I felt bad for fussing at him earlier. The truth was, the room looked better already. “They look great,” I said. “I’m sorry about before. I was being a jerk.”
He shrugged, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, you kind of were. But it’s OK. I should have asked.”
“It was nice of you to do.”
“Just part of our agreement, right, cher?” His voice had a sad lilt to it that I didn’t quite understand. Deep down, he seemed as vulnerable as the rest of us. He just wanted the same things we all did—to be needed and appreciated.
I slid my hand over his shoulder as I passed him, limping a little as I walked to the sofa.
He came out of the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas and the bottle of wine. Sitting next to me, he pulled my feet into his lap. “Here,” he said, laying the peas on my ankle.
I leaned back into the cushions, closing my eyes, letting the music wash over me like a breeze. Finally, Jack said, “I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head, pouring more wine into his glass. “You wouldn’t need gris-gris and gator skulls if it wasn’t for me. You wouldn’t have all these messed up people in your life.”
“It’s all right. My life was a bit dull.”
“Something tells me you didn’t want this particular kind of excitement.” He slid his hand along my ankle, drawing tiny circles with his fingers. “My life’s a real mess, darlin’. And I feel like I just pulled you into it blind. And now you’ve got the scratches and bruises to prove it.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, my life was already a mess. Now it just spans a couple of extra states.”
He frowned. “I should have left when you first got here.”
Hearing him say that caused a twinge in my chest. That’s when I knew for sure: I needed his help, but I wanted him to stay. And not just because of repairs.
There was no way I’d let him walk out of this house now.
He slid his fingers along my shin, drawing a line from my knee to my toes. It about set my skin on fire, but I tried not to let him see. I still thought it best not to let him know how much of an effect he had on me. It was better if he thought this was a casual fling. Better if I did too.
So I sipped my wine, hoping he’d think the flush in my cheeks was from the Shiraz.
“You might drive me crazy,” I said, “but I still like you.”
“Is that right?” He finished his wine and set the empty glass on the floor.
“If I were completely honest,” I said, sitting up straighter, “I would say it’s a shame, this rule we have about not mixing business with pleasure.”
He leaned closer, sliding his hand along my thigh. “It does seem to put unnecessary stress on you.”
“I’m beginning to think so, yes.”
“Right. But we have this agreement.” His eyes seemed blue enough to drown in.
“We could maybe add an amendment to this agreement.” I poured the rest of the wine into my glass and took a sip.
“Go on.” His other hand rested on the back of the couch.
“Here’s my problem,” I said, sliding my fingers along his hand. “I can’t handle any more complexity right now. And this thing with you and me, it’s all kinds of complicated. So if there was a way to make it simple, maybe that could work.”
“And how do you propose we make it simple?”
“It involves another agreement.”
“I’m listening.” A smile touched his lips as his fingers slid farther along my thigh.
I felt my cheeks turning red, but I went on. “We agree to keep this casual,” I said. “No strings. No worrying about where this is headed. Just take it day by day, moment to moment.”
He stared at me, as if weighing the thoughts in his mind. “Keep it casual, huh?”
“I’m not in a place for something serious,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together, and if one more thing swings out of control, I’m going to lose it.”
He took the glass from me and finished the last bit of wine.
“What do you think?” I asked.
The way he looked at me then sent a shiver down to my toes.
He slid closer, bracing one arm behind me, cupping his hand under my cheek and said, “I think you’re too far away, cher.” He kissed me, gently at first, then caught my lower lip with his teeth as he wound his fingers in my hair.
Maybe by making this casual, I could consider it resolved and focus on the house. Sometimes you just need to feel another person. All the things that come before and after, they don’t matter so much.
“Does this mean you’re OK with our new terms?” I asked.
“Simple. Casual. Got it.” He pulled me close, his hands sliding along my hips.
I slipped my arms around him and kissed him until he groaned. The warmth of his hands made me want the weight of his body on mine again. I didn’t care any more about fear or regret. I just wanted to feel him.
He stopped for an instant and gazed at me, as if trying to decide if this was some sort of trap, if I was teasing him. I pulled him against me, kissed his neck from his ear to his shoulder, and trembled as his scratchy cheek grazed my skin.
As I tugged at the buttons on his shirt, his hand caught mine, squeezing my fingers, sending a current through my arms.
“I like this new agreement,” I said. Forgetting my ankle, I swung my leg around him, straddling his lap. He watched me trail my fingers along his chest, and then he pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor.
His breath tickled my throat as he said, “You’re about to like it a lot more,” and kissed me deeply, sliding his hands along my back. He lay back on the couch and pulled me on top of him.
His fingers traced my ribs, tickling as they slid down to my hips. He pulled me closer and kissed the hollow of my throat, drawing a line from my chin to my breasts with the tip of his tongue.
“I think about doing this to you all day long,” he said.
I pinned his hands above his head. “Go on,” I said, nuzzling his ear.
He chuckled in the way that meant he was about to do something deliciously wicked. The warmth of his breath made me shiver as he mumbled something half in French, and I gasped as his hand slipped inside my jeans.
