Cajun Persuasion

  He wets my neck with his tongue, blows on it, then nips the spot with his teeth.

  I moan and arch higher, causing my breasts to rise, as if begging for attention. “More,” I urge.

  At this point, most men would take my reaction as a cue to plow right in, getting to the “good stuff.” Slam, slam, slam, and they’d be satisfied in a minute. Services rendered.

  But not Aaron.

  He stares at my body for a long moment, then sighs. “Ah, Fleur. My flower. My love.” Then he proceeds to adore my body with skimming fingertips and breathy kisses. He lifts my arms and rests them above my head on the pillow. His palm brushes over my flat midriff, waist, and stomach. The light furring on his forearm catches briefly on my hair down below as he reaches for one of my limbs. He raises the knee and tugs it up and to the side so I am exposed to him.

  I gasp. Not in shock, but wonder at the almost-pleasure that ripples low in my belly.

  There is no hurtful squeezing as he explores my bareness. No bites. No deep, gagging throat kisses. No demand for graphically outlined delights, which are not so delightful for me. At least they hadn’t been before. But now? I don’t know.

  I’m not yet ready to touch his body, but I certainly look. And I admire what I see. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, muscles, but not too bulky. He is more lean than muscle-bound.

  His dark hair, which is overlong, matches the dark hairs on his arms, and legs, and chest. I don’t need to look below to know how excited he is. Perspiration dots his brow as he restrains his impulses. His brown Cajun eyes are half-lidded, and his full lips part as he breathes heavily.

  Oddly, I like that I have such an effect on him. For some reason, I want to please him.

  This is all new to me, but, instead of being alarmed, I purr with a sheer joy of discovery. I am almost thirty years old, but I feel like a virgin.

  When he moves back up to my breasts, I think, Here it comes. Men think women like to be kneaded like dough, or plucked like cow udders. Personally, it just seems silly to me to make such a fuss over . . .

  My thoughts trail off as Aaron licks one nipple, then the other. That’s all. One lick each.

  Okay, that isn’t so bad.

  Then he kisses them. So featherlight and quick, I’m not sure if I imagine the kisses there, or not. Before I have a chance to register what he is about, he places his mouth on one of the nipples.

  Instantly, a swelling develops between my legs and begins to pulse, like a heartbeat. I am alarmed, but he says, “Shhh,” and lays a calming hand on my belly. “Let me love you. Let your body speak for you.”

  And it did.

  As he lightly suckles me, my body explodes. From the throbbing beat in my nest of curls, a spark ignites and streams of erotic fire ricochet out to all my extremities, causing me to moan and thrash and beg him to never stop.

  I lose consciousness, and when I awaken, slumberous and sated, I see that he is above me now, his hardness pressing against the vee of my widespread legs. I smile at him and say, “Thank you for loving me.”

  He smiles back at me and says, “Now the real loving begins.”

  But then his head shoots up and he seems to be listening to something. Voices. From down below. Loud voices.

  Footsteps pounding on stairs.

  A knocking on the door.

  Fleur emerged from her deep sleep to the sound of knocking on her door and Aaron calling out, “Fleur? Are you awake?”

  She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, then half sat up, propped on her elbows. It was dark outside, and she saw by her watch that it was three a.m. She wasn’t naked like in her dream, but covered by the blue silk nightshirt she’d bought in that secondhand shop. Still, she was dazed by her dream. It had seemed so real.

  “Can I come in?” Aaron asked. “Are you decent?”

  That was debatable, Fleur thought, but said, “Yes.”

  Aaron opened the door and walked in. His hair was mussed as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore low-riding jeans that exposed the beginning of a vee of hair below his belly button, and flip-flops. That was all. Her dream had been accurate, she thought irrelevantly. He was lean and muscular and more sexy than any man had a right to be. No wonder he was so successful with women. No wonder he had been so successful with her . . . in her dream.

  For just a moment, he leaned against the doorjamb and studied her. “Was it as good for you as it was for me, Fleur?”

  “What?”

  He repeated her words back at her by saying, “Thank you for loving me.”

