Muzzling the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 4 (3 page)

He really should start using his smartphone instead of paper to record this stuff.

For a moment, he wondered if Bicco Sat owned this place and if a snitch had said there was a major drug ring operating from here.

Right now, the only crime seemed to be the crappy decor with lots of fake leather and pressed wood, along with what they charged for a lousy Cajun burger.

Stumped, he called his snitch and got no answer or voicemail. The turd was probably working another detective in order to pay for his three-thousand-square-foot house. Giving up on him, Gabe called one of his buddies on the force.

Nathan answered on the second ring. “You still working? Thought you went home.”

Gabe tried to recall heading to his condo but couldn’t. “Stopped for some food.”

“Didn’t know you liked Chuck E. Cheese’s so much. How can you stand the noise?”

A young woman standing next to Gabe’s table continued to shriek at some guy near the band. Thankfully, the guy finally gestured her over.

Gabe turned his back to the crowd, only to face a group of elderly people on the outside walk. The old guys took pictures of the babes in short-shorts. The old ladies snapped photos of him through the glass. Gabe lowered his head. “I’m at After Dark. Need you to look up Bicco Sat or Satt for me.” He spelled the last name both ways.

“Bicco what?” Nathan chuckled. “Sounds like the name of a male stripper. Didn’t know you were into those kinda things.”

“Get real. This is a new nightspot where everyone’s basically clothed. I’m thinking Satt might be the owner. See if we have a sheet on him.”

“Hold on.” A few minutes later, Nathan said, “Nope.”

“Find out who owns After Dark.”

“Give me a sec.”

It took quite a bit longer, with Gabe finishing his seltzer in the interim.

“Okay, here you go,” Nathan said. “A place called Fun Drinks & Eats owns it. They’re headquartered in…ah…Delaware. The manager where you happen to be is Chien Pham. No record.”

Then why in the fuck had Gabe wanted to know about this place, even asking Constance about it? “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason. Thanks. Bye—wait.” Gabe leaned back in his chair and debated whether to ask why he’d ended up in the French Quarter tonight. Could be Nathan knew.

“Yeah?” Nathan finally said when Gabe hadn’t continued.

He couldn’t. Nathan would surely wonder why Gabe had forgotten an investigation as if it hadn’t existed. Word might get out how he was losing it. Nathan wouldn’t blab deliberately, but cops were always ribbing each other about stuff. The more painful the better, like not getting it up for the ladies or the first time a teenage girl called you grandpa.

Unwilling to risk it, he said, “See you tomorrow.” Before Nathan could answer, Gabe killed the call.

“You ready to order?” his waitress asked. She was in her mid-twenties or so, quite pretty, had dark blonde hair, and a smile that said she was definitely interested in him.

Before Gabe could stop them, memories of Constance flooded his mind. Her ripe figure, silky hair, sultry scent. His cock jumped to attention, telling Gabe he wasn’t only hungry for her, he was damn deprived and couldn’t leave this area now.

He simply didn’t want to. “I’ll have the jambalaya and a NOLA Blonde, if you have it.”

“We do.” She leaned close and murmured, “We have lots of stuff. Be right back.”

At any other time, he might have chatted her up, and if they proved compatible, asked her out. Not tonight.

When she delivered his order, he was polite but distant. He ate without really tasting a bite and kept his attention on the door to Constance’s office, waiting for her to come out.

An hour later, two really pale guys exited, followed by another one who needed a shave. Rarely had Gabe seen anyone with so much facial hair. Head down, the hairy guy hurried away while the pale ones kept licking their incisors.

Weird, but the only thing going down. A half hour later, Constance still hadn’t exited the place.

“Sir?”

He turned and saw a middle-aged Asian guy. Gabe looked at him questioningly. “Yeah?”

“You need to pay your bill and go,” the man said in perfect English. “You’ve been at this table for hours. We have other customers waiting.”

No doubt, this was Mr. Pham. Gabe considered showing his badge to get him to back off, but he decided against it. He had no real business here except hoping to catch a glimpse of Constance and figure out why he’d come to this area in the first place.

“You bet,” Gabe said. “Sorry for hogging the table.” He settled his bill, giving the waitress a thirty-percent tip.

“Please come back,” she called out. “When you do, ask for Vicki.”

Outside, Gabe hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the building where Constance worked. After a few minutes, a shadow fell across the shuttered window. Whether it was from a male or female, he couldn’t tell. His attention went to the ferns below the balcony as they swayed in the muggy breeze. For some reason, they reminded him of the hairy guy who’d left earlier. Why, Gabe had no idea, and it was driving him nuts.

All the way home, Gabe tried to recall whatever he seemed to have forgotten. In his kitchen, he stopped and stared at the salt and pepper shakers on the table. He picked up the one with the salt, studying the grains, not understanding why they fascinated him.

