Relentless Seduction (11 page)

Claire looked at him. Really looked at him. Who was
she
to try to make sense of anything? Maybe she would just make things worse. All she had—like her microbes in her lab—was the truth she’d observed. “You were left alone, to fend for yourself. Living on the fringe of so-called normal society. And yet you persevered. You’ve created a place for others like yourself. The people who don’t fit in, the individuals that society might call freaks can come to Once Bitten and know there are others like themselves, and not feel so alone.”

She realized that she’d always felt like an outcast, too. A painfully shy, socially awkward, fashionably backward nerd. But Rafe had made her see herself differently.

He stared at her, the creases of bitterness and torment between his brows and around his mouth slowly fading. He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Then he brought his hands to either side of her face, tilted it up and lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was gentle and full of wonder. Something deep in her belly ached for the joy of it. He pulled away, stared at her again and then took possession of her mouth with a fierceness that made her knees lose strength and her chest surge with emotion. She let go of the sheet and wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kisses, whimpering with need.

In one swift move he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, the sheet trailing behind. Her back hit the mattress and hot male body covered her. She opened the sheet and wrapped it around his back, cocooning them both inside it, hiding from the world and all its mysteries and complications. All she cared about right now was how his skin rubbed against hers, how his body was hard where hers was soft. How the hair on his chest and legs tickled and warmed her.

He kissed her nose, her eyes, her temple, then down her jaw to her neck, his stubble rough against her sensitive throat. He used his knees to spread her thighs and slipped inside her. He groaned her name and set up a rhythm that called to the ancient female in her. She dug her fingers into his back and met him thrust for thrust, encouraging him with guttural sounds that might have been the word yes in some primal language.

And when she needed him to go faster and harder he seemed to read her mind. He obliged until she was fighting to breathe and reaching a zenith and then tumbling down, and he froze above her. Then he shuddered and gradually relaxed.

Still marveling at the phenomenon of her blinding orgasm, Claire caressed his back, his shoulders, his neck. Never again would she question whether she was frigid or unfeeling, or undersexed.

But at this moment, she couldn’t imagine that any other man would make her feel this way.

11

R
AFE
WAS
DREAMING
. He was surrounded by warmth, wrapped in loving arms. He felt safe. Being held so tightly his chest felt compressed.

Then the weight on his chest shifted and a female sighed, and Rafe awoke slowly.

Claire half lay on him, her cheek on his chest, her breasts pushed against his side, her leg crossed over his. Beneath his hand her back rose and fell with her steady breathing. He smiled and felt a surreal sense of peace.

Her warm skin pressed against his as weak light filtered through the blinds. Almost morning.

He’d actually slept several hours. With someone next to him in his bed. Hearing her breathing. Feeling her warm body snuggling against his. He slid his hand up her spine and she moaned and arched, murmuring a satisfied hello.

“Hey,” he muttered.

She stiffened, rose up on her elbows. “What time is it?” Her eyes were wide, frantic. Even so, their deep brown color reminded him of the chicory coffee he loved so much.

“You have an early flight?”

“Um.” She blinked. “Yes.” She rolled away from him and grabbed her glasses off the bedside table. As she slipped them on, he rolled toward her and slid his arm around her waist.

“Cher.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the small of her back and began nibbling his way to her hip. “Stay today. I’ll take you to the airport tomorrow.”

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “I—I can’t.”

A sharp pain lodged somewhere between his throat and chest. And she...shot off the bed and into the bathroom as if she couldn’t wait to put as much distance between them as possible. Evidently she wasn’t feeling the same warmth.

Last night he’d practically opened a vein for the woman. He never talked about his past. But he’d thought they’d...connected.

He stretched and ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. What the hell was he thinking? Had he thought he might actually get involved with her? As in...a relationship?

Who’d have guessed it? Raphael Moreau, the king of the tourist fling, had feelings for a woman. How had that happened? How could he have been so stupid? The woman lived in Boston. She had a PhD, for crying out loud. This was good that she was leaving. She’d disrupted his life enough already.

He crawled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, knocked on the door she’d closed. “Claire?”

“Just a sec.”

“Claire, give me a few minutes to shower and shave and I’ll take you to the airport.”

Silence.

He knocked again. “Claire.”

The door opened and she emerged fully dressed. “Thank you, but I need to go now.” She crossed to the table and slung her purse up onto her shoulder.

“
Cher.
There’s no way you can get a cab here before I get out of the shower. Give me ten minutes.” He spun toward the bathroom.

“No!”

He turned back.

She closed her eyes and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “What I mean is, I arranged for a cab to be here this morning when I booked my flight last night.” She gave him a smile so false a blind man could’ve seen through it. “Thank you for everything.” She extended her right hand.

