by Nancy Gideon
“Charlotte?”
“Max?”
“Are we okay?”
His question startled her. “I hope so, because our underwear is commingling inside that drawer.” Then, seeing how serious he was, she smiled. “I’m okay. How ’boutchu?”
“I am now. I’d better go make nice with my company.”
“You’d better put on some shoes, then.” She bent and picked up his Converses. She studied them for a moment, a perplexed frown building.
“What?”
“Red shoes. You said something about red shoes.”
Alarm leapt in his eyes, so sudden and obvious she was instantly on guard. “When?”
“Last night. You were talking about your mother.”
His face drained of color. His eyes went flat and dead. “I don’t know anything about that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But when she extended the shoes to him he took an anxious step back, unwilling to take them. If he’d been in his animal form, he’d have been bristled up from head to tail in a defensive posture.
She set the shoes on the floor and he continued to stare at them as if they were something frightening and foreign to him, as if half expecting them to launch an attack upon his bare feet. Perplexed, Cee Cee brought him a pair of socks and his boots from the closet, keeping her tone quiet and casual to soothe whatever had provoked him into the strange, tense skittishness.
“Here, baby. Wear these. You’ll probably be wading in it up to your ankles for most of the day.”
He took an unsteady breath, shaking off the shock and horror he wouldn’t explain. He looked at her, his eyes wide and glossy with something she didn’t understand. Dammit, how could she understand when he wouldn’t tell her?
But instead of demanding a truth he obviously wasn’t ready to confess, she pressed the battered work boots into his hands and went up onto her toes to rub her cheek against his. She whispered, “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it now.” By the time she settled back, he was himself again. Eager to move past whatever had scared him into the jumpy animal behavior, she stroked his face gently. “You still look a little bit woozy from last night. Have you had anything to eat?”
He blinked, then gave her a faint smile because she wasn’t pressuring him. For the moment. “No. Nothing. Maybe I’ll chew on the unpleasant Detective Hammond for a while.” He quickly put on his boots, keeping a nervous eye on the shoes. Then he straightened and pointed a finger at her. “You stay put. I’ll take care of this.”
He didn’t realize until later that she never actually agreed or disagreed with that.
Clever girl.
JUNIOR HAMMOND WAS a poisonous toad of a fellow who disliked Max only slightly more than he loathed Charlotte. When Max entered the room, Hammond glanced about with a smirkiness that just begged slapping.
“Looks like you been keeping up the place, Savoie. Haven’t been out here since they were scraping Legere’s brains off the floor in back. All but the ones splattered all over you, that is.”
Max bared his teeth. “Always a pleasure to see you, too, Detective Hammond. Still sniffing after Charlotte’s leftovers in hopes of getting that grade raise?”
“I believe you’re the only one sniffing after Caissie. Now. You think you’re the first she’s twitched that short skirt around? She worked her way through the squad room before lowering herself to those in lockup.” He grinned slyly.
The innuendo stung Max like a sharp smack on the snout. He reared back slightly, his eyes narrowing, darkening into a ruby red glimmer that was almost black. Charlotte and Hammond? He assessed the man, then snorted. No. It was too ridiculous. His smooth voice betrayed none of his irritation.
“I’m not going to discuss Detective Caissie with you. I wouldn’t soil her by association. Do you want something, or are you just here to whine over what I’ve got that you’ll never have?”
Hammond’s features reddened and his aggressive step forward was halted by the arrival of Alain Babineau.
“Let’s make this professional, shall we, gentlemen?”
Max slid him what was almost a welcoming smile. “Good morning, detective. Care for some coffee or do you want to proceed right to the handcuffs? I assume that’s why you’re here. What have I supposedly done this time? Pissed on somebody’s shoes?”
Babineau became all crisp efficiency. “Noreen Cummings was attacked at her home at approximately five this morning, And you were where, Mr. Savoie?”
