Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights)

by Amie Louellen

  Roxanne threw back the covers and flounced toward the kitchen where she had seen a stack of canned food earlier.

  This was for Malcolm, she said to herself. And for no other reason. She wasn’t going soft on her vow, she was just looking out for a friend.

  She peeled the lid off a can of turkey and salmon mush and dumped the whole thing onto a Blue Willow saucer. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here, Miss Kitty. Here kitty, kitty.”

  She and Jonas had had a cat when they were little. The testy thing did whatever he damned well pleased, whenever he damned well pleased, but one thing was always a constant, if someone in the house opened a can, Monty Buggles was there in a flash.

  Miss Kitty didn’t come running.

  Surely she hadn’t gotten out of the apartment. If she had, she might be gone for days before anyone found her. Roxanne would just think positive. The cat was still in the apartment. Somewhere.

  Roxanne sat the plate of food onto the floor.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called as she checked under every piece of furniture the very pregnant cat might be able to hide under. The wingback chair in the living room. The bed in the master room. The table in the kitchen. No cat.

  “Do not panic,” she told herself sternly. But she was already coming up with excuses to tell the absent Miss Beulah when she returned, starting with “Cat? What cat?” and ending with alien abduction complete with sound effects.

  Roxanne made her way through the apartment one more time, checking all the hiding places she could think of, but still no feline to be found. Finally she peeked into the utility room and found a blue plastic laundry basket of what looked to be freshly washed towels that Miss Beulah hadn’t taken the time to fold before she left for Memphis. Miss Kitty was on top of the pile.

  The poor cat was lying on her side, her breathing heavy, almost like she was panting. Beside her in the bed of towels were two little bundles of slick, scrawny newborn kittens.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no no,” Roxanne chanted. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t have your babies now.”

  Miss Kitty blinked at her, then went back to her labor. Roxanne stared in horror as the calico gave birth to three more kittens.

  Roxanne sank to the floor of the laundry room and watched as Miss Kitty cleaned each kitten, and the hungry little creatures searched for food. All but one.

  The momma calico nudged the little black ball with her nose but it didn’t move. As the other four kittens rooted around trying to find their mother’s teats, Miss Kitty cleaned the little one who didn’t make it.

  Roxanne wasn’t sure of how long she sat on the floor watching Miss Kitty with her baby, but she could take it no more. Miss Kitty kept licking the little black kitten. The act was almost desperate as if the poor cat thought if she could get the kitten clean enough, then somehow it would start breathing again.

  Roxanne knew exactly how she felt. She knew first-hand what it was like to lose a child, something so precious. To feel so helpless.

  And Roxanne knew that Miss Kitty was going to lie there all night and clean the kitten that died instead of attending the ones that were still alive. The others would perish too if Roxanne didn’t do something.

  Numbed by more emotions than she could name, she stumbled out of the apartment and downstairs to Malcolm’s. True to his word, he’d left his door unlocked. She tiptoed through the living room and into his bedroom. The master suite was dark, the only illumination was the security light outside. The dim glow filtered into the French styled windows covered only with gauzy curtains and shone on the bed where he lay.

  “Malcolm.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Malcolm.” This time louder.

  “Roxanne?” He sat up in the bed, quick as a shot. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Miss Kitty. She had her babies. One of them … died.”

  • • •

  Malcolm shoveled another load of dirt back into the hole. Roxanne sat on the ground next to him quiet and somber as if he were burying her dearest friend.

  He must have fallen immediately asleep after she had gone up to Miss Beulah’s. One minute his head touched the pillow and the next, Roxanne was standing over him.

  Roxanne was an emotional void. It was strange watching the animated reporter turn stoic as she supervised the arrangements. Her actions were stiff and awkward as if one wrong move and she would break all to pieces. He didn’t bat an eye about burying a kitten that wasn’t his at nearly two o’clock in the morning. He didn’t think Roxanne could handle it if he refused. As it was, he got out of bed and went in search of a shovel, thankful the recent rain had softened the earth.

  Roxanne had made Malcolm find an old shoe box and line it with one of his best hand towels. Then she’d directed him to a place under one of the many magnolias on the property. It had taken a little negotiation on his part, but Malcolm finally found a spot she approved of that didn’t have so many roots he couldn’t dig a hole.

  He’d probably broken half a dozen city health codes by burying the kitten in the back yard, but there was no way he could tell Roxanne he couldn’t do it. He’d deal with the Harlows later. Right now, he needed to get the deed done and Roxanne back in bed.

  His Freudian slip, even mental, was more than he could stand. He thought maybe their earlier … encounter would get her out of his system, but it seemed their time together had only intensified his desire for her. With the constant stream of events in the last couple of hours, Malcolm hadn’t time to examine just how this Yankee reporter had gotten under his skin.

  He patted down the last of the dirt, thankful the task was done.

  “Amen.”

  Was she praying?

  “Come on, Roxanne. Let’s go back into the house.” He reached a hand out to her, and she nestled into his side like the perfect puzzle piece. He tried not to notice how well they fit together.

