Close to the Edge

by Kylie Brant

  Perfectly crazy. “You have to be kiddin’.” He peered more closely at her. Was she tipsier than he’d realized?

  “Why? We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends help each other.”

  He was beginning to feel hunted. And tempted. Mon Dieu, was he tempted. What man wouldn’t be? He’d never been overburdened with much of a conscience, but he had enough to know he’d never forgive himself if he agreed to her outrageous suggestion.

  She tilted her head, and he caught a hint of her perfume, something light and elusive that was meant to leave a man wanting to get closer. He straightened, putting a measure of distance between them. Getting closer was the last thing he should be considering right now.

  “If I’d known it only took a little wine to get you to this point, I’d have been plyin’ you with it the first day we met.” As a joke, it failed miserably. Her expression didn’t lighten, nor did she look away.

  “If you’ve been wanting to since the day we met, why should you be having second thoughts now that the opportunity has presented itself?”

  She made a good argument, he admitted to himself. It was that damn logical mind of hers. There wasn’t a thing he was going to say that wouldn’t dig his hole a little deeper. Still, he had to try.

  “It isn’t a good idea for friends to get involved.”

  “So you prefer to go to bed with people you don’t like? Really?” Her tone was surprised.

  “Oui. I mean, no.” It was hard to stay focused when she was gazing at him so intently, her blue eyes seeming darker, deeper, than he’d remembered. “What I meant was, sex is easy with people you can walk away from after the relationship is over. It gets complicated to move a friendship to an intimate level, and then back again.”

  “But that’s all in the expectations, isn’t it? I could see the problem if one of the parties decided they wanted more, but you and I already know what we want—to go back to being friends after it’s over.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re making this so difficult. You of all people should be able to handle this.”

  His temper began to simmer, ignited by a tide of frustration. “Why me of all people? Because I’m just a bum who uses women and tosses them aside when another one comes along?” He uttered the words like a dare, waiting for her to agree. There was just enough truth in the words for them to sting. But to hear that she believed the same would lash unmercifully.

  “Of course not.” She was regarding him cautiously. “I’m just pointing out that you should have a great deal of experience in ending things neatly. I trust you, Lucky. Call me crazy, but I do. I’d never suggest such a thing to anyone else.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’d never discuss such a thing with anyone else.”

  He felt like a cartoon character with a little red-horned devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, each offering conflicting advice. He was much more used to listening to the demon. Just the thought of taking Jacey to bed, of undressing her leisurely, of discovering all the secret sacred places where her scent lingered was more temptation than one man should have to bear. He’d never been one to avoid temptation. What was the point, when giving in to it was so much more pleasurable?

  It was as if a door he’d thought safely locked had been wedged open, summoning every wicked thought he’d been firmly suppressing since they’d met. Once he’d made the conscious decision to stay with the job he’d finagled from her, he’d had to lay some ground rules for himself. It didn’t take an expert to realize that sex and business didn’t mix.

  She was leaning toward him, just a little, and the neckline of her dress gaped, just enough to reveal the curve of her breast above its lacy cup. Abruptly he lost his train of thought. Her skin would be sleek as stroked silk, warm and inviting to the touch. And he wanted to touch. Too much.

  His conscience was getting harder to hear. It never had had a very loud speaking voice. It was easier to focus on the long line of her throat, on the pulse beating at its base. Really, what was the harm? They could both handle this. It could work, couldn’t it, if both of them wanted it to?

  Somehow her mouth seemed nearer. Had she moved, or had he? He was positive he hadn’t. Almost completely certain. Without conscious thought he reached up and laid his index finger against that pulse, felt each tiny beat. A woman’s body had a myriad of places where the pulse would pound just that strong, just that wild. For an instant he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be able to discover all of them for himself.

  Her eyelids drooped invitingly. Her lips parted. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, to see if her lips were as soft as they looked. To shape them with his own and for just a moment discover their taste, their texture.

  Three years ago he would never have hesitated. There was no shame in taking what a woman freely offered. But that was then, and those other women were different. They weren’t Jacey.

  He could feel her breath on his lips, the sweetness its own kind of enticement. What was the harm of one kiss, after all? It might be just the thing to bring her to her senses. Oui, she would be so shocked about crossing this line that she would see her suggestion for what it was. A foolish idea. His lips brushed hers, whisper-soft. Insane even.

  Insanity had never been so exhilarating.

  He returned for another taste, and then another. And then all thought receded as he turned more fully toward her, slid his hand into her hair and angled his mouth more completely over hers. With an eagerness he would have denied, he pressed her lips open and swept his tongue into her mouth.

  Her flavor was heady and somehow familiar, although he’d never kissed her before. But he’d thought of it. Years ago, before he’d known that this woman would come to mean more to him than he’d ever believed possible, he’d spent long, sleepless nights lying in bed staring up at the cracked water-stained ceiling in his apartment, considering doing exactly this, and more.

