She placed her hand over her heart in the classic “I swear” position. “Elliot, I would never kid about baseball. And never, ever joke about the Braves.”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
She moved her foot a little further away from him. “How so?”
“You like baseball. The Braves, even.”
“I am a Southern woman, Elliot. Of course, I like the Braves. Okay, my turn. Favorite … movie.”
Elliot, somehow looking even more masculine in her turquoise silk robe—unbelted, of course, and naked underneath—mulled over her question.
“You really like baseball?”
She shot him a look and repeated her question.
“A River Runs Through It,” he finally answered.
“Really?” She hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous, but … “Really?”
“What’s the matter?”
Lila shook her head. “Nothing. I mean, it’s a great movie. It’s just—”
“It’s just what?”
“It’s about fishing.”
“Actually, it’s about one man’s struggle with family and nature.”
“And fishing.”
“Yeah.” Elliot nodded. “And fishing.”
“Fly fishing.”
“You have a problem with fly fishing or just fishing in general?”
“No, but … ”
“All right, Lila-cakes, spit it out.”
“Well, you just seem so … urbane, and fishing is … not.”
“You forget. I’m from Mississippi.”
“And you like fishing?”
“Of course. I do believe it’s a state law.”
Lila laughed. “Southern men and their outdoor recreation.”
He scooted closer and ran his hand up under the tail of her shirt to caress the softness of her inner thigh. “Oh, I like indoor sports just as well.”
Lila slapped his hand, forcing it to retreat as she pulled the garment back in place and moved further out of his reach. If he kept this up, she’d fall off the edge of the bed just trying to keep some breathing distance between them. “I thought we were taking a break.”
“That was at least ten minutes ago.”
“We agreed to fifteen. Now behave.”
“Fine.” He reached for the bag of pork rinds, and she swatted his hand away.
“I thought you didn’t like pork rinds.”
“I never said that.”
“You said—”
“That I like the spicy ones better.”
“But—”
“I’m a Southern man, Lila. Of course, I like pork rinds. I like fishing and pork rinds and the Saints. Now share and no one gets hurt.”
She grudgingly gave him access to the bag, but she had a small smile on her lips all the same.
“Besides,” he started, and took a bite before continuing. “You were supposed to get me some.”
“That was my responsibility?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Next time.”
“I’m counting on it.” He grabbed the bag and tossed it toward the nightstand without looking. It slid off the polished wood and landed on the floor with a crinkly plop.
He wrapped his fingers around Lila’s ankle and pulled her toward him, until she was half under him. She squealed, but didn’t protest. Their little break was over, and she was glad. Twelve and a half minutes was just more than she could take.
She ran her hands down his chest, loving the feel of the springy mat of golden hair. His body was hard where hers was soft, hairy where hers was smooth. The perfect complement, the perfect completion.
“I can’t get enough of you.” He groaned as he undid the buttons of her shirt and then kissed his way from her collarbone to her navel. “I don’t ever want to leave this bed.”
She grabbed his face in her hands, tunneling her fingers into his wheat-colored hair. “Elliot. I have to leave tomorrow. Or rather, today. This afternoon.”
“You have to leave?”
“I have a shoot.”
He nodded. “Okay. When will you be back?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll pick up you from the airport.”
“I usually leave my car in long term.”
“Then we’ll meet for supper. Just tell me when.”
“You can’t drive to Memphis from Hattiesburg just to eat.”
“The hell I can’t.”
He kissed her then, his tongue entering her mouth, demanding she be his for always.
“Besides who said anything about ‘just eating’?”
His body covered hers, and she felt protected and safe and in danger of completely losing her heart to this man.
He kissed her again, his lips firm and demanding, marking her as his own. And then he entered her, strong and sure.
And Lila felt herself fall all the way in love with the doctor from Mississippi.
Chapter Sixteen
Roxanne knew she looked terrible when she made her way back downstairs to Malcolm’s apartment. Her gray yoga pants were wrinkled, and the pink T-shirt she’d worn earlier had a smear of something on the front. She had been on her way to Memphis to work, not run around in her sleepwear. As it was, she had left her Bears jersey at Malcolm’s, and she was forced to make do. With a sigh, she wrestled her hair into some semblance of order—a low ponytail that spilled down her back—but her eyes and nose had turned red like they always did when she got upset, and there was nothing she could do about that.
Despite Jonas’s assurances that their father would be okay, she couldn’t help but think of all the times she hadn’t told him she loved him. All of the times they had fought, especially since her divorce. And all of the times he’d told her she was wasting her potential and talents.
She knocked hesitantly on the door to the apartment. It was snatched open immediately and a very concerned-looking Malcolm stood in the threshold.
He took hold of her arm and pulled her inside. “I was beginning to get worried.”
She managed a weak smile. “Did you think I was going to escape?”
“No.” The one word was short and to the point, and so full of trust that Roxanne didn’t know what to say in response.
“Here’s your shirt,” she said, handing him the wadded up silk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to get it cleaned.”
“I’ll let it slide. But just this one time.” He smiled at their poor joke and led her to the sofa where her brother sat.
