The Love Potion

by Sandra Hill

  “The news. All the TV news shows talk about oral sex. President Clinton does it, and I was just wonderin’ if…” He batted his eyes with fake innocence.

  Sylvie figured this would be a good time for her to slither off to the bathroom and wash her hot face. The last thing she heard was Tee-John asking a stunned Luc, “Exactly how do you do oral sex? Huh? Huh?”

  The little brat probably knew exactly what oral sex was and was setting his brother up…deflecting attention away from himself.

  “Coward,” Luc called to her back with a short laugh as she slipped inside the tiny bathroom. It had no tub, just a shower stall, commode, and small sink with a mirrored medicine cabinet above it. There was also a long, narrow mirror that hung from the back of the door.

  Sylvie turned to glance in that big mirror, did a double take, then sank to the floor by the far wall and started to cry. Why hadn’t Luc told her how bad she looked? No wonder Tee-John snickered every time he looked at her!

  Her hair was a mass of snarls. Her lips were puffy and red. Her neck and chest had brush-burns on them. What appeared to be a bite mark marred her inner thigh, up real high. She was a poster girl for sex on the hoof…a walking advertisement that could very easily read, “Horny Males Apply Here.”

  She felt an anxiety attack coming on…the type that had often debilitated her during her younger years as she’d struggled with shyness. Tears streamed down her face. Her skin was hot to the touch, and yet a clammy chill swept over her. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself trying to get warm. No luck. She was shivering uncontrollably. Even her teeth were chattering.

  Every time she thought about what she’d done the night before…heck, all night long…she cringed with embarrassment. And this morning was the worst of all…having a ten-year-old boy come upon her when she was behaving with uncharacteristic wantonness. Oh, she wasn’t ashamed of having made love with Luc, but she did wince with self-consciousness about her playing such an exhibitionist role. She feared appearing foolish, or pathetic, in her neediness.

  There was a light rap on the door. “Sylv? Are you okay in there?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but the words came out wobbly.

  “Sylv?” He sounded worried now. “I’m coming in. Are you decent?” He chuckled to himself. “No, don’t answer that because there’s a big part of me hoping that you’re not. Decent, that is.”

  She would have smiled at that, except that her lips were trembling.

  “Sylv! My God!” Luc opened the door and shut it decisively behind him, then clicked the lock, obviously not wanting his young brother to see her like this.

  Sylvie started to weep anew at the ignominiousness of her position.

  “What happened?” he asked, sinking down to the floor beside her, then arranging her so that his back was to the wall and she sat between his legs, her back to his chest. Wrapping his arms around her upper body tightly and his thighs around her legs, he attempted to warm her. The whole time he kept kissing her hair and the side of her face, crooning soft words. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything will be all right, babe.”

  At the same time, he attempted to tease her out of what he must consider craziness. “Hey, chère, if you wanted to be alone with me so bad, you didn’t have to go hide in the bathroom. I’m easy. With you, anyway. Are you crying because you’re happy? Please tell me those are tears of joy. Otherwise, I’ll think my lovemaking wasn’t all that super after all.”

  Finally, Sylvie settled down. Her heart rate slowed and her body temperature rose, back to normal. Luc still held her tightly in the protective cocoon of his arms and legs. She didn’t tell him she was all right, though, wanting to savor this strange moment of bonding. Strange, because the “bad boy of the bayou” was really rather terrific in a pinch. In different ways, she suspected he’d provided the same kind of solace over the years to his younger brothers and to his aunt…maybe even his half sisters, too.

  “Did I do this to you?” Luc asked, sounding appalled.

  See. Next, I’ll be revolting him. “No…yes…no…oh, it’s too hard to explain. All through my childhood I got these anxiety attacks when I was put in a situation which my shyness just couldn’t handle. You’d think after all those years of therapy, I would be over it by now.”

  “That was an anxiety attack?”

  She nodded. “A mild one.”

  “That was mild?” He thought a moment. “But what happened to make you anxious? What were you too shy to handle?”

