Blue by You (5 page)

He pulled out a chair at one end of the long, double-pedestal table with ball and claw feet. The table was set for two, with antique porcelain, fine linen, polished silver, and Lismore crystal. “Later.”

She stopped and looked at him across the chair. “Was she ever going to join us?”

“Sure. She made the gumbo.” He moved to a sideboard set with a silver serving dish heated by a single Sterno flame. He filled two bowls and looked over his shoulder at her. “Sit, please.”

She did, and he set a bowl in front of her.

“When I was sucking up dust in Fallujah or freezing my ass off in the Afghani mountains, I dreamed of grand-mère’s seafood gumbo,” he said, and took the seat next to her at the head of the table. He placed his linen napkin on his lap. “That and Mississippi mud and bare grass under my feet.”

“How long were you in Iraq and Afghanistan?”

He picked up his soup spoon and pulled the cloth from a basket of crisp French bread. The light from the converted gas chandelier cast spears of light across his chest and in his dark hair. “Depends on which time I was deployed.” He talked about the hours spent behind fixed optics, looking for anything out of place. A car. A shadow at the wrong time of day. Slight motion against an outcrop of rocks.

The gumbo was delicious. The dark Cajun roux had just the right balance of spices and was served over rice and thick with shrimp and crab. “What was your rank when you retired?” she asked, and took a drink of wine to cool her tongue.

“Gunnery sergeant.” He broke off a piece of bread and talked about his friends and the men he’d served with. He refilled her glass, and they ate pecan pie for dessert. She asked about his construction companies, and he told her how and why he’d started each one. They talked mostly of him and his different careers. Blue was fine with that. It kept the conversation platonic. Not personal. Personal could get them in trouble.

“Now that we’ve covered me,” he said, and pushed his bowl away, “let’s talk about you.”

“Me.” She put her fork down and finished her wine. “Nothing to talk about.”

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “Last time we talked, you were on your way to Tulane.”

That had been twenty-two years ago. He remembered. “I pledged Kappa Alpha Theta and graduated with a liberal arts degree.” She shrugged and reached for the napkin on her lap. “Married a Sigma Phi, of course. We were married for ten years, divorced five, and have a fifteen-year-old son. He’s at his dad’s for the summer.” She placed the napkin on the table. “Compared to you, I’ve been a slacker.”

He moved behind her chair and pulled it out. “I regret not having children.”

She stood and faced him. “It’s not too late. You’re a man. Find a young wife.”

A sad smile pulled at his handsome lips. “I tried that.” He took her hand in his, and the warmth of his palm heated hers and spread warmth up her wrist. “Twice.”

Yeah. She’d heard.

“I regret those, too. I wasn’t a very good husband.”

She’d heard that, too.

“Come with me.”

She balked. “Where?”

“I want to show you something.”

If he pulled down his pants, she was going to punch him in the throat like she’d been taught in self-defense class. “What?”

He pulled her along slightly behind him. “Something I think you’ll like.”

She thought it only fair to warn him, “If you pull me into your bedroom, I’m giving you a throat punch.”

He laughed as they moved up the grand staircase. “Relax. I’m smoother than I used to be. I don’t have to pull anyone into my room.”

Scary, since he’d been pretty dang smooth.

They continued down a dark hall, and she got an impression of walls stripped to the laths and closed doors. “Watch your step,” he said, as they moved past buckets and toward a set of large French doors. Moonlight shone through the old wavy panes of glass and cast a watery stretch of light on the cypress floor.

“I think you of all people can appreciate the work I’ve done out here.” Kasper dropped her hand to open the doors, and they stepped out onto the heat and humidity of the Louisiana night. The heels of her pumps tapped across the second-floor gallery, totally restored to its original stark white. She put her hand on the rail, and her breath caught in her throat at the parterre garden below. Bigger than the gardens at Dahlia Hall, the hedge design was less detailed, but the fountains were truly grand. Restoring the gardens had been a monumental task and clearly cost a lot of money. He was right, she could appreciate his hard work.

