Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  “What if I’d asked you?” Why the hell had he said that?

  She drew in a quick breath. “I didn’t think you saw me like that.”

  “I didn’t. It was a hypothetical question.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, needing to put some distance between them. “I hope you can put my donation to good use.”

  “I appreciate you taking an interest. You saw firsthand why I need the money.”

  “Look, I feel bad for girls like Kayla, but don’t mistake me for an altruistic do-gooder.” His gravelly voice was full of warning and got her attention.

  “What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes on him.

  “I don’t take on causes.”

  Her head tilted, her look one of cautious confusion.

  Did she really need him to say it? After years of watching her, protecting her, the words felt inevitable, and his voice emerged with a primal roughness. “I came for you, Monroe. I want you. You understand me?”

  Underneath the coarse sentiment lurked something even more potent. Something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Sex was simple and straightforward and the only thing he could honestly offer her.

  Instead of acting surprised or outraged or even pleased, she hardened her expression into something he recognized as determination. He saw the same every morning when he looked in the mirror.

  “What if that’s not enough for me?”

  A virtual gauntlet had been thrown, and Cade, for the first time in a long time, was at a loss as to his next move. What the hell did she expect from him? Promises of forever? Impossible.

  He saw what he wanted and pursued it with the same single-mindedness that had kept his family together. If what he wanted was sex, he got it. End of story. He hadn’t had any complaints. Not that he stuck around long enough for a woman to fill out a comment card.

  Monroe certainly wasn’t immune to him as a man. Maybe he could exploit that weakness. With her back against the pillar, a sense of false privacy emboldened him. “Your necklace is lovely. Perfect for the lines of your dress.”

  Starting at her collarbone, he trailed two fingers on either side of the chain, all the way to the pendant. He fingered the blue stone, letting the backs of his fingers brush the inner curves of her breasts. Her breathing hitched, and her skin flushed, the delicate scent of her perfume becoming stronger.

  She whispered his name, and he looked from his hands to her eyes. He fell into their depths, the buzz of people muting into nothing. He recognized her blazing need, was sure she could see the same in him. But there was something else. Caution.

  She covered his hand, her fingers soft on his work-dinged knuckles. He stopped teasing her and took her hand in his, threading their fingers in a symbolic gesture from long ago.

  “Hypothetically speaking, Cade? I would have said yes.”

  The warmth that enveloped him had nothing to do with passion.

  “There you are, Monroe.” Andrew sauntered up from the side, and she dropped Cade’s hand like she was ashamed. Hell, maybe she was.

  Andrew slid a hand behind Monroe’s back, and Cade puffed his chest out like a territorial animal. With as low as the dress plunged, the man was no doubt touching her bare skin. The thought was nearly unbearable.

  Andrew’s annoying fluorescent smile flickered. His gaze darted between Cade and Monroe. The man would have to be blind and deaf not to sense the undercurrents between them.

  A fiftyish-year-old DJ in an ill-fitting tuxedo filled the empty space in the room with music. A Sinatra throwback brought a few couples to the middle of the great room and conversations swelled louder to compensate for the extra noise.

  “Fournette. Excellent to see a Louisiana representative here, considering most of the girls Monroe helps are from your side of the river.”

  A sledgehammer began decimating every polite thought and word Cade retained, sending his mood meter to “ill.” “Tarwater. I’m happy to support Monroe. And Tally.”

  “This problem is not confined to race or economics, Andrew. You know I have girls from both sides of the river,” she said in a chiding tone that made Cade think she’d told Andrew several times already.

  A wave of clapping crashed through the bubble isolating them from the rest of the party. A few people called Monroe’s name.

  “Mother wants you to say a few words. If you’ll excuse us?” Andrew shot Cade a look that could maim. Cade held his eyes a beat longer than was comfortable and bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile.

  Andrew guided Monroe to the bar area where his mother waited to hand her a glass of champagne. A speech followed. Her confidence was natural and commanding, yet Cade only half paid attention to her words of praise for the community and the listing of services she wanted to provide for the at-risk girls on both sides of the state line.

