BornontheBayou

by Lynne Connolly

  “So why did Bell’s take you on?”

  Heat rushed to her face. “Because my mother has connections. She comes from a line of hotel managers, so between them my parents are a powerhouse. Bell’s took me because they wanted what my mother would offer them and what we could bring with us. All networking and influence.”

  His mouth firmed. “And the chef.”

  “Yes. The chef. Once I lost him, I lost the job. They were always dependent on each other. Nobody said anything, but it was understood.”

  “However well you did. Were you doing well?”

  “I thought so.” Unable to resist, she went on tiptoe and kissed him. He met her willingly and returned the kiss with enthusiasm, but kept his hands anchored around her waist and back and didn’t take it any further.

  She sighed when he broke away, but didn’t pursue him because if she did, they wouldn’t leave this room for a while. Instead she told him how well she’d been doing. She had to give him something back for the confidence he’d just given her.

  “Most food critics said I was on my way to my first Michelin star. A new talent, they called me. I got a job offer, a really good one, from a big hotel on Park Lane. A week later I had another attack and I knew I couldn’t go on.” She fought hard to keep the hurt from her face and showed him something more tranquil, she hoped.

  Already he knew enough about her to cup her face in one big hand and speak gently to her. “It can’t be easy, I know that much. If you need to, I’m here and I won’t tell anybody. I promise.”

  She knew that, though how she knew she couldn’t say. Just by looking up at him, his blue eyes so gravely understanding. In his arms, she didn’t feel like crying the hot, helpless tears that had made her nights restless over the last six months. Instead she wanted to help him, to talk to him.

  Strange. So she smiled, as she always did when anyone got too close and although she meant to say, “I’m fine,” she actually said, “I’m getting there.”

  “You’re brave, starting all over again. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to give up my music.”

  She raised a brow. “But you’re considering managing this house.”

  “It won’t stop me playing guitar. I can still do that, I’ll just stop chasing over half the world playing for other people. It’s not that part that matters to me.”

  “It matters to some.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but not to us. The band, that is. We like it, sure, but the music comes first.” He touched his lips to hers, so softly she hardly felt it, but she didn’t move closer. She loved the gentle tribute, the contact of skin and breath, barely there.

  “I can do that here.” His words said that he could stay here if he had inducements. She didn’t want to be that inducement. He had to decide what was best for him.

  “Are you happy with Murder City Ravens?”

  “Yes.” He said that really fast. “After we fired Matt I didn’t think I would be okay, but the guys gave me time. I felt so shitty about turning Matt in. I went with him to rehab, made sure he was okay to the detriment of my band work. But he sent me back, said I was putting more pressure on him. I found that I got along with the new members, I mean really got along. I knew them before, but a band throws you into a new kind of intimacy. We rocked like I’d never known before. When we write, it’s pretty much collaborative. Somebody gets an idea and we all work on it together. I’d never known that before either.”

  When he talked about that part of his life, his eyes sparkled and he talked like a man in love.

  Beverley cut off her thoughts right there. Not in love, not this soon and not this man. They were going in opposite directions, literally, she to England, he to the West Coast. And their lives—no, not happening.

  Downstairs, Beverley found Jaime in possession of her office. Having changed from her jeans into a skirt and blouse, she felt more businesslike, more in charge of the situation. But the blouse and skirt were infinitely better than the ones she had in her old wardrobe-—better fitting, better colors—and the change showed in Jaime’s face when she looked up and saw her.

  “I thought you’d gone,” was all she said, although her eyes had widened and her gaze swept over Beverley’s new clothes.

  Beverley shook her head. “Not yet. I decided to work out my notice, or at least make sure everything was in order before I went home.”

  “Did you get the chef back?”

  “No.” She went around the desk and stood behind Jaime. “May I have my chair back, please?”

  To her relief, Jaime rose without questioning her. Beverley sat and tilted the computer screen to the right angle for her, a little lower than the taller Jaime. “Want to fill me in? Has anything happened since yesterday?”

  Jaime stood next to her so she could see her face. “Rebennac dropped off your luggage and then left, said he didn’t want to stay. Pity, he was a good worker. A few more people called to find out when we were opening. Oh, and the local paper called about Jace.”

  Beverley refrained from telling her not to use his first name. After all, a lot of people did that now. She just felt possessive about it, as if it was hers alone, which, she reminded herself, was stupid. “What did you tell them?”

  “That Jace had arrived yesterday but he’d gone again. But they knew that already. They caught up with you later.”

  Beverley glanced at the screen, then stayed to study it further. The browser was open on the hotel’s website, but Jaime had loaded several tabs at the top. She found the mouse and hit the first one. A picture of Jace and her, but they were moving fast, so their faces weren’t clear. That was when they were on the way from the department store to Penny’s place, because she was wearing the awful skintight jeans.

  She hit the next tab, revealing a popular gossip site, and this was worse. Pictures of Jace looking at her and smiling, that seductive smile that melted her bones. And a picture of him kissing her. Shit, she should have known someone would pick that up. In the lobby of a hotel—what had they been thinking?

  They hadn’t, that was the problem.

