by Sandra Hill
That decision was all well and good until faced with the irresistible rogue and his claims of world-class kissing. He was so adorably outrageous and irritatingly outrageous that she could only shake her head in wonder, both at him and at herself.
“Go for it,” she challenged with more bravado than she was feeling.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied with a smile which, of course, caused his dimple to emerge, which, of course, made her even more susceptible to his charms.
“Don’t expect much from me, Aaron. I mean, despite my past, this is all new to me.”
“This is new to me, too.”
“Puh-leeze! That’s like Houdini saying he’s new to knots.”
“Who? Never mind. Seriously, babe, I haven’t been this nervous about kissing a girl since we played spin the bottle at Kirima Askim’s tenth birthday party. Kiri was the hottest girl in fifth grade, but she had braces, and I hadn’t figured out that maneuver yet.”
One never knew when Aaron was kidding or not. She would have to ask his Aunt Mel if there was such a girl. Or maybe not, if she’d have to explain why she asked.
Meanwhile, as her mind was wandering, his hands were wandering. Before she could say “Slow down, Rhett,” he’d put his hands under her knees and tugged her forward until her butt barely rested on the edge of the counter, belying his nervousness. He pushed aside a paint can and an assortment of various size brushes to give her more room. Still, her precarious position, teetering on the edge, forced her to put her hands on his shoulders for support. Was that his intent? Then he yanked her knees wider and stepped up even closer. Definitely not the move of an insecure man.
When his hardness pressed against her, she gasped, and blinked, and saw stars for a moment behind her closed lids. “This doesn’t feel like kissing.”
“It’s prep work.”
“Like a professional chef?” she joked.
He didn’t laugh, just shook his head.
Good Lord! He’s watching me like a hawk, studying its prey. The slightest opening, and I am bird kibble. Maybe if I keep talking, he’ll stop and give me a chance to think, to reconsider. “Don’t you mean foreplay?” she stammered out.
“No, that comes later.”
Oh, boy! I am officially out of my league! Fleur decided.
He traced her lips with a forefinger. Lightly. Then he did it again. And again. Each time he seemed to awaken more nerve endings. Until her lips parted, and her eyes closed.
But almost instantly, her eyes shot open at a new sensation.
Using the smallest of the dry paint brushes, the one for edge work, he was stroking her lips. Who knew lips were such an erotic spot on the human body? She hadn’t. Oh, she knew that kisses themselves were supposed to be arousing, but the lips themselves having erogenous triggers . . . that was new to her. The pleasure he was inciting was almost painful in its intensity.
She moaned.
“Atta girl,” he murmured as he dropped the brush and brought his mouth to hers, and used his lips as a brush, back and forth, gently, gently, gently, shaping. When he got the right fit, he breathed into her mouth, causing her to inhale sharply, and open for him.
After that, she couldn’t keep track of what was happening. His tongue was in her mouth, and then it wasn’t. Every time he did something daring, like nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth, or sucking on her tongue, or kissing her hard and deep, he alternated with little butterfly kisses or sweet licks of her lips.
New and exciting sensations unfurled in Fleur. In her “working days,” Fleur had avoided kissing whenever possible, it somehow seeming more invasive and distasteful than other things, but occasionally a john would manage to trap her face and invariably it would be some big, fat tongue plundering her mouth almost to the point of suffocation. There was no comparison with this. Heaven and hell, if anything. But she wasn’t going to think about the past. Not now, anyhow.
She moved her hands from his shoulders and cupped his face.
Which caused him to gasp with surprise, then murmur, “Oh, Fleur!”
She liked that she could surprise him like that, and she smiled against his mouth. Who knew that you could smile and kiss at the same time? Who knew there was anything about close contact with a man that would ever make her smile? Who knew! . . . Who knew! . . . Who knew! she kept thinking at every little thing he did. And then at some not so little things.
To her embarrassment, she felt an odd thrumming begin in her lower belly and beyond, which she now knew presaged an approaching climax. Even her breasts felt fuller and achy. Surely, other women didn’t have climaxes so easily. Maybe it was just that Aaron was so skilled.
