Page 62 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

“Oh,” she breathed. She trailed her fingertips over his chest, covered in just the right amount of hair. Enough to be sexy but not so much that she couldn’t feel his skin beneath. His shoulders were broad, his pectoral muscles defined.

He held still, letting her look. Letting her touch.

She flattened her palms over his biceps, cursing the Band-Aids that kept her from the full experience. Next time.

There would be a next time.

Because he wanted this, too. Wanted exclusivity. With me.

It was more than she’d dared to hope for.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer for another kiss, this one deep and much more intimate. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment.

This was perfection. She never wanted it to stop. Her hands wandered lower until they reached the top button on his jeans.

He froze. Then he shuddered.

“Do it,” he whispered against her lips. “Please.”

She pulled the button free, then the next, her breath catching as her knuckles caressed his length. She dropped her gaze to his groin and had to wriggle on the chair as her body responded to the sight of him. The tip of his erection was poking free of the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Wow.”

His swallow was audible. “Don’t stop.”

So she worked her way through the buttons, revealing more of him with each one she freed. He was a big man. Everywhere.

She squeezed her thighs together, anticipating how good he was going to feel.

He didn’t miss the movement, his slow grin smugly masculine. He rose, nudging the chair away with one foot as he held out one hand. “My turn. Stand up.”

She rose, a shiver racing over her skin when he placed her hand on his erection. Then he was kissing her again, hot and hard and…perfect.

He pulled her sweater off and made a frustrated noise when he encountered the Kevlar vest. “Really?”

She was slightly out of breath. “Never got a chance to take it off.”

He pulled at the Velcro tabs, releasing her from the vest and tossing it on the chair behind her. She was left standing before him in her bra and leggings.

The sound he made then was the greediest she’d ever heard. She shivered again. Hard.

“Naomi.” He traced a finger from her throat to between her breasts, then followed the edge of her bra. It was her prettiest one. She’d chosen it that morning, hoping for a moment like this. But she hadn’t known to hope for the way she felt at this moment.

Desired. Cherished.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered reverently.

She wasn’t. She was thirty-six years old and scarred. But he made her feel beautiful. “So are you.”

He kissed her again, stealing the breath from her lungs. She linked her arms around his neck and pressed against his chest, moving side to side to give her nipples the friction she needed.

Groaning, he reached behind her and tugged at her bra strap. It fell away and he dragged the frothy lace down her arms and tossed it into the chair.

“Do the panties match?”

She found herself smiling cheekily. “You’ll have to find out.”

The dimple reappeared. “In a minute. I’m busy.”

His hands covered her breasts and she closed her eyes. He was taking his time and, on one hand, she appreciated the care. On the other hand, she was impatient.

“Burke. Hurry.”

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t rush me. We only get a first time once. I’m savoring.” He bent his head and licked her nipple, humming in pleasure when she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

“Burke.”

He wasn’t to be hurried, though. He explored her thoroughly until she was trembling. Needing more.

So much more.

She shoved his jeans down and slid her hand under the waistband of his underwear, gripping him firmly.

Hissing, he straightened abruptly, his dark eyes full of lust.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, wordlessly challenging him to hurry.

She gasped when he scooped her into his arms and carefully laid her on the bed. Like she was precious.

Tears pricked her eyes. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

He seemed to understand her rush of emotion, because he kissed her softly. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

“I promise. But so far, I’ve liked everything.”

The dimple was back. She hadn’t seen it nearly often enough. But if it came out when he was aroused, she could accept that. Because then only she would be its recipient.

“What has you looking like the cat in cream?” he asked indulgently.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He ran his fingertip over her lips. “Same.”

She reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs and tugged, but the angle was wrong from where she lay. “Take them off.”

“You’re bossy,” he said mildly, but he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pushed them down.

She swallowed. “Oh my.” Because… Wow. She needed that in her. Now. She reached for her leggings, but he shook his head.

“Mine.” He pulled them down her legs, leaving her wearing only a bit of white lace. “So pretty. I want to rip them off you, but I want to see them again.”

She laughed breathlessly as he slowly pulled her panties off. “Burke. Please.”

He bent to grab his jeans, going for his wallet.

