CENTRAL BUSINESS DISTRICT, NEW ORLEANS

“This is where you throw my body into the Mississippi River and steal my millions, isn’t it?” Jade demanded as she followed Danvers up a dark, circular stairwell. Aside from the sporadically placed caged light bulbs lining the stairs, she had only the sounds of their shoes scraping against the concrete for guidance.

“Do you have millions?” Danvers asked, his voice echoing along the concrete stairwell.

“No—crap.” Jade threw out a hand to balance herself as she tripped on the edge of a step.

“Don’t worry about it, then. You’re safe . . . for now.” He paused one step above hers, and even though she couldn’t see him she just knew he was laughing at her. “Jade?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said you didn’t want to see my package but if you don’t watch your hand, you’re going to get mighty close to that reality.”

“What?” She squinted in the darkness. Realized that her hand was palming a rather excellently shaped ass. Oh. Oh! She yanked back, nearly sending herself stumbling down the stairwell. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be.” She had the distinct feeling that he’d turned his head to speak because the words came clearer, then clearer still when he added, “You took advantage of me.”

He started up the stairs again, forcing her to mutter at his back, “I did not.”

“You did,” he replied all too pleasantly. “Waited until we were in the dark and made a grab for my butt. For shame, Jade Harper, for shame.”

An unbidden smile tugged at her lips. She wrapped a hand around the loose material of the back of his T-shirt as they continued upward.

Then, “I should warn you—if you feel something scurry across your feet don’t think about it too much.”

“Danvers.”

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” he went on, that seductive New Orleans drawl playing havoc on her hormones, “Mice, maybe rats. This is probably not the time to inform you that we have flying cockroaches in Louisiana.”

This time her squeak was more of a shrill yelp as she bowled him over and sprinted past him. And, Díos mío, did he laugh when he caught up with her at the top of the stairwell. Hands dropped onto his knees, bent at the waist; full belly guffaws kicked off the fireworks in her girl parts. He very deliberately swiped a thumb below his eye as though wiping the tears away.

“Seriously, Danvers?” she demanded as the metal stairwell door clamped shut behind them with a loud clank. “Don’t pee yourself.”

Between hearty laughs, he edged out, “So worth it. I’d do it again.”

“You’re a jerk,” she grumbled, shoving her nose up in the air. “Now I know why you didn’t want to take the elevator. You planned this the entire time.”

“No, of course not.” Though his tone was as smooth as whiskey, Jade didn’t dare trust the way he pointed a disbelieving finger at his chest, as if to ask, who, me?

“I hate you.” She didn’t, not really, and the whole thing had been funny. Mostly. Only . . . She narrowed her eyes. “Were you kidding? About the flying roaches?”

Her question only renewed his laughter. “Would you feel better if I lied?”

She stopped to think on that for about, oh, maybe half a second. “Yes.”

“No such thing then. Flying roaches are a myth, like the werewolf rougarous in the bayous and the vampires hanging out in the French Quarter. Definitely not a thing.”

Laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his gray eyes, giving him such a look of happy male that Jade couldn’t help but smile along with him, even though she’d been the butt of his prank.

“Now that you’ve succeeded in turning my nightmare into a reality, show me the way,” she said, dramatically waving a hand through the air.

His hand went to the small of her back as he led her through a series of glass doors. With each set they passed, the creepy, concrete stairwell became more of a distant memory. Concrete floors were exchanged for glistening hard wood; beautiful royal purple wallpaper stamped with the gold fleur de lis motif lined the walls; and every five or so feet, a bench sat with potted ferns on either side of it.

Danvers’ fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt as he opened the last door for her. “Go ahead,” he murmured.

So she did.

Less than five seconds later, she came to a dead halt. Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded the circular-shaped room, providing them with a 360-degree view of downtown New Orleans.

There was an audible gasp, and it was only at the sound of Danvers’ low chuckle that she realized that it had belonged to her. Beyond the glass panels, twinkling lights greeted them as far as the eye could see. She took a small step toward the window, and then another and then another, until her fingertips pressed against the glass like an awestruck child.