But she couldn’t let him see how pathetic she was. She stiffened, bracing herself against the oncoming onslaught. Maybe if she thought about something else she could halt this spiraling of sensations, like okra, a slimy vegetable she just could not like, or mustaches which made some men look kind of slimy, or slime itself, like that stuff kids bought at Halloween.
“Oh, no!” Aaron protested. “None of that stiffening up. Relax, sweetheart.”
“Wait, wait . . . oh, no!”
As his tongue began a slow in-and-out movement in her mouth, his lower body undulated against her, and she crashed into an explosion of rippling spasms. This was no gentle orgasm like the previous one had been. This was sparks and a kaleidoscope of colors and pure, cascading bliss.
Aaron’s forehead was pressed against hers. Was his excessive breathing a sign that he hadn’t yet climaxed, or that he had, and it took his breath away?
“I’m not sure if I like this, Aaron.”
He drew back to look at her. “If you’re not sure, then I’m not doing it right.”
“I mean, it feels like a merry-go-round, or one of those crazy amusement park rides where you start off slow in circles, and you think, This is nice. But then it goes faster, and faster, and you start to get a little bit frightened. You need to hang on because you’re spinning out of control, and what if you fly off.”
He just stared at her.
“Is that how it is for you?”
“Not quite, though your way sounds like more fun. I always did like amusement park rides, the scarier the better.”
“You would!” She tried to push him away so that she could get off the counter. Now that sanity had returned, she worried that someone might walk in on them, like Mother Jacinta. Or, horror of horrors, Tante Lulu.
But of course he was continuing the discussion which by now she regretted bringing up. “No, for me, an orgasm—a good one—is a rocket taking off. There’s all the preparations. Fueling up. Oiling up. Firing up. A couple practice runs. Some tweaks. And then bam. You’re off to the moon!” He grinned at her.
“Well, if that was your idea of kissing, they need to put a new definition in the dictionary.”
“That good, huh?”
She shook her head at his outrageousness. “Well, now that I’ve paid my mea culpa penalties with kisses, time for you to back off. I need to think about all this climax/orgasm/rocket/merry-go-round stuff to decide whether—”
“Oh, no, no, no! No backing off. No thinking.”
“You have to realize, Aaron, that until yesterday, I was convinced that I didn’t like sex.” She realized her mistake immediately.
He grinned, of course. “And now you do?”
“Not necessarily.”
“That’s because we haven’t done the deed yet. Or all the other things I have planned.”
“You have plans?” Another mistake realized too late!
“You have no idea!”
“Why haven’t you given up on me, Aaron? I’ve told you over and over that I can’t live a normal life.”
“Define normal.”
She rolled her eyes. He was impossible.
“If you want me to stop, Fleur, I will. I would never force you. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Give me a chance, Fleur. Let’s make love.
Oh, not here, and not now. I want a better place and more time to do things right.”
Right? That’s what she was afraid of.
“I don’t mean just having intercourse in fifty different positions. I want to dance naked with you to a Barry Manilow song. How’s that for stupid? Or really romantic? It will probably be ‘Mandy’ or else ‘Ready to Take a Chance’ or ‘Can’t Smile Without You.’ I haven’t decided yet. Your choice.”
That was so outrageous, and tantalizing, that she couldn’t respond at first. “You dance?”
“Did I mention my top three talents? Dancing is number four.”
“Is there anything you don’t do well?”
“I’m having a helluva time winning you over.”
She didn’t know about that. She was sitting on a counter with her legs spread, having just enjoyed some world class kissing or whatever you wanted to call it, and he was still planted way too close for comfort. He was winning something.
“Anyhow, naked dancing is one of the things on my Fleur Bucket List.” He pretended to be flicking through a notebook in his palm. “I also want to make love to you underwater in my pool.”
“The nonexistent pool?”
“The St. Jude pool yet to be installed.”
“And I assume we would be swimming naked.”
