Hot SEAL, New Orleans Nights (SEALs in Paradise)

by Delilah Devlin

  His hands moved to cup her ass and force her against his body. “I leave any bruises?” he murmured.

  “A few. Mostly on my ass.”

  “Love that ass,” he said, giving it a squeeze. “Soft as a pillow.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I know. I need to do more squats.”

  “Uh-uhn. I like it soft. Like how it feels when I hit it.” He pulsed his hips to make sure she knew what he meant. “And I like what’s happenin’ here,” he said, cupping one breast. “Your tits can bring a man to his knees. Always liked those pretty brown nipples.”

  She drew a deep breath and glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You have to stop sayin’ things like that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just had a shower, and I don’t want you messin’ me up again.”

  Widening his stance, he centered his cock and pressed it against her mound, giving her a sexy grind. “Bathroom’s right behind you. I can bend you over the counter, no muss, no fuss. Won’t even have to dirty another towel.”

  She snickered. “No muss, no fuss?”

  Grinning, he shrugged. “It’s something my mama says.”

  Amelie stepped back, reached for his hand, and tugged him into the small bathroom.

  Not long after, Thibaut sat at the kitchen table sipping a steaming cup of coffee while he watched Amelie shift again on her chair. He knew what her problem was. Woman hadn’t had sex in a long while, and her pussy was a little sore. Pride puffed out his chest. He’d done that. Now, he’d get to enjoy her consequences while she tried to pretend she always rubbed against her seat like that.

  “You sore?” he asked.

  Her eyes bugged. “Certainly not, and it’s impolite to mention the possibility.”

  “Impolite?” He bit back a chuckle as her chin jutted and her narrowed eyes challenged him to try to embarrass her again. Despite her smart mouth and natural sensuality, at her soul, Amelie was a lady, cut from the same cloth as her aunt Josette.

  He cleared his throat. What had happened between them was nice—better than nice—but someone had tried to burn down Josette’s shop and had injured Amelie in the process. “Maybe we should head out and try to catch breakfast at a diner. Remy’s an early bird. After we eat, we could give him a call and see if the police know anything yet.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, then muttered under her breath, “less temptation too, since you can’t seem to keep your hands off me.”

  “Problem’s mutual, cher.”

  She grunted. “I need shoes and my purse.”

  “You two are up early,” came a voice from the doorway. Josette entered, walking unerringly toward the coffee pot. She took a cup from a hook beneath the cabinet, filled it, then walked toward the table.

  Thibaut angled an open chair toward her then reached out a hand as she drew near to take her empty one and place it on the chairback.

  Josette slid into the seat. “Been thinkin’,” she said, after she took a sip. “Makes no sense for Ray Glover to set my place on fire.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Amelie said. “He was pretty angry the last time he made you an offer for the shop. He doesn’t like the competition. When he realized you plan to hand the shop to me to run, rather than sell when you retire, he acted like you’d betrayed him.”

  “Was he violent?” Thibaut asked.

  “The filth that came out of his mouth, and the volume at which he shouted those words, was frightening,” Amelie said.

  Josette shook her head. “But he’d want my shop—intact. What good would it do to burn it down?”

  “Maybe he’s the kind of guy who thinks if he can’t have it, no one else will,” Amelie said.

  “If it’s not Ray Glover,” Thibaut said, “then who else would want to do you harm?”

  Josette sighed, and her expression looked sorrowful. “Sometimes, people don’t like what I see in the cards.”

  Chapter 9

  “You really think someone might want to hurt you over a reading?” Amelie said.

  “A client, or someone close to the client…” her aunt said.

  “Do you have any ideas who?” Thibaut asked.

  “A few. Top of my list is Floret Fowler,” Josette said, and her mouth tightened.

  Thibaut had rarely seen such a look of distaste on the older woman’s face. “Just what did you tell this Floret to make her want to burn your shop down?”

  “Not her,” Josette said, her face turning away. “Her husband. He didn’t take kindly to my advice to his wife.”

