by Sarra Cannon
It was one sexy-as-hell fantasy, but he was keeping his hands to himself. Had to, because Landry was almost certain that Mary Jane wasn’t their blue-moon bride. Riley was, and that meant he was hard for the wrong woman.
Picking up his nets, Dre parked his ass near her side. It should be safe enough now, with the sun up and the boat smack in the middle of the channel, but he wasn’t taking chances. She shot him a glance, clearly surprised, but didn’t protest.
Or make small talk. No, she simply turned her gaze back to the bayou unfolding in front of the boat and left him alone. He liked silence. The hot, thick air carried her scent, and skin brushed skin as she shifted from one foot to the other.
They’d been driving steadily for three hours before he finally broke the silence. “We got much farther to go?”
The Pack didn’t hunt this far down the bayou. The banks here were unfamiliar, the waterways new to him.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, tapping the GPS mounted beside the boat wheel. “This is my first time working this bed.”
“You never been out here before?”
She shook her head, her ponytail bouncing about her shoulders. “Nope. This was a last-minute contract for me.” She grinned. “They’re paying real well, though, so we’re going to do a damned fine job raking up their beds.”
He made a mental note to share that fact with Landry later. Probably a last-minute gig meant nothing, but he didn’t like the surprise.
“You got your own beds, yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She throttled back the motor, the boat losing speed. “I do, but I already got those. This here is my bonus. You harvested yours yet?”
“Sure, sha.” He shook out the net, testing the new knots.
“Must not have been a good year,” she said, sympathy tingeing her voice. “Since you all are out here with me, and your boat’s in dry dock.”
Hell. His wolf preferred plain speaking, not this dancing around the truth. Either way, there wasn’t much she could do now, short of knocking him into the bayou. Mary Jane didn’t seem much for violence, though, even if she’d had the muscle to push him around. He liked thinking she might need him for something, might look to him to lend a hand when she needed protecting.
“It’s been a year all right,” he agreed. “We’re hopin’ our luck changes some tonight. If not tonight, then we’ll be tryin’ again tomorrow and the day after that. We’re stubborn, us.”
“You like it out here.” Her factual statement was tinged with... surprise?
“Why wouldn’t I?” He eased closer. Only a handful of inches between him and her now, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin. She glanced sideways, but he knew what she saw. A man focused on the needle pulling in and out of the nets spread over his legs. She didn’t see the predator stalking her.
“Not everyone does,” she admitted. “Lots of our bayou boys are all too happy to hightail it out of Louisiana. They like the city better, or they pick up a gig on the oil rigs. Maybe they decide to see another coast. They head on out and they don’t come back.”
“Me, I like the bayou just fine.”
“I can see that,” she said wryly. With a quick flick of her wrist, she redirected the boat up a narrow channel. “You don’t leave it much.”
“Only when I got a reason.” He should be watching Riley, not Mary Jane, getting to know the other woman some. Riley might be his mate, although he somehow doubted it. She didn’t call to him, didn’t make any part of him sit up and take a sensual interest. Still, Landry seemed damned convinced, and Dre had always wondered if he and Landry would share a woman between them. They did everything together, two sides of the same coin. Loving the same woman seemed like a no-brainer.
Dre sure as shit admired Mary Jane’s skill at the wheel. She knew how to work the water, guiding the boat with a serene competence. He was surprised to realize how much he liked her. He’d known he desired her, sure, but he liked the quiet way she stuck up for her boat and her crew. She was shy, and she’d be beta in any wolf pack, but she wasn’t a doormat. Hell, no. She waited until she had something she wanted to say before she opened her sweet mouth.
“What do you wan’, sha? You wan’ to stay in the bayou forever and a day?”
She laughed, surprised. The amused bark warmed him right up. She finished guiding the boat in near the bed, gesturing for Riley to drop anchor before she answered him.