  Andrew stayed glued to her side, a hand on her at all times as if she were either incapable of standing on her own or a flight risk. He stared at Monroe with a combination of puppyish devotion and very adult intentions. The man looked utterly charmed by her.

  A smattering of applause marked the conclusion of her gracious speech. These people had come for a party and a tax write-off. While fundamentally they cared about stopping abuse, in reality they didn’t have time to worry about it—unless it touched them in a personal way like it had Monroe.

  Andrew cupped her elbow and leaned down to whisper in her ear. He was probably breathing in the sweet scent of her skin and admiring her breasts like Cade had done. Andrew guided her to the open area and twirled her into a dance. Cade fumed, stoking the hostility bubbling through his body like lava.

  A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne. Cade grabbed a glass and tossed it back in two swallows. His tie was a noose, and he untied the bow and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, letting the ends dangle.

  Andrew’s mother joined Cade at the pillar. He pried his gaze away from Monroe. Mrs. Tarwater required his full attention if he didn’t want her to strike unexpectedly. Her smile was a warning. “Mr. Fournette. How good of you to come.”

  He didn’t bother with a smile. He was here for Monroe. Even so, the compulsion to impress a bunch of folks who’d never given him a chance in hell of doing anything with his life weighed on his chest like a shovel full of river mud.

  Mrs. Tarwater sipped a glass of champagne, the diamonds on her bracelet twinkling under the lights. She reeked of old money, good breeding, and expensive perfume. If she had been a hunting dog, she’d be a purebred pointer. Cade had always had an affinity for mutts.

  “Mrs. Tarwater. It was good of you to put this fund-raiser together.”

  “Yes. We adore Monroe.” She tilted her head, looking up through her lashes. An old-fashioned glance labeled “How to Manipulate Men” in the 1950s Debutante Handbook. “Andrew is enchanted.”

  Cade’s gaze shot to the dance floor where Monroe was turning the magic of her smile on Andrew. Something painful crimped his heart. Was she using him for a temporary thrill until she settled down with a man like Andrew?

  Mrs. Tarwater continued sotto voce. “Your donation to Monroe’s cause was very generous, Mr. Fournette, but I wouldn’t want it to cause you undue hardship. If you want me to tear up the check, I’ll make sure no one’s the wiser.”

  Part of him wanted to spout his net worth, wanted to make it clear that he could outright buy their mansion if he wanted. The prideful part, the one that made sure his chin was up when he went to the food banks as a teenager, made him say only, “That won’t be necessary. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  He turned his back on her and headed to the edge of the crowd. A man stood close to the bar and stared at him as if he’d like to slip a blade between Cade’s ribs. A familiarity tinged the antipathy, and Cade riffled through his memories to place the middle-aged man. It didn’t take long for the man to weave through the crowd toward him.

  “Evening,” Cade offered with the carefulness of baiting a trap.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?
I saw you that night.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

  “You called the cops to pick me up.”

  “Not me, sir. And where did you say you saw me?”

  The man’s shoulders dropped and some of the animosity slipped off his face. “You don’t remember me, do you, boy?”

  Ignoring the blatant jab, he studied the man again. Cade had tried to keep a low profile in Cottonbloom during his youth, needing to stay out of trouble in order to keep Tally and Sawyer with him, but he’d obviously pissed this man off at some point.

  The frisson of recognition coursing through Cade was like sticking his finger in an electrical socket. “Sam Landry. Thought you’d married and moved on to Georgia. When did you crawl back to town?” Fury that should have diminished over the past decade crackled between them.

  Once the man had married and left Cottonbloom, Cade had stopped keeping tabs on him. His tuxedo was stylish and he’d been invited, so his life hadn’t self-destructed. Unfortunately.

  “You always were a rude little swamp rat.” The ingratiating smile on Sam’s face was for appearance’s sake only.

  His insult didn’t faze Cade. He’d been called much worse. “Does Monroe know you’re back?”

