by Nina Bruhns
"Open your eyes, kitten," he whispered into her ear. "I want you to see how beautiful you are."
Slowly lifting her gaze to the mirror, she watched him gently remove her bra. Her breasts spilled out, and she heard his short, ragged breathing. She longed for him to touch her, to take her soft flesh into his strong, masculine hands. She wished she could let him quench the burning need that shot through her body at the sight of herself standing almost naked in his arms.
Her nipples tightened into pearls of achy desire. His eyes devoured them.
"So very beautiful," he murmured.
She wanted to cry out in protest when he began to pull up her sleeves. She knew it was dangerous, futile to allow herself to stoke the fire of their attraction by prolonging this agony. But, oh, how she loved this feeling—the dizzy, giddy forbidden excitement of her body completely under his virile power.
He drew on her bodice, smoothed it over her shoulders and tugged up the zipper. Filling her with irrational disappointment.
Just as well. She should be grateful. She knew exactly what would happen if he pressed her for more than this tempting, but innocent, game.
Slipping off his jacket, he put it on her, over the dress. Turning her, he buttoned the two lowest buttons and rolled up the sleeves until a bit of lace showed under them. Grasping the lapels in his fists, he towed her close to him, his mouth resting on her cheek.
"If you want to drive me crazy, wear it like this," he said in a rough whisper. "With a jacket, and nothing underneath."
The fabric of the lace rubbed against her tender skin, scorching her nerve endings like lightning. Every pore was awake and attuned to the man holding her against his body.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering back, "If I do, shall I tell you … or let you guess?"
His mouth curved up against her cheek. "That depends on what you want me to do about it."
Suddenly, there was a quick knock and the dressing-room door opened.
"How's it go—oh! Beau, I didn't know you were back."
Beau let out an exasperated sigh. There seemed to be a conspiracy today to keep him away from Kit.
If Jolene was surprised to see him holding his supposedly "official" guest in an intimate embrace, she didn't bat an eyelash. Kit, however, jumped guiltily out of his arms.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, he leaned a hip against the wall. "That's why those bells are on the front door, little sister. One of these days somebody's going to steal you blind."
"You're such a worrywart. When was the last time we had a robbery in Verdigris?"
Her innocent comment jarred him out of his fog of sensual frustration.
Ah, yes. Verdigris's last robbery. That was something he fervently hoped nobody would ever find out.
Jolene couldn't possibly know their own cousin was probably responsible for the only theft in the sleepy town since Gator Adkins had stolen the basketball hoop from the schoolyard back in '96 to try out a new design for a crawdad trap. The trap hadn't worked too well, so Gator had returned the hoop a month later—a little soggy but intact. Since the crime had been reported, Beau had been forced to book him. The judge had given Gator fifteen hours of community service showing the kids from school how to construct fish and craw-dad traps. They'd ended up perfecting Gator's design and Beau had anonymously donated a new hoop to the school so they'd have an excuse to scrap the old one. The kids had made him proud by building the trap and presenting it to the old folks' home outside of town.
He doubted if Remi's case would have such a happy outcome.
"Beau?"
He looked up and realized both women were staring at him.
"Sorry, off in space somewhere. What were you saying?"
Jolene shook her head indulgently. "Kit says the jacket was your idea. I like it."
The jacket. Right. Kit stood against the mirror, clutching the lapels with just a trace of panic in her eyes.
He grinned. "Yeah. Damn sexy combination. Makes a man wonder what she's got on under it." He glanced nonchalantly at the slip and bra lying on the floor. "Or not."
Kit's eyes widened.
"Got anything that'll fit her better than my jacket?" he asked Jolene, who regarded him with sisterly amusement.
"I could probably dig up something."
He raised a hand to stop her. After rearranging the shop's racks three times that morning, he figured he knew the stock as well as she did. "Please. Allow me."
And if he didn't get out of that dressing room soon, he was pretty sure he'd start adding to that little pile of lingerie on the floor.
