Bayou Brides

by Linda Joyce

  “I have to do this.” He grinned sheepishly. The tone of his voice held a warning. She gazed up at him, inhaling another quick short breath as Marquis’ gaze searched her face. The tenderness in his eyes captivated her. His hands moved and cupped her neck. He lowered his chin until his lips touched hers, and he closed his eyes. When the tip of his tongue outlined her lips, she froze.

  “Ahhh,” he whispered, stepping closer to her, then added pressure to the kiss.

  Stunned, Nola remain rooted to the floor. Tiny bubbles of uncertainty pinged through her body. His hands were warm, but everything else…just wrong. She squinted. Stood perfectly still. Waiting for him to stop.

  Marquis broke the kiss abruptly. His hands moved to her shoulders and gave a light squeeze. “Nothing, huh?”

  Nola glanced from side to side, unable to make eye contact with him. “Not sure what you mean.” It was a lie, but only a little one. It wasn’t his tongue or lips or hands she wanted to feel on her. It was Rex’s. Damn that man!

  Marquis stepped back and sank into the chair. “I’ve had this fantasy ever since I heard you sing. You have the voice of a siren. It calls to me.”

  Bewildered by his words and weak-kneed, Nola lowered herself to the couch. She primly folded her hands together, not knowing what to say.

  “Nola, I had this idea that we could tour together someday. Like really together.” He winked. “You catch my drift?”

  She nodded.

  “I was waiting for the right time to…entice you. I thought when I returned from my gig in New York, you could see I’m a good measure of man. Then, maybe next summer…”

  “I’ve always thought you were a good man—by every measure.”

  “But there’s no…”

  “Sparks?” she asked.

  “Yeah. For me, between your voice and your”—his hands moved to create the outline of curves—“I’d been having dreams about you for a while.”

  A flood of heat rose in her cheeks. What could she say without hurting his feelings? “Oh?” Her hand went to her chest.

  “Oh, but don’t you worry none. I had to take the kiss because I had to know.”

  “Dare I ask what?” She was still flustered by the direction of the conversation.

  “Chances. You and me. A fantasy in the head isn’t as great as a live one in the bed. The vibes of that blonde, your friend Kayla”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper—“turned a spotlight on inside me. Hot. And bright.”

  Nola raised her eyebrows, uncertain whether or not she wanted Marquis to share more.

  “Anyway, before I call Kayla, I had to know about you.”

  Another flush heated her neck and rose to her cheeks. “Ahh, I guess I should thank you.” Since the man had a definitely craveable body, any woman would look twice at him…okay, three times at least. If she’d held any far-off fantasies about him, Rex crushed them last night.

  “I’m thinking you better make use of that phone number, dude.” She winked.

  “I will. But, we’re good, you and I, yeah? No problems, neighbor.”

  “It’s all good.”

  He grinned wide. “Ya know, Kayla, she’s golden in so many ways…and places.”

  “Enough.” Nola rose. She pointed to the door. “I have to get ready for work. Take your tour group by Arceneau’s. But call Kayla first. I’m certain she’ll give you the VIP treatment.” Nola smiled. He had no idea just how well her friend would take care of him, like privately in the office while his gaggle of Japanese businessmen sampled Arceneau’s award-winning food.

  With Marquis out of the apartment, Nola fanned herself. “It’s like a hurricane of hormones has blown into New Orleans.”

  Heading for her bedroom, Nola flipped on the light. Scanning the room, she wondered how Rex would enjoy the ultra-feminine décor. She’d never brought a man into her bed in this apartment before. It was sanctuary, her own personal retreat when the demands of the world weighed her down. Yes, she loved her bedroom at Fleur de Lis, but it was classic and filled with nearly priceless antiques. Sometimes, she had to escape from family and all the trappings that accompanied them. In the entire world, this apartment was her own private domain.

  She flipped on music and danced to her closet, opening the double doors. “What to wear?” Moving several dresses aside, she pulled out a black crepe and fluttered it before her. “He can’t resist me in this.” As the words escaped her lips, she recognized how much she wanted him. Wanted? Desired? Needed? Her knees weakened. She sat on the corner of her bed. Rex was what she’d been waiting for. He could quite possibly be the one.

