The Love Potion (19 page)

“Of course.” She smiled outwardly now.

“Shush your sarcastic mouth, babe.” He tapped her on the lips with a forefinger. “This allowed the beans to cook for many hours without being tended. Even today, Monday is red beans and rice day in most Cajun households.”

“As I said, you’re a great storyteller.”

“Now it’s your turn. Tell me a Creole legend.”

“Well, there was supposedly a rich planter living in Southern Louisiana during the 1700’s who wanted to provide a spectacular wedding for his daughter. So, he imported thousands of silkworms from China. He fed them powdered gold, which caused them to spin gold thread throughout all the trees in his live-oak alley. Supposedly, this was the origin of the Spanish moss in our trees.”

“Sylvie! I never took you for a romantic.”

“But I prefer the Houma Indian legend about the Spanish moss. It’s said there was once a Houma Indian princess who was killed by an enemy tribe during her wedding ceremony. In despair, her mourning family cut off all her luxuriant hair and spread it on the limbs of the oak tree under which she was buried. A fierce wind came up—probably her spirit—and the strands of hair blew here and there, landing in other tree limbs. Over time, the black hairs turned to gray. And,
voila
, our current Spanish moss—a tribute to those who are ill-fated in love.”

“Yep, a one-hundred-proof romantic,” Luc declared with noticeable delight.

Eventually, they prepared and ate the meal,
which was plain, but sumptuous. Boiled crawfish, dipped in melted butter, as an appetizer. A potluck jambalaya that contained crawfish, Cajun sausage, chunks of Spam, and canned chicken. Luc had surprised her with his talent for making light-as-air beaten biscuits, from scratch. She’d made her great-grandmother’s recipe for Creole “dirty rice.” On the side, they nibbled at a pokeweed and vinegar salad. All washed down with cold beer. For dessert, they had the last of Tante Lulu’s beignets and rich cafe au lait.

As good as the food was, the best part was working side by side with Luc. There was an underlying sexual tension ricochetting between them, but more important, and more alarming, a sense of friendship.

She was growing to like Luc LeDeux, and that was a road that led to inevitable heartbreak. That, combined with the sexual attraction that was growing between them by leaps and bounds, made her feel needy and pathetic. Like a timid teenager with a first crush.

They finished cleaning up the dishes and the kitchen and Luc pulled out a map, which he spread over the table. “I want to show you the route we’ll be taking tomorrow,” he said, and ran a forefinger along a line indicating a bayou. From the cabin to the spot Luc indicated was roughly twenty miles. Sylvie wasn’t in bad physical shape, but she wasn’t sure she was up to
that
much paddling.

“I still don’t see why we have to travel so far in a pirogue to get water samples when we could wait till next week and do it in comfort by motorboat.”

Luc thought for a moment. The only sounds were of BeauSoleil’s latest album “Cajunization,” which was playing on a portable CD player on the counter, as it had been all through dinner. The music, like Luc, was outrageous, and soulful, and teasing, and fun.

“This is the best way, Sylv. We can maneuver the pirogue into some back bayous that aren’t accessible by motorboat. And there’s the element of surprise. No one would expect us to show up in Cypress Oil’s backyard while they’re looking for us. Besides, rushing in there by motorboat would be tantamount to shouting our presence with a foghorn.”

She shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.” But she had something else on her mind now. All this time spent with Luc and she was failing to work on the most important thing in her life—the love potion.

“Why are you looking at me funny?” Luc asked.

“I was just wondering if I could take your pulse now…while you’re…uh, normal. I need to get a base pulse for you, to measure against those times when you’re…uh, not normal.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Sylv! What makes you think I’m
normal
now?”

“Give me a break. We’re talking about maps and pirogues and oil pollution. In the midst of all that dry stuff, you can’t possibly be…” She let her words trail off.

“Aroused?” He grinned.

“Yeah,” she snapped.

“Exactly what do you consider normal?”

“Oh, forget it,” she said. “I’ll take your pulse
later, when you least expect it…maybe when you’re sleeping or something.”

“Don’t you dare sneak up on me when I’m sleeping. I won’t be responsible for my actions, then.”

