by Joanne Rock
“I thought so. And, as you can imagine, I searched for any turn of phrase that could be construed as malicious or remotely insensitive.”
“So does Sarah feel she’ll be safe at home again now that the police are aware this guy has tried to contact her? And what about the social media messages from an unknown account?”
“The police are looking into it and they suggested she delete her account. As for how safe Sarah will feel back home...I didn’t bring that up.” He shook his head and set down his glass. “The past few days with her have just really knocked me on my butt. I figured I’d take a day or two of no drama and ask her counselor’s advice. There’s no rush to get home with Sarah’s school on vacation next week anyhow.” His eyes found hers. “Besides, this town has been damn good to me. I don’t mind sticking around a little longer.”
His words slid over her senses, inciting a shiver. Had he changed gears to distract her from talking about Sarah? Or to distract himself from thoughts of the past?
“I’m glad to hear it.” She was relieved he’d given up trying to protect her from getting involved with him. Not that she expected him to let his guard down overnight. But maybe, with time, they could still have something together. “You haven’t seen the best of Heartache yet.”
“You’re wrong about that.” He reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek in a soft caress.
It would be easy to get swept away by his touch. To kiss him until they forgot everything else. But she didn’t want to lose this chance to get to know him better, to understand what made him tick.
“Can I ask you a question?” She peered out at the rainstorm again, grateful to be indoors with the scent of dinner cooking in the oven and the warmth of the man next to her.
“That sounds ominous.” His touch fell away from her cheek.
“It’s not. I promise.” She scooted closer to him, letting her forehead fall on his shoulder.
Just that one small point of contact.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“What was it like living in bayou country?” She’d traveled a lot scouring the Southeast for antiques and unique items for Last Chance Vintage, but she’d never been south of New Orleans.
More important, she wanted to hear him talk about another time in his life—before the trauma of his wife’s death.
“Well...let’s just say I wasn’t lyin’ ’bout growing up near gators.” He let loose the full-fledged Cajun drawl, making her smile.
She relaxed, glad they could just be together and enjoy each other.
“Do you have family there?”
“A couple of brothers. And my mom.” His cheek tipped to rest on the top of her head. “They’ll never leave Terrebonne. My brothers drink too much and spend their Friday nights in the dance halls. One is a cop. The other is a net maker, if you can believe there still is such a thing.”
“You’re not close with them?” Why wouldn’t he have moved back to that area after Liv’s death?
God, it was so tough to consider sleeping with him again when every other second something circled back around to thoughts of his dead wife.
“I’ve always been the black sheep. They couldn’t understand why I would ever want to live anywhere that didn’t let me fish off my back porch.” He hesitated. “I guess I had trouble watching a way of life erode right under my feet. Every day, more of the bayou sinks into the sea. Swamps I used to punt through are part of the Gulf now.”
“Is that because the Mississippi doesn’t flood the same way or something like that?” She tried to remember what she’d heard about the state’s changing ecosystem.
“That’s part of it. We don’t get the silt from the floods the way we used to. Stopping the flooding introduced a lot of problems the engineers hadn’t accounted for.” He shook his head. “But there are other issues—the salt water kills the old oaks. There are oil spills and the general havoc wreaked by industry. It’s sad to witness.”
“You should produce a show on that.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t you be in a good position now to help?”
“Television viewers aren’t always receptive to causes. I’d get better ratings filming my brothers’ fights in the dance halls than showing the sad remnants of a fading culture.”
“So make a show called Bayou Brothers and sneak in your message between brawls and gator wrestling.” She toyed with his shirt collar and traced the placket down his chest.
“That’s not a bad idea except I was thinking about going back to photography once Sarah starts college.” He lifted his wineglass. “If she goes to college.”
“Really?” Erin saw him with new eyes. “I wasn’t sure how serious Sarah was when she said you gave up photography because her mom wanted you to.”
“Her version of events is overly simplified.” Remy reached behind them to a sofa table where he’d laid his phone. He seemed to search through a few screens while he spoke. “I saw the promise in Liv’s art and wanted to do whatever I could to get it into the right galleries. Plus, I wanted her to concentrate on making the most of her creativity because she’d gone through some rough years raising Sarah alone.”
He turned the phone toward Erin to show her a bright painting of a cypress tree off center on a canvas. The pride on his face was obvious.
“Is that her work?” Erin took the phone to see it better, enjoying the peeks into his life in a way she’d never had with Patrick. She liked knowing what made Remy tick.
“Yes. She did a whole series based on some of my early photographs around Houma.” He slid a finger across the phone screen for her. “You can see more of the paintings and the photos she worked from.”
“Your photos?” she clarified, pausing on the twilight image of the skeleton cypress with no leaves. A casket floated in the water at its base. “This is really powerful.”
She turned the phone so he could see which photo she meant.
“I can’t take much credit for that. It’s the draw of the place, not the art.”
“What about the choice of composition? The timing for the best lighting?” She was surprised to hear him undersell himself. “That’s the artistry.”
