Читать книгу Bulletproof Billionaire - Mallory Kane - Страница 11

Seth controlled himself with an effort, drawing on the stony control of his military training. He wanted to flip Senegal and smash his face against the wall, but rushing to Adrienne DeBlanc’s aid would blow not only Confidential’s case, but also his own cover. There was too much at stake.

So he forced himself to remain still, clamping his jaw so tightly that pain reverberated through his head.

Adrienne nodded jerkily at whatever Senegal had said, and he let her go. The mob boss left without even noticing Seth, and then it was only Seth and Adrienne, and about a dozen servants.

Seth watched her curiously. When the front door closed behind Senegal, Adrienne’s back curved in relief. She rubbed her wrist and let out a weary sigh.

Approaching her quietly, Seth worked to keep his voice soft as he spoke. “Rough evening?” he asked.

She jerked, then quickly recovered. Up came the stiff back and the pleasant expression. She stopped massaging her wrist, but Seth could see the red marks left by Senegal’s cruel grip. The bastard.

Controlling his anger with an effort, he touched her wrist gently. “Any man who lays his hand on a lady doesn’t deserve to be called a man.”

He watched closely for her reaction. It wasn’t impossible that the interaction was a lovers’ quarrel. Sadness clouded her eyes for an instant, then she blinked and looked down. “I didn’t see you as the guests were leaving. I assumed you’d already gone.”

So she’d looked for him. The thought gave him a deep satisfaction that had nothing to do with Confidential’s case. He let his fingertips slide softly over the satiny skin of her inner wrist. “I couldn’t leave until I had a chance to speak to you. I have an important question.”

She glanced up at him, her expression guarded.

He held her gaze. “Is there a Mr. DeBlanc?”

Her eyes widened, the only sign that he’d surprised her. “You could have asked anyone that question.”

“I wanted to ask you.”

She shook her head. “My husband died over a year ago. I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Seth murmured, stepping closer. She smelled like gardenias. The scent was fitting. She had all the attributes of those delicate pale flowers, beautiful but fragile, the petals bruising from the slightest touch.

“However, I can’t help hoping that means you’re free for lunch tomorrow.”

She stared at him for a couple of beats. “Lunch?”

“What’s the matter, princess? Is your social calendar full?”

She swallowed. “My social calendar,” she repeated, a mocking tone in her voice.

Seth touched her cheek, sliding his fingertips down over her jaw and along the side of her neck, finally proving to himself that the skin he’d craved to touch ever since she’d opened her door to him was as soft and velvety as it looked.

In a way, the betrayed child inside him had looked forward to this part of his assignment, the satisfaction of performing a calculated seduction of the wealthy widow. A bit of revenge on the type of woman who had seduced his father.

But he was having trouble equating Adrienne De-Blanc with that woman.

Still, the softness of her lips, the drifting down of her long-lashed eyelids, told him she hungered for the touch of a man. And given Senegal’s treatment of her, Seth figured if he showed her a bit of gentle respect, she would be putty in his hands.

Every protective instinct in him had risen at Senegal’s treatment of her, but he couldn’t deny the question that remained.

Was she a willing participant in the mob? Was she an excellent actress who underneath her delicate mask was cut from the same hard calculating mold as the woman who had lured his father into her web of seduction? He pushed aside the doubts as he wrapped his fingers around her nape and bent his head to kiss her.

When his lips touched hers, she gasped and pushed at him. “No.”

Startled, he withdrew.

Her perfectly manicured hand flew to her mouth, and for an instant sheer panic shone in her eyes.

Adrienne took a long breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Seth studied her and she could almost hear his thoughts. They echoed through her, too. What was the big deal? They’d flirted, and he’d tried to kiss her. There was no reason to panic.

But he didn’t know that it had been years since a man had kissed her. A few had tried, but after Marc, Adrienne had thought she’d never again be tempted by a man’s kiss. She’d panicked not because Seth had tried to kiss her, but because she’d wanted him to. The idea that she was vulnerable to a man’s attentions frightened her.