After ditching his clothes, he stretched naked on his bed with hand on his cock, stroking it as he knew Constance would have done if she’d joined him tonight. She wasn’t into playing games, her kiss more than proved—

Wait.

She’d kissed him first, even apologized—sort of—for having attacked him.

Gabe’s cock stiffened at memories of his tongue in her sweet, hot mouth, with Constance suckling it as if they’d known each other forever and she wanted him badly. His balls tightened at the thought, needing to release their load.

He stroked harder this time, faster too, wanting to come as he recalled cupping her ass, pushing her sweet pussy into his rod, letting her know he ran the show even though she said she—

Wait.

Gabe stilled as a memory started to form and then drifted away.
No, dammit, no.

“Come on,” he growled, willing it into his consciousness. Something about him being in charge, but Constance also wanting to take the lead…or telling him so.

Gabe bolted to a sitting position, his pulse sprinting as his memories returned. She’d called herself Constance Salt, but it had been Becca Salt, not Bicco Satt, he’d been looking for. That’s why the saltshaker had riveted him, trying to prod him into remembering what he recalled now.

Becca owned the business he’d been investigating on his own after a parish priest had spoken to him about it. Gabe had gone there tonight to check out Father Archambault’s strange concerns and to talk to Becca. Had he?

Frowning, he tried to recall but couldn’t. Ever since Constance kissed him, he’d somehow forgotten everything.

Why? How in the hell could she have had such an effect on him? She was a dynamite woman but didn’t have the power to fry his brain. His balls maybe, but his gray matter, no fucking way.

Gabe wondered if he’d had a minor stroke tonight or some kind of fit where he’d participated in stuff but didn’t remember afterward.

Worried, he left his bed and went to his laptop. He keyed what he was beginning to remember, just in case he suddenly forgot it again.

Chapter Three

Several days later, the gang surprised Constance with a party celebrating her fifth year at the service.

It was actually three months before her original hire date, but she didn’t contradict them. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to make her feel wanted and loved.

Heather had hung voodoo hoodoo decorations in Constance’s office—skulls, conjure dolls, feathers and chicken feet—mortal trappings supernaturals knew were downright silly. Zoe lit dozens of candles, turning the room nearly as bright as the fluorescent lights did with the halls and treatment rooms. The incense was so thick, it was hard to breathe. Didn’t matter. MJ conjured up more.

Becca stepped inside, holding a silver tray with a humongous molten lava cake on it, Constance’s fave. Her stomach rumbled. A second later, tears rolled down her face at their sweet kindness.

Daemon, Stefin, Anatol, and Taro stepped back immediately, their big bodies crowding each other, expressions guarded as they watched her carefully.

Constance waved her hand at them and blubbered. “I’m fine.”

Seemed good enough for Daemon, who was handsome as sin with shoulder-length brown hair and a bad-boy’s stubble. Casually, he hung his arm over Heather’s shoulder and rested his palm smack on her boob. After elbowing him, she shook her head. He gave her a clueless look but did drop his hand to her waist.

Anatol, Stefin, and Taro were more circumspect as they hungered over Zoe, the flames in their eyes flaring brightly. Tonight, she’d worn a skintight black dress, a perfect complement to her raven hair and snowy skin. A far cry from the Catholic schoolgirl outfits she used to wear before falling in love with the guys.

A stab of longing hit Constance ruthlessly, snatching her breath.

Becca stopped her approach and looked from her to the Unholy Trio, all of them hotties. Stefin, tall and nicely muscular, with a bronze complexion and longish blond hair. Anatol, with his mahogany-colored skin and delicious dreadlocks. Finally, Taro, as different from the others as they were from him, given his baby blues and auburn hair. They were a testament to the power of testosterone, all of them virile to the extreme—hulking masses of men.

Even so, they backed farther away from Becca, hands clasped innocently behind them, which emphasized the impressive bulges between their legs. Zoe was going to get lucky tonight, possibly in the break room if her guys remained true to form.

Constance sighed enviously.

“Happy anniversary,” Becca said, offering a hesitant smile. “We’re so glad you’re a part of our team. Here.” She shoved the cake at Constance, no doubt figuring chocolate would make everything better.

Daemon must have thought so, since he headed for it, hungry as always. MJ and Heather grabbed his arms, hauling him back. Again, he gave them a what-did-I-do look.

Damn, he was cute and so clueless that Constance couldn’t help but smile through her tears. After blowing out the candles, she cut the cake in equal portions, plopped the oozing messes on plates and offered everyone their fair share.

