Bad Moon Rising

by Delilah Devlin

  He almost cracked a smile. “Let’s go.”

  DiDi sat beside Mason as he pulled out of the parking lot. He’d stiffened when she’d mentioned the house. He hadn’t liked her mentioning it. Was it because he had a natural dislike for strangers, or did he have a personal interest in the property?

  “My lawyer said the house is in pretty bad shape,” she murmured, fishing for more information.

  “It’s fallin’ down,” he said bluntly. “You really should consider sellin’.”

  “I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

  “Miss Ondine was a recluse. She hoarded cats and junk. You’ll have to get a bulldozer in there to clear the rooms.”

  DiDi wrinkled her nose, imagining the disgusting mess she might face. “Oh my. Maybe I could hire some locals to help.”

  He stayed silent, not looking her way. He’d given her a hot once-over when she’d first entered his car, but must not have liked what he’d seen. She stifled her disappointment.

  Maybe he could be the villain of her next story. The local sheriff with a secret past and bodies buried in his back yard.

  In less than a minute, they reached the restaurant, which was really more of a shack on stilts. But the smells emanating through the screen door made her belly rumble. The music drifting out was pure Cajun—guitars, accordion, and a tinny voice.

  Mason held open the door, this time not touching her. Inside, the place looked like something dreamed up by a Hollywood set designer who wanted to create the quintessential redneck beer joint. The floors were bare wood and scuffed. The walls were plastered, but unevenly so, with large holes where the plaster had given up the ghost and dropped away. A string of Christmas lights was tacked along the edge of the bar, several bulbs missing.

  But the smell of whatever was cooking behind the small window above the back of the bar was heavenly.

  “Mason,” the bartender called out, tossing the towel he’d been rubbing the counter with over his shoulder. He glanced at DiDi, and then his gaze lifted to Mason, a question in his eyes.

  Mason tilted his head toward DiDi, “She ran her car into a ditch.”

  The bartender’s eyes blinked, but then his expression warmed. “Don’t you worry none, miss. Henri’ll get it out in da morning. Hungry?”

  DiDi relaxed. Nothing strange was going on. These locals weren’t communicating telepathically or wary about her arrival. They weren’t alien body snatchers hiding their existence from the human population. More’s the pity. “I’m starved. What’s on the menu?”

  The bartender laughed. “No menu, here, chère. Jus’ whatever Andy wants to cook.”

  “I’ll have whatever then,” she said smiling as she turned to Mason. “Would you like to join me? I’d like to buy you dinner for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

  She expected him to say no and hotfoot his way out the door, his duty by her done. But he motioned to an empty table and pulled out a chair.

  Maybe he was more interested than she’d thought. Maybe he just tended to hide behind his stern policeman face and had forgotten how to lighten up.

  Not that she minded the grim expression. Kind of turned her on. Made him more of a challenge as she tried to figure out how to crack him open. The man might have deep motivations for the way he acted—and they’d make for an interesting storyline.

  They’d both taken a seat when the door behind her opened again, the screen door slapping loudly.

  Mason’s eyes narrowed on the unlucky person who’d just entered, and she turned to find out who could get him to scowl like that.

  Her jaw fell. A man dressed in blue jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt walked in, sweat coating his hard-muscled abdomen, his chest heaving like he’d run for miles.

  His hair was thick and long, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and midnight black. Heavy brows shadowed dark eyes. His lips were full, but parted as he drew in deep breaths, giving her glimpses of even white teeth. The man was tall, although not as tall as the lawman at her table. He was well-built, maybe not as thickly muscled as her companion, but…perfect.

  His gaze swept the room and landed on her, pausing, then skimmed down her frame.

  Pulse racing, she shivered. She’d never been given a look like that. Like a man who wanted to eat her alive and savor the meal. Her mouth went dry, and she snapped her head around to stare at the table in front of her. For the first time in a long time, she was rattled by the appearance of a man.

  Where Sheriff Breaux made her want to dig deep into his psyche, this man oozed eroticism, made her wish for a night spent in cool sheets rubbing on his slick skin.

