by Ann Major
Chapter Eleven
She what?” Garret exploded.
It took only one stunned second for his blood to come to a boil.
He pivoted back in his chair, yanked the knot of his tie loose and ripped open the top button of his shirt.
Johnson was silent, an ominous presence in the tiny office. On Garret’s desk was Marc Fontaineau’s police report. Garret had been going over it when Johnson had crept stealthily into his office and shut the door.
“I said Miss Martin, the one with the red hair—”
“Dammit. I know which one. Why didn’t you stop her before she got to him?”
“I didn’t recognize her until she was on her way out and took her scarf off her hair and winked at me. She told the guard she was Fontaineau’s sister, so he let her in to see the kid. She was with him about ten minutes. Now the kid won’t open his mouth. I thought we were on the verge of making a deal.”
“No doubt she thinks she’s helping him.” Garret hesitated, picked up a pencil and Fontaineau’s police report and thumbed through the pages. “Johnson, I’ll handle this from here.”
But Johnson didn’t budge.
Garret glanced up, his dark gaze glittering with anger. “Well?”
“Sir, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“She posted Fontaineau’s bail. He’s out—as free as a bird.”
“And so desperate he may do something else if I don’t get to him fast. What is she trying to do to me?”
“Maybe she’s showing you who’s really the boss.”
Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Johnson reveal how immensely he was enjoying himself at Garret’s expense.
But Garret knew. He broke the pencil he was holding. “I thought I told you to get the hell out of here.”
“Now is that any way to talk to a fellow officer of the law?”
“Hey, I’m not in the mood—”
“So I see.” Johnson leaned down and picked up half of the broken pencil. The corners of his mouth had begun to twitch, but he fought valiantly to suppress his smile.
When he kept smirking beside the desk, Garret got up, went to the door and held it open for him.
Reluctantly Johnson slowly shuffled out of the room.
Alone once more, tension rippled through Garret. He picked up the police report. His gaze was hard as he scanned it once more before he tossed it back to his desk. He might as well shred the thing. Noelle Martin was running this case, not him.
Noelle had been back in New Orleans a week, and what had she done? At every point she’d defied him. And now this. If he didn’t take her in hand, soon all his men would be secretly laughing at him behind his back. Not just Johnson.
A week ago Garret had forced her to come down to the station to pick the Fontaineau kid out of a lineup. Instead she’d sulkily viewed the lineup, taken one look at Fontaineau’s blond head and said that none of the people looked familiar.
“The next thing you’ll tell me, chere,” Garret had said, “was that Fontaineau just dropped by your mother’s shop and talked you into closing early so the two of you could have a friendly chat about whether or not he should give the money back to the bank.”
“Why, Garret, how did you guess?” She’d batted her eyes then, like a Southern belle—just to mock him. “Why, that’s exactly what happened.”
Garret had even yelled at her, but nothing he’d done or threatened had done a lick of good. Afterward she’d been coldly furious at Garret because she hadn’t wanted to come back to New Orleans. Garret had been equally furious—so angry that when he’d driven her home to the high-rise apartment on St. Charles Avenue with the view of the river that she’d recently leased, he hadn’t dared go up for fear he’d throttle her.
Garret picked up the phone and dialed her at work. On the sixth ring he glanced at his watch and realized how late it was.
He dialed her home number.
“Hello,” she purred.
Her silky, vibrant voice evoked an immediate electric response in him. Then he realized she must have been expecting someone else. Vincent? At the thought, a muscle in Garret’s stomach pulled.
“It’s me—Garret,” he muttered in a fierce, low tone.
There was a hush on the other end. He almost expected her to slam the phone down.
“I heard you came by the station this morning,” he whispered.
“So? Is there a law against it?”
Her tone was light, sarcastic, but he caught an edge of fear in it.
“Against what you did—yes. I’m coming over.”
“To arrest me?” Again, that light sarcastic tone angered him.
It was time he shook her up a bit. “I’ve got a better idea, chere,” he murmured.
“Garret—no!”
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said grimly.
“Not tonight. Tomorrow. Any other time.”
“Tonight, cherel”
“I’ve got a date with Beau. It’s important.”
“So is this,” Garret ground out, fighting to control his temper.
“Garret, please—”
“Cancel your date.”
“No.”
For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then she banged the phone down.
His office was silent except for the dial tone hissing at him like an electronic serpent. Hot fury exploded inside him. He hated the way she thought it was her God-given right to treat him arrogantly—as if he were still some underling she used from time to time because she found him amusing. He felt like hurling the phone across the room. Instead, with a shaking hand, he replaced it gently on the cradle.
He ripped his coat off the back of his chair and raced out of his office. It was time he started calling the shots.
Ten minutes later Garret braked his truck to a stop in front of the fire hydrant at the corner of Noelle’s apartment building. He was about to jump out when he remembered how critical Noelle always was of his appearance. He leaned over and studied himself hurriedly in the rearview mirror.
Damn, he was a wreck. Vincent had probably been born in a three-piece, flawlessly cut suit with his hair neatly slicked back on either side of that permanent part.
