BornontheBayou

by Lynne Connolly

  The circumstances being the Englishwoman sprawled across the hood of the car, weighed down by the heavy body of Gaston Rebennac. He gripped her forearms and his thighs were pressed hard against hers. She couldn’t move.

  Jace wrenched open his car door and leapt out, heading for the couple.

  Rebennac glanced at him and sneered. “Cain’t you see we’re busy? Fuck off, you bastard. You never belonged here and you never will.” He was big, but Jace had learned some tricks since the big man had last turned him into a bloody pulp.

  As long as Rebennac was looking at him, he wasn’t messing with Beverley. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

  “Don’t care how you take it. Me and the little lady are just having some fun. Ain’t we, sugar?” He released her arm, only to grip her jaw and grind his lips against hers. She struggled and bucked against him.

  Rebennac pulled his hand away and clamped it over her mouth. She reached up, clawed at his back, but he only laughed. “Regular wildcat, ain’t we? Don’t worry, I’ll make it all good.”

  “You?” Jace almost spat the word. “What would you know about giving a woman a good time? You’re so useless you have to fight for it. Always were, Rebennac. Always will be. Dick the size of a cricket, or so one of your ex-girlfriends told me.” He took a step back, widened his stance. “You had a lot of exes, didn’t you? Once was enough for most of them.”

  That did the trick. With a yell of rage, Rebennac propelled himself off the woman and toward Jace. Who was waiting, ready. He had time to glance at Beverley, but he could see she wasn’t in a state to help herself. He’d thought of tossing her his car keys and telling her to lock herself in, but she was visibly shaking.

  No more time to look at anything except the big, angry Cajun coming his way. “I’ve whupped you before and by hell, I’ll do it again. You’re always in the wrong place, Beauchene.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He was ready when Rebennac swung. He knew the big man’s technique of old and he wasn’t surprised now. He’d learned, but his opponent hadn’t.

  He narrowed his eyes, waited until Rebennac had committed himself to his punch and then leaned back so Rebennac swung through clear air. When his opponent stumbled, Jace blocked the wilder left he swung and half turned, bringing up his leg with a sharp kick to the knee. He acted faster than the big Cajun, swinging around as Rebennac went down and bringing his arm up in a swift, old-fashioned jab to the jaw.

  Rebennac went down, hitting the tarmac hard and cursing, but he didn’t black out. He came back up, spewing a stream of invective, but Jace hadn’t kicked blindly at the knee, he’d aimed for the nerve and he’d hit it right on target. With a yell, Rebennac went down again, his leg refusing to support him. “What did you do, you motherfucker?”

  “Learned how to fight,” he said. No way would he get beat up like he had in his youth. The so-called rich kid, the one with the mother who refused to socialize with the other moms, the one whose parents never showed up to sports events or graduation ceremonies. Easy to bully, easy to upset. Well, that didn’t happen anymore. It hadn’t for a while, so the depth of his fury now startled him. “You’ll be okay. In a while. Be thankful I didn’t break it.”

  Rebennac cried out in agony as he got to his feet but he managed it. Jace knew exactly what he’d done. A little knock, that was all. Who’d have thought that the biggest bully in school would go down like a stone? Not used to being hurt, only used to hurting. Jace had aimed for a nerve, but that would soon pass, and a man could easily fight through that level of pain.

  But not this one. Casting a vicious glance at Beverley, now standing by the side of the road buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers, Rebennac headed for his car, getting in and slamming the door.

  He took off like the proverbial bat out of hell, screaming his car to within an inch of Jace’s Ferrari. Jace almost hoped he’d scrape it, because he would only have to pay for repairs to the rented Ferrari, and he’d bet that the red beast was Rebennac’s pride and joy. The man deserved some agony. More agony.

  Jace wished he’d hit the bastard harder, but he’d expected a proper fight, had expected to get in more kicks and punches. The schoolyard weakling wasn’t supposed to fight back, even when the weakling had grown into a reasonably fit man. Maybe Rebennac thought that with Jace’s profession, he was surrounded by wusses. Fuck, sometimes he wished he was.