“I’m not finished,” he said as he stood next to her. “I want to incorporate the three remaining columns of the pigeonniers.”

Of course, Esterbrook’s pigeonniers had been built with columns. She turned to look at him through the darkness, and he seemed to be waiting. For a reaction or opinion, as if it mattered to him. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Kasper.” She returned her gaze to the garden below. “Perhaps a smaller formal garden within the columns. Maybe create a Grecian folly with a temple d’amour.”

“Or Isis.”

“Or you could put in a shrine of St. Jude or Mary.” She looked at him. “Even though you’re Baptist.”

“Which is why I was way more interested in phallic saints than martyrs.”

She laughed. “You want to put a phallic saint in your garden?”

His laughter joined hers in the heat and humidity that hung between them. He turned toward her, and he placed his hand on the rail next to hers. “Only if he’s packing.”

Her laugher turned into a surprised, “What?”

He mistook her outburst for a question. “He can’t have an embarrassing package. Anything that can be covered by a leaf. His package has to have some girth.”

Her laughter died, and she blinked. Girth? “Like Priapus?”

“Did he have girth?”

“Yes. His ‘girth’ was heavier than a bag of gold.” She was glad of the darkness, so he couldn’t see her cheek turn red. If she remembered right, Kasper had girth. Of course, she’d been a virgin, so anything would have felt big. “As if size is important,” she hastily added.

“Size is important,” he argued, and took her hand from the rail. “Only guys with small dicks say it’s not.”

That was true. “I don’t really want to talk about girth of . . . of . . .”

“Dicks,” he helpfully provided, and pulled her toward him. “You brought it up.”

“Me?” She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “I did not!”

“You’re the one who suggested I put a big phallic shrine in my garden.”

No she hadn’t. Had she? The warmth of his chest seeped into her skin, and she couldn’t think straight.

“Where did you learn about saints with big penises? At your fancy all-girls school?” His warm hands slid up her arms and across her shoulders. “Or Tulane?”

“Priapus was a Greek god. Not a saint.” Once again, Blue was struck that he remembered where she want to school. She’d always thought he’d easily forgotten her, as easily as he’d forgotten to meet her the day after she’d given him her virginity. “Kasper.”

“Yes, Blue.” He placed his hands on the sides of her head and tilted her face up to him.

“You’re not thinking about kissing me?”

“No.” He lowered his mouth and said against her lips, “I’m past the thinking stage. I’m at do or die.”

“But we—” she managed before he kissed her. A full-mouthed kiss with wet lips and smooth tongue. A kiss that stole the heavy breath from her lungs and made her hand slide up his chest to his shoulder and hang on. A kiss that lasted too long to stop. A do-or-die kiss that curled her toes inside her shoes and made her breasts tingle. A kiss that made her want to do it or die.

She pulled back and closed her eyes. She was no longer a girl. She knew what would happen if she continued. She would end up in bed with Kasper Pennington. Again. If she walked away now, she would end up in her own bed. Alone with no regret. Alone with her self-respect.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. At the lust staring back at her, and she melted beneath his gaze. Just like all those years ago, and she reached for his tie.

No one knew she was at Esterbrook. No one would know what she did or didn’t do on the dark gallery. And if the past was a predictor of the future, she wouldn’t see Kasper for another twenty-two years. He might melt her resistance, but her heart was safe.

She didn’t want to be lonely tonight, and self-respect could be very lonely.

Chapter Five

Kasper let out
a sigh of relief as Blue pulled at the knot of his tie. He hadn’t brought her up to the second-floor gallery to have sex, but it wasn’t exactly as if it hadn’t crossed his mind. Standing next to her. Looking down at the ground. Just like twenty-two years ago.

He pulled the tie from his collar, and it fell to the ground. To be honest, he’d thought about it the moment he’d picked her up at her house. Probably before. Probably yesterday, when she’d opened the doors to Dahlia Hall looking like the opening scene of every porn movie with a hot Southern belle.

