“Is that who I think it is?” Elita asked.
“Afraid so. Looks like our luck has run out.” Virginia waved her hand high in the air. “Over here, Dorothea. By the arbor.”
Dorothea stomped over to join her sister-in-law. “Why the hell are you out here?”
“We wanted a quiet place to talk.”
“We?”
Elita leaned forward out of the shadow of the arbor. “Hello, Mrs. Sutton.”
Dorothea took a step back. “Why are you still here? Royce is not coming. He can’t drop everything because you decided to breeze back into town for the summer.”
Elita wanted to say something sharp, something like she planned to stay until Christmas, or Easter, or permanently. That would ruffle Dorothea’s feathers, but could put Virginia in an uncomfortable spot. She forced a smile. “I realize Royce has pressing responsibilities.”
“Good. Since there’s nothing keeping you here, you can leave.”
The muscles in Elita’s neck knotted. She wouldn’t start a fight with Royce’s mother, but dammit, she wouldn’t run from one either.
Virginia laid her hand on Elita’s shoulder. “She’s my guest, Dottie. Please remember that.”
“Don’t call me Dottie. You know I hate that name.”
“Why were you looking for me, Dorothea?” Virginia asked.
“Some of your guests are leaving. I’m going to catch a ride to my hotel. Cliff is staying for a while, but he’s had a lot to drink.” She handed Cliff’s car keys to Virginia. “When he gets ready to leave, would you put him in a cab?”
“Darwin can drive Cliff to the hotel.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Dorothea turned to face Elita. “How are you getting home tonight?”
She hesitated. The thought of facing Royce’s mother over a plate of pancakes and scrambled eggs made her stomach swirl.
“Matt dropped Elita off,” Virginia said. “He’ll come get her if Royce doesn’t get back.” The statement was factual, albeit somewhat misleading.
Dorothea pursed her lips, stared at her sister-in-law. “Matt is coming and Darwin is leaving. Interesting. Maybe I should stay.”
“You need a warm bath and a good night’s sleep.” Virginia jiggled the car keys. “You’d better go now or you’ll miss your ride.”
A smug grin split Dorothea’s face. “All right, I’m going. Goodnight, Virginia.” She threw a condescending glance Elita’s way before leaving.
“What was that snide insinuation she made regarding my uncle about?”
Virginia shrugged.
The simple world of the Caddo sounded more inviting than sharing a fancy hotel with Dorothea. “When Uncle Matt calls, I’ll ask him to come get me.”
“He’s already called. I told him you’d be spending the night.”
Stunned, Elita asked, “How did you know I’d agree to stay?”
“I figured you wanted to see Royce as bad as he wants to see you. Am I right?”
“Sure, but—”
“Don’t worry. I booked you a room at a different hotel. The Red River and half of Shreveport will separate you and Dorothea.”
Elita slipped her heels back on. “You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Like I said, I don’t like to disappoint the people I love.” She hugged Elita. “Now, let’s go try on that dress.”
* * *
Elita did a slow twirl around her hotel room. “Are you sure this is my room?”
The bellman laid the room key on the coffee table. “Yes, Miss. This is our finest suite, as per Mrs. Reed’s instructions. Don’t you like it?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Her eyes scanned the room again. “It’s beautiful.” Swathed in the mossy greens, muted golds, and the rich burgundies found in nature, the room with its soft leather sofa, antique writing desk, and stunning Persian rug resting on the dark hardwood floor blended into a masterpiece of understated elegance.
“I’ll put your bags in the bedroom, Miss, and Nelda will turn down the bed. Would you like her to run a bath for you?”
Elita smiled at the petite, middle-aged housekeeper. “That’s not necessary.”
Nelda gave a nod, pivoted and followed the bellman into the bedroom.
