I parked in a far corner of the lot, in the shade.
“Welcome to the Dead Donkey,” he said. “My least favorite dive bar in the parish. And yet somehow I end up here every other day.”
As I gazed at the front of the building, I was suddenly horrified by the idea of talking to Miranda.
Andre turned to me and said, “You have five minutes, and then I’m coming in.”
“That’s hardly long enough to sort this out. I need fifteen at least. This is a delicate situation.”
“Six,” Andre said.
“Ten.”
He stared at me over his glasses. “Six,” he drawled. “And then I’m coming in to start making arrests.”
I wasn’t sure he could arrest me, but I thought it best not to cross him further. “OK,” I said sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”
He bit his lip, staring straight at the front door.
~~~~
The gravel crunched under my feet as I walked up to the porch. Neon beer signs flickered in a couple of small windows, but there was no other indication the place was even open. I stepped over a smattering of broken glass and went inside. Light poured in behind me, and the customers, mostly men, squinted like they’d been in the dark for days. Dartboards lined the paneled walls. A lone pool table sat in the corner. Around it, a cluster of men in dirty jeans and T-shirts stood drinking beer from cans. An old jukebox sat against the far wall. A guy pounded his fist against it as he fed it quarters.
Miranda was in the far corner, balancing cans and glasses on a tray by her head. In that instant, a tiny voice of reason told me to leave, that it wasn’t too late—I could slip back out, and she’d never know I was there. But then she turned, and her eyes narrowed, and the window passed.
Trying to look more together than I was, I took a deep breath and walked toward the bar. The bartender was a tall guy with shaggy blond hair and a fading bruise around his eye. He nodded without smiling. “What can I get you?”
“A shot of whiskey, please.”
He poured a generous shot, and I laid a ten on the bar. “I need to talk to Miranda.”
He took the bill, then disappeared through the swinging kitchen door and yelled, “Hey, Miranda! I need you up front.”
I downed the shot and winced.
A minute later, the kitchen door swung open and banged against the wall. Miranda came out with the bartender right behind her. He stayed back, pouring a couple of beers at the opposite end of the bar while she sauntered over, her high heels clacking on the tile. Her hair was piled high on her head. Gold hoops as big as bracelets bobbed in her ears.
Her face tightened when she saw me. “What do you want?”
“I needed to tell you something.”
She crossed her arms, glaring.
I glanced at the bartender. He pretended to ignore us.
“What you’ve been doing,” I said, keeping my voice low. “It has to stop.”
She cocked her head, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Coming to my house. Leaving things in the yard. It’s not going to work. I’m not going anywhere.”
She scoffed, glancing behind her. The bartender started drying glasses, looking up at us every now and then.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and turned to walk away.
“I think you do,” I said, raising my voice. “And I just came to tell you—”
“Tell me what?” she snapped.
“Look, I know about the restraining order. I don’t want to call the sheriff, but you’re not leaving me any choice. You have to stop what you’re doing. You can’t actually think it’s going to bring Jack back to you.”
“You don’t know anything about us.”
“Men who want to be with you don’t file restraining orders.”
She glared at me, biting her lip. “How dare you come in here.”
“He’s not the guy for you. Just leave him be.”
Her lip trembled, though I wasn’t sure if it was from fury or sadness. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“Don’t you want to be with someone who wants to be with you?” I said. “You don’t want to chase someone who doesn’t love you.”
“Get out of here,” she said, flushed.
“This is the only time I’m going to ask you. I was hoping we could resolve this like adults.”
“I said get out!” she yelled.
“Hey!” the bartender said, walking toward us. “There a problem here?”
“Yeah,” Miranda said. “But she’s leaving.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, stepping to Miranda’s side.
“I’m going,” I told her. “But think about what I said.”
She sneered, then glanced at the bartender. “Thinks she can come in here and threaten me.”
The bartender stepped forward. “You’d best be on your way,” he said.
“No more,” I said to Miranda. She was still muttering to the bartender as I walked to the front door and bumped into Andre.
“Jesus,” I said. “Nice lurking.”
“Your six minutes were up,” he said, holding the door for me.
I trudged outside, squinting in the light.
He led me back out to the Jeep and said, “Was that the outcome you were hoping for?”
I frowned, starting the engine. “Not exactly. But at least she knows we know it’s her.”
~~~~
Back at the house, Andre insisted on cooking dinner again.
“It relaxes me,” he said, tossing potatoes in olive oil. “You know, after an event has put me on edge.”
I poured two glasses of wine, but when I offered him one, he shook his head.
After a while, he said, “You certainly have a way of setting your mind on something.”
“Stubborn, you mean.”
He shoved the tray of potatoes in the oven. “It’s not entirely unlikeable.”
When he turned, I grabbed him and hugged him. “Thank you for helping me today.”
“Oh,” he said, stiffening. “Um, you’re welcome.”
He held his arms by his sides, oven mitts on both hands.
“I just can’t have everything falling apart at the same time,” I said.
