Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (11 page)

"Hey," he murmured, leaning close to her face. "Don't leave me hanging. I don't speak French. Wake up." He patted her cheek. "Please."

Her bright blue eyes fluttered open. "Xavier," she breathed and then completely took him by surprise by grabbing his head and pulling his lips to hers.

Her kiss was soft and sensual, yet intense. Hungry. So, so hungry. He welcomed the gentle thrust of her tongue as she pressed for more.

And he would love to give her more. As the kiss intensified and their positions changed so her back was pressed to the bed and he hovered above, he wondered how far it was going to go.

He wasn't quite prepared for it and he certainly hadn't expected it, but it wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. In fact, he'd spent a little time this morning thinking about it.

Her lips pulled away and he found the soft skin below her ear.

"Mon amour," she repeated. "J'ai besoin de toi."

He might not understand the words, but he certainly liked the sensual way they slid from her lips.

"Laurent," she moaned.

He stopped. Abruptly and without warning. She writhed under his grasp, rolling her body against his.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne vas pas?"

Oh shit. Was she still sleeping? Jerking back, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

She blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes, and then slowly, unsteadily rose. Perched on one hand, she rubbed her eyes again. She smiled when she saw him. "Hey," she said, her voice full of gravel. It sounded nothing like the sexual purr from moments earlier. There was no doubt in his mind she'd been asleep while kissing him.

"Hey," he said back, keeping his tone light, trying to cool the heat running through his body. "Thought I was going to have to get Prince Charming in here to wake you up."

Her smile was sly, like she was remembering something naughty. If she only knew…

She ran a hand through her wildly tousled hair. God, she looked so damn sexy with her bedroom hair, lidded eyes, lips pink and full from being kissed.

And happy. She looked so damn happy.

Too bad he wasn't the reason for her happiness. "So, what did you find out?"

"Oh my God, Xavier, it's so wonderful. Amélie is fine. He healed her. Laurent healed her! By the next morning her fever was completely gone. And Élise...she was so happy she ran down to the French Market where Rosette said he often sells herbs and tinctures and medicines, and well..." She bit her lip. "They're having dinner tonight!"

The pure joy on her face, the beaming smile, the sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes, the story...it was so familiar. Too familiar. And now he knew why. In an instant he was pulled into the memory, the dream he'd had over and over for years. The dream he'd had again last night.

It always started the same, the woman he now knew to be Élise Cantrelle bounding toward him, Lottie's joyful smile lighting up her beautiful face, and throwing her arms around his neck.

"You did it!" she cried. "You cured her! She is perfect."

Though he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't help but return her embrace. The smell of roses drifted from her silky blond hair, and her soft body fit perfectly in his arms.

"I am so very happy for you."

Her arms still linked firmly around his neck, she pulled back to look at him. "There are no words. There is no amount of money that could repay you. There is no end to my thanks."

"This is all the payment I could ever need. Seeing your joy..." His words trailed off as his gaze lingered on hers. If he could only press his lips to hers, share her joy with the passion she stirred in him, love her as a man should love a woman.

But he couldn't. And they were in a public place.

She must have made the realization as he did, because she released him at the same moment he released her and stepped back to an appropriate distance.

"Monsieur Villere," she said formally. "You must be willing to accept some payment..."

"We discussed this. I will not take a penny from you." The words sounded serious but his heart was not.

"Then dinner. I insist you have dinner at my home in lieu of payment. Tonight. Eight p.m. It would be very rude of you to refuse me." She gave him a cross look but her eyes still sparkled with overflowing joy.

He bowed his head. "I wouldn't dare insult you by refusing."

Her broad smile returned. "Perfect." She curtseyed. "I must go. My daughter..."

"Of course."

In the same bounding stride, she scampered away. Briefly she paused at a scowling American man and gave him a quick curtsey. "Henry." He heard her say. "I'm afraid I cannot stay." And then she was gone.

Turning back to the cart, a smile still pulling at the corner of his mouth, Sanite blocked his path, scowling.

"What are you doing with that white woman?" she hissed.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Is that why she threw herself all over you?"

