But he always did things wrong, Luc reminded himself. Hadn’t his father told him so, over and over? Hadn’t classmates, teachers, and community members given him the appellation “bad boy of the bayou”?
Really, my imagination is going off in some strange directions.
Putting a hand on each side of Sylvie’s face, he held her back slightly. Then he smiled at her. He intended it to be a smile of thanks. She was the first person in many a year who’d shown such confidence in him…maybe the only one since his mother…and he wanted her to know that he appreciated her kindness.
“Don’t smile,” she said.
He tilted his head to the side. “Why?”
“Your smiles make me…”
When she refused to go on—that blasted shyness again—he prodded, “My smiles make you what?”
“Breathless,” she confessed.
He groaned. Then it was Luc who could barely breathe.
No longer fighting his longing, he decided then and there that he would kiss her. Not just a kiss, though. Luc loved kissing…long, short, slow, fast, deep…yeah, especially deep…and gentle, and devouring; it didn’t matter which. And he was a damn good kisser, as a result. He knew he was. Yeah, he’d like to give Sylvie one unending kiss to show her his feelings. He wanted her to become one with his body, through the kiss. Now, there’s a thought. Then she would know, as well as he, how it felt to be under a love spell. Payback was gonna be hell.
At least, that was why he had this overwhelming desire to kiss Sylvie, he told himself.
“I’m powerless to resist you,” he informed her in a voice gravelly with desire.
“I don’t want you to resist,” she answered candidly. “Not anymore.” He could swear her voice was gravelly with desire, too.
Almost as if he stood outside his own body, Luc watched his head descending, inch by inch. Sylvie stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips. In fact, in the end, she leaned forward to meet him partway. A giant leap from shyness.
He tried to be gentle at first, to control the incessant drumbeat of arousal thrumming through his body. With just the barest of skin contact, he settled his lips against hers. Then he allowed himself the intense pleasure of moving his mouth this way and that till they fitted perfectly.
She sighed against his open mouth.
He sighed back.
Gently, gently, gently, he increased the pressure, moving over her lips with an almost reverent caress. That exercise lasted about a millisecond, but red stars exploded behind his eyelids. He drew back slightly and panted for breath.
“Sylvie,” he whispered hoarsely. That was all he said, but apparently it was enough because Sylvie whispered back, “Luc.” There was such a poignant tremor in her voice that Luc feared tears might be welling in his eyes in reaction.
But this was too much of a stroke of good fortune to waste. He didn’t want to give her a chance for second thoughts. Any second thoughts he might have considered had already drowned in the quicksand of his raging excitement. So his mouth came down hard now, demanding a response from her.
Not to worry. Her lips went immediately pliant, opening for him. It was a gesture of utter surrender that reached down into his soul and tugged at that part of himself he’d always kept apart from everyone. Oddly, her ardor did not surprise him. Had he known on some instinctive level all these years that they would be so well suited as lovers?
When he pushed his tongue slowly into her mouth, relishing the sweet drag of each fraction of an inch’s progress, she drew on him in welcome. Thank you, God!
Sylvie was a good kisser, too, he realized then. Was it from experience, or just that they were so perfectly matched? For some reason, he hoped it was the latter.
Luc’s mind went blank, and he lost control then. As his tongue began a rhythm of thrust-withdraw-thrust-withdraw, his hands roamed everywhere. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her…stroking her back, kneading her buttocks, palming a breast, combing his fingers through her silk-fine hair. And Sylvie appeared to feel the same, moaning into his mouth, around his tongue, her hands touching him wherever she could reach.
There were some other places he would like her to touch, as well…places that were unreachable at the moment because there wasn’t an inch of space between them…but not yet. No, that particular pleasure he could postpone till his rocket was less likely to launch. Besides, there were a whole lot of places he wanted to touch her, too. A whole lot!
He tore his mouth from hers and gave himself only the briefest moment of satisfaction at seeing her sex-hazy eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Bending his knees, he hunkered down a bit so he could take between his teeth the nipple of one breast, clearly delineated through her silk blouse.
