She saw the cemetery’s iron gates, almost hidden beneath veils of Spanish moss. The iron was thick and old and in places, rusted beyond repair. The rails rose six feet high and crested into sharp wicked points.
Her insides tightened. She should go back. This was stupid. Drew wasn’t here. But instead of listening to the warning voice in her mind, she walked forward drawn by the desolate graveyard.
Through the gates several large tombs and mausoleums of every shape and size sat aboveground out of the water’s corrosive reach. Some graves were quite elaborate, adorned with marble angels and pewter crosses, while others, the older ones, were just brick-and-mortar boxes.
Enticed by the tombs, Laura barely noticed the gate’s protesting whine as she pushed through and walked inside. She never imagined there had been so many Larames and shuddered at the thought of one day ending up there herself.
She stopped before a mausoleum with Paul’s name etched into the stone and placed her hand on the cool marble. She had a vague recollection of standing in this same spot as a child, of her mother squeezing her hand too tight, of red-rimmed eyes under a black veil.
Not the eyes of a woman who had killed her husband.
For a full minute Laura stood still, listening. But she didn’t hear a sound. Not even from the birds. All was deathly silent. She shook off the insidious fear stirring within her and continued on, reading the names carved into the marble. She couldn’t help wondering about those people’s lives and how they’d died.
Lost in thought, she rounded a large mausoleum, her fingertips gliding across the cool marble’s smooth surface, and stopped. The wooden flatboat with the old lantern dangling from a hooked pole sat in the water at the edge of the swamp not ten feet in front of her.
Empty.
Laura’s stomach dropped. “Hello, Delilah.”
Her heart slammed against her chest at the sound of his raspy voice. Turning, she faced the possum hunter.
His rheumy gray gaze slid across her face. “You shouldn’t’ve come back here. You’re not welcome in the bayou.”
“I’m not Delilah. I’m Laura Larame, Delilah’s daughter.”
He stepped closer to her. Sniffing the air.
She took a step back.
“Your kind of magic isn’t wanted here.”
“I don’t know any magic.”
“Tell that to my Georgette,” he snarled through rotten teeth. “That poor child has never found her rest. She still wanders the swamp, looking for the witch that killed her. Looking for you.”
Laura stiffened. Shudders cascaded down her spine. Georgette? The girl who died with Paul?
“We all know what you did, Delilah. You will pay for your sins.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the stench of death rolling off his skin.
Every instinct within her told her to turn and run, but instead she stood her ground. She would not be intimidated, bullied or scared off. By anyone. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“As I said, my name is Laura, and I believe you are standing on Larame property. I suggest you leave.”
Surprise widened his eyes. “Heed my warnings, girl. If you know what’s good fer you, you’ll turn tail and leave back to where you came from.”
Girl? She cocked a brow. Maybe this man wasn’t as delusional as he first appeared. He turned and stepped onto his boat, picked up his pole and pushed off, gliding away from her across the glassy water.
He passed what at first appeared to be a log floating between the leaves from a low-hanging branch, but in the bayou things weren’t always what they seemed. Cold, unblinking eyes stared at her—an alligator searching for his morning meal.
Once the hunter was far enough away, Laura stepped forward and peered into the black murky water. His boat had been moored over a tomb that was completely swallowed by the swamp. She’d thought she saw something red moving beneath the surface.
She stepped forward to get a closer look. An egret landed on the water causing ripples to block her view. At least she hoped it was the bird that caused them. She took another step closer and leaned forward, peering into the dark waters.
Mud shifted beneath her feet. She sank into the muck. Swamp water covered her ankles. She tried to pull free, but the swamp had her, pulling her down.
Panicked, she raised her foot. It broke free, but the momentum knocked her off balance. Pinwheeling her arms, she tried to stay standing. She could not fall into the grave-laden waters! Horror seeped into her, sending her free-falling into uncontrolled terror.
Screaming, she lost her balance and fell forward. Her knees hit first. Her hands splashing into the mud. Her face dipping beneath the surface. She saw marble and brick, rippling within the sediment. Tombs!
And some kind of red fabric.
She pushed backward out of the water, and scrambled onto the muddy shore. She gulped a terrified breath and rubbed the swamp water from her face with the inside of her arm. Oh, God, she was covered in algae and mud and the decaying stench of the swamp.
“Dammit all to hell!” She pushed herself out of the muck and wove her way through the tombs back toward the gates. She was dripping and slimy and miserable. Before she reached the gates, she heard a noise behind her. Dread skittered up her stiffened spine.
“Laura?” Drew’s voice came from behind her.
Fury mingled with relief and embarrassment formed a molten stew of emotion. She wheeled on him.
He stared at her for a long moment, his back straightening, his gaze turning hard as he took a step back away from her. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, through a tight jaw.
“Looking for you!” She bit her bottom lip, clamping down on her fury.
“Me?”
