by Sahara Kelly
Whatever the reason, Claudine Lavalieres completely and utterly disappeared, never to be seen again. With her went the good fortune that had blessed Love Alley.
The property passed into the hands of a far distant relative who professed distaste for the Southern climate. It fell rapidly into disrepair, and was rescued in the late eighteen-hundreds by the skin of its archeological teeth. The deed to the property became part of a poker game pot on a Mississippi riverboat and here this reporter notes an interestingly coincidental piece of trivia. The winning hand that secured the pot, and Love Alley, was a full house—three Queens high. Once again it appears the ladies came to the rescue of Love Alley. The new owner did his best to restore some of the grandeur before his death.
Since then, the estate has been sadly neglected, and only the circumstance of it having been constructed from some of the finest native woods has kept it intact.
In 1942…”
Louis stopped reading. The more recent events had been relayed to him by his grandfather’s attorney. There was no need to go into that portion of the history. It was dull and didn’t involve a profitable brothel and its vanishing madam.
Why on Earth would Claudine Lavalieres hightail it out of a place where she had a good income and probably a pretty secure future? It made no sense, and the more Louis thought about it, the more he began to believe that there probably had been some foul play involved.
If the house was big enough to be a brothel, then it was probably worth quite a bit of ready cash, even two hundred years ago, and would certainly be worth killing for.
He shrugged. He was no historian and couldn’t begin to guess at motives for a mystery that happened some two centuries in the past. What he could guess at, and with reasonable accuracy, was the building itself and how it must have appeared back then.
The paper crackled and he turned it over curiously. Attached to the back with a yellowing piece of tape was what looked like a page torn from an old magazine. On it was a faded picture of a painting, obviously hung on somebody’s wall for many years. The text was torn, the artist’s name illegible and the paper itself beginning to show signs of advanced age.
But the image of the painting itself was intact, as were the words beneath…Love Alley.
Louis stared at it. White pillars soared to the eaves and there were the traditional porches surrounding both the ground and the first floors. Long windows would let in whatever breezes were out there when it got hot, and elegantly worked shutters stood ready to guard against bad weather. There were neatly clipped bushes lining the grassy walkway to the huge double doors that dominated the front of the house.
It was very much a typical “plantation” type of building—square, white, classy and very elegant. Heavy magnolias had scattered their petals like southern snow over the lush green walk, or alleé as Louis knew they were called. It was where the phrase “Alley” came from in so many of these old homes and their charming names. Rows of trees were planted to line the path leading to the house, a dramatic piece of landscaping that also provided cool walks and a measure of shelter from harsh winter winds.
Even then—at the time the picture was painted—heavy swags of Spanish moss cascaded from the trees, adding the unique touch of magic that said “the Old South” so clearly.
It was beautiful. Louis stared at it, struggling with the thought that it was now actually his.
He wondered if he could come close to restoring it, if the records of the parish might contain some architectural information. Then he wondered if there was anything at all left standing, given the passage of years and the wild Louisiana weather.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are about to begin our descent to the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International airport. The current weather conditions are a balmy eighty-four degrees with a humidity level off the scale.” The captain sounded amused. “So I hope you’re wearing washable clothing.”
Louis gulped. This was going to be an interesting experience for him.
“We estimate touchdown in approximately twenty minutes. If there are any changes we’ll let you know right away. Would the flight attendants please prepare the cabin for landing.”
This, realized Louis as he tightened his seatbelt, tucked his folding tray back into place and returned his seat to a locked and upright position, was it.
Love Alley—here I come.
Chapter Four
It was the oddest feeling.
Something was watching him, but he couldn’t figure out where the something was.
It was Louis’s third day at Love Alley and already he was crazy about the place, even though he’d had to improvise a lot of basic living needs like a small refrigerator, some wiring that would never pass inspection and a large piece of wood over one window on the ground floor.
It didn’t matter—the house had woven a spell on him as soon as he’d crossed the rickety threshold.
The double doors had opened onto a scene that wasn’t as bad as it could have been. There were cobwebs, of course. Some rot—less than he’d expected—and evidence that some squatters had tried to trash the place at some point in time, but surprisingly they’d given up.
The water worked, with some encouragement, and after a little wizardry with an out–of-date and definitely not-up-to-code fuse box, Louis had some light at night.
The kitchen was the most habitable, and one room upstairs seemed usable, so Louis camped out in those two locations while he worked on repairing the stairs and getting a bathroom into some kind of working order. The toilet flushed but made a noise that reminded him of a horrible creature drowning in mud. Added to that was a water hammer in the plumbing system that threatened to shatter the porcelain tub.
Time passed very quickly once he’d stripped off his traveling clothes, thrown on one of his several pairs of cutoff jeans and thrown his heart into his new home.
But it hadn’t taken too long for this odd itch at the back of Louis’s neck to begin, a feeling that he wasn’t alone.
He’d disposed of the various species of wildlife that had decided to make their nests and homes inside the house, and thanked his lucky stars that none of them were deadly. He was actually a little surprised that there’d been so few, since it was clear that the area had had little, if any, human occupation for quite some time.
