Ghostwalker 03 - Night Game

You’re staying with your grandmother.” The temptation of being alone with him in a cabin with a bed was more than she could think about. Her brain was on total meltdown.

    “When I visit, I stay with her. The cabin is small, a hunting cabin but it has a bed.” He kissed her again, long, ferociously, a wicked combination of command and coaxing, his hands sliding down to her bottom to lift her closer.

    Flame became aware of her leg wrapped around his waist, of her hands under his shirt caressing his bare chest, of the heaviness of her breasts and the terrible throbbing between her legs. She had never wanted any one the way she wanted him. Her need seemed beyond lust, beyond attraction, bordering on obsession. She tore herself out of his arms, stumbling backward toward the edge of the pier.

    It was more reflex than thought that allowed Gator to reach out and steady her, preventing her from falling into the reed-choked water. They stared at each other, both fighting for control.

    “Let’s not do that again,” Flame said, shaken.

    “I was thinking we should do that all the time,” he countered. “You have the right name.
    I thought for a minute there I might go up in smoke.” His grin flashed at her, a quick teasing smile that made her heart do some silly flip.

    Flame wiped her swollen lips with the back of her hand. She could still taste him in her mouth and feel him imprinted on her body, pressed deep into her bones like a brand. “In case you aren’t paying attention, they’re fighting inside.” Her voice was so low, so husky she hardly recognized it. She couldn’t look away from his gaze, held captive there like a hostage.

    “I hear them. Ian and Wyatt can hold their own. They’re fighting with Louis and Vicq, which isn’t surprising. Our two families have been fighting since we were about five years old.”

    The door behind them opened and Raoul spun around to watch as the crowd poured out of the Huracan Club. He took two steps to place his body between Flame and the throng of men, many still fighting as they spilled out into the yard and onto the pier. Several large men surrounded Emanuel Parsons and his son James as they pushed their way toward the relative safety of the end of the pier.

    The older Parsons wore a long trench coat and with his silver hair and cane looked very out of place in the midst of the fighting crowd of men. His son, sporting a darkening eye and a swollen lip, shook off his bodyguard’s hand as the group neared Gator and Flame.

    “Raoul Fontenot,” Emanuel Parsons offered his hand. “I met you at a fund-raiser a few years back.”

    “I remember,” Gator said. “This is my fiancée, Flame Johnson.”

    Parsons’s eyes flicked over her. “You’re quite lovely, my dear. I’ve heard you sing a few times. Have you considered singing professionally? I can make a few phone calls if you’re interested.”

    Flame flashed a perky smile, eyes wide with awe, her gaze flicking toward the bodyguards and the shadowy driver always in the background. “Really? Do you think my voice is that good?” She took Gator’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to his side. He curved his arm around her waist rather possessively, but she let it stay there while she observed Parsons’s son. This was the man who had been engaged to the missing Joy. The man who swore he didn’t know what happened to her. Joy’s brothers had obviously taken a couple of shots at him in the middle of the brawl.

    James Parsons stood slightly behind and to the side of his father, avoiding the stare of the bodyguards, uncomfortable in his role as the son of a powerful man. He stole hot licentious glances at Flame, but didn’t speak to her and his father didn’t bother with introductions. James was a handsome man, but to Flame looked spoiled and petulant, bored with his father talking to the locals and irritated that he didn’t get an introduction when he so obviously wanted one.

    No doubt he got that spoiled, bored look from his father. The older man had worn the same expression the night she’d spotted him in the club in New Orleans when several businessmen sat at his table with him drinking, making certain he had picked up the tab.
    James didn’t want to step forward on his own and introduce himself; it would lessen his importance in his own eyes. She wasn’t going to pander to his ego by noticing him.
    Behind him, the driver, who obviously observed James’s sulky behavior,