by Elle James
Elaine's mouth opened, but her brain refused to engage. She had the overwhelming urge to run her tongue over his lips, to feel his chest under her fingers.
He cleared his throat. “Are you, or are you not, going to start over?”
Elaine gulped, then stammered, “I'm Elaine Smith.” Wiping the sweat from her palm, she stuck her hand out.
“Craig Thibodeaux.” His rough hand enveloped hers.
The simple gesture sent tingles shooting through her, reminding every cell in her body she was female, single and over twenty-one.
The myriad of sensations raced from her fingertips to her lower extremities, moistening places that had no business being wet in the company of a strange man... a sexy as hell strange man. Maybe shaking hands with him wasn't such a good idea after all.
When her senses returned, she jerked her hand back =and rubbed it against her khaki slacks to still the spread of electrical impulses triggering an entirely chemical response throughout her body. Her reaction was pure physics and chemistry, nothing more, nothing less, she told herself. Besides, hadn't she just broken off an engagement? Get a grip.
“Mr. Thibodeaux, I spoke with you on the phone about renting a cottage for three weeks.” She chose her words carefully, rather than uttering embarrassing nonsense like she had earlier.
“You must have spoken to my uncle Joe. He owns the place.”
“Oh, I see.” She dragged her gaze from the vicinity of his chest and scanned the interior again. “Where can I find him?”
“I think he's out on the dock. Why don't you go see?”. Craig didn't make a move from behind the counter. “I'd take you out there, but I have something I need to do first.”
The thought of the dock paralyzed her. Docks generally stretched over water. “I can wait,” she said quickly. “Go ahead and finish what you were doing.”
Craig frowned and glanced away. “No really, I don't want to hold you up. Just go on outside. He's sure to be within shouting distance. I'll be out in just a minute.”
“Okay.” Elaine stared at the door he indicated with all the anticipation of one heading for a guillotine. “Are you sure you don't want me to wait?”
“Positive. Please, go on.”
Geez. He was in a hurry to get rid of her.
Good. She didn't have time for men. Remember? Besides, she couldn't possibly have anything in common with a dock hand like Craig Thibodeaux. She was better off sticking with her scientific studies. She could have much more interesting conversations talking to herself. At least with her own company, she knew where she stood. A little voice popped into her head. Yeah, hiding behind a microscope.
Elaine liked to think she was moving at a swift walk toward the door. If she was honest, it was more like a snail's pace. But she didn't stop; she kept right on going. Even though the dock was scary, the marina owner's nephew left her more unsettled than the murky swamp around her. She reminded herself that she'd come to study frogs, not the mating habits of the Cajun swamp people. The less she saw of Craig Thibodeaux, the better off she'd be.
CHAPTER THREE
************************************************************************************************
Once outside the bait shop, Elaine stood with a hand pressed to her chest and inhaled deep, calming breaths of the sticky, warm air.
What had come over her? The sight of one bare-chested male shouldn't cause her to take leave of her senses. Even if he was one of the most beautiful specimens of hot, spicy Cajun males she'd ever seen. With those piercing blue eyes and more than his share of dark curly hair on his head...and on his chest...
Elaine fanned the rising heat spreading up her neck into her face. Beads of perspiration sprung out on her forehead and upper lip.
No man had ever had this effect on her, not even Brian. And, frankly, it scared her. Elaine Smith was a scientist, not a driven-by-her-hormones teenager prone to mooning over sexy guys. Pushing loose tendrils of hair back from her damp forehead, she scanned the dock, looking for Mr. Joe Thibodeaux, with luck a much older gentleman with less sex appeal than his nephew.
Darkness had cloaked the landscape and the water was even murkier and more menacing than in the daylight. A boardwalk ran fifty yards to either side of the bait shop with short piers jutting out at thirty-foot intervals to allow boats to pull alongside for refueling or overnight docking.
Lights dotted every other pier, providing a safe port for returning fishermen. At the end of the long boardwalk stood a grizzled old man in baggy tan shorts and a tattered T-shirt. He was deep in conversation with an equally aged man sitting in a fishing boat.
