Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy (8 page)

Michelle sensed he was eager to get started and didn’t want to waste time arguing. For the next half hour, they concentrated on getting the rug outside, where they draped it across several old sawhorses to dry. Michelle wasn’t sure the rug could be saved, but knowing that Reba never threw anything away, she was hesitant to do so herself.

Although it was still early, the day was hot and muggy. Gator, already drenched with perspiration, had shrugged out of his shirt and tied an old blue bandanna around his forehead. A fine sheen of sweat covered his back, shoulders, and chest, and tiny sweat beads glistened across his forehead and upper lip. That, combined with his unshaven face, convinced Michelle that he’d never looked more rakish or devilishly sexy.

A shave and shower these days would have been sheer luxury, she knew. Although Gator had conveniently disappeared each night during the bath rituals to give Reba and Michelle privacy, there was still something very intimate about sharing the same bar of soap, the same tube of toothpaste, the same sink. Gator often waited until the women were in bed before he began his own ablutions, and Michelle had raptly listened to the sounds he made—the water splashing against the metal sink, Gator humming under his breath as he washed. In her mind she saw him standing naked before the sink, the kerosene lamp painting shadows on his large, hair-roughened body.

Michelle forced her thoughts to the present as she followed Gator inside the house once more. They threw open the windows—those that hadn’t been broken during the storm—to aid in drying out the place. Michelle began the enormous task of mopping while Gator measured the windows and cut plastic from a large roll he’d purchased from the hardware store that morning. He’d brought a staple gun to make the job easier, courtesy of FEMA. Michelle had only finished mopping half the living room floor when Gator called for help.

“I need you to hold these plastic sheets up while I staple them in place,” he said, rolling the sheets up so they would be easier to handle. “Why don’t we start upstairs so the bottom floors have longer to dry?” Michelle nodded and followed.

Gator had Michelle hold the plastic against the window while he stapled it to the frame securely. Michelle decided it was the most unnerving moment in her life having to stand there, stretched to her full height as she held the plastic in place, while he stood directly behind her and tacked it in. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, sending delightful tingles down her spine. When his big chest brushed her shoulder blades accidentally, she sucked in her breath and tried to make herself smaller. She suddenly felt vulnerable dressed in shorts that were a tad tight and a cotton blouse that exposed her midriff every time she raised her arms. They’d seemed practical enough when she’d chosen them at the shelter; with clothing so scarce, she’d been lucky to find something close to her size. She decided after a moment that clothing had nothing to do with the way she felt. Gator Landry could make a woman in a nun’s habit feel naked.

When Gator finally finished nailing the plastic in place, he dropped his arms to his side and backed away from the window. Michelle, who’d been literally holding her breath, exhaled with such force that it almost made her dizzy. She grasped the windowsill for support.

“You okay?” Gator asked, arching one brow quizzically.

“Yeah, fine.”

“How come your face is so red?”

She fumbled for a reply. “It’s the … heat.”

“I hope you’re not pregnant too.”

Michelle faced him. “Of course I’m not pregnant. What on earth would make you say such a thing?”

He shrugged. “I just thought it would be kind of funny if your good doctor knocked up his wife and mistress at the same time.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I’m not his mistress.”

“Call it what you like, Mic, but it all adds up to the same thing.”

This time it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep from flying into a rage. “I am
not
sleeping with him!” she shouted. “Not that it’s any of your damn business. I’m not sleeping with
anyone
! You got that, Sheriff Landry or do you have more personal and insulting remarks you’d like to toss my way?”

He really could be a jerk, he told himself. He tried to smooth it over with a bit of humor. “So that explains the bitchy behavior and those lines on your forehead, Miss Thurston. You obviously need some male attention, and it just so happens I can fit you into my schedule at the moment.”

Michelle crossed her arms and shot him a dark look. “There you go again,” she said. “Just when I’m beginning to think your morals have crept a bit higher than a snake’s belly, you do your darnedest to prove me wrong.”

