Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 10

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, “but Jack doesn’t give a shit about you. He only cares about me.”

  I started to slam the door, but Miranda wedged her foot in the threshold and threw her shoulder into the door, knocking me off balance enough to push her way inside. She may have been rail thin, but she was quick—no doubt accustomed to squeezing her way into places where she didn’t belong.

  “You think you can come here and steal him out from under me?” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “You think you got something I don’t?” She waved her finger in my face, her bright pink nails flicking in the air between us. Her heels clacked on the floor until she’d backed me against the stair rail. One more step and she’d crash into me—then we’d both be wearing that damned casserole.

  “You should go now.”

  “I’m not going until I see Jack.”

  I balled my hand into a fist and said as calmly as I could, “He’s not here. And unless you want me to call the sheriff, I suggest you leave.”

  I figured I could take her if I had to, but she looked like the kind that scratched and pulled hair. That wasn’t my thing. I could use what I remembered from college judo and kung-fu movies, though. She’d be easy to topple in those ridiculous heels.

  Miranda laughed. “You’re a liar, just like him. I don’t feel anything but lies in this room.” She held one arm out, as if invoking a spirit, and I thought for the first time that she might actually be crazy. “Nope,” she said, closing her eyes. “No truth. Not at all. You think you can—”

  “Miranda!”

  We both turned toward the voice as the screen door opened.

  Jack held a paper bag to his chest, his shirt dappled by the rain. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be within five hundred yards of here.”

  “Baby,” she said, her voice breathy. “I came to see you. I miss you.”

  “Miranda, the judge said if you did this one more time he was sending you to jail. Is that what you want?”

  “Honey, please,” she said, sauntering toward him, her hips swaying. “We can fix this. I know we can.”

  He set the bag down. “No, Miranda. You need to leave. Right now, or I’m calling the sheriff.”

  “Oh, Jack,” she purred, pouting. “You don’t mean that.” She reached out to touch him, and he recoiled. Behind them, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.

  “I told you not to come back here, and I meant it.”

  She glared at him, then looked back at me. “I see what’s going on here. But you’ll get what you deserve.” She stepped toward me, but Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her back onto the porch. The spring in the screen door popped, and it stood wide open. The rain poured down, blowing a mist through the open door.

  Miranda pleaded as Jack pulled her down the porch steps. The dog rushed by him, a blur of gray and brown, and streaked through the house like a bullet.

  “Hey!” I shouted, and was torn between chasing the muddy dog and calling the sheriff myself. Outside, Jack had dragged Miranda onto the lawn. She had tossed the covered dish on the ground and was flailing her arms above her head, like she was calling down all the spirits to help her, but Jack turned his back and returned to the house. She stood as still as an oak, the rain pounding against her skin.

  For a minute, she seemed to not notice the storm at all, but then picked up the dish and walked back to her car.

  Jack paused on the porch steps. He looked at me with a pitiful expression, one that said he didn’t care to talk about this but knew he had to. His shirt clung to his skin, soaked from the rain. The clicking of the dog’s toenails caught my attention again as she bounded past me. From the kitchen, there was a clatter and a snort, then the yellow-streaked dog raced up the stairs, leaving buttercream paw prints in her wake.

  “Dog! Get back here, dog!” I yelled, and then bit my lip to hold in a string of curses. The pounding of Catahoula paws rolled overhead. In the kitchen, the paint pail was on its side, a lake of yellow spreading across the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, like I could stop time if I tried hard enough. If only I could take back the last hour, the last couple of days, and start over again.

  When I opened my eyes, Jack was standing by the stairs. He placed two fingers in his mouth, ripping out a whistle loud enough to shake the roof. Bella came running back down the stairs and out the front door in a blur. Jack shut the door and flipped the bolt.

  “I’ll take the kitchen,” he said. “You get the stairs.”

  We stumbled over each other in the kitchen, him sopping up yellow paint with a sponge and a dustpan while I filled a bucket with water in the sink. As I ran into the hallway with the soapy water, he fished a mop out of the closet and went to work on the huge yellow splotch on the floor. The overturned paint can had not been full, but it had enough paint in it to spread three or four feet across the floor.

  I scrubbed the yellow paw prints off the stairs. They were drying fast, but the water-based paint would come up with some effort. The trail of prints went all the way through the upstairs hall but had quickly faded out. This was nothing a quick polish wouldn’t fix.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. I shut the windows in the bedroom and then trudged down the stairs, dreading what I’d find in the kitchen.

  Jack was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with two wet dish sponges. I knelt next to him, scrubbing the trail of paw prints that led into the hallway.

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” he said. He had that sad arch in his brows again.

  “I know,” I said. The paint was coming up, but it would leave a stain. The floor would definitely have to be refinished. Maybe painted instead of stained.

  “That’s the best we can do,” I said.

  He kept scrubbing.

  “Hey,” I said, placing my hands over his. “Enough. This floor needed to be redone anyway.”

  He stopped and sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry you had to deal with Miranda again. Sometimes she won’t take no for an answer, and—” He shook his head, staring at the floor. “She’s just had too hard a life.”

  “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” I said. But I hoped he would.

