Too Wild to Hold. Julie Leto

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      This much was true. However, her cocky strength could just be the stressor that sent the Bandit over the edge.

      He clutched her arms and forced her back a few inches, which, unfortunately, did nothing to squelch his need to kiss her again.

      “Maybe not, but he’s still a serious threat.”

      “He hasn’t killed anyone.”

      “No, but he’s assaulted and raped. It’s only a matter of time before he goes even further, Claire. And maybe you’re the one he’s been working his way up to murder.”

      He watched fear skitter across her expression—which impressed him. It was one thing to be confident, but it was something else to think you were invincible. Something incredibly unwise, if not downright stupid.

      And Claire Lécuyer did not strike him as stupid.

      “Why me?” she questioned. “Don’t criminals usually follow the path of least resistance?”

      “Not always and not in this case. I fully intend to brief you on why he sought you out, but not here. This isn’t a game, Claire.”

      She nodded, her mouth pursed in a serious, contemplative scrunch. After a moment, she locked her stare with his. “But I’m the best chance you have to catch him, right?”

      His stomach constricted. She wasn’t going to give up easily.

      “This is the first time we’ve had any knowledge of who he’s after before he’s attacked.”

      Her increasingly confident grin bloomed into a full-on smile. “Then you need me to cooperate, Agent Murrieta. And for that, you will have to help me solve my case.”

      So it had come to this: blackmail. Or if he was feeling generous, quid pro quo. He strolled to the bedside table to put down his brandy, giving him time to think. He’d had two things on his mind when he’d broken the rules in coming here. First, he would protect Claire by getting her out as soon as possible. Then, from a safe location, he would determine a way to use the knowledge they had about the Bandit’s patterns to set a trap and catch him. Except for the pull of desire that had caught him unaware, nothing had changed. He still had two goals.

      Protect Claire and catch a kidnapper.

      In that order.

      If he delayed his plans a couple of hours to give her what she wanted, who would it harm? The Bandit would not get to her here. He’d make sure of that.

      “Before we negotiate, you need to know the whole story. This unsub isn’t your ordinary wack job. According to a profile provided by the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico, he’s a fast-evolving, highly intelligent, power-reassurance rapist who believes he’s the reincarnation of the famous masked bandit from colonial California, righting wrongs during the daytime and seducing beautiful women in the dead of night.”

      “Seducing? Don’t you mean drugging and kidnapping and tormenting?”

      “To him, he’s playing out this grand romance. He’s not sloppy or random. He’s purposeful, calculating. Patient. If he’s taken the step of sending you the scarf, I’d bet money he knows you’re here. He might have followed you or he might even have been the one to manipulate you into coming in the first place.”

      Her hand flattened against her stomach, as if the thought sickened her. “Wait, you think he hired me? Lied about my case so that I’d come to the plantation tonight?”

      Michael ran his hand down the length of her arm. Her skin was pebbled again, but this time with fear instead of desire. “Is it a coincidence that your great-grandmother on your mother’s side was black, so that you’re mixed race just like the women bartered for in the real placage system?”

      Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

      “It’s my job to know, Claire. The more I know, the better I can protect you. And if I know it, you can bet he knows. Your family has been in New Orleans for centuries. One of your ancestors might have taken part in the real quadroon balls. Maybe in his obsession with you, he found that out and came up with a plan to lure you here. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. They do happen sometimes. He’s never gone to so much trouble before, but maybe he’s never had to. He’s evolving. And like you said, you’re a different kind of victim.”

      She straightened her shoulders. “I’m not anyone’s victim.”

      “Not yet,” he replied. “And if you cooperate with me, not ever. But how sure are you of your client? Did you meet with him? Did you have adequate time to check out his story?”

      He watched her throat bob as she swallowed, watched her eyes narrow first with doubt, then with shock and finally with fury. When she jumped to her feet, ostensibly to object to him questioning her professionalism, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her into silence.

      She struggled to get free, but he did not yield. If the unsub was in the building, the safest place for her to be while they worked out a strategy was this bedroom. No device was going to cover up the sound of her shouting.

      “Let me go,” she insisted, her words muffled by his mouth.

      “Don’t struggle,” he murmured back. “They’re still watching. For all we know, he’s watching.”

      He released her arms, but she remained flush against him, her gaze locked with his. In that moment, he couldn’t resist drowning himself in the creamy jade of her eyes, in the sweet milk and toasted coffee shade of her skin.

      She was stunning. Not run of the mill tanned-and-gorgeous like he saw every day in California, but instead, everything the sponsors of Nouvelle Placage promised. Like the women bartered for hundreds of years ago, Claire was exotic, erotic and fresh in a way that had nothing to do with innocence and everything to do with attitude.

      “You really think he set me up?” she whispered.

      To her credit, she regained her calm quickly.

      “I don’t know,” he said. “But to beat this guy, we’ve got to be smarter than he is. And we have to stick together. One contingency he hasn’t planned for is you having someone to watch your back. Or other parts of you, as the case may be.”

      He’d crossed the line again, but he couldn’t help himself, particularly when her lips quirked into a tiny smile. She was so gorgeous, so defiant, so unlike any woman he’d been this close to.

      As much as he cared about this case—as much as he cared about keeping her safe and ensuring the legacy of his family name—he cared about her more.

      At least, he cared about kissing her, touching her, tasting her.

      With focused fascination, he watched her coil her finger within one of the springy curls dangling beside her cheek. If not for the music still playing beside them and the rapid pounding of blood surging through his veins, Michael might have heard her brain processing all the information he’d just shared.

      Her gaze darted to the camera hidden behind the air vent, to the shadows mingling with the light beaming from under the door, to the brandy, and then, back to him.

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