by Macy Beckett
Logically, Marc knew he should pull back, but that’s not what he did. Allie enchanted him with her infectious cheer and her kind words, and he couldn’t ask her to leave.
They spent the next hour talking about her bakery, the Sweet Spot, and how she’d ended up there. Turned out she’d spent several years as an office manager for a New Orleans dermatologist until her parents had died and left her a small inheritance.
“That’s when I realized how short our lives are,” she said, peering into the darkness. “Way too short to spend my waking hours getting paid minimum wage to run someone else’s business.”
“But why a bakery?” Marc asked. “Why not a voodoo shop or a haunted graveyard tour? With the last name Mauvais, you’d have an edge over the competition.”
Allie frowned. “Because I’m more than my last name. All my life, people have seen me as Juliette Mauvais’s great-great-granddaughter. I want my own identity, separate from hers.”
Marc understood. The Dumont name had its own muddy reputation, which had never really bothered him until recently. But he was captain now, and he wanted folks to take him seriously, not see him as another liar or player or cheat. Once you’d been branded, a reputation was hard to shake. He and Allie had that in common.
“And I love to bake,” she went on. “My mama was big on comfort food. Anytime I had a bad day, she’d make her special bread pudding with an extra dash of lemon juice, just for me.” She smiled to herself. “It always made me feel better. There was a lot of love in her kitchen, and I like to think I’m keeping her memory alive through her recipes. It feels good to know I can lift someone’s mood with something as simple as a cruller.”
“Brave move,” Marc said, knowing full well the challenges of managing a small business. “Especially doing it on your own.”
“I’m not alone—not really. At first I was going to open the shop in Cedar Bayou, because it was all I could afford. But Devyn knew I’d do better in the city, so she insisted on chipping in her half of the inheritance for the camelback store.”
That surprised Marc. “She’s part owner, then?”
“Mmm-hmm. A silent partner, and you’d never know it. She hasn’t asked to see a single income statement.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “Not that there’s much income to speak of, but still.”
As talented as Allie was in the galley, she should be in the black by now. Maybe Marc could help. “Let’s add your contact information to the Belle’s Web site,” he suggested. “We’ll mention you in the newsletter, too. I’ve heard the guests raving about your desserts. Let’s give them a reminder—maybe a recipe. A way to relive part of their vacation when they get home.”
Smiling, she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped both arms around her legs. “I like it. With any luck, soon my real customers will outnumber the fake ones.”
“Fake ones?”
“You know, the folks who only come around for love charms.” With a wistful sigh, she rested her chin on one knee. “They think I’m the reincarnation of Memère because we look alike. But I’m not. I have her eyes, not her so-called power.”
She seemed so defeated that Marc handed her a cookie. “Then why don’t you quit making gris-gris?” That would put an end to the steady flow of traffic from the old wives and starry-eyed teenagers. “Just cut them off. Eventually word will get around, and they’ll leave you be.”
“I don’t know,” she said around a bite of chocolate chip cookie. “Sometimes it’s annoying, but the people who come to me are lost, and I get to steer them in the right direction.” She reached for his coffee and took a sip, then handed it back. “That makes me feel useful.”
Marc scoffed. “Honey, you’re plenty useful without all that mumbo jumbo.”
Allie grinned with a far-off look in her eyes as if replaying a memory. “You don’t get it.”
“Then enlighten me.”
So she told him the story of opening day at the Sweet Spot, when a college coed had come looking for a love charm to win back her cheating boyfriend. “She was insecure and terrified of being alone,” Allie said. “I could see the desperation in her eyes, and I knew she’d never listen to reason. So I lied. I pretended to read the bones, and I told her the spirits of her ancestors demanded she stay away from the boy because she was destined for someone better. I said they were angry that she was willing to accept so little from a man.”
“Did it work?”
Allie nodded, her whole face lighting up in a smile. “I passed her on the street a few years later. I don’t know if she ever met anyone, but she strutted down that sidewalk like she owned it. She’s not that same scared little girl anymore.” She pointed her cookie at him. “Tell me that wouldn’t make your day.”
Marc had to admit she was right.
From there, the conversation returned to him, specifically what he’d been up to since they’d graduated high school and lost touch. Talking with Allie was easy, and before long, he found himself confiding his mama’s bout with cancer—how he and Ella-Claire had taken turns living at home to help out after each round of chemo.
“She’s been in remission five years,” he said. “Healthier than ever.”
Allie stared at him with a grin tilting her lips.
“What?” he asked.
“You can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his mama.”
“Whatever.” Marc waved her off. She was making a big deal out of nothing. Any decent human being would have done the same. “My daddy really put her through it. Someone had to look out for her.”
Tossing her half-eaten cookie onto his napkin, Allie stood from her chair and settled behind him. She wrapped both arms around his waist, and after giving him a tight squeeze, she stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “I like you, Marc Dumont.”
The tickle of warm breath in his ear made Marc shiver. Before he could return the sentiment, Allie abruptly released him, then let herself out the pilothouse door.
Marc listened to her retreating footsteps, missing her already. He liked her, too—perhaps more than he should.
