Obsession (6 page)

N
EVER HAD
D
REW VIEWED
a sight as breath-stealing as Josie spilled over the cutting-board table, her X-rated body undulating in pleasure as she welcomed the climax he’d brought her to. And now as she readied herself for him, he wondered if he’d ever made love to a woman so gloriously unconscious of the way she looked. A woman not driven by shallow motivations but by a deeper need to connect with him in the way he needed to connect with her.

Drew touched her feet, caressing his way up her silky legs to her knees, his gaze caught by hers. Forgotten was the fact that they were in the kitchen of a hotel. Gone were any concerns over his role in her life. All that mattered was this one moment in time.

He positioned his hard-on between her slick, fleshy lips and rubbed himself lengthwise down then up again, purposely denying himself the pleasure of filling her as he stroked her externally.
He watched her throw back her head as if the anticipation were killing her. She tried to force a breach by curving her ankles around his waist and drawing him against her. But the urgency of her movements merely increased his desire to draw this out.

He worked his head against her clit, massaging it, the catch in her breath and the shivering of her stomach revealing the effect he was having on her.

An effect that mirrored the quake beginning to shake him from the inside out.

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so…at one with a woman. So on the same wavelength. He didn’t need to hurry. Or wonder if he was doing the right thing. Or listen to her whisper orders about how to touch her there or do this just so. Instead there existed a mutual understanding between them that all was game and that the simplest touch could be the most erotic. There was no rushing toward an end.

Finally, Drew fit the thick, pulsating head of his erection against her opening. He paused, noticing the way she stopped breathing, her face flushed, her lips parted as she anticipated his next move. He slowly entered her by degrees then stopped, allowing her tight, slick muscles to become acclimated to his girth. She hungrily licked her lips, allowing him to call the shots. Drew reveled in
the power he had. Over himself. Over her. Over them both.

He glided in to the hilt, the quake inside shaking him to the core while Josie’s moan wove around him. Her back arched and her glistening breasts shivered. Drew felt as if his very heart beat at the base of his penis as he slowly withdrew then stroked her again…and again.

Josie released her ankles and matched his deep rhythm, her eyelids fluttering closed with every thrust as if unable to bear the exquisite pleasure that he was giving her. That they were experiencing together.

He splayed his hands against her stomach, wondering at the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dark rose of her puckered nipples. The moisture that clung to her skin made her look darker yet. Keeping his strokes long and deep, he slowly slid his fingers down over her sides, then back up and over her breasts, intoxicated by the feel of her inside and out.

He realized he’d stopped his movements, his erection throbbing inside her. He watched her suck her bottom lip into her mouth and bite down hard as if unable to take the torture. Drew slipped his hands to her hips and held her tight as he withdrew then thrust into her hard.

“Yes. Oh, dear God, yes…”

Her softly whispered words empowered him further and he increased the speed of his thrusts, the next faster and harder than the one before. He wanted to consume her. Wanted to possess every part of her. The sound of damp, hard flesh smacking together filled his ears: the sweet smell of her sex blended with his sex filled his nose.

Then he was sailing over the edge of the world and into a parallel universe he’d never visited before, suspended in darkness, his mind uncharacteristically unconcerned about his powerless state.

Then Josie cried out, in the middle of her own crisis and he was moving again. Frenetically, wildly, speeding through the darkness with an incredible sense of freedom.

L
ATER THAT NIGHT
, as Josie sat at the quiet front desk, darkness having long since fallen outside the open doors, she trembled just thinking about what had passed between her and Drew in the kitchen.

She wished it could have continued, that they could have gone upstairs to his room and explored each other well into the night, but Philippe couldn’t stay because of an appointment he had to
take his mother to. Even so, Josie didn’t have the money to pay him overtime.

At any rate, Drew had a reception party of some sort he needed to attend at the convention hotel. His immediate superior would be going and would expect to see him there. So she sat at the front desk alone, unable to wipe the wistful smile from her face. She couldn’t even bring herself to care about the debts she couldn’t cover or the future of the hotel. Both concerns would still be there in the morning, she told herself.