“Where are Pierce and Newland?” she asked as Malcolm pushed a cup of coffee into her hands. She took a sip of the steaming brew, closing her eyes in appreciation. It was liberally laced with Bailey’s Irish Cream. Roxanne let the warmth of the coffee mixed with the liquor ease away some of the tension that had been building across her shoulders since Pierce had barged into Malcolm’s apartment.
“I sent them across town to stay at the Olsens’ Bed and Breakfast.” Malcolm settled into the wingback chair across from her. Since she had made her escape upstairs, he had pulled on a pair of black athletic pants with gold stripes down the legs and gray T-shirt that said Vanderbilt School of Law across the front in bold black letters.
“The Olsen twins?”
“None other,” Malcolm replied.
“Who?” Jonas asked.
Roxanne shook her head. “It’s a long story.”
“Some other time then.”
She looked to Malcolm. “Are you sure those two are going to be okay there together?”
Malcolm nodded. “I’ve already called and warned Beatrice, or maybe it was Imogene. Anyway, they’re putting them on separate floors.”
“That should help,” Roxanne said, hoping it would be enough. Things tended to get broken when Pierce and Newland were too close together. “Thank you for staying,” she said to Jonas.
“I just didn’t want to leave until I knew you were all right,” Jonas said.
“How did you find me?”
“When Ne
wland couldn’t get you on the phone, he called me. And then Dad went to the hospital, and Pierce said he was coming to get you … ” He shrugged. “Call it twintuition. I had a feeling you were going to need me.”
She smiled. Her Jonas, always her hero. “I’m worried.”
“We all are.”
Roxanne felt her composure cracking under the strain of concern. “Oh, Jonas, the last time I talked to him … ” Her words trailed off and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I said some really hateful things. And now he—”
Her brother placed his hands on either side of her face in true Jonas fashion. “Roxanne, he is not going to die. Well, not today, anyway.”
“Okay,” she said.
He held her for a moment more, as if to make certain the words had sunk in, then he released her. If anyone else had told her that her father was going to be okay, she wouldn’t have believed them, but this was Jonas. Pragmatic, steady Jonas. He might be her twin, but they were polar opposites.
“You’ve never lied to me,” she said. “And you’d better not freakin’ start now.”
“When I left the hospital, he was sitting up and talking. Complaining about not getting enough to eat, ordering around the nurses, and well, you know Dad.”
“Can we call him?”
Jonas shook his head. “Baby girl, it’s almost one o’clock. Nina is with him. She’s been calling me with updates every hour or so.”
“Nina? His secretary, Nina?”
Jonas nodded.
“I hope Dad is paying her triple time for this.”
Jonas didn’t reply.
“What?” Roxanne asked.
He shook his head. But Roxanne knew there was more than he was telling her.
“What’s going on, Jonas?”
“I really didn’t want to tell you this now.” He sighed. “She and Dad have been seeing each other for a couple of years now.”
Roxanne blinked. “A couple of years?”
“He was afraid to tell you. He thought you might totally crack.”
She shot a can-you-believe-this look to Malcolm. To Jonas she said, “Is that your professional opinion, Dr. St. John?”
“You’ve been a little fragile since—”
“Oh, shut up, Jonas. I don’t need you to psycho-analyze me, and I don’t need you guys to treat me like I’m the last piece of Mom’s good china.”
“Fine, then. Tough luck. Get over it. You can’t call Dad tonight. You can call him tomorrow. If you’re lucky.”
“Yeah, as long as Lester doesn’t decide to finish trimming his oak tree.”
“What?” A confused frown creased Jonas’s forehead.
“I’ll explain later.” Roxanne didn’t have the energy to outline small town life in Jefferson County right now. She was still trying to sort out her father with another woman. Sure, it had been over three years since her mother’s death, and her father was still in his prime. Handsome, virile. But …
“I’ll call the judge in the morning, Roxanne,” Malcolm said. “If I can get in touch with him, maybe I can persuade him to let you leave tomorrow. In light of the new evidence, there’s no need for you to appear at the prelim on Monday. That is … ” He stopped, and the moment grew thick. “That is if you still want me to represent you in court.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you flake out on me, Daniels.”
“Pierce mentioned that—” he started.
“Screw Pierce.”
Jonas smiled, a knowing look. “I told you.”
Malcolm returned the smile, and Roxanne felt like she had just stepped into the Good Ol’ Boys Club. “So you did.”
“I’m going to go now.” Jonas kissed her cheek, then stood and headed for the door. Malcolm followed behind him, ever the accomplished host.
Her brother shook his hand. “It was good to meet you, Malcolm, even given the current circumstances.”
“Likewise.”
Jonas turned back to Roxanne and fixed his blue gaze on her. “Get some rest. We’ll call him first thing, I promise.”
Roxanne nodded and drained the last of her coffee and Irish cream as Malcolm walked her brother to the door of the main house.
She was mixing another when Malcolm returned.
“Malcolm, I—”
He held up a hand. “We’ll talk later. Right now, Jonas is right. You need to sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough to work through the rest of it.”
