The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  Nicole finally gave in and turned. They were toe to toe, so close that his soft shirt brushed her bare arm. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked. “You were supposed to stay at Oakhaven and take care of Gran.”

  “Actually, she’s why I’m here. She was stewing about you all day, sure you were going to be kidnapped or robbed. She insisted I come and be your bodyguard.”

  Nicole couldn’t stop staring at him. He was there, dressed for the occasion, looking remarkably sexy and amazingly relaxed, though she doubted he had ever set foot in an art gallery in his life.

  Grinning, he leaned forward and whispered, “Have you networked enough? I’m starved.”

  “You don’t like your catfish?”

  “Huh? No,” Johnny said, “the food’s always good here.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  Mulates was one of New Orleans’s famous Cajun restaurants. Johnny liked the cozy atmosphere and the dim lighting. That’s why he’d suggested it and asked the hostess if they could have a small corner table in the back.

  “I lived here for a few years,” he confessed. He didn’t mention being a dishwasher for this very restaurant at age seventeen.

  Her surprise was subtle, a mere lifting of one delicate eyebrow. “After you ran away?”

  “It was a good place for a kid to get lost. An easy place to find work.”

  He tried not to stare too long at her pretty mouth. He wasn’t going to make her uncomfortable by ogling her bare shoulders or licking his chops like a hungry dog, either. But the slippery, little black dress outlining her curves continued to raise hell with his heart rate and the comfort of his jeans.

  She had twisted her shiny blond hair up in a messy knot that showed off her mole and accented her slender neck. He had always thought she was naturally beautiful. Tonight she was stunning, turning every head at the gallery as well as in the restaurant.

  She smiled, sipped her wine. “So what do you think about Mr. Medoro and his gallery? Will I fit in?”

  “I think you’d fit in anywhere. In fact, I suggested to him that he give you your own exhibit.”

  Her eyes widened. “You what?”

  “You’re too modest about your talent,” Johnny scolded gently. “You’ve got to speak up. Let them know how good you are.”

  “I speak up,” she argued.

  “Yeah, when you’re chewing me out.” He grinned, letting her know he was teasing.

  She rested her elbow on the table and propped her small fist beneath her chin. “If I’ve ever chewed you out, it was because you had it coming.”

  Johnny sat back and watched her. “You like getting all dressed up and going to galleries?”

  “Sometimes. But I’m not crazy about surprises.”

  “I suppose now we’re talking about me?”

  “We’re talking about you, yes.” Her smile turned impish. Suddenly she giggled. “You looked relaxed, but I think it was all an act.”

  “Why do you think that? Was my suffering that obvious?”

  “Not to that woman cooing in your face.”

  Her comment about the overbearing woman with huge red lips made Johnny’s grin widen. “She wanted to know how long I was staying in town.”

  “And you said…?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “So have you arranged a late date with her?”

  He wasn’t sure if she was teasing or if she was jealous. Jealous, he hoped.

  She reached across the table and touched the cuff on his new shirt. Johnny gazed down at her hand where her small fingers played with the fabric. When she realized her error, she quickly withdrew her hand. “I’ve never seen you in anything but a T-shirt. This is nice.”

  “I’m not much for clothes. Still, I wouldn’t deliberately embarrass you, cherie.” He paused, saw that both their plates were empty, and said, “You ready to head back to the hotel?”

  “Yes. I agreed to meet with Mr. Medoro in the morning to discuss some sketches I’ve done. I’d like to turn in early.”

  “But you won’t. Instead you’ll pace the floor, right?”

  “Not funny.”

  A horse-drawn carriage was just passing by as they reached the street. Johnny flagged the driver and lifted Nicole into the white carriage. It felt good to touch her. So good, in fact, that he slipped the driver an extra fifty to take a longer route back to the hotel.

