Night Game
Page 13

Flame went right up to the piano as though she owned it. She looked an elegant, classy lady as she seated herself on the bench, fingers poised over the keys, the uneven hem of her dress draped over her shapely legs. Thibodeaux hovered anxiously, bat wrapped in his meaty hands, his gaze on Flame as the first notes poured into the room.
Her voice was low and haunting, stealing into Gator’s mind and holding him in some kind of thrall. The first words of her song sank into his heart and soul, wrapping him up tightly, squeezing his insides so that her song was personal to him, only to him. Everyone else had dropped away. There was no other man in existence. Even the room dropped away so that they were wherever his imagination took them.
He could almost feel the softness of her skin as her voice beckoned to him, summoned him, trapped him in a web of sexual need and sensual stimulation. One song blended smoothly into the next, smoky notes transporting him into fantasies and making him weep inside for lost love and missed chances. It took effort to make his brain work when all he wanted to do was carry her off to a place where they could be alone.
His mind seemed sluggish, working at slow speed, and that bothered him. It made no sense why he couldn’t turn his head and look at his brother to observe his reaction to her, he could only stare, transfixed at the woman playing the piano. He saw the silk of her red hair, individual strands begging to be touched. Her skin gleamed, impossibly soft and inviting. Her neck was slender, bare when she turned her head, driving him to the brink of in sanity. All he could think about was pressing his mouth there and wandering, exploring, losing himself in the lushness of her body.
One song led into another while he struggled to control himself. His jeans were so tight he was afraid he’d burst, his aching, throbbing body hardened to the breaking point. In the end, he resorted to his old trick, tapping his fingertip on the table, establishing a counter beat, one he could concentrate on. Almost at once he realized how much power her voice wielded. Flame wasn’t simply mesmerizing with her incredible, sultry voice, she was hypnotizing her audience with her music and he had fallen into the trap right along with everyone else.
He took a cautious look around. No one moved. No one drank. Every eye was on her, everyone entranced by the seduction of her smoky, sultry voice. She didn’t look at them, didn’t catch anyone’s eye and flirt, she simply bent over the piano and allowed the music and song to carry her away. Her audience was transported right along with her into a world of satin sheets and steamy nights. He felt her under his skin, fingers stroking and teasing, her mouth hot satin…
Gator shook his head hard to clear his brain. She had an amazing gift, far too powerful for anyone, even Whitney, to conceive of. What would the doctor have done had he known she could captivate an audience the way she did? He was aware of the hypnotic effect of her voice, yet he still had to fight it. He tapped his finger harder on the table, counting out a rhythm in his mind to keep from losing himself in her voice. Lily would want to know. She maintained several contracts with the government along with a high-security clearance, and the government would definitely want to know what Flame could or couldn’t do with her talent. It was no wonder there was a flag on a computer somewhere trying to monitor where she was and whom she associated with.
Where would that leave him? He rubbed his temples and hummed to himself to keep from drowning in her voice. He had the same gifts, the same talents. Once it was known, how much of a guinea pig would he become? And if his past experiments ever came out, if the government-or Lily-figured it out, what would they do to him? He’d probably be sitting right alongside Flame in a cage somewhere.
The last notes of music drifted away. Her haunting voice died away, and the patrons of the club began to come to life, glasses rattling, voices raising, feet shuffling, and the inevitable crunching of peanut shells. Flame rose gracefully and smiled at the band. “I’m thirsty, any of you want a drink?”
“Oh, baby,” a man called out. “I’ve got something for you to drink.”
Flame turned her head, her gaze moving over the heckler with bored tolerance. “Lovely. But not happening.” She turned back toward the band, but Gator noticed she was in a defensible position and, although her head was averted, she was watching out of the corner of her eye.
Gator recognized Vicq Comeaux, one of a large family of brothers and cousins, mostly boys, he and his brothers had drunk and fought with since they were about fourteen.
Vicq yelled another lewd comment and pushed his way to the front of the crowd to stand directly in front of the stage. Something dark and dangerous swirled deep in Gator’s gut. A stillness took over. His world narrowed, tunneled, until there was only the newcomer, him, and the red haze of temper riding him hard. The rest of the crowd disappeared. He stood up, a fluid easy motion that propelled him toward the heckler.
“Gator…” Wyatt stepped in front of him, put a placating hand on his arm. “You don’ want to be fightin’ and me havin’ to explain to Grand-mere what happened. She’ll think I started it.”
Gator shook the hand off and stepped around his brother, brushing Ian’s hulking frame out of his way as he proceeded toward the band. The crowd parted for him until he was standing directly behind Vicq Comeaux.
“I don’ think you want to be sayin’ anything else to my woman,” he said, his voice pitched low and soft, almost gentle. “Not another word. You have anything else you want to say, you do it my direction.”
There was instant silence. The music faltered as the band lowered their instruments and Flame turned back toward him. Gator barely registered the movement. His attention was completely focused on the man in the red shirt and cowboy boots.
“He’s drunk, Gator,” Louis Comeaux said hastily, leaping up to defend his cousin. “Vicq don’ mean nothing by it.”
