Wedding Favors (27 page)

She went outside and sat down. As she waited for James, she hoped she was doing the right thing.

He appeared with her juice and coffee for himself.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, as he settled in across from her.

“I had breakfast earlier.”

She glanced down at her plate. “I took more pudding than anything. But it’s my favorite dessert.”

“Mine, too. The Creole recipe is with bourbon sauce. But we don’t serve it that way. It wouldn’t be kid friendly.”

“I’ll have to try it that way sometime.”

“I’m sure you’d like it. The sauce is creamy and smooth.”

Her skin went as warm as the weather. Creamy and smooth sounded luxuriously erotic. “I’m always game for something sweet.”

“So am I.” He snared her gaze, and silence sizzled between them.

This wasn’t good, she thought. This was exactly what they shouldn’t be doing.

Before things turned too intimate, she asked, “Where are you from?”

He kept looking at her. “The city.”

She made a puzzled expression. “What city?”

He snapped to attention. “San Francisco.”

At least they’d gotten past the staring jag. “Do you have family in New Orleans?”

“My father is from here, but I don’t remember him. He died when I was a baby. He was a party boy. Drinking, carousing, womanizing. He got himself killed over another man’s wife.”

“That must have been difficult on your mom.”

“It was. But you know what? That didn’t stop her from missing him.” He frowned. “I don’t understand why women always seem to be attracted to the wrong men.”

Was James the wrong the man, too? Was that why he’d mentioned it? Or was she reading too much into their attraction? “Is your mom still in San Francisco?”

He shook his head. “She passed away when I was in college.”

“I’m sorry.” Both of her parents were alive and well and still married.

A butterfly landed on the floral centerpiece, drawing his attention.

“It’s a viceroy,” he said.

She assumed he meant the butterfly. “I see that type around all the time, but I thought they were called monarchs.”

“People often mistake them for monarchs. They look the same, except the viceroy is smaller, and it has a black line that goes across its wings.”

Kendra tried to see the distinguishing mark, but she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for. The orange and black butterfly had lots of lines.

He continued the lesson. “In earlier studies, they used to say that viceroys mimicked monarchs because the monarch is toxic. But now they say that they’re both toxic and they mimic each other. Either way, it keeps them safe from predators.”

“Wow. Who knew?”

“You remind me of a butterfly.”

Taken aback, she said, “After your description of them, it makes me sound like a femme fatale.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Then how did he mean it? “I’m not toxic, but I’m not fragile, either.”

“In most cultures, butterflies represent transformation. But they can symbolize innocence, too. You seem innocent to me.”

She sighed. “I suppose in some ways, I am. My ex is the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated a long time before we got married.”

“What ended it?”

“Predictability. Incompatibility. We just weren’t right for each other. He didn’t fight me on the divorce. He was feeling trapped, too.”

“And now you’re free.”

Not in her mind. Not in the bondage fantasies that aroused her. Twisted innocence, she thought.

The viceroy flew away, and James watched it depart.

“How do you know so much about butterflies?” she asked.

“My mom taught me about the symbolism. She also worked at a science museum, so she was practical, too. When I was a kid, I used to hang out there a lot.”

A practical mother and a wild-spirited father. She couldn’t quite fathom it. “So what brought you to New Orleans? Was it your father’s family?”

“In a roundabout way. I inherited this house from my great-uncle. He made a fortune in commercial fishing. After he retired and sold his company, he bought this place, then holed up in it like a hermit.”

“He sounds like a Howard Hughes type.”

“He was. When I was around ten, Mom brought me here to see him because he wanted to meet me. He was odd and reclusive, but he taught me a little about my Creole side.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“No. That was it. I grew up, and he kept his distance. Can you imagine my surprise when the executor of his estate notified me that my uncle had passed away and I was the heir to his house?”

“What made you turn it into a B and B?”

“My degree is in hospitality management. I worked for a five-star hotel chain in San Francisco, so this was a natural transition. Something that just seemed right.”

“I think you did the house proud.”

“I hope so.” He glanced at the flowers. “Hey, look who’s back.”

She smiled. The mimic. “He must like us.”

“It’s a she.”

“You can tell?”

He shook his head. “I’m not that much of an expert.” A small breeze fluttered the front of his hair, spilling strands onto his forehead. “But if it reminds me of you, then it must be a she.”

Intrigued by his rugged romanticism, she got caught up in staring at him again. He looked at her, too. Intense eye contact. They couldn’t seem to escape it.

Suddenly she wanted to tell him about her deepest, darkest, sexiest secret. Suddenly she wanted him to know about her dreams.

But when she tried to form the words, she couldn’t quite piece them together.

Kendra chickened out, leaving it unsaid.

For
James, the next few days went by in a blur. Between tending to a full house and hosting a wedding, there was no time for anything else.

Or almost no time. Kendra continued to invade his mind, especially when he was alone at night, buck naked and tossing the covers aside.

And now, here he was, at the wedding reception, watching her dance with another man. An old friend? A coworker? Clearly he was someone Kendra knew fairly well. Their body language conveyed
relaxed
rather than
romantic.
Still, it was a slow dance, and James envied the other guy.

“She looks gorgeous,” Claire said.

James turned toward his assistant. The bride and groom had invited both of them to the festivities. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” She dug into the plate of food in front of her.