“Here, detective. I fell ill at the office yesterday and left around four o’clock.”
“And I brought him here and have been taking care of him all night.”
Max and Babineau spoke the same aggravated oath as Cee Cee entered the parlor. Helen was behind her carrying a tray with coffee. Hammond simply stared, jaw loose.
Meeting the fierce green eyes, Cee Cee smiled. “Max, a word with you. Helen, Detective Babineau likes cream and sugar, and Hammond takes it any way he can get it.”
Max stalked over to where she stood with her back to their company.
“What are you doing?” he growled softly, but he was quickly distracted by an enticing scent.
“I thought you might need a little something to tide you over.”
She brought up a hand filled with fresh cubes of meat from the kitchen. Raw meat. The fact that she would think to do so, as if there was nothing odd about feeding him like a wild thing, as if it was nothing more than bringing him a quick bite of breakfast, stunned him into a moment of astonished gratitude.
After a blink of surprise, he fed swiftly and ravenously from her palm, then licked and sucked her fingers clean. By the time he placed a kiss on her knuckles, his color was already better. He murmured, “I’m still angry,” before stepping away to put a more impartial distance between them. He rubbed a swift hand over his mouth and chin.
“We have to take him in, Ceece. You know that,” Babineau stated as he stirred his coffee and tried one of the pastries on the tray. He nodded to Helen. “This is outstanding. Did you make these? Could I get the recipe for my wife?”
“Of course, detective.”
“This isn’t necessary, Babineau,” Cee Cee countered. “He hasn’t been out of my sight. Helen is a witness as well. Giles St. Clair”—she gestured to the big man who’d just entered the room—“drove us here from the city and was present throughout the night. Giles, give Detective Hammond the security tapes that document our arrival and the fact that no one has left the grounds since.
“Mr. Savoie was not in the city this morning, nor did he attack Mrs. Cummings. I’ll give my statement to that effect, on record, right now.”
“Charlotte, you don’t need to do this,” Max cautioned quietly. “They have nothing. Don’t involve yourself.”
She stared him straight in the eye. “It’s the truth. It’s not as if I’ve done anything wrong. Or anything to be ashamed of.”
Then she looked to the others. “Because I love him that much.”
“Oh, fuck me sideways,” Hammond growled.
“I don’t think an official statement is necessary,” Babineau decided, recovering from her blunt declaration. He slanted a piercing look at Hammond. “Do you, Junior?”
“If it’s not him, who the hell is it?” Hammond grumbled. He clearly wanted to arrest someone, anyone. And he clearly preferred it to be the obnoxiously smug Savoie.
“Any insights on that, Savoie?”
“Sorry, detective.” His gaze slid to Charlotte, betraying no hint of how much he depended upon her answer. Surrendering no clue as to whether or not he expected her to back him and the promise she’d made.
“Cee Cee? Anything to add?”
She looked away from Max to state calmly, “I’m following up on some things, but nothing we can jump on yet. I want this to be rock solid when we make our move. I’m tired of Cummings snapping at my ass.”
Junior’s gaze dropped in contemplation of that particular part of her anatomy, then collided forcefully with Max’s o
n the way back up. Their stares held, growing heated and intense.
“I hear you there,” Babineau concluded, hoping he wasn’t going to have to separate the two aggressively posturing males with more than just words. He slapped at the back of Hammond’s high and tight haircut. “Junior, let’s roll. You coming with us, Ceece?” Her partner’s gaze went from her to Savoie, hoping to convince both of them to make the smart choice.
“I’ll meet you at the station in a few.”
That was good enough for Babineau. “Max. I suppose I’ll be seeing you.”
“I would assume so, detective. Thank you.”
“I’m not doing you any favors.”
“Heaven forbid that I would ever jump to that conclusion.”
Babineau almost smiled. “Come on, Junior. We’re spinning our wheels here.”
