Steamy Southern Nights (3 page)

What exactly did she know about this man her body wanted to jump all over naked she wondered as she stopped at a questioning gesture to take a group picture of the girls. Next to nothing.

Sense, Lucy,
she chided herself.
Where’s your common sense?

They walked a little farther and even as she tried to take in the atmosphere of this amazing city at night, even as the scents of one fabulous restaurant after another teased her and the jazz ebbed and flowed as they approached one club after another, she found this man beside her clogging all her senses.

He looked, felt, smelled and sounded delicious. She hadn’t tasted him yet, but every part of her knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Claude, I know so little about you,” she said, deciding to come right out and ask. If she was cramming her study time with this man she had to go straight to the important facts.

He glanced down at her and his eyes glistened as they passed under one of the restored gas lights.

“I would like to change that,” he said, tightening his hold on her hand ever so slightly.

Oh, come on. What was she, stupid to fall for this smooth seduction? They’d wandered onto Royal Street; she could see the sign. She turned to face him.

“I’m a researcher. A pretty good researcher. In thinking about this book, which I’ve done for some time you understand, I’ve studied all the branches of our family. That’s why I was so excited when your mother invited me to come down and meet you. You see, I already know a lot about your family.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. When the Acadians were expelled from Nova Scotia, many of them fled to Louisiana where the only other French colony of any size existed in North America. Their descendents are the modern day Cajuns.”

“We learn this history in grade school cousine.”

“Of course. And when families were split, as in our case, when the men and boys were shipped off first, and the women later sent for, they wrote letters to each other, some of which actually made it. I’ve got one or two. And one amazing diary. They’re heartbreaking.”

“That will be very helpful for your research,” he said, running a single fingertip down the slope of her cheek. It was probably the practiced gesture of a professional flirt, but he did it so well it was almost as though he couldn’t help himself. She shivered, feeling the finger trace its path like a tear.

“I’ve gathered quite a bit of information over the years. The point is, Claude,” she took a deep breath and blurted out what had been bothering her since the cab pulled up in front of his mansion, “If anyone in the family had amassed a fortune I’d have heard about it.”

He stiffened slightly. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Have you perhaps shared these thoughts of yours with my mother?”

“No. Of course not. But she told me your father inherited from a distant uncle.” She shrugged, letting the fact that she knew every one of his uncles, distant uncles, cousins and pretty much everyone else with a drop of shared family blood.

“Ah.” She thought his eyes crinkled in amusement. “The uncle was a mistake.”

“It was.”

“But then my father did not know that you would one day enter our lives.”

“No. I suppose not.” What a strange conversation. And when was he going to get around to answering her question?

“You know what I’ve been thinking?”

“What?”

“How very well that ruby necklace would go with your hair and coloring,” he said, pointing behind her.

Ruby necklace? She ought to be searching for her ruby slippers so she could click her heels and get the hell out of here.

In spite of herself, she turned, and looked where Claude pointed. They were standing in front of one of the antique shops that crowded the street. The necklace he indicated was a thin gold filigree chain with a series of small rubies. The setting was clearly antique, but it was delicate and exactly the sort of thing she hung around antique store windows admiring.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “It’s very nice.” And if he thought he was going to distract her with pretty things he—

“Would you like to try it on?”

“What, now?” The shop was closed and the interior dark.

“Yes. I’ve a desire to see it on you.” Once more that single figure was busy, this time trailing a curve from her left collarbone to her right, leaving a trail of shivery heat in his wake. “It would rest right here, I think.”

She thought of the gorgeous emerald signet ring and the mental picture she’d had of him with his pirate’s booty. She’d thought it fanciful at the time, now she wondered. “Claude, are you a thief?”

She was joking, but he seemed to take her words seriously.

“There are many kinds of thieves, cousine,” he said, his eyes seeming dark and mysterious in the dim light from the street.

“There is the greedy stock promoter who takes old ladies’ life savings and loses the money, is that not thievery of the most contemptible kind?”

