On the Edge

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “What are you talking about?” Celina said. She turned to Jack, an appeal in her eyes. “Why would he say things like that about Errol?”

  “Could be I smell Charmain Bienville,” Jack said, unnerved by the pulsing throb behind his temples. “And big bucks for offerin’ a load of bull to an unscrupulous reporter. And maybe, just maybe, I also smell that fear I already mentioned. Are you afraid of someone, Garth? Come on, you can tell me. With my questionable background I probably have the right connections to call off whatever nasty dogs are on your tail.”

  The man’s face turned a dull red before he said, “You’re goin’ to pay for that suggestion, Charbonnet,” and went to throw open the door. “Out.”

  Chapter 16

  The courtyard was shady, but sunlight polished the highest tips of palm fronds that waved, silk-smooth, against a blue sky so clear it seared the eyes.

  “This property is yours now,” Celina said. She’d been too involved with Errol’s murder to concentrate on some obvious changes that must occur.

  In the filtered brilliance Jack Charbonnet’s eyes were an intense green-gold. He stood still, but managed to give the impression that nothing about him was still at all; restless energy tightly controlled.

  “I’m living here. My brother’s staying with me. I can’t imagine why I didn’t ask if that was all right with you before now. I’m behaving as if I have a right to be here. I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. I already told you so.”

  Not for the first time, she found that looking back into his eyes was an uncomfortable experience, yet she couldn’t look away. “You did say I could stay. I remember that now. But you didn’t necessarily mean indefinitely. Or that I could have guests.”

  “I meant you can stay as long as you want to. And I’m glad Cyrus is here with you. I also meant that…Celina, you were right to call me an ass last night.”

  “We should forget last night,” she told him.

  Water sparkled over the three tiers of a stone fountain in the center of the courtyard. Celina let herself focus on the soft, calming sound. Contradiction surrounded her. This place she’d come to love harbored the echoes of violence amid its charm, and yet she could not find it ugly. With Jack beside her, Jack, who could almost make her believe he cared about her, there was magic here.

  Their eyes met.

  He didn’t care about her and she must not pretend otherwise. He had an agenda. A true friend who mourned Errol’s loss deeply, he was dedicated to preserving that friend’s reputation. In truth she was nothing more than a potential hindrance to him.

  “We’ve got to talk seriously.” His low, slow voice with its faint Cajun emphasis could lull even the most wary. “The people who should be outraged by Errol’s murder are lining up to bad-mouth him. I don’t think he’s got anyone but you and me and Dwayne to fight the good fight for him, but I’m game.”

  “So am I.” Watching Jack Charbonnet’s mouth was a pleasure. Feeling his mouth had been a pleasure. She was not herself. They said pregnant women were slaves to their emotions. This must fall into that area of the condition, “Dwayne would walk a mile on hot coals for Errol. We can do it. We can see justice done.”

  “Not at the expense of your health, and not if it’s going to jeopardize the baby.”

  Celina felt her lips part but didn’t care. He was an enigma. Berating her one minute, heaping apparent concern on her the next. Her throat ached. She had to be on guard against overreacting to kindness—especially from this man. He was capable of using her fragile sentiments against her.

  “No wonder they made you Miss Louisiana,” he said, smiling slightly. “I’m no poet, but if I were, I’d say something about sun and shadows on your face. And that glow they talk about in a pregnant woman’s eyes. I’d better not touch you, but I surely want to.”

  When she caught her breath, she said, “I don’t understand you at all. Most of the time I’d swear you hate me, then you say something like that.”

  “I don’t hate you. I almost wish I could, but I haven’t been able to manage it. Don’t you like it when a man tells you you’re irresistible?”

  “I don’t like it when I’m not sure a man isn’t playing with me.”

  “Oh, I’m not playin’, chère. But I’d like to play with you—the best kind of play. All alone, just the two of us, and all the time in the world. I’d like to stretch you out on a cool bed, or anywhere else for that matter, and see if I could find every delicate, touchy, responsive spot on your body.”

