Blue By You

by Rachel Gibson

  “Everyone knows the Toussaints come from a long line of pirates and thieves.”

  “And the Penningtons can’t be relied upon to remember the truth due to the pickling effects of Old Crow.”

  Kasper chuckled and raised his hands to the big green bow beneath her chin. “We only drank Old Crow during Prohibition, when the good stuff was difficult to acquire.”

  Blue attempted to swat his hands away. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off this stupid hat.” He pulled the bow free, then grabbed it from her head. “Last night, you stood in the dark, and I didn’t get a good look at you.” He handed back the hat. “Today, that kept getting in my way.”

  She grasped the wide brim against the sudden turmoil in her stomach, and, for several unnerving moments, he stared at her as if he was looking for something. Then he smiled, “There you are.”

  Beneath her hand, the turmoil in her stomach spread across her skin. “Where else would I be?”

  He slid his fingers along her jaw. “You look as I remember.”

  “Hardly.” His fingers sent little shivers across her throat, and she took a step back. She was not eighteen this time. “I am forty.”

  “I know how old you are.” He rested his arm on the branch once more. “You’re more beautiful at forty than you were at eighteen.”

  She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “My momma didn’t raise a stupid child.”

  “It’s true.” He laughed. “You look more like a woman than a girl.”

  There had been a day a long time ago that they’d both agreed she was a woman.

  “It’s a compliment, cher. You look good. Better.”

  He still looked as good as fresh-baked sin. Tall and filled out with hard muscles, and his hair looked better now. Now that he no longer had the military buzz cut, a dark lock touched his forehead. His dark eyes could still melt a woman, but there was a weariness at the corners. Like he’d seen and done too much in one lifetime.

  “Thank you.” She straightened, then asked, before his sugar mouth had a chance at lowering her guard, “So why are you really here, Kasper.”

  “I told you. To thank you for last night. Grand-mère can be a handful, and you put up with her.”

  “You’re welcome.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “You didn’t have to join the tour to tell me that.”

  “I hadn’t meant to. I walked up as the tour started, and I stuck around.” He shrugged and folded his arms across his wide chest. “It was interesting.”

  “You were interested in my family history?”

  “Your version, yes.” He chuckled and held up a hand to stop her outrage. “We’ll agree to disagree on that. I’d never been in Dahlia Hall. You’ve done a really good job restoring the estate. I always wanted to renovate the slave quarters at Esterbrook, but they’ve deteriorated past their bones.”

  “I heard you were renovating Esterbrook,” she said as if she’d just learned of it. “How’s it going?”

  “Slow. The sixties were hard on the big house. All that shag carpet.” A scowl pulled his dark brows together. “And all those goddamn layers of goddamn wallpaper dating back to 1830 that had to be taken down. The Pennington women were demented about fucking wallpaper.”

  Blue smiled. “I guess you’re not picking out wallpaper now?”

  “Hell no.” He sighed as if the whole subject wore at him. “Esterbrook is my home. I’m not restoring it to live in a museum. I want to keep as much of the history as possible, but I want a flushing toilet.”

  Blue knew exactly what he was talking about. The plumbing, no matter how modern, could go cattywampus. She’d had public restrooms built next to the parterre garden, and the low water table was an occasional problem even with the new plumbing.

  “Are you living there now?”

  “I have a house in Jefferson Parish, but I don’t feel right leaving grand-mère alone at Esterbrook. The first floor is almost completed, but the second floor needs a lot of work.”

  She wondered what his house looked like in Jefferson Parish and if he’d ever lived there with one of his wives. She supposed she could ask, but that was personal information. The less she knew about his personal life, the better. “Well, if you ever need advice on restoration.” She took a step back, and her shoulders hit the branch of the tree. “Give me a call. I know a trick or two I could show you.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  That soon? He wasn’t kidding about getting the house finished. “Nothing.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He took a step toward her and gestured toward her dress. “Wear that.”

  “What?” She looked down at the ruffles and green ribbon and her breasts pushed together. “Do you want a tour guide?”

  He reached for her hand, and she looked up into his brown eyes. “No.”