Anxious to get settled in the cottage, Elaine focused on her goal, not the water. Thank goodness she couldn't see through the boards to the water below.
You can do it, one step at a time. Don't look at the water to your right or left, just concentrate on the next board in front of you. Thus schooling herself, she marched the length of the dock, slowing as she approached the men. She hung back far enough not to interrupt their conversation, but close enough for them to see her, and for her to overhear their words.
“I don't know what done it, Joe,” said the man in the boat. “But I tell you there musta been twenty or so fish floatin' belly up.”
“Now, Bernie, you sure you didn't see any sign of city folks in their flashy boats?” Joe scratched his scraggly whiskers. He lowered his hand to pat the faded picture of a leaping fish displayed across his chest. “Sometimes they fish all day just for the sake of catching. Then they dump all those dead fish before they leave.”
Bernie shook his head. “I thought about that, but not a one of 'em showed signs of having swallowed a hook. That's when I found this.” He reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out a small alligator not much bigger than a baseball bat. Its body was already beginning to bloat and a milky film had formed over its eyes.
Elaine's heart sped up and she stepped forward. “May I see that?”
Two startled heads turned in her direction.
Elaine took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of decaying fish. Despite the rotting stench, she could barely contain her excitement and held out her hand to Joe. “Hi, I'm Elaine Smith. Are you Mr. Joe Thibodeaux?”
“That's me.” Joe took her hand. “You that doctor from Tulane who called about renting the house?”
“I'm the one,” she responded with a smile.
Joe frowned. “I thought you'd be older”
“Sorry to disappoint you. Is that going to make a difference?”
“No. Your money spends the same.”
Bernie tossed the dead alligator onto the wooden dock and climbed out of the boat. “What's a pretty lady want with a dead 'gator?”
“I'm a scientist. I came to study the effects of pollution on the creatures that live in the swamp.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and squatted next to the alligator on the wooden planks. “Where did you find it?”
“In the swamp about five miles from here,” Joe said.
Bernie frowned and stepped between Joe and Elaine, shooting a hard look over his shoulder at Joe. “I got a tongue. I can speak for myself.” He faced Elaine and pulled his fishing hat from his head, displaying oily white hat hair and a gap-toothed smile. “Like Joe said, I found that 'gator and some dead fish in a lagoon about five miles from here. Durn shame, too. Used to be my favorite fishin' hole. Joe knows the one.”
Her eyes widened, and blood pounded through her veins. Elaine put her hand on Bernie's ann. “Would you take me there?”
Bernie's face flushed red and he twisted the hat in his gnarled hands. “Now, I'd like nothin' more than to take you there, but my wife, Lola, would skin me alive if she found out I took a pretty young thang out in the swamp. Yessirree. She'd plum skin me alive and feed my flesh to the 'gators.”
Elaine turned to Joe. “Don't you rent boats?”
Joe held his hands up. “Now, don't get some fool notion of going off on your own to find them dead fish. You'd get
lost as soon as you left the dock. Besides, the swamp ain't no place for a lady.”
“I'm no lady. I'm a scientist.” Elaine winced at her choice of words.
“Scientist or no, I don't rent my boats out to people I don't think can bring 'em back.”
“Then perhaps you could help me?” Her lips turned up at the corners. “I'll need to hire someone for the next few weeks to take me out to gather frogs and fish for my studies.”
“Folks around these parts do their frog-giggin' at night when the frogs are most active. If you're wanting frogs, you'll have to go out at night to get 'em. I'm no night owl, but I know someone who is,” Joe said, looking over Elaine's shoulder. “Here's your man. My nephew Craig can take you.”
Fingers of sensation trickled down her spine. Without having to look, she knew he stood behind her.
“Craig can take who where?” His voice was as sultry as the humid air, oozing sex appeal with every syllable.
How does he do that? Did he have some way of emitting testosterone that, combined with her dormant hormones, caused spontaneous combustion in her lower abdomen?