She almost told him not to bother, that she hadn’t been with anyone since her divorce, but there was always the possibility of pregnancy and she knew she wasn’t ready for that.

Not now. But maybe later. When they’d seen where this thing between them went.

When he turned back to her, he wore a condom and a smile that rendered her speechless. She reached for him, sighing when he lowered his body to hers.

He touched her then, making another one of those lovely groans that vibrated from his chest. She felt it all over her body, lifting her hips at the way his finger felt inside her.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re wet.”

“Want you.”

He moved his hand to her hip, holding on as he slid inside her with one smooth thrust.

She closed her eyes. “Oh.”

“Good?”

“So good,” she breathed.

He kissed her again and she rolled her hips, needing more. His lips skimmed over her cheek to her throat.

It was her turn to freeze. She’d forgotten about her scar. How could she have forgotten?

“Beautiful,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He pushed her hand away when she tried to pull her hair over the scar. “Don’t hide from me, Naomi. Please. Let me see you.”

He threaded their fingers together, moving their joined hands to the pillow beside her head as he kissed the scar. “Beautiful,” he said again. He lifted his head so that he could see her eyes. “Tell me that you believe me.”

How could she not? When Burke Broussard said she was beautiful in that low Cajun rumble, how could she not believe him?

“I believe you.”

He started to move then, holding her gaze. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow. It was…perfect.

It was beautiful.

More than she could have imagined in all those lonely years.

When she came, it was on a throaty sigh of satisfaction.

When he came, it was with a groan that she was sure the whole house could hear. She’d probably be embarrassed tomorrow.

Right now, she was too sated to care.

He pulled out of her and disappeared for a minute. She was on her way to sleep when he climbed into the bed and spooned her from behind, his hand closing over her breast. It was just right.

“Sleep, darlin’,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

She was already drifting off. But hearing him call her “darlin’?” again made her smile.

—

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Thursday, February 27, 6:45 a.m.

Burke stretched awake, feeling pretty damn good. He had his arms full of a beautiful woman who was warm and curvy and…

Mine.

The thought might have scared him before he’d met Naomi. But he liked her. Importantly, he also respected and admired her.

He admired all of her, from her courage to her tender heart to her inquisitive brain. And her breasts. She had very nice breasts.

He wanted her again. But she slept deeply, and he knew it was a rarity for her. So he enjoyed holding her, the honeysuckle of her shampoo soothing him.

Until his phone buzzed under his pillow with an incoming text.

He hadn’t wanted a ringing phone to wake Naomi, but if any of his people needed him, the buzzing would wake him up.

He released his hold on Naomi and retrieved his phone.

Oh. He had two texts, both from Kaleb. The first one must have been what had woken him.

We need to talk. ASAP.

The second message read: Hello? I know you’re awake. It’s past six.

Because Burke normally was an early riser. Today he thought he could have slept another few hours.

A third message popped up. HELLO????

Burke slid his other arm out from under Naomi, freezing when she murmured in her sleep. But she snuggled back into the pillow with a sigh, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

I’m here , he texted back. Where and when do you want to talk?

At the coffee house where we last met. ASAP. I’m halfway there now.

Burke sighed quietly. Of course Kaleb would want to meet now. But Burke had been the one to request a conversation. Before talking to Juliette, he would have readily accepted, understanding that he had a lot of groveling to do.

Now, not so much. Because Kaleb had cheated on his wife.

Or it could be a misunderstanding.

How Burke wanted that to be true.

For a moment, he considered declining, but another message popped up.

Well? You said you wanted to talk to me.

Burke started to type something snarky but stopped himself at the next message from Kaleb.

Please, B. I need your help. Please.

Burke sighed again. He couldn’t refuse to help. Even if Kaleb had hurt Juliette with his affair. It was just that he couldn’t reconcile the Kaleb he’d known for thirty years with the man who’d apparently cheated on his wife.

The brain tumor theory was looking better all the time.

Fine , he replied. I’ll be there in 15–20 min.

Thank you.

He needed to clean up first. Meeting Kaleb while he still smelled of sex seemed like a bad plan.