“You should be going, Mr. Lewis.” She pulled herself to her full five feet three inches and lifted her chin, pasting on her best serene, perfect-hostess smile.

He cocked a brow. “I’m free for dinner if you’re busy for lunch. Or lunch the next day, or dinner, or—”

She smiled reluctantly and shook her head at his tenacity. Why not? From what he’d said he would only be in New Orleans a few weeks at the most. She longed to be in the company of a young handsome man, even if just for lunch. The last time a man had looked at her with such open admiration in his eyes had been her senior year at Loyola University. He was the brother of one of her sorority sisters, and she’d come very close to falling in love with him. But her dreams of happily ever after had been harshly cut short when her father had announced that she would marry Marc DeBlanc.

Now, older and wiser, she knew she’d been naive. She’d watched her sorority sisters planning their own weddings and had fallen in love with the idea of love.

Still, the way her pulse sped up at Seth’s charming flirtation reminded her of those carefree days, and she actually found herself thinking about what she should wear. “Lunch tomorrow will be nice, Mr. Lewis,” she said, edging away from him.

“Good. Say noon?”

She blushed. “Make it one. I have a commitment in the morning. We could meet—”

“I’ll pick you up. Wear something a little more casual than that.”

Adrienne was still smiling as she closed the door. She leaned her forehead against it for a second. Had she really agreed to have lunch with Seth Lewis, a man she didn’t even know?

“Adrienne? Is everything all right?”

Adrienne turned and nodded at the owner of the pleasant New Orleans accent. Jolie Sheffield was one of Adrienne’s few trusted friends. The daughter of the sous chef at The Caldwell, her father’s flagship hotel, Jolie had been Adrienne’s childhood companion, playing with her in the kitchens and hiding in the laundry chutes of the hotel when they were children.

Now, thanks to Adrienne, Jolie owned her own catering business.

“The food was perfect, as usual,” Adrienne said, giving Jolie a hug. “Thank you.”

Jolie smiled and sketched a mock bow. “Pleased to be of service, ma’am.”

“Stop it,” Adrienne laughed. “Is there a cup of coffee left in the kitchen?”

“Probably, but I can’t stay. I have a brunch in the morning, and I haven’t even started on the brioche.” Jolie hugged Adrienne again, and slipped an envelope into her hands.

Adrienne’s fingers curved around the bulky package. “Jolie, this is too much! I told you, there’s no rush in paying back the loan.”

“Oh, please.” Jolie’s straight black hair slid over her forehead and she tossed it back with a shake of her head. “Let’s not go through this every time. It’s only fair I pay you back a percentage of Cater Caper’s profits—especially since you’re not charging me interest. I’m more successful than I ever dreamed I’d be, and I have you to thank for it. You were the one who told me there was nothing I couldn’t do.” Jolie’s dark eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Good words for you to remember, too. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

Adrienne swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Nothing she couldn’t do. Did Jolie suspect why Adrienne needed cash?

Jolie’s dark eyes sparkled as she gave Adrienne a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now I’ve got to go,” she said, and looked Adrienne in the eye. “Be careful.”

“I will, I promise. I always am.”

“Call me.”

Alone in her multimillion-dollar mansion, Adrienne clutched the thick envelope to her breast. On paper, Adrienne was one of the wealthiest women in New Orleans. But in truth, the only money that was really hers was the cash that she secreted away, mostly on her own, but occasionally with the help of friends like Jolie.

Tonight she was twenty-five hundred dollars closer to freedom.

SETH DROVE TOWARD his apartment, enjoying the feel of the powerful Mercedes engine through the steering wheel. He drew in a huge breath. He just might have done it. In the privacy of his car, he slipped a finger beneath the starched collar of his shirt. He couldn’t wait to get home to his fancy Warehouse District apartment, where he could change into a worn, comfortable pair of jeans and relax.