“Of course.”

“There is the thieving of certain politicians who sell promises for tax payers’ money and don’t deliver.”

“Unscrupulous, maybe. But not illegal.”

He stepped closer and her heart jumped. “Then there is my favorite kind of theft,” he said softly, moving closer still. “The stolen kiss,” he said and covered her mouth with his.

As his lips touched hers lust slammed into her, flattening her the way Claude’s body flattened hers against the closed door of the antique shop. She clutched at his shoulders, feeling at once overwhelmed and triumphant. He might be trouble, but he was going to be a fantastic lover. There was something about the two of them together that was magic. Her skin tingled as he pressed against her, her mouth opened under his and he thrust inside with greedy haste but with finesse. Giving into the inevitable, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

This wasn’t an experience she was ever going to forget, she thought dimly as he took her mouth with a kind of fierce focus she imagined he’d bring to his lovemaking.

He tasted of all the flavors of this city, she thought, of international spices and coffee with the dark rasp of chicory, of hot sauce and the coolness of mint. She was so far off her feet she might never find her balance again when she found herself physically unbalanced and falling backwards.

With a startled cry, she took a step back and found herself inside the antique store in the darkness, with the musty smell of antiquity overlaid with some kind of sweet fragrance. Potpourri, she thought, dimly.

“What are you doing?” She whispered. She’d been mostly kidding about him being a thief but now she wasn’t so sure. He chuckled, obviously enjoying her outrage, shutting the door behind him and leaning past her shoulder to punch numbers into an alarm system keypad.

She shook her head, trying to rattle her brains back into some semblance of order as the obvious answer to her question hit her. “You own this shop.”

“I do. And two more like it.”

She heard a deadbolt click into place and then he was reaching into the display case for the ruby necklace.

She glimpsed the price tag as he hooked it around her neck, standing so close she felt dizzy. “Claude, don’t put it on. It’s too expensive. What if I break it?”

“I’m more likely to break it. Besides, the markup’s ridiculous on what I got it for.” His fingers brushed her shoulders as he put the necklace around her neck. It felt cool and expensive against her skin, while his fingers felt hot and dangerous.

“What do you think?” he said, turning her to face a mirror.

“A light would help,” she said, seeing the shadowy reflection of the two of them. A glint of gold and a single flash of red was all she saw of the necklace.

He shook his head, she saw the movement reflected. “We’ll have drunk tourists banging on the door thinking we’re open,” he said. “Trust me, the necklace is stunning. Come on. Let me show you around.”

“In the dark?”

“It’s atmospheric. Use your imagination.”

She rolled her eyes but let him lead her by the hand into what was obviously a high-end antique store. The most gorgeous treasures were crammed together and every surface seemed crowded with delights. A Louis XIV chest glowed with gilt and atop it sat an ormolu clock with a graceful goddess spreading her gold skirts atop the clock’s face. Crystal and silver glowed quietly in the dim light; she saw the dark squares and rectangles of paintings on the walls and beneath her feet was the softness of expensive carpets.

She realized their immediate destination when he removed a white tent card that read, Please Do Not Sit on the Furniture, from a pale velvet settee that she thought was blue. He pulled her onto the forbidden furniture and kissed her again.

He was too good, too slick, too amazingly sexy. She wanted to devour him and it was obvious he felt the same. He kissed her, using his lips and tongue and his whole body, so she felt kissed everywhere. His hands were in her hair, on her shoulders, running down her arms and then brushing across the tips of her breasts, almost by accident but not quite. She felt the brush, and the incredible tingle, the movement of the gold and ruby necklace stirring against her skin, then he was gone.

If he’d grabbed at her she might have found the strength to push his hand away but as it was he teased, feather light touches that only made her want more.