Elaine refrained from fanning her face, braced herself for impact, and executed a slow turn. The half-naked man from the marina stood in faded blue jeans, bare feet and a cotton shirt, untucked and hanging open. This unkempt man had no right to look good enough to eat, one lick at a time, like a very tall ice cream cone on a hot day. She was determined not to react as idiotically as she had previously.
“No thank you. I'll eat another guide.”
All three men tilted their heads and narrowed their eyes.
Elaine stared back and then clapped a hand to her mouth when she realized what she'd said. “I mean, I'll get another guide, or go alone.”
Joe shook his head. “Dr. Smith, you don't seem to understand. Craig's your best bet as a night guide. And my rule is no guide... no boat.”
“What are you more afraid of, the swamp or me?” Craig dared her with a half smile and a tilted eyebrow.
Elaine frowned. This was the second time a man had accused her of being afraid. She'd be damned if she'd take that lying down. Although, with him, lying down held a certain appeal.
Jumpin' genetics, what was she thinking? Heat surged up her neck and into her cheeks. Thank God he couldn't read minds. Straightening her shoulders, she stared directly into his eyes and replied, “Neither.”
“So, when do you want to start?” Craig asked.
Boy, he moved fast. Elaine felt a little out of breath. Although she struggled, she congratulated herself on keeping her inner turmoil from showing on her face. “I hope to have my lab set up by tomorrow night. Can you handle that, Mr. Thibodeaux?”
“Lady, I can handle anything you've got.” He ran his gaze from the top of her curly brown hair to the tips of her sensible black pumps.
Elaine gulped, forcing her chin to a defiant angle when she'd rather run like a scared rabbit in the face of a hungry wolf. “Good,” she said, her voice squeaking. She cleared her throat and assumed her best professor voice. “I'll see you tomorrow at dusk. Please be on time and -” she eyed his open shirt and raised an eyebrow in what she hoped was a disdainful look, “fully dressed?”
“At your command, Dr. Smith,” Craig said with a sweeping bow and several rolls of his wrist.
Elaine turned to address the elder Thibodeaux, who'd remained quiet throughout the exchange. “May we go to the house now?”
“Yes, ma'am!” He popped a smart salute, immediately softening it with an impertinent wink. Joe turned to his nephew. “You take care of Bernie's boat while I help Miss Smith with the rental house.”
“Sure, but when you get back, we need to talk,” Craig said, his expression serious.
Elaine stared from the older man to the younger one. What was that all about? She didn't know, but she'd do well to keep a close eye on the younger Thibodeaux... and her hands and thoughts to herself
An hour later, Craig had tied up Bernie's boat, topped off the gas tanks and cleaned the seats and floors of all trash.
Although it had been eight years since he'd visited his uncle, the activities were still second nature from all the summers he'd spent helping at the marina.
When Uncle Joe still hadn't returned, Craig paced the length of the dock. At every lamp post, he stopped and held an arm up in the circle of light. He batted away moths and mosquitoes to get a glimpse of his skin to make sure he wasn't turning green. Occasionally, he ran a hand through his thick black hair to reaffirm it was still there.
“What bug have you got up your butt, son? You're as twitchy as a trapped ringtail.”
Craig spun to face his uncle, all the pent-up emotions of the past twenty-four hours gushing out in four words. “I'm in big trouble.”
“Your daddy comin' down here?” Uncle Joe asked.
“'Cause if he is, I'm leaving. I can't take two minutes of his high-and-mighty act."
Craig shook his head. “No, it's worse.”
Uncle Joe scratched the gray stubble on his chin. “Can't think of anything worse than that stiff-necked brother of mine comin' for a visit. So, spit it out.”
Craig pushed his hand through his hair again. “You're not going to believe this.”
With a frown, Uncle Joe laid a hand on Craig's shoulder, concern reflecting in his pale blue eyes. “Try me.”
Pausing to phrase his words carefully, Craig shook his head. How did he tell his uncle that he was related to an amphibian? “Have you heard of Madame LeBieu?”