  Roxanne nodded against his shoulder. “Now she can go on.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Miss Kitty,” she said as they reached the front door. “She has another chance. Now she can raise her other babies. I didn’t get a second chance.”

  Malcolm didn’t know how to respond, so he simply opened the door and led her inside.

  “Do you want me to go upstairs with you and check on her?”

  Roxanne nodded, and the two of them climbed to Miss Beulah’s together. Miss Kitty was still in the laundry basket, though now she was licking the four remaining kittens, three with tiger stripes and one a calico like her momma. The attention she showered on her little ones was more like love and less like a bath.

  Roxanne reached out and stroked Miss Kitty’s head. “She’s a good mommy. Aren’t you?”

  Miss Kitty’s purr filled the small room.

  Malcolm couldn’t believe Roxanne, who was so opposed to the cat yesterday, seemed to actually like the creature now. “You don’t mind staying here with her?”

  Roxanne straightened and faced him. Blue eyes met brown. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do mind.”

  Something in her tone sent a pang of desire straight down to his toes. “Roxanne, I don’t think you know what you’re saying. You’ve been through a lot tonight. You emotions are—”

  “Don’t you start, too, damn it. Don’t start treating me like I’m some fragile little hothouse flower.”

  That was exactly how he wanted to treat her. That would be the safest. “You’ve been drinking, Roxanne. I don’t think you’re able to make a good choice right now.”

  “I haven’t had that much to drink. But I could be falling down drunk, and I’d still know what I want. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I want to be with you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seconds ticked by, but felt more like hours. Malcolm closed his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath, and Roxanne knew she had made a mistake.

  “I can’t do this,” he said.

  His words felt like a stab to her heart.

  “I understand.�
�� Her voice sounded tinny and far away, as if she had spoken into a tunnel. “That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Then Malcolm opened his magnificent brown eyes, so full of passion and longing. “I meant, I can’t do this here. Not in Miss Beulah’s apartment. Not with Elvis watching. The things I want to do to you do not need to be witnessed by The King.”

  Roxanne’s heart soared.

  “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her back down the stairs. Neither of them spoke, until they were once again in his apartment. Just inside the door, he turned to her, not touching her but looking at her with so much desire it was almost tangible. “I can’t promise you anything after tomorrow.”

  Roxanne shook her head. “I’m not asking for anything other than tonight.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “You talk too much.”

  “I just—”

  “Malcolm, shut up and kiss me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and finally captured her mouth with his own. The kiss was slow and sensual. Not at all like the ones before. This time, it was familiar territory, and his mouth explored, rediscovered.

  Roxanne melted into him as he turned her around and walked her backwards into his bedroom, his lips never leaving hers.

  With practiced ease, he lowered her onto the king-sized bed. The sheets held his scent, and Roxanne felt enveloped by his presence. He kissed her once, twice, then rose.

  His gaze locked with hers as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, the movement a promise of things to come. Roxanne’s mouth went dry in anticipation. He reached for his pajama bottoms …

  And the room was plunged into total darkness.

  “Malcolm?”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” His voice sounded like it came from the foot of the bed, but she couldn’t make out even the outline of his form in the inky blackness.

  “You don’t suppose Lester … ”

  “Surely not. I mean, it’s after two in the morning.” His voice seemed to come from the bedside next to her. She wasn’t positive, but she thought she heard him open a drawer and shift through the contents. “And his specialty is telephone poles, not power lines.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Roxanne said.

  “It’s rural electric,” Malcolm explained. “Happens a lot around here.”

  “You sound further away.”

  “I gotta find something. Wait right here.”

  “I can’t see two feet in front of my face,” Roxanne said. “I’m in an unfamiliar room. I really hadn’t planned on going anywhere. But hurry, will you?”

  “Are you afraid of the dark?” he teased.

  “No, I just want you inside me—ASAP.”

  “I’ll hurry.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  After what seemed like an eternity, but could have only been minutes, he returned with two large pillar candles, their flames flickering shadows across his handsome face. The heady scent of vanilla wafted around them.

  “I hate that the power’s out,” he said, pushing the useless lamp out of the way so there was room on the nightstand for the candles.

  “This is good for me.” Just as long as you get over here.

  “I want light,” he explained. “I want to see your every expression as I make love to you.”

  No one had ever said anything so … sexy to her. Never in her life had anyone been able to turn her on with mere words. Roxanne grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled him closer. “I want you … now.”

  The mattress dipped under his weight as he joined her. In the shadows created by the candles, he pulled off her T-shirt and murmured his appreciation as her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze. Then he locked his mouth over one, and Roxanne thought she might explode with the pleasure. She needed him to hurry. She needed him to slow down. She needed him to keep kissing her like that until the sun came up.

  Candlelight flickered around them, casting erotic shadows as he undressed her. He took his time, savoring. Kissing and caressing every inch of her. Their challenge for power had been extinguished; this time it was about passion.

  And life.

