by Nora Roberts
Effie merely looked up, then covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“Okay, bad joke.” Declan scrubbed now-sweaty palms over his jeans. “What’s wrong?”
“Problem with the wedding venue,” Remy began, and Effie let out a wail.
“There is no wedding venue.” She snatched Remy’s handkerchief, buried her face in it. “They had . . . they had a kitchen fire, and the fire department came, and they . . . they . . . Oh what’re we going to do!”
“Smoke and water damage,” Remy explained to Declan. “Over and above the fire damage. They’re not going to be able to put it back together in time.”
“It’s my fault.”
Mirroring Remy, Declan crouched. “Okay, honey, why’d you start the fire?”
It made her laugh—for a split second. “I wanted to use that old plantation house. It’s romantic and so lovely. Remy said it’ll all be easier booking a hotel ballroom, but no, I just had to have my way. And now look. We’ve got less than three weeks, and we’re . . . We’re just sunk, that’s all.”
“No, we’re not, honey. We’ll find another place. Pleure pas, chère.” Remy kissed the tip of her nose. “Worse comes to worst, we’ll have the wedding, then we’ll have our party later. We’ll have us a real fais do-do, after the honeymoon.”
“Where are we going to get married? City Hall?”
“I don’t care where we get married.” Now he kissed her fingers. “Long as we do.”
She sniffled, sighed, leaned into him. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly and selfish. You’re right. It doesn’t matter where or how.”
“Sure it does.” Declan’s statement had them both staring at him, Effie with tears still swirling, Remy with baffled frustration. “You can’t let a little fire screw up your plans. Use my place.”
“What do you mean, your place?” Remy demanded.
“The Hall. Sure as hell big enough. Ballroom needs some work, but there’s time. I have to strong-arm some painters, but I finished the entrance this morning. Gardens are in really good shape, kitchen’s done, parlors, library. Lots of rough spots yet, but people won’t care about that. They’ll get the house, the grounds, the ghosts. They’ll talk about it for years.”
“Do you mean it?” Effie snagged Declan’s hands before Remy could speak.
“Sure I do. We can pull it off.”
“Dec,” Remy began, but Effie rolled right over him.
“Oh God. Oh, I love you.” She threw her arms around Declan’s neck. “You’re the most wonderful man in the world. An angel,” she said and kissed him. “A saint.”
“Do you mind?” Declan said to Remy. “We’d like to be alone.”
Laughing, Effie spun to her feet. “Oh, I shouldn’t let you do this. You’ll have all those strangers roaming around your house, trooping all over your lawn. But I’m going to let you because I’m desperate, and it’s so perfect. I swear, I swear you won’t have to do any of the work. I’ll take care of everything. I’m going to owe you till my dying day.”
“Giving me your firstborn son will be payment enough.”
Remy sat on the edge of the desk and shook his head. “I say I’ll marry you anywhere, anytime, all he does is give you a broken-down house and he’s the one gets kissed.”
“I already got you.” But she turned, wrapped her arms around Remy and, with a sigh, rested her head on his shoulder. “I want it to be beautiful, Remy. I want it to be special. It means a lot to me.”
“I know it does. So it means a lot to me, too. We’ll have us some party, won’t we?”
“We will.” She gave him one last squeeze, then whirled away. The sad, sobbing woman was replaced by a dervish. “Can I go out now?” she asked Declan. “I need to get my mother and my sister, and we’ll go out right now and start figuring it all out.”
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” Then the other. “Thank you.” Then his mouth with a long, drawn-out smack. “Remy, you come on out soon as you can. Oh, Dec?” She was pulling out her cell phone as she headed for the door. “My bride colors are rose and blue. You don’t mind if we have the house painted those colors, do you?”
His mouth dropped open as she shut the door behind her. “She was kidding, right?”
“Probably.” Knowing his girl, and the pack she ran with, Remy blew out a breath. “Cher, you don’t know what you just got yourself into. You made my girl happy, and I’m grateful, but I gotta tell you, you’re in for a couple weeks of pure insanity.”
