her expression briefly reflected her recognition of Lucy before it morphed into something neutral.

  “How may I help you?” Odette asked.

  Snaking an arm around Lucy’s waist and
pulling her close before she could protest, Justin said, “My lady and I need a love potion.”

  What in the heck did he think he was doing? And not only with the request—he was getting awfully familiar with that hand. She could feel each of his fingers as they pressed into her flesh just below the healing wound.

  “Love potion?” Odette echoed. “For the two of you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Usually one buys a love potion when one wants another to fall in love with him. Or her. The two of you don’t seem to need that kind of help.”

  Lucy was mortified. She might be in lust with Justin, but certainly not in love, and even so, she didn’t want someone who was nearly a complete stranger to read that off her. Yikes—was she that transparent?

  “You don’t understand,” Justin said, lowering his voice. “We want a lo-o-ove potion. You know, something for a really special night. Something…exotic.”

  Lucy felt heat creep up her neck and go straight for her ears. Great. He’d gone and made it worse. She was so chagrined she couldn’t utter a word even if she could think of something to say.

  “A-a-ah, now I understand,” Odette said with a knowing smile.

  Justin asked, “So can you help us?”

  “Of course.”

  Odette turned her back to get something and Lucy glared up at Justin. In response, he grinned and leaned down for a kiss. Lucy wanted to smack him, then, but she didn’t want to give Odette a show. So she kissed Justin back and hoped he was as hot and bothered as he was making her.

  It would serve him right!

  Suddenly, Justin let her go, his expression hungry. Lucy turned her back on him and watched Odette set a vial in a holder and pull several mysterious bottles from a cabinet.

  “While you’re making up our potion,” Justin said, “we’ll look around.”

  “Please do so.”

  Justin pulled Lucy away from the makeup and scents. Several yards away, they entered voodoo territory and a display of tarot cards.

  Lucy leaned into Justin and whispered, “What are you thinking?”

  “That she’ll be more likely to answer questions if she’s made a sale.”

  “You couldn’t just ask for one of her scents? Or some bubble bath?”

  “That wouldn’t have gotten the desired results.”