by Leger, Lori
Giselle quirked her brow. “How do you know Jackson’s college buddy?”
“Scott McAllister, or ‘Red’, as everyone calls him, is originally from my hometown of Gardiner, and I used to babysit for him. His mom and I are second cousins. He’s the sweetest guy, and I know you’ll love him. You two have a blast, and please be careful driving home tonight in that horrible Lafayette traffic.”
“That’s what I was about to call and let you know. We’ve got rooms at a hotel in Lafayette.”
“Perfect. I won’t have to worry about you. Dance a couple for me.”
Jackson checked his screen before answering his mobile. “Hey Carrie, what’s up?”
“Hi Jack, I just left Giselle’s place. I see you took excellent care of her, and I’m thrilled you two are going to Red’s together.”
“Are you?” He held his breath.
She was quiet for a moment. “I know how badly you want this, Jackson.”
He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “You know, don’t you?”
She released a low chuckle. “For a few years, now.”
He frowned. “Who else knows?”
“No one at the office. Sam knows because I don’t keep anything from my husband. But, I’d bet money Bill knows.”
He coughed out a surprised laugh. “What the hell is it with you two? He said the same thing about you.”
“Hmm … Great minds and all.”
Thoughts of Toby suddenly filled his mind. “Do you think he’d mind, Carrie?” He had to wait a bit for an answer.
“Sam and I both believe that if Toby could have chosen any man in the world to take care of his three girls, he would have chosen you.”
Jackson blinked several times to clear his eyes. “Hearing that from you means a lot to me.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “I just wish I could be there when you see Giselle.”
Jackson sucked in his breath. He knew that tone. The tone that said she knew so much more, but wasn’t telling. “That good, huh?”
“Have fun, Jack.”
Giselle’s breath hitched at the sight of Jackson looking GQ sexy. Black dress slacks and a long sleeved burgundy shirt, with a black and burgundy patterned tie.
He interrupted her shocked silence with a long, slow whistle of approval. Giselle beamed at him and turned slowly for his inspection.
“Jesus. You look like a million bucks, Giselle. Really beautiful.”
Once again, she blushed down to the roots of her hair before thanking him. “You look very handsome, yourself,” she said, flipping his tie.
He smiled, then grabbed her bag. “Is this all the luggage you have?”
“I travel light, whenever possible,” she returned.
“I see that. Chloe would have filled up the back seat.”
She stopped to look up at him. “Let’s establish here and now that I’m not Chloe.”
He gazed at her for a moment. “No, you’re not, and I’m not Toby, either.”
They nodded at each other, forming an unspoken agreement not to mention the names of either spouse the rest of the night.
By the time Jackson ushered Giselle into the classy looking club, it was nearly 6:45. A large dance floor dominated the center of the room, with a smaller, more private one off to the side. The bandstand was situated between the two. The two separate bar areas were glorious concoctions of lights, mirrors, and granite countertops. Leather stools lined each bar, and tables dotted the large areas situated around the dance floor, each one surrounded by four swivel chairs constructed in the same style as the stools.
“This place is beautiful. Your friend has excellent taste.”
“I think you’ll like Red.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Just don’t like him too much.” He gave her a wink.
Giselle looked up as a man about the same height and build as Jackson walked through a side door. He had a shock of dark auburn hair, but it was his startling blue eyes that commanded her attention.
He grabbed Jackson’s hand in a firm shake. “Hey buddy, you don’t know how much it means to me to have a friend in my corner tonight.” He turned to Giselle. “And who is this lovely vision? Scott McAllister at your service, ma’am, but please call me Red.” He smiled, flashing straight, white teeth.
Red McAllister may have briefly had the opportunity to be considered an average looking man. Not nearly as handsome as someone with Jackson’s GQ looks. But the genuine smile, the sincere kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, dashed that to hell. She couldn’t help thinking that a man with his type of rugged good looks belonged in the Scottish highlands. He should be wearing a kilt … and nothing else.
