"Oh." She licked her lips. Discomfort warring with an intense desire to wrap herself up in this man. A lifetime of putting up walls won out, though, and she licked her lips, at the same time easing the sheet over her bare thigh. "Listen, Luc, today has been, well, it's been great. But I really do need to get going."

  "Why?"

  The question startled her, though she certainly should have expected it. "Well, I might be off from work, but I have tons of paperwork to catch up and evidence to review for all of my cases."

  He nodded, his eyes intense as he sat on the bed again. "You've already admitted there's something happening between us. I thought we'd agreed to explore that."

  "I..." She trailed off, then shrugged. How could she explain to him that she was fine with the sexual tug between them? If that's all it was, she'd stay in his bed forever. Sex she could deal with. But this was more. The way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he talked with her—as if she were special, as if they could have a future...

  She didn't have the tools to deal with that. All she knew how to do was run.

  "I'm not proposing marriage, Caitlyn," he said, once again sitting next to her. He took a strand of hair and curled it around his finger, then flashed a devilish grin. "At least not yet. Just a dinner that you won't run from." He stroked her cheek, his hand caressing her face, then tracing her lips. "And maybe a bit of after-dinner entertainment."

  Her buttons. He knew every single one of them.

  How to manipulate her, how to say exactly the right thing. That reality both frightened and comforted her, and her head screamed that she should run far and fast from this man. That he could get past her defenses, leaving her bare and vulnerable.

  She stayed anyway. And she had to wonder if she was being supremely stupid or if, God help her, she was falling in love.

  Chapter Seven

  They had dinner at Commander's Palace and then went dancing at Tipitina's. An elegant dinner followed by the crush of bodies, sweat, and the pulse of music and lust in her veins. They pressed together on the dance floor, moving to a rhythm that the band couldn't hear but that seemed to beat through both of them.

  They took a taxi back to his house, and had she been doing her job, she would have cited them both for indecent exposure. In truth, she didn't think the driver saw anything, but it had taken every ounce of self-control in Cate's body not to scream in pleasure as Luc made her come, his fingers buried in her slippery folds.

  They'd left her panties on the floorboard of the cab. Just a tiny souvenir.

  Inside, they'd made a beeline for the bedroom, barely managing to stay somewhat clothed before the door shut behind them, exercising that tiny amount of propriety in case Martin happened to be about.

  All night, Luc's presence had been taunting her.

  His scent, the subtle brush of his hand. When he'd finally touched her in the taxi, she'd come right away.

  Now, again, she had no patience to wait.

  She reached for his belt, her fingers fumbling as she unfastened it, letting it hang open as she moved on to the button. His hands were just as busy, inching her skirt up around her waist, cupping her right there as she clenched her thighs together, allowing no chance to lose his touch.

  He stroked her, a single finger sliding over her. And when her legs simply couldn't hold her upright anymore, she fell backwards onto the bed.

  He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his jeans, then climbed onto the bed to straddle her. Her skirt was around her waist, her blouse unbuttoned, and she lay there exposed and needy. He watched her, one hand cupping her breast. “You're beautiful," he said.

  “Tell me later." She had to force the words out past a wall of need. "Right now, I want you inside me."

  His face changed with her words, his expression turning possessive. Good. She wanted him to have her, to take her, and dammit, if he didn't do it right then, she thought that she would scream.

  When he thrust inside her, she almost did. He consumed her, filled her, and when he pounded inside her, she was certain she was going to rip apart. She matched him, thrust for thrust, her hips bucking. They were wild, desperate for each other, as if by this frantic lovemaking they could discover the source of their connection. As if, by the melding of flesh, they could become one.

  The orgasm ripped through her, and she clung to him, fingernails clenched into his shoulders, her body bucking beneath him. It was primitive and wild, and with this man, it felt completely right. Exhaustion took her, and she curled up against him, still half-clothed. His fingers played with the buttons on her shirt, finally unfastening them all and laying the material open to expose her breasts. She hadn't worn a bra, and now he stroked her, his fingers dancing lazily around her nipples.