This suite has to be costing Virginia a small fortune. Elita walked over to a dining table draped in cream linen and set with crystal and fine china. An arrangement of pale peach rosebuds, baby’s breath, and maidenhair fern graced the center. Behind the table, a wall of French doors opened to a balcony containing two lounge chairs and a small, wrought-iron dinette set. But it was the view of the Red River and the glimmering lights of Shreveport reflecting in the water that caused the hitch in her breathing.
The bellman returned. “I hung your garment bag in the bedroom closet. Your overnight case is on the bench at the foot of the bed. Nelda can unpack for you if you wish.”
Elita laughed. “I think I can manage that myself.”
He pointed at the marble fireplace. “The fireplace can be viewed from the bedroom and the living area. Would you care for a fire this evening, Miss Dupree?”
“It’s rather warm for a fire, isn’t it?”
“We rectify that by turning down the thermostat.” He proceeded to light a small fire and adjust the air conditioning. “Will there be anything else this evening, Miss?”
“No, thank you, but tell me, why is the table set for two?”
“In case you wish to entertain a guest.”
She rubbed the small of her back “The only thing I want is a bath and a bed.”
“I understand. If you need anything, just ring the front desk. You’ll find we go the extra mile for our guests.” He shooed the housekeeper toward the entry door.
“Just a minute.” Elita grabbed her purse, opened it. “You forgot your tip.”
“That’s been taken care of, Miss.”
The couple left before she could protest. “I was right,” she mumbled, “Virginia does think of everything.”
She walked into the bedroom, dropped her purse on a sage-colored chintz lounger positioned near another set of French doors leading to the balcony. Next to the chaise, bookshelves offered up classics by Shakespeare, Hemingway, and the Bronte sisters. Elita pulled a book of poetry by Whitman from the shelf, riffled the pages, and then slid it back into its place.
A massive oak bed with four fluted posts fit snugly into an alcove opposite the fireplace. Poetry, a glowing fire, and a bed big enough to play war games on, but no Royce to share it with. She sighed and opened the closet.
Elita was mildly surprised to find the sundress removed from the garment bag. She stepped out of her heels, slipped off her stockings and half-slip, placed them in the top drawer of the dresser. She’d started to unzip her dress when the sound of running water stopped her.
“Nelda’s a busy lady, and one in need of a hearing aid,” Elita muttered as she entered the bathroom.
A sea of dark green marble surrounded an oversized tub. It sat on a platform in front of a half-moon window that offered another amazing view of the river and city lights. A dozen flickering candles lined the tiled ledge. The faint scent of lavender filled the air.
Elita turned off the water, scooped up a handful of suds, blew on them. Tiny bubbles floated toward the window. She giggled. “I’ll have to leave them a big tip. They really do go the extra mile.”
“How about me?”
Elita spun around to find Royce wedged between the shower stall and a linen closet. Back propped against the wall, long legs crossed at the ankles, tanned forearms reaching out from rolled-up sleeves, he seemed pleased with himself. That easy confidence marked Royce Sutton as a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. The blatant look of raw lust in his cobalt eyes told her he wanted her. That knowledge sparked a fire in her blood.
He opened his arms. “I’ve come 200 extra miles. Isn’t that worth at least a hug?”
She fisted her hands at her hips. “That depends. How long have you been here?”
/> He pulled her to him, wrapped his hands around her waist. “Not long. Why?” He crushed his mouth to hers before she could answer.
A flash of heat seared her spine as she skimmed her hands over his broad shoulders, up his neck and into his damp hair. She broke off the kiss. “You’ve already taken a bath?” Disappointment laced her voice.
“Just a quick shower to wash the traveling dust off. I’ve been waiting for you so we could try out that tub.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” He planted light kisses on her brows, her eyes, her nose, her chin. “Remind me to send Aunt Virginia a big bouquet of yellow roses.”
“Was this surprise your idea or hers?”
“The idea was mine. She made the reservation and came up with the story about staying over for brunch. Matt helped too.”
“Uncle Matt? How?”
“On the phone, you sounded hesitant about going. Getting you there was his job.”
“So that’s why he insisted I attend.”
