Bayou Angel

by Sandra Hill

  “And you’re going to show me the bad way?”

  “Exactly!”

  Aside from her moans and occasional gasps, he was the only one talking during his demonstration.

  “The thing about cherries is you need to suck the juice out first before chewing.

  “And watermelon! All that sweet liquid. Once you eat it, you almost always have to lick up the excess. Like so.

  “And peaches—oh, baby, I do love peaches.” He squeezed the peach slices into her hair down there, made her spread her thighs, and squeezed more juice and then the pulp into her slick folds. And then he ate her.

  After that climax, which had her lifting her hips, then stomping her feet on the mattress, she shoved him over onto his back and informed him huskily, “Have I told you I make yummy cherry jam and watermelon wine slushes?”

  “Knock yourself out, baby,” he encouraged her.

  He, too, was soon groaning at the delicious torture she inflicted on him. And even though he hadn’t wanted to, she’d brought him to orgasm with her honey-coated, peach ring “banana” split.

  Afterward, they were both breathing hard and laughing, at the same time.

  “Is there anything sexier than a man who can make a woman laugh in bed?” she wondered idly, tracing a finger through the sticky hair on his chest.

  “Maybe a woman who can make a man smile in bed?” He gave her a quick kiss and a slap on the butt and in a hokey southern drawl said, “Come on, sweet thang, these sheets are a mess. What we need, darlin’, is a shower.”

  She looked at him and grinned. “I swan, Rhett, ah thought you’d nevah ask.”

  Chapter 13

  Water sports can be so invigorating...

  Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Angel adjusted the many knobs and faucets in Remy’s high-tech Hugh Hefner shower and positioned a stunned Grace right where he wanted her. If only it were so easy to place her where I want her in my life!

  “Good heavens! This is like Star Wars.”

  “If Star Wars were a porno movie.”

  “We’re going to make a porno movie?”

  “A virtual one.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  First, using the soft soap that was there—a minty scent—he made her stand still while he soaped every inch of her body, from her toes to head, giving extra attention to some places in between. Then he shampooed her hair.

  By now they were both primed for more. And he didn’t mean soap.

  “You have to do everything I tell you to.” He backed her up against the far wall.

  “Oh, I do, do I?”

  “Yep. It’s for your own good.”

  “Pfff!”

  He adjusted the ten or so faucets so that some were hard streams, others misty showers. Then he aimed them at some strategic spots on Grace’s body, which was already flushed from the steam, and hopefully aroused. “Spread your legs, honey.” He knelt down to show her how he wanted her. “That’s good.”

  Then he handed her the soft soap and propped himself against the opposite wall of the huge shower stall.

  At first she seemed confused.

  “I think you’re still a little sticky,” he explained.

  When she understood, she let out a little choked laugh. “You do get your money’s worth when you gamble, don’t you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Grace squirted a huge dollop of soap into her palm and put the plastic bottle on a shelf. Then, at first closing her eyes, she began to lather her neck and shoulders and arms, then her breasts. At first she just massaged her breasts in a circular fashion with her palms, but then she was strumming the erect nipples with the fingers of both hands in a washboard fashion, finally flicking them with both middle fingers. There was a jet stream hitting both nipples straight on.

  Her eyes, open now, took on the glassy glaze of green crystal. Her lips parted. And she glanced his way, unfocused.

  He reached over and handed her the bottle.

  She put another dollop in her hands, braced her shoulders back against the tile wall, and soaped her belly and the red curls below. When she began to apply the rest of the soft soap to her inner folds, which were also being hit by a strategically aimed stream of water, he knew she was approaching climax. Spreading her thighs wider and arching her belly out so the water hit her clitoris, she began to moan.

  That was his cue. Quickly slipping on a condom, he stepped forward, lifted her up by the buttocks, and entered her already convulsing inner muscles.

  Surprised, she stared at him in confusion...at first. But then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her wet face in his neck, and lifted her legs higher to straddle his hips. He was already too far gone, and so was she. It took only a half-dozen thrusts before they came together. Short but sweet.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Grace gasped when he finally pulled out of her.

  “Oh, yeah. I don’t want you to ever forget this night.”

  “Oh, Angel,” was all she said, but it sounded like a death knell to him.

  Hello, heartbreak...

  Grace was the one to initiate sex the next time, when she awakened in a sleeping Angel’s arms. Several hours had passed, and it was almost dawn. Their night of loving was almost over, after which all bets were off. Literally.

  This was the best and worst experience of her life. Best because making love with Angel was more than sex; it had been almost magical in its intensity. Worst because there was still no happily-ever-after for them, and now that she knew what she’d be missing, her future looked bleak.

  Still, how could something that felt so right be so wrong?

  Not wrong, exactly. Just hopeless.

  Nothing in this world is hopeless, she could swear that blasted head-voice said. Really, she was hanging around Tante Lulu too much if she was now channeling St. Jude.

  But honestly, Grace had more baggage than a Samsonite factory. Her personal issues were so overwhelming, there was no way she could be in a committed relationship. And no matter what Angel said, that was precisely what he wanted from her.

