“Still haven’t asked,” he countered matter-of-factly.
“Are you the kind of man who asks?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you can be very persuasive and generally don’t have to ask.”
“Hmm.” That was his noncommittal answer.
“So I’m asking you not to persuade me tonight.”
“I’m a gentleman. No means no.”
“Because I can’t be your second choice in twenty-four hours.”
“You were my first choice, but I get what you’re saying.” His eyes flashed; he did not want to talk about Renee anymore.
Neither did I, so I changed the topic to something safe. “Is your burger as good as mine?”
“C’est formidable.”
“That means amazing, right?”
He grinned at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t even realize when I switch. Does it bother you?”
“It’s kind of sexy, actually.”
“Only kind of?”
“You know it’s hot.” We fell into companionable silence as we ate. I made it through half the hamburger and all of the salad before I gave up. “Beau?”
“Belle?”
“Remember when you said you were going to be Backseat Beau?”
“Ten minutes ago—yes I vaguely recall.”
“Smartass.”
“Apologies. Please continue.”
“I don’t want you in the backseat.”
“No?”
“No. I need you in the front with me. I’m used to running things. Being in charge, making sure everything happens.”
“I get that.”
“But I’m tired. Literally and figuratively.”
He nodded.
“So if you’re offering to let me lean a little . ..”
“I am.”
“Then I’m going to lean. But it’s new for me, so you’ll have to be patient.”
“I’m Mr. Patience—what do you need?”
“Can you call Katrina back and handle whatever, so I can grab a nap?”
“Not a problem.”
“I feel bad. You haven’t gotten any sleep at all.”
“I’ll catch up later. You rest until we hear from the hospital.”
I was so grateful; I leaned across and kissed him on the lips. And liked it so much I kissed him again. A thousand nerve endings sprang to life inside me. Swaying toward him, I put my hand behind his neck and pulled his head in close. His lips parted, and I dipped my tongue in for a taste. It was a sweet kiss, fraught with tenderness and emotions bubbling to the surface. His arms came around me. I snuggled in and nibbled his bottom lip. I felt it turn up in a smile.
I leaned back. “Whoops.”
He ran his hands up and down my back. His voice was low and silky. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Tempting, but not right now. “I’m going to lie down. Wake me up if something’s urgent at the office or if the hospital calls.”
“Will do.” He was still doing that massaging thing on my back. It felt amazing. My eyes drifted shut as he worked out a kink near my shoulder.
“Are you going to try and get some sleep, too?”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t need a lot of sleep generally.”
“Really?” I tilted my head to the left so he had access to the other side. He slid his thumb along the nape of my neck and I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from groaning.
“Really,” he said, his voice just a low murmur in my ear.
I actually shivered a little. “Good to know. You have the most amazing hands.”
“You’ve no idea.”
My eyes blinked open and I met his gaze over my shoulder. Chemistry.
He placed his hands on the small of my back and gave me a little shove toward the bedroom. “Rest for a little while. Everything will still be here when you get up.”
A little smile crept onto my face, and I couldn’t resist teasing just a little bit. I swept my eyes up and down his frame. “Every single thing?”
“Keep looking at me like that, chérie, and you will find out sooner than you think. I’m a gentleman, but I’m a man first.”
He didn’t give me one of his famed grins when he said it, so I knew he was deadly serious. Without looking back, I fled into the bedroom and shut the door behind me.
14
What’s Going On?
Beau—3:41 PM that same day
I was having the best damned dream. I was floating on a cloud, but I wasn’t alone. Pressed against me, actually almost completely on top of me, was a fine female form. She smelled amazing, and she kept squirming her tight body against mine in a way that signaled a really good time was about to happen. Naked good times—my favorite pastime. So I rolled over in the cloud and caught her beneath me. Her arms came around my neck, and I shifted to take her hips in my hands. Lord, that felt right. We fit. She arched up; I pressed down while trailing kisses along her jaw. Her hips started moving in an insistent rhythm, and she moaned my name.
“Beau.” She reached around and grabbed my ass with one hand to pull me closer. I obliged, nestling into her notch.
“Tout va bien, ma petite?” I pressed my hard length against her and rolled my hips.
“Yes, it’s all good. It’s so good. I want more.”
I traced the long line of her neck with my lips. She smelled of rose petals.
The dream just got better and better. I knew what she wanted, I knew what she needed. And I was more than ready to give it to her. I reached for the zipper of her jeans when suddenly Marvin Gaye started singing . . . loudly.
What’s going on? Hey, what’s going on? What’s going on? I gotta know what’s going on. Hey, hey, hey, hey! Whoo!
Marvin usually sang “Sexual Healing” in my dreams. And he didn’t keep getting louder as the song continued. My eyes flicked open. Ah hell. I was on top of Belle, harder than a slab of granite. She blinked up at me in sleepy confusion. Her breathing was ragged, and her nipples had that same granite thing going on. Marvin began another chorus.
