by JoAnn Ross
"That was meant as fact, not flattery, but hey, if you think you can stay awake while we do the mattress mambo, I'm up for it."
"Be still my heart." Kate patted her chest. "But as romantic as that offer is, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."
Another step. Sway. Focus.
Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he scooped her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder, picking up her overnight bag with his free hand.
"Dammit, Broussard." She stiffened in his arms. "If you think carrying me around like some caveman—"
"Technically, it's a fireman's carry. Not a caveman's."
"I know that."
Her head shot up, throwing off his equilibrium. He put his hand on her butt to regain balance. Then, when that felt a bit too good for comfort, Nick realized this might not be the best idea he'd ever had.
"I was speaking metaphorically," she insisted from her upside-down position.
"You're the one who brought up wanting romance."
"I didn't say I wanted it! I was being sarcastic."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out." So he wasn't exactly Rhett Butler. But no woman had ever complained before. "Next time, Scaflett, I'll try to be more gallant," he promised as he entered the bedroom.
She lifted her head again. "There's not going to be a? next time. And how the hell did you know that?"
"Know what?" He tried to be careful as he dumped her onto the bed, but as boneless as she was from exhaustion, she still bounced twice.
"That Scarlett was my birth name."
"You're kidding."
"Unfortunately I'm not." She braced herself up orm her elbows and shook her head.
Her lips turned down in a frown that made him want to take them with his own mouth. And that was just for starters.
"I was originally named Scarlett Kathleen Carroll. Needless to say, I dropped the Scarlett at the same time I changed my last name to Delaney. Tara's wasn't as obnoxious, and as you undoubtedly noticed, she was more flamboyant than me, anyway, so she kept it. Our mother," I she said dryly, "took Gone with the Wind to heart."
"Apparently."
He stood beside the bed, looking down at her, taking | in the tumbled red spiral curls, the deep green eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, and voluptuous lips, and decided that if she'd been around when the movie studio was conducting that nationwide search to find the perfect Scarlett O'Hara, Vivien Leigh would've been flat out of the running.
"What?" she asked, getting a bit of her sass back.
He rubbed his jaw. "You know, I can understand why you changed it, but it sure as hell does fit."
"That's it. Now I'm definitely going to have to shoot you." She flopped back onto the mattress as Nick went Into the adjoining head to retrieve his toothbrush and shaving kit. "Tomorrow."
It only took a moment. But when he returned, she was standing beside the bed, taking what was known in the SEALs as a combat nap. Her eyes were open, she was staring off into space, and if she wasn't actually asleep, she was seconds from falling on her face.
"Hey," he said gently.
She jumped when he touched her arm. Her eyes widened, filled with what appeared to be fear, and her left hand instantly flew up to a shoulder holster that wasn't there.
"You've got good instincts." Nick knew she hated Feeling vulnerable. Suspecting that she'd hate even more having shown any vulnerability, he opted for a matter-of-fact tone. "Cop instincts."
She hitched in a breath and, as he watched, struggled to settle herself. "I wasn't sleeping."
"Did you hear me say you were?" Because it was get-ting harder and harder not to touch her, he allowed himself to smooth a hand over her shoulder.
"I was about to open my suitcase and got to thinking. About.. . things."
"You've got a lot on your mind."
"I wasn't sleeping," she repeated, "You just startled me."
"It was my fault," he said. "I shouldn't have made a move without letting you know first."
He figured they'd he able to move beyond this moment.
He'd apologize for spooking her. She'd get her tough-as-nails cop mojo back, and they'd move on from there.
That's what Nick thought.
Until, dammit, she nervously, unconsciously, licked her lips.
And nearly took his breath away.
"So, with that in mind, I guess I should warn you," he said.
"About what?"
He slid his fingers into the coiled red silk of her hair. "That I'm about to make a move."
Her eyes widened. In the glistening glow of the copper wall sconce, he noticed, for the first time, gold flecks dusting over the emerald green.
"I'm not sure this is a very good idea."
"You're probably right." Not wanting to dwell on the negative, he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. "But I'm having a damn difficult time thinking of a better one."
She could have moved away. Hell, as a big-city cop, she could've probably done some fancy martial-arts move she'd learned at the police academy to throw him on his ass.
But she didn't so much as move a muscle. Just stood there, watching. Waiting.
So, Nick went ahead and did what he'd been wanting to do since she showed up at his boat this afternoon.
He lowered his head and took her mouth.
20
IT WAS NOTHING LIKE WHAT KATE HAD anticipated. There was tenderness where she would have expected power, patience rather than passion.
The kiss was a beguiling whisper against her mouth, soft as thistledown and tasting of cognac. It was only a kiss, she told herself as his tongue traced a damp, beguiling pattern across her lips.
The feathery brushing of lips, the slow stroke of his tongue, the gentle nip of his teeth on her bottom lip was more temptation than proper kiss. More promise than pressure.
Kate knew that she could stop him. Even now, if she stepped away, he would have to let her go. But his mouth was so clever. So tempting.
