Amber.
She didnt want to respond to that low raspy tone, didnt want to see the desire that would be stamped on his face. But her gaze raised of its own volition. And immediately the storm around them paled in comparison to the tempest between them.
Despite his earlier efforts, a lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead. His eyes were heavy-lidded, intent, and there was no mistaking the stamp of arousal on his face. It was there in the flare of his nostrils, in the skin stretched taut over his cheekbones. Her pulse leaped once before settling into a hard staccato beat.
His head lowered. There was no room to pull away. And even if shed had the will to make a run for the street, it was doubtful that her legs would have obeyed the command to move. A strange lethargy had invaded her limbs, turning them weak and boneless.
She felt his breath warm her throat before his lips brushed against the pulse that was pounding there. Then that same barely perceptible caress whispered across her jaw, her eyelids, the corner of her mouth. He didnt touch her anywhere else, and that fact somehow made the light contact more sensual. Restrained, but full of promise. She shivered against him, but not from the dampness. Heat flashed between them, enough that she imagined the air around them should fill with steam.
The world narrowed, to include only this moment. This man. She thought he could surely hear her heart slamming against her chest. Imagined she could hear his. Her lips parted as his mouth hovered above hers.
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, with a light deft stroke that had her shuddering. He rubbed his mouth against hers savoringly, as if he wanted to absorb her flavor and brand her with his own.
And because he was close, all too close, to succeeding, she found the strength to turn her head.
I have to go. She could barely form the words.
Amber.
She used her elbows to wedge herself past him, not daring to look in the direction of that dulcet voice.
I want to see you tonight.
The words sounded as though theyd been dragged from somewhere deep inside him. The blood pumped through her veins, and she struggled for composure. Shed never been in greater need of it. I have to work.
Then Ill come by for dinner.
Without responding, she walked away as swiftly as she could without running. Running would have been useless, at any rate. There was no way to outpace the emotions that even now were churning and crashing inside her like white water. No way to escape the certainty that shed made a very grave mistake indeed by allowing Nick Doucet to touch her. To taste her.
She walked faster to outpace the memories. His flavor still lingered in her senses, and she felt oddly disoriented. Her thoughts were a jumble, and it wasnt until she heard the blare of a horn that she realized shed nearly stepped off a curb in front of an oncoming car. Jumping back, she ignored the drivers rude suggestion and tried to control a shudder at her recent narrow escape. Both of them.
The rain was steady now, falling gently. Her grocery bags were plastic, so she didnt have to worry about them ripping, but everything shed bought would have to be dried off before she put it away in her apartment. She looked forward to the task. Any distraction would be a welcome respite from her tumultuous thoughts.
Turning into a wide alley, she ducked her head against the dampness as she headed for her apartment. The place barely qualified as such; located above a seafood market, it had rarely represented a haven to her. The smell of fish was impossible to erase, and the room was barely big enough for her bed, table and couch. The three-quarters bath attached was little more than a converted closet. But Sara felt an unusual eagerness to return to the place. Alone.
Slogging through the puddles, she kept her eye trained on the outside staircase that would take her to blessed peace, not to mention dryness. She passed a man who, despite his black rain slicker, looked almost as drenched as she was. The rest of the alley was deserted. Most people had more sense than to stroll the New Orleans streets in a storm.
Sara Parker.
The words turned the rivers of rain on her skin into instant sheets of ice. For the space of an instant she almost convinced herself that shed imagined them.
Until they were repeated.
Sara Parker from Chicago. The voice was louder this time. The man was right behind her.
After a barely imperceptible hesitation, she quickly masked her reaction. Survival instincts, well honed, surged to the surface.
She schooled her expression to a politely quizzical mask before she turned. If youre talking to me, youve got the wrong person.
The man smiled, a menacing grimace. I dont think so. His arm raised and her throat seized. Her focus narrowed to the yawning black muzzle of the gun he had pointed at her head. Victor Mannen sends his regards.
Time slowed, then froze. I dont know what youre talking about. Distantly, she heard a shout, but didnt look away. She couldnt. The slow-motion sequence of death had her in its grip.
She was oddly unsurprised at the way shed meet her end. It had only been a matter of time. Hadnt she always known it? But it seemed curiously ironic that only a few minutes ago in Nicks arms shed felt more alive than she had in years, and now she was going to die.
The mans words were almost gentle. Goodbye, Sara.
Tearing her gaze away from the finger squeezing the trigger, she ducked, swung one of her bags, hitting his gun hand. She heard a shot as she stumbled away, waited for the agonizing pain to tear through her.
And instead staggered as the man tumbled forward against her, his hands clutching at her before he crumpled at her feet.
She stared, transfixed by the crimson stain spreading from the tear in his slicker. Heard the groans emanating from him as he struggled to his knees. And then her mind flashed back to the scene in the safe house in Chicago. The bodies crumpled on the floor, soaked in blood. And Sean, sweet sad Sean, with his eyes wide and lifeless.
Abruptly, she dropped her bags, her purse, and ran. Blindly. Wildly. Away from her attacker and away from the images still vivid and raw after six years. And when strong arms came around her, halting her flight, she reacted like a thing possessed, struggling madly.
Amber, its over. Its over now.
It was the soothing tone that registered, rather than the words themselves. Nick. She sagged against him, unable to control the shudders racking her body. His arms were a safe harbor in a storm-tossed sea. Her mind grappled with incomprehensionable fragments. His presence in the alley. The gun still clasped in his hand. And the words he murmured over and over as his lips brushed her hair.
Nothing will be allowed to hurt you, ma petite. No one. I promise you that.
And you didnt recognize this guy? Had never seen him hanging around the café, on the street? Detective Matt Chatfields narrowed blue regard was unwavering.
Sara shook her head. Someone had found a wool blanket for her and draped it around her soaked form. She huddled into it now, wishing its warmth could banish the chill in her veins.
The detectives gaze flicked to the man beside her. How about you, Mr. Doucet?
I never got a look at him. Nick reached over, took one of Saras icy hands in both of his. She gave it a discreet tug, but he held it firmly. He never turned around.