Bayou Heat (13 page)

“Don’t worry,
chèr
, I don’t plan to—”

He began to pull his hand away. Erin held on tight. “No, it’s not that. I’ve just
never …” She looked down, took a breath, blinked her eyes a few times, then looked
back up. His gaze was once again shuttered and she felt as if a cold fist had wrapped
around her heart. “Don’t do that,” she whispered.

“Don’t do what, Erin?”

“Shut yourself away.” She swallowed. “From me.” He tugged his hand once again, but
she held on more tightly than ever. “You have your reasons, Teague. I know that. But
you don’t have to with me. Because I do understand. And what I don’t, I want to.”
She squeezed his big hand in hers. “I enjoyed the years I spent traipsing
the globe with a larger-than-life father, but back here, my life made for a sort of
fascinating side show attraction. People ogled and questioned, but rarely looked past
the exotic trappings to the real person inside. So you’re right, I do know what it’s
like not to be accepted for who and what I am. And it’s especially hard when you think
who and what you are isn’t such a bad deal.”

He lowered his gaze to her hand on his, then slowly turned his palm upright and rewove
his fingers between hers. “That’s just it. I’m probably the worst deal you could make,
Erin McClure.” Then he tugged her hand and she slid across the seat and into his arms.
“Just don’t deal me out yet, okay
chèr
?”

“
Mais yeah, ange
,” she whispered back. “The deal is on.”

His mouth, when it came down on hers, was warm, wet, and gently persistent. An entirely
different kiss than the ones in the bayou, yet far more powerful. Erin was immediately
intoxicated.

She opened to him and he took, slowly, thoroughly, until her entire body felt like
just-melted candle wax. Pliant, languid, heated.

He lifted his head, his gaze on her face for several long heart-pounding moments.
Then she looked at his mouth, those lips, damp from kissing hers, and a small moan
escaped her. He groaned deep in his throat and took her mouth again.

This kiss was hard, needy, demanding. She returned it, taking from him as he took
from her.

The sound of someone clearing his throat made
Erin jump, her squeal of surprise swallowed by Teague’s mouth on hers. Swearing under
his breath, Teague gently shifted her from his arms before turning to greet their
unannounced company.

Marshall stood on the other side of the truck door, his expression unreadable. Erin
struggled to pull herself together. Knowing her cheeks were red and her lips somewhat
swollen didn’t make it any easier.

“Marsh, I need a favor,” Teague said.

“So you said on the phone.” If he was surprised by the request, it didn’t show. “I
assume this has to do with Dr. McClure here.”

Erin frowned. Dr. McClure? Marsh had been calling her Erin since practically the day
they’d met.

“I want her to stay here, at least for the next few days.”

“What?” Erin demanded, butting into the conversation. “I couldn’t possibly stay here.”

Marsh bent down and looked past Teague to her. “It’s no problem. I’ll just have Mazzy
open up one of the upper level bedrooms. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Teague answered for her. He pushed open the door. “Let’s get your gear.”

“You seem to think this issue is settled.” Erin leaned over a bit so she could address
both men. “I appreciate the thought and your concern.” More quietly, directed to his
ears only, she said, “I imagine there is more to this than a simple request. Don’t
do this for me, Teague.”

Before he could protest, she turned her attention to
Marshall. “And I appreciate your willingness to help. I just don’t think it would
be wise to stay here. Collegiate politics and all that. Me staying here … well, this
is a small southern town, Marshall.”

He shook his head. “The Sullivan name goes a long way toward taking care of all that,
Erin. And, believe it or not, helping you in this way will actually score points with
the dean. He’s counting on you getting that grant extension and bringing more attention
to the college.”

Teague slid out of the truck and was around back lifting out her gear before she could
get her door open.

Marshall met her as she climbed out. “It’s none of my business what’s going on, but—”

“You mean Teague didn’t explain?” It occurred to Erin then that Marshall might be
wondering all kinds of things after what he’d just witnessed between her and his half
brother.

