A Second Chance

by Kara Lennox

  It was the bed she focused on. There was no shy striptease, no laughter, no hesitation of any kind. She wanted possession. If loving Luc was wrong, then she didn’t want to do the right thing, the sensible thing.

  He very nearly tore her clothes off, and did manage to pop a button on her blouse. It pinged across the bare cypress floor. Even as he stripped off her clothes, he kept kissing her…hot, undisciplined kisses. She felt no embarrassment, only a sense that this moment was preordained.

  She wanted Luc. She wanted him for as long as he would have her.

  He lifted her up and practically threw her onto his bed, the sweet, pastel-colored antique quilt a sharp contrast to the intensity of their feelings.

  “Don’t move.” He stepped into the bathroom and came back out holding a plastic bag from a pharmacy in New Iberia. “After I left your place last week, I drove all the way to New Iberia to get these.” He dropped a large box of condoms onto the bed. He was letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that he’d had plans for the two of them, plans she’d ruined.

  She knew she couldn’t change her mind again. Maybe Luc wasn’t the settling-down, marrying type, but that didn’t mean he had a heart of stone.

  “We’ll use them all.”

  At that, the last of his anger dissipated. He shucked his jeans and fell on top of her. The weight of him, his heat, his pure maleness met a need in her she couldn’t describe, hadn’t known existed until this moment.

  She wanted him now, hot and fast. She knew he was ready—kind of hard to miss. She spread her legs and rocked side to side until he was settled between them. Grabbing one of the condoms, she ripped open the package with her teeth and handed it to him. “Do it now.”

  Her hunger excited him. His eyes darkened, and she strained her hips upward to meet him, to urge him on. He plunged inside her.

  “Oh, yes.” Finally. Maybe she would be able to sleep tonight.

  For a time he didn’t move as they adjusted to the feel of their bodies joined. But then he began to thrust, short, subtle movements at first, building to long, deep insertions, withdrawing almost all the way, then coming home to her again. Hard, hot, intense. She thought she might weep with the ecstasy of it.

  He gritted his teeth, sweat running down his face.

  “I’m coming,” he whispered. “Can’t…hold…it…”

  And neither could she. She felt herself come apart, and for a time she wasn’t sure where her body was. Not under her control, that’s for sure.

  Gradually she became aware of the soft quilt against her back and Luc’s warm skin on hers.

  “Hmm.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” she demanded, though she was teasing. “Hmm?”

  “Sorta defies words. That was, uh…see? No words.” He pulled away from her and flopped onto his back next to her, then drew her close.

  “How about good?”

  “Doesn’t come close.”

  “Spectacular?”

  “Better than that.”

  “Worth repeating?”

  He grinned. “Now you’re getting somewhere. Does your mother know you behave like this?”

  “She better not.”

  Luc stroked her cheek and smoothed her hair off her forehead. “I didn’t mean to be rough.”

  “You didn’t hurt me. I’m not made of spun sugar.”

  They lay in silence for a while. Loretta knew they had to talk about what this meant. Denying their attraction hadn’t worked. They needed a new plan. A plan that included frequent and hot sex.

  “You want a relationship?” she asked. “A real one?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t want to sneak around. Zara has to know.”

  “Okay.”

  “She’s smart. I say we tell her the absolute truth.”

  “What is the absolute truth?”

  “That I’m crazy about you. Right now, I can’t imagine wanting to leave Indigo. But I know myself. I’m restless. I have too much of my father in me.”

  “Tell me about your father.”

  Luc smiled, a little sadly, it seemed to Loretta. “I think he loved my mother and me. The way he looked at her sometimes—I could tell. But he didn’t stick around. Even when I was very young, he disappeared for long periods of time—weeks, months sometimes. Then he’d show back up, his arms full of presents, making all kinds of promises about how it would be different this time. It never was. Always, he would leave again.

  “Eventually, my mother had had enough, and she told him if he left again, not to bother coming back. He left, anyway, and my mom divorced him. I was six, I think.”