She felt Danvers step beside her, his larger-than-life presence sparking a yearning in her heart to lean back against his wide chest. Would he wrap his arms around her?

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked in a low voice.

Jade didn’t turn to look at him.

She didn’t have to. Among the glistening lights of the French Quarter was his reflection. His face was a mosaic of nineteenth-century buildings, bustling car headlights, and the dark sweep of the Mississippi River. But the reflection in his gaze was pure Nathan Danvers: amused, intense, hot.

She wondered what he saw in her reflection.

Jade cut their connection, squeezing her eyes shut against him and the nighttime beauty of New Orleans. When she reopened them, she found that he’d silently moved away to sit on a bench in the center of the room. He faced her, long legs planted evenly on the hardwood floor, arms stretched out along the back of the bench. A position not unlike the one he’d taken up at the courtyard bar they’d visited.

A position that made her toes curl in her shoes with anticipation.

“What did you find in Ms. Hansen’s house?”

His question came out of left field, shocking her with its abruptness. Then again, this is what she’d wanted. To learn about the case surrounding Shawna, Ms. Bev’s daughter—right?

Jade wrapped her arms around her middle, ignoring the prickle of hurt that stung the back of her eyes. She might not be wearing her power outfit but this was about business . . . Not the slip of hope tagging her heels that maybe, just maybe, she’d made a mistake in running from him.

From their attraction.

Finally, she answered, “Nothing. There was absolutely no evidence of a break-in whatsoever.”

His hand darted up to his hair, tugging at the thick strands before dropping his arm back to the bench. “She filed a police report.”

“I know she did.” Jade’s arms fell to her hips as she began to pace. “But didn’t you think it a little odd that the ‘burglar’”—here, she made finger quotation marks in the air—“was able to waltz right in while she napped?”

“Ms. Bev’s security system is nonexistent.”

Jade went back to pacing, her tennis shoes moving in a soft shuffle across the floor—she’d always been a shuffler, much to the dismay of Lucia Harper. “The burglar used a key, Danvers. How many burglars do you know who have such fine manners?”

“Actually—”

She cut him off with a raised hand. “Okay, so maybe you do. But that doesn’t explain the fact that there was nothing missing in the house. No broken windows, no traces of recent footsteps, no stray tread of dirt or grass clippings. If there ever was a burglar, it must have been a ghost.”

Jade watched him sit forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees, face cast into the shadows. “What are you implying, Jade?”

She swallowed, thrusting away the doubt for what she honestly believed to be true. “I don’t think there was a burglar. I think it was staged.”

Staged?

Nathan let the word roll around in his head for a moment, dissecting it from every angle. Measured it up against what he knew of Beverly Hansen and found that he simply couldn’t conjoin the two. Ms. Bev wasn’t the sort of person to keep her thoughts a secret, and her criminal record was clear. But there was one undeniable fact to consider—why had Ms. Bev turned her own daughter in? It was a question that had plagued him during restless nights. And, still, the only plausible reasoning he had was that Ms. Bev’s conscious wouldn’t allow her to stay silent on the matter. The woman spoke her mind, even going so far as to believe that, without baptism, she’d doomed her daughter from the start. Even during his short acquaintance with her, Nathan recognized that Ms. Bev’s penchant for honesty was unrivaled.

Nathan propped his elbows on his knees. “Listen, Jade, I know you didn’t find any lasting evidence in the house—”

“But I did,” she jumped in. “There was a photograph in the pantry. It was just one, but from the way it was nearly hidden, it just struck me as odd.”

His fingers twitched. “There was just one photo?”

“It was of Shawna Zeker,” she told him, her hands landing on her hips, “and Miranda Smiley.”

Aware that his pulse had kicked into gear, Nathan made an effort to smooth his breathing. Where had the rest of the photographs gone? Was it as simple as spring cleaning? No. Definitely not. He lifted his gaze to Jade, soaking in her natural beauty and the way she was so willing to go toe-to-toe with him.

