Give Me Fever Read online

  “There is someone at the door.”

  “Then you’d better answer.”

  She hesitated.

  “I’m not a figment of your imagination. I will wait to speak with you.”

  Tally opened the door to Christien. He stood on her porch with his shoulder propped against the side of the door frame, all arrogant, self-assured male, as if he had every right to be there. His thick, midnight hair was loose as if he hadn’t wanted to take the time to pull it back; dark stubble lined his jaw and his brown eyes bore into hers. “What are you doing here?”

  “I woke up to find you gone. Since it was my intention to share breakfast with you, I guess I’ll have to do it here. You missed getting it in bed, though.”

  “I already got what I wanted in your bed, Christien.”

  He crowded her against the foyer wall and laughed. “Too bad, chère. I wasn’t quite done with you yet.”

  Taunting amusement flickered across his features masking a look in his eyes that faded too quickly—hurt? Instantly, her hand came out and smoothed through his loose hair. She was surprised to find her hand trembling. There was so much more to this man than she had first realized.

  He was a threat to everything she strived for, yet in the short amount of time she’d spent with him, she had experienced something more real than anything she’d ever hoped or imagined would be possible.

  She couldn’t turn him away, although she realized that she should. She could effectively end it here and now with a few words, but when she spoke, her words came from her heart. “Come in and we’ll have some breakfast. I don’t have to be to work until the lunch shift.”

  He walked toward the kitchen and Tally followed. When she glanced toward the piano bench, she did a double take. The captain hadn’t moved. He grinned and raised his brows.

  “I’m really hungry,” she said, thinking to keep Christien busy so she could get rid of the captain.

  “Do you have Tabasco?” Christien asked. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his hard forearms, he looked at her expectantly.

  “Yes,” she said, turning away from the captain. She went to the refrigerator door, Christien close on her heels. Reaching for the half-empty bottle in the door slot, she pulled it out and heard, “Is this the mercenary?”

  She jerked at the sound. The captain materialized right next to her. The Tabasco bottle slipped out of her grasp and fell, hitting the floor right near where Christien stood.

  “Damn,” she said, biting her lip.

  Christien said. “Now my raging Cajun eggs won’t be the same.”

  She glared at the captain but the sparkle in his eyes told her he was having fun.

  With a soft exclamation, she took a step towards the mess.

  “Don’t,” Christien said. “I’ll clean it up.”

  She felt the small act of kindness down to her toes. No one except her sister had ever seemed to care.

  “Trying to be my hero?”

  He smiled at her: a sleepy, warm smile, his eyes a tangled brush of dark lashes and ebony heat. “Maybe.”

  He watched her for a moment, his gaze moving to her mouth and shoulders with raking leisure.

  “Good, because I don’t need one, Christien.” She stepped inside, but he blocked her from escaping.

  “Ah, Tally. Everyone needs a hero. It’s too bad there aren’t enough to go around.”

  The captain showed no signs of fading away. He watched them avidly, as if his very existence hinged on what he would see. Only a foot separated her from Christien. She felt the heat radiating from him, but yearned for him to move closer. His breath fanned her face with a light, sensuous touch.

  “I don’t believe in fairy tales and happily-ever-after, either,” Tally stated.

  The captain frowned and shook his head, but Christien nodded his. “A practical, hard-edged modern woman.”

  “I do have sharp edges, Christien. Be careful you don’t get cut.”

  “I’m tough, Tally.”

  Why did that look in his eyes break her heart—a weary, disillusioned look that caused a lump in her throat. Unexpected feelings, unwanted intimacy. Yet, she couldn’t help reacting to those dark eyes, from falling into his sea of pain. Something she was sure he’d hidden well over the years.

  “You have to be in this world, Christien. You have to be. Nothing is ever perfect.”

  “No, it’s not, except how you feel in my arms.”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing.” The only real thing in life was cold hard cash and the promise of the comfort and safety it could buy.

  Pragmatic, tough-minded as she was, she couldn’t explain why her heart melted, why a need rose in her to reach out, touch him, as if simple human contact could make anything better.

  His chin dropped as her hands reached out to cup his head, his hair like silk against the sensitive pads of her fingers. Fire licked her insides as she lifted his face to her searching eyes.

  “Let me see what I can do about that toughness,” she whispered. “Make you burn.”

  He pulled her hips against his, his groin fitting into the notch like he was made for her.

  Transfixed, she watched silently as his gaze traveled down her length, then slowly began the journey back up, lingering on her breasts until her nipples hardened. When he lifted his head there was a knowing look in his eyes.

  He closed the distance, his breath tickling her ear when he whispered, “I’m Cajun…so it’s going to have to be damned hot to burn me.”

  Turning slightly until her lips grazed his ear, she said, “From the inside out, Christien.” She felt the shudder sweep over him. “Like fire under your skin, like a fever.” Her voice low and husky. “There are ways to orgasm that would blow your mind.”

  “Give me fever.”

  She closed her eyes at the underlying dare in his words.