What the—? He glared at her. A stupid handshake? After last night? Well, fine. If she wanted to pretend there was just sex between them, he could do that. He damn sure could do that. He clasped her hand, raised it to his lips. “Take care,
cher.
” Dropping her hand, he gave her his back as he headed into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the shower.

* * *

C
LAIRE
BIT
HER
LIP
,
HARD
,
as she made her way down the outside stairs of Rafe’s apartment. She refused to cry, but her stupid vision was blurry even with her glasses on. Digging in her purse for her cell phone to call a cab, she stood at the base of the stairs, wishing she really had thought to arrange for a cab to pick her up.

“You’re up early.”

Claire jumped and spun to look behind her, her heart rate tripled.

Ro leaned against the back door to the bar, smoking a cigarette under the stairs.

“Ro, you scared me.” Claire tried to catch her breath.

“It’s Rowena.” As she blew a stream of smoke from her mouth, Rowena raised a brow, threw her cigarette down and ground it out with her boot. “You have a good time last night?” Her gaze traveled up the stairs to Rafe’s apartment door and back down again.

For the briefest instant Claire thought she saw pain in the woman’s eyes. She certainly didn’t blame Rowena if she’d had to work all night because Rafe had been...preoccupied with Claire. She suddenly felt embarrassed. “Have you been here all night?” She tried to smile.

Rowena shrugged. “Sometimes that’s the way it goes.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

Rowena raised a disbelieving brow. “Where you going?”

“To the airport.” She held up her cell. “I was just calling a cab.”

Now both brows rose. “And Rafe knows you’re leaving New Orleans?”

Claire nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Cool. I’ll take you.” She dug a key from her jeans pocket as she strode toward a pale yellow pickup.

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” Now what was she going to do?

“No, really.” She narrowed her eyes. “I want to.”

Claire scanned the small gravel parking lot as if she’d find an answer there. What reason could she possibly give Ro for not wanting her to give her a ride to the airport? “I, uh...”

“You’re not really going to the airport, are you?”

“Um... Please don’t tell Rafe. But I have to try to get my friend away from that cult.”

Rowena cocked her head, speculation in her eyes. “And you’re not going home until you succeed?”

Claire lifted her chin. “No.”

“Then I should tell you. Someone came in last night with a message for you.”

“For me?” Claire didn’t know anyone in the area except Sergeant Mulroney. “Was it a policeman?”

“No. He was a vamp. He said to tell you that Julia will meet you at the St. Luis cemetery as soon as possible.”

Joy spilt over Claire. “Julia? Oh, Rowena, that’s so wonderful. Thank you!” She opened her cell and brought up the cab company’s number. Julia must have sobered up by this morning and realized the danger she was in.

“Come on. I’ll still give you a ride,” Rowena offered. “It’ll be faster than waiting for a cab.”

She wanted to ask why Rowena hadn’t told her this earlier, but she was too anxious to get to Julia. “If you’re sure you don’t mind. That’d be great.”

Before she even thought about the sergeant or collecting her things from Les Chambres Royale, she was barreling down the mostly empty streets of the French Quarter in Rowena’s beat-up pickup. It was a good thing Rowena knew where they were going because Claire was so turned around she wasn’t sure if even the tourist’s map she had tucked in her purse would’ve helped. She’d always been directionally challenged.

“Here you go.” Rowena pulled up outside the ornate iron gates of the cemetery and shifted the truck into Park. “Do you want me to wait?”

Claire checked her cell reception. Only one bar. Hmm. “Would you mind? I’m not sure I can call a cab from here.”

“Sure. Maybe I can help with your friend.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” Maybe Julia would listen to Rowena. Even in civilian clothes Rowena stood out. Her heavy black eyeliner and lipstick made the jeans and sweater she had on this morning seem out of place. No sleek floor-length black gown a la Morticia
Addams today.

But the jeans were much more practical for tromping around a weed-infested cemetery. Rowena followed Claire through the entryway.

Aboveground graves framed by stone and plaster about three feet high were surrounded by short iron fences, marked with marble statues of Mary, or St. Francis, or a crucifix. But as she walked farther, graves gave way to wall crypts stacked four and five coffin-size squares high. Then came rows of barrel-vaulted and pitched-roof stone crypts. Built so close together, with parapets and steps leading up to a doorway, they looked like tiny houses.

Some had family names carved in the stone above the doorway, or other elaborate bas relief carvings, some had urns and vases of flowers on stoops in front of the entryways, and some roofs sported stone crosses on a spire like a church.

“Julia!” Claire called out every couple of minutes. Was she not here? Maybe they’d tracked her down and taken her back to the asylum.