As much as he wanted to hash it all out with her, he couldn’t. For a year, he’d been relegated to the assistant life, helping his brothers and sisters, working overtime to do what he could. But this was . . . Nathan drew in a deep breath. This was his case, finally, and he needed to work it out for himself. On his own.

And it was with that reasoning that he opened his mouth and promptly shot himself in the foot. “I get that this must feel beyond frustrating for you, Jade. Does Miranda Smiley have something to do with the murder? Maybe, maybe not.” Shut up, shut up. Shut.UP. “But I don’t believe the break-in was some magic trick pony show to make the cops chase their tails. You can’t inject information where there is none.”

Dark eyes snapped toward him, and he felt her level of annoyance as strong as a physical blast even from six feet away. “Don’t be condescending, Danvers.”

He locked his jaw to keep it from falling open—condescending? Nathan had met his fair share of condescending, nose-in-the-air pricks and never once had he fit himself along their ranks. Guilt sucker punched him. He might not be acting condescending, but he was most certainly evading . . . as always. “Jade—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently as her hands fell to her luscious full hips again and those luscious full hips squared off for battle. Against him. Admittedly, this wasn’t how he’d envisioned this conversation going, but Jesus, she looked hot as hell pissed off at him.

He rose to his feet. “Don’t be angry, Jade.”

“You asked for my opinion and then shut me down when it wasn’t something you wanted to hear. You’re too busy chasing Shawna Zeker without considering that she may not have been responsible at all.”

Actually, he’d quickly come to the same conclusion. But it was becoming all too clear that he’d dug himself this hole with Jade, and, from the looks of things, no one was around to hand him a shovel. “I appreciate your opinion—”

“While I appreciate your opinion, young lady . . . ” She dropped her voice to a low pitch and he had enough good sense in his head (the one attached to his neck, anyway) to realize that she was mocking him.

And, like every man in existence who feared the wrath of a woman, Nathan went for the overtly obvious: “I didn’t call you a ‘young lady.’”

She growled in her throat and it was by far the hottest sound he’d ever heard, made only hotter by the way her ponytail swung violently as she stalked toward him, her finger pointed and at the ready. She jabbed him in the center of his chest, once, twice, until he wrapped his hand around her wrist to keep her steady.

“I’m not trying to be condescending,” he repeated, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from the top of her head. The baby hairs at her hairline fluttered, though the rest of her ponytail had ceased swinging and was now deathly still.

“That’s even worse.”

His hands went to her shoulders on their own accord, absorbing their sharp rise as she drew in a breath. “How?”

“You admitting that you aren’t trying to be a jerk means that you just are one.” Her nose scrunched, and she added, “A secret jerk. We all know everyone thinks you’re too flirty and too nice to be out and open about it.”

“A secret jerk?” He let his thumbs trail over her exposed collarbone. “You’ve known me for almost a month now. Do you really think I’m a condescending prick, secret or otherwise?”

Her chin jutted out in defiance. “I’ve had periods which have lasted longer than I’ve known you.”

Having a sister of his own who was all too willing to talk blood and gore, Nathan didn’t even flinch. “Hopefully that’s not been a repeat situation. You know what they say about things that bleed once a month and still live . . . ”

“You know what they say about men who drink pink frozen drinks, play with their teeny tiny umbrellas, and talk down to women.”

Nathan felt a smile working his lips. Even when she was shooting arrows, she still lit up the room with the fire in her eyes. He played along, because how could he not? She met him match for match. Call him crazy, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be loved by a woman like Jade Harper. To come home to her innate fire every day, to see it burn when he thrust into her body and when he cooked her breakfast as they binged on the Investigation Discovery TV channel.

He lowered his head to her ear and murmured, “Ouch . . . little lady.”

He felt the hitch of her breath under his palms. Felt the moment she stepped closer, felt the moment that his lungs felt ready to burst with anticipation. His hands slid up, up, up, until he was cupping her head, allowing her to rest its weight against the fold of his hands. Just like the other night.