  At the warmth of his touch, her pulse kicked up. “I’m filling in for an employee today. She’s smaller than I am.” For some reason, she felt the need to explain.

  “Especially up top.” His laughter flashed in his eyes, and she felt herself melt a little. “I want you to come have dinner with me and Miss Sudie.”

  “Oh. I … At Esterbrook?” With the Penningtons? She’d promised herself last night there would be no melting.

  His thumb brushed the back of her hand. “Say yes. Grand-mère wants to thank you for your kindness. It would mean a lot to her.”

  If it had just been him, she would have turned him down flat. There was something dangerous about him. Something that felt unfinished. Something she had no desire to finish, no matter how much he made her stomach feel squishy. “I’d love to have dinner with you and Miss Sudie.”

  “Good.” He dropped her hand. “Bring that dress. It’s sexy as hell.”

  “I’ll bring it, but you have to wear it.”

  Kasper wore a white dress shirt, a beige-and-burgundy tie, and a pair of khaki chinos. He was so handsome. Dark and swarthy, like one of the four fallen angels in her family’s old Bible.

  Blue raised a glass of wine to her lips. She wore a modest black wrap dress and red, four-inch heels. Nothing sinful about her. “Where’s Miss Sudie?”

  Kasper smiled. “Detained.”

  The heels of Blues pumps dug into the new Persian rugs, so different from the threadbare carpets at Dahlia Hall, as they moved to the dining room. She’d been at Esterbrook for almost an hour as Kasper had kept her busy, showing her the renovations he’d done to the home itself and the restorations of the hand-painted ceiling medallions. She could see why his renovations were taking him so long. The workmanship was phenomenal. The fireplace mantels had been removed and refinished, while the iron firebacks had been duplicated and replaced for safety. The bricks inside had been removed, cleaned, and replaced. The walls had been stripped of paper and sanded. They talked about headaches with permits and disposal of toxic materials like lead paint.

  “When will Sudie be undetained?”

  He pulled out a chair at one end of the long, double-pedestal table with ball and claw feet. The table was set for two, with antique porcelain, fine linen, polished silver, and Lismore crystal. “Later.”

  She stopped and looked at him across the chair. “Was she ever going to join us?”

  “Sure. She made the gumbo.” He moved to a sideboard set with a silver serving dish heated by a single Sterno flame. He filled two bowls and looked over his shoulder at her. “Sit, please.”

  She did, and he set a bowl in front of her.

  “When I was sucking up dust in Fallujah or freezing my ass off in the Afghani mountains, I dreamed of grand-mère’s seafood gumbo,” he said, and took the seat next to her at the head of the table. He placed his linen napkin on his lap. “That and Mississippi mud and bare grass under my feet.”

  “How long were you in Iraq and Afghanistan?”

  He picked up his soup spoon and pulled the cloth from a basket of crisp French bread. The light from the converted gas chandelier cast spear
s of light across his chest and in his dark hair. “Depends on which time I was deployed.” He talked about the hours spent behind fixed optics, looking for anything out of place. A car. A shadow at the wrong time of day. Slight motion against an outcrop of rocks.

  The gumbo was delicious. The dark Cajun roux had just the right balance of spices and was served over rice and thick with shrimp and crab. “What was your rank when you retired?” she asked, and took a drink of wine to cool her tongue.

  “Gunnery sergeant.” He broke off a piece of bread and talked about his friends and the men he’d served with. He refilled her glass, and they ate pecan pie for dessert. She asked about his construction companies, and he told her how and why he’d started each one. They talked mostly of him and his different careers. Blue was fine with that. It kept the conversation platonic. Not personal. Personal could get them in trouble.

  “Now that we’ve covered me,” he said, and pushed his bowl away, “let’s talk about you.”

  “Me.” She put her fork down and finished her wine. “Nothing to talk about.”

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “Last time we talked, you were on your way to Tulane.”

