by Lena Black
I remember that stupid article. I didn’t want to do it. But everyone insisted it was necessary to announce our wedding publicly. Mrs. LeBlanc thought it showed a higher stature. She’s obsessed with how people see her family. But most importantly, that her family is seen.
My father and mother felt it was the right move politically. Voters love weddings.
Big Daddy LeBlanc, Shaw’s father, couldn’t care less either way. He was too busy pinching my ass and telling me how much he was worth.
And Shaw. Shaw does as Shaw’s told. He enjoys having his parents’ money. He’ll do whatever he has to do to keep having it.
Of course, Greier would see the ridiculous announcement. It was probably in newspapers across the country. Foolishly, I’d forgotten about it until now.
Why did he keep the information to himself? He never even told Izzie. From what I’ve seen, there are no secrets between them. But her reaction was definitely one of pure, uncut surprise.
“Why act as if you didn’t know?”
His shoulders sink, and his body sags. There’s a very raw, very real emotion in his eyes. I see it from the instrument panel lights bathing his face.
“If you’d known your cover was blown, you would’ve run. And I didn’t—I don’t want to lose you.”
My heart dances. My pulse races. My thoughts erase. Except one.
He wants me.
My hand rises to the muscular bicep of his extended arm and rests over the mound.
“I don’t want you to lose me.”
We tear through the dark narrow backroads of the bayou. My eyes keep drifting to the rearview mirror, checking for any flicker of light behind us. There’s only unending darkness.
Once we’ve disappeared into the dark quiet of Cajun country, I’m able to relax a little. The land of plantations, cypress trees, and sugar cane, it’s the perfect place to get lost and stay lost. Rae’ll be safe here. I didn’t intend on scaring her when I rushed her out of the city. But I had to get her away before Shaw could wrangle a lackey and get the upper hand. Now, hopefully, this keeps us a few steps ahead.
About an hour later, we turn into the allée of the most revered plantation in the parish, a preserved reminder of another time. Good and bad. I risk a side-glance at Reagan, her eyes glued to the old antebellum mansion, a glowing beacon in the dark of the countryside.
“Does someone actually live here?” she asks, as the main house grows bigger outside the front windshield.
“Yes, but he prefers his apartment in the city.”
Her head turns to me slowly.
“It’s yours?” She points toward her temporary hideaway, as if she has to clarify we’re talking about the same thing.
“Mmhmm. It’s been in my family since it was built. It was passed on to me when my mother died.”
I see the usual pity in her eyes. It’s a filthy feeling. Don’t need it. Don’t want it. Especially not from her. It stings more than from anyone else.
Before she can say anything about it, I inform her, “It was a long time ago, Rae,” with an assuring look on my face.
I bring the car to a stop. Every window is lit with an inviting glow, flooding out to the wraparound terraces. A colonnade of giant columns stand watch around the Greek Revival manor, like motionless guards keeping watch. Southern live oaks erupt from the ground, their old limbs reaching out in every direction, draped in Spanish moss. This plantation was once a successful sugar cane supplier, but after the war, bits and pieces were sold until all that remained was the main house and ten acres of land. Mostly swamp.
When I realize I’ve been staring at the house, daydreaming, I put the car in park, turn it off, and then exit, walking around to the passenger side. Opening the door, I take Rae’s hand in mine and escort her inside. The instant her heels click in the foyer behind me, she freezes and stiffens.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, turning back to check on her, our hands locked together.
“I—I’ve been here before,” she replies in a dazed voice, her hand going limp and falling away from mine. She carefully eyes the grand foyer from side to side, top to bottom, examining every inch of her surroundings, learning it by heart. There’s a timidity in her gaze, in her posture. Her arms cross over her torso, her hands running up and down her delicate biceps as if she’s experiencing a chill.
“Perhaps it’s déjà vu,” I assure her.
Even if that’s the case, why does she seem frightened? Why does her face have that gut-rotting look on it?
“Perhaps,” she agrees, turning her focus back onto me. She forces the slightest grin, but it does nothing to settle the nerves in my stomach.
Hoping to shake the awkwardness between us, I decide to delay the tour ‘till daylight and guide her toward the stairs, up to my room on the second floor, the master bedroom. I set her bag on the bed. She stands in the center of the room, taking everything in, her arms cradling her body.
“Maybe I should’ve gone with him.”
Her comment stuns me. I’m revolted and hurt she’d even consider going back to my scumbag cousin. But I remind myself this isn’t Rae talking. Not my Rae. This is her father, her mother, years of brainwashing and training.
“Why would you say that?”
Arms still folded around herself, she strolls over to the open terrace doors and stares out toward the avenue.
“We wouldn’t be here. You’d be safe, and I’d be…”
“His prisoner, Reagan,” I cut her off, finished entertaining the drivel coming from her mouth. “You’d be his fucking prisoner. He doesn’t love you. You’re an object to him, something to possess. His daddy bought you for him, remember? And if you went back, that’s all you’d ever be—when you’re so much more.” I walk over to the woman I’m falling hard for, stepping behind and wrapping myself around her. Her head flops back against my shoulder with a sigh, and I set my mouth in her midnight hair. “I’d rather die than let him cage you.”