  “No…really?” she said aloud. “Well…maybe. For just one whole night. To get him out of my system. That’s all it would take. After that, Rex Arceneau will be banished from my mind.”

  Liar! He makes you hear the blues.

  Nola swallowed. She scrunched her eyes tightly as a single note rang in her ears. “This just can’t be. Like, yes. Lust, definitely. But love?”

  She wanted to shake off the sensations shooting through her and lighting her up like an old-fashioned pinball machine. Huffing out a breath, she flexed her shoulders to relax and continued to slip into the dress. She zipped it on the side, then adjusted her breasts within the structured fitted bodice that plunged to a “v,” stopping halfway between her breasts and her navel. It was the most revealing dress she owned. The hem hit halfway between her hips and knees. Every time she’d worn it, some man acted like an animal loose from a cage and had to be bounced from the club. Would Rex respond the same? She smiled. Would she have that effect on him?

  Maybe after tonight’s last show, she’d find him at Arceneau’s and see just how tempted he could be. Adding dangling rhinestone earrings to catch the spotlight and sparkle while she was on stage, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Puckering her lips, she blew a kiss. This was what Rex would see if fate conspired for her…hopefully later tonight.

  Nola pulled on a long coat to protect her from prying eyes on her walk to the bistro on the cool spring evening. Opening her backpack, she tucked her wallet and her stilettos inside. After she locked the front door, she remembered to text Kayla.

  Let me know when M contacts you.

  A rush of warmth washed through her. Tonight held promise. Optimism. It gifted her with feminine confidence, which in turn, brought out her sexy side—the side of her that loved to be on stage. She planned to rock the Harbor House tonight, no matter the size of the crowd.

  “Ohhh…Prissy is working the bar tonight. I’ll have her video the song I want Rex to hear. I can replay it for him. To help him get in the mood. Just in case this dress doesn’t hit the mark.”

  Afterward, he goes back to New York. I go on tour. Life will return to a happy equilibrium.

  Then reality smacked her. “He’s going to fire me. I need every penny for the band. Life won’t be the same with him gone. And talk about crap hitting the fan, I’ve got to deal with Mr. Unsavory, the one and only Emile Broussard.”

  She trudged in sneakers to Harbor House, mentally making a list of the clubs where she could audition, in case Harbor House wouldn’t offer her more nights. A half block away from her destination, she spied Mr. Unsavory exiting from a taxi. He glanced around as though looking for something before entering the bistro.

  “Frick. Frack. And burnt French fries. Is this karmic payback for a past-life sin?” She slipped in through the back door to the waiting room. Emile presented a problem she hoped to avoid…at least until Saturday night.

  Chapter 13

  Rex slowed his stride, arriving at Harbor House. Jerking on the door, he entered the enclosed foyer. Dark wood. Small, white hexagon floor tiles. Classic bistro décor—vintage and intimate. Beyond the next set of doors leading inside to the main room, the din of the bar crowd droned. Another drink would help him maintain the perfect buzz he had going on and help him forget anyone else around him.

  Except Nola.

  He spotted a large framed poster on
the foyer wall and pursed his lips. A captivating black and white image. He crossed the small space and stood directly across from it to take it all in. A spotlight shone downward as Nola Belle looked up, her lashes casting dramatic shadows on her face. Her full red lips puckered for a kiss. The sequined dress she wore reflected light in tiny stars, magic made by an accomplished photographer. No mistaking Nola’s star quality. The camera enhanced her alluring mystique. As uncomfortable as it was, his heart and body tugged him in her direction regardless of the resistance from his brain.

  “Stunning,” he murmured. Yet as splendid as the photo portrayed her, Nola’s voice had more depth and richness than any image could capture. It soothed his blighted soul. He could spend the rest of his life falling asleep to the sound of her voice, then waking to the sweetness of her lips.

  Making a fist, Rex released it. His heartbeat quickened. A quick slice of fear shot through him. Was he falling in love? Had the woman with her sultry bedroom eyes and sexy voice snared his heart?