“Red, this very special lady is Giselle Granger,” Jackson said, his voice sounding a little stilted and stiff.
“Red, it’s wonderful to meet you,” Giselle said. “I’m thrilled to be here tonight. You’ve done a beautiful job with the club’s design.”
Red flashed a grin at her. “Thank you, Giselle.”
“Was any of this here already, or is it all new?” She was genuinely interested in the layout.
“It was a club, previously, but I didn’t like the floor plan. I gutted it and started from scratch.”
“We could use one like this in Lake Coburn, you know,” Jackson admitted.
“That’s my next location, so keep an eye out for property.”
Giselle glanced around. “Is your plan to have a nationwide chain of clubs?”
“Nothing that grandiose,” Red answered with a low chuckle. “My plan is to open several more here in Louisiana—New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Alexandria, and Shreveport. Louisiana’s a great place to live and I’m tired of hearing everyone give it a bad rap. I may have a Scottish last name, but I’ve got Broussard and Hebert bloodlines, and I’m proud as hell of my Cajun roots.”
Giselle remembered Carrie’s message. “Speaking of Cajun roots, Carrie asked me to give you her love.”
Red’s eyes lit up. “I love Carrie. Did she tell you she used to babysit for me and my siblings?”
“She said she babysat for you, but she didn’t mention anyone else.”
He winked at her. “That’s because I was her favorite.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” She chuckled at his comment.
He laughed as he turned to Jackson. “How’s Uncle Bill?”
“Ate up with a woman right now.”
“No.”
“Oh yeah,” Giselle added. “Bill is in love.”
Red’s face blanched. “He can’t be. He’s my role model for perpetual bachelorhood.”
Jackson laughed. “You’ll have to find someone else; he’s met a wonderful lady named Gwen, who’s raising her seven year old niece. Gwen’s brother and his wife were killed in a boating accident six years ago.”
Red nodded solemnly. “They have that in common.”
A ruckus at the side door drew their attention. “Hang on, there’s the band.” Red walked over to speak with them, pointing out various doorways. The band went off and Red came back to meet the couple.
“Look Red, we know you have a lot of responsibilities as the owner,” Jackson said. “Just tell us where to sit.”
Red escorted them to the section around the smaller dance floor. “This is the VIP section, and that’s my table,” he said. “That’s where I want you two. I have some things to take care of before we open the doors, but I’ll be back later.”
The server came to the table to take their drink order. Giselle surprised Jackson by ordering a beer. He smiled, saying he’d take the same.
While waiting for their drinks, she saw him grinning at her. “What?” she asked.
“Sam Adams? I expected you to order a white wine, or something.”
She fiddled with the latch on her purse. “I don’t drink often, but when I do, I prefer beer and I prefer it made in America. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed at all. I’m pleased.”
B
y 7:30 people were pouring into the new club. Tables filled quickly, as did the bar. The house DJ kept the tunes rolling, priming Red’s customers for the band’s appearance at 8:00.
Giselle finished her second beer and sent a glance in Jackson’s direction. “I know you can dance, Jackson, and I sure as hell didn’t come here to sit all night.”
Jackson jumped to his feet as the DJ kicked off a favorite of his. “I was waiting on you to tell me you were ready.” He extended his hand. “I hope you can keep up.”
She gave him a wink. “I’ll try.”
If Jackson seemed surprised that she was just as skilled at dancing as he was, he didn’t let on. When the Texas two was over, the DJ swung them right into a country waltz. The third selection was a Cajun style jitterbug, and Giselle, a novice to Cajun dancing, very easily followed Jackson’s lead. By the third dance, she needed a rest.
Red joined them at the table. “You two have some nice moves out there.” He turned to Giselle. “Could I steal one from you later on?”
“If you let me catch my breath, first.” She sent him a wink. “Jackson’s just set that bar pretty high, though. He must have been an excellent student.”
