by Sandra Hill
Next the “band” began to play that raucous “Knock, Knock, Knock,” which had an even more upbeat tempo. The kids didn’t understand the lyrics about a Cajun fellow in the doghouse with his wife again, but they loved the bouncing about and yelling out the refrain “Knock, Knock, Knock” at René’s urging to the group.
Tante Lulu, bless her heart, was having the most fun of all. She kept one hand on her blond wig as she whirled about and another hand on the waistband of her black slacks, which kept slipping down over her nonexistent butt as she shimmied and danced.
After that, the “band” segued into “Louisiana, the Key to My Soul,” a much slower ballad, which Raoul took as his cue, especially when René looked his way and nodded. With a deep inhale for courage, Raoul walked up to Charmaine, held out his arms, and said, “Chère?”
She hesitated, that odd hurt look back in her eyes. It was the same stricken expression he’d seen earlier in her bedroom when she’d tossed his money aside. He didn’t yet understand what that had all meant.
Raoul’s heart stood still at her hesitation, but then she stepped into his arms, and he let loose the breath he’d been holding. She looped her arms around his shoulders and rested her face in the crook of his neck. He twined his hands together behind her waist and tugged her closer. Her hair was a cloud of black silk teasing his senses. He fancied that her filmy dress twined itself about his jeans and that she pressed herself even closer to him, breast to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin. Probably wishful thinking, but what the hell! He also felt enveloped by her perfume, Obsession, which she must have sprayed on her hair and neck.
Dancing with Charmaine was a trip to the past. A form of foreplay. An exercise in wonderful torture. Raoul was confident in his dancing abilities. He was no expert, but he was Cajun, and Cajun men were born with a rhythm gene that the rest of the male population hadn’t discovered yet. And they didn’t mind admitting that they loved to dance.
They said nothing to each other, but their bodies spoke volumes. As he swayed and dipped her luscious body, he told her how much he had missed her. As she followed his lead, adding some moves of her own, Charmaine told him that she’d missed him, too. Lots.
By the time the song ended, Raoul realized that his hands had moved of their own volition and were caressing her back and shoulders and waist and hips. And Charmaine wasn’t a sweet innocent in this dance- lovemaking. Subtly she rubbed her breasts against his denim shirt and undulated her hips against his burgeoning erection. He doubted she even realized what she was doing. She was as lost as he was in this prelude to lovemaking.
René and his happy musicmakers moved without pause from one slow ballad to another, in this case “Jolé Blon.” Halfway through the song, Raoul drew his head back so he could look down at Charmaine. Her closed eyes drifted open as she gazed up at him in question.
He kissed her then, in front of everyone. He couldn’t help himself. It was a deep kiss but gentle, nothing that would embarrass him or Charmaine in front of all her relatives. She tasted of watermelon and lipstick and Charmaine. A potent combination. They continued to sway from side to side in a pretense of dancing as they kissed, and, yes, Charmaine was kissing him back. Thank you, God!
This time, it was Charmaine who pulled back. “Rusty?” she questioned. “What is this about? From one minute to the next, you keep changing your tune. You want me here, you want me gone. You say you care about me, then you treat my opinions like bimbo drivel. You act as if you want to make love with me, but you keep pushing me away. Then you top it all off by saying that you are thankful for me. Me!”
“Let’s get one thing straight. There has never been a time when I haven’t wanted to make love with you.”
“Sex,” she said sadly, though not really in a condemning way.
“More than that, honey. Way more than that.”
“How about the papers you . . .” She stopped herself.
“What papers?”
“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “That is one subject I do not want to discuss tonight.” She inhaled and exhaled several times as if to gather courage. “Time to put up or shut up, cowboy.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s go,” she said, stopping in the midst of their dancing. People continued to dip and sway around them.
“Huh?” he said again. This was a shocker. “Let’s go” was supposed to be his line. He was the one who had planned to seduce Charmaine tonight, to abduct her if necessary. “Go where? Oh, you can’t think I’m going into the house and make love with you . . . with all these people out here? That would be worse than your mother and Dirk in the wicked Winnebago.”
She shook her head. “No. Someplace else.”
He was about to question her more, but stopped himself. “We need to talk about this.” This put a whole new twist on his big plan. Should he insist on going through with his original plan, or fall in with hers? Assuming she had a plan and wasn’t just pulling his chain.
“We definitely do not need to talk anymore. Talk is what gets us in trouble . . . me, anyway.” She took his hand and tugged.
He, dumb slob that he was, dug in his heels.
The expression on her face wavered between “I want him bad” to “This is a bad idea” to “Make up your mind, big boy.”
His hesitation caused her to call him a foul name that surprised him, even coming from Charmaine. But then, she did the most surprising thing of all.
She pulled out her small pistol from a pocket in her skirt and aimed it straight at his wildly beating heart.
“You’re coming with me,” she informed him. “No more games. No more hesitating.”
“But—”
“No buts either.”
He hadn’t been about to argue with her. He’d been going to tell her that force was not necessary with him . . . that he was more than willing. “Put the gun down, baby. Is it loaded?” At the narrowing of her eyes, he suspected that it was. Damn, she is acting crazier than usual. “Put the pistol down. I’ll come with you.”
