He yanked open the car door for her. "What does that mean?"
His voice had dropped an octave, making her shiver with anticipation. She waited until he'd come around to the driver's side and had started the car.
"It means I'm good at removin' my clothes in your car, and I think we can make it as far as the bayou road before I start removin' your clothes. If you don' want to drive into the bayou, and I don't recommend it having been there once myself, I think you'll pull over. We can do slow and easy when we get home."
He let out his breath and drove as fast as he could without putting them in danger. She reached under her arm and unzipped the gown slowly. He glanced sideways and caught the sight of the side of her breast. She slipped the long sleeves off her arms. The last traffic light before they left the city went red. Bijou held her gown over the tops of her breasts.
"You know Gage is goin' to stop us one of these days and find you completely naked."
The light changed and he drove faster, putting distance between them and any lights. Bijou laughed at his silly warning. Gage would know better, and she knew it. She slid the dress down her body and wiggled it down over her hips. She wore a garter belt and stockings, her heels and nothing else. "Just for you. In case you came to the showing tonight. A thank-you."
"Open your legs."
"Pay attention to the road."
"Open your legs and I will."
"You always have to have your way," Bijou pointed out. She opened her legs for him, shifting a little closer to him. The seat belt lay in between her breasts and the lap belt cinched her waist.
"I'm glad you're finally realizin' that," Remy said, unrepentant. "I've never particularly wanted to handcuff a woman, but I think I might try that with you. Just for the fun of it."
"Who's goin' to have the fun?"
His finger dipped into her hot canal. "Both of us," he assured. "I can't believe you're still so damned tight." He pressed a second finger deep. "And so slick and hot."
"We're almost to the bayou road," Bijou warned. "I'll be out of this seat belt and goin' after what I want. You're not the only one who wants their way."
"Don' you touch me until I have the car stopped. I won't be responsible for what I do."
Butterflies took off at the growling warning in his voice. She loved teasing him. His fingers drove her insane. She couldn't sit still, no matter how hard she tried. Her hips moved with the wicked rhythm his fingers set and she could feel her body coiling tighter and tighter. She couldn't wait. He was deliberately prolonging her satisfaction. He was already on the bayou road, and yet he didn't pull over and he didn't relieve the gathering tension in her. Every time she came close to falling over the edge, he pulled back.
Her breath hissed out in a low growl of her own. He just laughed. She unlocked the seat belt in one quick flick and went after his trouser zipper. His cock sprang free and she closed her mouth around it, uncaring that her butt was up in the air. She took him deep, her tongue swirling and dancing, stroking up and down his thick shaft and finding the sensitive spot under the leaking head.
That definitely got his attention. He pulled over, finding a spot deep in the trees. She clamped her mouth tight around him, suckling hard, determined that he would be as frenzied for her as she was for him. He caught her head by two fistfuls of hair and pushed her down on him, deeper than she'd ever been. For a moment she panicked.
His hand came down hard on her buttocks. "Damn it. Do you think I'd hurt you?"
The bite of pain was more erotic than she expected. The nerve endings in her bottom spread out like waves of fire straight to her core. He guided her head, pulling her off of him enough to get air and pushing her back down to take him deep. He set the rhythm, controlling every move. Eventually, he let go with one hand and rubbed her bottom with the other.
She could feel his body begin to shudder, his erection swelling, and abruptly he pulled her head off of him.
"Nooo," she wailed. "Remy. I have to have you right now."
Swearing under his breath, Remy nearly kicked the door open, pulling her out with him, which wasn't easy. She stood there, high heels, her sexy garter and her hair tumbling wildly around her. Her beautiful mouth was swollen, her lipstick a little smeared. He placed her hands on the fender of the car and bent her over, pulling her hips back toward him.
"Hold still," he growled when she wouldn't stop moving.
"Hurry. I have to have you and you're takin' your sweet time. I'm burnin' up inside. I swear, cher, I'm desperate for you," Bijou pleaded.
