“No. Someone was nosing around the houseboat. I thought it might be you, or a team sent by Whitney to assassinate me.”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened perceptibly. “Who was it?”
She was inexplicably pleased with his reaction but forced herself to give a casual shrug. “You don’t want anyone stepping on your toes?”
“Absolutely not. If anyone gets to do you in, believe me. honey, it’s going to be me after all the grief you’ve given me. Who was it?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. They didn’t look military or particularly skilled as fighters. Only one of them seemed competent in the bayou. The rest made too much noise. I didn’t recognize any of them.”
“What did they want?”
“I have no idea. I left them to a hot afternoon in the swamp. They’re sitting on
Burrell’s little island and it’s going to be uncomfortably muggy. If they’re looking for me…”
“Is it possible Saunders had homing devices in the briefcases?”
She scowled at him. “I’m not an amateur. That was the first thing I checked for. In any case, the briefcases are at the bottom of the canal.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I didn’t like it much either,” she admitted. “On the other hand, they didn’t seem interested in the houseboat or the cars so more than likely they were trappers and had nothing to do with me.”
“I’m coming home with you after you visit with Grand-mere Nonny to see what these bums are after.”
“No one invited you,” she pointed out.
“So invite me because I’m going home with you.”
“Be still my heart. I feel absolutely faint. Your charm is just overwhelming me.”
“Let me see your knife.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed.”
He was, but not with her knife. “Stop stalling. Put the weapon on the table.”
“Weapon?” Her eyebrow shot up. “Why would you think I only had one? I brought a freakin’ arsenal along just in case you wanted to go a round or two.” She leaned close so her breath was warm against his ear. “Does it turn you on?” She pulled a long knife from her boot and spun it in her hands, smirking a little at him. “Nice balance, but not the best for throwing.” She laid it on the table.
It wasn’t the same blade she’d had the night before, but he was beginning to think he had a kinky streak because something was turning him on. “Just how good are you with that?”
“I only carry it for show.” She reached behind her neck and withdrew a second blade. It was quite a bit smaller. “This is a great throwing knife. One of my favorites.” She placed the knife beside the larger one.
It wasn’t the one she’d had strapped to her thigh the night before either. “Is that all you’ve got, cher?” He quirked an eyebrow at her in challenge.
“Course not. I knew you might have a couple of friends along, you know, just in case things got a little too hot for you to handle. I’m not afraid of you, but you do so hate being alone with me.” She withdrew a thin wire, placed it beside the knives and added three small throwing stars. Her belt yielded a small tool kit that had two lethal-looking instruments beside the pick tools, and she pulled a small metallic round disk, innocent looking until she popped open the curved blades.
“Anything else?” The knife from the night before still wasn’t on the table. He scowled at her, but she simply flashed him her killer smile, totally unrepentant.
“You wouldn’t want me to strip naked, now would you?” She reached for the largest knife. “A girl has to have her secrets.”
“The idea has possibilities.” He pinned her wrist to the table while his other hand slid over her jean-clad bottom to the inside of her thigh. Even without the feel of her skin he found himself getting hard. “Where is it?”
Her gaze turned turbulent, a dark smoldering promise of trouble. “I don’t like being manhandled so I’m going to once, that would be one time, ask you politely to remove your hands. If you don’t, you’re very liable to lose them.”
He removed his hands, but crowded her close. “Don’ be threatening me in my grandmother’s house,” he reprimanded. “Where is it?”
“If you act like an ape in your grandmother’s house you can expect to be threatened a lot. Where is what?”
“The knife. The knife from last night. You were wearing it in a very intriguing place and I’m rather fond of it. Where is it, cher?”
“You really believe that you’re utterly charming, don’t you? I’m not wearing a dress. It’s my dress-up knife. So sorry. Let me know what you want in the way of accessories next time and I’ll try to accommodate you.” She turned her head. “We’re about to have company. I’m putting my toys away now. I don’t share well with others.”
“You don’ do much of anything well with others,” he observed.
A slow, heated smile curved her soft mouth. Her gaze drifted up and down his body in deliberate inspection. “There are a few things I do well with others,” she corrected, “depending on who that other happens to be.”
He groaned softly. “That’s just not right.”
She bent over to shove the long blade down into her boot scabbard. The action sent his heart racing. He found himself staring at the smooth line of her jeans curving over her bottom, As she straightened, she caught him staring and shook her head. “You need help.”
“Don’ I know it, sugah.”
She lowered her voice to a mere wisp of sound. “Does your grandmother know she raised such a perv?”
Knives were the least of her weapons. She was a fighter, well-versed in martial arts and more than that, her voice alone was a devastating weapon should all else fail. Gator stayed close to her. “I’m only a perv when I’m around you.” He swept his hand down her back, more to touch her than to frisk for additional weapons, but he felt the thin scabbard between her shoulder blades.
She merely raised an eyebrow. “Find what you were looking for?”
His hand continued the sweep, molding the curve of her bottom almost lovingly. “You’re wearing one of those sexy little thongs, aren’t you?” He whispered the question as his grandmother, Wyatt, and Ian entered the house and started down the long hall toward the kitchen.
She leaned into his shoulder and turned her face up to his until their lips were a breath apart. “Am I?”
Heat shot through his body, blood pounded in his veins straight to his aching, thickening groin. He had to stop touching her. The alternative was unthinkable, not with his grandmother coming through the doorway with a welcoming smile on her face. He nearly groaned, catching the back of Flame’s shirt to hold her in front of him.
“That’s just so not fair,” he said.
Her soft laughter taunted him, teased his senses as she deliberately moved back until her bottom rubbed up against him, a mere brush, but it was enough to send a jolt through his entire body.
“How wonderful to see you again,” Nonny greeted. She reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of Flame’s arm. “Let’s sit in the parlor, cher, and get to know one another. Raoul, you can bring the tea in.”
“I’m sorry I was so late getting here, Mrs. Fontenot,” Flame apologized. “It was unavoidable.”
Nonny patted her hand. “Thas’ just fine, no worries,” she assured. “I understand you’re staying with Burrell on his houseboat. He’s a good friend of mine, child.”
“That’s what he said.” Flame cast Gator a smoldering look over her shoulder promising retaliation. She knew he’d really put a homing device on the airboat, that he’d already checked up on her. “He’s a wonderful man.”
Gator sent her his quick, easy grin, balancing the tea tray easily in one hand as he trailed after them.