  She couldn’t speak, could scarcely breathe. Her skin burned, and her flesh. Places ached that had never ached in quite that way.

  He raised a hand and let it hover over her shoulder, as if considering whether or not to rest it there. Slowly he did so, and his touch was hot through her linen jacket. With his other hand he stroked her neck with his fingertips, then ran them so lightly downward, over her left breast, that she might have thought she’d imagined the outlandish intimacy if her nipple hadn’t hardened and tingled.

  “Sorry,” he said. “No, I’m not. That wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. I want to undo those buttons. What are you wearing underneath?”

  “You can’t talk like that.”

  “Surely I can. Somethin’s pulling us together, and it’s stronger than I am. I’m known as a reticent man, but not with you, ma’am, oh, no, not with you. Come on. What’s underneath the jacket? One of those lacy bras that don’t quite cover your nipples? You’re demure on the outside, did you know that. In a way. Does that cover up the other Celina Payne? A red bra?” He glanced down. “I think you’re feelin’ somethin’ too, darlin’. In fact, I can see you are. Red?”

  “White,” she said, never intending to answer him at all. “I need to get into the house and see what’s been going on since t left”

  “I can see you in my mind, Celina. Without the red suit. You’ve got beautiful legs. Is all the hair on your body the same color?”

  She absolutely could not catch her breath. “A nice woman would slap you and walk away.”

  “Should I prepare to be slapped?”

  “I didn’t say I was nice.”

  “You excite me.”

  “You shouldn’t excite me. It isn’t right.”

  “Why? We’re both adults.”

  “I’m pregnant. I’m not supposed to have these feelings.”

  “That’s garbage, ma’am. What old books have you been reading? Pregnant women don’t stop feeling sexy. And men don’t stop finding them sexy—this man certainly finds you sexy. I want to be with you. Ain’t that the darnedest thing? We both know we’re dancin’ around each other, watchin’ and sizin’ up. You don’t trust me, and I can’t trust you. But I would like to. And I’d like you to trust me. Maybe those old fates will shine, huh?”

  “Why are we having this conversation?”

  Outside the courtyard, in the street, a musician broke into “Such a Night” on a horn, and Jack whispered, “If I don’t do it, somebody else will,” and he might have sung the words to the music. Celina felt as if she were made entirely of light, and the open ends of nerves.

  “Such a night.” Jack sang this time, and breathed in, narrowing his nostrils. “Or should that be such a day?” With his fingers surrounding her neck, and his thumbs on the point of her chin, he swayed until she swayed with him. She rested her hands on his chest and he said, “You make me tremble, lady. Keep on makin’ me tremble.”

  “Someone’s going to come, Jack. What will they think?”

  “If it’s a man, he’ll wish he was me. Especially if he takes a look at my pants.

  “Oh!” She made to move away, but he laughed and kept right on holding her neck and moving with her. “It’s broad daylight, Jack Charbonnet, and you are saying things a man ought to be jailed for saying.”

  “Since when?” He tipped his face up to the sky and laughed louder. “Free expression ain’t against the law, my lovely. I would mention to you that my condition isn’t real comfortable, but
I’m enjoyin’ it. I’ll enjoy it more under other circumstances.”

  “This is what’s called talking dirty isn’t it?”

  Evidently her every word was cause for fresh mirth. “Are you tryin’ to tell me no man ever talked to you this way before?”

  Celina assumed her haughtiest expression. “The men of my acquaintance have been gentlemen.” With one very notable exception.

  “Then you have missed a great deal and I intend to make up for that. Do you like music when you make love? Did you ever come to the rhythm of a horn like that one? Did anyone ever stretch you out on a table and lick you from your toes to your nose without missing any point in between? Especially that one special spot between? It would feel good if I did that for you. Then I’d concentrate on a couple of other spots. I’d lick them until you begged me to get inside you. I’ll bet we could go upstairs right now and find a table in the sun where we could do just that. Oh, chère, I’m not sure I could wait very long if I had you naked in the sun, on a table, like a feast. I would eat you up.”

