by Fiona Zedde
He sagged in her arms, but she kept the pressure hard, sinking with a jarring thud to her knees as he fell forward, sprawled full length under her on the carpeted floor. His hands grappled for the tightening handcuffs.
“You won’t be able to run the club from behind bars, you know.”
Rémi jerked upright, scattering her gaze around the office, breath huffing from her open mouth. Wynne stood in the doorway. Anderson’s goons lay discarded at her feet like mown grass. Behind her, Kelia stood silently plucking at the neck of her pink blouse, her face a mask of concern.
“It’s not worth it, darling,” her mother said. “Let him go.”
“He said that he had you.” Rémi stared at Kelia, her chest fluttering with relief to see her mother safe. Under her, Anderson’s head hit the floor as she released his throat.
“He was obviously wrong. I would never foolishly come here by myself.”
From the doorway, Wynne laughed silently. “I’m glad to see you in one piece, cousin.”
She leaned down to unlock Rémi’s handcuffs, squeeze her shoulder in brief comfort. Then went back to the unconscious bodyguards, pulled plastic handcuffs tight around their wrists, and dragged them off, one by one, to stuff in a closet across the hall. Wynne was very efficient. And stronger than she looked.
Rémi rubbed at her wrists and stood up from her sprawl on top of Anderson. Unthinking, she reached for her mother. She was safe. She was safe. Kelia’s warmth slowly penetrated her icy body. In her mother’s arms, she gradually stopped trembling. Kelia pulled back and looked into her face.
“I need to speak with Matthias privately, sweetheart.”
“But—”
“I need to. This business has continued long enough.” Her glance dropped to Anderson, who still lay on the floor gasping quietly and clutching at his throat. “I don’t think he’s in any position to do anything right now.”
Wynne stepped back into the office holding out one of her plastic orange cuffs. “But just to be safe, I can—”
“No, Bronwynne. It’ll be fine. Wait just outside the door. I won’t be long.”
Rémi looked at her cousin. Wynne shrugged, but pressed the cuffs and a tiny pistol pulled from her leg holster into Kelia’s hands anyway. The two of them left the office and stood outside the door. Kelia closed it behind them.
When the older woman emerged nearly half an hour later, Rémi had stopped shaking, though she badly wanted a cigarette. And a bottle of Scotch. As the door handle clicked, she turned, not knowing what to expect. But Anderson’s face, shell-shocked and staring empty-eyed at Kelia’s back stopped her cold.
“I’m ready now,” her mother said.
Rémi and Wynne had no choice but to follow after her.
“I met Matthias first.” Rémi’s mother said. “He was the one who introduced me to your father.”
That was how Kelia Walker-Bouchard’s story began in the cool comfort of Rémi’s house, with her slight frame propped up against the pillows in the guest room, Rémi curled at the foot of the bed watching her face, and Wynne, for once not a ghost but a solid presence, her legs tucked under her as she leaned against the footboard, drinking the hot chocolate that Kelia had made.
The story was a typical one, variations on a theme that Rémi had seen all too often. Two men, one woman, a business partnership shattered by jealousy, and Auguste Bouchard’s inability to take care of the precious things entrusted to him.
“Matthias was angry with the way Gus treated me in the later years of our marriage. When I became angry about that too, I turned to Matthias. I shouldn’t have, but he was convenient. He always had the right words to make me feel good about myself.”
But he’d wanted more. When Kelia told him she would never leave her husband, Anderson broke off all contact with her and seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Then at Auguste’s funeral, a delivery of two dozen scarlet roses arrived with a note that simply said, “Regrets.”
“That was the last I’d heard from him until today.” Kelia sipped her hot chocolate then settled the mug carefully in her lap, palms curled around the white ceramic.
In the privacy of his closed office, she had confronted him. Bludgeoned him with details of how Auguste had treated Rémi, that he was continuing the work of his dead enemy by trying to destroy her daughter and everything she had built in Miami. Then Kelia shocked him with news of their son. He literally stumbled back as if she’d shoved him. His office chair squeaked and bounced as his dead weight dropped into it.
