Night Game (GhostWalkers 3)

Headlights nearly blinded her as a car swept around the corner. She recognized the security vehicles Saunders used. He bit all right. Let's see if I can reel him in.

Don' go getting too confident, Flame.

She snuck a peek to see if she could spot him, but there was no seeing Raoul when he was in hunting mode.

The window rolled down and a hand beckoned her to the car. The man handed her three hundred dollar bills without saying a word. Flame got in when the back door was opened. No one spoke as they drove her into the city to the Saunders's estate. They looked and smirked and she could tell they wanted to intimidate her. The one on the passenger side had a crooked nose and rubbed his crotch and grinned at her.

She looked right through him and thought about Raoul. She felt him close, knew if she whispered he would hear her. When Raoul looked at her she felt sexy. When these men looked at her she just felt dirty--and angry. As they swept through the back entrance straight to the gatehouse, the front passenger window shattered, safety glass exploding outward. The men reacted, drawing weapons and crouching low. Flame kept her smirk to herself. They were all nervous and the window shattering with no clear explanation added to the strain.

The gatehouse was neat and appealing on the outside, blending in with the beauty of the landscaping, but once inside, it was easy to see exactly what the place was used for. Saunders sat by the fake fireplace, drinking a glass of whiskey. He barely looked up when the men shoved her inside. The door closed with a solid thud.

Flame looked around her. Mirrors decorated the ceiling and three of the four walls. There was a rack holding all kinds of what looked like very painful instruments. "So this is your little torture chamber. Very chic. I've heard about it."

Saunders lifted his glass. "My reputation precedes me?"

She smiled at him and wandered around the room touching the various whips. They were all real, obviously made to produce as much pain as possible. "It certainly does. I thought I'd come check it out for myself." She leaned against the rack letting him get a good look at her figure. All the while she rubbed her hand back and forth on the spikes. "You like to hurt women, don't you, Mr. Saunders?"

Her fingers mesmerized him. He watched the way she caressed the cold steel, almost as if it were a phallus symbol. Her voice was unbelievable, a sexy, sultry purr that made him as hard as a rock. Ordinarily he didn't allow the sluts to speak to him, but the sound of her voice vibrated through his body and played on his nerve endings like those stroking fingers.

"It turns you on and makes you feel big and powerful, doesn't it?"

He wanted to move toward her, but the room seemed to shift out from under him. He lurched unsteadily, wondering if there were earthquakes in Louisiana. He'd certainly never experienced one before.

The door burst open and Emanuel Parsons stumbled in. "You son of a bitch. You killed my boy, didn't you?" He had his back to Flame, so intent on confronting Kurt Saunders that he hadn't checked the room for other occupants. "The cabin is gone, burnt to the ground and they're all dead. Everyone is dead."

"How the hell did you get in here?" Saunders set his glass carefully on the table, his hand remaining casually over the top of it.

"He was a good boy until you got him into your depraved way of life. You didn't want witnesses." Emanuel tapped his cane on the floor. "You didn't have to have him killed, Kurt."

"I had nothing to do with the cabin burning. I have no idea what happened out there. I figure Vicq got pissed and went crazy. He's always had a screw loose. As for your boy, he loved taking a woman and using her the way she was meant to be used. You always wanted to, but never had the guts. Get the hell out of here, Parsons. You make me sick. And don't think you can try to take me down. I've got enough on you and your son to bury you."

"I won't have to take you down. The military was all over the area. Helicopters, forensic people, some pretty powerful people are shuffling through the debris and not anyone I knew. That tells me something, Kurt. They didn't trust the police. Why wouldn't they trust the police to investigate? Because I was under suspicion. And that means they know about you. I wouldn't have to do a damned thing to take you down, but you killed my boy." Emanuel Parsons slowly brought his cane up. "Burn in hell."