“It was a well-planned conspiracy.” Royce nibbled on her ear lobe. “How was the party?”
She tilted her head back so he could dine at her throat. “It was okay, except for the time I spent playing hide-and-seek with your mother.”
His head jerked up. “Did she give you a hard time?”
“I managed to avoid her most of the night. The one time I ran into her, she informed me that you were a busy man. You didn’t have time to mess around with me.”
“That’s what she thinks.” He reached behind her and slowly lowered the zipper of her dress. “I’m devoting the entire weekend to messing around with you.” His hands moved over her shoulders, pushing the dress down her arms and past her hips until it puddled at her feet.
She stood before him dressed in nothing but bra and panties and felt no shame. This was her Royce. He’d gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make their evening perfect. This was not the time for false modesty.
He trailed a finger along the top of her bra. Her fingers laced through his hair as his tongue slid down the valley between her breasts.
Elita’s breath caught in her throat when, without warning, Royce spun her around so that her back was to him. Bobby pins pulled from her hair fell to the floor, followed by her bra. His hands reached around her to give each breast a gentle, proprietary squeeze. When his fingers slipped inside her panties, slipped inside her, she lolled her head back and moaned.
Her hips rocked back and forth in syncopated rhythm with his deft, probing fingers until an orgasmic shudder rolled over her. On fire now, Elita spun around, grabbed his shirt and ripped, sending buttons flying across the marble floor.
He chuckled. “You want to slow down a bit?”
She undid his jeans, yanked them down to his ankles, and found him rock hard. Her hand folded around him. “Do you?”
“Hell, no,” he said, his voice as ragged as hers. He stepped out of his jeans, combed his fingers through her hair, and groaned as her hand and mouth conspired to drive him insane.
He called out her name. His desperation—jagged and hot—testified to his rising need. Cupping his hands under her hips, Royce lifted her and clamped her wetness over him. The blaze in his loins and the heat in her eyes demanded quick action.
She draped her legs around his waist and whimpered. Wrapped in his arms, she realized just how much she needed him. Needed to hear him whisper her name, needed to taste his lips on hers, needed to feel him plunge deep inside of her until he filled all of her, until they melted into one being, one heart, one soul. That’s the way it had been when they were younger. That’s the way she wanted it to be now.
With strength and finesse, Royce lowered her onto the bathroom floor. The marble lay smooth and cold against her skin. Nevertheless, it did little to cool the inferno coursing through her veins.
His mouth claimed hers and swept downward to do the same to her breast. His tongue teased, his teeth gently tugged until she cried out, urging him to service her other breast too. He happily obliged.
Through passion-laced eyes, Elita watched the reflection of the joining of their bodies in the mirrored showered door. She watched her hips rise to meet his thrusts, watched her movements match his in tempo and intensity. Her eyelids drooped heavily, but try as she might, she could not close them. An invisible, primal energy compelled her to observe her hands explore the muscled planes of his back and buttocks. It forced her to consider the way her back arched to take more of him into her as he brought them closer to the edge of ecstasy.
He moaned as her mouth skimmed over his shoulder. She could hear him, smell him, feel him press his flesh against hers. And she could see him shudder as he drove them to passion’s bliss. He exploded inside of her, filling her senses and the emptiness of the past five years.
Royce rolled off Elita and onto his back. They lay side by side on the cool marble, each panting for air.
He entwined his fingers with hers. “That was . . . great . . . for starters.”
“For starters?” She turned to look at him. “What do you have in mind for the rest of the weekend?”
“You’ll have to hang around to find out.”
She grinned. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
He turned on his side, scooted close to her. “I’m sorry you got stuck at the party alone. Hope it wasn’t all bad for you.”
“Your aunt made me feel right at home. I really like her.”
“Aunt Virginia is one special lady.” He pushed a damp tendril off her forehead. “Did you spend much time with Susan?”
“I got there a little early. She was having a small breakdown because she couldn’t get her bangs to do what she wanted them to do. I empathized with her. It seems we were both blessed with an ornery cowlick.”
