by Blake, Toni
“Tequila sunrise.”
Another surprise. “Hittin’ the hard stuff tonight?”
“Just approaching the evening in a different way.”
Yeah, he could see that. Her lace dress hugged her more snugly than the previous one, the skimpier fabric maximizing her cleavage and continuing to tighten his groin more with each passing second.
And like a bolt from the blue, his mind flashed to the dream he’d had last night. A woman in a pirogue, turning him wild with hunger. The driving feeling that he couldn’t get enough of her, that he wanted to consume her. She hadn’t been masked—in fact, she’d been as natural as the wild bayou itself—but he still had no more than a vague idea of her face. This hunger wasn’t as overwhelming as that hunger, thank God. But it came close.
“What the hell you doin’ back here?” he asked, squirting tequila in a glass.
Her voice came as even as his. “You won’t help me, so I’ll have to keep looking on my own.”
He raised his gaze to hers, hoping no one would hear him say this to a “customer,” but it needed to be said. “This is a stupid, dangerous, and I repeat, stupid way to do it.”
Stephanie Grant shrugged her pretty shoulders, her hair falling across them tonight in golden waves. “I don’t know how else to find her. And I have to find her.”
“How the hell you gonna do that, chère?” He finished her drink off with grenadine and OJ, setting it on the bar. “You said nobody here knew her.”
She spoke with far more confidence than on their first meeting. “There’s a different crowd every night. Tonight I might get lucky.”
Despite himself, he cast a wolfish expression. “Tried to help you get lucky last night, beb, but you turned me down.”
Her cheeks flushed pink behind her heavy makeup, sending a thin shot of masculine satisfaction through him. He kept his gaze trained on hers, seeing the same memories as his floating in those pretty blue eyes. For a long moment, it seemed like nothing else in the world could possibly matter more than the heat they’d shared last night.
She finally glanced down to her drink, picking it up for a quick sip. “I . . . have to go,” she said, starting to leave the stool.
He reached across the bar and grabbed her wrist. “You didn’t hear a word I said last night, no? You can’t be foolin’ around with these people. You’re not that good an actress.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “I have to try.”
He released her wrist—no other choice. “You got more looks than brains, chère.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But an ass who’s tryin’ to look out for you.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “You tried to seduce me last night. That’s how you define looking out for me?”
“Didn’t plan it,” he said with a frank tilt of his head. “But I’m a red-blooded guy.”
Stephanie Grant withdrew her troubled glare from him to scan the room bustling with suits and curves, and when she met his eyes again, raw resolve filled her expression. “The rest of these men are just as red-blooded, and if whatever is so tempting about me worked on you, maybe it’ll work on them, too.”
He let out a sigh. “That’s exactly what you should be afraid of.”
Chapter Five
STEPHANIE HAD DECIDED to face him head-on. Besides, he’d been the only truly familiar face in the room. What she’d forgotten was how the mere sight of the man affected her. It was like being dipped in a vat of hot lava. Now, as she walked away, her nipples rubbed against the lace cups of her scant dress, and the juncture of her thighs burned. For him. For more of what they’d started last night.
God, stop this! she yelled at herself.
She needed her wits about her, more than ever in her life. If what he’d said was true, her safety might depend on it. But more than that, Tina’s safety depended on it. Each passing day, it felt as if her sister were slipping a little further away.
And yet, what was foremost in her mind as she strolled from the bar?
She remained caught up in herself, in the lure of sensuality, wondering if her sexy bartender watched the sway of her hips as she walked away. She wanted—more than she’d wanted anything in a long time—to take him by the hand and lead him back to that red room, then lock the door and forget the rest of the world existed. She wanted to get lost with him in all those lush textures. She wanted to get lost in him.
The insane desire remained as foreign to her as it had been last night, but also as potent. This man moved her in a way no man had before. Even having now remembered back to college, high school, times when she had indeed experienced true passion, she knew this was more than that. It felt almost as if those earlier times had been some kind of an introduction, but that this was the real thing.
And she was walking away from it. For more reasons than she could name.
But the most important reason, at the moment, was finding Tina.
She lectured herself with last night’s mantra: sell it. Somehow tonight it was easier. Maybe because she’d figured out after last night that it wasn’t going to be as simple as just walking into this den of sin and locating her sister. She had no choice but to be strong now, to figure out how to get these people to open up to her.
As the tropical tequila mix warmed her inside, she thrust out her chest slightly and licked her lips. Somewhere in the room, a man was watching—she could feel a hungry gaze making her skin prickle with awareness. The bartender? Or a piece of prey? That’s what she’d decided the other men were. She wanted it to be the bartender watching, but needed it to be some rich man who might know her sister.
As she gazed toward the wide windows spanning two sides of the large corner room, she tried to look sexy and slightly aloof, for a man who enjoyed that little pretended bit of challenge. In her peripheral vision, she found a light-haired guy, handsome, mid-thirties, leering at her.
Prey.
