Possession Page 14

  Akela stifled a moan, the combination of her chaotic thoughts and yearnings coming together to make her acutely aware of the man who had snuck into her bed and her heart when she wasn’t looking.

  “I was hoping to catch you before you came home, but I didn’t. So when I saw through the window that you’d come into your room…I hope you don’t mind my gaining entrance from the back and coming up here. I couldn’t help myself.”

  She reached behind her back, finding his hand on her hip and giving it a squeeze by way of an answer.

  “A man couldn’t hope for a warmer welcome,” he murmured against her ear.

  She arched her back, putting her gown-covered bottom in direct contact with his obvious arousal. All her worries evaporated, leaving nothing but sheer want in their wake.

  “I’m glad you came,” she whispered.

  He snaked his hand up to her chin and turned her face toward him. “I’m glad you’re glad.”

  He kissed her lingeringly, his mouth warm, his lips insistent.

  Akela shifted to roll over and he held her still.

  “Non, ma catin. I want you to stay like this.”

  She thought she might cry out with the need to hold him, to feel him in her arms—until his hand ran over her alert breasts, down her midsection, then straight to the crux of her desire for him. She lifted her leg so that it curved over his, giving him better access. Slowly he raised the hem of her nightgown, until it brushed the top of her thighs, revealing her to him. He grabbed her swollen flesh almost roughly, as if he’d been longing to touch her as much as she’d been longing to be touched. Then his finger was inside the leg of her panties and he was stroking her hot slickness.

  Akela threw her head back and moaned, shooting sensations traveling across her skin, making her shiver all over.

  “I want you so badly I don’t think I can wait,” he whispered, kissing the side of her throat.

  “Who’s asking you to wait?”

  Then just like that he was stripping her panties from her, sheathing himself in a condom, then lifting her leg to gain access to her from behind.

  Akela nearly climaxed at the first stroke of his hardness against her exposed flesh. But rather than immediately entering her, as she so wanted him to, he slid his erection back and forth, over her clit then down again, creating a hot, wet friction that left her panting.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He snaked his other hand under her and held her still when she might have bore back on him. Pulling her nightgown up farther, he found her breast and gave an almost painful squeeze, forcing the air from her lungs in a surprised whoosh.

  Then he entered her in one long, hard stroke that left her little more than a puddle of quivering, convulsing flesh.

  Akela had never come so quickly and the reality left her feeling exquisitely, blessedly alive. At the same time as she pressed against him, she realized he’d gone very, very still, as if fending off his own climax. She shuddered against him, reveling in the feel of his fingers against her breast, his arousal between her legs. Every part of her seemed to pulse and vibrate as she drew herself down his length slowly, then slid back again, starting a rhythm he had yet to follow as he clutched her hip in his other hand.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned in her ear.

  He rolled her so she was on her stomach, then pulled her hips so that she was up on her knees. Akela scrambled to keep her balance with her hands, bracing herself for him when he thrust into her long and hard from behind.

  She dropped her chin to her chest and moaned, incredible, molten pleasure lapping like waves over her body. His fingers clutched her hips almost harshly, holding her still, holding her fast as he withdrew from her, stroking her swollen flesh with his thick length. Just when she might cry out for a deeper meeting, he surged into her again, his skin slapping against hers as he thrust again, and again.

  Akela was half-afraid she might spontaneously combust. She bore backward and worked her hips forward, stroking him as he stroked her. They found an even rhythm that made her soar higher with each meeting, back and forth, in and out….

  Then he slid his hand down over her hip and between her legs, catching her clit between his finger and thumb and squeezing, shattering her into a thousand tiny sparkling pieces, his deep, low groan indicating he’d followed right after her.

  She collapsed to the mattress with him still inside her and he lay against her, his breathing heavy in her ear, his fingers still idly caressing her so she felt as if she had no power over her shuddering body.

  “I keep waiting for my interest in you to wane,” he said quietly, moving her hair from the back of her neck with his nose, then nipping the sensitive skin. “Instead my want for you only grows.”

  Akela understood all too well what he was saying. Casual sex was supposed to be, by its very nature, meaningless. But she found nothing superficial about how she felt when she made love to him. When he touched her. When he stroked her inside and out, setting her soul on fire.

  He gently rolled off of her, drawing her against the length of his body and smoothing her hair.

  And it was there, in the strength and warmth of his arms, that Akela finally found the peace she’d been seeking for what seemed like her entire life.

  AKELA WAS AWARE of warmth spreading along her skin. In the cotton web of her dream, she surged toward it, opening herself to the addictive heat. Her eyelids fluttered open only to discover that it wasn’t a dream at all, but delicious reality. The early-morning sun shone through her bedroom window, bathing her in light, while Claude was running his tongue along the tight bud of her breast, as if seeking sustenance only she could provide.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  And a very good morning it was, too. Akela felt as if she’d been reborn somehow, her body both drained and sated, although Claude’s skillful attentions were igniting desire in her all over again.