He watched her fingers work the buttons on his shirt. He liked her hands on him. Liked the way her fingers looked and felt on his skin. She pulled the shirt from his pants and tossed it. A hot, greedy shiver worked its way from the base of his skull down his spine as she ran her palms all over his chest. Her soft touch tightened his testicles and made him hard as the barrel of a gun. He reached for the bow closing her dress at one side of her waist and pulled. The dress fell open, and he pushed the sleeves from her shoulders.

He purposely pinned her arms to her side to keep her hot hands from finishing things before they started. Beneath the dress, she wore a silky black slip, and her hard nipples slid beneath the material as she struggled to untrap her hands. “You’re not wearing a bra.” He stated the obvious.

“No. The straps ruin the line of the dress.” She arched her back in her struggle, and he buried his face in her cleavage. Cleavage he’d stared at the day before like a kid. He rubbed his cheek against her breasts and the hard tips. She gasped, and her struggles stilled. “Let go of my hands,” she said. “I want to touch you, too.”

He wasn’t ready for more of her touch. Ready for it to be over before it began. She made him feel twenty-one again. As if they stood in an oak tree and were picking up were they’d left off twenty-two years ago. Only he had less control this time. He sucked her hard nipples through the silky fabric, and her hands and arms finally broke free. The dress fell to the floor, and one strap of her slip slid down her arm. One nipple popped out, and she ran her fingers through the sides of his hair as he sucked her bare breast. Her little gasp turned him on, and he clutched the bottom of the little black slip and pulled it over her head.

He straightened and looked at her, standing on his gallery, wearing little black panties and red shoes with high heels. “You’re a fantasy.”

“I’m a real woman.” She pulled at his belt and tossed it aside. “A woman who wants to touch you.” She unzipped and shoved her hand inside his pants. Her soft palm wrapped around his dick, and she continued, “I want to feel you in my hand and mouth and body.” He locked his knees and let her touch him. Let her pull him out and move her hand up and down his shaft. Slow teasing touches until he could stand it no more. Until he felt the urge to throw her down and crawl between her legs. To shove himself inside and not care about her pleasure. Only his. He took her hands from him and spun her around so her back pressed into his chest. “Slow down.”

“No,” she whispered as she raised her hands and brought his mouth down to her. “Later.”

She gave him a long, wet kiss that let him know how much she wanted him. Let him know that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. And he wanted her. In every barbaric beat of his heart. In the darkest place in his soul that demanded he take her now. At certain times in his life, he’d been as barbaric as the enemy he faced. Times when he’d gone to that dark savage place, but he was not a barbarian. He could take his time and draw out the pleasure. Make it better for her, and that was exactly what he meant to do until she shoved her behind into his crotch, and he lost control. He raised his head and gasped for air.

“Blue,” he managed. “Grab the rail.”

She pushed her panties down and kicked them aside. Then she looked back at him as she bent forward and grabbed the rail. He palmed her smooth behind as his pants and underwear hit the floor. The head of his penis touched the crack of her butt, and he slid his hand between her legs to cup her crotch. “Spread your feet a little bit for me.” She was wet and ready and moaned deep in her throat as he parted her and teased her slick flesh. Within the moonlight and the shadows of the house, he positioned himself and slowly slid into the hot pleasure of her body. She was as incredibly tight as he remembered. He sucked in a breath and buried himself, so deep, his thighs slapped her behind. He leaned over her and pushed her curls to one side. He kissed the side of her throat. “You feel good, Blue. As good as I remember.” His body covered hers, and she arched her back, pushing her bottom into him, telling him without words that she wanted more. He gave it to her in slow, smooth thrusts. He pulled out and drove inside again. Then again, and his heart beat in his chest and pounded in his head. Hard, like he wanted to pound into her, but he didn’t.

