Southern Spirits (The Southern Series Book 3)

by Shelley Stringer

  “What is this?” I asked, skimming the page. It appeared to be a lease/purchase agreement from a real estate corporation in the name of Banton and Chandler Gastaneau.

  “Florida? You bought a condo in Florida?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I did. For us. We can go anytime you want to. It has four bedrooms and three bathrooms, secluded, right on the beach. We can take our friends, our family…it’s a vacation home for us and the twins.”

  I looked back at him, stunned. I was used to the occasional diamond, or hot tub…the new car. But a vacation home? I was speechless.

  “What’s wrong, Chandler? You don’t like it? Constance said you liked the beach,” he began; the disappointment in his voice was palpable.

  I held a finger up to silence him. I sat studying the papers, and then looked up at him. “I can’t believe you bought me a vacation home. A place where we can make memories…where we can just be…Banton, I love it,” I whispered.

  He seemed to sigh in relief.

  “I love it so much! And I love you,” I cried as I launched myself at him. He caught me and laid me down into the pillows.

  “I just want us to have the same wonderful memories when the kids are little that I had…taking them down on the beach, watching the turtles hatch and then helping them back to the water…chasing crabs with flashlights after dark…teaching the twins to ride boogie boards…” he went on and on, excitedly, almost like a small boy. At that moment, he was my boy. I circled his dimple with my finger.

  “It all sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to go,” I said as I watched his eyes. “And the twins will learn to swim while they’re young. I don’t want them to ever be afraid of the water like I was,” I began as Banton’s eyes widened.

  “Chandler, I didn’t think of your fear of the water! I’m sorry, we can buy property somewhere else,” he began.

  “Absolutely not. I’m past that fear, Banton. I don’t want the kids to have it. I want them to grow up fearless! And I know they will with you as their dad,” I whispered, looking back and forth into his eyes.

  “What?” he asked as he stroked my cheek.

  “I was just thinking, how close we came to losing you --how close the twins came to never knowing you,” I whispered as I began to choke up.

  “None of that, Chandler Ann. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Now, let’s get your special night started.” He took the envelope from me and placed it on the table. Crossing behind the bed, he walked over to the kitchenette that John had built months before. As he came back into view around the bed, he carried two glasses of red wine.

  “Here you go, Tuscany’s finest,” he said, handing me a glass. He touched his glass to mine, and then raised it as I sipped. It was the most delicious wine I’d ever tasted, not sweet, but not too dry. So smooth, in fact, that I’d downed the entire glass before I realized it.

  “Would you like some more,” he asked, producing the bottle from behind the bed.

  “I’d better wait a bit. We don’t need a repeat of last night,” I said as he laughed.

  “I’m not worried. I don’t think another glass will hurt. Besides, it’s delicious. Here,” he filled my glass again, and then touched his to mine.

  “Well, I guess it kind of ruins the mood, with me in my condition,” I blushed, referring to the sudden reappearance of my cycle.

  “You know I don’t care about that,” Banton replied. “Well, I do, but I…well you know what I mean,” he stammered. “Here. I have something else for you.”

  He brought out a box wrapped with turquoise blue ribbons. Curiously, I un-wrapped the bow and removed the lid. Inside were beautiful intricate antique lace gown and robe, camisole and panties.

  “Banton, these are so beautiful,” I gasped as I pulled them from the box. “Everett?” I asked.

  “Um, No. I wasn’t about to ask Everett for help on this one, now I know he’s straight. I asked Constance to find something special for tonight, and described what Everett was going to do to the pool house. I told her I wanted something vintage and classic…just like you,” he said, leaning in and kissing me on the forehead.

  “So, just what do you have in mind, Mr. Gastaneau?” I asked as I fingered the lace on the bodice. It was all hand-crocheted and extremely revealing.

