by Zoe Dawson
I took several breaths. I would check on things here, get this Duel shit out of the way, take River home, take care of the dinner rush, and go fuck Becky. Yeah, fuck her until I was numb.
I opened the door and stepped out into the kitchen. I was tired. Sleep last night was non-existent because of my tripdar, and River Pearl Sutton took up a lot of oxygen and energy. Maybe that was why I was having such a hard time resisting her pull.
Yeah, I was going to go with the oxygen-sucking idea.
Jackie eyed me. She was a mom and a grandmom and she read me like a book.
“Why don’t you leave dinner to me tonight, young man, and get yourself to bed early?” She was making dough for tomorrow’s beignets, her hands sticky with the ingredients. I used to do all this myself when I’d first started, but as Outlaws got more and more popular over the year since I’d opened, I had to hire staff. Jackie had been the only person in town who applied for the manager’s position. Sour grapes, I thought. The townspeople would have been happy to see me fail.
“You handling me, Momma Jackie?” I asked while I grabbed a clean white apron and tied it around my waist.
The place right between my shoulder blades was already tight, and got tighter when Jackie’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. I didn’t have to turn around to see who she was looking at.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted her to walk into the kitchen instead of hightail it home…hightail it home and forget about Duel and forget about me and go back to being the untouchable woman I saw in magazines. I knew they air-brushed those pictures, but they shouldn’t. The natural River was so damn beautiful.
“Can I help with anything?” she asked. Her voice was bright, but when I looked at her eyes, they appeared bruised and determined. Oh, fuck me hard! Had I made her cry…again?
What the hell was I supposed to do, with her looking like that? My heart turned over and I cursed it. “Come over here, and I’ll teach you how to make remoulade,” I said.
She stared at me for a moment, conceding the last battle to me. Ah, dammit, River Pearl was a fighter, too. Then she spied Jackie and walked over to her. “Hello, I’m River Pearl.” She offered her hand and Jackie took it.
“Jackie LeBlanc,” she glanced at me and smiled. “Uh, Mr. Outlaw’s manager.”
She cut me a look so typically River Pearl, I couldn’t help but grin, and her bruised look was replaced by dry humor. “You make people call you Mr. Outlaw?”
“Why not?” Jackie demanded, bristling like a mama bear protecting her cub. “He’s the boss here and, might I add, cooks like nobody I have ever met before. He deserves the respect.”
River Pearl looked contrite and set her hand on Jackie’s arm. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, Jackie. It seems strange to me to learn Braxton would be so formal. It doesn’t seem like his style.”
I laughed again because Jackie actually never called me Mr. Outlaw. She was being silly until she saw River Pearl’s reaction. Then all humor was gone as she rushed to my defense. I didn’t need it, but it did warm my heart to learn she thought she needed to.
Finally Jackie cracked a smile and River relaxed.
“So, you had a hand in making my luncheon a success. Thank you very much, Jackie.”
“You’re very welcome, Miz Sutton.” Jackie rolled out the dough and deftly started to form it.
“Oh, no. River Pearl will do.” She looked at me, then back at Jackie. “I haven’t earned any respect yet.”
Jackie chuckled. She looked at me as if to say, I don’t care if the town won’t sanction it, and River’s daddy would bust a gasket, what are you waiting for? “What’s on the menu tonight?” Jackie asked me.
“You don’t have a set menu?” River turned to me, her gray eyes wide.
“Nope,” I said, calculating what we had on hand and what I would need to create the menu forming in my head.
“Why not?”
“Boring.” I drawled, giving her a yeah-right look. Our gazes locked and her eyes dropped to my mouth. I licked my bottom lip in response to the need to kiss her. “I don’t do boring.”
“Brax, I’ll need to go to the market if we’re short on something, so…the menu?” Jackie prodded.
