Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 6

  “Not at all.” Not for the reasons he thought anyway.

  “Listen, cher,” he said, “I’m sorry about before. I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, I don’t want you to think—”

  “I don’t. It’s fine. I haven’t danced in a long time.”

  He smiled and then, in response to my gaze, said, “What?”

  “You’ve got some paint here.” I touched my cheek.

  He wiped his face, but the streak was still there.

  “No, here.” I stepped closer and wiped the paint away with my fingers. There was another spot on his neck and flecks in his hair. “A little here too,” I said, sliding my thumb over his neck.

  He leaned over so I could reach.

  “There,” I said. “Got it.” But as I pulled away, he dropped his hand on my hip and kissed me.

  I stood still, my hands by my sides.

  He stopped as quickly as he’d started, and eyes widened, took a step back.

  Without another thought, I kissed him back. He tensed as my hands gripped his waist. For a second I thought he’d push me away, but then he slid his hands through my hair and kissed me harder, his tongue parting my lips.

  I pulled away just to take a breath, and he tilted my chin back with his fingers. His lips grazed my neck, and my heart pounded, as if willing him to slide his tongue along every inch of my skin. His hands moved to my hips, and he nudged me backwards, pinning me against the wall. I loved the way he tasted, loved the way his chest felt pressed against mine.

  I laughed as his chin grazed my neck.

  “Ticklish?”

  “Nope.”

  “Liar,” he said, his voice husky as he tickled me with his scratchy cheek.

  I laughed harder, squirming in his grip.

  His lips brushed my ear as he said, “I like a woman who laughs in bed.”

  Catching my breath, I murmured, “We’re not in bed yet.”

  His finger slid along my neckline, and he said, “God, I love the way you say yet.”

  The tacky paint would surely stick to my clothes, but I loved feeling his tightened muscles against mine, and I thought, Hell, what’s one more coat of paint?

  “You feel incredible,” he said.

  Before I could say anything, he kissed me so hard that I felt the blood in my head rush to my feet.

  As his hips pressed into mine, I felt him hard against me, and I wasn’t doubtful any more. In that instant, he was all I wanted.

  As I reached for his belt buckle, he held my hand above my head. “Not yet, darlin’,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “We take things slow around here.”

  My breaths quickened as I pictured exactly how he might take his time with me.

  He unbuttoned my shirt so slowly it made me shiver. I thought at any second he’d rip the blouse from my shoulders and scatter buttons all over the floor. But he seemed to want to stretch this moment out as long as he could. I leaned into him, dragging my fingers down his back.

  “So stunning,” he said, as he dropped my shirt to the floor. “I can’t decide where to start.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. His lips moved over my collarbone, and I struggled to undo the snaps on his shirt while my hands were free. He let me push his hands away just long enough to free them from his sleeves, and he grinned when I pulled him against me again.

  He somehow knew exactly where I wanted to be touched, and I laughed a little, thinking that maybe I needed to offer up another challenge just so he didn’t think I was too easy to please this way, either.

  “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

  “What is it?”

  He slipped his hands down over my hips. His lips moved against my neck as he spoke, and I shuddered. “I’ve wanted you ever since you walked into this house. Does that scare you?”

  “It takes more than that to scare me,” I said, grasping his hips. “Show me how much you want me.”

  He lifted me then, pulling my legs around his waist. He sighed when I squeezed myself tighter around him, and kissed me harder. Still holding me against him, he moved away from the wall and stumbled down the hall to his bedroom.

  We landed on his bed in a tangle, and I unfastened his belt, unzipped his jeans.

  “I knew you’d drive me crazy,” he said, raising up enough to strip off his jeans and toss them to the floor. He pulled my shorts and panties to my ankles, tracing his tongue from my hip down to my knee as he went. My breath caught in my throat, and I wound my fingers in his hair. His lips grazed my thigh so deliberately that it made me ache. I’d never wanted so badly for a man to keep touching me, keep trying to get closer.

  Jack, it seemed, couldn’t get close enough.

  Why he was so different and why I could let my guard down with him didn’t make sense to me—but I pushed those thoughts aside. His tongue, his teeth, his hands roving over every curve of my frame—that’s what I preferred to concentrate on.

  “Jack,” I breathed, “Stop this teasing.”

  His lips moved against my inner thigh as he said, “I want to take my time with you.”

  I trembled as his tongue slid along the curve of my hip, and I tugged on his hair until he brought his face back up to mine. I kissed him hard, and he grunted in surprise. I couldn’t feel enough of him, taste enough of him. I clutched his shoulders as if I was about to fly away and he was the only thing anchoring me to the earth.

  His grip tightened. Then a buzzing filled my ears. I thought it was because of his cheek sliding along my collarbone, but when he leaned over me and reached for his jeans on the floor, I realized it was not.

  He was stretched across me, holding me down as he dug through the pockets and pulled out his cell phone.

  I tightened my leg around his waist, and he groaned, reading the number on the phone.