“I’m not taking any chances. Turn around and start walking toward your Jeep out front.”
“Everybody is looking at us,” he said in a suffocated whisper.
“So what?” She pressed the weapon into his back, prodding him forward.
No one rushed forward to help him . . . not that he really needed help, but Charmaine might slip and his butt would be history. Behind him, the whole LeDeux clan and their guests hooted and laughed their encouragement at his “kidnapping” by his wife.
“Way to go, Charmaine!” Luc yelled. “Ouch! Why’d you jab me with your elbow, Sylvie?”
“Make him beg, Charmaine,” Rachel offered. “Ouch! Why’d you jab me with your elbow, Remy?”
“Doan you mess this one up, Rusty,” Tante Lulu advised.
“Crawfish! Think crawfish!” Tee-John and Jimmy shouted at the same time.
René had the “band” start playing another song while he belted out, “Love is better . . . the second time around . . .”
“Bowlegged, boy! Bowlegged,” Clarence called out.
Raoul knew they were all laughing at them, in the kindest way, but it was humiliating. He should have been the one in charge. As usual, Charmaine had surprised them all.
On second thought, I don’t freakin’ care. Charmaine is going to be in my arms tonight, come hell or high water
or pistols. The night is young. And I am so hot and bothered I can’t see straight.
The first day of the rest of their lives was about to begin, albeit in a most bizarre
fashion.
He hoped.
And bizarre could be good.
He hoped.
Chapter 16
The bed does WHAT?
Charmaine, still barefooted, forced Rusty to drive them down the road a bit to the nearest motel, a place called The Lucky Duck.
The motel looked reasonably clean to her, from the outside, which was all that mattered for what she had
in mind. But she should have been alerted by the neon sign out front in the form of Daisy Duck in a thong bikini with blinking breasts and by the desk clerk who asked if she wanted the hourly or nightly rate, neither of which were cheap. Of course, Rusty’s barely suppressed laughter should have been a clue, too.
“Holy shit!” he said as he entered the room first with her pressing a pistol in his back. It was only when he stepped aside that she got her first view of the “Duck Pen,” as their room was called. Other rooms were called “Quack, Quack,” “Feather That,” “Waddle Room,” “I Like Mud,” and “Beak Me.”
Her response was, “Holy catfish!”
She took one look at the circular platform bed with the mirror on the ceiling, the picture on the wall of a naked couple cavorting on a swing, and the locked glass case sporting what had to be X-rated toys, then bolted for the still-open door. Rusty jumped in front of her and slammed the door shut, barring her escape.
“Let me go,” she said, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. Why did things always seem to go wrong for her? Even when she tried to be high-class—though kidnapping a man didn’t qualify—she ended up in low class situations. As far as dumb went, this ranked right up there with loan sharks. No wonder people called her a dumb bimbo. “Let me go,” she repeated.
“Not a chance,” he said. The grin on his face merited at least a punch in the stomach.
He didn’t even flinch.
“You knew what this place was, didn’t you?”
“I suspected.” He still grinned.
The louse! “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Why would I do that?” Grin, grin, grin!
“You’ve been here before?” she accused him.
“Never, but Clarence told me about it. He got Daffy’s Den one time.”
Charmaine did not want to think of Clarence in a porno motel. Or who the ducklet was that he’d brought here. On the other hand, he might have been with his wife, she supposed.
Rusty took the pistol out of her hand and laid it gently on a nearby dresser. “Dare I hope that thing is unloaded?”
“Of course it’s unloaded. I’m not that much of an idiot.” She narrowed her eyes at him then. “You knew it was unloaded . . . and came anyway?”
“I’m no fool.” He wasn’t grinning anymore. He was dead serious.
Can anyone be more embarrassed than me? I’ve been roped, tied, and hornswoggled, without even knowing it. “I guess I’m the fool then. You were just playing a game with me.”
“The only game I have in mind hasn’t begun to play out, darlin’.” He put a hand to the front of her blouse and tugged on the laces. The bow came undone. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured.
She tilted her head in question.
“Hey, if you hadn’t acted so quickly, you would have found out that I had a plan to kidnap you tonight. Take you to an old lineman’s shed and . . .” He let his words trail off with a sheepish shrug.
Don’t tell me. I made a fool of myself for nothing. “And?”
“Seduce you into agreeing to having sex with me.”
“That was your plan?” Sounds like a plan to me.
“Well, toss a few candles and wine in, and that’s about it.”
She flashed him a look of disgust. But what she really thought was, How sweet!
“Give me a break, honey. I didn’t have much time. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea. Not making love with you—that wasn’t spur of the moment. I’ve been thinking about that for a long time. How about you? You put a lot more planning into this?” he asked, indicating the Austin Powers type bachelor pad with a wave of his hand.
Oh, yeah! Downtown Charmaine chose even lower-down digs for her seduction. Not! “No, I didn’t do much planning. Obviously. My only goal was to get away from the ranch and all those people and . . .” Like Rusty, she let her words trail off.