She turned her head slightly, casting a soft glance, then a smile. Sell it.
She held his gaze and licked her lip once more. It was hard as hell to do, but she’d just discovered how. She pretended he was the bartender.
The handsome man wore an Armani suit and a lecherous smile as he moved toward her, closing the gap and stepping too close into her personal space. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Stephanie.” Her stomach churning, she peered up into eyes filled with arrogance and lust. Pretend he’s the man behind the bar, the hot man who nearly seduced you last night. You can do this.
Although as he made small talk with her, he slowly quit being the bartender and became merely a client, another client at another party. Only, just like last evening, she was selling herself instead of an ad campaign. And growing more practiced at it by the second.
“Why haven’t I seen you here before, Stephanie?”
She gave her head a coquettish tilt. “Maybe you have and you just don’t remember.”
He chuckled deeply. “You’re not a woman I’d forget.” He punctuated the statement by reaching up to run his finger down the thin bra-like strap of her dress until he was nearly touching her breast. Don’t panic. She smiled and turned slightly away so that he dropped his hand.
Without planning it, her eyes landed on the bartender—who watched from behind the bar. His look was clearly one of warning and she hoped he could read the defiance on her face.
It felt utterly strange shifting her eyes back to the letch she was pretending to seduce, knowing the real object of her desire spied her every move. The bartender was cramping her style, taking her head out of the game.
She reached to lightly touch the Armani’s sleeve. “It’s too loud in here. Let’s go out on the balcony where we can talk.”
The Armani grinned. “Excellent idea. After you.”
Pushing through the nearest set of French doors was
like escaping a nemesis. As soon as the darkness closed around her and her prey, she felt freer to begin probing for information. She leaned against a white wrought-iron railing and took a sip from her glass. “You seemed surprised you hadn’t seen me here before. Does that mean you’re a frequent customer?”
The Armani laughed softly and began stroking her arm with his thumb. “Now, sweetheart, what difference does that make?”
Her skin crawled at his caress, her body going cold despite the heavy air. Keep selling it. “Just curious. And the truth is, I haven’t been here too many times before . . . but maybe you know my girlfriend Tina? She’s here all the time.”
He tilted his head. “Tina, huh? No, I don’t think so.”
She lowered her chin in teasing accusation. “Are you sure? Pretty blonde, twenty-five, gorgeous eyes?” Then she laughed. “Because if you’re worried I’m the jealous type, don’t be.”
He flashed a lecherous grin. “Well then, maybe you should call her up and the three of us can have ourselves a little party.”
Oh God. Talk about skin crawling. “No, sweetheart,” she said, playfully echoing him. “I don’t share.”
“My loss,” he said lightly before raising his eyebrows. “Or maybe my gain? Why don’t we go to my place and you can show me just how possessive you are.”
Now what? He didn’t know Tina, or if he did, he wasn’t saying. And she’d as good as agreed to have sex with him, damn it. She’d gotten so good at selling that she’d forgotten when to stop. “I . . . need to visit the ladies’ room first.”
She kept her smile in place but immediately sensed that she’d made a faux pas. She’d hesitated too long when she’d been scrambling for an excuse to walk away.
“What if I don’t want you to go?” He continued flashing a lusty grin as he slid his arms around her in a loose embrace.
She forced a laugh. “Why wouldn’t you want me to go to the ladies’ room?”
He gave his head a slight tilt, as if trying to read her eyes. “Just a funny feeling I’ve got. Not trying to get away from me, are you, sweetheart?”
She gazed up at him. Pretend he’s the man you desire. As much as you can. “Why on earth would I do that?”
His expression went serious. “I’m not sure, but I’m not interested in risking it. I want you for the night. How much?”
Despite that wanting her for an hour was just as heinous, her throat caught. She’d never expected to end up in a mess this deep. She hoped like hell he didn’t see her nervous swallow. “That depends.”
“On?”
His touch grew more offensive by the moment, but she made herself giggle. “If you’re going to be a gentleman and let me go to the bathroom first.”
“How about a preview before you go? Something to keep me happy while you’re away.”
She laughed again, praying he didn’t feel her body tensing. “I’m not going across the country or anything. It’s the bathroom. I’ll be gone two minutes.”
“Even so, the customer’s always right, right?”
He slid his hand from her hip up toward her breast—until she reflexively clamped her arm down tight against her body, stopping his progress. Even in the darkness, she could see the ugly tint suddenly lighting his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, but damn it, her voice quavered slightly.
His eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t like it. I came here to find a willing woman, and I picked you. I want to start getting my money’s worth, now.”
Suddenly unable to endure his touch for even a second longer, the instincts of a lifetime kicked in and made her struggle against his tightening grip. Bad move. He anchored one arm around her waist and used his free hand to latch onto her chin, turning her face up to his. “I don’t know why you’re trying to get away from me, sweetheart—maybe you’re new at this, I don’t know. But I don’t like being teased, so I suggest you be a good girl and give me what I want.”