  “Just to spend the night in heaven, wrapped around you,” he answered, walking over and taking the garments out of the box. He turned around, and pulled the gossamer and silk fabrics across the open doorway, hiding us from the view of the house. All of the windows were layered in white fabrics, and we were enveloped in our own little tent of soft glowing lights. He moved back over to the bed and pulled my sweater dress over my head, then methodically reached around and unsnapped my bra, dropping it to the floor. He knelt to the floor, dropping first one boot to the floor, then the other as he slid his hands up my legs and grasped my thighs.

  “Your bare legs under this sweater were so sexy tonight,” he said huskily, his thumbs rubbing across my skin. He then rose over me and smiled devilishly, gathering the camisole up and then sliding it down over my head as I worked my arms under the straps. He pulled it down into place as he ran his hands slowly down my ribcage, sending shivers down my spine. The lace was so open, I felt naked, and sexy.

  “Damn, but you are so beautiful, Chandler. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, pulling me up to his lips. He moved them softly over mine, grasping my camisole in the back. His tongue explored, softly grazing my lips and my teeth as he moved slowly into my mouth. I moaned when his kiss deepened.

  “How can you do this to me, knowing that we can’t do anything tonight?” I murmured as I pouted against his lips.

  He sighed, and then pulled away. “Well, Mrs. Gastaneau, tonight, this is all about you. I have some things here that I think you will like, so since you are feeling a little under the weather, we’ll see what we can do about that,” he said, flashing the dimple. He rose and then unbuttoned his shirt, and then shrugged out of his jeans until all that remained were his boxer-briefs. He returned to the side of the bed as I watched him move. His muscles rippled in that sexy way with every move he made. The muscles tightened in my abdomen, making me acutely aware of the dull ache that still accompanied my cramps. He leaned over, opened a drawer beside the bed, and brought out a crystal decanter set filled with lotions and oils. As he removed the top, I recognized the scent…the insanely expensive lotion he’d bought for me on the trip to N’awlins before Mardi Gras.

  “Come here,” he motioned. I moved closer to the side of the bed. “Lie face down.” I smiled and did as he asked. He pushed the camisole up under my arms, brushing my breast with his thumbs. I shuddered, wanting him so badly. I shook my head…this was going to be torture. Why did I have to start my period today?

  I could hear him remove the stopper from the bottle, and then replace it as he rubbed his hands together. I felt the bed give way as he settled down on the bed beside me.

  “Now, relax, and let me love you all over,” he murmured in my ear, his hands beginning to move. I melted into the mattress. He ran his hands up and down my back, kneading the muscles as he worked the heavenly smelling oil into my skin. Working in circles, he kneaded the muscles of my lower back, and then worked around, under my ribcage until he was caressing the sides of my breasts. I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I turned over.

  “Mmmm, you want me to work on this side?” he grinned as I nodded wickedly. I watched his eyes grow warm as he gazed down at me. Slowly sliding his hands up over my breasts, he rubbed the oil into my skin, moving his hands over my chest and around on my shoulders. He was so serious as he removed the stopper to the bottle and re-oiled his hands. Rubbing them together again, he pulled the lace of my panties low as he rubbed his hands gently over my abdomen, massaging the muscles there, up and around my hip bones. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the oil and the friction of his hands warming me, easing the dull ache somewhat.

  He leaned up over me and whispered in
my ear, “Does this help?”

  “Mmm. Yes, it does. Don’t stop,” I replied. I felt him grin against my neck.

  “Do you want me to continue, Mrs. Gastaneau,” he asked dreamily. “I will take you as far as you want to go.”

  My eyes snapped open, gazing up into his. What did he mean? Surely he didn’t want to…

  As if he were reading my thoughts, he murmured, “Remember when you were first pregnant? There are all kinds of ways for me to love you, baby,” he murmured softly, sliding his lips down. He leaned back up and continued his slow, mesmerizing circles with his fingers across my abdomen, up over my hipbones. Each time, his thumbs worked lower, until they reached my bikini line scar. He shifted and placed his lips there as if to kiss it away.

  My breath caught in my throat. His mouth was so close to…when I was…my eyes flew open and I stared down at him.

  “How do you feel?” he said softly, gazing up at me.

