Steamy Southern Nights

by Nancy Warren

  “I do. And two more like it.”

  She heard a deadbolt click into place and then he was reaching into the display case for the ruby necklace.

  She glimpsed the price tag as he hooked it around her neck, standing so close she felt dizzy. “Claude, don’t put it on. It’s too expensive. What if I break it?”

  “I’m more likely to break it. Besides, the markup’s ridiculous on what I got it for.” His fingers brushed her shoulders as he put the necklace around her neck. It felt cool and expensive against her skin, while his fingers felt hot and dangerous.

  “What do you think?” he said, turning her to face a mirror.

  “A light would help,” she said, seeing the shadowy reflection of the two of them. A glint of gold and a single flash of red was all she saw of the necklace.

  He shook his head, she saw the movement reflected. “We’ll have drunk tourists banging on the door thinking we’re open,” he said. “Trust me, the necklace is stunning. Come on. Let me show you around.”

  “In the dark?”

  “It’s atmospheric. Use your imagination.”

  She rolled her eyes but let him lead her by the hand into what was obviously a high-end antique store. The most gorgeous treasures were crammed together and every surface seemed crowded with delights. A Louis XIV chest glowed with gilt and atop it sat an ormolu clock with a graceful goddess spreading her gold skirts atop the clock’s face. Crystal and silver glowed quietly in the dim light; she saw the dark squares and rectangles of paintings on the walls and beneath her feet was the softness of expensive carpets.

  She realized their immediate destination when he removed a white tent card that read, Please Do Not Sit on the Furniture, from a pale velvet settee that she thought was blue. He pulled her onto the forbidden furniture and kissed her again.

  He was too good, too slick, too amazingly sexy. She wanted to devour him and it was obvious he felt the same. He kissed her, using his lips and tongue and his whole body, so she felt kissed everywhere. His hands were in her hair, on her shoulders, running down her arms and then brushing across the tips of her breasts, almost by accident but not quite. She felt the brush, and the incredible tingle, the movement of the gold and ruby necklace stirring against her skin, then he was gone.

  If he’d grabbed at her she might have found the strength to push his hand away but as it was he teased, feather light touches that only made her want more.

  She was pressed gently back onto the soft velvet and let herself fall. Oh, those practiced fingers could entice her skin they way his softly-accented words seduced her mind. The kiss became a full bodied affair and from the impressive erection nudging her belly, she knew he was as aroused as she. Their breathing grew harsh in the sleeping store. Outside people wandered and she’d hear snatches of loud conversation, a laugh, a curse, the wail of a single saxophone struck up somewhere nearby, but in here it was private, dark and intimate.

  Her sighs sounded loud, their breathing harsh. When his hand began to draw her skirt upward, she felt every inch of her thigh hum with pleasure.

  The antique furniture beneath them squeaked and it was like a wake up call to her sensible self.

  “Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling away, “What are we doing?”

  “What comes naturally, cousine,” he said, running a hand over her seriously mussed hair. “I’ve got an apartment upstairs. I could give you a night cap.”

  “I’ll bet you could,” she said, feeling a little wobbly. But shaking her head all the same. Her body might pout big time at being left wanting, but her moral standards demanded that she find out a little more about the man before sleeping with him. She needed to know that he wasn’t a criminal.

  “I need to think about this,” she said.

  “Don’t make the simple complicated, Lucy. This is the Big Easy.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not!”

  He chuckled. “Isn’t that an old-fashioned attitude?”

  “Probably, but it works for me. I’m not a Laisser le bons temps rouler kind of woman.”

  “You should try it. There’s no better place on earth to let yourself indulge than in New Orleans.” He touched her, as though he couldn’t help but touch her. “We are going to be incredible together. I know you feel it too.”

  She sat up, nudging him out of her arousal zone and refusing to answer because they both knew he was right. “I should get back.”

  “All right,” and he rose then held out a hand to help her up.

  Once on her feet, she took the necklace off with her own hands. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you for letting me wear it.”

  “You’re welcome. And,” he said, white teeth flashing in a grin, “If you’re interested, I give a very nice family discount.”

  3

  “Can you get me a cab?” she asked when he’d locked up and they were once again on Charles Street, which seemed busier than before. This really was a party town.

  “I’ll see you home.”

  “But you have your own place. I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

  “My mother would kill me if I didn’t escort you home.”

  Ah, mothers she understood. “Okay.”

  His car was a low, sleek convertible. He left the top down and the air streaming through her hair felt good after an evening of far too much heat. They purred to a stop in front of his mother’s house and he stopped.

  “Thanks for a …” what to say? “An interesting evening.”

  “I enjoyed it very much. I look forward to getting to know you better, cousine.”

  She licked her lips, a nervous gesture that annoyed her. “Good night.”

  She pushed her car door open before he could do anything really aggravating like kissing her again or running around and opening the car door for her. She needed some space and quiet in her room in order to think about this. Perhaps he understood, for he didn’t move, merely waited until she’d got the front door open and then pulled away.

