by Toni Blake
And then? She didn't ask, but the question hung in the air.
"I'll drop by to get Tina's pictures from you later, or tomorrow sometime."
She nodded. And he relaxed a little. He'd added the "or tomorrow" part so she'd understand he wouldn't be sharing a bed with her again tonight. He couldn't say he wouldn't be doing it again sometime, but he had no plans to let this become an every-night thing.
Even so, when she said, "Good-bye, Jake—and about last night, thank you for being so patient with me," impulse drove him to lean through the window for one more kiss, this one complete with tongues and her soft sigh, shooting heat straight to his groin.
"No, chère, thank you."
They exchanged a quick last look that spoke of fresh desire and propelled him away from her and into his truck before he did anything stupid like open her door and drag her into the backseat. What they'd shared had been damn hot, but the guilt was beginning to set in now.
Starting the old truck, he reached down to shift gears, then circled around Stephanie's car and headed up the gravel road away from the bayou.
Being with another woman was one thing, but being with another woman and experiencing so much emotion, that sense of attachment—that felt like betrayal. Even if Becky wasn't around to feel betrayed anymore. As he braked at the end of the unpaved thoroughfare, it felt almost as if Becky sat next to him in the truck, knowing what he'd done—knowing how bad he'd wanted Stephanie, and how good it had all felt... in more than just a physical way.
That was it—he was losing it. Ghosts in the Quarter, that was one thing. But ghosts in the damn truck with him? He had to be out of his mind. Becky wasn't here. The sad, still-painful truth was ... Becky wasn't anywhere.
But he had to move on, didn't he? Wasn't Tony always saying that? His mother too. "She'd want you to be happy," his mom always said—most recently over fried chicken at the tiny table in her little kitchen, the place still smelling of peroxide and perm solution.
"If she could have what she wanted," he'd replied, "she'd still be here with me." They would still live in the little house he'd been refurbishing, she'd still be teaching second grade at the little school nearby. Life would still be great.
Jake shook his head. Sometimes that life seemed a world away, like something he'd made up, or just dreamed. He'd never expected to find someone like Becky, someone who'd made him feel so good about himself, someone who'd had enough goodness for both of them—she'd made him a better man than he'd been before her.
Other days, he woke up still not quite believing it was all gone and that he'd sold the house and traded in the car and moved into a shithole because it didn't matter where he lived anymore.
Shake this off man. Stephanie had made him feel so good last night—why couldn't he just be happy about that?
You have to try.
He wasn't sure where the words came from, but it was as if they'd been whispered in his ear. He knew they were true. He had to believe it was okay to have had astounding sex with Stephanie. Mostly, he had to believe it was okay to do it again—because even as anxious as he'd been to get in his truck and put that little bit of distance between them, he already wanted more.
He had to believe something else, too. He had to believe he could find Tina Grant. Because he had to now. He had to give Stephanie her sister back. He didn't think he could bear it if he let her down.
Just then, he remembered she was following him and glanced in his rearview mirror. Damn—he could barely make out her car a good distance behind. He stepped on the brake and berated himself. You 're thinking about the woman so much you forgot about her.
Within thirty seconds she came speeding up behind him. He slowed to a crawl so that she came up even closer, then rolled down his window and hung his head out to yell, "Sorry, beb."
"Good thing you're not still a cop," she yelled in reply, "or you'd have to give yourself a ticket."
He smiled at her in his mirror, saw her smile back. Felt it warm his heart. And the insides of his thighs. After which he pressed the gas pedal, because he was already starting to think it would be easy just to stop here, just pull off the quiet roadway and relieve that ache with her one last time before they headed back to the city.
But he already had enough guilt eating at him—he didn't need any more.
"Bye for now, chère," he murmured in the mirror, then tried to concentrate on what else he could do to look for Tina as he headed back toward New Orleans.
Stephanie pushed through the door to her room feeling like a new woman. A satisfied woman. A woman who finally understood what the fuss over sex was all about.
She fell onto the bed, giggling like a teenager after her first kiss. Hugging a velvet bolster, she lay staring at the ceiling, reefing in the wonder of it all. Oh God, it had been so good! The memory made her let out a sexy little growl. And Jake had been so patient, so sweet—and so utterly incredible.
She wished she could tell Tina. Her sister popped to mind instantly—the only female Stephanie was close to who she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would get this, and would think it was as wonderful as she did.
Where are you, Tina?
On impulse, she tossed the round pillow aside and reached for the bedside phone. She dialed her own number in Chicago, keying in the code to retrieve messages as she did every day, just in case her sister had left something on her answering machine. But still no Tina.
Dropping the phone back in its cradle, she went to her laptop. She doubted Tina would e-mail her—mainly because she doubted Tina was anyplace where she had computer access. Yet she longed to talk to her sister so badly right now that she couldn't help checking every possible method of contact.
Nothing in her e-mailbox looked promising, though, and her stomach churned at the sight of all the new messages from Grable & Harding. Yech. Clenching her teeth in distaste, she opened the first to find one of her coworkers just needed a quick answer on something. She typed in a response and sent it off. The next message, however, wasn't as simple and would take some time. Nor was the next. Or the next.