Her thick hair brushed his knuckles and this time he couldn’t resist. One hand snaked around her ponytail, gently tugging back so that her lips were offered up as a feast, her neck an exposed strip of skin that he wanted to nibble and mark as exclusively his. He waited for her to meet his gaze. Waited for her admission, whether it be silent or verbal, that she wanted this too. That he hadn’t been alone in this desperate need for her that kept him up at night, fevered and so hard, he worried that he’d walk around with a permanent tent in his pants for the rest of his life.

In the quiet of the room, there was only the sound of their rough, uneven breathing. It was fucking painful waiting, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—make a move, not after the way she’d fled at the restaurant after their first kiss, and definitely not at the risk of coming off as a condescending prick.

Her lids squeezed shut as though she battled something in her head, and he had half a mind to just let her go. Drive her back to where her car was parked in the Bywater. Go home, plunge his heated body into an ice-cold bath, and watch C-Span until sex was the last thing on his brain.

QVC if he really wanted to punish himself.

Then, in a ragged voice that seemed to escape from her soul, Jade whispered, “I don’t know what I want.” Dark, tormented eyes blinked open at him. “You weren’t supposed to exist.”

He released his hold on her ponytail, skimmed the length of her arm until their fingers brushed, intertwined. He brought her hand to his chest, where she could feel the erratic pump of his heart rate. “Sorry to disappoint, honey, but I exist.”

Her fingers curled, short, blunt nails scraping the fabric of his shirt as she balled her hand into a fist. “Díos mío,” she breathed out. “New Orleans was supposed to be a fresh start. A place where I could be on my own. A place where I could be independent.”

“You are independent.” He had to be missing something. He wracked his brain for some elusive hint in the last month that could have escaped his memory. She had her own job, her own apartment. Wait, was she . . . “Don’t compare yourself to your sisters, Jade.” Nathan slipped his hand from the back of her head to frame her face. “I know you said that you always felt less than, but we all have our own timeframes. You are just as successful as they are.”

Again her eyes shut and he counted the moments of disconnect like they were all that separated him from his very last breath. “Honey . . . ”

Nathan couldn’t have prepared himself for what happened next. Her hand, the one that had been clutching his shirt, went up to his neck and dragged him down. They met in a flurry of lips and gnashing teeth and bumping noses. It wasn’t pretty or elegant or big-screen-worthy, but it grasped his soul and held on tight.

She felt like heaven and hell mixed all into one. Like everything he’d ever wanted and everything he’d ever feared.

More. He needed more.

His hands wound around her back, sliding down to cup her full ass, tugging her close until the outline of his erection pressed unashamedly against her belly. Her answering gasp was like a benediction to his ears, a benediction that had him digging his fingers into her soft flesh.

She broke from the kiss, her hands clutching his shoulders for stability. “You lied.”

He dropped his face to her neck, teeth finding the lobe of her ear. He grinned at the shudder that worked its way down her spine. “How did I do that?”

“You said you had a teeny tiny umbrella.” The words escaped on another gasp, and he took blatant advantage, covering her mouth with his, nipping at her full lower lip, drawing out a long feminine sigh that he would replay on repeat for the rest of his life.

“You assumed,” he murmured against her mouth, “and you were wrong.”

“So your package . . .?”

He rocked his hips against her. “Not small.”

He met her gaze, noticed the teasing light, and drew her up for another scorching kiss. His eyes slammed shut and he let himself enjoy the sensation of her. Nails scraped the back of his scalp. Full breasts pressed flush against the hard planes of his chest. And, fuck, hips that rolled up into his.

It was everything he’d fantasized about. She was everything he’d fantasized about.

His hands blazed a trail from her hips to her front, slipped up the fabric of her shirt to cup her breasts. They groaned at the same time, even though they were far from being flesh against flesh. He wanted more. Settled instead for tracing the line of her bra, teasing them both with the possibility of them.

“Please,” she whispered on an uneven breath, “Danvers, please.”

“What, honey? What do you need?”

Her body danced against his, pressing and seeking, and he knew without doubt what she wanted. But he also knew where they were, and although he hadn’t spotted any cameras—and even though he knew the security guard left at midnight on the dot—he couldn’t risk exposing her like that.