That his lips would be so clever, and his hands would move up and down her back with such a confident, practiced touch, came as no surprise. Any man who radiated such potent sexuality would've had plenty of opportunity to perfect his technique. What was coming as a revelation was that such a meltingly soft touch could create such scintillating heat.
His mouth tempted.
Enticed.
Seduced.
As rich liquefying pressure flowed through her, Kate let out the breath she'd been holding on a soft, shimmer-ing sigh and twined her fingers together behind his neck.
God, she loved his mouth. Loved. It.
She loved its taste. Its thrillingly clever expertise. She wanted to feel it all over her body, wanted it to do things to her. Wicked, wild, wonderful things. Everywhere. In every way. All night long.
And that was just for starters.
Desires, too long untapped, rose to the surface,! drawing her into a world of steamy, potent passion. Kate realized she could easily get lost in this world. Too fast. And too easily.
The problem was, as that same desire tightened her nipples and pooled between her thighs, she couldn't think of a single reason why that wouldn't be a good idea.
Oh, hell. Nick groaned inwardly. Talk about your major miscalculations!
The attraction had been there from the moment Nick had seen her, but no mere attraction had ever made him ache the way Kate Delaney was making him ache. And no sexual desire had ever made him feel as if he were inexorably sinking into that quicksand Big An-toine had warned him about.
Although it had taken every vestige of self-restraint Nick possessed, he'd started out gently. Lightly. Enough to get her used to the idea, but not enough to scare her off. Or worse yet, piss her off.
The plan was to draw her into the mist, not drag her into the flames. But what was a guy to do when the sexiest female on the planet wrapped her long, slender arms around his neck, pressed her stone-hard little nipples against his chest, and—oh, Jesus—drew his bottom lip into her mouth?
/> Splaying his fingers against the back of her head, he crushed his mouth against those petal-soft lips, pushed his tongue past her teeth.
It wasn't like she was helpless. If she'd so much as murmured a word of protest, he'd have stopped.
Granted, it wouldn't be easy, he admitted as he pulled her up on her toes and yanked her tight against him. Not with those hot, sexy little sounds coming from her throat. Not when her short, neat nails were digging into his shoulders.
Not when she was kissing him back, her mouth greedily feeding as if his were an all-you -can-eat chocolate buffet.
His senses tangled, Nick could hear the blood roaring in his ears as he ran a hand down her side, skimming over her, exploring the shape of her body while his tongue explored her taste. His fingers grazed the side of her breast, dipped in at her waist, delved lower, over her slim hips.
In turn, she yanked his T-shirt free of his jeans; her hands ran up and down his back, fretting over muscles and tendons, sending eveYy nerve ending in his body into meltdown.
He pushed her back against the wall and moved between her legs, the placket of his denim jeans making a rasping sound against the front of her black slacks.
And still she didn't back away. Instead, wrapping one of those mile-long legs around him, she molded herself against his aroused body.
His mouth raced over her face, along her jaw, down the long silk of her throat, his teeth nipping at the hollow where her neck curved into smooth, slender shoulders.
He ached to touch her. In every way.
Ached to taste her. Everywhere.
Ached with a need so deep and primal it nearly brought Nick to his knees.
She was warm.
She was woman.
And, hot damn, she was willing.
He could have her. Now. Tonight. All night.
And then what, Broussard?
What're you going to do tomorrow? When she'll hate you for taking advantage of the situation? Of her?
Although it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, rather than pulling her down onto his bed and taking what he needed, taking her hard and fast, consequences be damned, Nick managed, just barely, to surrender the intoxicating warmth of her mouth.
And her oh-so-willing body.
It took Kate a second to realize his hands were no longer on her.
She nearly stumbled.
A strawberry flush rode high on her cheekbones and in the deep V of her blouse, between the buttons Nick couldn't remember opening. Her eyes were bright, as if burning with fever, and her hand, lifting to her throat, was far from steady as her fingers brushed across skin (hat already bore a faint bruise from his teeth.
"Well." She sounded every bit as breathless as Nick Pelt. "I didn't realize they had earthquakes in Louisiana."
"They don't."
"Then that was us?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it was."
"I think we may be in trouble."
Nick plowed his hands through his hair. "Look, I'm—"
"If you dare say you're sorry, I really will have to shoot you," she said, cutting off his plan to do exactly that.
"You kissed me." She shrugged. "I kissed you back," she added, proving herself the master of understatement, given that she'd come damn close to sucking out his tonsils. "Men aren't the only ones with urges."
She dragged her hand through those tangled bright curls he'd been imagining draped across his thighs. "Just because I'm a cop, that doesn't mean I'm cold, dammit."
"Sweetheart, the last word I'd use to describe you is cold. In fact, if you were any hotter, this boat would've gone up in flames."
She didn't deny his appraisal. "Well, now that we've satisfied our curiosity, we can just forget what happened and move on."
"That was one helluva kiss, Detective Chere." Because he couldn't resist the lure of that magnolia-soft skin, he ran the back of his hand down her cheek and enjoyed feeling the heat rise again. "I'm not sure f m going to be able to forget it that easily."
This time she ducked away from the light caress. "Well, you'll have to try. Because it's not going to happen again."
