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In Dreams
Patricia Rosemoor


The sex was steamy…Psychic Lucy Ryan has always kept her so-called gift a secret. Until she "saw" a mysterious incident in a dream and tried to stop it–too late. Now she's having vivid, arousing dreams of making love with a sexy stranger. So when Justin Guidry–the man of her dreams–suddenly shows up in her life she isn't really surprised….Erotic…P.I. Justin offers to help Lucy figure out what's going on. But he isn't aware he's starring in all her nighttime fantasies…even as he's entertaining a few sexual fantasies of his own.And all in her head…The nightmare begins with Lucy's next vision. She dreams that Justin has been shot while protecting her. Can she change the fate of the man she's now fallen in love with?









Heat began to penetrate her


Heat from Justin’s body as he pulled her close and caught her mouth in a sweet, savage kiss. “Oh, chère,” he murmured.

Part of Lucy knew this was wrong. That she should back off before they got caught up in something they couldn’t stop. Something that might even get him killed.

But another part of her couldn’t help herself. One kiss, Lucy thought. Just one sexy kiss.

Justin swept his hands over her breasts. Her nipples hardened and the soft flesh ached for more. His tongue plunged deep inside her mouth, the rhythm making her think of him plunging deep inside her.

A moment later he pulled her out of the chair and against his chest. She felt his throbbing length through her clothing. Hands cradling her bottom, he pressed his erection low against her belly. Oh, the sensations that spread through her like wildfire! Her hips began to move, and more than anything she wanted to rid them both of their garments.

She could just picture it. Naked. Her straddling him in the darkened bedroom.

She moaned and Justin swallowed the sound as if he were having the very same fantasy.

As if he’d had the very same dream…







Dear Reader,

What’s hotter than a sultry Louisiana night? For my heroine Lucy Ryan, nothing. Lucy has psychic dreams…psychic erotic dreams of a man she doesn’t know…yet. Justin Guidry comes into her life just when she needs him to get her out of a jam. Then, not only is her life at risk, but her heart, as well.

I had a great time writing Lucy and Justin’s story. Almost as great as I did exploring New Orleans itself. So pull up a comfy chair, pour yourself a cup of chicory coffee, grab a beignet and enjoy In Dreams.

Happy reading,

Patricia Rosemoor




In Dreams

Patricia Rosemoor





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Edward…see you in dreams…




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17




1


SHE SWEPT HER TONGUE up his hard length. His moan sent fingers of fire down her body to the heat between her thighs.

She wanted him there.

Slowly, she eased her body upward until their mouths met. He swallowed her whole with that kiss, making her feel as if she were drowning. Ending the kiss, she pushed herself up so she could see him. His sharp features, punctuated by a fall of inky hair across his high forehead, had never seemed so alive. Heavy lids over pale brown eyes revealed the promise of pleasure…bedroom eyes that could make her insides curl.

Her insides were curling now.

She felt him moving under her, his hot hands on her thighs, a clever thumb lingering at her sweet spot. He stroked her clit until she arched back and opened herself wider to him.

“Now, chère, now,” he urged.

She wanted to hold on, to draw out the pleasure a while longer, but he wouldn’t ease up on her and the friction push-push-pushed her over the edge. As the pulsing began deep inside her, she dug her nails into his thighs. He jerked and made a low guttural sound. Then a treacherous sound pushed them both into the abyss from which there was no rescue….

“A-ah!”

Suddenly awake, Lucy Ryan sat straight up, her body soft and humming with pleasure from the erotic dream. But there was no pleasure in the pounding of her heart, like that of a frightened bird captured in flight.

In flight—that she was—and the erotic dream was in reality a nightmare….

The image of her lover came back to her as clearly as if he stood before her. Sharp features. Inky hair. Bedroom eyes.

She didn’t know anyone who looked like that.

At least not yet.

Dear Lord, no. She couldn’t bring anyone else into this, she couldn’t risk another life. But even as she denied it, Lucy knew she had no control over what was shown to her in dreams.

A glance at the glowing numbers of the digital clock told her it was barely four. She’d slept a little more than an hour. Climbing off the thin mattress, she tried to stop herself from shaking as she made her way into the bathroom.

The motel was cheap and threadbare, but at least it was clean. She washed her face, then stepped into the shower, hoping the warm water would soothe her. Instead, it cleared her mind, made her remember too sharply what she had witnessed several hours ago, a nightmare turned real.

She couldn’t stop the dreams from coming, couldn’t change them. And because of that, a young woman was dead. And she was on the run, fleeing from the murderer’s accomplices who were after her.

The only witness.

So what the hell was she supposed to do next?

Now that she had time to think, to consider her options, Lucy realized she had to go back to New Orleans and contact the police, tell them everything she knew. Rather, a version they could handle. That was the only way. Earlier she’d panicked and headed out of the city to anywhere away from the danger following her, but eventually she’d lost the thugs. And if she went back to the city how in the world would they know where to find her?

Reassured, she quickly pulled on her cotton flood pants and crop top, then shoved her feet into thick-soled sandals.

The authorities wouldn’t believe her if she told them everything, but she didn’t have to explain that she’d purposely gone to the scene of the crime, but had been too late to save that poor woman. She could simply say she’d been out for a walk and had stumbled on the murder. That would be believable. New Orleans was a late-night town and on weekends pedestrians crowded French Quarter streets.

In her mind’s eye, Lucy could again see the horror she hadn’t been able to stop. But before fear could change her mind, she shook away the memory.

Scraping a thick skein of coppery hair from her eyes, she grabbed her wallet and shoved it in her pocket—she’d left her shoulder bag on the floor of her car. Then she found her keys and peeked through the blinds. The motel sign glowed at her through a wet neon haze. There was no one was out to see her leave. Opening the door to a blast of humidity, she crossed the rain-slick pavement to her car.

It wasn’t until she pulled out of the parking lot and checked her rearview mirror that she saw a set of high beams turn on.

Her chest tightened, but she told herself someone else had merely chosen to leave the motel at four in the morning. Though the rain had stopped and the moon was trying to pop out from behind a cloud, she turned on her wipers to clear the windshield, then checked the mirror again. The other car swung out behind her. Coincidence, she told herself, but just to make certain, she took a turn she hadn’t meant to on a road she didn’t know.

The other car followed.

She pressed the accelerator harder.

The other car kept pace.

She made another turn.

The other car turned, as well.

Her mouth was dry, her pulse fierce, but she told herself to stay calm. She was intelligent enough to think her way out of this.

Think!

They were speeding along a moonlit bayou, the long narrow finger of water crossed by home-built bridges to small dwellings, mostly ramshackle, some boarded up. Fishing camps probably, but none so far showed any sign of life. And there was no doubling back.

Her headlights hit a sign that indicated a split ahead.

Which way to go?

Driving on instinct, she stayed left, venturing deeper into bayou territory, and when she saw another road ahead and to the right—this one gravel—she killed her lights and made a wild turn, trusting the moon to guide her.

A check of her rearview mirror revealed a flash of lights as the other car continued on past her.

Drawing a shaky breath, she took her foot off the accelerator and let the car slow. But her relief was short-lived. A beam of light swept over her from behind. Checking her mirror, she realized the other driver had turned around somewhere and was once more on her tail.

The moment of distraction proved disastrous. Her left wheels strayed off the gravel, and when she tried to steer the car back onto the road, she couldn’t. The wheels spun, spitting gravel on one side, mud on the other. The car slipped and slid sideways and then started to tilt as if it were sinking. A cypress loomed before her and she slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid crashing into it.

Not stopping to count her blessings, Lucy cut the engine, and grabbed her car keys with its micro light attached to the key ring. Not that she would use the tiny light now, but it might come in handy later. Wincing as the mud sucked at her feet, trying to trap her, she pushed herself away from the road. She had always been a city girl, but thankfully she’d never been girlie-squeamish.

