by Anne Marsh
Far, far more.
“You don’t need the money,” she countered and wanted to kick herself.
Landry’s grin said he was one step ahead of her. His smile lit up his face with mischief. “Plenty of reasons to wan’ to get off the land and onto the bayou, sha. The money, that’s a good thing, too, but I need to get me back on the water.”
“And you want to come work for me?”
Her intuition shrieked again, but for once she couldn’t tell if her secret spidey senses were voting yay or nay. Every nerve she had was on high alert—and not simply because the Breaux brothers made the sexiest damn pair of men she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Temporarily,” Dre drawled from his spot in the shadows. All she could see of him was his bare feet as he waited patiently for his brother to wrap up his business.
“Same pay you gave the last pair of hands,” Landry coaxed and gifted her with another angelic smile. Yeah. That man was definitely up to something. Maybe he had a bad case of the boreds. Maybe the Breauxs’ boat really was in dry dock. Or maybe he had trouble riding his ass and he’d bring his mess onboard her boat. She wasn’t borrowing trouble, no matter how pretty the package.
“Someone told you wrong. I’m not hiring.” Certainly not this pair. She might as well cozy up to a stick of dynamite.
“I doubt that.” Dre finally moved, stalking right out of the shadows and making for her. Before she could so much as squeak, she was retreating. As soon as her back hit the dock piling, he had an arm braced beside her, and Landry moved up beside him, boxing her in, nice and neat. She stayed put, or she fell in. She had the strangest sensation of being stalked. These men moved like wolves. “You don’ wan’ us on your boat,” he continued.
“There is that,” she admitted.
“You know us,” Landry coaxed. “You need the help, and it’s not like we’re strangers.”
“That knowing might be part of the problem,” she said grimly.
Truth was, there weren’t too many women on the bayou who didn’t know Dre and Landry Breaux. Beautiful trouble, those two.
Landry winked. “So you know we’re honest as the day is long.”
Behind him, Dre’s face didn’t change, although the massive fist resting on the piling beside her head tightened fractionally. When she slid her glance sideways, his palm flattened out.
Hell. She needed to be back on her boat, where she was alone with the water beneath the night sky. She wouldn’t win a battle of wits with Landry. The man was silver-tongued. “Unless it involves Fish and Game,” she pointed out.
Sure enough, Landry’s beautiful smile got wider. “We don’ cheat when it matters, sha. You know that. Get us back out on the water, and we’ll all be happier.”
“What’s wrong with your boat?” She didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in her voice. These boys were trouble. There was no way they’d set so much as a toe on her deck until she had the truth from them.
“Blew an engine.” Mr. I’m-the-silent-brother volunteered the words reluctantly. Almost as if he’d hoped his brother’s charm would be enough. Too bad for him she was immune to charm. God, she hoped that was the truth. Dre lowered his head, and she had the strangest sensation he was smelling her. And liking what he scented.
“Really.” She shoved at Dre’s chest, but he didn’t budge. She didn’t know why the bayou’s bad boys would be hunting her, but her instincts screamed Danger, Will Robinson.
“Sure, sha.” Gold-brown eyes twinkled at her again, the endearing little creases at the corner of Landry’s eyes tugging upwards. This was a man who lived to laugh. To tease. He wasn’t her type, and they both knew it. “We go out with you, we pull in those oysters of yours, we get the cash to fix things.”
“Problem is,” she said sweetly, “you all possess one too many attributes to be a member of my crew. I only ship with women.”
Her gaze dropped, and his attributes stood to attention. That was his problem, though, and not hers. Although from the looks of the erection tenting his jeans, Landry Breaux would live up to every inch of his impressive reputation. Too bad for him that only reinforced her resolve not to allow him on her boat.
He shrugged, a lazy roll of his shoulders that pulled the white cotton T-shirt deliciously tight. She admired that, too, while she waited for him to answer because, damn it, she wasn’t dead. She was a woman who was far too close to a Cajun stud.
