by Sharon Sala
Justin lifted his head long enough to look around.
“Are you alone?”
She put a hand to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her skin against his face.
“Not anymore,” she said, and took him by the hand.
They went up the stairs hand in hand, as if they’d done it a hundred times before—looking into each other’s eyes, recognizing the need, remembering the power of their lovemaking.
Justin couldn’t take his gaze from her face. Never had the dream been so lifelike—so intense. He had not remembered how soft her skin was to the touch, or how her eyes crinkled at the comers when she smiled. But he knew what it felt like to come inside her, and he wanted that bad—and he wanted it now.
Laurel led him to her room, and the moment the door closed behind them, they began taking off their clothes. The bedclothes were still in a tangle from last night’s troubled sleep. Justin swept them aside, tossing them to the foot of the bed as he pushed her backward onto the sheet.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her as she fell. When the weight of his body pressed her deeply into the softness of the mattress, she moaned, wanting him inside her just as deep.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
A muscle jerked at the comer of Justin’s mouth. He was rock hard and hurting and knew just how she felt. Without foreplay, without so much as a kiss, he parted her legs with his knee and slid inside. She was hot and wet, and he was in danger of losing control. She moaned once—a low, guttural sound that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He was inside her—hard, pulsing, but motionless.
“Look at me.”
It took everything she had to focus on his demand, but she did it and lost herself in the black depths of his gaze. Only then did he begin to move, rocking against the cradle of her pelvis in hard, hungry strokes, with each thrust shoving her farther toward the headboard until she was pinned. Laurel reached above her head, her fingers curling around the spindles as she held on, while riding the intensity of their lovemaking. The heat between them was rising just as she’d known it would, churning and curling into a tight, hungry knot in the pit of her stomach. Then, suddenly, it began to crash.
“Oh… oh…”
She didn’t see his jaw clench as he struggled to maintain his control. At that moment, there was nothing that mattered except the rhythm of their bodies and the shattering climax that came upon her.
She screamed.
The sound tore through Justin’s head like a bullet, scattering his concentration. He shuddered, then groaned, his body arching as he came. Wave after wave of unbearable ecstasy rolled through him, leaving him weak and shaking. Without waiting for it to ebb, he took her in his arms and rode the climax all the way down.
They both lay without moving, unable to think past the need to draw another breath. And even as the lust was passing, Justin was already aware that this joining was different. He kept waiting for the dream to move forward—for the moment when he would wake with a start, then sit up in bed. Slowly, he raised himself up on both elbows, easing the weight of his body from her, and as he did, he felt the heat of her breath against his face. At that moment a bead of sweat rolled out of his hairline and into his eyes. The saltiness of the moisture immediately burned his eyes, and as it did, he flinched.
“What the hell?”
Laurel’s smile turned to a frown.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Justin didn’t answer. In fact, he couldn’t answer. Instead, he rolled off her, then to a sitting position at the side of the bed.
“Justin?”
His heart skipped a beat. How did she know his name? In fact, why was he even hearing her voice? The dream had never been like this before. Gently, he lifted a damp curl from her forehead, and as he did, he felt the silkiness of the dark, fiery strand against his finger. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. He reached toward her, running the back of a finger down the side of her face.
“Am I still dreaming?” he asked.
Laurel’s heart dropped.
“Have I been in your dreams?” she asked.
He nodded.
She sighed. “I suppose that’s fair, since you’ve also been in mine.”
He frowned. “What the hell are you saying?”
“You come to me in my sleep.” Laurel’s face flushed with embarrassment. “And then we make love. I feel you inside me, but I never hear you speak.”
Justin started to shake. “This… what we just did… we’re still dreaming… right?”
“I don’t think so.”
He touched her face, then her hair, then her face again, running the ball of his thumb down her cheek, then across her lips.
“You’re real? This is real?”
Laurel nodded.
Justin grabbed his clothes and started putting them on. The need to put something more than distance between them was suddenly uppermost. When he picked up his shirt, he paused, then turned around, staring as if he’d seen a ghost.
“You came to me,” he said. “You walked into my bedroom every night…”
Laurel picked up where he left off. “…just after I went to sleep. One moment I’d be alone in my bed, and the next thing I knew, I’d feel you pulling back the covers, then…”
Justin dropped his shirt onto the bed. “…I’d take you in my arms and…”
Laurel finished the story. “…make love to me.”
He grabbed his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head.
“I don’t know what to think. This is crazy.”
Laurel wouldn’t let herself think about how deeply the ugliness of that last word cut.
“I felt the same way last night when I saw you rescue your niece.”
He blanched. “You what?”
Laurel shrugged, then looked away, unwilling to see the disbelief on his face.
“I saw you through Rachelle’s eyes.”
“You… ah, God… so that’s how you…”
There was a long pause, but he didn’t curse, he didn’t laugh. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn he’d just accepted her answer as gospel.
“So this isn’t a dream?”
“No.”
