by Tina Donahue
Constance welled up again. Somehow, their sympathy for what she was going through made her feel even lonelier. When they went home, it would be with or to someone. All Constance had waiting for her was an empty apartment, romance novels, adult films, or Internet chat rooms, none of them satisfying for long.
As the others ate and started to loosen up, Becca slipped her arm around Constance’s waist. “I have a surprise.”
She looked over. “You’re pregnant?”
Becca blushed worse than Heather usually did. “Ah, no. The surprise is for you, not about me.”
Oh. “A raise?”
“Uh-uh.” She looked embarrassed. “You’ll get one, like you always do, though not tonight.” She smiled weakly, then brightened. “We have a new client. A demon. Tall, tan, and totally in charge, if you get my drift.”
Constance wasn’t brain-dead. “You’re fixing me up?” Her shoulders sagged. “Please don’t tell me you paid the guy to come here.”
“No—no.” Becca stepped away and waved her hands. “I just thought you’d like to meet him. See if you two hit it off. I swear, he’s a new client. He booked a spot before you met—ah—”
Gabe.
How easily her mind filled in the blanks when Constance didn’t want it to. She should be grateful for Becca’s help and eager to meet a new man, but she suddenly felt gun-shy of the whole process. It had never worked before, and surely wouldn’t now. “Thanks, but…”
Constance didn’t finish as Becca suddenly glanced past. Taking up most of the doorway was a tall guy with classical Greek features, wavy brown hair, bristly cheeks, a muscular body to tempt even the most reluctant pussy, and flames wiggling in his dark eyes.
Becca whispered, “That’s Farron.”
He certainly was. Constance’s mouth went dry at his male beauty, her reaction more knee-jerk than anything. He approached with the assurance of a heat-seeking missile with her as his target. For the first time ever, Constance actually stepped back from a man.
Didn’t stop him. Farron crowded her, taking in her ivory turban and matching off-the-shoulder gown. “Hey, how you doin’?”
Not good, considering he sounded like Joey from Friends. She didn’t bother to wonder if Farron used cuffs in bed. Shackles, collars, chains, and whips were likely his style.
He’d probably show her BDSM moves she’d never known existed, giving her screaming orgasms and little else. Constance was well acquainted with this kind of man, or rather demon. They didn’t stick around for real intimacy. There were too many other conquests to be had. Already, he was eyeing MJ, Zoe, and finally Heather, probably liking her innocent appearance the most.
Becca elbowed Constance, her expression urging her to make a play for him.
Aw, crud. She simply wasn’t into it tonight, but she had to make the effort since everyone had done so much for her.
“Hey,” Constance finally said to him. When Farron turned back, he studied her boobs for an indecently long time, even licking his lips as if she were tonight’s entrée. No wonder he’d come here to suppress his beast. Talk about obvious.
He was nothing like Gabe, whose interest had simmered beneath the surface, flaring briefly as if he couldn’t contain it any longer. Gabe’s struggle to remain civilized had made Constance’s heart turn over. She’d always been the one pursuing guys. How nice to have them, or rather him, give chase.
Farron came on so strong he was making her sweat, and not in a good way.
Becca must have noticed. Leaning over, she spoke softly. “After his treatments, he’ll be as civilized as the others, I swear.”
Constance figured she was talking about the clients, not the guys in here. Daemon had Heather pinned against the wall, arms above her head as he kissed her deeply. Stefin, Taro, and Anatol had sandwiched Zoe between them, feasting on her—Taro suckling her neck, Anatol brushing his lips over her ear, Stefin thrusting his tongue halfway down her throat.
Constance went dizzy with panic, not arousal, the first time ever when it came to the promise of sex. She whispered to Becca, “Thanks, but think I’ll wait until he’s through with the program.” After grabbing a piece of cake and a plastic fork, she gave Farron a wan smile. “Nice meeting you. Excuse me.”
Before he could speak or tackle her, she fled the room and waited until they’d all cleared out before returning.
Thankfully, Constance had back-to-back clients during the following hours, making it impossible for Becca and the other ladies to ask her anything personal. She heard them approach her office repeatedly, always lingering by the closed door. However, none of them knocked or opened it.
If Farron had wanted her, he probably would have kicked the thing in. She was grateful he hadn’t. He was a great-looking dude but didn’t own the tenderness Constance needed. A man with a soul who would honestly care for her just as she was, imperfect and wanting, yet be willing to give her all.
Looked like tonight would be another search for Mr. Perfect in her chat rooms, since no online dating service catered to a voodoo priestess with a needy heart.
The moment her last client left, Constance prayed she could escape the office without anyone stopping, quizzing, or feeling sorry for her.
Despite Becca’s previous worry, Heather wasn’t at the front desk, the closed-circuit monitor proving no one was on the other side of the door. The halls were also deserted, everything eerily quiet thanks to MJ’s soundproofing.
Constance figured Heather was in the supply closet, going at it with MJ and Daemon, or she was in one of the treatment rooms, healing a client’s bruises and scrapes courtesy of the enforcement team.