“You’re lying,” he said.
But she offered proof he couldn’t ignore. And a chance to be a part of René’s life as long as he left her daughter alone. He agreed.
Rémi listened to Kelia’s story in amazement. At the end of it, she felt something like respect stirring in her chest for Kelia. And gratitude.
“Thank you for coming here for me, Mama. I didn’t expect you to. But I really appreciate it.”
Kelia waved aside Rémi’s words with a thin hand. “When Yvette told me everything that was happening with you, I had no choice. I had to come. Are you and Claudia—?”
Rémi had to blink and look away. “We’re nothing.”
Next to her, Wynne made a low noise. Her cousin and mother exchanged a look. Then Kelia put her hot chocolate on the bedside table and slid down in the bed. Her hand brushed over Rémi’s head, navigating a new geography of comfort.
“Things will work out, darling.”
Rémi swallowed the denial of her mother’s words. And nodded anyway.
Chapter 41
“And that’s it? The guy isn’t going to bother you anymore?” Phil aimed her questions at Rémi.
“Nope. Thanks to my mother.”
“Fabuloso, mija.” Nuria leaned over to squeeze Rémi’s arm. “I’d hate to see you lose this place. I know how much you love it.”
Rémi grinned. “And need it.”
“We need it too, baby,” Sage offered. “Where else in this town can we go blow off steam, have a fantastic meal, and see some of the finest ass in the world?”
“Besides Rémi’s house?” Phil chuckled.
Sage glanced over Rémi’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I hope everything’s all right.”
Dez? But when Rémi turned to look it wasn’t her old friend that she saw. Sage was right. It had been a long time. She’d almost forgotten—no, that wasn’t right, because she could never forget—she’d underestimated Claudia’s effect on her senses. It had been three weeks, five days, and eighteen hours since she’d last seen her. And longer. Much, much longer since she’d touched her skin.
She was wearing that red dress. The same one she’d worn on their first real date when Rémi had tasted her for the first time. Felt the blood rushing through Claudia’s feet. Smelled her desire. Rémi’s fingertips slid against the textured surface of the table as her hand curled into a loose fist. The familiar scent of apples settled around her shoulders as Claudia drew closer.
“Mrs. Nichols.” She forced a smile. Felt Nuria’s curious eyes flicker to her face.
“Hi, girls. It’s good to see you.” Claudia’s voice trailed like teasing fingernails around Rémi’s ear.
Her friends said their hellos, though Rémi couldn’t distinguish between what one said over the other. Only that Claudia smiled at each, before resting her eyes on Rémi.
Please don’t ask me anything. Please.
“May I speak with you privately?”
“No.” The word came out harshly, but she tried to gentle it. “I’m sorry. I’m”—she waved her arm to indicate the table full of food, her friends, the bar with its jostling Friday evening crowd—“busy.” Rémi felt her friends’ disbelieving looks, but she refused to meet them, only glanced down at the table, over Claudia’s shoulder. Anywhere.
“All right. Then I’ll speak with you publicly.” Claudia took a deep breath, as if diving off a cliff even though she wasn’t sure there was water below to save her. “I wa
s wrong the last time we spoke. I—shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t want us to end. There has to be another way.”
Stop this. Rémi wanted to stop. To halt the flow of Claudia’s words and take her somewhere else other than the humiliation of the dining room where her friends could hear every word and judge. But she couldn’t stop herself.
Rémi shook her head. “No. You were right before. We were just fooling ourselves that there could be anything between us. Now there’s nothing more to talk about. You can go home now.”
“I didn’t mean to betray your trust.”
The loose fist on the table became a tight one. Yes. That’s what it had been, a betrayal.
“You said you wouldn’t abandon me.” The words came out against her will.
“Rémi.” Nuria’s hand settled lightly on her fist. “I think you should take this somewhere else. Now.”
