by Sandra Hill
“But he never asked me for a divorce,” Thanh said.
“He doesn’t have to,” Helene interjected. “Until he actually files for divorce and you are sent the papers, he has no legal obligation to tell you. Besides, he wants time, now that there’s a money verdict, to hide the funds.”
Kim said several words in Vietnamese that were probably the equivalent of “The bastard!” To Helene and Simone, she commented, “The fool thinks we won’t know the amount. And, actually, if I hadn’t intervened, my sister probably wouldn’t have. She doesn’t much pay attention to what’s around her.”
“What if I do not want a divorce?” Thanh asked, raising her chin defiantly at her sister’s assessment of her cluelessness.
Why would a woman want to stay with a man who no longer wanted her? Well, that was nothing new, Simone supposed. Lots of women were more comfortable in marriage, even a bad marriage.
“It doesn’t matter,” Helene told her. “He will get a divorce if that’s what he wants.”
Kim put an arm around her sister’s shoulders and squeezed. “How do we protect Thanh? Like you said, now that the lawsuit is over, Mike will probably attempt to hide the cash. Even if we confront him about the amount, he will say there were all these expenses, lawyers and such.”
“Not if we act quickly. Preemptive strikes are the key,” Helene said and looked directly at Thanh. “First of all, I have already prepared legal documents requesting a change in ownership of several properties. Specifically, that the house title should be changed to your name, along with one of the vehicles, a Toyota RAV4, which is being used by your sons in college, and half ownership of the shrimp business.”
Thanh’s eyes widened. She apparently hadn’t been expecting so much. Little did she know what a pittance it was compared to Mike’s share.
“You think he will agree to those changes?” Kim asked.
“No, he won’t,” Helene told her. “But it’s a starting point. The house and car are deal breakers, but here’s what we want. Thanh agrees to give up her request for half ownership of the shrimp business in favor of her two sons, and in return, she gets one million in cash from the Cypress lawsuit, college tuition and support for her sons until they reach age twenty-five, and all her legal expenses paid.”
Kim frowned. “Why would Mike agree to all this?”
“Because Thanh will give up rights to his condo on Grand Isle, his other vehicles, and other assets.”
Thanh frowned, “What condo?”
“That’s what Simone will tell you about. And this is where we have our most leverage with Mike Pham. He will not want any of this information to go public.”
Thanh’s brow creased with puzzlement, but Kim was beginning to understand, and she grinned.
“Are you sure that you want to know all this?” Simone asked Thanh.
“Know what?” she asked.
“Things about your husband’s personal life.”
“I know there have been women.”
“It’s more than that,” Simone said as she slid a series of photographs over to Kim with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning whether she thought her sister could handle such graphic details.
Even Kim was shocked by what she saw as she flipped through the photographs of Mike’s condo and some of the half-naked pictures of himself and females in very distasteful postures. The one of a young female chained to the fake stone wall even drew a gasp from the sophisticated woman.
Kim closed her eyes, thought several moments, then said something to her sister in Vietnamese before gently handing her the photographs.
“What did you tell her?” Simone wanted to know.
“I told my sister to be strong, that it was better to know than be ignorant like a sheep before the slaughter.”
Thanh viewed the pictures slowly, one after the other, as if imprinting the graphic details on her brain. To everyone’s surprise, Thanh did not weep or question the validity of what she saw, though she looked as if she could throw up. Instead, she skimmed through them a second time, then said, “It is done. I do not know this man. Where do I sign?”
By the time he came back from Vegas two days from now, Mike would know that his wife was going to fight him, and that she had a posse of women behind her. In fact, Helene took great relish in paying a server overtime to deliver the subpoenas to Mike at the airport.
Simone and Helene talked softly after that. No high fives or whooping congratulations. Maybe those would come later because, for sure, there were going to be some hard times ahead in this case. But it was a start. A good start.
After Helene left for the courthouse, Simone met with BaRa to discuss appointments she’d scheduled for the next few days with potential clients, four spouse Cheater cases, a business embezzlement, two nanny surveillances, an Internet stalking, and a youth drug possibility. After that, she got updates from Sabine and CiCi, who’d not only been working on the Pham case, but several others. And there was a lot of paperwork to get caught up on. As a result, when her cell phone rang, she was surprised to see it was five p.m.
“Hey, darlin’,” Adam said.
“Hey.”
“Busy day?”
“Very. Congratulations on the court verdict today.”
“You already heard about that?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to tell him about Mike’s wife and her sister being in her office earlier. “You know how news travels on the bayou.”
“Are you still free this evening?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He laughed, a low, husky sound that needed no words. “How about a movie?”
“You mean a video. Here at my place?”
“No. I don’t trust myself alone with you.”
Her self-confidence rose about ten notches. “So we’re still doing the dating-without-sex thing?”
“For now. What? You don’t think I can last?”
“We’ll see.” She was going to do her best to test his strength. “So, a movie, huh?”
“Yep. Popcorn, soda, holding hands, the works.”
