Bayou My Love: A Novel (12 page)

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 call 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.”

“You
too.” My voice came out staccato as she clapped me on the back.

“This
is my aunt, Josephine,” Jack said.

She
waved her hand at him and said, “I’m Josie. Only my mother called me Josephine.”

“It’s
great to meet you. Thank you for having me.”

“Oh,
honey,” she said. “You’re practically family.”

Leading
us both inside, she took my hand. “Let me show you around.”

Jack
grinned. “Josie and Buck built this house. They love showing it off.”

“It’s
beautiful.” I eyed the staircase. They’d done an excellent job of re-creating
Craftsman style: clean lines, dark wood, elegant simplicity. Even the windows
had arched muntins, one of my favorite features of the period. “I’d show it off
too.”

Josie
smiled. “We love refurbishing. We salvaged a lot of original woodwork from
houses that were condemned after the last hurricane. Many people replace
windows and doors with the new stuff, so we’re always on the hunt.”