Slowly I pulled my gaze away from River Pearl’s. Jackie shook her head, as if it was a foregone conclusion, but I was too dumb to realize it. “Crab cakes with remoulade sauce and roasted veggies—carrots, red potatoes, shallots and green beans; deep fried white fish with garlic tartar sauce on sourdough, either baked white barbeque chips or French fries; and Cajun egg rolls with jezebel sauce and dirty rice.”
“Good choices,” she said writing it all down. I did cheap menu handouts on my computer, then printed them out, then recycled them.
“Can we come here for dinner?” River said.
“I have to come here, darlin’. I’m cooking,” I said, smiling at her.
“Okay, can I come here for dinner?”
Temptation curled around me and drew me toward her. “Sure, sugar pie.”
“Brax,” Jackie prodded impatiently. “The sauce.”
Without taking my eyes off River Pearl, I asked Jackie, “You handling me again?”
“No, sir.”
“Really?” River whispered to me. “Sir?”
“She’s doing it to bug me.”
“Oh. You even charm grandmas, it seems.”
“It’s a gift,” I said, sidling closer. Jackie bustled over and shoved her list in my face. “Does this cover it?”
I should have been grateful for her interference, but I wasn’t. Geezus, what a dumb bastard I was. I looked at the list and shoved it back at her. “Yeah, Grandma, it’ll do.”
“I’ll be back.”
After the back door closed behind her, I shifted away from River, an easier physical shift then the mental one I needed to make. I reached for a big silver bowl to keep my hands busy and off River Pearl.
Thankfully she didn’t make any type of move. I’m not sure I could have resisted a repeat of what she had done at my house. It was going to be difficult enough being around her and keeping my guard up. The less we shared the better. It was just…a lot harder than I’d expected it would be.
“Remoulade is a classic French sauce,” I said to get my mind off touching River. “But here in the bayou we make it Cajun style. J'ai une recette secrète pour le faire.”
“Something about a secret recipe.” Her face scrunched up adorably.
“Aw, you speak zee leetle French, no?” I said, and her eyes twinkled.
She raised her hand and pantomimed a little with her thumb and forefinger. “Un petite peu. I picked it up in France. But yours is pretty flawless. Do Booker and Boone speak as well?”
I mimicked her pantomime and the twinkling increased. I liked that she seemed to have forgotten our earlier charged conversation. But it was part of what made her a formidable fighter. I still couldn’t help my admiration. “Un petite peu. They were not as interested as I was. I spent a lot more time with my aunt and uncle. My aunt’s the one who taught me Cajun cooking.”
“So, what is this secret recipe?” she asked, her eyes avid.
I shook my head. “Uh-uh.” I paused and watched her frown. “Unless you can keep a secret.”
She sidled closer. “I can keep a secret, Braxton.”
“Can you?” I bent down close to her ear and whispered it. She shivered and gasped slightly. I released a hot breath right into the shell of her ear. Then yelped and jumped back when her hand dug into my rib cage.
“You devil,” she said, “Come on, Braaaaxxxxx. I promise not to tell,” she cajoled, digging in again.
I grinned like the devil she called me, then grabbed her hand. We both stilled at the contact. Fuuuuck. It felt so good to touch her. I brought her hand to my mouth. I couldn’t resist the hot look in her eyes mixed with sparkling amusement. It was irresistible. I kissed the inside of her wrist and moved closer. “Most cooks around Louisiana have a secret ingredient w
hen it comes to making remoulade.”
“What is it?” she demanded, now breathless. I wondered if it was how she would sound when I was deep inside her. I pressed my mouth to her wrist again, this time placing a long, fervent kiss there.
“You trying to distract me?” she asked, and I lifted my head, knowing I had just put my feet on the road to perdition. Knowing I was doomed. And damned. I had only a shred of self-control left. All she had to do is push me a little and I would be lost.
I heard the back door jiggle, and I let her go as Jackie bustled back into the kitchen. “Give me a hand with these,” she said, fully aware of the tension in the room.
I went for the door, glad of the reprieve.
“Braxton,” River said, grabbing my arm, halting me. “The ingredient?”