The last message was from Curtis. She grimaced at seeing his name.
S—
Bad news. Things are getting sticky with the phone co. campaign. Rod Hartman there is wondering where you are and seems shaky about dealing with anyone else. Can you call him and put his mind at ease?
And while you 're at it, can you call ME and put MY mind at ease, too? I really miss you, and feel awfully out of touch. Would like to hear your voice and know you 're okay. Hate that I don't really know what you 're doing down there, even as much as I respect your privacy. Will wait to hear from you.
C
Stephanie leaned back in the desk chair, sucked in a deep breath, and let it back out. Talk about a killjoy. What timing.
But the truth was, she'd been neglecting her job. She hadn't thought about Grable & Harding in a couple of days, in fact. That was so unlike her she could scarcely believe it—but somehow things that had seemed of dire importance a week ago had faded into the background for her now.
Time to settle down and put on her work cap. Although she didn't look forward to phoning Rod Hartman—and first, she should call Curtis at the office. She didn't especially want to do that, either.
But she forced herself to pick up the phone and dial his direct line. This would be the hardest part of her day, so she might as well get it over with.
"Curtis Anderson." His all-business tone.
"It's Stephanie." Did she sound different? she wondered. Would he hear the same soft lilt in her voice, left over from sex, as she did?
His response was one of relief. "Stephanie, thank God. I was getting worried."
She glanced back at her computer screen to see his message had arrived yesterday morning. "Sorry," she said, attempting to swallow her guilt. "I was... busy with the Tina situation all day yesterday."
"Any chance you could fill me in on exactly what Tina's situation is?"
The question rubbe
d her the wrong way, his attitude implying her sister was a bother. And that was probably her fault, because before all this, she had likely painted Tina as immature and reckless, but that didn't soften the sting. She pulled in her breath and tried to speak calmly. "Look, the situation is just... that she followed a boyfriend down here and I want her to come home."
"And it's taken this long?" When she didn't answer right away, he kept talking. "Listen, Stephanie, I hate to be the bad guy, but your leave of absence isn't coming off well. People keep asking me what's wrong, and I don't have any answers. They end up thinking you're having personal problems, or health problems—God forbid. And yesterday Stan asked if I thought you were coming back at all or if this was your way of leaving the company."
That should have alarmed her. Should have had her packing her bags—now. At the very least, it should have her ready to call Stan Grable and convince him of her intense loyalty to Grable & Harding.
But instead, it only pissed her off. "This is the thanks I get for pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this company for the past nine years? Why don't you ask Stan if he knows how many vacation days I've never used, or how many times I've dragged myself into the office sick because I thought I should be there. This is the one thing I've ever asked of Grable and Harding, and if they can't give it to me, they can just go to hell."
Curtis simply stayed silent, finally saying, "Are you done?"
"I suppose."
"Don't think I haven't been singing your praises and trying to convince people everything's fine, because I have. I've watched you come a long way in this company and I don't want you to lose it just because you feel the need to control your sister's life."
She gasped. He sounded just like Jake—in the beginning. A part of her wished she could tell Curtis the truth about Tina's disappearance and see if he thought she was just being a controlling older sister then. But it was none of his business. "There's more to it than you know," she said simply.
"I miss you."
/ slept with another man last night and had the most mind-blowing sex of my life. "I... appreciate that." Under the circumstances, she couldn't return the sentiment.
"I see." Which meant he'd noticed.
She let out a long sigh, not knowing what to say. "I... should go."
"Are you going to smooth things over with Rod Hart-man?"
"Yes," she snapped. She shouldn't be so offended— she'd just admitted to herself that she'd been neglecting her work. Still, everything about this phone call had irked her.
"Stephanie," he said, his voice going softer.
"Yeah?"
Damn, a knock on the door. Probably Mrs. Lindman delivering fresh towels. She walked over, stretching the phone cord, as Curtis said, "I'm sorry if you're mad at me. Being apart is hard on our relationship." She opened the door as he said, "Tell me things are okay between us, will you?"
Jake stood on the other side.
She sucked in her breath, still holding the receiver to her ear. "Hi," she breathed, wondering how horrific her expression was. She suddenly felt like she'd been cheating on both of them, even though she didn't think it true in either case.
"What?" Curtis asked.
"Um, hold on." She covered the mouthpiece and looked up at Jake expectantly.
He lowered his chin. "Catch you at a bad time, beb?"
The worst. Curtis seems to think I really care for him and wants to hear me say it. "Not at all." She shook her head. "Just talking to work."
"I came for Tina's pictures. Turns out I'm meetin' Tony for lunch—thought it might be a good idea to have 'em in case anything new comes up."
"Oh. Of course." She looked around and found the evening bag she'd carried to the lounge last night still lying on her dresser. Setting down the phone, she snapped it open, drew the photos out, and returned to the door, wishing like hell she could pick the phone back up and cover the mouthpiece without it seeming weird. "Here. And thanks."
