I got home, still listening to Laurel, made her a promise to get matters straightened out, and said goodbye all on automatic. It wasn't that I didn't mean what I told my daughter—I did love her and I was going to talk to the credit reporting agency—but frankly, my mind wasn't focused on it very much.

Honestly, I was just too caught up in what had happened with Simone to be thinking straight, and even as I tried to get back to my usual routine of making dinner and catching up on email I stayed restless. My body ached in a way it hadn't in years; I felt like I was twenty again—hard and hungry for a woman beyond rational thought.

All that from a kiss.

Just a kiss.

I wondered if I was losing my mind. I'd come too far and lived too long to be affected like this, I argued with myself. I was well past reacting this way . . . but my body didn't agree and it got to the point where I gave in to the only release I had. Not proud of it, but I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep unless I dealt with my lust first.

So I stripped down and got in the shower, turning the water to as hot as I could take it. Soaped myself up, and from the first stroke knew it wasn't going to take much, oh no. I braced one hand against the tiled wall while the other gripped my cock and I worked it slowly, letting my mind pretend it was Simone caressing me, moaning as she did so. Powerful stuff, fantasy, and having had a taste of the woman fueled matters considerably.

I wanted to hold out, and make it last longer; God knows the intensity was enough to make me groan and rock my hips but the images of taking Simone were too much and after a few minutes I came, hard, splattering thick strings of semen against the wet tile while my vision whited out and my heart pounded. I ended up grabbing the showerhead so my legs didn't give out on me, and let the water run over my body, hoping it would clear my thoughts.

After that I dried off, climbed into boxers and went to bed, feeling a little numb.

-oo00oo—

We found our missing lieutenant late Tuesday, body weighed down by a concrete cinderblock out in the Bayou Sauvage. LaSalle volunteered to work with the divers looking for the briefcase and found it, but it was empty. Percy and Gregorio found a connection between Jankowitz and one of the fishing charters, namely a rental of a skiff from one of the little companies near the national reserve.

I should have been pleased to get a break in the case; so far it was looking like the lieutenant had been planning to sell the contents of the case to parties yet unnamed but with connections to the construction industry. Naval intelligence confirmed the contents of the attaché had held land specs on the expansion of our naval installations, including the relay station from the case a few months back.

As I said, I should have been pleased, but mostly I was distracted. Oh I hid it as best I could from my team, and I'm sure they all had theories about why I was a little less cheerful, but the simple fact was my mind was elsewhere. Since I had to stop in and check on the official cause of death, I went to the morgue, caught between hope and trepidation about running into Simone. I wasn't sure I could keep any sort of demeanor around her, especially in public but I needed to try if we were going to work together.

She was there, along with Loretta, and the minute I saw her I felt a surge through me like a static shock. I couldn't swear to it, but Simone looked like she felt it as well, which was nice.

"Dwayne-here for the Lieutenant?" Loretta murmured. "Well the good news is the cause of death is pretty straightforward."

"His throat was cut," Simone told me, motioning to the sheet-covered body on the table. "Most likely a hunting knife with a serrated edge. There are rope marks around his wrists as well as on his ankles where he was tied to the cinderblock."

I nodded. "Hunting knife would be typical equipment on a fishing charter. Anything else?" I tried to be professional. It felt good to see her a little bit nervous; clearly she was working at it too.

"I do have an inkstain on his hip," Loretta told me. "Looks to be residue from a receipt that he tucked into the waistband of his shorts, and it's a nice shade of orange, so if you find a company with receipts that color . . ."

" . . . That narrows it down," I finished. "Thank you, that helps considerably."

"Good!" Loretta beamed. "I didn't catch it by the way; that was Simone's work."

"Nice," I told her, pleased to see her blush a bit.

Simone gave a shrug. "I thought it was a tattoo," she admitted.

Loretta looked at me and then at Simone; I swear I saw a light bulb go off, and she scooted out of the autopsy bay, grinning like a Cheshire cat and murmuring some excuse about a phone call.

She'd be saying something about this soon enough, but for the moment it was just me, Simone, and a dead officer. I shifted and tried not to look at her. "You okay?"