“A good day on the bayou, fast water, and a fat bed of oysters. I’ll take that, thank you very much.” She gestured towards the flat water waiting in front of them. “Which would be your cue to get moving. ’Cause I got work for you here, Bayou man.”
— —
By near sundown, Mary Jane knew hiring the Breaux brothers was a mistake. The bed was dense with oyster shells, but twenty-five feet was still close quarters and working together meant a whole lot of shoulder bumping. Every breath she took flooded her senses with the earthy stink of old swamp and salt water, perfect for freshwater-hating oysters. The oysters definitely liked it here, because these beauties were big, nicely shaped bastards. They’d bring top dollar at market.
She pretended she didn’t notice the clean, rugged scent of Dre and Landry. She had another couple of days before she’d head back to shore for good, so she needed to get her curiosity about these boys under control. Maybe it was the stories she’d heard—real good stories with all the sexy bits emphasized—or maybe it was the undeniable effect of strong, male bodies working hard, but she wasn’t taking her eyes off her newest deckhands, and that was a problem. She needed to keep this professional.
She needed to keep her hands to herself.
Over and over, they raked the nail-studded metal basket over the bayou floor, scooping up oysters. As soon as the basket filled, Dre and Landry cranked the load up, Riley watching the chain anxiously for snags. When they were clear of the water, the boys would swing the basket over the deck and upend her, everyone scrambling to fill the burlap sacks and tie them off, before Mary Jane turned the boat and lined her up for another pass.
Despite her usual no-guys-allowed rule, she could see the advantage to letting these two onboard. Not only did they pack more brute-force strength, Dre and Landry worked tirelessly, muscles bulging beneath their T-shirts until, with an apologetic look, they’d stripped off. The summer heat had sweat dripping down those sun-bronzed chests, and God they were a fine-looking pair, all chiseled muscles and six-pack abs.
She really, really had to stop looking.
Instead, when they made the day’s final pass through the bed, she dropped down onto the deck next to Dre and Landry. She was simply lending a hand, she told herself. Doing her share of the work. Grabbing a burlap sack, she started sorting oysters. Small select, medium select, large select. Problem was, her hands and her eyes knew this drill by rote, which meant she was on autopilot, with plenty of ways for her head to get her into trouble.
Landry fiddled with the dial on the radio, jacking up the volume on a country tune. The singer hollered out his desire for his lady, launching into a happy, raunchy chorus. Mary Jane didn’t need the subliminal.
This was work. Nothing more.
“We did good today,” she said, grabbing a new burlap sack. The shells spread out around her looked like they’d pulled in mostly medium and large select. Not too many smalls or extra smalls.
Landry flipped her a two-fingered salute. “We aim to please, boss.”
Boss. Yeah. Somehow she had a hard time imagining these two taking orders, although the fantasy about stole her breath. Keep it professional.
“That mean you’re keepin’ us?” Dre’s smoky drawl pulled her back to reality. She flushed and hoped they’d chalk her pink up to the heat.
She focused on the oysters. “Sure. We’ve got plenty of work for a day or two.”
“And then she’s not makin’ promises.” Landry didn’t sound worried.
“You do your part,” Dre warned his brother, “and she won’ have no complaints, either.”
“Sure.” Landry made short work of his current bag and grabbed a new one. “You jus’ tell me where you wan’ this one.” He gestured towards the now-full sack by his feet.
“Right over there is fine.” She pointed towards starboard, and he nodded, easily shifting the sixty-pound burlap to the side. He was good, she’d give him that, but he’d been running his own boat for years.
When he came back, he dropped down beside her and started helping her with her bag. Which didn’t mean anything, she told herself, as they were all but finished here, and lending her a hand would speed things along. He was simply being a good employee. That she enjoyed the occasional, casual brush of his fingers against hers was neither here nor there.
Tomorrow, they’d head deeper into the bayou to harvest the rest of the private lease she’d picked up the contract for. Unfortunately, there was less and less coming from the public beds. Too many oil spills, too many fishermen, and changing waters—she didn’t know all the whys, but the oysters weren’t as plentiful as they had been, and she’d have been hard-pressed for cash if that new contract hadn’t fallen into her lap.
