Slave to Love (50 page)

Quint stood. "
Vien
, join us. Da gumbo is nearly ready. Feel better now?"

In the kitchen, Jacque was leaning against the stove. His gaze traveled the length of her, taking in every detail. She clutched his robe tight to her breasts. She'd tied the belt as tightly as she could, but made as it was for his bigger frame, the front still hung wide open. Her legs were exposed to the thigh as she walked to the table, the robe’s hem trailing on the floor behind her.

"
C'est grand, ça
. Big, I see," he remarked, his eyes lingering on her bare legs.

"A little." She gathered it closer and slipped into the chair.

"No matter. You won' be wearin' it for long."

She gaped at him. A shiver skittered up her spine at the implication of his words. Her nipples tightened unexpectedly, sending a startlingly sharp spurt of sexual desire deep into her belly.

"Dat's right." Quint slid the wine glass over to her and smiled. "Your clothes'll be dry in no time."

She blinked, scandalized at the conclusion she'd leapt to, and worse, her body's reaction to it. "I hope so," she murmured.

She was really losing it. Much longer with these two and no telling what she'd do. She looked around for a clock. Four-thirty. "How far are we from Gerroux?" she asked.

"'Bout half an hour," Quint said. "Drink up."

She lifted the glass to her lips, and was suddenly struck by a terrible thought. The towel around her hair slid to her shoulders.

"Somethin' wrong,
chère
?" Quint looked at her inquiringly.

"No..." With a shaky hand, she set the glass back on the table and fumbled with the towel.

Jacque put down his ladle, licked his finger and sauntered over. He picked up the wine. "Smell off?"

"No, it—"

"Or maybe you're afraid we put somethin' in it?" He winked, and picked up her glass.

"Of course not, I..." She watched, mesmerized, as he took a big swallow, her own throat following the movement of his Adam's apple. "I was just—"

"See? Nothin' to worry 'bout."

His tongue slid out to capture a drop of burgundy liquid on the rim. He handed the glass back to her and she had to use two hands to take the damned thing, they shook so badly.

"What would I have to be worried about?" she stammered inanely. Her robe gaped open, and she almost dropped the glass grabbing for the lapels. The towel slid even further down her back.

Jacque eyed her breasts. "You mean besides bein' alone wit' two strange men, both big enough and strong enough to make you do most anything they want? Or you being naked under dat dressin' gown, wit' no way to escape us and no idea where you are even if you could?"

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If you enjoyed SLAVE TO LOVE, you might also like CATCH ME IF YOU CAN by Nina Bruhns.

Turn the page for an excerpt from . . .

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

(Book 1 of the New Orleans trilogy)

by

Nikita Black

Chapter 1

She had fourteen days to catch her man
.

If she hadn't done it by then, she could kiss everything she'd worked for goodbye.

"I'll raise you a thousand."

Katherine "Kit"Colfax watched the guy sitting to her right toss ten blue chips onto the table. A thousand dollars. Now they were getting somewhere.

"I'm good for the grand," Kit said, tipping two red chips into the large mound on the table. "And I'll raise…"She lifted her two facedown cards—a pair of kings—stalling. This was the most crucial hand of the game. If she blew it here, all would be lost—the case, her job, the life she treasured. "I'll raise another grand," she said confidently, adding two more red chips to the sizable heap.

Directly across the table, her quarry raised one perfect black brow. Taking a drag on his thin, sweet-smelling cheroot, he exhaled a line of smoke from between full, expressive lips.

Lord, he was a handsome devil, all broad shoulders and brooding dark looks. If Remi Beaulieux wasn't a career criminal, she might be seriously attracted to him.

"I think I need a drink," the redheaded bimbo sitting to his left commented wryly, plucking her two facedown cards from the table. A rank amateur.
Nobody
picked up their down cards. Giving them a grimace, the woman slithered around in her latex outfit so her arm touched the sleeve of Beaulieux's elegantly tailored jacket. If he bothered to look up, he'd have a grand view of both the cards and her ample cleavage. He didn't.

Interesting. Kit hoped she hadn't made a mistake borrowing the exorbitantly expensive, and very revealing, designer dress she was wearing. Success depended on her being able to attract the Southern aristocrat's attention.

Well, who knew, maybe he'd developed a conscience and didn't want to cheat. After all, he wasn't a cardsharp, but a jewel thief.