He patted my shoulder, the mitt thumping against me. “I know, sugar. I know.”
~~~~
At ten o’clock, Jack still wasn’t home. Andre assured me everything was fine, that sometimes being late just meant the next guy hadn’t shown up for his shift on time.
“Go on to bed,” he told me. “I’ll stay until he gets home.”
Still worried, I climbed into Jack’s bed. I lay in the dark for a long time, thinking about what Duchess had said and the way Miranda had glared at me. I hoped Andre was right, that she would find someone else to get hung up on and forget about Jack, but it was hard to push aside the thought of her doing something else—something worse—in the meantime. Jack seemed to think he could keep me safe by having Andre around, but they couldn’t always be with me. I hated the fact that I fell asleep each night wondering what Miranda was planning and what Remy was planning. It made me furious that they had squeezed themselves into my life, and it seemed the only way I could escape them was to leave Bayou Sabine.
And Jack.
~~~~
It was late in the night when Jack came home. I woke when he bumped into the nightstand while stripping out of his clothes.
“Sorry,” he said, nuzzling my ear. “I was trying not to wake you.”
I kissed him, and he pulled me against his chest, winding his arms around me.
“How was it?” I asked, barely awake.
“Quiet,” he said. “No calls.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It didn’t used to be.”
I slid my arm around his waist, and he sighed.
“I could get used to coming home to this,” he said. He slid his fingers along my hip as he spoke. “I’ve never met anybody like yo
u, Enza Parker, and here you are, in my bed. How’d I get so lucky?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Smart ass,” he said, swatting my behind. “With a lovely ass.” He pulled me closer and kissed me as I laughed.
“Is this your way of saying you missed me?” I asked.
“A little bit.” When he kissed my neck and slid his teeth along my shoulder, I felt an urgency in him that I hadn’t felt before. Yet he was holding something back.
As I gripped him tighter, I tugged at his hair, trying to coax the rougher side of him out. He groaned and rolled on top of me so fast it startled me. The force of his body pinning me down made me wild, and as he moved his hips against mine, I knew he wouldn’t stop until I was completely unraveled. He knew exactly how to touch me, exactly where to place his hands, his lips, his tongue.
I wound my legs around him, feeling the hardness of him pressing against my hip, aching to feel more of him.
“I think this means you missed me too,” he said, his lips moving against my ear.
“You have no idea.” I dragged my fingers down his back. He squeezed my shoulders as he kissed me, hard, and I cried out as his cheek slid down my neck to my breasts.
I loved the roughness of his chin, the hard edges of his teeth, and I gripped him tighter as my own touch became rougher. The friction of his body moving against mine made me dizzy. In one swift move, he rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him so my knees were on either side of his chest. The way he moved so fast and with such force only made my heart pound louder in my chest.
I’d never been with a man as passionate as Jack, a man who seemed intent on making me feel so much pleasure. He took control of me in the best way, guiding my hands over his body, pressing them into his skin as if hoping to leave traces he’d see the next day. I squeezed his hips, and his eyes darkened in the most delicious way. I leaned in to kiss his chest, moving down as slowly as he had with me, but as I reached his hips, he rolled me onto my back again and held me fast in his grip. My breath quickened. I wanted him to take me roughly, to make me feel his strength, and when I stared at him, I knew he could see it in my eyes.
He moved his fingers in small strokes, teasing me with kisses that stole my breath. I thought my lips would surely bruise, but I needed to feel this desire that seemed to grow within him with each passing moment. A groan came from deep within my throat, and I wound my fingers in his hair, surprised by the thoughts that crept into my mind. I wanted him to take me every way he could, over and over, until I was too tired to breathe. When I could stand his teasing no more, I tightened my legs around him and said, “Jack, I can’t wait another second.”
“Oh, yes you can,” he said, half-smiling.
“You’re making me crazy.”
“That’s the idea.”
I dug my fingers into his shoulders as I pressed my mouth against his neck to muffle my cries. When I looked back at him, he smiled in that devilish way of his that said he knew exactly what he was doing and had no intention of stopping. Turning his attention back to my breasts, his chin barely touched my skin as he traced small circles with his tongue.
“You taste so sweet,” he said.
I leaned back into the pillows, closing my eyes. The room was spinning like I was drunk. Jack’s breaths came hard and fast; when he pressed himself against me, I could feel the thumping of his heart against my chest. My skin tingled where it touched his, like static electricity, and still I wanted more.
“You drive me wild looking at me like that,” he said.
I grabbed his hair and pulled his face close to mine. I felt like some other, freer version of myself. “Come here, you’re too far away.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. His smile said he was about to give me everything I wanted and more, and as he moved inside me, I cried out, unable to control myself.
“Enza,” he said, his voice going hoarse. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“An inkling,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.
He laughed, his teeth pinching my neck as he kissed me. He lifted my hips, taking me by surprise so that I cried out again, helpless under his spell.
“Do you like it this way,” he whispered, moving hard and fast, and my voice cracked when I spoke.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed. “Don’t ever stop.”
