“Do you think I’m using you?” She pushed off his chest.
“You know I’m not staying long.”
She did know. She just didn’t want to think about the day he would walk away from Cottonbloom. And from her. “What are you getting at?”
“I think you get something from him you can’t get from me and vice versa. He has clout in this town, but I’m the man that you want in the dark and in your bed, aren’t I?”
“If you think all I care about is my standing in this town, why did you follow me?”
“Because I want you. That’s why I came.” Belligerence instead of seduction beat at his words. Underneath was a boy who did care what Cottonbloom thought of him. He hadn’t always been the poor swamp rat sneaking around in the dark.
“All you want is sex?”
“If that’s what you’re offering.” His voice softened, and he squeezed her hips and fit them together. “I can be rough and dirty and a little bit dangerous if that’s how you want me.”
Arousal flared even as the gentleness of his touch belied his coarse words. He skimmed his good hand from her hip to settle under her breast, his thumb running up and down the exposed skin in between. Her nipple puckered, begging for his touch.
“Is that what you want, sweetheart?”
Her body shifted toward his instinctively, seeking to anchor itself to him, needing to draw from his heat and strength. “Th-that’s not what I want.” Before the words were even out, she knew they were untrue, or at least a partial truth. Sex wasn’t all she wanted. But she did want it.
“Don’t lie to yourself or me.” He dropped his lips to the shell of her ear and nuzzled. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “I could take you right here, right now, with the Tarwaters and all of crazy Cottonbloom a few rooms away. And I’d make it good, Monroe. I’d make your body sing. I’d make you beg before giving you everything you need. Then, you could walk back out into that damn party like nothing happened. No one would know the things you want to do in the dark with a poor, dirty boy from Louisiana.”
Her body sang a song of longing and need. She wanted to stay in the dark with him the rest of the night, but there was something even more important she needed to do. With the effort of separating strong magnets, she pried her body from his, opened the door, and took him by the wrist.
“Come with me.” Reality in the form of a crooning Michael Bublé song and the murmur of laughter-punctuated conversation drifted closer.
“What are you doing?” An edge of panic replaced his dark sexual tease. She’d thrown him off-balance. Good. Time for her to return the favor.
She led him back into the great room. The song changed to an eighties ballad she occasionally heard on the classic rock station and in old movies. While it wouldn’t have been her statement song of choice, it would have to do.
She stopped at the edge of where a handful of couples swayed like they were reliving their high-school prom.
“You want to dance with me?” Incredulity but also a sense of wonder lilted his question. “In front of the Tarwaters and all of Cottonbloom, Mississippi?”
She answered by slipping her hand in his and squeezing. As if they had made a pact to jump at the same time, they moved forward on the same beat of music. She turned toward him, sliding her hands up the lapels of his tuxedo to link around his neck.
He tightened his arm around her waist and brought them closer than she’d danced with Andrew. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” He splayed his fingers on her back, tucking them under the edge of her dress. She felt branded.
“I have no idea what we’re doing; do you?”
His mouth tightened before he laughed softly and skimmed his smooth chin along her temple. “Not a clue.”
Whispers and side-eye glances came from all directions. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t uncomfortable, but not because she was ashamed of Cade.
The song ended, and they stopped swaying yet stayed interlocked. The next song was faster paced, leaving them in limbo.
Cade tensed, sending a cold stare over her shoulder a second before someone tapped her arm.
“Could I have a moment, Monroe?” Although Andrew directed the question toward her, his gaze was pinned on Cade. The possibility of one of them throwing a punch seemed high. People on the dance floor weren’t bothering to disguise their interest.
If only to defuse the situation, she smiled. “Of course. I’ll be back in a second. Okay, Cade?”
He chucked his chin toward the pillar. “Sure. Whatever.” Even though they stood close, distance shadowed his face and voice.
She allowed Andrew to guide her through a side door and into the garden. The cooler air was a welcome balm after the muggy great room. They stopped where the manicured lawn gave way to the field. The river was in the distance and the knowledge settled her nerves. If worse came to worst, she could hightail it into the night and seek the safety she’d always found on the river with Cade.
“What did you need to discuss?” she asked.
Andrew stepped closer and propped his hands on his hips, his bow tie askew. Sensitized to the smell of alcohol, she sniffed and confirmed her unease.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Around her he’d always maintained a jovial front, but he’d inherited his father’s courtroom demeanor.
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“My mother did all of this—” he flung a hand toward the house “—because I asked her to. She doesn’t care about those girls any more than I do. And you go and embarrass me in front of everyone with that swamp rat.”
Anger swept through her like a brush fire igniting. “Tell your mother to rip up the checks and return any donations. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“What about us?” He settled his hands on her shoulders, his fingers moving in a near caress.
Instinctively she broke his grasp in an aggressive move intended to deter an attack. “There is no us beyond friendship. There never was and never will be.”
Hurt and anger in equal measures marred his catalog good looks. She took a step backward, and he matched her retreat.
* * *
Moonlight shimmered over the dewy manicured gardens. The beauty and magic in the night air had an effect on Cade, but perhaps not the one the landscaper intended. The scene was set for lovers and somewhere in the shadows were Andrew and Monroe. If Cade came upon them in an embrace—or worse—he would drive himself straight to the nearest airport.