  She stared after the car wondering what she was getting herself into and knowing there was no way out. The car purred smoothly forward, and as she began to shut the door, the sound of the engine changed. Puzzled, she turned. To her amazement, the car slowed and made a sharp right into the driveway to the Italianate mansion next door to his mother’s house.

  No. It couldn’t be. Sure enough, he cruised round a circular drive and stopped right in front of a double-doored entrance. He got out, put the roof up, beeped the car lock and strolled to the front door.

  She ran to the wrought iron fence between them. “Hey,” she called in a sharp whisper.

  He turned. Gorgeous, piratical and mysterious. “Yes, Lucy?”

  “You live next door?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you lived in the French Quarter.”

  “No. I live here. I like to keep an eye on things for mama.”

  “You’re insane, you know that?” She had no idea why she should feel so irked, but somehow she felt like the victim of a practical joke. She’d been so delighted to find he wasn’t living under the same roof, but now she found they were next door neighbors.

  “Good night, Lucy.”

  “Claude?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you ever going to tell me where your family got all this money?”

  She thought he glanced swiftly up to where his mother was no doubt sleeping. He put a quick finger to his lips. And nodded. Then he made a farewell gesture and disappeared into his house.

  Slowly, she made her way back to the front door of Beatrice’s home, thinking furiously as she let herself into the house and padded up to her bedroom.

  She washed up, undressed and changed into a cotton night gown. She got into bed, turned out the lights and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The bed was comfortable and she was tired from the combined stresses of traveling, meeting new relatives and making out with her distant cousin.

  She ought to be sound asleep the instant her he
ad hit the pillow, but that didn’t happen. She turned the clock around so she wouldn’t keep watching the torturous parade as minutes and hours slipped away. She knew from experience that clock watching only made her occasional insomnia worse. She got up for some water. Went back to bed. And finally gave up. She knew herself well enough to know that sleep wasn’t coming any time soon.

  Too much on her mind. Most of it concerning Claude. It was all too complicated to figure out tonight and she resented her many-times-removed cousin for robbing her of sleep.

  She got out of bed to sit by the window. At least, if she couldn’t sleep she could enjoy the mansions by moonlight. There was a banana tree, she thought across the way, and some huge live oaks with waving curtains of green Spanish moss. The padded window seat was made for star gazing, she thought, curling up with the quilt off her bed and deciding to count stars as though they were sheep until she grew sleepy.

  What she counted was one man walking across his back garden at – she glanced at the clock on her bedside table that was now facing her – one-forty-five in the morning.

  There was no question as to the identity of the man.

  Even though he’d changed the white shirt for a black long sleeved T-shirt and it was dark enough that she didn’t see him clearly, her body recognized him instinctively. Already, after a day’s acquaintance she knew his walk, the way he held his shoulders, and the shape of his head. He was as familiar to her as a man she’d been intimate with for months.

  He didn’t walk with particular stealth, but the fact of him leaving his house by the back door at this time of night was in itself suspicious.

  Instinctively, she shrank back from the window, and almost the second she did, she saw him turn as though he felt her gaze and glance up at her window. She knew he couldn’t see her but she felt a shiver run down her spine anyway.

  After a moment he turned around and opened an obviously well-oiled gate since it swung open soundlessly. He passed through and was soon lost to her sight. A minute later she heard a car pulling away.

  Where was Claude going? And what was he doing?

  As an aid to sleep, staring out her window tonight hadn’t been a real winner. She counted thousands of stars, but it didn’t help. She’d never been so wide awake.

  A woman, probably, Lucy decided. One of those unsteady ones his mother didn’t need or want to know about.

  Lucy wouldn’t care a bit if he hadn’t been kissing her earlier in the evening. Had the secrecy been for her benefit? Maybe he thought, hey, Lucy’s not into sex tonight. No problem. I’ll call a friend.

  Well, he was going to find that Lucy didn’t share. Not even for a holiday fling that would only last a few weeks.

  She got back into bed deciding that this promising beginning with Claude was pretty much done for. Well, better she should learn the truth about him now, she thought, punching the pillow and bunching it under her head one more time. Perhaps this was a good lesson to her not to stray from her usual research-heavy getting-to-know-you period. Obviously, Cousin Claude was going to be receiving a failing grade. For all his sexiness and the undeniable wow factor when he touched her, kissing cousins was all they were ever going to be. Too bad, she thought, shifting around trying to get comfortable.

  No. Not too bad.

  Best to know in advance that this guy was a walking sex god and a man who didn’t worry much which woman was on his arm, so long as there was one.

  Okay. Fine. Not for her.

  If only she could convince her over-stimulated and currently undersexed body of that fact.

  As the hours crept by she became more and more irritated with her next door neighbor for robbing her of sleep. This was all his fault. And a man who robbed her of sleep for all the wrong reasons was going to be forced to pay.

  At one point she heard sounds of movement coming from Beatrice’s room and hoped she hadn’t telegraphed her restlessness to her hostess.

