Bayou Heat (6 page)

She kept her gaze trained firmly out the side window, ignoring the slight tremor his
words ignited inside her. “Just introduce me to the priestess. I can take it from
there.”

Teague glanced at her again. She felt it as strongly as if he’d touched her. “Until
I say otherwise, you’ll take it where I lead, Erin. Don’t ever forget that.”

Shifting uncomfortably, she remained silent as he wove his way through the waning
moonlit side streets to the outskirts of the small town.

Teague turned onto a narrow, deeply rutted road. The truck bounced hard over the rough
terrain until they were several miles into the woods. He finally—mercifully—brought
the truck to a stop by a small half-rotted pier that listed drunkenly into a small
bayou.

The headlights didn’t penetrate too far into the shadows. She could make out only
the dock and the glint of water beyond. Then Teague shut off the engine.

For a spine-chilling moment it was pitch-dark and stone quiet. Erin rubbed her hands
along her thighs in an absent gesture. She heard a dull thudding sound and realized
with a start that it was her heart.

In the sudden deafening silence she became almost excruciatingly aware of the man
seated next to her. Her skin prickled, the hair on the back of her neck lifted, her
mouth went dry, and her nipples tightened.

There was danger in the air. She knew it with an instinct honed over her twenty-nine
years. Felt it. Tasted it.

And it didn’t lie somewhere ahead in the deep of the bayou.

The danger that she faced was right there in the truck.

The most frightening realization of all was that the danger wasn’t Teague. It was
her.

“Where are—” Her words came out deep and throaty. She stopped short and swallowed.
Had she ever sounded like that?

The confusing yet exquisite sensations skittered along her body, filtered into her
mind, diluting everything until the only research she could concentrate on was discovering
why he made her feel like this. And what could be done about it. And when.

“This is Bayou Bruneaux.” His voice slid into the silence between them. “We’ll take
my bateau from here.”

Bayou Bruneaux. Cajun translation: “dark waters.”

Oh, the waters were dark all right … and getting deeper every second.

Did he have any idea how overly sensitized she was to the sound of just his voice?
Her face burned in the dark of the cab, but her mind persisted down its chosen path.

“Fine.” She didn’t dare say more. The only thing worse than this sudden overwhelming
awareness of him … and of herself … would be him knowing it and tossing it back in
her face.

When she was on solid ground—both real and mental—then she could face whatever he
chose to throw at her.

Or at least she told herself she could. It was the only thing she had to hold on to
right now. To help her get past this moment. And on to the next one. And the next
one, until Teague didn’t have this effect on her anymore.

Until just looking at him didn’t make her think of sweaty nights and cool cotton sheets
and his hands on her … the parts of her that ached, and the ones still yet to.

Until she could do something, anything, to get him gone.

Erin grabbed her tote and crawled quickly out of the cab. The clanging sound of the
door rang like a shot over the still waters. If it was possible, the air here was
even thicker, steamier. She didn’t mind the perspiration rolling off her now.… Maybe
she could sweat out the heat he stirred in her.

“Careful,” he warned. “The dock isn’t stable.”

That isn’t the only thing that isn’t stable
. He was too close behind her. She moved a bit faster, wanting to get on with it.
She focused on that, allowing the excitement of what lay ahead to creep into her veins.
The seductive thrum of entering a situation where the quantities were unknown.…

But most of all she didn’t want him to touch her.

The dark seduction of his unknown quantities would have to remain unexplored.

There was only one boat tied to the rotting wood. The small bateau looked as old as
Teague’s truck. She didn’t say a word, just carefully lowered herself down, then sat
on the front seat. Teague moved silently behind her, barely dipping the boat as he
shifted his weight to switch on the small electric motor.

The low, putt-putting sound hardly disturbed the heavy air.

They moved slowly out into the water. As Erin’s
eyes adjusted, she saw that the bayou was narrow where they’d docked but quickly opened
into a wider path. She could make out the bald cypress crowding the shoreline, their
knobby roots bending into the murky waters like spider legs.