  A man like Angel would want children. He’d said as much in the past. How could she contemplate having children of her own, or even adopting, when she’d already killed one and given away the other? Impossible!

  If only...

  No, no, no, I am not going to start that game.

  Grace eased out of Angel’s embrace and knelt down on the floor beside him on the bed, just studying him. He was so damn beautiful. In repose, he really did resemble an angel. Maybe a fallen angel, considering the bad-boy past he sometimes referred to, but an angel just the same.

  His dark, almost black, hair was short, and although there had been a certain attraction to him in his long ponytail, she had to admit she liked this style better. Sort of devil-in-a-conservative-suit kind of thing.

  His facial features were pure Hispanic. Or Italian. Probably a mix of both. As attractive as the sculpted cheekbones and full sensual lips were, they were nothing without the spark of mischief evident when his eyes were open.

  His body...well, what could you say about a body like his, except “Wow!” He had six-pack abs, long muscular legs, and the to-die-for belly button. And then, of course, there was the main event. And was it ever! Even in “at ease” position, it was very nice, indeed. She wondered idly if he still had piercing marks under the base. Tilting her head to the side, she tried to see better.

  And noticed that his soldier was no longer at ease but starting to salute.

  Her eyes shot to her left to see Angel watching her. “Don’t stop now, baby.”

  “Oh, you! You were awake the whole time, weren’t you?”

  He grinned.

  “I was just checking to see if you still have the piercing where that bolt was in the Playgirl picture...” Her words trailed off as she realized she was rambling. And blushing.

  “Go ahead. Check.”

  “No, I’d rather do this.” And that
was when Grace began to make love with Angel. Really make love. Like she meant it.

  And he reciprocated. Kiss for kiss. Caress for caress.

  It was a long, gentle loving.

  At one point, while she was straddling him, and he was deep inside her, she said in a sex-hoarse voice, “Look at us.” Her red hairs were mixed with his black ones. Like woven fleece. “Aren’t we pretty?”

  His response was to roll his hips from side to side.

  Which caused her to climax. Again.

  Afterward, he held her tight as if he didn’t want to ever let her go. He didn’t say those three precious words, but she imagined he was thinking them.

  A short time later, when Angel was asleep once again, she slipped away and dressed. She thought about leaving a note, but what could she say that hadn’t been said before?

  How about, “I love you?”

  Grace shook her head. Expressing that sentiment would just open a can of worms she wasn’t prepared to discuss with him now. Or ever.

  Not surprisingly, Grace cried the whole way home.

  And so it ends...

  Angel stared at the ceiling, dry-eyed, but crying inside, as Grace’s car drove off.

  He’d sensed when she got up and went out to the other room to dress. He really hadn’t expected her to stay, or to say good-bye. What was the sense in that?

  Still, his heart—no, his whole body—ached with the yearning for something more. How could he love a woman capable of cutting him off like this, especially after the most incredible night of lovemaking?

  With a deep sigh, he went out into the empty great room and sat down at his laptop. After logging in, he sent an e-mail to Ronnie at Jinx, Inc.

  * * *

  <
  What’s the next project on the company agenda?

  I’m free to go wherever as of next week.

  Angel>>

  It was a good news/bad news kind of thing...

  Grace was coming out of the shower when she heard a knock on the door.

  It was too early for Tante Lulu to be sending the Duval brood back here. They usually slept in until at least nine on the weekends.

  Could it be Angel? Grace had mixed emotions about that possibility. It would be better if they ended things without hashing it out. On the other hand, she missed him already. Parts of her body bore bruises and aches that would be a reminder of him for days to come. She would have to put makeup on her face to cover the whisker burns.

  Tying a robe about her waist and tunneling her fingers through her wet hair, she went to the door. Belatedly, she recalled that none of them were supposed to be opening their doors these days without checking who was on the other side.

  It was a strange man. Middle-aged. No, probably mid-fifties. Bit of a paunch. He wore a plaid shirt, khaki pants, and thick-lensed glasses with black frames. His nose was kind of swollen and reddish with what Tante Lulu called gin blossoms, sure sign of an alcohol-loving man.

  “Are you with CPS?”

  “Huh? I’m from Atlanta.”

  “You’re not with Child Protective Services?”

  “Hell, no...I mean, no. My name is George Smith.” She could tell he was lying by his hesitation over the last name. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea. My, uh, husband is in the shower.”

  “I know you don’t have a husband. But looks like you’ve got yourself a man.” He gave her whisker burns and kiss-swollen lips a smirk, then shoved the door wide and strolled into her small living room, big as you please.

  The man looked harmless. Maybe he was just an aggressive salesman. There had been that insurance guy last week. But, no, she was getting a bad feeling. “How do you know I don’t have a husband?”

  “I know everything about you.”

  “Whaaat?”

  Surveying his surroundings, he remarked, “Not much for a rich gal.”

  “Maybe because I’m not a ‘rich gal.’ ”

  “I noticed a Beemer outside.”

  “That BMW is eight years old.”

