Guilty Cravings (The Steamy South 1) (3 page)

Ten minutes later,
Emily returned to the reception wearing a shorter, more casual ivory dress. Her
gaze flicked toward him and a crimson blush covered her face and throat.
Arousal rampaged through him again because he knew she’d seen everything.

For three years, that
had been Nick’s favorite memory and jacking-off fantasy. Of course, he always
embellished it, making Emily the focus. Now he just needed to get away from her
ASAP, before he was tempted to do something he shouldn’t.

* * * *

Wearing what she
hoped were unsexy yoga pants, a bra and t-shirt, Emily jogged down the stairs.
She found Nick standing in her living room, staring out the window toward the
street as if in deep thought. He appeared out of place among her dainty
Victorian antiques. He reminded her of a wild animal—a golden panther,
intelligent gaze and powerful muscles, quietly waiting and watching. Maybe
dangerous?
Yes, definitely dangerous
. He exuded fearlessness and
confidence.

Though caution kept
her on guard, something about him reeled her in. She caught herself taking
deeper breaths than necessary, testing the air for his hypnotizing scent. He
was the type of man who made a woman think of sex—whether she wanted to or not—raw,
pounding, up-against-the-wall sex.

Dear god, I’ve
gone insane.
So
it had been a while since she’d let a man touch her—she had good reason. And
the first one to get noticed by her libido was her ex’s younger brother?

Idiotic.

He pulled in a breath
and turned his head slightly toward her.

“Would you like some
coffee?” She gave a short laugh. “I can’t believe I’m offering coffee to
someone who broke into my house.”

He gave a wry
half-grin, but his dark gray eyes were magnetic. She could hardly think while
his gaze held hers.

“No, thanks,” he
said. “I’m sorry for picking your lock, Emily. I thought it was the only way to
be sure nothing was here. And I didn’t want to alarm you.”

Amazingly, he truly
did sound contrite. The way he said her name in that deep, rough-edged voice
snagged her attention and made her skin pebble. No, she had to focus.

“Surely you don’t think
I would hide something,” she said. Was he investigating her?

“No. But everything
about this is strange. I don’t understand it.”

“I didn’t go to his
funeral,” she rushed to explain. “I couldn’t. He had a new girlfriend. I hadn’t
talked to him or his parents in over a year.”

Nick shrugged. “I
noticed you weren’t there.”

“I hope you don’t
think I’m guilty of something because of that.”

He shook his head. “I
know it was a man who killed Jared. I just have to find the motive, then maybe
I’ll know his identity.”

A cold ribbon of
revulsion and fear slithered down her spine. Dear god, could Jared have
actually been murdered? Why? And by whom? It was almost impossible for her to
grasp that he was dead, much less murdered. Jared—the man she’d been married to
for almost a year. The man she’d lost her heart to. The man who’d made her life
hell on earth.

“Did he have any
enemies?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know. I
rarely saw him after we separated almost two years ago. How do you know the
murderer was a man?”

Nick studied her for
a long speculative moment. “Can I trust you, Emily?”

His low, yet intense
tone and his words left her speechless. Why did he keep saying her name in that
hypnotic, enticing way? As if he enjoyed saying it, as if it were a special
incantation.

“Yes,” she said. “You
can trust me. I mean, I won’t tell anyone whatever you tell me.”

“I hope not. They
wouldn’t believe you anyway. Hell,
you
probably won’t believe me.”

“If you say it’s the
truth, I will.” She didn’t know why, but she trusted him and wanted to earn his
trust in return.

His gaze darkened,
then he looked away and breathed deep. “I don’t know if Jared or anyone told
you, but sometimes I’m psychic.”

“What? No. No one
told me. Are you, truly?” She’d never imagined such a thing about him.

He gave a brief nod.
“It’s unpredictable. Since I was a kid—when I almost drowned—I’ve had visions.
Not visions of the future, but visions of things as they’re happening, across
town or in another state. They always relate to someone I know. When Jared
died, I was with him mentally. His death was no accident. Some bastard killed
him and it had to do with an object. I just don’t know what.”

“Oh my god,” she
whispered. “That must have been horrible for you, seeing a vision of your
brother dying.”

“It was.” Grim pain
gleamed in his eyes. “Jared and I weren’t too close in recent years, but we
used to be when we were kids. And he was still my brother. I have to find
whoever did this.”

“Of course.” If she
had a murdered sibling, she’d feel the same way.

“This object—I think
it was some sort of antiquity from Celtic culture. I haven’t seen it, but in my
vision, the man said something about Druids, supernatural powers and a ritual.”

She nodded. “Sullivan
is an ancient Irish name, and Jared was always fascinated by Celtic artifacts.
But I had no idea he was interested in anything with supposed supernatural
powers.”

“Right. Sounds
strange. That’s all I know. I’ve searched his apartment, his new girlfriend’s
home, his office. I haven’t found squat.”

“How did you—”

Hard rock music
blasted from Nick’s phone and he slid it from the case on his belt. “Excuse
me," he told her, then turned to pace away. "Nick here,” he answered.
“Right, I’ll be there at seven,” he murmured in a low tone. “Yeah, Rebel’s.” He
paused, listening. “All right. See you later.” He put his phone away and turned
to Emily. “I have to get back to Atlanta. But I’ll leave you my number. If you
see or hear anything about Jared or this object, give me a call.”

“Sure.” Since she
hadn’t heard anything about it so far, she doubted she would. She retrieved a
note pad and pen from the desk in the corner and Nick wrote down a number in
terse scratches.