“Not much I can do about that, sha. Can tell you, though, that I know the meanin’ of the word no. I’m not comin’ after you as soon as we’re out there on the bayou. You let us on your boat, we’re never gonna hurt you. You got our word on that.”
She tilted her head up to glare at Dre. “You letting him make all the decisions around here?”
“Absolutely.” Dre’s fingers slipped closer. Another inch and he’d be tracing the curve of her jaw with that errant finger. She was crazy, standing here, negotiating with this pair.
The laughter vanished from Landry’s eyes. “We’re a package deal. We go everywhere together. Do everythin’ together.”
Her reaction to his bold statement hit her low and hard, a sensual heat blazing to life in her belly. A package deal. Two Cajun bad boys sharing a bed and a woman. What kind of man announced his sexual preferences like that, as if he was answering cream or sugar?
She wanted to tell them both to go to hell. Unfortunately, she was supposed to be sailing tomorrow. She’d scored an unexpected contract to harvest a private oyster bed way out on the edge of the bayou. The money was damned good, but it was a hell of a job to take on with only Riley to help. There was far too much lifting and pulling to be done. The Breaux brothers could make her work that much easier. It was simple math.
Hell. She was going to cave on this one. Her head thunked against the piling as she admitted that truth to herself, and Dre frowned.
“Can you take orders?” she demanded.
That sensual light was back in Landry’s eyes. “Hell yeah, sha. You jus’ tell me what you wan’.”
“You speak for him, too?” She jerked her thumb at Dre. “If so, I’m telling you both, back the hell up. Stop caging me in here.”
“You don’ got to worry about me.” Dre’s smoky rasp had her thinking—again—about hot bayou nights and tumbled sheets. When he uncoiled, shoving away from the piling and stepping back from her, he seemed even bigger than Landry.
He exchanged a quick look with his brother. Yeah. Definitely up to no good, or just plain after something. She spared a moment of regret that she wasn’t that something.
Dre crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her.
“We’d never hurt you, sha. You tell me you understand that, yeah?”
“You’re doing it again. Demanding.”
He took a step towards her, and she fought the urge to run. There was nowhere she could go until this pair moved out of the way. They had her cornered, in more ways than one. “You wan’ me to ask?”
“Okay.” The words were out of her mouth, no taking them back. “You want to sign on, you’re on. We leave at dawn.”
“Laissez les bons temps roulez,” Landry drawled.
Chapter Two
The bayou at dawn was a pretty place. Pretty didn’t usually have much of a place in Dre’s life, but he could see the beauty around him fine from his spot near the Bayou Sweetie’s mooring. He and Landry had taken turns watching the boat last night, in case the vamps came calling or Mary Jane got cold feet and decided to move out without them.
Mary Jane wasn’t running, though. True to her word, she’d rolled out of her hammock when it was still dark o’clock and started setting the boat to rights, making ready to sail. Her mechanic, Riley, had disappeared and returned a half hour later, bearing a battered thermos of coffee. Damned coffee smelled real good, too, a thick, strong chicory promising a hefty dose of wake-up. Mary Jane laced hers liberally with sugar and cream, but Riley downed cup after cup of the black stuff. Dre couldn’t help but notice that he and Landry hadn’t
been invited to this lovefest. No, their Mary Jane had given them a departure time that was a whole hour later.
Now, snatches of conversation reached him easily where he sat untangling the fishing nets Mary Jane had tossed his way when he’d finally boarded. Riley, bless her heart, hadn’t questioned the Breauxs’ presence on the boat. No, she’d simply shrugged and chugged her coffee. She clearly didn’t share Mary Jane’s aversion to letting males on the boat. That was good. That would make taking her with them easier.
The cautious smile faded right off Mary Jane’s face, when she got an eyeful of the brown paper bag Dre was carrying.
“No alcohol,” she said shortly.
“No worries.” Landry kept his voice light and playful. “We’re not bringin’ the sauce onto your Bayou Sweetie.”