“He called and asked if he could borrow a room for a week or so.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “And you didn’t ask why? Has he done this before?” She shook
her head. “Never mind, I know he hasn’t. I appreciate the offer. I’ll try not to be
in the way. And I doubt I’ll be here a full week.”

Marshall smiled. “Mazzy loves fussing over company. And with Father out of the country
for the next month at least, you’ll be lucky to escape before Labor Day.”

“Mazzy?”

“Our housekeeper and reigning instiller of terror and decorum.” This time his smile
was more sincere.

“You handled Belisaire, you and Mazzy’ll get along famously, I’m sure.”

Knowing there was no tactful retreat at this point, Erin said, “Then thank you, Marshall.
I appreciate your generosity.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. The Sullivans are renowned for their generosity. I’m only following
family tradition.” His sarcasm was obvious, but he turned to get her gear before Erin
could comment on it.

By the time she caught up with him, Teague was saying, “I appreciate this.”

“I owe you one anyway.” Marshall bent to pick up her duffel. “That’s what families
are for.”

Erin thought she saw Teague wince, but by the time Marshall disappeared into the house,
his expression was guarded again.

He turned to her. “I’ll be in touch later today. Stay here until you hear from me.
If you want to go to your office later, let Marshall take you. Or wait for me.”

Erin stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead.”

She swallowed despite herself. “Do you really think we need to go to this extent because
someone left a—”

“Erin, promise me you won’t leave here without Marshall or until you hear from me.”

Retreating, but with full intentions of mounting an attack later from a different
front, she nodded. “I brought my notes and tapes. I can work here.” She pulled her
backpack on. “And I do appreciate this.” She glanced at the house. “Hard to bitch
about the accommodations.”

His expression softened, and Erin felt that pull deep in her belly again. “I’ll be
in touch,
chèr
.”

Marshall reappeared in time to hear the last part. “You aren’t coming in?”

He looked at Marsh. “No. I have work to do.”

Marshall frowned. “Your first time here in fifteen years and—” He broke off when he
saw Erin’s eyes widen and Teague swore under his breath. “Mazzy will have my head
for dinner and my behind for dessert, Teague,” he added, but the light tone was sorely
strained.

“Like I said, thank you, Marshall.” He walked around the truck to the door.

Erin was close behind him. “Wait a minute!” He climbed in the truck and closed the
door before she could stop him. She gripped the open window as he turned the ignition.
“Teague, don’t. Why didn’t you tell me?” He turned to face her. “Why?”

He stared at her for several long moments, then simply said, “Wait for me, okay?”

She sighed in defeat. “I’ll try.”

He frowned. “Don’t try. Do it. Promise me.”

“What makes you think my promises are any good?”

He didn’t so much as blink. “Promise me.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

He nodded, satisfied. Then he was gone, leaving her standing in the driveway slightly
out of breath.

She’d just been given a gift, the magnitude of which she was only beginning to understand.

His trust.

“I swear, man, I have no idea who did it.” Skeeter took another hard pull on the butt
squeezed between his thick fingers before tossing it into the bayou.

“Somebody’s nervous,” Teague said sharply. “You said you’d made it clear to Arnaud’s
people that she wouldn’t be a problem, that I had it under control. If someone from
our side did anything to make him suspicious this close to the buy down, heads won’t
be the only thing that roll.”

Skeeter pushed off the side of the boathouse and paced to the end of the pier and
back. He shook his head. “No, no. I was with Johnny this afternoon. Arnaud confides
totally in him. I tell you, everything is cool.”

Teague swore under his breath. Then who the hell was messing with Erin? Could it really
be a coincidence? Just one of Belisaire’s people upset enough with
her intrusion to do something foolish? And what about that first note?

Well, if that was the case, Belisaire would find out and handle it her own way. But
Teague had to be certain.

And that meant talking to Belisaire.

Frustrated and more tense than he’d like to be to stay sharp, Teague turned back to
Skeeter. “Set up the buy for Sunday like we planned. I don’t want anything to spook
Arnaud. I’ve got a meeting later tonight with the Haitian contact. Make sure the boats
will be here on time. I’ll be in touch.” Without waiting for a reply he turned to
leave, then stopped and turned back.