  She stared at him in horror. They’d had the same dream! “Do you think Tante Lulu put a spell on me . . . us?”

  He shrugged. “Before Daniel and Samantha got married, they claimed that Tante Lulu cursed them with mutual sexual fantasies. Daniel’s not nearly as imaginative as I am, though, or experienced. My fantasies are way more . . . you know?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  No, she did not know. “What are you doing here, at this time of night?”

  The humor disappeared from his face. “I just got a phone call from Luc, who got a call from one of Tante Lulu’s neighbors. It appears some men broke in and trashed her place.”

  “Oh, no! Miguel?”

  “Probably. I’m going over now. Luc will meet me there, along with Tee-John.”

  She sat up straighter and prepared to get up and out of bed. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. There’s always the possibility the cottage is being watched,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, forcing her to stay put. “I just wanted you to know where I was if I’m not here when you get up this morning. Even Snake can’t go with me, for fear of being recognized. We don’t want any connection between Tante Lulu and you or the Magdas or the Street Apostles. And of course Daniel will stay here.”

  “How about you? Isn’t there a danger of your being associated with all this?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m technically Tante Lulu’s nephew. I’ve been there lots of times in the past.”

  “Tante Lulu will be livid. She’ll want to go right over there, guns blazing.”

  He smiled, flashing that adorable dimple. It was a sign of her distress, or her deteriorating defenses, that she would notice such a thing at a time like this.

  “Don’t tell her anything. And make sure she stays here and out of sight until we know more.”

  She nodded. “I’m trying to remember if we left anything behind that would hint at my having been there, but I don’t think so. Oh, Aaron, this is all my fault. Tante Lulu doesn’t deserve this. Nor do all of you here at the plantation.”

  “Hush! It’s our choice.” He grinned then. “Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry . . . for all the trouble you’re causing?”

  She knew he was teasing to calm her fears. “No, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Notice that there were no kisses in our dream. Not mouth kisses anyhow. I must be saving up your markers for those, big-time. Bet they’re going to be super good for having been postponed. Hope there is tongue involved. Hope they’re wet ones.”

  “Click, click,” she said, surprised that she was engaging in his silly game. Must be some kind of post erotic dream, middle of the night madness.

  “Go back to sleep, Fleur. I’ll call when I know more. And don’t worry. I have your back, sweetheart.”

  In truth, she didn’t know what she would do without him. She was coming to rely on him way too much. A scary thought!

  Sleep was impossible, of course. So, she did what she should have been doing more of these past weeks. She knelt on the floor beside the bed and prayed. In the end, she decided to just trust in God, but she tossed in a prayer to St. Jude, too, just to be sure.

  A voice in her head said, About time!

  She was probably channeling Tante Lulu. Now that was the scariest thought of all.

  The posse arrived, but the bad guys were gone . . .

  Aaron arrived at Tante Lulu’s place a half hour later, and
John pulled in right behind him. Luc’s Mercedes sedan and a police car were already there, and the lights were on inside. He could tell that John, a cop, was wearing a shoulder holster under his denim shirt, which was unbuttoned over a tank top and cargo shorts. Aaron was carrying, as well, but his pistol was tucked into the back waistband of his jeans under a T-shirt.

  They nodded at each other, but said nothing as they emerged from their vehicles, their expressions grim. This had to be the first time, ever, that anyone had dared to attack the revered old lady of the bayou. They scanned the perimeter, but the sky was black as coal, no stars out tonight. The only light came from the windows.

  They had to laugh, though, at what they saw when they walked together around the side of the cottage. It was the neighbor who’d notified Luc of the break-in. Jackson Dufrene, probably as old as Tante Lulu, sat in one of the rocking chairs. He had a lion’s mane of unruly white hair which matched the white curls that adorned his bare arms and chest and back in a pair of bib overalls, minus a shirt, with rubber shrimp boots on his big feet. A long-ashed cigarette dangled from one hand, a rifle powerful enough to take down an elephant in the other, and the pet alligator, Useless, was splatted out at his feet munching on a pile of Cheez Doodles.