  Footsteps approached her table, and she lifted her gaze to Mason, who stared steadily at her.

  Was he jealous because she’d taken inventory of the other man? Or was he warning her?

  Mason tilted back his head. “Bobby, been huntin’?”

  Bobby’s full lips pulled away from his perfect white teeth when he smirked. “My quarry got away.”

  His head swiveled toward DiDi, and his gaze swept her hair, her mouth, and then slowly rose to lock with hers.

  DiDi shifted on her seat, felt heat flood her cheeks, and wondered what about him stripped away her self-possession.

  “You new to town?” Unlike Mason’s sexy rasp, Bobby’s voice was a deep, rumbling purr.

  She wondered if he seduced the pants off every female he met with that honeyed voice. The thought had her stiffening in her chair. She wouldn’t be another easy conquest. Still, all that naked skin slathered in sweat, standing so close she could smell his wild, woodsy scent, unnerved her. “My car ran off the road. Your sheriff rescued me.”

  Bobby didn’t look to Mason. His smile curved. “No injuries. C’est bien.”

  “Two orders of Andy’s étouffée!”

  A plate dropped with a solid thud on the table in front of her, and she jumped.

  The bartender glared at Bobby, who smirked, tilted his head to DiDi, then walked away to take a stool in front of the bar.

  Finally, she breathed deeply, willing her heart to slow and inhaled the delicious aroma of the food.

  “Sorry, ’bout that,” Mason said, staring after the man, a hard glitter in his gaze. “Bobby Sonnier forgets his manners ’round a pretty girl.”

  Yeah, she’d bet money that was jealousy causing him to glare. And he’d called her pretty.

  Things were looking up indeed.

  Maybe she’d been celibate too long. Her reactions to both men had been powerful. Or maybe it was this place—a closed community, maybe untouched by time. A primitive vibe crackled in the air.

  Or perhaps, her overactive imagination was building a little suspense and romance into the overall theme of her story. Based on the past few minutes, she might have the choice of two interesting prospects to end her long drought.

  With a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth, she dug into her food, glad she had the long evening ahead, and looked forward to capturing her first impressions of Bayou Noir.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  DiDi hit SAVE and shut down her computer. Her newest story was beginning to pull together—or at least, the characters were coming alive. The external plot of her novel hadn’t yet gelled, because she hadn’t discovered what secrets the sheriff and the bad boy hid.

  But the characters were now fully fleshed—the two men appealing to her heroine in ways DiDi understood all too well. The question she still struggled with was which man her heroine would ultimately choose. The thought made her smile.

  DiDi closed the computer lid. Of course, Sheriff Breaux and Bobby Sonnier were the models for her two heroes. All the while she’d described her heroine’s first meeting with the men, she’d described her own feelings, and how her curiosity and body had both been aroused. Which man did she, DiDi, prefer? Funny, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought a man so disturbingly attractive. But in this remote location, within a single hour, she’d met two.

  She stretched her arms a
bove her head and glanced at her watch—two o’clock AM. Since she was a night owl by habit, she didn’t worry. However, the room was warm. The AC chugged along, but didn’t seem to cool very well. Upon returning to the room, she’d changed to cutoffs and a tank top, but the fabric stuck to her skin. Maybe drinking something ice-cold would cool her enough to rest comfortably. She slipped the pass key into her back pocket, tucked a couple of dollar bills into the front one, and let herself out of her room.

  Outside, she breathed in the thick, humid air. The night was quiet except for the distant, blended hum of insects and frogs. Maybe it was the cloying heat, but she felt restless and aroused. Her thoughts swirled with the erotic fantasies she’d been spinning into a story.

  A woman caught between two men.

  On the outside, one wore a white hat, the other dressed like he’d just dragged himself out of bed. But inside, both souls were painted with the same darkness.

  The soda machine stood next to the office, so she walked barefoot along the sidewalk, slid her money into the slot, and hit the button for a Coke. The machine shuddered, but nothing dropped into the well at the bottom.

