Sex and Key Lime Pie (10 page)

****

Cheyanne slipped out before Luc could lodge another protest. He stared at the empty door after she disappeared. Either he had the worst timing in the world, or she was masterfully avoiding him. For a woman who said she wasn’t interested in playing games, she’d led him on a merry chase this week. He only had a couple of days before she left again. His stomach knotted but he credited the reaction to hunger rather than emotion.

When he turned back, he found his sister laughing at him. “What?”

“Did I say a word?”

With an indifferent shrug, he lowered himself onto the end of the bed Cheyanne had just vacated. “What does she need with Tony?”

“Tony needs her.”

“Why?”

Isabelle twisted in the bed, until she found a more comfortable position. “I’m going to be out of commission until the baby is born.”

His jaw dropped. Cheyanne working at the diner? She was a golden girl, not a woman used to getting her hands dirty. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“What are you thinking, you filthy minded oaf? Tony needs a cook. Cheyanne is trained and is already familiar with the kitchen since she’s helped us out a few times already this past week. But it says a lot about what you think of me and her.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He held up her copy of Playgirl. “You think I have a trash mind? Nice gift your friend left you.”

“I thought so.” Isabelle snapped the magazine from his hand. “We like it for the articles.”

“Yeah, right.” He hadn’t planned on having Cheyanne around for the entire season, but it would make the summer more interesting. “So she’s staying.”

“Just till the end of August.”

“Where?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“Okay. I won’t say. Is that better?”

“I don’t know why I bother visiting you.”

Her kick landed soundly on his leg. “Because I’m the only one who puts up with you lately. And if you keep eating my key-lime pies, I might not put up with you either.”

“I guess you’re feeling better if you’re up to threatening me.”

She grabbed his hand as he started to get up. “Just make me one promise. Don’t hurt her again. Promise, Luc.”

“I promise. It’s ancient history. We’re both over it.”

“Remember you said that.”

Did he hear a warning there? Nothing about Cheyanne’s past would come as a surprise. Not that he intended to rehash the last nine years. They had no past and no future.

Chapter Seven

Cheyanne leaned against an old weeping willow and watched Luc and Miguel load a wide screen television into the back of Luc’s Bronco. Two men, two trucks, just as she planned. She might not understand where she stood with Luc, but in some ways he was completely predictable. She’d laid money on the fact that he would show up today. How else could he discover her plans without appearing to care?

Elisabeth joined her at the tree and slapped a five-dollar bill in her hand. “You win.”

“I told you we wouldn’t be moving a stick of furniture.”

“It must be their macho Latin blood.”

“Something like that,” Cheyanne said.

At least the scenery was something to see. Money had not spoiled Luc. Every inch of his body was rock hard and perfectly toned. His muscles rippled and strained against his black tee shirt, leaving her nostalgic for the nights at the cabin. Had she learned nothing? She never should have returned.

What had Rita been thinking when she begged Cheyanne to come here? There was no love lost between Rita and Luc but Cheyanne still felt a tremendous loss after all these years. If Rita thought a trip home would cure her daughter, then the plan backfired. She wanted him more than ever. And she had so much more to lose when he inevitably broke her heart again.

“Are you all right?” Elisabeth asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not over him, are you?”

How could she be? Like a virus, he’d infected her system. The yearnings had lay dormant for years but one touch from him and the fever returned. There was no cure, just an affliction she had to learn to live with.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’s over you either.”

He wasn’t through with her. Not yet, anyway. How would he react to the news about the other male in her life who held her affections? “I think they’re done. I’ll see you at the bungalow.”

She sprinted across the lawn and up the front steps. Did she need one last trip through the old Tudor mansion? No. She closed the door. The past was dead and would soon be buried in a pile of rubble. The future began today. Whether or not Luc would be a part of it, remained to be seen.

On the way back to the car, she stopped in front of Luc. “I won’t need these anymore.” She dropped the keys in his hand and continued toward her car just as the tears spilled down her cheeks. She would not let him see her cry. She never had and never would.

Quickly, she slid into the car. On the passenger seat sat a parcel filled with irreplaceable trinkets. She lifted the top off the box she’d carried with her around the world. It contained every item Luc had ever given her. Among the treasures, a bottle cap of a shared soda, secret Polaroids she had taken of him one Christmas morning while he slept. And her most prized possession, a Grateful Dead T-shirt she swiped from him the first time they made love. Inhaling deeply, she tried to restore her calm. She should have tossed the memories years ago and maybe she wouldn’t be fighting back tears today.

****

In less than two hours, the men had unloaded the boxes in the living room. Lizzy and Miguel gave some flimsy excuse to leave and Luc finally had Cheyanne alone. He sat in a wicker rocker and watched as she pulled the top off a cardboard carton and picked through the contents. One by one she placed the different knickknacks around the drab living room. A rainbow colored afghan draped across a beige chair and indigo blue pillows tossed on the sectional sofa, gave a homey feel to the rental cottage.

“What made you take this place?” he asked.

She looked up from her task. “Where would I stay?”

“A hotel would be more your style.”

“My style?” She shook her head sadly and bit back an angry reply. “I’ve spent too many years in hotels. I’ve had enough of them.”

“Why did you bother? It’s not like you needed the money.”

Her eyes flashed again, but still she ignored the bait. “I never touched a cent of that blood money.”