Unconsciously, Kit's hand went to her throat and touched the impressive string of sapphires draped there. Beaulieux caught the movement. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and he watched her fingers for a few seconds before lifting his gaze to hers. She gave him a little smile and caressed the necklace.

The very corner of his lip curled. She couldn't figure out if it was a smile or a snarl, but decided that either way it looked good on him. Real good. She was still looking when she realized the guy to her left had scooped his cards aside and quit the game. Damn, she really had to concentrate.

She glanced around the nearly empty table. The only remaining players were her, the guy to her right, the bimbo and Beaulieux.

There was a knock on the door. A waiter rushed in with a tray of refills of their drinks. One thing about these Vegas hotels, they kept you happy while you went broke. Especially in a no-dealer, invitation-only, backroom game. Kit waited patiently as the waiter exchanged a new daiquiri for the one she'd barely touched, then lifted the drink to her lips. Her nerves could definitely use the boost. It wasn't every day she played for her whole future.

If she didn't get what she came for tonight, she could say farewell to the job she loved. Moorefield Insurance was downsizing, and all but one of their small pool of insurance investigators had to go. She had a perfect record, but her boss thought she was reckless and her methods risky. And she'd already gone way past the line on this one.

Usually, she investigated specific claims by Moorefield clients, but there had been a string of robberies involving jewelry insured by the company, such that she was able to talk her boss into going after the man the police and FBI believed to be responsible.

Beaulieux was the classic gentleman thief, using his own social graces and charisma—and lots of money—to set up his jewel heists. Moorefield clients had made hundreds of thousands of dollars in claims, thanks to his handiwork. But to catch him, Kit had to follow his trail in person rather than by computer, and move in circles which demanded flaunting an extravagant wardrobe and similar accommodations. She was way over budget, and her boss, Mr. Potter, was not a happy camper. She'd finally managed to get a hot lead and had tracked Beaulieux to Vegas.

This was her last shot. If the sting on Remi Beaulieux didn't work, her boss would wash his hands of her when the grit hit the fan at the end of the month-just fourteen short days away.

"I'll see your, um, how much is it?" The redhead batted her fake eyelashes at Beaulieux and leaned close, oblivious of the two cards in her hand waving around for all to see.

Oh, brother.
Out of habit, Kit checked her own cards to make sure the woman's bunch of nothing wouldn't mess with her game. Not that it possibly could. A hidden pair of kings was one hell of a hand.

"It's two thousand dollars to you, ma'am," Beaulieux answered in his lazy Louisiana accent.

Man, oh, man, his voice conjured erotic images of smooth satin sheets on hot, sultry afternoons, the scent of honeysuckle and the taste of icy mint juleps sliding down kiss-parched throats.

The sound of chips clickety-clicking onto the table roused her from her reverie.

"Easy come, easy go," the bimbo declared with a giggle as she surveyed the one red chip remaining in front of her.

Beaulieux lifted his cheroot to his lips and glanced at his dwindling pile. His gaze moved to Kit's even smaller stack for a moment, then rose to her neck—and it wasn't the plunging neckline of her borrowed Karl Lagerfeld he was fascinated by. As he casually studied her sapphires, she tipped her head and wound a finger languorously through the strand—a subtle challenge.

Come on, baby. Come to mama.

Gripping the cheroot in his teeth, he drawled, "I'll see that two thousand." He added four chips to the heap. "And I'll raise you… "

He paused, his hand hovering above his stash, and looked at Kit again. A long, thorough look. His eyes glittered with calculation and unmistakable interest. Whether it was for her or the necklace, she couldn't say, but her mouth suddenly went as dry as the Mojave Desert in August.

She licked her lips in what she hoped was a distracting manner and took a sip of daiquiri, wishing to high heaven she could pick up her cards and fan her face with them.

"I'll raise you two thousand."

The bimbo groaned and slapped the two cards in her hand to the table. "I'm done for." She rose, her dress shimmying down over her hips so close to Beaulieux that if he'd turned his head, he would have been in danger of arrest for indecent acts in public. Plucking up her last chip from the table, the woman leaned over and slid it into his breast pocket, whispering something in his ear. Something that sounded a lot like a room number.