Nathan scanned the circular room, his gaze lighting on a section concealed in the shadows, thanks to a protruding wall. “C’mere,” he told Jade, slipping her hand into his.

“Danvers?” Excitement lined her voice, and Nathan would be lying if his own excitement didn’t crank up its voltage.

Motioning for her to move ahead of him, she slipped into the tight alcove and glanced back at him with an arched brow.

He tapped his finger on the plastered wall. “We can’t be seen here.”

Her gaze fell to the city below them.

If he strained his ears hard enough, he could make out the honking cars and Jazz music. “We can see them,” he added, “but they can’t see us. We’re thirteen floors up.”

She turned away from the city, pressed her back up against the glass. “Unlucky number thirteen?”

Nathan shook his head. “I’d say you’ve been pretty lucky.”

Jade lifted her arm and trailed a finger from the center of his chest down, down, down to his belt buckle. She hovered there, and he almost grabbed her hand and slid it over to the left by two inches.

In a raspy voice he barely recognized, he asked, “Having second thoughts?”

Her hand boldly flattened against his belt, her three fingers splaying right over the hard length of him. He had his answer.

Nathan spun her around, and her hands flew to the glass to steady herself. He brushed her ponytail aside, over her shoulder, and marked her neck with a kiss that made her thrust her butt into his crotch. His hands went to her breasts. Over the fabric, then down and under, slipping over soft, golden skin until her heavy breasts were in his hands with only her bra as a divider.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her head falling forward, forehead kissing the glass, “Díos mío.”

He tugged down one cotton bra cup and stroked his thumb across her pert nipple. “God has nothing to do with this.”

He did the same with the other cup, dragging it down, then thanking God himself when he realized that, yes, her bra had a front clasp. It was undone in less than a second, his hands once again full with her flesh, rolling her nipples between his fingers, tugging, pinching, until her moans were a seductive melody.

Nathan paused, biting back a harsh curse when she thrust her ass against his groin in retaliation again. “Are your eyes closed?” he asked. Another thrust of her butt. He clamped his hands on her hips to keep her still. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she bit out. Nathan smiled at the annoyance in her voice. Liked the way that she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to let him know. “Why?”

“Open your eyes,” he demanded softly. “I want you to see the city.” She tried again to press up against his cock but he maintained the small distance. “Open them, Jade.”

Her hands fisted against the glass and she lifted her head. “Fine,” she muttered, “They’re open, gilipollas.”

Nathan made a mental note to check a Spanish-English dictionary later. For now, though . . . “Tell me what you see.”

“What do you mean, what do I see?”

He slipped his hands forward, resting them on either side of hers on the glass, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. “I’m supposed to be showing you the city, remember? Isn’t that what you told Josh at dinner tonight?”

Jade’s head jerked around to stare at him. “We have to do this right now?”

“Trust me,” was all he said. He tapped the glass, drawing her attention back to the city below. “Right there—looks like a big building, has three steeples. Any guesses?”

The sigh she blew out brought a smile to his lips. “A church?”

He kissed her neck. “Give me a name, honey.”

“St. Louis Cathedral?”

“Very good.” He ducked his hand under her shirt again, traced a circle around her belly button, and then dipped his hand down to flick open the button of her jeans. He grinned at her gasp and the way her hips jerked forward, seeking his touch. “How about there? See that big building, past the parking lot? Looks like it’s got palm trees growing out of the top?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He fiddled with the brass button. “Wanna give it a try?”

“Danvers.”

Nathan’s hand slipped up to her soft stomach. “Not the right answer.”

She cursed under her breath, head bowing briefly before lifting again. “Give me a different question.”

He slid his fingers back to where she wanted them, over the button of her jeans. “Jax Brewery,” he said, “in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

Laughter flooded his chest. “I know.”

“Give me another question.”

“All right, an easy one.” Nathan made a point of thinking about it, even though he knew he was about to give her a freebie. “The river—what’s its name?”

“Seriously?” she demanded, disbelief sending her voice up an octave.