He watched her square her shoulders, stiffen her spine, and, right before his eyes, morph into that no-nonsense, Joe Friday, Yankee police detective. Which, he told himself reluctantly, was probably for the best.
"I'lll give it my best shot."
"You do that. Now, considering you're charging me by the hour, I suppose we ought to call this a night."
Here's your hat. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
"Works for me," Nick said. "I'll see you at nine."
"What's wrong with eight?"
He figured she'd just argue if he pointed out that she needed to get a decent night's sleep. "You're not going to find any shops open before ten. Nine'll give us plenty of time for breakfast."
"I don't eat breakfast."
"You should. It's the most important meal of the day. But if you're still serious about not eating breakfast in the morning, you can have yourself a mug of creamy café au lait and watch me eat."
21
DAMN. NICK BROUSSAED WAS, HANDS DOWN, the most frustrating man she'd ever met, Kate thought as he sauntered out of the bedroom. It wasn't that he wasn't being extremely obliging, which he was.
If he'd been telling the truth about that laser on her blouse, he'd also saved her life.
Of course, she was paying for his services. Still, that was a lot more than she'd bargained for when she'd hired him.
But even as she kept reminding herself that she needed him, Kate hated the way he kept steamrollering her, doing whatever the hell he wanted. And worse yet, somehow getting her—a card-carrying, self-admitted control freak—to go along with his plan.
She wasn't used to surrendering power over any aspect of her life to anyone. But she seemed incapable of bucking this frustrating man.
Too much was happening, dammit. Kate was starting to feel on the verge of coming unraveled at any minute. She'd never been o'ne to back away from danger. She was a cop, for Pete's sake.
So why the hell couldn't she handle one slow-talking, laid-back Louisiana lothario?
Okay. What she needed was a good night's sleep. Tomorrow morning, fresh and rested, she'd be able to marshal mental reinforcements. Find her self-control.
At least here on this boat no one was trying to kill her.
Kate still couldn't believe her sister was dead. Maybe they hadn't spoken for years, and maybe that was as much her fault as it was Tara's. But Kate had always believed, in the back of her mind, that she'd have plenty of time to make things right between the two of them. She'd always hoped that one of these days, Tara would escape from under their mother's influence and discover that you really could have a life on the right side of the law.
Of course, she allowed, as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, her own life wasn't so hot right now.
But her recent problems were only a temporary glitch. Something that she would get past, then move on with her life.
She changed into the pair of boxer shorts and oversize navy Chicago Police Department T-shirt she used for pajamas, then climbed into bed. As exhausted as she was from traveling, and all the other events of the day, Kate should have fallen asleep right away. But she couldn't stop her unruly mind from circling back to that kiss.
If such a blood-heating, knee-weakening experience could even be called a mere kiss. Kate imagined entire galaxies had been blown to smithereens with less heat and force.
What had she been thinking? From the moment she'd arrived at this beautiful boat and seen him standing on the dock, backlit by the lowering sun, she'd known he was going to be trouble. Trouble wrapped up in a six-foot-two, buffed, and tan package of bad-boy charm.
She rolled over. Punched her goose-down pillow.
Having been raised in a home where truth wasn't even an occasional visitor, Kate hated nothing worse than a lie.
She never, ever lied.
Not even
to herself.
Especially not to herself.
She'd been vulnerable. She didn't like to admit it, hated worse being it, but there it was. There was no denying the fact.
It wasn't Nick Broussard himself, although he was definitely more of a temptation than most. It was merely that she'd been under a lot of stress. She hadn't been eating properly. Hadn't been sleeping. Factor in her having been celibate for the past six months, ever since her affair had crashed and burned on the pyre of her testimony, and it only made sense that she'd have reacted so intensely.
It hadn't really had anything to do with him personally.
I could have been any man.
Okay, maybe not any man. Like she'd rather be smeared with honey and staked out on a killer anthill than have Dubois touch her. But just about any sexually atltractive male probably would have garnered the same response.
Well, not exactly the same response. Remy Landreaux was good-looking and sexy in a suave, GQ sort of way. But she certainly didn't feel inclined to wrap herself like poison ivy around the homicide detective.
Oh, hell. Who was she kidding?
She rolled over again, onto her back, and glared up the ceiling.
The former SEAL was a walking, talking teste terone bomb of a complication. But she'd never had any problems dealing with complications in the past.
In a way, it was good they'd gotten that kiss out of the way. What was done was done. Now that they'd gotten that sexual tension out of their systems, they could move on and concentrate all their energy on bringing her sister's killer to justice.
Nick wasn't going to be a problem.
Because she wouldn't allow him to be.
That's what Kate told herself.
Liar.
22
THE ST. JUDE SHELTER ON RAMPART WAS appropriately named, given that St. Jude was the patron saint of hopeless causes, and Tara Delaney figured her situation was about as hopeless as anyone's could get.
The only good thing was, according to the small blurb on page 8-B of The Times-Picayune, everyone— including, she dearly hoped, Leon and his psychopathic nutcase son, Stephen—thought she was dead. And for now, although she hated the idea of Toussaint grieving about her being gone, she was damn well going to stay that way, for both their sakes, until she could come up with a plan.
