Bayou Heat (2 page)

But she did have one hell of a halo. Her hair was short—very short—and sleek. Not
golden, or something as mundane as blond. Her hair was pure undiluted light.
Cheveux d’ange
. Angel hair.

“Seen enough?” Without waiting for an answer, she snapped a white towel off the rack
and wrapped it around her middle, negligently tucking it into her cleavage.

“Can’t say as I’ve ever met a woman so comfortable in her own skin.” For once, Teague
spoke the unvarnished truth.

She lifted a barely noticeable eyebrow. “And I imagine you’ve seen a lot of female
skin,” she shot back, her tone hardly meant to flatter. She gave a small shrug. “Well,
mine has been seen by hundreds of men, and, not counting that one little incident
in Nairobi when I was eighteen, all of them have managed to control themselves. I
suppose, with your experience, I should be flattered you’re still conscious.” With
barely a breath she turned and said, “Now, I believe I was about to call
the police. I’m sure they’ll appreciate your ‘I’m not naked, I’m wearing a smile’
line far more than I would.”

Then she picked up his jeans. His wrist hit the rim of the bathtub the same instant
her hand found the back pocket containing his wallet. Visions of gawking men and erotic
African adventures vanished instantly.

“Don’t.”

She didn’t even look at him. “You’re trespassing on my property, why should I respect
yours?”

“Because I’m not smiling anymore.” Slowly, she turned her head to look at him.

He released the safety and cocked the small black SIG-Sauer 9 mm he’d balanced on
the curled edge of porcelain. “What I
am
wearing,
chèr
, is a gun.”

Oh, wonderful
. Erin quickly skimmed through several possible scenarios. Unfortunately, each one
had the same result. The bullet won.

Erin had learned early on that people rarely looked past what you wanted them to see.
If you seemed confident and in control, then, suddenly, you were.

But one look at the big Cajun overflowing her tub, and she wondered if she’d finally
met her match.

Arrogant, bloody, and for the time being undeniably in control of the situation, she
still had to admit the man was beautiful.

She let her gaze drift over him as she continued to think up and discard ways to regain
the edge. One well-sculpted calf rested on the rim of the tub, a flare of muscled
thigh barely visible. Then there was that rigid
vein running along his bicep. Which unfortunately led her back to the gun in his hand.

“Toss them to me,
ange
.” The tone of command was unmistakable. He issued orders, people complied. Or else.

And that was her advantage. Because Erin was just as stubborn, just as determined.
Maybe he’d met
his
match. It had taken more than three years of creature comforts to soften her.

She eyed the gun again, then slowly lifted the jeans. If she could get his pants tangled
up with the gun, she had a diving chance for the French doors and freedom. She figured
he’d probably assume she’d go for the bathroom door. It wasn’t much, but it was all
the chance she’d get.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Her gaze jerked upward. Had she looked to the open door? Given her thoughts away?
She didn’t think so.

And then it was too late. She’d made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes
for the first time. All thoughts of escape routes and bullet trajectories blew away.
There would be no escaping this man unless he wanted her gone.

His eyes held secrets. And magic. Black magic. She fought the shiver that began to
lift the hair from her skin. He wouldn’t miss even that small reaction. And while
she could expose herself, her body, with bravado, she knew it would be foolish in
the extreme to expose a weakness. He’d pounce on it. Use it. Use her.

She made herself study him again, working at appearing
cool, unaffected by the threat he’d leveled at her. The least of which, she realized
now, was the loaded gun.

His hair was a long tangle that fell to his shoulders. Shoulders he’d had to hunch
forward to fit in the narrow confines of the tub. His eyebrows were dark slashes,
neither too wide nor too narrow. His cheekbones were high and smoothly sculpted above
a strong, even jaw that would have a five-o’clock shadow ten minutes after he shaved.
There was blood matted on the side of his head, and the side of his mouth was swollen
and discolored. But that didn’t detract one iota from the impact of that mouth. He’d
proven he knew how to use it, to tease, to command, to win. It was wide, generous,
full, sensual.

