Bayou Bad Boys (14 page)
Authors: Nancy Warren
“Let's walk,” he said suddenly, huskily, and she nodded. If “walk” was a euphemism for “Let's go outside and have crazy wild sex,” she'd still have gone.
They returned to their table, where Claude threw money down, and then took her hand and led her out into the night. It wasn't a lot cooler outside than in, but the air was a little fresher, the insistent music muted, and her sanity made a brave attempt at a return.
There was a current of energy humming between their joined hands that both stimulated and unnerved her. Determined to get some idea of who he was before launching herself into his bed, she marshaled her thoughts.
She knew from his mother that he wasn't married and never had been. Beatrice had also made it clear that there hadn't been a steady woman in his life for a while, though he was too obviously sexual not to have had plenty of unsteady women. Which, come to think of it, was exactly how he made her feel. Unsteady. Thrown off her course. Out of control.
She breathed in the scents of New Orleans at night, the dust and flowers, the mélange of cooking styles, the saffron scent of Creole, the butter-garlic-wine of French, the spiced fish, and then, oddly, the smell of frying donuts. Beignets, she corrected herself mentally. Claude led her around a group of college-aged kids who'd been overdoing the go-cups.
Behind them a quartet of Japanese girls giggled and shot each other with digital cameras.
What exactly did she know about this man her body wanted to jump all over naked, she wondered as she stopped at a questioning gesture to take a group picture of the girls. Next to nothing.
Sense, Lucy,
she chided herself.
Where's your sense?
she chided herself.
Where's your sense?
They walked a little farther and even as she tried to take in the atmosphere of this amazing city at night, even as the scents of one amazing restaurant after another teased her and the jazz ebbed and flowed as they approached one club after another, she found the man beside her clogging all her senses.
He looked, felt, smelled, and sounded delicious. She hadn't tasted him yet, but every part of her knew it wouldn't be long.
“Claude, I know so little about you,” she said, deciding to come right out and ask. If she was cramming her study time with this man she had to go straight to the important facts.
He glanced down at her and his eyes glistened as they passed under one of the restored gaslights.
“I would like to change that,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand ever so slightly.
Oh, come on. What was she, stupid to fall for this practiced seduction? They'd wandered onto Royal Street; she could see the sign. She turned to face him.
“I'm a researcher. A pretty good researcher. In thinking about this book, which I've done for some time you understand, I've studied all the branches of our family. That's why I was so excited when your mother invited me to come down and meet you. You see, I already know a lot about your family.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. When the Acadians were expelled from Nova Scotia, many of them fled to Louisiana where the only other French colony of any size existed in North America. Their descendents are the modern-day Cajuns.”
“We learn this history in grade school,
cousine.
”
cousine.
”
“Of course. And when families were split, as in our case, when the men and boys were shipped off first, and the women later sent for, they wrote letters to each other, some of which actually made it. I've got one or two. And one amazing diary. They're heartbreaking.”
“That will be very helpful for your research,” he said, running a single fingertip down the slope of her cheek. It was probably the practiced gesture of a professional flirt, but he did it so well it was almost as though he couldn't help himself. She shivered, feeling the finger trace its path like a tear.
“I've gathered quite a bit of information over the years. The point is, Claude”âshe took a deep breath and blurted out what had been bothering her since the cab pulled up in front of the mansionâ“if anyone in the family had amassed a fortune I'd have heard about it.”
He stiffened slightly. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. “Have you perhaps shared these thoughts of yours with my mother?”
“No. Of course not. But she told me your father inherited from a distant uncle.” She shrugged, letting him in on the fact that she knew every one of his uncles, distant uncles, cousins, and pretty much everyone else with a drop of shared family blood.
“Ah.” She thought his eyes crinkled in amusement. “The uncle was a mistake.”
“It was.”
“But then my father did not know that you would one day enter our lives.”
“No. I suppose not.” What a strange conversation. And when was he going to get around to answering her question?
“You know what I've been thinking?”
“What?”
“How very well that ruby necklace would go with your hair and coloring,” he said, pointing behind her.
Ruby necklace? She ought to be searching for her ruby slippers so she could click her heels and get the hell out of here.
In spite of herself, she turned and looked where Claude pointed. They were standing in front of one of the antique shops that crowded the street. The necklace he indicated was a thin gold filigree chain with a series of small rubies. The setting was clearly antique, but it was delicate and exactly the sort of thing she hung around antique store windows admiring.
“Yes,” she said shortly. “It's very nice.” And if he thought he was going to distract her with pretty things, heâ
“Would you like to try it on?”
“What, now?” The shop was closed and the interior dark.
“Yes. I've a desire to see it on you.” Once more that single finger was busy, this time trailing a curve from her left collarbone to her right, leaving a trail of shivery heat in his wake. “It would rest right here, I think.”
She thought of the gorgeous emerald signet ring and the mental picture she'd had of him with his pirate's booty. She'd thought it fanciful at the time; now she wondered. “Claude, are you a thief?”
She was joking, but he seemed to take her words seriously.
“There are many kinds of thieves,
cousine,
” he said, his eyes seeming dark and mysterious in the dim light from the street.
cousine,
” he said, his eyes seeming dark and mysterious in the dim light from the street.
“There is the greedy stock promoter who takes old ladies' life savings and loses the money. Is that not thievery of the most contemptible kind?”