  I cleared my throat. “Mmm, good…relaxed…hot.”

  He gazed down at my panties, and pulled them slowly off as he looked back up at me cautiously. He’d already explored enough to know there were no pads involved, and I must have a tampon in. I blushed bright crimson at the thought.

  He discarded the panties behind him, and then slowly and methodically re-oiled his hands again. As he continued to oscillate, he let his thumbs knead all the way down, across and between my legs. Oh, it felt so good…relaxing the cramps, the day’s anxiety…and slowly building my need. I unconsciously pushed against his hand as he slowly worked his thumbs, his mouth on my abdomen, up to my chest…his teeth trailed small bites up my neck, and then his lips covered mine. My breathing hitched, and he increased his pressure and speed. I drew my breath in. It was torture. I needed release, but had no idea how I was going to find it in my condition.

  Banton instinctively knew what I needed. He pushed his leg between mine, his own passion against me. I pressed to meet him. Moaning as everything contracted, I spiraled out of control.

  “Banton,” I cried out involuntarily. He covered my mouth with his, smothering my cry.

  “Shh. You’ll have the whole party out here to rescue you,” he chuckled against my neck as I tried to get my breathing under control.

  “What you can do to me with just your thumbs,” I muttered. He grinned down at me. He still lay on top of me, his elbows on either side of my head, pinning my hands down to the mattress.

  We stared at each other. He released my hand, so I could slide my hand down the side of his face, tracing his hair line around his ear lobe. I smiled and touched my thumb gently to the skin between his eyebrows, brushing it softly to and fro.

  “The lines are gone. You’re finally relaxed,” I breathed out as he smiled.

  “You do that to me, Chandler. You relax me, excite me, intimidate me, and inspire me. I told you a long time ago, you are everything.”

  “But I didn’t excite you tonight,” I murmured, sad that I couldn’t give him what he’d given me. Or could I? I’d learned from conversations between Constance and Brie lately that most men, evidently, expected something other than just plain intercourse. Banton had never asked, but I’d wondered.

  “Oh, you excited me plenty, Andie.” He stroked my cheek with his fingers, and then tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

  “But,” I began.

  “Hey. It’s your birthday. I can wait a day or two,” he sighed, kissing me on the forehead.

  I was so in love with him. And I was suddenly, uncharacteristically brave. I grinned up at him slowly as I grabbed the back of his briefs, pulling them down when I cupped his buttocks. I felt the muscles tighten as his passion flexed against me.

  “Chandler, what are you doing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious,” I whispered against his chest. I squirmed under him, working my way down his abs.

  He moved to the side, taking most of his body weight off me as he grasped my head in his hands, pulling me back up to his face.

  “Chandler, no. You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, shaking his head at me. “Just because I…”

  “But what if I want to?” I asked huskily. Could I do this? My heart pounded in my chest so loudly, I was sure he could hear it.

  His eyes widened at my question. He considered me for a moment, and then shook his head slowly.

  My heart sank. He didn’t want me to. I felt ashamed, my face immediately heating back to crimson in point two seconds.

  “Chandler, please…I hadn’t even considered you would. I…you have to know I want you to. I’d have to be crazy not to. But I’m not sure you are ready for that. Are you? You don’t know do you?” he asked softly, searching my eyes.

  “Yes, I think I do,” I whispered as I glanced shyly back up at him.

  “No, Chandler. When I know you are ready, then fine. Not until then. I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t ready for.”

  “Why? What are you worried about?’ I asked. “Is it still my age? Because I just turned another year older, mister!” I exclaimed.

  “No, sweetheart.” He shook his head, and he was serious. He reached up, and cupped my cheek. “Sometimes, when I undress you, when there is too much light in the room, I see something in your eyes. It reminds me of the night we chased the peeping tom off. It was months before I stopped seeing that look in your eyes. Then when you were in the hospital, after the attack in the tunnels, I saw it again…a tortured, scared look that told me you felt vulnerable and violated. I will do anything in my power to keep that look out of your eyes. No, until I know you feel totally secure with yourself, with me…No.”

