Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights)

by Amie Louellen

  His brows rose to a lecherous angle. “Why, your master, of course.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Food forgotten, he showed her just how masterful he could be.

  • • •

  “I meant what I said about tomorrow.”

  They were sitting cross-legged on his bed finishing up the last of the leftover pizza and cold macaroni and cheese he had found during his trip to the kitchen. Roxanne had pulled on Malcolm’s Vandy T-shirt, and he had reluctantly donned his pajama pants. They both realized they had to be dressed in order to get anything done—even eating.

  The power had hummed back to life nearly an hour ago, causing them to jump like busted teenagers as it flooded the room with light. They had laughed and kissed, then gone back to their lovemaking, not letting a little old thing like overhead lighting spoil their mood.

  Roxanne opened the tub of diced cantaloupe and took a bite. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about tomorrow,” she said around the fruit.

  “I’m just saying … ” He snatched a piece of the melon and popped it into his mouth. Then he reached for another. “I’ll call the judge and ask if I can take care of the prelim myself. I think it’s important for you get back to Chicago and see your father as soon as possible.”

  “It’s kind of surreal, you know. My whole life I’ve thought of him as invincible—the great Joseph St. John.”

  He stopped raiding the fruit bowl. “Joseph St. John is your father?”

  She nodded. “That’s dear old dad.”

  “He’s like a … a … ”

  “Prick,” she supplied.

  Malcolm frowned. “I was going to say legend.”

  “Oh, yeah, world’s greatest attorney and all that.”

  “Roxanne, you really shouldn’t talk about your father that way.”

  She shook her head and handed him the container of fruit. “I know, but we’re just oil and water. I love him so much. I mean, he’s my dad. Yet I can hardly stand to be in the same room with him. Up until three years ago, I lived my whole life just to please him, and it was never good enough.”

  “What happened three years ago?”

  “Dane died.” She was surprised at how easily she said the words. She had never been able to talk about him, not even to Pierce.

  “Who’s Dane?” Malcolm asked, his mouth full of melon. “Another ex?”

  Roxanne shook her head. “My son.”

  He stopped chewing, then immediately swallowed. “Oh, Roxanne. Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Food forgotten, he gathered her into his arms and cradled her to his chest. Just held her there as sweet, mournful minutes ticked by. His embrace offered comfort, but being held so close that she could feel his heart beat beneath her cheek gave her strength. A strength she never knew she had.

  “The doctors said it was one of those freak things. A one in a million. I hemorrhaged. He died at birth.”

  “That’s the name on your tattoo.”

  Roxanne nodded, then caught her breath as Malcolm laid her back down in the bed. With a quick flick of his wrist, he exposed her hip. Then he leaned over and kissed the little cherub inked there with Dane written underneath and the year below that. Pierce hated the tattoo, told her she was being ridiculous when she got it. And yet her conservative Malcolm kissed it as if he cherished it as much as she.

  “He was the only thing holding me to Pierce. Truly, our marriage was doomed from the beginning. I only married him to please my father. Since I refused to become an attorney like him, marrying one was the next best thing.”

  “And you initiated the divorce proceedings.”

  She nodded. “The day we buried Dane, I resigned my job at the Tribune. I packed everything I could get into two suitcases and left. I couldn’t bear to stay at our house anymore. I couldn’t be so close to the nursery with all the toys and tiny little clothes we had bought for him. I just couldn’t do it.”

  “What happened to it all?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I guess Pierce gave it to charity.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this given my current dislike for the man, but you owe him an apology. You shouldn’t have left him to bear the entire weight of that responsibility.”

  Roxanne frowned. “You’re right,” she grudgingly agreed. “But I just couldn’t face it all.” She had never been able to talk about Dane. Jonas had made her many appointments with his colleagues, but Roxanne couldn’t open up to them. Pierce had tried to get her to go to a marriage counselor, but she knew their relationship was too far gone to ever get it back. Yet she’d just told Malcolm things she hadn’t been able to tell another person, alive or dead. Not even her mother’s gravestone.

  “Amanda’s parents came and took all of her things,” Malcolm said.

  “She was your wife.”

  “I see you’ve been talking to Miss Gertie.”

  “Actually, it was Truman.”

  “Remind me to have a talk with him later. What did Truman tell you about Amanda?”

  “Not much really. We were talking about you needing the perfect politician’s wife, and he said you’d already had that. And if I wanted to know more, I’d have to ask you myself.”

  “Are you asking?”

  “Only if you want to tell me.”

  He settled back against the headboard and gathered her close. Their legs intertwined, and Roxanne soaked in the warmth of him. His heady scent, the strength in his embrace.

  “God, it was so long ago. I was just starting my second year of law school. Barely twenty-five and I had the world by the tail. Amanda and I’d been married a little over a year. She was coming home from one of those lingerie parties that girls like to have. A drunk driver crossed the median of a divided highway and hit her head on. She was killed instantly. He walked away without a scratch.”

  Roxanne turned in his arms so she could see his face. She ran her fingers down the hard planes of his cheek and lightly brushed the tips over the stitches in his chin. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t drive for a year. Between what happened to her and my parents, I couldn’t even go near a car.”

