In Your Wildest Dreams (7 page)

This was bad. Really bad. Her stomach lurched and her skin prickled. And in the midst of her personal terror, another ugly vision blinked through her brain. Tina, in the same situation. If you were an escort, what happened if , you changed your mind? What were your options? Did anyone care?

As the letch reached down toward the hem of her short dress, she batted his hand away, hard.
"Get off me right now, you jerk!"
she said through clenched teeth. Adrenaline made her stronger as she pressed her hands against his chest in an attempt to free herself, but the arm locked around her still didn't budge.

So she clawed her fingernails deep. "Hey!" he snarled, leaning back but still not releasing her.

Next, she would go for his eyes. "Lady said no, asshole."

The deep, commanding voice stunned her until she looked up to find a muscular man standing outside one open French door, arms crossed.

The bartender.

Jake watched as Cummings loosened his grip on Stephanie Grant to look at him, bothered when the shit-head didn't turn her loose completely. "What the hell business is it of yours? I suggest you go inside and mind your own business."

Jake held his ground, but narrowed his gaze on the slimy bastard. "Can't do that. / suggest you let her go."

When Cummings hesitated, Jake flexed one fist—a warning. At this, Cummings finally released her from his grasp, but appeared almost as angry as Jake felt. "She does this for a living, pal."

That's what you think.
He couldn't help flitting his gaze quickly to Stephanie before looking back to Cummings.

Finally, the asshole stepped away from her, so Jake stood aside, leaving the man a clear path through the open door.

"You just lost your fucking job, pal!" he said, wagging a finger in Jake's face.

Jake reached up and caught it, like capturing a fly in his hand. "You get on outta here and maybe the lady won't file assault charges."

Cummings laughed. "Like anybody's gonna believe a whore." But at least he made the stinging comment his exit line, departing back into the glitz and soft jazz that did such a good job of covering the ugly reason why everyone was there.

Jake walked from the light streaming out the door into the shadows where Stephanie stood. "You all right,
chère?"

"Yeah, fine." She was lying. Eighty damn degrees out here and she was shivering.

Instinct made him want to hold her, attempt to comfort her, but it was the wrong move. Women didn't like to be touched by strange men right after something like this. And best he keep his hands off this one anyway.

Even so, his gut stayed all pinched up. She was a damn stupid woman, but her blind stupidity hadn't stopped the inexplicable fear that had raced through him when he'd opened that door. Never mind that this wasn't his business and he shouldn't give a damn. Never mind that if Cummings really went to the top brass, over and above his easygoing boss, Danny, he might have just jeopardized the easy gig he had here.

He crossed his arms again and leaned back against the railing next to her. "You see my point now, no?"

The question earned him a sneer.

Good. Would be best if she was mad at him. "You can't handle this, Stephanie Grant. Now you best get on home to Chicago, back to your neat little life up there, and forget all about this place."

She stared blankly through the mullioned glass, the old panes distorting the colors and shapes inside. "I wish I could."

"Well, you can sure as hell try. And the sooner the better, you ask me."

She whipped her gaze to him, her ire suddenly returned. "I didn't ask you, and I meant I wish I could go home, not just that I wish I could forget this place. I
can't
go home. Not until I find my sister."

Jake let out a long sigh. This woman tired him. He pulled out a chair from a little white table next to the railing and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as he loosely laced his fingers. "What am I gonna do with you,
chère?
I can't be chasin' you around all over New Orleans tryin' to keep you safe—I'm nobody's hero. But seems to me that if I don't, you're gonna keep on gettin' yourself in trouble you can't get out of."

"Look, I'm not your responsibility." Her tone was pointed, harsh. "I appreciate what you did just now, but you can consider yourself relieved of duty."

He shifted a sour gaze from his hands to her face to see that damnable determination
still
shining in her eyes, even after this. He simply shook his head. "How you expect me to sleep nights,
bebV

"You just said you weren't a hero. So what's it to you? I never asked for your protection."

But I just can't seem to stop giving it, can I?
He wanted to accuse her of dragging him into this, but she hadn't. He'd made her problems
his
business by coercing the truth from her last night, and again tonight, by following her out here when he'd seen her leave with Cummings. 'Tell me somethin',
chère?
Is there anything I can say to make you stop actin' like some crazy
couillon?
Anything I can do to talk some sense into you and get you
out
of Sophia's? And
into
some clothes?"

When she lifted her gaze, he couldn't help wondering what she'd look like without all that makeup. What was she like—out of this place, out of this situation, in her normal, everyday life? Softer, he thought. Softer, in a good way.

She crossed in front of him, moving to the other side of the table to the remaining chair. He made a point of staying bent over and went back to not looking at her, instead studying the grain in the balcony's wooden floor. It was easier that way.

"I don't even know your name," she said, her very tone relaying everything her words didn't. /
don't even know your name, yet you 've touched me. I don't even know your name, yet you're asking me to listen to you.

He couldn't help raising his eyes. "Jake Broussard."

She offered a soft nod in reply, then said, "It's like this. My ex-escort friend tells me this is the only place where high-priced escorts and their customers meet publicly. And Tina put herself in that category of prostitutes, unequivocally—it seemed important to her. Do you know of any
other
places high-priced girls work?"