"I'm all right," Simone told me in a quiet little voice. "Nervous and a little confused, but other than that I'm fine."

I took a step closer to her, feeling that familiar pull as I did so. "Sounds familiar," I admitted. "Second thoughts?"

She looked up at me with those soft green eyes and gave a little laugh. "Dwayne, I can't even get through my first thoughts. You and your damned kiss! There are things I want to do to you, and do for you . . ."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Same here," I rasped. "Not the time or place but yeah."

She came over and laid a hand on my forearm, the warmth nice in the cool of the room. "Agreed. This is sort of insane but I like it. Not what I expected coming to this city."

"What DO you expect? On Saturday?" I asked, half-curious, half-wary. "Besides a cooking lesson that is, because I don't want to get our wires crossed about this."

She stroked my forearm lightly. "A lesson for a lesson I guess. Are you willing to put yourself into my hands?"

At that moment Simone could have asked me to jump off the Lake Ponchartrain Causeway and I would probably have done it. "How so?"

"Let me touch you and I promise we'll both enjoy it," she purred at me.

"Always intended to let you touch me," I assured her in a low voice. "That wasn't in doubt."

"Dwayne," Simone murmured, "I'm talking something a little more . . . restrained."

Took me a second to catch on, but when I did, I drew in a breath. "You mean the cuffs."

"Not those precisely," she countered. "Something a little softer, but for the same purpose. Tell me now if that's going to be a problem for you because if it is we need to . . . negotiate."

It dawned on me that this was the true test; the moment of trust between us. Simone had been nothing but honest with me about her inclinations and now the ball was in my court. I held her gaze and gave a slow nod because out of all the things I am, a man of my word is what I'm proud of.

"Not a problem," I promised her.

The smile she gave me in return could have lit up every bulb in the French Quarter for Mardi Gras.

-oo00oo—

I cut out early on Friday and went shopping for oysters, making it a point to get the best I could along with the other ingredients in a grocery run that evening. Once I'd picked up everything I was going to need for Oysters Bienville, I made another pass through the place, going down that particular aisle and feeling a little sweat on the back of my neck.

Precautions. Fancy way of saying birth control but I had no idea if Simone was on anything; our conversations hadn't gotten that far. I hadn't bought condoms in years; Linda preferred the Pill and so had Rita. Glumly I wondered if Laurel was on it and decided that wasn't a line of thought I wanted to get into. Instead I took a moment to look over the selections, glad I had the aisle to myself.

I finally chose a name brand I recognized, grateful that the box was discreet looking, and dropped it in the cart, feeling guilty and hoping I'd get a clerk I didn't know because I didn't need any comments, encouraging or otherwise. I lucked out and managed to get home without anyone saying a word, thank goodness. Then I spent some time reviewing the recipe, lifting weights, and trying very hard not to consider anything beyond that.

-oo00oo—

The only problem with the brownies Simone made was a small one. They refused to leave the pan. I looked at them and then at her, trying not to laugh but it was hard. "Did you butter or grease the pan before putting the batter in?"

She gave a little sigh. "No."

"There you go. The only way to save these . . . " I took a spoon and scooped out the dessert into brown balls, "Is to serve it up like this with good vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce."

Simone looked a little embarrassed but I set the pan in hot soapy water to soak and gave her a smile. "Still brownies, still good. Don't fret; they'll get eaten, trust me. LaSalle has a hollow leg when it comes to sweets."

"I thought being an enamel pan could make them slide out," she sighed.

"I keep tellin' you. Butter does wonders."

She finally smiled, and tilted her head. "I could take that in SO many ways."

And just like that I felt the shift. Our mutual gaze went from sweet to dangerously sensual, like the stroke of a hand down a bare spine. I leaned on the counter and smiled back.

"We have a while before the oysters are ready, and until then, I'm your willing student," I purred at her.

Simone glanced up, towards where my apartment was, and back at me. "Brave words, Mister Pride. I ask again: are you willing to let me make you feel good?" She didn't smile though; her look was one of almost yearning and that touched something deep inside. This woman really did want to make this all about me. Sexy, yeah, but also, almost a gift.

I came around from behind the counter and reached for her, taking her in my arms, cradling her close. "I'm ready."