  Putting his disappointment aside, he turned to the person who needed him. Only to find her watching him with black anger in her gaze. “So now, not only do I not have a job, I don’t have clothes.” She bent and picked up a crushed leather bag, shook it and sighed. After opening it, she dipped inside with finger and thumb and picked out a shard of broken mirror. She dropped it back in. “Seven years’ bad luck. That sounds about right.”

  He cleared his throat. “Not yours. Gaston Rebennac’s. He was always a bully.”

  “I got that when he stopped the car. But I had the situation under control. Another minute and I’d have had my knee in his balls.”

  “He’d have had his hands in your panties.” He walked to his car and leaned against the back.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “How do you know I wasn’t enjoying it?”

  He hadn’t pegged her for a victim type, but a twinge of doubt touched him. Did she enjoy rough trade? Not by the way she was still shaking, despite her valiant attempts to conceal it. “He’s a rapist, not because he needs to, but because he enjoys it. I know him.” He hesitated. “I caught him once.” Another pause while she watched him, eyes widening very slightly. “You enjoy it rough? Then find someone to indulge your fantasies safely, don’t go for somebody like him. He has no control and he’ll hurt you.”

  She took a step back, faltering when her heel hit the rough grassland behind her. He went forward but she held up her hand, halting his progress. “That man has taken off with everything I own. All I have now is my passport and credit cards and a little money.” She paused and bit her lip in a gesture he recognized as a tear-staller. “If you want to help, take me to the airport.”

  “You’re giving up?”

  “I don’t have anything to stay for.” She shrugged. “I have family and contacts back in London. Here, I don’t have anything.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “Not even a job.”

  His mouth tightened. “We’ll see about that.”

  “I don’t want anything from you. You lost me that job in the first place.”

  He watched her, waited for the tears to fall but they didn’t. He liked her for that. He knew she must be devastated, but she held her shit together and glared at him with glistening eyes and dry cheeks. “Then it’s up to me to make amends. I just want to do what’s right, not do you any favors. Now I owe you a wardrobe. Get in.” No way would he leave her there, or at all if he had any say. At the very least, he owed her some amends for such a shitty day.

  He opened the car door and waited, the air-conditioning pouring out and cooling his growing need. Because he wanted her still. The rain drizzled down, wetting that blouse, making her nipples even more prominent. He wasn’t sure she knew, even now. “If you walk into the airport like that, you’ll cause a riot.”

  She straightened and he groaned, an involuntary sound but it nevertheless caught her attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look down. Really look.”

  She did, and he saw the moment she noticed. With a squeak he personally found more arousing, she folded her arms over her breasts. “I had no idea this shirt got transparent when it was wet. It’s new, I never wore it before.” Adorable confusion flushed her cheeks pink.

  “It’s not just when it’s wet, cher,” he murmured. “I could see that gorgeous bra earlier, clear as day.”

  “Fuck, oh fuck.” She turned her back to him, then finished the rotation, obviously realizing it was pointless hiding now. “So that’s why Gaston made his move today. He must have taken it as an invitation.”

  “No doubt. And you didn’t have him
under control.” He gestured at the still-open door of the car. “Come on. I’ll take you to town and get you some stuff.”

  She moved toward the car. “I should call for a cab or something. It can’t be far back to the house.”

  “Five miles. You were in a sports car, don’t forget.” And about to get into another, if he had anything to do with it. He wouldn’t leave her here, but he supposed that if she wanted a taxi, he’d wait until one arrived. He smiled wryly. “It’s not often I’m the safest option.”

  “But…” She moved her hands, waving them vaguely.

  With an impatient gesture, he unbuttoned and stripped off his shirt. “Here.” He tossed it to her.