“And?” he inquired huskily. While she’d been watching his face, he’d been busy. Somehow the laces had come undone from her blouse, which was gaping apart now, half exposing her breasts. Her only saving grace was the hungry look on his face as he stared at her there. But then he raised his head and asked her again, “And?”
With a loud exhale of surrender, she admitted, “. . . and seduce you into having sex with me.”
He thought a moment, then beamed at her.
“It’s not funny.”
“Who’s laughing? I’m just happy.”
“Well, I’m not happy. What a place to have reunion sex!”
“Reunion sex? We’re going to have reunion sex? Holy freakin’ hell!” He was smiling softly at her and beginning to ease her blouse down to her waist. The smile left his face as he stared, avidly, at her bare upper half. “You are so beautiful.”
Rusty had always liked her breasts. They were among her best assets, she had to admit. But he was too far ahead of her in this love play. “Tsk-tsk-tsk!” she said. “Really, Rusty, what a place to lose my second virginity! We should go to that lineman’s shed.”
“Uh-uh! I’ve got you half-naked, which is more than I’ve accomplished in ten years, except for that night of almost-sex, which hardly counts. I am not leaving this room till you’re bowlegged . . . till we’re both bowlegged. No way am I risking your changing your mind.” He reached out for her, but she ducked under his arms.
“I need to think,” she said, backing up a step.
“Don’t you dare start thinking.” He followed after her. “You and I need to stop thinking and stop talking and start acting with—”
“Our body parts?” She wasn’t really mad at him for thinking that. After all, this was to be their last hurrah. He’d already signed the divorce papers. She’d decided that if they were going to be separated for good this time, she deserved one last fling with him. Forget forever. She was going to make this the best one-night fling in history.
“With our hearts, baby. With our hearts.”
Oh, my God! I can’t believe he said that. He is good! “Good answer! Real smooth.”
“I’ve been practicing smooth.” His words were teasing, but the expression on his face was serious.
Really good! She let him take her in his arms. She even let him push her down onto the bed and fall on top of her.
The earth moved for both of them then.
Or was it the vibrating bed?
Shagadelic, for sure!
Raoul was lying flat out on the bed with Charmaine beside him. They were both staring up into the ceiling mirror, vibrating their asses off. They were laughing their asses off, as well.
Does she have any idea how tempting she looks? Barefooted and bare-breasted, she wore only the gauzy, flowered skirt. Her breasts were magnificent, large and firm. Like inverted champagne glasses, they were, with their puffy areolas. Her feet were pretty, too, long and narrow, with painted red toenails. Her dark hair lay in curly disarray on the pillow. Her eyes were misty with tears of mirth. Her red lips parted, displaying even, white teeth as she laughed.
He, on the other hand, was fully clothed, including his boots. But he wasn’t taking a chance of leaving the bed, in case Charmaine decided he was a dumb dolt after all, that any juice he had wasn’t worth the squeeze.
I want her so bad, but I have got to tread carefully here. No mistakes. The least little wrong move, and she will bolt like a wild horse. He rolled over on his side and looked down at her. Charmaine stared up at him, wide-eyed. Her lips were still parted, but in a different way now. In anticipation. I hope. “I’m scared,” he told her.
That surprised her, he could tell. “Why?”
“I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. Or do something to make you run.” It’s a curse all men have. Dumb man tongue.
“Bolt? Like I did before? No, I’m not going anywhere this time. Unless you say the B-word.”
“Bimbo” is hereafter wiped from my dictionary. He laughed. “I won’t. You can be sure of that.”
She reached up and began to tug his T-shirt out of his jeans
. He helped and tossed it back over his shoulder. He had no idea where it landed and didn’t care. Charmaine was looking at him as if she liked what she saw and for the first time in a long time he was glad of the hard work at the ranch, and on the prison farm, which had honed his body down to almost zero fat and one hundred percent muscle.
Never shy, inside or outside of bed, she put her hands up to his neck and pulled him down. Then she rubbed her breasts back and forth across his chest hairs, the whole time making little kittenish mewls of pleasure.
He could feel the points abrading his skin and saw stars for a moment behind his closed lids. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he exclaimed. “You take my breath away, babe.”
She smiled that secretive Madonna smile of hers. “That’s my goal, baby.”
He settled his lips on hers and inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of her. Obsession perfume and Charmaine skin. She moved her mouth beneath his and darted out her tongue to lick his lips.
His cock about jumped out from behind the zipper of his Wranglers. He was pretty sure it was singing, “Hallelujah!”
“Mmmmmmm,” she said.
“Mmmmmmm,” he said back.
He was going to have to slow down somehow. But he couldn’t stop the runaway train that was his libido. Not now. Not ever, where Charmaine was concerned.
“Kiss me some more,” she urged.
Like I need any urging! “My pleasure,” he murmured and rubbed his lips across hers till he got the perfect fit. He opened her wider and plunged his tongue inside. Sweet. So . . . very . . . sweet! He withdrew, then plunged again. This time, she sucked on him, locking him in place.
He heard a low humming sound of pleasure in her throat. Or is it my throat? Or is it this frickin’ vibrating bed?