  His lips curled in and he muttered, “Goddamn, Monroe. It was her.”

  Cade’s back bowed and he took a step toward the man. “What are you talking about?”

  “Monroe and I had a little chat at the Tavern the other night and then I’m pulled over by the cops? No way is that a coincidence.”

  Cade had been so focused on finding Monroe that night, he hadn’t given anyone else at the Tavern a second of his attention. Now he wished he’d met up with Sam in the Tavern’s dark parking lot and not the bright lights of the Tarwaters’ mansion.

  “What’d they nail you for? Drinking and driving?” Sam’s no response was answer enough. Maybe things weren’t going so well for him after all. “Whether Monroe called the cops or not, you were the one who got behind the wheel. You expect people to look the other way?”

  “I’m on the Cottonbloom city council. Got elected in the spring.” He laid the fact down as if it were a get out of jail free card in Monopoly. Cade wouldn’t be surprised if Sam made a run for Cottonbloom mayor next election cycle. The man possessed a snake-like charm and was still nice looking and trim. To many people, nothing mattered but the packaging.

  How could Monroe face the man day in and day out? “I’ve not forgotten what you tried to do to Monroe years ago.”

  “You took the word of a young, impressionable girl who had a crush on me. Her feelings got hurt when I told her I loved her mama. If you’d given me the chance to—”

  “You’ve told yourself that lie enough times, you actually believe it, don’t you?”

  “It’s the truth.” Sam’s dark eyes flashed with uncertainty before blanking. “She got mad and ran off.”

  “Maybe she’s come to terms with what you tried to do. I, however, don’t have such a forgiving nature. You’re hiding a bushel of trouble somewhere. Maybe I’ll go looking.”

  “Are you threatening me?” The shocked wonder in the man’s voice made him think not many people crossed Sam Landry.

  “Yep. I believe I am.” At that, Cade ambled off with a smile on his face. It never hurt to leave an enemy off-balance. Having ammunition at the ready in case he did something to hurt Monroe would be smart. Cade would make some calls. As arrogant as Sam seemed, he wouldn’t have hidden his troubles too deep.

  Monroe was still hobnobbing with Andrew Tarwater as her guide. After his confrontation with Sam Landry, old memories lingered in his mind like rotting fish. He stepped through the French doors and took deep breaths. The heat and humidity of the day had fallen into a cool, comfortable night.

  His body thrummed with pent-up frustration. He might be in the most expensive clothes in the room and have signed the biggest check, but ’Sips like the Tarwaters would never see him as more than a swamp rat. Andrew led Monroe back onto the dance floor. Insecurities Cade thought long buried reared up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tension kept Monroe’s body stiff in Andrew’s arms as he shuffled her to the beat of the music. She enjoyed dancing, but not this kind. She enjoyed rocking out in her kitchen and singing into a spatula while she cooked. Dozens of sets of eyes bored into them. While Andrew seemed unfazed, every vein in her body felt like it had been shot with quick-hardening cement.

  The interminable song ended, and she took a step backward, trying to escape Andrew’s embrace. She bumped into Andrew’s father, who’d been coerced onto the dance floor with his wife, looking about as happy as a cow headed to the butcher.

  Monroe mumbled an, “I’m sorry,” and pointed her feet toward her hiding place behind the pillar. She prayed Cade would be waiting. Mrs. Tarwater took her wrist.

  “Darling, let’s switch. I’ll dance with my son and you dance with Bill.”

  Jean Tarwater wasn’t a woman who accepted no as an answer. It’s what made her a force for good and bad in the community. A piranha in the courtroom, Bill Tarwater sighed complacently, took Monroe’s hand, and pulled her into a dancing stance. Her surprise at his easy acquiescence made her a pliable partner. Several other couples joined them. A sense of claustrophobia made her heart beat too fast.

  Andrew caught her gaze and grinned over his mother’s head. Monroe was a fraud. He believed he had a chance with her, but another man had set up camp in her head … and heart. Knowing Cade was somewhere watching her made this exponentially worse.