With deft, impatient movements, Garret quickly buttoned his collar and tightened the knot of his tie. He ran his fingers through his hair, but a thick unruly lock tumbled back across his brow almost at once.
As he hopped out of his truck with a large brown sack in his hand, the doorman came rushing toward him. “Hey, mister, are you blind? You can’t park there! This is a fire lane!”
With casual arrogance Garret tossed the doorman his keys. “Move it if you need to.” Then Garret yanked his wallet out of his hip pocket and flashed his badge. “I’m here to see Miss Martin,” he said.
The doorman’s face registered disbelief, then shock. “Miss Martin—the police?’’
“She’s not in too much trouble, so keep it under your hat,” Garret commanded crisply. “And another thing, if a Mr. Beaumont Vincent should turn up for Miss Martin, keep him down here till I return. I’m sure Miss Martin would prefer to keep this matter a private one.”
The doorman nodded gravely. Garret hurried past him into the lobby toward the elevators before the delectable aroma of Mannie’s fried oysters and onion rings wafting from the brown bag could arouse the doorman’s suspicions
The plush ninth-floor hall was deserted when Garret stepped out of the elevator. He rang Noelle’s doorbell.
He heard her bare toes padding eagerly across the carpet. “I’m not quite ready, Beau—” There was a lilt in her voice—a lilt that made Garret’s gut tighten because it was for Beau.
When she cracked the door, Garret pushed it open. In the next second, he shoved her gently back and slammed the door behind him. He shot the bolt of the dead lock.
“You!” she gasped, her golden eyes ablaze. “You have no right to barge in here uninvited.”
Vaguely he was aware of spa
cious, softly-lit white rooms, of extravagant tapestries on the walls, of wonderful old things from different periods cleverly displayed in an elegant, high-rise setting.
“I told you I was coming, chere,” he murmured softly.
“I don’t want you here.”
He scarcely noted the fury in her low tone. His own emotions were blazing out of control.
All he saw was woman—his woman.
Dammit! She was wearing next to nothing! And for Beau!
Her fiery hair was still moist from her shower. Silken strands of it were glued sexily against her neck. Thin pink silk in the form of a wraparound robe sashed at her waist clung to her slightly wet female shape. He could see the outline of each nipple pushing against soft damp silk. He caught the scent of wild roses, and every cell in his hard male body reacted.
“I told you, I have a date,” she stated imperiously.
She kept backing away from him as he followed her soundlessly into the room.
He set the sack of oyster poor-boy sandwiches and onion rings on the table.
“I know—with me.”
“With Beau,” she corrected.
“Is that how you dress for him? Or undress for him?” Garret demanded, angry at himself for feeling so jealous.
She went white, and her pale, distraught face touched him more than he wanted it to. Dear God, she was so beautiful and so vulnerable looking, never more so than now with that glazed look of pain in her eyes.
His emotions were at war. He wanted to comfort her tenderly. He wanted to seize her, to crush her soft shape against his hot body, to carry her into the bedroom, to make her accept him until he drove all thoughts of Vincent or any other man from her mind and heart.
“Beau is a gentleman. He would never...”
Garret’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “Act like me.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “And if you think you can run my life like you own me, Garret, you’re—”
“Right,” he finished silkily. “I told you that when you came back to New Orleans, you came back to me.”
“No.”
“Maybe you didn’t realize that was what you were doing, chere,” he drawled lazily.
She flushed. Her eyes were wild as she glanced from him to her open bedroom door. Suddenly she made a desperate dash for freedom toward that room. In a single lunge he caught her, pulling her just inside the door, seizing her by the wrists and hauling her effortlessly against his chest. Her long legs fit against his, and he felt on fire with the slim sweep of her body against his own.
During the struggle, her sash came unknotted and fell to the floor. Her robe gaped open, and he saw that she wore nothing but a lace bra and panties.
Hungrily his eyes slid over her. His heart began to pound violently at the sight of the transparent pink lace cups that contained her breasts, at the filmy bikini panties that revealed more than they concealed. Desire flooded through him, but he fought it. And the effort made him shake.
He held her fast, adjusting the position of her arms behind her back, so that he could span both her wrists with one hand, leaving his other free.
He could feel her quivering. He did not know whether with revulsion or anticipation. All he knew was that he could feel her skin burning with the same heat as his own. He had to show her that in his own way he worshiped her more reverently than any gentleman ever could—especially more than her thin-blooded Beau. Then—if she really meant no, he would accept it.
With his free hand Garret smoothed the wild red tangles away from her face and caressed her cheek. His fingers trailed lower, exploring her gently until she laid her head back against the wall and sighed softly in a long breathless shudder of defeat. His fingertips slid down her belly and lower.
A flush burned across her cheeks; her eyes were dark with desire. Her pulse thudded in unison with his. Neither of them knew the exact moment when she had lost the will to fight him, but both of them knew she had. He rubbed his cheek against the softness of her thick hair and lightly pressed his lips against her forehead.
“Noelle, chere....” he murmured hoarsely.