“I’m not eighteen, Kasper. I know how I like it now.”

“How do you like it?”

“Faster.” She spread her feet a little more and hung her head between her shoulders. “Faster makes it hotter. Like a fire inside me that rushes across my skin and ends in an explosion.”

Jesus. He straightened, and the moonlight shone on her bottom like a peach, and he slammed into her. “Mmmm,” she moaned, and he plunged into her again and again, faster, hotter, like fire.

A deep groan tore from his throat as he felt the first tightening of her body. Her orgasm pulsed around him, squeezing his erection and pulling a release from deep in his belly. He thrust into her over and over as the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt in his life rippled through his body and spread that fire she’d talked about across his skin.
Mine,
his inner barbarian shouted in his head. He leaned forward and buried his face in her damp neck and dark curls.

All mine.

“Just the parterre
garden,” Blue said into the telephone. “We never rent the big house for parties.” She’d learned that lesson the hard way, when members of Ports of Hope had entered the roped-off areas and one had ended up passed out in great-great-great-great-grandmother’s full tester bed! “Yes. We can provide the catering,” she continued. “You provide the liquor.”

Carolee poked her head into Blue’s office. “There’s someone here for you.”

Blue looked up and covered the receiver. “Who?”

“Me.” Kasper spoke from behind Carolee. His gaze met Blue’s, and she felt it everywhere all at once. Her heart pinched just a little, and she worried about what that might mean.

Carolee waved her fingers and backed away from the door, leaving Blue alone with the man she’d meant to keep a secret. For the past five nights, they’d met at her cottage or his house. She’d told no one, and no one had seen them together.

Until now.

Blue picked up a pen to keep her hands busy and wrote unnecessary information. What was he doing here? They weren’t supposed to meet until tonight. “Thank you for calling.” She hung up the phone and looked up at the man who’d been giving her incredible pleasure for almost a week now. And afterward, they talked about his work and hers. Her son and growing up on River Road. They talked about a lot of things, easy, relaxed conversations, but the one thing they never talked about, not directly was that day twenty-two years ago. Perhaps by tacit agreement, they avoided the subject. “This is a surprise.”

He shut the door behind him. He wore khaki pants and one of his Pennington Construction polos. “I have something for you.”

He handed her a little porcelain box that fit in her palm. A tiny image of a woman with dark curls and wearing a pink hoop skirt had been hand-painted on the top, with Esterbrook clearly behind her.

“I found that today as we went through some of the old furniture in the attic. I thought she looked like you.”

Carefully, Blue opened the box. On the underside of the lid, in tiny script, was written, 1840 Miss Louisa Pennington.

“I want you to have it.”

“Seriously? This is a family heirloom.”

“I don’t have a lot of family left these days.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

“I don’t know if I can take it. It’s worth too much.”

He lowered his face to hers, and said against her lips, “I have an ulterior motive.” He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, the little Limoges box tight in her grasp. She loved the way he kissed her. Long and slow, as if he had all day. Against the front of her dress, she felt his ulterior motive.

She pulled back and smiled. “You missed me.”

“Always.” He buried his nose in her hair. “I miss you when you’re not with me.”

She squeezed the box until it cut into her hand. She didn’t want him to say things like that. Things that made her stomach go all squishy and her heart ache in her chest. “I know what you miss.” She rubbed against him to make light of the chaotic emotions turning her all hot and liquid inside. Things that were in danger of melting her aching heart.

“Not just that,” he said against the side of her head. “But that’s part of it. You make sex feel better than anyone has in a long time.”

“How long?”

“Twenty-two years.” She pulled back and looked up in his dark eyes. “Twenty-two years ago,” he continued, “when I met a girl with soft curly hair and blue eyes. A girl who gave me her virginity, and I’ve never forgotten it.”

That might have been a romantic speech if not for the elephant in the room they’d been avoiding.

She stepped back, and his hands fell to his sides. “I waited for you.”

“When?”