She glanced back. The other car had stopped.

“Don’t run, chère, no place for you to go now!” a man called out as she slopped through ankle-deep swamp water.

Heart beating wildly, she plunged ahead. Two doors slammed and she assumed they were now after her on foot.

“We just want to talk to you,” the second man singsonged. “Them alligators, they like a tasty meal.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she breathed, knowing alligators killed to eat, not because they were trying to cover up a crime. Talk? Yeah, right.

Moonbeams filtered down through the cypress trees, giving her just enough illumination to find her way. Unfortunately, the light was undoubtedly enough for the two men to see her. She heard them splashing through the shallows in her direction. One of them cursed and the word shoe drifted to her.

If she weren’t so afraid she might smile.

She tried to move soundlessly through the swamp.

Maybe she could lose them.

There was a splash to her left. Not the two men. Her throat tightened.

An alligator!

But she realized nature was the last thing she ought to be worrying about when one of the men said loudly, “Let’s get this over with. Shoot the bitch!”

Glancing back, she saw one of the them raise his arm and a dull blue glow suddenly flared into heat…heat that tore at her side and made her stumble….

Shot!

Before she could grasp the concept, before she could move to find a place to hide, a hand covered her mouth and an arm snaked around her waist and dragged her back into the shelter of a cypress.

His “Shhh” was unnecessary. She had no intention of calling out so they could find her more easily.

But who was he? A definite he. No softness behind her. Only hard muscle and a tension that was contagious. Almost enough to distract her from the pain burning her side.

The shooter said, “I think I got her—”

“Dammit, I lost my other shoe!”

“Screw the shoe! Better than losing your life. Let’s go make sure.”

“You wanna go, then you go. There’s something moving in that water.”

“What? An alligator?”

“This is the swamp, idiot, whad’ya think? We can come back to finish the job tomorrow when we can see what’s what.”

She heard them cursing, then their voices receded. They were moving back toward their car. Her knees grew weak and she sagged back in relief.

Her rescuer waited a beat, then whispered, “I’m going to let go, but I would suggest you don’t make any noise until they’re gone.”

His breath laved her ear, pebbling the flesh along her spine. She nodded her agreement and true to his word, he released her. It took her a minute to breathe normally again, to stand steadily on her own as she heard the car start and the wheels spin away.

That’s when, to thank the man who’d saved her life, she turned and triggered the microlight on her key-chain so that she could see her rescuer’s face.

Sharp features…inky hair…bedroom eyes…

“Oh, no,” Lucy moaned. “Not you!”

And then she passed out.




2


HE PULSED BEHIND HER as she clung to the iron bedstead on her knees, her bottom pressed into his groin.

He ran his hands over every inch of her body as if he were trying to memorize her, as if he might be tested as to the fullness of her hips or the firmness of her belly or the sensitivity of her breasts. Mmm, her breasts…he paid special attention to detail there, his clever fingers rolling and tugging the nipples into hard, sensitive points until she cried out in pleasure-pain. Keeping one hand busy tweaking them, he used the other to feather the auburn curls of her pubis with a light touch before dipping into her well.

“There,” she murmured as he slid a single finger laden with her cream along her clit. “Oh, yes, sweet heaven…”

She’d never been so wet. Or so deliciously hot.

She glanced up across to the dresser with its antique mirror where she caught a reflection of their sexual dance. His bedroom eyes glittered at her via the mirror, and their gazes locked.

Slowly, he rocked into her…buried himself…pulled back so only his tip teased her.

No, no, fuck me deep and hard.

She mouthed the words she couldn’t say. Had been raised not to say. She was too much of a lady. Though at the moment, she looked anything but. Wanton. A lust-filled, flushed-face wanton, her red hair wild and radiant. Her lust for him had transformed her into this creature of seduction.

She could tell he read her lips via the mirror, because his features went taut and his gaze dropped so that he could see what his fingers were doing to her nipple. He squeezed hard and when she sighed, squeezed a little harder until she moaned.

Licking her lips, she rubbed her breast against his hand and lifted her tush and pushed back so they smacked together with an electric wallop.

He was doing what she wanted, doing her fast and hard. His slick cock plunged in and out of her. And his finger, oh, his finger was equally delicious, rubbing her with the same speed and intensity.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and became pure sensation. When she opened them, she caught him watching her again, his eyes narrowed into slits, his mouth open as he gasped harder and faster in perfect rhythm with his actions.

Letting go of the bedstead, she reached back with one hand through the vee of her thighs and let his cock slide her juices against her fingertips. Then she flexed her fingers and scraped her nails against his hard flesh, and the sensation seemed to undo him. He gave a low shout that unnerved her, and then plunged deep inside.

Even as waves of pleasure rippled through her, she stared straight ahead at their reflection, fascinated by his expression of pure lust….

Lucy blinked open her eyes to see the face she’d dreamed. Only rather than expressing lust, it reflected worry. Over her.

“You’re awake.”

She blinked and sniffed the air redolent with chicory coffee and andouille sausage. In response to the heavenly smells, her stomach growled.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“My family’s fishing camp.”

Fishing…water splashed somewhere nearby…and the room with nothing but a bed and some pegs on the wall seemed to shift just a little.

Confused, she murmured, “Feels like we’re moving.”

“We’re on a houseboat tied to shore.”

Lucy started to sit up until a sharp pain reminded her that she’d been shot. The breath whooshed out of her and she froze, her hands pressed to the mattress of the double bed.

“Let me help you.”

Help meant he had to put his hands on her again. Hands about which she’d dreamed. Erotic hands. Hands that could do more interesting things than help her to sit up.

The thought made her blush.

“Well, at least you’ve got some color,” he noted, which made her even warmer.

When he got her into a sitting position, she realized the wound was bandaged, and that she was still fully clothed. Despite the odds, she was alive and had him to thank for it.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Justin Guidry. Don’t worry about the wound. Flesh only.” He helped her stand. “It’ll smart for a while, but it’ll heal nice.”

“Dr. Guidry?”

He shook his head.

“You’re an EMT?”

“Nope, not a paramedic, either,” he said, heading for the doorway. “And you can call me Justin.”

Now truly curious, Lucy followed him into a larger space that served both as kitchen and living room. There was a small couch and rocker set near the Franklin stove, plus a wooden table and a pair of mismatched chairs. The walls were of rough-hewn wood, relieved by a few framed photographs that looked like they’d been taken on family outings.

The wound twitched and she frowned down at the bandage. Conveniently, the thug had caught her flesh on her side between her crop top and flood pants. There wasn’t even any blood on her clothing.

“If you’re not a doctor or a medic, then how did you know what to do to take care of me?”

“Call it instinct, not to mention too much experience tending to my own and brothers’ childhood injuries. Mama probably wished my brothers and I were dead many times over. Not that we used guns on each other. Well, maybe pretend ones.”

His grin was self-effacing and contagious. Despite the circumstances, Lucy felt herself relax.

“Thank you, Justin.”

“That would mean more to me with a proper introduction, so I would know who was thanking me.”

“Lucy Ryan.”

His grin widened. “Lucille. Fits you, chère. I always loved that name.” As he took the coffee pot from the stove and filled a mug for her, he said, “Sit,” and began humming the song “Lucille.”

She didn’t correct him. Didn’t want to admit she wasn’t a Lucille with all that exotic name conjured. She was just plain Lucy and had always been so. The Lucy guys were comfortable talking to. The Lucy who never caught a leer at the singles bars she sometimes visited with Dana.

Dana! Good Lord, by now her roommate must have discovered she wasn’t home. That might not be of much concern, but when she didn’t show up at the shop…

“You don’t have a phone, do you?”