The shot rang out, loud in the small room. Glass shattered behind Parsons and he stood swaying for a moment, staring at Saunders and the small gun in his hand. Saunders had swept the gun up from the small table where his glass still sat filled with whiskey. The cane dropped first, and then Parsons fell to his knees.

Saunders walked up to Parsons and pressed the muzzle of the gun between his eyes. "You lose," he said and pulled the trigger.

Flame stayed very still as Saunders turned the gun on her.

He shrugged. "Sorry, honey. And I really wanted to play, but I'm afraid I don't have time." He raised the gun, finger tightening on the trigger.

Simultaneously, a hole blossomed in the middle of his forehead, one in his heart, one in his throat and one through his mouth. Flame could barely separate the four shots they were so close together. She rubbed the metal spike with the napkin sitting on the table beside Saunders's drink before using it to open the door.

"No, this time, you lose," she said and shut the door.

There wasn't a single guard in sight. She caught the glimpse of a body lying prone on the lawn and another in the flower garden. She walked to the edge of the high fence and jumped, landing in a crouch, waiting there in the shadows.

The car pulled up, passenger door open and she slid in and leaned across the seat to kiss Raoul full on the mouth. "Great timing. Thank you."

"I've got my uses."

CHAPTER 18

The shower was hot and helped take some of the sting out of the bruises marring her body. Flame leaned against the shower stall and let the water pour over her. She'd never felt so exhausted in her life. She concentrated on the feeling she had when she witnessed Joy's reunion with her parents. It had been an uplifting, yet incredibly sad moment. For some reason, she had shifted her attention from Joy and her weeping parents to Wyatt. He looked broken. Utterly broken. So much so that she had wanted to cry for him.

She never, ever wanted to see that same expression on Raoul's face. She put her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the water to cascade over her. Even if she stayed with him, when she died, it was going to tear him up. What was she supposed to do? She'd actually tried to talk to his grandmother about it, but before she could confess the truth, they'd been interrupted. She had no one to discuss things with and more than anything, she didn't want to see Raoul hurt.

"Hey! Are you planning on living in there?" A loud thump on the door made her heart jump. She swept back her hair and turned off the water.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to use up all the hot water." She caught up a towel and wrapped it around her.

"I don' care about the hot water, cher." He poked his head in the door. "I just needed to know you were safe." His sharp gaze roamed over her bare skin.

Her heart sank when he frowned. She knew she looked bad. There was no way to hide the bruises from him. They were everywhere, large black and blue patches that looked hideous. She ducked her head. "It looks worse than it really is."

Gator stepped into the room and skimmed his fingertips over the outline of the dark bruise riding the swell of her breast. His touch was light, barely there, but her womb clenched and her stomach muscles contracted in response.

"Does it hurt?"

His gaze roamed her face, his eyes dark with emotion. She stroked the hard edge of his jaw. "I'm all right, Raoul. You can't look at me like that."

He caught her hand, pressed her palm against his mouth. "I don' know if my heart can take you getting hurt anymore, Flame."

No one had ever looked at her like that and she didn't know if her heart could take it. Her chest actually ached. "I'm not hurt," she tried to reassure him. "Even my arm is feeling better." She managed a smile. "I'm a tough chick."

"You're

something." He drew her out of the bathroom.

The house smelled of the fresh baked bread, fried chicken, and pecan pie his grandmother had sent home with them. He hadn't bothered with the lights, but had scattered candles all over so that the room seemed to glow. The small rustic cabin suddenly seemed more than a trapper's cabin. It was intimate and comfortable and all too homey.

She rubbed her temples, pressing deep with her fingers. He was killing her, offering her things already out of her reach. She wanted to weep for both of them, but instead she let him seat her in the chair across from his. If she was what he really wanted, knowing she didn't have very long, she was going to accept the gift given to her and hang on tight to him with both hands.

"You're so lucky to have your grandmother, Raoul. She's incredible." She picked up her fork as he dished the food onto her plate. "She was so sweet to send a care package with us."