He rubbed a hand through the light scruff of golden-brown hair along his jaw. “If I go back to photography, I’ll improve. Until then, I hope to stockpile enough funds to pay off Sarah’s education.”
She flipped through more images—paintings and photos alike—one after the other and began to see the creative synergy between them.
“I can’t believe you quit photography with such a gift.” She didn’t mean it as a judgment, however, and worried he might take it that way. “What I mean is, you obviously inspired one another. It must have been hard to decide to do something else.”
“I had an idea for a local television show about the art community. It was self-serving since I wanted to feature Liv first and foremost. But as I was pitching the guy I wanted to sponsor the project, we got talking about something else—a show about local singers. I ended up making that, Voice of America, instead.”
“You produce American Voice?” She nearly dropped his phone.
American Voice was still on the air, still in the tabloids, and had been incredibly lucrative judging by the celebrity singers who coached young talent on each week’s episode.
“Not the version you now see on television. But I owned the rights since I started it on a regional level, and I retained a share of the project after I sold off creative control.” He grinned for a moment, a rogue dimple making its first appearance that she could remember. Then the smile faded. “The show paid for that big house I built in Lafayette. It put me in demand as a producer. I started traveling more.”
She reached for his hand and held it. He was a success on multiple fronts and had achieved so many dreams at a young age, only to see them end in a horrific way. Leaning over, she kissed his shoulder and hoped it was okay to gently steer the conversation away from the dark sadness still dogging him.
“It’s an a
mazing talent to bring artistic vision to the masses.” She couldn’t believe all he’d accomplished in a short time.
“I know. Liv had that talent in spades. She started a second business as a perfumer and that was going really well, too.”
Erin shook her head. “I meant you, though. You’ve got a great talent, Remy. A lot of creative people don’t get the satisfaction of seeing their work enjoyed by the public, but you found a way for people to view your earliest photos. You’ve created multiple television shows that give viewers something entertaining and substantive.”
“It doesn’t mean a lot, though, when I can’t even get Sarah off to college successfully.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “Maybe I’ve been away from my bayou roots too long. My mama would say that people count a whole lot more than things. And it’s people that I keep failing.”
She opened her mouth to argue the point, but the lights flickered. Once. Twice.
Then went out altogether.
“It’s okay.” Erin stood, grateful for the flashes of lightning that lit her way. “I put some candles out earlier.”
She made her way to the kitchen and patted around the counter until she found the box of matches.
“I should call Sarah.” Light from Remy’s phone illuminated the living room. “Or text, I guess. Kids don’t use phones to talk.”
Erin lit the two tapers, then moved around the living room with the box of matches to light a few candles she kept on the mantel and end tables.
By the time she was done, the house glowed with warm light. The house wouldn’t cool off that much since a rainstorm in a Tennessee spring didn’t bring the temperature down that much.
“I think the quiche is almost done anyhow.” She pulled it out of the oven. “It smells amazing.”
“Sarah is a great cook.” Remy strode toward the kitchen, stopping to lean on the island. “She says they’re fine, by the way. Ally invited her to sleep over.”
“Good.” Erin wondered how Bethany was doing after being so upset at the store. “Ally could use friends around her right now. Her mother and father are going through a tough year.”
“Even the best marriages are tested.”
Did he speak from experience? She had pictured his marriage as perfect.
Erin left the quiche on the counter. “We should probably wait a few minutes to let that cool.”
His teeth flashed white in the glow of candlelight.
“Leaving one to wonder how we should fill the time?” His hands settled on her hips, drawing her near.
“I could always quiz you more about your art,” she suggested, laying her hands on his chest. “Or your plans for the future.”
He leaned closer to speak into her ear. “For every suggestion you make, I’ll bet I have a better idea.”
Her heartbeat sped faster.
“You think so?”
He traced a finger over the exposed skin along her collarbone. Goose bumps trailed in his wake, her mouth drying up with the memory of just how good he could make her feel.
“Just lead me into a room with real blinds.” He didn’t need to remind her the living room window looked out at the field between her house and her mother’s.
“I like the implication you’re going to do wicked deeds you don’t want anyone else to see.” No more wondering if this would happen again. No more waiting. Just living in the moment, with each other. Taking his hand, she drew him deeper into the house, grabbing one lit candle from the mantel.
Then she headed up the stairs. To her bedroom.
“I like any opportunity to be with you.” He stopped her just outside the bedroom door. Turning her to face him, he removed the jar candle from her hand and set it on top of a small bookshelf in the hallway.
In the flickering light, she could see the serious set to his face. And while she appreciated all that male interest and intensity, she also wished she could make him smile more.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his hand cupping her chin. “I can practically see your mind race.”
“I’m thinking about how happy I’m about to make you.” She nipped his ear, surprising a smile out of him after all.
With a quiet growl of approval, he angled her face and slanted his mouth over hers.
