The storm is passing over us. Do you want to go to the bayou this night?” he asked softly, separating her hair deftly and beginning to weave it into a thick braid. She loved the feel of his hands in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, tugging so gently on the thick length of braid. She reached up to place a palm over her bare shoulder, the exact spot where his lips had touched her. “I would love to go to the bayou with you.” He smiled at her, his silver eyes molten mercury. “We can observe wildlife for a change. No vampires.” “No weird society types,” she added. “No mortals in need of rescuing,” Gregori said with intense satisfaction. “Get dressed.” “You’re always taking my clothes off, then telling me to get dressed again,” Savannah complained with her infuriating smile, that little sexy one that drove him mad. He turned her around to face him, caught the front of her shirt, and drew the gaping edges together to cover her tempting body. “You cannot expect me to dress you myself, do you?” he asked, leaning down to brush her lips with his. She actually felt her heart jump in response. Or maybe it was his heart. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference anymore.
Morning, ma'am. I'm looking for Tommy Mason. Is he around? Polite and professional, that was Senior Agent Broussard.Lord, what's that no-good sonofabitch done now? Wait, you ain't a cop; you're a game warden. What'd he do, run over a fish?
You don’t like to talk to people, do you? I mean, slamming the door in my face was a clue that was hard to miss. I’m perceptive like that.
I don’t like coming over here at night, the girl said. The bayou is scary in the dark, all manner of things running wild out there.
Jena Sinclair had taught him a couple of things about himself in the past few minutes that he didn’t want to know. First, sometime in the past five years, a deep fatigue had wrapped itself around him – not the fatigue that could be slept off with a soft bed and a warm blanket, but the fatigue caused by a tightened harness that restricted. That promised no end to long days and longer nights. A harness of his own making. Cole had realized another surprising thing too. Very surprising for the man who needed nothing and no one. He was lonely.
Everybody has scars; some are more visible than others, that’s all. But anyone without a scar is someone I don’t want to know because it’s someone who doesn’t feel things deeply. You have to understand loss to recognize a gift when you see it.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “You are my gift. I want to be yours, if you’ll let me.
We have unfinished personal business I do believe.” He smiled. “And I do love to make you blush.”,“It clashes with my hair.
What a voice. Deep, throaty, but not in a sexy way. In a haunted way. A voice full of heartbreak and ghosts.I won't go back, I won't go home,'Cause in this place, the dead still roam,'Cause this time, Whiskey Bayou won't let me go.
..the guests milled back and forth: men stood with their heads together, discussing politics and crops, their stiff white shirts puffed and ruffled, their voices rising and falling in steadfast opinions as women of fair whispered to one another and laughed behind silk fans, occasionally calling out gaily to pull another into their ring of white shoulder flounced with satin as house niggers dipped and weaved all around them bearing trays of syllabub and sack, almost invisible as the shadows they cast