"When she's nervous, or upset, Grand-mere cooks. When I was a boy I used to smell the food long before I ever reached our cabin. We always had plenty of food." He gestured toward all the candles. "I told her I wanted soft lights and a relaxing, soothing atmosphere for you and she gathered every candle she'd made with the right scent."

"For me?" Flame looked around her, awed by the trouble he'd gone to. "You did all this for me?"

He grinned at her. "Well, you didn't think I normally lit candles all over the house, did you? I only do it for you. This is used mostly as a hunting cabin now. We fish and trap and drink a lot of beer in here, but this is the first time I've ever done this."

"Your grandmother didn't happen to send another shopping bag filled with strange items, did she?" Flame asked suspiciously.

"No, cher. I was tempted to ask her, but if she wasn't the one to buy us those toys then I'd have to explain it all and I'm not talking to Nonny about vibrating eggs."

Flame nearly choked on her food. The towel slipped and she had to reknot it to keep it in place. Her hands trembled. Just the thought of being alone with Raoul was enough to make her happy, and that was frightening. He made her laugh with his outrageous comments. The old hunting cabin he used for fishing and trapping felt like a home with the candles and the food and Raoul sitting across from her. "You just were very lucky growing up with Nonny as your grandmother. How old were you when you went to live with her?"

He shrugged. "About seven I guess, although we stayed with her more often than not before that. Our family was very close so if we weren't at one house, we were at the other, or sometimes we all lived together."

"You enjoyed your childhood, didn't you?"

He ducked his head, suddenly all too aware of the differences in their lives.

"You goof." There was affection in her voice. "I like hearing stories of your childhood or I wouldn't ask. I think your grandmother is one of the most awesome people I've ever met. She really cares, not only about you and your brothers, but her neighbors and friends. Did you see her face when Joy's parents saw Joy alive?" She smiled, her eyes lighting up. "It was beautiful. She's genuine, Raoul. Completely genuine."

He reached across the small table to take her hand. "I don' know how you turned out to be so wonderful with your background, but you have."

She laughed. "I doubt there's a single other person who would think that. I'm not all that nice, Raoul, and you know I'm not. I have a very low tolerance for certain things."

"You look so beautiful with the candlelight playing over your skin. I'm getting a little uncomfortable sitting in this chair."

She put down her fork and raised her eyebrow. "Uncomfortable?"

"Damned uncomfortable."

"And just how are you uncomfortable?" Flame leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, looking into his eyes. She loved the way his eyes went dark with need and desire. She loved the stark hunger on his face and the raw sexuality that he exuded. Mostly she loved the way he told her, straight out, honestly, that he wanted her.

"I'm so hard, cher, I might not be able to walk."

Laughter rose up again. Happiness. She felt it burst through her, bright and powerful, driving out worries of a future and leaving her basking in the here and now. Her heart did some fluttering and her muscles clenched in the most delicious way, but most of all, she loved him. Really loved him. And that was a priceless gift. "I'm not even wearing a knife," she teased. "I'm not wearing anything at all but this towel."

He groaned. "That wasn't nice, Flame. You know I've been sittin' here imagining all sorts of things and then you go and say a thing like that."

"It's rather obvious."

"Knowin' and sayin' it aloud are two different things."

"I want to see."

"See?" he echoed, his voice turning hoarse. "You want to see me hard and ready for you?"

She nodded. "If I'm going to put aside the chance at this great meal for something else, I think I should see what I'm getting."

"I'm hearing a bit of a challenge in your voice, femme. You can't be thinkin' I'm not up for the task?"

Flame loved him for that, the playfulness in his voice, the teasing in his eyes. He stood up, shrugging out of his shirt and she drew her breath in sharply at the sight of his chest. His hands dropped to his waistband and the air left her lungs in a rush. His body was hard, muscular and compact, and she appreciated every inch of it. He slowly pushed the jeans over his narrow hips so that his thick erection sprang free.