“Oh dammit!” She pulled her hands off my ass, and I crawled off of her and ran for the phone. I didn’t know if she was damning the fact that we were interrupted or that we almost had semi-conscious sex.
“Belle’s phone,” I barked into the cell.
“I take it I’m interrupting something?” Dalton’s voice had way too much humor in it for my liking.
“What is it?”
“He’s out of recovery and in and out of consciousness.”
“We’re on the way.” I ended the call and looked back at Belle. She was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at me. “Your dad’s waking up. We should go.”
She nodded. “Where are your clothes?”
I looked down at myself. I was in dark grey cotton boxers. “After my shower, I just wanted to lie down for a second.”
“Next to me.”
“It was just for a second,” I reiterated.
“I thought I was dreaming.”
“As did I.”
She sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Don’t be overdramatic. Let me pull some jeans on, and we’ll head out.”
She pointed at my boxers, where things were still at attention. “How are you putting jeans on with that?”
“If you stop looking at it like you want a taste and give me a minute, we’ll be out of here in no time.” The way she was eating me up with her eyes had me gritting my teeth.
“I do want a taste,” she breathed with that fire burning in her eyes.
“Jesus, Belle, that’s not helping!”
“You’re talking to a woman who hasn’t had a taste in a long, long time,” she admitted.
My voice was hoarse when I asked, “How long?”
“A little under a year.”
“What?!” How was that even possible?
“Yes. For someone who is just twelve hours past his last taste—I’m sure that’s amazing.”
&
nbsp; I scowled. “Are you going to throw that up in my face forever? I said I was wrong; I apologized. I’m a man who likes sex—is that a crime?”
“Depends.”
I suppressed a sigh. She was turning peevish again. I put my hands on my hips and stared at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why has it been a year since you—”
“Oh, no time and lack of interest. I’m past the scratching-an-itch phase.”
I winced. That hit close to home.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I really am going to let it go.”
“When?” Because I, for one, was thoroughly sick of the topic.
“Right now. Everything you’ve ever done with any other woman is buried. As of this minute, you have a clean slate.”
I blinked, waiting for the catch. “A clean slate?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. But I get one, too.”
“You haven’t told me anything about your past relationships.”
“True.”
From the sound of her voice, she wasn’t planning on it either. I didn’t like it but...I wanted that clean slate. “Deal.” I put out my hand to shake on it.
She walked over and took my hand and placed it on her waist, then she leaned up and kissed me with pure fire and want. Holy Mother of God. She devoured me with lips and teeth and tongue, and for the first time in a long time, I just went along for the ride. I tightened my hand on her waist and pulled her closer.
She stepped back. “You do make one forget one’s circumstance. We have to go.”
I growled in frustration. “You started it.”
“You started it with the mattress bump ’n’ grind act. But don’t worry, pretty boy—I’ll let you finish it . . . at some point. Now tame that thing so we can go see my daddy.”
Muttering under my breath about women who tease and what they had coming to them, I yanked open a drawer in the bedroom.
“Why don’t you take a look at the changes I approved on those three designs we discussed earlier while I get dressed?”
She reached for her iPad and scrolled through to her e-mail. “Yessir. You sure you don’t need any help getting that gun back in its holster?”
“Nice. Dick-as-gun jokes. Is this where I say it’s locked and loaded? Unless you’re prepared to come handle the weapon, Ms. Richards—calmez-vous!” I shushed her.
Jeans weren’t going to work out. I stepped into some loose-fitting navy drawstring linen pants and shrugged into a light-green summer-weight shirt, which I prudently left untucked. I stuck my feet into some old-school Top-Siders before shoving my wallet in my back pocket, cell phone in front. I walked back into the living room and picked up the hotel phone.
“Yes, we’d like to have the car brought around please. Montgomery. Thank you, we’ll be down shortly.”
Belle stood up with her purse on her arm peering at her iPad. “Is that a plum stripe in this shirt?”
I nodded and opened the door. “After you.”
“I like it. I wouldn’t have picked it, but I like it. Did you put a contrast thread in?” she continued as we walked toward the elevator.
“Kelly green spun silk.” I pressed the DOWN button.
“Pricey.” She sent me a look and slipped her iPad into her purse.
“But worth it aesthetically, don’t you think?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “You know you’re the only heterosexual man I know who can talk spun-silk aesthetics with me.”
I grinned down at her as we stepped onto the elevator. “Am I, now?”
“Indeed. What were you going to pair it with?”
“The cream-colored, flat-front trouser from the resort collection.”
She glided in front of me and leaned back against me, making sure to brush her ass right up against me in a way that made me hiss through my teeth. “I love it when you talk clothing to me.”
The rose scent that clung to her wafted up to me. It was safer to concentrate on that than the gyrations she was currently performing with her hips. “Gets you going, does it?”
