by Sandra Hill
She stopped in the middle of the bedroom. She was wearing a silky kimono-style robe and nothing more. He shimmied out of his briefs and walked over to the bed, laying himself down with his hands folded behind his head.
She gave him a head-to-toe survey, unable to ignore the pole standing up in his middle. But she wasn’t budging a bit. With hands on her hips, she said, “Well? What is this big fantasy, big boy?” She put special emphasis on “big boy” and Big Boy sort of flexed in a bow.
“I was imagining you standing against those open French doors over there, naked except for those killer high heels you were wearing. And you were singing the blues, a sexy ballad just for me.”
She blinked and a blush rose on her cheeks. “Oh, good Lord,” she said. Then, “Wanna hear my fantasy?”
Is she kidding? “Maybe.”
“I’m picturing you standing in the same doorway wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots and nothing more. Except for the guitar you’re playing for me. While I lie in my bed, naked, waiting for you. How do you like my fantasy, big boy?”
He didn’t have to speak. Big Boy did the talking for him. But then he said, “I actually wear a cowboy hat and boots sometimes back in California when I go out to the local bar, Wet and Wild. The women love it.”
“I’ll bet they do.”
He wagged a forefinger in warning to her. “I even play the guitar on occasion. Not very well. But honestly, Em, I don’t have any of those things here in Loo-zee-anna.”
“Get them.”
Okaaay.
She nodded slowly and leaned down to put on first one high heel, then the other. Then she went over to lean against the doorjamb, staring at him.
“Lose the robe, sugar.” His voice was so husky with passion, it came out as little more than a whisper.
She shook her head, but she did let the robe slide down until her shoulders were exposed along with the top of one tempting breast. Nobody would ever believe him—especially not his team members—but she looked sexier than if she was totally naked.
At first, her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but then he realized that she was singing that old Etta James song “If I Can’t Have You.” Was the choice deliberate? Was there a message in the song lyrics in which the woman was telling some man that if she can’t have him, she doesn’t want anyone? She sings of the way he hugs her, the way he squeezes her, the way he kisses her. Em’s voice was clear and husky, huskier than her regular speaking voice, and Cage was touched deep to his soul. What had started out as a lighthearted teasing challenge turned on him. Big-time.
“Ah, Em!” He slid off the bed and went over, tilting her chin up to see the tears welling in her eyes. “Ah, Em!”
Picking her up, he carried her back to the bed and lay her down like the precious object she was. Wiping her tears with the edge of the sheet. Brushing loose strands of hair, still damp from their shower, off her face. Kissing her softly on the lips.
When he made love to her then, that was what it was. Making love. She’d told him there were to be no words of love. So be it. But he would show her with every bit of his being how much he loved her.
For the next hour, Cage dedicated himself to a slow, gentle loving of Emelie. Murmuring soft words of compliments or encouragement. Butterfly kisses. Whispery soft caresses. He used every talent he’d perfected over the years to give Emelie the most pleasure. When they both came to a climax, it wasn’t with a bang or an explosion, but rather a slowly rising crescendo and then a release of such incredible satisfaction, the only thing Cage could liken it to was warm honey flowing through their veins.
Em fell asleep instantly in his arms. He would have stayed with her the entire night but he heard the slight buzz of his secure cell phone sitting on the bedside table. Taking the phone with him into the bathroom, he saw the text message, Stop at Tante Lulu’s on way home. News on Operation Boom.
He dressed quickly, and dawn was already lightening the sky when he went over to the bed and sat down. Nudging Em, he said, “Honey, I have to leave. Something has come up.”
Her eyes shot open and she started to rise. “Is it your grandmother?”
“No. Something else. Go back to sleep. It’s only five thirty. I’ll call you later.”
She sank back down and snuggled into the pillow.
He waited until he was certain she was asleep again before kissing her cheek and whispering, “I love you, Em.”
What he didn’t see when he turned his back and went out the door was the small smile on her face.
Chapter Thirteen
Her future was looking rosy…
Emelie was up soon after dawn and remarkably energized, despite her small amount of sleep. In fact, to her surprise, she noticed that the bags under her eyes were gone and there was a healthy glow on her cheeks. A sex glow, she thought with a giggle.
She sang softly as she dressed for the day, made herself a toasted bagel with peanut butter and honey, and took it downstairs to eat with the pot of coffee already started by the timer on her coffeemaker. By the time Belle arrived at eight, Emelie was well into her mask making, having accomplished more in the past few hours than she had in days.
Belle took one look at her and burst out laughing.
“What?”
“Someone’s been doing the dirty. Woot-woot!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Emelie said, fighting a grin.
“Honey, it’s obvious what you’ve been doing. Your life is suddenly coming up rainbows.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated and pretended to be having trouble picking from a selection of colored feathers for a particular mask.
Belle put her hands on her hips and tapped one foot. “No fair, girl. Dish! I already told you what I heard about SEALs and staying power.”
To her chagrin, Emelie felt her face heat.
Belle let out a hoot of laughter, then gave her a warm hug. “Whatever happened, I’m glad to see you looking so… um…”
Emelie arched a brow in question.
