by Nancy Warren
“Oh, I should have known they’d be here,” Beatrice said with unaccustomed animosity in her tone. She motioned to where a man in a toupee that seemed to be channeling Donald Trump stood with a woman so thin it hurt Lucy’s bones to look at her. “She boasted to a friend of mine that she has to have her clothes custom made. Even a size two has to be taken in.”
“Ouch.” The form-fitting black sheath dress the woman wore certainly fit where it touched. She wore her blond hair up and her décolletage low so her long, Audrey Hepburn neck was the focal point of her ensemble. She wore a choker with three stings of fat pearls—the only thing fat on her body—centered by the biggest emerald Lucy had ever seen.
“Is that emerald real?” Lucy asked in a whisper.
“Oh, yes. The Grimmels. Husband’s trying to develop land that he maintains is swamp and everyone knows is irreplaceable habitat for a rare species of frog. Horrible people.” Beatrice was usually willing to give everyone his due, but Lucy had discovered that she despised people who took from society and gave nothing back.
Lucy might not know a soul, but it was quickly apparent that both Claude and his mother knew pretty much everyone. Beatrice was soon swept into a laughing group of men and women. One older gentlemen with silver hair and a tan who looked a bit like Cary Grant in his older days kissed her cheek and obviously wanted her all to himself. Another man, balding but with an attractive smile, went off to get Beatrice a drink.
“Will they fight a duel?” Lucy asked Claude.
“No. Mother says she’ll never marry again. She likes men, though.” He shrugged in a typically Gallic way. “You never know.”
She watched Beatrice for a few minutes, feeling proud of this strong, independent woman. She realized with a start that she’d become as fond of Beatrice in the couple of weeks she’d been here as she would be if they’d known each other all their lives.
“I love your mom,” she said to Claude.
“She’s pretty crazy about you, too,” he replied. “Come on, let’s find a drink.”
They made their way to the bar, and since there was some kind of bright pink punch that came out of a fountain, she went for that. How often did she go to the kind of parties where drinks came out of a very pretty mermaid’s mouth? A Bud in a bottle she could get any day.
It was surprisingly fun having Claude as a date. He knew so many people that they were usually part of a group, and it didn’t escape her notice that a lot of longing glances were sent his way by women in the room.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked after they’d been talking to a group of some of the younger people present.
She glanced at him under her lashes. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last time we danced.”
He grinned at her. “Me neither.”
Oh, what the hell, she thought, putting her empty punch glass on a passing waiter’s tray. They made their way to the crowded dance floor, and then she saw the woman who’d been driving the car that morning when she was jogging. The one he’d had the intense conversation with at five-thirty in the morning after who knew what had passed in the hours beforehand.
The woman was stunning. Even more so tonight in a pumpkin-colored evening dress. She was with a stern-looking man who kept a proprietary arm around her. To Lucy’s surprise, the woman and Claude passed within touching distance of one another and neither made the slightest sign of recognition.
Somehow, seeing Claude and that woman pretend not to know each other took all the fun out of dancing with her sexy cousin. Why couldn’t he have said, “Hey, Lucy, I’d like you to meet Ethel. She and I belong to a voodoo club that meets in the wee hours.” Or, “Hey, Lucy, this here’s my good friend Ethel. We’re both amateur astronomers. Did you know that the best stargazing happens between two and four A.M.?”
Instead, he acted like he’d never seen the woman in his life.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her after they’d been pressed together for a few minutes in with the mass of other dancers. The magic she’d felt the last time they’d danced was gone.
“Nothing.”
“Your body doesn’t lie to me, Lucy. Something’s bothering you.”
He wanted to know? Fine. She had no reason to hide things. Unlike some people. “That woman we passed on our way to the dance floor, the one in the orange dress. I saw her drive you home at five-thirty in the morning three days ago.”
He bent his head to look down at her, and she was amazed to see not embarrassment or contrition in his gaze, but a blaze of anger. “And you naturally decided I’m having an affair with her.”
“Seemed like a logical conclusion. Now I’ve seen her with that possessive guy, I’d add adulterous to affair.” She stared back defiantly. “Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”
“I told you to trust me. I promised you I wasn’t seeing another woman.”
“I saw what I saw.”
“Come on.” He all but dragged her off the dance floor and outside to a floodlit garden with secret alcoves and stone benches. They passed the woman she’d seen in the car and he must have made some sign because the next thing she knew, the three of them were standing in a sheltered corner surrounded by the scent of night jasmine.
“This better be important,” the woman snapped.
“Isabelle, this is my cousin, Lucy. Please tell her who you are and how we know each other.”
Oh, this should be good. Voodoo club? Stargazing? She could hardly wait to hear what they’d come up with.
“Claude, you agreed—”
“It’s important,” he snapped. Lucy felt the tension in his body.
Isabelle must have sensed it, too, for she shot him an annoyed glance and Lucy one of exasperation. She lowered her voice. “Can we trust her?”
“She’s Canadian.”
Lucy didn’t know what that had to do with anything and she didn’t think Isabelle was overly impressed either, but after a quick glance all around, Isabelle said in a voice so soft Lucy could barely hear it. “Why does she have to know?”
