dense one, Doucet. Or maybe you’re the type who can’t stand the fact a woman isn’t interested. Is that it, huh? Is it the challenge you enjoy?”
He’d stopped when she did, met her gaze with his enigmatic one. “I enjoy you.”
Lightning sizzled, and Sara was unable to discern whether it was from the darkening sky or the chemistry sparking between them. She couldn’t look away from him. She was inexperienced, but not stupid. It would be impossible to misidentify the predatory gleam of male intent in his eyes, or the corresponding frisson of pleasure shooting down her spine.
The sky opened up then, and the ensuing downpour succeeded in dispelling their silent communication. “C’mon.” Nick cupped her elbow in his hand. The feel of his fingers on her chilled skin sent tendrils of warmth curling through her system, and although she tried to dislodge him, he held her firmly. Guiding her to a deep doorway up ahead, he allowed her to step beneath the protection it provided, then crowded in after her.
He was too close. Sara shrank back as far as she could, but if anything, he seemed to loom nearer. He didn’t seem to notice her discomfiture at his proximity. He shook the moisture from his dark hair, finger combed it carelessly.
Her throat clogged. The white shirt he wore was plastered against his body, and she could see through it to his chest, with its covering of dark hair. His soaked trousers clung to his hard thighs, leaving no doubt about the muscular strength of his body. She moistened her lips, which had gone inexplicably dry. Thunder boomed, and she glanced out at the street. All the other pedestrians had taken cover, and even as she registered the logic of the action, there was a part of her that was tempted to bolt, to take her chances with the elements in an effort to escape this man. These feelings.
“Amber.”
She didn’t want to respond to that low raspy tone, didn’t want to see the desire that would be stamped on his face. But her gaze raised of its own volition. And immediately the storm around them paled in comparison to the tempest between them.
Despite his earlier efforts, a lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead. His eyes were heavy-lidded, intent, and there was no mistaking the stamp of arousal on his face. It was there in the flare of his nostrils, in the skin stretched taut over his cheekbones. Her pulse leaped once before settling into a hard staccato beat.
His head lowered. There was no room to pull away. And even if she’d had the will to make a run for the street, it was doubtful that her legs would have obeyed the command to move. A strange lethargy had invaded her limbs, turning them weak and boneless.
She felt his breath warm her throat before his lips brushed against the pulse that was pounding there. Then that same barely perceptible caress whispered across her jaw, her eyelids, the corner of her mouth. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, and that fact somehow made the light contact more sensual. Restrained, but full of promise. She shivered against him, but not from the dampness. Heat flashed between them, enough that she imagined the air around them should fill with steam.
The world narrowed, to include only this moment. This man. She thought he could surely hear her heart slamming against her chest. Imagined she could hear his. Her lips parted as his mouth hovered above hers.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, with a light deft stroke that had her shuddering. He rubbed his mouth against hers savoringly, as if he wanted to absorb her flavor and brand her with his own.
And because he was close, all too close, to succeeding, she found the strength to turn her head.
“I have to go.” She could barely form the words.
“Amber.”
She used her elbows to wedge herself past him, not daring to look in the direction of that dulcet voice.
“I want to see you tonight.”
The words sounded as though they’d been dragged from somewhere deep inside him. The blood pumped through her veins, and she struggled for composure. She’d never been in greater need of it. “I have to work.”
“Then I’ll come by for dinner.”
Without responding, she walked away as swiftly as she could without running. Running would have been useless, at any rate. There was no way to outpace the emotions that even now were churning and crashing inside her like white water. No way to escape the certainty that she’d made a very grave mistake indeed by allowing Nick Doucet to touch her. To taste her.
She walked faster to outpace the memories. His flavor still lingered in her senses, and she felt oddly disoriented. Her thoughts were a jumble, and it wasn’t until she heard the blare of a horn that she realized she’d nearly stepped off a curb in front of an oncoming car. Jumping back, she ignored the driver’s rude suggestion and tried to control a shudder at her recent narrow escape. Both of them.
The rain was steady now, falling gently. Her grocery bags were plastic, so she didn’t have to worry about them ripping, but everything she’d bought would have to be dried off before she put it away in her apartment. She looked forward to the task. Any distraction would be a welcome respite from her tumultuous thoughts.
Turning into a wide alley, she ducked her head against the dampness as she headed for her apartment. The place barely qualified as such; located above a seafood market, it had rarely represented a haven to her. The smell of fish was impossible to erase, and the room was barely big enough for her bed, table and couch. The three-quarters bath attached was little more than a converted closet. But Sara felt an unusual eagerness to return to the place. Alone.
Slogging through the puddles, she kept her eye trained on the outside staircase that would take her to blessed peace, not to mention dryness. She passed a man who, despite his black rain slicker, looked almost as drenched as she was. The rest of the alley was deserted. Most people had more sense than to stroll the New Orleans streets in a storm.
“Sara Parker.”
The words turned the rivers of rain on her skin into instant sheets of ice. For the space of an instant she almost convinced herself that she’d imagined them.
Until they were repeated.
“Sara Parker from Chicago.” The voice was louder this time. The man was right behind her.
After a barely imperceptible hesitation, she quickly masked her reaction. Survival instincts, well honed, surged to the surface.
She schooled her expression to a politely quizzical mask before she turned. “If you’re talking to me, you’ve got the wrong person.”
The man smiled, a menacing grimace. “I don’t think so.” His arm raised and her throat seized. Her focus narrowed to the yawning black muzzle of the gun he had pointed at her head. “Victor Mannen sends his regards.”
Time slowed, then froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Distantly, she heard a shout, but didn’t look away. She couldn’t. The slow-motion sequence of death had her in its grip.
She was oddly unsurprised at the way she’d meet her end. It had only been a matter of time. Hadn’t she always known it? But it seemed curiously ironic that only a few minutes ago in Nick’s arms she’d felt more alive than she had in years, and now she was going to die.
The man’s words were almost gentle. “Goodbye, Sara.”
Tearing