  “My wife likes you. I can’t say that she’s ever felt that way about one of Andrew’s girlfriends before.” Even at a near whisper, Mr. Tarwater’s voice held a hint of courtroom resonance.

  She stutter-stepped. “Andrew and I are not dating.”

  He tensed, slowing their swaying movements, the hand at her back gesturing to the side. “Why did he and Jean plan all this then?”

  “I assume because they wanted to support the expansion of my girls at risk group. It’s very much appreciated by me and all the girls.” The polite, stiff thanks was all she had to offer.

  The incredulous glance he aimed in her direction made her feel a little too much like the accused on cross-examination. “My son is very taken with you. You’re all I hear about at the office.”

  Andrew was polite and knowledgeable about the world. He was handsome and well-off. But he had never entered uninvited into her dreams at night. He had never made her feel the least bit like losing control.

  “Your son is a fine man,” she said in as honest and heartfelt a voice as she could muster.

  “An evasion.” Bill Tarwater chuckled, although little humor penetrated the sound. “A word of advice, Monroe?”

  Not sure she wanted to hear, she nodded anyway.

  “Men like Cade Fournette are users. He’s been beaten down too many times and tries too hard to prove he belongs with people like us. He doesn’t belong and never will. If you take up with him, my son won’t be waiting.”

  Anger burned away the layers of polite lessons. She had the urge to flip him on his back in the middle of the dance floor. What would Jean Tarwater think of her then?

  Forcing her chin up and her eyes to meet his, Monroe stopped the shuffling dance and shook her arms free of him. “I’m nothing like you. Cade Fournette has nothing to prove, least of all to anyone here.”

  Not caring whether it was rude, she walked away and pushed through the crowd to their pillar. No sign of Cade. Had he given up on her and left? Tears stung. Alone. She needed to be alone. She continued on to the bathroom. Several chatting women were knotted in the hallway and had her changing course. The last thing she wanted to do was engage in a round of gossip.

  The back wing of the house was dark and several degrees cooler than the body-jammed great room. Tiptoeing and feeling like an interloper even though no one had closed off the area, she pushed the door to a guest bedroom open and stepped from hardwo
od onto plush carpet. The room had the unused smell of mothballs and cleaner.

  Air chugged from the vents. Hair tickled her nape and the air stirred against the bare skin along her front and back. A shiver passed through her, her nipples reacting to the sudden coolness.

  “Tired of dancing?” Cade’s deep voice startled her around. He’d propped his shoulder against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. He was lit from behind, his face a blank, dark space.

  She couldn’t determine from his flat voice whether he was upset or angry. With Bill Tarwater’s comments fresh and painful, she flew at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her heels bringing her within an inch of his mouth. Although he hadn’t heard the vitriol, she needed to comfort him anyway.

  “Wha—”

  Her lips silenced the rest of his question. The champagne on his tongue was almost as intoxicating as his scent. The music from the great room drifted, muted and unrecognizable. As if slow dancing, he wrapped his arms around her and turned them enough so he could close the door, leaving them in silence, except for the ticking of a clock.

  His hands roamed her bare back, slipping inside of her dress to brush the top curves of her buttocks. She pushed him backward against the wall. Infinitely stronger than her, he could have held his ground or taken charge at any point, but the fact that he let her lead only made her want him more. She was done listening to logic, done fighting her hunger for him. She wanted him.

  Cupping her cheeks, he pulled his lips from hers. “And again you do the unexpected.”

  “Unwanted?” she whispered.

  “Does it look like I’m protesting?” His breath puffed against her cheek before he kissed her once more, slipping his tongue alongside hers, before his mouth retreated once more. She tipped into him seeking more. He took her weight, bracing his legs farther apart, but evaded her mouth.

  “I watched you dancing with Tarwater. What are you playing at? Is he the man you want to be seen with and I’m the one you’re keeping for the dark?” A thread of emotion in his voice tied itself around her heart and bound her. Was he jealous? Hurt? Angry?