Pulling out his Confidential-issue phone as he maneuvered toward Magazine Street, he speed-dialed Conrad Burke’s cell.

“Burke? Yeah. Interesting evening. Apparently Jerome Senegal set up this highly promoted and advertised charity auction for the sole purpose of having a private meeting with District Attorney Sebastion Primeaux. The D.A. spent a half hour closeted in the dead husband’s study with Senegal.”

Seth heard babies crying in the background. He’d caught the head of New Orleans Confidential at home with his six-month-old twins.

“The D.A. Interesting. We’ve suspected Primeaux, but nobody has ever put the two together in private before. Good work. How did it go with Adrienne DeBlanc?”

“Smashingly,” Seth said wryly. “I’m not clear on her relationship to Senegal and the others, but we have a date tomorrow.” His body reacted in anticipation of seeing the beautiful widow again. “Don’t worry. If she knows anything, I’ll get it.”

JEROME SENEGAL WAITED impatiently in his limousine while Remy “Swamp Rat” Brun and Jacques Vermillon made contact with Gonzalez and his guards. Senegal chuckled at the memory of the frightened look on Bas Primeaux’s face. Then his mouth twisted.

“Hah. Primeaux ought to be scared, the pervert,” he said as the flicker of a match lit the darkness, filling the car with the smell of sulfur. He puffed at his cigar as Tony Arsenault held the match.

“No problem with Customs?”

Senegal settled back in the glove-leather seat. “No problem. If Gonzalez has everything ready on his end, we can move forward. Whoever engineered the raid on the McDonough Club will be back where he started.”

“Here they come,” Arsenault said. “Want me to pat Gonzalez down?”

“No, he’s fine. Even if he has a weapon he will not use it. He may be ruthless and cruel, but he’s not stupid. He kills me—number one, he’s dead, right?”

Arsenault laughed.

“And number two, his supply of guns is cut off.”

The limousine door opened and a lean dark man with a pockmarked, ravaged face and a well-groomed goatee slid in, bringing with him the smell of the wharf.

“Señor Senegal. It is a pleasure, as always.” Ricardo Gonzalez smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. They reminded Senegal of an alligator.

“You’ve worked out a method to provide me with additional inventory, I hope.” Senegal rolled his cigar between his fingers.

“Si. I was gratified to learn that you were expanding. We have much coffee in Nilia, and we are only too happy to share. For an appropriate price, of course.”

Senegal waved away both the cigar smoke and the South American rebel leader’s words. “Cut the bull and get to the point. I’ve made arrangements to get the bags past Customs, but what if there’s a screwup?”

Gonzalez splayed his long dark fingers on his knees. “Not to worry. The way we have manufactured the coffee bags, it would take a genius to suspect that the dark brown fiber is actually the bark that contains the raw material for your drug.”

“Woven into the bags. Clever. Will my people know what to do?”

“Si. It is the same procedure as always. They only have to separate the darkest fibers from the lighter material.”

Senegal raised an eyebrow to Arsenault, who nodded.

“Got it,” he muttered.

“Now, Señor Senegal, what about my equipment?”

Senegal jerked his head at Arsenault. “Tell Jacques to show the gentlemen the guns.” He looked back at Gonzalez. “They’re ready to be loaded.”

“All five hundred, plus ammunition?” Gonzalez’s eyes glinted with undisguised greed.

“Two-hundred-fifty. You’ll get the rest once the first shipment of coffee arrives safely.”

Gonzalez laughed. “Fair enough. It is a pleasure doing business with you, señor.”

He held out his hand but Senegal raised his cigar to his mouth and took a deliberate puff.

Gonzalez laughed again. “If the circumstances were different, Señor Senegal, I would take great pleasure in flaying every inch of skin from your body.”

Senegal blew a smoke circle into the air. “If circumstances were different, I’d let my second-in-command loose on you with his machete. He’s quite talented, you know.” Senegal rolled down the automatic window and tossed his cigar out onto the damp pavement. “Have a pleasant trip back to Nilia, Señor Gonzalez.”