  “Took ya long enough,” Jackson remarked, taking a drag on his cigarette and then blowing smoke rings in the air. “Did ya stop fer donuts on the way? Or mebbe ya gave yer wives a good-bye boink before ya hit the road?”

  “I don’t have a wife,” Aaron pointed out.

  “My wife’s about twelve months pregnant and boinking is the last thing on her mind these days,” John said.

  Neither of them were offended by the old man, whom they knew well. Especially when he flashed his false teeth at them in a big smile.

  “What happened?” Aaron asked.

  “Heard a ruckus ’bout two a.m. Know it was two a.m. ’cause I got up ta piss. Us old men gotta piss a lot. It’s the prostate, or sumpin’. A damn nuisance is what it is. Betcha it’s a curse God put on Adam fer eatin’ that damn apple, or stickin’ his pisser where he hadn’t oughta. In fact, I tol’—”

  “About the ruckus,” John interrupted. “Did you come over here? Did you see anything?”

  “I dint come over right away, but I saw plenty. Two fellas rode up in a van. They parked out on the road, not the driveway. Had flashlights. Saw ’em over by the garage, then around the house, lookin’ in the windows. When they figgered out no one was home and the doors was locked, they broke a window and climbed in. Heard a lot of noise coming from inside, bangin’ doors, glass breakin’, cursin’. I tol’ mahself, time ta call the po-lice, and Luc, too. Yer brother gave me his number a long time ago in case there was ever a problem, but he was prob’ly thinkin’ more along the lines of Tante Lulu fallin’ and not being able ta get up. Lak that TV commercial. Lordy! I laugh every time I see that thing.”

  “What happened next?” Aaron prodded.

  “I saw they was comin’ outside and I dint want them ta make a getaway before the law got here. So, I went out and fired a couple shots up in the air. Scared the shit outta them, I’ll tell ya that. Tee-hee-hee! And by then, Useless sauntered onta the scene. Tore a hunk outta the one guy’s leg.”

  “I assume they left before the police arrived,” John said.

  “Yep. They went one way, the cops came the other.”

  “Did you get a license number?” John was examining the broken window, probably planning how to cover it until the glass could be replaced.

  Jackson shook his head. “Couldn’t find mah glasses. Left ’em on mah bedside table.”

  Aaron gave him a quick look. He must have gone back for both the glasses and his dentures. “Would you recognize either of them?”

  He shook his head again. “Too dark.”

  “Well, thanks for calling Luc and the police,” John said.

  “Thass what neighbors are for,” Jackson said, dropping his cigarette to the porch floor and grinding it out with his boot. Tante Lulu would pitch a hissy fit if she saw that. “I wonder what them fellas were lookin’ for. I allus thought Tante Lulu was poorer than Job’s turkey, but mebbe she has hidden treasures.” He looked to him and John for a clue. When neither of them answered, he got up and said, “Well, I’m off ta bed again. Good luck.”

  Aaron and John were about to go inside when Aaron put a hand on his arm. “Uh, John. Don’t mention Fleur to the police.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Fleur Gaudet. Tante Lulu’s guest.”

  John frowned. “The nun?”

  “Almost-nun.”

  “Huh?”

  “She hasn’t taken vows yet. Probably won’t.”

  John shook his head, as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Why would it matter if the cops know about an ‘almost-nun’ livin’ here? Tante Lulu is always takin’ in strays. And why the hell are they stayin’ at your place? Not that it didn’t turn out to be a good thing they weren’t here.”

  “Later. We’ll explain it all later.”

  “We? Does Luc know what’s goin’ on?” When Aaron’s silence gave him a resounding answer, John said, “Shiiit!”

  Two cops came out then, and when neither he nor John were able to add to what Luc had already told them, one of them said, “It was probably teenagers. You know how that is, John. Kids with the brains of a flea, too much time on their hands. Looking for booze or prescription meds. Hell, everyone knows Tante Lulu lives here. Old lady like that is bound to have a medicine cabinet full of pills.”