She was pressed gently back onto the soft velvet and let herself fall. Oh, those practiced fingers could entice her skin they way his softly-accented words seduced her mind. The kiss became a full bodied affair and from the impressive erection nudging her belly, she knew he was as aroused as she. Their breathing grew harsh in the sleeping store. Outside people wandered and she’d hear snatches of loud conversation, a laugh, a curse, the wail of a single saxophone struck up somewhere nearby, but in here it was private, dark and intimate.

Her sighs sounded loud, their breathing harsh. When his hand began to draw her skirt upward, she felt every inch of her thigh hum with pleasure.

The antique furniture beneath them squeaked and it was like a wake up call to her sensible self.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling away, “What are we doing?”

“What comes naturally, cousine,” he said, running a hand over her seriously mussed hair. “I’ve got an apartment upstairs. I could give you a night cap.”

“I’ll bet you could,” she said, feeling a little wobbly. But shaking her head all the same. Her body might pout big time at being left wanting, but her moral standards demanded that she find out a little more about the man before sleeping with him. She needed to know that he wasn’t a criminal.

“I need to think about this,” she said.

“Don’t make the simple complicated, Lucy. This is the Big Easy.”

“Yeah, but I’m not!”

He chuckled. “Isn’t that an old-fashioned attitude?”

“Probably, but it works for me. I’m not a
Laisser le bons temps rouler
kind of woman.”

“You should try it. There’s no better place on earth to let yourself indulge than in New Orleans.” He touched her, as though he couldn’t help but touch her. “We are going to be incredible together. I know you feel it too.”

She sat up, nudging him out of her arousal zone and refusing to answer because they both knew he was right. “I should get back.”

“All right,” and he rose then held out a hand to help her up.

Once on her feet, she took the necklace off with her own hands. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you for letting me wear it.”

“You’re welcome. And,” he said, white teeth flashing in a grin, “If you’re interested, I give a very nice family discount.”

“Can you get me a cab?” she asked when he’d locked up and they were once again on Charles Street, which seemed busier than before. This really was a party town.

“I’ll see you home.”

“But you have your own place. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

“My mother would kill me if I didn’t escort you home.”

Ah, mothers she understood. “Okay.”

His car was a low, sleek convertible. He left the top down and the air streaming through her hair felt good after an evening of far too much heat. They purred to a stop in front of his mother’s house and he stopped.

“Thanks for a …” what to say? “An interesting evening.”

“I enjoyed it very much. I look forward to getting to know you better, cousine.”

She licked her lips, a nervous gesture that annoyed her. “Good night.”

She pushed her car door open before he could do anything really aggravating like kissing her again or running around and opening the car door for her. She needed some space and quiet in her room in order to think about this. Perhaps he understood, for he didn’t move, merely waited until she’d got the front door open and then pulled away.

She stared after the car wondering what she was getting herself into and knowing there was no way out. The car purred smoothly forward, and as she began to shut the door, the sound of the engine changed. Puzzled, she turned. To her amazement, the car slowed and made a sharp right into the driveway to the Italianate mansion next door to his mother’s house.

No. It couldn’t be. Sure enough, he cruised round a circular drive and stopped right in front of a double-doored entrance. He got out, put the roof up, beeped the car lock and strolled to the front door.

She ran to the wrought iron fence between them. “Hey,” she called in a sharp whisper.

He turned. Gorgeous, piratical and mysterious. “Yes, Lucy?”

“You live next door?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you lived in the French Quarter.”

“No. I live here. I like to keep an eye on things for mama.”

“You’re insane, you know that?” She had no idea why she should feel so irked, but somehow she felt like the victim of a practical joke. She’d been so delighted to find he wasn’t living under the same roof, but now she found they were next door neighbors.

“Good night, Lucy.”

“Claude?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever going to tell me where your family got all this money?”

She thought he glanced swiftly up to where his mother was no doubt sleeping. He put a quick finger to his lips. And nodded. Then he made a farewell gesture and disappeared into his house.

Slowly, she made her way back to the front door of Beatrice’s home, thinking furiously as she let herself into the house and padded up to her bedroom.