“Champagne mustard,” I said before I went to Jackie’s car, grabbed the groceries, and carried them back into the kitchen.
I set them on the counter, noting River Pearl hadn’t moved. Jackie was in my office at my desk typing up the simple menu, which she would then print.
“Where can I buy champagne mustard?” she asked while I pulled items out of the bags.
I grinned again. “I don’t get it. I make it.”
“Wow, sounds like you should bottle all this stuff you make with your own brand and sell it. We offer a lot of products with our pecans.”
“Right, like I got time for that.” I rolled my eyes and went back to the counter. “Okay, if I don’t make this sauce and stop jawing, Jackie’s going to skewer me with the special glare she’s got going over there.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want you to get skewered.”
I walked to the large commercial grade fridge, took out my special mayo and brought it back to the counter. Then I reached up and got what I needed from the shelves. “All remoulades are based on either oil or mayonnaise, and most Louisiana remoulades also have mustard, garlic, paprika, and Cajun seasonings in them. It’s served most often with shrimp and crab cakes, po’ boy sandwiches, and sometimes chicken. It’s also an awesome substitute for ketchup with French fries.”
“So what do you do first?”
“Grab the mayo. Dump it in this big ol’ bowl.” I handed her the bowl.
She grasped the mayo and took the spatula I gave her. “All of it?”
“Yup. We’re going to make a gallon of sauce.”
“I haven’t cooked much, Brax.”
“You’ll do fine, sugar. Cooking is nothin’ more than mixing things up, and we’re not cooking anyway. No heat involved.”
“Oh, there’s heat,” she murmured.
I ignored her dulcet tones. We were alone in the kitchen, my help would be here in about twenty minutes, and Jackie was out in the bar checking on the tables. Boy, I needed a buffer, especially after tasting her sweet skin.
She awkwardly scooped most of the mayo into the bowl and handed the spatula back to me.
“Nope, hold onto it. You’re going to stir.”
I walked over to the fridge and pulled out fresh chopped garlic and the mustard I’d made yesterday.
Back at the counter, I noticed River Pearl didn’t have an apron. I snagged a clean one and, without thinking what I was doing, I grabbed her hip and turned her toward me. I had to lean into her slightly to get the ends behind her to tie it.
She said nothing, just stared up at me with those fathomless gray eyes. How many times had I imagined her looking at me this way? My hands lingered. I longed to run them up her back into her mass of hair tickling the back of my hands at her waist. Touching her at all had been my downfall, and I’d been touching her all day.
“Thank you,” she said.
I felt liquid all of a sudden, my knees wobbly. I took a breath, and without my permission, my head descended—
The swinging door banged against the wall.
“What’s for lunch?” Boone yelled.
Then he stopped dead. I still had my hands around her waist, but I jerked back.
Boone. Shit! Mister Twenty Fucking Questions.
He grinned, looking all sweaty and hot. Then his mouth opened, then it closed with a snap when River turned toward him.
His brows furrowed and he looked at me, his blue eyes going thunderous. He strode forward and grabbed River’s chin and peered at her face.
“Son of a bitch! What happened to your nose?”
Anger swamped me and I planted my fists on my hips so I wouldn’t hammer them into his fucking face. “What? You think I hit her?”
“Did you?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I fell.”
“What the fuck! No! How could you think I would ever harm a woman, even if she is a pain in my ass?” We spoke at the same time.
“Hey!” River frowned when she registered what I had said.
I faced off with Boone, hurt he would think me capable of punching River Pearl. She pressed him back with a hand on his chest. “Braxton didn’t hit me.”
Boone heard the hesitation in her voice.
“But you caused her to fall somehow?” he prodded.
What did I tell you? Mister Twenty Questions.
“We had a…disagreement. I got upset and wasn’t watching where I was going. I fell down the stairs.”
“Go figure. You and Brax having a disagreement. What a surprise.” Boone said and my eyes narrowed. “Geezus, I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I got ice for her nose and a knock to my nuts for my trouble,” I said, still irritated.