“You been workin’ with Riley long?” The not-so-casual interest in Landry’s voice was disappointing. Mary Jane could admit that to herself.
“Sure.” She kept her voice level. “Riley and I, we’ve been sailing two years now. She’s one of the best mechanics on the bayou, and I’m lucky to have her.”
“Uh-huh.” Landry’s eyes ran over Riley, and the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said he liked what he saw just fine. “It’s not so common, findin’ a woman mechanic.”
“You don’t need a dick to fix a motor.” Her voice sounded cranky and defensive even to her own ears—but damned if she didn’t resent Landry watching Riley like she was some kind of sweet he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.
Landry’s eyes didn’t leave the other woman. “Never said you did,” he observed. “But I can do the math. She’s a rare one.”
“Riley’s a good friend,” she said stiffly, but she meant it. Riley might give the impression of delicacy, her black hair braided into an intricate fishtail that emphasized the fine bones of her face, but she was tough. She had to be. The other woman, Mary Jane knew, had three older brothers, all cops. After growing up taking those boys’ shit and protective love, Riley didn’t take shit from anyone else. She stood on her own two feet and practically dared the world to throw punches her way. After all the fishing and talking they’d done together, Riley was the closest thing Mary Jane had to a girlfriend.
Riley cleaned up real good, looking like some kind of Russian princess, so Mary Jane understood why Landry couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And as much as that interest hurt because it made her realize that her own fantasies about the Breauxs were simply that—fantasies—she also had to admit that Landry wasn’t letting his dick come between him and giving a full day’s work. No, Landry had put in one hundred percent. So had Dre. She’d give them that. Whatever their reasons for coming out here—and she still didn’t believe they were looking for a quick cash fix—Dre and Landry worked hard.
She actually liked the Breaux brothers, and that was a new one.
When the final oysters rattled into the sacks, Landry shot her a grin. “We all done here?”
She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but she answered the obvious. “Deck’s clear.”
Nodding, he strolled over to the red-and-white cooler at the back of the boat and pulled out a pair of cold Cokes. The strong fingers wrapped around the water-beaded glass were scarred from fishing lines, knives, and who knew what else. He wasn’t afraid to use his hands and get done what needed doing, and she liked that.
He popped a top and held a bottle out to her. “Thirsty?”
“Hot.” She took the bottle and then flushed at her own double entendre. Hell. The little grin quirking the corner of his mouth said he was enjoying her confusion.
He tilted the bottle towards her. “Cheers.”
She watched him covertly, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the powerful throat exposed as he swallowed, or from his obvious pleasure as he downed the cold one. She was attracted to him—to them both, if she was being honest—but were they attracted to her? The Breauxs were clearly more than pretty faces. Dre and Landry were big, tough, hard-working Cajun men. Maybe the playboy hottie was an act. Or not.
— —
Mary Jane was watching him.
Again.
Christ, her brown eyes about set him on fire, and that was all kinds of wrong. When the blue moon came out tonight, Landry would be settling down and mating.
Clearly, Landry’s dick hadn’t gotten that memo.
Not looking at Mary Jane was impossible. Itty-bitty denim shorts cupped her fine ass. The frayed edges and worn fringe lent her the illusion of decency when he knew the fabric actually stopped short of covering her ass. Landry knew, because he’d looked. All fucking day. She’d bend over, swipe a burlap sack or an oyster from the deck, and those shorts would ride up, exposing the soft curve of her cheeks. He wanted to taste every inch of what she showed him. Wanted to press his mouth against that tender skin and nip.
Gently.
He wasn’t going to hurt her any. Just love her some. Mary Jane was skittish, too, and his wolf liked that hesitancy. Some of his Pack brothers, they wanted alpha females. That was okay, but Mary Jane’s softness called to him like a delicious secret. He wanted to sink himself deep into her. She wasn’t weak, though, even if she didn’t take to confrontation. No, she was one hell of a strong woman. She’d made sure both he and Dre acknowledged that, not letting them onto the Bayou Sweetie until they’d toed the line some.
