The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  Nicole struggled out of his arms. “I don’t think so.” She checked her watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is. Gran will be worried sick.”

  Farrel angled his head. “That’s a brush-off if I’ve ever heard one, Nicole.”

  “Sorry.” Nicole suddenly felt light-headed. “The truth is, I’m not looking for an involvement at the moment. Not even a brief one-nighter. I didn’t really come to dance tonight—I came to listen to the music with a friend. But she didn’t show and—” Nicole’s stomach rolled, warning her she didn’t have long before she’d be too weak to make it to the car without help. “I’ve got to go,” she said in a rush. “Thanks for the fun.”

  “You’re welcome. Anytime you feel like another night of dancing, let me know.”

  “I’ll remember that.” A car door slammed from somewhere in the middle of the dark parking lot. Nicole squinted and tried to focus, but she wasn’t sure if she was seeing the flicker of a match…or nothing at all. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and started to walk slowly to her car. Not too slowly, but slowly enough that Farrel wouldn’t suspect she was teetering on the verge of collapse.

  She reached her car, dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. Inside, she started the engine and turned on the air conditioner. She glanced toward the bar’s front door, relieved when she saw Farrel sauntering inside. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning, and she knew the last glass of wine had been the culprit.

  A sudden rap at the window gave Nicole a start. Her eyes flew open, and she let out a cry of surprise that surely was heard through the closed window. To her distress, seeing Johnny Bernard staring through the window at her made her feel worse. She didn’t need those soul-searching eyes analyzing her just now. She didn’t need him making some wisecrack about her condition, either. Right now, all she wanted was to be sick in private, and without an audience.

  He motioned for her to buzz the window down, and after gazing at the panel of buttons for a confused couple of seconds, Nicole turned off the air conditioner, then pressed the upper-left button and watched the window disappear inside the door.

  “You all right?”

  The warm night air drifted into the car to attack Nicole’s flushed face once more, and she instantly felt as weak as a kitten. “I’m fine,” she lied. “What are you doing here?” Her words sounded strange, she thought, and the idea had her clearing her dry throat.

  He took an impatient drag off his cigarette, then flicked the butt in the opposite direction of the car. Angling his head, he sent a cloud of smoke over the hood of the car. When he locked eyes with her once more, his expression was hard to read. “It’s late,” he drawled. “The old lady’s worried. Especially since Dory called hours ago and said she couldn’t meet you. So, what have you been doing for five hours, cherie? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “Dory called?” Nicole frowned. “Did she say why she couldn’t meet me?”

  “There was a small fire at the bakery.”

  “A fire?”

  “Nothing serious. How much?”

  Nicole gripped the steering wheel. “How much what?”

  “Booze. How much did you have to drink?”

  “Excuse me?” Nicole tried to sit up a little straighter. Her stomach did a sudden flip, but she would be damned if she’d let him see just how rotten she felt. She simply wanted to go home, pop a couple of headache pills and fall into bed.

  “Drinking and driving is a bad combination.”

  Did he think he was telling her something she didn’t already know? Incensed, she reached for the panel of buttons to buzz the window back up, but he read her intention and had the car door open in an instant.

  “Slide over.”

  Nicole peered at him through narrowed eyes. Suddenly seeing two of him, she groaned softly and blinked in an effort to chase one of him away.

  He gave her a nudge. “Come on. Move that cute butt of yours over a few inches, cherie. You’re in no shape to drive.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Like hell.”

  Before she could argue, the upper part of his body was suddenly inside the car, and he was working his hands beneath her backside.

  “Stop that!” Nicole protested.

  With little effort, he half lifted, half slid her to the middle of the seat, then climbed in. “You ought to be tanned good for worrying the old lady needlessly,” he scolded, slamming the door shut. “And of all things to drink, wine is the worst.”

  The last comment gave her pause. “And how would you know what I was drinking unless you were spying on me.” When he didn’t deny it, Nicole clutched at his black T-shirt sleeve so he would have to look at her. “Were you?”

  He glanced down at her fine-boned little fist, then locked eyes with her. “You have a nice time dancing with Farrel Craig? Rubbing yourself all over him?”

  “I wasn’t doing that,” she protested.

  “Then maybe that grin he was wearing all evening was just in anticipation of what might happen later if he got you drunk enough. You suppose?”

  Nicole wasn’t going to dignify that vulgar crack with so much as a peep. Changing the subject, she asked, “Did you drive the pickup into town?”

  He pointed to the middle of the parking lot. It was in the same general area where she thought she’d seen the match spark earlier.

  “I’ll come back in the morning and get it.” He put the car in reverse, backed up and left the parking lot.

  Once they were headed out of town, Nicole leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. She was willing to concede that it was for the best that Johnny drive her home. She was even ready to admit that drowning her misery in a bottle of wine had been idiotic and the most reckless thing she’d done in a while. But seeing Daisi Buillard’s swollen stomach had brought the entire nightmare flooding back, all the pain and empty feelings. The helplessness. Her stomach knotted, and she laid her hands there and tried to chase the nausea away. But it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Johnny glanced at Nicole and saw her holding her stomach. Her head was resting at an odd angle against the seat, and he maneuvered his arm around her and pulled her close so she could use his shoulder for a pillow.

