In Your Wildest Dreams Read online

  He'd just about given up when the door opened. Stephanie stood before him in a little pair of flannel shorts and a tight white tee, no bra. The sight nearly took his breath away.

  When she realized where he was looking—he was a guy, he couldn't help it—she crossed her arms across her chest, going red-faced. It didn't help—in fact, it only thrust her breasts higher. T ... wasn't expecting you."

  He swallowed. It was bad enough that the last time he'd seen her, they'd been making out like maniacs, but now this. It was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her. He finally managed to wrench his eyes from her chest, moving them to her prettily blushing face. "Who were you expectin' that you answered the door like this, chère?"

  She shook her head, looking flustered. "I... fell asleep, wasn't really thinking when I opened the door."

  Ah. That explained how sexily mussed she looked. Like she would look, he thought, if he ever got her in bed.

  "Wait a minute," she said, walking away to return a moment later wearing a white cotton blouse over her sexy little T-shirt. He missed her breasts instantly.

  "I came by to bring you this." He held out a Styrofoam container.

  "What is—" She took it and opened the latching lid to reveal the slice of pie inside. "Oh."

  He wasn't sure why he'd done it, but... "From a little bakery on St. Peter. Don't know if it'll hold up to your grandma's, but it's the tastiest apple pie in the Quarter."

  She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes gone soft and pretty. "That's nice, Jake."

  He played it off with a shrug. "I also came to tell you I might have a small lead on Tina."

  She tensed visibly and he regretted not prefacing the news with a warning.

  Better late than never. "Now, don't go gettin' your hopes up—it might be nothin'. It's a very light lead."

  Her eyes remained wide and blue on him. "Well?" Blue as pictures he'd seen of the Mediterranean.

  It distracted him for a second, until he got his wits back. "You remember my friend Tony?" He explained what Tony had told him that morning about the Crescent's lounge. "I just never thought of lookin' there since it's a whole different league of prostitutes than you'd find at Sophia's."

  "Maybe Tina ... exaggerated about the elegant part," she said quietly, clearly thinking out loud. "Maybe she thought that made it sound better." Then she turned anxious. "So what do we do with the information?"

  "We don't do anything, beb," he said, looking pointedly into those ocean-colored eyes. "You stay here and do whatever you been doin'—go back to sleep if you want. I'm gonna go check it out. I'll stop by later and let you know if I've found anything new."

  "But if the guy made Tony for a cop," she said, using the language he had when explaining, "won't he do the same thing with you?"

  He shook his head. "First thing, I'm not a cop— anymore."

  "That didn't stop you from worrying the doormen at the Playpen would think you were."

  'True enough. But second thing, now that I'm wise to them bein' on guard for cops, I know how to approach the situation."

  "How?"

  "Like I'm one of her customers, lookin' to get with her again."

  "Oh," she said, her body seeming to deflate a little.

  She didn't like that, he thought, unduly pleased. Didn't like even the pretense that he could be with her sister that way. But maybe it was a little quick to get arrogant— maybe it was just the idea of any man being with her sister, under the circumstances.

  "Maybe I should go, too."

  He let out a sigh. "Why would you need to go?"

  "The same reason you took me along the other night. I might hear something in a different way than you. He might drop some bit of information only I can recognize."

  "Normally, I might agree, beb, but guys seekin' female company don't usually bring a date."

  She smirked, taking on a forlorn look he'd seen her wear before. It gave him the urge to wrap his arms around her and just hold her.

  Only problem with that was—he didn't think he was capable of simply holding Stephanie. Holding would bring on kissing and touching, and he was already half hard just from being around her, just from seeing those dark nipples jut through that white fabric, just from remembering how hot they'd gotten together a couple of nights ago.

  "I still think I should go," she argued, but she spoke more softly now as she peered up at him, and he wondered if she was recalling the same thing he was. "I just... feel like this is a whole new playing field, and like /need to investigate, too."

  "We had a deal, chère. You remember it, no?"

  She nodded somberly. "You'll only help me if I do what you say."

