by Eve Gaddy
“What’s so funny?”
“What’s funny is I believe you.” She turned her head and smiled at him. “Tell me those rules of yours, Nick,” she invited, that Southern Comfort voice tempting beyond belief.
He very nearly stuttered. He wasn’t accustomed to a woman blowing him away, and Casey Fontaine certainly had. With nothing more than a kiss. Dangerous, that’s what she was. His voice was gruffer than usual when he answered. “No promises. No expectations, beyond the present. No lies.”
“So what’s in it for either of us?”
“Fun.”
“Fun? That’s it, fun?” She turned on her side and rose on her elbow.
“Believe me, Casey, you and I could have a lot of fun together.”
She stared at him for several moments, then leaned over and brushed her lips against his. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
And so would he. In fact, he suspected he’d think of very little else beyond getting Casey Fontaine into his bed.
CHAPTER SIX
NEITHER CASEY nor Nick spoke on the way back to the house. Casey pulled into the gravel drive at the back. She didn’t know what to say to him. She was a little embarrassed, but more than that, she was still aroused. Too bad, she told herself. There was no way she intended to jump into bed with a man she’d only known a matter of days. Even if the idea did appeal to her senses.
“I should have driven to the garçonnière,” she said. “So you don’t have to walk barefoot. There are stickers and fire ants between here and there.”
“I put my shoes back on. A little dirt never hurt anything.”
“A little dirt? We’re covered. You might have shoes to spare, but I’m not ruining mine.”
He got out and came around the truck. “What are you doing?” she asked when he opened her door.
He put his hands on her waist and hauled her out, into his arms. “Carrying you.”
“You don’t need to—” She broke off, clasping her arms around his neck as he began walking toward the house. “At least let me get my shoes,” she said, deciding not to fight. His mind was made up, and besides, she liked it.
She’d never been the kind of woman a man carried in his arms. But she didn’t feel helpless. She felt empowered. And very, very female.
He went back to the truck and, somehow, they managed to get her shoes out without Nick dropping her on her head. They were both laughing by the time he started toward the house again. Still in his arms, she opened the screen door to the porch and Nick stepped inside with her.
“Thanks. You can put me down now.”
“I could. Or I could walk back out the door and keep going until we come to the garçonnière.” His voice rippled over her, a sexy caress in its own right.
She looked at his mouth, very near and very tempting. She shook her head regretfully. “Sorry. I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Nick.” He smiled. “What?”
“You said tonight.”
“I did, didn’t I.”
As he set her on her feet, he let her slide against him. “Whatever you say,” he murmured, and kissed her.
She didn’t fight him, didn’t resist the sizzle that started with her lips and spread throughout her body. Casey couldn’t remember ever being kissed quite so thoroughly. So…erotically. Her arms tightened around his neck as his hands slipped over her rear. He kissed her as if the slide of their lips, the tangle of their tongues was the only thing that mattered. A part of her wondered dimly why in the world she wouldn’t go back to the garçonnière with him.
“Cassandra!”
It was a tribute to her aunt Esme’s piercing voice that it only took two repetitions of her name to bring Casey out of the sensual fog in which she was swimming. She broke the kiss, drew back and looked up into Nick’s smiling eyes.
“Thank God she doesn’t have a shotgun,” Nick said softly enough so only Casey could hear. “She looks mad enough to use it.” He paused, then added, “I wonder if she’ll sic her dog on me?”
Casey turned around. Her heart sank at the sight of Esme—and Toodles, quivering indignantly by her side. Esme’s outraged expression promised the kind of scene Casey hated.
“What on earth is the meaning of this—this spectacle?” Her aunt stood with arms akimbo, eyes flashing furiously.
“Evening, Miss Esme,” Nick said easily, fanning Esme’s wrath.
She gave him a withering glare before returning to her niece. “Cassandra, I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“You’d think I was thirteen, not thirty-one,” Casey said. “The meaning is, I expect, pretty damn obvious.” She turned around and started shoving Nick out the door.