Right now…well, right now, she wanted to enjoy the blissful aftermath of great sex.

A sound from upstairs drew her attention.

Josie’s hand froze at her neck as her gaze swept toward the steps. With Drew out for the evening and Philippe gone, no one was in the hotel but her.

She was probably imagining things. Either that, or the light breeze had stirred something from its resting place.

Another noise.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t imagining things.

She rose from the chair and looked toward the open front doors and the tourists passing by in a colorful stream. No one seemed to be interested in her or the Josephine.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps overhead.

Here and there since the passing of her
granme
she’d thought she’d heard sounds. Had even imagined that her grandmother had found a way to stay around for a bit to watch out for her. The sensation had been so intense on occasion that Josie could have sworn she felt a hand on her shoulder or a brush against her temple.

But this didn’t feel like that. This felt…different.

Josie steeled herself, considering her options. She strode to close both doors, then stepped back behind the desk and took out the sawed-off shotgun she had locked in a compartment there. The firearm had been there for as long as she could remember. Certainly longer than Josie had been part of the hotel.

She climbed the stairs, having long memorized which creaked where and avoiding those spots. She emerged onto the second floor, the scent of sulfur assaulting her nose.

Oh, God. Something was burning.

She went to the door to Room 2C, Drew’s room, and used her master key to open the door. Nothing. No lights were on. Only the sound of the light sheers at the open doors flapping slightly in the warm breeze.

She backtracked out into the hall and went to 2B
next door. Again, she opened the lock with her master key and peered inside. No one and nothing in sight.

She stepped to the closed door to 2D, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

This was the room Claire Laraway was killed in just over two weeks ago. And forever in the back of her mind was the fact that her killer had yet to be caught.

Gripping the shotgun tightly in her right hand, she tried to manipulate the master key with her left. After two tries, she finally swung the door inward so that it crashed against the inside wall. She aimed the gun straight in front of her, ready to protect herself against any threat.

The source of the sulfur smell became immediately apparent. She stared at the wrought-iron bed where Claire had lain, her beautiful neck slit. In the middle sat a dozen lit black candles, their flames flickering in the cross draught she’d created by opening the door.

She slowly turned to her right, pointing the end of the shotgun in the direction of her gaze. No one was in there. She checked the connecting bathroom, with the same result.

But that was impossible. Someone had to have set up the candles, lit them and made the sounds
she’d heard. She quickly blew out the candles then backtracked to the hall.

There were two ways to access the hall, from the lobby steps she’d used to come up, and from stairs leading to the kitchen. She took those now, careful to keep the gun out in front of her. While she’d never shot at anyone, she wasn’t adverse to it if the situation called for it.

She emerged into the dim kitchen. Only the light above the large industrial stove was on.

And the back door, the same door she had bolted before going to look after the front desk, was hanging wide open, the screen door budging back and forth as if just used…

Drew tried the front doors to the hotel. They were locked.

He stepped back and looked over the hotel. That was strange. Why would the doors be locked?

He rapped lightly on the glass, trying to see inside.

The right door swung suddenly inward and there stood Josie looking pale and holding what looked like a modified shotgun.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” He took the firearm from her and strode into the lobby, looking around for the person who had put the disturbing expression on Josie’s face and the gun in her hands.

She shook her head. “They’re gone.”

She held out her hand for the gun and he gave
it back to her. She stepped behind the desk and put it away into a locked compartment.

“Who’s gone?” he asked, moving to the other side of the desk.

“Whoever set the ritual altar in 2D.”

He wasn’t following her.

She sighed and smoothed the back of her shaking hand across her forehead. While she obviously wanted to make him think she was all right, he’d like to think he’d come to know her better than that.

Damn it, he should never have left her alone earlier.

But their session in the kitchen had been so intense, so raw, that he’d needed to get out to think a bit. To convince himself he was imagining the connection that he feared was forming between them.

And when that didn’t work, to consider where they went from there.

“What do you mean, altar? Have you called the police?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why the hell not?” He pulled the phone closer to him on the desk and picked up the receiver.