“And we’ve been making love to… no, dreaming of making love to each other for months?”
Laurel hesitated, then nodded.
“Jesus,” he whispered softly, then took her in his arms.
His breath was warm against her face, his grip firm yet gentle. But it was the urgency in his voice that pulled at Laurel’s conscience. What had happened between them was startling, but not out of the realm of her beliefs. It was Justin who looked as if he’d just been broadsided.
“You don’t think it’s… that I’m crazy?”
Justin didn’t realize until she spoke that he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly, then cupped the side of her face.
“If it had not been for you, my sister’s little girl would have died last night. You saved her life.”
Laurel shuddered as he traced the curve of her lower lip with his thumb. She couldn’t quit staring. She was tall, a little above five feet, eight inches, but she had to look up to meet his gaze. His hair was the color of a raven’s wings and just brushed the collar of his shirt. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black, and his lips were wide and full. His jaw was strong. His chin had something of a stubborn curve, and now she knew the sound of his voice as he came inside her.
“I quit dreaming of you after I left D.C.,” she said, then added, “I missed you.”
Justin’s heartbeat stuttered as his mind went blank. Without asking, he knew she was referring to the fact that they’d been absent from each other’s dreams for several nights now. His ache was sudden and fierce, and while he was not a man who took foolish chances, he could no more have lied to her than he could have quit breathing.
“I missed you, too,” he said.
Laurel sighed. His
voice rumbled roughly against her cheek. She knew he was rattled, but she had to give him credit for standing his ground.
“I know we’ve just met,” Laurel said.
Justin smiled. “Chère, what just happened between us wasn’t a meeting, it was, at the least, a revelation.”
Laurel blushed.
Justin laid his cheek against the crown of her head.
“I came to say thank you to the woman who saved Rachelle’s life. I didn’t know she would be the same woman who’s been haunting my nights.”
Laurel didn’t know if the haunting was good or bad.
“As you have mine,” she reminded him.
He put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head back until they were looking eye to eye.
“How did this happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“If I was superstitious…”
Laurel flinched. “Are you?”
He smiled, then shook his head.
“No.”
“So?”
He brushed his mouth across the surface of her lips, then broke away with a soft groan.
“So… hello, Laurel Scanlon. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Laurel smiled.
“It’s very nice to meet you, too.”
“Oh. Before I forget the real reason I came… Besides thanking you for leading me to Rachelle, my sister and her husband are having a big party Saturday night. It’s sort of a thank you to all the people who helped search. I’ve been given strict orders to tell you that you are invited. In fact… you’re to be the guest of honor. Please say you’ll come.”
Laurel was floored and made no move to hide it.
“Are you serious?”
He frowned. “Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Where I came from, what I can do is not looked upon with favor.”
His Cajun accent thickened with emotion.
“Then, chère, I’m sorry to say you have lived among fools. Down here, we honor those touched by God.”
Touched by God? It was all Laurel could do not to weep for joy.
“You tell your family that I would be honored to meet them and to come to their party.”
“If you would allow me, I will be your escort.”
“And you don’t think it strange that today was our first meeting, Saturday will be our first date, and we’ve been making love for months?”
He grinned. “Chère, not only is it strange, it’s a downright miracle. But, then, who am I to question such a heavenly gift?”
It was then that Laurel began to believe her life was truly taking a turn for the better.
6
Justin was gone by the time Marie came back from Bayou Jean. His appearance and their subsequent lovemaking had so rattled Laurel that she had abandoned her curiosity about the third floor of the mansion for a cooler day and changed the sheets on her bed instead. As she gathered up the discarded sheets to take downstairs to the laundry room, she got a whiff of Justin’s cologne. Without thinking, she buried her face in the bundle and inhaled slowly, savoring the memories and the scent of the man who’d made them with her. What had happened between them was extraordinary, even in Laurel’s life. She had no explanation for their connection, but she was guessing that since he lived near the estate she’d just inherited, it all had something to do with proximity—and, of course, fate. And while she wasn’t about to question the gift of such a man in her life, she had no intention of letting anyone else know. Thus the need for clean sheets.
After she’d put the bedclothes in the wash, she’d wandered through the downstairs, sifting through the books in the library. As she poked about, it occurred to her that there were probably books on the top shelves of the floor-to-ceiling library that hadn’t been looked at in years. She thought about exploring them and began testing the built-in ladder that ran the length of the shelves, making sure that the rungs were secure. Satisfied that they would hold her weight, she climbed partway up, then changed her mind when a spider ran out from behind a bookend, leaving minute tracks in the thick film of dust covering everything on the upper shelves.
“Eeew,” she muttered, grimacing as the oversize eight-legged critter disappeared between two books. “This place is going to get a thorough cleaning. And whether Marie likes it or not, we’re going to need some help.”