  She gave a little gasp, and he swallowed the small sound, scored her bottom lip with his teeth. It was just a kiss, meant to be savored and enjoyed. When it was over he didn’t want to be left with any regrets. It would be a shame to let the opportunity pass and still be plagued with questions about her response, the exquisite softness of her lips or the precise pressure it took to elicit the greatest pleasure.

  And for a moment he thought it was going to be just that easy, a kiss between two friends, a casual exchange that would put to rest the clamoring that had long been under his skin. Then her tongue met his in a long velvet glide, and the muscles in his belly clenched. The angle of the kiss changed, became deeper, hotter. There was heat here, the kind that could torch control and sear nerve endings. That warning whispered across his mind, was banished. He wasn’t a man to lose his head over a mere kiss.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair, pressing him closer and he willingly complied. Her mouth ate at his, hungry and demanding, making a mockery of restraint.

  Jacey could feel little licks of flame lapping up her spine, a conflagration of the senses. She’d known he’d be good at this. Expert, even. What she hadn’t reckoned on was her own reaction. There was something about the taste of him, something a little wild and untamed. The primitive responses that lurked in all men were just a bit closer to the surface with him. There would be no holding back with Lucky; he’d be the type of man to demand everything she had to offer, and more. The realization should have frightened her. It only fanned the flames higher.

  She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, wanting to feel sleek warm skin beneath her fingertips. Slipping one hand inside, she flexed her fingers, nearly purring at the warmth that transferred from the taut muscles there to her palm. Sex held no secrets for her; she wasn’t a virgin. But somehow she knew that intimacy with this man would shatter any previous experience she’d ever had.

  He pressed her back until her shoulders were against the arm of the sofa. She pulled him with her, wanting to prolong the contact. She needn’t have worried. He followed her down, fitting himself c
losely against her.

  Lucky dragged his lips away from hers to investigate the curve of her jaw, the long column of her throat. The pulse at its base scrambled madly, each tiny beat an invitation. He flicked the tip of his tongue across it, then was sidetracked by the trail of fragrance that traced from that spot to the sweet soft place beneath her ear. He hadn’t reckoned on this, that one taste of her would be enough to dim reason, haze judgment. He’d never been a man to be controlled by his impulses, but he couldn’t deny that the immediate attraction he’d felt for her all that time ago had only been tucked away, not extinguished. It had burst forth full-strength as soon as he’d touched her, like a flood from a crumbling dike.

  His mouth returned to hers, hunger whipping through his veins. He wanted more. He wanted to strip the dress from her, delighting in the freedom to kiss and caress every inch of that velvety skin. Every brush of her fingers on his chest notched his temperature up a bit higher.

  He smoothed a hand along her curves, the slender thigh, the rounded hip, the indentation of her waist. The journey was both enticing and frustrating. He didn’t want to feel the fabric between them, nor silk and lace. He wanted, more than was comfortable, to have her naked and take her with all the passion he’d been setting aside for years.

  There was a hint of roughness in the pressure of his mouth, but Jacey welcomed it. A simple kiss had never elicited this depth of emotion in her before, but then, there was nothing simple about this. Teeth clashed, tongues battled in a sensual struggle that held more than a tinge of impatience.

  She pushed the jacket off his shoulders, down his arms. He had to shed it to avoid being shackled. She used the opportunity to tug his shirt from his pants and release the rest of the buttons, then smoothed her hands over his torso.

  He muttered a curse against her neck and she smiled a little, satisfied. Despite all his earlier arguments, he couldn’t deny a response. They were pressed too closely together for her to be unaware of his reaction to her. It fueled her own, burned through her usual reserve to reach out and take exactly what she wanted.

  His chest was covered by a light patterning of black hair, and she stroked him, enjoying the feel of taut muscles beneath smooth skin. There wasn’t an ounce of softness to be found. All angles and planes, with the most intriguing hollows left where bone met sinew. The lean toughness of his body wasn’t a surprise, but her reaction to it was.

  She wanted, quite desperately, to test the skin over his collarbone with teeth and tongue, to explore the softness of the hair beneath his arms, to knead his taut biceps and to feel his arms tightly around her, with nothing between them. The thoughts were foreign, yet strong enough to incite her to act; her intentions were all but shredded in the next instant.

  Lucky swept his hand up her thigh, enjoying the texture of silk-encased satin. And then his fingers moved higher, and thought was shattered when he met a lacy nylon top with warm bare skin above it. His blood began to pound, hammering him from the inside out. He could feel the whisper of muscle beneath the silky softness, and was tortured by the knowledge that an even more exquisite softness was just inches away.

  He stilled, breath torn raggedly from his lungs, as he waged a silent inner war. Opening his eyes, he tried to focus, nearly groaned when he did. The shoulder of her dress had slid down one shoulder, revealing the lacy strap of her bra, the curve of her breast. Around her shoulders her hair was a sexy tangle from his hands, and her lips were slightly parted and swollen from his kisses.

  He’d never considered himself a particularly honorable man. Tough choices had always been more comfortable to skirt completely than to grapple with. But right here, right now, he waged the battle of his life, and whatever the outcome, he knew he’d be the loser.