  For three long years, she had been running from death. Her mother’s. Dane’s. Running so she didn’t have to truly live. Malcolm’s touch changed all of that. The feel of his hands against her skin brought everything back home again. It centered her. She no longer had to run, no longer had to pretend. Once again, she was allowed to experience.

  She ran her hands down his chest, loving the feel of his muscles under her palms. The mat of rusty chest hair. The abrasion of his whiskers against the tender flesh of her breasts, her stomach.

  She drowned in the smell of him, that clean scent of his cologne mixed with the muskiness of their earlier lovemaking. She savored his hands on her. Caressing, stroking. Each touch more special than the last because it validated her, reaffirmed life and her place among the living.

  He kissed his way across the planes of her belly, dipping his tongue in her navel, tracing it as if to memorize its shape. Then with a small nip, he made his way lower still, stopping only at the triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs.

  He raised his head, his brown eyes scorching in their intensity.

  His gaze locked with hers, he clasped her leg behind one knee, bending up in order to gain the access he demanded.

  “Now the other one,” he rasped, his voice husky as he lightly trailed his thumb down that most feminine part of her.

  She did as he bade, bending her leg, so she was open to him, for him. She couldn’t pull her eyes away as he used the pads of his thumbs to part the feminine folds and hold her open for his kiss.

  The first touch of his mouth nearly sent her over the edge. She gritted her teeth and held on, wanting to hold off until he was inside her.

  A low moan escaped her, and she bit her lip. Not to hold back the sound but to hold back her release. Every muscle in her body was tense, tight as she struggled for her own internal control.

  As if sensing something was amiss, he raised his head, his gaze searching for hers in the golden candlelight. “Let go, sweetheart.”

  “Malcolm?”

  “Let go, Roxanne. Come for me.” And with that command, he lowered his head once more, sucking the tiny little nub into his mouth and pushing one finger inside her.

  Roxanne shattered into a million pieces.

  Her orgasm was strong, wave upon wave of ecstasy. He continued to hold her to him, riding out her pleasure.

  Before the last shudder subsided, he nestled between her thighs, and she could feel the heat of him, the need. She moved toward him, encouraging him to enter her, complete her.

  “Condom,” he rasped, starting to pull away.

  Roxanne couldn’t let him go. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, the taste of her own release still clinging to him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, several breathless minutes later. “I can’t get pregnant.” She ran her hands down his sides and gripped his hips. Encouraged by his groan of desire, she used her tongue to trace the line of his collarbone. “I’m pretty sure we’re beyond disease control.”

  “Uh-hum,” he murmured, dropping his head to kiss the base of her throat. They hadn’t used any protection earlier. “I’ll have my secretary fax my health report to your office Monday morning.”

  “You do that.” Anything else she was about to say was lost as his lips covered hers once again.

  But instead of entering her as she had anticipated, Malcolm rolled to his back and pulled her on top of him. She straddled his hips, heady with the power of their lovemaking. She rode out their passion, loving the freedom his touch had given her. And life anew.

  • • •

  “Are you asleep?”

  Roxanne lay in the crook of Malcolm’s arm, soaking up his warmth, memorizing his presence.

  “No.” She sighed against him. “I can’t
even close my eyes.”

  “Adrenaline,” he explained. “You’ve been through a great deal in a very little time span.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He shifted across her and captured one pink nipple between gentle white teeth. It puckered in response, proving he had every reason to be cocky of the power his touch held over her. “Are you hungry?” he asked, his breath cooling her passion-sensitive skin.

  “Starved,” she rasped.

  “I meant for food.”

  “That too.” She reached for him and found her target.

  Malcolm sucked in a breath. “Woman, I can’t do this again without sustenance.”

  “Lightweight.”

  He laughed. “Just for that, you’re going to pay. Right after I eat.”

  He pressed a quick kiss against her mouth, then rose. Flashing her a mischievous smile, he picked up a candle, and without a stitch of clothing, left the room.

  Roxanne lay back against the pillows. Just yesterday she had compared him to Pierce, thought he was a stuffed shirt just like her ex. Too conservative for his own good. But as she watched his naked backside disappear into the darkness she couldn’t help but think, how wrong could one person be? It wasn’t fair to Malcolm to even speak their names in the same sentence. Pierce would have never walked around so comfortable with his nudity, half-hard with desire. The idea was laughable. Yet Malcolm seemed just as at ease in his own skin as he was in a three-piece suit.

  But Roxanne was not so at ease. She was pulling her shirt over her head when Malcolm walked back into the room, hands filled with various containers of food.

  “I found some pizza, some mac and cheese, a little bit of fried chicken, and some cantaloupe and—you got dressed.” He sounded majorly disappointed.

  “Just my shirt and underwear.”

  He tsked, as he sat the food on the cedar chest at the end of the bed. “This will never do. As my slave girl, you must be punished.”

  Roxanne stopped, her hand on the hem. Anticipation spread a tingling warmth in her lower regions. “If I’m a slave girl, what does that make you?”