“Oh, yes.” Finally. Maybe she would be able to sleep tonight.
For a time he didn’t move as they adjusted to the feel of their bodies joined. But then he began to thrust, short, subtle movements at first, building to long, deep insertions, withdrawing almost all the way, then coming home to her again. Hard, hot, intense. She thought she might weep with the ecstasy of it.
He gritted his teeth, sweat running down his face.
“I’m coming,” he whispered. “Can’t…hold…it…”
And neither could she. She felt herself come apart, and for a time she wasn’t sure where her body was. Not under her control, that’s for sure.
Gradually she became aware of the soft quilt against her back and Luc’s warm skin on hers.
“Hmm.”
“Is that all you have to say?” she demanded, though she was teasing. “Hmm?”
“Sorta defies words. That was, uh…see? No words.” He pulled away from her and flopped onto his back next to her, then drew her close.
“How about good?”
“Doesn’t come close.”
“Spectacular?”
“Better than that.”
“Worth repeating?”
He grinned. “Now you’re getting somewhere. Does your mother know you behave like this?”
“She better not.”
Luc stroked her cheek and smoothed her hair off her forehead. “I didn’t mean to be rough.”
“You didn’t hurt me. I’m not made of spun sugar.”
They lay in silence for a while. Loretta knew they had to talk about what this meant. Denying their attraction hadn’t worked. They needed a new plan. A plan that included frequent and hot sex.
“You want a relationship?” she asked. “A real one?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t want to sneak around. Zara has to know.”
“Okay.”
“She’s smart. I say we tell her the absolute truth.”
“What is the absolute truth?”
“That I’m crazy about you. Right now, I can’t imagine wanting to leave Indigo. But I know myself. I’m restless. I have too much of my father in me.”
“Tell me about your father.”
Luc smiled, a little sadly, it seemed to Loretta. “I think he loved my mother and me. The way he looked at her sometimes-I could tell. But he didn’t stick around. Even when I was very young, he disappeared for long periods of time-weeks, months sometimes. Then he’d show back up, his arms full of presents, making all kinds of promises about how it would be different this time. It never was. Always, he would leave again.
“Eventually, my mother had had enough, and she told him if he left again, not to bother coming back. He left, anyway, and my mom divorced him. I was six, I think.”
Loretta could tell it was not easy for Luc to talk about this.
“He came back, just before he died,” he said. “He wanted to make peace. He had hepatitis, the serious kind. We took care of him till he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to repeat his mistakes. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think so. And I’m willing to accept your…limitations. Can we just take it one day at a time, see how it goes? If it doesn’t work out in the long run, if you feel you have to leave, I’ll be sad, but I won’t regret our time together.”
“I hope not. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Or Zara. How about if we talk to her together?”
“Okay.” She smiled up at him, the sweetest, most heartbreaking smile, and he kissed her.
LUC COULD HARDLY believe he was lying there talking so calmly about having a relationship. And that it didn’t panic him in the least.
The doorbell rang. Luc looked at his watch and cursed softly. “That would be my guests. Sorry.” He gave her one more quick kiss, then leaped out of bed and quickly put on his clothes.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” Loretta asked him.
“No, go ahead. Make yourself at home.”
Luc tucked in his shirt as he headed for the front door. The doorbell rang again-someone was growing impatient.
“I’m coming,” he grumbled. “Sheesh.” He opened the door, but it wasn’t the couple from Mobile he’d been expecting. Standing on the front porch was Celeste Robichaux, looking like a dowager duchess. “Grand-mère?”
“What took you so long?” she demanded, sweeping past him and into the house. “And why do you keep the door locked? We never locked the door when we used to stay here.”
“I’m a city boy. Locking doors is a habit with me.” Out in the driveway, a tall, gaunt man in a uniform stood at the back of Celeste’s Cadillac, pulling out enough suitcases for a trip around the world.
Oh, boy.
Celeste stood in the middle of the main room and looked around, taking in the furnishings, the pictures on the wall, the rag rugs and the fragrant potpourri, and Luc held his breath. Would she like what she saw? Had he really caught the essence from the few old photos he’d discovered?
Her face softened. “Oh, Luc, this is fabulous. It looks almost exactly as it did when I was a girl. You’ve worked a miracle, an absolute miracle.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Wow. Praise from Celeste. This was a red-letter day.
The chauffeur carried in Celeste’s suitcases and one large box.
“Charles,” she said, “take everything but the box up to the third floor. Luc, you did say the attic suite had a private bath, correct?”
“Grand-mère, as happy as I am to see you, you can’t stay here. I’m full up. Guests will be arriving any minute who’ve reserved the attic suite.”
“Well, you’ll just have to put them someplace else. This is my house, I ought to be able to stay here when I want. Charles?” She nodded toward the stairs.
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave Luc a commiserating look before heading up the stairs with the baggage.
“I’d like the grand tour, please. Show me everything you’ve done.”
The door to Luc’s private quarters opened and Loretta stepped out, wearing his bathrobe. “Luc? Sorry to bother you, but I can’t get any hot water. Is there a trick to it?” She nodded toward Celeste. “Hi.”
“Good afternoon,” Celeste said, giving Luc a look designed to turn him into a pile of ashes. “This must be Loretta.”
Loretta’s eyebrows flew up. She’d apparently mistaken Celeste for a guest.
“Grand-mère, I’d like you to meet Loretta Castille. She’s our local baker. Loretta, my grandmother, Celeste Robichaux.”
Loretta came forward, her hand extended, though her face had turned bright pink. Celeste took her hand reluctantly, gave it a quick shake and let go.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Robichaux,” Loretta said.
“The hot water just takes a while to heat up,” Luc said.
“Okay, thanks.” And she fled.
“Well, well,” Celeste said. “Looks like she’s providing you with more than muffins. I hope you’re not flaunting your little floozy in front of the guests.”
“No, ma’am. But she’s not a floozy, and please don’t call her that. She’s my girlfriend.” He liked the sound of that.
“I didn’t know you had a steady girlfriend.”
“It’s a relatively new thing.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She pressed her mouth into a stern line, obviously displeased. Just as he thought, she’d been hoping he was miserable in Indigo. He was making restitution here. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself.
As he took her around and showed her the rooms in the old Creole cottage, though, her disapproving frown faded.
“I had no idea you’d be so good at decorating.”
“Doc helped. He remembered what the cottage was like years ago, so he helped me find furniture and rugs.” Luc had enjoyed spiffing the place up and including little touches he knew the guests would appreciate-like a basket of fresh fruit in the parlor and woolly afghans to wrap themselves in when they sat on the porch on a chilly night.