Searching through the varied collection of suits and dresses, he admitted to himself he wanted Kit more than any woman he'd ever met. He didn't want to seduce her, but to convince her what they had was worth keeping.
Kit was so much more alive and vibrant than anyone he'd ever been involved with. She made him laugh. She made him feel things, want things he'd never known. She had a genuine liking and affection for him as a person, separate from what he represented as a leading citizen of the parish and wealthy landowner. But she wasn't interested. She wanted nothing to do with that important and influential man. He had no idea why she was so dead set against accepting anything he had to offer. Any other woman would be taking with both hands.
He sighed. C'est la vie. He didn't relish a skirmish with Dori over Kit in any case. There was no mistaking his mother didn't approve of Kit as a match, even if she had warmed to her once she'd gotten over the initial shock. His mama had impossible standards where the subject of the future mistress of Terrebeau was concerned. And topping the list was blood as blue as the music on Bourbon Street
. No, his parents liked Kit, but that didn't mean they'd accept her as wife to the family heir.
Too bad nobody was asking him what he wanted. One of these days, he'd really have to take a stand. But what was the point of doing it now, if Kit refused to even consider him seriously?
A delicate pink suit caught his eye and he pulled it off the rack. The jacket was long, unstructured silk, with no lapels.
"That would look nice," Jolene remarked behind him.
"Is it the right size?"
She checked and nodded.
"Can you box it up along with the dress and bring them home with you later? We're going to Girard's for lunch."
"Sure." She took the suit and got two steps away before she turned back to him. "Beau?"
"Yeah, chère?"
"This one's different, isn't she?"
He gazed out the storefront window, unable to meet his sister's probing eyes. "She's under my protection."
"You know what I mean. You like her."
"I like all women. I'm an easy man to please."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Why are you afraid to give me a straight answer? I'm right, aren't I?"
He set his jaw and turned, forcing himself to look her in the eye and act as if he wasn't speaking a truth so painful it cut like a knife through his heart.
"Sure I like her. I like her a whole lot. But don't start designing wedding gowns, Jolene, 'cause it would just be a waste of your time."
* * *
Behind the partition to the dressing rooms, Kit stood holding the lace dress, hurt wrapping itself around her body like a giant web. Too bruised to move, she stood paralyzed, letting the pain seep into her flesh like so much poison.
It wasn't so much the words Beau spoke as the way he'd said them. Tossed off like so much unimportant chaff. As if the very thought behind them was too absurd to contemplate.
She stumbled back into the dressing room and hung the dress on a hook. Pastel lace swam before her eyes, blending into a prism of colors with the other garments behind it. She made a groping stab at them, grabbing the first hanger her hand stumbled upon. Swiping at her eyes, she battled for self-possession.
"Ready, Kit?"
It wasn't as though his statement was a big shockeroo. He didn't want a relationship. And neither did she. Especially wit
h Beau. He was too forceful, and his life too inflexible. He would expect her to drop everything for a life at Terrebeau. A life she didn't want.
Still, it hurt to be dismissed so coolly and summarily.
"Kit, honey, are you okay?" Jolene's sweet voice was filled with concern as she opened the door of the dressing room.
There was no earthly reason to be upset. Marriage was not in Kit's plans ever. The fact that Beau didn't want to marry her was a good thing. It would be much easier to resist him with the outcome of their relationship spelled out so painfully clearly.
Neither of them was interested in long-term, and she was not interested in short-term with someone like Beau.
"Kit?"
Someone irresistible, who laughed at her corny jokes and treated her like a princess. Someone who was strong and caring and loyal. Someone who could so easily steal her heart and make her want to change her plans for life.
Someone who already had.
No. He hadn't. Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face Jolene. "Yes. I'm fine. I just changed my mind about the dress. I'll take this instead." She thrust out the gray suit. "It's more practical."