She whimpered.
That was all the signal he needed. Luc opened his mouth onto her breast and suckled deeply—an unrelenting, rhythmic pull on that erotic zone. Then, with barely a break, he gave equal attention to the other breast.
Sylvie, whose legs had apparently turned to rubber, was holding on to two low-hanging branches with arms stretched out and over her head. A continuous keening came from between her gritted teeth. Her neck was arched back with the intensity of her arousal.
Forget about love potions and aphrodisiacs. In Luc’s opinion, there was nothing more enticing than the sight of Sylvie aroused.
Luc couldn’t help himself then. He put a knee between her legs and nudged her thighs wide, allowing her to feel his erection against that most sensitive part of her.
Her eyes shot open.
Please, God, don’t let her panic now. He put a palm on each of her buttocks and lifted Sylvie till her toes barely touched the ground. They were perfectly aligned now.
Arranging her legs around his hips, he began to pound himself against her. Slowly, at first, then faster and faster. The whole time, he held her eyes, wanting to see the moment she began to come.
When her legs tensed, he stopped.
“No,” she cried out. “Don’t stop.”
He smiled and rubbed himself against her from side to side.
“Aaaaaaarrrrrgh!” she ground out.
He spread her legs wider and resumed his thrusts.
She began to scream.
He caught her scream with his mouth.
Sylvie’s hips were rolling frantically now, and undulating against him with a feverish pitch.
She became wild.
He became wilder.
Finally, he could feel Sylvie spasming against him, and he lost it himself, pounding, pounding, pounding away against her till they were both moaning into each other’s mouths and his knees gave way, taking them both to the ground, where he continued to thrust against her, even when he’d reached his mind-blowing orgasm, even when she had come at least three equally mind-blowing times.
Short minutes later, as they lay in each other’s arms, Sylvie practically purred as she rested her face against his chest, one leg thrown over both of his. He felt supremely satisfied, and unsatisfied at the same time. When she kissed his chest, ever so gently, he kissed the top of her hair.
This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“Sonofabitch!”
The single expletive came from the mouth of a long, tall man in dusty boots and a sinful length of faded jeans, denim shirt, and battered cowboy hat. He was staring down at them from a height of about six feet two inches, shining an industrial-sized flashlight in their faces.
“Get that freakin’ light off of me,” Luc snarled.
“’Scuse my language, ma’am,” the cowboy drawled, tipping his hat in Sylvie’s direction. “And Luc’s, as well.” To Luc, he just shook his head hopelessly and made a tsk-ing sound of dismay as he turned the flashlight to some spot over their heads.
Meanwhile, Sylvie and Luc were still lying on the ground, wonderfully/horribly sated…she would decide which later when her sanity returned…which it was, by humiliating leaps and
bounds. How could I? How could I?
Luc mumbled some obscenity about getting his rocks off like a teenager as he scrambled to his feet, then extended a hand to help her up, too. Apparently, he was having the same regrets about their reckless almost-lovemaking.
The cowboy leaned against the tree casually, legs crossed at the ankles, while he waited for them to adjust themselves. “Everyone and his brother, from one end of Looz-i-ana to the other, is searching for you. And not to say ‘Howdy,’ that’s for sure,” the cowboy told Luc, who was dusting off the back side of his jeans. “And here you are, engagin’ in a little early mornin’ delight. Are you crazy?”
“Do I look like I’m crazy?” Luc snapped back.
The cowboy must have decided to check, because he was back to playing with the flashlight. This time he made a slow sweep of the light from the tops of their heads, down to their toes, then abruptly back to their midsections, where two wet circles on her blouse and a bigger, wetter circle at Luc’s crotch were highlighted.
A lazy grin spread across the lips of the cowboy, whose face was mostly in shadow. “Yep. One-hundred-proof crazy.”
Luc reached out and shoved the flashlight to the right so it was no longer shining on them. Grudgingly, he introduced them. “This is Sylvie Fontaine, the chemist I told you about.”