  Around five she heard something. She couldn’t have said what, but her senses were so attuned to what was going on next door, that sure enough, when she crept to the dormer window to peer down at Claude’s back yard, there he was, sneaking back in to his own house as stealthily as he’d stolen out earlier.

  The tom cat was home from his alley prowling.

  Meow.

  4

  The banging on his front door roused Claude from a sleep as deep and sweet as it had been short. A glance at his bedside clock confirmed he’d been in bed for less than two hours.

  Muttering a string of obscenities, in French, because that’s the language he’d first learned to swear in, he grabbed the gun from his bedside drawer and made his way to the window in his bedroom that overlooked the front door.

  “Merde.” What was his all too appetizing cousine doing on his doorstep at seven in the morning?

  For a brief moment he wondered whether she’d go away if he ignored her, then realized his car was still out front so she’d assume, rightly, that he was in the house. Sure enough, another banging on the door accompanied by the peal of his door bell informed him that his visitor wasn’t going away.

  Stuffing himself into a pair of plaid boxers, and deciding that if she came calling at this time of the day, that’s all the trouble he was going to take to protect her modesty, he shoved the gun back in the drawer and shuffled his way downstairs to the front door.

  She was already knocking again when he yanked the door open, so she almost fell inside. He resisted the grin that tried to surface at her surprised expression.

  “What?” he demanded.

  She looked as fresh and cool as the country she hailed from in a white top that showed a hint of cleavage and denim cutoffs that gave him ideas about how fast he could get them off her. When he got a good look at her face he saw dark circles under her eyes. She started to speak and was interrupted by a yawn. Hmm. Maybe she hadn’t had any sleep either last night. Wishing she’d taken him up on his offer?

  “You want coffee?”

  She blinked in surprise. “You’ve made coffee? I thought…”

  “I haven’t made coffee yet. I was in bed.” He looked at her skinny but muscular body and thought about how it would feel wrapped around him. “I could be back there in under a minute, and you with me,” he said, reaching to cup her cheek in his palm.

  Even as her eyes darkened in response, she looked away from him and turned her head so his hand fell away.

  What had happened to the passionate woman who’d been as into him last night as he’d been into her. Well, almost. He wouldn’t have ended the night at the same point she did, but he didn’t think she’d called a halt because she didn’t want him.

  “What?” he asked looking, puzzled, at her averted face. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I came to tell you that your mother’s got the stones for the patio. She wants to know if you can start laying them today.”

  “Yeah, I can come over,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “What’s happened since we were — getting friendly last night — and seven o’clock this morning?”

  As he watched, she ran a thumbnail over the fluted edge of the Directoir table in the hallway. He doubted she even knew she was doing it. Her face was still turned away, the skin was fine-textured and creamy with a scatter of pale freckles across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks.

  “I saw you last night,” she said, talking to the table.

  “We saw each other. We had a date.” He dropped his voice. “A date that ended too soon.”

  She turned to look straight at him and there was a hint of hurt swiftly hidden in the depths of her green eyes. “After that. Around two. I watched you go out the back way.”

  Merde. Fils de putain. Christ! He’d felt her watching him, he remembered now. He’d felt something and looked back at his mother’s house to find it dark and still. He held his expression and his tone in check, saying evenly, “That’s right. I went out.”

  Her gaze didn’t waver. “Whatever your personal life is
, it’s none of my business.” She said it with a tone of finality and an unspoken addendum: and it never will be. Then he understood what she was getting at.

  “Lucy, I wasn’t with another woman last night.”

  Her gaze searched his and a tiny crease appeared between her brows. “Then where were you at that time of night and why did you sneak out the back way?”

  He opened his mouth and a dozen lies popped up. But he didn’t spout any of them. Instead he took her hands and held them. “I can’t tell you where I was and I’m sorry about that. But believe me, I’m not interested in any woman right now except you.”

  Her hands twitched in his grasp but she didn’t pull away. She looked puzzled, frustrated, pissed. “I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” he said, letting his impatience show. He held her hands against his chest and heard her quick intake of breath. Her fingers clutched, then relaxed as though she’d forced them to let go. “I don’t get this kind of rush every time I touch a woman. I’m guessing you don’t get it with the men you’ve known either.” He paused long enough for her to decide to answer the implied question, which she did with a shake of her head.

  “It wasn’t pleasure that took me out last night, Lucy. It was business. I can’t tell you any more. I’m sorry.”

  She gazed at him for a long moment more. “I’m only down here for three weeks. A vacation fling is a really bad idea, anyway.”

  “Seems like a good idea to me,” he said, keeping his tone light.

  She sent him a swift smile and took her hands back. “Well, I’ll tell cousin Beatrice the handyman’s on his way,” she said, backing out the door.

  Merde, he said, as he’d said far too many times this morning considering how early it was. He shut the door and stumbled back to the kitchen. When he opened the coffee tin he found a scattering of black at the bottom, exactly enough to tease his nostrils.

  “Aaaw, shit.” He tossed the tin in the sink where it made a nice, loud clang and then decided that, based on the first half hour, his day was going to be a real winner.