“Here? Afraid not.”

“No cell phone?” Hers was still in her shoulder bag on the floor of her car.

“That would defeat the idea of having a few days of solitude, don’t you think?”

Guilt flooded her. “Oh. I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can find someone to get my car unstuck.”

“I’m not complaining. But after we eat, we’ll find a phone and a tow.”

“Great. Thanks.”

As she carefully cased herself into a chair at the table, her stomach growled again.

“Patience, chère, food’s coming.”

Lucy tipped back her mug and watched him take the iron skillet from the stove, links of andouille on one side, scrambled eggs on the other. He handled the food like he knew what he was doing. Unlike her. He split the breakfast on two plates, shoved one at her, then sat opposite her and began to eat. Lucy followed suit, not stopping until every morsel was gone.

“Delicious,” she muttered after swallowing the last forkful.

“You really were hungry.”

“All that stress.”

“That. What was that about?”

“Just some guys stalking me.”

“Oh, chère, you make a very bad liar.”

She glared at him, and even though his expression wasn’t accusing, said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“But I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

“And these guys wanted to keep you quiet.”

She nodded and pushed the empty plate away. “And were willing to kill me to do so.”

“Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. Knowing she couldn’t tell all of it, she said, “New Orleans, last night. It was in a courtyard.” The vision was as clear in her mind as if she were seeing it now. “They were holding her arms…those two swine…and a third man knifed her to death.”

“Did you know this third man?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even see his face. It was…like something out of a dream.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that by the time she arrived, the deed had been done and the woman’s blood was spreading over her white dress as the accomplices let her fall facedown to the pavement. Or that she had seen the actual knifing in a dream that had awakened her an hour before. Lately, her dreams had been more frequent and more vivid than ever before.

Even so, she had arrived at the crime scene too late to save the victim…though not late enough for her own safety. As she’d stared at the body, she’d heard a shout, and the next thing she’d known the killer’s accomplices were after her.

If she told him the whole truth and nothing but the truth, Justin wouldn’t believe her. No one would.

Only her family would, and even they tried their best to make her stop tapping into the universal unconscious. Even her younger sister nagged at her to stop, though Lucy suspected that Jennifer was more intimately acquainted with the family curse of precognition than she would admit to. They all told her to ignore the dreams and they would go away. Only they never had. She’d really tried. Gran was the only one who really understood, because she’d had a lifetime of those dreams. Gran had suggested the day would come when she would want to develop her own gift.

So here she was, being taken care of by the man she’d made love to in her dream—make that dreams, plural—and she couldn’t even warn him that she’d put him in danger.

Which made her feel awkward and intimidated.

“This courtyard,” Justin said, “is it near your home? Would those two be able to find you easily if they went looking for you?”

“The murder took place near Canal, and I live right off Esplanade, so no, I don’t think so.”

“Opposite ends of the French Quarter,” he mused. “So you chose to leave the city instead of going home. And you were on foot so late at night?”

“I walk for exercise,” she hedged. She really did, even if that hadn’t been her purpose last night.

“But your car was nearby.”

Oops. Caught. Now what?

Not thrilled that he was questioning her like a cop with a prime suspect, Lucy took the offensive. “If you don’t believe me, just say so!”

Justin stared at her for a moment before lowering his lids, stopping her from reading his expression. “I simply wanted the whole picture of what happened. More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Lucy tried to relax again, but Justin Guidry was throwing her off-kilter in more ways than one. This unsettled feeling was due to more than a couple of erotic dreams featuring Justin that might link him to the dangerous situation she found herself in. He knew she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Why run here to the bayou?” he continued. “Why not go straight to the New Orleans police?”

Irritation growing, she countered, “Why didn’t you take me to a doctor and report a gunshot wound to the closest sheriff’s office?”

“Impulse. It was only a flesh wound…and I wanted to hear your story before acting.”

Pacified by his explanation, she echoed him. “Impulse, right. Me, too. I was too freaked out to think clearly. But afterward, I had time to give it some thought, and I was going back to New Orleans, straight to the police, when those creeps caught up to me. Now I don’t know what to do.” Another way of saying she was afraid, Lucy supposed. She didn’t want to end up dead like that poor woman last night. “What about you? Are you going to turn me in?”

“Interesting turn of phrase,” Justin mused. “But no. I don’t want to bring you more trouble than you already have. I’m aware that things aren’t always black or white, and secrets have a way of staying hidden in bayou country.”

A thrill shot through Lucy, and she wondered if he meant something beyond her own situation.

She certainly wasn’t a bayou country kind of girl, so the hiding part was only temporary. Sooner or later, she was going to have to return to New Orleans and deal with this mess.

But the ache in her side and fear made her opt for later.



LUCY RYAN was hiding something. That much was obvious. And she was afraid.

Looking out over the bayou where a lazy alligator pretended to be a floating log, Justin let all his questions drift at the back of his mind.

Let her be, part of him thought. But letting her be could get her killed, and I don’t need another death on my conscience.

Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to go back to New Orleans sooner than he liked.

Hearing movement at the door, he turned to face Lucy, who’d insisted on cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Funny the way, each time he looked at her, she got more appealing. With her womanly hip pressed against the doorjamb, her gaze soft and her lips parted slightly, she was downright tempting.

He cleared his throat. “You ready to go to town?”

She met his gaze and lifted both hands. “These are the only clothes I have, so what you see is what you get.”

Justin liked what he saw and wouldn’t mind getting some of it for himself, he thought, his groin tightening.

Her soft body wasn’t weak, merely inviting to a man’s hardness. Her reddish brown hair made her complexion appear pale and delicate, despite the splash of freckles across her short nose. She had alluring gray eyes and a luscious bow-shaped mouth. The thing that tempted him most, however, was the smooth expanse of skin between her short top and low-cut pants. Skin that he’d had to look at and touch when he’d tended to the wound in her side. Skin that he longed to taste….

For a moment, he forgot about New Orleans and murders and guilt. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to take her right there, in the doorway. For a moment, he felt so connected to this woman that he didn’t even know what he might do to protect her.

And then the moment passed.

Fighting off the sexual haze, he decided any questions he had for her could wait.

“No bridge?” Lucy asked, looking around at the nearby bank in confusion.

“No bridge. No vehicles out here, either.”

“Then how do we get to town?”

“Pirogue.” He indicated the shallow, flat-bottomed boat tied to the houseboat.

“We’re both going to fit in there?”

“Unless you want to walk through the swamp.”

“Been there, done that,” she muttered. “I have no desire to be a snack for an alligator.”

He stepped down into the boat and held out his hand. She took it and then stepped in gracefully.

Still, the pirogue tilted slightly and her body brushed against his. He slipped his hands around her waist to steady her. Her eyes flared and he dared to think her reaction was personal. With one hand, he touched her cheek. A becoming color again filled her face. He rubbed the fleshy part of his thumb against her mouth until her lips parted, and she flashed her tongue over the full lower one as if in expectation….

What the hell was he thinking? They were standing in the pirogue in the middle of the swamp, breathing hard like two teenagers.

“You’d better sit down,” he said more softly than he was feeling.

She nodded curtly, then dropped like a rock.

He untied the pirogue and pushed off.

“What’s the name of the town?”

“LeBaux.”

“You have people there?”

He immediately thought of his mother who would be ecstatic when he walked into the house with a woman on his arm. She’d been after him to marry for years. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry. He’d even felt love for a woman before, but that emotion had been fleeting. They hadn’t meshed in the essential way two people needed to so they could make a life together. He’d drifted from one woman to another, and once he’d hit his thirtieth birthday still single, his mother had played matchmaker. He’d come to Sunday family dinner several times in the past year only to be treated to a prearranged companion. Nice women, but he’d felt no connection, not like he did with Lucy.