She punched down the disconnect button. “Don’t.”

“Why not? Obviously someone who wasn’t supposed to be in here was and did something
they shouldn’t. If that doesn’t demand a police report, I don’t know what does.”

“I don’t need the publicity.”

“Publicity, my ass, Josie.” He removed her hand and dialed 911.

Moments later he hung up. “They’ll be here in half an hour to an hour.”

She smiled faintly then sat in the chair behind the desk. “You don’t understand. This wasn’t so much a crime as it was a warning.”

“Show me.”

Five minutes later, Drew stood staring at the myriad black candles in the middle of the bed in 2D. Small satchels were lain in front of them and black wax had trickled over to pool on the white coverlet. He tried the switch for the overhead lights, but it didn’t work.

“Isn’t this where the girl was killed?” he asked.

She blinked at him.

“Your maid likes to gossip,” he told her, although he knew about the killing because he knew a lot more than a regular guest would.

She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

As they stood staring at each other, it was hard to believe that only a few short hours earlier they’d been joined together in ecstasy. That he’d spread her out on top of the cutting board in the kitchen
and made love to her in a way he’d never made love to a woman before.

He stepped closer to her, brushing back a dark curl from her cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

He hadn’t thought of asking her before, if only because some sort of primal need to protect her had kicked in. But now that the danger had passed and the police were on their way, he focused on the woman in front of him.

She laughed quietly and as far as he could tell there was no fear in the sound, no anxiety. Merely a soft edge. “I’m fine.”

She turned from him and went to open the double doors to the connecting balcony.

“What do you mean this was meant as a warning?” he asked.

“Just what I said. This—” she gestured toward the bed “—is a curse of sorts.”

“Voodoo?”

“Black magic.”

She led the way from the room and back down to the front desk. Drew followed.

“Explain the difference.”

“Voodoo can be either black or white magic. It can be used for bad or good.”

“And in this case it was used for bad.”

She nodded.

“Do you have any idea who’d want to do this?”

She didn’t answer right away as she fooled around with things on the desk.

“Josie?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”

Drew opened his mouth to object, then realized there was no objection for him to make. He’d had sex with her. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a temporary guest in her hotel in the middle of one of the most decadent cities in the world. And, as she’d told him during their walk earlier, it was all temporary. Tomorrow didn’t exist. At least not where they were concerned.

And that, suddenly, was unacceptable to him.

“H
OLY MOTHER OF
G
OD
,” Josie heard Monique say as the maid rushed down the stairs into the lobby the following morning, crossing herself countless times before looking at Josie with eyes the size of large, glossy marbles. “You got the voodoo.”

Josie stretched her neck. She’d forgotten to tell Monique not to bother with Room 2D, that she’d see to cleaning up the mess in there herself, but hadn’t had a chance after Philippe had called in sick, leaving her alone to man the desk. Something he must have eaten, he’d said, saying he’d try to make it in later if he felt better.

Now she stood staring at a clearly terrified Monique.

Josie had been raised around voodoo. It was as much a part of her heritage as her dark, Caribbean skin. While her
granme
had never practiced it or let her anywhere near it growing up, she remembered her mother trying out love spells in an
attempt to get the latest true love to fall for her and take her away from this life.

Josie had never placed much stock in the hokey rituals. Oh, she knew enough about them. Even counted priests and priestesses among her friends, including her best friend, Anne-Marie Paré, and the Rooster Man, the old black man who lived up the block and whose counsel many sought to lift curses and perform white magic spells. It was said that back in the day, the Rooster Man had placed his share of curses. But it was also said that for every bad spell that was cast, bad luck to the power of ten would return to the caster. When his wife and young son were killed in a freak automobile accident thirty years ago, he’d done a one-eighty and only performed good voodoo. Some said he performed white magic as penance for past wrongs and to guarantee his family entrance into heaven.

Josie thought it was more likely the only way he knew how to make a living and that he had long since stopped believing in any higher spiritual power.