  He laughed, shaking off the idea. “I barely know her. Lust, that’s what it is. A big amount of curiosity. A large dose of attraction. Can’t be love.”

  He turned as the bistro’s outside doors opened. A large group of chattering people piled into the foyer. Rex held the inside door to allow them to continue farther without stopping, leaving him alone with his thoughts of Nola. Wrapped in a modicum of quiet, he took a last look at the poster of the lovely Nola Belle. A swelling of possessiveness filled him.

  Damn her.

  Once inside Harbor House, he sidestepped and maneuvered through the crowd in order to reach the bartender. Leaning against the polished antique bar, he tapped his fingers twice on the counter to get the barkeep’s attention.

  “Hey! You’re Kayla’s brother,” the bartender said over the din. “I’m Cooper.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Rex shook Cooper’s hand. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his sister. “Do you have distilled or spring water?”

  Cooper smiled. “Ahh, a man who likes his whisky the right way.”

  “I need a top-shelf single bourbon with a splash of water, please. But only with the proper H2O.”

  “Got it covered.” Cooper moved away and reached for a whisky bottle from the shelf.

  Rex gazed around the standing-room-only bistro. Waitresses weaved and ran an obstacle course to deliver food and drinks to tables. Clearly, the entertainment tonight drew a good crowd. On a weeknight. That was good for business.

  “Whisky with a splash.” Cooper set a drink in front of Rex and slid it close.

  “So you know my sister?” Rex lifted the glass in salute to the barkeep before taking a sip.

  “Met her at a fundraising event more than a year ago. She introduced me to Nola. Best thing that ever happened.”

  Rex lifted an eyebrow. “How so?” A pang of something close to jealousy speared him.

  “See this?” Cooper waved his hand with a flourish over the noisy bar patrons. “My sales receipts have steadily climbed every Monday and Tuesday night since Nola started singing here.”

  “She draws a crowd.”

  “Worth her weight in fine whisky.” Cooper winked. “But then I guess you know that since your place hosts her on prime party nights—Friday and Saturday.”

  Uncertain how to answer given the predicament he faced with the imbalance of the business accounts, he lifted his glass again, nodded, and sipped.

  “Man, what would it take for me to pry her away from you for one of those nights? Even if only once a month. There’s got to be a way we can do some cross-promotion. You know, businesses helping each other out.”

  “Does she know you want to book her for the weekends?” The whisky went down smooth as Rex sipped.

  “I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. I’m working on my third and fourth quarter projections, but I know she’s off for the summer touring, which will seriously impact my third quarter bottom line.”

  “The whole summer?” The news took him by surprise. Kayla hadn’t mentioned it. Nola hadn’t either, but it wasn’t like they were actually engaging in a lot of verbal exchanges. Most of their interaction would be classified as the physical kind.

  Before Cooper could answer, a voice shouted behind Rex. “Arceneau! Rex Arceneau! How the hell are you?” Emile Broussard was making his way toward the bar. Rex stood straighter and lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

  “Cooper, my man, you know Rex?” Emile started to slap Rex on the back. Rex drew up his hand and blocked the gesture, then reached out and shook Emile’s hand to make the interaction less awkward. His high school friend had done well for himself. Gone were the t-shirts and backward-facing caps of a rebellious teenager with a chip on his shoulder. College had schooled Emile in more things than political science. Word was he bought up a lot of property after Katrina for dirt cheap. From the looks of the cut of his charcoal gray suit and the shine on his black shoes, he’d invested well in his political image.

  “We’re just getting acquainted.” Rex looked from one man to the other, sensing a strain between them.

  “Didn’t know you were back in town.” Emile elbowed for more room at the bar. “Sazerac.” Cooper nodded and then stepped away.

  “Sorry I didn’t make it to your dad’s funeral.” Emile unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned against the bar on his forearm. “Heard it was a fine send-off, Second Line and all.”

  “You know it.” Papa had been an optimist and made a name for himself. He deserved the grand wake to celebrate his life and a proper, old-timey New Orleans funeral.

