Best Laid Plans (11 page)

Lucas tapped the tip of her straight
nose. "As I recall, you were quite the sinful siren last night!"

There was a unique Old World ambience
permeating the French Quarter. New Orleans is a cosmopolitan city of many
moods, where the cultures of France, Spain, America, and Africa have created a
singular life. Historic buildings line the narrow streets, lace iron balconies
and palm fronds shade the gas-lantern-speckled sidewalks. A myriad of smells
excite the senses, from the rich odor of the wharves to the seasoned aroma of
the fabled Vieux Carre cuisine.

They went to Buster's for a lunch of
red beans, rice and sausages. Amanda let Lucas pay the monstrous price tag of a
dollar fifty. The soul-food feast was walked off by moving with the dirge
rhythm provided by the
Olympia Brass Band
. The colorful procession led a
group of mourners to St. Louis Cemetery Number One. After a most inspirational
eulogy, the band gave way to jazz, rejoicing that the deceased's earthly
troubles were over.

"This cemetery has been here for
over two hundred years," Amanda recounted, leading Lucas through long
lanes of mausoleums. "It's never been closed and it's never been full. The
vaults are used time and again."

She stopped under an aged tomb
beneath a camphor tree. "Here lie the bones of Marie Laveau, a notorious
voodoo queen," came her profound whisper. He watched in amazement as
Amanda knelt on the concrete base and began searching the ground around the
marble sarcophagus.

Her fingers triumphantly closed
around their quarry - a sliver of black chalk. Her chalked cross joined
hundreds of others that etched the vault. "This is supposed to bring good
luck." Lucas took the chalk and added two crosses of his own.

Basin Street hooked into Canal, one
of the widest business thoroughfares in America. Amanda expertly crossed the
ten lanes of traffic to purchase a candy apple from a vendor. After nibbling
off the cinnamon-spice shell, she donated the ripe fruit to a horse sporting a
pink chapeau as it diligently pulled a red-wheel surrey.

There was a carnival atmosphere about
the Quarter. Dixieland and mainstream jazz issued from corner musicians and
lone buskers. The sidewalks were crowded with people trying to make a choice between
the temptation of interesting cafes and the gaudy cabarets that boasted
"no cover," cheap drinks and topless/bottomless waitresses and
waiters.

Hand in hand, laughing like children,
Amanda and Lucas scampered onto the St. Charles Streetcar, a covered haven
during the cloudburst. "We have a bus named 'Desire,' " she said and
grinned, settling onto a green leather seat.

He pushed the wet tendrils off her
forehead. "I still feel the urge to play Brando and yell 'Stella!' "

The trolley took them to Audubon
Park, skirting the antebellum homes of the garden district. Mansions dating
from the mid-1800s made elegant pictures. The houses boasted graceful columns,
red tile roofs and elaborate filigree work, all surrounded by perfectly
landscaped gardens.

Pre-dinner drinks were enjoyed on Pat
O'Brien's Patio. Lucas added a souvenir glass from consuming an intoxicating
Hurricane
to the shopping bag holding the spittoon. The setting sun made a spectacular
gold and orange display in the western sky, shrouding the French Quarter in
gilded charm.

The city's greatest tourist
attraction, Bourbon Street, offered an interesting menu from which to choose
dinner. Amanda pulled Lucas away from the open-door pleasure palaces. He wasn't
alone in gawking at the exotic dancers visible inside the lurid cabarets.

Gallaoire's
was the choice for dinner. They
waited in a line that stretched half a block to get inside one of the Quarter's
best restaurants. When Mother Nature again decided to cry, Amanda and Lucas
were invited to share a huge umbrella by a very youthful, older couple from
Schenectady.

"We come back here every year on
our anniversary," announced the pleasingly plump matron, who introduce
herself as Connie Bristow. "Joe and I…" she snuggled her navy
polyester pant-suited body against her tall, barrel-chested husband, "are
celebrating fifty-three years."