  “Looks fairly new to me.”

  “I take good care of it.”

  “Make us some coffee. We need to talk.”

  The nerve! “No on the coffee. And no, we are not going to talk.” She was inching toward the umbrella stand by the door. “Get the hell out of my house before I call the police.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to do that.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because then the world will know about you and Andrea.”

  She had an umbrella in a double-handed clutch, holding it in front of her like a sword. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s Andrea?”

  He flashed her a smile that could only be described as evil. “Your daughter.”

  “I beg your pardon? I don’t have a daughter.” Suddenly, there was a buzzing noise in Grace’s ears.

  “December 10, 1991, ring any bells?”

  The blood drained from her head, and she plopped down onto an overstuffed chair. He sat down on the sofa across the room, grinning at her shock.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! “Tell me.”

  “My wife and her first husband adopted Andrea when she was only a few days old. Harald died ten years ago.”

  “And?”

  “I figure you owe me bigtime for taking care of your girl all these years.”

  “Owe you?” Her brain was still muddling through the fact that she was finally going to learn something about the baby she’d given away, but never in a million years had she imagined it would happen like this. Andrea. What a pretty name! She would have to stop calling her Sarah in her thoughts.

  “Yeah, three hundred thousand oughta do it. Thirty thousand a year expenses ain’t too excessive.”

  “And if I don’t come up with the money?”

  “Well, I seen your picture in the newspaper with that Louisiana charity foundation. I wonder what everyone would think if they knew Ms. Goody Two-Shoes O’Brien was helping every southern redneck in the world when she tossed away her own child.”

  She gasped. “I did not toss—”

  He waved a hand with rude dismissal. “Whatever.”

  “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “No, no, no. I’m just giving you a bill for legitimate expenses.”

  “I only have a hundred thousand in CDs, and another hundred in a retirement fund. It would take a couple days to access the money.”

  “Well, see, I’m a sensible fellow. We compromise on two hundred thou. How ’bout we meet at the Lafayette Hotel in Houma on Thursday at noon. Bring the cash, and I mean cash.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m not giving you anything without information about my...daughter.”

  “Whataya wanna know?”

  “Everything.”

  “She looks just like you.” He said that as if it was not a compliment.

  But a daughter who looked like her? Tears welled in Grace’s eyes, and she put a hand to her heart.

  With seeming reluctance, he pulled out his wallet, then handed her a photograph. Grace could barely see through the haze of tears. Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she stared hungrily at the picture. A girl with bright red hair was standing under a flowering magnolia tree. She had green eyes and a stubborn chin like Grace, but apparently she was tall, like her father—her real father, with whom she also shared a wide mouth and straight nose. “Tell me more.”

  “She’s real smart. Was gonna go to university next fall, but the college fund Harald set up for her ran out.”

  Grace would just bet it had.

  “Now she’ll probably get a waitress job ’til she earns enough for tuition, or maybe go to the local community college.”

  Not if I can help it.

  “Does she...does she ever ask about me?”

  “No. Until recently I didn’t even know about you. She thinks you didn’t want her.”

  Grace stifled a moan.

  Just then Ella came rushing in the back door,
followed by Lena, Lionel, and Miles. They were up earlier than she’d expected, after all, probably due to Tante Lulu’s prodding. The old lady didn’t sleep much.

  “Grace, Grace! Guess what?” Ella yelled. “We’re going to the mall. Tante Lulu and Lena are gonna shop for furniture, and Tante Lulu said I can buy a Hannah Montana CD and Miles a game. Where’s my ‘Girls Rock’ T-shirt?”

  “On the dryer.”

  Just then, they all seemed to notice the strange man in the room, and Lionel particularly stared with suspicion at the umbrella in her hand.

  “Grace,” Lionel moved closer to her, “do you need some help?”

  “No, no that’s all right. Go in to your bedrooms and change. Maybe I’ll go to the mall with you.” Or not. I’m too stunned to move.

  Reluctantly, they left her alone again.

  George sneered at her. “You adopted a bunch of colored kids, but you had no time for your own brat?”

  “I haven’t adopted them. They’re only here temporarily. And I do not appreciate your use of that word.”

  “Brat?”

  “No. The other one.”

  “Colored?” He laughed. “I coulda used a worse word.”

  “How can you refer to your daughter—your adopted daughter—as a brat?”

  “Hah! I never adopted Andrea. Why would I?”

  Grace cringed to think that her daughter had been raised under the roof of this insensitive bigot. “Does Andrea know you’re doing this?”

  “Hell, no! What business would it be of hers, anyway?”

  Well, since he was using the young girl to extort money, Grace would guess a lot, but she couldn’t antagonize him...yet.

  She had no idea what she was going to do about giving him money, or somehow connecting with her daughter...or not. She had to get him out of here so that she could clear her head.

  “You got any whiskey? I sure could use a drink to wet my whistle.”

  “No, I don’t, and I think you should leave. I’ll be there on Thursday. Do you have a card or something?”

  “You must think I’m dumb.”

  As a rock. “How can I contact you if there’s a problem?”