  The older cop shifted the belt of his uniform over a big belly and said, “What they needed was a good paddlin’ on their be-hinds when they were youngins. But that would be considered child abuse t’day. Pfff! What we got instead is eleven-year-olds smokin’ pot and fifteen-year-old girls on welfare with two kids.”

  The cops left soon after that, promising to be back in the morning when they could better assess the damages, in daylight, and see if anything was missing. In other words, this would end up an insurance claim, with not much done to catch the culprits.

  It was a shock, nonetheless, when Aaron and John entered the cottage. The place had been trashed. Drawers pulled out and contents scattered on the floor. Furniture turned over. Worst of all was Tante Lulu’s traiteur pantry. The perps must have thought the hanging herbs were weed because they’d been yanked off the ceiling and crushed on the floor. Jars and containers were broken, their contents spilled and mixed all over the place. A god-awful mess.

  Thank God, Fleur had gathered up all the old receipt books containing the folk remedies. Those would be irreplaceable. Maybe most of this stuff would be, too.

  They found Luc in Tante Lulu’s bedroom, sitting on her tiny bed, more the size of a cot, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. A quilt had been ripped apart and tossed on the floor. The sheets and mattress had been slashed with a knife.

  “Merde! Tante Lulu is going to be devastated,” Luc said, raising his head. There were tears in his eyes. “That quilt there . . . when I was ten years old, I ran away from home. Home being that rusted out trailer over where Cypress Oil has its headquarters now. Wasn’t the first time I ran away, of course, but the beating Daddy gave me that night was especially bad. He’d been on a bender for days and was all boozed up. I remember Tante Lulu washing me up and wrapping me in that quilt and tucking me in this very bed. ‘Have faith, sweetie. Things will get better,’ she always said.”

  John sank down to the bed and put his arm around Luc’s shoulders. “Hell, she was there for all of us when Dad went on a rampage. This cottage, though, it stayed the same through all those years. A refuge. And look at it now.”

  “Stop with the pity party,” Aaron told them from where he stood in the open doorway. The door was hanging lopsided on its broken hinges. “No one was hurt, and we can clean up this mess in no time at all. We’ll make it good as new. No, we’ll make it good as old. You know your . . . our family. They’ll make a party out of the cleanup.”

  The thre
e of them contemplated that idea and nodded.

  “I’m gonna kill the bastard who did this, though,” Luc said.

  “No! Miguel is mine.” Aaron had no doubt that the creep was the one responsible for this destruction. One more sin to add to the tally for the man who’d hurt Fleur so badly.

  “You two wanna tell me what the hell’s going on here?” John demanded then.

  Aaron decided that they had no choice but to fill him in. Still he warned, “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “And you can’t go off half-cocked when you know what’s coming down,” Luc added.

  John narrowed his eyes at Luc. “What kind of shit did you involve Tante in?”

  “Me? I didn’t start this thing,” Luc said, glancing toward Aaron.

  Aaron flinched. “No one’s to blame. I’m the one who got sucked in when I got called to the Silver Stud strip club last year where I first met Fleur.”

  John’s eyes widened.

  Luc was a little surprised at that detail, too. But then Luc said, “And I got sucked in when Aaron asked me to help him with the FAA, which is investigating him for illegal flights in and out of Mexico. But then, he took one of the FAA agents out to lunch, got her snockered, and ran into Tante Lulu and Fleur who were in the Big Easy buyin’ other people’s old clothes. That’s when Fleur ran into that pimp Miguel.”

  Which was no explanation at all if John’s tsk of disgust was any indication. “And Tante Lulu . . . how did she get sucked in?” John asked with not a little sarcasm.

  “She sucked herself in,” Aaron said. “Like always.”

  “It’s a long story, Tee-John,” Luc sighed. “Let’s just say, what do sex traffickers, prostitutes, street apostles, nuns, a huge upcoming caper in a Lafayette parking lot, and a pimp with a plan for revenge in motion have in common?” Luc glanced at Aaron and added, “And a Cajun with a hard-on for a nun?”

  John looked at the two of them, shook his head, and said, “What else is new?”

  Chapter Eight

  Blarney, BS, same thing . . .