  I studied his face for several moments, and then lifted my lips to kiss him. He answered my lips, warm and soft, inviting me slowly as his tongue traced slowly along my lips, his breath mingling with mine.

  My hands were still on his buttocks, and I slowly brought them around as my thumbs traced the V downward to his passionate response. His breath hitched as he pulled back to look down at me.

  “Can I touch you?” I asked, amazed that it had never occurred to me. He nodded slowly, and I grasped him firmly as he flexed in my hand. I watched his eyes, and I could tell this was something both of us could handle. I began to massage him slowly, pulling…kneading…as he closed his eyes, his breath becoming shallow, more rapid. He pressed his hips into my hands, in rhythm with my palm and fingers as I stroked him.

  I felt the muscles around his groin contract as he stiffened in my hands. Moaning softly, he buried his face in my hair.

  “You are amazing,” he whispered against my hair.

  I giggled, pleased with myself. I felt so much better knowing I’d made him as happy as he’d made me.

  “And you have totally distracted me from my job,” he reprimanded me sternly. I looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Your job? Oh, you finished that quite satisfactorily,” I replied playfully, slapping his bare behind.

  “No, not that job.” He laughed, and the sound was so carefree, I smiled at him. A totally ear-splitting smile that lit his world. I was so happy. I’d never felt closer to him, more intimate, than in this moment.

  “No, I’m talking about your massage. I have two more products to go,” he motioned to the tray beside the bed, and the unopened bottles there. “And my intention was to massage your body until you fell asleep under my hands. I see, to my distress, that you are wide awake, Mrs. Gastaneau.”

  I tried a full-blown pout, and failed miserably as he smirked at me.

  “Okay, you win. No one is stopping you,” I taunted him as I opened my arms wide. He looked down at my stomach, where the remains of my escapade were apparent.

  “Oh,” I pursed my lips as he reached for one of the towels stacked on the nightstand. He gently cleaned me up and then threw the towel in the corner.

  “Now as I was saying, I have a job to finish. Turn please,” he ordered, twisting his index finger in the air indicating that he wanted me to lie face down. I complied with a sigh. He l
eaned over me and selected another bottle from the table. He continued his slow, gentle massage until I was almost asleep. Then I felt his hands, suddenly cool, kneading and working the lotion into my skin. As I continued to drift, lost in the beautiful music and the heavenly scent of the lotion mixed with Banton’s cologne, I felt the bed dip with his weight. His breath on my neck was warm as he nuzzled close to me.

  “Do you need the heating pad?”

  “No, just you,” I whispered as he pulled me in close to his body, his hands pulling my abdomen close as he continued to rub it gently. I fell asleep, completely relaxed, and completely and hopelessly in love with this beautiful man beside me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I woke with a gasp of air. I turned to find Banton asleep. The moonlight highlighted his beautiful face as he lay peacefully dreaming. Something woke me. I listened intently for the babies, thinking maybe they were crying in the house. The only sounds intruding into our little piece of heaven were the dying embers in the fireplace just outside the open French doors, and the whispering of the Spanish moss swaying in the trees overhead.

  I relaxed, easing back into the mountain of pillows around us. I must have been dreaming. As I took a deep breath, my nerves sprang into action. I could smell the rotting smell of Orcos.

  “Banton…Banton, wake up,” I pushed against his bare chest as his eyes sprang open. “Banton, can you smell it?”

  He sat up, concerned as he studied me in the darkness.

  “What is it, Chandler?”

  “I could smell them. Do you?” I took in another deep breath, but I couldn’t smell them now.

  “What, Chandler? What is it…did you have a nightmare?” he asked as he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

  “No, something woke me. I smelled Orcos,” I said, looking around.

  Banton bolted from the bed and grabbed his jeans. Sliding them on hurriedly, he flung my robe at me. “Get dressed, I’m going to check outside,” he whispered, moving toward the curtains across the French doors.