  Chapter Three

  She stared at that expanse of bare chest. Weren’t rock stars supposed to be pale and skinny? Not the words that came immediately to mind when she saw what Jace Beauchene had been hiding under that seemingly conservative shirt. At least it looked that way until she’d seen the dancing skeleton on the back. Then she’d just thought “eccentric chef”.

  A silver ring glinted in the rain-misted sunlight. Fuck, there were two of them. Rings slotted through hard brown nipples, the tips peaking as she stared at them. Wait, that was wrong, surely her nipples should be doing that. Oh wait. Shit, they were. If she moved her hands he’d see.

  She stared at him, drinking in the gorgeous sight. He had ink on one arm, and she recognized it as a dragon with an open mouth, fangs extended. It was drawn in black only, depicted in fine detail.

  He laughed. “It’s my only tatt, but it continues down my back.” Obligingly he turned. Clutching his shirt, she saw the dragon curling its way down his spine, its wings furled, the end of its tail hidden below the waistband of his pants. It was gorgeous, almost as if it would spring at her from its captivity under his skin. “That’s amazing.”

  “Thanks. I had it done around four years ago. I liked the artist’s work.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “One day I’ll get the wings done properly, over my shoulder blades.” He turned back to her. “Are you going to let me see yours?”

  As if she had any. She let her lip curl but didn’t reply.

  She had no choice, she had to use his shirt. Although she tried her best to cover up as fast as she could, his low chuckle told her he’d noticed the state of her nipples. “Not that much of a Southern gentleman after all?” she taunted, making her voice loud to push through the tremors threatening to reveal her precarious state of mind.

  “Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.” His voice lost the teasing tone. “I promise you’re safer with me than with that bastard Rebennac. Everything with me is consensual, Beverley.”

  Her name dropped like a stone in a pond, delving deep—deeper, more meaningful, reaching parts of her she hadn’t been aware of before. Her name sounded so different when he said it, and it had nothing to do with his accent. It sounded intimate, special, precious.

  None of those words applied to her, never had. Unaccountably, her anger, which had subsided, rose again but this time she was aware of it and she forced it down. He didn’t deserve it, not for saying what he did. All the other things, sure.

  So yes, he should pay. He’d lost her the job and he’d wasted her time, and then he’d rescued her, which made her anger worse. She didn’t want to be beholden to him. Then he’d made Gaston drive off with her luggage. Now she knew who he was, she realized he must have the money to buy her a few things, and she couldn’t deny she needed them. She could use her credit cards to buy them for herself, but why should she? That was one way to make him pay and, she barely acknowledged, a way to spend more time with him. Because under her anger lay fascination. She’d never met anyone like Jace Beauchene before.

  She walked across to him and got into the car, trying not to touch him. His hand brushed against her shoulder and he leaned across her. She tensed. He fastened her seatbelt and withdrew, his knowing smile infuriating her all over again.

  He got in and started the engine. After glancing at her face, he left her alone. She stared in front of her, avoiding looking at that luscious body, although she couldn’t help noticing the rings glint as he turned to smile at her. “Everything okay?”

  Even that sounded provocative. Just her imagination, it had to be.

  By the time they reached Baton Rouge, she’d worked herself into a nervous frenzy. She didn’t know how to handle this kind of person, and who would have thought having a half-naked man next to her would work her into this state? Shit, in her previous life she’d shared changing rooms with men she wasn’t involved with, seen them in less and never felt a twinge, but this man had some kind of aura about him that drew her into his orbit, however hard she tried to resist.

  Duh. Rock star. She strained her memory to remember him and his band. Of course she’d heard of Murder City Ravens, and she’d listened to their music when it came on the radio, but they’d had a personnel change recently and their musical style had changed. She’d read a bit about him, but not much.

  Music was something piped into restaurants and some kitchens. It was what the trainees played on the radio when the other staff had left them to stack the dishwashers and hand-wash the flatware and crystal. Not the center of her life. To be honest, her life didn’t have a center right now.

