“But since we are in this restaurant, I’m not going to tell you what you’re full of and where you can go.”
“What are you afraid of ?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. “And why are you pretending that we have some deep connection when all we’ve shared are a few orgasms? Just because you rode to Mississippi with me doesn’t mean that we’re going to be a couple or you’re going to have some huge role in my life. You live in Atlanta.”
“I know where I live,” he said.
“Good. Remember that. When this week is over, you’re going back to Atlanta and I’ll be a distant memory.”
I’m never going to forget you, Cleveland thought as he watched Freddie go through the motions of convincing herself that they meant nothing to each other. Cleveland knew they had a connection and he felt that she knew it too. Passion like what they shared couldn’t be faked. “If you say so,” he finally said.
The waitress brought their entrees out and the duo ate in an awkward silence. After they finished eating, Cleveland stood up and smiled. “Are you ready to get back to your work now?” he asked.
“Yes, and thank you for taking this trip with me today,” Freddie said as she stood up and headed for the door. Cleveland took one more look at the bleak neighborhood around the restaurant. Something about New Orleans was calling him. Or maybe that something was just Freddie.
I’m truly losing my mind, he thought as they got into the car. My home is in Atlanta and she doesn’t want me here. So when this week is over, I’m going home and back to my life.
Cleveland sat in the car, silently mulling over what he should say to Freddie, if anything.
She glanced over at him and smiled tersely. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, guess I’m tired too,” Cleveland said.
“Ruining your vacation, huh?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he didn’t reply. Cleveland was tired of this dance with her. Tired of Freddie running hot and cold and the mystery surrounding her.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said.
“Then what’s the problem? Because you did offer to . . .”
“I’m tired of watching you fight,” he said.
“Fight what? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you fighting what you really want.”
“And just what do you think I want?” Freddie asked.
“ Me.”
“You? Are you kidding me? I don’t want . . . we’re not going there again.”
Cleveland tugged at his locs and smiled. “Going where? Back to your bed? We both know that’s the one place where you don’t have a problem saying what you want. Then when you’ve reached your release you go back to denial.”
“What happened between us was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”
“Denial.”
“I’m not denying anything. You live in Atlanta, your life is there and . . .”
“But the heat is here, burning between you and me like an inferno,” Cleveland said in a low voice, causing a throbbing between Freddie’s legs.
“Whatever,” she snapped, hating the way her body responded to him. “It’s Louisiana, there’s always heat here.”
Cleveland ran his index finger across Freddie’s thigh. She shivered inadvertently then swatted his hand away. “You’re disgusting,” she said in a quiet tone.
“If you say so. But I’ll make a deal with you,” Cleveland said. “If you will admit that you want me, then I’ll give you everything you desire.”
“All I want from you is to be left alone,” Freddie said as she pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. “Get out of my car.”
“So, I’ll see you later?” Cleveland joked as he got out of the car.
When Freddie walked into her office, she fell into her chair and closed her eyes tightly. She’d hoped that finding her father would answer her questions, but it left her with more unknowns. Picking up the phone, she called her mother in Houston.
“Hello?” said Loraine.
“Mom, how are you?” she said flatly.
“Where have you been, Winfred? It’s Mardi Gras and your staff said you haven’t been in all day. Is that how you’re running my hotel?”
“Your hotel? When’s the last time you did a day’s work at your hotel? If you must know, I spent the day looking for my father and I found him.”
After a moment of total silence, Loraine said, “Are you determined to ruin your life? You are going to ruin everything that I spent my life building. Do you think there’s a million-dollar bounty on Jacques’ head because he’s a nice guy?”
“Why don’t you just tell me the truth? If you would’ve answered my questions a long time ago, I wouldn’t be running around the Gulf Coast chasing a convict,” Freddie snapped.
Loraine released a heavy sigh. “There are some things that you’re better off not knowing.”
“Damn it, Mother, I’m twenty-seven years old, stop treating me like I’m a damned baby.”
“I have to go.”
“You’re not doing this to me, not this time,” Freddie said, feeling like the twelve-year-old who’d been asking when’s Daddy coming home.
“Doing what? Protecting you from that man as I’ve done all of your life? The Babineaux name isn’t held in high regard around here, in case you haven’t noticed. I shielded you from that, made people forget that he was your father and he was a part of this hotel that you seem to be running into the ground. Stop worrying about that man when he doesn’t give a damn about anything but himself.”
“Then I guess that’s something the two of you have in common,” Freddie snapped. “You don’t give a damn about me either.”
“How can you say that?” Loraine demanded. “You don’t know what it was like. When your father . . . you know what, I’m not explaining anything to you and if you think that finding your father is some sort of prize, you will soon see that you are wrong.” Loraine slammed the phone down.
Freddie placed her phone in the cradle and closed her eyes tightly. What was her mother hiding? Was her father going to be any more forthcoming with answers and—The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted her thoughts. “What is it?” she snapped when she picked up the phone.
