"Come closer, Red," he rasped. "I want that burning-hot body next to mine." The wiry stranger threaded his hot fingers through her hair at the nape, and his steamy breath snaked around her neck.

A carnival spun in Garnet Boudreaux's head, and for once, she did not want to get off the ride. Was she drunk? Yes, somewhat. But it was okay, she was with her girlfriends, and they watched out for each other.

Were they watching his hands glide over her ass, too?

Hell, did she care?

Eyes the color of dark honey with flecks of gold pierced hers and held as he pressed closer. His lips scraped over her cheek, sending a shudder of want from the curls on her auburn head straight down to her scarlet toenails. Neon swirled as he led her out the door of the Cat's Meow, spilling into Bourbon Street's static currents, taking the lead as they dirty-danced their way into the crowd.

"My friends..." she breathed, wincing as he nipped her neck, his teeth clipping at the tender skin beneath her ear lobe.

"Back in the bar," he growled.

Oh Damn. She shouldn't leave Tiana and Kathleen behind. They needed her. Didn't they?

Or did she need them?

Like a cat lapping at milk, his tongue laved her neck to cheek. "Give me your tongue," he commanded. His hands rested under her armpits, cradling the sides of her breasts, thumbing her nipples through the red satin dressed she'd borrowed for this decadent Mardi Gras-type party on Bourbon her company insisted they attend.

Her mask. Had she lost it?

She glanced behind her. He caught her chin between his fingers and forcefully turned her face back toward his.

"Me. I'm the one you are with. Forget the others."

Her brain said no. The tingles racing up her spine and the heat gathering in her panties cried yes.

Yes.

His hips gyrated against hers and his dance swept her into a spiral of lights and hands and lips and skin on skin. He dipped his tongue deep into her cleavage and she resisted the urge to clasp his head against her chest and keep him there. He was hard against her abdomen.

Ready.

Waiting.

Primal.

Had he growled?

"Garnet!" A giggle of laughter exploded behind her as Kath, totally lacking in grace, grasped her forearm and spun her away from the man. "Come back inside! Tiana is giving Jello shots off her tits. You have to see this!"

For a moment, Garnet was disoriented, disengaged, trying to focus on being snatched away from her alluring dance partner and deciphering what Kath was saying.

Tia had Jello tits?

Too many Hurricanes. Damn that magic potion of rum and fruit juice, or whatever...

A low growl purred in her ear, like it was placed there on purpose. Calling her. Turning, she looked back.

He was gone.

At once she was cold. Empty.

With Kath still tugging, pulling her inside, she tripped backward. Frantic, she scanned the crowd until at last, a fixed set of brown-gold eyes stared back through the swarm and held for an eternal moment, then vanished.

"Walk. Now." Garnet grasped Tia by the elbow.

They were on St. Louis Street, around the corner from Bourbon, where Kath and Garnet dragged Tia from the bar. Red Jello stains streaked her chest and the black lace bra that peeked out over her scoop-neck top. She'd just puked into somebody's empty fried chicken take-out bucket.

"Lost my jacket," Tia wailed, swiping a hand over her mouth.

"You're lucky that's not all you lost."

"Gimmee a break."

"We just did. We broke you loose from that half-vampire, half-Neanderthal creature who was sucking the red stuff off your bra. Gross." Garnet brushed away some slimy goo from Tia's jet-black Latina tresses and grimaced. "It was time to regroup, get sober, and take a walk. Or you were going to be chopped liver somewhere in a dark alley come morning."

"Ne-andre-who?"

"Forget it. Keep walking." They moved through a throng of passersby down St. Louis. Garnet was irritated, distracted, still looking for a familiar set of eyes with that mysterious element of gold. "I never should have let you two talk me into coming down here again," she mumbled toward the crowd.

They didn't hear her, engrossed in their own little drunken worlds. She'd stopped drinking earlier, after gold-eyes had abandoned her.

Never should have left New York and come back to Louisiana. Damn work convention. Why did it have to be in New Orleans?

She'd had enough of the poverty and the decadence and the backcountry to last her a lifetime. Years ago she vowed she would never--

Tia jerked her arm and her childhood memories vanished. "Where we goin'?"

"Back to the hotel."

"Good, I'm gonna puke again."

"Oh, crap." Garnet wasn't the least bit sympathetic. She wanted to go home, where her apartment was clean, the music was civilized, and the crowds--even if they were thick and hurried at times--were not unruly and crude. She wanted a bubble bath and a glass of Chardonnay and Norah Jones on her stereo.

Tired of spoon-raking, accordion-annoying Zydeco already.

Rarely did a man in her Manhattan apartment complex grab his crotch and beckon to her, or a woman lift her shirt to give Garnet a hefty glance at her new boob job.

Yes, she and her mother had done well for themselves after they had left the bayou. She had no desire to return.

Kath tucked Tia between the two of them and linked arms. Garnet figured Kath realized she was a tad ticked. "Hold on, sister, one more block," she said and gave Garnet a be patient with her look.

Garnet blew out a breath and moved forward with the trio.

"Ooohhhh..."

"Shit. She's gonna hurl again." Kath's Bronx accent sounded so damn out of place here.

They pushed Tia into the edge of an alley. "Have at it, sister. And be quick. I'm not liking the looks of this wicked place," Kath told her. "Creepy."

Garnet didn't like it either. "Yeah, looks like the kind of place Mr. Neanderthal would hang out. Sure you can't make it to the hotel, Tia? My Jimmy Choos aren't great for running."

Tia answered with a hefty gag.

"Christ," Kath held back Tia's hair.

Garnet kept one eye on the depths of the alley behind them and other on the street. Good Lord, how could there be anything left in her stomach?

She glanced into the alley. Something gripped her. Fear?

No. Something else.

Familiarity.

Looking away, she shook off a wet, clammy feeling--like she'd been out too late in the bayou and the mist had settled over her--then dragged her gaze back into the shadowy dregs.

There. That set of eyes. Glistening gold against black.

Watching.