  Forty-five minutes later, after enjoying the glowing streetlamps, the music coming from Bourbon Street, and the sweet aromas that were so much a part of New Orleans, they reached St. Ann Street. Johnny lifted Nicole from the carriage, and they entered the Place d’Armes Hotel, a two-story structure in the heart of the French Quarter. It had a historic courtyard brimming with flowers, and was well known for its quaint charm.

  Inside the elevator, Nicole unzipped the gold purse she had slung on her shoulder and went fishing for her room key. “Where are you staying?” she asked. “You never said.”

  “Actually I got a room here,” Johnny told her.

  She looked up, unable to hide her surprise. “Here? You’re kidding.”

  He took her key from her hand, and, when they stepped off the elevator, he followed her to her room. Once he’d unlocked her door, he stuck his head inside, flicked on the light and glanced around. “Did you remember to lock the balcony door before you left for the gallery?”

  “Yes. Well, I think so.”

  Her hesitation made Johnny scowl. He shoved the door wide and stepped inside. He found the French doors unlocked. Swearing, he made a quick check of the room, then stepped out onto the balcony. It was narrow, surrounded by a wrought-iron railing. A large potted plant in the corner camouflaged the adjoining balcony. Against the aging brick wall sat a small table and two chairs.

  He glanced across the lantern-lit courtyard and found all the other balconies empty. Below, two couples relaxed in the secluded octagonal pool, which was half hidden by palmettos and flowering vines.

  He stepped back inside, laid her key on the dresser, then headed for the door. “If you need something I’ll be—”

  “I won’t. But thanks, anyway.”

  She seemed anxious to get rid of him. Disappointed, Johnny stepped into the hall, and, before he could turn around, she closed the door. For a few minutes he just stood there. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he knew what he’d been hoping for.

  He pulled the key to the room next door out of his pocket and headed inside. It had taken some time to convince the desk clerk to give him the room next to Nicole’s, but a few unexpected cancellations had helped out. Fate, again.

  The room was dark and cool. He ignored the lights, pulled his shirt from his jeans and unbuttoned it. The balcony beckoned, and he unlocked the narrow doors and shoved them open. Patting his shirt pocket, he took a cigarette and cornered it in his mouth, then slipped into the sturdy wrought-iron chair.

  Two cigarettes later, he closed his eyes and breathed in the warm night air. The heavy scent of azalea blossoms, ripe and sweet, drifted to him, and he tried not to think about Nicki for a moment, especially her undressing and getting ready for bed.

  He had just lit his third cigarette when her balcony doors opened. He sat silently, glad the mammoth azalea plant on her balcony hid him from sight. He watched as she stepped to the railing, the lit lanterns below giving her silhouette a golden glow. He noticed she’d let her hair down, but she still had on the skinny black dress.

  Mesmerized, he watched her arch her back like a cat and angle her head to smell the fragrant night air. Her profile was beautiful, delicate. Curvy. Exotic. When she ran her fingers through her hair, he wished it were his fingers having the pleasure.

  All evening he had kept his hands off her, but it hadn’t been easy. Swearing inwardly, deciding it was too much—watching and not touching—Johnny stood to go back inside.

  “I’m not chasing you away, am I?”

  He stopped dead in his tracks, glanced down at his cigarette, then dropped it
and crushed it beneath his boot. “How did you know? The smoke?”

  “Yes. It’s your brand.”

  Johnny turned and moved to the railing. “Raunchy habit. I took it up in the joint.”

  She faced him. Offered him a sultry, needy look. Later Johnny would say it was that needy look that had started the next chain of events. But who could say whose need was stronger?

  “You’re killing me,” he admitted.

  “Am I?”

  “You know you are. Come here.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If you’re suffering…good. At least that way I don’t feel quite so alone.”

  Her admission was as unexpected as it was arousing. “You don’t have to suffer, cherie. Neither one of us does.”

  She drifted toward the railing, staying just out of reach. “No gloating later?”

  “None.”

  “And I’ll stay the entire night?”