“Good.” Her eyes slid from the bag to his brother and back again, like she needed or wanted more explanation. Maybe she was simply cautious. Dre knew as well as anyone that alcohol could make a man real careless or even mean, and there was every chance she’d had drunken fishermen rough up her boat or her gear some.
“Food,” he bit out when his brother didn’t fill the silence, only dropped the rest of their gear on the deck. If Mary Jane had been less trusting, she would have been worried about what was inside those duffels, because he and Landry were packing an arsenal.
“You don’t trust me to feed you?” She kept her voice light, but her shoulders relaxed some, the tension leaking out of her.
Landry shook his head. “Dre here has a sweet tooth. I’m just makin’ sure he don’ eat you out of house and home, sha.”
Standing up, he grabbed the bag from Landry and pulled out a six-pack of glass Coke bottles. Exhibit A. She’d feel better if she saw the truth for herself. “You mind if I stash these in your cooler?”
She shrugged, all casual-like, but her gaze followed him. “You don’t drink?”
Her concern was a bitter scent, almost but not quite covering up an older, buried thread of fear. He considered his answer while he dropped the Cokes into the cooler, closing the lid and crumpling up the bag to buy time.
Landry was on it, flashing a grin at her. “Me, I enjoy a cold Coke and a colder beer every now and then. But I’m not one for drinkin’ when I’m on a job, sha. My brother here? He’s the same way. You got my word on that.”
“Uh-huh.” Mary Jane was already drifting away, checking on some piece of gear draped over the far side of the boat.
Forty minutes later they were casting off, heading down the waterway. Even with dawn barely peeking over the horizon, heat already wrapped thick and wet around the bayou. Mary Jane’s cotton tank stuck to her ribs and the sweet curve of her breasts with every shift of the wheel. It was a hell of a sight, Dre admitted. He could have watched her drive the boat for hours. Riley hummed off-key while the blue-black water slipped on past the boat’s side.
“I’ll go aft,” Landry said quietly, nodding towards Riley. “Keep an eye on our mechanic. You take the captain. Make sure she behaves herself, oui?”
Making Mary Jane behave was one hell of a fantasy. No way would he stop himself from wondering how she’d react if he caught her up in his arms and kissed her. Not a polite buss on the cheek, but the kind of kiss a man gave his lover when he was inches away from sinking inside her. He wanted to be all over her mouth, wanted to slide his tongue between her lips until she was moaning out his name good and loud.
It was one sexy-as-hell fantasy, but he was keeping his hands to himself. Had to, because Landry was almost certain that Mary Jane wasn’t their blue-moon bride. Riley was, and that meant he was hard for the wrong woman.
Picking up his nets, Dre parked his ass near her side. It should be safe enough now, with the sun up and the boat smack in the middle of the channel, but he wasn’t taking chances. She shot him a glance, clearly surprised, but didn’t protest.
Or make small talk. No, she simply turned her gaze back to the bayou unfolding in front of the boat and left him alone. He liked silence. The hot, thick air carried her scent, and skin brushed skin as she shifted from one foot to the other.
They’d been driving steadily for three hours before he finally broke the silence. “We got much farther to go?”
The Pack didn’t hunt this far down the bayou. The banks here were unfamiliar, the waterways new to him.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, tapping the GPS mounted beside the boat wheel. “This is my first time working this bed.”
“You never been out here before?”
She shook her head, her ponytail bouncing about her shoulders. “Nope. This was a last-minute contract for me.” She grinned. “They’re paying real well, though, so we’re going to do a damned fine job raking up their beds.”
He made a mental note to share that fact with Landry later. Probably a last-minute gig meant nothing, but he didn’t like the surprise.
“You got your own beds, yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She throttled back the motor, the boat losing speed. “I do, but I already got those. This here is my bonus. You harvested yours yet?”
“Sure, sha.” He shook out the net, testing the new knots.
“Must not have been a good year,” she said, sympathy tingeing her voice. “Since you all are out here with me, and your boat’s in dry dock.”