Roxanne nodded, too bruised to protest. Malcolm walked her to the door. “Here’s the key to Miss Beulah’s apartment.” He gave her a key ring with a single key and a big pewter B on it.
“The door’s unlocked,” Roxanne said.
Malcolm shook his head. “You may need it tomorrow.”
Roxanne just stared at the key, the significance not quite sinking in.
“And here’s your shirt.” He pressed her Bears jersey into her arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to get it cleaned.”
Despite everything, Roxanne laughed.
“I’ll leave my door unlocked in case you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, not really wanting to be alone after everything that had transpired since she left Truman’s party. Despite what had happened between her and Malcolm, he didn’t belong to her, and she had no right to ask if she could stay. But he had given her the key to Miss Beulah’s apartment. He trusted her not to go anywhere, not even back to Chicago and her father.
She could feel his eyes on her as she headed up the stairs. She opened the door without looking back, afraid she would totally crack if she saw his face. Or even worse, she would run back down the stairs, throw herself into his arms, and beg him to hold her all night long.
Roxanne closed the door behind her and put the key on the coffee table. She had too many emotions and too many thoughts churning in her head to lie down, so she wandered into the kitchen to make some more coffee.
Miss Beulah’s kitchen was much the same as the rest of the apartment—Elvis heaven. There were Elvis magnets covering the refrigerator door. Elvis potholders, Elvis dish towels, and a set of Elvis coffee mugs. There was even an Elvis wall clock that ticked off the minutes with the swinging of those famous hips.
Roxanne rummaged around in the small kitchen until she found the coffee grounds and filters. She leaned a hip against the counter and waited for the fresh pot to brew. As the last drops chugged and gurgled, she located Miss Beulah’s private stash of Bailey’s and made herself another nightcap.
The alcohol had begun to work its way through her system, relaxing tense muscles and taking the edge off of her emotions. And things began to look a little clearer. Jonas was right: their father was going to be okay. She would talk to him tomorrow and ease her mind. Until then, she just had to keep her chin up.
She topped off the coffee, making a mental note to leave Miss Beulah enough money to cover the cost of a new bottle of liquor. A well-worth-it expense as far as Roxanne was concerned. She actually felt as if she could sleep, even after all she had been through.
She took the coffee mug through the living room and into the bedroom.
Roxanne carefully stacked the Elvis throw pillows onto the room’s only chair and lay down on the white counterpane. She covered herself with the handcrafted blue and white afghan with a computer image of Elvis sewn into the center. She would try and get some sleep, but she was fairly certain her dreams would be filled with Elvis Aaron Presley.
Or Malcolm.
What happened between them had been spectacular in a frantic, frenetic, fabulous sort of way. She supposed it was the stress of the situation. Being charged with murder, et cetera, would be considered by most to be a stressful situation. The pressure had just gotten the better of her and …
Then what was his excuse?
Finding out that her father had a heart attack—however mild—was stressful, too. That—and only that—was the reason she wanted to slip out of bed and take advantage of his promise of an unlocked door.
Stop it. S
top thinking about him and go to sleep.
She no more than closed her eyes when she realized with all the evening’s excitement that she hadn’t seen Miss Kitty. Since Roxanne had been ensconced in Miss Beulah’s apartment, the feline had been a constant pest, weaving in and out of her legs as she walked, rubbing up against her when she was standing, and purring her pregnant little head off the entire time. Whoever said that cats were always attracted to the ones who didn’t like them was right on the money. Maybe the cat had just curled up somewhere and gone to sleep.
Had Miss Gertie fed Miss Kitty tonight?
Roxanne’s eyes popped open. She knew the older woman had fed the cat just before the funeral. Miss Gertie had come upstairs to feed Miss Kitty then. That was how Roxanne had managed to escape the apartment and attend Valentine’s burial. But since approximately one in the afternoon, the two women had tried on dresses, gone shopping for shoes, gotten all dolled up—as Miss Gertie put it—and attended the ex-governor’s birthday bash. After they had arrived back at Magnolia Acres, Miss Gertie had retired to her own apartment, and Roxanne had changed clothes then went outside to wait for Malcolm. And then she and Malcolm had …
Well, she supposed Miss Gertie could have fed the cat while she and Malcolm were …
Why did she even care if the damned cat got fed or not?
She just did, that was all, and she didn’t need an excuse or anything. She was thirty years old—okay, okay, thirty-one—and if she wanted to worry about whether or not Miss Kitty was fed, then she could worry.
With a frustrated growl, she sat up.
She couldn’t go down and wake Miss Gertie to feed the cat—most likely because the feisty lady was not sleeping seeing how a handsome man with flowers had been looking for her not more than an hour ago. No, she couldn’t disturb Miss Gertie for something like feeding Miss Kitty. That left one other person.
Well, two other people, but there was no way in hell Roxanne was going to ask Lila McCreedy to feed the cat.
When Malcolm had told Roxanne he would leave his door open in case she needed him, she was fairly certain it wasn’t so she could get him to feed a cat which may or may not have already been fed. Despite her vow not to take care of the creature, she couldn’t let her go hungry. She was pregnant for Pete’s sake, and had to be eating for four or five, maybe even six.
Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights) Page 23
