The Bourbon Kings #1 (47 page)

When they finally got out of the church, he said, “You wait here. I’ll bring the car around. And no, I’m not arguing about it, so just stop.”

He almost hoped she put up a fight, and when she didn’t, he fell into a jog, heading for the very far reaches of the parking lot.

Coming back with the Porsche, he nearly expected to find her passed out cold.

Nope. She was talking with a very regal, slender woman, who had a face like Nefertiti, a modest suit that was black, and a set of rim-less glasses over her sharp eyes.

Oh … wow,
he thought.
Talk about a blast from the past.

Lane got out. “Tanesha?”

“Lane, how are you.” Tanesha Nyce was the reverend’s oldest daughter. “It’s good to see you.”

They embraced and he nodded. “Good to see you, too. You a doctor yet?”

“In residency here at U of C.”

“What are you going into?”

“Oncology.”

“She’s doing the work of the Lord,” Miss Aurora said.

“How’s Max?” Tanesha asked.

Lane cleared his throat. “Damned if I know. I haven’t spoken to him since he went out west. You know him, always a wild card.”

“Yes, he was.”

Awkward. Moment.

“Well, I’m going to get Miss Aurora back home,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

“You, too.”

The two women spoke in hushed voices for a moment, and then Miss Aurora allowed him to escort her down the steps and to the car.

“What was that all about?” he asked as he drove them off.

“Choir practice next week.”

“You’re not in the choir.” He glanced over when she didn’t say anything. “Miss Aurora? Do you need to tell me something?”

“Yes.”

Oh, God.
“What.”

She took his hand and didn’t look at him. “I want you to remember what I said to you before.”

“What’s that?”

“I got God.” She squeezed hard. “And I got you. I am rich beyond means.”

She held his hand all the way back to Easterly, and he knew … he
knew
… she was trying to get him ready for what was coming. Realized, too, that that was why he had insisted on Edward seeing her yesterday when his brother had been at the house.

If only there were a way to get ahold of Max.

“I don’t want you to go,” Lane said roughly. “It’s too damn much.”

Miss Aurora stayed silent until they got to the base of Easterly’s hill. “Speaking of leaving,” she said, “I heard that Chantal moved out.”

“Yes, I’m ending all that.”

“Good. Maybe you and Lizzie will finally get on track. She’s the one for you.”

“You know, Miss Aurora, I agree. Now I just have to convince her.”

“I’ll help.”

“I’ll take it.” He glanced over. “She said to tell you hello, by the way.”

Miss Aurora smiled. “Was that when you left her this morning?”

As Lane sputtered and turned red as that Mercedes he’d bought her, Miss Aurora laughed at him in a kind way.

“You’re a bad boy, Lane.”

“I know, ma’am. That’s why you have to stay here and keep me straight. I keep tellin’ you that.”

Instead of stopping in front, he went around to the back, because it was closer to her quarters. Pulling up to the rear door, he hit the brakes, cut the engine … and didn’t get out.

Looking over at her, he whispered, “I’m serious. I need you to help me here, on earth—in this house, in my life.”

God, it was impossible to ignore the fact that three days ago she had been barking at him that she wasn’t going anywhere, but now, something had changed. Something was different.

Before she could say anything, the garage door went up and the chauffeur came out with the Phantom, that five-hundred-thousand-dollar car proceeding by them as it headed around to the front of the house.

“He is evil,” Lane said. “That father of mine …”

Miss Aurora lifted her palms. “Amen.”

“Where the hell is he going this morning?”

“Not to church.”

“Maybe he’s going after Chantal.”

The instant he spoke the words, he cursed.

“What are you talking about?”

Lane shook his head and got out. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Not the way it went. When he went over and opened her door, she just sat there with her purse in her lap, and her gloved hands folded one over the other. “Tell me.”

“Miss Aurora—”

“What did he do to you?”

“This is not about me.”

“If it’s about bringing back that horrible wife of yours, you bet your fanny it’s about you.”

Lane fought the urge to bang his head on the Porsche’s hood. “It really doesn’t matter—”

“I know she got rid of your baby.”

As those dark eyes stared up at him, he cursed again. “Miss Aurora.
Don’t do this. Leave it. There are so many other things worth worrying about.”

All she did was cock that eyebrow.

Lane sank down on his haunches. God, he loved her face, every crease and crinkle, each curve and all the straightaways. And he loved how she was as lady-like as they came, but strong as a man.

She and Lizzie were so alike.

“There are some things that aren’t worth knowing, ma’am.”

“And others you shouldn’t keep to yourself.”

For some reason, he found himself dropping his eyes, as if he had done something he should be ashamed of. “She’s pregnant, Miss Aurora. It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it,” she demanded.

The rest of the story was communicated silently—and the funny thing was, she didn’t seem totally shocked.

“Are you sure?” she asked in a low tone.

“That’s what she said. And when I confronted him? It was in his face.”

Miss Aurora stared straight ahead, her brow furrowed so low, he could no longer see her eyes. “God will punish him.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath for that.” He rose up and offered her his hand. “It’s getting hot out here. Come on.”

Miss Aurora looked back into his eyes. “I love you.”

It was her way of apologizing for what she knew they had all been through with their father. Not just this Chantal ugliness, but those decades of what had gone before, back when they were children.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve never thanked you. For all those years of being there, I never … you held us together, me especially. You were always there for me. You
are
always there for me.”

“God gave me that sacred job when he crossed my life with y’all’s.”

“I love you, Momma,” he choked out. “Forever.”