  He spoke in quiet, even, conversational tones, offered her sex with his voice, undressed her with his eyes, stroked her with fingers that hypnotized.

  “This isn’t you,” she said, regaining a fragment of reason. “You’re teasing me. Trying to embarrass me. Why?”

  “I am not tryin’ to embarrass you, Celina.” His features fell into such somber, intensely watchful lines, one would have sworn he didn’t know how to smile. “You and I just went through a battle together at that hospital—or at least a skirmish. After a thing like that, people need to celebrate what’s good. Makin’ love is good.”

  “I’m going upstairs.”

  “I’m comin’ with you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time. I’m not a womanizer, Celina. I’m very selective, and I select you. D’you think you could enjoy me?”

  Overcome, she closed her eyes and he reeled her in until her face pressed his chest.

  “Well,” he prompted. “Could you enjoy gettin’ naked with me and spendin’ a few hours findin’ out just how many things we could teach each other about makin’ love?”

  She rolled her head from side to side.

  “No? Well, how about if I teach you things this time and you can teach me next time?”

  “I think you’re mad, but you have made a pregnant lady feel desirable. Thank you for that.”

  “How about you make me feel desirable?”

  “You are desirable.” She made a fist on either side of her face and grimaced into his shirt, and felt the rumble of laughter in his chest.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I think I’d better get you upstairs before I really do somethin’ against the law down here.”

  She moved away, but he promptly caught her hand and spun her into a swing. Aware of the outrageousness of it all, she danced with him, twirled on the uneven stones beneath her feet, giggled when he tugged her close, gasped when he slid a hand beneath her jacket and around her waist. The tips of his fingers were slightly roughened and he played them up and down her spine until she fell against him and held on.

  “Everywhere in every way,” he murmured into her ear. He ran the end of his tongue into each fold, then nipped the lobe. She gasped. He said, “Upstairs, I think. We’ve got things to do.”

  Celina placed a hand flat on his chest and removed his hand from the skin of her back. “You’re not yourself. You’ve probably got a fever. Go home and get some rest. I’ll bet if you tell Amelia you don’t feel good, she’ll tell you the next installment of Phillymeana and the Dragon Prince.”

  “Philomena.”

  “Yes. Well, she’ll tell you. Ask her how things are going with Santa’s wicked bear. Isn’t there a wicked bear?”

  “A mischievous polar bear.”

  She looked up at him. “Fine. And make sure you check for rude ghosts under your bed.”

  “I do believe you’re laughing at me,” he said, grabbing her hand when she would have made a run for the outside staircase. He fell in beside her. “I’m coming up to check for pushy ghosts under your bed.”

  “I think I’d better check for pushy men in my bed. Go home, Jack. We’ll talk everything through later.”

  “Uh, uh, uh, we’re goin’ to talk now—among other things.”

  “You can’t force...” She turned instantly cold and stopped running.

  Jack immediately swung her to face him. “Look at me. Now.”

  She did so before she had the wit to do otherwise.

  “Do you want to talk to me about that? About force? Did someone force you, Celina?”

  “I—no.” She would not allow anyone to know her secret. To share that horror would be to court exactly what she must avoid—opening a trail that could lead to Wilson Lamar. “The heat’s gotten to you, Jack. Come on up and I’ll find us some iced tea.”

  “Iced tea?” The question was loaded with something other than interest in tea.

  “Perfect for moments like this.”

  “Moments when a lady wants to cool a man’s ardor. May I kiss you?”

  “No.”

  “We kiss so well.”

  “You’re right, but the answer is still no.”

  “Can I tell you what I’ve been dreaming about?”

  She slanted him a sideways glance. “I’m not sure you wouldn’t be breaking a law if you said something like that out here in the fresh air.”

  “I’ll say it anyway. I’ve been dreaming about kissing you again, and kissing your breasts, and your pretty belly, and your clitoris. I want to kiss you there until you beg me not to stop.”

