Wild (7 page)

The wine dribbled in wet streams down his soot-covered face. He grimaced, but his expression held mirth. “I think we should have waited for the water.”

“No kidding. That was a Louis Jadot. Not a mouthwash meant for gargling and spitting.” Garoux took back the glass, affronted at the waste. “I'll go get some water. Try not to spit on the carpet. It's a lot more expensive than the wine.” Garoux left the room as Broderick continued to stroke the hair from her forehead.

If she wasn't feeling so weak, she might have slapped his hand away. It was a rather intimate gesture. However, she was feeling kind of benevolent toward him at the moment. And she liked his gentle touch.

Voice still rough, but somewhat soothed by the wine, she rasped out, “What happened to me?”

“I'm not sure what happened before I arrived. I got to the club, and you were collapsed in the hall. I carried you outside.”

Something nagged. Something he'd said or not said. Whatever it was tickled the edge of her mind and took a backseat to a more pressing truth. “You came into a burning building and saved me?” Tough as nails or not, Lulu was girly enough to find pleasure in that. When she forced her brain—and ignored its pounding protest—she managed a vague recollection of seeing him before he lifted her to his shoulder. He had carried her out. But that vague recollection was nothing compared to the much more vivid memory of the giant tiger in her office who'd smashed down her office door and then licked her when she'd taken a break from crawling to escape. “What about the tiger?”

“Tiger? What tiger?” Brody uttered a small laugh. A false one.

“The one that helped me escape.”

He averted his gaze. “Wow, you must have really inhaled a lot of that smoke. There was no tiger there.”

“What about those guys? The ones who clocked me?” The ones he'd alluded to, and yet, by his own words, hadn't he arrived after they'd left? How did he know about them? And what about the club? Was the fire contained?

“The bar?” She sat up. “Is it all right? Did someone call 911?”

“The fire was put out, and they think the building was saved, but the bar won't be open for a while. The fire gutted the back end of it pretty good. We won't know the true extent of the damage until the place cools down and the inspectors can get in to assess. They'll need to check the structure to see if it's safe to renovate.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

Brody didn't immediately answer, using Garoux's reappearance to stall. Lulu eagerly took the glass of water offered, the tall glass tumbler cool in her hands. The liquid was cold and refreshing as it slid down her burning throat. The water held a hint of mint and an almost medicinal aftertaste.

Is Garoux trying to drug me?
She forced herself to stop drinking to ask, “What's in the water?”

“Nothing nefarious, I assure you. Simply a healing brew we keep on hand.”

“On account of he likes to yell a lot and give himself a sore throat.” Broderick's mock whisper and accusation almost made her giggle—which was totally out of character. A fear it would send her into another coughing fit had her biting her tongue instead.

What she did ask, again, was, “Did anyone get hurt in the fire?”

“Not exactly.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Broderick shot Garoux a look. Why would he look to the other man in the first place? Exactly how did they know each other, and why would Broderick bring her here? It occurred to her rapidly clearing brain that the pair seemed well acquainted. Well acquainted enough to share a secret. Her gut insisted there was something afoot here. Was Broderick working for Garoux? But in what capacity?

What use could a mob lord have for an investigative accountant?

What about bribing him to look the other way if he finds something?

Was Broderick a criminal? She sure hoped not. Criminals belonged behind bars, not featured in her lusty fantasies.

“No one was technically hurt,” Broderick finally replied. “However, given your car was found in the club's parking lot and that you haven't checked in, for the moment, you're presumed dead in the fire.”

Now there was an unexpected answer. “I can't be dead!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. You won't be dead for long. Once the fire investigators get into the building, they'll soon realize there's no body.”

“Or even quicker than that, we can call someone and let them know I'm alive.”

Again, Garoux and Broderick shared a look. “Or not.”

“What do you mean, ‘not'?”

A “bah!” sound emerged from Garoux. “Use your head, girl. Someone was out to kill you.”

“We can't be sure of that. I wasn't supposed to be there. Maybe their goal was to burn down the club, and I just happened to get in the way.”

“Perhaps,” Garoux conceded. “In that case, why don't you call the cops to let them know you're okay and then go home? Give me a call in the morning if you're still alive.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Broderick shifted to block Garoux from her line of sight. A much better view, even if his dirt-striped face wasn't his most attractive look. “What my boss is not so eloquently saying is if we let the world at large know that you're not dead, and you were the target, then those thugs might try again.”

She finished the summation. “But if they think I'm dead, then maybe we can draw them out and have them arrested?”

“Yeah, something like that. Except without the ‘we' part. You won't be doing anything but laying low.”

She struggled to a sitting position. “You are not going after these guys yourself. They're criminals. Murderers. And you're a…” She stalled on what to call him, a name that wouldn't emasculate him. Yes, Brody had some awesome qualities, bravery coming to mind, given he'd saved her at obvious peril to himself. But it was one thing to act the hero and another to play the part of hunter.

A numbers guy, Broderick was better suited to office shenanigans than violent ones involving unsavory sorts. Yet she seemed to have forgotten Broderick didn't work alone.

“Brody's a wily cat. He'll land on his four paws. Or lose another life. Either way, I have the utmost belief he can take care of himself and track down these unsavory bears. I mean, bastards.”

Bears? Funny how Garoux's slip of the tongue brought back a fuzzy recollection of two furry bodies wrestling out in the hall by her office.

A tiger and a bear?
I really should get myself to a hospital and get checked for a concussion.

And she really needed to get to a phone to let someone know where she was. Certain people would get worried when she didn't check in.

And Daddy's never been good at keeping that itchy trigger finger of his still.

