Joanna Wayne - Stranger, Seducer, Protector

It had not been to like it.

Falling for Jacinth would undermine the most important investigation of his life. Yet, he was falling, and falling hard.

It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though that was dynamite. It was everything about her.

He felt this fierce need to protect her, but the one she needed protection from most was him. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. And that kiss last night had equaled the thrill of having sex with any other woman he’d ever been with. Pulling away and leaving her at the door had been downright painful.

None of that changed what he had to do, but he couldn’t be lover and destroyer. He’d have to put the skids on any romantic involvement.

His mind understood that. His body was the traitor.

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TO ALL MY READERS WHO LOVE NEW ORLEANS AND THE

MYSTERY AND ROMANCE IT INSPIRES. AND A SPECIAL

SMILE AND WAVE TO ALL LOUISIANA FRIENDS AND FAMILY.

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at P.O. Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356.

Nick Bruno —He’s dead set on only one thing—until he meets Jacinth Villaré.

Jacinth Villaré —The sprawling Esplanade Avenue mansion she and her sister have inherited has turned into a nightmare.

Elton Bruno —Nick’s father. He’s spent most of his adult life in prison for a crime he claims he didn’t commit.

Caitlyn Villaré —Jacinth’s sister, who is away on her honeymoon.

Dr. Reginald Jefferies —Jacinth’s professor friend and mentor.

Detective Ron Greene —He’s determined to make an arrest.

Joy Adams, Cecelia Davis and Jewel Benet —Three New Orleans exotic dancers who disappeared without a trace.

Sophie and Micah Villaré —Jacinth’s parents, no longer living.

Marie Villaré —Jacinth’s grandmother, who willed her and Caitlyn the aging mansion.

Luther Villaré —Micah Villaré’s half brother.

Carrie Marks —Luther’s girlfriend before he was murdered.

Gladys Findley —Jacinth’s next-door neighbor.

Eric Ledeaux —An old friend of Marie’s before her death, and a spurned lover of Joy Adams’s.

Billy Raquet —Carrie Marks’s current boyfriend. Bill and Eugenia Kibecti —Friends of Dr. Jefferies who own a historic home with a secret passageway.

Sarah Livingston —Joy Adams’s roommate when Joy disappeared.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Her heart pounded and cold sweat trickled down her face and between her breasts. There was no mistaking the creaks of the aged floorboards outside her room.

He was there, pacing, watching, anticipating the moment when he would place his cold, meaty fingers around her neck and squeeze the breath from her lungs.

The doorbell rang. Jacinth Villaré’s heart jumped to her throat and the gritty suspense novel she’d been reading slipped from her hands and slapped against the blue quilt. Apprehension lingered. Who would be visiting this time of night?

She glanced at the clock next to her bed. It was only ten after ten, not really considered late in the Big Easy, though Jacinth had snuggled into bed with her book a full hour ago.

The visitor at the door was likely a lost tourist looking for the bed-and-breakfast where he’d rented a room for the night. There were two in Jacinth’s block alone, one owned by the friendly gay couple who lived just to the right of her.

The bell rang again. She untangled herself from the crisp percale sheets, threw her legs over the side of the bed and felt the familiar tingle of old wool as her heels and toes caressed the worn rug.

She reached back for the book to tuck it beneath the covers, and then realized the act would be a waste of time.

Romantic suspense was her secret escape from the stacks of historically accurate novels and legitimate works of nonfiction that defined her serious, academic persona.

But no one would be visiting her bedroom tonight.

Unfortunately, that was also true for every other night in the recent past and likely the immediate future. Working toward her doctorate and keeping up with her duties as a teacher left no time to invest in a relationship.

Her hands automatically grabbed for her tatty chenille robe before she changed her mind and left it hanging from the bedpost. Her nightshirt covered more than the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn to rake the yard this afternoon.

She flicked the light switch at the top of the winding staircase. Shimmery illumination from the cut-glass chandelier crept over the walls like golden wings.

Repairing and cleaning the monstrous antique had taken months, but the air of opulence it provided the old family home was definitely worth the time and cost.

The floorboards creaked eerily as she traipsed the hallway of the sprawling mansion. Reaching the wide double doors, Jacinth cautiously put her eye to the peephole. The gas lantern near the front walk painted entrancing shadows across the man at her door, but did nothing to disguise his rugged masculinity.

Hard bodied, clearly evident in the black T-shirt he was wearing. Unruly dark hair peeking from beneath a Saints cap. A face with character and craggy angles. The kind of stranger you’d invite into an erotic dream—but not into your living room at ten at night.

Jacinth unlatched the door and eased it open a crack, leaving the security chain firmly in place. “Can I help you?”

“Just thought I’d warn you that you’re going to have one hell of a water bill if you don’t turn off your sprinkler system.”

“I don’t have a sprinkler system.”