He looked amused. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.’’

“You could never do that, Sheriff, because my opinion of you was fairly low to begin with.”

Gator stepped closer. “I seem to remember a time when it wasn’t so low, Mic.”

“I was sixteen and dumb. I was also bored and had nothing better to do.”

He smiled, remembering that night so many years ago. “I remember you lying in my arms on the sweet smelling grass with the night breeze playing in your hair.”

“We were on your mother’s quilt.”

“Beneath a giant live oak.”

“It was a magnolia tree.”

The smile changed to a grin. “For somebody who was bored out of her mind, you certainty remember it well.”

Michelle blushed. “I have an excellent memory. I never forget a thing.”

“Remember what you whispered in my ear that night?”

She glanced away and swallowed. “No.”

He tilted his head forward so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “You said I made you feel things you’d never felt before.”

“Gator Landry, you’re a liar! I never said such a thing.”

He nodded slowly. “Oh, yes you did.” He crooked a finger beneath her chin and raised her face. “We were both so hot that night, I thought we’d catch fire.”

His voice was low but smooth, a liquid purr to her ears that made her mouth go dry and the back of her throat itch. Michelle could only gaze into the black eyes that held her so totally captivated. “I keep reminding you that was a long time ago,” she finally said. “I don’t think I actually realized what I was getting into until you pulled me down on that quilt. But now I’d just as soon forget it, if you don’t mind.”

He cocked his head to the side as though pondering her request. “I don’t think we can forget it, Mic,” he said honestly. How was he supposed to forget the way she’d felt that night when she insisted on cavorting around in those too-short shorts? And where had she found that blouse, for Pete’s sake? Every time she took a breath the hem shimmied up her rib cage and he caught sight of peach-colored flesh. He’d almost lost it when he’d spied that kissable navel riding her waistband. He dropped his finger from her chin and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t think we’ll ever stop wondering what it would be like between us now, if only we could stop playing games with each other and face our feelings. If we were that volatile as teenagers, what do you think we’d be like as adults?”

Michelle backed away, wanting to escape the feel of his hand on her. But even as she broke physical contact with him, the impact of his touch lingered. His words had painted a picture in her mind that was much too dangerous to even contemplate. What he was suggesting was crude and indecent, as far as she was concerned. What about love or caring or all the other things that made up a relationship? She almost laughed out loud at the thought. Gator Landry had made it plain from the beginning that he didn’t desire a relationship. He was merely looking for a bed partner to entertain him until he could move on. Well, he could look elsewhere, she told herself.

“Are the women in Temptation getting so scarce that you have to harass every woman who comes into town?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

Michelle gritted her teeth at the smug look on his face. The man certainly had a high opinion of himself. “Then why don’t you find somebody who’s a bit more susceptible to your charms, instead of forcing yourself on someone who isn’t?”

He grinned. “I like you, Mic. You’ve got style. I’ve always been partial to classy women. Just as long as they don’t carry it too far into the bedroom.”

Gator turned and reached for another sheet of plastic. He was purposely goading her, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed watching her get so flustered she couldn’t think straight. She was fumbling for a comeback even now, and it delighted him that she was having trouble forming a reply. He was aware that his playful banter irritated the hell out of her, but he couldn’t help himself. Part of it, he knew, was to get back at her, because she wanted to return home so badly. Although she claimed it was her job she was concerned about, he wondered just how much of it actually had to do with the man who’d once been her lover. It irked him that she had fallen for a doctor. But he could see her playing the demure doctor’s wife, attending charity functions, raising yellow-haired kids with braces on their teeth. He gritted his own teeth at the thought.

Michelle didn’t quite know how to respond to his comment, so she said nothing. To respond would merely keep their argument alive, and that, in her opinion, was a waste of time. Let Gator think what he wanted. She was there for one thing—to see after her grandmother. The sooner she finished, the sooner she’d be on the highway to Baton Rouge.