“My mother,” he said, “twin younger brothers, two aunts and an uncle, assorted cousins.” He’d been the only one in the family struck by the urge to move to the big city. “But to tell the truth, the whole town is like family. Anyone there would do anything for one of their own.”

“I don’t even know my neighbors,” she admitted.

He shoved off, and as always, ever since he’d been a kid, nature held him in thrall.

They drifted through patches of duckbill grass and under cypress trees draped with Spanish moss. Here and there a water lily poked out of the water and wild flowers were scattered along the banks. Ahead, an otter swam, and overhead a blue heron wheeled and then dove to pluck a fish from the waters.

“This place is a paradise,” Lucy said, turning to smile at him.

“A nice place to visit,” he agreed.

“Under the right circumstances. I am a city girl at heart, though. I don’t fit in here.”

“Where do you fit?” he asked, thinking she’d fit perfectly in his bed.

“In a town house at the edge of the French Quarter. Dana Ebersole and I have been renting it for more than a year now.”

He couldn’t keep his disappointment at bay when he said, “Ah, so you live with someone.”

“Oh, no, not like that. I mean, Dana isn’t a man. She’s been my best friend since we were kids. She’s my business partner, as well.”

A clarification that brought a smile to his lips. “What kind of business?”

“A shop in The Quarter called Bal Masque.”

“Souvenirs.”

“That, too. And masks for Mardi Gras. But mostly art pieces. We also give classes teaching people how to make their own masks.”

“Are you an artist?”

“I went to art school. Not the same thing.”

“So, some of those art pieces you sell—”

“Are mine,” she admitted. “I lead the classes, as well. Dana was a business major. She’s responsible for numbers and organization and advertising. In other words, she’s the one who keeps us from going bankrupt.”

“The partnership sounds like a good match.”

“Very good. What about you?” Lucy asked, glancing at him again. “What do you do for a living?”

Not wanting to talk about his own work and the way he’d bungled his last case, he said, “Look, we’re just about there,” hoping to distract her.

He saw her tense up and scan the bank ahead, as if she were afraid the thugs were waiting for her. But all that awaited them were the buildings across from the dock—a small grocery store and a diner.

“Don’t worry, chère, I’ll see that you’re safe.”

Lucy glanced back at him. “I’m not your responsibility,” she said in all seriousness. “As soon as we get my car, I’m off.”

He wanted to tell her that wasn’t advisable, that she needed to give the flesh wound a couple of days to heal—anything to keep her with him a while longer, so he could see what she was all about, maybe even figure a way to help her—but he was fairly certain nothing he said would sway her. She seemed determined to be rid of him as quickly as she had the hoods who’d driven her into his arms.

He just had to decide if he was willing to let her.




3


WHEN JUSTIN TURNED from the languid stream of the bayou and poled up to a floating dock, Lucy anxiously looked around.

Part of her expected to encounter the men who’d chased her into the swamp waiting for her, guns drawn. But they were nowhere in sight. Lucy breathed a little easier.

Justin jumped out onto the floating dock first and with a few twists of rope against a wooden post tied up the boat. Then he hooked the hull to the dock with one foot and offered her a hand and a smile.

Heart fluttering at the way he was looking at her—like he knew, for heaven’s sake, like he could read her mind about the dreams—Lucy reluctantly took his hand. Their physical connection was immediate and more intense than she would have imagined. Her palm felt scalded and as the sensation spread up her arm, she swayed slightly.

Justin easily pulled her right into him. The tips of her breasts brushed his chest, oh, so lightly, but her nipples immediately tightened and sent a warning to parts below. She squeezed her thighs together and awkwardly pushed past him.

“Are you all right, chère?”

The dock swayed under her, the motion adding to her already wonky stomach. “Yes, why?”

“You seem…well…a little breathless,” he said, his voice low and warm as the sunshine. “I thought maybe the wound was letting you know it was there.”

“Yes, the wound…” She was lying, of course. She’d forgotten all about being shot. She shrugged and forced a smile. “Just a twinge. It’s fine now.”

“Good.” Placing a light hand at the small of her back, he started for the bank. “Watch your step here.”

Her quick jump to dry land—make that squishy land—was inspired by the touch of his hand. Being close to Justin was difficult enough. Allowing him to continue touching her would drive her nuts because the intimate contact would remind her of the hot dreams.

And then all she would want to do is tear off his clothes and see if the sex was as good as she’d imagined.

Nothing could be that good, she argued with herself. At least nothing in her experience had led her to believe that sex could be in the fireworks category.

But wouldn’t she like to find out?

No. NO. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That would mean involving Justin Guidry in her life.

And that would mean involving Justin in the murder she’d witnessed.

Totally unacceptable. She’d got herself into this mess, so she was going to have to get herself out of it without involving anyone else with the murderers or the authorities.

First, though, she had to get her car out of the bayou.

“So where’s the local garage?” she asked, as they walked along the edge of town. She was careful to leave a few inches of space between them. “I need to arrange for a tow truck.”

“All in good time, chère, all in good time.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

Lucy thought Justin was headed straight through the center of town—all two blocks of double-story buildings, shops at street level, probably living quarters above. But he kept going, straight away from the bayou and toward a neat white house with a big front porch raised off the ground by cement-block stilts.

She looked around and noticed all of the houses were likewise equipped to deal with flooding from the bayou, the downside of living below sea level.

Suddenly Lucy felt Justin’s hand at the small of her back again, and she practically raced him up the front steps to the door so he couldn’t get a better grip on her.

“Hey, Mama, you got guests!” he called out, as he threw open the screen door.

The room was big and comfortable. Soft gold walls and dark rust couches were accented with brightly colored pillows and scarf valences at the long windows. A piano was set against one wall covered with dozens of framed photographs. Family, she thought, smiling.

A woman bearing an uncanny resemblance to Justin flew through the doorway. Her hair was dark with a single silver streak tumbling down over her heavy-lidded brown eyes.

“Justin, my oldest, my most wonderful boy, is that—” she stopped dead in her tracks and gaped “—a young lady you have with you?”

Though she was obviously surprised, Justin’s mother sounded pleased as punch, Lucy thought, amused at the way the woman addressed her son. There was great affection between the two of them, that was obvious from the big hug Justin gave his mother.

“Mama, I have brought home a woman in distress,” he announced dramatically.

“Oh, my. How can I help?”

What in the world was he going to tell his mother? Surely he wouldn’t alarm her with the truth.

As she stepped forward, hand held out, Lucy surreptitiously kicked Justin. “Lucy Ryan.”

“Marie Guidry,” the woman returned with a firm handshake. “What kind of help do you need?”

“All that rain…”

She gave Justin a glance to make sure he wasn’t going to butt in with the part she didn’t want told. His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression nonchalant. He was letting her tell it, thankfully.

“My car got stuck at the edge of the bayou and your son kindly brought me to town to get help. I need to have someone haul the car back onto the road and check it out to see that everything still works properly.”

The last thing she needed was a breakdown on the way back to New Orleans.

“Oh, you poor dear. The rain was terrible…last night.” Marie Guidry gave her son a look before adding, “That must have been a scare for you. Come in the kitchen and I’ll get you something to eat. Food always makes a body feel better.”

Lucy said, “I’m not hungry. Justin already fed me.”

His mother’s eyes rounded. “Oh, he did, did he?”

“What could I do, Mama, but feed a woman in distress?”

“So her car went into the bayou…at the fishing camp…how?”

“Well, not right at the fishing camp. Of course that’s not possible.” Justin suddenly sounded nervous. “Say, how about we have some coffee. Mama makes the best chicory coffee this side of New Orleans.”

Justin was doing his best to distract his mother.

Though she turned back toward her kitchen, his mother asked, “And how would you know I make the best chicory? You taste every one in the parish?”