“Yes, and if you think I’m going to be on that flight this afternoon, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not going anywhere but back to the house to take a hot shower.”
He stood still, his dark eyes watching her out of an expressionless face. She hated it when he looked at her like that. The coldness in his gaze reminded her that she didn’t know anything about him.
In fact, the only thing she had discovered since coming here was that someone seemed real determined to scare her into leaving and, so far, he and the hunter had been the only ones to come right out and tell her to go.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Obviously, I fell in the swamp.”
“I’ve warned you—” He stopped midsentence and pushed his lips together so hard they whitened.
Warned her? A shiver tore through her that had nothing to do with her wet clothes.
He turned and headed back down the path toward the house.
He wasn’t getting away that easy. She fell into step beside him. “So what did you find out about my mother? What was so important that I had to meet you way out here?”
He stopped and turned to her, his cold, hard gaze locking onto hers. “What are you talking about?”
“You said to meet you here. I came. Where were you?”
His face contorted with confusion and suddenly she knew. Dismay widened her eyes and her throat went dry. “You didn’t leave me a note, did you?”
Chapter 9
After a long hot shower, Laura finally got the rancid smell of the swamp off her. She ambled to her room in a towel in no hurry to face Drew again, to see the tightness of his jaw, the hard lines around his mouth, to wonder why he was doing his best to scare her into leaving.
She pulled open her underwear drawer and reached inside, but instead of cotton, her hand brushed across burlap and twine. Gripping the edge of the dresser, she leaned forward and peered inside, grabbed the object and pulled it out of the drawer.
A voodoo doll with large black empty eye sockets sunk deep into a white skull was clutched in her hand. Disgusted, she flung the doll. It rolled across the top of the dresser, then came to a stop, lying on its side, facing her.
Several strands of long shiny back hair flowed out the top of the head—
hair that looked a lot like hers. Hand trembling, she reached for the doll, her fingertips hovering over the strands as she forced herself to feel the hair.
Was it real? It felt real. She yanked her hand back then noticed a child’s necklace wrapped several times around the doll’s neck. A small unicorn pendant dangled, sparkling in the light. She’d been wearing one like it in one of her mother’s photos on the wall in the hallway.
Was the necklace hers?
Was the hair?
Repulsed, she turned away from the doll. Drew stood in the doorway watching her.
“Did you put it there?” she demanded, pulling the towel tighter around her.
“What?” His gaze raked her face then moved beyond her.
“It was in my drawer…my underwear drawer.” An uncontrollable shiver shook her.
Drew crossed the room, picked up the doll and examined it, his fingers brushing across green feathers attached to its back.
Fear seeped like ice-cold water through her veins to painfully tighten her chest. “Did you put some kind of creepy voodoo spell on me?”
“No. Someone is trying to scare you, but it’s not me.” His green eyes locked onto hers. “I’ll find out who’s behind this.”
She wished she could believe him. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. But what if it was him toying with her emotions, and trying to chase her away? He seemed the most logical suspect. He had easy access to her thoughts, her fears…her room. But she couldn’t reconcile her suspicions with the way he made her feel last night—safe, secure, wanted.
As she looked at him, she realized it didn’t matter how he made her feel, she had to stay strong and not let whoever was behind this mess spook her.
Drew touched her arm, the soft gesture comforting, even as she tried to ignore it.
“I promise, Laura, if you let me, I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.” There was a slight catch in his voice, a hesitancy that spoke of his sincerity.
She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted to trust that he truly did care about her and wasn’t just turning her into a sappy fool.
“Tell me about this morning,” he said. “About the note. Where did you find it?”
Apprehension prickled her spine. “On the table next to your bed. If you didn’t leave the note, then someone must have come in while we were sleeping and put it there.”
She wasn’t sure which sounded worse.
“And I can assure you, this wasn’t there yesterday.” She gestured toward the voodoo doll.
“My mother admitted to placing the gris-gris bag under your pillow last night. She—”
“Your mother?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. She said she was only trying to help.”
“Miss Martha practices voodoo?” As she said the words aloud something snapped in her mind, some hidden knowledge that made her at once panicked and sick.
She turned away from him, not sure where she should go or what she should do and leaned against the wall to steady herself.
Drew’s hand lingered on her bare shoulder, his touch sending tingles down her back.
“She said it was only a spell to help you sleep, to keep you from remembering.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Remembering?”
“Whatever happened the night your mom disappeared and you and I almost drowned in the swamp.”
“How much do you remember of that night?” she asked.
His eyes shifted and he looked away.
She blew out an exasperated breath.
“Why would someone want you to go to the graveyard? Did you see anyone?”
She grimaced. “Yes. That strange man we saw on our way into town yesterday. The possum hunter. He was outside my bedroom last night on that weird boat of his, too.”
“Did he say anything to you? Do anything?”
Uneasiness slid through her as she replayed the conversation. “He called me Delilah and told me to leave.”