“It may be, but it's not illegal.”
“There is the thieving of certain politicians who sell promises for taxpayers' money and don't deliver.”
He stepped closer and her heart jumped. “Then there is my favorite kind of theft,” he said softly, moving closer still. “The stolen kiss,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.
As his lips touched hers, lust slammed into her, flattening her the way Claude's body flattened hers against the closed door of the antique shop. She clutched at his shoulders, feeling at once overwhelmed and triumphant. He might be trouble, but he was going to be a fantastic lover. There was something about the two of them together that was magic. Her skin tingled as he pressed against her, her mouth opened under his, and he thrust inside with greedy haste but with finesse. Giving into the inevitable, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
This wasn't an experience she was ever going to forget, she thought dimly as he took her mouth with the kind of fierce focus she imagined he'd bring to his lovemaking.
He tasted of all the flavors of this city, she thought, of international spices and coffee with the dark rasp of chicory, of hot sauce and the coolness of mint. She was so far off her feet she thought she might never find her balance again when she found herself physically unbalanced and falling backwards.
With a startled cry, she took a step back and found herself inside the antique store in the darkness, with the musty smell of antiquity overlaid with some kind of sweet fragrance. Potpourri, she thought, dimly.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. She'd been mostly kidding about him being a thief but now she wasn't so sure. He chuckled, obviously enjoying her outrage, shutting the door behind him and leaning past her shoulder to punch numbers into an alarm system keypad.
She shook her head, trying to rattle her brains back into some semblance of order as the obvious answer to her question hit her. “You own this shop.”
“I do. And two more like it.”
She heard a deadbolt click into place and then he was reaching into the display case for the ruby necklace.
She glimpsed the price tag as he hooked it around her neck, standing so close she felt dizzy. “Claude, don't put it on. It's too expensive. What if I break it?”
“I'm more likely to break it. Besides, the markup's ridiculous on what I got it for.” His fingers brushed her shoulders as he put the necklace around her neck. It felt cool and expensive against her skin, while his fingers felt hot and dangerous.
“What do you think?” he said, turning her to face a mirror.
“A light would help,” she said, seeing the shadowy reflection of the two of them. A glint of gold and a single flash of red was all she saw of the necklace.
He shook his head; she saw the movement reflected. “We'll have drunk tourists banging on the door thinking we're open,” he said. “Trust me, the necklace is stunning. Come on. Let me show you around.”
“In the dark?”
“It's atmospheric. Use your imagination.”
She rolled her eyes but let him lead her by the hand into what was obviously a high-end antique store. The most gorgeous treasures were crammed together and every surface seemed crowded with delights. A Louis XIV chest glowed with gilt, and atop it sat an ormolu clock with a graceful goddess spreading her gold skirts atop the clock's face. Crystal and silver glowed quietly in the dim light; she saw the dark squares and rectangles of paintings on the walls, and beneath her feet was the softness of expensive carpets.
She realized their immediate destination when he removed a white tent card that read, “Please Do Not Sit on the Furniture” from a pale velvet settee that she thought was blue. He pulled her onto the forbidden furniture and kissed her again.
He was too good, too slick, too amazingly sexy. She wanted to devour him and it was obvious he felt the same. He kissed her, using his lips and his tongue and his whole body, so she felt kissed everywhere. His hands were in her hair, on her shoulders, running down her arms, and then brushing across the tips of her breasts, almost by accident but not quite. She felt the brush, and the incredible tingle, the movement of the gold and ruby necklace stirring against her skin, then he was gone.
If he'd grabbed at her she might have found the strength to push his hand away but as it was he teased, feather light touches that only made her want more.
She was pressed gently back onto the soft velvet and let herself fall. Oh, those practiced fingers could entice her skin the way his softly accented words seduced her mind. The kiss became a full-bodied affair, and from the impressive erection nudging her belly, she knew he was as aroused as she. Their breathing grew harsh in the sleeping store. Outside people wandered and she'd hear snatches of loud conversation, a laugh, a curse, the wail of a single saxophone struck up somewhere nearby, but in here it was private, dark, and intimate.
When his hand began to draw her skirt upward, she felt every inch of her thigh hum with pleasure.
The antique furniture beneath them squeaked and it was like a wake-up call to her sensible self.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling away. “What are we doing?”
“What comes naturally,
cousine,
” he said, running a hand over her seriously mussed hair. “I've got an apartment upstairs. I could give you a nightcap.”
cousine,
” he said, running a hand over her seriously mussed hair. “I've got an apartment upstairs. I could give you a nightcap.”
“I'll bet you could,” she said, feeling a little wobbly but shaking her head all the same. Her body might pout big time at being left wanting, but her moral standards demanded that she find out a little more about the man before sleeping with him. She needed to know that he wasn't a criminal.
“I need to think about this,” she said.
“Don't make the simple complicated, Lucy. This is the Big Easy.”
“Yeah, but I'm not!”
He chuckled. “Isn't that an old-fashioned attitude?”
“Probably, but it works for me. I'm not a
laisser le bons temps rouler
kind of woman.”
laisser le bons temps rouler
kind of woman.”
“You should try it. There's no better place on earth to let yourself indulge than in New Orleans.” He touched her as though he couldn't help but touch her. “We are going to be incredible together. I know you feel it, too.”
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