Bayou Vows

by Geri Krotow

  It didn’t feel like it.

  “I don’t want to disappoint you, Brandon, but your sister and I, it’s not happening.”

  “All I’m asking is that you think about it. You have something so unique, with having known each other since you were kids. That’s rare.”

  As rare as Jena confiding in him.

  “You’ve known since we were young, huh?” He didn’t regret that Brandon and Henry had suspected.

  “Hell, yes.”

  “And you never thought it was icky, or that I’d taken advantage of your family’s open arms?”

  “Not in the least. You want the whole truth? I saw how Jena idolized you from the moment I brought you home. Until then she’d tagged after me and Henry, but wasn’t really a part of our boy stuff. You bridged that gap, taught her to do things like climb trees and roller skate—the things we had no patience for. You two always were a unit, in my eyes.”

  “But you and I were best buds!”

  “We were. And I hope we still are.” Brandon pulled out onto the Mississippi from the smaller waterway and headed for his place ten minutes away. He lived in a home he’d built along the river that had its own pier. Boats by Gus had done very well until Jeb made his withdrawal.

  “I’m glad you were able to keep your house.” He spoke with sincerity.

  “Are you kidding me? All you took was the company funds. I had enough put away to make sure I’d be okay if the business ever went under. I would have dug into it, but they’re retirement funds. I never would have lost anything, Jeb. And that’s what I’m trying to say to you. There’s no reason you should lose anything you want to hang on to. It just might take a little extra work.”

  Was he fucking kidding? Jena wasn’t a tricky business proposition, or a column of figures that weren’t adding up. She was…

  Hell. She was everything to him.

  Could he be the one to break through to her, get her to fully open up? Did he even have the courage to do it?

  * * * *

  Jena dragged home Saturday evening after all day at The Refuge. She wanted to get on top of the paperwork for the grand opening, a week away. She’d arranged catering and ordered a cake from her favorite bakery. It was fun, but also exhausting.

  She plopped Chinese takeout containers on her kitchen counter and headed for the bathroom. Within ten minutes she was in her favorite bright green terry cloth robe, had a green mud mask on her face, and was pouring herself a glass of rosé from the box of wine in her fridge, a gift from Robyn’s last visit.

  Robyn was a huge blessing, a gift for having resigned from undercover work and made the decision to settle down.

  Jeb.

  She ignored her heart long enough to get settled with her food in front of the television. Tonight was going to be pure escape, and she started to scroll through her binge-watching options.

  A knock sounded at her door and she paused, heart racing. The rapping’s intrusion through the quiet had startled her, but her fear turned to annoyance as she imagined the landlord outside, asking about some maintenance issue, as she was wont to do, unannounced. Maybe she’d go away if Jena sat quietly enough.

  Pound pound pound.

  “Holy hell and hairy balls, hang on,” she said as she placed her plate and wineglass on the cocktail table. Walking to the door, she told herself to be nice but firm and send her landlord away. Jena needed a quiet night.

  She looked through the peephole, a quaint attribute of the carriage house when compared to the super sleek high-tech security system of The Refuge.

  Jeb.

  Her heart leaped.

  Calm down, girl.

  “Jena, I know you’re there. Please open up.”

  She moved back from the door, discomfited. Jeb had seen her naked, of course, but never in her shabby shamrock robe. So what? He’d seen her in a towel at Brandon’s pool the other day, for God’s sake.

  She swung open the door. Jeb’s brows rose.

  “I just got home, and I’m having a quiet night in.” Emphasis on “quiet.”

  “I can see that.” He held up a bottle of her favorite sparkling wine and a huge chocolate candy bar. “I come bearing gifts.”

  “Why?” Sweat began to trickle between her breasts as she stood with the door open, the AC pouring out into the wet blanket that was NOLA in August.

  “Can I come in? Your chocolate is going to be fondue in another minute.”

  “Sure.” She turned and left him to follow. “Please lock the door behind you.”

  “You don’t think it’s unsafe here, do you?” he asked as he complied, throwing the deadbolt.

  She sat on the sofa and motioned for him to take the other end, or the easy chair. “Sit wherever you want.”

  “Why don’t I get us glasses for this? It’s chilled.” His glance landed on her glass of rosé. “Unless you want to save this?”

  “No, no. I can have the boxed wine anytime. Please, help yourself to any Chinese you want, too. The flutes are in the cabinet over the refrigerator.”

  “I remember.” Of course he did. They’d had a particularly wild night of strawberries, champagne, and sex before she’d deployed last year. Correction: before she’d gone on another mission, the one that had proved her last. “This is a very sweet place, Jena, but don’t you think it’ll get too small for you after a while? Now that you’re staying here for longer periods?” The cupboard door opened and closed, the tinkle of flutes and the pop of the champagne cork sprinkled over the rumble of his low voice as he spoke.

  “I don’t know. And I’m not staying here for ‘longer periods.’ I’m here permanently.” Annoyance scratched at her initial pleasure to see him unexpectedly at her door.

  The sofa sagged as he sat on the opposite end and placed her flute in front of her. He hadn’t helped himself to any of the food. She popped a shrimp into her mouth and spoke around the food. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I ate. I was with Brandon for a good part of the day, out on the Bayou. We stuffed our faces with crawdads when we got back.”