“Is that how you speak to your guests?” Cleveland asked.
“What do you want? I’m busy.”
“I was concerned about you,” he said. “Since you have so much work to do, I was wondering if you’re going to have time for dinner.”
“No, I’m going to be working through the night and I thought we agreed to stay away from each other?”
“I’m not good at following directions, and I’m not going to spend the rest of my vacation ignoring you.”
“Please, I don’t need this,” she said. “I have to go.”
“I’ll see you at eight with a couple of Po-Boys.”
Before Freddie could protest, Cleveland hung up the phone. She wasn’t worried about Cleveland because she was going back to Mississippi to talk to her father. Still, it bothered her that the sound of his voice heated her blood. Bothered her that the entire time she was alone with him, all she thought about were the things they did in her bed. He made her pleasure his priority and when he touched her, it was electric. Freddie crossed her legs as her sexual core throbbed at the thought of Cleveland burying his face between her thighs, lashing her heated button with his tongue. Opening her eyes, she nearly expected him to be there.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was time to go. Freddie prayed that she could sneak out of the hotel without running into Cleveland, because she had an idea where their meeting would lead. Though she’d be satisfied in one respect, having sex with Cleveland wouldn’t give her the answers that she needed about her father.
Chapter 12
Lying in his bed, Cleveland looked up at the ceiling, thinking of Freddie. Why had he let this woman get under his skin? If Freddie was a woman in Atlanta would she have gotten to him this way? W
hat if Louis was right? Maybe the only reason he wanted Freddie so badly was because she was unattainable. Perhaps that was true when they first met, but these few days with her had shown him a different side of her, a different type of woman. A woman that he would never be able to get out of his mind.
Even if he wanted to, Cleveland couldn’t erase the memory of Freddie’s taste from his psyche. She was like an addictive drug that he couldn’t get enough of and right now he wanted more.
But Freddie was fighting him and what they were feeling. He could tell that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Still, at every turn, Freddie fought it.
Sitting up, Cleveland swung his legs over the side of the bed. In three days, he’d be back in Atlanta and where would that leave them? Freddie made it clear that she thought he was going to forget about her, which made him wonder if that’s what she planned to do.
Rising from the bed, Cleveland decided that he was going to leave her with a memory that she wouldn’t soon forget. He headed downstairs and prayed that the talkative desk clerk he’d met earlier was on duty.
Questions swirled in Freddie’s head like hurricane winds as she drove to Mississippi. What was her father going to reveal to her? Was he even going to show up?
“This is madness,” she muttered as she approached her exit. The entire trip, Freddie kept looking behind her to make sure no one had followed her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was going to try and collect the million-dollar bounty that was on Jacques’ head. The sting of Marcus’s betrayal still weighed heavily on her. What if Cleveland had found out . . . Cleveland.
He wouldn’t do that to her. Would he? What did she know about him other than the fact that he made her scream out in pleasure every time he touched her, kissed her and pressed his body against hers. Freddie yearned for him, more than she wanted to admit. But what kind of future could they have? He lived in Atlanta and her home was and always would be in New Orleans. Long distance relationships didn’t work. Waiting hours and hours to see each other for a couple of days wouldn’t allow them to build something real. And Freddie was tried of rebuilding and waiting for something to tear it down.
It was laughable for her to think that what she and Cleveland had shared was anything more than a fling. The smart thing for her to do would be to ignore him, suppress what she was feeling and never fall into bed with him again. She had real issues, real problems that were going to get worse if Cleveland stuck his nose in it.
“I can’t even think about him, and I need to stop talking to myself,” she said as she took her exit for Pass Christian. Glancing at the digital clock on the radio console, Freddie noticed that she was late. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have a problem finding the boarding house where her father was staying. She didn’t because it was one of the few places in town that was still standing. As Freddie approached the house, she saw two men sitting on the wide porch, smoking cigars and sipping from Mason jars. She pulled her car behind a beat up pick-up truck. Cautiously, she stepped out of the car and headed over to the porch. The chattering men stopped talking as soon as she came into their line of vision. The three of them looked each other up and down. Neither of the men was Jacques.
“Hi,” Freddie said. “I’m looking for a gentleman I met earlier today.”
The fatter of the two men leered at Freddie, drinking in the way she filled out her jeans and cotton T-shirt. “If he ain’t here, I’ll be more than happy to be of service to you.”
Glaring at him, Freddie bit back a sarcastic comment. “He was bald and was wearing overalls, and . . .”
“You talking ’bout Earl, eh?” the other man said as he expelled a plume of smoke. “He’s inside; said he was expecting a visitor.”
Freddie approached the steps. “Is it all right if I go in?” The fat man bounded down the steps. “Let me be your escort,” he said then extended his arm to her.
“I don’t need you to escort me anywhere,” Freddie said as she pushed past the man. She looked up at the door and saw her father standing there with a smile on his face.
“Baby girl,” he said. “You’re late.”