“She thinks we’re having an affair,” Claude said in a clipped voice.
A trill of laughter, quickly suppressed, came from the woman. She then shot a much more human glance at Lucy. “I’m not sleeping with him. I’m a cop. Claude is helping me with a case.”
“What kind of case?” Lucy asked, determined to show the pair of them that being Canadian did not equate with naïve, born yesterday, or stupid.
An irritated huff came from the supposed cop’s direction. “Did you have to pick now, Claude?”
“Just answer her questions.”
“Robbery. Claude has knowledge of gems and a network of contacts that I need. We meet at night so no one will suspect he’s working with the cops. That’s all I can tell you, and it’s too much.”
“I won’t say a word to anyone,” Lucy said. She stared at the woman, realizing, oddly enough that she believed her. Almost. “Do you have some I.D.?”
“Claude!”
“Show her your badge and be done with it.”
A rustling in a small silk evening bag and Lucy was presented with a leather folder. Not that she knew a great deal about police identification, but this one looked official. Detective Isabelle DuBois, she read. NOPD. She nodded. “Thanks.”
“Okay, keep your mouth shut. I gotta go.”
Claude nodded and the woman melted away. Suddenly, Lucy realized she was in a sultry New Orleans garden all alone with a very attractive man she’d wronged. Well, one thing she’d learned in her life was to own up when she was wrong. “Claude,” she said, taking a deep breath and turning resolutely to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not good enough,” he said.
She blinked. “What? An honest apology’s not good enough? Think about this from my point of view. I saw you with her and anybody would—”
“No. Sorry’s not good enough. You have to pay a forfeit.” There wasn’t anger in his tone, more a kind of warm teasing that turned her bo
dy to mush and her brain to goo.
“A forfeit . . .”
“Yes. I think one perfect kiss should do it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who judges whether the kiss is perfect or not?”
“The injured party, naturally.”
He was so silly and so gorgeous and she was so happy to be wrong about Isabelle that she found herself smiling in the dark. The scent of night-blooming jasmine was joined by other scents, some she recognized, some not. A faint scent of roses, and the smell of rich, dark earth. Then there was the much more intoxicating scent of the man standing closer to her now than he had been a second ago.
“One perfect kiss,” he said, and covered her mouth with his own.
If perfect was a wild coming together of mouths and tongues and bodies so fevered they grabbed and rubbed and pushed closer and closer until their clothes felt like cement walls keeping them apart, then it was perfect.
She was so hungry for him she shocked herself. His hands were on her bare back, slipping around the front to rub her breasts, in her hair, gripping her hips, while his mouth was busy at hers, so hungry, so demanding.
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head back. “Oh.”
His mouth was busy at her shoulders, her neck. Drowning her with needs and emotions she couldn’t keep up with. A soft breeze ruffled the scented air and stroked her overwarm skin.
“I need you,” he said raggedly.
“Oh, yes,” she answered, knowing now that this had been inevitable. From the first moment she’d seen him sweaty and dangerous, staring at her over his shovel, she’d recognized an attraction more powerful than any she’d ever felt.
Here and now, she faced it.
“I’ve been going crazy wanting you,” he muttered, his hands sliding into the silk bodice until he touched her breasts. They ached for him, and when he eased the fabric down so that she was naked to the moon and his gaze, she reveled in the freedom. Now he could see her, her skin so pale under the moonlight. Now he could touch the breasts that ached for him, now he could taste them. He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, and the sensation was so strong she felt that much more would be dangerous.
How had this happened? She never lost control like this.
It was as scary as it was exhilarating.
A burst of sound and she realized vaguely that a door had opened, letting out the sounds of the party. Voices nearby.
With a muttered curse, Claude rapidly pulled her dress back to cover her. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
She nodded, knowing she couldn’t have made a coherent sound if she’d tried.
Instead of taking her back through the party, he led her around the side of the house to the gravel parking area. Now that they weren’t quite so physically entwined, and desire had subsided from a violent need to an insistent ache, she could think a little. She stopped dead. “Your mother.”
He didn’t even slow his pace. “One of her boyfriends will be only too happy to bring her home.”
“Oh.” She glanced up at him. “Did you plan this?”
He chuckled softly. “Lucy, I never planned anything that’s happened with you. You’re like a hurricane.”
“Destructive and deadly?”
“Wild and life-altering.”
“Oh.” She kind of liked that view of herself. Not that anyone else had ever seen her in that light. But hey, a woman didn’t knock a compliment like that. “So, should you tell Beatrice that you’re taking me home?”
“Mom and I had a little talk earlier. I told her if you and I disappeared she should find her own way home.”
“You discussed me with your mother?”
“She’s got eyes, cousine.”
They walked a few more steps. She thought she’d been so discreet, but she’d probably been staring at Claude with her tongue hanging out every time he was around. How humiliating.
She’d thought she’d have time to cool off and make sure she really wanted to sleep with this man while they were driving home. Hah. She should have known better.
