Josette (17 page)

He could sleep on the sofa downstairs to keep guard. What he needed to do was change the subject while he decided what best to do.

“Why did you put that voodoo doll on my pillow?”

Her brows stitched together. “Voodoo doll?”

He nodded.

“I left no such thing.”

Apprehension snaked through him. “Then who the hell else is crawling through my window? On second thought, how did you get in? You never answered me.”

A touch of humor flitted across her features. “I picked the locks on your gate and entry door. What did this doll look like?”

He stretched his thumb and index finger apart. “About so big. With a bunch of pins at the crotch. And one in the middle of a strange looking little heart, I might add.”

“Really?” She shifted her position, leaned her back against the banister, and tilting her head, studied him through those unfathomable eyes of hers. “How many pins in your manly parts?”

Feeling suddenly foolish, he shrugged. “I don't know . . . five, I suppose.”

“And the heart? Describe it to me. It's important you remember details.”

“It was a padded heart with red threads dangling from it. I figured whoever made the thing meant for the threads to represent dripping blood.”

“Were there little knots tied at the end of each thread?”

“I think so.”

“Did you keep it or toss it out?”

“I held on to it.”

“Why?”

He frowned. “What do you mean, why? Wouldn't you hold on to something an intruder left on your pillow until you figured out who the devil broke into your home and planted it there? And what kind of message was being sent?”

A mysterious light flashed through her eyes. “At least I'd be curious to know the intended message.”

“You know something, don't you?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “I'd need to take a look at the doll before I make any comment.”

She studied him for a long while. What was she thinking? There was no mistaking the desire that lingered about her like an amatory mist. Bloody hell, with the craving for her still running rampant through his blood, he couldn't sit here much longer and manage to keep his hands to himself. What to do? He still couldn't come up with a viable solution other than spending what remained of the night on her parlor sofa.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice soft as velvet.

He'd be damned if he'd tell her what had just run through his mind. Instead, he said, “René told me you had unwanted visitors today. Would you care to elaborate?”

A frown creased her brow. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “It'll be good when you get Alexia out of here. Before Lucien can get his filthy hands on her. This morning was too close a call.”

“What happened?” Christ, René hadn't mentioned their cousin had paid Josette an unwanted visit on top of Vennard leaving his calling card. Then she'd made the shocking discovery of Bastièn's livelihood—in public, no less. And here Cameron was in the middle of the night, thrusting himself upon her like some randy schoolboy.

Josette swept a mass of curls off her cheek. “Lucien was here at sunup trying to trick Alexia into running off with him to the bayou. He gave some shallow excuse about showing her a new litter of puppies.”

Cameron clenched his jaw and giving her a faint nod, wrestled down the urge to beat a path to Lucien's door. Wherever the hell that was. “You've had a bad day.”

“You might say that.” She tilted her head, watching him. “But what occurred earlier was then, and this is now, is it not?”

She was lovely sitting casually beside him, barefooted and in her bed clothes, her hair a soft cloud of curls he'd like to sink his hands into. She took on a pensive look.

“Now it's my turn to ask,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

“Are you sure you want to know? Because what's got me wondering is none of my concern.”

“Humph. Now you've got me curious. Do tell.”

She fiddled with the closure at her neck, an unconscious gesture. “Have you been with another woman since your wife died?”

His knee-jerk reaction was to tell her she was right, it was none of her damn business, but that overwhelming weariness set in again. He swiped a hand through his hair, then with a heavy sigh, rested his chin on the palms of his hands and stared at nothing in particular. “No.”

“Thank you for your refreshing honesty. I can better understand some of your reticence back there in the corridor. And earlier, in the garden.”

For the first time in over two years, he realized that other than acknowledging a few condolences, he'd never discussed his loss with anyone. Or its ensuing consequences. A torrent of emotion threatened to flood him. He dammed it up and took the focus off himself. “And what of you, Josette? Have you been with anyone since losing your husband?”

She gave her head a small shake. “I haven't been with anyone since the first few months of my marriage. And there is pitifully little to tell about that. We were wed for barely a year, by the way.”

Merde.
He didn't know quite what to say. “You should marry again, Josette. It would be a terrible loss for someone as vibrant and lovely as you to live alone the rest of your life.”

Her quiet laughter startled him.

She leaned over, and tracing a finger along the curve of his mouth, said very quietly, “Why are we having this kind of discussion after what nearly took place down the hall?”

At the kick of lust to his groin, he drew a sharp breath. He grabbed her wrist to fend off her touch. But instead of pushing her hand away, he closed his eyes and allowed her supple fingers to explore his lips.