He had released her wrists, and instead of pushing him away, she was holding on to him, clinging to him fiercely. He felt the touch of her fingers moving the length of his spine.
He was the one who pulled away. She looked wonderingly up at him, expectant, tamed.
His own gaze was cynical as he tilted her face up to him and stared deeply into her eyes. “Don’t ever tell me again that you didn’t come back to me, chere, because I won’t believe you. I’m in your blood, a part of you…just as you’re in mine. Maybe you don’t like it any more than I do, but you belong to me. You always have. You always will. And I belong to you. Maybe we should quit fighting it and figure out a way to make it work.”
Noelle stared back at him, shaking her head as if to deny it, but he could see she was shocked to realize he was speaking the truth. Her pink mouth trembled.
Then he brushed two dangling red curls from her eyes as she struggled to accept this new idea.
“I—I don’t know what to do,” she said wearily at last. “All I know is that in the past everything has always gone wrong between us and that I’ve made promises to my family I didn’t want to break.”
He shrugged in that gesture of his that was peculiarly French. “Why don’t you start by getting dressed?”
“But?”
“Beau’s coming over. Remember, chere. You and I need to talk. And I brought supper.”
“What?” She was smoothing her hair, trying in vain to restore it to order.
“Oyster poor boys—cooked by Mannie herself.”
“My favorite.”
“Why do you think I brought them? His voice was low and filled with innuendo. “There’s nothing I like better...than tempting you.”
Chapter Twelve
The broad brown crescent river snaked through a New Orleans that gleamed pink in the setting sun. Garret drank his icy beer with a feeling of pleasant expectation as he studied the big freighter inching its way up river. He felt a wave of satisfaction as he remembered how quickly he’d had Noelle melting in his arms and as thoroughly caught up by desire as he.
It was too bad he’d had to stop because Vincent was on his way over, but Garret was philosophical. He’d been in a hurry to get over here and settle things between Noelle and himself. But now that he had, he had to set Vincent straight. After that there was the police business to smooth over. Then Garret would have all the time in the world to court her.
He was determined not to rush Noelle. That was one of the mistakes he’d made in the past. They had hurried into sex before they were really sure of each other. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant... If he hadn’t followed her to Raoul’s that night... If he could have listened to her and trusted her instead of getting so damned jealous... If he hadn’t been so ready to believe her grandmother... Two years ago, Garret had made a lot of mistakes. The last thing he wanted to do was repeat them.
He heard the bedroom door open. The soft swish of her skirt and the scent of wild roses told him Noelle had entered.
He turned. She was dressed in emerald-green silk. Gold and diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears and hands. She was wearing the necklace he had given her for Christmas. For an instant he studied her wide-spaced slanting eyes, the red fullness of her soft mouth, her slim yet voluptuous figure. He saw the startled golden light in her eyes, the fire in the molten lava of her hair. There was fire in her as well—warmth, desire.
It had been two months since he’d last made love to her. And not one night had passed that he hadn’t lain in his bed longing for her, longing for the scent and taste of her, for the warmth of her skin next to his after they’d made love and fallen asleep. Every night he’d spent alone his body had been filled with the same tightness, the same aching tension that filled it now.
She came to him. “Enjoying the view?” she asked in a prim, light tone.
He studied the sleek line o
f her hips, her slim waist, the curve of her soft breasts. He felt the fierce need to touch her, to rouse her again.
“Yes,” he murmured dryly. “The room and view are magnificent. You’ve done wonders with...” He forced his gaze from her soft voluptuous curves to the furnishings of her apartment. “...with this place. You obviously know how to put things together. I can’t even match ties and shirts.”
“I know.” Demurely she came nearer and touched his tie.
He smiled ruefully. “That bad?”
She nodded, responding to his smile with a rosy blush.
“Then I’ll take it off,” he murmured.
He unbuttoned his shirt so that she could pull his tie loose. When she unbuttoned another button, he stopped her.
“That’s far enough,” he whispered huskily.
She sighed in disappointment.
“So brown throats turn the lady on?” he teased in a low, caressing tone. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“Garret!”
Her blush deepened as she handed him his tie. The tips of his fingers brushed hers. “Just hoping,” he said lightly, grinning at her.
Her downcast eyes studied the zillions of black, bumblebee polka dots on the yellow tie. “This is awful. Really awful.”
“It caught my eye in the shop.”
Her chuckle was warm and vibrant. “I’m sure it did.”
“You have to admit it’s colorful.”
“Busy,” she corrected gently.
“You still haven’t taken me shopping.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
She reached out and took his hand, and even that excited him.
“That makes us the perfect couple,” he said. “We’ll never bore each other.”
Her whiskey-colored eyes were huge. She was so damned pretty every nerve in his body was tingling in sharp awareness of her. Her fingers tightened around his in response.
“Garret, I—” Noelle never finished her sentence.
The telephone began ringing. Whens he reached it, she knocked it to the carpet so agitated was she from the warm intimacy of the moment before. She knelt and picked it up. “Why, Beau!” Noelle’s eyes flew wide open and then narrowed on Garret as she listened to what Vincent was saying.