“I’ve never run from a fight in my life, Casey,” he said.
“This isn’t your fight. It’s mine. Go on. I’d rather deal with her alone. Please, Nick, just go,” she added when he still hesitated.
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His hand slipped down her bare arm, a last caress. “Good night, Miss Esme,” he added, shooting Casey a wicked smile.
Esme didn’t bother to answer him. She remained standing, rigid with indignation. “I asked you a question, Cassandra, and I expect an answer.”
“Aunt Esme,” she said wearily, “I don’t want to be rude, but this is really none of your business. For heaven’s sake, I was kissing the man. It’s not a big deal.”
“I know what you were doing. I’m not blind and I’m not a dotard.” She looked her niece up and down with distaste. “Obviously, you’ve forgotten you were raised a lady. You’re covered in mud. Have you been rolling in the dirt with that man?”
“His name is Nick. And what I was doing is my own damn affair.” Casey knew her voice was growing shrill, but she was exasperated almost beyond belief.
“Cassandra!” Esme put out a hand and tottered toward her. Casey thought it a bit much, considering she’d never in her life seen her aunt totter.
“You mean to tell me you’re sleeping with that man? Why, you hardly know him.”
“I’m fully aware of that. And no, I’m not sleeping with him. Not yet, anyway. But there’s a very strong possibility I will be soon, so you’d better get used to the idea, Aunt Esme.”
“Never!” Esme declared. “He’s a gambler. A no-account gambler.”
“He may be a gambler but he’s not no-account. He happens to be loaded,” Casey shot back, growing angrier by the minute. Not that his finances mattered to her, but she didn’t like her aunt’s judging him because of the work he chose to do.
Esme ignored that, sinking into a chair. “I could hardly believe my eyes. What if your niece had wandered in? What then?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’re acting as if I was having sex on the table instead of simply kissing the man. I don’t think Megan would be irreparably harmed by seeing me kiss someone.”
“I might have known you’d make light of it.”
“Yes, you should have. You know what, Aunt Esme, since I offend you so much I’ll just make it easy on you. I’ll move into Wisteria Cottage tomorrow. It’s almost ready, anyway.” Her grandmother’s cottage, two miles from the big house, had been unused since her death a few years before. A couple of months ago, Casey had decided to move there, and had been having it repaired.
“So now you’re deserting us. What about the renovations to Bellefontaine? Have you even bothered to call someone in?”
“Of course I have. I’m meeting with Adam Ross tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”
Esme ignored that, lodging yet another complaint. “What about your niece? Don’t you care about her?”
Casey gritted her teeth. “I’m not moving to the ends of the earth. I’ll still be on the property, for Pete’s sake. And I’ll see Megan as much as she likes.” She added tartly, “She does have a name, Aunt Esme. It’s Megan. I suggest you use it.”
Esme flushed and started to speak, but apparently thought better of it. Ordinarily, Casey wouldn’t have been so blunt, but when she lost her temper her mo
uth tended to run away with her.
“I should have expected it,” Esme said heavily. “That man must have cast some kind of spell over you. I’ve never known you to be so reckless.”
“I haven’t even begun to be reckless. Yet,” Casey added. “Good night, Aunt Esme.” She turned on her heel and left her aunt alone with her righteous indignation.
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Casey met with Adam Ross. A good-looking man, Casey thought, with curling light-brown hair, blue eyes and a body that was obviously accustomed to physical labor. His muscles flexed as he pushed the stove aside to see the wall behind it. Definitely something to be said for construction work. More important than that, though, his credentials were excellent. Now she had to find out if he was affordable.
She drew in a breath, waiting for him to finish jotting down figures in a small spiral notebook. Nick had said Adam would give her a fair price, and she had to hope that was true.
Adam took out a calculator, punched in some numbers, then looked at her, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s ever died of shock from one of my estimates.” His lips twitched. “Of course, there’s always a first time.”