Beau's sister glanced at the lace dress before taking the suit. "I, uh…"
"I'd never wear the lace one. There aren't a lot of fancy parties where I live. Even this is much too classy for the likes of my job." Kit stepped out of the dressing room.
"But not gray. Beau hates—"
"Beau won't be around to see me in it," Kit interrupted with as much indifference as she could muster. "It's really the most sensible—"
"Since when have you gotten sensible?" came the murmured question as the man himself rounded the partition.
"Since right now." She glided past him, making sure she didn't touch him, then headed for a display of handmade jewelry, which she feigned great interest in.
Beau shot a questioning glance at his sister, who lifted her shoulders imperceptibly. "She's decided on the gray suit."
He halted on his way to the counter. "Gray…?" Under his intense scrutiny Kit clamped her jaw, refusing to look up from the display. "We'll take all three," he said calmly. "And don't forget the jacket," he said to Jolene.
"No!" Kit gaped at him. "I mean … no, that's too much. I couldn't possibly accept all that. It would be…"
He waited, and when she didn't finish, he prompted, "Would be what?"
Improper. Scandalous. Suggestive. Too many strings attached. Good grief, take your pick. "It would just be a waste of your money," she finally said.
She turned to Jolene, whose face had gone suspiciously white, and gave her a hug. "Thank you for a terrific morning, Jolene. The shop is wonderful. You'll be rich and famous in no time with your talent for designing."
Jolene hesitated to let her go, her expression still troubled.
"I'll see you at dinner, okay?"
Kit nodded. She had no reason to run away. None at all.
Beau's eyes hadn't left her since she'd last spoken to him. She stood up straight and glued her smile in place, flipping her bag casually over her shoulder. "Shall we?"
"By all means."
She could feel him watching her all the way to the truck, but he was silent until they had driven out of town and were bumping along on the road to the tenant farm where they were invited for lunch.
"You heard what I said to her, didn't you."
"Nothing we didn't both know already."
"Kit, I want to explain—"
"Sugar, if you think it makes one bit of difference to me, you're deluding yourself. I know you're used to women finding you irresistible, and to be honest, I'm having my share of trouble in that department myself, but we both know I have no intention of marrying anyone. So let's just forget the whole thing and concentrate on finding Remi, all right?"
He looked at her long and hard, his lovely, sensual mouth tense. "Whatever you say, darlin'."
* * *
Beau watched Kit peer out the side window, calmly chattering away about the passing scenery and what they still needed to do to find Remi. Anything other than what had just transpired. He raked a hand through his hair. Damn.
He couldn't believe how badly he'd blown it.
One minute, she was sweetly melting in his arms; the next, aloof, chilly as a January morning on the bayou.
Oh, she was doing her best to act matter-of-fact and unaffected, but he knew she'd been blindsided. No woman wanted to hear her lover wasn't looking for a future with her. Kit was just too cheery, her smiles a little too forced to be believable.
And it was all his own damn fault. If he'd only told Jolene the truth, none of this would have happened. He'd be snuggled in Kit's warm embrace right now, happy and content. As he'd been yesterday.
But, no. He had to be stoic and proud, unable to bear the thought of anyone knowing how badly he was hurting, wanting something that could never be his. Knowing how lonely he was and how much he needed someone … needed her.
Oh, yeah, much better to remain cool and unemotional. Pretend it wasn't so. And bear the bitter harvest of his callous words.
He reached up and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The way he saw it, he had two options. First, he could accept the inevitable and let it be. Concede that Kit would never be his. Not try to pursue something that would split his family down the middle and bring him unbearable hurt when the end finally caught up with him.
Or, he could tell Dori he didn't give a damn what she thought and do his best to convince a recalcitrant Kit she actually liked country living, didn't need a career, and that she really wanted to be the mistress of Terrebeau and take care of him for the rest of her life.
He rubbed a hand over his face, leaned back in the seat and silently groaned. Lord, have mercy, what a choice.