  Loretta could tell it was not easy for Luc to talk about this.

  “He came back, just before he died,” he said. “He wanted to make peace. He had hepatitis, the serious kind. We took care of him till he died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want to repeat his mistakes. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think so. And I’m willing to accept your…limitations. Can we just take it one day at a time, see how it goes? If it doesn’t work out in the long run, if you feel you have to leave, I’ll be sad, but I won’t regret our time together.”

  “I hope not. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Or Zara. How about if we talk to her together?”

  “Okay.” She smiled up at him, the sweetest, most heartbreaking smile, and he kissed her.

  LUC COULD HARDLY believe he was lying there talking so calmly about having a relationship. And that it didn’t panic him in the least.

  The doorbell rang. Luc looked at his watch and cursed softly. “That would be my guests. Sorry.” He gave her one more quick kiss, then leaped out of bed and quickly put on his clothes.

  “Do you mind if I take a shower?” Loretta asked him.

  “No, go ahead. Make yourself at home.”

  Luc tucked in his shirt as he headed for the front door. The doorbell rang again—someone was growing impatient.

  “I’m coming,” he grumbled. “Sheesh.” He opened the door, but it wasn’t the couple from Mobile he’d been expecting. Standing on the front porch was Celeste Robichaux, looking like a dowager duchess. “Grand-mère?”

  “What took you so long?” she demanded, sweeping past him and into the house. “And why do you keep the door locked? We never locked the door when we used to stay here.”

  “I’m a city boy. Locking doors is a habit with me.” Out in the driveway, a tall, gaunt man in a uniform stood at the back of Celeste’s Cadillac, pulling out enough suitcases for a trip around the world.

  Oh, boy.

  Celeste stood in the middle of the main room and looked around, taking in the furnishings, the pictures on the wall, the rag rugs and the fragrant potpourri, and Luc held his breath. Would she like what she saw? Had he really caught the essence from the few old photos he’d discovered?

  Her face softened. “Oh, Luc, this is fabulous. It looks almost exactly as it did when I was a girl. You’ve worked a miracle, an absolute miracle.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Wow. Praise from Celeste. This was a red-letter day.

  The chauffeur carried in Celeste’s suitcases and one large box.

  “Charles,” she said, “take everything but the box up to the third floor. Luc, you did say the attic suite had a private bath, correct?”

  “Grand-mère, as happy as I am to see you, you can’t stay here. I’m full up. Guests will be arriving any minute who’ve reserved the attic suite.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to put them someplace else. This is my house, I ought to be able to stay here when I want. Charles?” She nodded toward the stairs.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave Luc a commiserating look before heading up the stairs with the baggage.

  “I’d like the grand tour, please. Show me everything you’ve done.”

  The door to Luc’s private quarters opened and Loretta stepped out, wearing his bathrobe. “Luc? Sorry to bother you
, but I can’t get any hot water. Is there a trick to it?” She nodded toward Celeste. “Hi.”

  “Good afternoon,” Celeste said, giving Luc a look designed to turn him into a pile of ashes. “This must be Loretta.”

  Loretta’s eyebrows flew up. She’d apparently mistaken Celeste for a guest.

  “Grand-mère, I’d like you to meet Loretta Castille. She’s our local baker. Loretta, my grandmother, Celeste Robichaux.”

  Loretta came forward, her hand extended, though her face had turned bright pink. Celeste took her hand reluctantly, gave it a quick shake and let go.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Robichaux,” Loretta said.

  “The hot water just takes a while to heat up,” Luc said.

  “Okay, thanks.” And she fled.

  “Well, well,” Celeste said. “Looks like she’s providing you with more than muffins. I hope you’re not flaunting your little floozy in front of the guests.”

  “No, ma’am. But she’s not a floozy, and please don’t call her that. She’s my girlfriend.” He liked the sound of that.

  “I didn’t know you had a steady girlfriend.”

  “It’s a relatively new thing.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She pressed her mouth into a stern line, obviously displeased. Just as he thought, she’d been hoping he was miserable in Indigo. He was making restitution here. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself.

