BornontheBayou

by Lynne Connolly

  Seething, he grabbed Beverley’s hand and towed her away from the room, not stopping until he’d gained the sanctity of his dressing room. He slammed the door and tossed the plastic keycard on the vanity.

  “What is it?” She sounded bewildered, and with good reason.

  He turned to face her. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand to hear them trashing Matt like that one more fucking time. The guy made mistakes, but he’s found his way now. I fucking hate them talking like that about him. And now V has to listen.”

  She frowned. “Surely it’s up to V to say something then?”

  “Not when the bastard asks me.”

  She didn’t know Matt, she’d never met him, but she knew Matt was his best friend, so surely she couldn’t be too surprised? He ran his hand through his hair, front to back, and recalled the state he was in. He’d sweated pints onstage. He shouldn’t touch her until he’d at least made himself decent. And the shower might help to ease his mood. “I’ll go shower and change, then we’ll go back to the hotel. Perhaps room service and a quiet night would help, huh?”

  At least that stupid question had helped to loosen the restless mood after he left the stage.

  Chapter Eleven

  They turned to each other as soon as they’d reached the privacy of their hotel room, and when he took her in his arms, Jace felt the tension that had seized him ever since the band had left the stage easing. Already it felt so right, as if she’d been there waiting for him and something inside him had recognized it, had been waiting for her to appear.

  More of an inevitability now. Meant to be. And sexy as hell.

  He could have taken his time, stripped her slowly, enjoying the sight of her body slowly being revealed to him, but their first kiss opened up a fissure of need, one he had to follow or lose himself in the process.

  Fortunately she seemed to feel the same way, and they undressed each other and themselves as clothes became impediments to the access they needed. He cupped one of her breasts, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her nipple, loving the way it hardened into a stiff peak in response. Bending, he took it into his mouth, her soft gasps encouraging him to do more. As if he needed encouragement.

  Coming back up to her, he glanced behind them to where the bed stood. The maid must have been in, because the covers were already folded back.

  Deciding on their next move, he tumbled her back, his arms around her to cushion her fall. He stifled her laugh when his body landed on hers, but he was quick to lift himself away, supporting his weight on his elbows.

  Reaching down, she tweaked one of his nipple rings and pleasure streaked through him from her touch, forcing his cock into even greater hardness, until he feared he might not wait for her. She caressed him, stroking down his sides until she reached his buttocks, clutching and kneading, as if they were made for her hands. Of course they were. He was made for her.

  He had just about enough presence of mind left to grab a condom from the stash on the bedside table before he lost it completely. She helped him sheathe his needy cock, which didn’t do anything for his sanity, and then opened her legs wide, inviting him in.

  No time for finesse, only enough to ensure she was wet and ready before he drove inside her, her pussy closing around him as if it never wanted to let him go.

  That suited him fine. He plunged deep, savoring the wet, luscious depths before dragging his cock nearly out of her, only for the pleasure of thrusting back in. She cried his name, clutched his ass so the bite of her fingernails added to the thrills chasing all around his body, freezing his brain, warming his heart.

  She pushed, and he let her roll them, so she was on top and he was helpless under her control. She rose, managed to bring her legs up and sit without dislodging him from her body. “Yoga?” he asked, impressed.

  “Once,” she said, smiling down at him. “I guess I have some of it left.”

  “How about I get you a personal yoga instructor?”

  A touch of sadness entered her heavenly eyes and he knew she was thinking the same as him—how long could this last? Then it was gone and she grinned at him. “Perhaps it never leaves you.”

  Then she began to move, her hands on his chest, her fingers splayed just below his nipples so she grazed the rings when she moved. He braced his muscles to support her and arched up, responding to her downward plunges with upward thrusts. He could touch her clit like this, help her on, and now he knew what worked best with her, how with a sharp nip from a forefinger she would cry his name. He liked that, liked it a lot, so he did it some more and watched the glorious sight of his lover fucking herself to orgasm. On him, with his cock deeply embedded inside her beautiful body.

  He explored her body, using his spare hand to tweak a nipple, soothe it again and then sweep over the curve between her breast and hip, the pretty indent of her waist, the tiny dip of her navel. All his, all to explore and worship and use to urge her to a height she’d never known before.

  And in so doing, achieve nirvana himself.

  This woman pleasured him like no other had done before. She understood him and his needs at a level others hadn’t known, or hadn’t cared about. He could only try to reciprocate. He wanted to spend a long, long time exploring what they had together, but he couldn’t think of that now

  He couldn’t think of anything except the roaring orgasm that he was helpless to control or stop. He grasped her hip, squeezing as he cried out, hearing her call to him, a deep part of him totally satisfied that he’d satisfied her as he lost himself in her.

  “I’ve come to a decision.”

  Tucked up in bed with Beverley after a second incandescent bout of lovemaking, Jace felt infinitely better. She helped him so much. Knowing she was watching him onstage actually calmed him, helped him to concentrate, and he had to make sure she knew why. He had to ensure she understood, especially because of what she’d told him after the performance. He wouldn’t do her the injustice of pretending he hadn’t heard her. “But first, I want you to tell me something.”

