Night Game (GhostWalkers, #3)(18)

She found him in the second bedroom, sound asleep, his hand on the seat of her motorcycle where it was parked only inches from his bed. Sliding a knife from the scabbard hidden in her boot, she positioned herself above his head, crouched against the wall so that her breath stirred the waves in his hair as she placed the blade against his throat with exquisite gentleness.

He woke instantly, completely alert, danger flooding the room, expanding the walls. Even the floorboards creaked as if disturbed, but he never moved a muscle.

“Cher. How nice to see you again.”

“You stole my bike.”

“I saved your pretty little ass is what I did.”

She felt the ripple of his muscles, actually felt it, tension was so strong in the room, yet she wasn’t actually touching his skin. He was far more dangerous than she’d given him credit for and her senses went on heightened alert. “Don’t move, Wyatt. I wouldn’t want to accidentally cut your throat and this blade is sharp.”

“Don’ go makin’ a mistake, cher, I’m Raoul, not Wyatt and I wouldn’t take kindly to you messin’ with my lil brother.”

His tone was light, cheerful even, but she caught the edge of something lethal buried deep. Raoul Fontenot wanted people to think he was Mr. Charm, but his easy laughter hid something deadly, something only waiting for the right trigger. Her heart kicked into high gear, pounding hard with the knowledge she had a tiger by the tail.

“All I want is what belongs to me, Raoul. I couldn’t care less about you or your brother or the Whitneys. Just remove your hand from my bike and sit up very carefully and won’t have a problem.”

“We already have a problem, cher. You stuck a knife in my throat and I don’ take kindly to that.”

Flame snapped her teeth together. “Stop being unreasonable. It isn’t in your throat, it’s against your throat. I’m not buying the good old boy routine either, you snake. You tell your boss to back off and leave me alone. I’ll never go back there.”

His eyebrow shot up. “Who do you think is my boss?”

“I’m not playing games with you. I know you’re dangerous. You know I am. Let’s not be dumb. I just want my bike and I want to get out of here. I won’t even push your Jeep into the Mississippi. And I’ll leave you the keys. I think that’s a fair trade.”

“The Jeep belongs to Wyatt and he wouldn’t like losing it, but on the other hand, he’s a sucker for a beautiful face.” A slow, melting grin crept over his dark features. “And cher, you have a damned beautiful face.”

Her breath left her lungs in an unexpected rush and wings seemed to flutter lightly against the inside of her belly. The man was lethal. “I also have a very sharp blade and you’re irritating the hell out of me.”

His white teeth flashed at her. “I can hardly believe that. Most women find me charmin’. I think you’re lyin’ to us both, Flame.”

His voice was pitched so low, so sultry, drawling with enough molasses that her insides melted. The reaction to him scared her. She didn’t have those kinds of connections with people—especially not traitors. She despised men like Gator, throwing away everything she would have given her right arm for, just for money or power. Flame sucked in her breath sharply, trying to see him as the enemy when, for some strange reason, her body wanted to see him in a completely different light.

“You’re enhanced.” She made it an accusation. Maybe Whitney had figured out how to heighten sexual magnetism and Gator was the ultimate weapon against women. She gritted her teeth and inwardly vowed resistance.

“So are you.” He shifted enough, careful of the sharp blade against his skin, that he could rest his gaze on her face. “You look tired, cher.”

There was concern in his voice, in the depths of his eyes. Knowledge. Her heart thumped hard again and something close to fear curled in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t you worry about me, Gator. I’m not so tired I can’t slit your throat. Let’s get this done. Sit up slowly.”

“I don’ know if you want me to do that.” Amusement was plain in his drawling voice. “I’m in my altogether so to speak. I don’ like many clothes when I sleep.”

She couldn’t stop the color stealing into her cheeks. Damn him, he seemed to be so in control, so calm and sure of himself in spite of the fact that she had a knife to his throat. Was he really that good? For the first time doubt crept in.

The door to the bedroom burst open so hard it bounced against the wall with a hard crash and nearly swung shut. A hard foot smashed it back open, splintering the wood, and a younger copy of Gator stood framed in the doorway, his narrowed gaze fixed on the knife at his brother’s throat.

“You look like you’re havin’ woman trouble, Gator,” he greeted, confirming Gator’s belief that he wasn’t the only one in the family with natural psychic talents.

Flame tightened her grip on Raoul. “Tell him to back the hell off,” she snapped.

The tension in the room stretched to a screaming point. Without warning, Gator caught her wrist in a gripping vise, thumb digging hard into her pressure point so that her fingers involuntarily opened and dropped the knife. At the same time, he jerked down, relieving the pressure on his throat, his other hand whipping up to catch her around the neck in a throw.