  “No one makes those better than he does. Maybe my dad.” She was so hungry, she didn’t feel bad about eating in front of him. “So what brought you here?” God, she was probably crazy, but she swore she smelled his scent over the steamed shrimp stir-fry. And he looked so, so fresh. His skin was sun-touched without being burnt or leathery, and there were telltale chestnut streaks in his dark hair.

  “What always brings me here, Jena. You.” His eyes glittered and her insides tightened. She crossed her legs, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she was squirming from the instant attraction he always thrummed up between them.

  “Cut it, Jeb. We’ve agreed to a professional relationship. And okay, we’re friends from way back. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here on a Saturday night.”

  “Can’t a friend come over to hang out?” He held up his glass. “To friends.”

  She warily took her champagne and sipped. An explosion of incredible flavors and delicious aroma filled her mouth. She savored it until she had no choice but to swallow. “This is fantastic, Jeb. What is it?”

  “Something I thought you’d enjoy.”

  “You know me well.” She moved to take a second sip.

  “Not well enough, Jena. I had no idea you worked for the CIA for the last seven years. None. Nada. Zip. I think good friends should know everything about one another, don’t you?”

  She froze. “Are you here to berate me? Because if you are, you can take your ass and your chocolate right back where you came from. Leave the bubbly.”

  He laughed and didn’t move from his relaxed position on the couch. “I’m not here for any reason but to talk and spend time with you. I figured you might be alone tonight, and I was, too, so I thought ‘why not?’ Besides, it’d be foolish to try to ‘berate’ you when you look like a bi
g green monster.” He was clearly holding back laughter, the mirth crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes. This Jeb she never wanted to lose.

  “If you’re referring to my robe, I’ll have you know it’s my old friend.” She ran her hand down the nap of the green material.

  “Not the robe, Jena, although it’s lovely on you. I’m talking about whatever in God’s green creation you have plastered on your face.”

  Oh, shit. She’d forgotten about her pore-eliminating, skin-plumping mask.

  Chapter 12

  Jeb reached over and put his hand on Jena’s forearm, his laughter rumbling between them. “I’m teasing you. Please, don’t let me ruin your relaxation. Don’t take it off on my account.” He was referring to the mask but saw from the way her lips opened, all pink and moist from the champagne, that she’d thought about taking off her robe, too.

  His cock swelled but he ignored it—as much as he could ever ignore his arousal around Jena.

  She stilled, and warm satisfaction moved through him. He still could ease her anxieties, if only the minor ones. The bigger issue, the reason he was here, was her inability to trust anyone fully. He wanted to prove her wrong—show her that he was one person she could always count on. Not only in the throes of life and death, but in more routine moments like this. Since he’d made the decision to take the Atlanta job, it’d become vitally important to him that Jena remember him that way.

  “I can’t believe you let me sit here with a green face. Talking, eating, and drinking, without saying a word. You never even smirked!”

  “I didn’t know I had a smirk.”

  “Oh, yeah, you are the master of smirks.”

  “Who knew?” Confident she wouldn’t bolt, he broke eye contact and reached for his glass. Champagne wasn’t his thing, but he knew she enjoyed it, so he’d asked for the nicest bottle he could afford. He had to admit, it was refreshing on a hot night, even if her air was making it feel like winter. “It’s kind of chilly in here. What’s your electric bill like?”

  She giggled. “I don’t usually crank the AC like this, but tonight I needed to relax, take a hot bath, the whole pamper routine, as you can tell.” She grinned, wide and clown-like, and the green goop cracked in several places. But nothing took away from the rich hue of her eyes, the Boudreaux blue that she shared with her brothers and father. A small still voice inside him insisted he was on the way to crazy town, but he forged ahead nonetheless.

  He put his glass down and turned to face her fully. “I have an offer for you.”

  She stiffened, and he swore if she’d had hackles, they’d have been up, pressing through her fluffy green robe. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “It’s not.” He fought his doubts. “It occurred to me that you’ve never met my family. I know yours, inside and out, but you know very little about mine.”

  “I met them at our high school and college graduations.”

  “For like five minutes. Tomorrow my grandmother is having one of her big Sunday dinners. She used to do it every weekend, like your mom, but she’s getting older and doesn’t have the energy as much anymore.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Why now?”

  “Why not? We’re always going to be connected through your family, Jena. There’s no escaping that. I wanted to give you a chance to see where I’m from. It’s what friends do.” He knew it was a long shot. Growing up, it’d been easy to keep his family in the background as he ran and played with the Boudreauxes. “When we were together in college, neither of us wanted to bring the other home—not until it was more serious. Then we broke up. Our recent time, um, together wasn’t something to tell anyone about, either, was it?”

  “Exactly. So why now? Why do you all of a sudden want me to meet your family, Jeb? You’re leaving for Atlanta in practically days.”

  “There’s finally no pressure. And now that I’m moving away, it’s important that the people I’ve been closest to in NOLA are acquainted. I guess it’s like throwing myself a going away party—but in reverse.” Jeb couldn’t read her expression at first, and fought to fill the void. “This is as friends, as my best friend’s sister. Isn’t that the best way to meet people, with no expectations?”