  As he took her around and showed her the rooms in the old Creole cottage, though, her disapproving frown faded.

  “I had no idea you’d be so good at decorating.”

  “Doc helped. He remembered what the cottage was like years ago, so he helped me find furniture and rugs.” Luc had enjoyed spiffing the place up and including little touches he knew the guests would appreciate—like a basket of fresh fruit in the parlor and woolly afghans to wrap themselves in when they sat on the porch on a chilly night.

  When Celeste went out on one of the balconies and saw the cypress rocking chairs, she sat in one. “We used to have mint juleps out here on warm days, and mulled wine or cider on cold ones. It was such a wonderful time, especially the summers. We had parties and picnics and boat rides. And on Saturday afternoons all the young people would drive to New Iberia to the movie house.”

  Celeste was actually smiling. Luc had never seen her like this. He could almost envision the beautiful young girl she’d once been.

  “How long are you planning to stay?” he asked.

  “Oh, just a couple of weeks. Maybe until the music festival. I’ve heard so much about it now, since Melanie is involved.”

  Luc resisted the urge to clutch his chest. Two weeks! Or longer? God almighty, this was awful.

  “Do you even like Cajun music?” he asked.

  “But oui. Back in my day there were some good bands. In fact, I had a, er, gentleman friend who played the frottoir in a band.”

  Luc didn’t know what a “frottoir” was, but he remembered hearing the word before somewhere.

  “There was a little bandstand set up on the lawn in front of the opera house,” Celeste continued, “and they would play every evening, and the young people would dance. The old people, too, come to think of it.”

  Man. He had never imagined…

  The doorbell rang again. What was he going to do with his guests? He’d been working on converting one of the outbuildings to a suite, but it wasn’t quite ready.

  When he went to the door, however, it wasn’t his guests, but Doc Landry. “Hey, Doc. Why didn’t you just let yourself in?” Doc had a key, since he often watched the B and B when Luc was away.

  “Oh, well, it just seems more proper to ring the bell when I wasn’t expected. Do you, uh, have a special guest?” And he looked past Luc, searching.

  “You must mean Grand-mère. Oh, yeah, she’s here, all right.”

  “I thought that was her car leaving just now.”

  It was hard to miss Celeste’s car. She had vanity plates that said, “QUEEN C.” Luc couldn’t help grinning. His cousins’ no longer secret nickname for their grandmother was “The Queen.”

  Loretta picked that moment to emerge from Luc’s rooms, fully dressed this time, thank God. “Hi, Doc,” she said. Then she whispered, “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your grandmother.”

  “I’m always in trouble with my grandmother.”

  “I need to get back to the bakery.”

  “I’ll call you later.” In full view of Doc, he kissed her goodbye. Doc would find out soon enough.

  “Well,” Doc said when Loretta had left.

  “Don’t give me grief, okay?”

  Celeste came down the stairs and smiled broadly when she saw her old friend. “Well, look who’s here. Michel, the years have been kind to you.”

  “And to you.” Doc stepped forward, took Celeste’s hand, and kissed it. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

  Michel? Luc wasn’t sure he’d ever been aware of Doc Landry’s first name. Everyone called him Doc. Then Luc remembered where he’d heard about the frottoir. From Doc. Hmm.

  Doc lifted the plastic bag in his hand. “Everything we need for mint juleps. Are you game?”

  “I haven’t had a mint julep in years. My doctor will have a fit, but I’d love one. I believe I even saw the perfect cocktail glasses in the china cabinet.”

  Shaking his head, Luc left his grandmother in very capable hands to see what he could do about the outbuilding. He’d already made the necessary changes to plumbing and wiring. He’d made repairs on the roof, replaced one of the windows, painted, and bought a bed and dresser. He’d installed a claw-foot tub in the bathroom, but he hadn’t yet done a shower conversion. Most hotel guests loved the old tubs, but they wanted to take showers.