She washed up, undressed and changed into a cotton night gown. She got into bed, turned out the lights and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The bed was comfortable and she was tired from the combined stresses of traveling, meeting new relatives and making out with her distant cousin.

She ought to be sound asleep the instant her head hit the pillow, but that didn’t happen. She turned the clock around so she wouldn’t keep watching the torturous parade as minutes and hours slipped away. She knew from experience that clock watching only made her occasional insomnia worse. She got up for some water. Went back to bed. And finally gave up. She knew herself well enough to know that sleep wasn’t coming any time soon.

Too much on her mind. Most of it concerning Claude. It was all too complicated to figure out tonight and she resented her many-times-removed cousin for robbing her of sleep.

She got out of bed to sit by the window. At least, if she couldn’t sleep she could enjoy the mansions by moonlight. There was a banana tree, she thought across the way, and some huge live oaks with waving curtains of green Spanish moss. The padded window seat was made for star gazing, she thought, curling up with the quilt off her bed and deciding to count stars as though they were sheep until she grew sleepy.

What she counted was one man walking across his back garden at – she glanced at the clock on her bedside table that was now facing her – one-forty-five in the morning.

There was no question as to the identity of the man.

Even though he’d changed the white shirt for a black long sleeved T-shirt and it was dark enough that she didn’t see him clearly, her body recognized him instinctively. Already, after a day’s acquaintance she knew his walk, the way he held his shoulders, and the shape of his head. He was as familiar to her as a man she’d been intimate with for months.

He didn’t walk with particular stealth, but the fact of him leaving his house by the back door at this time of night was in itself suspicious.

Instinctively, she shrank back from the window, and almost the second she did, she saw him turn as though he felt her gaze and glance up at her window. She knew he couldn’t see her but she felt a shiver run down her spine anyway.

After a moment he turned around and opened an obviously well-oiled gate since it swung open soundlessly. He passed through and was soon lost to her sight. A minute later she heard a car pulling away.

Where was Claude going? And what was he doing?

As an aid to sleep, staring out her window tonight hadn’t been a real winner. She counted thousands of stars, but it didn’t help. She’d never been so wide awake.

A woman, probably, Lucy decided. One of those unsteady ones his mother didn’t need or want to know about.

Lucy wouldn’t care a bit if he hadn’t been kissing her earlier in the evening. Had the secrecy been for her benefit? Maybe he thought, hey, Lucy’s not into sex tonight. No problem. I’ll call a friend.

Well, he was going to find that Lucy didn’t share. Not even for a holiday fling that would only last a few weeks.

She got back into bed deciding that this promising beginning with Claude was pretty much done for. Well, better she should learn the truth about him now, she thought, punching the pillow and bunching it under her head one more time. Perhaps this was a good lesson to her not to stray from her usual research-heavy getting-to-know-you period. Obviously, Cousin Claude was going to be receiving a failing grade. For all his sexiness and the undeniable wow factor when he touched her, kissing cousins was all they were ever going to be. Too bad, she thought, shifting around trying to get comfortable.

No. Not too bad.

Best to know in advance that this guy was a walking sex god and a man who didn’t worry much which woman was on his arm, so long as there was one.

Okay. Fine. Not for her.

If only she could convince her over-stimulated and currently undersexed body of that fact.

As the hours crept by she became more and more irritated with her next door neighbor for robbing her of sleep. This was all his fault. And a man who robbed her of sleep for all the wrong reasons was going to be forced to pay.

At one point she heard sounds of movement coming from Beatrice’s room and hoped she hadn’t telegraphed her restlessness to her hostess.

Around five she heard something. She couldn’t have said what, but her senses were so attuned to what was going on next door, that sure enough, when she crept to the dormer window to peer down at Claude’s back yard, there he was, sneaking back in to his own house as stealthily as he’d stolen out earlier.

The tom cat was home from his alley prowling.

Meow.