Uncle Joe nodded. “Seen her once or twice out in the swamps. She's been known to practice voodoo on occasion. Had a buddy of mine who swore he'd never get hitched. Said he had too many women to love before he saddled himself with a ball and chain. But Madame LeBieu slipped him a love potion and he went and married dog-faced Debbie Smith.” Uncle Joe smiled and shook his head. “Dangdest thang. Every one of their poor kids looks just like Debbie.”
“Well, I had a personal invitation to visit with her last night.”
Uncle Joe's eyes widened and his shaggy brows climbed up his forehead. “She asked for you in person?”
“No, she insisted on my coming. Mo and Larry delivered an invitation I couldn't refuse.”
“Holy cypress knees.” Uncle Joe clapped a hand to the top of his head. “Did you do something to lick her off?”
Craig paced a few steps away and turned back to his uncle. “Not that I can remember. I went out with her granddaughter, Lisa LeBieu, earlier that evening. When Lisa came on to me, I took her home.”
“That's gotta be a first.” Uncle Joe shook his head.
“That's just it.” Craig smacked his fist into his palm.
“Lisa was mad I didn't take her up on what she was offering, so she got her voodoo grandmother involved.”
“Not good.”
“No, it's not.” An image of the old voodoo witch materialized in his head along with the thrumming of the drums, tapping a tattoo at his temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel the picture and breathed in deeply. “It's real bad. I think she put a spell on me. Last night when I went to bed I was a man. This afternoon when I woke up, I was a frog.” Craig's lips tipped in an ironic smirk.
“Say again?” Uncle Joe's bushy white brows twisted together in a confused frown.
Craig looked his uncle in the eye. “That old witch put a spell on me. When I woke up earlier, I was a frog.”
“You don't say.” Uncle Joe slapped his hand against his leg and hooted with laughter.
“Maybe you didn't hear me.” Craig frowned as his uncle chuckled. “When I woke up this afternoon, I was a frog. As soon as the sun set, I turned back into a man.”
“Got to admit that's the lamest excuse I ever heard for not showing up for your meeting with Littington this afternoon. Not sure I liked that man, but I like your story.”
“I'm not kidding, Uncle Joe. I was as ugly a green water frog as you've ever seen in the swamp and about this tall.” Craig held his thumb and for
efinger two inches apart. "Hell, you almost stepped on me a while ago when you poked your finger on that fishhook.
“That was you?” Uncle Joe scratched his head. “Didn't look much like you. Thought it was a stray from the swamps that got into the shop. Good thing I didn't step on you. How would I explain to your parents I killed theft only son when I crushed him under my boot?”
“Uncle Joe.” Craig's patience wore thin. “Perhaps you don't understand. This spell makes me a frog by day and a man by night. The old bat said something about having until the next full moon to figure out how to break it. That's less than two weeks.” He snorted. “Otherwise, you're stuck with a frog for a nephew, forever. Hell, this sounds like some sick fairy tale.”
“Yeah boy. You done messed with the wrong voodoo queen. She don't give up until she gets what she wants.” Uncle Joe shook his head. “What'd she say she wanted?”
Craig inhaled deeply and blew out. Apparently, living in the bayou made even the most down-to-earth men, like his uncle, believe in magic. Thank God. “As far as I can figure, I'm supposed to find someone who'll fall in love with me by the next full moon or I'm stuck as a frog.”
Uncle Joe crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head to the side. “Better get crackin'.”
“What do you mean, get cracking?” Craig stared at his uncle, dumbfounded. “You don't suggest I go along with this crazy swamp woman, do you?”
“Don't see as you got much of a choice.”
“I've got a choice, all right.” Craig climbed into the skiff. “I'm going to find that woman and make her undo what she did to me!”
“Won't do you no good.” Uncle Joe shook his head sadly. “My cousin begged and begged, but when Madame LeBieu sets her mind to something, not even a hurricane as powerful as Camille could budge her.”
With his hand poised to yank the pull string on the motor, Craig paused. “What do you mean?”
“Only way you're gonna fix this mess is to follow her instructions.”
Craig laughed without humor and rolled his eyes. “Like I'm going to find someone to low me in that short a time? Hell, I haven't found anyone in the past twenty-eight years, how will I find someone in less than two weeks?”