"She was merely overjoyed," he said dismissively. "I had the pleasure of tending to her sick child last night. The child is recovered."

"Overjoyed." Sanite snorted and shook her head. "I saw the way she looked at you, and you her. Everyone here saw it as well."

Laurent glanced around. "It appears no one cares but you."

"It's a bad idea and you know it. A white woman and a Creole of color..."

"This coming from a white man's mistress."

"It's different and you know it. You need to stay away from her."

"Your concern is duly noted. But not warranted. I have nothing but honorable intentions."

"The intentions of men may start honorable but never stay that way."

He swallowed his anger. "Your opinion has been heard, sister. You may now keep it to yourself."

"Xavier?" His name sounded almost foreign. Élise's—Lottie's—bright blue eyes were rimmed with concern. He wanted to take her in his arms as Laurent had held Élise. Only they weren't in public...

How hadn't he put the pieces together? Oh, that's right. Because it was impossible. He couldn't be dreaming a scene from the past, a scene from Laurent Villere's life. No more than Lottie could be dreaming the same scene from her own ancestor's path. That shit didn't happen.

"What's wrong?"

What's wrong…

He suddenly realized what she'd asked earlier when he'd pulled away.
Qu'est-ce qui ne vas pas…
"What's wrong" in French.

"Do you speak French?" he wondered.

"No."

"Me neither."

"My dreams have been in French though. Somehow I speak it then."

He realized his dream was also in French. It felt like his native tongue, but if he thought hard enough, if he bothered to try to remember details, he could pull out phrases. Like,
J'ai besoin de toi
...I need you.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, are you hungry? I picked up a Muffaletta—the best in New Orleans."

"Starving."

"Perfect. Me too."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

C
onfused, Lottie watched him disappear from the room. It wasn't just his out of the blue questions or abrupt change in conversation that made her feel so disoriented. Her head was filled with Jell-O—even worse than earlier. And her limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. Attached to another body, in another time, another dimension.

Amanda's pills worked like a charm, maybe even too well. Someone may as well have unscrewed her head and put in on another body as disjointed as she felt.

Not only that, but her emotions were also a swirling mix of bewilderment. Residual elation from Élise seeped from her bones, conflicting with the sense of unease she'd been plagued with for the last several days. And waking up and seeing Xavier sitting on the bed hadn't put a damper on that elation. Even if he'd been a little weird, she still liked seeing him, being near him, touching him...

She had no idea how he felt about her. What did she call him earlier? The master of mixed signals? Was he there because he cared, because he was suspicious, because he enjoyed a good train-wreck...?

His head popped into the door.

"Food's up."

Commanding legs that didn't want to listen, she staggered into the other room, instantly nauseated by the affront of roses. She must have stumbled because Xavier rushed to her side and steadied her.

Putting a hand to her forehead to stop it from spinning, she offered a pathetic smile. "Sorry. I guess I slept too long."

He frowned. "Let's get you some fresh air." He eased her out the door on onto the balcony.

The sweet, thick, hot air didn't do much for her nausea, but being away from the rose invasion helped.

"There's a table in the courtyard," he offered, leading her across the balcony.

She balked when they reached the top of the stairs. "Just give me a second. I'll be fine in a little bit."

"You'll be better once you have a little food in you."

She let out a startled scream as he scooped her up and carried her down the stairs. She stared at him incredulously. "You're kidding me."

He grinned. "It's hot up there and I'm hungry. And you're making me nervous teetering around."

"You're carrying me to the table?" She couldn't quite believe the words even as they poured from her mouth.

"I haven't worked out yet today. I could use the exercise."

"Want to run me around the block then?"

"Maybe later when the evening cools off. You're light, but you're not
that
light." He set her in a wrought iron chair and dashed back up the stairs.

She was still musing about how he'd just carried down a flight of stairs when he returned with a large paper covered sandwich and two Barq's root beers. Spreading the paper on the table, he flipped a chair around and straddled it. Grabbing one half of the huge sandwich, he nodded toward the other. "Dig in."

With the first swallow of bread and meaty goodness on its way to her stomach she realized it was the first food her lips had touched that day. "This is good," she said.