Chapter 12
Allie grabbed a towel and stepped out of Marc’s shower, careful to avoid the creakiest floorboards and risk waking him. Just because she had to be up before the sun didn’t mean he should suffer, too. The poor thing needed his sleep. They’d kept each other awake with near constant lovemaking for the past several nights, and it was starting to catch up with them. A peek in the mirror at the dark circles shadowing Allie’s eyes reaffirmed it.
She opened the medicine cabinet for a tube of concealer, instantly grinning at the sight of her cosmetics occupying shelf space with his Gillette foam and Scope mouthwash. She liked seeing the merging of their toiletries. There was something so homey about their deodorants and razors hanging out together.
Marc had caught her off guard a few days ago when he’d suggested she keep some essentials in his suite to save time in the mornings. Most men would balk at the idea, probably fearing that today’s toothbrush would become tomorrow’s colease. This was a big step for a commitmentphobe like Marc, and she’d accepted his offer casually, hiding how much it had meant to her.
No need to spook him. He probably hadn’t admitted to himself that she was his girlfriend yet. That was okay with Allie. What they had was real, regardless of how Marc defined it.
After towel-drying her hair, she scrunched her curls with a dollop of antifrizz serum and dressed in the spare uniform she’d stashed in Marc’s chest of drawers. When she was ready to go, she slipped on her kitchen clogs and crouched at Marc’s side to watch him sleep by the light of the digital alarm clock. She told herself she’d only stay a moment, but she lingered to listen to his rhythmic pulls of breath and his occasional murmurs. She smiled and figured he must be dreaming.
It looked like a pleasant one.
A corner of his lips kept twitching as if in laugh
ter, the adorable cleft in his chin barely visible beneath a dusting of golden brown whiskers. In sleep, his dangerous edge softened into childlike innocence. She could watch him like this for hours and never tire of it. He was spectacular, filling her chest with a warm, tingling sensation that told her she’d moved far beyond mere attraction to Marc.
God help her, she was in love with him—a rambling Dumont man.
Gathering her hair to one side, she leaned down and kissed his forehead, pausing to take in his masculine scent. His skin was warm beneath her lips, and she wished she could crawl beneath the covers and into his powerful arms.
He stirred at the contact, and with a long groan, blinked awake. “Hey,” he said in a sleep-thickened voice. “I was just dreaming about you.” He smiled and made a grab for her waist. “Come back to bed and help me finish it.”
Allie danced away before he could catch her. If she allowed herself to indulge in one moment of Marc’s caress, she wouldn’t be able to leave until noon. “Hold that thought,” she said and glanced at her watch, “until about ten o’clock tonight. Then I’m all yours.”
He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “I can’t see you till ten? Don’t we dock in St. Louie today?”
Allie gasped and brought both hands together. She’d forgotten about that! A day in St. Louis meant the boat could operate on a skeleton crew, freeing them both for some alone time.
Marc rubbed his eyes. “I was hoping we could sneak off somewhere after the guests leave for their tours.”
The prospect of spending a full day with Marc made her want to turn cartwheels, but she curbed her enthusiasm, not wanting to appear too eager. Folding both arms, she threw him a teasing smile. “I suppose that can be arranged. We’ll have to lie low, though.” She’d spent so much time insisting she wasn’t the captain’s squeeze that she’d look like the mother of all hypocrites if anyone discovered them together.
He focused on the bare skin beneath the hem of her skirt, licking his lips like the hungry wolf he was. “How low do you want to lie? We can hole up in here all day. I can think of plenty of ways to keep busy. . . .”
Tempting as that was, Allie longed for a little terra firma. “Down, boy. You’re taking me on a proper date for once. Pick me up at my room when you’re ready.”
“Mm-kay.” He waggled his brows as she backed toward the door. “Wear that flimsy sundress I like.” Pointing at the bottom of his rib cage, he added, “The one that’s cut down to here.”
Allie dragged a finger down the length of her cleavage. “Down to here, huh?” She bit back a grin. Marc had exaggerated the revealing nature of her dress, but if he loved it that much, she’d wear it every chance she got. “It’s a deal.” With a wink, she told him, “And I might not wear anything underneath it.”
Marc’s eyes glazed over. He made a move toward her, and Allie hastily turned the doorknob and stepped into the hall before he could leap out of bed and drag her back in with him. She blew him one last kiss and shut the door, then peeked up and down the hallway to make sure nobody had seen her sneaking out of his room.
Fortunately, she was alone.
When she made her way down to the galley, she was surprised to find Beau and the entire kitchen staff darting around one another to prepare breakfast, the air already thick with the scents of sizzling sausage and baking biscuits. A lump of guilt settled in her tummy when she realized she was the last to report for duty. Beau glanced up from his cutting board. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes darted to the clock on the wall.
“Morning,” Allie said as she rushed to the sink to wash her hands. She donned her apron and spun toward the refrigerator, where she reached for the goat cheese Regale had bought but had neglected to use. She’d never considered including it in her berry torte, but inspiration had struck that morning when she’d awoken in Marc’s arms, and she suspected the blend of flavors would complement one another perfectly—bold and sweet, kind of like herself and Marc.