“The hell you say!” the cowboy remarked, still grinning. Then, he added a belated “Ma’am.”
“Sylvie, this is my little brother, Remy. He’s the pilot we’ve been waiting for.”
“Pleased to meet ya, ma’am,” Remy said, taking her hand in a firm shake. The whole time he was trying to get a better look at her while she was ducking her head with embarrassment. “So, you’re the one who gave Luc the love potion, huh?”
“I didn’t give him the jelly beans. He took them.” Even Sylvie was startled by her quick change of mood from turned-on to turned-off.
“Ma’am, by the looks of my brother, those sweet thangs,” he said with an exaggerated drawl, “sure put some kick in his giddiup.” He waggled his eyebrows toward Luc’s ignominious stain.
“My giddiup didn’t need any kick, I’ll have you know,” Luc contended, snagging Sylvie by the hand and beginning to backtrack down the wide path toward the houseboat. His brother walked on his other side.
“Can I try some?” Remy asked Sylvie. He was leaning his face forward so he could see around Luc. “I’d be much obliged if you’d give me a sample, ma’am.”
“Oh, no! Not you, too.” Luc threw his hands up in the air despairingly. “First, Tante Lulu. Now you. Who next? Charmaine and René?”
“Tante Lulu wants a love potion?” Remy asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” Luc said with disgust. “I think she was just kidding, but who knows!”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind trying some, too,” Remy persisted.
“I am not giving you any love potion jelly beans,” she insisted, then had a second thought. “Unless, of course, you want to participate in the lab trials at Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals.”
“Uh…I don’t think so, ma’am. I prefer my love potions in private.”
“Like you’ve ever taken a love potion before,” Luc grumbled.
“I’m game for anything. I took Viagra on a bet, didn’t I?”
“You did?” Sylvie and Luc asked, their mouths dropping open with surprise.
“Sure. Best six-hour hard-on I ever had. Not sure I’d ever try it again, though.” He tipped his hat at Sylvie again and winked. Then: “Oh, geez, ma’am, I am so sorry. My tongue just has a mind of its own today.”
“Since when do you need any extra jingle in your spurs?” Luc inquired.
“There’s no such thing as too much jingle, if you get my drift,” Remy replied.
“How did you know that I took the love potion?”
Remy raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Everyone knows, Luc. Everyone. Besides, your lady looks like she’s been rode hard and put up wet. No offense meant, ma’am; that’s a compliment. But you, Luc, you look like you been layin’ pipe back here in the bayou…and you sprung a leak. Love potion would be my guess.”
Sylvie put a hand to her hair. Yep, it was wild. She was afraid to touch her lips for fear of what she would find.
“Remy! Rode hard and put up wet? I’m surprised at you,” Luc said, reversing the etiquette tables on his brother. “A gentleman always treats a lady with respect. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“Could we change the subject, please?” Sylvie begged.
“Hey, I came out in the middle of the night to fly you to the end of nowhere, risking life and limb,” Remy was telling Luc, “and this is all the appreciation I get? Criticism, criticism, criticism.”
“I have two words for you, Remy. And they’re not ‘Thank you.’”
“Likewise, bro…though it seems to me that you were about to do just that when I arrived on the scene…just in time, I might add.” Remy glanced toward Sylvie then and groaned, no doubt suspecting he’d used some more bad language.
“Don’t you dare apologize, or call me ma’am, one more time,” she ordered Remy. Then she turned to Luc. “You, on the other hand, could apologize till the ducks return to Lake Ponchartrain and it wouldn’t be enough. And, frankly, a ma’am or two would be a welcome change.”
“Yes, ma…I mean, Sylvie,” Remy said with a grin.
“Yes, chère,” Luc said with a grin.
“Aaarrgh!” Sylvie said, and she wasn’t grinning.
“Enough of this foolishness!” Luc said then. “Do you have the plane ready?”
Remy nodded. “The hydroplane is anchored in the water next to the houseboat.”
“You’re early,” Luc commented.
