A Noble Pursuit

3

“MAKE LOVE TO ME.” Her words whispered into his mouth.

For an instant he couldn’t move. He heard her spoken request with every part of his body. Her plea slipped into his mind and settled down to stay. Shay’s reawakened sense of duty and honor insisted he say no, this would be a mistake, but it was hard to resist something this strong. A feeling rose from his gut to tell him that this moment was what his life was about. This was the missing key to who he was. All philosophical and romantic bullcrap, of course, but it felt so right that it soon overcame his inner warnings. In the grip of intense masculine need, but with a lack of romantic finesse, he muttered, “You got it.”

Clasping her tightly, he wrenched his lips from hers, rolled to his side and sat up, taking her with him. In one fluid movement he shifted her in his arms and rose to his feet, holding her against his chest. Her gaze, frosted with passion, locked with his. She smiled, a slow sensuous lift of her lips that curled his toes.

“I want to make a memory, Shay.” She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead with her fingertip. “A memory that will last…” a lifetime.

“Sweetheart, the way you’re talking is—”

She pulled his head down to hers and slanted her mouth across his. “This is the only thing that’s real. This. Here and now.”

Here and now. Shay lifted his mouth a scant inch from hers. “Then we shouldn’t waste it.” With renewed purpose he strode across the room to the bedroom. He shouldered open the door and stepped over the threshold. Taking her to the bed, he gently placed her upon the quilted spread, then followed her down. Kneeling beside her, he gave the sash of the robe a brief tug. The terry cloth slipped free of its loose tie and fell away. Hands trembling he spread the robe, then sat back on his heels and filled his eyes with her.

Her skin was like marble, fine and almost translucent, but with a glow that invited a man to explore the vitality beneath. She lay, her arms raised slightly over her head, and let him look his fill. She seemed slightly apprehensive, but when a small whistle escaped from his lips she blushed, then chuckled. It was the chuckle that got him. That small gurgle of sound lifted his heart.

He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything this much. He wanted to take, but he wanted to give, too. His hands explored her, starting with the shape of her face and working their way down, over her long elegant neck to her small shoulders, to her perfectly shaped breasts with their high tight buds. “You are so perfect.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Hey, I know what I’m talking about. I love beautiful things, so when I say you’re perfect, you’re perfect.” He continued his exploration, running his hands down her slender waist, down over her hips.

“Ah—” she caught her breath as his hands traversed her hipbones “—a connoisseur. I’m impressed.”

“You should be. Connoisseurs are very picky.”

“Meaning this isn’t a common occurrence with you?”

His fingers brushed her cleft, delving deeper to find the treasure. “There’s nothing common about this experience, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re gonna find out.” He smiled and dipped his head to her breast. “Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike. It all comes back to you.”

Her only response was a moan. Then she gasped and arched as his fingers sought her. “Please,” she whispered.

“I will,” he whispered back as he stretched out beside her, ready to give her all the pleasure he was capable of giving. His index finger and thumb spread her velvet opening for his caress.

She shifted restlessly as he made lazy circles on her sensitive skin, getting nearer and nearer his goal. “I ache.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I’ll make it all better.”

His mouth touched her breasts and lingered, laving first one, then the other, pulling and tugging her nipples to an erection that nearly matched his own. Her hands fisted in his hair and pulled his busy mouth up to hers. He needed no urging to take everything her lips had to offer. Mouths open, they did battle, tongues dueling with fierce abandon—advance and retreat, then advance again. His fingers followed the same pace until finally, hips gyrating, she thrust upward.

Frantic to join her now, to revel in her heat, Shay tore off his shirt and unsnapped his jeans, helped by her eager hands. She yanked the denim down, but the fabric stopped at his ankles, caught on his gun.

Shay swore. He sat up and made quick work of his loafers and holster. Yanking his jeans off, he threw them across the room, followed by his briefs, before turning back to her. He was so hard he was afraid he’d break if she touched him. She was staring at him as if she’d never seen a man in full arousal before. There was something in her eyes that checked him for a moment, an awkwardness that he found enchanting. She was like a barely opened flower offering its face to the morning dew and warming sun. He hated the thought that someone might mishandle this woman. He didn’t know why that thought leaped into his mind. He had no reason to think she might be in any danger, other than the memory loss that could be a result of—of what? He had no chance to follow up on his thoughts.

She put her hands on him, her fingers sliding up his manhood to gently squeeze the sensitive head. “You’re so soft. I didn’t know a man could be so soft.” Wonder colored her voice.

Shay groaned as her fingers slipped up and down his length. “I’m so hard I’m gonna explode.”

“Now that would be something to see.”

He stilled her hand with his. “No, sweetheart. It’s better you should feel it.”

She smiled, anticipation sharpening the angles of her face. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Shay came up on his elbows and reached toward the nightstand. Opening a drawer, he withdrew a small foil packet and quickly protected them both before reaching for her again. “Not a damn thing.”