“Pretty darn near.”

The warmth between mother and son made Lucy feel right at home. Maybe more at home than at her own parents’ house. Not that her parents didn’t care for her and her sister or welcome them home. They simply weren’t as touchy-feely or as open with their emotions.

In the kitchen, a smaller, fairer version of Marie Guidry sat at the kitchen table and chopped vegetables, throwing them into a big pot. Justin introduced her to Lucy as Tante Jeannette.

“Nice to see that you have good taste in women, Justin. Your mother was beginning to worry that she was going to have to hire a matchmaker for you.”

Startled by the woman’s inference that she and Justin were an item, Lucy was just about to set her straight when she was interrupted by the heavy clump-clump of a male tread down the back stairs toward them.

“Ah, Stephen,” Justin called out. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“What, you need someone to cut up your bait for you?” asked the younger, taller, softer version of Justin.

“I need someone with a good strong truck and chain. I need to get a lady’s car unstuck. The lady being Ms. Lucy Ryan here.”

No smile crossed Stephen’s lips as he gave Lucy the once-over, but he nodded in a friendly manner. “Should I round up Marcus, then?”

Justin lowered his voice to ask, “You know whose bed he’s in?”

“I heard that,” Marie Guidry said from across the room. She was at the stove pouring coffee in two mugs.

“Well, do you know?” Justin asked her.

“I try not to think about it.” She gave Lucy an exasperated expression. “Three sons over thirty and not one of them married or even seeming concerned about settling down. I’ll never have any grandbabies at this rate.”

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Justin said, “there’s plenty of time for those.”

“I mean before I’m too old to enjoy them.”

“Watch what you wish for, Marie,” Tante Jeanette warned her. “For all you know, Marcus already has a brood spread over the parish.”

Justin sighed the dramatic sigh of a man who had an unwanted weight on his shoulders. “So, does anyone know where Marcus is or not?”

“Marcus is right here,” rumbled a voice as its owner came through the back door.

His younger twin brothers were sort of identical in the way of stature and features. But while Stephen was neatly pressed and handsome in a quiet way, Marcus was unkempt and incredibly fetching with a day’s growth and hair that hadn’t yet been brushed.

Lucy could well believe he’d just gotten out of some lucky woman’s bed….

Okay, so she had bed on the brain thanks to Marcus’s captivating older brother.

Justin introduced Lucy to the twins and then sketched out her plight, leaving out the details just as she had done with his mother.

“We’ll have your car out in no time,” Stephen assured her. “You’ll be on the way back to New Orleans before supper.”

“If that’s what the lady wants,” Marcus said, arching an eyebrow.

Justin gave him a brotherly whack and said, “We’re on it, Lucille. Mama and Tante Jeanette, make sure the lady doesn’t pine for my company in the meantime.” He was about to follow the twins out the door, when he hesitated and looked back at Lucy, adding, “Perhaps you ought to stay in the kitchen, chère, away from interested eyes.”

With that he left. Lucy felt the weight of curiosity aimed her way.

Thanks a bunch, Justin, she thought, facing the two women waiting for her to explain that mysterious comment.

“Is that my coffee?” she asked, taking the mug from Marie. Quickly, she drank it down. “Mmm, this is the best chicory. What’s your secret?”

Lucy prayed Justin and his brothers would hurry, since she had no idea of how long she could keep his mother talking about her culinary prowess.



“THIS ISN’T GOING to be too hard,” Stephen said, linking the chain under the back bumper of Lucy’s car. “Probably best if you get in and start it and put it in reverse. Then Marcus can pull easy-like while you give it a little gas.”

As if he hadn’t gotten cars out of Louisiana bayou muck many times over the years, Justin thought.

But that was Stephen. Precise. Always going over the details ad nauseam. He didn’t want to label his little brother obsessive-compulsive, but if the shoe fit… Even being an accountant reflected that part of his too-organized personality.

“Okay, we’re set,” he said, sliding behind the wheel and starting Lucy’s car.

Stephen signaled Marcus, who put the truck in gear. And when Justin slid Lucy’s transmission into in reverse, the car slid out of the sucky ground and back onto the gravel like a greased pig. When they both stopped, Stephen unhooked the chain and threw it in the back of the truck.

Marcus slid out of the truck, yelling, “Stephen, you drive. I’m going to catch a ride in the lady’s car.”

He settled into the passenger seat next to Justin, who waited until he’d backed up to the paved road and turned the car onto it before asking, “What’s up, Marcus?”

“That’s what I was wondering, B.B.”

B.B. standing for Big Brother. Only Marcus referred to him in that casual way. Stephen…well, Stephen was Stephen.

“You’re referring to?” Justin asked.

“Lucy Ryan. Lu-u-ci-i-ille.”

Justin was annoyed by the way Marcus picked up on his nickname for Lucy. “Like I said, she’s a lady in distress.”

On the way over here to rescue her car, he’d drawn a graphic picture about what had happened the night before. The danger part, anyway.

His brothers had agreed to keep an eye out for the two men in case they came looking for Lucy. If they came too close and pushed too far, they would be sorry, Justin knew. No one messed with the Guidry boys in these parts and got away with it. They were a force to be reckoned with, Stephen included.

“So why do you think Lucille ended up out here?” Marcus probed.

“Here’s where the pedal to the metal brought her. Simple as that.”

“Maybe not so simple. Maybe it’s fate.”

“What? You think I should get involved?”

Marcus grinned at him. “Go for it, B.B.”

“I meant as a private investigator.”

“Well, not quite what I had in mind—”

“I know what you had in mind, Marcus. Playtime is always what you have in mind,” Justin muttered, driving Lucy’s car around to the back of the house where it would be less conspicuous.

Stephen pulled the truck up and parked it next to the car as additional camouflage.

Truth be told, he could use some playtime. And he hadn’t missed a single one of Lucy Ryan’s many charms. But while he had a lot of faults, taking advantage of a woman who was skating on thin ice wasn’t one of them, so he might as well keep his libido in check.

“She’s going to be flying back to her life in New Orleans as soon as I return her car keys,” he said more to himself than to his brother.

“So don’t give them to her yet…for her own good, of course. Or stop hiding at the fishing camp and fly home after her. Whatever it takes.” Marcus slapped him on the back in a go get her manner.

Justin was thinking about doing that very thing as they headed for the back steps.

But was he really ready to face New Orleans?

To face his failure?

To face a ghost of his own making?

Laughter spilled out of the house, the inviting sound lightening his mood. Lucy’s laughter. It sounded good. It sounded right.

It melted something inside him.

He hadn’t had much to smile about lately outside of family, but Justin felt his chest tighten as he opened the kitchen door and went inside.



THE EDGINESS Lucy had felt on being left with the two women was completely gone by the time Justin and his brothers walked through the kitchen door. Marie and Tante Jeanette were delightful women who—though seeming to sense there was something wrong, that information was being kept from them—had done their best to put her at ease. After she’d made her call to Dana, assuring her that she was all right, Marie entertained her with stories of Justin’s boyhood bayou exploits.

Laughter bubbled from Lucy as she listened to his mother relate how Justin at age ten had set out to feed the poor alligators because he thought that being so slow and all, they couldn’t get their own food. So he’d taken a raw chicken into the pirogue and had wheeled it out to feed the alligators. That’s when he’d learned how fast they could move when food was involved.

“So which story is Mama telling you?” Justin asked as he entered the kitchen.

“The one about the alligators,” she said, trying not to snort.

He smiled, then gazed intently at her.

Suddenly breathless, Lucy said, “So you got my car out and it’s okay, right?”

“Drove it with no problems,” he said.

“So I should probably go.”

Not that the idea thrilled her. It made her feel as if she were tied up in knots inside.