  Her ignorance had cost her dearly. If she’d recognized the smooth-jawed man in the seemingly conservative black shirt and jeans as the stubble-jawed, long-haired rocker, she’d have kept her job because she’d have waited for Chaballet. By the time she’d seen the skeleton on the back of the shirt and the hair brushed back off his face and forehead to rest on his neck and back, she’d persuaded herself of his identity. And been wrong.

  That error had cost her job. That was what annoyed her the most. He might have led her on, might have decided, for whatever reason, that he was going to make a fool of her, but if she’d done more research into him and less into the reclusive chef, she might have got it right. But she’d had no reason to do so. She’d assumed Jace would be out of the picture soon, since he’d agreed to sell his interest in the house, so wasn’t worth more than a cursory look. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself for that, and it infuriated her.

  Once she realized some of the fault had been hers, her anger subsided a little bit. Nevertheless, he’d still led her on, thought it amusing to take her away from her new job on the most important day of her new life.

  Oh, but she’d waste his time. After all, he’d wasted hers, hadn’t he? She’d try things on, reject them for one reason or another, give him back a bit of what he’d given her. She wouldn’t take more than a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts off him, maybe a couple of pairs of panties, enough to get her back to London.

  So she didn’t demur when he stopped in front of the best department store in Baton Rouge. He grabbed something from behind his seat and exited the car. She got out before he could walk around to her side, and she could see he was doing that. Southern manners died hard.

  He’d donned a worn leather jacket that looked like the coolest garment nature ever created. The supple leather had molded to his body shape, familiar creases blurring what looked like hand-drawn images. He tossed the keys to a doorman, who grinned and touched his fingers to his hat. “How the other half live,” she murmured.

  She’d managed to get a rental car at the airport on her arrival, but nothing like this one and it had gone back the week after she arrived. Bell’s paid her a decent salary, but hotel management was notorious for low wages and hers was no exception when compared to other industries.

  He shot her an amused glance, then turned his attention to the store’s elaborate façade. “Nice, ain’t it? My mother used to come here.” She detected a bitter tone to his words that she didn’t understand. However, when she added two to two, she soon got to four.

  When Bell’s had bought into Great Oaks, the first thing they’d had to do was structural repairs. It was a wonder the place hadn’t fallen down on its own and the worst of the damage had occurre
d in the last twenty years, when Mrs. Austin Beauchene had been in charge.

  Despite not having the money for repairs, she’d shopped at one of the costliest places in Baton Rouge. By the time Bell’s had taken over, Mrs. Austin Beauchene’s personal belongings had been packed away. They remained in neatly labeled packing cases in a small storeroom, waiting for her son to claim them. He hadn’t seemed in any hurry to do so, but to do him justice, he hadn’t had the time. Too busy making records, touring and partying with the band. She’d read a little about the drug-addled orgies Murder City Ravens and their ilk indulged in. And she recalled the news of one of the members going into rehab a few years back. Was that Jace? Maybe he’d gone back to his old ways, she thought, in a desperate effort to find something that would distance her from him.

  Was he addicted? She didn’t think so. She wasn’t so sheltered that she didn’t recognize the pale-faced, glassy-eyed look. Some of the kids at her high school had spent a lot of time scoring and consuming drugs. She’d even tried a few of the milder varieties but they hadn’t impressed her. Pot didn’t add anything to a brownie, it was all the other way about, as far as she was concerned. What was the point of ruining good food when there was fine wine in the world?

  He glanced at her. “No.”

  “What?”

  “No, I’m not an addict. Not anymore.”

  She blinked, shocked. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”

  He grinned but with little humor. “People get a look. Calculating. Depends if they want the stuff or not, because everybody knows where there are musicians there are drugs. One time, maybe. Not now.”

  He reached for her hand and she didn’t resist, stunned by his frankness and his ability to read her thoughts. One day she’d ask him. No she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t meet him again unless he came to one of her parents’ restaurants to eat, and then she’d stay in the kitchen if she happened to be present. He wouldn’t remember her other than as an embarrassment.