“I like the holding hands part, but I prefer Milk Duds over popcorn.”
“See you at seven?”
“I’ll be waiting with bells on,” she said.
“As long as there are no handcuffs.”
Who knew surrender could be so sweet? . . .
So, Tuesday night he took Simone to a movie. Something with Matt Damon. He couldn’t remember the details. What he did remember was her hand in his, the occasional nudge of her thigh, and the tantalizing feel of her breath in his ear when she leaned over to whisper something about the show.
Adam had been sexually active for almost twenty years, but he discovered that night that his ears were highly erogenous zones, almost hypersensitive, connected like electrical circuits to every fine hair on his body, the tips of his fingers and toes, and especially the biggest sexual conductor of them all, which was getting bigger and more frustrated by the moment. That night, later, in the shower when he used his fingertip to ream out the soapy whorls, he about blew his wad just picturing Simone’s tongue doing the same.
Pathetic, huh?
He could see the headline now, “Grown Man Electrocutes Himself in Shower with Hot Finger.”
Taking care of business, himself, just wasn’t doing it anymore.
The next day, Wednesday, he decided to take the afternoon off, and Simone did likewise, so that the two of them could go sailboating, along with their chaperone, little Miss Maisie.
On the way to the lake, he stopped at a convenience store for some ice where he ran into John LeDeux, who was on his way to work as a cop up Lafayette way. John, who’d stopped for gas, smirked at him and said, “Really, cher? Chastity in a Cajun? It just ain’t natural.” He waved at Simone and Maisie in his dad’s pickup truck. Then he added to Adam, “Good luck with that.”
Apparently Luc’s big mouth had already been at work.
He got the last word in with John, though, when
he remarked, “I hear congratulations are in order. A new baby, huh? And your youngest is . . . what? Eight? Good luck with that.”
“Be careful. If Tante Lulu gets you in her crosshairs, ya might be in the same tight spot.”
Adam didn’t tell John that he was already in the old lady’s sights, but not for babies. He hoped. Note to self: Stock up on condoms. Extrastrength. Just in case I get lucky. Someday.
It was a good thing Maisie was with them on the sailing expedition because the sight of Simone in cut-off shorts and a bikini top were enough to make Adam’s skin boil if the Louisiana sun didn’t. Adam wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off.
Being out on the water was fun, though, and Simone had more patience than he did with Maisie, he had to admit, especially when the kid had a couple of near falls. Yeah, she wore a life vest and knew how to swim, but still, it was good having a second set of eyes and hands to restrain the energetic five-year-old. Besides that, it gave Maisie another set of ears to listen to her babble on about her upcoming party.
And, no, I am not thinking about ears.
That evening they went to a small jazz club where they spent several hours just listening and talking softly. He’d thought about taking Simone for a ride on his Harley, but he feared all that vibration would shake up too many teetering parts.
While at the club, they ran into René LeDeux, who apparently appreciated all kinds of music, not just the wild Cajun stuff his band played. René told him he would be over early next Tuesday, the Fourth of July, to set up for the entertainment.
“You’re going to have live entertainment?” Simone asked with surprise.
“Tante Lulu’s doing,” Adam explained.
Enough said.
“I heard you’re on the wagon,” René remarked. “Not for long, I wager,” he added as they both watched Simone wend her way through the tables toward the ladies’ room. The backside view in a belted tunic over tights was, well, a sight to behold.
“Luc again?”
“Nah, Remy told me, and he heard it from Charmaine, who heard it in her beauty salon.”
Adam groaned. “That is just great. I’m the laughing stock of the bayou.”
“Not at all, my friend. Well, not to everyone. The women all think you’re Mr. Perfect. The men, not so much. We don’t want you giving our wives ideas.”
It ended up an early evening since they were both tired from being out in the sun all day. Besides, Adam couldn’t take much more of just kissing and petting on Simone’s doorstep. And by the sound of her moans, she was weakening, too.
Just how long did this dating crap go on in the old days? he wondered.
On Thursday afternoon, he found out via a phone call that Simone had to work that night. “One of those cheating spouses traps?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, which he took for an affirmative.
“At a bar?”
“No. Somewhere else.”
“Can I come, too?”
“That defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I never tried to trap a cheating spouse before,” he grumbled.
“Are you going to be difficult, Adam?”
“No. Just disappointed.”
“I meant to tell you, I have to go out of town again tomorrow.”
“Overnight again?”
“Yes.”
“How many days this time?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe just one, depends on what happens.”
“I can’t pretend to like this, Simone.”
“It’s just a job. Would you feel the same if I were still a cop and out on arrest warrant?”
“Probably.”
“Do you still want to date?”
“Hell, yes!”
“I guess I’ll see you when I get back then.”
“Will you call again tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”
That sounded ominous, but he held his tongue, knowing any concern he voiced would only be taken as a negative. They said their good-byes, and he went back to work on some trial prep he needed for a new case. Or tried to.
He kept thinking about Simone.