  “She cared more for me than I did for her. That’s pretty much it.”

  But he did care. He cared enough not to embarrass her, not to be cruel out there in the rain—and that made it impossible to be upset with him.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “More than a year,” he said. “Part of me thought she was finally over it, since she hasn’t tried to see me in months.”

  He tossed the sponges into the pail of water, then stood and dusted himself off. He pulled me to my feet, and I said, “I should be apologizing. I wish I’d dreamed half of what happened last night.”

  His eyebrow arched.

  “You were kind to come and get me, and save me from myself.”

  He shrugged. “It’s OK.”

  “It’s definitely not OK. I said some unkind things.”

  “You do have quite the temper.”

  “When I got up this morning and you weren’t here, I was afraid you’d really left.”

  A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I just went out for beignets.” He stepped into the hall to get the bag, then pulled a plate from the cabinet. As he dumped the contents of the bag, a cloud of powdered sugar floated in the air between us.

  He popped one of the beignets in his mouth and pushed the plate toward me.

  “I’m really glad you stayed.”

  “Oh yeah?” He paused as he bit into another one.

  I nodded. “I seem to remember asking you to stay in bed with me.”

  He held one of the pastries to my lips. “Try one.”

  I took a bite, my lips brushing over his fingers. It was like a little puff of heaven rolling on my tongue.

  “Did you want to?” I asked.

  His stare turned to smoldering. “I couldn’t. You were pretty drunk.”

/>   I rose from my chair and slid onto his lap, straddling him. He inhaled sharply as I brushed my finger over his lips to sweep away a streak of sugar. “And if I hadn’t been?”

  He caught my finger in his teeth. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  He slid his hands over my hips, and I bent to kiss him. His tongue teased mine, and then he was biting my lip in the most delicious way. I tugged at his hair, and he kissed me harder, sliding his hands under my shirt and pulling me against him.

  He broke free and said, “I thought you wanted to keep this professional.”

  “I did.”

  “What happened?”

  I tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Do you care that much?” I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Naked. With his hands all over me. It was impossible to get anything done.

  That’s what had happened.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Actually, I do.”

  I shifted on his lap. “I was thinking we could bend the rules, this one time,” I said. “Is that OK with you?” I couldn’t stop kissing him, touching him, wanting him. Maybe getting him out of my system would dislodge the thoughts of him from my brain.

  He raised one eyebrow, as if thinking it over. Then he grinned wickedly and said, “Yes, ma’am. Those terms are agreeable.”

  He slid his cheek along my neck, his teeth pinching me as he left a trail of kisses down to my collarbone. I sighed as he wound his fingers in my hair, and then he was standing, setting me on the table. I wrapped my legs around him, and he leaned back just far enough to lock his eyes with mine. His hair was tousled, standing on end, his shirt half unbuttoned. The way he looked at me made me ache all over.

  He said, “Just this one time, huh?”

  “Make it count, Mr. Mayronne.”

  He shoved the plate out of his way and lowered me back onto the table. I slid my fingers into his hair, and he grabbed my hands, placing them firmly above my head against the table top. He slid my shirt over my head, then unfastened my jeans and eased the zipper down.

  “God, you are beautiful… all laid out here ready to eat.”

  My breath caught in my throat as he pulled my jeans down to my ankles and onto the floor. Slowly, he kissed a line along my thigh. My heart pounded as he slid his fingers over my hips, then slipped my panties off.

  I sat up, and he let me undo the last few buttons of his shirt. He sighed as I unfastened his belt and unzipped his jeans. I gave them a tug, and he said, “Easy, cher. I take my time with you, remember?” He grabbed my hands, brought them to his face and kissed them.

  “I certainly hope so,” I said, sliding my hands along his chest.

  He kissed me hard, biting my lip. In one quick move, he unhooked my bra and peeled it away. “Do you know how incredible you are?” he whispered, his lips moving against my ear. His thumbs slid over my nipples, and he traced tiny circles, forcing me to focus my thoughts only on where he touched me.

  “I’ve thought about this so many times,” he said, and took my breast into his mouth, his tongue lingering as it traced each curve. I felt the pinch of his teeth again and gasped. He gave a throaty chuckle and pushed me back onto the table, pinning me with his taut body. I squirmed under his weight but only to feel him press harder against me.

  “Jack,” I breathed, “how sturdy is this table?”

  His laugh was muffled against my skin. “It survived at least six hurricanes, cher. I think it can withstand you and me.”

  One of his hands roamed through my hair while the other slid under my hips, pulling me closer so I could feel how hard he was against me.

  “I’ve been dying to feel you again,” I murmured, my hands drifting across his back.

  Sleeping with Jack would complicate matters, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to feel his hands all over me, feel his hair brush over my skin as he kissed me.

  “Is that a fact?” he asked, his voice ragged.

  I gripped his shoulders, urging him on. He took his hands away just long enough to slide his jeans and boxers down over his hips. Kicking them off, he moved against me again, spreading my legs apart. He slid his cheek against my belly, his fingers trailing along the inside of my thigh. I shivered, waiting for him to seize me in his tight grip again.

