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He was on me like flies to honey on a hot summer day, jerking my arm and forcing me to face him. The momentum he’d used was just powerful enough I involuntarily drove my palm against his chest. If I’d moaned any louder, I would have awakened the dead inside every New Orleans crypt. Oh, God. What was wrong with me?
When he lowered his head, I thought for certain he was going to kiss me, and I licked my parched lips in anticipation.
“Delaney. I asked you a question. I always expect an immediate answer when I do.”
As I’d experienced before, the man could shatter a fantasy with a single word or a harsh glare.
“Yes. I under-the-fuck-stand.” I’d gritted my teeth, the harsh words merely the tip of the iceberg as far as what I wanted to say to him, the nasty statement about not being manhandled in the forefront of my mind. Why did I have a feeling he was enjoying this as much as the discomfort he continually gave me? Bastard. He really could be a bastard.
Then of all things, the son of a bitch had to go and arch one of his deliriously glorious dark eyebrows. Yet the look wasn’tabout seduction but something much darker. It would seem the challenge to avoid each other was going to take everything I had.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice little more than a rich, gravelly sound.
Good girl. The praise should make me sick to my stomach, but it did just the opposite. The warm and fuzzies that suddenly appeared were like a warm blanket being tossed over me after a romp in the snow. I took a deep breath, holding it. He was the only man alive who could make me feel tongue tied.
He took several deep breaths, his eye penetrating into the darkest part of my soul, his fingers digging into my skin. I shoved him hard, managing to break the connection, fighting to keep from stumbling into the water. As I rubbed my arm in protest, not out of pain, he never blinked. Finally, he looked away, issuing words in French that I knew had to do with my ridiculous behavior.
“What if I don’t follow your rules?” Oh, good. I couldn’t seem to help myself around him.
“Then you won’t like the punishment you receive. Am I clear enough now or do I need to make a point of showing you once again?”
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
But I dared not spout the words off out loud.
“Yes, Francois. Painfully so.”
His laugh was followed by another series of words I couldn’t understand. I remembered him doing that with my father. I couldn’t stand the tension any longer, whether part or most of it was entirely my fault. I softened my tone, finding myselfbrushing my fingers across my lips in remembrance of the amazing kiss we’d shared.
“Is there anything you can tell me that might shed some light on who he is?”
“Honestly? No. But there was writing on the wall in Ginny’s blood. Did the detective tell you that?”
The way his jaw clenched meant he was furious. “No. What did it say?”
“That mortal sins must be paid in like kind. What does that mean?”
“Fuck,” he hissed. “It could mean a connection.”
A connection. What was he talking about?
“The truth is that someone wants me dead. Don’t they?”
He followed my gaze before yanking the chair back into position. “It’s possible, Delaney. I won’t lie to you, but I ask that you never lie or try and deceive me again. Do we have a deal?”
My pulse was skipping, the ugly heartbeats more scattered than ever. He was rich and famous, every expression on his face easily conveying threats. I’d seen it with my own eyes. I marveled in his power. Now I feared what he was capable of. I didn’t want to feel like he was my enemy.
It was time to try to provide an olive branch of some kind or we wouldn’t survive the level of misery we’d shared.
“I’m sorry, Francois. I didn’t intend on running into you. I had no idea it was your club. If I had, trust me, I wouldn’t have gone there.”
“I sense a tone.”
“No tone. Just a blanket statement.”
He tossed his jacket across his arm. “Understood.”
“Why are you doing this really, protecting me?” The slight hesitation meant there was a story.