  “Miss Gertie told me about them. So sad,” Roxanne murmured.

  Malcolm nodded. “I walked everywhere I went. Then slowly I gained back my confidence. My faith.”

  “How did you do that?”

  He shrugged. “I just realized that everything happens for a reason. We may not understand it at the time. But somehow, somewhere down the road we call life, that experience will help guide us, because it molded us into who we are today.”

  “What was that from? Your salutatorian speech?”

  “Valedictorian—thank you, very much. And you know it’s true.”

  “Maybe,” she said, tracing her fingers through the rusty-colored hair on his chest. If everything happened for a reason, then why had she been accused of murder? Why had she ended up in Malcolm’s bed and why couldn’t she get enough of him?

  She let her hand trail lower. A rumble of encouragement sounded from deep inside him. She shot him a mischievous look and let her lips follow her fingers. He was ready for her.

  “Are you trying to drive me insane?" he gritted as her mouth closed over him.

  Roxanne didn’t answer. If this one night was all they had, then she wanted to make the most of it, crazy or not.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first rays of dawn licked across the sky as Roxanne pushed herself up from Malcolm’s bed. The candles had long since burned out, but the rising sun offered her enough light to gather her things.

  Malcolm was sleeping like a baby—a well satisfied baby. She didn’t want to wake him. What good would it do? Their agreed upon night had ended. Dawn was coming and with the new day, their magical time was over.

  Reality bore down hard upon her, as she quietly let herself out of his apartment. Today was her last day in Jefferson County. In just twenty-four hours she would be free of the murder charges and on her way back t
o Illinois. It’s what she had wanted all along. Yet she felt sad, not victorious. Her ex-husband, her editor/wannabe lover, and her brother had all come south to get her. And the funny part of it all was that she wasn’t really sure she wanted to leave. She wanted to see her father for herself and make sure he was really okay. She was ready for a Chicago-style pizza pie, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to leave—not just yet.

  She made her way through Miss Beulah’s apartment and into the utility room where Miss Kitty was still tending her tiny little kittens. Then she went to the kitchen to get some food for the momma cat.

  Roxanne should have been tired. She hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes sleep in Malcolm’s embrace, but instead she felt jittery, anxious. Maybe it was adrenaline like Malcolm said. Maybe it was worry over her father. Or maybe it was just a natural reaction to the best sex she’d ever had.

  She supposed she should be deathly ashamed at having a one-nighter with her attorney, who just happened to be practically betrothed, but she could only muster up mild disconcertment. After all, they were consenting adults—very consenting—and he might have bought Lila a ring, but he’d been walking around with it for six months without putting it on her finger. She seriously doubted Malcolm was in love with Lila, but he needed her to complete his career goals. Their marriage would be like so many other political marriages.

  The thought made her stomach hurt. Despite Malcolm’s goals, he should have a wife who loved him and that he loved in return. Call her a romantic, but she thought everyone deserved that much out of life. That was one of the reasons why she’d left Pierce. She hadn’t loved him, not after Dane died. Probably not ever. She deserved better than that. And so did he.

  Roxanne sighed and wandered into the living room. It was after seven o’clock in the morning. She’d been up for almost twenty-four hours straight. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made her thoughts go round and round like a dog chasing its tail. Maybe if she talked to her father, then she could shut off her mind and get some sleep before having to face Newland and Pierce.

  She sat down on the sofa and used Miss Beulah’s phone to call Jonas and get the number to her father’s room. Surely talking to her dad and hearing his voice would ease her mind and allow her to sleep. At the very least it would get one thing off her mind. Malcolm, on the other hand, might not be so easy to forget.

  She dialed Jonas’s number, but he had turned off his cell. She’d call back in half an hour. In the meantime …

  Roxanne lay down on the floral print couch and closed her eyes.

  • • •

  The shrill ring of the phone pierced through the sleepy fog in his brain. Malcolm rolled over and stretched an arm across his bed expecting to find Roxanne. But the sheets were empty save for the sweet smell of wildflowers and satisfying sex. She was gone. The night was over. Morning had come. And the phone was ringing.

  He turned back toward the nightstand and picked up the receiver from the bedside phone. Maybe it was Roxanne. God, he missed her already.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice thick and low with sleep.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Lila?” Malcolm sat bolt upright in the bed, sleepiness deserting him in an instant. “Uh … good morning.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”

  “Did you have a good time at the party last night?”

  “I had a great time. You?”

  Wonderful. Miraculous. Stupendous. “It was a good party,” was all he could manage.

  Guilt swept over him. He had slept with Roxanne—well, actually there was no sleep involved—and he was practically engaged to Lila. He felt like a deceiver, a cheater. He hadn’t actually given the ring to Lila. Hadn’t officially asked her to marry him. Hadn’t even unofficially asked her to marry him. But he still felt like he was in breach of contract. He owed her an explanation whether she knew it or not.

  “I was hoping that maybe … ” She trailed off and for the first time since he had answered the phone he noticed the changes in her voice, the awkwardness of their conversation.

  She knew.