“You gonna guess?”

She paused, apparently stewing on whether she wanted to give in. Then, “the Mississippi.”

“Another point for you. Didn’t you say once that you liked the point for point game?” He shifted his fingers to the zipper, dragging it down until the tab reached its base and her breathing came in rough gasps. “Right there,” he growled, “You can see the roof from here—has the green-and-white striped canopy. Sells beignets.”

He heard her swallow. Saw the way she readjusted her stance against the glass. “Café du Monde.”

Thank God. Her jeans were pushed down her hips, just far enough so that he could work his big hand into her cotton panties. “Widen your legs,” he ordered, satisfaction reeling through him when she complied immediately.

He threw a wild glance at the French Quarter, internally berating himself for starting this game in the first place. He wanted his fingers playing her clit like a fine piano, wanted to feel her heat and . . . and now Nathan was stuck. He saw the flash of a streetcar rumbling down the tracks along the riverfront. “That,” he said, “the red trolley. What do they call them in N’Orleans?”

Whether Jade cared that he’d practically given away the answer, she didn’t complain. If anything, her answer came quick, hastily, as though she also wanted the game to be over, too. “A streetcar.”

Nathan knuckled the band of her panties to the side and went for Ace. She was wet, so wet— “Jesus, Jade.”

Her whispered, “I’m sorry,” threw him. She was sorry? For what? Being the hottest woman alive? The most beautiful person he’d ever touched?

His fingers pressed over her clit, rubbing in delicate circles he knew would drive her wild. “Don’t be sorry.” He increased the pressure, thrilling at the way her hips rotated to better meet his touch, the way she’d fallen back against his chest. Like she trusted him to take care of her. “Fuck,” he grunted, “never be sorry for this.”

Her cries increased the moment he moved his fingers down, his thumb still working her clit, as he slid one finger inside. Then another. He curled them forward, pumping in and out the way he wished to with his cock.

“Oh, my God.” Her ass came into contact with his hips and he let loose a deep hiss. “Danvers, please don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to, honey.”

And he didn’t. He worked her until her first orgasm shattered, sending her hips fluttering against his fingers. And, because he liked the way her body tried to milk him for all he was worth, he continued, plying her clit until his name was the only litany she seemed to remember, until her hips moved in tandem with his thrusting fingers and she shattered for a second time.

Slowly, he gentled the circles on her clit.

Waited until her choppy breaths softened.

Gently pulled up her jeans, redid the zipper and button, and then re-clasped her bra.

He was throbbing so hard that he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to walk straight after. But tonight . . . tonight he hadn’t wanted it to be about him.

“You’re an excellent tour guide,” she said over her shoulder, glancing up at him. The glittering city lights shone across her face and he stamped a quick kiss on her lips.

“Now you know N’Orleans a little bit better,” he quipped easily, slipping out from between her body and the wall to lean against the glass.

“I know something else too.”

“Yeah?”

The grin that split her face was all smug satiety. “I know you’re a bit kinky behind the frozen daiquiris.”

Nathan didn’t consider himself kinky at all. He saw himself a bit more of an equal opportunist. If pleasuring her against the city skyline was what it took to touch her, then he was game.

He lowered his face to hers, capturing her lips in a sweet, smooth kiss that threatened to rev his erection up to full staff again if he didn’t cool it. He pulled back, touched their foreheads together, and said, “Tell me again, Jade.”

“That you’re kinky?”

Laughter climbed his throat. “Not that. The part where you said you liked me.”

A blush stained her cheeks as she tried to pull away from him. But he didn’t let her go, slipping his hand to the center of her back. “Jade,” he whispered, “say it.”

Her eyes squeezed shut like she couldn’t bear to look at him when she replied, “I like you, Danvers.”

The words alone were like a high he had no wish to come down from. He dropped a kiss to her forehead, tipped her chin up. “I like you too.”

Such simple words, but ones he’d never uttered before.

But when her dark eyes met his . . . Jesus. That fire was back, and even if it was just for a little bit, it belonged to him.