Phil’s eyes were wide and horrified as they darted between Rémi and Claudia. Sage only stared at Rémi, her gaze narrow with speculation. Other people in the dining room were beginning to stare, whisper behind cupped hands. Rémi got woodenly to her feet, straightened the tie that didn’t need straightening, and walked out of the club, brushing past customers, waiters, anyone in her way. Night absorbed the burning heat of her face, her body, as soon as she walked out of Gillespie’s doors. Oh god! What did I just do? She shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks and joined the stream of people meandering down Ocean Drive.
“I’m not going to beg you.”
Claudia’s voice came from just behind her, the click of her heels keeping time with Rémi’s boots. “But I need for you to understand.”
She was crumbling inside. Crumbling. Any moment now her gut would pour onto the sidewalk. Liquefied by Claudia’s presence. Then her heart. Her lungs. Then everything that held her together. Rémi’s trembling fingers begged for a cigarette to calm them.
“Claudia, please!”
Was that raw voice hers? Rémi’s breathing was going out of control, coming out in gasps. She stopped, ignoring the curious stares, veered away from the crowd into a smaller stream of midweek pedestrians. The footsteps remained behind her. They followed her into the quiet isolation of the narrow street bracketed by low-rise condos with windows intermittently lit with lights and shadows of people moving behind them. Claudia drew closer and Rémi couldn’t stop herself any more. Her hands on Claudia’s arms, rough, she jerked the older woman from the main sidewalk, slammed her back against the building’s muted white brick.
“Please!”
Rémi tasted tears. Her own. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t take it. I really can’t.”
The breath hiccupped out of her.
Claudia’s fingers in her curls, raking across her scalp. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just didn’t realize.”
“Oh god!”
And she tasted like the first time. Claudia’s mouth. Open and coming closer. Claudia said other words, but Rémi swallowed them, made them her own. The Sorry and Please and What are you doing and Oh my god! They clung, like starfish, to each other with Claudia’s legs locked around Rémi’s waist. Her hand pressed to Claudia’s bare pussy, the clit that thrust against her palm firmly, slowly, their mouths hot against each other, hearts thudding, tongues dueling, and their smells built in the small alley, and Rémi’s tears still didn’t stop flowing. Claudia trembled against her, hips bucking, her fingernails like perfect daggers sinking into the back of Rémi’s neck.
“I need you,” Claudia gasped between kisses. “I tried to give you up, but it didn’t work. Everything was so hard with you away from me.”
She unwound her legs from around Rémi’s waist, and Rémi held the warm weight of her bottom, still not believing it. She squeezed the soft flesh. Closed her eyes and released the low moan of relief she’d kept trapped behind her teeth. Claudia staggered against the wall as Rémi eased her to her feet.
Rémi slowly became aware of where they were, of the public display of their sex and her emotions. She drew in a trembling breath and pulled Claudia against her. “You’re right, we should talk.”
Her condo sighed with Claudia’s returned presence. Rémi felt it. She’d left the windows open and the salt-edged ocean breeze flowed through the fifth-floor apartment like a healing elixir. At the bottom of the stairs leading to her bedroom, Rémi swayed. She grabbed the banister and closed her eyes against the sudden dizziness.
“Are you all right?” Claudia pressed a hand to Rémi’s forehead.
“I’m okay.” She gently lowered her lover’s hand, kissed its palm. “It’s been a long few weeks, that’s all.”
“You look like you’ve lost weight. Have you been eating?”
“No. You’re all the food I need.” Rémi grinned.
“Foolish woman.”
Claudia pulled her away from the banister, tugged her down to the floor to sit on the thick green rug that covered the blond hardwood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
“You’re too big for me to drag upstairs so we might as well stay here.”
“Okay.” Rémi leaned back against the wall, watching her prodigal lover through half-closed eyes. Outside, the Miami landscape was little more than a series of climbing lights spread around a blanket of darkness that was the Atlantic Ocean.
“I’ll be right back.”
Before Rémi could protest, Claudia was gone. But moments later she was back with a blanket and pillows from the sofa, and a small glass of lychees soaking in their own juices.
“Your refrigerator is a wasteland,” Claudia murmured. “I almost forgot that I left a can of these in your pantry.” Her eyebrow rose in a teasing arch. “Apparently you forgot, too.”
“Very funny.”