Perhaps the best course would be to keep her here and see what developed. After all, he'd only known the woman a few days. Maybe once they got better acquainted, the attraction would fade, the whole thing would blow over and he'd get his life back.
Yeah, and maybe Kit Colfax would save Terrebeau from a spectacular fire, the family would be so grateful that they'd compel him to marry her, and they'd all live happily ever after.
Spinning the truck into Girard's driveway, he had a sudden vision of Kit wading through the creek next to the orchard, barefoot, jeans rolled up to her knees. Walking had in hand with a smiling, raven-haired baby girl.
His heart lodged in his throat.
Hell, it might just be worth lighting a few fires to find out.
* * *
The Ferrand place was the most remote of the Terrebeau farms. They raised rice and crawdads, two crops that particularly suited the wet, almost swampy land surrounding the bayou.
After driving a few miles down a long, thickly wooded track, Beau pulled the truck up in front of the whitewashed clapboard house on stilts. Girard Ferrand and his wife, Val, rushed out to greet them. Beau introduced them to Kit and was pleased when she seemed immediately at home with his best friends.
"We heard you were keeping a woman out at Terrebeau," Girard teased with a wink. "Your mama must be fit to be tied."
Beau rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Actually, she's scheming to fix Kit up with Hunter Chenier at the Wiltons' party tonight."
"What?" Kit asked, surprised.
Girard gave a belly laugh. "Figures. You gonna let her?"
Beau leveled a look at him. Take a wild guess, mon ami. "Hunter isn't Kit's type."
Val looped her arm through Kit's and steered her toward the backyard with a conspiratorial grin. "I don't know. He may be your arch rival, but Hunter Chenier is one fine-lookin' man."
Walking behind them, Beau and Girard snorted in unison.
"Really?" Kit asked, taking Val's lead. "Tell me, does he drive a truck?"
"Mais, yeah. Nice big new one. Shiny and black."
"Financed by his last girlfriend, no doubt," Girard remarked with a sneer. "He sure could
n't afford no new truck what he makes a year bootleggin'."
Laughing, Val said, "Have a seat at the table, you two," and gestured to the backyard. "Girard, come to the house and help me carry food."
When they were out of earshot, Beau tugged a lock of Kit's hair from behind and whispered, "If I catch you making eyes at Hunter Chenier tonight, it's over between us."
She looked over her shoulder. "That a promise?"
"You!" He made a grab at her and she jumped away, yelping. But he chased her down, tightened an arm around her and tickled her into submission, careful to avoid her wound. "You gonna flirt with Hunter at the party?"
"No!" Laughing uncontrollably, she batted at his hands. "I swear!"
"Who you gonna flirt with?"
"Nobody!"
He crept his hand between their bodies, going from rowdy to arousing. He was ready to show Kit just how much he wanted her and he didn't care who saw them. He just hoped he wasn't too late. "Wrong answer, ma chère. Who you gonna flirt with?"
"No one," she gasped, squirming in his embrace. "I won't be there. Have to pack. I'm moving out first thing tomorrow morning."
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
At her words, all the warmth and laughter disappeared from Beau's face. "What?"
He was going to be stubborn. Kit could feel it in the way his grip tightened on her arms. Though why he cared, she couldn't fathom. Not after his definitive statement earlier.
"I gave you two days," Kit told him calmly. "But we aren't any closer to finding Remi than when we got here. I have a deadline, Beau. If you can't help me find him, I need to try a different way. I'm getting a room in town. I'll work from there."
Scowling, he straightened and pulled her upright. "He's not in town. You won't find him. We both know why you want to leave Terrebeau and it has nothing to do with arresting Remi."
She glanced up and saw Val and Girard, arms loaded with food, watching them with questioning expressions. Breaking away from Beau, she took some of the bowls from Val and followed the woman to the picnic table.
"So." Girard cleared his throat as he set out plates and silverware. "Remi involved in some kind o' mischief?"