“Is it that bad?”
Adam glanced at the house, then back at her. “It won’t be cheap because the materials aren’t cheap. If you intend to pass the Historical Landmark inspection, then we have to use authentic materials.”
Casey nodded. “I know. And we’re on the tour of historic homes, so there’s no question of not doing it right.”
“The bad news is, the damage to the kitchen is pretty extensive. But the good news is, most of the damage is contained here, with only a little smoke damage to the adjoining rooms.”
“How much?” Best get it over with.
He showed her his notebook. The materials estimate, which he’d noted wasn’t complete, was high, but not a shock. However, his labor costs were far less than she’d expected. “This can’t be right. Shouldn’t you charge more?”
He laughed. “I’m not out to gouge anyone. This is a beautiful house and the job will look great added to my resume. I’m happy to have a bid on it.”
“Nick didn’t twist your arm, did he?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Are you kidding? He knew I’d jump on something like this.”
“Let’s go outside,” Casey said, walking toward the door. “I still find it too depressing in here.”
Adam followed her out.
“You won’t have a problem with the exterior, either?” Casey asked.
Adam squinted at the charred wood. “Shouldn’t. I’ll let you know if I run into any holdups.”
“Nick says he’s known you since college.”
“That’s right. We rented a house with a bunch of other guys.” He shoved the pencil behind his ear and smiled reminiscently. “Nick was the only one who’d help me with the repairs. Landlord gave us a break on the rent if we’d repair that house and his other rentals.”
“I didn’t know Nick could do construction.”
“I think Nick’s held almost every job there is. He put himself through school, worked two jobs to do it.”
She suddenly realized that she’d been none-too-subtly pumping Adam for information about his friend. He was nice enough not to call her on it, but she glimpsed him hiding a smile. Clearing her throat, she said, “So, Adam, when can you start?”
“I can get a crew together and start next week.”
Casey held out a hand and they shook on it. “It’s a deal, then.”
Adam smiled. “My pleasure.”
LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Casey took a break from work and went to Wisteria Cottage to see if her things had been moved yet. A couple of the part-time workers had promised to help her out when she’d asked first thing that morning. Last night, she’d stayed up into the wee hours, packing her clothes. Luckily, the workmen had almost finished the renovation, and her grandmother’s furniture was still in place.
Casey loved the cottage and had looked forward to moving into it for a long time. She’d still be on Fontaine land, close to her cane fields and her family, and she’d have the privacy she craved. But she wished her departure from the big house hadn’t been spurred by the fight with her aunt.
She had very fond memories of Wisteria Cottage, from visiting her father’s mother as a child. Her grandmother had moved into it shortly after her husband’s death. Though both Duke and Angelique had asked her to stay in the big house, Grandmère had insisted the big house only needed one mistress, and that was Angelique. Though fluent in English and French, she never spoke anything but French to her grandchildren, so Casey and Jackson grew up speaking both languages.
It wasn’t a fancy place, or particularly large, but it was rather cozy. The exterior was whitewashed wood with brightly painted blue shutters, and front and back porches that ran the length of the building. A porch swing sat to one side of the front door. A woman seated on the swing waved and rose as Casey came up the steps.
“Hi, Viv. What are you doing here?” Casey asked, emerging from her friend’s enthusiastic and expensively scented hug. As usual, Viv looked chic and classy in a sleeveless white linen dress that had undoubtedly come from Paris.
“Ah, chére, you look hot and tired already. You work far too hard,” Viv said with a tut-tut. “I’ve come to see you, of course. The prodigal daughter—no, make that the prodigal niece.” Viv followed her inside, talking a mile a minute. “So tell me, why did the dragon lady throw you out? Betty had to tell me where you were, since your auntie was too mad to be coherent.”
Casey smiled at Viv’s nickname for her aunt, one bestowed upon Esme when they were children. Esme hadn’t been above holding Viv up to Casey as a prime example of proper Southern womanhood, but she’d never understood the bond between the two.