“Monique, Monique, get yourself together, girl.” She rounded the desk and pried the broom from the young woman’s hands before she broke the stick and hurt herself. “I’ll take care of 2D.”
She touched Monique’s arm to find her cold. “In fact, why don’t you go ahead and take the day off altogether? I’ll take care of the duties.”

Monique nodded several times. “Yes, yes. I need to make sure that nothing sticks to me.”

Josie knew what she meant. She wanted to make certain that the curse meant for Josie hadn’t transferred to her.

She watched Monique hightail it out of the hotel without another backward glance. What remained was who would want to place a curse on her in the first place. She remembered Drew asking the question last night. Who would want to do this? She hadn’t told him. Mostly because she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone unless she was entirely sure they were behind it. But also partly because she had been too tempted to melt into Drew’s ready arms and let him take care of her.

The temptation itself had frightened her more than the voodoo ritual. She’d never allowed anyone to take care of her. Mostly because there had never been anyone who had offered to take the job. Even her
granme
had warned her from a young age, “You’ve got to learn how to step up and take care of yourself, Josephine.” Usually these words came after she’d been frightened by something and had turned to her grandmother for comfort.
She would give it to her, but in small doses. “Ain’t nobody going to take care of you as well as you can take care of yourself. And I’m not going to be here forever.”

Josie looked toward an undefined spot above herself, wondering at the prophetic content of her grandmother’s words.

The police had come and gone last night, barely making note of the event except for its connection to the murder of the girl. Fact was, voodoo rituals were more the norm than the exception in New Orleans, and if the police followed up on every reported voodoo spell, the city’s crime rate would raise exponentially because they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Voodoo shops selling do-it-yourself ritual kits were everywhere in the Quarter. On occasion, Josie herself had even browsed through a shop or two, curious. And, of course, Anne-Marie owned one where she also consulted tarot cards and gave spiritual readings. Before her grandmother had passed away, when Josie had had the time and cash for outings, she’d often met Anne-Marie there and they’d gone out for lunch. And now and then Anne-Marie had even set up shop here in the hotel’s courtyard.

Interestingly enough, her friend really hadn’t
been by since
Granme
had passed, except to pay her respects. Even then, she’d commented on some sort of “presence” in the hotel and had appeared uncomfortable.

There was a shadow at the door. Josie turned toward it, her heart giving a squeeze as she found herself wishing it were Drew. Only it wasn’t. Instead, it was a man she was hoping to avoid by not calling the police last night.

“Detective Chevalier,” she greeted coolly, pretending an interest in her nearly empty guest book on the desk.

“Miss Villefranche.” He took off his fedora and put it on the desk on top of the book, forcing her gaze up to him.

N.O. Homicide Detective Alan Chevalier had worked the case of Claire Laraway and, if his presence was any indication, he still was.

“I heard about what happened last night,” he said. “Any idea who might want to do something like that?”

She shrugged, removed the book from under his hat and then closed it. “Probably some neighborhood kids playing a prank.”

And the phone calls?
she silently asked.
Were those a prank, as well?

“Hmm. Have you cleaned up yet?”

She turned and retrieved the key for 2D. “No. Make yourself at home.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then took the key.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He looked around the empty lobby. “How many guests do you have in residence?”

Josie’s throat tightened. “One.”

His brows rose.

While the Josephine had never been a popular place, she had managed to keep at least half her rooms full most times.

Most times, that is, until the unsolved murder two weeks ago.

“Who?”

“A businessman in for a convention,” she said, hating to describe Drew that way. “A Mr. Drew Morrison.”

“Is he in?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ll be wanting to talk to him.”

“He wasn’t here when I found the candles.”

“Nonetheless…”

He left the word hanging as he turned to make his way toward the steps. Halfway there, he backtracked and picked up his hat, folding the brim back as he looked at her. Then he turned away again.

“Detective?” she found herself saying as he climbed the first couple of stairs.

He slowed his steps then stopped, apparently waiting for her to continue.

Josie swallowed hard, realizing she had nearly told him of the late-night phone calls.

“Would you like something to drink? A tea, perhaps?”

“Yes. I’d like that. I’ll take it in the courtyard when I’m done.”