He gave her buttocks another flat-handed smack, which only sent more heat flaring through her--he knew because her lavender honey spilled out. He entered her hard and fast, ramming deep, a brutal, savage stroke that she met with her body bucking back toward his. Her muscles clamped down hard around him, squeezing like the tightest fist. She sobbed with delight.
He kept up a harsh pace, driving into her over and over, his hand alternately soothing her bottom and smacking it. Each time he did, hot liquid poured over him. He loved the feel and intensity of it. He loved the scent of arousal and sex. He loved her sweet, hot, tight channel. He loved that no matter how rough he got, she met his every need with her own.
He held out as long as he possibly could, ignoring her cries and pleas, taking them both higher than he'd ever gone. Her muscles clamped so tight, the friction burned like hell and he was lost, exploding jet after jet of hot seed deep inside her. Her body wanted every drop, milking and draining him, while her cries disturbed the alligators in the bayou.
He fought for his breath, holding her still for a long moment, until reluctantly he slipped out of her. Remy was gentle as he helped her to straighten up. "When we get home, chere, I'm going to do slow and easy with you. I'll show you what making love is."
She had to lean against him, her legs unsteady. His seed trickled down her thighs, a sexy reminder that just made him want her all over again. He would never get enough of her.
"You have your clothes on," she pointed out when he lifted her to walk around the car. "I'm all sticky."
He kissed her hard. "I like you sticky, and I'm very fond of your high heels and garter. Let's go home. I want to make love to you in a bed."
17
REMY put down his phone, shaking his head, resisting the urge to punch the wall. A fat lot of good it did putting criminals in jail when a corrupt judge put them back out onto the street. He sank down on the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. How was he going to stop murderers from killing again when he didn't know when and where they would strike next?
Bijou shifted her body, sitting up, pulling the sheet around her as she stroked caressing fingers through his hair. Her touch felt like heaven. He hadn't realized just how alone he often felt when he was in the middle of a murder investigation and kept coming up short, feeling as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He took his oath seriously, and he felt deeply the need to protect his community.
"What is it? Another murder?"
"Not yet," he said and turned toward her. She looked far too beautiful and innocent to be having a conversation about murder at six in the morning. He still couldn't believe that she belonged to him. She was a miracle, especially right at that moment when he couldn't help but feel despair.
"Judge Thomasson set bail for Jean and Juste Rousseau. He convened a special hearing and no one said a word to me. The DA was told at the last minute and didn't make it there in time, obviously on purpose, so you can bet there's goin' to be another murder. It's just a matter of when they find the body."
His gut told him in no uncertain terms that the Rousseau brothers wouldn't make a run for it, not without trying to clean up loose ends--or get revenge. They were arrogant, and they believed themselves above the law. After managing to get a judge to risk his career for them, they had to feel more powerful than ever.
"Is that even legal?" Bijou asked. "How can a judge do that?"
"No, but he did it all the same
and there must be a reason for it. Maybe they threatened him, I don' know and it doesn't matter now. They're out there, and either they're runnin' or they're killin'. They can't get to Robert, Brent or Tom, so I have to try to figure out who they'd go after."
"You, Remy. They'll come after you and Gage. You're the ones who figured it out, and got the evidence against them," Bijou pointed out, her voice anxious.
He had been hoping she wouldn't think of that, but he should have known that would be her first guess. "I doubt they're that stupid. Gage and I are always armed. We're not easy targets. No, they've got someone else in mind," he said to distract her.
"The dancers at the strip joint who agreed to testify against them? You got some of them to agree but they were very scared," Bijou suggested. She massaged his back with one hand, trying to soothe him. "Are you certain Robert, Brent and Tom are all safe? Is there a way they can get to them in jail? Because if witnesses disappear . . ." She trailed off. "That's what you've been afraid of all along, isn't it?"