  A tap at the door heralded the arrival of the man of the hour. He lost the easy smile when his gaze met hers and, dropping all attempts at insouciance, crossed the room and stood behind her so he could see the screen. He glanced at Jaime, who smirked. “I should leave you guys together, maybe,” she said.

  Beverley hadn’t yet decided what to do. Should she claim it was a spot of flirting, no more? After all, Jace had promised to be discreet and now he said nothing. He didn’t touch her either.

  He was waiting for her, she realized. He would follow her lead.

  Fuck, why should she hide it? She was a grown woman, wasn’t she? She lifted her chin and met Jaime’s eyes, the bright gaze of her assistant brimful with mirth. She was enjoying Beverley’s discomfiture.

  Time to turn the tables.

  She shrugged. “Jaime, this is the twenty-first century. People do that kind of thing all the time, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Smart.” Jaime planted her hands on her hips. “Making a move on the boss. Good plan, Christmas.”

  Beverley felt Jace move. He had his hand on the back of her chair and it transmitted the rigidity of his whole body through the piece of furniture to her. She could feel his anger. What was wrong with Jaime that she couldn’t see it? Good hotel management included reading people, knowing what they wanted before they expressed it, if possible. Looked as though Jaime didn’t have that particular skill.

  He straightened. “Did you speak with the woman at the reception desk yet? I’m surprised she didn’t tell you what I told her. I have veto of any appointment in Great Oaks for another month. I vetoed the termination of Beverley’s contract. The job is still hers, if she wants it.”

  When had he decided that? She’d hardly been apart from him half an hour. But he hadn’t finished yet. “She has vacation time, and if she chooses to take it I don’t want you taking her place in the interim. I just found out some really interestin
g information about you.”

  He moved around the desk to sit on the edge, closer to Jaime, but Beverley could still see his face. “Here’s some background for you. I have a manager, the kind who takes clients from all walks of life. He has connections, and he found out a few things for me. He persuaded Monsieur Chaballet to speak with me directly. I just got off the phone with him.” He switched to fluid, classic French. “Parlez-vous français? I’ll bet you do. Very good French. Well, Jaime, so do I.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Monsieur Chaballet is back in France and fuming mad. An eleven-hour flight didn’t help his mood. He said you showed him parts of the house, including the kitchens in the main building. Far too small to cater for the expected guests here, aren’t they? You didn’t show him the new kitchens, the main ones.

  “Then you told him that he wouldn’t be allowed to bring his staff with him, that he would be expected to oversee every session, that he would have to provide certain dishes, which you outlined, and that management had final word on all the menus. I know which ones, because he told me. Black Forest cake?” He gave a derisory laugh, short and harsh. “You did everything you could to drive him away, and it worked, didn’t it?”

  He glanced at Beverley then, and despite his softened expression, she caught the residue of anger sparkling in his eyes. He turned back to Jaime. “Monsieur Chaballet is willing to return, under certain conditions and for a higher price. I told him no thank you, but unlike you, I was very polite. I don’t agree with burning bridges. Like you did yesterday.” He paused. “Jaime, you have a choice. Either you resign by the end of the day or I tell Bell’s what Chaballet told me and they fire you.”

  Jaime left the room, and if anybody ever flounced, she did it now.

  Beverley counted to ten, then did it again. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her temper not helped by the enforced pause. “What makes you think you can go over my head like that?”

  He got to his feet and spread his hands wide in a gesture of pacification. Those hands that had touched her naked body last night, put her exactly as he wanted her. Shit. “I don’t, I swear. I just got off the phone and I was pissed. What made her think she could get away with that?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, turning it into a disordered mess. A disordered, sexy mess. “This is my childhood home, Beverley. I’ll protect it as much as I can, especially from predatory bitches like that one. I want her gone. If you were a sixty-year-old man, I would still want her gone. You understand?”

  That last part persuaded her and her temper subsided. “Yes, I guess. But you should have told me and let me make the decision.”

  “No.” He touched her hand. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry she found out about us.”

  “It’s all over the internet.” She indicated the pictures on the screen.

  He gave a wry grin. “Trouble is, I’m not sorry, not really. I wanted you in the worst possible way. I still do.” He growled low in his throat. “And guess what I found? That blouse. You are so going to wear that again. But for me, in private, because I’m not ready to share you.”

  He rounded the desk with the grace and power of a hunting beast and dragged her up and into his arms, his mouth coming down on hers with an intensity she wasn’t ready for. But he made her ready.

  At first she struggled, but as he began to move away, the magic happened and she moved closer, hooked her arm around his neck and dragged him back. He came willingly, delivering a devastatingly thorough kiss.

  She felt his hand on her bare thigh, sliding slowly up, under her skirt. She’d dressed in a hurry, hadn’t bothered with hosiery, so she had no protection against him now, as small, lacy panties didn’t really prove much of a barrier. He slid his thumb under her panties, over her clit and came back.

  Tearing her mouth away, she gasped up at him. “Camera!”

  He glanced up to where the security camera peered out at the room and smiled straight into it. “I’m an expert at coping with cameras. This one has no sound? It doesn’t move?”