D
REW STOOD AT THE PAY PHONE
in Jackson Square waiting to be put through to his client. He watched people pass, some natives, most tourists, then glanced toward Bourbon Street a couple blocks up from where Hotel Josephine was located. He hadn’t slept well last night. He couldn’t get his mind off what had happened after he’d left, but more importantly, what had occurred after his return.

Josie didn’t trust him. He knew it wasn’t because he’d tipped his hand. Rather, Josie seemed to be naturally wary of letting anyone too close. He supposed that was due in part to the strong women in her family. As far as he could tell, the past four generations of Villefranche women had had no men in their lives. They’d been fiercely independent and it was only natural that Josie had inherited that trait.

But that made his job all the more difficult.

His client finally came on the line.

“Hello, Morrison,” he said.

Drew got straight to the point. “Who else you got working this case?”

Silence, then, “What makes you ask that?”

“Just answer the question.”

Nothing.

“Look, the person is making my job next to impossible and is only guaranteeing Josie Villefranche won’t sell.”

“More’s the pity.”

Drew let loose a series of curses after putting his hand over the receiver.

“Morrison, we don’t have anyone else on the case.”

His movements stilled.

If there was no one else working the case, then that meant the happenings last night had nothing to do with forcing Josie to sell and everything to do with scaring her.

“Close the deal, Morrison. You have three days.”

Drew hung up the phone then rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Three days. Such a short time. But if he didn’t make the deadline, he wouldn’t get paid.

And, more importantly, he wouldn’t get a shot at the next contract he wanted.

He strode purposefully down toward Bourbon Street and the hotel.

D
UE TO ALL THE ACTIVITY
, Josie hadn’t had a chance to distribute the Stay One Night, Get One Night Free coupons she’d made up. She stood at the front desk, fingering the slips of paper, trying to ignore that ten minutes ago a couple of police crime-scene investigators had quietly come in and joined Detective Chevalier upstairs. Philippe had yet to show and she was worried about him.

And Drew…

She took a deep breath and placed the coupons under the desk where she could easily access them later. Drew was an unknown quantity she really didn’t have the time to consider now. Sure, she’d had mind-blowing sex with him, but she’d gone into it knowing that there was no future beyond that moment. And now that the future had arrived in all its frightening glory, her mind needed to be on the matter at hand, not remembering the way it had felt to have Drew’s mouth slide down over her shoulder, dampening her skin and igniting nerve endings that seemed to lead straight between her legs.

She picked up her
granme’
s hand fan and
waved it in front of her flushed face as she sat down, watching the current of people move past her front door without a glance her way.

There were times throughout her life when she’d sat just as she was now, watching the people walk by and feeling like she was being left behind somehow. Like each person represented the ticking of a clock. There went an hour. Six hours. A day.

Usually it didn’t bother her much, the sensation of standing still while time marched on. But lately she’d begun to know a tinge of restlessness. Was she doing what she wanted to be doing? Was marriage something she was even remotely interested in? Did she want a child?

The questions lurked beneath the surface and chose times like these to rise and haunt her.

She’d never really considered the child question seriously. Sure, she’d had her collection of dolls when she was a girl, but given her connection to the hotel, she’d never been around children much. Besides, since hitting puberty, the focus had been on not getting pregnant and “ending up like her mother, stuck with a kid to raise and no man around to help.” Her
granme
had never said anything along those lines; her mother had, but her grandmother had strongly cautioned her to avoid
pregnancy. Getting knocked up had been ranked right up there with driving drunk or taking drugs.

Still, did she want at least one child of her own?

And if she did, what were her options except to raise it herself, alone, without the help of a man?

Drew came to mind and she closed her eyes as much to banish the image as cherish it.

What did it matter anyway? The way things stood right now, she wouldn’t be able to take care of
herself
financially. To even consider adding a child to the mix was ridiculous and irresponsible and the ultimate in selfishness.

Footsteps on the lobby floor.

“Uh-huh. The rumors are right,” her friend Anne-Marie said, looking warily around the lobby. “You got the voodoo but good.”