“Why are you hell-bent on saving me?” she questions with a sad playfulness, a tremor in her voice, as if she’s terrified to hear the answer.
“It’s my blessing and my burden,” I answer as I had before, but this time, I’d sign my soul to the devil if it meant her safety.
“Why?” she asks again, facing me so her mouth is inches from mine.
I move my hand to her chin, hooking it with my finger and petting it with my thumb. I drown myself in her bourbon eyes, getting drunk on them. “You know why.”
Garbled noises escape her lips before I claim them with mine. Melting into me, she drapes her arms around my neck and latches herself to me. I lift her up, her thighs clamping to my hips, and walk over to the bed just begging to be fucked in.
I have to have her.
Not need. Not want. Have to.
Maybe it’s immoral to want another man’s wife sprawled out across my bed, but reason loses when it comes to Reagan. Whether or not she’s married to my cousin, she’s mine. Not his. Mine.
My mouth crashes into hers, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs. Her lips meld to mine like only they can, like they were tailored for me. Like she was tailored for me.
And now there’s nothing between us.
She lays in my arms, her body weighed down with the relief of sex. My fingers skate across her velvet back in figure eights while we silently reflect. With my other hand clasped to her wrist, her palm covers my heart as it slows and steadies. I breathe her scent in deep. It slithers into my nose, her head using my chest as a pillow. It’s most pungent in the fibers of her black silk hair, especially when it’s damp with sweat.
“Do you love him?” I ask, the question popping into my head a split second before.
“No,” she answers without a moment to consider my inquiry.
“Did you ever love him?”
“No. Never. And I’m never going back either,” she says with resolution. “Even if you choose to have nothing to do with me, I’m leaving him.” Her voice crumbles as tears strangle
her throat. “I can do that,” a sob bursts out, “because you showed me,” another teary whimper escapes through her words, “I’m strong enough.”
She sniffles back her tears.
“You’re making it sound like I brought you here for one last mercy fuck. One for the road.”
She shrugs.
Apparently, I haven’t made myself clear enough.
“No, baby.” I grab onto her leg, draped over mine under the sheets, and pull on it until she’s mounting me. Her breasts smash into my solid chest. “This is just the start.”
She squirms against me. My cock leaps. But he isn’t in control right now. I bring her face to mine, kissing the wetness from her cheeks.
“I love you, Rae,” I mutter against her salty skin.
She purrs.
“I love you,” she confesses, her words barely a breathy whisper. “I never expected anything out of life. Especially love. I never expected—you.”
My heart pounds against hers, drumming the same erratic rhythm of a Jazz song we heard the night before.
I comb the wild mess of black hair out of her eyes and rest my calloused palms over the sides of her face. I search it with loving fascination. She stares back at me with unconcealed love.
“I’m glad it was my bar you walked into that night.”
She grins a closed-lipped grin before her sensual mouth presses against mine.
“Are you…ready for…round two?” she asks between firm plants of her mouth.
I could go at her all night. Fuck until my cock is raw and my muscles burn. But I need to drive back to the Magnolia before Shaw gets suspicious. He probably has people planted outside already.
“I have to go.”
“You can’t,” she informs me.
Hands splayed on my chest, she rises and stares down at me with her irresistible eyes. The ends of her hair scarcely cover the erect rosy nipples of her perky breasts. She’s stunning in her confidence. I have to touch her. I cup my hand around the side of her neck, rubbing her cheek with the pad of my thumb.
“Why can’t I?”
She leans into my touch. “Because I need you.” My erection springs between her thighs again. “And you’re my prisoner.”
I’d love nothing more than to lose myself out here, with her, in her. But if we’re both MIA, Shaw might catch on. If I’m there, maybe he’ll believe she left me. Or I sent her away. Or she went back home. As long as he doesn’t know she’s here, that’s all that matters. At least until I come up with a plan.
“Mame’ll be here,” I guarantee her. “She runs the place when I’m away, along with her son Beau. He’s the groundskeeper. Big guy. Served in the Navy. They’ll watch out for you.”
“I should go back with you.”
As if jet-propelled, she bounds out of bed and off me, gathering her things scattered on the floor.
“You need to stay out of New Orleans,” I order, “and away from me. It isn’t safe for you.”
She pauses to gawk at me, clothes hugged against her chest. “You aren’t safe either.”
“I can handle Shaw.” I roll out of bed, grab some jeans from the dresser, and slip them on. “And when he comes back, that’s what I’ll do.”
“He won’t come. He’ll send people. People who take care of things for a living. People you won’t recognize. I’m not staying here without you,” she insists with a fire in her belly.
I love her strength, her determination, her courage. Fuck, I love her. I need her here, safe. That’s what’s important. Even though every minute without her will be the worst kind of torture.
“We want him to think you left town. And since I’m the key to finding you, he’ll have to come through me first.”
“And if he does?” She takes a forceful step forward, dropping the clothes to the floor. No, throwing them to the floor. “If he figures out where I am, what then?”
“I’ve already thought of that.” I retrieve my .45 from the pocket in my blazer draped over a nearby chair and set it on the bedside table. “I want you to take this. Keep it somewhere close at all times.”