Red grinned, obviously recognizing the challenge. “I come by my talents naturally. No lessons necessary.”
Jackson rolled his eyes at Red’s jab, before turning to her. “You’re an excellent dancer yourself. How’d you learn?”
“I actually worked my way through college teaching dance lessons.”
Jackson jabbed his finger in her direction. “I thought dancing with you felt vaguely familiar. I ended up with my instructor as a partner.”
Giselle frowned. “But, what about Chl…um…I mean your regular dance partner?”
Jackson grinned smugly. “She stormed out of the first lesson because I couldn’t learn to dance her way—with two left feet—so I continued the lessons on my own.”
“Aw, that’s too bad.”
He made a face. “I was a lot better off, trust me.”
Giselle gazed at him, thinking again what a foolish woman Chloe had been.
Red cleared his throat. “You’d think, being the owner of this place, I’d have been able to find a date.”
Giselle turned to their host. “You don’t seem the type to sit still long. Did you stop long enough to ask anyone?”
He shook his head. “Too hectic. The last minute details are always hell.”
“They can’t accept if you don’t ask.”
Red frowned. “You sound like my mother. She keeps saying if I don’t procreate before she dies, she’ll haunt me.”
Giselle waved her hand with a flourish. “Well, it’d be a tragedy to have all of that wonderful DNA go to waste.”
“See, that’s what my Mom says all the time.”
“Of course she does.”
His brow rose in question. “Are you offering your assistance, by any chance?”
Jackson’s low growl of warning suddenly cut through his antics. “Red …”
Strangely turned on by his reaction, she answered Red, though unable to pull her gaze from Jackson’s. “No, but I’ll be on the lookout for you.”
Red waved off her offer. “I don’t have time for that right now.” When the DJ started up an old country classic, Red succeeded in pulling her out on the floor. After proving he was as good on his feet as Jackson, he met with disappointment when he tried to lead her into a second.
Jackson gave his friend a surly glare before pulling Giselle out of Red’s arms and back into his own.
“Where’s the love?” Red asked, feigning hurt feelings.
“Go get your own date!” Jackson threw over his shoulder.
Red McAllister grabbed the mic and after a brief introduction as the owner, he welcomed everyone warmly. “I’d just like to remind you all that anyone lighting up in any shape or form will be escorted to the parking lot and refused re-entry into the building. This is my promise to you: When you leave any club of mine, you may smell like sweat from dancing, but you’ll never smell like a dirty ashtray.” His promise was met with cheers and applause. He introduced Marc Broussard, the local favorite, who’d made it big, to more applause, then left the singer to introduce his own band.
By the time Red made it back to the table, the band was already into the first beats of Home, in Giselle’s opinion, one of the best dance songs on one of his earlier albums.
Giselle grabbed both Jackson and Red’s hands and pulled them out to the floor. “Come on guys.”
Jackson watched in amazement, as Giselle, mother of two, shimmied, and ground her hips to the driving beat of the song. She put one arm up behind her head and turned seductively, first toward him, then toward Red. He didn’t blame Red for reaching for Giselle’s waist, but still couldn’t keep from wanting to throttle his friend. Thankfully, before Red made any contact, another woman jerked him away to dance with her.
He jumped at the opportunity to pull Giselle closer. She lifted her gaze to his, lost in the hard driving rhythm and grinding lyrics of the song. Marc Broussard cranked out line after line about long hot days, losing control, and drowning in a sea of soul.
Jackson ran his hands down Giselle’s waist, landing on her hips to pull her toward him. She wound her arms around his neck, waited several beats then pulled him down by his tie until they were face to face. Her green eyes were slightly glazed, almost as though she were in a trance.
Her breath brushed his face and lips, nearly overwhelming him with the urge to kiss her. He moved in, stopped, forced himself to resist—determined more than ever not to screw this up. Giselle wasn’t a drinker and she was totally out of her element here. No way would he allow alcohol to be a determining factor in her making a decision she could regret in the light of day.