  "Right. And right now I say you stay put. Watch TV. Eat your pie. Call a friend. Whatever you want. If I need you to get involved, I know where to find you."

  Stephanie sat on the bed trying her damnedest to crochet. She'd been trying for two days, but she had to face facts: she had zero skills with needle and yarn. Still, learning took on more importance to her with each day Tina was missing. She let out a wry laugh at the insanity of her compulsion. This whole situation was pushing her so far outside her usual boundaries that she feared she was starting to lose it a little.

  Case in point, Jake Broussard. Every time she saw him, she craved him more. Getting so intimate with him in the Bourbon Street alcove had left her wondering what it would be like to get even more intimate with him. And wondering why she couldn't.

  If you're ever going to have a wild, hot, hedonistic affair in your lifetime, this is your opportunity. Her inner voice whispered the words, begging her, pleading with her not to let this man and everything so sensual about him pass her by.

  Yet something continued to hold her back.

  Even now, after he brought you pie? She'd already eaten it, torn the whole time between thinking he was sweet and horrible and everything in between.

  Because even as thoughtful as bringing the pie had been, he'd ruined it by demanding she stay home and twiddle her thumbs while he was out searching for Tina. She should be out there looking, too, no matter what he said.

  In a fit of frustration—multiple kinds—she flung the crocheting needle down to the bed. She walked to the desk, to her laptop, and—ignoring an e-mail from Curtis—pulled up an Instant Message box to see if Melody was online. When Melody didn't respond, she went through her saved mail file until she found the one she sought—containing Melody's phone number.

  She'd been keeping Melody up to date on her progress—or lack thereof, and the other woman had said if she needed to reach her and couldn't do so via computer that she could call her cell phone. She'd done it once before, and feeling a little frantic, she decided to do it again now.

  "Hello?" Utterly refined and sophisticated—it all came through in that one little word.

  "Melody, this is Stephanie. Can you talk?"

  The other woman hesitated. "Um, yes. But hold on just a moment." She heard Melody tell her husband that it was one of the other mothers from the play group, and that she was going to take the call in the den. "I'm back now, Stephanie."

  "I'm sorry to have caught you at a bad time."

  "No, it's fine. Is there news about Tina?"

  Stephanie explained what she'd learned, asking, "What can you tell me about the Crescent?"

  The other woman's voice went lower. "I didn't know girls still worked there. When I was in the business, the Crescent was crawling with cops and became considered an off-limits place. But it's possible that's changed."

  "Do you think some of the same girls who work Sophia's work the Crescent? Or could I find a whole new set of escorts who might know Tina?"

  "The Crescent is ... a big step down from Sophia's, I'm afraid. And while most of the girls at Sophia's work under a madam, the girls who worked the Crescent were more the type who worked strictly for themselves. More freedom, but less protection. For what it's worth, they might be more open with you than the girls at Sophia's. Whenever I met any of the lower-paid girls
, they seemed to think we were all sisters, if you know what I mean. They trust each other in a way high-end escorts don't."

  After they disconnected, Stephanie plopped back on the bed. She'd promised Jake she'd stay put, but there might be women at the Crescent who would know Tina. They might tell her something they wouldn't share with Jake. It felt absurdly like going back to square one, and yet how could she not?

  Picking the phone back up, she called for a taxi and slipped into a dress designed to entice. The timing was bad, but Jake hadn't turned up any leads other than this one, so she had to explore it to the fullest. She simply couldn't sit on her hands when she might be able to do something constructive. She knew there were dangers, but Jake had made her feel useless when it came to locating her sister—and she didn't like giving up control that way.

  She'd be careful tonight—she wouldn't talk to men, only other girls. And as for Jake, well... who cared what he thought? In fact, why had she let him tell her what to do in the first place? Bottom line, she had to find Tina. Even if it meant breaking the rules.