She put the porcelain box on her desk. “That next day in the oak tree.” She studied the tiny hand painting and waited. Waited for him to say he’d been in the hospital with something life-threatening that day, or that he’d fallen in a well and couldn’t get out. Something.

He was silent, and she looked up. “I know,” he said, just above a whisper. “I saw you that day. You wore jeans shorts and brought a yellow blanket.”

“You saw me?” A scowl wrinkled her forehead. “With the blanket. When?”

“When you got there.”

“What?” She didn’t understand. “You saw me, but you didn’t meet me?”

“No. I left for Camp Lejeune a day early.”

The anger she hadn’t felt at seeing him again after all this time hit her smack in the face. “You had to leave early and couldn’t spare ten minutes to let me know? So I didn’t wait for you?”

“I didn’t have to leave early. I chose to leave a day early.”

She didn’t understand. Maybe didn’t want to understand. “You just left? You left me sitting in that tree for hours? You knew I was there, and you just left?”

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“For whom?” She pointed at herself. “Not me. The right thing would have been to meet me, and say, ‘Hey Blue, I’m leaving for Jacksonville early and can’t meet with you. Bye. Have a nice life.’ The right thing was
not
leaving me there, sweating to death in that tree. Waiting for you while you were on your way to North Carolina!”

“You’re angry. I don’t blame you.”

“Thanks for not blaming
me.
” He reached for her, but she pulled away. “I think you need to go.”

“Blue.” His hand fell to his side. “Cher, I’m sorry.”

She folded her arms across her breasts. To keep from giving him the throat punch he deserved or to protect herself from the punch in her heart, she wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.

Blue made herself
a Purple Jesus. It wasn’t Sunday, but she needed it. She called Billy, who usually cheered her up with his antics, but even her son couldn’t lift her mood. Kasper Pennington had somehow managed to make her fall in love with him.

She took a drink and set it on the bedside table as she pulled a short white nightgown over her head. She’d been in love before. With Billy’s daddy. She’d loved him madly, but never like this. She picked up the jar and headed into the parlor. Love with her former husband had not happened this fast. Or hard.

She raised the jar to her mouth as someone pounded on her door. There was only one person who had the passcode to get onto the estate.

“Open up, Blue. I’m not leaving.”

She believed him and opened the front door. Her stupid heart swelled in her chest. “What do you want Kasper?” She expected him to try and sweet-talk her into letting him inside.

“Let’s go.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Get your shoes.”

She looked closely into the eyes of the man she knew and noticed a hard glint she’d never noticed there before. She got the impression she was looking at Gunnery Sergeant Pennington, and he did not tolerate disregard of a direct order.

“I’ll get them for you.” He moved past her and grabbed a pair of rubber boots she wore when she gardened.

“Not those,” she protested, as he ushered her out the door. Headlights blinded her as he put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her along to the passenger side of his truck. She balked at climbing inside, and he sighed.

“Please, Blue. I’m tired, but I will hog-tie you.”

“Fine.” Which, of course, wasn’t fine. With her drink in her hand, she climbed inside. He tossed her boots at her feet and shut the door.

Neither spoke as he drove out of Dahlia Hall’s gate or as the truck tore up the River Road. He turned off the highway about a mile from Esterbrook and finally piqued Blue’s curiosity enough to ask, “Where are we going?”

“Scared?”

Not at all. “Should I be?”

“Maybe.”

She drained her Purple Jesus and shoved her feet into her boots. The truck bumped along in the darkness, and the headlights shone on a dirt road, overgrown weeds, and trees. Cypress and live oak. When he finally pulled the truck to a stop, she was feeling kind of buzzed from downing her drink so fast.

She got out and looked around. She knew they were on a strip of property between Dahlia Hall and Esterbrook, but she wasn’t exactly sure where. She glanced around to get her sense of direction, but the darkness and vodka conspired against her.

“Here.” Kasper shoved a small but powerful flashlight at her.