Oh, the heck with it! She grabbed for his wrist and began to silently count the pulse beats. He had to be kidding about not being “normal” right now. A minute later, her eyes shot up to connect with Luc’s. His heart was racing a mile a minute.

“I told you,” he said in a voice gravelly with desire.

She dropped his hand like a hot coal and walked over to the counter on wobbly legs. While BeauSoleil belted out the rollicking swamp rocker “
Tu Vas Voir
,” or “Can’t You See,” she nervously flipped through the half-dozen CDs sitting next to the player. One of them caused her to arch her eyebrows and hold the disk up to Luc for inspection. “‘One Night With You’? Luther Vandross? You?”

Luc laughed. “Nah. That make-out music belongs to René. He brought a girlfriend here one time last year.”

On an impulse, or perhaps to be perverse, Sylvie pressed the eject button, took out BeauSoleil, and inserted the make-out king. Immediately, a clear, male voice rang out with the love song “Always and Forever.”

“Uh-oh,” Luc said.

“What?” She pivoted on her bare feet and watched him slowly and deliberately fold up the maps on the table, straighten the chairs, turn down the lights, then hold his open arms out to her.

She was the one then who said, “Uh-oh.”

“C’mon, Sylv. You can’t put on that kind of
music and not dance.” Luther was now crooning “Endless Love.”

“Have you lost your mind, Luc? Dancing is not a good idea.”

“Yes, I’ve lost my mind. Dancing most definitely
is
a good idea. And it’s time for some paybacks, darlin’.”

Her head shot up at that last, and her heart skipped a beat, then went into double-time. “Now? You expect to be paid back
now?
”

“It’s as good a time as any.”

For the first time, it registered with Sylvie that she was alone—truly alone—with Luc. And the sexual tension that had been sizzling between them kicked up a notch.
Bam!

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I like to dance, and I love dancing with you.”

“You only danced with me once,” she pointed out, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

“I know.” His face turned suddenly vulnerable as he added, “Didn’t you enjoy dancing with me, Sylv?”

“Of course, I did, and you know it, too.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he admitted with a shy grin.

Shy? Shy and Luc LeDeux do not go together
.

He beckoned with the fingers of both outstretched hands for her to come closer.

She inched her way slowly, reluctantly, the whole time groaning inwardly. She had given her word to Luc, and she was not a person who went back on her word.
But dancing? In a remote cabin? With Luther Vandross music? And Luc? And, oh, my God, in the nude!
She did a full-body shiver as she stepped into his arms.

“Are you afraid of me,
chère?
” he murmured against her hair.

“Yes.”
But not half as afraid as I am of myself
.

“I’m afraid of you, too,” he confided, and the whisper of his breath against her exposed ear was excruciatingly sensual.

It was either kismet or total coincidence that Luther then swung into the torchy “One Night With You.”

Was that what Luc was hoping for?

Was that what she was hoping for?

Were they both nuts?

They were silent for a while, letting the music seep into their bodies, leading them in the rhythm of the slow dance. Her face rested against his clean-shaven cheek. Her left hand curved around the nape of his neck under his too-long hair. His right arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, aligning her body tantalizingly against his. His left hand held her right pressed up against his heart, which thudded madly.

Not once did Sylvie think of checking his pulse or pulling out her notebook. At some point, without thinking, she had crossed a line. She no longer fought the pull of Luc’s seduction. In truth, she was powerless to resist him now.

“I surrender,
chère
.” His lips were nuzzling her hair as he spoke in a voice gritty with sex. “I can’t fight these feelings for you anymore.”

Sylvie went immediately alert…or as alert as she could be in her passion-hazy condition. Were their minds really so well attuned? Would their bodies be attuned, too?

No, no, no, she couldn’t think that far ahead.
They weren’t going to make love. They were only dancing.

Only dancing? Hah!
Who was she kidding? Slow dancing with Luc
was
like making love.

As if to emphasize that point, Luc released the hand held against his chest. He had one arm still wrapped around her waist, but now used his free hand to roam her back and buttocks, the whole time persuading her with soft, barely coherent words to move even closer, perfecting the fit of their two bodies—breast to chest, groin to groin, and thigh to thigh. Every beat of the slow dance gave her proof of his arousal.