T
he sound of the chainsaw in Lizzie’s hands was so loud, she didn’t hear the car approach. And it wasn’t until she let up on the gas and the thing’s engine fell to a mutter that a very sexy male voice announced she was no longer alone:

“You are the hottest woman I have ever seen.”

Twisting around and looking down, she found Lane leaning back against his Porsche, arms crossed, feet planted, expression intense.

From her vantage point on the mangled roof of her Yaris, she lifted the chainsaw over her head and pumped it a couple of times. “Hear me roar.”

“Hear me beg.”

She had to laugh as she jumped off to the ground. “I’ve made some good progress, don’t you think—”

Lane cut her off by putting his mouth on hers, the kiss getting so hot, so fast, that he ended up bending her nearly backward. When he finally let up a little, they were both panting.

“So … hi,” he said.

“Did you, by any chance, miss me?”

“Every second.” He straightened them up. “God, I love y—I love the way you handle that chainsaw.”

It was impossible not to catch his slip—and she had to stumble in her own mind as an instinct to float out an ILY struck her as well.

Lane covered up the awkwardness with aplomb, however. “So I really did bring dinner. Takeout from the club. I got you that salad you hopefully still like, and a crap load of tenderloin—you know, just in case we need it to recover.”

“From what,” she drawled as she put her chainsaw down.

“Oh, you know what.” Except then he frowned. “Unless you’re … you know, sore from last night.”

Lizzie shook her head. “No.”

“Pity.”

“Excuse me?”

Coming in close, his mouth lingered on hers and he licked at her lips. “I was thinking I could kiss it and make it better.”

“You can do that anyway.”

As he pivoted her around and eased her against his car, she felt her heart start to soar—and figured, what the hell, she might as well let herself go. A tree had killed her car, her front yard was a mess, and there was a small forest of limbs down all over her property … but Lane was here, and he’d remembered she liked that Cobb salad, and damn it, he was the best kisser on the planet.

Tomorrow, she would put her game head back on. Tomorrow, she would remember to watch herself—

Lane eased back. “Tell me, how do you feel about sex in the open air?”

She nodded over at the three cows who were standing by her porch. “I think our audience is going to double when my farmer buddy discovers those nice ladies have gone exploring again.”

“Then we’re heading into the house right now before I go insane.”

“Far be it from me to stand between you and mental stability.”

He’d even brought an overnight bag, she thought as they carried everything in.

“So I have news,” he said as he closed her front door.

“What’s that?”

“Chantal moved out this morning.”

Lizzie stopped and looked at him. He was dressed in his casual, warm weather uniform of Bermuda shorts and an IZOD, the Gucci loafers on his feet, and his Ray Bans, and that Cartier watch making it seem like he’d walked out of an Instagram picture entitled Handsome & Rich. Even his hair was slicked back, although that was because he was fresh from a shower and it was still wet.

Her heart fluttered with a momentary fear because, looking as good as he was, he seemed like the poster boy of someone you shouldn’t trust, especially about women who were like Chantal—

As if he could read her mind, Lane took his sunglasses off and showed her his eyes. In contrast to everything external about him, they were clear, steady … calm.

Honest.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Really.” He came over and turned her toward him. “Lizzie, it’s done. That whole thing with her is done. And before you say it, it’s not just for you. I should have put a bullet into that marriage long ago. My mistake.”

Looking up into his face, she cursed under her breath. “I’m sorry, Lane. I’m sorry that I doubted you, it’s just—”

“Shh.” He silenced her with his lips. “I don’t live in the past. It’s a waste of time. All I care about is where we are now.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she bowed her body into his. “Soooooo … I wasn’t able to make the friends thing stick, was I.”

“And that is
perfectly
okay with me.”

“T
hat was quite possibly the best dinner I have ever had.”

Lane glanced across the sofa and watched as Lizzie sank back into the cushions and put her hand on her belly. As her eyes began
to drift shut, he pictured her up on that tree limb like an avenging angel, wielding that chainsaw, cutting the crap out of those branches that had killed her car.

Even though they’d spent the first hour of the visit getting all over each other, his erection thickened up again.

“It’s a miracle,” he murmured.

“That I liked the tenderloin so much? Not really.”

“Being here with you, I mean.”

Those blue eyes reopened slowly. “I feel the same way.” As he laughed deep in his throat, she stopped him by putting her palm up. “No, you may not spike the dishes in victory.”

Putting his napkin aside, he prowled up her body, mounting her. “I have other celebratory options, you know.”

Rolling his hips, he felt a stab of lust as she bit down on her lower lip like she was ready for some more of him.

“You want me to demonstrate one for you?” he said as he nuzzled at her throat.

Her hands stroked up his back. “Yes, I do.”

“Mmm—”

The sound of ringing on the coffee table made him jump forward and grab his phone. “Not Miss Aurora. Please not Miss Aurora—”

“Oh, my God—Lane, is she—”

As soon as he saw the call was from a 917 area code, he sagged in relief. “Thank God.” He looked up. “I have to take this. It’s a friend of mine from New York.”

“Please.”

He accepted the call and said, “Jeff.”

“You miss me,” his old roommate said. “I
know
that’s why you left me that voice mail.”

“Not even close.”

“Well, I’m not FedExing you those cinnamon rolls you eat morning, noon and night—”

“I need to know how much vacation time you have.”

Total. Silence. Then, “The World Series of Poker isn’t being played right now. Why are you asking me this?”

“I need your help.” Absently, he eased back against the cushions and positioned Lizzie’s legs over his lap. She’d changed into shorts after their shower, and he loved running his palm up and down those smooth, muscled calves of hers. “I’ve got a real problem here.”

Jeff dropped the smartass. “What kind of problem.”