They worked nonstop the rest of the day, halting only briefly to eat the lunch Reba had prepared that morning.

It was still early when they packed the boat to head home, but Gator wanted to make sure they got in before dark. A man could get lost forever on the bayou at night, he knew.

The house was, for the most part, habitable, although the grounds were still in bad shape, despite all Gator had done. They decided to come back the following day and try to finish up so Reba wouldn’t have to worry about it when she returned. While Gator loaded the boat, Michelle put out fresh food and water for the cats and changed the litter boxes. She was on her way out the back door when she spied Gator standing dead still, one arm rigidly extended toward the ground, his pistol aimed at something. She sucked her breath in sharply as she caught sight of his target, a large snake, poised and ready to strike, not more than ten feet from him. The gunshot was deafening, reverberating in the air as the snake fell to the ground in a macabre fashion.

“Is it … dead?” Michelle asked breathlessly. Gator swung his head in her direction and saw the horrified look on her face. He walked over and kicked the snake with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, I’d say so.” He picked it up by the tail. “He’s fairly big. I’d say he was the granddaddy of the bunch.”

“W-what kind of snake is it?” She realized suddenly that she was trembling.

“Cottonmouth. I’m surprised we didn’t run into one sooner.”

She glanced around anxiously, scanning the grass for others. “You think there are more around here?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” At her frightened look, he added, “But don’t worry, they’re just as scared of us as we are of them. Most of the time they’ll run in the opposite direction if they hear you coming. I think I surprised this one.” He slung the snake in the water and it landed with a plop, sending ripples in every direction. Michelle shuddered.

“Can we leave now?” she asked, determined to put as much distance as she could between herself and the possibility of more snakes. She was thankful now that Gator’s mother had insisted she and Reba spend the night at her place, with its wide, fern-filled front porch and wicker rockers. It seemed a bit more civilized than Reba’s home or Gator’s houseboat. Not only that, Mrs. Landry had promised to fill her bathtub with warm water so Michelle could take a real bath when she returned. The prospect of that luxury had been on Michelle’s mind all day.

“Sure, hop in,” he said, motioning her over. He held the boat still while she climbed in. Once she’d settled herself in the bow, he cast the lines and started the motor. A minute later they were on their way. Michelle leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the light breeze on her face. It felt good to rest after a long day of hard work.

They hadn’t gone more than a hundred feet from the dock before the motor started sputtering. They both glanced up in surprise, but before they could say anything, it died.

Michelle straightened in her seat. “What’s wrong? Are we out of gas?”

Gator shook his head. “I just changed gas tanks.” He shrugged. “It sounds like something is wrong with the gas, but it’s been awhile since I’ve worked on boats.”

“What are we going to do?”

Gator wasn’t listening. He’d already moved to the back of the boat, testing hoses, looking into the red gas tank, sniffing it. Finally, he raised up. “I think there is water in the gas line.”

“Is it serious?”

“No, but I’ll have to clean the gas lines.”

“How long will it take?”

“Shouldn’t take more than an hour, but that’s not our problem.”

“Then what
is
our problem?” she asked, almost dreading his answer.

“We don’t have any more gas. This was my last tank. It’s full, but it won’t do us a bit of good if it’s got water in it.”

“Can’t you radio for help?”

“We’re too far out.”

“Well, don’t worry, Reba and your mother will send someone out here for us,” she said hopefully.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Why?”

“Because folks don’t like coming way out here on the bayou at night. For one thing, the bayou is always changing, especially after a storm. A person could get lost and never be found out here.”

“Then they’ll just have to take the road, for heaven’s sake. I know it is much farther that way, but we could walk to the nearest—” She stopped speaking when Gator glanced away. “What’s wrong?”

Gator didn’t answer right away. “One of the bridges was washed out by the storm.” He heard her gasp and looked up. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d get upset, what with your car still buried under that tree and all. I figured it would only be a couple of days before the bridge was fixed, and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”