  “If that’s what you want, yes.”

  “Will we share breakfast in bed?”

  “If we wake up before noon.”

  Johnny sucked in a deep breath as she took two steps closer, making it possible for him to reach out and touch her. But he didn’t lay a hand on her. Slowly he leaned into the railing and kissed her. Only after he felt her shudder did he reach for her, and then carefully, so he didn’t bruise her body on the wrought-iron that separated them.

  After a long kiss, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her over the railing. She slid against him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. They kissed once more, this time hungrily.

  His hands tightened, forcing her breasts to flatten against his chest. “I like feeling you against me,” he murmured.

  Her hands moved from around his neck and slipped inside his open shirt. Gently, her fingertips stroked his flat coppery nipples. “I like the feel of you, too,” she whispered.

  Johnny closed his eyes and dragged in a ragged breath. “Yes, you’re killing me.”

  Her smile told him she enjoyed his agony. She lowered her head, her lips following her hands in a series of feather-light kisses over his bare chest. “Don’t die yet. You promised me breakfast in bed tomorrow, remember?”

  He recaptured her velvety lips. Devouring her softness, he plundered her mouth. He felt her arms move back to his neck, her clever little tongue teasing him, inviting him inside.

  “Why?” he panted next to her ear. “Why are you letting me have you, cherie?”

  She ran her fingers through his hair, rubbed her body against him. Nose to nose, lip to lip, she whispered, “Because you take my breath away, Johnny Bernard. You snatched it away from me weeks ago, and you’re doing it again right now. No one has ever made me feel the way you make me feel. So have me Johnny, if that’s what you want. It’s what I want.”

  Her admission nearly took him off at the knees. Johnny pulled her close, kissed her again, then lifted her into his arms and carried her back inside. He laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her. She turned into his arms, arched against him and said his name. His fingers caught the hem of her dress. Drawing it upward, he stroked her silky thigh.

  At the feel of her, eager and needy, Johnny rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him. “Straddle me,” he murmured.

  She shoved her dress clean to her waist, then did as he asked. When she lowered herself over him, the feel of her slender thighs brushing his hips made him groan, and he gritted his teeth against the sweet agony of it all.

  She spread his shirt wide and trailed light, teasing kisses across his hard chest. Johnny moaned again. “More,” he demanded. “More.”

  In answer to his plea, her hands continued to caress the hardness of his chest; at the same time her knees squeezed his waist, and she moved against him. “Yes, more,” she whispered. “More than once. Promise you’ll love me all night long, Johnny.”

  “All night,” he promised. “Take your dress off.”

  “Help me,” she sighed breathlessly.

  At her entreaty, he pulled her dress farther up her slender body. Then, giving the slippery thing a fast jerk, he let it fly. “Drop the lace,” he said, staring at her full breasts.

  She reached around, unhooked the black bra and let it fall to his chest. Brushing it aside, she leaned close and teased his chest with her aroused, hot nipples. Another ragged moan ripped from his chest as Johnny felt her seduction take him past the brink of sanity. She tortured him further by sliding her hand along the inside of his thigh. Her fingers flattened out to cup him through his jeans.

  He heard her breath catch with the realization of how badly he desired her. Needed her.

  Before he lost his head and took her too fast, Johnny quickly pulled her off him and heaved himself from the bed. Gazing down at her, he said, “We’re going slower this time. There’s no reason to hurry. We’ve got all night.”

  She smiled a slow, sexy smile. “I had no complaints about the first time.”

  “Is that right?” He grinned. “You liked me acting like a wild animal?”

  “Actually, I did.”

  He pulled off his boots, then unzipped his jeans and sent them to the floor along with his underwear. Standing in front of her in all his naked glory, he watched as she slipped off the bed, slowly hooked her fingers into her panties and shoved them past her thighs. Before they reached her knees, he had her on her back once more and was peeling the satin past her ankles.

  “You’ve changed your mind, then?” she asked when he covered her quickly.