"I'll be in touch soon," he said, his brown eyes half shut and sexy as hell as he leaned in, curled one hand around her neck, and bent down for a searing hot tongue kiss.
As he turned to go, she stood there breathless, wondering if it was possible to hear a kiss over the phone. One like that, she thought, maybe.
She bit her hp as she picked up the receiver. "I'm back," she said, thinking she sounded ridiculously breathy. "Sorry," she tried to say louder, clearing her throat.
"What's happening there?"
"Just had someone at the door. Nothing important." Except hot and heavy desire.
"Is everything okay between us, Stephanie?"
She closed her eyes and wished the question away. It didn't go.
She'd have to tell him the truth, but not now, like this. When the hell had Curtis started thinking this was more than casual dating? "Everything's fine," she said. "But I'd better get to work. Talk soon. Bye."
Chapter 16
"So what the hell brought this on?"
Jake lowered his po'boy to the plate and looked across the table at Tony. "Huh?"
"Lunch," Tony clarified.
"I gotta eat, no?" He picked the sandwich back up and took a bite.
Tony only laughed, and Jake understood why, but he feigned ignorance since he didn't have an explanation. He and Tony ate lunch together at least once every couple of weeks, but always at his friend's insistence, and he usually made Tony pick something up to bring to his place so he wouldn't have to go out. Today, he'd called Tony's cell and left a message to meet him at a greasy spoon near the French Market.
"Well, whatever the case, it's good to see you getting out a little. Although you could've put on some clean clothes." He gave Jake a critical once-over.
"Slept out at the bayou house. Didn't get around to changin' when I got back." He purposely left out the part about being up most of the night making a beautiful woman whimper and moan. That was getting difficult enough to accept as the hours passed anyway.
But he'd decided he knew why he'd had the dream again—and the reason was equally as disturbing as the sex. As much as he'd wanted Stephanie, as much as he'd even let himself have her, he knew in his heart that he hadn't truly let himself go with her, the way he would have if he'd met her seven or eight years ago. He hadn't let go of the stuff inside him. He thought maybe the dream was telling him he should let go of the guilt pummeling him; maybe it was telling him it was all okay.
Jake Broussard, dream analyst. He rolled his eyes, glad Tony had been late and was now distracted with the menu—he hadn't noticed Jake looking downcast. Not that Tony wasn't used to seeing him downcast, but anytime he could escape a lecture, it was welcome.
And it wasn't anything Tony could help him with anyway. He felt torn inside—ripped down the middle. He wasn't even close to being ready to care for another woman, and where all that tenderness had come from, he hadn't a clue. He hadn't known there was anything like that left in him after Becky. And he couldn't help it, he felt like he'd forsaken her. He'd never expected to share anything like that with a woman ever again—and he couldn't help thinking he shouldn't have.
After Tony placed his order and shoved a laminated menu back behind the napkin holder, he said, "Anything happening at Sophia's?"
Jake shook his head. "I've been off the last few nights, but nothin' unusual comin' down lately."
Jake would have worked harder to get to the bottom of the drugs-at-Sophia's theory if he'd still been a cop. Or if he thought bringing down a couple of midlevel pushers would really make a difference in anyone's life—because he felt that was the best they'd ever do; they'd never get to Typhoeus.
As it was, he only kept his eyes open at Chez Sophia for Tony's sake, out of friendship. And anytime old instincts kicked back in and made him feel like a cop on the prowl, hungry to bring somebody down, he reminded himself that in the big picture it didn't matter, and it didn't pay to care.
"Do me a favor," Tony said, then asked him to keep an ear to the ground on a couple of third-floor regular
s, explaining they'd ended up on his radar because "they have more money than they should," even though one had a high-paying job and the other ran a successful car dealership. "It has to be coming in from somewhere else."
"I'll see what I can do," Jake said, "but I need you to return the favor."
Tony raised his eyebrows until Jake whipped out a color copy he'd made of Tina's photos, side by side, and underneath he'd written down her vital information. "I need you to keep lookin' for this girl."
Tony gave a nod. "Having the pictures will help."
"Also got another sightin' of her at the Crescent's lounge. Some girls there IDed her from the photos. Seems she has a friend named Raven—but neither's been around for a while."
"Friend a hooker, too?"
Jake nodded. "Seems so."
The corners of Tony's mouth edged slightly upward. "You going to tell me why finding this girl is so important to you?"
'Told you the other night. Her sister's worried, couldn't get any assistance through conventional routes, and I'm just tryin' to help."
Tony's expression spread into a cautious, accusatory smile. "And you still want to claim there's nothing romantic going on between you and this pretty Stephanie?"
"Yep." Short. Simple. And true.
Because it had to be true. Nothing else made sense for him—at least not yet. And as for what he felt when he was with her... he couldn't decipher that, but he couldn't deal with the reality of it, either, so he was just going to push it aside. God knew he had experience at pushing down his emotions. This should be simple. And it should start right now. From this moment on, screw the dreams and whatever they might mean—from this moment on, she was a pretty woman and he was a hungry guy, and that was all there was to their attraction. Hot sex. Nothing else.
Even if his blood was itching with wanting to see her again, even now.