  Chapter 10

  The Crescent lay a couple of blocks outside the tidy grid of the French Quarter, and as Stephanie passed a ten-dollar bill to the cabdriver and stepped out into the night, she noticed the area lacked the charm of the historic Quarter, giving off more of a this-could-be-any-city feeling. It looked like one of a hundred streets she might find at home in Chicago, with clumps of small, older buildings squeezed between cold skyscrapers.

  The Crescent was one of those older places, nothing glossy or glamorous about the dark, squat hotel—and as she walked through the door, she felt more like what she was pretending to be than she ever had at Chez Sophia: a hooker.

  That should have horrified her, but maybe she was becoming more seasoned—or desperate—about this whole business. She was no less intimidated than she'd been that first night—she was just getting better at handling it. Sell it, she told herself as she moved through a plush but dated lobby. Tonight, though, it wasn't an urgently needed pep talk, just a simple instruction. The transformation came easier.

  This is Jake's fault, she decided. He'd loosed something inside her, from the very first time she'd met his gaze—something brazen she couldn't quite stuff back in the box it had oozed out of.

  Even as she moved across slightly worn carpet toward the double doors beneath a sign that read crescent lounge, her body ached and yearned for him. It was insane and uncontrollable—and she couldn't think about that right now. Sell it, she whispered inside as she reached for a big brass door handle.

  Inside, dark wood beams saturated the room with a certain dullness. Lights burned low. Clusters of people mingled beneath a layer of smoke hovering near the ceiling. A baby grand piano, as dull in sheen as the rest of the lounge, sat in one corner and an old man with thin, greasy hair played a jaunty tune from the crooners' era. Stephanie felt like she'd stepped back in time.

  Thankfully, the place was kept dark enough that no one seemed to have noticed her entrance. Three girls drinking martinis and wearing sequins caught her eye—her prey this evening. She spotted Jake, too, sitting at the bar, but at least his back was turned. Arrogant, bossy, even-if-you-are-gorgeous man. Her skin burned, part attraction but also part irritation at him for making her feel so... helpless. As if she could do nothing to aid their search. Well, she could, and she was going to prove it.

  She would have liked a drink—both for the nip of courage a little alcohol could deliver and because she felt empty-handed approaching the escorts without one. But since Jake hadn't seen her yet, she didn't want to go to the bar. So she took a deep breath and sauntered toward the young women, ready to conquer her task.

  "Hi," she said, and all of them looked her way—wary,

  skeptical. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm looking for a friend. Maybe you know her. Tina Grant?" Damn it, she'd just used their last name again, automatically.

  A pretty redhead, who was managing to chew gum even as she drank a trendy appletini, spoke up. "Tina?" She looked to an exotic Latina brunette in red spangles. "Was that one girl's name Tina? Raven's friend?"

  Thrilled to the core at this quick nibble, Stephanie hurriedly dug Tina's pictures from her tiny beaded black purse, passing them to the redhead.

  The girl nodded. "Yeah, that's her."

  "You know her? You're sure?" She struggled to keep the excitement from bubbling in her voice.

  "Only met her a couple of times," the Latin girl said. "She was new. Real green. Barely knew the business at all."

  Stephanie nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like her. Do you know how I can get in touch with her?"

  Both girls gave vague head shakes, while the third—a petite blonde—ht a cigarette and blew smoke toward the layer already floating above their heads. She said, "I'm gonna get to work, look for a trick," then set off into other parts of the cavelike room.

  "It's really important," Stephanie said to the remaining two, her stomach churning. "What about the friend you mentioned—Raven, was it? How can I find her?"

  The redhead shrugged. "Haven't seen Raven in a few weeks."

  Stephanie's hope dropped further, but she couldn't give up. "Do you know where Raven fives? Or"—God forbid—"... maybe you know which guys Tina... hooked up with, and you could put me in touch with them?"

  The girls stared at her. Her desperation was showing.

  She needed to explain herself. "It's just that... I haven't heard from her in a while, and I'm worried about her. We're ... close."

  The Latin girl cast a skeptical look. "Honey, you seem pretty green yourself. Too nosy."