She peers at the pistol with horror and trepidation. “You think it’ll come to that?”
“If it does, don’t you want to be prepared?” She needs to understand the monster she married. “I want you to practice. Beau can show you how to use this properly.”
She walks over to the nightstand, takes it in her delicate yet capable hand, and flips her palm upward, feeling the weight of the metallic object. Both physically and mentally. She drops the gun on the mattress, backing away from it and out to the balcony. I trail her.
She leans into the railing and stares down the allée toward the river, her eyes soaking everything in. I love seeing my world through them, with an excitement of the new. Even though I spent the majority of my youth in California with my mom, we’d come here for visits that lasted months sometimes.
“It’s beautiful here.” A weak breeze carrying the aroma of musty swamp water and sweet magnolias blows hair across her regal face. “I see why people live out in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’ll be protected here, Rae.” I rest my hand over hers on the railing. “The gun is an extra precaution to give me peace of mind. And, as I recall, you didn’t have a hard time aiming that thing at me.”
“I never pointed it at you with intent of killing you. It was a moronic accident. I mean, we’re talking about murdering him.”
“No,” I take her hand from the barrier, “we’re talking about defending ourselves if he decides to pursue a violent route. There’s a difference.”
“And where does an annulment play into this plan?” She steals her hand back. “How did we get from me leaving him to killing him?”
“Look,” I turn my back to the rail and lean into it, crossing my arms over my chest, “I’m not plotting where to dump the body in the bayou. But I want you safe.”
She moves in front of me and crowds her tight body into mine, urging me to unfold my arms and wind them around her.
“I can’t hide forever.” She sets her palms against my bare pecks. Her touch is so warm and soft. It always manages to bring my guard down. “I’ll have to face this, face him. Whether behind a gun or a lawyer.”
“I’ll figure out how to take care of this. He’s dangerous, Rae. Wealthier than God. And darker than the devil. He isn’t going to give you up. In his mind, you belong to him.”
She peers into nothingness and whispers without emotion, “Until death do us part.”
The words tear down my spine.
“We’ll deal with this, Rae, together. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.” I run my hand over her arm, to her delicate wrist, to her hand, linking our fingers. Bringing them to my mouth, I drag my lips across her knuckles, scraping them slightly with my teeth.
“Except you’re leaving me alone,” she says, her attention focused on my mouth.
“Let’s get some breakfast in your stomach. Everything seems more manageable on a full stomach. Get dressed and meet me down in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
She smiles up at me, but it doesn’t touch her sad eyes. She releases my hands, hers dropping lifelessly to her sides. I kiss her on the forehead, permitting my lips to loiter before I leave her there on the balcony.
I locate the kitchen when Greier’s deep voice reverberates from the back of the house and follow it. I crack the door open enough to see him leaning over the island in the center, talking with a woman cooking over the stove. I’m about to open the door and announce myself when he says something that stops me. “You need to keep an eye on her, Mame.”
She turns away from the stove, which gives me a chance to see her. She’s in her late sixties, plump, wears her silver hair in a low bun, and has steely eyes, both in color and resolve. Even with her short stature, she looks like someone you don’t want to upset. I’m going to like her.
“You have nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” she says with a rich Cajun accent, reaching acro
ss the counter and setting her hand over his. It’s so much smaller. “Anyone you care ‘bout, we care ‘bout. Me and Beau’ll keep her safe for you.”
She speaks to him with the love of a mother. It makes me both happy for him and sad for myself. I’ll never know that kind of relationship with my mother—or father for that matter. But there are bigger issues to worry about now. I’ll have to grieve the loss another day.
Greier plucks a cherry from the bowl on the counter and smiles at it when the older woman turns her attention back to the food sizzling on the stove. He pops it in his mouth and chews on it slowly. My skin goes flush from tip to tail.
“You do care about her, don’t you?”
“I love her,” he says with a reflective gaze.
“Does she love you?” she asks, a bud of hope blooming in her voice.
“Better than anyone.”
A wide grin fattens her cheeks and deepens the laugh lines around her eyes.
“Brings joy to my heart to see you happy, kiddo.”
I decide not to lurk any further. I already learned that lesson.
I open the door with a fake smile on my face. Nothing too big. Don’t want to look like I was eavesdropping.
“Morning,” I greet them. Seems like a general enough thing to say. Act natural.
“Morning.”
Greier walks over to me, wrangling me to the island with a hand on my lower back. Not because I can’t find it myself, but in a knightly gesture. I like to think it’s because he couldn’t wait the four seconds it would take me to traverse the distance between door and counter to touch me.
“Rae, this is Mame. Mame, Rae. She’s staying with us a while.”
One part of me hopes forever. The other part hopes he hopes that, too. It’s foolish to entertain the thought when tomorrow isn’t a guarantee. But is it ever?
“Pleasure to meet you,” I state, extending my hand toward her.
“No need to be so formal ‘round here,” she says with a chuckle, hauling me in for a squeeze. “We’re happy to have you.”
She’s strong. And, as I assumed she would, gives great hugs.