Arsenault opened the car door and Gonzalez got out. Senegal tapped on the privacy window of the limo as a signal to the driver to pull away.

Arsenault grinned. “That should show the bastards who tried to shut us down, eh?”

Senegal tented his fingers thoughtfully. “Is the new location ready?”

Arsenault grunted. “Oui. We’re using the house on Jackson Street, right off Annunciation. Looks fine from the outside. The lab is on the first floor. We have heavy curtains on the windows.”

“Security?”

“Iron gates—locked. Oleanders hide the entire front from the street and our friend Deandra Jameson has listed the house as an exclusive, at a price no one will even consider. The real estate sign will explain the comings and goings of people, and supplies will be delivered and the refined drug removed by a renovations company truck.”

“Good. And the last matter? Adrienne DeBlanc’s investment portfolio?”

“No problem. If anything goes wrong, she’ll take the fall, I guarantee it.”

LILY HARRISON HUDDLED in a dark alleyway on the edge of the Warehouse District. The summer heat lingered in the asphalt and burned her feet through her thin-soled, high-heeled sandals. Every noise, from a laughing couple passing on their way to their car, to a rustle in the garbage bags that lined the alley, grated on her raw nerves.

She was scared and tired and hungry. She had no idea how long she’d been hiding, but she knew she couldn’t last much longer. She’d spent the last of her folding money on a burger and fries a couple of hours ago.

Her mouth was dry. Her throat hurt. She was so thirsty. The guy who owned the seedy hotel across the street was getting tired of her using his bathroom.

She twisted her hair up off her hot neck and tried not to cry.

She could call Mum.

No. She couldn’t. Not with three quarters and a dime, not all the way to England. And Mum’s disgusting boyfriend had warned her weeks ago when she’d threatened to run away not to come crawling back. As if she would, after he’d put his filthy hands on her. He’d refuse to reverse the charges on her call anyway.

Lily’s eyes burned. She couldn’t call her dad, either. She didn’t know where he was.

That was nothing new. Special Agent Tanner Harrison was probably off on some top secret CIA assignment, just as he’d been on her sixteenth birthday, and when she’d graduated, and when she’d arrived in New Orleans. He was never around when she needed him. His job had always come first.

Carefully inspecting a section of wall, she leaned against it, tears filling her eyes.

She was in such big trouble.

She never should have listened to that tart, never should have followed her into that fancy club. What a stupid twit she’d been to believe the girl was actually offering her a free meal.

Once Lily had walked into the opulent establishment, she’d been denied the freedom to leave. Someone was always watching her. Horrified, she’d quickly discovered the gentleman’s club was a front for a drug and prostitution ring. Most of the girls were her age or a little older. If it hadn’t been for Pam—an older hooker who’d tried to help the underage prostitutes escape—taking her under her wing, there’s not telling what would have happened to Lily.

The tears spilled over and dribbled down her cheeks. Pam wasn’t the only one who’d tried to protect her. Undercover government liaison Gillian Seymour had promised to get Lily to her father, but Gillian was nowhere to be found when pimp Maurice Gaspard drew a gun on Lily when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So she’d run.

In the alley behind the McDonough Club when she’d fled, she had come upon a grisly sight.

She’d watched in horrified disbelief as a man had shot Jack, the bartender, and Madame Dupre in cold blood. The images of their shocked faces and the splatter of blood would never leave her. But even that hadn’t been the worst of it.

The shooter had removed his mask and stared right at her. Lily shivered as she recalled his creepy scarred face and the deadly look in his eyes. Those few seconds had seemed like a slow-motion video. Then he’d swung his gun around and aimed it right at her.

Without thinking, Lily had turned and sprinted away, her high heels clacking on the streets, not caring where she ended up, just running to get away from that awful man and his deadly gun.

She knew he was looking for her. And when he found her, he would kill her.