Connie's keen brown eyes studied the
possessive muscular arm that circled Amanda's shoulder. "I bet you two are
on your honeymoon." Her angular face was split by a wide, knowing smile.
"Aren't they a perfect couple, Joe?"

"Actually, I live here,"
Amanda gently corrected the woman. "Lucas is a visiting friend from
Dallas."

"Oh, dear." Connie's
poppy-red lips drooped. "This is the first time I've ever been
wrong." She gave a disappointed sniff as her hand pulled at the damp wedge
of gray hair on her nape. "You just have that honeymoon glow."

"Say," Joe's voice boomed,
"what's it like here during Mardi Gras? One of these days," he said,
nudging his wife, "we're going to come to the party."

"It's curb-to-curb merrymakers
for the ten days preceding Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent," Amanda
dutifully fully recounted. "Papier-mâché sculptures, carnival costumes,
gala balls and floats all pay homage to
Comus
, the god of revelry.
Although this year's carnival was quite orderly."

"How can you call ten days of
all-night partying orderly?" Lucas inquired, bumping his head against the
metal spokes of the umbrella.

Amanda's tone was innocent.
"Seems normal to us! New Orleans has been doing it since 1766!"

Over a dinner of crab legs dripping
with butter, Lucas found he couldn't resist making a personal comment.
"You know, you do have that honeymoon glow."

Wiping her hands on her paper bib,
Amanda let her index finger polish her nose. "Then I think a little powder
might be needed," she teased, "but thank you, kind sir, for the
compliment."

Preservation Hall was the last stop
for the night. A dollar bill dropped into the basket at the front door paid the
admission. Two orange sodas from the soft-drink machine were an after-dinner
non-liqueur. The Saturday night crowd filled benches and kitchen chairs. Amanda
and Lucas were among the spill of bodies that inhabited the floor. Portraits
and photos of jazz artists adorned the walls, keeping a watchful eye on the
dedicated musicians who bring so much life to the city built on a sweeping
curve of the Mississippi.

***

"We must have walked more than
ninety blocks," Lucas groaned, collapsing in an exhausted heap in the
center of Amanda's living-room sofa.

"Poor baby." She leaned
over him, soothing fingers stroking away the tired lines that etched the
corners of his half-closed eyes. "And you appear to be such a perfect
physical specimen."

His hands came up to span her waist,
twisting her body sideways and over until she was pressed into the nubby white
cotton cushions by his muscular frame. "I had an absolutely wonderful
day." Lucas' deep voice caressed her ear, his face burrowed into the
scented hollow of her neck.

"I'm glad and I'm very glad you
came." Amanda turned her head, finding their faces were only a nose length
apart. "You know something, Lucas," she said quietly, as sadness
reshaped her mouth, turning her lips into a rose-tinted moue, "I'm going
to miss you terribly."

"Then come back with me."
He spoke with urgent determination. "Make it just a vacation, even for a
week." Lucas found he was blurting disjointed phrases that were actually
private dreams. "I feel that I'm just getting to know another side of you,
and I don't want to let go."

She blinked in confusion.
"Lucas, that's an odd thing to say. I'm me. I'm the same person I have
been for the past twelve years. There is no other side!" Amanda shook her
head and laughed. "I think you've really had too much sightseeing."
She gave him a playful shove that landed him on the navy and beige carpet.
"Why don't you take a shower while I make up your bed?"

Lucas did. A very long cold shower.

***

Sniffles and coughing and one lone
hiccup made Lucas shake his head. "I don't remember you crying this much
when you saw me off at
Orly
in Paris."

Amanda blotted her eyes on the corner
of his borrowed handkerchief. "I know," she said and sighed, giving
him a shaky smile. "I just hate saying good-bye. You're so nice to have
around." Her upraised palm stopped his words. "Don't worry, I'm still
considering your proposition."

"Good." Lucas shifted his
carry-on bag, somehow managing to let his left hand hold it and the shopping
bag from yesterday's bargain hunting. His right hand took possession of
Amanda's elbow. "I'm trying a very important case in two weeks. I'd love
to have you see your barrister in action."

