Tempt Me (10 page)

Her warm brown eyes were sparkling. “Even in my current condition I could argue that point.”

One last step and he was right in front of her. She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Don’t you want to hear about my dreams?”

He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he tried to restrain himself from touching her. “That might not be a good idea.”

“There you go again. Throwing down a challenge I won’t be able to resist.” Angelique reached out to touch his chest and he clenched his jaw.

“You’ve been hurt.” Her soft hand skimmed along his rib cage. Tracing the fading but still-colorful bruises there.

“You mentioned my bad habits before, remember? I accidentally ran into a fist or two the other night.” He remembered the shadows. Yet another reason he should resist her.

She nodded, a wrinkle of worry forming between her arched brows. “You should replace a few of your habits with something less dangerous.” She bit her lip, the backs of her fingers swirling around his hard nipples. “Ive was right. You are absolutely perfect.”

Gabriel groaned, wondering why he’d ever thought he stood a chance against her. Against this. “You’re the dangerous one. Do you know that?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He gripped her hips and lifted her onto the table, taking her mouth with a ferocity that should have shocked him. Any finesse he had was gone, but she didn’t seem to mind.

If anything, she matched his wildness. Demanding just as much. Needing just as much. Her nails scratched his back as she pulled him closer and he growled. Loving the sensation.

Then she was reaching for his hand and placing it underneath her skirt, between her thighs. He hissed at the feel of her damp, cotton panties beneath his fingertips. She covered his fingers with her own and pressed down against her clit, massaging herself in firm, swift circles, showing him how she wanted to be touched. This was what he needed. Not the fantasy. Not the dream of her. He wanted raw sex and real passion.

Energy surged through him. Power. Touching her did this to him. But he had to have more. He had to have everything.

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic band and cotton fabric to touch her and he moaned as her arousal soaked his skin.

He lifted his mouth and she sighed. “Gabriel, you’re making me so dizzy. How are you doing that?”

His free hand stilled on the zipper of his pants as her words splashed over him like an icy wave. He wanted to believe it was him, his kiss that made her dizzy, but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He could taste the tequila mixed with Angelique’s unique flavor on his tongue. He knew she wasn’t in complete control.

A second ago it didn’t matter. He wanted her too much. So much he hadn’t thought about where they were or what he was doing. A vein on his temple throbbed. He hadn’t even thought about condoms.

His body didn’t care. His cock was still trying to punch a hole through his jeans and his hand was still between her legs, craving the contact.

But satisfying this craving wouldn’t happen unless he was the only thing affecting her senses.

Maybe he was a fucking gentleman after all.

He took his hand from beneath her skirt. Slipping his arm beneath her legs and his other around her back, he cradled her in his arms.

Angelique smiled up at him, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “You’re carrying me to bed? I never pictured you as a romantic.”

“Neither did I.” His thoughts were grim. “You need to sleep, Angelique. And I need a cold shower. Maybe an ice bath.”

“Sleep?” She yawned. “You’re not taking me up there to sleep, are you?”

He walked up the stairs slowly, reveling in the weight of her in his arms. Her scent. She cuddled closer, humming a little under her breath, and his lips twitched.

“Quit wriggling or I might change my mind.”

She laughed softly, and then her breathing began to change. Slow and deep. She’d fallen asleep. Too bad. Parts of him had really been hoping she’d change his mind.

He got to his bedroom door and angled his body to carry her inside without disturbing her.

“Sleepwalking?”

Gabriel tightened his grip on Angelique and looked up to see BD standing in the shadows. “Not quite.”

His host smiled, studying the bundle in Gabriel’s arms. “She is special, isn’t she? And stronger than her brother gives her credit for. I’ve always known that.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You think you can do anything when you’re young.”

“She’s not that young.” BD laughed. “But if that makes your stay on the couch more comfortable tonight, keep thinking it.” He pointed toward his bedroom down the hall and lowered his voice. “Bethany’s orders.”

The two men shared a look of masculine understanding and Gabriel nodded. “That was the plan.”

BD turned away and Gabriel could have sworn he heard the man mutter, “What a shame.”

His thoughts exactly.

“HERE, ALLEGRA BROUGHT YOU SOMETHING FROM CAFÉ
Bwe.”

Angelique smiled gratefully at Bethany, accepting the steaming coffee. “My brother may be a pain, but he makes a damn fine cup of go juice. This might just save my life.”

The jury was still out on whether or not it was worth saving. How had she let her friends talk her into drinking that much?

Bethany had woken her up this morning with a knowing grin and no mercy. Despite her hangover, Angelique had allowed herself to be pushed into the shower and dragged to Mambo Toussaint’s voodoo shop.

After what she did last night, she deserved a little suffering. She glanced up at Bethany and blushed, hurriedly taking a sip of hot liquid and promptly scalding her tongue. Lovely.

Bethany made a
tsk
ing sound and patted her on the shoulder. “Quit beating yourself up. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened. I picked you up this morning so we could help the Mambo with some spring cleaning.” She paused, looking over her shoulder at the others, before lowering her voice. “We seem to be making a habit of this. Me covering for you. Not that I’m complaining. Just . . . be careful.” She moved as if to step away, then added, “But if your friends try to ogle my husband through our windows again, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Angelique wondered if a person could melt into the floor from embarrassment. Ive and Kelly were a fearless duo at the best of times, but even she hadn’t thought they would actually go through with it.

Gabriel had seen her like that. Intoxicated and behaving like a teenager with a crush. He’d touched her. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d been the one to stop this time, before they were interrupted. A drunken romp on someone else’s kitchen table was not what she wanted to be regretting this morning.