And just like that, she stepped right into a foreign corner of his fractured heart—a place he'd never before visited. Every ounce of discipline he possessed warred with the urge to take her in his arms and ease her onto the floor. A soft groan burst from somewhere deep in his throat.

Still holding her wrist, he slid the flat of her hand to where his heart beat like a drum in his chest. He opened his eyes. “Do you feel that, Josette? I cannot take much more, so I should leave.”

Her response was to slide her arms around him, and nestle against his chest. “Hold me, Cameron. Please hold me, for just a while.”

A shudder ran through him. Defenses exhausted, he pulled her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he settled her cheek against his chest. God, she felt good. Smelled good, too. He spoke into her hair. “I . . . I have to leave. I can't trust myself any longer.”

“I don't see how trusting yourself has anything to do with my touching you the way I just did.”

“Oh, you foolish woman. Don't sit here expecting me to keep you safe when every wicked part of me wants to seduce you. I couldn't live with myself if I acted on indecent impulses and hurt you, Josette.”

She pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes, hers glistening. “I am a grown woman, Cameron. I know what I want. I instigated this because I realize I used the wrong word when I cut short what nearly took place a bit ago.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. So soft and silken, that cheek. “You told me to stop, and I complied. What else would you have me do?”

She leaned in and touched her lips to his, her breaths uneven. “What I should have said was slow down.”

He swallowed her words. Instead of heating him, they flowed through him like a soft summer rain, cool and cleansing. He'd been so lonely, so goddamn lonely.

He eased back, enough to study her face. “
Thinking
you should have said something else is a lot different from
knowing
you should have used other words.”

“So I've used the wrong word again, have I?” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Let me say it another way, then. You seduced me with your essence long before you ever touched my body.”

His stomach flipped over. He should leave. Just get up and walk away and it would all be over.

Instead, it was she who stood. “I am quite certain of what I want, Cameron. You are the perfect man for me to indulge in a clandestine affair. So if you don't mind, I'd like to finish what we began back there—with no apologies or regrets afterward.”

“What makes me the perfect man?” He could barely manage to get the words out.

“Because we want one another but neither desires anything permanent. You'll be gone in ten days. Once you sail away, each of us will get on with our own lives. That said, I am going to my bed. Should you change your mind about leaving, my room is the last door on the left. If not, as I said when you first arrived, the night latch is engaged so the door will lock behind you.”

He didn't watch her walk away. He couldn't. But he knew she'd gone because she took her essence with her, leaving a void in her place. He sat for a moment without thought. Then Madame Olympée's words tumbled through his mind.

He rose and started down the steps. He could use a stiff drink before he departed. At least he knew right where Josette kept the bloody rum
.

Josette stood on the balcony overlooking her moonlit gardens, the sultry air around her redolent with night-blooming jasmine. Had it been any other night, she might have found passing time out here a peaceful activity. Despite the warm breeze, she crossed her arms and rubbed at them in a futile attempt to chase away the lonely chill gripping her. Cameron wasn't coming. He'd had time enough to reach home by now. If indeed that was where he'd headed.

Her bedroom door opened and closed on a whisper.

Her pulse tripped.

Saints help them, he'd come to her after all. She closed her eyes and slowly let go a wavering breath.

And waited.

A subtle shift in the air told her he stood not far behind her. Yet he failed to approach. She'd told him she wished to go slow. Was this his idea of drawing out the anticipation?

Or were his emotions still conflicted?

She would not turn around. He must come to her. Her skin tingled at the idea that he was about to make love to her.

Another long moment passed.

She felt him step closer until he stood directly behind her. She could still breathe, but no longer could she draw air fully into her lungs.

Was she imagining things or had his clean, musky scent filtered through the sweet-smelling jasmine? Pleasure washed over her in waves. He was taking his time, and she intended to savor every moment of whatever was about to transpire. Oh, how she wanted this night. And any others that might follow. But if this evening was to be their only time together, she'd be glad of it, no matter the consequences.

He touched her shoulders. His hands warmed the silk of her robe and nightgown. His mouth touched her ear. “Tell me again that you are certain of what we are about to do, Josette. I can still walk away.”

The husky timbre of his voice scraped across her skin and settled low in her belly. “How many ways are there to say yes, Cameron? Without doubt, I know what I want. Truth be told, I've lived for years both hating and wanting you. Much as I tried to erase the memory of you, I never could. Perhaps this night will finally allow me a release from the prison I've been trapped in.”

Soft as a ghost's breath, his body touched hers, his heat penetrating her core. An arm slid around her waist, and his long-fingered hand splayed beneath her breasts with a gentleness that held an underlying strength. Gently, he pulled her against him, swept her hair off her neck with his other hand, and brushed a soft kiss there.

A thrill shot through her.

