by Sharon Sala
Thirteen
It was a loud clap of thunder that woke Sahara. She immediately rolled over looking for Brendan and saw him sitting at the writing table, shirtless and in a pair of jeans with Leopold’s journals open and the laptop lit up like a beacon in the dark room.
Was it wrong to call a man beautiful?
He glanced up at her over the laptop as she swung her legs off the bed and sat up.
“Do you feel better?”
“I guess. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
She combed her fingers through her hair and then stretched as she got up, went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Brendan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. So she was pretending her emotional breakdown never happened. He sighed. It was just as well. He went back to his research.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked when she came back into the room.
“Because you were asleep,” he said.
“Want lights?”
“Yes, please,” he said.
She flipped a switch that bathed the room in light, then walked over to where he was sitting and leaned against his back as she read over his shoulder.
He was trying to ignore the feel of her breasts against his skin when she thrust her arm across his shoulder to the names he had written down on his notepad.
“Who are those people?”
“Women who received onetime payoffs of twenty-five thousand dollars from Leopold.”
“Wow. There are five of them.”
“So far,” he said.
“And those dates indicate when the payoffs were made?”
He nodded.
“Do you think this has anything to do with what’s been happening, or is it just an unrelated part of Leopold’s life coming to light?”
“Right now, I honestly can’t say, but my instincts tell me there is some kind of connection.”
The house phone rang, and she turned away to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” Billie said.
“Okay, and I’m sorry I didn’t come help. I fell asleep and just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“It’s all good, baby. You needed the rest. It’s been a stressful day. Come on down soon, but wear shoes. All this rain will wash the scorpions and centipedes out of their hidey-holes.”
“Ick. Yes. I’d almost forgotten that little aspect of Louisiana. We’ll be right there. Did you tell Lucy?”
“She’s already here with me.”
“Okay,” Sahara said, and hung up.
“Dinner is ready,” she said, and headed for the closet.
“Are you changing clothes?” Brendan asked, eyeing her shirt and shorts.
“No, but I’m putting on shoes. Mama reminded me that the rain will bring out scorpions and centipedes.”
Brendan closed the books, shut down his computer and put all of it back in his bags.
Sahara frowned. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him do that, but she didn’t say anything. She guessed in his line of work, it was best to trust no one.
Brendan followed her into the closet to get a shirt and shoes as well, and all of a sudden the huge walk-in closet felt tiny and enclosed.
She watched the play of muscles on his body as he reached up to get a shirt, and that was when she saw a long, thin scar that ran from the middle of his back, around his side and then disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched it.
“This scar. How did you get it?” she asked.
“While I was in the Rangers.”
“I didn’t ask you when, I asked you how.”
“Machete. In a jungle. Special ops.”
She stared, trying to imagine something that brutal happening to him and him surviving it.
“That’s a pretty short version of the story. Is it one of those ‘I’d have to kill you if I told you about it’ stories?”
“No, but after today, I don’t think you need any more gory bedtime stories,” he replied, then pulled the blue knit shirt over his head and reached for his socks and boots.
She stepped into her shoes and then went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. The rain was making it frizzy, so she put it up in a ponytail on top of her head, letting the curly strands fall down around her face and the back of her neck, then led the way out of the room.
Brendan watched the gentle sway of her hips and the long stride of bare legs just long enough to remind him how naturally she moved within her sexuality. She was sexy as hell, but she didn’t flaunt it. Some jobs were harder than others, and this one just might be his Waterloo.
*
Dinner that night was a far cry from the elaborate meal Billie made for them when Marcus had been their dinner guest, but it was just as delicious.
Tonight they had steaming bowls of beans and rice, crusty fillets of fried catfish with a spicy tartar sauce and endless pitchers of sweet iced tea to cool the fire in the food.
“This is so good,” Brendan said.
Billie beamed. “Thank you.”
Sahara glanced at him and then looked away. There was a wall between them that he had erected the moment they met, and she wanted it down. She just didn’t know how to make that happen, because always he kept her at arm’s length.
“Cream puffs for dessert,” Lucy said. “I know because I put the pudding inside them.”
“French vanilla custard to be exact,” Billie said.
“I would love one,” Sahara said.
“I would love some,” Brendan said, which made them all laugh.
Billie served dessert while Sahara got up to fill her iced tea glass.
“Anyone else want a refill?” she asked.
The phone rang, startling them. It was the dinner hour. People knew better than to call at this time.
Billie frowned, but Brendan spoke up.
“I’m not a local. How about I get it for you and save you the trouble of being pissed off that they interrupted your meal?”
Billie giggled. “I would be pleased,” she said.
Brendan grabbed one little cream puff and poked it in his mouth as he got up to answer. He chewed and swallowed on the way to get it, licking custard from his thumb as he spoke.