Going to the police with a slew of half truths wasn’t her idea of something to look forward to. And if they tracked down the murderer and his accomplices and brought them in on charges, she would be expected to testify. Then she would have to lie and say she witnessed something she’d only seen in a dream, not in reality, because who would believe her otherwise?

How did she get around that?

Justin eyed his mama and aunt and then indicated Lucy should follow him to the living room.

Once there, he spoke in a lowered voice. “I think you should give it a day. Between the wound and those thugs looking for you—”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay, really.”

The longer she waited, the colder her feet would get about reporting the crime. And the closer she would come to psychic dreams she had no intention of fulfilling despite the fact that the man central to those dreams was so tempting.

“At least come back to the fishing camp so I can change the dressing.”

“Why not just do it here?”

“I don’t want to alarm Mama and Tante Jeanette.”

“They already saw the bandage and asked me about it.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t tell them I’d been shot if that’s what you’re worried about. But I didn’t exactly lie, either. I just said that it happened when my car went off the road and you patched me up.”

“Quick thinking, chère.”

Without warning, Justin palmed her bare flesh between the crop top and pants and cupped the area around the bandage with his hand.

Her body immediately responding, Lucy sucked in her breath. “What are you doing?”

“Feeling for heat that would indicate the wound is infected.”

His touch was making her flesh curl with anticipation that had nothing to do with the wound. Her mouth went dry and her pulse raced.

She whispered, “I barely know the wound is there.”

But touching her like that, Justin was making her hot, reminding her of the dreams. Every detail. She ought to step back, away from him, but somehow she couldn’t. The heat spread randomly from where he still touched her to every other part of her body.

And he was feeling it, too. She could see it in his expression that went from relaxed to taut in a matter of seconds. And in the way he was looking at her….

Justin’s face seemed to draw closer and closer. Unless she was mistaken, he was thinking of kissing her. And then he seemed to think better, caught himself and pulled away.

Lucy felt her body sag with the relief of tension. She wrapped her arms around herself as if by doing so, she could protect herself against a renewal of sensation.

He was saying, “I don’t think you ought to head back to New Orleans, just yet,” when Stephen appeared in the doorway.

“Out front,” he said.

Justin rushed to the front window, but held out a hand indicating Lucy should stay where she was. “Two strangers on foot casing the area. It might be them.”

“The men who tried to kill me last night?”

He nodded. “What did they look like?”

“Stocky. Expensively dressed. One had thinning light hair, the other salt-and-pepper.”

“That’s them. Stephen, take Lucy upstairs and away from the windows.”

As if someone had to tell her to stay out of sight! Lucy bit back a retort and told herself to be grateful that Justin was trying to help her. Obviously, his brothers, too. She guessed he’d gotten them up to speed when they went to fetch her car.

“What’s going on?” Marie asked from the kitchen as Stephen guided her to the stairs.

“We’re taking care of it, Mama,” Stephen told her. “Just remember you don’t know anything about any Lucy Ryan.”

Marie’s expression darkened and she murmured, “Oh, dear,” as she shooed them up the stairs.




4


STEPHEN OPENED a door to a room that faced the street and said, “Justin’s room, when he visits.”

In spite of the danger lurking outside, Lucy felt a distinct tingle when she stepped into the room filled with memorabilia of Justin’s youth. She shook the feeling away, and wondering what was going on outside, trying not to let her imagination get the best of her.

In a lowered voice so no one outside could hear, she said, “I thought the boat was simply the family fishing camp.”

“It is. We all use it.”

“So Justin lives…?”

“In New Orleans,” Stephen said.

Which came as a knee-weakening surprise. The idea that Justin lived in the city—her city—where she could run into him at any time shot a thrill of anticipation through Lucy.

“What about you, Stephen?” she asked. “Do you live here? In this house, I mean.”

He was standing in the doorway. Filling it actually. The Guidry boys were not small men.

“Across the hall,” he said. “Well, most of the time. I make a lot of trips to New Orleans for work. I hate hotels, so I keep a small apartment there, too.”

“You never wanted to live in New Orleans full-time?”

“I never took to it, but that might be my fault for taking responsibility so seriously. It makes change difficult.”

Lucy wondered what he meant by that. Did he mean taking care of his mother? Somehow she didn’t think Marie needed anyone to take of her, and she certainly didn’t seem to be the type to ask even if she did. Besides, Marie Guidry was probably only in her early fifties—the prime of life according to women’s magazines.

It must be a Stephen thing, she decided.

“So does Marcus live here, too?”

Stephen laughed. “Nope. Too confining. In case you didn’t guess, Marcus is the free-wheeling type. He has a shack down the road a piece, though he’s here visiting often enough. At least a couple of times a week, actually. Nothing like home cooking, and Marcus takes advantage.”

The small talk kept Lucy’s nerves from stretching taut. What was going on downstairs? Though she heard muffled male voices, she couldn’t make out what was being said.

She drifted closer to the window.

“Hey, stop,” Stephen ordered.

She put a finger to her lips, pressed against the wall so that she wouldn’t be seen through the glass. Then she managed to curl a finger under the sash and lift it slowly but surely until the voices drifted into the room.

“I told you, we haven’t seen her.”

“And if you had, you probably wouldn’t say, right?”

Lucy recognized the voice as belonging to the guy who’d lost a shoe in the swamp.

“What is it you want with this…Lucy is it?” Marcus asked.

“That ain’t none of your business.”

Then Justin said, “You boys don’t have any business here in LeBaux, so I suggest you take yourself back to New Orleans where you belong.”

“We never said we were from New Orleans.”

Lucy’s stomach knotted at the mistake. Now they were going to know…

“You didn’t have to say,” Justin went on. “No one from bayou country wears shoes like those.”

“They’re Italian!”

“And useless. City shoes.”

“He’s criticizing my shoes!” the guy obsessed with his footwear complained.

“Forget the damn shoes!” his companion groused.

Justin mildly added, “I was merely making an observation.”

Marcus didn’t say anything to that. No one did.

Lucy drifted closer to the window and chanced a peek out. The four men below were squared off as if gearing up for a fight. Heart hammering, Lucy prayed there wouldn’t be trouble. Dear Lord, she hadn’t meant to bring trouble to anyone. These men were killers!

“Marcus, Justin!” came a female voice from below. “I thought you boys wanted some of my crawfish étouffée. Get in here now, before it gets cold!”

Marie! Lucy winced, then saw Marie’s ploy worked. Marcus and Justin relaxed as if preparing to go inside, and the men backed off and headed for town.

Lucy paced, while Stephen merely waited patiently, quietly, so unlike his rowdier brothers.

A few minutes later, Justin opened the door to his old bedroom. “Go after them and see what they’re up to,” he told Stephen. “We’ll stay here until they leave town.”

“I’m on it.”

The moment Stephen left the room, Lucy asked, “What if they decide to stay over?”

“Then you’re stuck in this room with me for the duration.”

“You like to give orders, don’t you?”

“I like people to listen when I tell them to do something for their own good.”

She got the feeling this was a criticism. Of her? “People listen,” she muttered.

“Except when they can’t stay away from a window.”

“You couldn’t have seen me.”

“That’s your opinion. If one of them saw you…” He shook his head.

“All right, stop trying to scare me.”

Justin stepped close enough that his potent maleness seared her. “Are you scared, Lucy Ryan?”

“No,” she lied, and sat herself in a creaky old chair near a makeshift desk and away from him.

Of course she was scared.

Scared, tired and sore.

The wound was making itself known once more and she wasn’t feeling so good. As a matter of fact, her head felt a little woozy. Maybe she’d overdone it. Or maybe the adrenaline of the morning had simply worn off and exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

If she expected Justin to continue the discussion, she was disappointed. He remained at the window until a few minutes later Stephen’s voice snaked up the stairs.

