Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

cowboy boots.

    “He’s drunk, Gator,” Louis Comeaux said hastily, leaping up to defend his cousin. “Vicq don’ mean nothing by it.”

    “She looks good enough to eat,” Vicq said, ignoring the men and taking a step up onto the small wooden platform that served to separate the band from the rest of the rowdy crowd. “I’m hungry, baby. Come to Daddy.” He reached out to wrap his hand around Flame’s bare leg.

    The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the silence of the bar as Gator caught Vicq’s arm to prevent him from touching Flame. Gator’s hand squeezed Vicq’s wrist like a vise, jerking him down and away from the singer. “I guess you didn’t hear me.” He enunciated each word between his teeth. “You’re about to become alligator bait.
    Leave my woman alone. Don’ look at her. Don’ talk to her and don’ be thinking about her. I will tear you up and spit you out, do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

    Vicq’s first reaction was obviously to fight, but something in Gator’s face must have given him pause. He shuffled his feet and looked toward his cousin, suddenly much more sober than he’d been minutes earlier.

    “Gator.” Delmar Thibodeaux sidled up, baseball bat in hand. “We don’ want trouble. Not with you.”

    Gator didn’t glance at him, but kept his entire attention centered on Vicq. “There isn’t going to be trouble, Del, not unless Vicq here forgets to apologize to my woman for his big mouth. I don’ take kindly to anyone speaking to her that way. Then he can sit quietly and enjoy the music and I’ll buy him a drink, or he can leave and we’ll call it good.” He never raised his voice, but it carried throughout the building.

    Flame found she was holding her breath. Everyone’s attention was so riveted on Gator and Vicq, they didn’t notice the walls of the club expanding and contracting as if breathing. They didn’t notice the vibration resounding through the wooden planks, or the peanut shells jumping on the floor. She saw a small crack begin to travel in the mirror behind the bar. Everything was going to go to hell fast, if something—or someone—
    didn’t stop Gator.

    She pushed past Vicq and slung one arm around Gator’s neck. He didn’t look at her, didn’t break eye contact with Vicq. The floor trembled hard enough to be a small quake.
    Desperately, Flame circled Gator’s neck with both arms, leaned her body into his and kissed him full on the mouth. She meant to get his attention. Nothing else. Only a small distraction.

    Electricity sizzled and arced between his skin and hers.

    His mouth was hot and sexy, his arms coming up to trap her, to hold her even closer, so that his body was imprinted on hers. His strength was enormous. He took control of the kiss and damn him, he knew what he was doing. Fire raced through her veins, poured into her belly, and tightened her body. Her nipples peaked and she actually felt her womb contract.

    She forced herself to pull away before it was too late, but even so, she had to cling to him like a weak-kneed groupie. Rubbing at her mouth, Flame glared at him for taking advantage of her. He knew his kiss affected her, she could tell by his quick, knowing grin and the sudden wicked glint in his dark eyes.

    Gator slid his hands possessively over her rib cage to her hips, leaned down and pressed kisses against her stomach.

    “ Cher . How is mon enfant this evening?” His voice was tender as if he cherished her. His breath was warm right through the thin material of her dress and his kisses incredibly intimate. “You aren’t giving your ta mere trouble are you?” His whispered words slipped inside her skin and wrapped around her heart to squeeze hard.

    Flame froze. He was outrageous. She’d saved him. Saved him, the ungrateful wretch!
    And he was mauling her in front of the entire club. No one was going to make a move on her as long as he was around. It was clear even the infamous Delmar Thibodeaux with his silly baseball bat wasn’t going to cross Raoul Fontenot.

    She caught a fistful of his silky black hair and yanked his head up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

    He caught her hand, pried open her fingers, and pressed another kiss to the center of her palm. “I’m talking to our baby, cher . The doctors say babies can hear early. I want him to know the sound of his father’s voice.”

    She closed her eyes briefly, counting to ten. The chatter in the bar resumed as