This was bad. Really bad. Her stomach lurched and her skin prickled. And in the midst of her personal terror, another ugly vision blinked through her brain. Tina, in the same situation. If you were an escort, what happened if you changed your mind? What were your options? Did anyone care?
As the letch reached down toward the hem of her short dress, she batted his hand away, hard. “Get off me right now, you jerk!” she said through clenched teeth. Adrenaline made her stronger as she pressed her hands against his chest in an attempt to free herself, but the arm locked around her still didn’t budge.
So she clawed her fingernails deep.
“Hey!” he snarled, leaning back but still not releasing her.
Next, she would go for his eyes.
“Lady said no, asshole.”
The deep, commanding voice stunned her until she looked up to find a muscular man standing outside one open French door, arms crossed.
The bartender.
Jake watched as Cummings loosened his grip on Stephanie Grant to look at him, bothered when the shithead didn’t turn her loose completely. “What the hell concern is it of yours? I suggest you go inside and mind your own business.”
Jake held his ground, but narrowed his gaze on the slimy bastard. “Can’t do that. I suggest you let her go.”
When Cummings hesitated, Jake flexed one fist—a warning. At this, Cummings finally released her from his grasp, but appeared almost as angry as Jake felt. “She does this for a living, pal.”
That’s what you think. He couldn’t help flitting his gaze quickly to Stephanie before looking back to Cummings.
Finally, the asshole stepped away from her, so Jake stood aside, leaving the man a clear path through the open door.
“You just lost your fucking job!” he said, wagging a finger in Jake’s face.
Jake reached up and caught it, like capturing a fly in his hand. “You get on outta here and maybe the lady won’t file assault charges.”
Cummings laughed. “Like anybody’s gonna believe a whore.” But at least he made the stinging comment his exit line, departing back into the glitz and soft jazz that did such a good job of covering the ugly reason why everyone was there.
Jake walked from the light streaming out the door into the shadows where Stephanie stood. “You all right, chère?”
“Yeah, fine.” She was lying. Eighty damn degrees out here and she was shivering.
Instinct made him want to hold her, attempt to comfort her, but it was the wrong move. Women didn’t like to be touched by strange men right after something like this. And best he keep his hands off this one anyway.
Even so, his gut stayed all pinched up. She was a damn stupid woman, but her blind stupidity hadn’t stopped the inexplicable fear that had raced through him when he’d opened that door. Never mind that this wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t give a damn. Never mind that if Cummings really went to the top brass, over and above his easygoing boss, Danny, he might have just jeopardized the easy gig he had here.
He crossed his arms again and leaned back against the railing next to her. “You see my point now, no?”
The question earned him a sneer.
Good. Would be best if she was mad at him. “You can’t handle this, Stephanie Grant. Now you best get on home to Chicago, back to your neat little life up there, and forget all about this place.”
She stared blankly through the mullioned glass, the old panes distorting the colors and shapes inside. “I wish I could.”
“Well, you can sure as hell try. And the sooner the better, you ask me.”
She whipped her gaze to him, her ire suddenly returned. “I didn’t ask you, and I meant I wish I could go home, not just that I wish I could forget this place. I can’t go home. Not until I find my sister.”
Jake let out a long sigh. This woman tire
d him. He pulled out a chair from a little white table next to the railing and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as he loosely laced his fingers. “What am I gonna do with you, chère? I can’t be chasin’ you around all over New Orleans tryin’ to keep you safe—I’m nobody’s hero. But seems to me that if I don’t, you’re gonna keep on gettin’ yourself in trouble you can’t get out of.”
“Look, I’m not your responsibility.” Her tone was pointed, harsh. “I appreciate what you did just now, but you can consider yourself relieved of duty.”
He shifted a sour gaze from his hands to her face to see that damnable determination still shining in her eyes, even after this. He simply shook his head. “How you expect me to sleep nights, beb?”
“You just said you weren’t a hero. So what’s it to you? I never asked for your protection.”
But I just can’t seem to stop giving it, can I? He wanted to accuse her of dragging him into this, but she hadn’t. He’d made her problems his business by coercing the truth from her last night, and again tonight, by following her out here when he’d seen her leave with Cummings. “Tell me somethin’, chère? Is there anything I can say to make you stop actin’ like some crazy couillon? Anything I can do to talk some sense into you and get you out of Sophia’s? And into some clothes?”
When she lifted her gaze, he couldn’t help wondering what she’d look like without all that makeup. What was she like—out of this place, out of this situation, in her normal, everyday life? Softer, he thought. Softer, in a good way.
She crossed in front of him, moving to the other side of the table to the remaining chair. He made a point of staying bent over and went back to not looking at her, instead studying the grain in the balcony’s wooden floor. It was easier that way.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said, her very tone relaying everything her words didn’t. I don’t even know your name, yet you’ve touched me. I don’t even know your name, yet you’re asking me to listen to you.
He couldn’t help raising his eyes. “Jake Broussard.”