  “Are you living on the same planet as me, Luc?” she chided. “I engaged in outrageous lovemaking with a man whose expertise is way out of my league. I exposed my naked body, with all its flaws, to inspection in a lit room. I opened myself up for ridicule by donning this skimpy, flame-red nightie. And I was ogled in all my near-nakedness by a ten-year-old boy who asks very graphic questions. How’s that list for starters?”

  “Are you living on the same planet as me, Sylv?” Luc chided her right back. “Number one, if you and I made outrageous love to each other—and it was most wonderfully outrageous, in my opinion—then it was because we make a good pair, not because of any particular expertise. Number two, it was a privilege to inspect your naked body, which is incidentally beautiful; I guess I’ll have to inspect it again a time or two or twenty to find those flaws you mentioned. Three, as for appearing ridiculous in that red nightie, you must be blind; you look hot, babe, and that’s a fact. And even if you did risk ridicule by donning the nightie, and even if I risked ridicule wearing Valentine boxers, what’s wrong with laughing at ourselves? Four, Tee-John is another matter entirely. I’ll take care of him, but you gotta know that his behavior is normal for a kid his age. Don’t take it personally.”

  Sylvie thought about all he had said. It was sweet of him, really, to try to make her feel better. She squeezed his arms, which were still wrapped tightly around her—a gesture of thanks.

  He reached behind himself and pulled off a swath of toilet paper, which he used to wipe the tears from her face. She felt rather childish now, letting him comfort her, but at the same time she felt a little bit cherished. It was a nice feeling.

  “Sylllvvviiee?” Luc drawled out then.

  Uh-oh.

  “I have another idea.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You know how they always say if you fall off a horse, the best remedy is to get right back on?”

  “Yes,” she replied hesitantly.

  “And if a person is afraid of water, the best thing is to jump right in?”

  “Your point?”

  Instead of answering, he put a finger under her chin and lifted, forcing her to look directly ahead toward the mirror, where she noticed, for the first time, the enticing picture they made. Both of them sitting, her cradled between his arms and legs.

  “What does that,” she asked, pointing to the cozy reflection, “have to do with horses and water?”

  He chuckled softly against her hair, and as she watched the mirror, he began to unbutton her blouse, exposing the red nightie underneath. At the same time, ever so slowly, he began to spread his knees wider and wider, forcing her knees to follow suit. “My own version of shyness therapy,” he pronounced brightly.

  “Since when does a lawyer have psychotherapy skills?” She tried to laugh as she spoke, but her thoughts were distracted by the enticing movement of his fingers and legs,

  “We lawyers have lots of skills that would surprise you,” he murmured into the curve of her neck, which he’d exposed by drawing her hair back off her face. “Tsk-tsk,” he said when he noticed the slight bruise there…one that he’d no doubt caused. But he soothed it now with a sensual laving of his tongue, followed by soft kisses.

  Somehow, he’d removed her blouse, and was about to tug up the hem of her nightie. She put both hands on his to halt his progress. “No, Luc.” She was not going to sit naked on the floor of the bathroom in front of a mirror with Lucien LeDeux watching her.

  “Please
. I want to show you how beautiful you are.”

  “I’m not beautiful.”

  “Yes, you most definitely are.” He ran his fingertips over the nylon fabric covering her breasts, and they sprang immediately to life.

  She moaned.

  He smiled.

  The rogue was going to take advantage of her every weakness, and he knew about a whole lot of them after last night. In truth, her nipples and her entire breasts were oversensitized from his earlier attentions. Even the inadvertent whisk of sheer cloth as she shifted slightly constituted an erotic caress.

  She pushed his hands away from her chest, but no problem. He just moved on to other forbidden territory.

  “There’s no time for this,” she protested.

  “There’s always time for this,” he countered.

  “But your brother—”

  “Has gone for a swim.”

  “A swim? Now?”

  “I told him to take a shower or wash in the stream. He stinks, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Luc, I don’t want you to see me like this…in the daylight,” she told him, peering back at him over her shoulder.