  That had been twenty-two years ago. He remembered. “I pledged Kappa Alpha Theta and graduated with a liberal arts degree.” She shrugged and reached for the napkin on her lap. “Married a Sigma Phi, of course. We were married for ten years, divorced five, and have a fifteen-year-old son. He’s at his dad’s for the summer.” She placed the napkin on the table. “Compared to you, I’ve been a slacker.”

  He moved behind her chair and pulled it out. “I regret not having children.”

  She stood and faced him. “It’s not too late. You’re a man. Find a young wife.”

  A sad smile pulled at his handsome lips. “I tried that.” He took her hand in his, and the warmth of his palm heated hers and spread warmth up her wrist. “Twice.”

  Yeah. She’d heard.

  “I regret those, too. I wasn’t a very good husband.”

  She’d heard that, too.

  “Come with me.”

  She balked. “Where?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  If he pulled down his pants, she was going to punch him in the throat like she’d been taught in self-defense class. “What?”

  He pulled her along slightly behind him. “Something I think you’ll like.”

  She thought it only fair to warn him, “If you pull me into your bedroom, I’m giving you a throat punch.”

  He laughed as they moved up the grand staircase. “Relax. I’m smoother than I used to be. I don’t have to pull anyone into my room.”

  Scary, since he’d been pretty dang smooth.

  They continued down a dark hall, and she got an impression of walls stripped to the laths and closed doors. “Watch your step,” he said, as they moved past buckets and toward a set of large French doors. Moonlight shone through the old wavy panes of glass and cast a watery stretch of light on the cypress floor.

  “I think you of all people can appreciate the work I’ve done out here.” Kasper dropped her hand to open the doors, and they stepped out onto the heat and humidity of the Louisiana night. The heels of her pumps tapped across the second-floor gallery, totally restored to its original stark white. She put her hand on the rail, and her breath caught in her throat at the parterre garden below. Bigger than the gardens at Dahlia Hall, the hedge design was less detailed, but the fountains were truly grand. Restoring the gardens had been a monumental task and clearly cost a lot of money. He was right, she could appreciate his hard work.

  “I’m not finished,” he said as he stood next to her. “I want to incorporate the three remaining columns of the pigeonniers.”

  Of course, Esterbrook’s pigeonniers had been built with columns. She turned to look at him through the darkness, and he seemed to be waiting. For a reaction or opinion, as if it mattered to him. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Kasper.” She returned her gaze to the garden below. “Perhaps a smaller formal garden within the columns. Maybe create a Grecian folly with a temple d’amour.”

  “Or Isis.”

  “Or you could put in a shrine of St. Jude or Mary.” She looked at him. “Even though you’re Baptist.”

  “Which is why I was way more interested in phallic saints than martyrs.”

  She laughed. “You want to put a phallic saint in your garden?”

  His laughter joined hers in the heat and humidity that hung between them. He turned toward her, and he placed his hand on the rail next to hers. “Only if he’s packing.”

  Her laugher turned into a surprised, “What?”

  He mistook her outburst for a question. “He can’t have an embarrassing package. Anything that can be covered by a leaf. His package has to have some girth.”

  Her laughter died, and she blinked. Girth? “Like Priapus?”

  “Did he have girth?”

  “Yes. His ‘girth’ was heavier than a bag of gold.” She was glad of the darkness, so he couldn’t see her cheek turn red. If she remembered right, Kasper had girth. Of course, she’d been a virgin, so anything would have felt big. “As if size is important,” she hastily added.

  “Size is important,” he argued, and took her hand from the rail. “Only guys with small dicks say it’s not.”

  That was true. “I don’t really want to talk about girth of … of …”

  “Dicks,” he helpfully provided, and pulled her toward him. “You brought it up.”

  “Me?” She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “I did not!”

  “You’re the one who suggested I put a big phallic shrine in my garden.”

  No she hadn’t. Had she? The warmth of his chest seeped into her skin, and she couldn’t think straight.

  “Where did you learn about saints with big penises? At your fancy all-girls school?” His warm hands slid up her arms and across her shoulders. “Or Tulane?”

  “Priapus was a Greek god. Not a saint.” Once again, Blue was struck that he remembered where she want to school. She’d always thought he’d easily forgotten her, as easily as he’d forgotten to meet her the day after she’d given him her virginity. “Kasper.”

