Too Wild to Hold (5 page)

Okay. He could work with that. Especially if it meant stripping down with Claire and discovering the true lusciousness beneath her elaborate gown.

He spun her around and loosened the ties on her bodice.

“Just how far are you willing to take this?” he asked, trailing his tongue from the base of her skull, down her spine, to the gradually spreading laces of her gown.

“As far as we have to,” she said, breathless, her voice hitching when his tongue hit the spot directly between her shoulder blades.

She tasted like a gourmet dessert, a combination of flavors that played with the notions of salty and sweet.

“You?” she asked, tossing a sassy glance over her shoulder.

In another time, another place, another situation, he might have said that he’d only go as far as necessary to keep the mission intact. But here, now, with Claire, under the influence of his ancestor’s ring, all bets were off.

“As far as you want to go,” he replied.

She spun around. With her top sufficiently loosened, the stiff material of the bodice and sleeves floated around her corseted breasts like clouds of shimmering satin. Michael’s mouth instantly watered for a taste.

Just one taste.

“Care to be more specific?” she asked.

He smoothed his hands down her back, his fingers spanning her slim waist. Claire was not willowy or thin, but curvaceous and athletic. Her arms were tanned and muscled, but she possessed a natural softness that made him lift her up from her elbows so he could properly inhale the scent of the lotions clinging to her skin.

“How specific?”

He pressed her full against his body, so that she could not mistake the feel of his erection even through the layers of her gown.

“Oh.”

The sound of her surprise, coupled with the flush of pink across her cheeks, fired him even more. He tugged her to him, his lips so close to hers he could feel her breath as he spoke.

“I came here with no intention beyond getting you to safety as soon as possible. But I’d be lying if I denied how beautiful you are or how hot you look in that dress, especially now that it’s half off. Making love to you would not be a hardship. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”

Her mouth dropped open momentarily, but then she laughed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pierced him with a stare so bold, he thought he might lose his mind.

“Then I think I’m going to like working with you, Special Agent Murrieta.”

“If we do it right, it won’t be work. And please, call me Michael.”

“By all means, Michael. Let’s give those bastards behind the camera something worth watching.”

“W
HERE THE HELL
are you, Michael?”

Special Agent Ruby Dawson muttered the question under her breath, her eyes trained on the blank screen of her cell phone. Except for one cryptic message telling her that Claire Lécuyer had taken off and that Michael was following a lead to catch up with her, all Ruby knew about her partner’s whereabouts was that he’d gone undercover without backup. If anything happened to him because he couldn’t wait six hours until she arrived on a later flight from San Francisco, she was going to kill him.

“May I buy you another?”

Ruby glanced up, momentarily surprised to discover a fine-looking man in a pale guayabera and khaki shorts smiling at her. He was holding a sweating mug of beer, nearly as empty as hers. His blond hair was cropped short. His cheeks were rough from several days of not shaving and his eyes, an arresting mixture of browns from deep chocolate to rich gold, shone with the kind of hopefulness only experienced by a man on vacation who’d just spotted a single chick in a bar.

Really? Now? Tonight?

Inwardly, Ruby groaned. Any other time, she might have grinned provocatively and enjoyed the free drink while she sized up the guy, doing a mini-profile in her head that would determine whether she said yes to his inevitable invitation to dance or declined when he offered to drive her home. Especially here, in Draper’s Dive, a cheesy, nautical-themed bar she’d been hanging out in since she was eighteen and her mom had taken an apartment two blocks over from. She’d honed her people-watching skills here, determining the winners and losers with such accuracy that the former owner had suggested she get a job with the FBI.

She’d taken his advice, and every time she came back to town, she hit the old place to drink a beer in his honor.

Didn’t happen very often anymore, but it was a tradition, much as it was a given that at some point during her tribute drink, a guy was going to make a pass.

Under other circumstances, she would not have minded. She was pushing forty, single, and lately, a little undersexed. But Michael was out of touch, and no matter how cold and delicious the local brew felt against the back of her throat, she had to track him down. She didn’t have time for a real diversion—even one with lips curved into a casual, if not arresting, smile.

“I can buy my own, thanks,” she said, turning her attention back to her cell phone, ignoring the twinge of sensation in her nipples.

That’s how it always started—with a zing. Followed by full-out flirting, laughing, usually a little more drinking and, if she was lucky, a succession of dance moves that would coat her skin with a slick sheen of sweat and inspire her to peel away her clothing, one layer at a time.

Where it usually ended, if she wasn’t on the job, was in bed. But this time, she hadn’t come home to New Orleans for fun. She was here to work…although, with Michael running around half-cocked and out of communication range, she really didn’t have anything to do.