His shirtsleeves were rolled back, the fabric glowing white beneath the pale moon. Somewhere between the time she'd left him and when he'd stepped behind her, he'd cast off his jacket and vest. She slid her hand over his bare forearm. Fine hairs feathering his arm tickled the pads of her fingers. As foreign as this kind of intimacy was to her, with him it felt natural and right.

A ragged exhalation left him, a sweet breeze across her cheek. “You're being honest with me tonight. I like that.”

With a gentle touch, his fingers stroked lightly along the curve of her neck and jaw, sending a thousand sparks exploding within each nerve.

She closed her eyes and leaned against him, allowing the delicious sensations to expand. “Mmm, that feels good.”

His lips settled on the curve of her neck again. She leaned to the side, exposing her throat. His tongue flicked along her skin.

She moaned.

And then he nibbled. “I could spend all night in that one spot.” He eased her chin toward him. His tongue touched the sensitive corner of her mouth while his hand slipped from her neck and cupped her breast.

Her nipples peaked and a broken, breathless sound escaped her lips. Wordless, she turned in his arms to face him. With trembling fingers, she worked free the buttons at the top of his shirt. Her palms ran slowly down his hard, flat stomach, and his muscles bunched beneath her touch. Her hands met the waistband of his trousers. Tugging his shirttails free, she caught a glimpse of his bare feet. When had he divested himself of shoes and stockings?

He reached one hand over his shoulder, grabbed a handful of material, and drawing the shirt over his head, tossed it somewhere behind him.

Moonlight danced over the hard planes of his chest. She ran quivering fingers ever so lightly over his skin. His breath grew ragged and heavy.

Instinct took over. She grasped the bulging muscles of his arms and setting her lips to a flat nipple, she licked and nipped.

He hissed, but said nothing, only stood still while she feasted on him.

Pressing her mouth to his chest, she swept back and forth from one nipple to the other, the fine hairs on his chest tickling her face. As she tasted him, inhaled his delicious scent, she swept her arms around him and stroked his broad back with the tips of her nails.

“You're beautiful,” she whispered.

A small smile hitched a corner of his mouth. “I thought I was the one supposed to say that.”

She reached up and traced the outline of his square jaw. The firm masculinity of it sent another wash of ecstasy through her.

He curled a finger under her chin and lifted. When their gazes locked, moonlight shimmered in his. She doubted there could have been a more glorious man ever to walk the face of the earth.

In this moment, she floated on air.

Slipping the robe off her shoulders, he let it drop to the balcony tiles. “Unbutton me,” he said in a raspy voice.

She complied and worked at the fastenings, acutely aware of the hard bulge beneath her palms. When she'd managed them all, he stepped out of his trousers and stood before her—tall, well-built, and naked.

“Now touch me, Josette.”

The sound of his voice, a provocative rumble, lit yet more internal fires. Her hand went around his thick erection.

“Ah,” he sighed. “Clever girl.”

Whatever sacred passion was running through her, she had an unholy urge to lower her head and take him fully into her mouth. Before she had time to act, his lips found hers in a deep and hungry kiss. All the while, his hands touched and caressed. So tender he was, but with a powerful intensity that left her mind in a muddle.

With each slide of his hands along her skin, her night rail inched upward, exposing her legs and baring her hips. Deftly, he drew the flimsy piece of silk over her head and dropped it atop his discarded clothing. He stood for a long moment, staring at her. “You,
ma chére
, are a goddess. So lovely.”

Slowly, he eased her to him until their skin barely touched. He swayed ever so slightly from side to side, just enough to brush his chest back and forth across the tips of her breasts.

“Oh, Lord.” Her throat constricted. She lifted her face to the sky, seeking more air.

A seductive murmur rolled through him. He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside. Along the way, his mouth found her breast. He tugged the nipple between his teeth and suckled.

She cried out.

As he settled her on the bed, a dark smile lifted his mouth. “I had better keep things even here.” He grasped the other nipple between his teeth and scraped lightly over it, then sucked.

At her gasp, he moved to her mouth, where he gifted her with a hot, intense kiss. “We've lost the moonlight in here,” he murmured. “Is there a single candle about? I want a little light.”

She tried to speak but no words came out. Finally: “On the table. Beside you.”

He lit the candle and slid his naked body in beside her. Pulling her into him, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight, his mouth settling down on hers for another long kiss, their tongues tangling. Through all this, he handled her with a careful touch, as if she were something precious and delicate.

But then his hand slid down her belly and to the wet, hot place between her legs. He slipped a finger inside. Then another, touching a place that made her want to beg. A strange desperation began to build within her. She wanted him now with a fierceness that demanded appeasement. Without thought, her legs wrapped around him. She bit into his shoulder. “Now, Cameron, please. I want you inside me.”