Footsteps sounded on the sidewalk beyond the darkness of the alley. Lily shrank back into the shadows as a couple walked by arm in arm.

She’d been so sure she could take care of herself. So sure she could find a job and make her own way alone. Well, she didn’t feel grown up and independent now. She wanted her mum, or her daddy.

Clutching the last four coins she possessed in one grimy fist, Lily crouched down in the alley, so tired she didn’t even check around her for rats.

SETH WOUND HIS way through the main offices of Crescent City Transports and unlocked his office door, stepping inside and locking it behind him. On the opposite wall, behind his desk, was another locked door with a security camera mounted over it. The camera was similar to the ones located throughout the offices of Crescent City Transports, but this one was much more high-tech. Seth looked directly into the lens, staring intently until he heard a faint click that indicated that the specialized security system had scanned his retina and found him authorized to enter the secret headquarters of New Orleans Confidential.

He pushed on the door and stepped into a silver metal corridor. At the other end, another door swung open, revealing the main briefing room.

Conrad Burke stood in front of a bank of plasma-screen monitors. Alexander McMullin, the undercover operative who had engineered the raid on the bordello, stood next to him. Phillip Jones, Seth’s contact and partner for the operation, lounged with his hip propped on the edge of a table.

Without turning around, Burke spoke. “Lewis, I want you to see this.” His Southern drawl was at odds with confident stance and commanding presence. There was no doubt that he was the leader of this elite, secret organization.

Seth nodded at the other two men.

“How’s it hanging, Mr. Billionaire?” Jones said, grinning. “Was the lovely widow everything you expected?”

Seth shot Jones a quelling look, but the young former private investigator was undaunted.

“I hear you’ve got a date with her today. Way to move right in.”

“Jones. Lewis.” Burke’s voice commanded attention as the door behind Seth opened. Burke nodded at the tall, imposing man who entered.

It was Tanner Harrison, an ex-CIA operative in his early forties. Seth had met him during his interview. Today, Harrison seemed distracted and tired, as if he hadn’t slept.

“All of you have met Tanner Harrison.”

Seth shook Harrison’s hand and met his strange, silvery gray eyes.

He gave Seth a quick assessment. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Nice work with that bank robber.”

Seth shrugged. “He ran into me. I had to do something.”

The corner of Harrison’s mouth lifted. “I understand you were with Special Forces. Last time we met, you had a lot more hair. You cleaned up pretty well. Wouldn’t have recognized you.”

“My sisters have been after me for months to get a haircut and ditch the beard.”

Harrison nodded as Burke turned back to the monitors.

“We caught a break,” Burke said. “One of the prostitutes picked up in the raid the other night has pleaded. She seems to have a lot of good information.” Burke indicated the monitors.

Each monitor showed a similar establishment. Seth looked closer. “Those are Cajun Perk coffeehouses.”

Burke nodded. “The prostitute, whose name is Darlene Green, told the police that Cajun Perks are the distribution points for Category Five.”

Jones stepped closer. “Category Five. Supposed to be the greatest thing since Ecstasy and the little blue pill,” Jones said. “Doesn’t even give you a headache.”

McMullin grunted. “No headache. Just a stroke or a heart attack.”

“Cajun Perk?” Seth said. “That explains something Tony Arsenault said last night at Mrs. DeBlanc’s house. He was checking out the crowd. I mentioned hearing about the charity auction at a coffeehouse, and he got real interested real fast.”

“How so?” Burke turned around.

“He seemed suspicious of me at first, but then I said something about wanting to meet the major players in town and introduced myself. He’ll remember me.”

“Good. Be careful with these guys though, Lewis. Arsenault isn’t known as ‘The Knife’ because he can chop onions.”

Jones laughed.

Burke turned back to the monitors. “Now, here’s what Darlene told us about how it works. The girls get their supply by requesting a specific blend of coffee. Apparently the drug is hidden inside special cardboard sleeves that are only given to the customers who know about the special blend.”