  “What?” She gazed up at him, the bedside lights making her eyes glitter as brightly as stars. He couldn’t cope without this, he knew that much.

  “Did you mean what you said?”

  She didn’t ask him which part or anything stupid like that. She spread her hand on his chest, just grazing one of his nipple rings. He swallowed back his groan. He loved it when she touched him there. Anywhere, for that matter. “Yes, I meant it. It seemed like the right time to tell you.”

  “Sweetheart.” He bent and kissed her very gently, returning to lean on one elbow, gazing down at her. “Thank you.” He bit his lip. “I know I’m supposed to say it straight back, but I could say it and not mean it. All this, this with us, it’s blown me away. I’ve never known anybody like you, never been able to talk to anybody like I can with you. But—let me try to explain something.”

  He paused, searching for the right words. “My parents married the same month they met. They conceived me soon after. Then they found they had nothing in common. They ended up hating each other. I don’t want that to happen to us.”

  She swallowed, her throat working. “Neither do I.”

  “So I don’t want us to rush. My mom never stopped telling me what a piece of shit my dad was. My dad just avoids talking about her. He wasn’t and isn’t, but they barely communicated after the divorce. I don’t want that. I don’t want us to blow it.”

  This time she cupped his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm. “You’re a terrific woman, amazing in bed and a friend. I really think I’ve found a friend in you.”

  She stopped him there. “And you value friendship and you don’t want to spoil that, so can we continue as friends with benefits?”

  “No.”The thought of that horrified him. “Why? Has somebody said that to you?”

  “Yes. Once. It hurt because he didn’t have the guts to break up with me properly, but that was what he meant. Is that what you’re doing?”

  He shook his head,
savoring the rasp of his beard against her palm. When he was touring he tended to keep his beard at a stubble, but he might change that. It could hurt her. “No, never. I want something else for us.” He watched her, waiting for her slightest reaction. “How do you feel about being permanent manager at Great Oaks?” Her gaze sharpened but she said nothing. “I want to give us a chance, sweetheart. I made a decision tonight.”

  “When?”

  “What?” Not the question he was expecting.

  “When did you make the decision?”

  “In the shower, before we came back here. Why?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  It took him a second to collect his thoughts, and he did it while looking at her. A gorgeous sight, golden hair spread over the pillow, her body relaxed and open to him. He wanted so much to have more times like these.

  “I decided that following this relationship with you is more important than anything else. I know you didn’t enjoy parts of today, and fuck knows relationships on the road don’t last long. I’m irritable after a performance; more than that sometimes. That was when I drank, when I took drugs, anything to take that feeling away. Tonight, I thought I could fuck you senseless, and that would work too, but I decided against it.”

  “Why not? I thought you’d want me after.”

  He laughed. He could, now he’d had her and he could have her again. Before, he’d have found it difficult. “Oh I did. But I realized I was dying for sex. Not you, anyone. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have taken any of the groupies around tonight. Just for relief.” So hard to tell her the truth, to see the hurt in her eyes. “You can’t be here always with me, can you? You can’t watch me all the time. I can’t take that risk.”

  “Would you really?” She almost whispered the words.

  He nodded and forced himself to meet her gaze, although truthfully he wasn’t entirely sure. But he didn’t want to take the chance of hurting her. He knew if he had her around all the time he wouldn’t want anyone else, but a niggling note of uncertainty remained. He was scared of letting her down, and that moment of desperation when they came offstage had forced him to consider. He didn’t trust himself.

  “Are you tired of the band?” She seemed almost hopeful, but he wouldn’t tell her any lies.

  “I love playing guitar, I always have. But Matt loved singing, and he made something new of his life. He’s found something else he enjoys even more.” He touched a finger to her lips because he knew what she was about to say. “Yes, V and Matt have decided on a long-distance relationship for a while. It works for them, or is working so far. It wouldn’t work for us. I need you here every day, every night, and I don’t trust myself.”

  “But you fought the urge.”

  “One night I won’t.” He sighed. “I decided I don’t want to risk it. This—whatever we have—is worth fighting for. So I’ve decided to take the house back. We can run it as a going concern. I can pay the cost of repairs and renovation, and we can live there and run it together. When I was a kid I longed to see the house like it is. I used to dream of doing what Bell’s has done and returning it to the beautiful place it should have been.”

  He smiled, dropped a kiss on her lips. “It’ll be fun. And we can spend time together, quality time. Proper time.”

  “I can’t let you do it.” She looked scared.

  “Yes you can. What’s life if it doesn’t throw you a few curveballs? I can still write music, do some local performances, just not give my whole fucking life to it. What we have going is more important than anything else, so tomorrow I’ll talk to Chick and see how soon I can leave the band. I have a couple of people in mind who could do this job as well as I could, so as soon as Chick can arrange it, I’ll leave. Definitely by the end of the first US leg of the tour.”

  “He won’t be happy.”