“You'll have me there soon enough.” As his mouth traced along her belly, he eased her legs apart. He worked his way in between them, his tongue leaving a hot trail along her famished skin. Reaching the folds of her delicate lips, he licked.

She cried out and buried her hands in his hair, tried to rock her hips to the rhythm of his tongue, but he held her steady while he devoured her. Just when she thought she could take no more, that her nerves were bound to snap, he rose over her.

Taking his own hard length in hand, he slowly guided the plump tip inside her.

He paused.

Protesting his hesitation, she canted her hips, wanting more.

A wicked smile touched his lips. “You vixen, you.”

Another gentle push, and he eased his thickness into her. Then withdrew.

“Oh, please,” she whimpered.

He lay still for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, biting his shoulder again. “But you keep pulling out of me and it's driving me insane, so stop it.”

“Then wrap your legs around my hips, Josette.” His voice, huskier by the word, filled her with as much ecstasy as did his touch.

She complied, and he rose up, looked deep into her eyes, then plunged into her to the hilt. He withdrew and sank into her again, now slow and purposeful, never taking his eyes off hers.

“More,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “Wrong word,
ma chère
. You have all of me. What you mean to say, is faster.”

Steadily, he increased the tempo, driving into her over and over. She gasped and moaned, as each new level of arousal deepened with every thrust of his hips.

She met his rhythm then, over and over again until her body seized, and he swept her over the edge of sanity.

“Please, Cameron,” she begged, not knowing for what she pleaded. A vibration rotated from deep within, increasing until suddenly, a powerful, overwhelming quickening radiated from her very core. She cried out his name as millions of sparks ignited flames that swirled from her loins and exploded throughout her body and in her mind.

He groaned, buried his face in her shoulder, and with a great shudder, pulled out of her, spilling his seed over her belly.

He held her then, with a fierceness that told her that somewhere inside him, Cameron was hurting. In the stillness of the moment, his ragged breathing slowed. She slid her arms around his broad, smooth back and, mimicking his prior movements, caressed his skin.

When his hold on her eased, when his taut muscles relaxed, she asked, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pull out of me and spill your seed on my stomach.”

“Because I'll not impregnate you and then leave, Josette. But God help me, if that were to happen, wherever I have gone off to, I can be found.” He lifted his head and taking her chin in hand, forced her to look into his eyes. “You would tell me, wouldn't you?”

His piercing gaze caught her off guard. “Of course.”

She'd not worry about such a thing happening. She was twenty-eight years old, hardly as fertile as someone much younger, and he'd taken precautions.

His expression softened. “Good.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Stay right where you are.”

He rolled off the bed, and padded over to the water basin. The sleek way he moved set something churning inside her once again. His back, broad and strong, his buttocks like steel, and those legs of his, so long and graceful—that glorious flesh had been all over her and in her only moments ago. Heat coiled in her womb. Good Lord, was it possible to want him again? So soon?

Snatching the linen towel hanging on a rod beside the water pitcher, he wet one end of the cloth and returned to the bed. Gently, he cleaned her, then saw to himself.

Agile as a god with wings, he slid back into bed and pulled her to him, enveloping her in a gentle, loving hold. He simply held her, unmoving. “You're so beautiful, Josette. So incredibly beautiful.”

She nestled her head in the crook of his arm, her cheek against his chest. “Will you make love to me again before the night is over?”

Rich laughter rumbled right through the bed. “We're just getting started, darling. But you'll have to give me a few minutes.”

He eased her leg over his thigh and took her hand, setting it on his manhood. “You're welcome to toy with me all you like while we wait, though.”

Tenderly, he combed his fingers through her hair and brushed them over her cheek. “You feel so damn good to be with. Why did we wait so long?”

To her surprise, he was growing hard in her hand. A sense of power left her feeling giddy. “Am I perverse in enjoying what I am doing to you? A great deal?”

“Am I perverse in relishing it more than you possibly could?” He covered her hand with his and helped her stroke him. “Don't stop, Josette. Drive me insane, do what you will, but pray, do not stop.”

 

 

Sometime after their third round of lovemaking, she'd fallen asleep still wrapped in his arms. As much as he hated to, he nudged her until she gave a little moan. “I see a hint of morning, Josette. I had better take my leave.”

She tightened her arm around his chest and snuggled closer. “Stay,” she mumbled. “I don't care what the neighbors think.”

He chuckled. “It's not your neighbors who concern me. I suspect at least one of your brothers lies in wait for me. If my hunch is right, it's best we clash before dawn lest the entire town bear witness to a bloodbath.”