  “Hello yourself,” she murmured, entwining her fingers in his thick, tousled hair, the strands coarse against her skin.

  He dipped his head lower, lapping the skin of her stomach, making her draw in a quick breath.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re insatiable?” She pressed her head back into the pillows and closed her eyes, overly aware of the smile on her face. She blindly reached to cover his mouth. “No, don’t answer that.”

  He chuckled quietly and she removed her hand. He took advantage of his new freedom by burying his nose in the wedge of curls between her legs, burrowing until he nipped at her core with his lips.

  Akela gasped, her back coming up off the bed at the shock of sensation.

  Long, shuddering moments later, she stared at Claude through the fringe of her lashes, wondering how many times he’d brought her to climax throughout the night. She’d lost count at somewhere around the fifth time, merely going with the flow.

  She scooted down on the linens, reaching for the proof of his arousal. He caught her hand.

  “It’s getting late.”

  She turned her head to look at the clock. It was after seven.

  She nearly jackknifed up off the bed. Her glorious awakening had made her oblivious to where she was and what time it was.

  Claude held her still. “It’s not that late.”

  He got up from the bed in all his nude glory, stepping to the connecting bathroom.

  Akela smiled and stretched out, identifying muscles she hadn’t been aware she had. She heard the sound of the shower, knowing she should be getting up herself, should be picking up the pillows and covers that had fallen from the bed during the night, but she couldn’t do anything more than lie there, basking in the aftermath of their lovemaking session.

  She heard a door click open and she propped herself up on her elbows. Only it wasn’t the bathroom door that had opened, but rather the door to the hall. And it wasn’t Claude she was looking at, but her four-year-old daughter, Daisy.

  Akela immediately covered herself with the top sheet.


  “Mommy, Mommy!”

  “Daisy, honey! What are you doing up so early?”

  She couldn’t remember the last time her daughter had burst into her room like that. Surely it had been well before they’d moved back to New Orleans.

  The four-year-old was all smiles and tangled blond hair in her pink nightgown and slippers. “Grandma, I mean Grandmother said that you might like to have breakfast with us.”

  Then the bathroom door did open and Claude stepped out, only a towel wrapped around his hips, rubbing another towel against his damp hair, both mother and daughter gaping at him.

  “Did somebody say breakfast?” he asked.

  18

  AKELA SLIPPED INTO her robe and knelt in front of her daughter, taking her hands. “Daisy, honey, why don’t you go downstairs and help set the table for breakfast?”

  Claude watched the exchange, noticing the complete one-eighty Akela had made since he’d left her to take a shower. She seemed tense and worried. And she’d positioned herself so that her daughter couldn’t see him, although the little cherub kept peering over her shoulder at him curiously.

  “Do you like eggs?” the girl asked him.

  Akela appeared at a loss for words, her gaze going from him to her daughter.

  Whatever joy Claude had felt at seeing Akela’s daughter for the first time ebbed at the look of almost panic on her beautiful face.

  Akela said finally, “Mr. Lafitte won’t be staying for breakfast, honey.”

  Daisy looked disappointed. But she couldn’t have been any more disappointed than Claude was as he watched Akela steer her daughter from the room.

  He rubbed the towel he held against his hair with more pressure than was needed. What had he expected? Last night hadn’t been some pajama party with pancakes waiting on the table for them in the morning. He was still wanted for murder. And Akela was still a law-enforcement agent whose job it was to arrest him.

  She came back into the room, her cheeks flushed, her eyes overly bright. And Claude understood in that one moment that everything they’d been trying to avoid, all that they’d ignored, had just hit them both full in the face, causing the crack that had always been between them to gape wide-open.

  “I…I need to get dressed,” she said quietly, then passed him to close herself in the bathroom.

  AKELA FINISHED applying her makeup, checked her hair one last time, then collapsed onto the closed commode.

  She was surprised to find herself out of breath. Ever since Claude had come out of the bathroom and Daisy had seen him, she’d been on overdrive, desperately searching for a way to turn back the hands of time so that reality wasn’t staring at her with bleak intensity.

  Her time with Claude on the bayou had been like a dream, something separate from her day-today life. And when they’d come in contact again in the city, she’d allowed that same sense of the unreal to blur the here and now.

  Only it wasn’t a dream, was it? What had developed between her and Claude was much more than that. Deeper. More complicated.

  She rested her head in her hands and tightly closed her eyes.

  She’d been through this before, having engaged in a secret affair with her ex-partner. Although the reasons for hiding her relationship with Dan had been completely different than those in operation now—namely the strict FBI policy of no personal relations between agents—she couldn’t help drawing a parallel between the two liaisons. Her feelings for both men had developed in a vacuum, outside her normal life, outside public opinion and rational thought and practical applications.

  And in Dan’s case she’d figured out fairly quickly that what they’d shared in the dark hadn’t had what it took to make it in the light of day, despite the birth of their daughter.

  Only Claude wasn’t Dan, was he? He wasn’t her professional partner. Worse, he was a fugitive on the run from the law. And she was the law.