"I'm definitely up for the task, cher." His hand circled the broad length of him.

She moistened suddenly dry lips. There was something sexy about seeing his fist wrapped intimately around his erection. "I'll need a closer inspection." She moved around the table, nearly mesmerized by him. His broad shoulders and beautiful male body, the flash of his white teeth when he smiled, but most of all, by his eyes and the way he looked at her.

There was raw lust. She wouldn't deny that and in any case it simply added to her excitement. But more than that, there was love. And that was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all. Someone loved her. Not just anyone, but Raoul Fontenot. Her fingertips brushed over him, producing a visible shudder of pleasure.

He tugged at the knot and her towel fell to the floor. At once he bent his head to her bruised breast. His tongue slipped over the dark smudges with extraordinary gentleness. "Does it hurt, Flame?"

"No." He continued to look at her steadily. She shrugged. "Well. Maybe a little. It doesn't hurt when you do that." He'd been so careful of her. His tongue felt like velvet, his touch light and soothing.

"Good. I don' want anything to hurt you tonight. I just want you to feel good." He reached for her, drew her body against his, needing to feel the softness of her skin and the lush curves that were such a temptation to him. "I'm going to make you feel so good, cher," he murmured, kissing her ear, his mouth wandering down her neck. "No matter how angry you get with me, you're going to want to forgive me."

Flame threw her head back to give him better access to her throat. "Really? You're going to be so good in bed that every time we argue, I'm going to want to let you win? Or just forgive whatever macho, chauvinistic thing you do?"

He kissed his way up her chin to the corner of her mouth. "I'm thinkin' I might be a little on the macho side for a woman with your stubborn streak of independence and I might just get on your bad side occasionally."

"Occasionally?"

He grinned at her. "So let's just say, I'm goin' to find other ways of pleasin' you to make up for it."

His mouth settled on hers, taking her breath, heightening her passion with the sinfully wicked edge he always seemed to have to his kisses. She could kiss him forever, just melt into his body and let his hot mouth take her somewhere far away. He brought her body to life and made her feel totally alive.

"I know you're a macho idiot." She whispered it into his open mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair. "I don't get pushed around easily so we're pretty even." She kissed him back, exploring his mouth, and kissing him more. "Not that I mind at all if you want to find lots of ways

to please me."

She found herself in the bedroom and wasn't certain how he'd managed to walk her backward, kissing her every step of the way. She hadn't been aware of anything but his mouth and the electricity zinging through her body. He laid her across the bed and stood over her, looking down at her.

"You have to be one of the most beautiful women in the world."

She should have felt embarrassed, but all she felt was happy--and turned on. She wanted him with every cell and nerve ending in her body. "You make me feel beautiful, Raoul." And that was it. He made her feel wanted, beautiful, loved even. He didn't see the flaws and the bruising wasn't a turn-off to him, he just kept looking at her as if he needed to devour her.

Raoul pushed her legs apart, his hand skimming over her mound. He dipped a finger into her and licked, his tongue savoring her taste. She lifted her hips in an effort to entice him, but he shook his head. "This is the bayou, cher. We like things slow and easy in the bayou."

"You weren't slow and easy last night."

His hands went to the insides of her thighs, slowly caressing her with long smooth strokes. He wasn't touching her breasts, but her nipples tightened into two hard buds. A shiver went down her spine and warm liquid pooled in welcome for him.

"Tonight's different. Tonight's all about slow and easy." Raoul poured warm oil into his hands and picked up her foot. His fingers began a deep massage that somehow was as sensuous as it was relaxing. "Close your eyes, cher. Just enjoy for me." He worked slowly up her calves to her thighs.

Flame lowered her lashes and concentrated on the feel of his hands on her body. He was careful to skim any bruise, but whatever oil he was using seemed to take the sting out of the bruises. He massaged her belly, her breasts, and then her shoulders and her one good arm, leaving her feeling like a puddle of melted flesh in the bed.