Bayou Heat (9 page)

Erin felt her knees weaken. Teague continued to accept her invasion of his mouth,
but his hands slid around to hold her waist, pulling her hips away from the tree.

Erin’s hands tightened on his scalp. She ached so badly.

When he pulled her hard up between his hips they both groaned. And then the kiss changed.

He began to take what he wanted. He gave her his tongue, the sweet pressure of his
hips cradling hers.

Never, not once, had she felt anything remotely like this with a man. Until now. With
Teague Comeaux.

He released her mouth. Breathing heavily, he lifted his head and looked at her.

Both of them stood there, in the growing dawn of Bayou Bruneaux, and stared at each
other.

Erin wondered if he felt the same inescapable sense that nothing would ever be the
same again.

“Erin—”

“We’d better go.” Suddenly Erin was afraid. No, she was terrified. Of what he was
about to say. What he might be feeling. Even more of what he had made her
feel. “I’ve got to get back. And you—” He brushed his thumb over her still-damp lips
and she shuddered as pleasure rocked her.

“Will taste you again, Erin McClure. And again.”

“Teague.” The pleading was there again. But this time she knew it was for escape.
Her world was suddenly and very rapidly spinning out of control. She badly needed
some time alone to sort things out.

She sensed he knew exactly what she was thinking. And she felt all the more naked
and vulnerable for it. Without a word, he drew slowly away from her. But just as she
let her breath ease out, he lifted the thumb that had traced her lips and pulled it
in his mouth.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“He won’t help you here,
chèr
.” He let his hand drop to his side and put more distance between them. “In the bayou,
I’m your only hope.” He turned and walked away.

Erin watched him, the strong line of his shoulders.

Was he salvation? Or sin.

She found she wanted him to be both.

“Did everything go well last night?”

It wasn’t until Marshall dropped by the lab that Erin remembered the clandestine meeting
she’d overheard the night before. Teague had completely dominated her thoughts since
then.

She didn’t like the suspicions that raised in her mind.

Tired and confused, Erin worked up a smile for
Marshall. “Better than I’d ever hoped. I take it you talked to Teague.”

Marshall pulled out a lab stool and sat. As always, he looked expensively rumpled.
Erin found herself looking for any similarity between the casual blond man sitting
in front of her, and his dark intense half brother.

“No. But word travels fast in Bruneaux. Your visit to Belisaire has already made the
rounds.”

Erin raised her eyebrows in surprise, though she supposed she shouldn’t be. “She’s
a fascinating person. I’m lucky to have her cooperation.”

Marshall laughed, and for some reason, the sound was more chilling than warm. “Belisaire
has her reasons for helping you I’m sure. She doesn’t do anything without purpose.”

She’d felt the same way. But her curiosity was piqued. What exactly was the history
between these two men? And Belisaire. “Teague said she raised him. At least part of
the time. Did you live with her too?”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Heavens no.” Suddenly restless, Marshall slid off
the stool and paced to the door and back. His attention strayed, as if distracted
by thoughts of the past. “She took Teague in after his mother committed suicide. She’s
his maternal grandmother. He even took the Comeaux name when Belisaire retained custody.”

Her mind stuck on one word. “Suicide?”

“It was ruled one anyway. She was Belisaire’s daughter through and through. Involved
in God knows what out there while growing up. She might have lived in town, on the
Sullivan estate, playing the charming hostess
to Father’s endless social affairs, but no one forgot where she came from. You can’t
escape the bayou. Or Belisaire’s influence. So who knows what really happened?” He
shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, then began pacing again, picking up various implements
littering the table and replacing them without really looking at them. “I’m surprised
you haven’t heard the story. It wouldn’t take more than a question or two about Teague
to any of the locals to get the whole grisly tale.”

She tried not to let her sudden tension show. Carefully relaxing her fingers on the
keys of her laptop computer, she turned her attention back to the monitor. “I’m here
to research plants used in voodoun rituals, not your brother.”

“Half.”

Erin glanced up at him. Had she imagined the slight edge in his voice? “I take it
you two aren’t close then.”

“We were never given a chance to be. Father married my mother less than a year after
Teague’s mother died. I was eleven, Teague was almost fifteen. He had already disappeared
into the swamps by then.”

“But you are half—” Erin stopped, knowing she should just get back to work. Marshall
answered her anyway.

“Yes, we are. My father is my natural father.” He smiled but it was empty of humor.
“One thing we have in common, our bastard heritage. At least Father married them eventually.”
He didn’t sound the least bit grateful about that.

Erin swallowed the questions begging to be asked.

“Obviously you have formed some sort of relationship as adults. You asked him to help
me.”

Marshall stopped abruptly. He turned and sank back onto the stool, looking suddenly
tired. “He took off over ten years ago. The day he turned eighteen. No one knew where
he went. Not even Belisaire, or at least that’s what she always maintained. He’s been
back in Bruneaux for close to a year now, running the Eight Ball. I guess he plans
to stay.” He raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. “So, I figured it
was time we both started acting like adults. When your program was proposed to us,
I just acted on it. Worst he could have done was turn me down.”

Somehow Erin knew Marshall had never doubted Teague would help him. Just as she knew
that Marshall wasn’t entirely comfortable with that fact. There was more going on
here, obviously. And it was none of Erin’s business.

“Well, if it’s any help, I’m truly grateful to you for asking. I know now that without
his introduction, I’d never have gotten in with Belisaire like I have.”

Marsh’s smile made him look more little boy than man. She wondered if Teague had ever
looked like a little boy. Thinking of his tragic background, she doubted it.