  And Daisy’s walking into her bedroom had brought that all home like a fist to the chest.

  She pushed from the toilet, straightening the waist of her navy-blue slacks then smoothing the lapels of the matching jacket. She stared at the woman in the mirror, unfamiliar to her now in a way that almost frightened her. This no-nonsense, official-looking person was miles away from the woman she’d been the night before. The woman who had willingly engaged in an affair with a fugitive.

  A fugitive who she was in love with.

  She opened the bathroom door to find Claude sitting on the side of her bed, fully dressed. His gaze was trained on her carpet, his hands clasped between his knees.

  Akela’s heart did a painful flip in her chest.

  “So,” he said quietly. “I guess that’s it, then.”

  She was bowled over that he seemed to be having the same thoughts as she was.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. In fact, she wondered if she was capable of saying anything at all given the tightness of her throat and the burning sensation behind her eyes.

  He rose from the bed and collected his cell phone from the nightstand. “Just so you know, I plan on surrendering to the authorities this morning.”

  She opened her mouth to object, recognizing that the knee-jerk reaction was in direct contrast to what she’d been recommending to him all along.

  “Why now?” she whispered.

  “Come on, Akela, we both know it’s only a matter of time. How many front deskmen can I pay to tip me off about a raid? I’ve hit a roadblock.”

  But you’re innocent, she wanted to say.

  She felt his gaze on her and blinked up to find him staring at her with his heart in his eyes. And she felt her own heart break.

  “I,” he said, then cleared his throat, “I don’t think it would be a good idea if I ran into anyone else. Is there a back way out of here?”

  Akela felt a lone tear slash a path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand and nodded. “Yes. But it’s through the kitchen. And my family…”

  He looked away. “Maybe it would be better for me to go out the front then.”

  He walked toward the door.

  Akela automatically moved behind him, silently following him down the stairs, uncaring of who saw her and what they might think. Not seeing anything but the man who was walking not only out of her house, but her life.

  All too soon they came to the front door. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

  “Let me come with you to the station.”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve already caused enough trouble for you. I won’t be the cause of any more.”

  “Please,” she said, putting her arms around him and holding him tight.

  He smelled of her bath soap, of laundry detergent and somehow of the bayou, although the last was probably her imagination since she’d always associate him with that magical locale.

  His arms slowly went around her, his hands resting on the small of her back as he pressed her even closer. He buried his face in the side of her neck, seeming to breathe her in much as she was him.

  “Ah, chere. It seems love is not without a sense of humor.”

  Love?

  She shifted to look into his eyes, only the instant she moved, he took advantage of her letting go of him to turn and go.

  He opened the door and an ominous series of metallic clicks sounded. Akela froze when she saw three uniformed officers, headed up by Detective Chevalier, their guns trained on Claude.

  “Jean-Claude Lafitte, you are under arrest.”

  19

  NO GOOD DEED goes unpunished.

  Claude thought of the saying as he sat in the holding cell with some fifteen other men, each waiting for his bail hearing to be called.

  Of course, he had never had the chance to do a good deed. He hadn’t surrendered to authorities. Instead, the authorities had found him first—and at Akela’s of all places.

  He rubbed his hands roughly against his face.

  He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: being arrested f
or a crime he didn’t commit, or the memory of Akela’s expression that morning when they’d both realized that they’d reached the end of the road.

  Only that road had ended even more abruptly when he’d opened the door to leave her.

  He jerked upright, leaning his back against the wall and staring blindly forward, ignoring the guy next to him who was trying to hit him up for a cigarette. He’d known the instant he’d kissed her out at the bayou that he should never have started something with her while he was still a wanted man. It had been that knowledge that had provided him with the strength he’d needed to drive her back to the city, no matter the risk to himself.

  But it had been that same kiss that had ignited in him a want of her that went beyond physical need.

  Four days ago he would never have considered turning himself over to authorities. And he would never have risked what he had last night by going to her place, the desire to see her so strong that he’d put both of their lives on the line. He’d been blinded by something that had made him push that danger aside if only to kiss her again. And it was that something that made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin now.

  He loved her.

  The realization didn’t come as a shock to him. While he hadn’t outwardly acknowledged it before, he supposed he’d been aware enough while it was happening. He’d probably fallen for her that first day at the cabin as she’d lain handcuffed to the bed in nothing but her slip looking like temptation incarnate. If not then, he’d certainly been far gone when he’d made love to her the first time. There had been something different about their coming together. Something more powerful than he’d experienced before. Something that soured him against any other woman because that which he sought lay solely with Akela.

  Of course, recognizing his feelings for her now did him no good at all. He faced what could be a lifetime in prison, if not death by lethal injection.

  But above and beyond that, he hated that he’d brought trouble to Akela’s life.

  He looked around his depressing surroundings. Thierry had warned him that he was heading for a fall. Little did his brother know that the fall that hurt the most was one that had nothing to do with his being in jail.