  He could make the room do, he supposed. He quickly put some linens on the bed and towels in the bathroom, and borrowed a few pictures, knickknacks, and a rug to make it more homey. The results weren’t up to his usual standards, but they would have to do.

  When the couple from Mobile finally arrived just before dinner, he explained about the unexpected arrival of his grandmother, who owned the place. Then he showed them the outbuilding.

  The woman was delighted with what she called the “rustic character” of the place, but the man was not pleased, until Luc mentioned that he was giving them a substantial discount on the room rate. That solved the problem.

  When Luc returned to the main house, he joined his guests on the downstairs veranda, where Doc was serving mint juleps to everyone. He handed Luc a glass.

  “Come, sit with us,” Doc said.

  “I have a lot of work to—”

  “Sit.”

  Oh, boy. He dragged up one of the rocking chairs and sat gingerly on the edge, making it clear he wasn’t settling in for the evening.

  “You told me you were going to leave Loretta alone,” Doc said without preamble.

  “Now, Michel,” Celeste chided, “are you saying my grandson isn’t good enough for this girl?”

  This was a switch. Celeste defending him?

  “I just don’t want to see the girl hurt,” Doc said. “She’s been through a lot in her young life already.”

  A couple of the guests, seated nearby, were eavesdropping. Luc wanted to sink through the veranda. “I’m not sure this is anybody’s business but mine,” he said softly. “But I have to tell you, Loretta and I have reached an understanding. I’m happy with it, she’s happy, and frankly I don’t care too much what you two think.”

  “All right, all right, simmer down,” Doc said. “I just want to know one thing. Does she know about your, er, past?”

  “No,” Luc admitted.

  “Oh, Luc, you have to tell her,” Celeste said. “She has a right to know, especially what with her late husband being a criminal and all.”

  It seemed Doc had filled Celeste in.

  “I’ll tell her. I just have to find the right time. She’s so busy with the music festival, so stressed out, I don’t want to spring the news
that her new boyfriend is a…” He stopped and looked pointedly at one of the female guests who was craning her neck, trying to hear.

  “Grand-mère, you won’t say anything, will you?” He imagined Celeste would take great pleasure in relating Luc’s felony record to Loretta. She seemed to enjoy manipulating the members of her family.

  She answered his question with one of her own. “Do you love her?”

  “I can’t answer that.” If the ache in his chest every time he saw her was love, then maybe he did. But he suspected what Celeste meant was, did he plan to make an honest woman out of her.

  “I would highly recommend telling her the truth,” Celeste said. “As soon as possible. I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. But sooner or later she will find out from someone else.”

  “No one else knows except for the police chief. Do they, Doc?”

  “I haven’t told anyone.”

  “What about Melanie?” Celeste asked.

  Oh, hell. He’d forgotten about Melanie. “I’ll talk to her. It’s just for another couple of weeks. I need that time with Loretta.” Maybe it was selfish of him. But there was a very good chance Loretta would bolt the moment she found out that Luc had plotted revenge against his own family and had nearly succeeded in destroying their hotel. He wanted at least a little time with her before she knew the truth.

  CELESTE WAS ON HER third mint julep and feeling no pain. Sitting on the veranda like this, rocking and laughing and feeling the breeze on her face, she could almost believe she was young again. Young and wealthy and carefree, with a world of choices unfolding before her.

  “What do you really think of Luc’s new girlfriend?” she asked Michel. Luc had gone inside to prepare a cold buffet for some of his guests. Usually people chose to drive to New Iberia or St. Martinville for dinner, or they enjoyed a homestyle meal at Indigo’s own Blue Moon Diner, but he’d given them the option of eating at the B and B tonight.

  He was really very good at what he did. Her idea to have him renovate the cabin and open a bed-and-breakfast had been smarter than even she’d imagined.

  “Loretta’s a peach,” Doc said. “She comes from a good family. It’s true, she made some bad choices in her youth. She couldn’t have picked a worse husband than Jim Patterson. But she grew up and settled down. She’s putting all her energy into her bakery and making a success of it, too. And she’s a good mother.”