Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

His hand stilled as his fingertips were sneaking under the waistband of her panties. He raised his dark, glittering eyes to meet hers, his mouth poised just above the taut, swollen bud of her nipple. Laurel tightened her every muscle against the desire to just let go. She brought a chilling dose of shame down on her own head to cool the fire.

What the hell was the matter with her, succumbing to the charms of a rake like Jack Boudreaux? On a stone bench in her aunt's courtyard, no less. She barely knew him, didn't trust him, wasn't even sure she liked him.

Jack watched her, watched the flash of panic, the wash of guilt. "You want me, angel. I want you." He shifted his weight, pressing his erection against her hip as proof of his statement.

"I… I don't." Laurel bit down hard on the urge to panic. She kept her eyes locked on his, as if that contact somehow gave her a measure of control. Foolish. He outweighed her by eighty pounds. He could take what he wanted, as men had been doing since the dawn of time.

"Tu menti, mon ange," he murmured, shaking his head. "You lie to yourself, not me."

His eyes held fast on hers as he touched the warm, dewy cleft of her womanhood.

"I think you proved your point," she said bitterly.

"You're a bastard, and I want you anyway. You've made that fact very clear."

That age-old weariness crept into his expression again, seeped outward from some deep, dark well inside him. "Oui," he said. He slid his hand back up over her belly and pulled her T-shirt down, covering her. He smoothed the fabric gently, regretfully, his mouth twisting. "And now I have the whole long night to wonder why I made it at all."

Laurel checked her reflection in the hall mirror, frowning. She hadn't brought a suit home with her. The best she could do was a loose-fitting navy linen blazer over a white silk tank and a pair of taupe trousers. The outfit was more formal than she had ever planned to look during her stay here, less formal than she would ever have allowed herself on the job. No win.

It seemed she was stuck in a groove of no-win situations. She didn't want to tackle anything more mentally and emotionally taxing than gardening, but had given her pledge to T-Grace and Ovide. She had no intention of getting involved with a man, but had tossed and turned until dawn thinking about Jack, dreaming about Jack. Jack, with his devil's grin. Jack, with his brooding intensity. Jack, with weary dark eyes that had seen too much.

What if she hadn't said no?

"You look very lawyerlike."

Laurel glanced around to find Caroline on her way out for the day. "I don't want to do this," she admitted glumly.

Caroline put her arm around Laurel 's waist to give her a reassuring squeeze. "You don't feel ready?"

"No."

She reached up to tuck an errant strand of ash brown hair behind Laurel 's ear, her heart aching a little. Beneath the discreet makeup, behind the lenses of her oversize spectacles, Laurel had the look of a child braced for the first day of school-trying to be brave, wanting to stay safe at home.

"I think maybe you're more ready than you know, darlin'," Caroline said gently. "More time isn't going to change what happened. You'll never be able to get justice for those children. I think the best thing you can do is go and get justice for somebody else, then."

Laurel heaved a sigh and nibbled her lower lip, chewing off the soft coral lipstick she had just applied. She couldn't think of a thing to say. The feelings were too jumbled. She wanted to stand there forever with Caroline's arm around her, with her aunt's love supporting her. This was what she had come home for, not to jump into trouble with a religious charlatan, not to fend off Vivian's machinations, not to be tempted by Jack Boudreaux. For love, for someone who would judge her far less harshly than she judged herself. For the first time in a long while she felt an acute stab of longing for her father, who had solved all her childish problems with a hug and a kiss and a stick of Juicy Fruit gum. But all she had left of him were a few old snapshots, his crawfish tie pin, and his sister-Caroline.

She drew in a slow, deep breath, tamping down the emotions, drawing up some strength, focusing on the few items scattered on the Chippendale hall table, and cataloging them to give her mind something to do besides wallow in sad memories-an ivory French-style telephone, a blue willow vase holding a spray of fresh-cut flowers, a pewter dish holding an assortment of car keys and a lone earring.

"I'll be all right," she said, her gaze fastening on the earring. It was heart-shaped, large, tarnished silver studded with rhinestones and bits of colored glass. She fished it out of the dish as an excuse to change the topic. "Is this yours?"

Caroline frowned at the gaudy bauble. "Lord, no. It must be Savannah 's." She took a step back and gave her niece one last, long look in the eye, not in the least bit fooled by the diversion. "You come down to the store and see me later if you need to talk, you hear?"

Laurel nodded. Caroline reached up and stroked her niece's cheek gently, her thumb just grazing one of the dark shadows of fatigue that arched beneath her eyes. "I know how strong you really are, sweetheart," she said softly, "and I know you'll be all right. You're a Chandler, after all, and we're made of stern stuff. But don't expect to climb back all in one day, and don't forget that I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks, Aunt Caroline," Laurel murmured.

Caroline straightened her dainty shoulders, a gleam in her dark eyes and a wry smile curling her mouth. "Thanks, nothing. You go kick the figurative shit out of that television preacher."

A chuckle bubbled up inside Laurel, and she smiled. "I'll do my best."

As Caroline went out, Savannah came down the stairs, wearing a plum silk kimono trimmed with a band of ivory satin and wide ivory satin cuffs that fell past her wrists. Laurel watched her descent by way of the mirror as she repaired her lipstick, trying to assess her sister's mood. It had been near dawn before Savannah had come in, and she was obviously trying to fight off the aftereffects of her late night. She wore a blue gel eye mask to combat puffiness and took the stairs one careful step at a time. Her lips were swollen and red, and her hair was as wild as a witch's mane around her shoulders.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Laurel bit down on the questions that sprang instantly to mind and the re-criminations that came hard on their heels.

"Is this your earring?" She held up the heart-shaped bob as she turned away from the mirror.

Savannah said nothing as she padded barefoot down the hall. She stared blankly at the earring for a moment, flicked at it with a finger to set it swinging. "It was in your car," she said flatly. "Where are you going?"

"Down to the courthouse to see about stopping Baldwin from harassing the Delahoussayes."

"Christ, Baby, you barely know them."

"I know all I need to know."

"You're not supposed to be upsetting yourself with other people's problems." You're supposed to be letting me take care of you.

Laurel opened her pocketbook and dropped in her lipstick and car keys. "So," she said with a shrug, "I'll solve this one and go back to laying low. How's that sound?"

"Like a load of bullshit," Savannah snapped. "Let the Delahoussayes take care of themselves. They can damn well fight their own fights." Her mouth bent into something like a smile. "You saw that for yourself yesterday. That bitch Annie damn near gave me a bald spot."

She lifted a hand to rub at her scalp, the sleeve of her kimono falling to her elbow. Laurel 's eyes went round at the sight of her wrist. The delicate, porcelain skin was bruised and raw in spots.

"My God, Sister! What happened to you?" she demanded, snatching at Savannah 's arm so she could get a better look.