“Brendan McQueen speaking.”
“Hello, McQueen, this is Detective Fisher. Is Miss Travis there?”
“Yes.”
“I have some news regarding her father. I can tell her, or I can tell you, and you can relay it.”
“Go ahead,” Brendan said.
“Leopold Travis’s body was found in an empty house in the Ninth Ward around noon today. It was too decomposed for an immediate identification, but dental records gave us the ID. The medical examiner says he was likely killed the same morning that Katarina was killed.”
“Was that house the murder scene?” Brendan asked.
Fisher hesitated, then finally answered. “Yes.”
“I’ll give her the message,” he said, hung up and turned around.
Sahara stood up. “What?”
“They located your father.”
“I heard what you asked. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Billie reached for Sahara’s hand, but she pulled away.
“For God’s sake, McQueen! Talk.”
“He’s dead.”
“Good,” Sahara said, and walked out of the kitchen.
Lucy gasped.
Billie stood up. “Where did they find him?” she asked.
“In an empty house in the Ninth Ward.”
Billie shuddered, then dropped back down in her chair and covered her face.
Brendan pivoted quickly and took off after Sahara, then realized she was just outside the door.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Waiting for you. I’m the last one now, aren’t I? The last Travis, I mean. Who hates us this much…and why?”
“I don’t know
, but I’m trying to find out.”
She stared at him a few moments, meeting his steady gaze and noticing the muscle jerking in his jaw.
“I don’t think we’ll do it in time,” she said.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Find out who did this. I think I’m going to die soon. I’m going to die without ever knowing what it’s like to make love with you.”
If she’d slapped him, he couldn’t have been more shocked.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Sahara,” he said.
She laughed, but it ended on a sob, because he’d ignored the obvious point she was trying to make.
“What are you going to do, Brendan McQueen? Move in with me for life? Put me in your pocket like a traffic ticket you keep meaning to pay? This can’t go on forever. I’m just a job, remember?”
When she doubled up her fists and turned away, he felt her pain.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve done this all wrong. I would give a year of my life to have met you as a woman and not a client. And as much as I wish it wasn’t true, whatever it is you think you feel about me…it’s just because I keep you safe. If these were normal circumstances, you might not be attracted to me at all.”
She shrugged out of his grasp and pushed him away.
“You don’t know what I think. You don’t know what I feel.”
The anger in her voice shattered him.
“And you don’t know how I feel,” he said. “This started out as a job, but you’ve evolved into this burr under my skin. Now you’re a woman whose beauty and sense of humor and gentle spirit breaks my heart, a woman I’ve come to love…and you’re also the woman who is going to break it again when you realize it wasn’t love you felt, it was fear overriding everything else. I’ve come to represent your safe haven, which you’ve mistaken for real romantic feelings…but you win, Sahara. I’m done fighting this.”
She froze. Is this happening?
He lowered his head until his mouth was only inches away from her lips. Oh dear Lord, it is going to happen.
And then he kissed her.
The grim-lipped, hard-jawed bodyguard put his arms around her, and all of a sudden her feet were dangling against his legs as his mouth slid off her lips and then down her neck before he swept her up into his arms, moving in long measured strides through the house and up the grand staircase to their bedroom.
It was dark in the room and sheltered from the ominous sounds of the storm. It became the refuge they both needed.
He laid her on his bed, locked the door and then had her out of the shirt and shorts so fast she didn’t have time to think. He unhooked her bra with one hand and pulled off her underwear with the other, then took a slow, deep breath and stripped himself.
Sahara’s eyes widened at the size of him. She got wet just thinking about him inside her.
Lightning lit the stage, and thunder orchestrated the music of what came next. She turned to him as he stretched out on the bed beside her.
Her heart was pounding.
It hurt to breathe.
The ache in her lower belly was nothing but pure want.
And his skin…like silk over steel.
She ran her fingers along the scar all the way to the juncture of his thighs and circled her fingers around his erection, feeling the pulse of his lifeblood and the shaft of muscled velvet that she wanted inside her, and when he thrust his knee between her legs, she parted them to let him in.
He groaned against her ear as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her warm, wet heat.
No foreplay.
No sweet talking.
No time.
Sahara moaned. They were a perfect fit.
When he began to move within her, she closed her eyes and pulled him closer, deeper. She’d been waiting for this moment—this man—all her life, and he was never going to believe her.
Rain blew against the window, running down the glass like tears as he kept moving, lost in the woman beneath him.
She matched him move for move, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the climax built within her. Just when she thought it would go on forever, it hit like a fist to the gut. She cried out, stunned by the power and the waves of pleasure washing through her, and still he moved, unwilling to let go of the woman in his arms until he was aching from his own need and had to let go.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms as the storm moved on, leaving trees and yards in shambles, but clean, rain-washed streets.
