Kiss And Dwell (2 page)
to pour the vegetables into the seasoned butter bubbling in the pot. He pushed
closer, and the impressive bulge in his jeans nudged her bottom.
“
Is that what
you want,
chère
?
”
he asked against her ear.
“
Oh, yeah,
”
Monique breathed, her desire mixing with the scent of spicy onions
and peppers to create a hot, sizzling lust. However, her neck also sizzled, and
regrettably, Monique knew why. She decided to fight it, just a little while,
long enough to get
No doubt about it, she wasn
’
t heeding the call in a timely manner. Pesky rules
.
She was a healthy twenty-four-year-old woman who wanted—needed—sex. Real sex, as
in the kind that didn
’
t require batteries. Was that too much to ask?
“
Have you got the garlic powder and paprika ready?
”
she asked, anxious to get
this meal moving, and to get those clothes dropping.
distributing hot, wet kisses against her skin.
“
Your hair is so soft, Monique,
and the color—it reminds me of a sandy beach.
”
Monique blinked. Sand? Her hair reminded him of sand? And he thought this was a
compliment? She cleared her throat, with the total intention of asking him to
clarify his statement, but before she had a chance, his kisses moved a fraction
lower, and her thighs clenched in anticipation of those spine-tingling kisses in
other places.
“
What about that paprika and garlic?
”
she managed, deciding she couldn
’
t afford
to waste time talking about the color of her hair.
His low laugh tickled her nape, due to its already stinging state, the sensation
made her neck practically flame. Have mercy, her grandmother wasn
’
t cutting her
any slack—again.
“
We have to let the onions sauté first,
”
he said.
“
They need to be clear. How
about a glass of wine while they
’
re simmering?
”
“
How about a heap of sex instead?
”
she asked.
Another deep laugh rumbled against her neck as his erection pushed her bottom
and his hard chest pressed against her back.
“
Chère
, we
’
ll need longer than the
time it
’
ll take those onions to get tender, and I
’
m not about to have my first
time with Monique
Vicknair
run short. On top of that, I promised you a
mouthwatering dinner, and there won
’
t be anything delicious about it if we leave
that pot on its own.
”
He nipped her right earlobe, then cruised slowly beneath
it, until his lips nuzzled the sensitive indention where her neck curved toward
her shoulder.
“
Nice to know you
’
re so anxious, though,
”
he said, his voice a
husky whisper.
“
Trust me, it
’
ll be worth the wait.
”
Monique glared at the onions that refused to lose their color. The burning had
moved beyond her neck to settle in her chest and make her nipples ache. She knew
good and well that Pierre
Comeaux
, with his mesmerizing green eyes, bulging
biceps and bulging other parts, could sure enough put out this fire, or perhaps
send her into a true bout of spontaneous combustion.
What was he waiting for?
“
I—I really think we need the garlic and paprika now,
”
she mumbled, losing
herself in the feel of his mouth on her shoulder and his teeth working the tiny
strap of her red tank dress down her arm. Consequently, the top swell of her
right breast pushed above the soft fabric, and Monique wanted to cry from
desperation.
“
Don
’
t you?
”
she asked.
He laughed again.
“
Oh, Monique, who
’
d have thought you would be so eager? I
promise, before the night
’
s over, I
’
ll take you right there, in the center of my
kitchen island. Push your soft skirt up to your hips and give you exactly what
you
’
re wanting. First with my mouth, then with my—
”
Monique
’
s flesh burned hotter than the burner making the vegetables sizzle. It
flamed, the fire raging forward from her chest to blaze through every limb. Her
breathing hitched and every nerve ending bristled in anguish. She couldn
’
t wait
.
If she stayed any longer, the pain might be too much to endure, even for the
short drive home. Have mercy, sex with
wouldn
’
t be tonight.
Damn family curse.
“
I
’
ve got to go,
”
she said, squirming out of his embrace and trying to control
her madly racing heart. She was scorching, so fiercely that she honestly didn
’
t
know if she could maneuver the car back home, but she had to. The longer she
ignored the calling, the worse it would be. She could only imagine how irritated
her grandmother was that she had disregarded her summons, probably nearly as
irritated as Nanette.