  “What did you say to her?” he repeated, leaning closer.

  Josette rocked a couple of times in her chair then straightened her back. “The truth. Girl’s in a bad situation. Don’t have to be a psychic to know that. Just have to listen to her voice—so timid and breathy. First time she came to me, I pulled a seven of swords. Told her it represented someone close to her, who was lyin’ to her. Soon as I finished talkin’, she started cryin’. Said she knew her husband wasn’t workin’ late. Said when he came home, he always found fault. ‘Man has a guilty conscience,’ I said.

  “Next time she came, she said she didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to know what the cards said. Her life was already in tatters. When she settled down, I pulled the two of pentacles, reversed, and The Fool. Said her husband was havin’ trouble jugglin’ his women, keepin’ track of his lies. That he was actin’ the fool, like he wasn’t a married man. Again, she started cryin’. When I reached out to hold her hand, something happened. I felt like I’d been hit, and I heard a cry. I asked her if he’d ever hurt her. She didn’t answer, but I knew. I gave her the number of a woman I know who spirits women away to safety.”

  “Did she take your advice?” Thibaut asked.

  Amelie cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “Floret returned a couple of weeks ago. Josette wasn’t there. She asked me to pull a card. Just one.”

  Thibaut raised an eyebrow. Amelie had never put much stock in the tarot cards her aunt used, always attributing Josette’s accuracy to the fact she was a naturally intuitive woman. “You’re doin’ readings?”

  Amelie shrugged. “I’m learning. I told Floret I wasn’t very good, but she insisted. I pulled The Chariot, reversed. It indicated she was bein’ bullied by someone with a violent temper. I already knew her story, because Josette had warned me to look out for her, so I told her she needed to heed my aunt’s advice and leave him. Before she left the shop, she called the number my aunt had given her.

  “Tom Fowler came to the shop the next day, demanding that we produce his wife. He knew she’d been coming to see us. Said he knew we’d filled her head with lies. Said he’d find her, one way or the other.”

  “The phone calls started right after that,” Josette said, with a firm nod of her head. “Crazy calls. We couldn’t tell if it was him, the voice was too muffled, and he wasn’t askin’ about Floret, but they were ugly calls. The man on the phone called us godless and evil.”

  “And then we were robbed,” Amelie said.

  “The fire…” Josette shook her head. “Man’s mean enough, if he doesn’t have his wife to hit, he’ll look for someone else he can hurt.”

  Thibaut leaned back. “So, we have two prospects. Remy’s already having the police question Ray Glover. When we talk to Remy,” he said, looking at Amelie, “we’ll ask him to look into this Tom Fowler, too.”

  “You two are headin’ out?” Josette asked, the corners of her lips turning downward.

  Amelie glanced at Thibaut. Was she afraid to be alone?

  Josette bent at the waste and cackled. “Don’t you think I know why you two need to get as far away from a bed as possible?” She laughed again, this time a full-bodied chortle.

  Thibaut grabbed Amelie’s hand and pulled her from her chair. Then he bent and kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. “You’re a tease, Josette.”

  “Go!” Josette sputtered.

  Thibaut and Amelie ran from the room, Amelie giggling as sh
e stopped to put on shoes then picked up her purse, then she led him to her Ford Escape. She slid into the passenger seat and dangled her keys.

  He drove them to the Tic-Toc Café. They feasted on eggs, bacon, hash browns, and pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. When they finished, dawn was breaking through the windows. Thibaut sighed and quickly texted his brother.

  They met Remy at a coffee shop not far from NOPD headquarters.

  Remy slipped onto a wooden stool opposite their bench seat. For a moment he studied their faces. “Something’s up. Or was,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  “Not your business, bro.”

  Amelie moaned and smacked his shoulder. “You as good as told him, Bonehead.”

  Remy grinned. “Well, glad someone got some.”

  Thibaut tapped the table. “You find out anything about this Ray Glover?”

  “And do you know when we can get back into the shop?” Amelie asked. “I’ve got a lot of work to do to get it ready to reopen.”