  “What?”

  “I thought we were going slow,” she teased.

  “Next time,” Johnny promised. “Or the next.”

  Nicole blinked awake. She lay still for a minute, aware sunlight poured through the open balcony doors. Slowly she rolled to her side. Johnny lay on his stomach, one arm draped over his head, the other dangling off the side of the bed. His lips were parted, his eyes closed. His broad, naked back beckoned her to reach out and touch him, but she held back, intrigued with the idea of watching him sleep without his knowing.

  He stirred, and the movement drew Nicole’s attention to his long, powerful legs. Even relaxed in sleep, he looked tough as nails.

  She inched closer, his heat drawing her body like a magnet. The way he had made love to her last night had been incredible. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, unable to fight her feelings any longer. It was true, she loved him. Loved the way he made love to her. The feel of him. The way he smelled, talked, tasted.

  She simply loved every inch of Johnny Bernard.

  His eyelids fluttered, and he rolled over. “You like watching naked men sleep, cherie?”

  Nicole smiled. “It has a certain appeal, yes. How long have you been awake?”

  “Long enough.” He stretched, rolled sideways. Eyes smiling, he stole a kiss. “Good morning.”

  Nicole arched into him and felt his arousal against her belly. “Johnny…”

  “Shh. Don’t say anything. Not yet.”

  “Breakfast in bed. You were serious?”

  The door between the two hotel rooms stood open. Nicole, freshly showered, struck a pose wearing a short lavender satin robe. “Of course, I was serious.”

  “How long?”

  “How long?”

  “How long before they come knocking with the food?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Come here.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Medoro in two hours. I have to get dressed soon.”

  She wasn’t going to make the appointment. Johnny had plans of his own. He loved loving her, loved making her sigh and say his name. He loved her eyes, her sweet lips. Touching her soft skin drove him crazy. No, she wasn’t going to make her appointment with that long-haired Frenchman.

  “Come here.”

  “Johnny…”

  “Okay, I’ll come to you.”

  In an instant he was out of bed, stalking her. Nicole whirl
ed around to dash back into her room. The minute Johnny realized she was heading for the bathroom, he cut her off, forcing her back toward the bed. She stumbled just as he reached for her, and together they landed on the unused double bed.

  They were laughing as their eyes locked. Slowly, simultaneously, they sobered.

  “I want you again. In your bed this time.”

  “Johnny…”

  An hour later Johnny watched Nicole rescue their breakfast tray, which had been left outside his door a long half hour ago. When she returned, she placed the tray in the middle of the bed and sat cross-legged, tucking her robe around her.

  “The food’s cold,” she grumbled, lifting the cover off the seafood omelette.

  “Still looks good,” Johnny said, popping a slice of banana from the fruit cup into his mouth and chewing with a satisfied grin. He had pulled on a pair of white underwear and now stretched out on his side across the bed.

  Nicole cut a small piece of the omelette and sampled it. She speared another forkful and offered it to him. “Want some?”

  For an answer, Johnny opened his mouth, took hold of her wrist and steered the fork between his teeth.

  She fed him two more bites, then set the fork down, her attention averted by the puckered scar on his thigh. Slowly, she traced it with her finger. “Where did you get this?”

  “In prison.”

  “A knife fight?”

  “No.” Johnny picked up the fork and gripped the handle. Raising it, he acted out the scene. “A lot of guys in the joint use whatever they can steal and make them into weapons—forks, spoons, a scrap of metal.”

  “That’s awful. It must have hurt terribly. Did you provoke someone?”

  Johnny grinned. “No, I didn’t.”

  “But you did fight back, right?” She gestured to the fork. “With one of those?”

  Johnny laid the silver fork down. “No weapon. I’m an ex-marine, remember? If you know how to use your hands, they can be just as deadly as any knife.”

  “And are your hands deadly?”

  Johnny gave her body a long heated look. “I don’t know, are they?”