“I couldn’t stand seeing her crying like that. Besides, it makes sense.” Rose and blue, he thought. How much trouble could they get into with nice, harmless colors like rose and blue? “Anyway,” he added, rubbing a hand over his sinking heart, “I’ve been through wedding plans before.”
“You haven’t met her mother before.”
Declan shifted his feet. “Is she scary?”
“Pretty scary.”
“Hold me.”
Good deeds put him in a good mood. When he walked into Et Trois, he was ready for a cold one, a self-congratulatory pat on the back. And Lena.
She was behind the bar, pulling a draft and chatting up one of her regulars. He watched her gaze wash over, then land on him. Stay on him as he walked up, flipped up the pass-through.
She had time to slide the foaming mug across the bar to waiting hands, start to turn before he lifted her off her feet and planted his lips on hers.
The scattering of applause and hoots had him grinning as he held her an inch off the floor. “Missed you.”
She rubbed her tingling lips together. “Your aim seemed good to me.” She patted his cheek, gave him that quick, wicked gleam. “Now down, boy. I’m working here.”
“You’re going to need someone to cover for you.”
“I’m busy, cher. Go on and sit down, I’ll get you a beer.”
He just hitched her up, giving her legs a little swing so he could get his arm under them. He elbowed the door to the bar kitchen. “Lena needs you to cover for her,” he called back, then nodded toward the pass-through. “Mind?” he asked the man sipping the draft.
“Sure thing.”
“Declan.” She didn’t struggle, bad for the image. “I’m running a business here.”
“And you do a damn good job of it. Thanks,” he added when the man flipped up the pass-through. “It ought to run fine without you for a half hour.” He nodded as his new friend hustled over and opened the door for him.
He carried her outside. They got a few glances as he walked down the sidewalk and turned into her courtyard.
“I don’t like being pushed around, cher.”
“I’m not pushing you, I’m carrying you. Where’s your spare key?” he asked as he climbed the stairs. When she said nothing, he shrugged. “Fine. We’re going to get arrested for doing what I plan on doing out here on your gallery, but I’m game.”
“Under the pot, second from the left.”
“Good.”
To her shock, he shifted her, slinging her over his shoulder as he crouched down to retrieve the key. She continually underestimated his strength and, she admitted, her reaction to it.
“You’ve dropped a couple of pounds,” he commented and unlocked her door. “Good.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said in her best frigid, southern-belle tone.
“I figure it’s because you’ve been pining for me.”
“You’re going to want to get a grip, cher.”
“Got one,” he said and reached up to squeeze her butt as he kicked the door closed.
“I can’t tell you how flattered I am that you’d take time out of your busy day to come into town for a quickie, but I—”
“Excellent idea. It wasn’t my first order of business, but why wait?” He hitched her more securely on his shoulder and headed for the bedroom.
“Declan, you’re starting to seriously irritate me now. You’d better just put me down and—”
She l
ost the rest—and the air in her lungs—when he flipped her onto the bed. He could see her eyes glittering dangerously behind her hair before she shoved it out of her face. And that, he thought, was perfect. He was in the mood for the fast and the physical, the sweaty and the sexy.
“What the hell’s gotten into you? You come marching into my place like you own it, cart me off like I’m spoils of war. If you think I’m here to scratch your itch whenever it suits you, you’re about to find out different.”
He merely grinned, yanked off a shoe and tossed it aside.
“Put that back on, or hobble out. Either way, I want you gone.”
He pulled off the other shoe, then his shirt. Her response to that was to scramble to her knees and spit out in Cajun so rapid and thick he caught only about every sixth word.
“Sorry,” he said in mild tones as he unbuttoned his jeans. “That was a little quick for me. Did you say I was a pig who should fry in hell, or that I should go to hell and eat fried pig?”
He was ready when she leaped, and laughing as she swiped at him. It was time for a fast tumble, fast and violent, and her clawing nails and bared teeth added the perfect punch.
