by Rebecca York
“Please—” She was burning up with need, and there was no way to hold back the fire.
“Easy, baby. I’m here.”
Sitting up, she unbuttoned her yellow shirt and slipped it from her shoulders. Then she unfastened the skirt and drew it up over her head. In her wisp of a bra and lacy panties she looked like an erotic fantasy.
When she unhooked her bra and tossed it to the end of the bed with her other clothing, his breath caught in his throat. Her breasts were high and firm and very tantalizing. He was unable to suppress a groan as she pulled him back into her arms.
Saint Michael, he thought again as she began to writhe against him. No man should have to endure a night like this. Heaven and hell mixed together. Yet if he let himself make love to her, he would be no better than the men who had drugged her.
One hand caressed her breasts, the other slipped inside the waistband of her panties and slid downward. When he began to stroke her, she cried out in pleasure and arched into his caress. She was so close to the edge that she slipped over with very little help from him.
His own breathing was ragged, his body taut as he lowered her gently back to the bed.
“Better?”
“Much.”
For a few minutes she nestled comfortably against him. Then she reached up, her fingers stroking his perspiration-damp brow. “This is driving you crazy.”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
“Michael, why don’t you want to...to make love to me?”
“I’m afraid you won’t respect me in the morning.”
“Saint Michael.”
“What?” His voice was hoarse.
“Saint Michael slew the dragon—with his sword.”
“You meant Saint George.”
She giggled. “Oh, yeah.” Then she sobered. “You don’t want to take advantage of me.” But her breath was already accelerating again, her body tensing.
“Jessica, can’t you understand? It’s the drug that’s making you this way.”
“Not just the drug, Michael Rome.”
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“It’s coming back. I need to feel you inside me.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Maybe it’s the only way to slay the dragon.”
She pressed her face against his chest. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Michael, I’m not usually like this.”
“I know, baby, I know.”
“I—I can’t help it. My body aches.”
So did his.
She looked up again. “Michael, I promise you—it’s more than just Dove.” Then with shaky hands she reached up and captured his head, dragging his mouth down to hers. Suddenly he realized that in all the intimacy they had just shared, they hadn’t yet kissed.
Her mouth was sweet and warm. He brushed his lips back and forth, then settled with a steady pressure. He felt her tongue test the serrated edges of his teeth and then dart beyond. He accepted the invitation, meeting her thrust with one of his own. She had pushed him almost beyond the limits of endurance, and now his control was just about shredded.
When he lifted his head, it was to gently kiss her cheek, her forehead, the line of her jaw. His lips slid downward to the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck.
He had wanted to taste her breasts too. Now he could no longer resist. Taking one hardened nipple in his mouth, he sucked, feeling her quicken with pleasure in response.
Her body was on fire, but not just from the drug pumping through her veins. In her heightened state of sensitivity, Michael’s fingertips were like fine tracery on silver, scoring her body. His mouth was a moist balm, polishing her skin to a high sheen. She wanted this man, wanted all of him, and very urgently. Her fingers slid down his body, finding him through the fabric of his pants.
He groaned in response. “Jessica, don’t.”
But she didn’t listen. The provocation had the desired effect. With a curse he stripped off his clothes and then her panties. No woman had ever driven him to the brink of insanity like this. He was beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond even gentleness.
She felt him pierce her most sensitive flesh. But she welcomed the invasion, arching her hips to meet it. Her movements were frantic as she twisted against him. It was impossible to slow down, to savor the experience. Her body drove for release and found it in a quick, shattering climax. A few moments later she felt his body shudder.
Then he started to ease away from her, and her arms tightened around his shoulders. “Don’t.”
He buried his face against her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers stroked across the broad expanse of his back, feeling the tense muscles relax. “I think this time I really may be all right,” she whispered.
“Good.”
“You won’t leave me?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow we have to talk.”
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter Five
Lieutenant Hugh Devine had been going off duty as the call came into the precinct. But when he glanced at the dispatcher’s sheet and saw the address and the informer’s name, he promptly forgot all thoughts of the midweek ball game and six-pack of beer he’d planned for the evening’s entertainment.
“I want to be in on this one,” he told Pendowski at the desk.
“Up your alley, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll tell car twenty-three to expect you.”
“Thanks.”
He was out the door in a hurry, thinking it was a lucky day when Michael Rome had gone through the rap sheets looking for unusual drug activity. He’d liked the tough DEA agent, and he’d suspected he could learn a thing or two from the man.
When he arrived at the address Rome had given, he was surprised to see an ambulance as well as Patrol Car 23.
With only a brief glance at the crowd of curious neighbors, he hurried up the cracked front walk.