Viv, a slim blond beauty, was Casey’s opposite in both looks and temperament. Whereas Casey’s hot temper led her into trouble more than once, Viv rarely let go of her outward reserve. But Casey knew what went on beneath that finishing-school exterior. When given half a chance, Viv was a hellion, through and through.
A newlywed hellion. “Is the honeymoon over? I thought you couldn’t tear yourself away from that handsome sax player you talked into marrying you.”
“Why, chère,” Viv said, following her into the tiny kitchen. “I thought you knew better. I’m giving him time to miss me.” She smiled smugly. “The man’s crazy about me, you know.”
Casey smiled and nodded. “And you’re crazy about him. Who’d have thought?” Casey opened the freezer door to turn on the ice-maker. “I have tap water and tap water. What would you like?”
“I’m fine. You go ahead.”
Viv looked around and wrinkled her nose at the mess the workmen had left. A drop cloth covered one end of the living room floor, beautiful hardwood that ran throughout the house. Paint cans were everywhere, as were ladders. In place of a big ceiling fan that had once graced the living room, wires dangled, waiting for its replacement. “Couldn’t you have waited until they were finished? Why the rush?”
Casey sipped her water and sat on the couch, an heirloom that had originally been covered in silk. However, since Jackson had spilled finger paint on it when he was five, it had been recovered in a more durable fabric. Viv took a seat in the French provincial chair next to it, crossing her legs and waiting for Casey to answer.
“Aunt Esme and I had a difference of opinion. I simply moved out a little earlier than I’d planned.”
“And did this difference of opinion involve the oh-so-delectable Nick Devlin?”
Casey pursed her lips, considering whether or not to lie. Viv knew her better than anyone else, though, so she might as well tell her friend the truth. “Yes.”
“Well, don’t stop there. I talked to Betty, remember? Did dragon lady walk in on you two doing the dirty?”
“Viv!” Casey laughed out loud and shook her head. “Of course not.”
“Humph.” Viv frowned and crossed her arms. “I
want the whole story. And don’t leave out any juicy details.”
“There aren’t any to leave out.” Except what happened in the field, and she didn’t think Viv needed to know that. “I was kissing Nick and Aunt Esme walked in and freaked out. You’d have thought we were having an orgy.”
“It does seem like a bit of an overreaction,” Viv said. “Are you sure that’s all?”
Casey shrugged. “Aunt Esme doesn’t like Nick because he’s brought another floating casino to town. She’s completely irrational about that subject. Always has been and I’ve never figured out why.”
“You do seem to gravitate toward people your aunt doesn’t like. Murray, me…now Nick.”
“Viv, she doesn’t dislike you.” She definitely disliked Murray, though.
“Dragon lady hasn’t liked me since she caught us skinny-dipping in the fountain when we were fifteen.”
Casey choked on a laugh. “I’d forgotten about that. I think she was angrier about that than she was about last night. And that’s saying something.”
“I wonder what she’d have done if she’d known it was your idea?”
“Right now, she’d believe anything bad about me. She thinks I’ve lost all sense of propriety. Make that all sense, period.”
“Have you?”
Casey thought about that, unable to keep from smiling. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.”
Viv stood. “Show me around. I haven’t seen the place since your grandmère was alive. And while you do,” she said, linking her arm through Casey’s, “you can tell me what that cat-with-a-mouthful-of-feathers smile is all about.”
Casey sighed and showed her the tiny guest bedroom with its adjacent bath. Then they walked down the hall, toward the master bedroom. “Grandmère’s quilt,” Casey said, opening the door and waving at the queen-size bed covered by a lovely quilt. “I found it in the attic. I dug some furniture out of the attic, too.”
“Love the chaise longue,” Viv said, running her hand over the antique chair. “It’s a beautiful house, Casey. If I weren’t so ecstatically happy, I’d be jealous.” She sat on the bed and ran an appreciative hand over the fabric, her expression thoughtful.