  “No. It’s aimed at the safe.”

  His hand remained between her legs, his thumb on her clit. “Ready for adventure? Trust me?”

  “I-I—” Oh, what the fuck, she hadn’t gotten very far by obeying the rules. Recklessness infused her. “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to share you, but we can play.”

  He moved her an inch or two so her computer screen obscured any view of her lower body. The purr of a zipper told her he’d undone his fly. He reached into his pocket and drew something out before easing his erect cock out to lay it against her inner thigh. It burned, wet and hot. They faced each other, only the screen concealing them.

  He’d taken out a condom. He held it on the side the camera couldn’t see, ripped open the packet and got out the protection. Then he sheathed himself, all without exposing anything to the camera. She had to admire his skill but her heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe.

  He leaned forward and took another kiss. “Just let me pull you a little bit forward—” He did so, exerting hardly any pressure so her bottom slid across the shiny surface of the desk. He held her skirt, stopped it riding up and revealing everything, his hand hot and possessive on her thigh. They were close, so close, her pussy wet and ready for him. He eased forward, moving between her legs, his cock getting closer to her pussy with such excruciating slowness that she could hardly bear it.

  Then he drew her that last half inch, edged closer, and they met, joined and he thrust deep inside in one smooth movement. His mouth came down on hers with a gentle insistence that she was helpless to deny. She responded, opening her mouth, tasting him eagerly, but when she tried to make it deeper, harder, he drew back.

  “No, sweetheart. Slow and sure is best now. We don’t want anyone coming, do we? Not yet.” He pushed in again and she gave a moan. “That’s it, just sink into it. Let it take you. I’m an expert at security cameras. When I see one, it’s a challenge. And the door’s open, isn’t it? What if somebody comes in? What if Jaime comes in with some papers for one of us to sign, or a protest about her firing? What would she think?”

  Right now Beverley didn’t give a shit if the Dagenham Girl Pipers paraded around the room playing Liberty Bell. If he stopped, she’d go crazy. A touch of fear gripped her. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Taking you for a little walk on the wild side. Or maybe a ride, huh?” He elongated the word “ride” until it became a caress.

  Sliding slowly, probing inside her with a thoroughness she could hardly bear, he talked to her, worked her as hard as any fierce, fast fuck. “Do you think the guard watching the screens has noticed?” His mouth was close to hers, so close she could feel his breath on her lips. “Do you think he’ll watch us, wishing he was me? Or do you think he’ll take his dick in his hand and work himself while he’s watching us? And that window behind me? Can anybody see?”

  She moaned and he gave a devilish smile before kissing her again. She returned the kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with a fierceness that she wanted, desperately, for him to fuck her hard. She didn’t care who was watching.

  He cupped the back of her head and kissed her deeply, caressed her, threading his fingers through the strands of her hair. Then he finished the kiss and spoke again. “You are so hot, I can’t keep away. I want you all the time. Come, Beverley. Come hard and fast and make me come too. Can you do that?” Her pussy rippled around him, she felt the contractions, long and sweet. “Oh yes, I do believe you can.”

  And this time, when he kissed her, she screamed into his mouth.

  Chapter Seven

  He hadn’t lied to her. She drove him crazy. Jace could never remember wanting a woman this bad. When he was inside her, he wanted more, and when he wasn’t inside her, he was thinking about it. Fucking her in her own office was crazy, but she made him that way.

  After making sure the security recording from her office wasn’t going anywhere, he spent some time on
his own, leaving her to work, wondering what exactly he was getting into here. One part of him, the reckless part, not caring.

  By now he knew she wasn’t too experienced sexually. He imagined she’d concentrated on her career, grabbing what she could outside the long working hours demanded of chefs. But she was still an enigma to him. Something eluded him, something important, but he didn’t know what it was.

  He understood that she might want to get away from the kitchens she loved, but her parents owned restaurants. Surely cooking wasn’t the only thing she could do? How about maître d’ or sommelier? Why did she have to go halfway across the world to find what she wanted?

  On the third day after they’d returned to Great Oaks, Jace decided to tour the grounds, or the parts of it that meant most to him. His grandparents had laid out the formal gardens in a lush Victorian style, flower beds that he’d watched decay and grow over, which, by some miracle, specialist gardeners were rediscovering and putting back in place.

  He’d had time to look over the house and the Plantation Experience more thoroughly, although the historians weren’t currently onsite. They were planning to arrive tomorrow, to ask him some questions before he had to leave for Atlanta. If he had his way, he wouldn’t leave alone.

  The air grew warmer every day, bringing the promise of the sultry heat that was a combination of a damp atmosphere and fierce sunshine. He was used to it, but it still felt like being in the center of a wet furnace every year. But he’d be long gone by then, on the world tour he’d signed up for. For the first time, he wished he hadn’t.

  His cell rang and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he didn’t recognize the number. Although he usually ignored those calls, he decided to take a chance on it not being a rabid fan or stalker. Rock music tended to attract the crazies. “Hello?”

  “Who is this? Why do you have Beverley’s phone?”

  The woman’s voice sounded puzzled, not crazy. And she had an English accent.