Sex and Key Lime Pie (9 page)

She tried to ignore the feel of his calloused thumb stroking her cheek. “If you bothered calling, you would have known my plans.”

“I did. The phone has been disconnected.” She hated the way he kept such control, never losing his temper. She ended up sounding like a child without a logical argument.

“I have a cell phone.”

“Do I have that number?” he asked.

“Did you ask for it?” she countered.

“By the time I knew I needed it, I couldn’t ask you.” His argument made sense. He might have been genuinely concerned about her.

“You could have asked Isabelle,” she mumbled while running out of excuses to be indignant.

He laughed. “I did. She wouldn’t give it to me.” “Why?”

“She wants me to stay away from you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and slid her closer. She was forced to lock her legs around his hips for balance. “Is that what you want too?”

How could she think when the only thing that separated them was a layer of clothes? He smelled good. He felt even better. She’d buried her physical desires for so long that they threatened to erupt like Vesuvius. Could she trust herself to make a decision in her own best interest at this point in time? The allure of the fire was stronger than the fear of a burn. Luckily she had time to figure out whether she wanted to douse the flames of passion or let them run wild.

“I don’t know yet.”

He stepped back, pulling her off the counter and sliding her down his body to the floor. The tight bulge in his jeans let her know he was just as affected by their intimate embrace.

He cleared his throat. “About that pie you made for me.”

“Oh, yeah, hot shot? What makes you think I made it for you?” She opened the refrigerator and took out the half-eaten dessert.

“It’s my favorite.”

“It also happens to be your sister’s favorite.”

Both Isabelle and Luc had shared a passion for their mother’s key lime pie. It was a family tradition. Every week, when Ray shipped out with the shrimping crew, the three of them would sit on the widow’s walk and celebrate over a piece of key-lime pie. Cheyanne had thought any family tradition beat having none at all, and treasured those times when she’d been included.

Moisture filled her eyes. Too much estrogen and too many memories. A dangerous combination that left her emotionally exhausted. “Should I bother putting it on a plate or are you going to scarf down the rest?”

“Unless you want some...”

She shook her head. “I’m going to lie down. Enjoy. You know where the door is.”

****

Luc watched Cheyanne shuffle toward the salon.

High strung with mood swings that went to extremes. She must have been telling the truth when she said it was a bad time of the month. That much hadn’t changed. PMS unleashed the hellion in her. Giving her a few minutes of personal space, he ate the remainder of the pie before joining her.

Only two oversized pillows and a television remained in the salon. Cheyanne curled up in a ball on the floor, with her head resting on one of the pillows. Her sneakers had been kicked off near the doorway, but she was still dressed. How did she live like this? Hell, it bothered him and he hadn’t grown up in a mansion.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She turned onto her back. “I’m trying to sleep, if you would be quiet.”

He sat next to her. “Right here?”

“It’s as good a place as any.” With her eyes closed and her silky blonde hair fanning the pillow, she looked as sweet and innocent as the first time he’d made love to her at the cabin out on Black Oak. At least the cabin had a bed. Maybe he should take her there. Or to his house.

He shook his head. This would not do. He’d never taken a woman to his house, and he wouldn’t start now. She had left him before. She would again. No point in breaking his long-standing rule for what would amount to nothing more than another short-term affair. He would stay with her until she fell asleep, and then be on his way.

****

Thursday morning, Cheyanne sat at the counter of the diner enjoying her first free moment over a cup of tea and a Portuguese roll slathered in sweet butter. She’d spent the last two days boxing up old clothes and donating them to Goodwill. The few items she wanted to keep were in the lobby to be moved to her rental cottage. The house was now ready for the closing the following day. So was she. Perhaps taking possession and tearing down the house would allow Luc to finally bury the past in the ruins.

The breakfast crowd thinned to a few stragglers lingering over coffee. Isabelle wiped a towel over a table in the corner. She looked tired. This far into her pregnancy, she should slow down, but she’d inherited her mother and brother’s tireless work ethic. Even Tony couldn’t get her to cut back on her hours.

“What time will Elisabeth be here?” Cheyanne asked.

Isabelle took the stool next to her. “About ten minutes ago, but when has she ever been on time?” “That’s true.”

“I’m sorry about the other night. I was furious with my husband for sending Luc like that.”

Cheyanne smiled. “Oh, come on. He didn’t send Luc. Your brother does what he wants and then makes everyone else believe it was their idea.”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Isabelle agreed with a laugh. “You’d tell me if he was bothering you, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, he bothered her, even without any effort. She had spent an entire night staring at the ceiling and listening to him sleep as if he was nestled on a feather bed instead of a floor. Between cramps and confusion, she remained wide-awake until well past three a.m. Passing the time wondering what it would be like to make love to him again hadn’t helped. She woke up alone the following morning and hadn’t heard from him since.

“I can handle him,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“Elisabeth just pulled up and my mother-in-law is here, so we can go now.” Isabelle stood up and doubled over. Her hands gripped the counter and she let out a groan.

“Isabelle?”

She slumped back into the stool. “I’ll be all right in a second.” Her face paled to a pasty white. Fear sparked in her eyes.

“Tony!” Cheyanne called.

He sprinted from the kitchen and around the counter. “What happened? Are you in labor?”

“I don’t...” Isabelle swallowed a cry. “It’s too soon.”

“You need to go to the hospital. I’ll close up.” “No. It’s almost lunch time,” Isabelle said. “Screw the lunch crowd. You need a doctor, and I’m taking you.” His tone left no room for argument. “I’ll take over in the kitchen,” Cheyanne offered. “We can’t ask that of you,” Isabelle choked out. “You didn’t ask. I volunteered. Now go.”