"Hell yeah. Like I said, best in town."

She was so famished, she devoured the entire sandwich with barely a breath between swallows.

Xavier was grinning at her. He still had half of his sandwich. "Hungry?"

Her cheeks got decidedly warmer. "You could say that. Dreaming of ghosts takes a lot out of a girl."

His expression was unreadable as he took a gulp of root beer.

"You still don't believe me do you?"

"I don't know what I believe."

He might not know what to believe but she wasn't sure what to think. On one hand he seemed to support her unconditionally—the library, giving her a place to crash, suggesting the séance...

What was his motive? It wasn't like he was always hitting on her. There were times when it seemed like that could be the case, when he genuinely acted like he was into her. But other times, he looked at her like she was some sort of social experiment.

It was a look she was used to. Throughout high school as the kid without parents and then in college, as the girl who acted like a parent, she'd been a curiosity to those around her for the last eight years. Why should Xavier be any different?

Because she wanted him to be different. Because she wanted him to understand.

"So, what should I expect for the séance?"

Xavier finished the last bite of his sandwich, flipped his chair around, and then leaned back in it. "Well, it depends on whether my mother is in a Voodoo mood, or a Native American mood, or in fortune-teller mode."

"Such a collection."

"She's a little…well, different. Okay, a lot different."

"How so?"

His expression became exacerbated as he sucked in a breath of air and blew it out. "Besides seeing things that aren't there—"

"Like dead people?"

"Yeah."

"I can relate."

He quickly took another drink of root beer. Perhaps to hide his reaction.

"Go on," she encouraged, realizing she'd made him uncomfortable.

He offered a pained smile. "Let's just say I'm surprised when she remembers to put pants on in the morning."

"Ah."

"It certainly made for an interesting childhood. Especially after my dad bailed and Grandpere died. Grandmere is a tough old lady, but being blind and diabetic, she's not exactly in a place to run a household. And Julien might be the eldest, but he was more interested in partying with his friends than making sure the electric bill got paid."

"So that responsibility fell on you?"

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen."

She smiled sadly. "I was fifteen when my parents died. It's a tough way to grow up."

"Like being thrown to the wolves."

"Wearing a belt made of bacon."

"Or a suit." He grinned. "Oh, that cliché never gets old."

"When it's appropriate..." She shrugged. "So that must have been tough—assuming adult responsibilities at such a young age."

It was his turn to shrug. "It suits my personality. Even when I was little, I spent way too much time worrying about other people. Had Grandmere taken her insulin, should Grandpere be smoking so much, did my dad get home safely from a night at the bars...? It drives me crazy. I can only imagine how nuts it makes those around me."

"You care. That's what's important."

"What about you? I can't begin to understand what you went through being orphaned at fifteen. I might not be able to get away from my family, but I certainly wouldn't want to be without them."

"Being in the
system,
I didn't have the responsibilities you did. For the most part, things were taken care of. But I continually watched my foster siblings self-destruct. I nearly followed the same path. It just made me really aware of those tendencies and how important it is that I avoid them."

"Hence Sam's
fun-sponge
comment."

"You heard that? I was hoping you hadn't."

"Well, I certainly didn't think anything of it, other than Sam is a bitch."

She couldn't help the laugh that erupted through her closed lips. She quickly wiped her face. "Sometimes..."

"Why do you associate with her?"

"Amanda." Guilt washed through her as she realized she hadn't contacted her friends. They had no idea where she was or what she was doing. She made a mental note to send them a text later. "We roomed together in the dorms for several years and became pretty close. She and Sam are childhood friends. We never hit it off, but Sam tolerates me because of Amanda and vice-versa. We usually get along okay, but sometimes Sam just seems to have it out for me. Usually when she's drunk."

"Probably because you represent everything she wants to be but can't."

"A fun-sponge?"

"In control. Responsible."

Lottie nodded. "A fun-sponge."

They were suddenly sitting close enough together that he was able to nudge her shoulder with his. She wasn't sure when they'd migrated to such close proximity, or how it had even happened, but they had, and suddenly she was
too
aware of it.