Heather made certain Daemon fed himself and didn’t lick any part of her. Zoe remained on one side of the room while her guys gave her smoldering looks from the other. If Eric had been here, rather than with a client at his financial firm, Becca would have most likely warned him to behave. Considering he was a descendant of Cupid, with impeccable manners and a romantic nature, it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to comply.

Constance welled up again. Somehow, their sympathy for what she was going through made her feel even lonelier. When they went home, it would be with or to someone. All Constance had waiting for her was an empty apartment, romance novels, adult films, or Internet chat rooms, none of them satisfying for long.

As the others ate and started to loosen up, Becca slipped her arm around Constance’s waist. “I have a surprise.”

She looked over. “You’re pregnant?”

Becca blushed worse than Heather usually did. “Ah, no. The surprise is for you, not about me.”

Oh. “A raise?”

“Uh-uh.” She looked embarrassed. “You’ll get one, like you always do, though not tonight.” She smiled weakly, then brightened. “We have a new client. A demon. Tall, tan, and totally in charge, if you get my drift.”

Constance wasn’t brain-dead. “You’re fixing me up?” Her shoulders sagged. “Please don’t tell me you paid the guy to come here.”

“No—
no.”
Becca stepped away and waved her hands. “I just thought you’d like to meet him. See if you two hit it off. I swear, he’s a new client. He booked a spot before you met—ah—”

Gabe.

How easily her mind filled in the blanks when Constance didn’t want it to. She should be grateful for Becca’s help and eager to meet a new man, but she suddenly felt gun-shy of the whole process. It had never worked before, and surely wouldn’t now. “Thanks, but…”

Constance didn’t finish as Becca suddenly glanced past. Taking up most of the doorway was a tall guy with classical Greek features, wavy brown hair, bristly cheeks, a muscular body to tempt even the most reluctant pussy, and flames wiggling in his dark eyes.

Becca whispered, “That’s Farron.”

He certainly was. Constance’s mouth went dry at his male beauty, her reaction more knee-jerk than anything. He approached with the assurance of a heat-seeking missile with her as his target. For the first time ever, Constance actually stepped back from a man.

Didn’t stop him. Farron crowded her, taking in her ivory turban and matching off-the-shoulder gown. “Hey, how you doin’?”

Not good, considering he sounded like Joey from
Friends.
She didn’t bother to wonder if Farron used cuffs in bed. Shackles, collars, chains, and whips were likely his style.

He’d probably show her BDSM moves she’d never known existed, giving her screaming orgasms and little else. Constance was well acquainted with this kind of man, or rather demon. They didn’t stick around for real intimacy. There were too many other conquests to be had. Already, he was eyeing MJ, Zoe, and finally Heather, probably liking her innocent appearance the most.

Becca elbowed Constance, her expression urging her to make a play for him.

Aw, crud.
She simply wasn’t into it tonight, but she had to make the effort since everyone had done so much for her.

“Hey,” Constance finally said to him. When Farron turned back, he studied her boobs for an indecently long time, even licking his lips as if she were tonight’s entrée. No wonder he’d come here to suppress his beast. Talk about obvious.

He was nothing like Gabe, whose interest had simmered beneath the surface, flaring briefly as if he couldn’t contain it any longer. Gabe’s struggle to remain civilized had made Constance’s heart turn over. She’d always been the one pursuing guys. How nice to have them, or rather him, give chase.

Farron came on so strong he was making her sweat, and not in a good way.

Becca must have noticed. Leaning over, she spoke softly. “After his treatments, he’ll be as civilized as the others, I swear.”

Constance figured she was talking about the clients, not the guys in here. Daemon had Heather pinned against the wall, arms above her head as he kissed her deeply. Stefin, Taro, and Anatol had sandwiched Zoe between them, feasting on her—Taro suckling her neck, Anatol brushing his lips over her ear, Stefin thrusting his tongue halfway down her throat.

Constance went dizzy with panic, not arousal, the first time ever when it came to the promise of sex. She whispered to Becca, “Thanks, but think I’ll wait until he’s through with the program.” After grabbing a piece of cake and a plastic fork, she gave Farron a wan smile. “Nice meeting you. Excuse me.”

Before he could speak or tackle her, she fled the room and waited until they’d all cleared out before returning.

Thankfully, Constance had back-to-back clients during the following hours, making it impossible for Becca and the other ladies to ask her anything personal. She heard them approach her office repeatedly, always lingering by the closed door. However, none of them knocked or opened it.

If Farron had wanted her, he probably would have kicked the thing in. She was grateful he hadn’t. He was a great-looking dude but didn’t own the tenderness Constance needed. A man with a soul who would honestly care for her just as she was, imperfect and wanting, yet be willing to give her all.

Looked like tonight would be another search for Mr. Perfect in her chat rooms, since no online dating service catered to a voodoo priestess with a needy heart.