"There are many voodoo practitioners here in the city as well as in the outlyin' areas. If it's widely known that Jean and Juste are bokors, black magic priests, then there will be a great deal of fear of retaliation through voodoo spells as well as violence." Remy ran his hands through his hair again. "The worst part, Blue, is I don' think they're the bone harvesters."
"I thought you found human bones in their camp in the swamp."
He turned and swept her under his arm, needing the feel of her close to him. She was warm and soft and all his. She leaned into him without hesitation, nuzzling his neck with her lips, her breath teasing his skin.
"They killed those women, I know they did, but they didn't take their bones. Those bones were old. They robbed graves, they had to have. Look at what they do. They intimidate using voodoo. They prey on the elderly. Most of the dancers have no one looking out for them, so they make easy targets. Tom has a mean streak in him. He was always a bit of a follower and liked to hang with the bullies. Ryan was the same. Naturally they'd gravitate toward the Rousseau brothers. Robert and Brent are weak and self-indulgent."
"So you're sayin' the Rousseau brothers don't have the personalities for the kind of murders the bone harvester committed. What about tryin' to make the guides in the bayou pay protection money?"
His hands came up to fist in her hair. He loved the feel of her hair, soft and thick and as luxurious as a leopard's pelt, moving against his skin like living silk. He brought the long strands, wrapped around his fist, to his mouth, inhaling the scent of lavender that seemed so much a part of her.
"I think they're growin' bolder, trying to expand their business, like old-time gangsters, but essentially, they're cowards, preying on the weak. They're usin' a centuries-old religion to help them do it. They're intelligent and bold, and they believe they're able to outsmart everyone. With every success they've grown more confident, but they're still evolvin'. The bone harvester has already evolved. He's been killing for years."
"I didn't consider that," Bijou said, leaning back into him. "You're right. And you know, Remy, every single time you talk about this killer, you say he or him. It's never them."
The sheet slipped just enough to show the tops of her breasts and her nipples barely peeking at him. As always and in spite of everything, his body reacted with an urgent jolt.
"I guess I do," Remy mused. "That doesn't mean I'm not wrong. The Rousseau brothers are definitely sociopaths and they've killed three women, which already makes them serial killers. They're certainly capable of the type of brutal crime, but if they have a ritual like harvestin' bones from their victims, why did they beat the strippers to death? Why didn't they just use their chosen ritual? Serial killers rarely deviate from a ritual. And the harvester's victims have always been men."
Bijou rubbed the back of her head against his chest, much like a cat. "Maybe they don' kill women for the bones because they aren't as dense or something. Maybe the significance is in the bones and not the victims. If the Rousseau brothers wanted the women dead, but they didn't need their bones, would they kill them in a different way?"
Remy kissed the top of her head. She had intelligent feedback and he was grateful for it. He'd considered many different reasons why the harvester only went after men. Age or race didn't seem to matter. He hadn't found a tie between any of the victims until Bijou had pointed out the murders had all occurred in places she'd held a concert. Even then, the victims hadn't necessarily attended her concerts. But maybe she was right and it was specific bones the killer wanted.
"He always takes a different set of bones from each of his four victims before he stops," Remy said, hoping she would continue to talk to him. She had a good head for puzzles and patterns. "He repeats the same pattern in every city he hits, always in the same order."
"Meaning he takes the exact bones from each victim in a certain order?" Bijou asked, sitting up.
"Yes, and he's fairly quick about it. The murders happen in a two-week span. Four dead bodies is a lot in that time period. Twice he took longer, in New York and Chicago. Less time in Paris, just over a week. Otherwise, he's on some sort of schedule only he knows. And why so long between the murders? He doesn't bother to hide them. If there were others, why haven't we heard about them?"
Bijou came up onto her knees behind him, her hands going to his shoulders, kneading the tension from his tight muscles. "You'll find him--or them, Remy." Confidence rang in her voice. "I know you will. You're gettin' closer all the time."
"I've done everything I can to protect as many people as I could think of that the Rousseau brothers might try to go after, but I can't protect random strangers."