She couldn’t stop smiling while she crushed gingersnaps for the crust, and by the time she slid her pans into the oven, she’d made half a dozen impromptu changes in the recipe that had her mouth watering just thinking about them. While the tortes baked, she jotted down the modifications in a spiral notebook so she could replicate it at the Sweet Spot.
The aroma of mixed berries and gingerbread drew Beau’s gaze away from his cutting board. After the tortes had cooled, he joined Allie in helping her separate the crust from the pans and cut the pastries into individual servings.
“This looks amazing,” Beau said, admiring the creamy filling. When he lifted a slice and positioned it above a dessert plate, he let the spatula slip to the side, sending a small portion down in a sloppy heap. He slid her a glance. “Oops, that one’s ruined.”
Allie laughed. It was obvious he’d done it on purpose. “Guess you’ll have to eat it, then.”
“It’s the only logical thing to do,” he said. “It’d be a crime to let it go to waste.”
She handed him a fork. “I took some liberties with my mama’s recipe. Let me know what you think.”
Beau shoveled a heaping bite into his mouth. Seconds later, he closed his eyes and pressed a hand over his heart. His noises of rapture drew a few curious gazes from the staff, and as soon as he swallowed, he uttered a good-natured curse. “I don’t know what got into you, but that’s goddamned incredible.”
Allie blushed and hid a grin. “There’s a little extra love in my cooking today, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” he repeated. “Allie, this is the best berry torte I’ve ever tasted.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “You’re at the top of your game. Keep up the good work.”
While Beau returned to his station, Allie beamed and finished slicing her pastries. Regale never would have complimented her baking. Ever the diva, he’d wanted the spotlight for himself.
Beau Dumont was good people.
• • •
When the breakfast rush had ended and the galley workers finished cleaning up, Allie and Beau stayed behind to inventory ingredients.
With his head in the refrigerator, Beau observed, “We could use more butter.”
Allie scrawled it on the list. “That’s a general rule in life.”
He pointed at her notepad. “Write down shallots, too.” After shutting the fridge, he assessed the contents of the pantry. “And pork rinds.”
“Pork rinds?” she asked, trying to imaging how he’d incorporate those into a recipe. “You going to crumble them as a topping?”
“No.” Beau shrugged. “I’m gonna eat ’em.”
If personal snacks were going on their grocery list, she was adding Junior Mints. When she’d finished jotting down everything they needed, she held up the notepad. “Want me to pick this up? I’m heading into town anyway.”
“No, I’ll get it,” he said, taking the pad from her. “I’m picky about my veggies.”
“Suit yourself; I’m heading upstairs to change. See you at four.”
Allie returned to her room, noting that the same set of unused folded towels sat on her bed. The maids had probably noticed she hadn’t been sleeping here. She wondered if they’d begun gossiping yet and whether anyone had linked her to Marc. To be on the safe side, she shook out the towels and mussed her bedsheets, then scattered the pillows.
She applied some light makeup and styled her hair, twisting it into a loose updo that cooled the back of her neck. Smiling, she pulled Marc’s favorite dress from the closet. As promised, she didn’t wear a stitch beneath it. The silky fabric felt decadent against her bare backside, like a sinful secret. By the time she’d strapped on her sandals, a trio of knocks sounded at the door, sending her pulse rushing with excitement. She grabbed her handbag and met Marc in the hallway.
His eyes went wide, scanning her from the top of her head to the tips of her open-toed platforms. “Wow,” was al
l he said, but his tone spoke volumes.
“Wow, yourself.” She took a moment to appreciate the sight of Marc in a tight black T-shirt and faded jeans that cupped him in all the right places. He wore his hair in loose waves that brushed his broad shoulders. He looked relaxed and happy and criminally sexy—a lethal trifecta.
He wrapped both arms around her waist and greeted her with a kiss that said he was just as excited about their date as she was. He traced her curves, then slid his palms over her rear end and froze.
“I don’t feel any panties under here,” he whispered against her mouth.
“No,” she whispered back. “You sure don’t.”
Groaning, he lifted her into his arms and took a step toward her door. “Let’s go inside for a minute.”
“Forget it.” She squirmed out of his grasp and smacked away his hands when he tried to capture her again. “I’m not giving it up until you take me out and show me a good time.”
He winked at her. “I can show you a good time right here.” But despite his teasing words, he laced their fingers together and led her toward the stairwell. He brushed his thumb affectionately over her wrist as they descended the stairs, occasionally bringing their linked hands to his lips. Once they reached the main level, he let go of her and instructed, “You head to the bow ramp—I’ll be right behind you. If anyone asks where we’re going, I’ll say we’re picking up supplies.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.” She’d just begun to push open the door when Marc’s pawpaw stepped into view from the stairs leading to the boiler room.
Allie’s heart lurched. How long had he been standing there?
Pawpaw narrowed his eyes at her, then at Marc. “Where you goin’, boy?”
“Into town,” Marc said without missing a beat. He patted his side pocket. “And I’ve got a long list, so I’d better get to it.” He nodded ahead in a signal for Allie to hurry up.