When Sylvie could stand no more of this exercise in torture, she rubbed her breasts against his chest…back and forth…just once.

A low hissing sound came from between Luc’s teeth, and she thought she might have moaned, but it was hard to tell, so overwhelming was the intense pleasure emanating from her nipples, which yearned for more abrasion. She wore the silk blouse and slacks she’d had on when they’d left Houma, but, oh, how she wished she were a more uninhibited woman. She would like nothing more than to feel her bare breasts against Luc’s chest…to have him kiss her there…and place his lips…oh, too many wicked thoughts and impossible wishes assailed her. Too much to assimilate, especially when Luc was moving his lips along her jawline, closer and closer to her mouth, which she clamped shut for fear he might hear the sound of her panting.

Sylvie should stop this now. She was way out of her league with a man like Luc LeDeux. If she
didn’t put a halt to this, he would soon discover just how inexpert she was in love matters…how pathetic she was in her need for him.

“Luc, no, wait,” she tried to say as he whisked his mouth briefly across hers.

“Shhh, Sylv,” he said against her lips. “Let me…oh, please, just let me…”

Sylvie didn’t really want him to stop…she had to admit that. Instead of pushing him away, she arched her neck and made a low purring sound deep in her throat.

The anticipation of his kiss was a carnal joy…a goal in itself. But, no, he was kissing her now, and she was wrong. The kiss itself was so much more than the anticipation.

With a sigh, she allowed his coaxing lips to open hers and kiss her with a hunger that would have frightened her with its ferocity, if it didn’t match her own.

Amazingly, the whole time this was going on, Luc was leading her in a sensuous slow dance…not around the room, but in a small circle…enough to still call it dancing and not foreplay. Except, it was that, too.

Luc was a really good dancer, she observed. But even more important, Luc was a really good kisser.
Really
good!

He touched her soul with the gentleness of his clinging kisses, then seared her libido with the rapacious appetite of his wet, open-mouthed kisses. She could not say which she preferred. When he buried himself deep in her mouth, and encouraged her to do the same with him, she felt as one with his arousal. He would not travel this erotic road alone, he was making sure of that.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he stared at her swollen lips through smoldering eyes, then nodded as if satisfied with his work. Before she knew what he was about, he moved to new territory, pulling her blouse from the waistband of her slacks, releasing the buttons in front, while he resumed nibbling kisses along the sensitive curve of her neck.

And the things he whispered to her then…wicked, wicked words of what he would like to do to her…caused Sylvie’s knees to go weak and almost collapse. With a joyous laugh, he caught her and held her upright.

They stopped dancing, and with the expertise of a cat burglar, Luc somehow managed to remove her blouse and bra. The soughing of his breath could be heard above the sound of Luther spinning his magic with “Your Secret Love.” All Luc said was, “Oh, Sylvie.” Then his T-shirt was gone as well, and they were dancing again, bare chest to bare chest, and nothing,
nothing
, in Sylvie’s life had ever felt this good. He used one hand at the small of her back to guide her in the dance, but the fingers of the other hand were doing delicious things to her breasts…skimming, kneading, thrumming.

Sylvie heard a low keening sound, and at first thought it was the background singers on the CD. To her embarrassment, she realized the continuous whimper was coming from her.

Luc was lowering his head to minister to her aching breasts. When he took one breast into his mouth and began to suckle, she dug her nails into his shoulders and cried aloud with one long squeal, “Luuuuuuuucccccc!”

He stopped, and she thought he was going to take mercy on her. But she could see by his beautiful sex-hazed eyes and moist, parted lips that he would not. He was even further gone than she was. With a low masculine growl of pleasure, he attacked the other breast, bringing it to an equal pitch of throbbing need.

Sylvie was mindless with passion, and therefore unaware of Luc making quick work of removing her slacks and panties. It was only when the rasp of his zipper rang loud to her ears that she realized she had come full circle. Luc was going to get from her what he had no doubt always wanted…what she had promised…nude dancing. He had won, finally.