“I can only imagine how the two of you got on. Though I’m sure having Teague there
helped to diffuse the tension somewhat.”

She thought of their enigmatic meeting in the woods. Belisaire’s words rang in her
ears.
Choices
. Erin tuned it out, as she had all day. “Actually she was
charming.” Erin smiled. “Though rather intense. Teague didn’t stay.”

Marshall’s brows narrowed. “No?”

“It’s okay. I think it actually went smoother that way.”

“Yes, Teague can be …”

“Equally intense?”

“Quite.” His smile faded. “He did stay to take you back out, didn’t he?”

“I had to hunt him down, but yes.” Without warning images of his body pressing hers
against that tree, of his mouth coming closer, his heated words, assaulted her. She
felt her face blush and she turned back to her computer. But not quickly enough.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen out there?”

When she didn’t answer right away, Marshall leaned in closer and put his hand on her
arm. “Erin, if he—”

“It wasn’t anything he did, Marsh.”
It was everything he did
. It was clear Marsh didn’t believe her. And Erin was definitely not ready to discuss
her feelings about Teague with anyone. Not even herself. She blurted out the first
thing she could think of. “I overheard a couple of men talking, that’s all. It disturbed
me at the time, but I’m sure it was just the nature of the surroundings that made
it seem nefarious.”

“Nefarious?”

Damn. This wasn’t exactly something she wanted to discuss either. “I’m being a bit
melodramatic. Must be the combination of sleep deprivation and spending time
with someone as unusual as Belisaire.” Her light laugh sounded hollow even to her
ears.

Marshall’s look of concern deepened. “What did you think you heard?”

She waved her hand, as if the whole matter was easily brushed aside. “Nothing really.
I discussed it with Teague.”

“What did he say?”

“That even if I had overheard something—illegal, or potentially illegal—taking place,
it wasn’t enough evidence to make contacting the police worthwhile.”

She looked back at Marshall, but he seemed lost in thought.

“I’m sure he was right,” he said after a moment. “After all, he would know all about
that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, really. Just that when you live out there, you know things, see things.
If there was cause for concern, I’m sure he’d know about it.” He moved to the door.
“Well, I’d better get back, leave you to your work. If you need anything, just leave
a message in the office.”

Erin had the strongest sensation that Marshall was purposely evading the issue. Exactly
what that issue was, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Her gaze slid to her tote bag and the small recorder tucked inside. The one she’d
flipped on by instinct the previous night in the woods. Maybe a visit to the sheriff’s
office
was
in order.

Teague hooked his hands on the black wrought iron and pulled himself up and over the
balcony railing. He silently eased open the French doors and slipped inside Erin’s
apartment.

He’d been home for less than a year, and coming in the back way was already becoming
a habit, he thought with a smile.

He hadn’t seen Erin since dropping her off at the college early that morning. Or more
precisely, she hadn’t seen him. After getting Ruby set up for the midday crowd at
the Eight Ball, he’d stopped by the campus lab. Just in time to see Marshall slip
inside.

Teague had come on business. But the image of her and Marshall talking, laughing,
as colleagues, as friends, took him down like one of Ti Antoine’s sucker punches.
They would suit each other well, he’d thought, fighting hard to be objective. Marshall
was part of Erin’s world in a way Teague never would be.

The sudden overwhelming desire to storm into the lab and yank Marshall away by his
silk, limited edition, hand-painted tie had sent Teague back to his truck. Back to
the bayou.

Now he was in her apartment. Smelling her in the air. The chill air. He stepped silently
into the other room, flipping the air off. That was better. Sultry temperatures suited
Erin’s scent better, he thought, finally allowing his gaze to travel to the narrow
wrought-iron bed.

Her long lean form was covered with a sheet. And nothing else. He felt his body stir
to life.
Not like you
haven’t seen what’s under there, Comeaux
. But something about the way that white sheet was draped over her waist, contrasting
the gentle line of her spine and the soft curve of her hip, made him want to slide
in next to her. To run his fingers into her short hair, hold her still while his mouth
explored hers, turn her to him so his hands could discover what his eyes already had …

He swallowed a groan and moved to her knapsack and tote bag. He’d sunk to many lows,
but voyeurism wasn’t one of them. At least not when the other party wasn’t aware of
his presence.

Images of Erin moving on that bed, knowing he was watching her, had him tightening
further. And cursing silently.

He lifted her gear and moved to the bathroom, gently closing the door and shoving
the floor mat into the gap under it before switching on the light. He caught his reflection
in the mirror and immediately looked away. That instinctive move bothered him enough
to make him turn back and face himself squarely.

What was he afraid of seeing?

He swore and looked away again as he slid open the tote’s zipper. He was just doing
his job, if sneaking into an innocent woman’s apartment and rifling through her things
could be called that. Telling himself he was looking out for her safety didn’t wash
either. The job dictated he know what, if anything, Erin had recorded of that conversation
in the bayou. And that’s exactly what he intended to find out.

He found three minitapes in the bottom of her bag; two were carefully marked. Her
conversations with several locals filled the first one. The second was marked Personal
Observations. His fingers tightened on it. Just what were her personal observations
about him? About what they’d done in the bayou?

He slipped the tape in his pocket. He doubted she’d wasted any tape space on him,
but she might have mentioned something else about the previous night. He tapped the
third unmarked tape on his palm, then tucked it in his pocket also, before continuing
his search. She’d said she intended to spend the day transcribing her taped notes
and conversations. Where was the conversation with Belisaire? It wasn’t in her office.
He’d already checked.