There wasn’t any violence in her. She was a giver. Someone who’d hold a man or a child in her arms, standing between him and whatever shit the world was dishing up. She’d love wholeheartedly, and she’d be passionate in making sure those she loved were taken care of. Mary Jane watched and she waited. She hung back some, sure, but all that hesitancy would vanish if someone threatened her Pack. She’d fight hard then.
He wasn’t supposed to want to be her Pack.
Unless she was his blue-moon bride. Problem was, that moon had brought him and Dre to the Bayou Sweetie, and right before the clouds had rolled in yesterday, he was pretty damned certain those blue rays had settled on Riley Jones. Riley was a good woman, too. Hell, she was beautiful by almost anyone’s standards, and even if she hadn’t come in such a delicious package, he’d have liked her just fine. She had a sense of honor he respected. She worked hard, paid her own way, and made sure she was square with everyone. She’d make the perfect life mate.
He knew that.
He knew he was lucky.
Still, as he looked at Riley bending over the rake and muttering to herself in that endearing way she had—as if she truly expected the inanimate piece of machinery to start talking back to her, for Christ’s sake—he wanted to turn around and watch Mary Jane instead. He wanted to take Mary Jane up on the sexy challenge her brown eyes were sending his way, whether she knew it or not. She was curious about him. She looked at his mouth, his hands. Further south. Hell, he’d had a hard-on for her most of the day, and his wolf demanded he go to her now and pull her hard and close. Let her feel exactly how much she bothered him.
Like his reaction to her drinking the Coke he’d provided, his feelings for Mary Jane were primal. Atavistic. He provided and she took, and damned if he didn’t get turned on by that. She had no idea what she’d started when she accepted his casual offer of a Coke.
— —
Riley waved Mary Jane over to the side of the boat. “You got a minute? I want another pair of eyes.”
Glad of an excuse to tear her gaze away from Landry, Mary Jane crossed the deck double-time to see what her mechanic needed. When she looked where the other woman was pointing, at the rake suspended above the water, the problem was clear. The teeth had bent and needed replacing. Granted, those teeth were nothing more th
an nails and far from high-tech, but that metal did the job, cutting into the bayou floor and freeing the oysters.
Riley ran a finger gently over a bare spot on the rake. “Lost a tooth right here.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Sure.” Riley shrugged. “You know me. There’s not much I can’t fix.”
That was true. Riley was a miracle with machinery. She kept the Bayou Sweetie running like well-oiled clockwork. Without her, Mary Jane would’ve spent far too much time and money in dry dock. Which reminded her that if anyone knew the truth of Landry’s claims, Riley would.
“Landry Breaux said their boat was in dry dock,” Mary Jane said. Riley had been in and out of the dockyard at least a dozen times this week, stocking up on parts and supplies. Mary Jane should have checked out Landry’s story before letting him onboard. Too bad she’d been a sucker for a pair of brown eyes.
Sure enough, Riley confirmed what she’d secretly suspected. “I didn’t see her there.”
“Could be a recent accident?”
“Maybe.” Riley chewed on her lower lip. “Anything’s possible.”
“So why would they want to sign on to the Bayou Sweetie?” That question had tormented her. There had to be a reason. The Breaux brothers always had a reason for what they did, even if half the time that reason had something to do with sex. They couldn’t possibly be thinking she’d put out, so that left Riley.
Which made a strange kind of sense.
Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, she confirmed that Landry was watching them. His warm caramel gaze heated her insides right up. He seemed interested, but there was also a predatory edge to his examination that had her backing up towards the railing. Plus, when he finished running his eyes over her and turned his attention to Riley, that hot stare turned possessive. Mary Jane didn’t kid herself. Landry’s real interest began and ended with Riley.