  When she opened them, she saw the captain standing with his arms across his chest. Caught up in the seduction of Christien, she’d totally forgotten the ghost was there. She snapped out of Christien’s arms and almost fell, saved only by Christien’s lightning-quick move as he grabbed hold of her shoulders.

  “What the hell?” he asked confusion thick in his deep voice.

  Tally stared at the captain.

  “Is this your mercenary?”

  “He’s not a mercenary.”

  “What?” Christien asked, still clearly confused.

  “I can see now that this man is much more than a mercenary,” the captain said. “Is he your lover?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she hissed under her breath. “Be quiet, he’ll hear you.”

  “Tally, he can’t hear me or see me.”

  “You left that joy for me alone,” she asked sarcastically.

  “Tally, what are you muttering?” Christien moved to stand next to her. Tally gave a quelling look to the captain and jerked her head toward the stairs.

  “Do you mind if I run upstairs and take a quick shower?” Tally said inching toward the polished cypress stairs.

  Christien shook his head. “I’ll start the eggs.”

  “I have another bottle of Tabasco up in the cabinet. I really want a taste of those…er…raging Cajun eggs.”

  “Great.” Looking bewildered, he rounded the counter and entered the kitchen.

  Tally laughed nervously, giving Christien a sheepish smile. She turned her back on him and mouthed to the captain. “Upstairs.”

  Once she was safely in her bathroom with the captain, she said, “If you’re going to haunt my house, then we’re going to have some ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?”

  “Rules that indicate how you’ll behave while there is another person in the house.”

  “What rules do you wish me to follow?”

  “When Christien is here, what happens between us is private. You—” she shoved her finger at him “—disappear, and I mean that literally.”

  “But it’s very interesting to watch you try to resist the…er�
�raging Cajun.”

  “After two hundred years, all you have is jokes?”

  “It is good to be amused after all this time.”

  “Agree, or you can go haunt someplace else.”

  “Agreed. What else?”

  “You don’t watch me in my bedroom, do you?”

  His eyes flashed in an odd way that made Tally remember this was a ghost and not an ordinary man.

  He raised his chin and said, “No! What kind of a cad do you take me for? The very idea. I am a gentleman, not a Peeping Tom.”

  Tally leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted with what she’d been through, first with Christien and now Captain Dampier’s very real, very indignant ghost. “That’s a relief.”

  “Now you tell me something, Tally.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you collect what was once mine?”

  “Someday it will fill a Captain Dampier wing of a museum.”

  He blinked at her as if the words she’d uttered had been a foreign language. He looked down and away, then back at her, still speechless. She watched his face. It held distance. Time and space…and memories. He swallowed. “That is quite…remarkable.”

  “Why? You helped save New Orleans along with Lafitte, but he got all the glory.”

  His brows furrowed as if confused about her motivation. “He was a great strategist.”

  She held his eyes, keeping her chin steady. “I’m not trying to take anything away from Lafitte. He was a dashing figure, but he made his own mark in a town that scorned him.”

  “Are you saying that I did not?”

  “No, you didn’t. You faded into obscurity.”

  His jaw set moodily, his features grim and dark above the scarlet long coat, he said, “I died in my prime.”

  “I want to set history straight and you deserve your place in it.”

  “This is so very unexpected. I thought with the treasure…”

  The ache in his voice made her throat close. He’d been alone with his curse and the reality of his death, trapped in Court du Chaud for all time. “The treasure is a separate issue.”

  “But you don’t have to do anything for me, Tally. That’s not warranted. The crone was very wrong about you.”

  She wanted to ask who the crone was, but the captain spoke before she could utter a word.

  “This is an act of kindness I did not believe could come from one of my descendents after all the heartache I caused for the one I held so very dear.”

  “It’s the right thing to do, Captain.”

  “Tally?” The deep sound of Christien’s voice made her heart beat faster.

  The captain looked at her for a moment, then said, “Please address me as Gabriel,” before he simply dissolved then disappeared.

  8

  CHRISTIEN KNOCKED AGAIN. When he got no response, he called out. “Tally?”

  He thought he heard her voice.

  The door opened and Tally stood before him still fully dressed.

  “Who were you talking to in here?”

  “I was singing in the shower.”

  He looked at the glass-enclosed shower and cocked his eyebrow. “Tally, the shower isn’t even on.”

  She turned to look, then faced him with a sheepish smile. “I got a head start.”

  Walking over to the shower stall, she flipped the gleaming knobs and turned on the water, adjusting it as it got hot. She’d been acting strangely since the Tabasco sauce incident.

  “The eggs are ready.”

  She turned to look at him.

  “What have you been doing all this time?”

  Her eyes raked his frame in a caress that felt almost physical, lingering at his groin. She raised her eyes to his, a suggestive smile on her lips.

  Just far enough away, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Next, she reached behind her back to unhook her bra. As soon as the catch came undone, her breasts spilled free, lush and voluptuous, the tight points of her nipples jutting toward him as if begging for his touch.

  “Thinking about you.”

  She tossed off her shoes, then unzipped her jeans and shimmied them over her hips, down her thighs, and off her long, slender legs, leaving her wearing nothing more than a pair of bikini panties and a come-and-get-me smile that nearly undid him. He waited for her to remove that last scrap of fabric so he could look his fill of her, but she had something else in mind.