  After all, they lived in the same house. He wasn’t going to be able to hide his transgressions with Roxanne for long. He needed to explain—

  “I was hoping you and I could spend some time together today.”

  Malcolm looked to the bedside clock; it was almost eleven. Or at least that was what he thought it said. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on this face, just then noticing the note carefully folded underneath them.

  “I still have custody of Roxanne,” he explained, opening the letter.

  Malcolm,

  I’ve gone to get rid of the boys. See you this afternoon.

  R

  “I know, but—”

  “How about tomorrow?” Roxanne would be gone tomorrow. Driving back to Chicago in her rattletrap of a car named Mabel.

  “I have to go to Barbados this afternoon. I won’t be back until late next week.”

  “Next Friday, then.” Next Friday should be good. Maybe by next Friday his life would be back to normal. “Go on to your shoot. Whatever it is will keep till you get back.” He felt like a heel, but maybe—if he were given a little more time—he could come up with a plausible excuse for making love to Roxanne all night long.

  “I suppose,” she murmured.

  “Be careful, and call me when you get back.”

  “I will,” she said then hung up the phone.

  Malcolm replaced his receiver, then hustled into the bathroom. It was eleven o’clock, and daylight was burning. Normally, he was an early riser. But normally he hadn’t spent damn near all night making love to a sassy Yankee reporter. A satisfying pastime he had to admit, but one not conducive to getting much done early the next morning.

  He showered and shaved in record time. Was dressed in khaki chinos and a navy blue and white striped polo in nothing flat. And was on his way to Miss Beulah’s apartment in under twenty minutes.

  His heart pounded with crazy excitement when he knocked on the door, which in itself was insane. It was like being seventeen again and picking up a date after sharing a sloppy French kiss the night before. Anticipation was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

  He waited impatiently until the door was pulled open by a fresh-from-the-shower Roxanne. Her hair hung in riotous curls around her flushed face. The scent of wildflowers wafted around her. Malcolm couldn’t resist. Or maybe he’d resisted so long he no longer had the desire to.

  Without a word he stepped into the apartment and took her into his arms. The kiss was sweet and knowing, the kiss between old lovers. So much for keeping his distance.

  “I thought we only had last night,” Roxanne breathed when he finally lifted his head.

  “That one was free,” he murmured and lowered his lips to hers once again.

  “Ahem.”

  They broke apart to find Jonas standing in the doorway of Miss Beulah’s. “I knocked,” he said apologetically.

  “Jonas.” Roxanne’s voice sounded guilty, as if she had been caught in the act by her lover, not her brother. She ran a nervous hand over her quirky hair. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Obviously.” Jonas had a laidback, borderline lazy quality about him that belied the intelligence shining in his eyes.

  Malcolm settled himself down on the couch to watch the play between brother and sister. He’d never had a sibling, and the interaction was quite entertaining.

  “Where’s—” she started.

  “At the B&B. Newland was conducting an interview, and I do believe the Olsen twins have pretty much taken Pierce hostage. Something about a Beanie Baby museum,” her brother finished.

  “They claim to have every Beanie Baby ever made,” Malcolm explained.

  “Beanie Babies?” Roxanne asked, looking from her brother back to him. “Those little stuffed animals from Ty?”

  “The one and the same.”

  “Amazing,” she said with a shake of her head.
She took the ponytail holder off her wrist and twisted it around her hair.

  “You ought to go see it, baby girl. It is very interesting.”

  “You went to see it?” Her motions stopped as if she couldn’t fix those riotous curls and imagine her brother touring a museum stuffed full of plush toys at the same time.

  “I think it’s a requirement if you spend the night there.”

  Malcolm nodded. “They have a separate house behind the B&B—a miniature of their Victorian. All the toys are displayed there. You should go see it.”

  “Maybe later. I really need to talk to my father while Pierce and Newland are otherwise occupied. I’ll deal with Joseph first, then the others.”

  Jonas produced his cell phone and punched the buttons that would connect her to their father’s hospital room.

  Malcolm studied Roxanne as she took the phone from her twin. Even if they hadn’t talked about this just last night, Malcolm would have been able to tell just how uncomfortable she was talking to her father. She gnawed on her thumbnail, her eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Could be trepidation, could be flat out angst. Maybe it was a combination of both.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  The words were quietly spoken and lacking in confidence as if just being connected by telephone to him reversed her to adolescence.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t come until tomorrow. I’m caught up with work.”

  She picked at some imaginary lint on the leg of her jeans.

  “Pierce told you what? Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be fine. Yes, it’s true. Yes, I have an attorney.”

  She looked up at him then, and Malcolm tried to smile his silent encouragement. Roxanne looked as if she were about to break down and cry.

  “Well, I don’t think Pierce had any cause to tell you.” She dragged her lower lip through her teeth. “His rights where I’m concerned were over three years ago. No, I do not want him to represent me. My attorney does a fine job.” Their eyes met, and Malcolm felt ten feet tall. Then her eyes darkened and storm clouds brewed in their depths. “He told you that, huh? I don’t think that’s any business of his or yours. You know what? I’ve got to go. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night. If I get out of jail.” She hung up without saying goodbye.