by Nancy Warren
He smiled down at her. “It’s hard sometimes. You know? I don’t want to think of anybody but my daddy with her. But I’m trying.”
When they got inside the house she felt suddenly like she’d jumped into that deep water without even checking to see what alligators lurked. In the morning she knew she was going to worry about what she was doing, but for tonight it was too late. The water felt good, far too good to climb out before she was ready.
So, when he took her face in his hands and kissed her slow and deep, she responded fully.
His tongue was warm and inviting in her mouth, bringing her simmering desire back to full boil.
He pulled back and she could see the effort it cost him. “Do you want something to drink?”
She let him see exactly what she wanted, let it all show in her eyes. “No.”
“Good.” He took her hand once more and led her up the stairs.
They didn’t race, though they wanted to. Didn’t stop to kiss because then they’d never make it to his bedroom.
She followed him, feeling her excitement build with each rising tread of the stairs. At the landing, he turned her to the right to a room that she recognized as exactly right for him. The furniture was rich early American. The bed was obviously new – since she didn’t think a lot of early Americans had king sized beds – but made to match the antiques. His bedding was maroon and navy and a plush Turkish rug in the same colors graced the wide planked floor boards. The atmosphere in the room was masculine but luxurious. On the walls were two paintings she recognized as Southern artists – very collectible.
“Are you always this neat or were you planning to bring me here?”
“I’m always this neat.” He grinned at her. “But towels in the bathroom and the sheets on the bed are fresh. That was in case I managed to get you up here.”
“Well, if we’re being honest,” she reached into his breast pocket and pulled out her silk and lace panties, “I don’t pull these on unless I think somebody’s going to see them.” She tilted her head back, put her panties around the back of his neck and used them like a rope to pull him down for a kiss.
“This time,” he said, when they came up for air, “I want to take our time.”
“Mmm.”
“This time, I want to see you.” As he spoke, he slipped a spaghetti strap off her shoulder, kissing the spot where it had sat.
She pulled off his jacket, tossed it to a nearby arm chair in front of the fireplace. He tipped down the other strap, kissed her other shoulder.
Off came his tie. He held out his wrists so she could remove his cufflinks. Black ones, jet or onyx – more of those antiques he couldn’t pass up she imagined. Being with this man was like stepping back in time.
The shirt next. She took her time with the studs, letting herself savor each new inch of tawny flesh she uncovered. The little clicking noises as she dropped them onto a ceramic dish on his night table punctuated the sounds of their breathing.
She couldn’t help recalling the first time she’d seen him shirtless and damp with exertion. She’d wanted to touch him then, on some cellular level her body had known the need for him. Now, he was finally hers.
He gave her his patience and she knew it was a gift from the way she sensed the short leash he was keeping on himself. She realized that patience was near its end when she felt his hands at her back and then heard the slow slide of her zipper. The dress started to slip and she let it go, feeling the silk stroke her skin as it cruised slowly to the ground. Claude watched it all the way. She wore no bra and her panties were long gone, so as the dress sighed its way down her body, she was completely exposed. His breath sucked in when her breasts appeared. He gave a murmur of satisfaction when she was naked.
Small, Claude thought. Her breasts were small as he’d known they’d be. But they were perfect, tipped with pink nipples. Her belly was runner-lean, the muscles striated but feminine. The dip of her waist curved to the slight roundness of her hips and then came those long, strong runner’s legs.
He couldn’t get his breath, or take his eyes off her.
“I’m not exactly voluptuous,” she said with a shrug as he continued to stare, speechless.
He found his voice then. “You are perfect,” he said, and to him she was.
He stripped the rest of his clothes off, unable to wait.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her spine supported against one of the posts, and watched.
Her hair hung in loose curls as she sat there regarding him, her cheeks pink with desire and her eyes big with interest.
He was glad she wasn’t shy. He wanted to see the body he’d already been inside, watch her as he entered her and when she came. He wanted to know and see and experience everything with this woman. It was a new experience but he was getting used to it. He’d always known this would happen someday. He’d see a woman and be lost. His daddy and mama had been like that and he’d never known a happier pair. Now wasn’t the time he’d have chosen – in fact he couldn’t think of a worse moment to fall in love – but when fate threw a woman like Lucy in your path, you didn’t say no.
He tossed the last of his clothes on top of his jacket and walked to the bed and she watched him all the way.
“I am crazy about you,” he said, lifting her and placing her on the bed he’d made up with such high hopes this morning.
When he had her laid out against the crisp linen sheets, he realized how good she looked in his bed. She had a timeless beauty and elegance – she was like the best pieces of furniture that never went out of style but were cherished generation after generation. In this room, with his favorites of the treasures he’d come across in his career, she fit right in. She belonged.
“Is there some reason you’re smirking at my naked body?” she asked, sounding a little pissed.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was thinking you fit in with my antiques.”
She stared at him for a second and then reached behind her for a pillow and whacked him with it.