With her purse wedged beneath her arm, Constance slipped out the front door. On the street below, tourists and locals laughed, talked loudly, or shouted. Some waved their arms to get attention.
She stilled at a young couple in a horse-drawn carriage as they finished their kiss. The way they leaned into each other, her resting her palm on his cheek, him with his hand on her waist, made Constance’s throat constrict.
Crazy, she knew. He might be married to someone else, the young woman actually being his long-suffering mistress. Could be they were trying to rekindle lost love before they gave up and divorced. Even so, the picture they’d created made Constance yearn all over again.
For years, she’d deliberately ignored happy couples to protect her aching heart. It had worked until Becca and the others got involved with their men. A scant two years before, they’d all been single, none having any real hope of finding the right guy. Then bam—bam—bam, the others had fallen like dominoes, leaving Constance all by herself.
Chin lowered, she hurried down the stairs to the walk and wove in and out of the crowd, promising herself, as she always did, to find an apartment well away from the French Quarter. A place she could drive to so happy couples wouldn’t constantly remind her of what she didn’t have.
She stopped before crossing the street, having to wait for another horse-drawn carriage to pass. This one had an older couple inside, their smiles luminous and content.
She wished them well, hoping they realized how lucky they were.
With the push of the crowd, Constance started across the street. Halfway there, she glanced up and came to an immediate halt.
Others brushed past, arms and shoulders bumping hers as if she were an inanimate object, rather than a voodoo priestess who could give them real hell if she wanted to.
Right now, Constance had difficulty breathing, much less plotting revenge. Gabe stood in front of After Dark, his attention on her, no one else, his expression filled with the same longing she felt.
Constance locked her knees to keep standing. What’s he doing here?
What did it matter? It was a dream come true. The nightmare would come later.
Not wanting to think about the repercussions of seeing Gabe again, Constance managed to ma
ke it across the street and stop directly in front of him. Even with the scents of Cajun food, beer, and humanity, she caught his fragrance, as intoxicating as she recalled, and leaned closer.
So did he. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Unable to resist, she rested her fingers on his cheek, loving his stubble and warmth, needing this moment as she hadn’t anything else. He seemed to crave it too. The world went by with them simply staring, smiling, and memorizing each other’s features once more.
She saw kindness and honor in his eyes, the kind of strength that allows a man to be gentle. He didn’t leer at her as Farron had. Gabe’s gaze caressed, undoing Constance. She didn’t care if he was mortal or a cop. Nothing mattered except right now. She melted into him, seeking his mouth as he sought hers, their lips molding to each other, tongues touching, then dancing.
She moaned in pleasure, slipping her arm around his shoulder. Gabe not only accepted her embrace, he made sure Constance couldn’t get away from him, his hands on her back, pushing her closer.
They kissed as strangers passed. At first, a tender, searching exploration that made her want more. Gabe seemed to know and must have needed the same, as he deepened the kiss, encouraging Constance to give her all.
How could she do anything less, grateful for his passion no matter the alarms going off in her head.
Gabe quieted them with his strong embrace, his body pressed close, branding her with his touch and scent.
“Matt,” someone next to her shouted.
“Hey, man,” another guy bellowed in return.
A horse whinnied, women giggled, strains from a band drifted past, the horn wailing and then holding its highest note.
She and Gabe kissed through all the sounds, their passion artless at times, noisy too. Didn’t matter. To Constance, what they were doing was beyond beautiful.
He must have needed a full breath finally, because he pulled his mouth free. Lightheaded, Constance sagged into him, her turban askew. He pulled it off and crushed her hair in his hand.
When he lifted the tresses to his face and sniffed, she smiled. “What are you doing?”
“Smelling you.”
Even Nora Roberts couldn’t have penned a better answer. Giddy with happiness, Constance trailed her fingers down Gabe’s red tie, wondering if he’d ever used it to secure a woman’s wrists to his bed. Did he have a headboard with slats? Too shy to ask, Constance said the only thing she could, given the circumstances: “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
A surge of warmth and desire nearly knocked her down. She eased away in order to see his face. Gabe smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes, driving her back over the edge. Constance captured his mouth again, slipping her tongue inside, letting him know this time she’d have her way.
He allowed it, suckling her tongue, pulling her against him until both of them needed another full breath.
Gulping air, he stuffed her turban in his jacket pocket and laced his fingers through hers. “Are you living with anyone? A man, I mean.”
“What? No.”
“Dating someone special?”
She frowned. “No. Why?”
Gabe ran his thumb over her rings. “Married?”
“Hell no. You?”
He grinned. “Nope. I’m as single as you appear to be.”
Appear?
“Have you eaten yet?”
Outside of the cake, she hadn’t and shouldn’t. This was wrong. Hell, it was crazy. She had her friends to protect. Constance was about to look at the office but thought better of it.
When she didn’t answer, Gabe squeezed her hand gently. “During dinner, I promise not to talk about where you work, unless you want to. Then we will.”