  Celina looked around. And she flinched when a burst of raw heat shot from her breasts to bury itself between her legs. He was deliberately taking her apart. She lowered her voice to a hiss and said, “Don’t, Jack. You know anything between us would be a mistake. What has gotten into you?”

  “You don’t like the idea?”

  “Iced tea. And you’re not to talk like that anymore.”

  “When you were ready, I’d let you take over the licking. That mouth of yours looks as if I’d like it on—”

  “Don’t. That’s not a warning or a request, it’s an order. Either drink iced tea and talk like a civilized man, or go away.”

  His chest rose with the great breath he took. A deep frown drew his dark brows together, and with his inevitable dark beard shadow he resembled an angry pirate. “Iced tea,” he said finally, and took her elbow in an excellent imitation of a gentleman.

  They reached the foot of the staircase and looked up. And Celina sucked in a sharp breath.

  Chapter 17

  Shaving a thin strip of peel from an apple with a pocket knife, Cyrus sat on the top step. He waved a greeting with the hand that held the knife. “This is an art. Take the whole peel off in one strip. Remember Granddaddy Payne doin’ that, Celina?”

  She saw amusement in her brother’s eyes, and some of the old deviltry that had so often put him on the wrong side of their parents when he’d been a boy.

  Ignoring his question, she said, “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Long enough.”

  Jack chuckled.

  “Spying, Cyrus. You were spying on me.”

  “No such thing, little sister. I was sittin’ here—just as large as life, and that’s pretty large—when you walked into that courtyard. Is it my fault if you were too preoccupied to look my way?”

  “You should have gone inside.”

  “Why?” His eyes, with their oddly hypnotic mixture of blue and green, crinkled at the corners. Celina was certain the ladies Cyrus ministered to in his little parish west of New Orleans spent more than the occasional moment thinking about those eyes. Cyrus continued. “I’ve seen people dance before. You look very good together.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said in perfect command of himself. “Your peel broke.”

  “Oh—fossilized fishhooks, s
o it did.”

  Celina snorted and Jack tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a grin. “Cyrus, fossilized fishhooks?” Celina said.

  He had the grace to look abashed. “An altar boy said that when he dropped a salver. I thought it was mighty inventive.”

  “Don’t use it,” Celina suggested. “Why are you sitting out here anyway?”

  “It’s nice. And our esteemed parents are within. They peeled my skin in many pieces, and I think they’re preparing to peel yours, sister dear.”

  “I can’t face them now,” Celina murmured. She shouldn’t have wasted time indulging her fantasies with Jack. He’d think she was the kind of woman who liked sexual advances—which was probably exactly what he wanted to believe. The step to believing she had enticed Errol would be a simple one for him to take. “Jack, we do need a plan. Is it okay if I tell Cyrus what happened with Garth at St. Peter’s?”

  “Surely.”

  “Thank you. I need to go and deal with my parents first. I don’t seem to do anything that pleases them these days. Would it be all right if I called you later? We could talk on the phone.”

  “I’d rather talk in person. I’ll come on in and get on with some paperwork while you visit. Then we’ll get together.”

  She didn’t miss the emphasis he placed on the last sentence, but she wasn’t about to argue in front of Cyrus. “Okay. If you’re sure that’s what you want. Amelia isn’t waiting for you?”

  “Amelia’s my daughter,” Jack told Cyrus. “She’s five and keeps me in line. Tilly’s taking her on the bus to visit her grandmother in Baton Rouge for the weekend, so I’m a bachelor till Sunday night.”

  Cyrus regarded Jack silently.

  “I lost my wife,” Jack said. “She died shortly after Amelia Elise was born. Elise was my wife’s name. Tilly looks after us.”

  “God rest your wife’s soul,” Cyrus said. “And may He bless you. It isn’t easy to be a parent alone.” He looked from Jack to Celina, stood up, and went to the door. He held it open until the two of them went inside the house.