“Of course you could buy your own,” the man said, sidling in between her bar stool and the empty one beside her, but making no move to sit. “But why would you if I’m offering?”

His bold self-confidence was interesting. He was good looking, even if in a little too familiar “movie star” way. The vibe he threw off wasn’t over-the-top pushy or creepy.

Just…persistent.

And Ruby kind of liked persistent.

“I don’t know you,” she replied, turning her shoulder so he’d get the hint.

He laughed. “I’ve only been in town for a few days. I don’t know anyone.” He leaned around her and held out his hand. “David Brandon.”

She sighed. She hadn’t traveled across the United States to flirt with some tourist in a French Quarter bar. However, what she had come here to do—provide Michael with backup while they tracked down the Bandit—was on hold until her partner resurfaced.

As soon as she’d secured her rental car from the airport, she’d verified that the Bandit’s likeliest next victim, Claire Lécuyer, was not home; and from the way the place was locked up tight, she wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Ruby had then checked in with the local FBI office and learned that while Michael had alerted their counterparts to his arrival, he’d given them no intel regarding his plans.

He had asked for the name and location of a discreet costume shop, though. That made her scalp itch with anxiety. Ever since Michael’s brother had given him their father’s ring, Michael had been different. He’d always been laser-focused on the job, but with his discovery of his new brothers—the heretofore unknown older brother, Alejandro, and the recently released jailbird, Danny—his drive and determination had hit new highs. Why couldn’t he have waited a few hours for her to show up? Instead, he’d gone off on his own, and until she found what the hell he was up to, she had nothing but time on her hands.

She gave the guy a little half-smile and said, “I’m Ruby,” keeping her last name to herself.

Mr. Handsome gestured to her pilsner glass. “May I?”

She shrugged and he took her nonchalance as acceptance. He motioned to the bartender to bring fresh drinks and then turned his assessing eyes to hers.

“You look comfortable,” he said. “You live around here?”

Her half-smile blossomed into a full grin. He was good. He turned the standard “where are you from?” into an interesting—and accurate—observation.

“Used to,” she replied.

“Lucky,” he said. “I’d move here in a heartbeat if I didn’t have obligations elsewhere.”

“Really?” she asked, skeptically. She often heard tourists make such claims, but few ever followed through. People didn’t move to New Orleans on purpose. They were either born and bred here or came here to work—and there wasn’t too much of that going since Katrina.

Her doubtful look did not deter him. “The food. The music. The color. The vibe. It’s old and smelly, but new and exciting at the same time. You never know what’s going to happen. You never know who you’re going to meet.”

Nice segue. Somehow, he kept the conversation about her hometown centered on her. He was good, this David Brandon.

“It’s a passable party town.”

“To the casual observer,” he said.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

He pressed his lips together, as if he withheld a secret that would fully explain his fascination with the Crescent City. “Sure, I guess. So, do you have family here?”

“Some,” she answered honestly, not disturbed by his quick focus on learning more about her. It was a natural question and this guy was nothing if not natural. “A bunch stayed in Houston after Katrina ’cause they found work. My mother’s people went back to Mississippi, where they were from originally, but my father’s cousins and my brother toughed it out in Metarie.”

The bartender arrived with the cold drafts while David expanded his questions about her family and shared a little bit about himself. She learned he had two brothers, neither of whom he knew very well, and that he’d never lived in one place very long during his childhood on account of his now-deceased mother’s wandering spirit.

For her part, Ruby answered his questions with practiced care, never revealing anything important while creating the illusion that she was spilling her life’s story. Some of what she said wasn’t even true—her brother in Metarie was actually in a cemetery—but she’d told the lies often enough that she no longer worried about not getting the story straight.

“So if you’re not in town to play,” he surmised once she declined his offer for a third refill, “why come at all?”

“Work,” she answered.

“What do you do?”

She speared him with an intense look and wondered whether to be honest or deflect the question.

She glanced at the clock on her cell phone. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed since David Brandon had made his first move. Michael still had not checked in and she was starting to feel the ache of cross-country travel in heavy eyelids and tight muscles around her neck.

“Law enforcement.”

“No shit? Me, too.”

She’d expected the guy to go running—learning that the lady was a cop often had that effect on men, especially tourists hanging out in bars and looking for a good time. But David just slid forward, and when the bartender appeared with two fresh glasses of beer that she couldn’t remember him ordering, he requested a pound of steamed oysters and asked Ruby if there was anything else on the menu she’d like to share.

She declined, but couldn’t fault the guy for perseverance. However, if he was trying to go the “aphrodisiac” route, he was going to be sorely disappointed. He was cute, but she wasn’t in the mood. Michael should have checked in by now.