At the morgue, Katarina and Leopold had finally been reunited. On the far side of town, Bubba lay staring up at the ceiling.
*
Brendan woke up before daylight with Sahara wrapped in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He wanted her again but didn’t act on it. He closed his eyes, memorizing the silken feel of her hair against his cheek, the curve of her backside pressed against his belly and the weight of her breasts lying on his arms. She’d done something no other woman had ever done. He’d let her get too close, and she’d stolen his heart. The fact that he was going to leave her when this was over seemed impossible to consider, but he wasn’t the kind for Hollywood affairs.
She sighed in her sleep and he pulled her closer. Come sunrise he would have to give her up, but for now Sahara Travis was his—only his.
*
Sahara thought she was dreaming about making love until she woke up to the fact that McQueen’s hands were between her legs and she was coming too fast to think. Instead, she rode out the climax with his breath against her neck and his name on her lips.
When she could breathe and talk at the same time, she rolled over to face him and cupped his face.
“I loved last night. I loved making love with you. I love everything about you, Brendan McQueen. Last night was the most perfect night of my life.”
“It was pretty damn special for me, too,” he said softly. “But…it can’t happen again.”
She stiffened. “Why not?”
“I can’t be distracted. It could get you killed, and you mean too damn much to me to let that happen.”
She didn’t know whether to be elated that he admitted she mattered, or hurt that he’d just set her aside like yesterday’s clothing, but she wasn’t going to let him know how much it hurt.
“You already mentioned that. I mistakenly thought you saw differently now,” she said, and pushed out of his arms. “I’ll take the shower first.” She got up and walked into the bathroom.
Brendan closed his eyes and then scrubbed his hands across his face as an ache spread within him. He got up, put on a pair of shorts and got out his laptop and the journals again, and started working. He was going to email everything he had to the detective heading up her case in LA, and another email with the same information to Detectives Fisher and Julian here in New Orleans. It was past time to let them in on what he’d found. Maybe they’d find a connection he wasn’t seeing. He was, after all, just a bodyguard. Solving crimes wasn’t his thing.
He heard the water come on and swallowed past the lump in his throat.
God in heaven, help me get through this to keep her safe.
Then he sorted his info into a file and sent one copy to the LAPD and another to the NOPD along with a brief cover letter. Hopefully something positive would come from this.
*
Sahara walked into the bathroom, blindsided by what just occurred. She had not expected this. Not after last night. Not after the way they’d given themselves to each other. Not after he’d cradled her in his arms as she fell asleep. She’d never felt that loved.
Growing up, she had always known Billie loved her, but Billie also let Leopold and Katarina have the first say in her life, and so she’d been forced to divide her life into two portions to keep the craziness at bay, pretending to love two people who didn’t matter, and having to pretend she didn’t love the one who did.
And then last night happened, and for the first time ever, a man had made love to he
r because she mattered to him. Not because she was beautiful, or because she was famous, but because he loved her. But he wouldn’t let her love him back. That wasn’t fair.
She turned on the shower and then stood staring at herself in the mirror, wondering what was wrong with her that kept making people push her away.
Tears came without warning as she stepped into the shower, and when she moved beneath the spray, she cried freely, knowing that the water would be washing them away.
Brendan heard her sobs, which only added to the burden he already carried. He knew better than to get personal with a client, and he’d done it anyway.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and turned on the TV to drown out the sound of heartbreak.
A short while later the bathroom door flew open, and Sahara came out wrapped up in a big bath towel and with a foamy toothbrush in her hand. Her eyes were red from crying, and her hair was still wet and dripping all over the floor.
“You don’t get to tell me who I can love, McQueen. I will love you if I want to, and you can stuff that up your ass. Since we’ve already seen each other naked numerous times, and we were all over each other last night, you may as well get in here and take your shower. I won’t jump your bones, and I’m almost through brushing my teeth. And while you’re at it, hurry up. I need a cup of coffee.”
Then she spun around and went back to the sink, muttering to herself and spitting and rinsing erratically.
He closed the laptop, put everything away and did as she asked. She sailed out of the bathroom past him as he entered, flashing him an angry glare, and headed for the closet to get some clothes.
Brendan closed the door behind him and then stood there for a moment, trying to absorb what had just happened. He wasn’t sure, but he might have just unleashed more woman than he could handle. She clearly had no intention of abiding by his rules of war. He’d just have to see how this played out.
While he was showering, Sahara called Harold. This time he answered immediately.
“Sahara, darling! I’m so glad to hear your voice. Thank you for calling earlier. You won’t believe what happened to me today! I slipped in the shower this morning and actually had to go to the ER to get stitches in my head.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
