Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(25)
Author: Christine Feehan

He glanced at the airboat, relatively rare for the patrons of the Huracan. “That your rig?”

“Yes. And I didn’t steal it, either.”

“No, just the money that paid for it.” He took her arm and propelled her toward the edge of the pier. “Let’s go.”

She resisted, stepping closer to the boat, more to get away from his touch than to obey him. “I’m not going anywhere with you unless I have my knife.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, get in the damned boat.” He picked her up, his hands hard, biting into her waist, and tossed her into the airboat. “If I was going to kill you, Flame, you’d be dead already.”

She glared at him, rubbing her sides where his fingers had dug into her skin. “You just think you’re that good.”

“I know I am.” He deliberately crowded her, so close he could smell her faint perfume. She stepped away from him, just as he knew she would, giving him control of the airboat.

She stayed a distance away from him, watching him closely as he took them out into the bayou. “You may as well relax, Flame. I can’t very well kill you and dump your body in the bayou, as tempting as that may be for me. My grandmother comes first and she wants to see you tomorrow. I promised her you’d be there.”

“Why?”

He was aware she was listening intently to his voice. Sound was their world and it was also their greatest ally.

He could manipulate sound waves and interject the exact notes needed into his voice to convince others of his utter sincerity-with the possible exception of Flame. He wasn’t certain how to answer her because he didn’t know what the truth was.

His grandmother wanted to see her again. Nonny was shrewd. She probably didn’t believe for a moment that Flame was pregnant, but it suited her to make them all think she did. She was demanding he bring Flame home again. More than that, she wanted a firm commitment out of him to “make things right.” He had no idea what she was up to, but he respected her judgment. He also realized Flame would never allow him close to her without a good reason.

“In spite of what you might think, cher, I love my grandmother. If she wants to get to know you better, then I’m bringing you home.”

It was the wrong way to put it. Gator could see that immediately. Her eyes flashed hotly at him, a quick glimpse of temper and then she turned her face away, obviously struggling for control. She brought out the worst in him, the need to dominate, the need to possess, traits he usually kept under wraps. He wasn’t the easygoing man he presented to the world, and Flame was seeing the real Raoul, not the one he usually projected. It wasn’t like he could take the words back and he meant them, damn it. He was going to bring her home, one way or the other.

“You go for the best, don’t you, Flame?” He put genuine admiration into his voice. “This is a nice rig. What kind of engine?” Anything to change the subject and judging by her motorcycle, the woman knew and valued good machinery.

“V-eight, very powerful,” she answered. Her eyes immediately went bright and she ran her hand over the seat. “Runs through shallow water like butter and does the same on land. She’s fast too, even hauling weight, and she turns on a dime.”

He took the opportunity to run the boat down the narrow channel and out into more open water. Neither spoke as he put the airboat through its paces, deliberately making a ninety-degree turn, giving Flame time to relax with him. She was a natural on the boat, the same way he was certain she was with the motorcycle. “You like toys.”

For some reason, the way he lowered his voice, the note of sensuality, made her blush and lower her gaze. He was immediately aware of the tension stretching between them. His body still ached and it was a miracle he could walk. It was no wonder Vicq Comeaux had tried to approach her. He was surprised there hadn’t been a riot.

“What was that all about?”

“I beg your pardon?” She tilted her head, slightly haughty, princess to peasant.

“At the club tonight. What was that all about?” He tried not to be angry. Or jealous. What the hell did he have to be jealous about? But she damn well had better not have been looking to take a man home.

“Is it any of your business?”

“I’m making it my business so pretend it is and answer me. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if those men had gotten out of hand? There could have been a riot and quite frankly, cher, I wouldn’t blame them.” He rubbed his hand down the front of his jeans in a casual display. “I’m still feelin’ the effects and I knew your song, your voice, was a weapon.”

Her color deepened. “It’s never been that strong before. That was your fault. You were amplifying my power.”

“I was not. Don’ you go blamin’ me for that little exhibition. You were deliberately drawing men to you and you were very effective.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t all me. I can keep everyone…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Enthralled. I can soothe people and I can draw them to me, but it’s never been like that before. You were amplifying me.”

“I’m not an amplifier,” he denied.

“How would you know? Are there others like us? With the same talents? You stopped the guard dogs from barking. You’re just as capable of manipulating sound as I am. You let Whitney make a freak out of you when you had a family. A home. People who love you.” She stepped close to him, itching to slap his face, fury building so that the water churned around the airboat. “You threw it all away. What did he promise you? Money? Power? What did he give in return for your family, Raoul?”

Gator guided the boat into the middle of the canal and cut the engine. There were only the sounds of the bayou, the hum of insects, and the splash of water. “Tell me what you were doing in the club tonight and I’ll tell you why I volunteered to be a genuine psychic guinea pig.”

“Why does it matter so much to you what I was doing?” Flame regarded him uneasily.

“It just does. You were deliberately stirring the men up. You wanted them obsessed with you. Why?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to trust me. We’re out here all alone. Search me if you think I’m recording this. If I wanted you dead, you’d be buried in the swamp.” He swung away from her, an abrupt, angry movement, unlike his usual grace.

“Why are you so angry with me?” It shouldn’t have bothered her. She didn’t care if he was upset with her- he was nothing to her-but it did. She could tell his inclination was to shake her. The sexual web between them was strong. She’d never experienced such a thing before and their antagonism toward each other only seemed to add fuel to the fire.