“So you bonded over cowlicks?”
Elita laughed. “I guess you could say that.” She hooked her leg over his. “What’s next on your agenda, Buster?”
“I thought I’d call down for some champagne and we’d try out that big tub.” His hand curved around her breast as his mouth claimed hers in a long, sensuous kiss. “How does that sound?”
“Sounds good to me, but I think there’s a problem.”
“Problem?” Royce frowned. “What problem?”
She trailed her hand up the inside of his leg to the juncture of his thighs. “I think Buster Junior is ready to play again.”
He glanced down. “Looks that way. What should we do about that boy?”
“I’ve always thought you should tend to a kid’s needs first.” She pushed him onto his back, slid her body on top of his. “Don’t you agree?”
He wrapped his arms around her and moaned.
She took that as a yes.
* * *
The following morning, they decided to have breakfast on the balcony. Royce leaned against the wrought iron railing. “Marijuana?” he asked. “Are you sure? Tickseed leaves look like marijuana. Maybe it—”
“It wasn’t tickseed. It was marijuana. I saw four separate clumps of them. Four or five plants in each clump.” Elita buttered her toast. “There’s probably more scattered around, but I didn’t have the chance to check it out.”
“And you’re sure someone watched you from the shadows?”
She nodded and spooned salsa on her bacon and cheese omelet.
Royce tightened the belt on his thick terrycloth robe. “Jax Boudreaux. I’d bet it was him.”
“Nope. It wasn’t Jax.” She pointed at Royce’s plate. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
He slid into his chair, pulled it closer to the table. “Jax was there the day I found you out on Tadpole Island. Seems reasonable to assume he’d go there again.”
“Jax wouldn’t have hid from me. He’d have come out and given me a lecture on the loup-garou and peach fried pies.”
“I can’t believe you went there alone.” He sliced furiously at a ham steak.
“Am I supposed to be afr
aid to go out in the Caddo now because a few hippies are hanging around the lake?” she asked, her voice sharper than intended.
He threw down his knife and fork. “Silly me, I forgot I was talking to Elita Pearl Dupree—Miss Invincible.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
He pushed back from the table and went to stand by the railing, his back to her.
Elita poured herself another cup of coffee and studied him. His jaw flexed, the vein in the side of his neck bulged. He was mad. No, not mad, he was worried. Instinct had warned her not to mention Tadpole Island until after their weekend together. She should’ve listened.
“Do you want more coffee, Royce?”
He didn’t answer.
“Juice?”
He turned around. “What I want to know is why you’re trivializing this whole thing?”
“I’m not trivializing anything.” She picked up the pitcher of orange juice, refilled their glasses. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I don’t think I was ever in any real danger.”
“Why? Because you had a hatchet?” Royce plopped back into his chair. “What if he’d had a gun? A hatchet isn’t much use against a gun.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been putting the pieces of the puzzle together.”
“What puzzle?”
“I think I know who it was. If I’m right, then I was never in any danger.”
“Okay, Nancy Drew. Who planted the weed?” He picked up his coffee mug, took a swig.
“Uncle Matt.”
Coffee spewed from Royce’s mouth. He coughed, grabbed his napkin, wiped coffee off his mouth and robe. “Matt? You’re not serious?”
She handed him an extra napkin. “That’s why I haven’t reported it to Sheriff Glover.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“I know it sounds bizarre, but it all fits.”
“What fits? What’s this damn puzzle you mentioned?”
“Uncle Matt has been acting strange the past couple of months.”
Royce lowered his head, squinted at her. “In what way?”
“He takes the boat out four or five nights a week.”
“What’s strange about that? He’s a fisherman. Your dad went night fishing all the time.”
“But Uncle Matt isn’t going fishing. He doesn’t take any gear, and he’s usually gone from around midnight to right before dawn.” She pushed her plate back. “I’ve asked several times to go out at night with him, but he always finds some excuse not to take me.”
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 15