He stepped close and
handed her the paper and pen. Being near him disturbed her on a primal level.
He smelled delicious to her deprived senses, like leather and raw, aggressive
male. A tingle traveled up her arms and circled her breasts. What would that
dusky gold five o’clock shadow feel like rasping over her beaded nipples? And
those sculpted, sensual lips. They would feel divine plucking at her nipples.
Arousal rushed toward her crotch and she stepped back.

“I have to find the
sonofabitch who killed him,” Nick said. “I won’t rest until I do.”

She nodded,
admiration for him overwhelming her. When she’d first met him, she’d been aware
he was a playboy. Likely that was still true, but the determination in his eyes
told her he had a more serious, deadly side. His cop side. It was frightening,
but at the same time, electrifying.

“Call me if you need
anything at all,” he said, heading toward the door.

“Okay. Thanks.” She
needed something all right.

He gave her a mock
salute and disappeared out the door.

She supposed they
were even—they’d each seen the other naked. She glanced down at his number on the
paper. Now that she had it, what would stop her from calling him should her
sexual needs become overwhelming?

Chapter
Three

Although Emily was
relieved to finally be done with the latest grand society wedding, an eerie
sensation dogged her as she drove through the historic district of Savannah,
turned down West Harris Street and parked outside her house.

After sliding from
the car, she peered through the night at the street lined with restored
eighteenth and nineteenth century homes. Light shone from several of their
windows. Everything appeared normal, but the ancient twisted oak limbs dripping
with Spanish moss blocked out most of the illumination from the streetlights.

She had never been
afraid coming home late, but something felt wrong tonight. Listening, she heard
nothing except the calls of cicadas and crickets along with the hum of distant
traffic. Further down, someone walked their dog, and a jogger passed through
Pulaski Square.

Emily climbed the steps
onto her veranda. The front door stood open a crack. She froze. What the hell?
Someone had broken in? A chill lanced through her and she ran back down the
steps, stumbling halfway down. She grabbed onto the iron balustrade to keep
from falling, her heart tripping along.

“Oh shit,” she hissed
over and over as she ran to her neighbor’s house across the street. Fumbling
with her cell phone, she dialed the police.

Who could’ve broken
into her house? A random burglar or the person who’d murdered Jared?

* * * *

Forty-five minutes
later, the cops had searched Emily’s house, but found no intruder inside.
However, one of the windows by the back door had been shattered from the
outside. Apparently the maniac had only left the front door open to let her
know immediately he’d been there. When the police escorted her inside the
house, she found nothing of value missing, not even her jewelry, but she did
discover a few things out of place or knocked over, as if someone had been
searching for something.

This couldn’t have
been Nick entering and searching her house again. He’d used a lock pick. Plus,
he hadn’t overturned anything or left a trace he’d been there. Very different
from the current circumstance. The psycho who’d broken in tonight must have
been the man Nick had talked about—the murderer who wanted some object Jared
had. She shivered, nausea welling up inside her.

While the police
searched for fingerprints around the broken window, she dug out the number Nick
left and punched it into her cell phone. No answer. And his voice mail box was
full.

“Dammit.” She had to
get in contact with him.

The cops were going
to stay while she packed a bag so she could go to her friend Tia’s house, but
they received another emergency call. She assured them she’d be leaving within
five minutes. One of the officers had been nice enough to nail a spare board over
the broken window. She’d have to get an alarm system installed ASAP.

As she was packing
her overnight bag, her home phone rang. She picked it up and the caller ID read
restricted. Who could that be?

She frowned and
placed the phone against her ear. “Hello?”

“Where is it?” asked
the benign sounding male voice.

“What? You must have
the wrong number.”

“Where is the
Clach
Torach
, Emily?” he questioned in a more forceful tone.

A spider-like chill
crawled down her spine. Was this the bastard who’d broken into her home and
searched it? He knew her name, but she didn’t recognize his voice. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about. Who is this?” she demanded.

“Don’t lie to me! I
know you have it.”

Oh shit!
Clearly this maniac was insane.
She shivered. Why would he think she had something he wanted? Somehow this was
linked to Jared’s death.

“If you don’t give it
to me, you’ll regret it. You better find it! I’ll call you tomorrow and tell
you where to bring it.” The phone went dead.

Chills racking her
body, she dropped the phone as if it were venomous. “Oh my god.” Nick had been
right. Some bastard had killed Jared over an ancient object.

Her fingers
trembling, she dialed Nick’s number again on her cell. She counted three rings.
“Answer the phone. Please!”

An automated female
voice came on again, telling her the voicemail box was full.

“Dammit, Nick. Why
don’t you clean out your voicemails?” She clicked the off button.

Since she’d first met
him, she’d known he worked undercover. Could he be working a deep cover case
now and that’s why he wasn’t answering?

She remembered what
he’d said when he’d answered his phone in her living room. He’d mentioned
something about Rebel’s and she’d wondered what that was. Maybe she could find
him there.

At her desk in the
corner of the living room, she powered up her laptop and went online. A search
for Rebel’s Atlanta came up with a nightclub. Could that be where he was
currently working? She had to give it a shot.

Since he was
undercover, she’d have to be careful approaching him…if he was even there.
She’d have to pretend to be someone else. And who knew what name he used?

Emily paused. Was
this a smart decision? What other choice did she have if she wanted to remain
safe? She couldn’t stay with friends or family, putting their lives in danger
from this psycho murderer.

Nick was a police
officer who could protect her and he had a personal interest in this situation.
If anyone could stop this bastard and put him behind bars, it was Nick.

To approach him in a
nightclub, she’d have to pretend to be a sexy chick who wouldn’t be shy about
hitting on him. She’d need to look like someone he’d have a one night stand
with. Since she’d been away from the dating scene so long—except for one
hideous blind date—she had no clue how to be hot and flirty. But she could
bluff.