“Okay, her doctor is meeting us at the hospital,” Tony said. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can close for the afternoon.”

“I’m sure. Your mom is here to take money. Elisabeth can wait tables.”

“Wait what?” Elisabeth stammered out. Cheyanne shooed Tony toward his wife. “We’ll be fine. Call when you know what’s going on.”

“Thank you.” His words had a ring of genuine warmth and appreciation.

Cheyanne nodded and took a menu from the counter.

“What did you volunteer me for?” Elisabeth bellowed when the worried couple had left the diner. “I’ve never waited tables in my life.”

“You write down the order and give it to me. I put the plates out and you deliver them. It’s really easy.”

Cheyanne spent fifteen minutes explaining how to code table numbers and order numbers on the check for easy service. The business catered to local people. They would understand less than stellar service in a time of emergency.

The next three hours passed in a flurry of activity. The heat and the exhausting pace didn’t bother Cheyanne. She was used to the work. Even Elisabeth got into it after the first nervous hour. By four o’clock the lunch shift ended, Mrs. Ortega took the receipts to the bank and only the clean up remained.

Cheyanne flopped down in a booth next to her exhausted friend. “Did Tony call about Isabelle?”

“Oh, yes. He spoke to his mother. Isabelle’s fine now, but they want to keep her overnight.”

“Do they know what caused the pains?”

Elisabeth raked a hand though her hair. “I assume so. But since I don’t speak Portuguese, and Mrs. O’s English is limited, that was as much as I could gather.”

“I’m going to stop by the hospital after I leave here,” Cheyanne said. “Do you want anything to eat while I make something for Izzy?”

“No. I’m going to skip out if you don’t mind. Miguel will be home early today...”

Cheyanne whistled. “You lucky lady.”

“I’ll see you after dinner.”

“You mean after dessert.”

Once Elisabeth left, Cheyanne cooked dinner for her friend and then made her way to St. Joseph’s Hospital. She hadn’t been to the community health center since her stepfather’s heart attack nine years earlier. A wing had been added, the walls were a brighter shade, but the antiseptic smell remained the same.

The hectic staff scurried up and down the halls. Before making her way to the third floor room, she picked up a few magazines from the gift shop. Once she arrived at room 315, she paused to make sure her friend had no other guests.

Isabelle leaned over a plate of an indefinable meat specimen, while an aide tried to put a positive spin on the meal.

The hospital had a reputation for serving the worst food in the state of Rhode Island. Rumor had it that orderlies were routinely bribed to bring in food from the outside. “What some people will do for a free meal at St. Joe’s famous kitchen.”

“Dizzy.” Her face brightened. “Tell me you brought something to eat and I’ll be your best friend.”

“You already are my best friend and of course I brought you something to eat.” Cheyanne waited while the aide removed the plate, then placed a Styrofoam container of shrimp scampi, rosemary sautéed potatoes and asparagus almondine on the food tray. “And Cosmo and Playgirl to keep you entertained tonight.”

“You are a goddess.”

“So was Medusa.” And she probably bore a striking resemblance to the snake-haired monster right then.

“I heard you were great today. And when Tony’s mom compliments you, it really means something.”

“Yes, well, you’re going to have to teach me how to make your Conde Verde. Your customers missed it.”

“We really appreciate it.”

“Any time.” Cooking instead of baking made for a nice change of pace. Best of all, she had been so busy she didn’t have time to think about Luc all day. She wasted enough of her nighttime thoughts on him. Every now and then she saw glimpses of the man she used to know, but she didn’t quite trust him yet.

“Don’t let Tony hear you say that. He wants to hire you until I have this baby.”

“I’d love the job, but what would I do with Sam?”

“I figured you would be enrolling him in summer soccer camp. Not that I mean you should tie up your summer vacation working. We can find someone.”

“Hmmm.” She held out one hand. “Fill my days with work.” She held out the other hand. “Sit home and eat. Work. Eat, Eat. Work. Gee Izzy, what should I choose?”

“Smart ass,” she said between hearty bites. “I feel guilty.”

Cheyanne sat on the end of the bed. “Why?”

“You finally come home after nine years, your house is going to be torn down, we put you to work and my brother is driving you nuts. Not exactly a great welcome.”

“Keeping busy with a job will give Luc less time to drive me nuts.”

“You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Strange, I thought it was the other way around. How many holidays did I spend with your family while Harlan and Rita went off to do their own thing?” Cheyanne always managed to contract a last-minute illness so she could remain behind. Then she would sneak across town to be with Isabelle. Harlan knew, of course. He’d taken a perverse pleasure in Cheyanne’s friendship with Isabelle. As if rubbing her under Luc’s nose every day. Luc, on the other hand, reveled in the fact that Cheyanne would rather be with his family than his father’s. She’d been a pawn, although she hadn’t seen it at the time. For her, holidays spent with the Allesandros had been among the happiest times of her life. Memories she wanted to share with Sam as well.

“Cheyanne?” Isabelle cut into her thoughts. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“Where’s my key-lime pie for dessert?” she joked.

“Blame your brother for that.”

“While you’re at it, blame me for world hunger, global warming, and the economic recession.”

Luc strode into the room holding a large floral arrangement of yellow roses. He placed them on the tray and gave his sister a hug. The look of genuine affection that passed between them left Cheyanne melancholy for all she missed. His heated stares roused her hormones but didn’t touch her heart.

“I have to be going.” She slipped off the bed and backed herself toward the door.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Luc said in a sexy drawl.

“I wouldn’t,” she countered. “I have packing to take care of. I’ll catch you later, Izzy. Tell Tony to give me a call about tomorrow.”