“She looks good enough to eat,” Vicq said, ignoring the men and taking a step up onto the small wooden platform that served to separate the band from the rest of the rowdy crowd. “I’m hungry, baby. Come to Daddy.” He reached out to wrap his hand around Flame’s bare leg.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the silence of the bar as Gator caught Vicq’s arm to prevent him from touching Flame. Gator’s hand squeezed Vicq’s wrist like a vise, jerking him down and away from the singer. “I guess you didn’t hear me.” He enunciated each word between his teeth. “You’re about to become alligator bait. Leave my woman alone. Don’ look at her. Don’ talk to her and don’ be thinking about her. I will tear you up and spit you out, do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Vicq’s first reaction was obviously to fight, but something in Gator’s face must have given him pause. He shuffled his feet and looked toward his cousin, suddenly much more sober than he’d been minutes earlier.
“Gator.” Delmar Thibodeaux sidled up, baseball bat in hand. “We don’ want trouble. Not with you.”
Gator didn’t glance at him, but kept his entire attention centered on Vicq. “There isn’t going to be trouble, Del, not unless Vicq here forgets to apologize to my woman for his big mouth. I don’ take kindly to anyone speaking to her that way. Then he can sit quietly and enjoy the music and I’ll buy him a drink, or he can leave and we’ll call it good.” He never raised his voice, but it carried throughout the building.
Flame found she was holding her breath. Everyone’s attention was so riveted on Gator and Vicq, they didn’t notice the walls of the club expanding and contracting as if breathing. They didn’t notice the vibration resounding through the wooden planks, or the peanut shells jumping on the floor. She saw a small crack begin to travel in the mirror behind the bar. Everything was going to go to hell fast, if something-or someone- didn’t stop Gator.
She pushed past Vicq and slung one arm around Gator’s neck. He didn’t look at her, didn’t break eye contact with Vicq. The floor trembled hard enough to be a small quake. Desperately, Flame circled Gator’s neck with both arms, leaned her body into his and kissed him full on the mouth. She meant to get his attention. Nothing else. Only a small distraction.
Electricity sizzled and arced between his skin and hers.
His mouth was hot and sexy, his arms coming up to trap her, to hold her even closer, so that his body was imprinted on hers. His strength was enormous. He took control of the kiss and damn him, he knew what he was doing. Fire raced through her veins, poured into her belly, and tightened her body. Her ni**les peaked and she actually felt her womb contract.
She forced herself to pull away before it was too late, but even so, she had to cling to him like a weak-kneed groupie. Rubbing at her mouth, Flame glared at him for taking advantage of her. He knew his kiss affected her, she could tell by his quick, knowing grin and the sudden wicked glint in his dark eyes.
Gator slid his hands possessively over her rib cage to her hips, leaned down and pressed kisses against her stomach.
“Cher. How is mon enfant this evening?” His voice was tender as if he cherished her. His breath was warm right through the thin material of her dress and his kisses incredibly intimate. “You aren’t giving your ta mere trouble are you?” His whispered words slipped inside her skin and wrapped around her heart to squeeze hard.
Flame froze. He was outrageous. She’d saved him. Saved him, the ungrateful wretch! And he was mauling her in front of the entire club. No one was going to make a move on her as long as he was around. It was clear even the infamous Delmar Thibodeaux with his silly baseball bat wasn’t going to cross Raoul Fontenot.
She caught a fistful of his silky black hair and yanked his head up. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He caught her hand, pried open her fingers, and pressed another kiss to the center of her palm. “I’m talking to our baby, cher. The doctors say babies can hear early. I want him to know the sound of his father’s voice.”
She closed her eyes briefly, counting to ten. The chatter in the bar resumed as Louis Comeaux pulled his cousin away. Thibodeaux went back behind the bar and the band took a break. At once the jukebox was blaring. She noticed everyone was smirking. Gator was back in good graces. According to the law of the bayou, he had every right to protect what was his.
“Come outside with me,” Flame demanded.
Gator grinned at her, his dark gaze never leaving hers. “I’d follow you anywhere, especially into the night.” Raising his voice he called to his brother. “Wyatt, I’m leaving with mon amour. Catch you later.” His fingers shackled her wrist as she started toward the door. “Stay right beside me.”
Flame shot him a venomous look. “Don’t think you can order me around.”
“You asked me to go outside with you, cher.” He pushed open the door but retained possession of her wrist. “And I’m obliging.”
He was strong. She should have taken that into account, that whoever was sent after her would have had at least muscle mass enhanced. His body was fit. When he held her, he felt like iron pressed up against her, no give to his body at all. Flame let her breath out slowly, trying to swallow her anger as she moved away from the light and the possibility of anyone overhearing them.
“You can let go of me now.”
“Not quite yet.” His free hand slid down her back and over her bu**ocks, lower to her thighs. He pushed the hem of her dress up, his palm sliding over her bare bottom, finding the small tee of lace that disappeared between her bare cheeks. His hand moved lower still, between her legs to the inside, slipping over the soft skin of her thighs until he found the leather scabbard. Due to the uneven length of her dress, the knife was positioned high up on her thigh and as he removed it, his knuckles brushed multiple times against the most sensitive intimate spot between her legs.
Flame clenched her teeth together and refused to ac knowledge the shock waves rippling through her body with each feather-light contact. “Did you enjoy that?”