"It's too bad we're not in
England," she remarked with thoughtful consideration of his tall,
broad-shouldered frame. "You'd look marvelous in a black robe and powdered
wig."

"I look marvelous," he
mimicked, "in that charcoal suit you sent." Lucas privately thought
Amanda looked marvelous in her snug-fitting jeans and silvery sweater.

A disembodied voice announced the
final boarding call for his flight. "Well, boy," she inhaled an
expressive breath, busying herself by straightening the placket on the bronze
knit shirt she had given him, "I do hate to see you fly off. Thanks for
caring enough to come."

Lucas became mesmerized by her eyes.
He had a million things he wanted to say but this wasn't the time or the place.
Long fingers cupped her stubborn chin. "Take care of yourself." His
words were gruff, almost harsh. In total contrast to the delicate kiss he
pressed against Amanda's half-parted lips.

***

A rainbow-striped catamaran pierced
the sunrise haze that enveloped Lake Pontchartrain. Amanda watched the
catamaran disappear into the crimson-edged fog as her fingertips rubbed away
the nose print she had left on glass panes of the French balcony door.

The rooms in her townhouse seemed
strangely vacant despite the colorful, eclectic furnishings. She was feeling
very lonely - even more so than before Lucas had arrived.

Lucas!

His prediction had been true. For the
past few days she had let Sherry take care of
Rag's 'n' Riches
while she
stayed home and planned her first pattern design. It had been exhilarating to
create something from nothing. Rough penciled sketches littered the floor until
a final choice was made.

Amanda had decided on a blazer, the
body lightly fitted, a mandarin-style collar, welt pockets and sleeves that
could run the gamut from capped to wrist-length depending on the consumer's
whim. Her sketch turned into a paper pattern, which she then shaped into a
muslin practice piece. Amanda had run up a sample of the blazer in jade linen.
The effect was stunning, and the pattern was quite easy for a home sewer to
follow. She had mailed each step and detailed instructions to the company.

Now?

Now things were just as before.

Well. Not quite.

Amanda flopped into the rattan lounge
chair near the fireplace. She stared at the complicated filigree work of the
gold peacock fan that replaced logs during the warm-weather months. She found
she was thinking more and more about Lucas. Her best friend invaded her
thoughts day. And night.

They had drifted in and out of each
other's lives over the years, and yet this time Lucas' presence seemed more
intense. More crucial. Or was she just wishing? Amanda hadn't thought about it
before, but Lucas Crosse was a very important part of her life.

How many times had she made mental
notes comparing Brian Neuman to Lucas? How many times had Brian, and a few
others, ever measured up?

Not many! But wasn't that natural?
Didn't most women compare one man to another? Lucas had spent more time
actively participating in her life than her father had. So wasn't Lucas the
natural choice for comparisons?

Pushing herself from the chair,
Amanda ended up sprawling face down on the sofa. She didn't bother to dig out
from under the avalanche of colored throw pillows that buried her white
terry-robed body. They had fallen asleep on this couch. Lucas' rugged body
close against her soft curves.

Looking at her hand, she remembered
the strength of his calloused fingers as they curled around hers. His hand had
moved to press her fingers against the dark mat of hair that furred his broad
chest. Amanda easily recalled the crisp, spicy scent of his skin and the silly
way the dish towel he had used as an apron made him look even more masculine.

She wondered what Lucas would be like
as a lover. Slow and thoughtful? Patient and tender? Or would he be wild and
rough? Quick and selfish? Somehow all appealed. A purely feminine reaction
snaked through her body, starting low in the stomach, twisting its aching sensual
message into her core. Her body throbbed and pulsed in heated need.

Damn, she wanted Lucas. She needed to
feel his tongue tracing her nipples, his lips sucking, his teeth nipping. She
wanted his cock buried hard and deep inside her. Moving faster. Harder. Deeper.
Her heart was racing. Pounding in her ears. Her breathing coming just as fast.
Just as hard. Suddenly, she exploded in a wet physical release.