Having decided that exploration would have to wait for another day, she decided to take herself outside. Elvis was perched on the comer of the roof over the veranda. When he saw her coming, he let out an earsplitting shriek of disapproval, which sent Laurel over the edge. When she saw him flying down from the roof, she decided she’d had enough of him, too. After dealing with Elvis, she found a pair of clippers and a hoe in a shed out back and was hard at work, putting a new look to the overgrown shrubs around the front of the house, when Tula and Marie returned.
Marie’s shock at seeing Laurel in such sweaty disarray quickly turned to shame. It was her fault that the place had gone to seed, but for the past few months, it had been all she could do to get through a day taking care of Marcella’s needs. Seeing to the grooming of Mimosa Grove had been so far down on her list of things to do that she’d never gotten to it. To see Laurel doing what she should have done herself reduced her to tears.
She got out of Tula’s old truck before the engine had stopped running, waving her arms as she hurried toward the house.
“No, no, baby girl… you got no need to go and do all that. I went and found us some help just like you wanted. Tula got a grandson needin’ work. He’ll be here tomorrow to start cleanin’ up this place.”
Laurel smiled as she tossed a handful of clippings into the refuse pile and then wiped her forearm across the sweat on her forehead.
“That’s good, Mamárie, but I like doing this.” She spied a small green inchworm on the front of her shirt and flipped it off. “Except maybe for worms. I have, however, been having such a good time that I think I might have missed my calling.”
Marie looked properly horrified, while, on the other hand, Tula was grinning. It wasn’t every day that someone got the best of Marie LeFleur.
Suddenly it dawned on Marie that there was something missing in the front yard.
“Where’s Elvis?”
“In his pen,” Laurel said.
“How did you make that happen?”
Laurel’s chin jutted mutinously. “I put the fear of God into him—and a broom against the backside of his ass.”
Marie looked startled, then smiled while Tula laughed aloud.
Laurel laid her gloves on the porch steps and then went to the truck to help carry in the groceries.
Again Marie seemed bothered, and when Laurel turned around with a sack in each arm, she couldn’t hide her dismay.
“You’re the mistress of Mimosa Grove. What will people think of you actin’ like this?”
What she didn’t say was “What would they think of me?” She didn’t want to be viewed as incompetent or unable to work. The fear of being turned out in favor of someone younger had been uppermost in her mind ever since Marcella’s death. And even though she and Laurel had hit it off, she didn’t want to be thought of as too old to do what needed to be done. Mimosa Grove was as much a part of her life as it had been Marcella’s. It wasn’t just a place where she worked, it was her home. The fear of having to finish out the end of her days elsewhere was horrifying.
Laurel laughed at Marie’s indignant expression.
“Oh… Mamárie, you’re asking the wrong person if you think I care what other people think. Now, get yourself in out of this heat. You can put up the groceries while I carry them in, how’s that?” She pointed at Tula, who was still sitting behind the steering wheel. “And you… Ms. Tula… you get yourself inside with Mamárie. I made some lemonade. You two go in and cool yourselves off. I’m right behind you.”
Tula slapped her leg and then rolled out from behind the wheel. She’d planned on being home in time to watch an Oprah rerun, but she wouldn’t h
ave missed this for the world.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said.
Her gait was slow but steady as she made her way up the steps.
“Come on, Marie. Looks like we finally got ourselves a proper mistress for Mimosa Grove. She knows her own mind like I do mine, and I’m thinkin’ I might like some of that lemonade.”
Marie frowned, but secretly she was proud. Tula was right about Laurel knowing her own mind. And it had been a long time since there had been anyone at Mimosa Grove who cared about anything but the past. It would be good not to have to carry the entire burden of this place alone. Still, she didn’t want Laurel to think she could be manipulated easily.
“I’ll just be carryin’ in this little sack as I go,” Marie said, then snatched up a sack before walking past Laurel and Tula, and into the house.
“After you,” Laurel said.
Tula paused, giving Laurel a long, studied look.
Laurel felt off center, not knowing what the old woman was really thinking.
“So?” she asked.
Tula’s eyes squinted until they all but disappeared beneath the caterpillar fuzz that passed for her eyebrows.
“So… I think you gonna do. You gonna do just fine,” she said.
Laurel felt an inordinate amount of pleasure from the old woman’s simple praise.
“Thank you,” she said, then impulsively handed the two sacks she was carrying to Tula. “If you don’t mind, would you take these the rest of the way to the kitchen while I go back for the others?”
“I be proud to help out,” Tula said.
Laurel hurried back outside, anxious to get the groceries out of the heat. A few minutes later, they were in the kitchen, emptying the last sack, dividing the purchases between those that went into the pantry and the ones that needed refrigeration.
“Here, Mamárie, this is the last of the cold stuff,” Laurel said as she handed a gallon of milk to Marie.
Marie scooted a jug of orange juice to the side and set the milk onto the shelf beside it.
“Now, then,” Marie said. “Where’s my lemonade?”
“Coming up,” Laurel said as she opened a package of Oreo cookies and put some on a plate. “Who wants cookies, too?”