  "I'd be careful if I were you," she said dreamily. "I might demand a repeat performance."

  "And I might be happy to oblige." He kissed her breast, the heat from his lips shooting straight down between her thighs. She squeezed her legs together, prolonging the pleasure, and sighed. "You're wonderful," he said.

  "No, I'm not." The words came out automatically. A simple truth. And she rolled sideways, drawing her thumbnail to her mouth even as she spooned against him. She hadn't meant to bring her past into their bed, but it had come anyway, and now she shrank from the memories.

  His hand idly stroked her hip, and she could feel the light touch of his breath on the back of her neck. For a moment, she didn't think he was going to speak, then he shifted, moving to sit up with his back against the headboard. She stayed where she was, but pulled her knees to her chest. His fingers found her hair, and he stroked softly.

  "I can only report what I see," he said.

  "My father raped my mother," she said simply, unable to look at him. Tears welled in her eyes and she squeezed them tight, fighting the pain, trying to hold on to reason. She wasn't stupid. She knew that simply because her mother said something didn't make it so. But that didn't change the hole in her stomach when she thought about her life.

  "She told me that he was more than a bad man—that he was cursed. And that he passed it on to me."

  His fingers stilled in her hair. "I'm sorry. Was he a stranger?"

  "No. She knew him. He was obsessed with her, and she’d avoided him. I don’t know his first name, but his last name was Duchat."

  "Duchat?" The word was a question.

  "Do you know the name?"

  "No. There’s something familiar about it, but ... no."

  She knew she shouldn’t be disappointed—it wasn’t as if she’d expected he would know the man—and yet she couldn’t help the niggling frustration that seemed to poke at the back of her neck.

  She shrugged, forcing it away. "For years, I tried to track him down. Never managed."

  She drew in a shaky breath, hating that her mother’s coldness toward her because of what that man did still stung so much. "She tried to end the pregnancy. It didn't work."

  "Oh, baby." He held her close. "You were—you are—innocent."

  "I know. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he was cursed. Like there’s something of him still inside me." She didn't want to cry. And she told herself she didn't want his sympathy. But when he whispered, "Come here," the dam burst. The tears poured out and she rolled over, letting him close his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest. She did want him, dammit. She wanted his sympathy and his support.

  For the first time in her life, she not only wanted a man's love, she needed it. She needed this man's love.

  He held her for an eternity, his hands gently stroking her back, his muscles taut and firm under her hands. And when the tears stopped and she was no longer shaking, he said simply, "Tell me all of it."

  And she did. She told him about growing up with her mother, about never doing anything right. Of trying anything and everything to get the woman's attention until, finally, she'd forgotten just why she'd been acting out in the first place. "I stayed out late, I drank, I was rowdy as hell. I slept around. Anything and everything to prove my mother right. I was cursed. A bad girl."

  "You were looking for someone," he said. "Someone to save you from your life. Or for your father, for retribution."

  "No—"

  "And when you didn't find either, you became a cop. Now you're helping other people. Doing for them what no one ever did for you."

  His words shot through her, the touch of truth cold against her heart. "No." She whispered the protest. "I'm not that noble. All I'm doing—all I've ever done—is try to erase my mother's voice in my head."

  He pressed a kiss to her hair. "The cause doesn't matter. What you're doing is noble. You are helping people, and you are doing good."

  She'd been pressed against him, the top of her head to his chest so that if she opened her eyes all she saw was the bed and their bodies. Now she tilted her head up, straining to look into his eyes. "It doesn't matter," she said, "because it never ends. I can't save anyone. Not really. Hell, I can't even save myself."

  "Perhaps you aren't meant to save yourself," he said. "And as for others, about that, you're wrong."