“Satisfied.” Belle left to open the shop. An hour later, Belle called her to the front, saying, “You know that thing you’ve been doing but don’t know what I’m talking about…” Belle stepped aside to show her a flower arrangement that had just been delivered for Emelie Gaudet. Two-dozen long-stemmed pink roses in a crystal vase. There was no card, but Emelie didn’t need one. She took the vase back to her work area, and she smiled every time the scent of roses wafted her way.
Her good mood lasted all morning and was topped off by the most amazing proposition. No, it wasn’t a marriage proposal, not that she was expecting one, but the offer of a job that was beyond her wildest dreams. Harry Duval, the well-known Creole chairman of the Mardi Gras Museum of New Orleans, whom she’d met at various charity events over the years, came in around noon and asked to speak to Emelie. She brought him back to her workshop and offered him a cup of coffee. While she was puttering with the coffeemaker to brew a fresh pot, Harry walked around, examining her work. His oohs and aahs were compliments enough.
Harry was a spiffy dresser, and today was no exception. He wore a burgundy sport coat with a multicolored silk scarf tucked in behind the open top button of a pristine white shirt, like a nineteen forties film star. His pants were a darker shade of burgundy, almost black, and his dress shoes were white. Yes, white shoes in the winter. On a man.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked to see you,” he said after taking several sips of coffee with more oohing and aahing. Emelie had learned long ago that Cajuns and Creoles loved their coffee strong enough that it gelled when cool.
She nodded.
“The museum has received a half-million-dollar federal grant for the arts, and we’re using it to build a new wing. Among other things we’d like to have masks made replicating all the important masks that have been worn in Mardi Gras parades over the years. As you know, some of the early ones have disintegrated through lack of care, and others we never had, but we do have photog
raphs. We would like you to do the work.”
She was stunned. “How many pieces?”
He shrugged. “We’re not sure. Possibly fifty, initially. But there’s a deadline. We want to open the new wing the week of Mardi Gras next year.”
“Oh, my goodness. That would be a tight schedule. One a week, practically. It wouldn’t leave much room for my regular business.”
“Ah, I understand, but you are so suited for this opportunity. Please, don’t tell me that you are declining.”
“No, no, I’m just thinking out loud.” There would actually be other things to consider, as well. She’d planned to start a baby this year, if she could. And now that Justin had reentered her life… well, she didn’t want to get her hopes up, but he had said he loved her, even if he hadn’t meant for her to hear.
Harry told her the amount she would be paid and the amount set aside for materials, which was more than satisfactory. Not to mention the publicity she would get for her work.
“I’m very flattered by your offer. Can you give me some time to consider whether I would be able to handle it?”
She could tell that Harry was a bit disappointed that she hadn’t jumped at the chance. “Yes, dear, but not too much time. You are the only artist we considered, but if we need to find someone else, time is of the essence.”
“I understand. Would one week be too long?”
“That would be fine. Shall we meet again next week, same time and place?”
They shook hands, and he left.
Belle came back right away, anxious to know what Harry Duval had wanted. When Emelie explained, she said, “Wow! Kudos to you, honey.” Noticing the expression on her face, Belle added, “Or not. What’s the problem?”
“Well, no problem exactly. But you do know that I was considering artificial insemination, and I wouldn’t want to go into that being overworked and stressed out. A child should… would be my number one priority.”
“I would help as much as I could,” Belle offered.
“I know you would, sweetie.” She squeezed Belle’s hand.
“One thing, have you considered getting a baby the fun way with Justin? You know, better the devil you know than the one you don’t?”
“I don’t want an absentee father in my baby’s life, but at least with artificial insemination the child can’t be hurt by his absence.”
“That is the most convoluted bit of illogic I have ever heard,” Belle said. Then with a shake of her head, she added, “Please don’t let worry over the shop enter into your consideration of the museum’s offer. I can handle things here, or get some part-time help if need be.”
Emelie nodded.
“What about your singing at Ella’s?”
Emelie waved a hand dismissively. “I could drop that in a heartbeat for a job like this.”
“So?”
“I have a week to decide.” She looked at Belle then and said, “I meant to ask, how are things going with JAM?”
“Eh! So-so! Haven’t seen him for a couple of days.”
“Not ‘the one,’ huh?”
“Probably not.” She paused. “Something’s fishy with those SEALs being here, if you ask me.”
Emelie grinned. “Something fishy with seals?”
“Yeah, and more SEALs are supposed to be arriving soon.”
“Really?”
“Maybe I’m imagining things. The whispering that stops when I walk in the room. Bernie being chummy with a bunch of macho guys.”
Emelie frowned, recalling that she’d had an uneasy feeling as well. Bernie had never been cool. Why was he suddenly hanging out with the cool guys? And why were the “cool guys” suddenly interested in Bernie? “I don’t know about the other SEALs, but I’m sure that the reason Justin is here is because of his grandmother’s illness.”
“Yeah, and I could see two of his buddies coming for support. For a day or two. But it’s been over a week now. And staying with that dingbat Tante Lulu for a vacation? Doesn’t fit.”
They looked at each other and shrugged.
Her cell phone rang then. Looking at the caller ID, she said with a sigh of resignation, “My father.”