No. Hell no.
He wanted her coming to him of her own volition, with a sound mind and completely free of Toby’s ghost. He had too damn much riding on this.
He turned her until she faced the opposite direction, somewhat safer, he supposed, since he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss her. He grabbed both her hands, linking his fingers through hers, lifted them above her head. In return, she shimmied … slowly … sensuously … driving her hips back and against him. She lowered one of his hands on the flat of her belly, covered it with her own, and began to swivel her hips seductively.
Jackson brought his other hand around until it rested on her waist, pulled her tight. “Sweet Christ,” he groaned, certain his words got lost in the blaring music. He lowered his head to the crook of her neck, barely brushing his lips over her skin. He longed to taste her, to shock her with the touch of his tongue, but somehow he held on to his self-control. There was no way in hell she couldn’t feel his arousal, but still she gyrated and swiveled her hips wantonly.
“God, give me strength,” he whispered into her neck.
Giselle couldn’t hear his words, but his breath on her neck brought a chill to her skin, despite the heat from his nearness. Just as quickly, it sobered her—made her acutely aware of her surroundings. Here she was, a mother of two young daughters, bumping and grinding her way around the dance floor with—exactly who the hell was Jackson to her? Was he her dead husband’s friend? Her friend? Her boss? It hit her suddenly that she’d never be able to work in the same office with this man after tonight. She also knew, without a doubt, that she was exactly where she wanted to be at this moment. In the arms of Jackson Broussard.
The song finally ended and the band picked up with another of her favorites from a newer album. A slow and sultry ballad. Every nerve ending in her body already on sensory overload, she attempted to walk away.
Jackson wouldn’t have it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back into his arms. “Don’t run off. This is my favorite.”
Their gazes locked, and heat infused her face, yet again. Why couldn’t she quit blushing around this man? Thank God for dim lighting.
Not dim enough to hide the need in his eyes. A reflection of her own feelings. O
ne so strong that, for the life of her, she couldn’t see her way around it. In her heart, she still felt it was too much, too soon. But her body wanted it now, and that had her heart clenching in terror. She shook her head slowly, and finally managed to croak a single word. “Jackson …”
They stood motionless, surrounded by other dancers as the man’s sex appeal taxed her resistance to the breaking point. The man oozed confidant masculinity from his pores. With one touch he could wipe the word ‘No’ from her vocabulary, and she damned well knew it. This night had all the potential for hot, gritty sex followed by a morning of regrets and guilt. She could practically see Jackson’s mind spinning, weighing the odds, calculating the pros and cons of an explicit night together and the conflict it was sure to cause.
Nerves won out as her knees buckled from under her.
Jackson tightened his hold, supporting her. “I’ve got you,” he said.
“You do. But I’m afraid.”
He shook his head slowly. “You don’t have to be, Giselle. We’re only dancing.”
She struggled to breathe, tried to keep up with the pounding of her heart. “Is that all we’re doing?”
He took a deep breath, as though to fortify himself. “If that’s all you want this to be, that’s all it is, I swear.”
She nodded, let him cradle her head softly to his chest as they finished the slow dance. Thankfully, the next number was snappy enough for a good distraction. Jackson whirled her around the perimeter of the dance floor.
By the time the band took its first break, Giselle was out of breath, but completely at ease and enjoying herself tremendously with Jackson and Red.
When the DJ kicked off a slow request, Giselle closed her eyes and groaned. “I love this song.”
Jackson smiled, and stood up, pulling her along with him. They began to dance slowly, never taking their eyes off one another. He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist as he tucked her hand close.
“Sing to me, Jackson.”
He lowered his mouth close to her ear and indulged her. She closed her eyes and melted at the dulcet tones of the melody, along with his sensual delivery of lyrics. As the last notes of the song drifted away, they stood in the center of the floor, their gazes locked.