“Toss them!”

She did, the reaction to the terse order purely reflexive.

He snagged them easily with his free hand. The gun never wavered. He nodded at the
commode. “Now, close the lid and sit down. Hands in your lap.”

She had to get out of there. Now. She had too much at stake. Fighting down panic,
she struggled to come up with some workable solution they could both live with.
Live
being the operative word.

She started with a friendly smile, but it quickly faded when he shot one right back.
Dear God, wasn’t he beautiful enough? Well, in a wicked, dark sort of way. It was
too much. He was too much. Filling the room, filling her mind. His control was too
total, too absolute.

She knew she was making a big mistake. Possibly
fatal. But dammit! She had a once-in-a-lifetime appointment to keep in less than five
hours. And she’d be damned if she’d let some bloody, lunatic Cajun with a gun louse
it up without giving him one hell of a fight.

“Here’s the deal,” she said. “It’s late. I have things to do tomorrow and you don’t
fit on my timetable.”

He lifted a brow, his lazy amusement only serving to fuel her determination.

“Now, I appreciate you’ve had a rough night as well. And hey,” she held out her arms
in a gesture of friendly compliance, “I’m glad me and my tub could be of some help
to you. I’m as much a Good Samaritan as the next guy. So, why don’t I just get out
of your way and let you get dressed, okay?” She smiled again, light, friendly, not
a care in the world. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really need to grab some shut-eye.
Please, use the towels, the soap, whatever, and let yourself out the way you came
in.” She nodded toward the still-open French doors. “And close them behind you this
time, okay?” she added. “It’s hot as hell in here.”

Without waiting for a response, she took a step back. She’d get either four hours
of sleep—or an eternity of it.
Please
, she silently pleaded,
just let me out of this room
.

“You’re amazing,
chèr
, you know that?” he said. “I imagine that ‘I know best’ take-charge voice works real
well with those collegiate types.”

Erin was so tense she half expected her bones to crack, but she slid another step
toward the door. Something he said nagged at her, but she was too busy fighting for
her freedom to worry over it.

She managed a tight little shrug. “Yes, well, one has to make do with what one has.”
Her mouth was dry as dust because all of her bodily moisture was running out of her
pores. Another small step. “I imagine that lazy Cajun charm fools most people into
thinking you’re not the least bit dangerous either. Me, I appreciate that.” She kept
her gaze firmly on his eyes in a vain attempt to prove she wasn’t scared of him. “In
fact, if anyone asks, I never saw you. Never met you. Have no idea how that blood
got all over my—”

He lifted the gun a mere fraction of an inch and with a short scream she turned and
launched herself as far into the main room of the apartment as she could.

She hit the floor hard but ignored the numbing pain shooting from her elbow to her
shoulder. She scrambled to her knees, only to get tangled up in discarded clothes
and duffel straps. A loud thud then a string of curses echoed behind her.

She felt the floor vibrate under the weight of his footsteps. She felt more than heard
him stumble as she frantically tried to claw the straps off her arms.
Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me
.

“Stop,” he ordered from way too close behind her.

Sweat slicked her palms, making things worse. She swore under her breath.

“
Dieu
, would you just stop? I won’t shoot you!”

“Yeah, right.” Hopelessly trapped, she went limp in resignation. “How dare you do
this to me!” she raged at him as she twisted around, putting her weight on her good
elbow. “I know you couldn’t possibly care, but
I’ve busted my ass to get to this point. You can’t just waltz in here and ruin it
all with one friggin bullet!”

She was breathing heavily, sweat streaming down her face, into her eyes. He was a
blur, wedged in the bathroom doorway.

“I don’t care who you are or what trouble you’re in. I forget all about you, you forget
all about me. Easy.” She couldn’t control the sudden trembling as exhaustion from
too long a day took over. “I swear it.”

He said nothing. She wiped her face on her shirt, then looked stubbornly back at him.
And immediately wished she hadn’t.

She swallowed hard. He was very large, very menacing, and very naked. Nothing about
him was blurred now.