He took his time, bringing her up to fever pitch again, until she cried with the wanting. Then and only then did he slip inside her. He pressed forward, inch by inch, stunned by the tightness of her body, by the barrier he felt. Alarmed for a moment, he stopped and tried to pull back, but her legs clamped him in place, heels urging him on. Clarity faded, leaving only the crimson flame of desire. He gave…and he took…until finally they shuddered to a climax together.

Afterward he smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Thank you,” she said.

Shay grinned. “No, thank you.”

She met his grin with a wistful expression, her eyes serious. “I’ll never forget this moment.”

He yawned and settled her comfortably against his side. “There’ll be a lot more to remember, I promise. I just need to close my eyes for a minute.” Sexual satisfaction combined with an early rising and a long, frustrating day were taking their toll. His eyelids drifted shut for a moment before he jerked them open to look at her face. He smiled again, then pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Rest, sweetheart—” he interrupted himself with a jaw-popping yawn. “—’cause pretty soon you’re gonna need all your strength again.”

She blew on his eyelids. “Go to sleep.”

“Right,” he mumbled.

Her voice caressed him as he slid into sleep. “Sweet dreams… Prince Charming.”

Shay woke just before dawn. Arms aching and empty, he reached for her, just as he’d reached for her a few hours before to make love with her again. This time the bed beside him was empty. There was no trace of the woman with no memory. No trace except for his inevitable erection, her evocative scent on the pillow next to him, and her memory burned into his mind.

AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, Juliette had been lucky to find an empty taxi still cruising the streets looking for Mardi Gras stragglers. Agreeing to let her send him his fee and a big tip for the inconvenience of bringing her home, which was much farther from town than he usually ventured, the cab driver dropped her off at the wrought-iron gates that spanned the entrance to La Belle Rivière des Fleurs. Juliette walked up the magnolia-lined driveway that led to her family home, taking care to stay in the shadows so as not to be observed.

The plantation had been in their family for a very long time, passed from father to son. Heritage, tradition—this was the way of life revered by her ancestors since the beginning. Her privileged family heritage went all the way back to 1807, when her titled Spanish great-great-great-great-grandmother married a bastard French prince who’d been awarded land in New Orleans in addition to his French estates. Each generation sacrificed and struggled to add to the family fortunes, to the family luster. It was just unfortunate, Juliette thought, that she could be the latest sacrifice.

She stopped in the shadow of a weeping willow tree and stared at her home, taking in the classic columns that accented the mansion, supporting the second-story gallery and creating the wide veranda that wrapped around the perfect example of Greek Revival plantation architecture. Or so the guidebooks said. She wondered what Shay would make of it. Would he be impressed? He hadn’t seemed the type of man to be overly impressed with things. People either, for that matter. He took them as he found them, Juliette believed. How did he find her? Would he care that she’d left? Or would he be convinced that she’d made a fool of him, and write her off?

Of course that’s what he’d do.

Her romantic stranger wasn’t really a warrior prince. He was just a normal man who’d had a brief affair that would fade from his memory in a week, while it would last forever in hers. Juliette glanced up at her home again. Much as she’d always loved it, home had begun to feel like a prison.

She crept around to the back of the house and slipped inside the kitchen door. The room was dark, lit only by strips of moonlight spilling through the windows. She tiptoed over to a corner and opened a door to the servants’ stairs. This wasn’t the first time she’d used them, but it was certainly the first time she’d used them after an experience like this. Taking care to avoid the last step, which always creaked, Juliette emerged into the second-story hallway. Leaning against the wall for a moment, she looked down the corridor, focusing on the rich, ruby-red carpeting and the crystal lamps that accented the damask wallpaper. The effect was opulent, yet tasteful—two adjectives that adequately described her life. Not for the first time that evening, she wanted to scream at the confining nature of her existence. However, her upbringing held sway. Screaming was discouraged. It wasn’t appropriate behavior. Although she’d recently screamed her head off in Shay’s arms as she’d succumbed to her first night of passion—loving every minute of it.

With a quick glimpse around to be sure she was unobserved, Juliette sped over the thick carpet to her room, which occupied an end suite off the corridor. She let herself in with a minimum of noise, then leaned back to relish her triumph. She’d managed to experience a true adventure—one even more exciting than she could have dreamed—and no one would ever be the wiser. Her brother would have assumed she’d gone to bed early, as she’d indicated she would when she left the restaurant. And there would have been no one to tell him differently, as her father had left last month for the family’s estate in France to personally handle a crisis involving his vineyards. With no one at home that evening, she’d followed her usual practice and even given the servants the night off. So her secret was safe.

Juliette walked over to her four-poster bed, the bed she’d occupied ever since she was a child. She ran her fingertips over the carved upright posts that stretched to the ceiling, and fingered the ivory silk quilt that spilled over the mattress to pool onto the carpet beneath. It looked different to her now. The last time she’d slept in this bed, she’d been an innocent. Well, she was innocent no longer. She was no longer a virgin, but a full-fledged woman, who’d not only experienced passion, but reveled in it.

