Christine Feehan - Night Game

He took a cautious look around. No one moved. No one drank. Every eye was on her, everyone entranced by the seduction of her smoky, sultry voice. She didn’t look at them, didn’t catch anyone’s eye and flirt, she simply bent over the piano and allowed the music and song to carry her away. Her audience was transported right along with her into a world of satin sheets and steamy nights. He felt her under his skin, fingers stroking and teasing, her mouth hot satin…

Gator shook his head hard to clear his brain. She had an amazing gift, far too powerful for anyone, even Whitney, to conceive of. What would the doctor have done had he known she could captivate an audience the way she did? He was aware of the hypnotic effect of her voice, yet he still had to fight it. He tapped his finger harder on the table, counting out a rhythm in his mind to keep from losing himself in her voice. Lily would want to know. She maintained several contracts with the government along with a high-security clearance, and the government would definitely want to know what Flame could or couldn’t do with her talent. It was no wonder there was a flag on a computer somewhere trying to monitor where she was and whom she associated with.

Where would that leave him? He rubbed his temples and hummed to himself to keep from drowning in her voice. He had the same gifts, the same talents. Once it was known, how much of a guinea pig would he become? And if his past experiments ever came out, if the government-or Lily-figured it out, what would they do to him? He’d probably be sitting right alongside Flame in a cage somewhere.

The last notes of music drifted away. Her haunting voice died away, and the patrons of the club began to come to life, glasses rattling, voices raising, feet shuffling, and the inevitable crunching of peanut shells. Flame rose gracefully and smiled at the band. “I’m thirsty, any of you want a drink?”

“Oh, baby,” a man called out. “I’ve got something for you to drink.”

Flame turned her head, her gaze moving over the heckler with bored tolerance. “Lovely. But not happening.” She turned back toward the band, but Gator noticed she was in a defensible position and, although her head was averted, she was watching out of the corner of her eye.

Gator recognized Vicq Comeaux, one of a large family of brothers and cousins, mostly boys, he and his brothers had drunk and fought with since they were about fourteen.

Vicq yelled another lewd comment and pushed his way to the front of the crowd to stand directly in front of the stage. Something dark and dangerous swirled deep in Gator’s gut. A stillness took over. His world narrowed, tunneled, until there was only the newcomer, him, and the red haze of temper riding him hard. The rest of the crowd disappeared. He stood up, a fluid easy motion that propelled him toward the heckler.

“Gator…” Wyatt stepped in front of him, put a placating hand on his arm. “You don’ want to be fightin’ and me havin’ to explain to Grand-mere what happened. She’ll think I started it.”

Gator shook the hand off and stepped around his brother, brushing Ian’s hulking frame out of his way as he proceeded toward the band. The crowd parted for him until he was standing directly behind Vicq Comeaux.

“I don’ think you want to be sayin’ anything else to my woman,” he said, his voice pitched low and soft, almost gentle. “Not another word. You have anything else you want to say, you do it my direction.”

There was instant silence. The music faltered as the band lowered their instruments and Flame turned back toward him. Gator barely registered the movement. His attention was completely focused on the man in the red shirt and cowboy boots.

“He’s drunk, Gator,” Louis Comeaux said hastily, leaping up to defend his cousin. “Vicq don’ mean nothing by it.”

“She looks good enough to eat,” Vicq said, ignoring the men and taking a step up onto the small wooden platform that served to separate the band from the rest of the rowdy crowd. “I’m hungry, baby. Come to Daddy.” He reached out to wrap his hand around Flame’s bare leg.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the silence of the bar as Gator caught Vicq’s arm to prevent him from touching Flame. Gator’s hand squeezed Vicq’s wrist like a vise, jerking him down and away from the singer. “I guess you didn’t hear me.” He enunciated each word between his teeth. “You’re about to become alligator bait. Leave my woman alone. Don’ look at her. Don’ talk to her and don’ be thinking about her. I will tear you up and spit you out, do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Vicq’s first reaction was obviously to fight, but something in Gator’s face must have given him pause. He shuffled his feet and looked toward his cousin, suddenly much more sober than he’d been minutes earlier.

“Gator.” Delmar Thibodeaux sidled up, baseball bat in hand. “We don’ want trouble. Not with you.”

Gator didn’t glance at him, but kept his entire attention centered on Vicq. “There isn’t going to be trouble, Del, not unless Vicq here forgets to apologize to my woman for his big mouth. I don’ take kindly to anyone speaking to her that way. Then he can sit quietly and enjoy the music and I’ll buy him a drink, or he can leave and we’ll call it good.” He never raised his voice, but it carried throughout the building.

Flame found she was holding her breath. Everyone’s attention was so riveted on Gator and Vicq, they didn’t notice the walls of the club expanding and contracting as if breathing. They didn’t notice the vibration resounding through the wooden planks, or the peanut shells jumping on the floor. She saw a small crack begin to travel in the mirror behind the bar. Everything was going to go to hell fast, if something-or someone- didn’t stop Gator.

She pushed past Vicq and slung one arm around Gator’s neck. He didn’t look at her, didn’t break eye contact with Vicq. The floor trembled hard enough to be a small quake. Desperately, Flame circled Gator’s neck with both arms, leaned her body into his and kissed him full on the mouth. She meant to get his attention. Nothing else. Only a small distraction.

Electricity sizzled and arced between his skin and hers.

His mouth was hot and sexy, his arms coming up to trap her, to hold her even closer, so that his body was imprinted on hers. His strength was enormous. He took control of the kiss and damn him, he knew what he was doing. Fire raced through her veins, poured into her belly, and tightened her body. Her nipples peaked and she actually felt her womb contract.

She forced herself to pull away before it was too late, but even so, she had to cling to him like a weak-kneed groupie. Rubbing at her mouth, Flame glared at him for taking advantage of her. He knew his kiss affected her, she could tell by his quick, knowing grin and the sudden wicked glint in his dark eyes.

Gator slid his hands possessively over her rib cage to her hips, leaned down and pressed kisses against her stomach.

“ Cher . How is mon enfant this evening?” His voice was tender as if he cherished her. His breath was warm right through the thin material of her dress and his kisses incredibly intimate. “You aren’t giving your ta mere trouble are you?” His whispered words slipped inside her skin and wrapped around her heart to squeeze hard.

Flame froze. He was outrageous. She’d saved him. Saved him, the ungrateful wretch! And he was mauling her in front of the entire club. No one was going to make a move on her as long as he was around. It was clear even the infamous Delmar Thibodeaux with his silly baseball bat wasn’t going to cross Raoul Fontenot.

She caught a fistful of his silky black hair and yanked his head up. “What do you think you’re doing?”