“I decided to get you out of Dodge quick as I could. All hell’s breaking loose back in Houma. Is there anyone you haven’t pissed off today?” The cowboy seemed to call himself to task. “’Scuse my language, ma’am. I’ve been hanging around cattlemen and oil riggers too much lately, I reckon. And my bro.”
“That’s okay,” she said, trying to see his face. Even in profile, Remy was motion-picture gorgeous. Not just classically handsome, he was beautiful. With a perfectly square chin, a straight nose, finely sculpted lips, and what appeared to be mile-long, black eye lashes. “I’m getting used to your brother’s foul mouth. Are you sure you’re brothers? You’re so polite, and he’s so…not polite.”
“I taught him everything he knows,” Luc told her in a deliberately loud undertone meant to be overheard.
Remy made a snorting sound of disbelief. “Emily Post, he never was, ma’am,” he informed Sylvie. “Luc might have taught me how to tie my shoelaces, and how to sneak a Playboy magazine out of Boudreaux’s General Store, and how to undo a bra snap in two seconds flat, and…and other good things. But I was the one who taught him proper etiquette. Yessirree, ma’am.”
Luc made a rude harrumphing noise.
“Why do you call me ma’am?”
“He calls all the ladies ma’am,” Luc piped in before his brother could answer. “It’s a surefire way of getting them to shuck their drawers, I suspect.”
Remy and Sylvie both gasped at that crudity.
“What does Luc call you?” Remy asked.
“Babe,” Luc said with a grin.
“Chère,” she said with a frown.
“Same thing,” Luc countered with an even wider grin.
“I’m beginning to think you’re both crazy.” Remy kept glancing from one to the other of them with puzzlement.
They’d arrived back at the tavern area, with its bright lighting. She noticed the hydroplane sitting in the bayou stream next to the houseboat.
Luc went up ahead to get a few items, including her lab rats, from the houseboat. She turned to say something to Remy at the same time he turned around fully, and she got her first real look at him. She barely stifled the gulp that sprang to her lips.
Oh, she remembered the gap-toothed Remy who had followed his bigger brothers, René and Luc, around
Houma as children. Now she remembered something she had heard about Remy as an adult. He’d been a pilot in Desert Storm, where his helicopter had been shot down, causing him massive burns.
Remy was still a beautiful man, depending on the angle at which one viewed him. He was angel-gorgeous on his right side, including intact lips and nose and both eyes, but the left side of his face was scarred and puckered with pink burn tissue.
To Sylvie’s embarrassment, she saw that Remy was taking in her survey with a lifted brow and faint smile. He didn’t turn away as some men might, but then he was probably accustomed to the scrutiny. Instead, he froze in place and waited for her to register the full extent of what he no doubt considered his grotesqueness.
Neither one of them wanted to break eye contact. Remy seemed to want her to shy away in revulsion. She refused to do so.
Remy was the one to snap the silence, and his words shocked her. “Don’t hurt my brother.”
“Wh-what?”
“Luc is a good man. He’s been a father to me and René. Lots of people depend on him…too much, sometimes. I would take it kindly, ma’am, if you wouldn’t break his heart.”
At first, Sylvie was too stunned to react. “Oh, I can’t believe you said that. What makes you think I have the power, or the inclination, to hurt your brother?”
“Just take care, that’s all, ma’am.”
“Take care of what?” Luc asked, coming up behind them on the dock in front of the plane.
“Nothing,” Remy said, casting her a speaking glance of warning. Then he noticed the Happy Meal box in Luc’s hand. It was obvious that something live was inside since the waxed paper was rustling up a storm. “What is that?”
“Fucking rats,” Luc replied dryly.
Sylvie put her face in her hands, but still she heard Remy exclaim, “Luc! Now you’ve gone too far with your cursing in front of a lady.”
Sylvie peeked through her fingers and saw Luc open the Happy Meal box in front of Remy’s astounded face. She could just guess what he was witnessing with Samson and Delilah.
“I told vou,” Luc said. “Fuck-ing rats.”
Chapter Ten