Fighting back an uncharacteristic urge to scratch the woman's eyes out, Kit pretended to count her own remaining chips and frown over the bet while the redhead and her tacky dress wiggled their way past the guard and out into the casino proper.

Good grief, what was with her tonight? Her job was at stake! Moorefield Insurance was not paying her to make a fool of herself over the handsome thief sitting across the table from her. They were paying her to put Remi Beaulieux in jail and recover their client's jewels. She had to get a grip. She was not about to lose her job over a set of shoulders with a drawl. She would succeed with her mission. She had to.

The man between her and Beaulieux tallied his chips, shook his head disgustedly and rose to leave. "Looks like it's down to you two."

Suddenly, the room grew very still. The whisper of the big hotel casino on the other side of the door—the muted ringing and whirring of the slots, the muffled laughter and music—all faded away. She looked at Beaulieux and he looked back at her.

"You seem to be short," he said.

She swallowed. "Yes." The word came out a bit breathy. At last, she was completely alone with her prey. So why was she suddenly feeling as if
she
was the one being hunted?" I guess I win," he said, making no move to rake in the sizable pot.

"I was—" She moistened her lips.

He quirked a brow, watching her tongue.

"I have this necklace. I was hoping…"

His gaze meandered to the sapphires, then up again. "Well now, I do believe that would be against house rules." His expression made it clear he didn't give a damn about rules, house or otherwise.

"I won't tell if you don't."

Again his lip curled in that roguish smile and her temperature kicked up about ten degrees. Man, oh, man, it should be illegal to look that sexy.

"And how much would you say that little trifle is worth?"

"Five thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seven dollars."

He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "Is that so?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I had it appraised recently. So, what do you think?"

He picked up what was left of his cheroot and slowly took one last, long pull at it. As she watched his lips, her imagination went into overdrive.

Lord, who was she kidding? The man was a thief, suspected of stealing a million dollars' worth of jewelry from Massachusetts to California -a good portion of which had been insured by Moorefield. Influential family or no, he was going to spend years behind bars, and she had every intention of being the one to put him there. She had no business wondering what his lips would taste like, pressed against hers.

"Okay, it's a deal."

She snapped out of her fantasy, wondering for a second if he'd been reading her thoughts.

"Let's say it's worth an even six thousand," he added.

Giving herself a mental shake, she smiled. "Most generous of you, Mr. Beaulieux."

"Please, call me Beau. It's a bit silly that we've been playing half the night and I don't even know your name."

"Beau, then."It was the first time he'd said his name, and although both she and her assistant, Ricky, had thoroughly checked his identity before setting up the sting, it was nice to hear it from his own mouth. "Katherine Colfax. I go by Kit."

His eyebrows shot up. "Kit Colfax?"

"Is there a problem?"

His gaze held hers assessingly for a moment. "Not at all." This time, both corners of his mouth curled up. He stubbed out the cheroot. "I believe the bet stands at four thousand. Shall we continue?"

"By all means." Forcing her eyes from his wicked smile, she reached up to unclasp the necklace. She didn't know which was making her more nervous, the thought of losing her job over this outrageous plan, or losing her cool over this outrageous man.

"Uh-uh," he admonished, wagging a finger at her.

The necklace glided into her palm in a glittery pool of blue. "You've changed your mind?"

"Oh, no. But to be strictly fair, you must first use up all your chips."

She blinked. Now, why would he want her to do that? She recounted the chips in front of them. "But then you'd have to ante up to match it. It would take everything you've got."

He grinned. "Worried about me?"

"Of course not. I just thought—"

His grin turned positively diabolical. "Or maybe you're afraid to risk everything
you've
got."

"Certainly not." She glanced over at his up cards.
Eight, three and a queen of hearts.
One of his down cards had to be another queen. She'd been watching him carefully all evening and he played like a pro. His eyes said he was sure he'd win, but the cards said otherwise. Her kings beat his queens no problem.
Unless he had three.
She prayed he did. Everything depended on him winning the necklace, so she could lay her trap to arrest him.

She gifted him with a smile. "There's no way I'll lose."

She pushed her little pile of chips into the pot and dropped the necklace on top. "That's a raise of thirty-five to you."

He pursed his lips. "So it is." One by one, he tossed his remaining chips to the center of the table, counting them off as he went, until the last one was gone. "There's your thirty-five."