  “I’m already seeing you…in the daylight. And, sweetheart, I like what I see.”

  At first, she thought that he referred to having seen her this morning as she scrambled out of the hammock. But then she glanced forward and groaned. He had inched the nightie all the way to her abdomen. She was bare to his view from toes to waist. She scrunched her eyes tight to avoid looking anymore.

  “Oh, no, I want you to watch,” he ordered, making quick work of whisking the nightie up and over her head while she had her eyes closed. “What’s the use of therapy if you’re not fully involved?”

  She raised her eyelids and made eye contact with him in the mirror. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “Never.”

  Luc made love to her body then, in ways she’d never imagined possible. He touched her everywhere. Always gentle. Always speaking soft words of praise and encouragement. Most of all, he showed her things about her body that went so far beyond the bounds of shyness, she doubted she would ever blush again. Then again, she might carry a permanent blush forevermore in remembrance.

  Most of all, he made generous love, without recompense, to her body. This time, he wanted her to be the sole beneficiary of his healing hands.

  How could she not love a man like that?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hey, guys, enough dawdling! Time to get this show on the bayou.” It was nine o’clock, and Luc was eager to get started.

  Sylvie gave him an exasperated look as she finished providing a day’s supply of food and water for her rats in their critter cage. He was holding the front door of the cabin open so he could lock it after her.

  Sashaying by him—amazing how a woman so shy could have sashaying down to an art form—she flipped her hair over her shoulder and remarked, “You weren’t worried about dawdling in the bathroom a short time ago.”

  With a laugh, he pointed out, “Mais oui, there is dawdling, and then there is dawdling.”

  “Isn’t that just like a man, to see everything through a testosterone filter?”

  “Are you saying I think with my…uh, joy stick?”

  “J-joy stick?” she sputtered, then admitted with a wicked grin, “Well, you do give fairly good joy.”

  “Fairly good?” He attempted to swat her on the behind for her saucy remark as she passed through the doorway, but she danced away at the last minute.

  Yep, her shyness is melting away like sweet chocolate on a hot tongue.

  Now, there’s a picture.

  It was good to see Sylvie smiling back at him, though, and being playful. He liked to think he’d had a role in that transformation.

  No sooner did she step onto the porch than a flock of ducks came waddling onto the porch, quack-quack-quacking their affection for her. Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite a flock, but there were six of them, and they were squawking up a storm and rubbing up against her legs.

  Was it possible these were the ducks that had eaten the discarded jelly beans last night? Could the ducks be affected by the love potion, the same as he?

  Oh, wow! That brought up pictures to boggle the mind. Could ducks have hard-ons? And how would one check? He wasn’t even sure how to tell a male from a female. On the other hand, maybe they were just happy to see her because she’d thrown them some bread crumbs after dinner last night. Yeah, that was probably it.

  Tee-John was standing down by the stream, waiting impatiently for what he must consider an adventure—an all-day boat trip. Luc’s heart swelled with love for the boy, who was a young, spitting image of all the LeDeux men. His black hair was slicked back off his face, now that he’d bathed. His dark eyes were clear and intelligent. He wore the same dirty T-shirt and jeans, but his face and arms shone with a clean, healthy tan. Yep, he was one good-looking kid. And he was shooting up like a weed. Pretty soon he would outgrow his nickname of Tee-John…a Cajun prefix for petit or small, as in Small John.

  It would be good to have Tee-John along for the trip. Luc had been worried about Sylvie being able to paddle the whole way. This way, she and Tee-John could spell each other.

  The pirogue was loaded with the supplies they would need to test the water, a camera and spare rolls of film, maps, notebooks, binoculars, mosquito repellent, sunscreen, and a styrofoam ice chest loaded with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and soda pop. They expected to be gone the entire day, and hoped to return to the cabin by nightfall.

  There was also another essential item Luc had packed—one that he hoped he wouldn’t need today. The pistol. He’d never risk Sylvie and Tee-John’s lives if he thought there were any chance of danger. Still, it was best to be prepared.