Her body still sang with the force of Shay’s lovemaking. It had killed her to leave him as she did. He’d lain with one arm thrown over his head, as relaxed as a boy abandoned to slumber. With his eyes closed, Juliette realized that his thick eyelashes were the longest she’d ever seen on a man, seemingly incongruous with his intense masculinity. Yet it only added to his male beauty. She’d been tempted to press a kiss on his lips, soft with sleep, but feared to wake him. She hated to deceive him. He didn’t deserve that type of treatment. She felt very guilty about that, but had been unable to tell him the truth. Juliette gave a deep, unhappy sigh. It was better this way. Shay wasn’t the type of man who’d be happy to be used as a plaything or an escape.

She stripped off her clothing. With each movement she remembered Shay’s touch, his fingers here, his tongue there. She reached for her nightgown and pulled it over her head, letting the silk whisper past her knees. She got into bed and nestled down under the cover, staring up at the delicate, crocheted lace draping the arches of the canopy. The pattern above her had as many holes as the story she’d told Shay tonight. Yet he’d fallen for it, or pretended he had. Now that she considered it, she wasn’t sure why he hadn’t marched her to the nearest health clinic or police station. For the first time, she really considered the situation and wondered why. Why, beyond the obvious—that she’d seemed in need this evening.

Juliette remembered the vulnerable expression that came into his eyes right before they’d made love, when he’d relaxed and really looked at her. What was she to him? A casual experience, or was he searching for something himself? Was that what tonight was really about—two people with needs, instead of just one? She hoped so. She wouldn’t feel as guilty if that was the case.

She let her mind drift as she relived her night with Shay. From the moment she’d emerged, wearing only his robe, to discover him with his shirt hanging open and the top button of his jeans unsnapped, she’d been lost. Funny how that had happened. One moment she was an innocent, uncertain about her appeal. The next moment she was a siren who couldn’t sing her temptation song fast or loud enough. With this man, she’d discovered a side of herself she hadn’t known existed. Oh, she had imagined the sensual side was there, but had seriously doubted she’d ever be the type of woman to inspire a man’s hunger. She’d been amazed to discover her own hunger was as strong as his. She could still see him, his face tight with desire as he made love to her. Her sensitive body still sang from his lovemaking.

Shay.

She grew hot just thinking of him. She closed her eyes and drifted, smoothing her hands down her body, much as he had done. This is madness. I’ll never see him again. He would remain what he was destined to be—a memory to take into the future with her. But oh, how she wanted to see him again!

Her body moving restlessly, she tried desperately to refocus her thoughts. It was no use. She ached to see him. Make love with him again. She moaned, the ache intensifying as he continued to invade her mind as surely as he had invaded her body. She closed her eyes. Shay, please don’t hate me.

THREE DAYS LATER, Shay O’Malley strode into the first district house of the New Orleans Police Department. He blew past the uniformed sergeant at the front desk and attacked the stairs, climbing two at a time to the second floor, where he slammed through a door into an open room that looked like a bad stage set on a television show. The desks were old and unmatched, scarred with cigarette burns and gouges, stained with coffee rings. The walls were the institutional green that only the government could love, and the floor was linoleum that had been scuffed so often the janitors had obviously given up on it. The room resembled most of the other departments Shay had worked in with one difference. For all the bustle of ordinary police activity, there was a different feeling—one more laidback and easy. It drove him nuts—especially today. His temper was already short because he’d spent the past few days trying to track down his mystery woman. He’d run into dead ends everywhere, almost as dead as his line of questioning with the case that had brought him to New Orleans in the first place. Of course, the entire investigation wasn’t helped by the pace of life in New Orleans, which was dead slow. It was a thought echoed by the laid-back drawl of a female voice behind him.

“Land sakes, Yankee, if you aren’t some kinda busy man today. You’re bustling around like you’re the whole Northern army hell-bent on capturing N’awlins before noon.”

He snapped a glance over his shoulder, taking in the amused attitude of the tall, statuesque, blond-haired woman standing behind him. “I am a Yankee.”

With a casual gesture, she pushed back her hair, then smiled. “I know, sugar, but I don’t think it plays real well down here.”

Turning to face Detective Lucille Monteverde, Shay hitched a hip onto the corner of his temporary desk. “Excuse me?”

The woman adjusted the badge clipped onto the lapel of her well-cut beige jacket. “What I mean is, I don’t think your Northern attitude and way of doing things will get you a lot of cooperation down here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged. “Just some of the stories I’m hearing, is all.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, I hear y’all are in town investigating one of our most illustrious families.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So…some people aren’t too happy about the way you’re going about it.”

Shay folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, now, far be it from me to make any suggestions to a visitor to our fair city, but in this town, you’ll catch more flies with honey than all your vinegar.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The only way I know to do my job is to ‘do my job.’”

“Well, now, if you don’t mind a teeny bit of advice… I’d suggest you smile a bit more if you’re trying to shake down a bank secretary for the financial records of Louis Fortier’s shipping association.”

Shay could feel his neck turning red. He had gotten a bit short with that woman, who was as resilient and homely as one of Louis Fortier’s tugboats. “I tried to play nice, but when she didn’t hand over the information, I played the odds that she’d cooperate if I came on like a jerk.” He leaned forward, his most intimidating scowl in place. “I didn’t think I had a choice. I made a decision. I followed through.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.