“All clear! You can come down now.”



FLEETING SOUNDS of a mournful saxophone followed her as she sloshed through the rain. People were still coming in and out of restaurants. Even a torrent wouldn’t stop those revelers—they would still hop from bar to bar, determined to make every moment count.

Angry and upset as she made her way home, she forced herself to hold together…. Crying could wait until she got to the privacy of her own bedroom.

A block from the town house, she heard a splash behind her, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing but a puddle in the sidewalk. Even so, her flesh crawled and she practically raced down the wet street.

Laughter echoed from one doorway…moans from another. She pressed her hands to her ears and ran. By the time she got to the courtyard, the rain had intensified just like her pulse. Her heart was pumping like she was in the midst of an aerobic workout.

Then she saw him waiting for her, rivulets of wet sheening his face. For a moment, she faltered and stared.

Then, when tears threatened again, she demanded, “What are you doing here?” and pushed by him, keys in hand.

But before he could answer, the quiet of the courtyard was split by a sharp blast and she turned in time to see him jerk and crumple to the wet flagstone….

Lucy awoke with a gasp.

Blinking, she looked around into the shadowy corners and realized she was back on the houseboat.

The rains had started again. A waterfall was drumming against the roof. She concentrated on the sound…closed her eyes for a moment…no, that was a mistake, she realized as remnants of the dream tried to claim her.

The psychic dream that was another warning like the one that had come to her before the woman had been killed!

Only this one had been about Justin being shot.

No…not again!

She steeled herself against giving into the emotion of what she’d envisioned. Instead she focused on how she’d ended up in Justin’s bed again.

She remembered following Justin downstairs to face his mother and aunt. They’d had to tell the women everything, after all. Marie Guidry had listened with an open mind, had wrapped her arms around Lucy in sympathy afterward, and declared her too warm. She’d demanded Justin take Lucy to a doctor for proper care.

Lucy had refused.

Justin had somehow gotten her to agree that she would come back to the houseboat with him to rest first before going back to New Orleans. He’d tended to her wound with an antibiotic salve and had threatened her with a visit to the emergency room if her fever spiked.

And then she had slept.

But though she was wet now—as if she’d really been rained on as in the dream—her body felt cooler than it had earlier. The fever seemed to have dissipated while she was sleeping.

“Feeling better?”

She gazed toward the doorway where Justin stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. Her heart began to thud with a distinct warning. Had he been standing there while she’d been trying to escape danger? While she’d seen him shot in front of her eyes?

“How long have you been there?” she demanded.

“Long enough to know you’re awake, is all. You’ve slept half the day away.”

Shaking away the remnants of the dream, she pushed herself up out of the bed and told herself it was up to her to change the future. “I need to get back to New Orleans.”

“Not today.”

With images of him shot in that courtyard haunting her, she said, “Yes, today.”

“You need watching.”

“I need to get into town as soon as possible!” she snapped. “So I can tell the authorities about the murder.”

So she could get away from LeBaux before she put Justin’s life in danger, before he could become another victim because of her.

“No, not yet.”

She heard the steel in his voice and wondered at the contrast between this Justin and the one who cajoled smiles from her. His expression brooked no argument. There was something dark and determined and a little scary about him when he was like this.

“Y-you’re keeping me prisoner?”

“I’m keeping you safe. Just until morning,” Justin said. “You’re in no shape to take care of yourself yet, chère. If you want to get out of here now, you’ll have to swim to your car.”

“A challenge?”

“No.” He sighed. “I just hoped you could be reasonable is all.”

Reasonable?

What was reasonable about being stranded with a man who invaded her dreams? Who threatened her peace of mind? Who was going to become even further embroiled in her mess and maybe die for it if she didn’t do something to stop what was already set in motion?

But one look at Justin told her his mind was made up. And it wasn’t like she could just leave on her own.

Surely she could resist him for another twelve hours. She’d never actually managed to change fate before—she certainly hadn’t with the murder of that poor woman—still, how did she know she couldn’t manage it?

Besides, the sun had already set and she wasn’t about to go wandering around the bayou alone at night. Obviously Justin wasn’t going to take her back to her car until he was good and ready. Until morning broke.

Twelve hours was a piece of cake, she told herself, even knowing it was a lie. Twelve minutes near him was enough to make her weak-kneed and all soft inside.

In the midst of her distress, she was distracted by a wonderful smell wafting into the room, making her stomach rumble. “What is that?”

“Mama’s crawfish étouffée. Remember, she gave me enough for supper. You must be hungry.”

“Starving,” she admitted.

“Come and eat then.”

He moved away from the door and she followed. Maybe food would give her the fuel to resist the man who occupied her dreams.

Maybe…

Once more she sat at his table, while he fetched the food. No matter that he hadn’t cooked it himself, he seemed to wield pots and utensils like an expert, the same way he had that morning when he’d made her breakfast.

If she concentrated on the details, on the now, she didn’t have to deal with the future yet. She didn’t have to worry about psychic dreams that she maybe could or couldn’t change.

“I’m not used to a man feeding me,” she murmured as he filled her plate.

“What are you used to?”

“Having my dates take me to restaurants.”

“You must eat in lots of restaurants.”

“Only on occasion. Not serious eating, though,” she assured him. “Just experimenting to see what’s to my taste.”

She’d never met a man she’d wanted to date more than a few times. And there hadn’t been all that many of those, either. But she didn’t mind. She liked having men as friends. Better than their trying to hook up with her when she didn’t feel the vibe. She felt the vibe with Justin, all right.

A surreptitious look at him made her wonder what hooking up with him would be like.

Would reality have anything on her dreams? she wondered.

Or was Justin too good to be true?

She waited until they were both halfway through with their étouffée before she asked, “So what is it you do when you’re not fishing?”

He arched his eyebrows and asked, “How do you know that’s not the way I support myself?”

“Haven’t seen any fish around here.”

“Maybe I’m taking a few days off. It has been raining, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed.” She poked her fork into a piece of crawfish. “So, you’re telling me you fish when you’re in New Orleans, too? And don’t try to deny you live there. Stephen told me you’re just visiting LeBaux.”

Justin’s smile drifted off. “Stephen ought to keep his mouth shut about what doesn’t concern him. At the moment, I haven’t decided if I’m going back to New Orleans or not. My time there didn’t prove to be all I had hoped for.”

Frustrated that he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, Lucy nevertheless decided to be satisfied with that. She didn’t want to keep probing if it would hit another nerve as she’d so obviously done. She was never going to see Justin again once she left here, after all. The dreams were still in the realm of fantasy. They couldn’t come true if she refused to have anything to do with Justin…the only way she could keep him safe.

Still, she was curious about just what Justin was doing out here alone in the bayou.

Hiding?

He certainly was complex.

He behaved as if taking care of a wounded woman was an everyday occurrence for him. He was gorgeous and entertaining, but beneath the charming facade, she sensed something different…something deeper and darker…something to which she responded to despite herself. Not that she liked being pushed around, even if it was for her own good. But that thread of steel in his veins when he wanted things his way had certainly surprised her.

Lucy remembered Justin saying something about the bayou hiding secrets. What secrets was the bayou hiding for him?



SOMETHING ABOUT Lucy Ryan got to Justin in a big way. No doubt it was the fact that she was a lady in distress and his natural proclivities were to help her. Especially now. He needed to feel right again.

But he wasn’t ready to go back to New Orleans.

He watched her clean her plate like she’d been starving. A woman with appetites, he thought, wondering about other things she might hunger for.

“There’s more on the stove.”

“I would be eating with my eyes rather than with my stomach.”

She had beautiful eyes. Large and gray and for the most part sincere so he could practically look right down to her soul. Rather he could, if he believed in souls. He wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore. Certainly not in himself.