“Of course.”
“Wouldn’t St. Jude disapprove?”
“Hah! I think St. Jude and Tante Lulu maneuvered this whole love spell thing on me.”
On me, too.
“Wanna know what else I have in mind?”
“No.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, he went on, “You know that antique couch thingee that Samantha has in the front parlor? It’s red velvet and has only one arm. The kind of thing Cleopatra might have reclined on.”
“I think it’s called a chaise lounge.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Can you imagine the kinky things that—”
“Enough! I get the picture.”
“Of course, when it comes to furniture, I will always have fond memories of my recliner.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“You really are hopeless.”
“In a good way?”
“Is there a good way to be hopeless?”
He shrugged. “So, those are just a few of the tame fantasies I have. Wanna hear about some of the more, um, wild things I’m imagining?”
“No, I do not.” Actually, she was intrigued. “Enough of your nonsense! It’s time I get back to the house to see how the exchange plans are going. And you have to go to work, don’t you?”
He nodded and let her slide to the floor, but not before giving one more gentle kiss to her mouth. And a pat on the rump. “Be prepared, the dictator has mapped out the whole mission, and he has assignments for all of us.”
“I’m not surprised. Brother Jake is great at battle planning, and this is a battle of sorts. Minus the guns.” She paused. “And, yes, his arrogance has rubbed more than one fellow priest the wrong way, and a few nuns, too.”
Aaron laughed out loud. “That almost makes me like the guy. Almost.”
As they walked back toward the mansion, Aaron took her hand in his, and she had to admit that she liked that, almost as much as all the other intimate stuff he was introducing her to. Halfway there, his cell phone rang. Without releasing her hand, he raised the phone to his ear and clicked it on with a thumb.
“Hello. Yes, this is Aaron LeDeux . . . Aah, Ms. Forsyth. Okay, Elaine. How can I help you?”
Fleur tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tight and shook his head at her.
“I can’t meet today. I’m on my way to work. Yes, I’m still flying. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be? No, I can’t make it for dinner tonight, either. Sorry. Another commitment.” He glanced over at Fleur and gave her an air kiss.
“Okay, tomorrow would be fine. Two o’clock. Did you get the paperwork my lawyer prepared? More? What else do you need?”
Aaron was clearly annoyed with whomever he was speaking with.
“Right. We’ll be there at two then. Unless Luc can’t make it. He might have to be in court. Okay. All right.”
When he clicked off, Aaron told her, “That was Ms. Forsyth from the Federal Aviation Agency. Once you’re on their radar, they just don’t let go.”
“Is this the woman you got drunk in New Orleans?”
“I did not get her drunk. She did that all on her own.”
“She invited you to dinner tonight. Does that mean she has the hots for you?”
“Probably. Are you jealous?”
“Hardly.” Well, a little. “I thought your issues with the FAA were all cleared up.”
“Not all of them.”
“Are you worried?”
“Nah. One way or another, we’ll work it out. I just need to be more careful.”
“Maybe you should drop out of the missions. Take a break.”
“Will you?”
“No!”
“Then I won’t, either.”
They couldn’t say anything more because Tante Lulu was standing in the doorway with a pleased expression on her face. “Tee-John came by ta bring me some supplies and he dropped off yer present, Aaron.” She narrowed her eyes at the two of them, then added, “And none too soon, either.”
Fleur and Aaron looked at the large oak box decorated with hand-painted flowers. They both knew what it was.
“It looks like a small coffin,” Aaron said. “I’d never fit.”
“You know ’zackly what it is, you fool. Yer hope chest.”
Fleur grinned, but only for a moment.
“And I put somethin’ in there fer you, too, Fleur. A bride quilt.”
The best laid plans of mice and men, and Cajun rogues . . .
When Aaron left for work late that morning, he’d had big plans for tonight. But, with one thing and another, he didn’t get home until almost midnight.