Holy mother freaking shit, his memories had returned. Constance heard the truth in his cryptic comment and saw it in his beautiful eyes. Good God, how much had he remembered? More importantly, was it because she’d failed to remove his memories of her and they’d led him back to the others? Afraid to know the truth, she figured he’d tell her anyway while they ate. If she could manage to swallow a bite.
Perspiration ran down her back and between her breasts. In another minute, the humidity, the unbearable temperature, her fear, and endless arousal would have her gown sticking to every part of her.
Constance considered running but figured it’d prove fruitless. He’d catch up, asking questions about the business, Becca, and the others. Better to control the situation than have him show up unannounced with a warrant. If he did, she’d have to remove all his memories—not only of the service, but of her and possibly the French Quarter.
It’d leave him a freaking mess. No way could she do such a thing to him. She had to find out what he had on them, then fix it somehow. “Okay.”
“To what?”
“Dinner with you, of course.” Foolish or not, she really did want to be with him tonight. “Are we going to After Dark?”
“It’s not what I thought it’d be. I have another place in mind.”
He brushed his lips over hers and then led Constance down the street.
Gabe wasn’t surprised she was a bit unsteady. His body was still humming after the enchanting way she’d greeted him. Touching his cheek as though he mattered to her, snuggling close to say she enjoyed their intimacy, seeking his mouth with unashamed need.
So much gratitude poured through him, Gabe lifted their hands and kissed her knuckles.
Constance continued to regard him, her expression dreamy and cautious, both emotions rolled into one.
Okay, so the moment wasn’t as perfect as he would’ve liked it to be, since she obviously didn’t want him asking questions about the business. He was reluctant to do so, figuring what Father Archambault had said couldn’t be possible. Constance seemed perfectly normal even if she worked for a woman who dressed like a harem girl and employed a too-white receptionist who was weirdly shy.
Wanting to put Constance at ease, he smiled. “Please tell me you like real Creole food.”
She studied his mouth, her expression turning fuzzy with what appeared to be desire. “Is there any other kind?”
Laughing, Gabe swooped down for a fast kiss and then led her past the tourist hangouts to Pasquets. Not only the best Creole restaurant in the Quarter, but hidden from the usual crowd.
Constance regarded the narrow alley they went down that ended at a weathered wrought-iron gate. Beyond it was the outside dining area. The edges of white linen tablecloths, along with red-and-black umbrellas, quivered in the muggy breeze. A floral arrangement with a single red candle decorated each place setting.
Her smile said it all. She approved, and somehow it meant so much to Gabe. More than it probably should have, given they’d just met. However, he didn’t question his feelings, content to go with the flow.
Once inside, Gabe asked for a table near the fountain, sensing Constance would enjoy it. Surrounding the dining area were scores of flowers and potted plants, none of their scents as heady as hers.
These last days had been horrible for him. He’d hung out at After Dark like a stalker, hoping to catch her leaving work, failing until tonight. It wasn’t like him to stalk any woman. With Constance, he simply couldn’t stay away. She’d captured a part of him, held it hostage, and he wanted to give her far more.
They both had menus in hand, but neither of them checked out the offerings, regarding each other instead. When she brushed her leg against his, he smiled.
What looked like girlish shyness passed over her exquisite features. If there had been more light out here, rather than just candles and lanterns, he might have seen her color deepen, proving his effect on her.
She was definitely turning his brain to mush, and damn, he enjoyed it.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“What do you suggest?”
He hoped she was thinking of them, naked and wrapped in each other’s embrace for a long while. “Oysters Bienville, blackened salmon and, for dessert, brandied apricot beignets with chocolate sauce.”
Her smile was pleased and a bit knowing, as though she’d guessed his X-rated thoughts. “Sounds sinfully good.”
She had no idea, though he was determined to show her.
Once the waiter delivered their merlot, Gabe tapped his glass against hers. “To a wonderful meal and evening.” The first of many.
After finishing her sip, Constance slid her hand to his and touched his fingertips. A jolt of electricity couldn’t have had more of an effect on Gabe. His cock went from flaccid to erect in two seconds flat, his balls wanting out of his stretchy boxers and against her. He traced her lacquered nail, liking the deep red shade, and then moved to her rings—some silver, others gold, several with sparkling gems. “Don’t you worry about getting mugged wearing all this jewelry?”
“Not with you around.”
He offered a playful look. “I’m not always with you.”
Constance took another sip of her wine, her expression betraying her desire and sudden unease. She gave him a smile lovely enough to liquefy his insides, though it didn’t seem completely guileless.
“What brought you here tonight, besides me?” She leaned closer. “Is this your territory? Do detectives stake out their own areas?”
Gabe had a sudden image of him and the other guys peeing on the ground, marking their space like dogs. “I go where I’m needed.”
She offered a brief smile. “Did you need to go to After Dark the first night we met?”
“No.”
His simple answer seemed to unnerve her, as though Gabe knew more than he was telling. She regarded him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to continue. He couldn’t. No matter how hard he’d tried—and fuck, he had tried—he still couldn’t recall having asked her about the nightspot as she’d claimed.