She slapped, cursed, kicked. Then bucked like a wild mare when he crushed her under him on the bed and covered her snarling mouth with his in a hot, hungry kiss.
“Not what you expect from me, is it?” Breathless and randy, he tore at her shirt. “Given you too much of what you expect so far.”
“Stop it. Stop it now.” Her heart sprinted under his rough hand. No, it wasn’t what she expected from him, any more than her electrified response to his dominance was what she expected from herself.
“Look at me.” He clamped her hands on either side of her head. “Tell me you don’t want me, that you don’t want this. Say it and mean it, and I’m gone.”
“Let go of my hands.” Though her gaze remained steady, her voice shook. “You let go of my hands.”
He released one. “Say it.” His muscles quivered. “You want, or you don’t.”
She fisted a hand in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. “J’ai besoin.”
I need.
She used her teeth, gnawing restlessly at his lips. Used her legs, wrapping them around to chain him to her.
“Take me,” she demanded. “Fast. Fast and rough.”
His hand shot beneath the short, snug skirt, tore away the thin panties beneath. Sweat already slicked his skin and hers as she arched to him.
“Hold on,” he warned, and plunged into her.
She cried out as the explosive sensation ripped through her, cried out again as he drove deeper, harder. Filled, invaded, took until needs, frantic, outrageous needs swarmed through her. Her nails scored down his back, pinched into his hips.
De plus en plus. More and more, her mind screamed. “More,” she managed. “I want more.”
So did he. He shoved her knees back, opened her and hammered himself inside her.
It burned. His lungs, his heart, his loins. The ferocious heat, the unspeakable pleasure of going wild with her hazed his vision until the world was drenched with it.
White sun beating through the windows, the brassy blast of a trumpet from the street, the mad squeak of springs as slick skin slapped rhythmically against slick skin.
And her eyes, dark and glossy as onyx, locked on his.
I love you. Endlessly.
He didn’t know if he spoke, or if the words simply ran a desperate loop in his brain. But he saw her eyes change, watched emotion swirl into them, blind them.
He heard her sob for breath, felt her vise around him as she came. Helpless, half mad, he shattered. And poured into her.
Out of breath, out of his mind, he collapsed onto her. Beneath him she continued to quake, to quiver. And shudder, those aftershocks of eruption. Then she was still.
“Can’t move yet,” he mumbled. He felt hollowed out, light as a husk that could be happily blown apart by the slightest breeze.
“Don’t need to.”
Her lips were against the side of his throat, and their movement there brought him an exquisite tenderness. A rainbow after the storm.
“Would you believe I came in to talk to you?”
“No.”
“Did. Figured we’d get to this after. Change of plans. I owe you a shirt and some underwear.”
“I’ve got more.”
He’d recovered just enough to prop on his elbows and look down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and glowing. Curls of damp hair clung to her temples, spilled over the rumpled spread.
He wanted to lap her up like a cat with cream.
“Pissing you off got me hot,” he told her.
“Me too. Seems like. I wasn’t going to do this with you again.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No.” She laid a hand on his cheek, amazed by the wave of tenderness. “I’d made up my mind about it. Then you come into my place, all sexy and good-looking, scoop me up that way. You mess with my mind, cher. You just go and unmake it for me, time and again.”
“You’re everything I want.”
“And nothing that’s good for you. Go on.” She gave his shoulder a little push. “Get off me. Two of us are a sweaty mess.”
“We’ll take a shower, then we’ll talk. Talk,” he repeated when she raised a brow. “Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers.
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Angelina.”
“All right.” She waved him away. It was, she knew, no use arguing with him. God knew why she found that mule-headed streak of his so appealing. “Go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll call down and make sure everything’s covered for the next little while.”
She stepped into the shower just as he got out. He imagined she’d timed it that way, to avoid the intimacy. Giving her room, he went to the kitchen, found the expected pitcher of tea, and poured two glasses.