As Hammond started to turn, Max stepped up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said quietly, almost conversationally, “I thought I warned you once what would happen if you made loose talk about my girl. Maybe you’ve just forgotten.” Hammond started to squirm under his tightening grip. “And maybe you’ve forgotten who taught me all I know about settling up a score. If I were Jimmy Legere, I’d tear out your tongue and feed it to you mashed and fried. But I’m not. Maybe you ought to start worrying about what else I might be.” He opened his hand and Hammond leapt away from him.
“You crazy son of a bitch. Who do you think you are, threatening a police officer?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Babineau drawled, licking the pastry sugar from his fingertips. “Did you, Detective Caissie?”
“I do think I heard something about loose talk, and it must have been directed at me. Maybe we’ll have to have a little talk, Junior. Maybe you should be worrying about me, not Max.”
Hammond scowled. “The two of you deserve each other.”
She caught a restraining handful of the back of Max’s shirt. “Yes, I think we do. I’ll see you back at the shop, Alain.”
After they’d gone, she turned to Max in a simmer of temper. “What exactly did he say to you?”
Max grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her up to meet his hard, soul-sucking kiss.
She staggered back from it, mouth bruised, eyes glassy. “If he told you that, he was lying,” she panted.
“Why?” His voice was tight and intense.
She knew he wasn’t talking about Hammond. “Why, what?”
“Why did you come down here? It wasn’t necessary for you to risk so much. I could have—”
“You came back.”
Her soft statement tossed him off track. “What?”
“The night before last. After you followed me out of the club, after I refused to listen to you, after all the awful things I did and said to you. You came back to my apartment, because you knew what happened in the parking garage would bring my nightmares back. You came back to be there for me. Why would you do that, Max? How could you be so . . . kind to me after I’d hurt you so badly?”
“Because it hurt me worse to think of you alone and afraid.”
His simple logic tore her in half. There were tears on her face when she launched herself at him, wrapping him up in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Take me upstairs and take me, Savoie.”
“Whatever you want, detective. Happy to do it for you.”
Fifteen
HE CARRIED HER, twined hot and eager about him, as far as the arch leading to the hall. Her mouth hurried over his face and neck, nipping, teasing, devouring, driving him wild. He stumbled into the wall, supporting his balance with one hand while trying to control her with the other. He couldn’t do both.
“Excuse me, Mr. Savoie.”
He looked over the top of Cee Cee’s head to see a blushing Jasmine. “Yes?” His voice was hoarse and impatient.
“You have a call from—”
“Take a message. I’m in a meeting and don’t wish to be disturbed.” He gripped the edge of the pocket door and slid it shut.
“A meeting?” Charlotte chuckled against the side of his throat.
“Meeting all your needs, sha. I think that deserves my undivided attention.”
“Here?”
“It’s my house. If I want to roll around naked with my woman on the parlor rugs, I can, you know.”
“I’m feeling very needy.”
“I’m feeling very obliging.”
“Max?”
“Charlotte?”
“Kiss me.”
From the way his heart was beating like crazy, she expected a rough savaging, which would have been just fine with her. But the touch of his mouth was soft and poignantly sweet upon hers. She made a helpless sound of wonder, of surrender, of encouragement as his tongue danced lightly along her lips. Then the exquisite seal of his upon hers, the fit so perfect, so stirring and strong.
While he leaned her back against the wall and took that kiss to a level deeper, her hands were busy on the buttons to the shirt she’d just put on, at the zipper of her jeans, then of his. She wiggled down from him without breaking from their kiss, swiftly shedding her clothing to the waist, then reluctantly left his lips to shimmy out of her pants and skim his shirt over his head. Then her mouth made a searing trail down his chest, and lower. She dragged his pants down to the tops of his work boots. Undoing the laces brought her eye level to the aggressive and somewhat menacing jut of his sex.
She regarded him warily.
I suppose you and I will have to get better acquainted.