As Burke talked, two girls dressed in revealing tops and low-rise miniskirts walked into view of the monitor trained on the Warehouse District Cajun Perk. Even with all their thick, overdone makeup, it was obvious they weren’t more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

Harrison cursed under his breath. “That’s the disgusting part of all this. They’re using teenagers. These girls aren’t even old enough to vote, yet they’re being turned out onto the streets.” His voice was rough with emotion.

“Right. That’s part of what we’re going to stop.” Burke’s jaw twitched. “Jones will be working surveillance. Lewis, keep in touch with him. Let him know everything you get from DeBlanc’s widow, soon as you get it. If you can use her to get close to Senegal, we may be able to find the missing piece linking the Cajun mob with Ricardo Gonzalez and his Scorpions.”

“I thought the South American rebels had disappeared.”

“For the moment,” McMullin said.

Then he continued. “Odds are that there’s a connection between the mob and the rebels. If Senegal is supplying the drug to the prostitutes, he’s got to be getting it from somewhere. That’s our primary goal—to find out where it’s coming from and stop it.”

Conrad Burke glanced at his watch. “Okay. That’s it. Keep your cell phones with you and report anything unusual.”

Alexander McMullin nodded, then headed toward the rear of the building where the trucks were serviced. Seth and Philip Jones exited through Seth’s office. As they parted in the parking lot, Jones grinned at Seth.

“You decide you can’t handle the widow alone, give me a call, you hear?”

“Yeah right. Like your bride would let you do that. Don’t worry,” Seth tossed back. “I can handle her.” He kissed his fingertips in a continental gesture and put on his accent. “She is like a fine wine, and I intend to sample that wine today.”

Jones laughed and saluted Seth, then got into his car and drove away.

BACK INSIDE the secret offices of New Orleans Confidential, Conrad Burke sat down and nodded at his friend to take a chair.

“No luck?”

Harrison dropped into the chair and wearily scrubbed his hands over his face. His gray eyes were dull as gunmetal, his granite-jawed face haggard. “Nothing. I showed some pictures of Lily to the prostitute who pleaded, but she can’t—or won’t—confirm whether she’d seen her.”

“But the undercover cop Seymour confirmed it was your daughter?”

Harrison nodded. “I talked to Gillian Seymour myself. She’s positive. That means Lily was at the club. She was—” Harrison stopped and rubbed his eyes.

Conrad studied the former CIA agent. He’d been a legend in the company, dependable, ruthless and devoted to his job. Maybe too devoted at times, but right now he looked like any worried father. His seventeen-year-old daughter was missing, and Detective Gillian Seymour, an undercover cop planted in the bordello, had identified Lily as one of the young prostitutes involved with the use of Category Five. Thinking about his own precious children, Conrad understood Harrison’s desperation. If one of his children were missing or into drugs, he’d be frantic.

Conrad was torn. He needed Harrison’s experience and his ruthless determination, but he couldn’t take the chance that Harrison’s worry over his daughter’s safety might compromise Confidential’s investigation.

“Look Tan, if you need to spend your time looking for Lily, I’ll understand.”

The gunmetal eyes flashed with silver glints. “No way, Conrad. My child is out there. Alone, possibly hurt, and these scumbags are responsible. I have too big a stake in the outcome of this investigation. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to bring these bastards down, and find my daughter in the process.”

ADRIENNE LOOKED PAST Seth in horror, her gaze riveted on the enormous shiny motorcycle parked in front of her home. She’d expected the red convertible he’d driven last night. “What is that?”

Seth grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling and his hair picking up golden highlights from the sun. “It’s a genuine American-made motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson.”

“I know what it is. I mean, what are you doing with it? Where’s your convertible?”

“I bought this beauty this morning. Impulse purchase. It’s an antique, a collector’s item.” He patted the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “It came with two helmets, too.”

Speechless, Adrienne stared at the man who had fascinated her last night with his odd accent and designer clothes, and frightened her by coming on too strong, too fast.