"No," he agreed, still tracing the wood grain with his eyes. "Used to be more hot spots for high-priced hookers, but the feds came in a few years back and closed 'em down. The NOPD never quite understood—prostitution's against the law, but we had plenty else to keep us busy besides comin' down on the workin' girls. When the feds moved in, we were surprised they didn't have better things to do, too. Only thing we could figure is they were lookin' for somethin' bigger and didn't find it."

"Well then," she said with a nod, "I have no recourse than to continue asking around
here.
Someone
has
to know something about my sister—I just haven't found them yet."

He lifted his eyes to hers for the first time in a while. "Supposin' I said I'd ask around/or you. Would that keep your pretty little butt at home a few nights?"

He saw her absorbing the offer, finally leaning across the table to say, "What more could we do? Where else could we search? If you're willing to help, surely there's more to be done than just snooping around this one place. As an ex-cop, you must know other avenues we could try."

A thin ribbon of weariness fluttered through him. "So you're sayin' that me askin' around here isn't enough for you?" He hiked a thumb in the direction of the party.

"I'm saying that if you're going to help me, why not use all your resources? Like I said, I can pay you whatever you like and the sooner we find Tina, the sooner I'll be out of your hair."

"I don't want your money,
chère."

"What
do
you want?"

As their eyes met, he thought they both felt the heat the question implied. /
want to lay you down and touch you, glide my hands over each and every one of your pretty curves.
He gave his head a quick shake to jerk himself back to reality. "No payment required," he finally said, his gaze still locked on hers. They were so damn blue he thought he could go for a swim in them.

She sat up a bit straighter, her breasts thrusting forward with the motion. "So you're saying you'll help me find her?"

He let out a sigh. Was that indeed what he was saying? That he, a man who tried to care as little as possible about anybody or anything these days, was going to attempt assisting Stephanie Grant in locating her lost sister?

"Yeah,
beb,
sure. I'll help you find her."

He had to be out of his mind.

Chapter 6

Tina
pulled the sheet up over her breasts, watching as Robert crossed in front of the bed, naked, disappearing into the bathroom. For a guy in his forties, he had a good body—he worked out every morning, and it showed.

She wasn't sure why she felt the need to cover herself. The sex wasn't horrible or anything. And whenever those weird feelings of
yuck
entered the picture, she just closed her eyes and imagined it was Russ making love to her, and that took any slight element of distaste away.

She sighed, sinking a little deeper into the goose-down pillow, watching the sway of her toes, back and forth, where they stuck out from the one-thousand-thread-count sheet. Screw Russ. She didn't need him. She only wished he could see her now—living in the lap of luxury. Robert had put her up in a house in the Garden District. Well, not a whole house—
it
was a grand old mansion that had been divided into apartments—but it was gorgeous, everything a girl could want.

She shifted her gaze to the window, overhung with draping vines. Outside stood a large trellis adorned in wisteria,

and sometimes she opened the window, despite the heat, just to drink in the fragrance. Yet the really fabulous part was inside—high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, plush draperies, and big, majestic furniture that looked like it should be in a castle. "Your throne, m'lady," Robert sometimes said when escorting her to the dining-room table, so she knew she wasn't exaggerating the grandeur in her mind. Stephanie always said she exaggerated
everything,
but Stephanie was so wrong about her, in so many ways.

She wished Stephanie could see the place, too, but that was impossible. Her holier-than-thou sister would never approve of the way she'd ended up here.

"You're doing
what?'
Steph had said when Tina had called her a few weeks back. "An escort, as in
...
a
prostitute?'

It was only sex. Sometimes she wondered if Steph even
had
sex with the men she dated.

When Stephanie had been in high school, she'd gotten in trouble for coming in late from a date more than once, and on one occasion Tina had spied her furiously making out with Tommy Rhodes on their front porch when she'd thought everyone was asleep. But somewhere along the way, Steph had changed. By the time Tina was old enough to start asking questions about guys, Stephanie had turned all prim and proper, all "Don't do this" and "Don't do that" and "Don't let yourself get talked into anything" and "You'll like yourself better if you wait."

"How long?" she'd asked once.

Stephanie had been packing her green tapestry suit-ease, the one Tina loved because it looked so sophisticated, to go back to college after a long weekend. She'd been making neat little rows of underwear and sweaters and jeans. " 'Til..." She'd pondered slowly, unaware that

Tina watched her fingers with the perfectiy-polished nails, admiring her every move as she packed so fastidiously. " 'Til you feel like you're in complete control of the situation."

Tina had hugged a throw pillow from Steph's bed to her chest. "You mean, like, being in love."

To her surprise, Stephanie had shaken her head. "No, more than that. In love with someone who loves you back and who you know would never hurt you or leave you. Ever. Someone truly worthy."

Tina could only guess her sister had been hurt by someone she'd slept with.

Well, so had she now—lots of times. Who hadn't? She'd learned long ago that sex was just part of fife and that it was silly to think of it as some sacred act, like Stephanie did. Christ, she'd still be a virgin if she'd waited for a guy as perfect as the one Steph had described.