Surprisingly, the silence between them became almost easy. Almost. Erin purposely
put her mind to what she wanted to accomplish. Teague hadn’t let her bring her sample
kits or a camera. But she’d tucked a minirecorder in her tote, along with a notebook.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Erin.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. She heard
him clearly, acutely.

Her careful mental preparations fled, blurred as that seductive veil drifted over
her again, unwanted, but there nonetheless. Hopes … Hers had always centered on her
work. But right now her thoughts, her hopes, were anything but professional.

“You may not get a chance to meet her this time,” he went on. “Tonight we are observers.
This is a public ritual, but still very closely monitored.”

“Then why the restriction on the camera?” she asked. “I would have been discreet.
And I would never use anything I took without full permission. But in order to document
their—”

“You’ll have to do this my way. Or no way.”

Irritation bristled through her, and she welcomed the feeling. It helped her to focus.
“Why don’t we let Belisaire be the judge of what is and isn’t acceptable? If she’d
said no, I would have kept the camera packed.”

“Or just out of sight.”

She spun to face him. “How dare you question my ethics?”

His hair glowed blue black in the fading moonlight, his features cast in shadow. He
looked huge … powerful. An irresistible invitation to play on the dark side.

To her dismay, another chill shot down her spine.

She held firmly—desperately—to her indignation. A clear-cut, easy emotion. “I won’t
defend myself to you. You shouldn’t judge people you don’t know.”

When he simply stared at her, she grew uncomfortable. Indignation became agitation … not
all of it unpleasurable. Frowning, not caring if he saw it as surrender, she turned
back around and crossed her arms under her breasts.

After several long nerve-racking moments, a low chuckle floated to her. Sexy, soft.

The naked bad boy in the tub had returned. With an annoyingly tempting vengeance.
She wanted to groan out loud, to beg him to stop doing this to her.

“I think knowing you any better could be dangerous,
chèr
.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered under her breath. And dear God help
her if he decided he wanted to.

The boat came around a long lazy bend and Erin saw flickering lights in the trees
ahead.

Minutes later as she was stepping from the bateau to the dock, he leaned in close
from behind her and whispered, “But that’s the half that’s the most fun,
ange
.”

She almost fell out of the boat.

His hands clamped on her hips and lifted her up to
the dock, then were gone almost before she could register their latent strength.

“Watch that first step,
chèr
,” he added softly. “It’s always the hardest one to take.”

Intelligent, stubborn, confident, mouthy, independent, worldly. And yet no idea how
sexy she really was. In a word, trouble.

“Watch out, Erin McClure,” he warned too softly for her to hear. “You have no idea
what you just walked into.”

He followed her down the path in front of them, swearing at the problems she was causing
him, and all the ones she had yet to. He had a sinking sensation that his warning
applied just as much to himself.

She stopped at the edge of the clearing. “I hear drums.” The sound of a distant rhythmic
pounding, almost more pulse than beat, was clearly distinguishable from the sounds
of the bayou’s night creatures.

“The ceremony isn’t over. Those are the
cata
and
seconde
. The
maman
drums haven’t even started yet.” Teague circled her and headed toward an almost indistinguishable
track cut into the cypress. “Follow me.”

She saluted him sharply, then did a little obeisant roll of the hand from forehead
to waist as she bowed.

Teague bit back the surprise bark of laughter. So he was used to giving orders. Both
at the Eight Ball and in his work as a U.S. Customs investigator.

But he wouldn’t apologize. With Erin, it was probably
best, for both their sakes, to keep her a bit annoyed with him.

She swept a hand in front of her. “Well?” she said sharply. “What are we waiting for?”

Which apparently wouldn’t be a problem, he added, turning away as the smile curved
his lips.

But as he pushed deeper into the dense growth, the image of her face when she’d turned
to him in the bateau came too clearly to mind. The moon had glowed white on her, highlighting
her spiky halo of hair, illuminating her upturned face. Something had moved inside
him then.