Fleur was probably still waiting up for him, though, wearing a sheer negligee, or nothing at all. Wine would be chilling in an ice bucket next to his bed, on which black satin sheets had magically appeared. (Where did one buy black satin sheets, by the way? At Walmart? Or one of those fancy bath stores? No, probably the Internet. Dumbmanideas.com or GettingLaid.com.)
Or maybe she would be reclining like some 1940s pinup on the red velvet chaise lounge he’d mentioned to her. Yep. And Barry Manilow would be crooning something soft and sexy. A good choice would be “Looks Like We Made It.” He sure as hell would like to make it. Love, that is.
In a far-off room, something delicious would be in a warming oven. For later. Maybe ribs. No, that would be messy. Oyster po’ boys? Nah, they would be messy, too. Maybe some of the crawfish appetizer thingees like Samantha made for parties. Canapés, they were called. He teased her all the time, calling them can-a-peas. But, man, he could eat about two dozen of them right now. (Did I forget to eat dinner tonight? Yeah, except for that bag of chips and a soda after I left Luc’s office.)
Most of all, Fleur would welcome him, smiling.
He couldn’t wait.
To tell the truth, after the day he’d had, he doubted he would be up for anything, let alone a romp in the hay. There had been one problem after another: some difficult customers who’d required him to circle the bayou property they were interested in purchasing an extra three times; a meeting with Luc about the FAA meeting tomorrow which Aaron would, in fact, have to attend alone; a quick stop at the hospital where Samantha got way too much pleasure out of Aaron’s description of the mayhem at Bayou Rose (Of course, she doesn’t know about the wallpaper yet.); and a stop at the all-night Starr Supermarket to purchase a few things Tante Lulu requested, which turned into an overflowing basket after a series of voice mails, each adding something she’d forgotten to her list. Seriously, they needed twenty-four double rolls of toilet paper?
He didn’t intend to check in at the mansion at this time of night, but when he saw lights on in the front parlor, he decided to see who was stil
l up. Maybe it was Fleur, after all. But, no, she wouldn’t be in the front parlor. Or, at least, he didn’t think so. There was that red velvet chaise lounge, though. He grinned.
But then, he stopped grinning.
It was the Brothers Snake and Jake. Oh, Lord! This is the first time I realized that the two names rhyme. They were watching TV on a set which they must have moved downstairs from one of the guest bedrooms. Samantha didn’t allow such modern conveniences to mix with her antique furniture. And there was the dictator himself sprawled out, half on and half off, the red velvet chaise lounge. There went that sexual fantasy! They were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, presumably sleep attire, watching Game of Thrones on cable. Beside each of them was an open Bible. Maybe they’d been praying together, not watching the tube. Clarence was quiet, for once, a shawl having been thrown over his cage.
“How’s it hangin’?” Snake asked.
“That’s some workday, buddy,” Brother Jake remarked at the same time, glancing at his wristwatch. “Can I assume you got lucky? My door’s always open for Penance. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Back atcha!” Did I mention these priests are like no other priests I’ve ever met? That thought was reinforced with Snake’s next question.
“Want a beer?” Snake asked, pointing to a cooler sitting between the chaise lounge and the Biedermeier rocking chair he was sitting on. Samantha had purchased it, the chair, not the cooler, at an auction last year for an amount she’d refused to disclose to Dan.
Aaron wondered idly if Samantha and Dan would expect him to purchase all this antique crap when they moved, or if they would take it with them? In fact, would Dan want him to buy out his half of the plantation? Man, he got a headache just thinking about all that. And, frankly, my dear (yes, his brain was exploding with exhaustion), if he was going to be stuck here alone, he’d prefer a swimming pool to two-hundred-year-old furniture.
On the other hand, maybe he and Dan would sell the whole kit and caboodle and divvy up the proceeds? (Kit and caboodle? Jeesh! Hangin’ around Tante Lulu much, Aaron? Next, I’ll be saying, “Aw, shucks, y’all!” or “I do declare,” or “Samantha looks like a giant balloon about to burst, bless her heart.”) Assuming there would be profits. A lot of their expensive improvements might not translate into a higher selling price.
