As a bellboy passed them, followed by a giggling young couple, Genevieve turned back to Michel and said quickly, “Thank you. But I’d say I’m more of an impatient, annoyed, and confused female at the moment.”
Michel’s gaze remained fixed on Jean-Baptiste. “Are you the cause of this, mon ami?”
“Probably,” the male uttered, his tone so near to menace it actually made the hair on the back of Genevieve’s neck lift.
With a soft chuckle, Michel pressed something into Jean-Baptiste’s hand, then clapped him on the shoulder. “You have the entire top floor. The owner is a good friend. Anything you want, it’s taken care of.” His gaze flickered toward Genevieve, then back to Jean-Baptiste. “And I apologize. I didn’t know.”
Jean-Baptiste nodded, then inhaled deeply, seemingly trying to get himself under control.
“Know what?” Genevieve asked, staring at the key in his hand. This had better be a joke. And if it wasn’t, there had better be a cab waiting outside. Hell, if she had to, she could run home.
When neither Michel nor Jean-Baptiste answered her, she looked up. There were plenty of humans milling about the lobby, checking in, but the Pantera spy was gone—as if he’d never been. Panic flared within her, and she turned in a slow circle looking for him. “Where did he go?”
“Come along, Miss Burel.”
She whirled back to face Jean-Baptiste. But he wasn’t there either. He was heading for the elevator.
“Hey!” she called after him.
He didn’t respond, though several hotel employees looked her way.
“We’re not staying here!”
“You don’t have to do anything, Miss Burel,” he called back. “The front door is that way. Just let Raphael know I’m on it.”
“On what?” Dammit. She ran after him, bypassing three giggling, stumbling, women who had clearly been out enjoying their evening cocktails. “Your voodoun friend said no, didn’t she?”
“She did.”
“Then there’s nothing else we can do.”
“I’m giving her some time to calm down, think.”
“Think about what?”
“Giving up a little easily, aren’t we, Miss Burel?”
“What?” Her heart stuttered. “Of course not.”
When they reached a bank of elevators, Jean-Baptiste ignored the gathering crowd and walked straight past, to another, smaller elevator at the far end of the hall. He held his key up to a strip of metal, waited for the keypad to turn red and beep, then glanced over his shoulder at her. Dark brows lowered over amazing eyes. He studied her. “Isn’t it your job to step in if I can’t get the job done?”
“I thought you always get the job done, Mr. Baptiste.”
That elicited a wry grin before he stepped into the waiting elevator. “I think I’m starting to like that name. I’ll speak to Isi again in the morning.”
Morning? “Are you actually suggesting we stay here all night?”
“In or out, Miss Burel.”
Dammit. She couldn’t go back to the Wildlands without him, and she couldn’t let him talk Isi into coming. She needed time to think. She needed time to—
“Goodnight, Miss Burel.”
Guess she wasn’t getting it.
She lurched forward and slipped inside the elevator just as the doors closed.
To Jean-Baptiste’s vexation and possible ruin, the female who’d just entered the elevator brought not only her ire and concern into the luxurious leather and suede box with her, but her particular brand of body heat. And the warm, honey-like sensation was quickly fusing into his skin, turning him—and his cat—into a hungry, sensual predator.
He leaned back against the wall and hissed. The last thing this mission needed was an underlying sexual attraction, and yet he’d steered it there too many times to count. Wanting what he shouldn’t be wanting. The prickly Suit female. And he’d displayed his desire and possessive instincts for her in front of another Pantera male. Fuck. Michel’s flirtation had been innocent.
His gaze slid over Genevieve, taking in her stunning body and beautiful face. He grunted. Who was he kidding? Nothing a Pantera male did was innocent when it came to their females. Michel had been completely and frustratingly into her, and Jean-Baptiste didn’t blame the randy bastard one bit. Genevieve Burel was the most desirable female he’d ever laid eyes on, and the fact that she was wrapped up too tightly for anyone, including him, to see just how true that assessment was, made it all the hotter.
“Was this planned from the beginning, Mr. Baptiste?” she asked in a tight voice, her eyes locking with his across the elevator.
“What’s that, Miss Burel?”
“The sleepover?”
His body twitched. “There was always a possibility our mission would take more than a few hours.” He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her. “Something you’re clearly aware of as you brought a bag with you. So, what are you really asking?”
She swallowed tightly and shrugged. “Just want to know if there’s something more going on.”
“Like what?”
She gave him a sharp look. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
His mouth twitched. “Yes, I think I am.”
She took a deep breath. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Baptiste?”
Just the query alone had his heated blood ratcheting up to blistering, and his fingers flexing with the need to rip clothing from skin. This female was making him crazy, and he wasn’t sure exactly why. She was beautiful and sexy and intriguing, but it was more than that. He pushed away from the wall and moved toward her. Her scent wrapped around him, infusing his skin, permeating his nostrils with every step. Michel had been right. She smelled like flowers and twilight, and it pissed him off to no end that the Suit had been the one to notice it first.
Her eyes grew wide with his approach, and she drew back, her shoulders hitting the smooth suede walls of the elevator.
“Seduction is a fallacy, Miss Burel,” he said, coming to stand before her. “A way to diminish your own wants, deny what your body needs, refuse responsibility for taking what belongs to you.” He couldn’t help himself. He inhaled deeply. Then cursed. “If your mouth is ready, your eyes are pleading, your hands are itching to grab and grope, and your pussy is hot and wet and turning the cool air around you into steam, then its mutual. And if it’s not? A simple no is all it takes for an honorable male to back the fuck off.”
The elevator was moving upward like a goddamn snail, yet Genevieve’s breathing was rapid.
He watched as her tongue slipped from her mouth and swiped at her bottom lip.
“I could do that for you,” he whispered. “I want to.”
Her eyes lifted to connect with his. White fire swimming in bayou blue. God, she was gorgeous. Debilitatingly so.
“And you want me to, don’t you, Miss Burel? You want me to lick you?”
Her nostrils flared, and a soft whimper escaped her throat.
“I’ll admit it. Don’t think I can stop myself.” Or my cat. “I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment I saw you.” He leaned in, near her ear. “And not just your mouth.”
Her sharp inhale made him growl. And the scent of her arousal grabbed hold of the innocent waft of magnolia flowers and the bayou at twilight and shoved them aside, claiming Jean-Baptiste’s nostrils, and making his cock swell painfully.
“The door,” she whispered in a pained, breathless voice.