When she came in, wearing that same sexy skirt and a fresh shirt, he offered her a glass.
She took it into the living room.
In the last few days, she’d resigned herself to what needed to be. Throughout, part of her had indeed pined for him. And every time she’d caught herself glancing toward the bar door, looking for him, or waking up in the night reaching for him, she’d cursed herself for being a weak fool.
Then she’d glanced at the door, and there he was. Her own soaring pleasure, depthless relief, had annoyed her even before he’d nipped at her pride by plucking her out of her own bar.
“Declan,” she began. “I wasn’t fair to you the other day. I wasn’t in the mood to be fair.”
“If you’re going to apologize for it, save it. I wanted to make you mad. I’d rather see you angry than sad. She makes you both.”
“I suppose she does. Mostly I hate knowing she’s out there with Grandmama, knowing she’ll hurt her again. I can’t stop it, I can’t fix it. That troubles me. But you shouldn’t have been brought into it.”
“You didn’t bring me into it. It happened.” He angled his head. “Correct me if I’m wrong. You’ve got the impression that since I come from where and who I come from, I’m not equipped to handle the darker, the more difficult, the stickier aspects of life. Your life, in particular.”
“Cher, I’m not saying you’re not tough. But this particular aspect of life, my life, is out of your scope. You wouldn’t understand someone like her.”
“Since I’ve been so sheltered.” He nodded. “She came to see me today.”
The healthy flush sex and heat had put in Lena’s cheeks drained. “What do you mean?”
“Lilibeth paid me a call around noon. I debated whether to tell you about it or not, and decided that I’m not going to keep secrets from you, or tell lies. Not even to spare your feelings. She came by, invited herself in for a cold one. Then she tried to seduce me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her lips felt stiff and ice cold as she formed the words. Her throat burned like fire. “It won’t happen again; I’ll see to
it.”
“Shut up. Do I look like I need your protection? And save your outrage until I’m done,” he told her. “When she reached for my zipper, I told her not to embarrass herself. Her next tack was to fling herself down on the kitchen table and cry.”
He eased down on the arm of Lena’s sofa. The tone of conversation, he thought in some corner of his brain, didn’t lend itself to lounging among all those soft, colorful pillows. “She didn’t manage to work up many tears along with the noise, but I give her marks for effort. The story was how bad, mean people were after her. They’d hurt her, you, Miss Odette if she didn’t give them five thousand dollars. Where could she turn, what could she do?”
Color rushed back into Lena’s face, rode high on her cheekbones. “You gave her money? How could you believe—”
“First a sheltered wimp, now a moron.” He gave an exaggerated sigh and sipped his tea. “You’re really pumping up the ego here, baby. I didn’t give her a dime, and let her know, clearly, I wasn’t going to be hosed. That irritated her into threatening to go to my family. Seems she’s asked around about me and got the picture. She figured they’d be shocked and shamed by the idea of their fair-haired boy falling under your spell. For good measure, she’d tell them I’d fucked her, too.”
“She could do it.” It was more than the cold now. The sickness roiled in her belly. “Declan, she’s perfectly capable of—”
“Didn’t I tell you to wait until I was finished?” His voice didn’t whip, didn’t sting. It was simply implacable. “The cost doubled to ten thousand for this spot of blackmail. I don’t think she was pleased with my response. I kicked her out. That’s about it, so you can be outraged now if you want. Don’t cry.” He spoke roughly when her eyes filled. “She’s not worth one tear from you.”
“I’m mortified. Can’t you understand?”
“Yes. Though we’re both smart enough to know this had nothing to do with you, I understand. And I’m sorry for it, sorry to add to it.”
“It’s not you. It’s never been you.” She wiped a tear from her lashes before it could fall. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get through your head from the start.”
“It’s not you, either, Lena. It’s never been you. I looked at her. I looked close and hard, and there’s nothing there that’s part of you. Family’s the luck of the draw, Lena. What you make of yourself, because of or despite it, that’s where the spine and heart come in.”