She’d never touched him with any serious degree of intimacy. Not the way he’d almost religiously explored and conquered every available inch of her body with an insatiable curiosity and profound appreciation. Her reluctance had nothing to do with him. Making love with Max Savoie was the single most explosive pleasure she’d ever experienced.
But she’d had other experiences, too. They had nothing to do with pleasure, and everything to do with why the mere thought of a touch from anyone other than this man filled her with icy dread. Which was why she held herself back, just a bit, in case things were too good to be true, and all that remembered darkness was lying in wait behind the deceivingly beautiful delight.
Coward.
She finished with the laces. Max levered out of his boots and kicked free of his pants, leaving her to confront this last remaining barrier between her past and her future. Dammit. She wasn’t one to run from what scared her, and that fear was wrapped up around all the passion she felt for Max like an invasive, deep-rooted weed that would choke out her chance for happiness. If she let it.
She eyed that powerful, impatient length of him as a not-insurmountable roadblock to what she wanted.
I’ll make you a deal. You don’t hurt me, and I’ll take very good care of you.
She touched him lightly. He jerked against her palm. Smooth, warm. Not quite as terrifying as she’d imagined.
“Deal.”
“Did you say something to me?”
“Indirectly.”
She licked him. Strong and alive, like the rest of Max, only hotter.
“Charlotte, you don’t have to—”
She slid her mouth down the length of him.
Max’s knees buckled. His palms slapped against the wall as she continued to touch him, stroke him, weigh him in her palms. Though he wanted to, he didn’t dare touch her. And then there was the sharp, glassy fire moving up and down him, burning, tearing, pulling through him until he couldn’t catch his breath. Until he thought he’d gone deaf, dumb, and blind. Until he caught a glimpse of Heaven.
Having brought him right to the edge, she straightened, rising up between the brace of his arms to meet dazed green eyes. She filled her palms with his roughly beautiful face and told him with soft ferocity, “You’re mine, Savoie. Every piece of you is mine. Every breath you take is mine. And I want you madly.”
Heat and dark desire flared in his eyes. “I’m yours,” he agreed, his whisper raw and harsh and shaking. “Remind me t
o send a thank-you note to those fellas in lockup. Later.” His hand slipped behind her knee, bringing her leg up over his hip bone, opening her to his sudden claiming thrust. Pinning her to the wall as he drove into her, drove the breath from her body and the awareness from her half-shuttered eyes. And he drove them both to a climax that shattered time, space, and sanity.
CEE CEE LAY stretched out naked on the ornamental sofa. Max sat on the floor, his cheek warm and a bit scratchy on her abdomen. She toyed with his hair with the fingers of one hand while the others were laced through his.
His head shifted so their eyes could meet, his smile lazy and smug with contentment. “I can’t move. I think you’ve paralyzed me.”
Her hand clenched in his hair, shaking his head slightly. “Good. Then I can use you mercilessly at my leisure.”
His eyes closed. “Okay.”
“We’re going to be okay, Max.”
She felt a slow gathering of tension in his shoulders, a tightening of his hand about hers. She waited, giving him time to pull up whatever he needed to say.
“I was very young, Charlotte—three, possibly four years old, and so alone. You can’t understand that kind of loneliness, the kind that comes from being different. I kept hoping I could find someone else like me, so I’d reach out with that sense we have—secretly because I wasn’t supposed to ever let anyone know what I could do. Like casting out bait in a pond. Until one day I got a nudge back, and I was so excited. Then I got a tug. So I pulled back and there was another tug, harder this time. So I pulled back again as hard as I could, and it kept getting bigger and stronger and I got scared, so I stopped.
“But it was too late by then. He came to the door of our house. I could feel him, like a tingling in every part of me. My mama knew him. They started arguing, arguing about me. And then he hit her, and kept hitting her. Hurting her.” His voice broke off and the sound of his quick panting breath was filled with his fear and fury and confusion.