  “Plenty, but he’s not your guy,” he said, looking at Thibaut. “And late this afternoon,” he said to Amelie. “They’re rushing it for you. I’ve got pull.”

  “Thank you,” Amelie said then leaned back against her seat.

  Remy turned back to Thibaut. “You said you have another lead…?”

  Thibaut gave Remy a brief rundown on Tom Fowler. Remy nodded, wrote down Tom’s and Floret’s names, then closed his notebook. “I’ll run their names through the database, see what hits. You know where Floret ended up?” he asked Amelie.

  She shook her head. “It’s an underground movement. Women helping other women fleeing abuse. They don’t leave a trail an ex-husband can follow—or the courts.”

  “Gotcha. In the meantime, you and Josette have to take precautions.”

  “I’ve got them covered,” Thibaut said. “They go anywhere near the shop, I’ll be there.”

  “Well, you got some hours to burn. Better think about seein’ Mama. If you don’t, Tom Fowler’ll be the least of your worries.”

  Chapter 10

  They drove back to Metairie. It was midmorning, and the air was already muggy. Thibaut parked in front of his parents’ and glanced up at the two-story house he’d grown up inside. How his parents had fit five children inside mystified him. All his brothers and his one sister were grown and gone, now. Remy was the only one who’d stayed in New Orleans. Over the years, guilt over the fact that Remy had been left to look after their parents had eaten at him. Maybe being here to share the load would be enough reason to return for good. He glanced sideways at Amelie.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He fought a smile. All the times he’d remembered her, he hadn’t remembered that their conversations were always couched in an argument, ready to explode if the wrong word was said. It could have been exhausting, but he realized she challenged him. Constantly. He liked always having to pay attention to her cues and words. A daily battle of the sexes, which usually ended in sex.

  “Do you suppose your aunt has already called her to tell her what happened…between us?”

  “Those two seemed thick as thieves last night.” She pursed her lips. “You scared to go inside?”

  He chuckled. “Nope.” Even though there was no telling what might be said. Watching Amelie’s expressions if his mother said something embarrassing would be worth a little personal discomfort.

  The front door opened. His mother stood in the doorway wearing a deep blue floral housedress, her hair pulled back into its customary bun. When he’d been a kid, he’d always thought she was the prettiest mama on the block.

  “She probably thinks we’re necking in the car,” Amelie said with a roll of her hazel eyes.

  They shared a glance then both raised their hands like a “hand-check” for teens caught together smooching on a couch.

  His mother’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Amelie laughed and lowered her hands. “She doesn’t look amused.”

  Thibaut opened his door and stepped out. He waited for Amelie in front of his car then led her through the gate in the wrought iron fence and walked beside her to the long porch that stretched across the front of the house. As he moved upward, he noted that the porch’s eaves were in need of a fresh coat of paint.

  “Mornin’, Mama.”

  She raised her right cheek for a kiss. Then her gaze went to Amelie. “Amelie.”

  “Miz Cyr, nice to see you.”

  “Papa home?” he asked.

  “No, Charlie Eason took him off to fish on Pontchartrain. He has a new bass boat he wanted to show off. He’ll be disappointed he missed you.”

  “I’ll catch him another time,” he assured her.

  “Better,” she said, the word clipped. Then she turned on her heel and led them through the house to the kitchen in the back.

  He breathed deeply, smelling chicory coffee and freshly baked bread. Nothing had changed—not the yellow walls and white cabinets. Even the floors were the same tiny black and white tiles.

  “Place looks good,” he said, holding out a chair for Amelie then taking his own. He didn’t bother pulling one out for his mother because she would have scoffed. She headed to the coffee pot and poured three mugs, then carried them back to the table, two held in one hand. She’d been a waitress when his marina manager father had met her.