“Matchmaking.”

“All I said was how good she looks.”

“You said gorgeous.” And it was true. Kendra wore a slim-fitting, silky pink dress that rode just above the knee. The jewels at the neckline matched the glittery comb in her toss-of-summer-waves hair. The classic silhouette and slightly tousled mane worked on her.

He could imagine her waking up beside him that way, minus the dress and glittery comb. Spent, he thought, from being wildly fucked and desperately bound.

Cripes almighty. Did he have to think of that now?

Claire cut into a crab cake her husband had prepared, then offered James a bite. He shook his head. The spicy remoulade sauce was the last thing he needed.

His blood was already hot.

Kendra and her partner left the dance floor. He headed for the buffet, and she returned to her table.

As James watched her, the rough-sex urge came back. But not too rough. He wanted it to be tender, too, if that made a lick of sense.

Steeped in the way she made him feel, he shifted in his chair. Maybe he should—

“You should ask her to dance,” Claire said, beating him to the punch.

He made an exasperated face, and she laughed. “Oops, sorry. Am I am being a matchmaker again?”

“If you want me to have a nice little affair, then you need to let me do it on my own terms.”

She quit laughing. “Does that mean you’re going to go for it?”

He had no idea what he was going to do. “I might.”

“You’d better.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “And to prove how non-meddlesome I can be, I’m going to head over to the kitchen and hang out with Leon.”

She stood up, taking her plate with her, giving him a cute little finger wave as she departed.

Claire likened herself to being his surrogate mother, and he adored her for it. But her interest in his love life was a bit more than he could handle.

Why? Because he was feeling guilty about his nocturnal cravings? Thank goodness Claire and Leon didn’t live in the mansion. At least James had the place to himself at night. Or mostly to himself. He still had his guests to consider.

He gazed at the guest consuming his mind. The music remained soft and slow, and he was hankering to hold her.

He crossed the ballroom and approached her table. As he got closer, Kendra turned and saw him. She reacted by sitting a bit more forward. He suspected that she sensed what was coming.

He reached his destination and asked, “Would you like to dance?”

Perched on the edge of her chair, she readily agreed. “Yes, thank you.”

They found a spot on the crowded dance floor. He reached for her, and they went body-to-body. He couldn’t begin to describe how good it felt. She followed his every lead.

Would she follow him into destruction, too?

Captivated, he inhaled the scent of her skin. She smelled like flowers mingled with fruits and spices. Unable to help himself, he slid his hand down her back.

She made a soft, sweet sound. Was she affected by the hunger in his touch?

With his hand poised expectantly on her tailbone, he said, “Tell me about your
jaillissement de Plaisir
wish.”

She lifted her gaze to his. Big blue eyes. “I’ve been thinking about telling you.”

“So do it. Share it with me.”

“Not here.” Her breath hitched. “Not with so many other people around.”

“You can whisper it in my ear.”

She shook her head. “That would be too ...”

Intimate? Erotic? Embarrassing? He had no idea what she was going to say, and she didn’t fill in the blank.

“We can go outside after this song is over,” he said. “We can find a private place to talk.”

She agreed, and when it ended, he led her onto the courtyard. Party lights lit their way, some of which were strung in trees, creating a fairy-tale setting.

Moving away from other guests who’d also stepped outside, they found an isolated spot.

James turned to face her. “We can talk now.”

“All right. But you’re probably going to think I’m strange or perverted or something.”

“You?” He noticed her skin was flushed. “Somehow I doubt that.” Especially with the lewd and lascivious thoughts that tore through his mind.

“I’ve been having these dark dreams, and I wished for them to go away. But they haven’t stopped.”

“What do you mean by dark?”

“Gothic. There’s this place I keep seeing.” She winced. “A sex dungeon.”

James just stared at her. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Describe it.”

She tried for a joke. “You know, the usual.”

“No, really, Kendra, tell me what it looks like.”

She glanced up at the sky, as if she needed a moment to collect herself. “Brick walls, sconce lanterns, chains and manacles, an X-shaped cross, a stockade, a long wooden table with leather restraints.”

His heart nearly pole-vaulted out his chest. Could this be happening? Was this real?

She continued, “Ever since the dreams started, all I do is imagine having kinky sex.” She made a tortured expression. “I told you it would make me sound perverted.”

Was she kidding? He thought she was amazing, the most glorious creature on earth. He could barely concentrate, barely breathe. “I think the place you’ve been dreaming about is in my attic.”

She gaped at him. “You have a sex dungeon in your attic?”

“It was already there when I inherited the house.” He paused, trying to still his rocky emotions. “No one knows about it except me. I doubt my uncle was even aware of it. I discovered it by accident. It’s behind a hidden door, and it’s been there for ages. Probably since the house was built. The original owner must have been a Marquis de Sade type.” He gave her a moment to process everything before he added, “Will you come with me? I want you to see it.”

 

 

Kendra
hesitated. Should she go with him? Was his dungeon an omen of some kind? And if it was, what did it mean? Omens could be good or bad.

He waited for her to make a decision, and she nervously agreed, if only to see if it was the same place she’d been dreaming about. She left the reception with him, and they went upstairs and stopped on the landing of the third floor. The door to James’s apartment was on the right, and a set of narrow stairs was on the left.