  “What is it?” I asked, my breath ragged.

  Still halfway off the bed, he held the phone to his ear and listened. Then, all business, he said, “Yeah. Be there in drive time.”

  I relaxed my grip on him, and he settled back over me, placing his forearms by my ears.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This makes me a real bastard.” He hovered over me, kissed me lightly on the lips. “I have to go.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “It seems I gotta go put out somebody else’s fire.”

  I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “You did not just say that.”

  He climbed off me and fumbled to get his pants on, wincing as he zipped them. “God, you’re beautiful. I hate my job right now.” He slipped his boots on and grabbed his shirt, never taking his eyes off me.

  “What happened to your day off?”

  “It’s a big one,” he said. “They need everybody that’s around.”

  I sighed, falling back into the pillows. My skin already felt cold without his against it.

  He smiled that crooked smile. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be back soon.”

  I propped my head in my hand, still dizzy, wishing he’d pretend he didn’t get that call and climb back into bed. Then I felt guilty. After all, somebody’s house was on fire, and right then, they needed him more than I did.

  But only slightly.

  He leaned over and kissed me, a slow, delicious move that made me want to stay all tangled up with him for the next three days.

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t forget where we were.”

  He jogged to the door, and I called out, “Wait!”

  “What is it?” he said, leaning against the door frame.

  “Be careful.”

  He frowned. “That’s like saying Macbeth in the theater, cher.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Well, break a leg, then.”

  “You get one free pass. Then the gods start raining irony and brimstone down on all of us.”

  He winked at me as he dashed out the front door.

  ~~~~

  I lay back against his pillows, listening to his bo
ots thumping down the porch steps.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  I vaulted from the bed, and scooped my panties and shorts up from the floor.

  “Jesus, Enza,” I muttered, retracing our steps to find my shirt. Back in the study, I marched straight to the wall that now had the faint texture of cotton blouse and denim shorts embossed into the surface. I frowned, grabbing the roller and dunking it into the paint tray.

  Was I out of my mind, climbing into bed with a man I just met? I couldn’t even blame it on the paint fumes because my paint was top-quality water-based. I rolled a thin coat over the smudges, careful not to make the first layer peel off. It was too soon to add another layer, but those smudges needed to be smoothed away. Immediately.

  I dug through the hall closet until I found a box fan, then aimed it toward the touched-up wall. I collected the last bits of wallpaper into a garbage bag and took it out to the porch. Bella was stretched out on her side under the hammock. She opened one eye and stared at me dubiously.

  With Jack gone, I could finish up the room. Erase all the evidence that the last hour ever happened.

  The drop cloths were splattered with buttercream, but the floor was clean. It could use a quick polish, but I’d wait to do them all at once. I uncovered the furniture, put some scraps of cardboard under the feet of the chairs, end tables and the monstrous floral sofa, and shoved the pieces back where they belonged.

  I willed myself to forget Jack’s husky laugh and the way his lips felt moving down my belly, over my hip. I would not think of the wrinkles that formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled his easy smile. I would not think of his big square hands holding me under him as he told me he couldn’t wait to taste me. I could will myself to forget the way his lips had felt on mine.

  Thank God that building had caught fire.

  ~~~~

  When I woke, I had the sinking thought that I was in Jack’s bed, but no—I was on the couch downstairs. It must have been hours since I’d sat down with my glass of wine, my reward for finishing one room and swearing off all future physical entanglements with Jack Mayronne. The house was as dark as the inside of an ink bottle, with just a faint hint of moon outside. When I reached for the lamp, there was only the click of the chain. No burst of light. I tripped over my tool box, then slammed my shin into the coffee table and cursed as I reached the far wall. When I flipped the light switch, nothing happened.

  “Great. Something else to fix.”

  Lightning flickered outside, casting the room in a blue glow just long enough for me to navigate into the hallway and stumble into the kitchen. While rummaging through the drawers to find a flashlight, I heard the dog’s toenails clacking on the floorboards. Barking, she ran into the hall. There was the sound of a key in the lock.

  I froze, though I knew it could only be Jack.

  The door squeaked open. There was the flip of a switch, then a groan.

  “Hey,” I called, “the power’s out.”

  “Jesus,” he said, dropping his keys. “I didn’t know you’d be up.”

  I could barely make out his silhouette as lightning flashed behind him.

  He brushed past me and opened the pie safe, where he fished out a small flashlight. “It’s probably just the breaker. Happens a lot when the window units are running at the same time. Power surge.”

  Down the hall, he opened the closet under the stairs and checked the breaker box. After a couple of clicks, the lights came back on.

  He ambled toward me, like he thought I might bolt. For a split second he looked like he’d kiss me, but he stopped short. He smelled like a candle just blown out.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi, yourself.”

  “How did it go?” As soon as I said it, it seemed like a ridiculous thing to ask.

  “I’ll tell you over a beer,” he replied, walking into the kitchen. “You want one?”

  “No, thanks. What time is it?”