“I’ve busted my ass for almost a year playing two sides against the middle, Skeet.
We’re this close.” He held his fingers up in a pinching motion. “But deal or no deal,
I don’t want anyone messing with Dr. McClure again. You hear anything,
anything
, you contact me immediately. Hear?”

“
Mais yeah
, Teague. Will do, man.”

Teague strode back up the path toward Belisaire’s
hounfour
. He sincerely hoped she was unoccupied at the moment. His patience was at an all-time
low and, love her though he did, Belisaire tried it at the best of times.

He steadfastly refused to think of Erin and where she was at the moment. He’d done
the right thing in putting her there. Beaumarchais was the safest place she could
be. If she stayed there.

He frowned as feelings he’d repressed for too many years crept back to haunt him.
He’d expected to feel many things upon seeing Beaumarchais again—betrayal,
confusion, anger, hatred—but not emptiness. He felt hollow, to the point of a physical
ache.

The worst part of it was, until he stood there in the shadow of the home he’d been
born in, he hadn’t realized he’d been hollow all along. Beaumarchais owned a part
of him no matter how fast and far he’d run. How had he not known that?

He’d watched Erin as she spoke with Marshall. She looked good silhouetted by Beaumarchais.
As if she belonged. He could visualize her in the large airy rooms, running down the
wide curved staircase, sitting at the grand table in the main dining room.

A smile curved his lips. Likely with notes and plant specimens scattered over the
cherished antique cherry table, glasses perched on her nose. She’d probably have poor
Mazzy growing samples of unpronounceable things on the back sun porch and labeling
test tubes for her.

Realizing he’d just had a positive feeling in conjunction with a place that had forever
meant only pain, anger, and loss, stopped him in his tracks. He pressed a fist just
below his breastbone. That hollow feeling disappeared when he was with her.

That was what she did for him, why he was so captivated by her. She filled him.

“Teague?”

Belisaire’s commanding tone snapped him from his startling revelations.

“Right here, Grand-mère,” he answered automatically, feeling too off-balance to face
her right now, but having no choice.

She moved around the cypress roots crawling along the narrow path and stopped in front
of him. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” he said, taking the lead, praying she’d let him keep it for once. “Do
you know who left
petro gris-gris
in Dr. McClure’s bathroom last night?”

“What is happening to Erin isn’t the main concern right now,
chèr
,” was her only answer.

Teague knew better than to push, but he couldn’t resist. “I put Erin at Beaumarchais.
With Marshall.”

For the first time in his entire life, he’d surprised her, but there was no satisfaction
in the accomplishment. Instead it made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“You did not bring her to me.” She studied him closely and he tried not to fidget
under the scrutiny. “You are using not only your head in this,
mon chèr
. This pleases me more than you can know.” She stepped closer and laid her small,
fine-boned hand on his cheek.

Teague looked down into her black eyes and was rocked by the realization that she
was an old woman. Though she wore her wrinkles like a tree wore rings—with pride in
her strength and longevity—she suddenly looked tired and frail to him.

“Grand-mère,” he whispered, feeling a clutch in his chest. He turned his head and
pressed a kiss on her palm.

“Yes, Teague, things they change. Soon, nothing will be the same as before. But remember,
things that won’t show themselves to the head, will to the heart.” Her
hand tightened for a moment. “And this works both ways, do not forget that.”

Without another word, she turned and headed slowly toward her
hounfour
.

Suspicion and dread filled him. “Grand-mère, wait.”

“Teague, is that you?”

Teague’s head came around sharply. Before he could respond, Erin came into view from
a path to his right.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told you to—” He broke off and closed the
distance between them as another thought occurred to him. “Did something else happen,
Erin?”

“Belisaire summoned me. She told me you were here and that I was to come.”

Teague swore under his breath. “So damn manipulative and to hell with the consequences.”

“What’s wrong? She didn’t say why I was to come, just that you were here and it would
all be clear later.”