Inside, attendants were just lifting a sheet-covered body onto a stretcher. A white chalk outline on the floor indicated where the body had been found.
“What happened?”
“We’re not sure yet,” the patrolman answered. “The guy was handcuffed to the water pipe. But he wasn’t going anywhere. He was dead when we arrived.”
Devine cursed.
“There was some evidence of a fight. But unless he died from internal injuries, I don’t think that’s what killed him. There was a fresh needle mark on his arm. Maybe it was a drug overdose, but with both his hands cuffed, I don’t think he gave it to himself. We’re going to have to wait for an autopsy report.”
Devine looked around the scene of the homicide. Michael Rome had been sure this guy would have some information. He was going to be disappointed when he called in.
* * *
JESSICA COULD FEEL the warmth of the sun caressing her face, and for a few seconds she simply enjoyed the drowsy lethargy between sleep and alertness. She didn’t want to wake up. As consciousness seeped back into her mind, she knew why.
Turning her head, she looked at the white pillow beside her own. It still bore the indentation of a head. So last night hadn’t been a wild dream as she’d been hoping.
Images and sensations came rushing back to her, bringing a red tint to her cheeks. God, what a fool she’d made of herself.
Sitting up, she covered her face with her hands as if that would block out the graphic pictures in her mind. Her body ached from the night’s activities.
After she’d begged Michael Rome to make love to her, she’d thought she was going to be all right. But she’d awakened one more time before dawn, caught by the demon that was possessing her body. Michael had been there again for her. Though she’d felt his arousal, he’d done no more than given her release with his hands and lips. Afterward, when she’d finally broken down and cried, he’d rocked her and whispered reassurances until she’d fallen back to sleep.
Now she could hear water running
in the bathroom and could smell the aroma of strong New Orleans chicory-laced coffee. So he was still here—apparently waiting for her to reappear. How was she going to face him? she wondered, pressing her palms against her eyelids.
When she heard him move down the hall again, she grabbed a robe and scurried into the bathroom. A long hot shower washed away some of her body’s aches and postponed the moment of truth. But finally there was nothing she could do besides slip into a cotton shift and march forth to meet her own dragon.
As she entered the kitchen, he was sitting at the table, his large hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. He was dressed in his jeans but had borrowed a clean T-shirt from Aubrey’s dresser. It was a size too small and emphasized the strength of his chest and arms. There was something about his posture that suggested brooding frustration. Sensing her presence, he looked up, his gray eyes unfathomable.
Michael’s gaze swept over the woman he’d held in his arms last night. He’d told himself that there hadn’t been any emotional involvement on his part. But the sight of her made something inside his chest contract. She was wearing a simple amber cotton shift and sandals. With her curly hair still wet from the shower and no makeup, she looked like a teenager. He could see that she was struggling to keep her features neutral, yet it was impossible to completely hide the embarrassment she felt.
“How are you doing this morning?” he finally asked, his voice very gentle.
“I feel as if I’ve been run over by a Mack truck.”
He laughed, grateful for the touch of humor. Then he sobered again. “How much do you remember about what happened last night?”
Her cheeks flamed and she looked away. “Too much.”
“You don’t take drugs, do you?”
“Never.”
“That’s one reason it hit you so hard. And they must have given you a huge dose.”
She shuddered.
“How about some café au lait?”
“Thanks.” She watched as he got up and made the half milk—half coffee concoction with the practiced ease of a man who was used to taking care of himself. When he returned to the table, she had pulled out the chair opposite his.
“What can you tell me about the drug’s effects, besides...?” He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“At first I couldn’t move. Then I felt as if I was flying.”
“You said that in the car.”
She nodded.
“Did it affect your senses?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes! They were mixed up and very intense. I could feel things that I usually only see, taste things that should have been aromas.”
“Like what?”
She looked down into her coffee. “The scent of your body is like a deep pine forest. I could taste it,” she mumbled and then paused. “Please don’t make me talk about it anymore.”
He took a sip from his mug. Her words brought back memories of the way her skin had felt under his fingers—like warm silk. And the way her body had moved restlessly against his. Damn! This was a hell of a morning after. He wanted to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. Not knowing whether she’d welcome the contact, he decided not to take the chance. Besides, he reminded himself, he had no intention of getting emotionally entangled with this woman. They both needed to distance themselves from the intimacy that had been thrust upon them. He had better stick to business.
“Jessica, this is difficult for me too, believe it or not. But I need information.”
“Who are you, Michael Rome?”
“I’m a drug enforcement agent.” There was no need to tell her what else he was.
“So you were just doing your job last night?”
“It was more than that.” Suddenly, despite his recent resolve to be strictly objective, he needed to bridge the gap between them. He pressed his fingers over hers. She flinched but didn’t pull away.