Abstinence sucked. But it was more than that. He was ready to move to the next level with Simone. Not some nameless body. Simone. She was smart, and she was sexy, with a sharp tongue. And she made him laugh. And swear. She was turning him inside out with confusion and wanting, even resentment. Lust with a twist.
Once he got home, he was so grumpy that his dad took Maisie out for ice cream, deliberately not inviting him to come along. Adam decided to go for a one-mile run, which became a five-mile run. And the only difference? He was now not only grumpy but sweaty and exhausted.
He took a shower, first hot, then cold. No better.
By ten o’clock he’d had enough. Calling out to his dad in the den, he said, “I’m going out for a while.”
“Hallelujah!” his father said.
By the time he got to Simone’s place, it was ten-thirty. Thankfully, her lights were on, indicating she was home. He hoped.
He took the steps two at a time and pounded on her door.
When Simone answered, she was wearing some kind of pajama outfit. Short-sleeved, scoop-necked top over long pants. Cream color. Clingy material. No bra. Bare feet. Her hair was damp, as if from a recent shower. Her skin exuded the scent of flowers . . . and sex. Okay, wishful thinking on that one. But then, anything would smell like sex to me at the moment.
“Adam?” She tilted her head to the side. The door was only open halfway. Probably to keep the cat from darting outside. But, no, he could see the feline beyond the hallway, preening its fur with nonchalance, as if Adam weren’t worth the effort of getting off the couch.
“Darlin’, I give up,” he said with a sigh of surrender. “Are we gonna do this thing?”
At first, she just stared at him. But then a slow grin emerged on her lips. Delilah couldn’t have done it better just before she snipped off Samson’s hair. “You had me with darlin’.”
It’s true what they say about Cajun men . . .
Adam picked her up in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his athletic shoe. Shades of Rhett! Except there was no sweeping staircase, just a long hallway. And he was wearing sweats and a T-shirt. Still, swoon-worthy.
Simone was not a small woman, and she couldn’t remember the last time a man had carried her—if ever. But Adam was managing very well, even when he tripped over Scarlett who’d come to investigate why a male was being granted entry into their abode. She screeched when Adam’s toe hit her fur and ran off to hide under the coffee table and send cat scowls his way.
Heading directly for her bedroom, he edged the open door wider with his hip and tossed her on the brass bed. It was only a double size to fit the small room . . . no queen- or king-size, which most people seemed to prefer today, and which would probably have better suited her large frame, especially when shared, or about to be shared, with a gift-from-the-gods large man.
The bed had been left behind by the previous owner. Simone had purchased a new, extrafirm mattress but just polished up the old frame to its former glory. And, glory be, but the little old lady who’d lived here before had surely never entertained a man like the one who was prowling about the room now, like a hungry tiger. With deliberate care he removed his wallet, cell phone, and a strip of condoms from his pocket, placing them on the bedside table. Too bad he wasn’t wearing glasses and taking them off—that would have been her last straw. Still, she was having a good time watching him tear off his shirt, toe off his shoes, shrug down his sweatpants and kick them aside, the whole time staring at her with smoldering eyes.
You’ve got to love a guy who can smolder his eyes. He had a nice body, too. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow waisted and hipped. Muscular like an athlete but not steroid ripped. Light brown hair fuzzed his long legs and arms and chest.
Wearing just boxer briefs, which left not
hing to the imagination, including his erection, he leaned down to turn on the bedside lamp. The room flooded with a warm glow, since the high watt bulb she used for reading in bed was softened by an amber shade.
“Ooh, I don’t know, Adam. I do better in the dark. Too many imperfections.”
“I like to see what I’m doing,” he told her in a gravelly voice as he tugged both her pants and low-rise underpants down and off, flinging them back over his shoulder. Next came her top. “And I intend to explore every one of your imperfections . . . and perfections.”
She raised her arms to hold on to the headboard bars. Otherwise, she might have bolted, for fear she would be incapable of meeting the intense need she saw in his eyes, which appeared golden brown, burning. She just wasn’t that hot, in her opinion, despite all her marriages and relationships.
But Adam misinterpreted her posture as a tease and murmured, “Witch!” That was all right. Let him think she was more confident than she was.
He spread her legs, and then moved over her, kneeling between her thighs. Thank God, she’d shaved her legs tonight.
“Look at you,” he murmured appreciatively. His eyes twinkled at her, and he smiled.
And she melted, knowing perfectly well that her hair, when it wasn’t blow-dried, became a wavy mess, knowing her body was less than perfect, knowing that Adam was probably seeing her through lust-hazy eyes. But that didn’t matter. He made her feel, not perfect, but highly desirable, and that was a huge boost to her self-confidence. “I think maybe I’m ready . . . already,” she confided with a heated face.
“Duly noted,” he said, glancing pointedly at the joining of her thighs where she was no doubt wet . . . and not from her shower.
“Spoken like a lawyer.”
“Whereas you are a cop, or former cop, and will soon be reading me my rights. Wherefore I, as the second party—”