  “Damn.” She hit the button again. Nothing. Cursing, she bent and stuck her arm up into the opening, found the bottom of her can lodged at an odd angle, and rattled it until it dropped into her hand.

  When she straightened, she held the can away and opened the tab, letting it spray outward.

  The can was icy cold, and she drank down several gulps before turning back to her room.

  DiDi drew up short. A car had parked in front of her room. A sleek Caprice with the township’s emblem and blue lights on the top. Sheriff Breaux stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her.

  Had he seen her wrestle with the coke, her butt in the air? Would she ever catch a break with the guy?

  DiDi made herself straighten her shoulders and sauntered toward the large man. Did he always wear that expression—so dark and intense, so watchful? She caught the way his narrowed glance scanned her bare legs and feet, and she shivered.

  She’d take his frown over a smile from another man any day—the gesture did things to her. Challenged her. Made her tingle in all the right places. “Evenin’, Sheriff,” she drawled, walking closer.

  “Miz Devereaux,” he said, nodding.

  “DiDi,” she replied, curving her lips. “I thought we were getting friendly.”

  His expression didn’t soften. “It’s late. Doesn’t a city girl like you know it’s not safe to be alone outside after dark?”

  “Tell me,” she said softly, teasingly as she leaned against her room’s door. “This is a small town. What should I fear? And is the danger sporting four legs or two?”

  His features stilled. He stepped closer and looked down his nose.

  A move like he was trying to intimidate. She didn’t know why, but his stance aroused her.

  “Bayou Noir is a quiet town,” he said, his voice dead even, “but you’re a beautiful woman. More temptation than man or beast might be able to resist.”

  DiDi blinked, all bluster gone. Heat soaked the crotch of her panties. He thinks I’m hard to resist? “Looks like I don’t have a thing to fear with you here, Sheriff.”

  His lips crimped in irritation, and he shook his head. “Told you before, Mason,” he bit out. “Seein’ as how we’re friendly now.”

  Two could play this game of chicken. She stepped close enough she could smell him. “What if I like sheriff? I like a man being in charge.”

  His nostrils flared. His eyelids fell. “Careful, chère…”

  “Am I really that hard to resist?” DiDi lifted her chin.

  He didn’t answer, but his gaze fell to her mouth.

  DiDi knew she’d roll her eyes if a character in her book licked her lips at a time like this, but she couldn’t resist the tease. She stroked her bottom lip, wetting it and watching Mason’s eyes narrow further, homing in on the simple little motion.

  “You like playin’ with fire?” he muttered, his voice guttural.

  “I’m not playin’.”

  His eyes were shadowed, a touch sinister and frightening.

  She couldn’t have said why, but she wanted to rattle him. Answer his challenge with one of her own. DiDi leaned into Mason, pressing the hand not holding the soda against his chest and rising on her toes. When her mouth approached, she saw his lips part.

  But he held still, watching her with that dark, steady gaze.

  She placed her lips against his and rubbed them together, and then did it again when he still didn’t move. Pulling back, she gave him a slight glare. His expression hadn’t changed, but that didn’t defeat her. No way could she be this hot if he wasn’t returning some of the heat.

  Plus, he hadn’t warned her away with a word or a gesture, hadn’t moved back either. Not exactly a no.

  Angling a hand backwards, she set the soda on the windowsill and reached up to clutch his shoulders, pushed her chest against his, snuggling closer, and kissed him again.

  His hands curled gently around her waist.

  Her heart sped up, her body melted. She pressed her lips harder.

  However, Mason pushed her away, but his fingers didn’t let her go.

  Rather than reach for him again, DiDi curved her fingers into her palms. She’d never thrown herself at a man like that, without an ounce of encouragement. Feeling like a fool, she pushed at his hands. “Don’t worry,” she said, unable to hold his steady stare now that she’d humiliated herself. “I promise I won’t attack you again.”

  “DiDi.”

  “What?” she snapped, lifting her face, hoping to salvage her pride.

  “Dammit.” His lips slammed on top of hers. His hands let go of her waist and glided around her back, pulling her against him. And then he was walking her backward, pushing her against her door while he devoured her mouth.