“Look, you’re a nice guy, but I really need to get going.”

“Before the oysters? Come on, I love some slimy crustaceans, but I can’t down a whole dozen on my own. Not after all the jambalaya I had at lunch.”

He patted his stomach, which looked perfectly flat to her.

It nearly hurt for her to say, “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“In oysters?”

“No, I don’t normally turn down the oysters here. Their cocktail sauce is the kind you want to scoop up with a spoon. I’m just not interested in—” She waved her hand between them. “This.”

He bowed his head respectfully. “That’s cool. Then just stay for the oysters. I don’t force my attentions on women, but when I make an offer to share a meal, I don’t take it back. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly, now, would it?”

Ruby rewarded his honesty by not climbing off the barstool and heading out the door. She was such a sucker for charming guys. She wasn’t going to change her mind about only sharing an appetizer with him before she took off, but she didn’t need to be rude, either. Even if he wasn’t her type.

Yeah, he was good-looking, but scruffier than she normally preferred. And he was in law enforcement. She had a strict and unalterable policy against dating guys who shared her profession. Still, there was something in his eyes that made her want to trust him, at least long enough to finish her beer and slurp down a few steamed oysters.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Ruby settled into her seat and arranged her phone so she wouldn’t miss the alerts if a text message or phone call came through. Maybe more chitchat would take her mind off Michael and stem the persistent feeling that even though he’d been here for only a few hours more than she had, he was already in over his head.

“So,” she said, determined to stop worrying about Michael when there was nothing she could do. “What brings a cop from another jurisdiction to New Orleans?”

“Vacation, pure and simple,” David answered easily. “I work in a mid-sized town in Illinois that you’ve never heard of and I needed a change of scenery. Heard it was best to visit New Orleans in the fall, so I came down, did some gambling, heard some real jazz, ate way more than I should have. And yet—”

His eyes lit up as the oysters arrived. He handed Ruby a small plate, a stack of napkins and a tiny fork with a lemon impaled on the end.

She removed the lemon and put it on the side. She liked lemon on raw oysters, but preferred the steamed ones with loads of the Dive’s horseradish-heavy cocktail sauce. The recipe hadn’t changed with the ownership, judging by the way her eyes watered when she took a sniff.

“When are you heading home?”

“Soon,” he said. “I have one more thing to do before I go back.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.

He doused his oyster with hot sauce, then sucked it down and chased the spicy seafood with a long draft of beer.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to answer. She wasn’t sure why she was so curious, but the longer he avoided giving her a straight answer, the more the guy struck her as…familiar?

She was fairly certain she’d never seen him before. She had a better-than-most memory for faces, honed by studying pictures of suspects before heading out into the field to track them down. And she’d definitely never heard his voice with its distinctive Midwestern inflection. But there was something about David Brandon that made her think he’d make a fine drinking buddy on the nights when a date was hard to come by.

Just like Michael.

He finished his third oyster and finally replied, “Let’s just say that I’ve got a little more left of the city to see and leave it at that.”

“Fair enough,” she concluded, taking another oyster off the platter and this time dipping it in a small plastic tub of drawn butter.

David Brandon could keep his secrets. Her whole life, she’d been a sucker for a good mystery. And the more oysters she ate and beer she drank, the less she worried about the unsolved mystery she had no means to solve. Just where was her partner and what the hell was he doing?

I
S HE WATCHING
?

The thought, so illicit, so disturbing, dove with determination through the waves of pleasure washing through Claire’s body as Special Agent Michael Murrieta, the man charged with keeping her safe from a crazed kidnapper, suckled the pulse point on her neck. She should care that a man who had targeted her as his next victim might be on the other side of that hidden camera. She should be creeped out that some sicko would get off on watching her fall under the sensual spell of another man—or worse, that the sight was infuriating him to the point that he planned all manner of punishments for her once he finally had her in his possession.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She knew the guy was never going to get his hands on her. Not if she had anything to say about it, which she did. And not with Michael Murrieta standing in his way.

That the FBI agent had caught her unaware downstairs had wounded her pride. It had also upped her confidence in his skills to a trust level she hadn’t experienced since she’d been a rookie cop and thought every veteran would jump into the line of fire to protect one of their own.

Boy, had she learned differently.

Michael, on the other hand, had quickly earned her respect, not with his leather bound credentials, but with the cunning means he’d used to inject himself into her investigation. He hadn’t thumped his chest and demanded she put her job aside for the benefit of his case. He’d blended seamlessly into this world and paid just as much attention to keeping his investigation intact as he had to hers.