Burke wanted to meet somewhere else. He knew the coffee shop Kaleb meant. It was just over the border of the Quarter in the Central Business District. Even at this time of the morning, tourists would be roaming the streets, many of them still drunk from the night before.

He shuddered. There would be puddles of piss and puke. He loved New Orleans but hated the smell of it in the morning after a major event.

A hand lightly traced down his spine, spreading a shiver over his bare skin.

“You okay?” Naomi whispered.

“Yeah. Kaleb wants to talk.”

“You want me to go with you?”

He kissed her softly. “No. You stay here and sleep.”

“I like your bed,” she murmured sleepily. “Smells like you.”

He smiled down at her. “And now it will smell like you, too. Honeysuckle.”

“Hmmm. Take Val. Please? So I don’t worry?”

He started to protest, mostly out of habit. He didn’t like not being able to go where he wished, when he wished, all alone. But these were not normal circumstances and her worry felt like a caress, not a rope around his neck. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes. “Bring back beignets.”

He chuckled and stroked her hair away from her face, away from her neck. Away from her scar. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pulled her hair back over the scar, but he pushed it away again. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t hide from me.”

Her sigh was resigned. “Okay. Be careful.”

He checked the time. Now he’d be late and Kaleb would yell at him about that, too.

He made up a little time by taking a shower before the water heated, and that put him in a sour mood. He was scowling by the time he got downstairs, but there was coffee, which helped.

Val and Molly were at his kitchen table, each clutching a mug as if they were afraid someone would take it from them.

Like me.

But there was still some in the pot and he made a beeline for it. Yes, he was heading to a coffee shop, but his body needed caffeine first.

“I thought he’d be in a better mood, considering,” Molly stage-whispered to Val. “They weren’t quiet.”

“Well, he is old,” Val said sympathetically. “Maybe he doesn’t remember.”

Burke snorted. “Shut up.” He fixed himself a travel mug of coffee. “I’m not old.”

“You’re one step from yelling at kids to get off your lawn,” Val said. “At least with that face you’re wearing.”

“She likes my face,” Burke muttered.

The two women laughed.

“What’s wrong, Burke?” Molly asked, patting the empty chair beside her.

He shook his head. “Can’t stay. Finally heard from Kaleb. He wants to meet for coffee.”

Val stood up. “Not without me.”

“I already promised Naomi I’d take you, but I figured you’d still be asleep, Val.”

“Nope. I got plenty of sleep. Let me get my jacket.”

Molly remained seated, watching him as Val ran upstairs. “What are you going to say to him, Burke?”

“I don’t know. He’s behaving so erratically, blocking my number on Juliette’s phone—and the kids’ phones—but he said he needs my help, so maybe…” He winced. “I’m hoping he has a brain tumor or something.”

Molly choked on her coffee. “Burke! That’s terrible.”

“I know. But I don’t want him to just be a selfish cur,” Burke said. “I know that’s stupid, but…”

“Not stupid. He’s as close to a brother as you have. If my sister needed my help, I’d go. Just be careful.”

“I know.” He scowled. “I hate needing a bodyguard.”

“Not for much longer, I hope. But kudos to Naomi for getting you to agree to one.” She smiled up at him. “I’m happy for you, Burke. You deserve this.”

He wasn’t sure that he did deserve Naomi, but that Molly thought he did was nice. “Thank you.”

Val jogged down the stairs. “You wearing a vest, Burke?”

“I am.”

“Good.”

They walked outside, the sun just peeking over the horizon. “We need to hurry, because I’m already late. We’re going down to Canal.”

Val grimaced. “Hopefully the street cleaners have gotten all the puke and piss.”

“Your mouth, God’s ears. Look, I don’t want Kaleb to see you. It’ll just make his fears more real. I’d like him to let me see the boys again, and having a bodyguard won’t help.”

“I’ll try to be discreet, but there aren’t a lot of places I can hide and still have eyes on you.”

“Once I’m in the coffee shop, I’ll be fine. Just stand at the door.” He hesitated. “That’s an order, Val. I have to work this out with Kaleb.”

She frowned at him as they race-walked, skirting around the tourists who were either early risers or still partying from the night before. “For the record, I do not like this. Not even a little.”

“I know. Please do it anyway.”