“Good luck!” Belle said and went back to her workroom.
“Dad,” she said into the phone.
“Emelie, darlin’,” he said way too sweetly.
Uh-oh. That tone of voice meant he wanted something. “What is it?”
“Are ya comin’ down to the bayou t’day?”
“No, Dad, I can’t. I’m too busy with work. Are you sick?”
“’Course I’m sick. Ah had a heart attack.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you doing your exercises?”
He ignored her question, which was telling. “When are ya comin’ ta see me?”
“Can I talk to Francine?”
“Why? Ain’t I good enuf fer mah baby girl?”
“Dad, put Francine on the phone, or I’m hanging up.”
He banged the phone down, and there was a rustling sound, and a pause before Francine arrived and picked up the phone. “Hello, Emelie,” Francine said in a tired voice.
“Francine, here’s the deal. If it’s an emergency, I’ll come. If it’s not, I’m just too busy.”
“There’s no emergency. Your father’s just scared.”
“Of another heart attack?”
“No. Something else.”
Ah. Now she understood. Her father suspected that she knew about more of his machinations, which she did. Unless there were more. On top of his threatening Justin’s grandparents, she’d learned last night that he’d apparently hidden or destroyed letters that Justin had sent her. When would it ever end?
“Francine, we both need to take a stand. If we don’t, he’s going to make us both sick. I’ve got work to do here. I’ll come when I can. And you, Francine, bless your heart, you need a break, too. Why don’t you come into town and stay with me for a few days?”
“I can’t do that, but I am going to insist that he do more for himself. A home helper is coming today, and he has a physical therapy session this afternoon. If he refuses to cooperate, I’m going to take a more drastic step. My sister still lives in Baton Rouge. I can go there.” She could tell that Francine was weeping. “Maybe I should have never given up my own home.”
This was bad. Very bad.
“Listen, Francine, let’s play it by ear today. I’ll talk to you tonight. If there’s no change today, I’ll come tomorrow, and we’ll make all the changes that are needed. If nothing else, we can put Dad in an assisted living facility.”
“Oh, he would hate that!”
“Yeah, well, you and I hate the way he’s being at home. Sounds like a standoff to me.”
“Okay,” Francine finally agreed and hung up.
Talk about a buzzkill for a good mood. No rainbows now.
Emelie resumed painting a porcelain mask then after inserting a Nina Simone disc in the CD player. Music… even the blues… always uplifted her.
The phone rang. Her dad’s number again. But it was Francine who whispered, “Em, it’s working. I read your dad the riot act, and I told him that if he didn’t straighten himself out, he was going to lose both of us. He’s taking a walk in the garden right now. Said he has some things to think about.”
“Justin LeBlanc?”
“What?”
“That’s what he has to think about. Francine, he’s done some awful things. Some, you may already know about. But more things keep coming to light. He’s been living under the fear for years, but especially since Justin is back in town, that we will discover the extent of what he’s done.”
“Whatever he’s done, it’s for your own good, Emelie.”
“Bullshit! Sorry, Francine, but he’s justified his actions with that excuse for too many years. Until he realizes that Justin isn’t a bad man and that he owes him a huge apology, I don’t think my father will ever change.”
“Does it matter so much… how your father feels about Justin? U
nless he’s right that you might connect with the boy again and might go off to California with him.”
“First off, Justin is a man, not a boy. Second, I am not leaving Loo-zee-anna, even if Justin asked me to, which he hasn’t. Third, it does matter. Tremendously.”
“I can hear in your voice how important it is to you.”
“No, see, that’s what I need you and my father to understand. It’s important to my father that he stop fixating on Justin LeBlanc. My father has a cancer worse than the one killing Justin’s grandmother, and it’s been eating away at his insides for more than seventeen years.”
Emelie’s hard words rang in the silence.
“He must have done something really bad to Justin,” Francine said finally.
“Yes, he did, and not any one thing. A number of things. And to me, and other people, too. It’s time for it to end.”
“Let me get your father straightened out with the home helper and the physical therapy. Then when we’re sure that he’s physically able to handle the stress, you need to discuss all this with him, one on one.”
Surprisingly, Emelie felt better once she’d hung up. As she sat there for a moment, she realized why. It was the scent of pink roses, yes, but more than that, it was the scent of promise.
When someone hands you lemons…
It took Cage an hour to drive from New Orleans to Bayou Black, and he spent that time just thinking, thinking, thinking. About Em, of course.
It was like he’d done a cut and paste on his life, wiping out the past seventeen years. He loved Em same as he had when he was seventeen. All those in-between years didn’t exist.
Nothing had changed.
And everything had changed.
Her father was still here and as big, or bigger, of an obstacle. He’d probably have another heart attack if he found out Cage had nailed his daughter last night. More than once.
There were a lot of misunderstandings and mistakes, almost none of which had been resolved. And mysteries, dammit. He sensed that people were hiding things from him.
Even if he wanted a future with Em, and he wasn’t sure either of them did want that, he lived in California and she lived in Louisiana. He had no intention of leaving the military, and there wasn’t any big market for Mardi Gras masks in the Golden State.