He held the gun loosely in his hand, his elbow propped on the doorframe. And, damn
the man, he was smiling. She scowled.

“Now that is one thing I don’t think I can ever do,
ange
.”

“What? And don’t call me angel.”

He even winced beautifully. “Forget you. Easily or otherwise.”

She swallowed again when his gaze dipped below her face. She groaned softly, knowing
even before he pulled his other hand out from behind his back what he’d be holding.

“Drop something?” A white towel dangled from his fingertips. “I tripped over it.”
He eyed the tangle of clothes twisted around her and made that tsking sound
again. “For both our sakes you really should learn to put things back where they belong.”

Erin released it all—humiliation and indignation—in a pounding thump on the floor.
“Go ahead, shoot me. I give up. You win. Happy?”

He wrapped the towel around his hips and moved slowly toward her.

“Aw,
chèr
, don’t give up now.” His voice sounded strained. “Things were just getting … interesting.”

When he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, her strength to fight came roaring
back with a vengeance. She scooted rapidly backward, dragging the duffel and clothes
with her, until her back hit the day-bed. Clawing her way upright, she managed to
sit on it. Obviously he was still affected by whatever wound he’d incurred. A momentary
twinge of … what? Compassion?
For God’s sake, Erin, the man threatened you at gunpoint!
She kept her attention split between him and the gun in his hand as she yanked the
clothes from her sticky skin.

He started to waver and barely righted himself. “
Ange
,” he said, roughly. “Come here.”

“In your dreams,” she muttered as she managed to shake out her shorts and jam her
feet into them. Her shirt was inside out but she didn’t stop to fix it. For all she
knew he could be playing some sick game with her. Even if the only thing that looked
really sick right now was him.

Don’t even think it. Leave. Call the police. Better yet, go find the police in person
and stay there until morning. Maybe they’ll even let you take a cold shower.

“You can’t go.” The last word came out on a long groan.

“Watch me.”

Just then he pitched forward onto his knees and fell to his side.

Good, she told herself. With a sigh of self-directed disgust, she looked back at him.
How did someone so big and brawny, still clutching that damn gun, look so defenseless?

She caught herself before she took a step in his direction. “I’ll call an ambulance,”
she said out loud, hoping, for some reason, that he heard her. “Anonymously,” she
added warily, confused by the conflicting emotions assailing her.

She grabbed her satchel, her hand was on the door—

“Erin.”

She froze. Then, very slowly, she turned. One word, and he was once again in command
of the situation. In command of her.

He was still on the floor, his back to her. The towel had slipped and she saw now
the gash on his right hip. The discoloration and swelling on the back of his shoulder.

“Erin.”

The shock of hearing her name a second time snapped her back to the moment. “How do
you know me? Who are you?”

“Come … here.”

She took half a step before she realized it and stopped. “How do you know me?”

“Dammit,” he ground out. “Can’t you … just once”—he groaned again—“do as I … ask?”

“You never
ask
for anything,” she shot back. “And I can’t think of one good reason why I should.”

He rolled to his back. The towel had come loose and didn’t travel with him. But her
gaze was riveted to his face. He pinned her with those magic voodoo eyes and said
the one thing guaranteed to make her do whatever he wanted.

“Because I’m Teague Comeaux. Your guide.”

Stunned, Erin didn’t move.

His head dropped back to the floor, his eyes closed.

“What the hell are you doing here now?” she demanded. “Like this? With a gun?”

No answer. Shutting the door none too gently, she stormed back into the room. He was
out cold. Again.

She sighed, then looked longingly at the bed. “So much for sleep.” She spared a thought
for the phone. She doubted a man who clutched his gun like a teddy bear, even when
unconscious, would appreciate men in blue or white right now.

Since he hadn’t seemed too concerned about his injuries, she was willing to put the
hospital off for the moment. And until she knew more about what was going on, the
police were out too.

She stared grimly at her ticket into the bayou and voodoo country. He was half on
his side, half on his back, all exposed. Every glorious inch. She pointedly
turned her attention to his left hand. And still armed. That left one option. Letting
him stay right where he was.