Hell. His wolf preferred plain speaking, not this dancing around the truth. Either way, there wasn’t much she could do now, short of knocking him into the bayou. Mary Jane didn’t seem much for violence, though, even if she’d had the muscle to push him around. He liked thinking she might need him for something, might look to him to lend a hand when she needed protecting.
“It’s been a year all right,” he agreed. “We’re hopin’ our luck changes some tonight. If not tonight, then we’ll be tryin’ again tomorrow and the day after that. We’re stubborn, us.”
“You like it out here.” Her factual statement was tinged with... surprise?
“Why wouldn’t I?” He eased closer. Only a handful of inches between him and her now, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin. She glanced sideways, but he knew what she saw. A man focused on the needle pulling in and out of the nets spread over his legs. She didn’t see the predator stalking her.
“Not everyone does,” she admitted. “Lots of our bayou boys are all too happy to hightail it out of Louisiana. They like the city better, or they pick up a gig on the oil rigs. Maybe they decide to see another coast. They head on out and they don’t come back.”
“Me, I like the bayou just fine.”
“I can see that,” she said wryly. With a quick flick of her wrist, she redirected the boat up a narrow channel. “You don’t leave it much.”
“Only when I got a reason.” He should be watching Riley, not Mary Jane, getting to know the other woman some. Riley might be his mate, although he somehow doubted it. She didn’t call to him, didn’t make any part of him sit up and take a sensual interest. Still, Landry seemed damned convinced, and Dre had always wondered if he and Landry would share a woman between them. They did everything together, two sides of the same coin. Loving the same woman seemed like a no-brainer.
Dre sure as shit admired Mary Jane’s skill at the wheel. She knew how to work the water, guiding the boat with a serene competence. He was surprised to realize how much he liked her. He’d known he desired her, sure, but he liked the quiet way she stuck up for her boat and her crew. She was shy, and she’d be beta in any wolf pack, but she wasn’t a doormat. Hell, no. She waited until she had something she wanted to say before she opened her sweet mouth.
“What do you wan’, sha? You wan’ to stay in the bayou forever and a day?”
She laughed, surprised. The amused bark warmed him right up. She finished guiding the boat in near the bed, gesturing for Riley to drop anchor before she answered him.
“A good day on the bayou, fast water, and a fat bed of oysters. I’ll take that, thank you very much.” She gestured towards the flat water waiting in front of them. “Wh
ich would be your cue to get moving. ’Cause I got work for you here, Bayou man.”
###
By near sundown, Mary Jane knew hiring the Breaux brothers was a mistake. The bed was dense with oyster shells, but twenty-five feet was still close quarters and working together meant a whole lot of shoulder bumping. Every breath she took flooded her senses with the earthy stink of old swamp and salt water, perfect for freshwater-hating oysters. The oysters definitely liked it here, because these beauties were big, nicely shaped bastards. They’d bring top dollar at market.
She pretended she didn’t notice the clean, rugged scent of Dre and Landry. She had another couple of days before she’d head back to shore for good, so she needed to get her curiosity about these boys under control. Maybe it was the stories she’d heard—real good stories with all the sexy bits emphasized—or maybe it was the undeniable effect of strong, male bodies working hard, but she wasn’t taking her eyes off her newest deckhands, and that was a problem. She needed to keep this professional.
She needed to keep her hands to herself.
Over and over, they raked the nail-studded metal basket over the bayou floor, scooping up oysters. As soon as the basket filled, Dre and Landry cranked the load up, Riley watching the chain anxiously for snags. When they were clear of the water, the boys would swing the basket over the deck and upend her, everyone scrambling to fill the burlap sacks and tie them off, before Mary Jane turned the boat and lined her up for another pass.
Despite her usual no-guys-allowed rule, she could see the advantage to letting these two onboard. Not only did they pack more brute-force strength, Dre and Landry worked tirelessly, muscles bulging beneath their T-shirts until, with an apologetic look, they’d stripped off. The summer heat had sweat dripping down those sun-bronzed chests, and God they were a fine-looking pair, all chiseled muscles and six-pack abs.