Claudia reached into the glass and caught a floating pale fruit between two fingers. She lifted it to Rémi’s mouth. “Shut up and eat.”
Sweetness exploded on her tongue, a sudden pleasure that made her eyes fall completely closed. Rémi couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything substantial. At the club, her friends had ordered all their favorites on the menu and encouraged Rémi to take whatever she wanted. Instead she’d barely sipped from her glass of ginger ale, not wanting to deal with any demands of her body.
Claudia’s eyes didn’t leave her as she chewed, slowly despite her sudden hunger, then opened her mouth for another bite. Her lover slipped the tender-fleshed fruit, open and slack from its lack of seed, between her lips and onto her tongue. Although Rémi hadn’t realized she wasn’t well before, suddenly she felt worlds better. She ate every morsel Claudia fed her and, on the last bite, took the long fingers into her mouth, sucked them clean of juice until Claudia’s own lips parted and her lashes dropped low to pay attention to what Rémi’s tongue was doing.
“You must be feeling much better,” Claudia said, her voice a low rasp.
“I am.”
And to prove it, Rémi reached for her. Claudia didn’t protest when her hands found the zipper at the side of the red dress and slowly drew it down, slowly unveiling the tender skin. Ah, so the bra was built in. The tiny panties were next. Then the stilettos hooked to her heels with a delicate strap. Claudia’s eyes watched, unblinking. Her face hard with desire.
The smell of their sex still lingered on Rémi’s hand. It flavored the reintroduction to Claudia’s body—it felt like so long—and made her anticipate their lovemaking with a painful pleasure that cramped her belly and made her mouth dry with the need to taste.
“I missed you,” she said, nose skimming up Claudia’s foot, the long leg, and the faintly trembling thigh. The hair at the top of her thighs was musky, tempting, and still damp. But she moved on. To nuzzle the belly, float up between her small breasts, to kiss her throat, her lips, the eyes that finally closed. Then she did a difficult thing. Rémi used the blanket to cover Claudia’s nakedness and drew back to lay her head on one of the pillows, her body curled like the yin to Claudia’s yang.
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“Tell me what this is,” she said.
Claudia didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I don’t want to be without you.” She sat up and adjusted the blanket, tucking the top edge under her arms and leaning back against the window’s thick glass. “Even if it means making my children angry.”
“Derrick too?”
“Desiree told him.”
Christ! Rémi could imagine how that conversion went.
“He was . . . surprisingly understanding. Said that we can’t always choose who we love. That love doesn’t always make sense. Or make everyone happy.”
In a low voice, she told Rémi about every day since the conversation that had sent Rémi into a deep freeze.
After Rémi left Dez and Claudia together on the deck that night of discovery, her best friend cried. Dez was horrified that her mother had allowed Rémi to touch her that way. She cried, asking why. Why did this happen? Why Rémi? Why another woman? How could she let Rémi use her like that? Dez never said how she thought her mother had been used, but Claudia was too caught up in her shame to ask that question then, or even the next morning when she and her daughter sat down at the breakfast table over tea and uneaten toast. All Claudia could imagine was how her daughter had seen her, in lust with someone young enough to be her other child. Claudia felt ashamed. She wanted to do anything to make her daughter’s tears disappear. Before making that call to Rémi, she and Dez sat across from each other in the kitchen, helpless tears streaming down their faces. Their hearts broken by different things.
“It felt like pulling out a part of myself.” Claudia’s fingers smoothed the blanket over her thighs. “Dez watched me call you. She listened to every word. And she seemed to feel better afterwards.”
But Claudia felt worse. Dez went back to her life with Victoria and their post-honeymoon bliss, while she had nothing but regret and an empty bed. After he got news of the relationship from Dez, Derrick called to understand what was going on, and Claudia told him. He didn’t judge but she sensed he was glad that it was over. As time passed, the reality of what she had done—to herself and to Rémi—broke through her notions of parental self-sacrifice. And that led to the day she dropped by Gillespie’s. She had put on her best, knowing that Rémi liked her in white, liked her shoulders bare. She went to the club to beg Rémi to take her back.