  “Nearly eleven.”

  I sat on one end of the couch, studying the way he moved toward me. He looked like he felt bad about earlier and wanted to take it back too. Even though it was disappointing to think of him feeling that way, it was for the best.

  “It was a warehouse,” he said. “Burned right to the ground. After two hours they called us off.” He stretched out next to me, propping his feet on the coffee table.

  “What caused it?”

  He shook his head, his hand resting next to my thigh. “No official word yet. The chief thinks it’s squatters. I think it’s something else.”

  “Like what?”

  He took a long swallow. “Like an arsonist.”

  “Damn. Was anybody hurt?”

  “No. We got lucky.”

  “You’ve been there all this time?”

  He nodded, taking a long pull from the beer. His eyes were dark.

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “Nothing I’m not used to,” he said, sliding his hand over my knee. “What did you get into around here? I know you didn’t just sit here eagerly awaiting my return.”

  I felt a ripple of warmth pass over my skin. “Mostly finished the study.”

  He stared at me, his fingers squeezing my knee. “You’re all I could think about.”

  The starving, wanton part of me wanted him to pick up where he left off, slide his hands all over me. But the practical, rational part of me said I should get a hold of myself. Be professional.

  “I figured you thought it was a mistake,” I said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, you did leave me naked and alone.”

  He brought my hand to his lips. “You’re going to love the way I make that up to you.”

  I took a drink from his beer and said, “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  He grinned. “Not as much as I have.”

  Easing back to my side of the couch, I said, “I think we should cool it for a while.”

  He stared at me like I’d just slapped him.

  “Let’s take care of the house first,” I continued. “There’s a lot riding on this for me. And it’s going to be impossible to do if I’m thinking more about you than this job.”

  “You can’t multi-task?”

  “I’m serious, Jack. We could have a good time together—that much is obvious. But I think we should call a time-out.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I had to leave.” He leaned closer, his hand on my thigh. “But that’s my job. I wasn’t trying to be an ass.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s not that.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

  “I’m supposed to be down here working—not having a wild fling on the company tab.”

  “That’s cold, cher.”

  “I don’t mean it to be. I just think we need to keep this relationship professional.”

  He sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “So you still want my help.”

  “Well, that was our agreement.”

  He nodded. “Work first, then?”

  “Seems to be our way.”

  It took him a minute to realize what I meant. Then he laughed, but he wasn’t amused. “Next thing I know, you’ll make me sign a contract.”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  He laughed again. “Lord, cher. Can’t you take a man at his word?”

  Truth was, I couldn’t.

  I hoped Jack wasn’t one of those things I would regret in days or years to come. He was clearly upset, but I couldn’t be sure it was because he wanted to be closer to me. After he’d left, a hundred thoughts banged around in my head like marbles. And in the swirling fragments, there was one that stuck.

  What if he was trying to con his way into keeping the house?

  This could very well be Jack’s way of trying to secure the roof over his head. He hadn’t struck me as the calculating type in the beginning, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible he’d planned to seduce me all along, to make
sure I didn’t kick him out. He knew the effect he had on me, and that would make me an easy mark. Then he’d be just another person who left me and took a part of me with him.

  There was no way I’d let that happen. I was not gullible, and I would not be conned. As tempting as Jack Mayronne was, I needed to put distance between us.

  “I should get some sleep,” I said, standing. “And I know you need it too. We don’t have to start too early in the morning, but the parish building inspector’s coming at nine.”

  “OK,” he said. “Me, I’ll just go dream about all the things I was going to do to you to make up for leaving you in such a state.”

  I tossed a throw cushion at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “Mmm,” he said. “Guess you’ll have to lie awake all night wondering.”

  “Get some sleep,” I said. “You’ll need it.”

  He laughed, and I trudged up the stairs, cursing my brain for being so damned logical. This was going to be a long six weeks.

  Chapter 6

  When that bright orange hearse rumbled down the driveway the next morning, I thought I’d finally reached my quota of strange. Jack’s bedroom door was still closed when I came downstairs, so I’d perched on the porch steps to drink my coffee. The car sputtered when it stopped, and a man in dark blue coveralls climbed out, dusting himself off. With a clipboard under his arm, he walked to the house in that same slow way Jack did, as if he weren’t bound by time like the rest of us.

  When he was halfway up the walk, he said, “You Miss Parker?” He had flecks of white on the front of his coveralls and a streak across his nose. Powdered sugar from beignets, I imagined.

  “I’m Enza,” I said. “You’re here for the inspection?”

  He shook my hand, squeezing too hard. “I’m Grant Carmine. You talked to my assistant last week.” When he yanked his cap off, his blond hair stood straight up in the air.

  “Right,” I said. “Interesting choice of vehicle.”

  “Low miles. Lots of room. Hell of a deal.”

  “Come on in. I haven’t done much besides painting.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll start outside,” he said, pulling a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his chest pocket. “Before it gets too steaming hot.”