He rose and started to clear.

“No, I’ll do it,” she insisted, making contact with his hand as she reached for the same plate.

He thought she might pull her hand back—she’d been a bit jumpy—but she stood still, staring at him, eyes wide open. His pulse shuddered as he read desire in them. And fear.

She was afraid of him.

He let go of the dish.

“All right. It’s all yours.”

Sitting back at the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she scraped plates into the garbage, then took them to the sink where a pan of soapy water awaited. He watched every movement of her hands—artist’s hands, smooth with long fingers and neat dark red nails—and wondered what they would feel like washing him. His instant erection told him he would like to find out.

Not that he could. Or would. He was no good to her. No good to anyone, not even himself. The way his life was going, he could get them both killed.

The knowledge didn’t stop him from fantasizing…from wanting to know every dip and curve of her body…from wanting to forget by losing himself inside her.

Justin shook himself. He was an idiot. He wasn’t going to solve anything with sex. What he needed was a therapist and a couple of years on the couch. And a new profession, one that didn’t get people killed.

“Done,” she said, moving toward him and drying her hands with a dish towel. “You don’t mind if I let the plates drain for a few minutes before drying them?”

“You’re supposed to dry dishes?” he asked lightly, as if that were news to him.

Lucy came closer. “You yanking my chain?”

He’d like to yank her chain and anything else he could get hold of.

Instead he said, “This place is casual. The only reason I don’t use paper plates is that it would give Mama a heart attack if she found ’em. She swears paper ruins good food.”

She cocked her head. “Do you always do what your mother expects of you?”

“Not always. A man has to have some say of his own. But I have to give her the plate issue, because I think she has a point.”

She reached over to wipe down the table and she was too close for Justin to ignore. He was filled with her woman’s smell, her disturbing presence. And he was weak, after all. A mere man. He reached out and circled her wrist.

Leaning over the table, Lucy stopped what she was doing and met his gaze. Justin saw something in her features that reflected what he himself was feeling. Hunger for something more than food. The emotions were stronger than the fear he’d sensed earlier.

With the sound of rain tap-tap-tapping overhead, he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. A slight tug and she was cradled in his lap. They stared at each other for a moment more, a moment in which every fiber of his body stirred and responded to hers.

He wanted her, and unless he was out of his mind, she wanted him with equal craving.

“Oh, Lu-u-cille,” he murmured before hooking a hand behind her neck and pulling her face to his.




5


THE FIRST TOUCH of Justin’s mouth on hers was electric. Lucy gasped, the sound lost in the instant passion of the kiss. In those few seconds, all her good intentions melted away like sugar in the rain.

She kissed him back, savoring the taste of his mouth, the smoothness of his teeth, the strength of his tongue. His probing of her mouth reminded her of other probings, more intimate joinings. It reminded her of her dreams.

It was like a dream now—mouths melding, hands exploring. She quivered and her body responded with a rush of wet warmth when his fingers lightly explored the skin of her side—the good side, not the wounded one. He took her to a different place, away from trouble and fear. She became lost in the moment…in the heat…in the sense of euphoria of this being right.

But it wasn’t right. She was wounded and he could be, too, because of her. That thought threaded its way through to her conscious. This was the first step toward making those dreams come true. The first step to hearing that shot ring out in the rain.

Lucy pushed at Justin’s chest. He released her immediately and she bounded to her feet.

“That can’t happen again!” she told him.

“If you say so.”

“I just did!”

“Calm down, chère, I simply thought the attraction was mutual. I’m not trying to force you into anything.”

“Like hell you’re not. You’re forcing me to stay here.”

“Only for a few hours. I promise I’ll get you to your car at first light.”

Nerves jangled, Lucy decided at that moment that Justin couldn’t force her to do anything. Let him think what he liked for now, but she was going to get off this houseboat and out of his life as soon as possible.

In the meantime, she looked for something to do and found a stack of magazines. “I hope you don’t mind if I read. I’m wide-awake, and after that nap, it’ll be hours before I can fall asleep again.”

“The light won’t bother me. I can fall asleep anywhere,” he said, indicating the couch.

“Don’t be silly. You have a perfectly good bed.”

“You want to share?”

“I want you to use it.” Grabbing a magazine, she plopped down on the couch. “When I get sleepy, I’ll just stretch out here.”

“If you insist.”

Well, at least he was acting agreeable. Not that he went to bed right away.

But there were only so many things to do on a houseboat once the sun had set. And she had the couch and the reading light. Besides which, he’d been up since dawn without the benefit of a nap like she’d had.

Eventually Justin seemed jittery, as if having nothing left to do with himself was getting on his nerves. He looked tired, which he should be considering how early he’d risen that morning. She couldn’t help noticing his eyelids were drooping more than usual.

“Are you sure about the bed?” he asked.

No teasing in his voice tonight. She could hear fatigue instead. Good.

“Positive,” she said. “I’m probably going to be up for hours reading.” And plotting, getting the nerve to do what she had to do. “The bed is all yours.”

Still he hesitated, staring at her. She kept her expression neutral, gave him a little smile and hoped her “Good night” would do it.

“Night.” He gave her a penetrating look before entering the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

And Lucy sagged with relief.

If he suspected anything, he wasn’t acting on it. Just how long would it take him to fall asleep? Although she continued to flip through magazines, her eyes glazed over and she wasn’t getting the content. She was too busy thinking about Justin.

Would he stay awake until she fell asleep? He could lie awake in bed listening for movement, for any indication that she wasn’t simply reading. For how long, though? She only hoped she could stay awake for however long it took Justin to relax and go to sleep.

It was she who listened to the small noises Justin made as he moved around the other room. And her imagination became engaged.

Closing her eyes, she could see him undressing, could imagine the long lean muscle of him as he removed garments one at a time. Though she’d never seen him naked in person, she’d seen all of him in dreams, and through them, she knew every inch of his too tempting flesh.

Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes, but the images stayed with her, teasing her, keeping her from concentrating on the magazine in her lap, no matter how hard she tried.

The sound of the bed protesting as he climbed into it left her wanting what she experienced in her mind. The bed creaked with each toss and turn—and there were many of them—and she had to keep adjusting herself on the couch because she couldn’t get comfortable, either.

Was he thinking of her just as she was of him?

Did he want her with the same intensity?

Did he want her at all?

He’d kissed her, yes, but that had been due to circumstance. Almost an accident.

He’d flirted with her all day, but flirtation seemed to be part of his natural charm, like he would do so with any woman on his radar.

Most likely he’d been working on automatic, not because he’d been turned on by her.

But he was certainly having a hard time settling down, she thought, hearing springs bounce yet again. At this rate, he was never going to sleep, never going to give her the chance to escape.

Rain had started up again and was drumming against the roof. Great, another obstacle to getting home. Dana was probably going nuts worrying about why Lucy hadn’t returned. Maybe she’d even alerted the police. All right, maybe not.

Lucy hadn’t told her why she was in bayou country when she’d called from the Guidry place. Dana had jumped to the conclusion that she was there because of a man, and Lucy had let her roomie think what she would. She’d also assured her that she was okay and would be home before dark, but of course that hadn’t happened.

And in her aggravation with Justin, she’d forgotten to call Dana with an update before heading back for the houseboat. When she got her car on the road, she would call from her cell phone, assuming her shoulder bag hadn’t been stolen.

It was raining harder now.

As she listened, her heart seemed to beat in sync. She felt herself start to drift.

“Damn!” she whispered, forcing her eyes wide open.

She wasn’t the one who was supposed to fall asleep….

Suddenly she realized the noises from the other room had stopped. No tossing, no turning, no creaking. She sat up straighter and listened harder, kept her ears tuned for the slightest sound beyond the rain. It was barely drizzling now.




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