 

CHAPTER 9

It didn't take a genius to see the questions clouding Lulu's green eyes. Nor did it take much of a whiff for him to recognize they both needed a shower. And, no, it wasn't an ulterior motive to get her naked. Mostly.

“You know what, why don't we get cleaned up? Refresh ourselves and we'll talk about this when we're not so gross.”

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?” She arched a brow at him.

“No, it's my way of getting you naked.” He winked at her round O of surprise. He didn't ask permission as he slid his arms under her knees and upper body. As he lifted her from the couch, she made a protesting sound but at the same time flung her arms around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Yeah, what are you doing?” Fabian asked.

While Brody had filled his boss in on a few key facts, he'd forgotten to mention one. He did so over his shoulder as he took Lulu from the room. “Taking my mate to the blue room to get clean.” And then dirty, if he was lucky.

However, that would depend on Lulu. She seemed mostly recovered from her smoky mishap, if still hoarse. The sexy growl to her voice, though, just rendered her more attractive.

Except when she used it for speaking things other than sweet nothings. “Why are you carrying me? I am perfectly capable of walking.”

“But you don't know where you're going.” A good answer that she poked a hole in.

“I could have followed.”

“It's quicker this way. And besides, your shoes are filthy. You wouldn't want to make more work for the cleaning staff.”

Even she couldn't refute that logic. “I guess. Why are we here, Broderick, in Fabian Garoux's home?”

“I think you've known me long enough to call me Brody.”

“How about Fluffy because you're just as annoying as my neighbor's bloody dog?”

“A dog? You're comparing me to a dog?” The horror.

“Well, you do act like one at times. Always sniffing around me. Making dirty suggestions. Panting with your tongue practically on the floor the few times we've been together.”

“Since when is it a crime for a man to display his interest in an attractive woman?”

“It's not. You were just asking why I compared you to a dog.”

“I think I've got more in common with a cat.”

“Because?”

“I always land on my feet. I've got feline grace. Awesome fur. And if you stroke me the right way, I might purr.”

“I changed my mind. You're a pig.”

“And you're a brat?” He growled, hoisting her from his arms up over his shoulder in one fell move.

She let out a squeak. “Put me down.”

“No.” He followed his refusal with a slap to her round bottom.

Another squeal left her. “Don't you dare do that again.”

Slap
. “Or?”

“I'll hurt you.”

With what, the worst case of blue balls ever? Too late. He already suffered from those. He couldn't help it. He gave her another smack and then a smooth caress of his hand over her cheeks.

She squirmed but couldn't escape his grip. “Oh, you wait until I get my hands on you.”

“I'd love your hands on me. You could start by stripping me. Then, when we're both naked, we could wrestle. If I pin you, I get a prize.”

“You're impossible.” She groaned. She hit him with a closed fist against his lower back. It might have really hurt a punier man … or a human.

Brody just laughed. “You'll have to do better than that,” he teased.

So she did. For a moment, he almost stumbled, giving lie to his claim of feline grace. But then again, the fact that she lifted his shirt and exposed his skin and then placed her mouth on it seemed a good reason in his mind. She touched him, with her mouth.

So she could bite him!

“Ow!” he bellowed, his body twisting at the hard chomp, more out of shock than actual pain.

“I'll bite you again if you don't put me down.”

“What about I put you down if you do promise to bite again?” was his reply as he finally located the door he wanted. He spun the handle and opened the portal, stepping into the plush blue room, which he used on the occasions he spent the night and wasn't in the mood—or a state—to drive home.

With one foot, he kicked the door shut. Privacy, at last.

“You want me to bite you? What is wrong with you?”

“Too many things to list.” He let her slide down the length of his body, setting her on her feet before him but keeping his hands on her waist so she couldn't go anywhere.

Her breath caught, a stutter that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of the fire but more to do with the arousal surrounding her in a musky scent. “What's your relationship with Garoux?”

There was an unexpected question. “He's my mentor.”

“I heard you call him your boss.”

“That, too. I've known Fabian since I was a child. Since I didn't have a father growing up, he kind of provided a role model.”

“A mob lord as a role model? And your mother allowed it?”

“You just know the Fabian that the media paints.”

“Are you going to deny he runs the city's mob?”

“Yeah, he's leader of the pack, but he's not a bad guy. Tough, yes, but not evil like some other dudes out there.”

“And that's supposed to make his illegal activities okay?”

“Who says he's doing anything illegal?” Brody countered. “Why this interest in my boss? What you should be more concerned with is whether I'm going to kiss you or not.”

The change in subject had her eyes widening. She opened her mouth to … protest? Accept? He didn't know. Didn't care.

He stole the words by kissing her. To his delight, she kissed him back!

Soft lips parted and let him suck on tender flesh. He nibbled her mouth, inhaled her stuttering breath, wrapped her tightly in his arms.

How right she felt, a soft, plush armful of woman, his woman, a woman who tasted of ash.

It occurred to him that the only thing better than kissing Lulu would be kissing Lulu naked under massaging hot jets of water.

Not breaking their embrace, he lifted her from the floor by keeping his hands on her waist and straightening. She was tiny next to his larger frame. Tiny, yet tough.

She nipped his lower lip. “Where are you going?”

“Hot shower.” Two magic words.

One big reward. Her tongue. Sinuous and slippery, her tongue invaded first, stroking across his and drawing a groan. As he fumbled for the water control knob in the shower, she sucked on him, stringing his desire for her so taut he thought he might explode from the tension.

As the water spewed forth, cold initially while the warm stuff made its way, he let his hands yank at the hem of her shirt. She unlaced her arms from around his neck and allowed him to peel it from her.

As he flung it to the side, his curious cat couldn't help but ask, “Are you okay with this?” If she said no, he might lose a life in the process because he'd surely die if he didn't get to touch her.