The moment her last client left, Constance prayed she could escape the office without anyone stopping, quizzing, or feeling sorry for her.

Despite Becca’s previous worry, Heather wasn’t at the front desk, the closed-circuit monitor proving no one was on the other side of the door. The halls were also deserted, everything eerily quiet thanks to MJ’s soundproofing.

Constance figured Heather was in the supply closet, going at it with MJ and Daemon, or she was in one of the treatment rooms, healing a client’s bruises and scrapes courtesy of the enforcement team.

With her purse wedged beneath her arm, Constance slipped out the front door. On the street below, tourists and locals laughed, talked loudly, or shouted. Some waved their arms to get attention.

She stilled at a young couple in a horse-drawn carriage as they finished their kiss. The way they leaned into each other, her resting her palm on his cheek, him with his hand on her waist, made Constance’s throat constrict.

Crazy, she knew. He might be married to someone else, the young woman actually being his long-suffering mistress. Could be they were trying to rekindle lost love before they gave up and divorced. Even so, the picture they’d created made Constance yearn all over again.

For years, she’d deliberately ignored happy couples to protect her aching heart. It had worked until Becca and the others got involved with their men. A scant two years before, they’d all been single, none having any real hope of finding the right guy. Then bam—bam—bam, the others had fallen like dominoes, leaving Constance all by herself.

Chin lowered, she hurried down the stairs to the walk and wove in and out of the crowd, promising herself, as she always did, to find an apartment well away from the French Quarter. A place she could drive to so happy couples wouldn’t constantly remind her of what she didn’t have.

She stopped before crossing the street, having to wait for another horse-drawn carriage to pass. This one had an older couple inside, their smiles luminous and content.

She wished them well, hoping they realized how lucky they were.

With the push of the crowd, Constance started across the street. Halfway there, she glanced up and came to an immediate halt.

Others brushed past, arms and shoulders bumping hers as if she were an inanimate object, rather than a voodoo priestess who could give them real hell if she wanted to.

Right now, Constance had difficulty breathing, much less plotting revenge. Gabe stood in front of After Dark, his attention on her, no one else, his expression filled with the same longing she felt.

Constance locked her knees to keep standing.
What’s he doing here?

What did it matter? It was a dream come true. The nightmare would come later.

Not wanting to think about the repercussions of seeing Gabe again, Constance managed to make it across the street and stop directly in front of him. Even with the scents of Cajun food, beer, and humanity, she caught his fragrance, as intoxicating as she recalled, and leaned closer.

So did he. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Unable to resist, she rested her fingers on his cheek, loving his stubble and warmth, needing this moment as she hadn’t anything else. He seemed to crave it too. The world went by with them simply staring, smiling, and memorizing each other’s features once more.

She saw kindness and honor in his eyes, the kind of strength that allows a man to be gentle. He didn’t leer at her as Farron had. Gabe’s gaze caressed, undoing Constance. She didn’t care if he was mortal or a cop. Nothing mattered except right now. She melted into him, seeking his mouth as he sought hers, their lips molding to each other, tongues touching, then dancing.

She moaned in pleasure, slipping her arm around his shoulder. Gabe not only accepted her embrace, he made sure Constance couldn’t get away from him, his hands on her back, pushing her closer.

They kissed as strangers passed. At first, a tender, searching exploration that made her want more. Gabe seemed to know and must have needed the same, as he deepened the kiss, encouraging Constance to give her all.

How could she do anything less, grateful for his passion no matter the alarms going off in her head.

Gabe quieted them with his strong embrace, his body pressed close, branding her with his touch and scent.

“Matt,” someone next to her shouted.

“Hey, man,” another guy bellowed in return.

A horse whinnied, women giggled, strains from a band drifted past, the horn wailing and then holding its highest note.

She and Gabe kissed through all the sounds, their passion artless at times, noisy too. Didn’t matter. To Constance, what they were doing was beyond beautiful.

He must have needed a full breath finally, because he pulled his mouth free. Lightheaded, Constance sagged into him, her turban askew. He pulled it off and crushed her hair in his hand.

When he lifted the tresses to his face and sniffed, she smiled. “What are you doing?”

“Smelling you.”

Even Nora Roberts couldn’t have penned a better answer. Giddy with happiness, Constance trailed her fingers down Gabe’s red tie, wondering if he’d ever used it to secure a woman’s wrists to his bed. Did he have a headboard with slats? Too shy to ask, Constance said the only thing she could, given the circumstances: “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

A surge of warmth and desire nearly knocked her down. She eased away in order to see his face. Gabe smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes, driving her back over the edge. Constance captured his mouth again, slipping her tongue inside, letting him know this time she’d have her way.