The downstairs window was fixed, thanks to a couple of hours of fighting with an annoyingly stubborn sash weight, and his fudged-up electrical supply was maintaining the little fridge and providing him with cream for his coffee, ice cubes, water and cold beer. All the essentials of life.
He was amazingly content, had rapidly slipped into the rhythm of life in the bayou and was enjoying the early morning chores and work he’d begun, finding the short rest occasionally accompanied by a snooze in the late afternoon heat of the steamy day.
He’d just finished clearing out all the debris from the room he was planning on using as his master bedroom when the weight of the air settled on his bare shoulders and he wiped the sweat from his eyes.
It was late—time for that break.
Perhaps now was a good moment to head out back of the house and snoop around the grounds—something Louis hadn’t had a chance to do yet. He knew there was an old, broken-down kind of jetty affair, boards that led out to the murky water and had crumbled at the end, leaving a stark little path to nowhere in particular.
He grabbed a cold bottle of water from his little fridge and left the house, wincing as the air hit him in the face like a wet rag. It was hot in the house, but outside—where the sun really went to work—it was close to unbearable.
The shade of the bayou was a welcome relief, and Louis gladly swatted away the few mosquitoes for the price of cooler air. They’d come back in droves at sundown, he knew, but for now they were little more than a mild nuisance.
Standing at ease on the ruined dock, in his cutoff jeans and not much else, Louis had no idea what a delectably male picture he presented.
&n
bsp; Somebody else did.
*~~*~~*
Honey Treadwell knew a fine piece of male ass when she saw one.
She should, since she’d been married twice, engaged four times and selected her lovers as carefully as she did her divorce lawyers.
And what she stared at as she quietly poled her pirogue down the bayou made her mouth water.
Strong shoulders reflected the dappled sunlight, and an equally strong chest rose and fell as he sniffed in lungsful of the bayou air. His legs were tanned and muscular and rippled with masculinity as he raised one work-booted foot, resting it on a broken post.
She glanced at his dark hair, noted that it was a little longer than usual, mentally applauded and moved on. Downwards to those real nice cutoffs that hugged just about everything a girl could ask for. Tight.
A word that could not only describe the fit of his ragged jean shorts, but also his ass, which she duly noted as he turned to watch a butterfly. And when he turned back…well, fuckin’ A, and hey hey heyyy! There was one real nice package just begging to be petted lurking behind his faded fly.
She licked her lips and poled more noisily. If this was her new neighbor, then damned if she wasn’t about to develop a lot more of that Southern hospitality than she had up to now.
Pulling down her miniscule tank top to make sure her breasts showed to their best advantage, Honey pasted an alluring smile on her face and let her pole splash in the water, scaring a few egrets into clattering flight.
He jumped, and Honey’s grin grew even bigger as she watched the bulge in his shorts expand at the sight of her itty-bitty top and her plentiful titties. Both top and tits had been carefully designed to complement each other and it would appear the sizeable financial investment was paying off.
“Hi sugar. You look like you havin’ a fine ol’ time jus’ starin’ at this ol’ bayou.” The voice oozed with Southern charm, something Honey had perfected over the nine years since she’d moved to Louisiana from New Jersey.
“Er…hello?” Puzzlement, surprise and a host of other emotions chased themselves across his handsome face, and Honey was pleased to note he was having a hard time dragging his gaze from her breasts.
Her nipples hardened. “I’m your neighbor, sugar. Name’s Honey. I’m as sweet as those magnolias and real sticky at times, too.” She laughed at his expression. “Don’t mind me. I live a couple turns down the bayou there. That makes us neighbors, you see, so I figured I’d just do the neighborly thing and come right on over to make you feel welcome.”
He extended a firm hand as she navigated the little boat efficiently up to the ruined dock. “Nice to meet you, Honey. I’m Louis. Louis Beekman. I didn’t realize I had neighbors here.”
Honey managed to slide a portion of her skin over his hand and arm as she stepped from the boat. It was a very nice sensation. The feel of his body lived up to the look of his body, and her pussy throbbed in pleasant anticipation.
Oh chèr. You an’ me is going to make the beast with two backs. An’ it’ll be sensational.
“I’m afraid there’s not much at the house right now, but I can offer you a soda or a beer if you’d like?”
“Oh I’d like. A long cool one’d slide down my throat like silk right about now…” She smiled politely and rested her hand on his arm as she picked her way over the rotting planks.
“Watch your step. These boards aren’t safe. I have them on the list of things to be replaced. It’s a pity too, since I reckon they’re the original cypress. But time has really taken its toll down here.” He glanced at her and looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m a renovator. Can’t help loving all the stuff in this place, but I didn’t mean to bore you.”
“Oh sugar, you didn’t bore me.” You could stand there and scratch your ass and you wouldn’t bore me. “So you gonna be renovatin’ Love Alley, huh?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. It’s a gorgeous old place with great bones.”
“Great bones? You talk about it like it’s a woman. A woman that needs the right man’s touch.” Honey managed to emphasize her point with her breasts, which were getting touched at that moment since she was squashing them “accidentally” into his chest. “Of course, most of us women surely do appreciate the touch of the right man.”