  It was a beautiful day as they paddled silently through the narrow bayou streams—one of those special Louisiana days when the sun beat down with its unrelenting heat, but a soft breeze ruffled the leaves and hanging moss of the swamp trees. Pausing for a second in his paddling, he let the fingers of one hand riffle through the cool water, which was pure enough to drink, even though it was stained the color of dark tea by a century’s worth of tree and bark tannin.

  Through its translucent depths he saw an abundance of catfish, large-mouthed bass, white crappies, known locally as sac-a-lait, and sunfish. Even an occasional grindle…those tough ol’ bottom-feeders whose air bladders enabled them to live in mud and who were often plowed up in fields, alive, weeks after floodwater had receded.

  “Wish we had some time to fish,” Tee-John called back to him, as if reading his mind. His brother sat in the front of the pirogue, Sylvie in the middle, wearing an old Ragin’ Cajun baseball cap she’d found in the cabin, and he brought up the rear. As she viewed all the sights, her ponytail flipped right and left through the back hole in the cap like a, well, pony’s tail.

  “Yep,” Luc answered. “Remember the time we spent a week at the cabin and caught our limits every time we threw out a line?”

  Tee-John laughed in remembrance. “We were so sick of eating fish, I about puked. And Tante Lulu said she was startin’ to grow whiskers from all the catfish we brought her.”

  “Do you fish, Sylv?” Luc asked then.

  She shook her head. “I never learned. No one ever took me when I was a kid. Can you imagine my mother in her Cartier diamonds and designer clothes down on the bayou…fishing? I…don’t…think…so. I suspect I might like it, though.”

  “I could teach you,” Tee-John offered, much to both Sylvie and Luc’s surprise. “Course you’d have to bait your own hook. Ah cain’t stand sissy girls.” He gave an exaggerated Southern drawl to that last statement.

  Everyone went quiet again, and Luc sighed with the sheer pleasure of being in the place he loved most. How he cherished the majesty of this land of his birth…a virtual Garden of Eden! In fact, there was a saying that God must be a Cajun to have created such a paradise. He agreed.

  The bayou, like God,
was as old as time, but there was always something new to see or hear or smell. Every time a fierce hurricane or tornado broke over the Gulf, the land and water were prone to change places. With each storm, new bayous were birthed and old ones swallowed up, as if they’d never existed. In many places, the swamp wilderness had never been civilized. It was one reason his mother’s family’s cabin had remained fairly unknown to his father. As far as Valcour LeDeux knew, the property no longer existed.

  Mostly, it was a silent journey as each of them contemplated his or her own thoughts. The only sounds, aside from the rhythmic dip of paddles in water, were the occasional glide of a gator into the stream for an early morning dip, or a heron swooping down for a tasty breakfast of crawfish.

  Maneuvering the pirogue required expert concentration as they wended their way between the bald cypress trees that rose smooth-trunked from the streams like royal queens. Strewn about the grand trees with their feathery green foliage were their ladies in waiting—the many knobby “knees” or root protrusions resembling gnarled stumps that pushed themselves above the water for air.

  Mixed amongst the cypress trees were also the half-submerged loblollies…not as massive in girth as the cypress but giant in height, sometimes as tall as eighty feet. The loblolly was a sort of weed in the pine species…an indomitable colonizer that grew wherever its seeds landed, its male pine cones rich in life-giving pollen. Sort of like Cajun men, Luc thought with an inward smile.

  The ducks followed them, at first, but then soon gave up their raucous pursuit. They’d come across a particularly succulent patch of what appeared to be green slime, but was actually duckweed—masses of tiny four-petaled flowers floating on the surface of the water. A treat more tempting than Sylvie, he assumed. To a duck, anyhow.

  When they turned around one bend, they ran into a huge sheet of water hyacinths covering the entire stream for about thirty feet. With grumbles at the delay, they were forced to bank the pirogue and carry it a short distance beyond the floral mat.

  “Damn, I hate this stuff,” Luc remarked.