  “Yes, Blue.” He placed his hands on the sides of her head and tilted her face up to him.

  “You’re not thinking about kissing me?”

  “No.” He lowered his mouth and said against her lips, “I’m past the thinking stage. I’m at do or die.”

  “But we—” she managed before he kissed her. A full-mouthed kiss with wet lips and smooth tongue. A kiss that stole the heavy breath from her lungs and made her hand slide up his chest to his shoulder and hang on. A kiss that lasted too long to stop. A do-or-die kiss that curled her toes inside her shoes and made her breasts tingle. A kiss that made her want to do it or die.

  She pulled back and closed her eyes. She was no longer a girl. She knew what would happen if she continued. She would end up in bed with Kasper Pennington. Again. If she walked away now, she would end up in her own bed. Alone with no regret. Alone with her self-respect.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. At the lust staring back at her, and she melted beneath his gaze. Just like all those years ago, and she reached for his tie.

  No one knew she was at Esterbrook. No one would know what she did or didn’t do on the dark gallery. And if the past was a predictor of the future, she wouldn’t see Kasper for another twenty-two years. He might melt her resistance, but her heart was safe.

  She didn’t want to be lonely tonight, and self-respect could be very lonely.

  Chapter Five

  Kasper let out a sigh of relief as Blue pulled at the knot of his tie. He hadn’t brought her up to the second-floor gallery to have sex, but it wasn’t exactly as if it hadn’t crossed his mind. Standing next to her. Looking down at the ground. Just like twenty-two years ago.

  He pulled the tie from his collar, and it fell to the ground. To be honest, he’d thought about it the moment he�
��d picked her up at her house. Probably before. Probably yesterday, when she’d opened the doors to Dahlia Hall looking like the opening scene of every porn movie with a hot Southern belle.

  He watched her fingers work the buttons on his shirt. He liked her hands on him. Liked the way her fingers looked and felt on his skin. She pulled the shirt from his pants and tossed it. A hot, greedy shiver worked its way from the base of his skull down his spine as she ran her palms all over his chest. Her soft touch tightened his testicles and made him hard as the barrel of a gun. He reached for the bow closing her dress at one side of her waist and pulled. The dress fell open, and he pushed the sleeves from her shoulders.

  He purposely pinned her arms to her side to keep her hot hands from finishing things before they started. Beneath the dress, she wore a silky black slip, and her hard nipples slid beneath the material as she struggled to untrap her hands. “You’re not wearing a bra.” He stated the obvious.

  “No. The straps ruin the line of the dress.” She arched her back in her struggle, and he buried his face in her cleavage. Cleavage he’d stared at the day before like a kid. He rubbed his cheek against her breasts and the hard tips. She gasped, and her struggles stilled. “Let go of my hands,” she said. “I want to touch you, too.”

  He wasn’t ready for more of her touch. Ready for it to be over before it began. She made him feel twenty-one again. As if they stood in an oak tree and were picking up were they’d left off twenty-two years ago. Only he had less control this time. He sucked her hard nipples through the silky fabric, and her hands and arms finally broke free. The dress fell to the floor, and one strap of her slip slid down her arm. One nipple popped out, and she ran her fingers through the sides of his hair as he sucked her bare breast. Her little gasp turned him on, and he clutched the bottom of the little black slip and pulled it over her head.

  He straightened and looked at her, standing on his gallery, wearing little black panties and red shoes with high heels. “You’re a fantasy.”

  “I’m a real woman.” She pulled at his belt and tossed it aside. “A woman who wants to touch you.” She unzipped and shoved her hand inside his pants. Her soft palm wrapped around his dick, and she continued, “I want to feel you in my hand and mouth and body.” He locked his knees and let her touch him. Let her pull him out and move her hand up and down his shaft. Slow teasing touches until he could stand it no more. Until he felt the urge to throw her down and crawl between her legs. To shove himself inside and not care about her pleasure. Only his. He took her hands from him and spun her around so her back pressed into his chest. “Slow down.”