Her indignation was clear, in her voice and her expression, but so was something else.
Something he’d fought seeing, fought hearing … but had remained burned in his mind’s
eye.

Want.

There had been such a deep wealth of want in those eyes of hers. To say nothing of
that hollow ache he’d heard in her voice earlier, before she’d wisely shut up.

His body had heard it, had responded loud and clear. The memory of walking up to her
in the apartment assaulted him, catching him with his guard down, punching a big hole
in his control.

He’d meant to intimidate, calculated his moves to ensure his control of the situation,
control of her … all part of his job, one he was very good at. He hadn’t counted on
getting caught in the web too. Had barely backed away before becoming hopelessly caught
in its sticky, destructive strands.

Too much was at stake.

Want …

Worse than the most addictive drug.

Right up there with need and hope. Individually they were dangerous. Combined they
were soul destroyers.

Teague pushed down the path. Best to get on with it. He had to get Erin set up, then
do some quick business while he was out there. Risky, but the situation was as controlled
as he could make it. He had no guarantees for later. And he didn’t need both Marsh
and Erin breathing down his neck.

“Can you tell me what it is we’re observing tonight?”

She moved so silently behind him, her words were the only sound that reached his ears.
That earned her another measure of his respect. He knew firsthand how difficult that
was, especially out here. That skill had meant the difference between life and death
for him more times than he cared to count. The fact that she was doing it and keeping
pace with him told him it was an ability so ingrained as to be second nature.

Good thing. Depending on how his meeting went later tonight, she might be needing
it for more than observing voodoo rituals undetected.

The idea of Erin in mortal danger didn’t sit at all well with him. And that realization
sat even worse.

He shook it off. Erin claimed she could take care of herself. And Teague believed
her. A more self-reliant woman he’d never met. Except perhaps the one they were on
their way to see.

Another smile curved his lips. It hadn’t occurred to
him until now, but if Belisaire chose to make an appearance, it just might make taking
on Marsh’s favor worth all the pain-in-the-butt adjustments he’d had to make in this
case.

“Teague?”

His skin actually prickled in awareness at the sound of his name on her lips. Not
a good sign, Comeaux.

“You’ll see when you get there,” he said. “If we get a move on, you might be able
to witness the end of the ritual. She might speak with you afterward. No guarantees.”

“I’m surprised. Grateful, but surprised. Mac and I had to work months and months in
Africa before we could so much as witness a meeting between the
bokor
there and an individual seeking advice. We were never permitted to observe an actual
ritual ceremony. They had no public ones at that time.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say I have an inside track.”

He felt the warmth of her hand the instant before she placed it on his arm. He stopped
suddenly and she walked right into him. Her breast, feeling soft and fuller than he
remembered from that night in her bathroom, pressed hard into his arm.

Her soft gasp made his jaw clench. She backed away from him, but he doubted his body
would register that fact for several hours.

“Sorry,” she said. “I, uh, I just wanted to let you know that, despite our unusual
beginning, I really do appreciate all you’re doing for me.”

Something in her voice pulled at him and he found himself looking at her before he
was aware of it. As he
did, he realized what it was. Uncertainty. A trait he’d have thought Erin McClure
didn’t possess.

One he was disturbed to discover he had a trace of as well.

“It’s a favor to Marshall. That’s all.” He turned and continued down the narrow trail.

“What is your connection to Marshall? He’s never said. I don’t know him that well,
but I admit I was a bit surprised to—”

Teague caught her by the forearms and held her still.

“Surprised someone like him had a connection with someone like me?” He hated the dark
emotions simmering inside him, but he was helpless against them. Just as he was apparently
helpless against all the other emotions Dr. Erin McClure aroused in him. “Is that
what you meant,
chèr?
”

He’d startled her, he knew. She didn’t try to pull away, nor did she appear angry.
But her pulse under his fingertips told another story. He felt his blood begin to
stir hot and heavy, like the night air, pushing thick and hard through his veins.