I flattened myself against him. His grip tightened, and he no longer needed to say anything.
In one quick move, he rolled us over. I trembled beneath him, my skin burning where we touched. Like a reflex, I wound my legs around him, drawing him closer. I peeled his shirt from his body, and he leaned up for a minute and paused, like he was deciding what to do with me. I couldn’t wait for him to touch me again.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
My fingers slid down to his belt. “I want you so bad I can hardly stand it.”
Grabbing my hands, he inched backward so that his weight was over my hips. My skin tingled from the warmth of his hands. His fingers roamed over my belly, found the curves of my breasts.
He pinned my arms by my sides and said, “Stay.” He pulled my jeans slowly down to my knees, then over my ankles, and I sighed as he traced his tongue along the inside of my calf, up to my thigh. “I’m going to kiss all of these freckles,” he said, his voice gravelly. “One by one.”
I reached for his belt, and he let me unfasten it, unzip his jeans. He wriggled out of them slowly—his boxers too—and then kicked them out of the way. As his lips brushed the curve of my hip, then the swell of my breast, he laid himself on me again, and I wrapped my legs around him. I loved the way he moved his hands so deliberately, as if committing every contour to memory.
“I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” I said, “just for the record.”
He slid his thumb along my collarbone as he kissed my neck, the roughness of his cheek making me shiver. “I can’t imagine why you make an exception for me, but you can tell me later.” And his mouth closed on my breast, as softl
y as rain, his tongue flicking against my skin.
I gasped as he slid his hand between my thighs, moving his thumb in tiny circles. Dizzy, I closed my eyes, gripping his shoulders as if I was about to fall from a great height.
He paused long enough to make me ache for his touch. I’d never wanted a man’s hands on me so badly in my life.
“You make me crazy, you,” he whispered. “I can barely control myself.”
My heart pounded so hard he must have felt it in his teeth.
“Then come here,” I said, and pulled his face to mine. As I kissed him, I felt his tongue and teeth, and wanted him to devour me, taking his time. Sliding my hands down his back, I grasped his hips. I felt him hard against me, and I squeezed him tighter. “Jack,” I murmured, knowing I didn’t need to say anything more.
Hearing his name seemed to set him on fire. He nudged my thighs farther apart, and then was inside me with one slow, unraveling maneuver that shook me to the tips of my toes.
I felt him everywhere at once, within me and around me; I felt desired, protected when his eyes locked with mine. And I imagined those eyes fixed on mine for the rest of my days.
“Enza,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me what you want.”
I tugged his hair, pulling his face to mine. Bracing his hands by my shoulders, he moved deeper—a slow, steady rhythm that made my heart pound in my ears.
I moaned his name, despite my greatest effort not to, my lips moving against his ear. “Jack, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Anything you say, cher.”
When I squeezed my legs tighter around him, he gasped. It felt like tiny waves were rippling through my body, radiating to my feet and the ends of my hair. Though I felt him in every part of me, it didn’t seem enough. I wanted more of him and didn’t want this moment to end. His deep, slow movements were the ones that unraveled me, and as he looked into my eyes, he teased me, making each roll of his hips last as long as possible. He closed his eyes, still mumbling words I couldn’t entirely hear. I felt more alive than I ever had.
Pinpoints of light burst around me, like a meadow full of fireflies. As he thrust harder, sliding his rough cheek along my neck, his fingers wound in my hair, and I felt a jolt that threatened to rupture my heart. I cried out, feeling myself tighten around him. My voice didn’t sound like my own.
His movements slowed, and when I opened my eyes, I saw his faint smile.
He kissed my lips, lightly this time. I slid my hands along his arms, feeling his muscles tense with each movement.
He groaned, pressing his forehead against mine as he went rigid as stone, his muscles quivering. Then his body relaxed, and when he fixed his eyes on mine, he traced a finger along my cheek and said, “You are the foxiest landlady ever.”
I laughed as he leaned up on his elbow.
As the muscles in his arm quaked, I traced my fingers over the feathers of the tattooed bird.
He stared at me for a while, then at last said, “Say something.”
I brushed my lips over his shoulder and said, “Two rooms down, six to go, Mr. Mayronne.”
He laughed a raucous laugh that made me want to pull him on top of me again.
“I like this new amendment,” I said, sliding my hand back into his hair.
He pulled my fingers to his lips. “I like it too, darlin’. Very much.”
Chapter 13
Stories about the arsonist had moved from the front page to the third of the local paper, replaced by an exposé on the new candidate for governor. Today there was just a tiny one-column report. Eight fires, and no suspects had been named. In a photo of the most recent blaze, smoke tumbled from the windows of a warehouse. A half a dozen firefighters were in the frame, but if one of them was Jack, I couldn’t tell.
I was stretched out in the hammock on the porch, watching Jack work on the Jeep. It felt like I was living someone else’s life—I’d woken up thinking that surely I’d dreamed everything that had happened the day before with him. But there he’d been, tangled in the sheets next to me, his arm draped around my waist. I’d lain there awake for another hour, listening to him breathe, not wanting to break the spell. He hadn’t woken up until the roofers had started up the circular saw outside.