Louis cleared his throat and blinked, stepping backwards hastily.
Which was a really bad thing to do given that he was standing on an old and rotting jetty.
He staggered and caught himself just before he toppled into the murky green bayou. But in doing so, he knocked Honey off balance.
Helpless, she flew off the little pier to land flat on her back with a resounding splash. She had barely enough time to close her mouth before she went under.
Her brain worked even faster than her physical reflexes and she came up coughing and spluttering and playing the drowned maiden, even though she’d done no more than get a soaking—something she was quite used to.
But Louis didn’t know that.
“Oh shit, oh God I’m sorry…” Louis was squatting down, arms outstretched, shorts cupping his sex in a mouthwateringly snug fashion.
Honey’s mouth watered. She lifted her hand to her head in a delicate gesture. “Ohhhh my…”
As she’d hoped, strong arms swept her off her feet, picking her up like she was no more than a bunch of flowers. She so loved being carried around by arms like these. Restraining a purr of pleasure, she rested her head against hot flesh. “This is so kind of you, Louis. Such a silly thing, but it’s knocked my breath quite out of my lungs.”
“Ssshh.” He strode to the house with Honey in his hold, barely checking his steps as he took her into the kitchen. “Now, are you sure you’re all right?” He turned worried eyes on her.
She managed a shiver, and her nipples beaded up nicely. It was more a result of Louis than her dunking, but once again she rested secure in the knowledge that only she knew that. Louis, being a man, wouldn’t have a clue.
Blessing the fundamental naiveté of the males of the species, Honey fluttered her eyelashes and looked down at her clothes. “I sure am a wet honey at the moment. And likely to make a puddle on your floor, Louis.” If you only knew the half of it. “Might you have an old towel lyin’ round someplace a gal could dry herself with?” Your tongue would do nicely if all else fails. Or perhaps that itty bit of soft hair just above that intriguing zipper…
“Of course. I know it’s hot, but even so, standing round in soaking wet things is going to be uncomfortable to say the least.” Distractedly Louis rummaged through boxes and big green plastic bags, emerging at last with a huge yellow towel and a smile on his face. “Here we go. It’s new, so it should be fine.”
She took it from him, noting the price tag. He sure could afford the finer things in life if this was what he paid for his bath towels.
Honey’s smile grew larger and her nipples got even harder. “Why, aren’t you a darlin’?”
Louis looked absently around the kitchen. “Er…if you go upstairs there’s a big room to the right at the top. Got a kind of old mirror thing in it. It’s in better shape than the rest of them, and you can dry off in there if you’d like?”
“I surely do like, sugar. Top of the stairs to the right you say?”
“Yep. Watch the railing. It’s a bit loose in places.”
Honey nodded and carefully mounted the stairs. Mission accomplished. In a few short minutes she was gonna be as naked as a jaybird except for one expensive towel. Poor unsuspecting luscious Louis didn’t stand a chance.
*~~*~~*
Once again Louis’s neck itched like fury and he swung around, fully expecting to see Honey behind him. Or someone behind him. But there was no one there.
He frowned and pulled two cold sodas from the little fridge, opening one and taking a long drink. He was not a fanciful kind of man, imagining stuff like this. He was practical, commonsensical and down to earth.
Shrugging, he brushed it off once more. It was probably the heat or the humidity or he was
coming down with a cold. Or maybe it was all the iced stuff he was drinking like a dying fish. Something…anything.
Anything other than the uncomfortable and disturbing feeling of a presence in the house. Because that was what it was. He’d slept well, exhausted to the bone for the first nights at Love Alley.
Last night he’d awoken an hour earlier than usual, soaked with sweat and with a hard-on that could’ve doubled as a flagpole outside his front door. He was used to morning stiffies, but this was…well, something to be proud of, he supposed.
The noise of Honey’s footsteps upstairs jolted him back into reality and he resolutely ignored the feathering sensation down his spine. It was all crazy stuff, exaggerated by the heat and a sexy wet woman.
Who even now was stripping to the skin and drying that skin in his new bath towel. In spite of himself, Louis hardened inside his old cutoffs. Honey was well named, being a golden, creamy ice cream cone of sex that just begged for a lickin’. Her sandy-blonde hair was lighter in some places than others and touched her shoulders in a soft and tousled cloud that just asked for a man to run his fingers through it.
The rest of her matched up real nice too. Louis sucked down another sizeable swallow of soda. This woman had legs that wouldn’t quit until they squeezed his ears, and breasts he’d like to devour for a month or so and then come back for seconds.
Okay. Enough. He was horny, sure. What guy wouldn’t be when faced with an armful of hot wet woman? He had no friends in this place yet, no dates, and unless there were some cute girls at the lumber supply house, he wasn’t likely to have any in the near future.
He was human, Honey was attractive and sending off “come and get me” signals like rockets on the Fourth of July. It was nature.
He sighed. Fucking a neighbor probably was a real stupid idea, since it might end up in some kind of bizarre bayou thing and his head would float up from a local gator’s nest only to be identified by what was left of his teeth.
Especially if she was married. It occurred to him that he hadn’t asked and she hadn’t volunteered any information about her status.