Fleeing the kitchen, Monique sprinted through
s house and bolted through
the front door, sucking big gulps of thick
of
s big white columns for support. And, just super, the huge white
cylinder reminded her of other things that were, from all indications in
s jeans, long and thick and hard.
“
Granny, I do not like your sense of timing,
”
she announced, as the object of
her current long, thick and hard fantasy lazily stepped onto the porch.
“
You gonna explain what just happened in there,
chère
?
”
he asked, easing his
mouth into that cocky, sexy grin.
“
Because I
’
m not into teasing, Monique, and
when a woman asks me one minute if she can move on to getting naked, then the
next minute she decides to leave, I have a tendency to think she
’
s a tease.
”
He
leaned against the door frame and lifted one brow.
“
Are you, Monique? A tease?
”
Monique shook her head. A tease? No, the one teasing here was Adeline
Vicknair
,
but Monique couldn
’
t tell him that. Trapped in this family-induced hell once
again, she simply took a deep breath, started down the steps toward her car and
called to the guy who
’
d almost given her the first male-induced orgasm she
’
d had
in half a year,
“
I
’
m not a tease,
”
Then she got in
her car and sped away, wincing as the wind whistled through Pierre
’
s matured
oaks with a melodic resonance way too similar to her grandmother
’
s laughter.
Monique punched the accelerator to the floor while her skin continued to flame
.
If the coming spirit was as strong as the burning sensation on her flesh—and
that was the way it usually worked—this particular ghost would be a
doozie
.
Probably male, she
’
d guess. And with Monique
’
s luck, probably another cranky old
geezer, bald with no teeth, who would proceed to cuss Monique out because he
couldn
’
t find the damn light.
No, she
’
d had that kind of spirit last time; Granny wouldn
’
t give her two ornery
old farts in a row. Would she? And what did Adeline
Vicknair
have against sex,
anyway? Or rather, against Monique having sex.
“
You weren
’
t a prude,
”
Monique
said, glancing upward and knowing her grandmother was undoubtedly listening
.
“
And you know good and well this would have been phenomenal. What did I do that
pissed you off?
”
Monique glanced in her rearview mirror and saw
against one of the big white columns as he watched her drive away.
“
Mon
dieu
, Granny, this better be good.
”
Oddly enough, at that very moment, the wind in the trees changed direction,
producing an echoing sound through the swaying limbs. Monique
’
s ears pricked at
the new reverberation, and she knew she heard Adeline
’
s voice this time.
Oh,
chéri
, it is, the whistling branches hummed.
C
’
est
si
bon.
* * *
Nanette
Vicknair
stood on the front porch of the
Vicknair
plantation and cast an
evil eye down the magnolia-lined drive leading out to
her cousin should by now have returned from her date.
“
Where is she?
”
she
muttered. Then she looked toward the darkening sky and turned her head toward
the house.
“
And where are those roofers?
”
Dax
, Monique
’
s younger brother, and the youngest of the male cousins at
twenty-three, pushed back from his perch on one of the porch rockers and
grinned.
“
My sister isn
’
t known for her punctuality,
”
he said.
“
You know that,
”
“
She needs to take her responsibility seriously. When we
’
re called to help,
we
’
re supposed to help right then. I don
’
t know why it
’
s so hard for her to
understand that what we do is important.
”
Nanette wondered why she repeatedly
had to give her twenty-four-year-old cousin the same lecture that she often
delivered to the ninth graders she taught at Lutcher High. She called it the
apathy speech, as in a soapbox spiel where she attempted to get them to care
about something. Anything at all. Not that her speeches ever worked on the kids,
or on her cousin, or on the roofers that should have been here two hours ago,
for that matter.
“
And those construction guys need to take their job seriously,
too,
”
Nanette added.
“
The Historical Society won
’
t take us off their list unless the house gets
worse,
”
Dax
said.
“
That
’
s what they told you in the last letter, right?
”
“
The Parish President would like nothing
better than to see this place torn down, and he
’
s on the Board of Directors for
the society,
”
she reminded him.
“
Charles
Roussel
has made it no secret that he
wants this
‘
eyesore
’
removed from his parish, and the Historical Society has
made it no secret that they won
’
t even consider giving us restoration help if it
gets any worse. And right now, they
’
re still busy working on the historic homes
in
since that
’
s where all the tourists, and their money, go.
”