Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(69)
Author: Christine Feehan

She wiped at her face. “I still can’t remember very much.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood and they have you on heavy painkillers.” His voice had a hard edge to it. He swallowed his anger and picked up the beer bottle, trying to distract himself from the memory of her covered in blood, in mud, bruised, battered, and her rescuer ripping her shirt open. He couldn’t drink enough to erase that.

“I’m all right now. You got there in time. My arm’s fine.”

Gator took another swallow then pointed toward the table because he couldn’t think about it now. He had to change the direction of the conversation and his thoughts or he would be in jail by morning. “Take a look at those pictures. Kadan pulled those out and said to have you take a look at them. He thought you might see something the rest of us don’t.”

“Pictures?”

“On the table by my gloves.”

Flame leaned over the small makeshift table to study the pictures strewn over the tablecloth where they’d fallen out of a manila envelope. The shirttails rode up to reveal the underside of her bottom, her cheeks firm and smooth and curving deliciously. Gator repositioned his legs in an attempt to ease the growing ache in his groin. He wasn’t about to call her attention to the fact that she was showing bare skin and giving him one hell of a hard-on.

“Joy’s mother said she was a wonderful photographer and she’s right. These must be the pictures Joy took of the bayou and wildlife. Have you looked at them? They’re quite good. Joy took these photographs right before she disappeared.”

“Yes, Grand-mere told me her family developed them and took them to the police in the hopes that they’d see a clue to her disappearance. The other photos were taken of the other missing girl’s bedroom. Lily had duplicates made for us.” His voice had gone husky and he could feel his body beginning to pulse with awareness.

“There’s something here I’m not getting, Raoul. I can feel it.” She didn’t look back at him but bent closer to the photographs. “Maybe we should enlarge these. There’s a small ripped piece of paper on the corner of this nightstand.”

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She was far more exposed now. He caught glimpses of the inviting entrance between her legs barely covered with a scrap of black lace. She brought up her foot and absently rubbed her calf with it before putting it down, her stance a little wider. The hem of the shirt was halfway up her bottom, exposing the globes of her ass to him. His air ran out and s lungs burned.

“You know what I think this is? Remember when Parsons’s driver handed him his business card to give me? I think this is part of his card. He only had a number on it and I can make out part of a number on this ripped piece. That means that other missing girl had contact with Parsons, his son, or the driver at some point.”

“That makes sense, especially if that snake had the balls o rip your shirt. Good aim, by the way.” His voice was husky. “You tore up his face.”

“With the drink. I thought he was trying to drug me.” She leaned her elbows on the table to study the various photographs. “I can’t believe how foggy my mind is. I keep trying to remember the details about what happened and to be honest, I just can’t quite remember everything. It’s so freakin’ frustrating I want to scream. I should stop taking the painkillers. They’re fogging my rain.”

“Give yourself time, cher, it will come back.” He set the bottle aside and got to his feet, drawn by the smooth temptation of her skin. His breath came in ragged gasps and his voice was hoarse. He stood directly behind her until he could feel the heat of her body. He pressed one hand on her lower spine and the other slid over the bare silky skin of her bottom. The feel of her took what little breath he had left. “I have to see this black thong.”

She didn’t protest. He heard the hitch of her breath and she went very still beneath his exploring caresses. He pushed the shirt up farther until he could see the three rows of black rolled string with the tiny bows down the middle disappearing between the firm globes of her bottom. “Mon Dieu! Is this your idea of nightwear?” He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, rubbing and massaging almost compulsively. He had no idea he was virtually holding her down with his other hand.

“Not exactly. Remember, all of my clothes were burned.”

“Grand-mere didn’t buy these.” He made it a statement as he tugged at the thin lacy strip covering everything he wanted.

“Like hell she didn’t.” Flame closed her eyes, suddenly frightened of the things he could do to her body when he wasn’t even trying. She couldn’t move, didn’t want him to stop, yet paradoxically, was terrified of where it would lead.

“She buys these sexy panties but gives you a man’s shirt to sleep in?”

There was a small telling silence. “I can’t possibly wear what she sent.”

“She sent you a nightgown?” The hand at her spine began to make small circles to match the stroking on her bottom.

Flame closed her eyes, pushing back against his hand, feeling damp liquid heat pooling low in response. “Not exactly.” It was the only response she could manage to get out. Her brain was melting right along with her body.

His hand spread the massaging circle wider, moving up her back until he suddenly stopped. A flare of excitement arced between them. “Femme sexy. You’re wearing a knife.”

“I always wear a knife.”

He pushed her shirt up until he found the small leather sheath snuggled along her back. Gator bent forward and pressed a kiss against her bare spine. “You know how much that turns me on.”

“Everything turns you on.”

“Baby, I’m so turned on I’m about to burst out of my jeans.” He bent forward, right over the top of her, his hardened groin pressed tightly against her bu**ocks as he pulled the knife out of the sheath and laid it on the table. I want to see the outfit.”

His voice was so damned sexy, his soft drawling whisper. Flame thought her legs might turn to rubber. She could feel the blush starting somewhere at her toes and consuming her entire body. He moved away from her and she straightened, almost afraid to turn around, but she couldn’t stop herself.

Gator pulled open the shopping bag and dragged out the tiny scrap of mesh and leather. “This is it? This is what Grand-mere sent you to sleep in?”

She nodded wordlessly, her hand on her throat.