Claire clenched her hands into fists, envisioning Armand dragging Julia away, forcing her to go through with that ceremony against her will. She could practically feel the satisfaction of smacking Armand in the face.

And since when did she condone violence of any kind, much less imagine enjoying it? She needed to get back to Boston and her normal life as soon as possible.

Her days might be predictable, boring even, but at least there she didn’t have to experience danger, and heartache, and—and passion. And the exquisite sensations of lovemaking, and the thrill of having a man like Rafe Moreau look at her and really see her and want her....

Why on earth did she want to return to her lonely life in Boston?

She chose a row of wall crypts at random and turned, then realized she could get lost amid all the similar-looking walls and never find her way back. Wait. Rowena was missing, too. Returning to the main aisle, she called out, “Rowena?” She scanned the aisles she could see. “Rowena?” she yelled louder.

She better find a point of reference or she’d be wandering around lost out here forever.

There. A miniature dome twenty feet in the sky with a pair of angels sitting atop it. The dome was perched on four columns that sat on the pitched roof of a multi-vault crypt. She took note of its position relative to hers and the entrance gate, and then headed farther into the cemetery calling Julia’s and Rowena’s names over and over.

“Claire! Over here!” It was Rowena and she sounded panicked.

Claire started running toward the sound of Rowena’s
voice and finally spotted her in the doorway of a pitched-roof crypt. How had she gotten the door open? And why? Julia was inside the crypt? Hurt? Overdosed? Claire’s emotions kicked into overdrive as she pictured her friend hurt or dead because she’d tried to escape.
Oh, Julia.

She rushed past Rowena into the cool, gloomy crypt, but couldn’t see a thing until her eyes adjusted to the dark. Just as she realized the crypt was empty, the door slammed shut behind her. She spun around and shoved on the door. “Rowena?” But the door didn’t budge. There was no latch on this side. Why would there be? She shoved on the door again, this time throwing her whole body into it. “Rowena! Let me out!”

No one answered. Claire rubbed her shoulder where she’d hit the door. She stood there, stunned. Surely this wasn’t happening. Really? How could she have fallen for such a clichéd trick? But then, how could she have known Rowena would do something so completely over-the-top crazy?

Sighing, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse, but now it didn’t even show one bar. Not surprising inside this thick stone tomb. She shuddered. No one knew she was here. She could be trapped for days, weeks....

Stop it.
Panicking would solve nothing. She must find a way to get out of here on her own.

The crypt wasn’t completely dark or she wouldn’t be able to see her hand in front of her face. She followed the source of light to several holes in the crumbling blackened brick wall. The openings were along the top of the wall, maybe seven feet high. Could she bust more of the stone away and fit through? Even if she could, how would she climb up to them?

Her only hope was the door, then. She’d have to find something to bang it with. Spinning around, she began searching the tomb for anything large enough to break down the door. Her prospects did not seem hopeful.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
R
AFE
GOT
out of the shower and headed downstairs to catch up on all the work he’d missed lately, he’d almost convinced himself he was glad Claire was out of his life. She was nothing but a pain in his backside. Good for a couple nights of fun, like any other vacation fling.

Then he realized he was pouring himself a tumbler of vodka at nine-thirty in the morning. Pappy used to drink vodka for breakfast...

He cursed long and loud, pitched the tumbler across the empty bar and savored the satisfaction of the glass shattering against the steel cage hanging from the ceiling.

So he’d wanted a couple more days with her. Maybe that would’ve been all it took to get her out of his system. Maybe not. In less than a week, she’d managed to insert herself into the very core of his life.

He stalked to his office and sat at his desk. Flipped open his accounts payable and turned on his calculator. The rows of numbers reminded him of all the statistics she’d quoted him. He smiled, thinking about her adjusting her glasses, or how she would bite her thumbnail....

He pictured her when he’d first seen her, so out of her element, stuttering, but refusing to take no for an answer. And never giving up the search for her friend, even when the odds were stacked against her. And how she’d stood up to Armand.

If she was that relentless when trying to save a friend, how would she be with someone she’d promised herself to ’til death do them part? Would she never leave them? Never give up on them?

He’d never had anyone like that in his life.

Work, Moreau. This bar is your life.

If he couldn’t look at numbers right now, he’d count inventory. He shoved away from his desk and stalked to the storeroom. He had an order of bourbon due. And boxes of rum to unload. And he needed fresh fruit for garnishes. Maybe some fresh strawberries for daiquiris....

No!

Claire was probably on her way to Boston by now. She wouldn’t be ordering anymore strawberry daiquiris. He refused to think about her. It was over. She was no longer his problem. This bar was. And if he didn’t give one hundred percent to his business, he could lose it.