Today he looked even more dangerous. Dressed in snug black jeans, a black T-shirt that hinted at excellent abs, and motorcycle boots that probably cost as much as a bottom-of-the-line compact car, he resembled the ultimate bad boy from a cult TV series.

Biting her lip nervously, Adrienne tore her gaze away from the tight, revealing front of his jeans.

Earlier this morning, as Adrienne was dressing to go to St. Cecilia’s Nursing Home to visit her mother and spend some time helping with recreational activities for some of the residents, Tony had called and grilled her about Seth Lewis. Trying to be noncommittal, Adrienne had given Tony an abridged version of her opinion. Seth was probably nouveau riche, not shy about wearing or driving his money.

Last night, the red Mercedes sports convertible had gone perfectly with his sharp designer suit. This morning, as much as she hated to admit it, the motorcycle fit his wild appearance.

When Tony had pressed her, asking why Seth had stayed after everyone else had gone, Adrienne had told him about their date.

Tony warned her to be careful today. “You know how to keep your mouth shut,” he’d said. “I’m not so sure I trust that guy. So listen, don’t talk.”

Returning to the present, she realized Seth’s gaze was roaming over her body. He took his time, starting at her pink-painted toes peeking out of her multicolored espadrilles, up her bare calves to the pale-pink capri pants and on to the sleeveless top that barely covered her midriff.

She felt her body respond. The thrill that coiled through her and settled in her deepest core was shocking. She couldn’t stop the tightening of her breasts. Her nipples ached and her knees grew weak. Had she ever felt like this in the presence of a man before? She didn’t think so.

Like last night, she had the heady, reckless urge to flirt with him. “I supposed you think I’m overdressed.”

He smiled. “I do, but it’s more a matter of quantity than style.”

Her face flamed with heat as his meaning sunk in.

“Let’s go.”

“I can’t ride that thing.” Adrienne eyed the narrow leather seat and the powerful engine with apprehension.

For an instant Seth’s features hardened, but he quickly covered with a grin. “Sure you can, princess. There’s nothing like the freedom of a bike. All that power vibrating between your thighs, the speed, the feeling that nothing can hold you back.”

An unfamiliar yearning fluttered through her at his suggestive words. She had never ridden a motorcycle in her life. But she’d watched movies and seen kids on the streets and wondered. The idea of sitting with her body pressed against Seth Lewis’s back and her arms around his muscled abdomen while the wind whipped around them was seductive. Very seductive.

It wouldn’t be as much fun as it seemed—she knew that. Nothing ever was. But she wanted to try it.

She ran a hand down the side of her neck where a muscle twitched. “Okay. What do I do?”

Before she knew it she was wearing a helmet and sitting behind Seth, closer to him than she’d been to a man in a long, long time.

As he revved the Harley and maneuvered through the streets to the Interstate, Adrienne held on with all her might, the rumble of the engines echoing through her, Seth’s deep steady breaths reassuring her and his strong body shielding her from the wind.

She felt a new sensation. Her mind tentatively explored it just like her eyes explored the long, sinewy muscles of Seth’s arms as they controlled the powerful beast beneath her.

The sensation was vaguely familiar, like a long-for-gotten memory. She felt alive. She’d been numb for so long that her mind and her body felt like limbs that had been asleep. Prickly, aching, but alive. When had she last felt alive? Not in years. Certainly not since she’d realized how her father had betrayed her by forcing her to marry Marc DeBlanc.

Adrian Caldwell hadn’t held a gun to his daughter’s head, but he might as well have. Adrienne had always done her father’s bidding, just as her mother had. So when he’d told her that Marc DeBlanc would make a fine husband, she hadn’t questioned him.

After only a few months of marriage, Adrienne had fully realized what her father had done to her. She hadn’t married a young, successful lawyer; she’d married the infamous and legendary Cajun mob. DeBlanc was mob boss Jerome Senegal’s lawyer.