  "No—"

  He pressed a finger to her lips. "You can, Caitlyn. You can save me." He stroked her cheek. "And believe me when I say that you already have."

  * * *

  She was obsessed with finding the escaped cat, and Luc could do nothing to dissuade her from her job.

  He watched as she used her vacation days to pore over records, check 911 calls for reports of animals in alleys, and check in with the hospital, hoping that one of the victims had regained consciousness. She was concerned about the victims' condition, of course. But she also wanted information.

  Luc hoped the victims survived, too, though for a different reason. While Caitlyn wanted information, he wanted absolution. He wanted to know that he was not a murderer even though he couldn't erase the fact that he'd surely put those people through hell.

  Most of all, he wanted Caitlyn to back off the search. If they survived, and if there were no more attacks, then with time he figured she would back off. The city would assume the animal had been killed by a car or a shotgun, and that would be the end of that.

  Right now, though, he knew that her blood burned with the need to capture the savage who was stalking the innocents on the streets of New Orleans. What would she do, he wondered, if she knew that he was the man she sought, the creature she'd come to hate even though she did not know the beast was him?

  There was no reason for her to know. The realization came to him in a flash, and he knew that was the only way. With Caitlyn in his arms and in his bed, he was safe. He'd carry the secret to his grave. She need never, ever know the dark parts of his soul.

  Indeed, he tried to escape the dark himself. During the day, when he managed to pull her away from work, they walked the French Quarter, sipping chicory coffee and eating beignets at Cafe Du Monde before strolling down Royal and peering into the windows of the antique stores that lined the picturesque street. They held hands and laughed and joked.

  At night, though, shadows loomed, the shadow of his secret most of all. And even when he was spent, exhausted after losing himself in her arms, still he lay awake, watching this woman who was his savior. This woman he'd come to love. He couldn't disappoint her. Couldn't ever let her know. The truth, he vowed, would remain hidden.

  As he did every night, Luc watched as Caitlyn's chest rose and fell, sleep having finally overtaken her. He'd meant what he'd said a few days ago. She had saved him. This woman who didn't even know her own worth was, literally, his key to salvation.

  She deserved his love. And, so help him, she had it.

  She murmured in her sleep, shifting against him, and he stroked her hair, saying soft things, wanting to make the world right for her. She stilled, and he simply watched her, amazed that someone so beautiful could doubt herself so much.

  They sat like that for a while, him watching, absorbing the essence of Caitlyn, until sleep started to overtake him. He was just about to drift off when she tensed, crying out in her sleep and sitting bolt upright, her breath coming in gasps as she clutched his arm. She stared at him, her eyes wild, but she didn't seem to see him.

  "Caitlyn! Caitlyn!"

  She blinked, finally focusing, the alarm on her face fading to relief. "I had a dream."

  "A nightmare, more like it."

  She nodded, easing herself up to hug her knees and press her body closer to his. It was a subtle motion, but it warmed him. She trusted him, wanted his comfort. And he wanted to give it to her. "Not as bad as some of my nightmares, though." She tilted her head a bit, this time aiming a gentle grin toward him. "And not nearly as pleasant as the other dreams I've been having. Though I will say that being with you makes those dreams seem pretty tame."

  He had no idea what she was talking about, and his confusion must have shown on his face. "It started a few days before we met," she explained. She licked her lips. "It sounds silly, but I've been having these, well, these dreams."

  A bone-deep cold settled over him, and for no reason at all, he feared her words. "What kind of dreams?" he asked, forcing himself to form the question.

  Color rose on her cheeks. "At first, just erotic dreams. Very erotic. As if I was being called by someone and I could feel him touching me."

  "I see." His jaw tightened, and he forced himself not to be jealous of a dream. "And was that the kind of dream that woke you just now?"

  She shook her head, her eyes meeting his. "No. Those dreams have stopped since I've been with you. I think..." She trailed off, no longer meeting his eyes. "I think I don't need them anymore."