Digging my fingers into his back, I whispered things I never thought I’d say aloud, and his movements became bolder, a staccato rhythm. He could sense exactly what I wanted, and as my voice deepened, so did his thrusts.
“I knew you were a rough and tumble gal, cher,” he said, nearly out of breath.
I locked my knees around his hips, drawing him in farther, until he cried out himself, as if touched by a firebrand.
“Enza,” he said, calling my name again and again. No one had ever called my name like that, but then Jack wasn’t like other men I’d known.
His hands roamed over my skin, and as he watched me respond to his own pulsing rhythm, he moved harder, faster, until we were as close as two lovers could be. When he kissed me again, he shifted his weight in a slow, deliberate move that sent us both reeling.
“Jack,” I said at last, my heart pounding. My body seemed to move all on its own, as unpredictable as jazz. When his own movements slowed, he slid over to lie next to me. His breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled my shoulder, sliding his fingers along my skin, as if drawing a map that would lead him back to this moment that he would dare me to forget.
I reached over and ran my fingers through his hair. It was so tangled and wild I couldn’t help myself. My eyes were heavy, but I wanted to sear that image of him into my memory.
After a while, he said, “You’ll put me to sleep doing that.”
“You must be exhausted.”
He tightened his arm around me and whispered, “In the best way.”
“That was a little inconsiderate, mauling you right as you came through the door.”
He mumbled, half-asleep, “Yes, that was terrible of you. Please don’t ever do that again. Especially in a few days when I come home from my next shift.”
I slid my hand along his chest, and he turned, locking his arms around me. He kissed my cheek, his eyes closed, and muttered, “I don’t want you to go, cher.”
“Why, because your life will go back to normal?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out.
“What?” I whispered, nearly asleep.
“Because I love you,” he said.
“You what?” I said, thinking I’d surely misheard him, but he was quiet.
“Jack?” I whispered.
He snored softly, and I lay my head against his shoulder.
I love you too, I wanted to say, but even though I knew he couldn’t hear me, the words wouldn’t come out.
Chapter 23
When I opened my eyes in the morning, I was alone. I lay in bed for a while, thinking Jack might come back. It was already bright out. It baffled me that he could get up early after working so late, but he always woke around the same time, regardless of what he did the day before. I admired that kind of resolve. When it became evident he wasn’t coming back, I went to look for him.
The kitchen was empty, but the French press was half full. I poured myself a cup of warm coffee and walked through the house, but there was no sign of Jack. It was already hot, the air heavy with humidity. And it was just past ten. I dreaded the thought of working on the house in the heat. Even though I wasn’t defending my timeline to my father any more, I still wanted to finish as soon as possible. I opened the door and cringed, feeling the wall of heat that was late June in Louisiana.
When I stepped onto the porch, I saw the dog bound across the lawn, a little brown blur in a field of green. A whistle cut the air, and I followed the sound. Jack was down near the water, Bella rushing toward him with a stick in her mouth. She dropped it at his feet, and he tossed it into the yard again in a graceful arc.
The dog thun
dered through the grass, the tall weeds rippling in her wake. Jack waved at me as he tossed the stick again and grinned in the way that made my toes curl. Even from a distance, he could set my mind reeling with all sorts of naughty ideas.
When the dog didn’t come back, he whistled again, calling her name. She was down by the water, nose to the ground, ignoring him completely. He finally walked toward her, still whistling and clapping his hands. He leaned over and tried to wrestle something away from her, and I shivered, thinking it was no doubt some disgusting dead thing.
Fantasy ruined.
After a tug-of-war style scuffle, Bella won out, and Jack fell backwards into the grass. He stood, and the dog took off again like a bolt of lightning. I laughed, taking great delight in watching him saunter toward the house.
He smiled as he reached the porch. “Taking it easy, are we?” he said.
“Just admiring the view.”
“Hmm.” He kissed me, catching my lip.
“Keep that up, and I’ll want to go right back to bed.”
“That could be arranged.” He sat in the porch swing and pulled me down with him. “I think I fell asleep on you last night.”
The egrets had taken their usual places in the cypress trees, calling to each other across the water. They made it seem like life was so easy around here—it almost made me forget about things like arson.
“You did. Mid-sentence. But I forgive you.”
“I’m sure I can think of a suitable way to make it up to you.”
I grinned, ruffling his hair. “I don’t doubt that.”
Part of me wanted to laze the morning away, but I knew I should get to work on my outside tasks. With two weeks left, I couldn’t afford to slow down.
“Hey,” I said, “when do you think Buck might be able to start on the living room?”
Jack looked surprised. “I don’t know. Next week, maybe?”
“Any chance he could start sooner? I was hoping I might still get the house on the market right by the middle of July.”
“Oh,” he said. “That fast?”
“It’ll probably take him a week to ten days for the repairs. Then I’ll need a few days to paint and spiffy up. I might still make my deadline.”
Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 26