  She didn’t reply right away. Not verbally. But her eyes, the eyes he’d been lost and found in, they measured him. He didn’t look away—even though his dick was aching to be inside her and his hands wanted to cup her breasts, her ass.

  “I’ll go. But you have to promise me one thing, Jeb.”

  “Name it.” Had she really agreed?

  “If at any time you start to feel the least little bit unhappy while we’re at your grandma’s, tell me. We’ll go. Whether I’ve had dessert yet or not.” Her mouth loped up in a half smile, her eyes twinkling.

  “I’ve already told you more than I realized, haven’t I?”

  “Mmm.” She sipped her champagne. “It’s been a little bit here, a little bit there. Your brothers and sister used to like to show up at your dorm, remember?” Her brow rose and made him laugh.

  “It’s hard to forget your drunk brother showing up when you’re in the middle of romancing your best girl.” Mitch had shown up in the middle of a particularly fun Saturday night with Jena. His roommate was away, and they had the whole weekend to be together, alone. Or so they’d thought.

  “As I recall, it wasn’t that romantic. More like athletic.”

  He coughed on his drink. “Athletic? Wow. I never thought of our times together as ‘athletic.’ Boisterous, maybe.”

  She laughed. “That’s the problem with going to college so close to home. My parents and brothers knew it meant death to anyone who showed up at my dorm room unannounced.”

  “Do you still think we’re ‘athletic’?” The words rolled off his tongue, which he wanted to use to taste more than champagne. To hell with whatever they’d agreed to. He needed this woman more than any other.

  “Olympic-class. Especially those months leading up to my Paraguay assignment. It was like we knew—” She stopped abruptly, and the shadows were back in her eyes, goddamnit. He’d done that, led the conversation here.

  “Stop right there, Jena. Give me a minute. I have an idea.” He got up and prayed he was doing the right thing.

  * * * *

  Jena sat on the sofa, feeling stupid. Jeb hadn’t come over to seduce her, or to say goodbye, but to ask her to his grandmother’s Sunday dinner. She also suspected he was trying to mend fences after their recent rocky road. Fine enough.

  A furl of disappointment opened inside her as he spoke, though. Her body was primed for him, always, but she could handle him not coming here for sex, couldn’t she? It was deeper than that. A part of her she wasn’t too acquainted with wanted Jeb to say he needed her, wanted her to be more than a fuck buddy or platonic friend. The concept of a partner who was the full package was taking hold. Jena had settled for less in her personal life for a long time, if not forever. Certainly since she’d broken up with Jeb senior year.

  “Don’t move, just lean your head back on the couch.” Jeb stood behind her, just out of her line of vision.

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Okay, but if you’re going to hit me with a whipped-cream pie or something, I won’t go down without a fight. Ohhhh, that is so nice.” She sighed softly as he pressed the warm, damp washcloth on her skin, removing the mask. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Never.” It was pure luxury to have Jeb stroking the cloth against her skin, taking off the mask and massaging her at the same time. “You could do this for a living.”

  “No, thanks. But for you, no problem.” As he continued moving his hand over her throat, her awareness skyrocketed from the constant arcing and sparking that always existed between them to an otherworldly need. She grasped his wrists as he
ran the cloth up and over her face one last time.

  “Jeb.” She heard the scratchy edge in her voice, knew he’d interpret it correctly. He slowly pulled his hands from hers, and she closed her eyes. The coolness of the air on her face was her answer. Jeb really did want only a friendship.

  Could she do it?

  The sofa cushions sank next to her and she opened her eyes in time to see Jeb’s face lowered to hers. Happy surprise stoked her desire and she couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

  “You okay with this? Tonight?” He hovered over her mouth, his breath fanning over her skin, which still tingled from the mask and his ministrations.

  “Oh, yes.” She turned to face him, reached up, and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him the rest of the way to make their lips meet.

  They’d been together enough to know what turned the other on, to be able to fall into the predictable rhythm that always yielded the most intense, satisfying orgasms. That time in the The Refuge’s kitchen had blown all of that away, and now she was no longer totally unself-conscious as she touched him with her fingers, met his tongue with hers. What they shared now was a sense of total awareness of one another and their needs, the realization that what they had together was rare and explosive.

  His hands untied her robe and he pushed it off her shoulders, his lips and tongue following, trailing over and up her throat, behind her ear. His tongue swirled into her ear just before he bit on her lobe with the perfect amount of pressure. As he sucked on her ear she couldn’t remain seated, and she grabbed the back of the couch as leverage to swing up and straddle him. Her panties were all she had on, her breasts free and full in his face, her sex up against his erection.

  “Your jeans are too rough. Let’s get them off.” She undid his buckle and moved aside long enough for him to remove them, along with his T-shirt. He lay back down on the sofa, fully naked and fully aroused.

  Jena moved to take her panties off, and the smoldering heat in his eyes made her pause. She wanted nothing more than to rip them off and plunge onto Jeb’s cock, so hard and huge in his want for her. But he’d taught her that patience made the getting all the better.