He was a kisser in a class by himself. Erin held on tight and savored each heated stroke of his tongue. A woman could lose herself in a kiss like that. In a man like this.
She couldn’t afford to get lost in him that way.
Easing back, she undid a button on his shirt and placed her lips over the skin she exposed. His heart beat heavily, a dull vibration that zinged right through her. With trembling fingers, she unfastened another button. And another.
Then reaching behind him, she shoved open her bedroom door and nudged him backward into the darkness. The quiet of the power outage was a deep silence broken only by their breathing, which grew more ragged with every touch.
Erin shoved his shirt off his shoulders and smoothed both hands over the expanse of his chest. What an incredibly well-made man.
She kissed her way down his chest, lingering over the ridges between abdominal muscles while she unfastened his belt. Undid his pants.
Every now and then, a lightning flash filled the room in a slow strobe effect. Only then did she get to see the visual of him standing over her in all his strong, muscular glory while she kissed and stroked him through his boxer shorts and then—without them. But even when her greedy eyes couldn’t see him, she savored the taste and texture of his skin, so hot where she kissed him. Her hands wrapped around his thighs, the muscles straining as she teased him closer and closer to fulfillment.
She would have brought him there, too, if he hadn’t hauled her to her feet and started undressing her with fast, determined fingers. His harsh breathing filled her ears as he kissed her neck and stripped off her shirt, kissed the swell of her breasts and then swept aside her bra. Hungry swipes of his tongue along each nipple had her panting hard, too, her fingers twisting in his hair as he kissed lower to her hip and belly.
When he slid off her shorts, he wrestled for a moment with the lace tights she wore underneath, but once he got a hand beneath them, he helped her shimmy out of those, too. Soon she lay bare except for a pair of plain blue silk panties featuring a strategically placed cutout heart.
He spotted it in a blink of lightning. He sought it with his fingers in the dark afterward, then measured the place for a kiss right there in that small, bare place.
She nearly came off the bed when he licked her there, too.
The needy sound she made in the back of her throat filled the quiet room. In answer, he reached beneath her underwear and plucked gently at her swollen sex until she came apart in his arms.
Only then did he tug the silk from her hips. Retrieve the condom box from the nightstand where they’d left it the night before. And enter her with a slow stroke that nearly sent her over the edge for a second time.
“I wanted to be the one to make you happy,” she protested halfheartedly as he pushed himself all the way inside her.
“That’s exactly what you did.” He thumbed a path along her lower lip and kissed her again. “I’ve never felt anything as beautiful as that.”
Some of the boundaries she had put in place to protect her heart damn near melted under those words. She tucked her head against his chest and rode the pleasure with him, letting it take her higher and higher all over again.
When they came together, the moment drew out in a timeless way she knew she would never forget. She gripped his shoulders with both hands, holding on tight and allowing each delicious shudder to travel from her toes to her forehead, racking her body with lush waves of release.
They held each other quietly in the aftermath, not moving when the lights flicked on and the ceiling fan stirred overhead. It was only when her stomach growled for the second time that Erin suggested they go have dinner.
Only to realize he’d fallen asleep beside her.
; Tenderness curled inside her at seeing him relax with her that way. She studied his face in sleep, the lines of loss around his eyes eased for a moment. He looked younger. She stroked his face and hair for a long time, until her eyes drifted shut.
Right up until the moment he twitched. Tensed.
“Where?” he snarled out, still sleeping.
His tone—both furious and terrified—made her breath catch. She recoiled to the edge of the mattress. Not sure if she should wake him or slip out of bed.
Was it kinder to let him sleep through a bad dream so he might forget it? She laid her hand on his arm carefully, and hoped her whisper-soft touch might soothe him.
His muscles tightened. His jaw flexed. No doubt about it, he was deep in a nightmare.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ROAD HOME was wet and rainy.
Remy navigated the curves along Vermillion River just before dawn after touching down at the local airport half an hour prior. He steered the Lexus sedan through Lafayette toward the new house, which became a little more elegant every time he left for a few days. Liv was like a magician that way. Everything she touched with those creative hands of hers turned more graceful and refined. Hell, he’d gone from being a backwoods photographer to a reality show producer with prospects.
She had that effect on people and places. So even though the cost of the travertine marble was putting the decorating costs way over budget, Liv was happy. Soon, her new perfume would go to market and that would help defray some of the extra expenses. When he’d talked to her on the phone before bed the night before, she said she was finalizing the package designs.
He couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with. Actually, he just couldn’t wait to see her. The production job sucked ass for the long hours and the travel, but it had given the woman he loved the opportunity to pursue her dreams in a way his photography never could have. Now Sarah was in private school. He had a new home on three acres along the river. Liv had gardens and a studio.
If he could come up with another show like American Voice, he’d be able to ease up on the travel. Spend more time helping Liv. His brothers had laughed until tears streamed down their ugly mugs when he told them he liked working in the hothouse with the flowers. But then, not even Liv could work magic on Armand and Landry.