  DiDi thought she’d been ready for his kiss. Ready for whatever he’d bring, but under the onslaught, her head swam, her knees weakened. She locked her fingers behind his neck.

  Scents intensified—the smell of thick, green forest, the exhaust of his car, his aftershave, the unique smell of his masculine musk.

  Sounds—an indistinct hum before—returned, becoming louder. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked. The wind sifted through the trees, rustling leaves and creaking branches. And his heartbeat grew loud enough, insistent enough, her own matched its beat.

  And God, the lush, wet thrill of that kiss! His mouth was hard, his tongue sinfully fluid, sliding along hers then tangling and twisting until she had to suck on it to keep him still and savor the sensual connection.

  DiDi felt as though she drowned in a perfect moment, falling deeply into lust, her body shivering and bending toward him.

  Mason broke the kiss. His gaze raked her face; his jaw tightened. “Better get inside an’ lock that door, chère.”

  “And if I don’t want to?” she asked breathlessly, looking deep into his dark eyes.

  “Gimme your key.”

  Relief made her knees shake. He’s coming inside. She dug into her pocket for the key card and handed it over. He swiped the key and pulled down the latch next to her hip. Then he tossed the key toward the bed behind her and grasped her waist.

  DiDi began to reach up to enfold him in her arms—

  Scowling, Mason pushed her backward and closed the door in her face.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. That had never happened before.

  *

  Minutes later, Mason entered the back door of LeChat feeling edgy and angry.

  The smell of DiDi Devereaux—sweaty, womanly—still filled his nostrils. Her sweet taste hadn’t faded either. His tongue pulsed, still throbbed from where she’d sucked it.

  Horndog that he was, he hadn’t forgotten the image that had sprung into his mind the instant she’d pulled on his tongue—of her wrapping her soft mouth around his cock.

  The sensuality that had slackened her lovely features up until the moment he
’d shoved her away told him she was his for the taking. In order to walk away, he’d had to fight his own primal instinct.

  He was hard, irritated as hell, but couldn’t blow off the meeting he’d arranged, because he needed the woman gone now. Mason walked through the kitchen and headed straight for the restaurant’s seating area. The lights were low, but coffee was brewing, the scent rich and fragrant in the air.

  LeChat’s owner, Andy Hern, and TruJean Priest, both clan elders, sat together at a table, cupping heavy mugs. They looked up as he neared.

  Andy lifted his chin in a quick, jerking nod. “What you think ’bout the woman, Mason? Will we get her out of town before all hell breaks loose? Henri says her car will take days to fix.”

  “Her car’s not the biggest problem,” Mason said, taking a seat across from the men. “She’s Ondine Gauthier’s heir. She plans to move into the house.”

  Both men’s gazes sharpened.

  “Hell, no,” TruJean said, slapping the table. “Can’t have her nosin’ in our biz-ness.”

  Andy shrugged with chilling nonchalance. “Burn down her house.”

  A sensation like cold water spilling down his spine had Mason stiffening. “She’s an innocent. We hold no grudge against her. Violence toward humans isn’t our way.”

  TruJean stared at Mason over his coffee cup. His bushy gray eyebrows lowered as he studied him. “You like dis girl?”

  Mason shifted on his seat, knowing that a lie wouldn’t get past TruJean’s eerie sixth sense. “She’s strong. Smart. And yeah, I want her.” He ran a hand over his face.

  TruJean nodded slowly. “Need fresh blood. Maybe she could be brought into the fold. She’s Ondine’s kin. The old woman was a good friend.”

  “Ondine was a recluse,” Andy said, the deep lines in his forehead digging deeper with his frown. “And crazy. Havin’ cats roamin’ her property suited her fine.”

  “Maybe we jus’ have to keep her busy, distracted,” TruJean murmured.

  Andy’s eyebrows shot up. “Seduce her? Good idea. What woman can resist a cat on the prowl?” His mouth curled into a sneer. “From the way Bobby Sonnier was sniffin’ after her, he’d be happy to bed her.”