Her statement blew his fantasies of how she spent the intervening years but he didn’t doubt her word. Grudgingly he admitted he didn’t know her anymore. Maybe he never had. Back then he’d wanted to prove to Harlan that she was his for the taking. That the golden girl his father doted on in public preferred the bastard son in private. Cheyanne’s feelings never figured into the feud. For either man.

He couldn’t change the past. Cheyanne appeared to have put it behind her. Time to live up to the promise he’d made his sister and do the same.

When Cheyanne finished with the living room she grabbed another box from the floor and carried it into the bedroom. He followed, pausing in the archway while she leaned over the bed to put fresh sheets on the mattress. He found the sight warming yet strangely unsettling. He preferred to think of her as the sexy mistress type, not the loving domestic type.

“Are you going to be unpacking boxes all night?” She glanced up from the chore. “Have you got a better idea in mind?”

His gaze resting on the swells of her breasts exposed at the V of her sleeveless shirt. “Oh, yeah.” “Maybe I’m not in the mood.”

“I can get you in the mood.”

Her soft laugh issued a blatant challenge. “Then I suggest you get off your butt and make an effort instead of waiting for me to throw myself at you.”

Any other woman and he would have walked out the door. But she wasn’t any other woman, and he had waited too damn long for this moment. Maybe having Cheyanne wouldn’t be as easy as taking candy from a baby, but the victory would be just as sweet. He would make an effort, but he would make her pay first.

****

Cheyanne returned to the living room. As she sorted through the boxes, she felt his stare but he made no attempt to stop her. His little game of revenge worked, damn him! The longer he waited to make a move, the more her anxiety rose. “I’m going to start on the dishes while you decide if I’m worth the effort.”

As she went to pass him, he caught her around the waist. “You are.”

“I am, what?”

“Worth the effort.” He molded his palms firmly over her hips and walked her backward into the center of the living room.

Her arms went instinctively around his neck. “Are we going to dance first? There’s no music.” “Call it foreplay.”

Cheyanne pressed against him, basking in the warmth of his hard body. The cotton fabric of his shirt caressed her cheek as he eased her head onto his shoulder. She breathed a sigh of contentment.

This was a bad idea, but she didn’t care. In his arms the past melted away. Any misgivings faded to the furthest corner of her mind. Tomorrow she would probably regret this, but tomorrow was a lifetime away. Tonight, anything was possible.

The closeness and the seductive sway of their bodies added to her rising excitement. His determination to keep the pace slow had an opposite effect on her. She wanted more and she wanted it now!

As she reached for the bottom of her shirt, he caught her wrists. “No.”

“No?”

“You made me wait until you were damned good and ready. Now you’ll wait until I’m ready.”

Slowly, as if to torment her further, he unfastened each of the tiny buttons. His large hands deftly moved lower until finally the shirt came open and swirled to the floor at her feet. A tremor of delight tap-danced down her spine.

He turned her and slipped his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into his rippling chest muscles that flexed as he drew her closer. The strength of his embrace wrapped her in a cocoon of protection.

His chin nuzzled the side of her face. He left a trail of kisses, as light as feathers and just as soft, along her neck and shoulder. Her punishment was a one-way ticket straight to heaven. And he planned to take her there himself.

“Luc.”

“Shh. I’m concentrating.”

His hands outlined the contours of her body. If he concentrated any harder, she might jump out of her skin in anticipation. She wriggled against him. The evidence of his arousal added to her growing need. “At least I’m not the only one getting impatient here.”

“Impatient is not the right word, but I wouldn’t want to offend your delicate ears.” He treated one of her ears to a sprinkling of moist kisses.

Her nerve endings responded by standing at attention. She could have changed her clothing six times in the amount of time he took to get her undressed. She raised her hands to help him along.

“No! You told me I had to make an effort. Well now you have to pay for the consequences of that challenge.”

His words caressed her skin. She’d waited nine years for this moment. She wasn’t sure she could wait a second longer. “If you don’t hurry, I might have to take matters into my own hands.”

Luc laughed. He ran the show right now, and he had no intention of surrendering to her. With a practiced snap, he unfastened the front catch of her bra. He turned her around to study her. The intensity of his gaze took her breath away.

“You are still so beautiful,” he muttered.

For the first time in a long time, she felt that way too. Beautiful, desirable, and very, very hot.

Using his tongue, he traced a line down her shoulder to her breast. He covered the taut nipple, sucking it with a greedy hunger that sent a shudder through her. She buried her fingers in his silky hair. She heard the music now. The steady pounding of a primal drum keeping rhythm with her heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees. The last of her clothing fell to the floor. He cupped her buttocks in his palms and inched her forward. His tongue circled her naval.

“Luc?” She barely recognized the anguished moan as her own voice.

He gazed up at her, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word, but I wouldn’t want to offend your delicate ears.”

His exhale of laughter warmed the flesh of her belly. “Patience is a virtue.”

If she wanted to protect her virtue, she wouldn’t be here on the verge of begging. “Can we move this to the bedroom?”

“The bedroom? Maybe later.” In contrast to the lingering manner in which he had removed her clothing, he stripped off his own without giving her a moment to enjoy the show.

“I’ve been gypped,” she complained.

He met her gaze and knew he was lost. Her blue eyes shimmered with need. He couldn’t deny her anything. If she asked him for the moon, he would have found a way to give it to her. But giving of himself took so much more.

He lifted her and carried her to the sofa. “We can’t have you feeling like that now, can we?”