Shoving up an arm, he laughed. “It’s your coloring,” he said, grabbing her wrists before she could launch anything else at him. Her eyes were sparkling with warmth, but he explained anyway. “You hair, the first time I saw it, I thought of how the richest woods glow when they’ve been around for a while and been taken care of.” He let go of her wrists long enough to push his fingers through her hair, loosening the rich strands so they spilled around her on the pillow.
“Everything in this room is special,” he said, kissing her lightly. Her eyes searched his and he knew he’d startled her, but after her suspicions about Isabelle, he wanted to reassure her. With Lucy living next door driving him mad with wanting her, how could he have gone with another woman?
Maybe he was talking too much. He’d do better to show her. He kissed her again, deeper this time, and felt her sigh as she opened her lips beneath his. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer until his skin was touching hers, their bodies pressed together. There’d been no time before, no room to maneuver, and their desperate haste had been too greedy. Now they’d taken the edge off, he felt better able to take his time. To see her, touch her everywhere, savor and explore her. And he intended to take his time.
Her body was glorious, her skin warm and silky, the muscles firm beneath. He kissed her breasts, trailing wet circles around her nipples and finally drawing one into his mouth. He loved the sounds she made, the sighs and whispered phrases. French phrases. He couldn’t believe it. Had he unconsciously triggered her tongue to switch or did she, like him, make love in French.
He made more discoveries. When he licked her nipples her fingernails dug into his arm. When he trailed his lips down her belly, she giggled helplessly, so he felt the ripple of muscle under his mouth. When he parted her knees, she sighed and when he kissed her inner thighs, her toes curled tight, like a ballerina en pointe. She was slick and beautiful, her curls darker down here. When he took his tongue to her, her body arched with the suppl
e grace of an athlete. He took his time, exploring her thoroughly, loving her with his mouth, and she relaxed into his rhythm, letting him build her up slowly until she shattered in a satisfying rush.
He kissed his way back up her body, feeling her tremble and sigh, and when he entered her she was as soft as melting butter.
“Where are you going?” Claude’s voice was muffled with sleep.
“Next door.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I don’t want – well, I want to talk about this with your mother first.”
He chuckled sleepily. “That conversation I would love to hear.”
“You won’t.” She walked over to the bed and kissed him. He tasted sleepy and rumpled and warm. “See you later.”
He grabbed her butt and squeezed. “Count on it.”
Dawn was beginning to streak the sky as she padded next door, hoping very much no early-rising neighbors were hanging out their windows drawing the obvious conclusion about her actions.
Well, that was just one more development in her trip to Louisiana that wouldn’t be making it into the family newsletter.
The smell of coffee and bacon had Lucy speeding down the stairs the next morning. It was eight. Late for her, but then she’d had a pretty active evening the night before.
She felt a quick qualm of nerves. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say or how Beatrice was going to react. Her ‘Good Morning’ sounded a tad too cheery and carefree to her own ears. Lighten up, she scolded herself.
He’s a grown up. His mother knows he has sex. But maybe not always with her house guests?
But Beatrice looked as happy to see her guest as she appeared every morning. “You slept in,” she said, handing Lucy coffee.
“Yes, I—“ She glanced up to find a broad grin on her hostess’s face.
“God,” she said, dropping her face in her hands, knowing she was blushing like a fool. “This is so awkward.”
“Honey, I could see the way you two looked at each other the first day what was in the wind.”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s anything serious. I mean—um—“
“Oh, I know. It is what it is. You all take sex a lot more casually than we used to.” She cracked eggs into a skillet and handed Lucy a plate of toast to butter. She shot Lucy a shrewd glance. “It’s not so very casual with you two, though, is it?”
“I—I can’t say for Claude.”
“I can. Not to scare you honey, but I’ve never seen him look at anybody the way he looks at you. First time I saw it? I’m big enough to admit I had a twinge of jealousy. Imagine. Thinking he could find a woman he’d love more than me.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not—“
“Maybe not. Don’t get yourself worked up. I’m his mother. What do I know? I think you’re feeling something too, though.”
Lucy buttered every square inch of toast. It gave her something to do. The eggs sizzled and Beatrice bustled around the kitchen. “I don’t sleep with men casually, Beatrice. I gave myself all kinds of reasons why I wouldn’t sleep with Claude, but –“ she shrugged helplessly. “Some things you can’t help.”
“I know, honey.” Beatrice laughed softly. “Don’t I know it.”
“How was your evening?” Lucy asked, determined to change the subject.
“Wonderful. I had a nice chat with – I forget her exact position – some big wig with Tulane. I told her all about you and your research and she said to tell you there’s a position opening up in the history faculty that you might want to apply for.”
“Really? I hadn’t thought of…well. Maybe I will.”
“It never hurts to look into every opportunity,” Beatrice said cheerily.
“No,” said Lucy. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
In truth, she’d seen the position posted at the university and she’d been toying with the idea of applying.
She was still thinking about it, but one thing she was sure of was that she couldn’t make a career decision based on a man. Still, she’d be foolish to impede her own career for the same reason. So, she was thinking about it.