  "Yeah," the redhead added. "This ain't a job for asking a lot of questions. People get the wrong idea about you." She glanced toward the door, where a tall, handsome man who appeared too sophisticated for his surroundings stood looking about the room. "Oooh, one of my richest customers. Gotta go."

  So much for Melody's claim that these girls would be nice. But on the other hand, they'd told Stephanie enough to make the trip completely worthwhile.

  "Sorry, buddy, I don't know the girl you're talking about, and even if I do, I don't know where to find her."

  This guy, Jake thought, was no help at all. Every sentence out of his mouth contained a contradiction. Probably a not-real-bright guy's attempt to cover up now that Tony had made him think the cops were looking to bust the Crescent.

  "I hooked up with her here before," Jake lied. "Sure you don't know if she comes in regular?"

  Rich, a thirty-something guy with receding blond hair, braced his hands on the bar. "Look, pal, I don't know what to tell you. But you want a blonde so bad, there's a hot one waiting to get picked up right over there."

  Jake turned to look where Rich pointed, his eyes landing on a knockout in a sexy black dress. Stephanie.

  An unprecedented rage rose in him until he felt like a volcano about to blow. Never mind that she looked absolutely stunning, the flowy material of the low-cut dress hugging her breasts, their round swells creating enough cleavage for him to drown in; never mind that his heart pinched oddly at the sight of her. He was gonna kill her.

  Without another glance at Rich, he slapped some money on the bar for his half-finished drink and crossed the room. She stood alone, so he didn't have to worry about niceties. "What the fuck do you think you're doin'? "he bit off.

  Her back went rigid, but she didn't shrink beneath his tone. "I'm coming at it from another angle."

  "Are you deaf or somethin'? Did you not hear me tell you to stay put? Are you tryin' to drive me out of my mind? What is it with you and simple instructions?"

  She started to respond, but he wasn't listening, because no matter what she said, it wasn't good enough. He latched onto her arm and pulled her toward an exit that opened into a dank alley. It was only as he was dragging her toward the street that she wrenched away from him. "Would you let go of me?" she snapped, her blue eyes wide and luminous beneath the streetlights.

  He grabbed her hand tight and procee
ded forward again. "No way, beb. Seems if I don't keep hold of you, you run off and get yourself in trouble." Upon reaching the sidewalk, he flagged down a taxi with his free hand.

  "I wasn't in trouble, for your information. I wasn't going to talk to any men, just the escorts," she argued as he delivered her into the car. "Melody said they'd be more open with another hooker than with a guy."

  He climbed in behind, shoving her over on the seat to make room for him.

  "And why on earth are you going with me? Why aren't you going back in there and grilling that bartender some more?"

  "LaRue House, on Esplanade," he told the driver.

  "You might think I'm totally incapable," she went on snippily, "but I can certainly get myself back to my place without your help."

  "I know you can, chère, but I got no confidence that you will."

  "Look, I'm sorry I disobeyed you, Master," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "But I knew there might be information out there about Tina and I had to try." The cab crossed the wide thoroughfare of Canal Street, then dipped into the French Quarter, the buildings on either side closing in darkly around the car. "And if anything had happened, you were there," she added with a brisk take-that nod.

  "Damn good thing, too, because in case you didn't notice, nobody lifted an eye, let alone a finger, when I manhandled you out of there. If somebody had wanted to hurt you and I hadn't been there, Stephanie ..." He was peering at her in the darkness, seeing only the shadowy shape of her, but feeling her warmth pressed up against him—and he found himself unable to go on because his throat was closing up at the very idea that some guy could have hurt her. Some guy could have hurt her and he might not have known, or might have been gone by then. Some guy could have hurt her and there wasn't a damn thing he could have done to stop it.

  "What?" she whispered, shaking her head softly when he didn't go on.

  Unwanted emotion clogged him up inside. It seemed to stretch like a physical thing from his throat down through his chest, then into the depths of his gut. He couldn't look at her anymore, even in the dark, so he focused on the back of the cabbie's head—a dark, greasy ponytail. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I just can't help you if I have to worry about you at the same time."