Voices carried from a back corner where high hedges concealed the tinkling of a fountain. On hunting feet he drew closer. Frustration strung the male voice tinny. “We’re perfect together. Everyone says so.”
“I don’t feel that way about you. I can’t help it.” Monroe’s voice carried more compassion than Andrew deserved.
“You haven’t given me a chance to take you out. I can get a table anytime at the country club. I’m invited to every party in Cottonbloom. He can’t compete with me.” Tarwater’s frustration morphed into determination and warning zinged up Cade’s spine. Men out to prove something to a woman made poor decisions more times than not. It started on elementary-school playgrounds and continued until the coffin lid was closed. “Let me show you how good we could be together.”
Cade stepped from behind the bush. Andrew gripped Monroe’s upper arms, his face poked forward like a turtle’s head out of its shell. Monroe’s back was bowed, trying to avoid him.
“Get your hands off her.”
When Andrew didn’t immediately comply, Cade took two ground-swallowing steps and shoved him in the shoulder. Andrew stumbled back, letting go of her to catch his balance. Cade stepped in front of her.
Andrew’s upper lip curled. “You always were a pathetic little swamp rat. You remember cleaning up after me?”
“Yeah. You always were an entitled prick.”
“We aren’t in high school anymore, Fournette. That’s right, I forgot, you never finished high school.” With his smi
rk in place, he transferred his attention to Monroe, who’d stepped from behind Cade. “You seriously want this—” he flicked a finger toward Cade “—instead of me?”
Cade’s hands fisted, nerves tingling along his wounded palm. One more word and he’d punch a couple of Andrew’s perfect teeth out.
Monroe wrapped her hands around one of Cade’s biceps and squeezed. “Yes, I want him.”
A good amount of the resentment and bitterness that had grown all evening escaped with his huge, sighing breath. Andrew didn’t matter anymore. Cade transferred his attention to her.
He wanted to see the soft glow in her blue eyes. Instead, her expression had taken on that of a scolding teacher.
“You two deserve each other,” Andrew mumbled on his stumbling way past them. Cade didn’t spare him a glance and neither did Monroe.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“Of course I mean it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Her voice was brisk with an edge of annoyance.
She didn’t want Andrew Tarwater. She wanted to be with Cade, and their dance had been the announcement. He had never experienced the feelings churning inside of him, couldn’t even begin to identify them. It was a rush like he’d climbed the tallest rock face and stood on the dizzying edge of the world.
He grinned. She popped his shoulder with her fist. The unexpectedness of the move sent him back a step.
“What the heck, Cade? You did not help matters.”
“You don’t want him.”
“No. But I would have handled the situation diplomatically—and about a million percent more maturely than you did. It’s not like he was forcing himself on me. And—news flash—even if he’d tried, I would have had him curled into a crying ball of mush in about five seconds.”
“I thought I was helping.” He rotated his shoulder, the spot she’d punched smarting.
“What is it about Andrew that makes you crazed?”
Andrew, Monroe, the town as a whole, had turned him into someone he thought he’d left behind for good. Someone with the drive to prove he belonged, to prove he deserved someone like her. The crazy part was that he felt more alive than he’d been in years.
Maybe subconsciously he’d known coming back would expose a fault line; he just wasn’t prepared for Monroe to set off the earthquake.
“You want me, and everyone knows it.” He hadn’t stopped smiling.
“Maybe I should reconsider.” Her voice veered from exasperated to a full-out tease, and the hint of an answering smile quivered her lips.
He had no idea what his next move was. Throwing her over his shoulder and making tracks to the nearest bed would only cement his Neanderthal-ish behavior. They entered into an unofficial staring contest, except instead of abiding by playground rules, he let his gaze lick up and down her body, never blinking.
The breeze fluttered her skirt around her legs, giving him peeks of her toned, sexy thighs, and the moon lit the path of her bare skin from neck to below her breasts like a landing strip. She was unfazed by his blatantly sexual perusal and even took a step closer. The air took on an electric quality that was fast becoming familiar.
She startled as if stung. Flipping her clutch open, she pulled out a phone. The light of the screen emphasized her frown and the worried pull around her eyes. He went on alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s probably nothing, but I’ve got to go.” Her voice cracked, revealing a distracted worry. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
She spun around, her skirt floating around her, and ran like Cinderella up to the house. Thunder cracked in the distance, and he looked to the west. Clouds encroached on the stars, snuffing the pinpoints of light. With Monroe gone, Cade could commiserate.
Instead of running the social gauntlet, he let himself out of the garden by a side gate. No one would miss him. The taillights of Monroe’s SUV shone in the distance. She’d left in a hurry. Would it hurt to make sure she was safe?
Chapter Seventeen
Monroe’s hands trembled on the wheel. Her mother’s text had been nearly indecipherable. As telling as a slurred phone call. She parked behind her mother’s old BMW in her childhood home’s driveway. The bumper was crumpled on one end and rust was eating at a side panel. Once a symbol of status and now a symbol of decline.