“Yes, sir, and you know what else?” she teased in a soft voice.
So she wanted to tease. I looked at my watch. It was still Monday. I promised not to make any moves on her until it had been twenty-four hours since Renee. That made me feel very man-whorish just thinking it. That damn Renee, always more trouble than she was worth. I sighed and took a step back. She eased back as well, not breaking contact.
“What else?” I tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“It’s very sexy. The fact that you can talk fabric and fit and cut with me and still be so . . .”
“...So?”
“Male.” She reached behind her and caressed me through the thin pants.
“Delaney Mirabella Richards,” I scolded, loving the feel of her but hating the timing.
“Yes, sugar?” She looked up at me through her lashes and tried to look innocent. Damn difficult when she was stroking me to within an inch of sanity.
I reached down and clasped her hand in mine as the elevator reached the lobby level and the doors opened. “Payback is going to be such sweet revenge.”
“You’re mixing your clichés, monsieur.”
“You knew what I meant,” I said quietly as we strode through the lobby.
“I’m all over the place. Am I making you crazy?”
“A little bit, but I get it.”
She raised a brow and climbed in the car.
I tipped the valet and slid behind the wheel. I slipped on the sunglasses I’d left on the dash and started the car. Glancing in the rearview window, I eased the car out into the lane and headed for the highway.
“So tell me—what do you get?”
I smiled; she really couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t the kind to just let something rest. “Bébé, you’ve been scared, pissed, disappointed, horny, and elated all in the span of a day. If you weren’t on an emotional rollercoaster, I’d be worried about you.”
“You’re a good man, Beau. When you’re not so determined to be bad.”
“Merci, Belle. That’s the best backhanded compliment you’ve given me.”
“De rien.”
“Look at you, with the French phrases; we’ll make a Cajun out of you yet.”
“Slow down, Bayou Beau; one thing at a time.”
We were definitely making progress.
15
Hey, Daddy
Belle—5:23 PM that same day
I was clasping Beau’s hand so hard, I was surprised he wasn’t protesting. But that was one thing about Beau: he was strong and didn’t break. He constantly surprised me with additional facets to his character. Long gone was the laissez le bon temps rouler playboy. I realized now that was a façade that Beau used to keep people from getting too close.
From the moment I decided to hire Beau, the playboy persona had virtually disappeared. Oh, he still had the charm and the looks, but there was a less predatory air about him. He seemed more purposeful in his actions, as if he had a plan and a destination. Whatever it was, it was a potent combination.
If you had told me when I first met Beau that I would be clinging to him as I approached my father, I would have called you fourteen kinds of crazy. Yet here I was, holding on like he was a lifeline. The comfort I found just in holding his hand should have alarmed me. But I decided to just go with it.
“Tout va bien, chérie?” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.”
We walked the long hallway of the CCU floor and finally stood outside my father’s door. Peering in through the glass window, I took a deep breath. There were many things I could say about my father, but I had never seen him like this. Normally a tall, imposing man robust and full of life, he now looked helpless, fragile, and very mortal. It was a disturbing sight.
I pushed open the door and pulled Beau inside with me. We approache
d the bed and stood looking down at my father. The breathing tube had been removed; he had dressings covering his chest and he was propped up slightly. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. We sat down on the small sofa across from the bed and waited for him to stir.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” I told Beau while not letting go of his hand at all.
“Right.” He squeezed my hand and didn’t move an inch.
“It’s just . . . you know. My dad and I—we have a complicated vibe.” That was putting it lightly.
“He loves you.”
“He does, but he’s not so approving of my life choices.”
“You’re beautiful, successful, smart—what more does he want?”
“Me married, barefoot, and pregnant. Preferably with a passel of kids, cooking grits and bacon every morning and chicken and dumplings every night. Some man’s lil woman knittin’ booties or some such thang.”
“You know your Southern belle sneaks out in your voice when you’re agitated?”
“Does it now?” He was a fine one to talk with the Cajun colloquialisms springing forth constantly.
“I’m curious though, Belle—do you even want any of that?”
“I wouldn’t mind whipping up some chicken and dumplings soon.”
He gave me a look that clearly said he knew that was a non-answer.
“Why Beauregard Montgomery, are you seriously asking me about marriage and kids?”
He looked a little uncomfortable and shifted with a waggle of his shoulders. “Sure, why not?”
“Notorious playboy letting the M-word fall out of his mouth?”
“I haven’t been notorious with it in quite some time. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uneasy.”
“Like you, I’m rarely uneasy.”
“Maybe it’s just around me then.”
“Maybe it is.” He did have a way of getting under my skin and ruffling my feathers. I was a girl who liked to stay calm. Something to think about at another time.
“Well, chérie, you give me an unsteady breath from time to time yourself.”
I was glad to hear it, so I answered his question. “I would like to get married one day. Two kids. House with a lawn and a pool. One day. I have time.”
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