River whirled on me, her mouth open. “That was an accident, Braxton Outlaw, and you know it.”
“You kicked him in the balls?” Boone winced with a snort, empathy and amusement mixing together. “Okay, I have some sympathy.”
“It was an accident, Boone,” she insisted
“No wonder my tripdar has been going off all day. I thought it was just aftershocks from this morning. What is it with you two?”
“Nothing,” we said in unison.
Boone sighed. “Can I get something to eat, or are you too busy all up in River’s grill tying her apron for her? It’s a really pretty bow, though, Brax.” Boone said deadpan.
“I’m going to tie you in a bow.”
Boone sauntered over to the fridge and opened it, peering inside. He grabbed a bottle of water and drained it, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
“I need it to go. I’ve got to finish this job today. I can’t stand any more of pompous ass Jeff. I’ve never seen anyone micromanage the way he does. Always on my back like he’s the landscape designer.”
“Yeah, he’s a windbag. Po’ boy?”
“Yeah, sounds awesome.”
I walked over and started assembling the sandwich. “Keep stirring, River,” I said.
Boone sidled up to me and lowered his voice. “What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“My ass, there’s nothing going on. Why don’t you accept you’re attracted to her and do something about it?”
“My business, Boone. Stop with the questions. She knows we’re talking about her,” I hissed.
I wrapped the sandwich and grabbed a bag, thrusting it inside with short angry movements. I shoved the bag into his hands.
“Gee, thanks for the hospitality,” he said. “See you around, River.”
“You bet, Boone. Say hey to Verity for me.”
I walked back to the counter and opened the champagne mustard.
River breathed deep. “That smells goooood.”
I dumped the contents into the mayo/garlic compound, still steamed about Boone. Without thinking I scooped some on my finger and raised it to her mouth. She grabbed my hand, her skin so smooth, and her lips clamped around me, her mouth wet and hot around my finger.
“Mmm-hhhuumm,” she groaned, her eyes closing, and I went instantly hard, an image of her mouth on my dick filling my head in living color. Her tongue swirled, then sucked, and I made a sound in my throat between a moan and a growl. My hard-on pulsed against the fly of my jean
s, and I was running out of space. Her eyes popped open and her grip tightened around my hand. I was transfixed, completely under her spell. With a deliberate slowness, she slid her mouth along my finger until it popped out of her mouth.
“Yum,” she said,
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
“What else goes into this remoulade? I’d love a taste of whatever it is.”
I was so screwed.
I dumped in the paprika and the Cajun seasonings. Then I walked toward my office, “Stir for a while,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
To jerk off. “I’ve got something to do. I’ll be back in five minutes.” My words taut, straining.
As soon as the door closed at my back, my dick was hot and heavy in my hand. Panting, it took two strokes, as an explosive orgasm started at the back of my skull and the base of my dick and flowed out of me. I pressed my back against the door, resonating with blessed relief. It was a timeless sensation, and it lasted forever, and the whole time I wished I was buried in River Pearl’s hot core.
Chapter Seven
River Pearl
Braxton had been quiet during the drive over to his momma’s house. The taste of him was still on my tongue, and I wanted more, but after he’d come out of his office, he seemed more in control. I could only guess what he’d been doing. I wished I knew for sure.
When we pulled up, he got out and, to my shock, came around and opened my door.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and settled his hand against the small of my back as he guided me to the front door. The house was quaint and cheery. Tangled vines wove up a trellis, arching over as we walked through it on the slate gray path. The heady, sweet scent of honeysuckle permeated the air. Nestled in the bayou, the simple clapboard house had a small porch with rocking chairs, Boone’s touch also visible here. Damn, I adored Boone Outlaw. He was so charismatic and so endearing. The way he’d stormed over to me when he’d thought Brax had hurt me. But I knew in my heart, no matter how angry Brax got, or how intimidating, he would never deliberately hurt me.