Now, across the yard, he was on his knees changing my tires. He’d shed his T-shirt back on the second one. Midmorning, and it was already so hot I didn’t feel like lifting more than a coffee mug. Learning about car maintenance wasn’t a terrible way to start the day, I figured. I might need those skills one day, so it was important to watch him very carefully. Especially once he’d lost the shirt.
When Jack stood and brushed himself off, I lifted the paper again, turning a couple of pages just so he wouldn’t think I was lazing around staring at him. In the back section, where the classifieds were, he’d circled a half a dozen ads for houses to rent. Skimming over the ads, I felt my chest tighten. Across the way, he set the jack under the last tire and started cranking. I tucked the paper under my arm, grabbed my glass of water and walked over to him.
“How about a drink?” I asked.
He turned and smiled. “You finally joined the living.”
“I feel bad watching you do all the work.”
His eyebrow arched, a definite sign that some wicked thought had passed through his head.
“Thanks, cher.” He took the water and sat back in the grass, wiping his hand across his brow. He had streaks of grease across his chest, down his forearms.
“How’s it coming?” I asked.
“She’ll be good as new in no time. Like a pony with new shoes.”
I sat down across from him. “I see you beat me to the morning paper.”
He took a long drink of water and said, “How’s that?”
“You’re checking out other houses to rent.”
He nodded. “Time’s slipping away, cher. I’m going to be out in the cold soon.”
I felt the stab of something like dread and tried to make my voice sound chipper. “Found any prospects yet?”
“I found some of the sketchiest houses in the parish, and they were still asking too much. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I may be going to a cot in the firehouse.” He shook his head, then said, “Unless, of course, you were to take on the position of landlord, and keep this beautiful house for your own, and rent it to a fine upstanding citizen who can also be persuaded to pay you in your favorite kind of favors.”
I liked thinking of those favors. “Jack, we’ve had this conversation.” But then I had another thought. “We’ve never talked about you being the new owner, though.”
“What?”
“If you like the house so much, why don’t you buy it?”
He shook his head. “Doubt it’ll be in my price range.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I hear the seller’s quite motivated.”
He smiled, then said, “New subject. Did you see the other news in the paper?”
“You mean page three?”
“This arsonist is making us look like idiots,” he said. “How is it possible this guy keeps slipping through our fingers?” He turned back to the Jeep, twisting the lug nuts off. “They had a press conference yesterday and gave us about ten minutes’ warning. We were babbling like shorebirds in front of half the town. We’ll be punchlines by sundown.”
He glanced at his watch as he wiped his hands on an old rag. “I’ve got to get to the station in a little while. Have to do a two-day shift.”
“Maybe those tires will still be working when you get back.”
His eyebrow arched. “You see anybody skulking around here with a screwdriver, you have my permission to shoot them.”
“Will do.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to me. “Call me at the station if you need anything. And I mean anything.”
“You mean like if any more skulls show up in the yard?”
He frowned. “I’m serious. The number’s p
rogrammed in there.” He whistled as if calling for a cab. The dog crawled out from the shade of the cypresses and trotted over to us, her tail wagging. When she sat at Jack’s feet, he knelt down and scratched her ears. He muttered to her in patois, phrases I could only half understand.
The dog barked.
“I hope you told her to go dig up my phone.”
“I told her to watch out for you,” he said. He stepped over to me and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“Really?” I said. “That’s all I get?”
He grinned, sliding his fingers down my neck, his other hand drifting along the small of my back. “Any more and I won’t be able to tear myself away. If I’ve got to suffer for a couple of days, so do you.” He pecked my lip, catching it lightly in his teeth. “The best things are worth waiting for,” he said, his lips moving against my ear. “Didn’t you learn that yet?” He swatted me on the behind and walked back to the house.
~~~~
I spent the rest of the day on the porch, working on the old banister rails. Pale and crackled, they looked as spindly as fish bones. The house was coming together on the inside, but from the outside, it still looked brittle, like it might collapse if you stared at it too hard. Scraping the old paint off was soothing—like shedding an old skin, making way for something stronger. The roofers worked above me, their hammers pounding like a giant metronome, counting down the days, the hours I had left to finish the house. I hadn’t talked to my father since the dog ran away with the phone, and he was likely itching for an update.
I wasn’t too upset that the phone was submerged in the swamp.
When the afternoon sun had moved to the far corner of the sky, the roofers climbed down, their shirts wrapped around their heads. Though they were already deeply tanned, their backs and shoulders were red.
“I think we’ve got you all fixed up,” Wayne said, climbing down the ladder. “She ought to make it another ten years or more.”
“Perfect,” I said.
Randall appeared with three plastic cups I’d brought out earlier. “Thanks for the water,” he said, raking a hand through his damp dark hair. “We went through ours fast.” He had a warm smile, like Jack.
Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 15