Since it was Saturday, she wasn’t going to the university. She was sitting outside with her laptop, writing her mother an email. She’d got as far as typing, “I think I’ve found the skeleton in the family closet,” when the skeleton said from behind her, “So, did you tell her?”
Claude. Her heart skidded at the sound of his voice. She turned her head, glad of her sunglasses so she could stare at her new lover hungrily without him knowing.
“Beatrice? Yes, I told her.”
He looked altogether too good. He was dressed in his usual business casual work gear and all she could think about was getting him naked. And soon.
“And?”
“She’s okay with it.”
“Well, that’s good.” He tweaked her pony tail. “Maybe you can stay over the whole night next time.”
She tilted her head so she could look at him over the top of her glasses. “Maybe.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m going in to work for a few hours. I usually go Saturdays.” He sent her a mock serious glance. “That’s when we make a killing on the tourists.”
“I bet.”
“Come by the main store later and I’ll give you a daylight tour, then we’ll grab some dinner somewhere. After that I’m taking you to the Preservation Hall for some of the greatest jazz you’ll ever hear.”
“Tourist stuff, huh?”
“You’ll like it. Oh, and Lucy? Bring your toothbrush. You won’t be making it home.”
7
Lucy was having trouble concentrating on her research. She’d done it. She’d taken her resume and a nice letter and she’d officially applied for the position of assistant professor, tenure track. She needed to get hold of her mother and get copies of reference letters and a few other things.
And, she admitted, she needed to let Claude know what she’d done. If he freaked out, well, that was a pretty clear indication that their romance was strictly short term in his mind. That was fine, too. She’d decided that whatever happened with Claude, she wanted this job.
Somehow she needed to tell him, though.
She took the streetcar home and walked the couple of blocks to Beatrice’s place. She let herself in with her key, noting that her hostess’s car was gone. She was alone, which was fine by her. She needed to think about how she was going to tell them – him. She might not even get the job, but she already knew that Beatrice and Claude knew everybody and if word got out she’d applied, well, she wanted them to hear it from her first.
She slipped off her shoes and thought she’d run upstairs and call her mother.
A slight noise from the living room made her stop. Beatrice was out. Wasn’t she? Unless her car was being serviced or she’d lent it to someone.
“Beatrice?” she called walking into the room.
She stopped dead in her tracks, all the blood draining from her face so she felt like she might faint.
“Claude,” she said, and the weight of disappointment was so great she could barely get the word around the lead weight clogging her throat.
“Merde. Lucy. I thought you were at the university.”
“Obviously.” She found she was shaking so she sat down.
He was crouched beside an open safe she hadn’t even known about since it was inside a chest she’d assumed was pure furniture. In his hands was the three string pearl necklace with the giant emerald she’d seen on the thin, rich woman at the historical society party.
She didn’t think she’d have felt any worse if she’d found her brand new lover in the arms of another woman. The betrayal felt as sharp. “I asked you if you were a thief. You never answered me.”
He’d half risen and spoken her name urgently. Now, he settled back down and stared down at the gems in his hand. “No. I never did answer you.”
“At least you’re not a liar.”
He breathed a heavy sigh. “No. I’m not a lia
r.”
The doorbell rang. He cursed again. “Now, what?”
“I’ll go and see who it is.”
She walked to the front door and peeked out the peep hole. Perfect, just perfect.
She opened the door to the glamorous police officer who stood there with a male detective at her side. “Hello, Lucy. Is Claude here?”
Her brain whirled. Should she deny him? Turn him in? While she stood there dithering she felt Claude appear behind her.
“Isabelle, John. Hi.”
“Sorry to bother you but I saw your car out front of your place and you didn’t answer the door.” She glanced at Lucy, “I thought you might be here.”
Claude also glanced at Lucy. “This isn’t a great time.”
“It won’t take long. We need your help.”
There was a short pause then Claude said, “Come on in.”
Lucy watched him lead the officers into the very room where she’d found him with the jewels. He had balls, she’d give him that. She headed up the stairs to her room when Isabelle stopped her. “We’d like to talk to you, too.”
“Me?” She looked at all three of them. Then shrugged. This was a nightmare. A pure nightmare. “Okay.”
When they’d all sat down and the police officers had turned down her offer of iced tea, Isabelle spoke.
“There’s been another robbery, Claude.”
“Really?” His voice was leaden. He must be waiting for her to speak.
“The Gimmels, Chuck and Rose, were at the party Friday night. Do you remember seeing them?”
“Yes.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Early. Nine? Nine-thirty?”
“Lucy, did you see them? The Gimmels are a wealthy couple she was wearing—“
“I know who they are. Beatrice pointed them out to me. She was wearing the tiniest black dress I’ve ever seen.” She paused. “And a fabulous necklace.”
“Right. So you definitely remember that necklace?”
“Oh yes. An amazing piece. I’d know it anywhere.”
“Can you describe it?”