His gaze caught hers and she froze. Her heart immediately jumped into overdrive, pounding a ferocious techno beat in her chest. His beautiful brown eyes—Laurent's eyes—slowly drifted down her face until they lingered on her mouth.

Her lungs seized. He was going to kiss her. Swallowing, she leaned forward, ready to meet him, ready to taste the sweetness of his kiss, when a strong gust of wind abruptly blew through the courtyard, sending their trash scattering and knocking over the half-full bottles of Barq's, sending root beer everywhere.

They both jumped up to avoid being soaked, although it was too late for Lottie. Covered in the sticky liquid, she righted the bottles, while Xavier retrieved the trash.

"That was weird," he said when he returned. He took the empty bottles from here. "Let me throw these away. Man, it really got you."

"Yeah. I could probably use a shower and fresh change of clothes. I hate to go back to the hotel though. I really don't want to deal with Sam, or Amanda, for that matter."

"Don't. Use the Guest House shower. They've been remodeled, remember?" He winked. "As far as the clothes, we can wash those. I have shorts and a Tee you can borrow."

There he was being super helpful again. But hadn't he said that was his personality? Maybe it had nothing to do with her after all.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Séance should be ready in an hour or so. Just let me grab some toiletries and towels and fresh clothes, you can take a shower, and we'll be ready to roll."

It was amazing how easily he skipped over their near kiss, over everything. He just dismissed it like it was no big deal, like nothing was a big deal, including her.

"Okay, thanks."

"No problem. Head up to the room, I'll be right up with your stuff."

She gestured toward the trash in his hand. "Want me to throw that stuff away?"

"I got it." And with that he zipped from the courtyard.

Exasperated, she ran her hands through over her face and through her hair. Well, at least the control of her body had returned to her, she thought as she climbed the stairs up to the suite. It was the only thing that was normal.

As promised, within minutes, Xavier brought some fluffy white hotel towels, tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, lotion, a mini bar of soap, fresh bandages, and a T-shirt and athletic shorts—both with Tulane blazoned on them. As quickly as he arrived, he dipped back out of the room. It was like he was suddenly the hotel manager tending to a guest and not her...

It made no sense she should care. Why should she be anything to him? After all, he was a stranger. A man she was bothering with her idiotic ghost sightings. Nothing more. Nothing less.

With a sigh, she stripped down and stepped into the shower. There was no point worrying about it now. She had more pressing concerns. The ghost sightings weren't idiotic, she knew that. Élise Cantrelle—her great-great grandmother, the only relative she had at the moment—was trying to communicate with her. And Lottie had no doubt it was something important. She had every intention of listening.

Which is why when the sound of her name seeped in with the water droplets, instead of giving into the fear creeping through her tissues, she stood completely still and strained her ears.

The sound of her name slowly gained strength, getting louder and louder.

"I'm here," she said finally, her voice sounding desperate. "I hear you. Tell me what you need."

It took a moment, but finally the voice responded, strained at first, weak even. "C'est dangereaux," it—she—said.

"I don't speak—"

"Vous êtes en danger."

She tried to commit the foreign words to memory. "Please…"

"S'il vous plait!"

The voice echoed Lottie's plea. It was the one French phrase she knew.

"Fais attention!"

"QUITTEZ!" Another voice—stronger, angrier—assaulted her from every angle, just as the water went from warm to scalding hot.

She screamed, struggling to get out from under the shower spray. Fumbling with the handle, she somehow managed to turn the water "up" instead of "off", sending liquid acid pouring down her back. She screamed again, returning to the tap with shaking hands and successfully stopping the flow of lava this time.

Body
heaving, skin burning, she stood in the shower for a long time, dripping and in a state of shock.

What was that? It wasn't—couldn't have been Élise. The feel…the presence was all wrong. The first voice had been desperate, pleading. The second…hateful. Were there two ghosts?

Whatever fear she'd been able to suppress assaulted her with a vengeance. With trembling hands, she gingerly wrapped one of Xavier's fluffy towels around her stinging skin. She didn't bother drying her hair and it clung to her scalp, dripping down her back and over her shoulder.