She slid out of her SUV, feeling overdressed and underprepared for what awaited. After Sam’s insinuations, she had been anticipating a phone call from her mother with a fateful dread. It didn’t seem to lessen the shock and disappointment.
Monroe stared at the front door and gathered her courage, feeling more alone than she had in years. The spare key was under a flowerpot with sun-wilted pink petunias. She unlocked the door and replaced the key. Kicking off her heels, she threw the lock out of long-ingrained habit.
“Mother?” Her voice echoed with a tentative quality of youth.
Every step farther into the house tumbled her backward in time to her tumultuous childhood. Some memories were good. The weeks when her mother was between boyfriends, between binges, when all her attention was focused on Monroe. The smell of cookies would greet her after school, and they would watch movies or put puzzles together.
But many memories were tinged with fear and loneliness. The procession of men through her mother’s life intersected hers. The nice ones never lasted long. It was the men like Sam who stuck, because they exploited her mother’s fondness for alcohol and drama.
“Mother?”
“Up here.” Her mother’s voice was weak and tremulous.
Monroe took the steps two at a time. Light spilled out of the bathroom. Like in a horror movie, she tiptoed closer when every instinct urged her to turn and run from the monster.
Except her mother had turned from monster into a pitiable creature. She sat on the floor in front of the toilet, her tight pencil skirt riding up her thighs, dark blond hair straggling around her pale face.
Monroe flushed the vomit down the toilet and helped her mother stand. Treating her like a child, Monroe washed the trails of mascara off her face and helped brush her teeth. She led her mother into her bedroom, got her skirt and the tight undergarments off. Finding a T-shirt in one of the drawers, Monroe guided her mother’s arms through the holes and tucked her into bed.
Since she’d never remarried, mostly out of spite, her mother had maintained her lifestyle on the alimony Monroe’s father had anted up each month. But his court-ordered commitment had been fulfilled at twenty years. With the monthly support gone, her mother had been forced to work. Without a college degree or skills, she got a job as a secretary-receptionist at a doctor’s office with Monroe pulling strings in the background. Although it didn’t pay great, her mother had seemed happy. Monroe had thought she was finally in a good place.
Monroe sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her mother’s hair back. At least her fall hadn’t involved Sam Landry. “Who were you with tonight?”
“Friends.”
“Where’d you go?”
“The Corner Pocket. Met a man. Seemed nice. Hot. Young. Kept buying me drinks.”
Monroe closed her eyes and fisted her hands in her lap. The Corner Pocket was an almost cookie-cutter bar to the Rivershack Tavern, but on the Mississippi side. The crowd skewed younger with college kids and young professionals. The main draws were the pool tables and the drink specials. An alcoholic at a bar was like an overeater at a buffet.
“You know better than to hang out at the Corner Pocket.”
“Got invited by a girl at work. Didn’t want to be rude.”
“I wish you’d come to the fund-raiser with me.” Monroe spoke mostly to the universe.
After a pause, her mother asked, “Why do I do this?”
“Because you are an alcoholic, Mother.”
“No, no. I’m not that bad. I’ll be fine.…”
As her mother slipped into oblivion, Monroe tilted her mother’s head to the side in case she vomited again. The hallway light tracked the deepening furrows along he
r mother’s forehead and the fine lines at her eyes. Slight jowls were pulling at her cheeks, the plumped flesh of youth dragged down by time. When would she grow up? When would she finally admit she needed help? Monroe couldn’t have her mother committed to the residential program. She had to attend of her own free will.
Exhausted in mind if not body, Monroe wandered to the other end of the house and into her old room. She stopped to trace the long scratches in the wood floor with her foot. A ritual she performed every time she entered. Like taking communion at church, she did it in remembrance.
Thunder rattled the windowpanes. The coming storm fit her mood, and she raised her window sash. Girlish pink diaphanous curtains billowed in every direction. The wind came in gusts and circled the room like an animal reconnoitering. The departing air pulled one curtain out of the window to wave like a flag while the other fought to get out, whipping around her legs.
Monroe took a deep breath. The humidity and pressure had increased over the last hour, the air ready to crack. This storm came from the west and smelled fresh. Not like the remnants of hurricanes that beat a path from the gulf, the rain retaining a hint of salt and the wind spawning tornadoes.
Leaning farther out the window, she let the wind buffet her. A raindrop hit her neck and slid down between her breasts. If the dress hadn’t cost so much, she might run outside like a heathen to welcome the storm.
Lightning split open the sky, illuminating a dark figure under her window. Her hands tightened around the windowsill.
“This is private property! Leave before I get a gun!” The wind snatched her words and she couldn’t be sure the man even heard.
The figure came closer. “It’s only me.” The deep voice and slight limp gave Cade away.
He was still in his fancy tuxedo shirt and pants, the jacket folded over his arm. The formality of the suit had tamped down his natural aggression, but with every piece of clothing he shed the real Cade was revealed. He was dark and a little bit dangerous, and she loved it.
Dear Lord, the man cast some sort of hypnotic spell over her whenever they were within ten feet of each other. His gaze sliding up and down her body had nearly incinerated her in the garden.
Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel Page 18