  Damn her. What the hell was she doing wearing a dress that showed off every curve she owned, and dancing crazy with Farrel Craig as if they were old friends? He felt his insides tighten, and again the sight of Farrel stealing a kiss outside the bar flashed before his eyes.

  He’d never been a jealous man, but at that moment he had been ready to put Farrel’s face into a car window—and to hell with his parole. He didn’t want to want Nicole Chapman the way he did, and yet there it was. She was a fragile woman, not at all his type, but still he wanted her. He wanted her in his bed, willing and saying his name. No, not just willing, but hot and aroused as hell.

  When he had laid eyes on her at the boathouse that first day, all he had wanted was the physical contact, to satisfy himself with a warm, soft female body. Now he realized it was more complicated than just sex. Seeing her tonight with Farrel had been damn painful. He didn’t understand it, and he wished to hell he could make it stop. But how?

  He heard her moan softly and he pulled her closer to him. “Easy, cherie. We’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

  They left the highway and turned off on Bayou Road. When Oakhaven came into sight, Johnny cruised up the driveway as quietly as possible, pulled the Skylark alongside Mae’s Buick in the carport and turned off the ignition.

  He shifted slightly and looked down at Nicole. She was so beautiful. He couldn’t really blame Farrel for making a move on her. A man would have to be crazy not to try. He noticed her hands were still holding her stomach and wondered just how much she had drunk before he’d arrived at Pepper’s looking for her. She didn’t appear to be the type to get carried away with liquor. Then again, he didn’t know her well enough to make that kind of call.

  “Hey, cherie, wak
e up,” he whispered. “We’re home.” She moaned and opened her pretty blue eyes, and that’s when he saw the tear. Concerned, he wiped it away, then asked, “What is it? Upset stomach? Headache?”

  She straightened to sit up, looked away from him as if she were embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

  He opened the door and climbed out. When he turned around, she was already sliding out his side. He reached out to help her, catching her around the waist. When her feet hit the ground, she swayed slightly. “Come on, cherie, get your feet underneath you.”

  She managed to stand, one arm looped around his waist, one soft breast pressed into his rib cage. They crossed the yard and scaled the porch steps to the private entrance of her bedroom. Once there, Johnny propped her against the wall to open one of the French doors. Before he got it open, she was leaning against him again, all warm and vulnerable.

  He got the door open, then glanced at her. She had angled her head to one side and was looking at him curiously. “Are you really a nice guy, like Gran says?” She pressed her hand to his chest where his heart beat strong and fast. “I hope not. I don’t want to like you, Johnny Bernard. Not even a little bit. I want you to be just like Chad, selfish and dishonest.”

  Her face contorted with raw emotion. She looked like she was one step away from crying again. Johnny didn’t know what to say, but it was obvious this guy, Chad, was someone from her past and that he had hurt her. Johnny also figured that if she were thinking clearly, she wouldn’t be talking like this, telling him things she deemed her private business. He was curious to know more, just not this way. Not when she was feeling so low. He said, “Come on, cherie, it’s time for you to go to bed.” He untangled her from his body and set her away from him. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Now go on.”

  He gave her a little nudge toward the door, then started off the porch. He didn’t get far before she said, “He didn’t ask me if it was all right.”

  Johnny turned. “What?”

  “Farrel. He didn’t ask if he could kiss me.”

  Johnny didn’t want to be reminded of that kiss, sure it would haunt him throughout the night as it was. He shook his head. “Go to bed, cherie.”

  “I will. Only, I can’t stop thinking about it. I—”

  “Dammit, I don’t want to hear it!” Johnny turned away from her, determined to leave.

  “You’re mad. I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s this sour taste in my mouth—”

  Johnny spun back around. “And just what the hell am I supposed to do about that, cherie? I’m fresh out of mints.”

  At that moment he would have done anything to get her inside so he could get the hell out of there. He was on the verge of doing something stupid, and the longer he hung around—

  “I don’t want a mint,” she said simply, softly. She took an unsteady step toward him, then another and another until they were toe to toe. Slowly, she leaned into him, her sweet scent filling his nostrils, branding him and guaranteeing he was going to spend another sleepless night in hell. “Offer something else, Johnny. Use your imagination.”

  The thought of kissing away Farrel’s taste and leaving her marked with his own had Johnny turning stone hard. God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to do that, and so much more.

  Her hands stroked up his chest, and she swayed into him. The sultry night suddenly turned stifling hot. Johnny knew he shouldn’t do it, even as he lowered his head to meet her halfway. One quick kiss, he promised. Just one…

  Her lips were summer warm and satin smooth, and in an instant his plan of offering her one quick kiss was shot completely to hell. He slipped his hands around her and brought her slender body in full contact with his. After ravishing her mouth for a full minute, he backed her against the new railing he’d built and kissed her again…then again.

  He meant to stop.

  Soon he would.

  She made a little mewling noise, wiggled against his arousal.