  Good. But he didn't voice the thought.

  "This was a nightmare." She spoke the word matter-of-factly, and he realized that this nightmare was something she lived with.

  "Your mother?" he asked.

  "No. These are ... violent. I don't know. It's hard to describe." She shook her head, as if shaking off a memory. At any rate, I shouldn't have even called it a nightmare. The real nightmares always have Midnight in them."

  Immediately, his senses were on alert. "The panther?"

  She nodded. "He's there. And he attacks. Violent, hideous attacks."

  Nausea rose in his gut. Him. She was seeing him in her dreams. They were connected, he and his Caitlyn, even more than either of them had ever imagined.

  He forced himself to form words. "And these dreams. Do they—" He couldn't finish the thought. It wasn't necessary. She knew what he meant.

  "Yes," she said. "They seem to coincide with the maulings." Her face twisted, contorted in anger. "It's as if he's taunting me, showing me that he can attack, that he will attack, and that there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

  She hugged herself, trembling slightly. "Apparently, my part in all of this is more than just my job. More even than the fact that I used to go to the zoo to watch him. It's like I've failed."

  He frowned. "Failed?"

  She nodded, clearly miserable. "I see the attacks in my dreams, and I should be able to do something. But I can't, and now all those people are in the hospital. I couldn't save them. Hell, I couldn't even help them."

  His stomach roiled as he remembered that he was the one who put them in the hospital.

  Her features hardened. "That's why I have to catch him. It's my job, yes. But I have to do it for me. For my peace of mind." She drew a breath. "I have to—no, I will—catch Midnight."

  A chill settled over Luc, and he trembled, just the smallest shaking of his muscles. She felt it, though, and her face transformed. Gone was the anger, replaced with pure compassion and total beauty. "Are you okay?"

  He forced a smile. "Just concerned for you." He pulled her into his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. He wanted the feel of her against him, but he also didn't want her to see his face. "When did these dreams start?"

  "My birthday," she said. "It was the last time I saw Midnight," she added. "I'd spent the day at the zoo. I'd opened my birthday present there. I'd even—" She cut off with a shake of her head, the color high on her cheeks.

  "What?"

  "You," she said, and his blood ran cold. Did she know? How? How could she know?

  "Me?" His own voice was hardly recognizable.

  "I think it must be the bottle," she said.

  “Bottle?”

  “A perfume bottle with gypsy writing. It was my present from a friend. But I think it did something to me. So many things have happened since then. The maulings. The visions. And..." She broke off with a little shrug, but a smile danced at her mouth. "And this connection to you."

  "What do I have to do with the zoo?"

  She frowned, perhaps hearing the urgency in his voice. Then she licked her lips. "That's the odd part. I first felt this connection, this thing, between us there. And I heard your voice in my head."

  "My voice? What did I say?"

  "That I was yours." She lifted herself and pressed a kiss to his lips. "And the voice was right. I am."

  He clutched her close to him as terror coursed through his veins. She was right about the connection. But what she didn't realize was that it was all connected. Him, the maulings, everything.

  "Tell me about this bottle." He asked the question more from curiosity. He had no idea what a bottle could have to do with anything.

  She drew in a breath, looking disturbed.

  “Caitlyn?” he urged.

  "Supposedly, it increases paranormal gifts that a person might have." He saw tears glisten in her eyes. "I think—I think my mother was right, and it’s making the curse stronger."

  "No." He spoke firmly. "You’re not cursed, Caitlyn. And no bottle would change that." He ought to know. He was cursed.

  He frowned, considering what she’d told him. "And your dreams haven’t changed?"

  "No." She frowned. "Well, actually yes. Sort of. Since I've been with you, I no longer dream of the cat. I guess that’s a good thing." She snuggled close to him, her eyes heavy with sleep. "I love you, Luc. I don't really understand what happened between us, so fast and furious. But I want you to know that I love you."

 

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