  She glanced around the kitchen. “I don’t know… I was thinking of making some changes. Maybe painting the walls orange or something.” When he wrinkled up his nose, she chuckled. “Your papa likes the yellow. I won’t be changing it anytime soon.” She slid a small beaker of milk across the table. He added it to his cup then took a drink, sighing at the familiar flavor—like roasted hazelnuts, although maybe a bit burned.

  Amelie added milk to hers as well.

  Everyone drank from their cups. His mother would start the conversation when she was ready.

  Finally, she turned to Amelie. “Remy says you’ll be able to enter the shop this evenin’.”

  Amelie cleared her throat. “Yes. That’s what he told us as well. I’m kind of scared to go. I don’t know how much of a mess I’m facin’. And then there are the repairs to the back wall and door…”

  “Henri Tate is a cousin of mine. He does fine work and won’t dare charge more than he deserves. He’s already said he’s interested in the work.”

  “Yes, I gather he nailed up the plywood to close the back.”

  Thibaut kept silent, letting his mother continue to lead. She was a wily woman and wouldn’t be pushed to move this conversation along any faster than she wanted.

  “Ann Tate, his wife, has a cleaning business. I’m sure she’d be willing to help—should there be a lot of smoke damage.”

  “Thank you for the suggestions, ma’am.”

  “Nanette. I’ve already told you that you can call me Nanette.”

  “Nanette,” Amelie said softly then straightened her posture.

  He bit back a grin, because Amelie was obviously a little intimidated by his mother.

  “So, what’s this business I hear, you two carryin’ on all night? Thought she had a concussion, Thibaut. I didn’t teach you to treat a woman that way.”

  Heat crept across his cheeks. It had been years since he’d received one of her gentle chides. The woman didn’t need to raise her voice to make her displeasure known. “We weren’t carryin’ on all night.”

  “But you had sex.”

  “Uh, yes.” In the corner of his eye, he saw Amelie dip her head to hide a hint of a smile. She was likely laughing her ass off inside because he was the one on the receiving end. “But we rested, too.”

  “He did waken me to check on my…condition,” Amelie said her tone pure innocence.

  His mother clucked and took another sip of her coffee. “You two were always sneaking around. It’s a wonder, dear, that you never ended up pregnant. Is there a chance…?”

  His mother’s e
yebrows rose, and her tone sounded just a bit hopeful…

  “None,” Thibaut said, hoping it was true. “I’m a responsible man, Mama. I used a condom.”

  “One? How disappointing.”

  Amelie choked on her next sip and raised a napkin to her mouth.

  “Well, I’m glad that you’re home, Thibaut, and your room is always ready. If you’d like to have a special guest…well, we’re all adults in this house.”

  “He still has a room?” Amelie said, her eyes tearing and her shoulders quivering.

  “Oh, yes. I haven’t touched it except to clean it since he left.”

  Amelie laid down her napkin. “Could I see it? It’s been ages.”

  “Of course.” His mother gave him a pointed look. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

  He rose and took Amelie’s hand before leading her toward the staircase. Once they were out of earshot, they rushed up the steps. They arrived slightly breathless at his bedroom door.

  “Did your mother just give you the go-ahead to have sex with me?” she whispered loudly.

  “We can’t. If there are any condoms in the room, they’re years old.”

  “Or she’s pricked them with a pin. Did you hear her? She sounded disappointed that I’m probably not pregnant.”

  “You’re definitely not.”

  “Probably not. You said yourself it rolled partway down and leaked.”

  “I said it might have. Slim chance there, only.”

  “Huh.” She reached for the doorknob and pushed it open.

  The room, as always, was kept like a silly time capsule. His football trophies still stood on a high shelf that stretched above his desk. Bats, mitts, and balls filled a tub in the corner. He sat on his navy-blue comforter and patted the mattress beside him.

  Amelie gave him a quelling glare. “Oh no, I know where that leads.”

  When she moved to switch on the constellation light that sat on his bedside table, he tugged her hand, toppling her onto him. He lay back and carried her with him. “Just like old times.”

  “In the old days, your mother wouldn’t let me in your room. It wasn’t proper.”