  “Jack,” I said, and he eased inside me, as if he’d simply been waiting to hear his name on my lips. He moved so slowly at first that I ached for more of him. I cried out, shocked by the ways my body responded to his touch. His eyes stayed on mine as his hands traveled along my ribs, down my thighs, teasing me with their light touch. He moved harder then, faster, and I struggled to keep my breaths even. My muscles tightened, and he groaned, his hands gripping my hips so fiercely that I thought surely there would be bruises.

  I loved to feel him holding me down. I called his name over and over as he picked up his rhythm, breathing hard. My hips bucked toward him, and my legs tightened around his waist. I couldn’t get him close enough, couldn’t get enough of him. My hands clawed at his back—he’d given up on pinning them above my head—and he leaned down to kiss me, stifling my cries.

  His movements slowed again, and I caught my breath, raking my fingers through his hair. I pulled his face close so my lips moved against his ear. “I love the way you make me lose control,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  He nuzzled the spot below my jaw that made me shiver, then squeezed my hip with his hand as he altered our angle and pushed deeper inside me. He moved faster, placing his other hand on my cheek.

  I squeezed my thighs, clenched around him, and he gasped. “God, Enza,” he breathed, and the longing in his voice made me come undone. He slid his fingers between us, stroking the soft folds of my skin. There were so many sensations at once that I thought I couldn’t withstand his touch a minute longer. When he kissed me again, I felt my whole body shudder like it would crumble into bits.

  “Let yourself go,” he said, his mouth moving against my ear. “You’re so stunning like this.”

  He slid one hand under my head and the other to the small of my back, pulling me against him as he pushed harder. I struggled to take deeper, slower breaths to stop myself from shattering.

  “Look at me, cher,” he said, and when our eyes locked, my whole body trembled. His jaw clenched as his chest went rigid against mine, and I moaned his name into the hollow of his throat. Then he looked down at me, touching his nose to mine. He rested on one forearm, sliding his free hand along my cheek.

  I felt more connected to him than I had to anyone, ever, in that moment I wished would never end.

  Too bad we couldn’t do it again.

  ~~~~

  “There are still a few beignets left,” he said, reaching for the plate. He’d pulled his boxers and jeans back on and was sitting in the chair next to me, tracing his fingers along my thigh.

  I brushed powdered sugar from the front of my shirt. “I can’t believe you just ravaged me in my kitchen.”

  He grinned, holding a beignet out to my lips. “You can have me in every room of this house, cher.”

  I caught the tiny pastry between my teeth, let my lips linger on his fingers. I tried to stop myself from imagining him making good on that promise.

  He kissed me, his tongue sliding over my lip. “Delicious,” he said, and my skin tingled down to my toes.

  “We should get back to work,” I said, taking his chin in my fingers.

  He groaned playfully. “You’re the boss.” He gave my hip a squeeze. “In the kitchen, anyway.”

  ~~~~

  I had every intention of doing some actual work on the house, but every muscle in my body was limp. I had to settle for calling the repair guys listed on the scrap of paper Grant had given me. I’d helped Jack get his bedroom into some semblance of order, putting the furniture back where it belonged. And now he was busy cleaning out closets upstairs and washing down the walls of the next room to be painted.

  I was busy trying not to think about how all of my muscles had been so thoroughly exhausted. It helped to ca
ll and talk to the carpenters, since their mention of thousand-dollar repairs was the surefire antidote for ecstasy. I’d scheduled two estimates and was on my fourth phone call when Jack hurried down the stairs.

  “Hey,” he said, “you up for dinner tonight? Buck just called and asked us over.”

  “Um,” I said, thinking this was not what people in meaningless relationships did, meeting surrogate parents and whatnot.

  “It’s no big deal. They wanted to welcome you, or welcome you back, as it were. Josie’s been itching to meet you. That’s my aunt.”

  I stared at him, thinking of Buck talking to me in the bar, then calling Jack when he saw me with Remy. I was mortified all over again.

  “That’s really nice of them. But I can’t imagine Buck has a very high opinion of me right now.”

  “Relax,” he said. “They’ve seen me do far stupider things, I promise you. They just want you to feel at home.”

  “OK,” I said. It was rude not to accept an invitation, but I doubted they thought I was anything but trouble.

  ~~~~

  Buck and Josie lived right behind the hardware store. A grove of cypresses separated the two buildings, so to get to the house we had to turn into a driveway past the store.

  “Buck likes an easy commute,” Jack said.

  At the end of the lane was a clearing with a big yard. A Craftsman-style house sat back near a pond dotted with herons. The house was two stories, painted tan with red trim. A black and white tuxedo cat emerged from the porch and perched on the banister as we walked up the path.

  Jack ambled up the steps ahead of me, and the screen door banged open. A stocky woman with pale blond hair stepped out, her arms spread wide. She wore a tank top and jeans, a frilly apron and harness boots. Her hair was piled high on her head and held in a bun with a pencil.

  “Jack,” she said, “it’s been too long. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

  Before he could answer, she stepped around him and said, “And you must be Enza.”

  I held my hand out, but she grabbed me in a bear hug and said, “Vergie was such a sweetheart. It’s so good to meet you.”