No sooner had they cleared the parking area, where he’d waved good night to the last helpful attendant, and they’d turned onto the road home than he slipped a hand to her knee. And then higher. She huffed out a helpless sigh and let her thighs slip apart for him. He took his time, teasing his way up, higher, slipping the silk up her thighs so she felt the cool air on her skin. Her panties weren’t more than a scrap of silk and lace but they felt like woolen long johns.
Claude obviously felt the same. He played his fingers over them, then said in a conversational tone as though discussing tomorrow’s weather forecast, “Take them off.”
A tiny, helpless moan slipped out of her mouth. The corners of his mouth kicked up, but that was the only indication that he’d heard her.
It wasn’t easy with her seat belt on, and Lucy wasn’t about to drive without a fastened seatbelt, not even for a minute, but with some wiggling and tugging, she managed to free her panties and slip them off. Because this was an equal opportunity seduction, she pulled the crisp white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tux and replaced it with the white silk and lace panties.
He turned and looked at her, his eyes alive with devilry. She couldn’t resist grinning back. They were going to be so good together. Sometimes you just knew.
The engine surged and she got the feeling he was in a hurry to get home. The notion made her just a little smug, and when he slipped a hand back under her skirt, she eased back in her seat and gave him all the access he could desire.
He took his time, slowly stroking his way up her inner thigh. She opened wider, throbbing with anticipation to feel his fingers play over her. She could see his hands as she’d watched them so many times, sturdy, capable hands that could dig a garden or clasp a fine string of rubies around her neck. He seemed to hover over her neediest place, and then, when she expected him to stroke her, he ran his fingers through her curls as though checking for tangles. He stroked and patted, and then when he delved deeper to where she was slick and needy, her hot button already quivering, it was a shock to find him touching her there, stroking her, stoking her.
A mile, maybe two they drove with him teasing her, bringing her closer to the brink and then backing away. When he eased a finger inside her she knew she couldn’t take any more.
“How long until we get to your place?” she panted. She’d lost all track of time or even where they were.
“Ten, fifteen minutes.” His voice was husky as though he’d smoked three packs of cigarettes in the last ten minutes.
“Pull over,” she ordered, crossing her legs so his hand was clamped between her thighs, unable to toy with her.
He didn’t say another word, simply wrenched his hand away from her body and suddenly turned down a dark side road she hadn’t noticed.
The road bumped and grew rutted as though it wasn’t used very often. The air grew damp and fragrant. She heard a frog trill and then silence.
Live oaks surrounded them, dripping Spanish moss. The headlights bounced off dark water. “Where are we? Is this the bayou?”
“Lake Pontchartrain. A secret spot I know.”
She didn’t care if it was the fifth crater of Mars so long as they stopped and she could have at him.
The car bumped to a stop and he killed the engine. They were suddenly alone in all the world, surrounded by the kind of darkness that teams with nocturnal creatures and sounds. The lap of water, a splash she tried to convince herself wasn’t alligator-related, another frog, or maybe the same one, emitting a tentative croak.
The darkness intensified into physical form and then Claude was on her, kissing the breath out of her, his body hard and insistent against hers.
Desperate. Had she ever been so desperate for a man in her life? It was as though all the days they’d spent together had been foreplay for this moment. She was so ready she thought she’d fly apart the second he touched her.
He must have felt the same, for
when she reached out to touch him, he caught her wrist, muttering in French. “I’m sorry, cousine. Maybe later, ah?”
It didn’t matter. She understood. He reached across her and the glove compartment flipped open, sending a soft beam of light onto her lap. He reached in and pulled out a condom. Trust cousin Claude, she thought, never to be denied the opportunity for sex.
Right now she really didn’t care why he had them in his car, she was only glad that he did.
The glove box clicked shut again and the world was once more dark and private. A rip and a rustle and then they were kissing, more hungrily than before. His skin was warm beneath hers when she burrowed into his clothes, his heartbeat a crazy rhythm. Unable to wait another second, she climbed over and into his lap, banging into various bits of car as she did so. She straddled him, and this time when she reached for him, he let her.
He felt warm and very, very hard when she grasped him in hand. He made a tiny sound, a man at the end of his restraint, a feeling she knew well. She shuffled herself into place. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, with one knee jammed against the door, the other wedged against the emergency brake, but she didn’t care. Her body was stretched over him, eager and wet and so very hungry.
As she positioned him at the entrance to her body, their gazes locked. Only the faintest trace of moonlight made it to where they were parked, so she saw the glow of his eyes in a dark face. She held his gaze with her own as she lowered herself slowly onto him.
Oh. She realized it had been a while and he was a big man. The stretch was amazing. Delicious. He seemed to go on and on, filling her completely. When they were locked, hip to hip, she took a moment to savor the deep connection, kissing him as though she’d never stop, and then need took over. She moved on him, slowly at first as she accustomed herself to him, then faster as instinct and desire stronger than anything she’d ever known took over. His hands were all over her, hers grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself. Her knees scraped as she rode him in a frenzied rush. They kissed deep and hard and with little finesse. He grabbed her hips at last when the thrusting grew wild. She heard panting and knew it was hers. A liquid flow of French, some poetic, some gutteral, all heartfelt. Without thinking about it, she answered in the same language.