  “He’ll have to suck it up.” He kissed her, making it sweet and long. “We’re going home, baby.”

  This time the “baby” really rankled. He wouldn’t let her argue or discuss the topic with him. After he’d made love to her again and fallen into a deep sleep, Beverley stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. He’d stonewalled every attempt she’d made to talk over his decision. It was his to make, he said. He’d invoke the clause in the contract he signed with Bell’s and take the house back into private ownership. They could run it together.

  One thing she knew for sure and certain. It wouldn’t work. One day he’d regret not carrying on with the band, not doing more, writing more. Or he’d get the itch and take up with some other band. Murder City Ravens was perfect for him. She’d seen that for herself tonight.

  What was more, they were making something worthwhile, something that made so many people’s lives that bit better. Murder City Ravens better. She wouldn’t take on that responsibility, however much she loved him, because other people loved him too. Not like she did but that didn’t make their claim on him any less important.

  So what if it would break her heart? She’d live. Probably avoid listening to the radio for a while, and she’d have to claim it was just a fling if anyone asked, but they’d have to—what did he say?—oh yes, suck it up.

  He hadn’t said he loved her, he’d said he wanted to give them a chance, that was all. He wasn’t even sure about that. How could she let him do this? He didn’t want to do it for himself, he didn’t want to go into the hotel business and he doubted himself so much that he couldn’t cope with spending time apart?

  No, she couldn’t live like that, couldn’t live knowing what he’d given up for her. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who could be honest. She didn’t want to live at Great Oaks.

  Oh, she loved the house, but she doubted she could face it if the weather got much warmer, and this being April, it would get worse. Strange, because she’d endured the steamiest of kitchens, but the thought of the unrelenting heat overwhelmed her now.

  However, the job had given her something to occupy herself with. Organizing the renovations at Great Oaks and then the hotel here in Atlanta, she’d found something that made her heart sing, but it had taken the crisis at the previous hotel to bring it home to her. Loving watching her plans coming to fruition, making people better, happier, by doing it. So maybe hotel management was the career she’d wanted after all. People management for sure. The satisfaction she felt when a plan came together rivaled the Carthaginian Hannibal’s when organizing the passage of elephants over the mountains. She’d make it on her own, the hard way, only go back to her parents when she could meet them on their own level.

  She’d switched off the ringer from her phone but now a flash of light attracted her attention and the cell buzzed its way across the vanity, heading for the edge. She slipped out of Jace’s arms and caught the phone before it fell to the floor, before slipping out of bed and going into the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake him up.

  “Hello?” Agitation had stopped her from checking the number.

  “Ms. Christmas? James Bell here.”

  “Oh right, hello.” Better to start now. “I’m so sorry I left you at Great Oaks, but I hope the new manager is shaping up.”

  “Yes, he is. That was what I wanted to discuss with you. He’s so good, we’d like to keep him at the house. He’s a family man and he sees the posting as a way of putting down roots, since there’s a good school nearby, and he’s happy to stay on. But you took leave, and we rescinded the termination of your contract, so you’re still technically our employee.”

  “Would you like me to resign? Formally, I mean?”

  “Not if we can help it.” That shocked her into temporary silence, enough to allow James to explain. “I’ve been looking over your work at Great Oaks and I’m impressed. You took on the project and brought it to a satisfactory conclusion. You liaised with everyone from the heritage people to the construction workers and kept them on schedule and on your side.” Except for Rebennac. But she didn’t regret th
at.

  “But the chef—”

  “I consider that matter closed. Besides, your—ah—friend, Chick Fontaine came up with an excellent replacement. A man who has awards for his Cajun-style cooking but can also do excellent classic French cuisine. And is less, shall we say, temperamental. In a way, you did us a favor, since the chef we wanted wouldn’t have stayed long.”

  Wow. She’d have to thank Chick. She’d send him a text. Now James had started, he was determined to finish, it seemed. “We’d like you to stay on, but we don’t have an opening right now. What I suggest is that you extend your leave for, say, a month, and then I’m pretty sure I’ll have a new position for you. One of our biggest hotels in Seattle is losing a deputy manager. It would give you a chance to work under one of our best managers and learn the trade. Would that be acceptable?”

  She swallowed. Seattle. The band wasn’t due to play there, she was sure, and in any case, she could avoid them if they did. Even if they stayed at the Bell’s hotel there. “That’s very kind of you. I need to get home for a while, so the extended leave would give me time.” To be upbeat and tell her parents she’d found something else to do. To tell them the affair with Jace Beauchene hadn’t worked out.

  Why should she leave him?

  So many reasons, but they boiled down to two possibilities, neither of which she found acceptable. She wouldn’t follow him from venue to venue, always afraid he’d take up with someone else when she wasn’t there, her whole life dependent on him. That would turn her into some kind of pathetic groupie and, although she adored him, she respected herself too much to descend into that kind of existence. She wanted a life of her own. Had he said that about fucking anyone after a show to keep her with him, or did he mean it? If he did, she didn’t want any of it.