  Desire burned hotter than Johnny had ever experienced in his life. He coaxed her mouth open and thrust his tongue deep inside. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. Her ready response sent another jolt of desire ripping through his aching loins; at the same time blood surged hot through his veins. His heart knocked against his chest like a jackhammer.

  His hands moved to her hips, his fingers working her dress up her slender legs to caress her velvet thighs. Boldly, his fingers found the elastic edge of her panties. He was losing control, and she was letting him.

  He was breathing fast—too fast, he thought. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and that’s when it hit him: she was drunk, and he was climbing all over her, making him no better than Farrel Craig or that man from her past. Grounded, Johnny pulled his hand out from under her dress and took a giant step back.

  “Dammit, cherie, what the hell are you trying to do to me?” Swearing again, he thrust his hand through his loose hair. Then, before she could answer, before her fuzzy head had a chance to clear and grasp just how damn close she had come to ending up on her back, Johnny melted into the shadows.

  Chapter 7

  Nicole left for New Orleans before breakfast. She didn’t want to take a chance on running into anyone: not Gran, not Clair nor Bick. Least of all, Johnny.

  Johnny.

  Nicole ran a finger over her lips as another sharp mental image assailed her. Had she really begged him to kiss her?

  She wanted to believe it was just another naughty dream. But she knew that was just wishful thinking. The entire kiss, every heat-filled moment, could still be felt. She was burning inside and out, floating on some strange, erotic wave of pure bliss. A never-before experience, which made it all the more distressing.

  How could she have sunk so low?

  She really had had no business staying at Pepper’s after Dory hadn’t showed. And the wine had been mistake number two. The doozy had been allowing Farrel Craig to control the evening, then steal that miserable kiss.

  Looking back, she realized the entire evening had disaster written all over it. And Johnny showing up to witness the whole thing, then playing white knight and chauffeur all in one, had been the coup de grâce. It was more than just humbling to know she had allowed him to see her in such a pathetic state. She felt not only ashamed, but humiliated.

  And considering what had happened between them on the porch, she feared her disgrace wasn’t over yet. Surely he would make an issue out of that wicked kiss he’d planted on her lips. And more to the point, of how readily she’d accepted.

  Furious with herself, Nicole snapped off the radio, pressed her sandaled foot to the floorboards and sent the speedometer well past what the county road could handle. Anxious to forget last night, she turned her thoughts to New Orleans and the new gallery Gran had told her about. Maybe if she started working again things would get back to normal sooner.

  Since she had been a little girl she had wanted to paint pretty pictures and to be taken seriously for her artistic talent. She’d wanted the reality of snaring her dream and building on it. She’d worked hard for it, battled the odds and prevailed. And the heady pleasure she had gotten from her first sale had been euphoric. She would never forget that phone call or the overwhelming feelings that had nearly choked her and rendered her speechless. Yes, if only she could paint again, she knew she would be able to get back to her old self.

  She saw him just as she careened around a curve in the road. She was two miles from town, planning to hook up with highway 18 and take the river road straight into New Orleans. Too late, she realized she should have gone cross-country.

  He wasn’t hitchhiking, simply walking with purpose toward town. I’ll get the pickup in the morning is what he’d told her last night. Why hadn’t she remembered that until now?

  Evidently hearing the car approach, he slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder. Nicole cursed her luck, sped past him, then slammed on the brakes. Her flashy car did a little dance as it came to a screeching halt. She tried to remain calm
as she glanced into the rearview mirror and watched him stroll to the passenger side, using that famous loose-limbed gait he appeared to have owned since birth.

  Nicole took a deep breath and braced herself as he opened the door and climbed in. When he slammed the door shut, she winced and wished the four headache pills she’d taken before leaving the house would hurry up and corral the pounding behind her eyes. She managed to put the car into gear, and sailed off down the road. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him roll his broad shoulders against the leather seat and stretch his long legs out in front of him.

  His beat-up jeans and T-shirt hugged him shamefully, only serving to make her more nervous as she remembered how wonderful it had felt being pressed against all that hard muscle. His boots were dusty, his jaw unshaven. He looked great, his hair loose and shiny in the morning light.

  He slanted her a look, and she jerked her eyes back to the road. She could feel his gaze drift slowly over her. The gallery she was going to was on Julie Street in the warehouse district. Nicole had dressed for the occasion in a straight skirt in orange sherbet and a silk tank in white. She hadn’t felt up to fussing with her hair, but she’d managed to twist it into a stylish knot. And though her hands had been a bit shaky, she’d bravely attempted the five-step make-over regime she’d picked up from an old friend that promised a miracle in just ten minutes.

  “Thought you’d be sleeping in today.”

  Nicole braced herself for the attack. “No. I’m going into New Orleans today. And where are you off to this morning?” she asked before she realized the question was a loaded one.

  “To fetch the Dodge.”

  He gave her another long look. Nicole gripped the steering wheel and tried to breathe more quietly. Keeping her eyes on the road, she said, “I want to apologize for what happened last night. I wasn’t myself. I was…”

  “Drunk,” he said bluntly, when words failed her.

  “No. That’s not exactly true. I was…I never meant to let things get out of hand. I was just trying—”