He felt the tips of her breasts brush against his back. She was a miracle in the middle of the violent world he lived in. He had asked her if she would be bored when their lives settled down. He should have asked her how long she could stay when he lived with murder every day. Few women could do it for very long, not when he was so obsessed and driven. He had always focused on his work, and he knew that wouldn't change.
"You'll catch them," she assured him again.
She was like the calm in the middle of a storm. Her hair fell over his shoulder and he wrapped his fist in it. Love had grown when he was least expecting it. Love was strong and alive, driving out the shadows in his mind. She seemed to be able to light up his world even in his darkest hour.
Bijou kissed the top of his head, shuffled to the side of the bed and rose gracefully. Remy's breath caught in his throat. She was truly a beautiful woman. He found it astonishing that she was here, with him, discussing murder when she looked as if she belonged in a fairy-tale castle. Her hair was tousled, long, hanging to the sweet curve of her butt. He enjoyed his hands in her hair, and every time she had it up, or in braids, he found he couldn't wait to let it fall so he could indulge himself. He'd made love to her--how many times last night--yet he wanted her again. Right then. For comfort maybe--hell--he didn't know. Maybe to make him feel like there was something worth fighting for.
He caught her hand. "Blue." He just said her name. That was all.
She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his. He didn't know if he expected rejection or a protest because of the subject matter they'd been discussing. He only knew his breath stayed caught in his lungs, and he waited silently. She had to be tired and sore. He'd ridden her hard and long over and over again, he reminded himself.
She ran one hand through his thick hair, stepping so close to him he could smell their combined scents on her. His marks were all over her body. More leopard than man at times when they made love, he could be rough. He leaned forward and kissed a dark smudge just on the inside of her thigh. She trembled. He stroked his tongue over the bruise. His hand moved higher and encountered heat.
That wild urgency settled inside of him. "You're wet for me."
"I'm always wet for you. I get wet just lookin' at you," she admitted. "It's hell on my panties."
"Don' wear the damn things," he sug
gested, and leaned forward to press his mouth into her center. He loved the taste of her, all that wild lavender honey. He caught her hips with both hands and dragged her to him, his tongue stabbing deep, seeking more honey, drawing it out and devouring her for his early morning pleasure.
She steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders, her soft little cries of pleasure escaping in spite of her desire to stay quiet. Along with all the other things he loved about her, those soft sounds were music to him. She threw her head back as he indulged himself. His tongue teased and danced and he suckled at her little clit, until her legs trembled and her soft cries grew more demanding. She actually fisted his hair to pull his head back.
He grinned at her. "Is there somethin' you wanted, chere?"
"You, Remy Boudreaux," she answered back, panting a little. Placing one hand on his chest, she pushed him back until he allowed himself to sprawl across the bed. "Right now. Right here."
"Has anyone ever told you, you're insatiable?"
"You started this," she pointed out, straddling his hips. "I just intend to finish it."
She settled over his heavy erection slowly, using a sliding corkscrew motion that forced the air to rush from his lungs and every nerve ending in his body to come alive. Little electric sparks leapt through his blood stream and rushed to a single point in his groin.
Bijou looked exotic and beautiful with her cat's eyes, the wealth of dark hair falling like a silken cape to caress her satin skin. Every move she made drew his attention to her full breasts, rising and falling, swaying with the rhythm as she rode him. She made those little sounds, that sexy music he couldn't wait to hear, as her muscles gripped and squeezed every time she made the descent over his rigid cock.
He reached up and cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing at the hard little peaks. As her body rose over his and fell, and the little small circles she made with her hips drove him mad while her muscles gripped with the strength of a fist, he used his fingers to tug and pull, to do some rolling of his own. Her gaze jumped to his, and then she threw back her head, grinding down harder, but still keeping that excruciating, slow pace. A flood of lavender honey bathed him in slick heat.
Leopard's Prey Page 31