  “Saw the pictures in the paper.”

  Rex mused about the man before him. An opportunist. It was surprising Emile hadn’t shown up, for no other reason than to get his name and photograph in the paper. After all, Papa’s funeral was well attended. But maybe Emile feared being upstaged by the presence of the mayor.

  Cooper placed a drink in front of Emile, who nodded, dismissing the bartender, then turned back to Rex. “What brings you here?”

  “Family business.”

  “At Harbor House?”

  Rex paused. He’d thought Emile was remarking on his presence in New Orleans again. In truth, the issues of Nola Dutrey were blended with his family’s business. However, his presence at Harbor House tonight was purely personal. “I’ve not seen Miss Nola Belle perform before. Seemed like a good time to take this opportunity.”

  A slow grin spread across Emile’s face. He lifted an eyebrow. “No need to look twice at that piece.” He leaned in close to Rex. “She’s legit.”

  Legit? Hell yes! A dart of possessiveness stuck him again.

  “I’m going to wine and dine her, then collect on my investment. I set a trap for the mouse, and now we’re going to play.”

  Rex fought the urge to plant his fist in Emile’s lecherous smile. How well were he and Nola acquainted? As anger zipped through him, Rex calmly sipped his drink. It was unreasonable to think Nola wouldn’t have had relationships, but that idea tangled a knot in his gut. And she’d said she never had one with Emile.

  “How is it she works at your place, and you haven’t heard her sing?”

  Rex ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Timing. It’s everything, ya know. But I’m here tonight.”

  “Checking in on your investment? You’re going to lose it soon.”

  Rex schooled his expression to remain neutral. “You don’t say.” He picked up his drink and downed the remaining contents. Lifting the glass, he signaled to Cooper. “Another, please.”

  “Me, too,” Emile hollered. “Like old times! Let’s party.”

  Rex smiled tightly. “We’ve been out of college a long time.”

  The last time he’d been out partying with his friend, they were about to graduate from college, and he had to haul him off Bourbon Street after the police cleared the French Quarter on horseback. A near miss kept them from charges of public drunkenness and disorderly. He practically carried Emile to Arceneau’s where he sle
pt off the binge upstairs in the lounge. Papa had been more understanding than he had. The thought of a New Orleans jail cell always deterred him from making a public drunken ass of himself. After that night, their friendship became strictly professional.

  “All the more reason to cut loose. I’ve got a deal in the making. A big deal. I’m celebrating,” Emile shouted.

  “Deal?” Rex reached for the new glass Cooper placed in front of him and sipped.

  “Ever have someone backed into a corner? So backed they’ve got no way out but to bend to your will? I’m going to collect big time. You wait, I’ll make the society page with this one.”

  Tipping his head to one side, Rex eyed his old school friend. “You know what they say…about counting your chickens before they hatch?”

  “This is a sure thing.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “If I get my way, and I usually do, she won’t be singing for you much longer.”

  Emile’s testosterone-infused confidence irritated him. He contemplated his answer before responding.

  Nothing worse than a salacious politician.

  His old high school classmate had honestly earned the moniker of Most Likely to Screw You.

  A grin spread across Emile’s face. “In time it will be the old ‘bought her a ring to make her my wife’ story. What can I say? I’m crazy over this woman.”

  Nola and Emile? No. And no.

  As the band began to play softly, Rex turned to his left, facing away from the man, thankful to be saved from further conversation. A voice boomed through the bistro speakers planted around the room. “All y’all having a good time so far?”

  The crowd cheered. Some patrons pounded on the tables. Cooper clinked longneck beer bottles together. As the raucousness grew, Rex held his breath waiting for Nola to appear. He was as eager to see her as he’d been to experience his first outdoor jazz festival.

  “Well, your good time is now gonna be a grrreat time! Welcome, Nola Belle!”

  The cheers reached a feverous pitch, which quickly settled when Nola entered on stage, appearing from behind a panel that had opened in the wall. Rex swallowed hard. Anticipation had a stranglehold on him as the sound of the music swelled.