Christine Feehan - Night Game

“When I visit, I stay with her. The cabin is small, a hunting cabin but it has a bed.” He kissed her again, long, ferociously, a wicked combination of command and coaxing, his hands sliding down to her bottom to lift her closer.

Flame became aware of her leg wrapped around his waist, of her hands under his shirt caressing his bare chest, of the heaviness of her breasts and the terrible throbbing between her legs. She had never wanted any one the way she wanted him. Her need seemed beyond lust, beyond attraction, bordering on obsession. She tore herself out of his arms, stumbling backward toward the edge of the pier.

It was more reflex than thought that allowed Gator to reach out and steady her, preventing her from falling into the reed-choked water. They stared at each other, both fighting for control.

“Let’s not do that again,” Flame said, shaken.

“I was thinking we should do that all the time,” he countered. “You have the right name. I thought for a minute there I might go up in smoke.” His grin flashed at her, a quick teasing smile that made her heart do some silly flip.

Flame wiped her swollen lips with the back of her hand. She could still taste him in her mouth and feel him imprinted on her body, pressed deep into her bones like a brand. “In case you aren’t paying attention, they’re fighting inside.” Her voice was so low, so husky she hardly recognized it. She couldn’t look away from his gaze, held captive there like a hostage.

“I hear them. Ian and Wyatt can hold their own. They’re fighting with Louis and Vicq, which isn’t surprising. Our two families have been fighting since we were about five years old.”

The door behind them opened and Raoul spun around to watch as the crowd poured out of the Huracan Club. He took two steps to place his body between Flame and the throng of men, many still fighting as they spilled out into the yard and onto the pier. Several large men surrounded Emanuel Parsons and his son James as they pushed their way toward the relative safety of the end of the pier.

The older Parsons wore a long trench coat and with his silver hair and cane looked very out of place in the midst of the fighting crowd of men. His son, sporting a darkening eye and a swollen lip, shook off his bodyguard’s hand as the group neared Gator and Flame.

“Raoul Fontenot,” Emanuel Parsons offered his hand. “I met you at a fund-raiser a few years back.”

“I remember,” Gator said. “This is my fiancée, Flame Johnson.”

Parsons’s eyes flicked over her. “You’re quite lovely, my dear. I’ve heard you sing a few times. Have you considered singing professionally? I can make a few phone calls if you’re interested.”

Flame flashed a perky smile, eyes wide with awe, her gaze flicking toward the bodyguards and the shadowy driver always in the background. “Really? Do you think my voice is that good?” She took Gator’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to his side. He curved his arm around her waist rather possessively, but she let it stay there while she observed Parsons’s son. This was the man who had been engaged to the missing Joy. The man who swore he didn’t know what happened to her. Joy’s brothers had obviously taken a couple of shots at him in the middle of the brawl.

James Parsons stood slightly behind and to the side of his father, avoiding the stare of the bodyguards, uncomfortable in his role as the son of a powerful man. He stole hot licentious glances at Flame, but didn’t speak to her and his father didn’t bother with introductions. James was a handsome man, but to Flame looked spoiled and petulant, bored with his father talking to the locals and irritated that he didn’t get an introduction when he so obviously wanted one.

No doubt he got that spoiled, bored look from his father. The older man had worn the same expression the night she’d spotted him in the club in New Orleans when several businessmen sat at his table with him drinking, making certain he had picked up the tab. James didn’t want to step forward on his own and introduce himself; it would lessen his importance in his own eyes. She wasn’t going to pander to his ego by noticing him. Behind him, the driver, who obviously observed James’s sulky behavior, winked at her.

The crowd behind them fought ferociously, slamming one another to the ground and into the sides of the cabin. The porch creaked ominously as bodies hit the supports, and the sound of bottles breaking was loud in the night.

“Yes, I do believe your voice is that good and I have an ear for talent.” The elder Parsons ignored the raging fight around them as if it didn’t exist. He snapped his fingers and his driver stepped forward to pull a card out of a slim silver case. Emanuel Parsons took the card and handed it to her. “This is my private line. If you really want to see if you can make a go of it, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do to make it happen.”

Flame smiled up at him, all white teeth and wide innocence, properly awed that he could have connections in the music industry. Gator’s fingers dug into her wrist as she reached out and took the card, clutching it to her chest as if the man had given her a priceless gift. A large man slammed into the driver, was pushed off, and fell into the water with a loud splash.

The tallest bodyguard leaned in close to Emanuel Parsons to whisper in his ear. “Sir, we should leave,” he advised. “This is getting out of hand and there’s a lot of resentiment against your son.”

Emanuel Parsons quelled the man easily with one look. The bodyguard retreated and James smirked, obviously enjoying that his father had reprimanded him publicly.

“What brings you back to the bayou, Raoul?” Parsons asked. “I’d heard you were in the service. Are you out? I always have work for a good man.”

“No, sir.” Gator shook his head. “Home visiting kin. My grandmother lives here and I have three brothers in the area.”

A large body flew past them to land hard against the post with a thud. Parsons smiled and shook his head. “I remember the good old days whenever I came out to the Huracan. It’s always a breath of fresh air. It was a pleasure to meet you, Flame.” He reached for her hand, carried it to his lips, dropping it just as quickly and turning away before she could reply.

Flame scowled after them, rubbing her knuckles against Gator’s shirt. “Ew. He tongued me.”

“Anyone would tongue you given the chance.” He took her hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. “I’ll kick his ass for you if you want me to.”

“I’ll kick his ass if I want it kicked. What did you think of his son?”

“If that was Joy’s former fiancé,” Gator said, “he didn’t look all that broken up to me. He was eyeing you like you were whiskey and he had a long thirst.”

“Lovely way to put it, but I think you’re right. He probably dated Joy to put his daddy’s nose out of joint. There’s definitely an elitist syndrome buried deep in that family.” She glanced down at the card in her hand. It didn’t even have Parsons’s name, only a telephone number in a raised black font on a pale linen background. ‘Very elite.”

“I saw the videotape of James’s interrogation when the police questioned him about Joy’s disappearance. He appeared very broken up. I think our boy has acting skills.”

“Maybe he actually took acting classes,” Flame said. “It would be easy enough to find out. Quite frankly he gave me the creeps. I don’t know what Joy saw in him.”

“Flash. Money. He’s smooth enough and if he has the acting skills to pull it off, he probably convinced her he was in love with her.”

“Until Daddy objected and humiliated her in front of his entire family,” Flame said, an edge to her voice. “He did it on purpose. Her mother told me all about it.” She whirled out of the way as one of the Comeaux brothers staggered backward and nearly bumped into her.