Freddie’s right eyebrow shot up. “I’ve waited a lot longer for you,” she snapped.
Jacques looked over his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk,” he said as he stepped out on the porch. When she and Jacques headed down the steps, she heard the fat man mumble, “Lucky bastard.”
Jacques took Freddie’s hand in his. “I have a lot to atone for, don’t I?”
She snatched her hand from his grip once they were out of sight from the other men. “Why the hell did you leave us? What are you running from?”
“No small talk with you, huh?” Jacques laughed. “You look just like her, y’know. Got her attitude too.”
“Are you referring to my mother?”
Jacques nodded. “How is feisty old Loraine doing these days? I bet she’s still cursing my name.”
“Why wouldn’t she? You left us damn near penniless with that hotel that was mortgaged to the hilt. Do you think she should have warm fuzzy feelings for you?” Freddie stopped walking and faced her father. Despite his adeptness at disguising himself, she still noticed their similarities. They had the same dark eyes and thin noses, revealing the Creole blood that flowed in their veins. His sunburnt skin told her that he spent many hours in the sun without the use of sunblock.
“All right, I know it seems that I left because I wanted to, but things happened and I did what I had to do to protect my family. That’s a fact that your mother seems to forget.”
Freddie shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“Tell me this, what has your mother told you about us?” Jacques asked. He placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“She told me that I’d be better off if I forgot about you and pretended that I didn’t have a father.”
Shaking his head, Jacques laughed hollowly. “Guess your last name ain’t Babineaux, huh?”
“Hasn’t been for as long as I can remember.”
“I’m a murderer, according to the law. But I didn’t do it. Someone else did and set me up. When I broke out of prison, I set out to clear my name. Went directly to your mother—you must have been ten years old. Your mother knew the truth, but by the time I’d met up with her after spending five years in prison, she tried to pretend that she forgot what happened. Loraine called the cops on me. I had to get out of there, had to go underground.” He shook his head as if he was reliving an unpleasant memory. “Kept me away from you and lied about the murder.”
Freddie shook her head. “She wouldn’t do that. You’re a liar.”
Jacques dropped his hand from her shoulder. “Figured you’d react like this.”
“So it is true. You are the killer that I’ve always heard you were. But why? All I want is to know the truth. Who was this person that you killed and why did you do it?” Freddie’s voice wavered as she spoke.
“The Reverend Nolan Watson,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
A Pass Christian police cruiser passed them. Jacques looked over his shoulder as the officer slowed his car and turned around. “There’s a curfew here,” Jacques said. “We’d better head back and you need to go back to New Orleans.”
Freddie shook her head. “You can’t drop this on me and expect me to just leave. Who the hell is Nolan Watson? Why did you . . .”
The police officer pulled up to the duo. “You folks aware of the time?” the officer asked from his car.
“Sorry ’bout that, sir,” Jacques said in a tone that sounded like a docile slave. “We’re heading back to the house.”
The officer nodded, “Make sure you do that.”
Jacques and Freddie turned toward the boarding house. “You have to go. These cops are enforcing that curfew like fascists. And I’m going to be leaving here soon, too. I can’t stay in one place for too long. Besides, your new husband might be like the last one and call the cops.”
“First of all, Cl
eveland isn’t my husband. And he doesn’t know anything about you,” Freddie snapped.
“Oh no? Then he must not be from New Orleans.” Folding her arms across her chest, Freddie said, “He’s not.”
Jacques enveloped Freddie in his arms. “Go home. I’ll find you soon, all right?”
She pushed away from him. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t want to see you again so that you can tell me more lies. Maybe my mother is right about you. It’s best that I pretend you don’t exist.”
Cleveland smiled at Celeste. Man, could she talk and for the last three hours, she’d been talking about everything New Orleans when all he wanted to know about was Freddie. He wanted to know if she had a man, how long she’d been living in the hotel and what, if anything, impressed her. Celeste hadn’t given him a clue about what kind of woman Freddie was or the type of things that she liked. Just as Cleveland was about to tell Celeste good night, a frazzled looking Freddie burst through the entrance. Her eyes were red and puffy. Despite the evil look she shot him, Cleveland crossed over to her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Not now,” she snapped. “Celeste, what are you still doing here?”
“Avery called in sick,” Celeste said nervously. “I tried to reach you, but . . .”
“Why don’t you take off and I’ll take over down here,” Freddie said in a calmer voice.
Celeste turned to Cleveland and smiled. “Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” she said before breezing out of the hotel.
Freddie shook her head as she walked behind the front desk. Cleveland watched her intently, wondering what had caused her to cry and what he could do to make everything right?
What am I thinking? She doesn’t need me to protect her, but I can’t help but want to do just that, he thought.
“What?” Freddie asked, noticing Cleveland’s heated gaze.
“Since you stood me up for dinner, you know you owe me one,” he said as a slow smile spread across his face.
More Than He Can Handle Page 10