  She wasn’t for him. He’d recognized that the first time he’d seen her, felt that first punch of desire. That fact had been hammered home again and again over the years. They were separated by background, bloodline and experience. He’d made his peace with that truth, and no one had been more surprised than he when they’d become friends despite it.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and the sheen of longing in her eyes nearly tipped the scales. They were dazed with lust, longing and something else, something he perhaps imagined but that threatened to unman him, nevertheless. Trust.

  Wrenching himself away from her, he sat on the edge of the couch, forced oxygen into his lungs with great rasping breaths. His fists were clenched, as frustration and unchecked desire crashed and churned within him. He didn’t have a chivalrous bone in his body, so there was no reason for this gallantry. No reason not to give into the passion they both felt, the edgy violent need that even now was clawing at him.

  No reason but one.

  “Lucky.” Her voice, slightly slurred, held a question he didn’t think he could answer. To keep his hands from reaching for her again, he busied them with buttoning his shirt.

  “Take three aspirin and a couple glasses of water before you go to…sleep.” Not bed. He definitely didn’t want to think about her in bed. Alone. “It will lessen the effects of the alcohol.”

  There was a long silence, but as he reached for his jacket, she straightened, swung her feet off the couch. It was only then that he saw she still wore the spike heels, and the realization scalded his senses all over again. For a brief self-indulgent moment he harbored a mental image of her bare, save for those shoes, thigh-high nylons and the scraps of lace she wore beneath her dress. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he tore his gaze away, bolting from the couch.

  “I take it I’m going to be sleeping alone.”

  “’Tite, you could tempt a saint.” Which he wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “But tomorrow you’ll be damn glad one of us stopped before it was too late.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  Her soft question had him freezing in the act of shrugging into his jacket. What if time and sobriety had no effect on her decision? What then? Would he be able to withstand the temptation if she offered day after day?

  His throat nearly closed at the thought. “You will be.” He rose, strode to the door, and then paused, chanced one more glance at her. She was staring at him with wide, serious eyes, and that hint of vulnerability was back on her face. Jaw tightening, he looked away. “Lock the door after I leave. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He didn’t wait to hear her response before letting himself outside, welcoming the slap of cool air against his fevered skin. Jogging down the steps, he knew it was useless to go home. There would be no sleep for him right now. Maybe not for a long time.

  So instead of returning to his apartment he cruised the interstate around the city. He lowered all the windows, wishing the rush of fall air would chase the heat from his veins. But as the hours of aimless driving passed, his gas tank showed signs of depletion, but his blood hadn’t even begun to cool.

  It had been a mistake to touch her. He’d known it even at the time. It had been reckless and supremely arrogant to believe that he could do so, even for a moment, and then walk away without repercussions. He’d been a couillon to even consider it. Tomorrow she’d be embarrassed by what had transpired, ill-at-ease with him. While he…he’d be haunted by her scent, her taste and the softness of her skin.

  He had the dismal feeling that once opened, the door he’d locked against all those emotions wasn’t going to be easily secured again.

  It was hours before he returned to his apartment on Bienville Street. The business it was located above had first been a bar, then a strip club and currently housed a down-on-her-luck palm reader who ran a voodoo shop for gullible tourists. The psychic was the quietest neighbor he’d had so far. Although it was probably the sixth place he’d lived in since leaving the bayou, the apartment was almost interchangeable with his previous ones, down to the cracked plaster and water-stained ceilings.

  Since he only slept there, it didn’t make much sense to spend any real money on a place to live.

  Lucky let himself into the apartment, then closed and lo
cked the door behind him. Slipping off his jacket, he crossed to the bedroom and emptied the pockets onto the bedside table before hanging the jacket in the boxy closet.

  He stripped, padded to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Turning the water to a frigid, punishing spray, he swiped back his hair and lifted his face to it, welcoming the gradual cooling of his skin, if not his insides. Long minutes later he turned the faucet off, grabbed a towel and dried off carelessly, slicking his hair back with his fingers.

  The process of readying for bed did nothing to summon sleep. He was still wired, but it was late, only a couple of hours from dawn. Walking into the bedroom, he switched on the lamp beside the bed and picked up the cell phone he’d set there earlier. Flipping through the options, he noted that he had three voice messages.

  He pulled back the covers, slid into bed, pressed the key to replay them. The first was from Remy, and it was good to hear his friend’s familiar voice in the near darkness.

  “Lucky, where y’at? Gettin’ it on with some hottie, prob’ly. Listen, Tante…she’s…she’s not good, mon ami. Not good at all.”

  His earlier feeling dissipated into concern. He could easily read the underlying emotion in the man’s voice.

  “She’s dyin’. Tha’s what they tell me. Can you believe that? Strongest damn woman you or I ever knew, right? ’Member when she caught us drinkin’ that moonshine in back of the church and near about tore the hide off both of us?”

  The memory summoned a smile and Lucky stared into the shadows, remembering the scene. They’d been thirteen, and both had given the woman more than a grudging respect ever since for the attempt, if not for her limited success. They’d both been damn fast, even then.