“Michael.” Her voice was very low. “I have to ask you a question.”
He waited.
“Am I addicted to Dove? Am I going to go crazy the way my brother did?”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You’re going to be all right. It takes more than one dose to cause addiction.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Listen, Jessica, how did you get mixed up with those guys?”
“I was trying to help Aubrey. You heard about what happened to him. The doctor told me it might help if he knew what he’d taken.”
“But you knew it was Dove. You said so on the campus.”
“I didn’t know Dove was a drug. I didn’t know what it was.”
“Where did you hear the name? From him?”
She looked down again. “From you.”
“Come on, I didn’t let that slip.”
“You didn’t need to. I got the image from your mind.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth. Sometimes I can do that.”
He let out a curse. “After last night, I thought you might be willing to level with me this morning.”
“Is that why you were so accommodating?”
He ran an exasperated hand through his thick hair. “Damn it, no. You were a fellow human being in need.”
“Spare me the pop philosophy.”
They glared across the table at each other. Jessica broke the eye contact first. “I’ll show you what led me to Harley’s.”
“That ought to be interesting.”
She got up and moved to the living room. In a few moments she reappeared with the napkin, which she flung onto the table.
He picked it up, noting the cheap recycled paper as well as the printed “H,” doodles, and number. “So, what’s that supposed to prove?”
“I’d never been there. But when I held it in my hand, I could see my brother sitting in one of the booths with another man—who turned out to be Lonnie.”
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you tell fortunes too?”
“I’m not surprised at your attitude. After all, you are a policeman.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. Don’t you have to go question that guy you handcuffed to the water pipe?”
“I checked in with the police this morning. That guy’s not going to tell me anything. After we left, Lonnie apparently came back and killed him.”
Her face whitened. Lonnie had killed his friend to keep him from talking. What had he planned for her?
“These guys are playing for keeps.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “So listen, baby, stay out of this from now on.”
The offhand endearment was the same one he had used so tenderly the night before. The way he said it now made her feel patronized. Despite his frightening words, she bristled. “Don’t think that last night gives you any right to tell me what to do.”
“Well, my official capacity does. Keep your nose out of my investigation.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and left the apartment.
* * *
THE VOODOO PRIESTESS had also had a close encounter with Dove during the night. Unlike Jessica Duval, she had administered the dosage herself and knew exactly how much to take to get the desired effect. After all, the drug had started out as a chemical distillation of rare swamp plants that had been used in voodoo rituals for generations.
She wasn’t addicted, but when the silver disk of the moon hung round in the sky, she allowed herself to fly on the white wings of the Dove. For those who took the drug intravenously, the aphrodisiac effects wore off with overuse, and the next phase of addiction was a lot more violent. She knew how to avoid the danger by making it into a perfumed cream that was absorbed slowly by the skin. Even in this relatively safe fashion, she never overindulged.
Each man who was invited to share the ceremony of the full moon with her counted it as an honor. Into the small hours of the morning under the stimulation of the drug, she and her ch
osen partner paid tribute to the goddess of love again and again with their writhing bodies. The pleasure was beyond compare. But, as the ritual demanded, each man was required to leave her bed before the first rays of the sun tinged the sky with pink.
She was feeling thoroughly replete when the phone rang around nine. But she wondered who in the Crescent City had dared to disturb her on a day she was known to be fasting after the moon ceremony.
Her tone was imperious as she answered. When she heard the voice on the other end of the line, the haughty words she had intended froze in her throat.
“Moonshadow.”
Jackson Talifero from the island of Royale Verde was the only white man who knew that secret voodoo name, or who would dare to use it.
She sat up in bed, pulling white satin sheets up around her breasts. The contrast against her richly colored skin was striking. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want. Gilbert Xavier.”
“He isn’t here.”
“But you know where he is.”
“He’s in the city. He wouldn’t tell me where he’s hiding. But I’ve made sure he won’t leave.”
“How did you do that?”
“He came to me for help. I gave him a potion ’to ward off his enemies.’ It was really a charm to bind him to this place.”
A string of imprecations sizzled across the phone wires. “You’re using that voodoo garbage for something this important!”
The priestess’s voice dripped with venom. “It suits your purposes well enough when you want it to.”
“That’s just for show.”
“Don’t be so sure. If I wanted to I could cover your body with boils—or something a lot worse.”
His voice took on a steely edge. “But you know very well that if anything happens to me, a very thick folder on your activities will be delivered straight to the New Orleans police commissioner. It would make very interesting reading—particularly the times your sacrificial ceremonies have gotten out of hand.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Push me and find out.”
They were both silent. It was a stalemate that had spanned almost a decade. Each had a grip on the other’s throat. The one whose hold loosened first was the one who would strangle to death.