She looked around the back room of Mambo Toussaint’s voodoo shop, which was closed for the day. The usually busy store was still and quiet. The shelves filled with oils and herbs, the racks of books about the occult, stood unfondled while Mambo Toussaint, Ben’s mother, Elise Adair, and Bethany chattered over unopened boxes.

The Mamas. Seeing them together, so different and yet so perfectly in sync after a lifetime of friendship, always made her smile. One a colorfully attired voodoo priestess and the mother of Michelle and Gabriel, the other a blonde, always perfectly groomed and elegantly dressed socialite, married to a successful Louisiana businessman. And now they had adopted Angelique’s mother, Theresa, folding her into their lives and hearts as though she’d always been there.

But Angelique was glad her mother and sister-in-law weren’t around. Or Michelle. She didn’t think she could look them in the eye just yet after her childish display.

At least Bethany forgave her. Or this particular chore was putting it out of her mind. She watched the rapture on her new ally’s face as Bethany opened a box of old, dusty books.

“You have the best job in the universe, Mama Toussaint.” Bethany gasped as she lifted one thick, frayed tome. “People just give you these?”

Angelique stood and wandered toward them curiously as the Mambo nodded in answer. “I’ve purchased a thing or two at different estate sales, but for the most part yes. Old family members who have no one left to pass their knowledge to, hougans and practitioners who wish to ensure their legacy lives on until it can be passed to the next generation—they send their collections to me.”

The Mambo opened another box and pulled out a long strand of blown-glass beads and bone. “Some things are sold, many are given away to those truly interested . . . but some objects are too powerful and are entrusted to me to keep safe for as long as I can. Until another keeper comes along.”

Elise moved to the other side of the Mambo and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Very subtle, Annemarie.”

The Mambo glared at her before turning her obsidian gaze back to Bethany.

Bethany started. “Me? Are you talking about me?”

Did she sound hopeful? It sounded like a major homework to Angelique, but then, she’d never met anyone so interested in books and history as Bethany was. Even with a sensual powerhouse of a husband to distract her, she still found time for her other great obsession.

The Mambo’s expression was serene. “I’m not planning on going anywhere just yet, but I would like you to catalogue some of the older, personal journals for me. I know you don’t practice the faith, but you are connected to it all the same. Who else do you know who’s been on the other side of the Gate of Guinee and back? Who, other than you, has been granted an audience with Papa Legba
and
brought home a Loa of her very own?”

Angelique stepped closer. She knew the stories about the gate. Every New Orleans teen who’d snuck out of the house to go to a party, who had to walk past one of the cemeteries late at night, knew
not
to look for it. “Wait—that’s real? Is that how BD became human? Bethany found it?”

The three women turned toward her as if just remembering she was there. Elise nodded at the same time Bethany shook her head.

“I wouldn’t have known about it if not for them.” She gestured toward the Mamas. “And Emmanuel.”

“Emmanuel?”

Elise smiled, clearly delighted. “She hasn’t heard the whole story yet, has she? How about we have our coffee and tell her before we work?” She scrunched her nose at Annemarie. “And I’m not just saying that because I don’t like getting dirty. Everything happens for a reason, yes? Angelique is one of the family now; she deserves to hear the highlights. Should we start with Bone Daddy waking up naked in the cemetery? I love that part.”

Angelique closed her mouth, which had dropped open at Elise’s very visual teaser. “Now you have to tell me.”

Sipping the rapidly cooling liquid, she listened, utterly enthralled as Bethany told her the whole story of how she and Bone Daddy met and fell in love, of their tragic past life together and the Loa’s intervention, as well as the young ghost Emmanuel’s sweetness and sacrifice.

She’d known the basics, information garnered from eavesdropping and Allegra’s writing, but nothing this detailed. “That is the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.”

But a little sad. Angelique found herself feeling sorry for the boy who’d died so young, who’d spent so many years trying to share the truth about what happened to his sister and her lover. And then, when he’d found them at last, a family and people who could see him, he had to leave them again.

“Poor Emmanuel.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Bethany took her hand gratefully. “Thank you for that. He deserves to be remembered. And I do miss him, but he wanted to go. I have to believe he’s happy. That he is where he is destined to be. And with what I know now about life . . . I believe, in one way or another, we’ll see each other again.”

Then her deep blue eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head. “In fact, I could have sworn I heard him the other day. Or someone who sounded a lot like him. Like I’d imagined he would sound if he’d grown up.”

The older women leaned closer. “You did? Was that how you knew about my . . .” Mambo Toussaint took a calming breath. “About the fight?”

Bethany nodded. “Yes, but I know it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Still . . . who? And why me? Why didn’t whoever it was go to Michelle or one of you?”

Angelique was lost. The fight? She remembered the fading bruises on Gabriel’s body. They must be talking about him—and a disembodied voice that had led help to him . . .

She looked at the Mambo. “It might be the same voice that talks to him.”

Now all eyes were focused on her, and, standing behind the other women, Bethany was shaking her head in warning.

Elise pushed a lock of shiny blonde hair behind one ear. “A voice talks to him? How could you know that, dear?”

Uh-oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. “I—Um, well. I was out in Ben and Michelle’s backyard look—I mean getting some air.” She covered her racing heart with her hand, feeling the same way she had when she’d told her mother that Leroy Cavuti had given her a hickey. “I heard Gabriel yelling at someone, but when he saw me he said he was just talking to himself.”