  He had a vague thought that she was deliberately distracting him, but at the moment he couldn’t seem to put two words together to form a thought, let alone put a coherent sentence together.

  Holding his gaze, she walked up to him. Flattening her hand in the center of his chest, she skimmed her cool palm downward, her fingers dragging over his ribs and taut abdomen. She didn’t stop there, and he gave a raw moan of pleasure as her fingers curled along the thick length of his erection confined behind denim.

  His body jerked in response when she stroked him. It was all he could do not to take her right there on the bathroom floor.

  Without preamble, she licked her lips and put her mouth over his nipple. He felt the incredible tugging, pulling sensation all the way to his cock. He couldn’t stop the long, low groan that seemed to come from the depths of him. He rocked his pelvis against hers, his body tense and quivering.

  Her sensual gaze lifted to his, and the smile that etched her expression was a combination of exhilaration and pure bliss, as if she were under the influence of a very potent aphrodisiac.

  “I can’t get enough of that, chère.”

  She leaned forward, ran her lips over a taut pectoral muscle, and then took a soft, ravenous bite from his flesh. She groaned against his skin; a hot wild tremor rippled through him in response.

  “You taste delicious, much better than eggs, raging or otherwise.” She pressed her cheek against his chest, rubbing against him like a cat. “So warm and wonderful.”

  She palmed his erection, stroking his cock from the base all the way up to the engorged tip. She turned her head to look at him, her skin flushed pink, her expression reflecting erotic pleasure, and her soft brown eyes feverish with a desperate need for him.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers. The pressure of her mouth parted his lips and her tongue slipped inside to tangle with his. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest, and the carnal mating of their mouths generated enough heat to make them both combust.

  Her hand moved from around his neck down to the belt of his jeans. Working the leather loose, unfastening the snap of his jeans, she carefully lowered the zipper over his burgeoning shaft.

  Grasping the waistband of his jeans and briefs, she pulled both downward and stopped once she pushed everything below his thighs.

  “Oh my,” she breathed.

  He automatically thought she was talking about his stiff erection, but he looked down to see that she was thoroughly transfixed by the tattoo of a band of flames that streaked across his thick quadricep muscle and ended at the back of his thigh.

  “I didn’t get a good look at this before. Most people wear these around their arms.”

  “I like to be different.”

  She leaned forward and put her lips on the tattoo. Christien sucked in a quick breath; the spiraling sensation of her soft mouth sent a message directly to his already hard, raging cock.

  “And I didn’t think you could turn me on any more.” She pushed the jeans and briefs off of him and brought him to the now-steamy shower.

  Christien made no move to initiate anything as it was obvious to him that Tally wanted to explore his body. Through the steamy mist, her heavy-lidded eyes caught his, her coffee hair now a darker shade as a result of the hot water pouring from the spout overhead.

  “Touch all you want. I remember quite vividly you said you wanted to run your hands all over me.”

  “Oh, yes.” Reaching for the body wash on the side of the stall, s
he lathered her hands. She trailed her fingers up his muscular arms, around his biceps before continuing along his broad shoulders and down his muscled chest.

  It was beyond him to hold back any longer. He savored her sweet feminine curves with his hands even as she brushed her fingertips along his body, so gently, so eloquently. She felt deliciously feminine.

  Her caresses were slow and languorous as she smoothed the fragrant lather down his legs, lingering on the flame tattoo, tracing it to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

  “Did it hurt when they used the needle there?”

  “Like a bitch.”

  “I’ll kiss it later,” she promised with a sexier-than-sin smile. “You have a beautiful form.”

  “I’d rather look at yours.”

  She chuckled as she came up his other leg, smoothing the soap along his belly and around to his buttocks. He groaned when her stomach rubbed up against his arousal.

  He braced his flattened palms on the tiled wall for support as she applied a skillful pressure to the taut tendons running along his shoulders, and he moaned in pleasure as her talented hands kneaded knotted muscles.

  “You feel really tight, Christien,” she murmured, using her thumbs to loosen the tension along his nape. “Are you working too hard, sugar? Or worrying too hard?”

  Christien moaned at the relief as her firm fingers kneaded his skin, breaking up the knots between his shoulder blades. “Probably a little of both. I’m sure your muscles tell the same tale.”

  “I have my stresses. Nothing a good soak, candles and a glass of wine can’t remedy,” she responded, her fingers working their magic down the muscles bisecting his spine, her firm touch spreading goose bumps along his flesh.

  He closed his eyes, shivering as her palms slid over his hips and her small hands curved up his chest to brush over and massage his aching nipples.

  “When you find Mark, I’ll have less to worry about,” she said.

  She leaned against him, her breasts a wet sensual goad, her taut nipples pebbling against his skin. She rested there as the water sluiced over them. He turned around and grabbed the body wash, soaping his hands. She gasped as he ran his hands over her breasts and down her stomach.

  She closed her eyes as his palms slipped over her hips and his hands squeezed her bottom.