The first time DeBlanc slapped her was the last time he had touched her. Adrienne had agreed to play the perfect wife and hostess in public, but she’d moved out of his bedroom. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to mind. Eventually, she’d found out why.

Lost in bad memories, Adrienne was surprised when the motorcycle’s roar died. She looked around. They were beside Lake Pontchartrain, in the shell-covered parking lot of what appeared to be an old Cajun house on sticks.

Seth pulled off his helmet and chuckled.

She felt the ripple of his abdomen and her insides thrilled.

“You’re going to have to let go, princess,” he said over his shoulder.

She looked down. She was still holding on to him with all her might. “Sorry.”

He climbed off the Harley and held out his hand to her. She let him help her off. Then she took off her helmet and looked up to find him staring at her.

“My hair is a mess, I know.” She reached up to smooth it back into its bun, but he stopped her.

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you, I think.” She gave him a wry smile and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “What is this place?”

“It’s called T-Jean’s. They have the best crawfish on the Pontchartrain, or so I’ve heard.”

They walked across the crunchy parking lot and over the rickety bridge to the house. The place’s only concession to commercialism was a big metal crawfish with dozens of Mardis Gras beads hung around its neck and dangling from its claws.

With a finger, Seth hooked a bracelet made of purple and green and gold beads. “Here. Hold out your hand.”

When she did he slid the bauble onto her wrist, right beside her Lady Rolex. She laughed and fingered the beads. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“It’s not a diamond tennis bracelet, but it goes with the decor.”

“It’s beautiful,” Adrienne said, an odd sadness swelling in the back of her throat. The worthless string of beads was probably the only gift she’d ever received that hadn’t been picked out by a secretary or a hired buyer. For that reason alone, it was worth more to her than Seth would ever know. She would treasure it beyond diamonds or pearls.

The raucous sound of a Zydeco band swelled as Seth pushed open the creaking door.

Adrienne stopped, disoriented, waiting for her eyes to adapt to the dark. The place was lit only with lanterns that bravely shone through the smoky interior. The band’s noise filled the room, but nobody seemed to be listening to them. People dressed in everything from ragbag throwaways to cocktail dresses sat around, talking loudly over the music, drinking and eating. The smell of spice and fish pervaded the air.

Seth put his arm around her waist and urged her forward. Bending, he whispered against her ear. “We’ll go out on the deck, where it’s quieter.”

Adrienne leaned a little closer to him. Everything he did, from a casual touch on her wrist to a breath of air against her ear, to a laugh that rippled the muscles of his belly, streaked through her the same way, stirring desires she had forgotten she could feel. Other people touched her hand, whispered to her, but Seth’s touch was different. He made her feel safe and cherished.

She was afraid to examine her feelings too closely. A dose of reality would come soon enough, she knew. Nobody was ever what he seemed.

Folks glanced up as they passed, but paid little attention to them. Out on the deck, with the door closed, the music was muffled.

“Allô, cher, what you be having?” a frizzy-haired waitress asked.

Adrienne looked around for a menu, but Seth spoke right up.

“Crawfish and beer.”

“I don’t drink beer,” Adrienne said, but Seth just laughed.

“You do today,” he said, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the dark, calm waters of the lake.

Adrienne looked, too. The shack was tucked into a corner of the lake lined with mangrove trees. A warm breeze lifted her hair and carried the smell of rain, although the sky was clear and blue. She heard some sort of animal grunt, then the flapping of wings caught her attention as a flock of white birds took to the sky.

She reached up automatically to rub her neck and realized it wasn’t aching. She arched it and shrugged her shoulders. She’d lost at least some of the tension that had become a part of her. She glanced at Seth’s strong profile. How had a motorcycle ride done what thousands of dollars in massage therapy had failed to do? She smiled and shook her head.

“Tuppence for your thoughts, princess.”

She laughed shyly. “I was just noticing that the knot in my neck is gone. I should hire you to be my masseur.”

His hazel eyes glinted amber in the sunlight. “I think we could come to terms.”