Drew sighed. “What does an old derelict have to do with any of this?”
“He said something about wanting justice for Georgette, but mostly I think he was trying to scare me. When I stood up to him, he called me a little girl. I don’t think he would have referred to my mother, the voodoo priestess the locals seem to be so afraid of, as a little girl. He knew exactly who I was and what he was saying.”
She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Maybe she should go home.
“Are you going to be okay?” His voice was gentle, caressing.
Manipulative?
Her gaze perused his face, trying to figure him out.
“You can trust me,” he said. “I know it’s crazy, but I want to take care of you. I want to help you. I want…”
His eyes moving down her body…lingering. She became acutely aware that she was wearing only a towel. Awareness shot through her, sending a flush of heat up her chest. She shifted, the towel’s cotton rubbing against her sensitive skin—across her back, her thighs, her bottom. Her tongue slipped out and she ran it across her lips.
His gaze followed the movement, and suddenly her nerve endings were chafing and sparking. His eyes caught hers.
“I want to believe you.” She fought to keep herself from reaching for him. It seemed that no matter how strong her fears and doubts might be, she wanted him to touch her, to hold her tight. She wanted to feel more of those tingles…everywhere.
He placed his hand on the wall next to hers and moved one finger across hers. A simple gesture with miniscule contact and yet heat fired straight through her.
She really had no reason to distrust him. Since she first saw him standing in the front doorway, he’d only been kind and helpful. And incredibly sexy.
Hadn’t he?
Her gaze flickered across his chest, over toned muscles under his thin shirt. She longed to run her fingers across them, stroking, caressing.
He’d been there for her when that car almost ran her down and again last night with the snake. If she truly believed that he had written that note, that she couldn’t trust him, then would her body be responding so strongly to him?
“Swear to me you didn’t write that note,” she demanded.
“I swear,” he said, his voice sounding raspy with caged desire.
And though she knew it was crazy, that she was operating on pure emotion, she believed him.
She wanted to believe him.
She wanted him.
I should leave. Right now. Turn around. Get out. But he didn’t. Like a glutton for punishment, Drew stood there. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He sucked in a breath and the fruity smell of her shampoo filled him. She stood so close he could feel heat rolling off her. She was on edge, pumped up and looking even more beautiful with desire glistening in her eyes.
He wanted her. And worse, she wanted him. The sexual tension bouncing between them was palpable.
Mon Dieu. Surrendering to the fire, he seized her shoulders, pulling her to him and crushing her lips beneath his. He kissed her, long and hard, until he lost himself in her softness and the sweet taste of her mouth. He swam in the sensations until he was drowning.
A soft moan escaped her and he clung to the sound, as he would a raft in a turbulent sea. No! He couldn’t do this. He steadied himself, released her and gulped a deep breath.
“Drew,” Laura whispered, caressing her swollen lips with the tips of two fingers. “Tell me you want me.”
Damn! How could he not want her?
She leaned into him, her gentle touch moving across his chest. He ached to remove his shirt, to feel her skin against his.
She nibbled the corner of his mouth, raining kisses along his jaw. His blood rushed through his system, heating his body temperature and fine-tuning his senses so that every touch, every breath left him aching for more.
“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse with unbridled passion. “And, I want you in my room, in my bed.”
“Then show me.” Her eyelids lowered. She gave
her towel a tug and let it fell to the floor.
As if sucker punched, Drew inhaled sharply. Her breasts were incredible, larger then he’d expected and yet high and firm. The rosy tips of her nipples hardened under his perusal, showing him how much she wanted him to touch her there.
Oh, and how he wanted to touch them, to lick and suck them, but he hesitated. If he crossed this line, there would be no going back. No keeping her at bay. No keeping his emotions and desires in check.
And yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Her chest rose and fell in short little gasps. She wanted him. He could see it in the intensity of her gaze, feel it in the warmth of her skin.
“I want to. You know I want to,” he said, grasping onto his reason even as he felt himself slipping, felt all coherent thought washing away in a flood of desire.
He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t give up control. He had to go. Instead, he leaned forward, avoiding contact with her body and kissed her softly, his lips hovering over hers.
In an intimate caress, she ran the tip of her tongue across his mouth. His heart raced. Chills burst through his pores. Their tongues barely touched and yet, with that slight contact, he knew he had to have her.
There was no stopping. No going back. Softly, he touched her nipples, first one then the other. They hardened as he teased them with featherlight strokes while mimicking the soft play of their tongues. She let out a breathy moan, and it was all he could do not to lift her up into his arms right then and bury his stiff erection within her.
The image played across his mind and he thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth. His cock throbbed. He intensified their kiss, tangling his hand through her wet hair, pulling her closer to him, pressing his mouth hard against hers.
“Laura, are you sure?”
Please be sure.
Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, where she kneaded the taut muscles. She had strong, sure hands. And what he wouldn’t give to feel those hands touching him…all over.
Black Magic Lover Page 9
