Snow on the Bayou

“I was,” her father admitted. “I’m reformed.” He glanced at Emelie for confirmation. “I promised my daughter.”

  “What do you want from me?” Justin asked her father. “Forgiveness? A pat on the back for finally admitting your sins? A pass through the Pearly Gates when you finally get there, if you do? That we become good buddies and share a beer on occasion?”

  “Mon Dieu! None of those. I mean, yeah, forgiveness would be nice, but I did this fer Emelie, and fer myself, as much as anything. Besides that, I’m not allowed ta have beer on my heart diet.”

  Justin eyed him suspiciously. “I’m escortin’ Emelie ta some charity ball on Friday night. How do you feel ’bout that?”

  Claude gritted his teeth at Justin’s surly attitude. “Hope ya look like a fool in one of them monkey suits.”

  They all relaxed then, and Francine came in to join Claude in talking to Tante Lulu and Miss MaeMae. While they were busy, Emelie took Justin by the hand and coaxed him outside.

  “Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  “For what?” he grumbled.

  “Not taking a potshot at my dad.”

  “I was tempted.”

  “I could tell.” She took a tissue from her pocket and swiped at her eyes.

  “You should be thankin’ me,” he said then. There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, which had been so angry only moments ago.

  “For what?”

  “For not cleaning your dad’s clock.”

  “I already thanked you for that.”

  “Pfff! You call that thanks.” On those words, he opened a door marked HOSPITAL LINENS, and shoved her inside.

  “What?”

  “On Grey’s Anatomy and all those hospital shows, there’s always a place in these rooms fer a quickie. A perfect place fer showin’ gratitude.”

  In the gray light coming through a single window, she saw shelf after shelf of bed linens and towels. And at the far end… a cot.

  They saw the cot at the same time and made a dive for it, almost causing it to collapse to the floor. They ended up with him on the bottom and her straddling him. Her hair had come undone from its ponytail and hung down like a screen as she bent over him.

  “How do I thank you?” she purred. “Let me count the ways.”

  And she did. There were twelve.

  When they were both sated a short time later, she lay in his arms and asked, “Do you ever tingle?”

  “Is that a trick question? Yeah, I ‘tinkle’ about a half-dozen times a day. More when I’ve been drinking.”

  She smacked him on the arm. “Tingle, not tinkle. Tante Lulu has this theory about tingling.”

  “Please, don’t tell me. I haven’t recovered from the nipple pinching yet.”

  “She is outrageous, isn’t she?”

  “And good as gold. Honestly, she would do anything for anyone. Before you came, she asked me if MawMaw had enough medical insurance. She said she has fifty thousand in her checking account—her checking account!—if we needed it. Thankfully, my grandmother’s covered, but that’s some generosity.”

  “I know. You weren’t in the South after Hurricane Katrina. She single-handedly formed some charity to help families in need. Raised millions, I heard.”

  He kissed her softly and started to rise. “We better get going before the old lady comes looking for us. Or your father, God forbid. Just one more thing. Can we agree, no more secrets between us?”

  “Sure,” she said. Except for one, which she prayed God he never uncovered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Old loves never die…

  Cage was proud to attend the Angel Krewe Ball with Em, even if he was wearing an uncomfortable tuxedo. And knowing how much Em enjoyed every aspect of Mardi Gras, from the vivid colors to the elaborate costumes to the music and rowdy good fun, Cage found pleasure in doing something for her.

  If only the band wasn’t playing such dorky music!

  Cage loved to dance… fast, slow, dirty, sweet, plain, fancy… but this band knew only one type of music. Glenn Miller. Cage was doing his best, and really, moving from side to side with his arms around Em’s waist and her arms around his shoulders, well, that was good, too.

  He was still “on call” for active duty regarding Project Boom, but his team members were watching his back tonight, and unless something exploded, speaking figuratively, he could relax and enjoy himself. And man, did he have some “enjoyment” on his mind.

  “You look beautiful,” he told Emelie as they danced. How soon can we make love?

  She wore a strapless red ball gown that was tight down to her hips but then flowed out into a full, ankle-length skirt that almost but not quite brushed the floor and out of which peeked red strappy stilettos. The fabric of the gown was sprinkled with crystals that sparkled like diamonds under the hotel chandeliers. On her face was a half-mask of the same red fabric as the dress with upswept feathers of cream and pink on either side like angel’s wings. The only jewelry she wore was a thin chain with a red ruby pendant and small diamond stud earrings. She’d sprinkled some kind of cream on her shoulders and arms that contained glitter. When she turned a certain way… well, let’s just say, ten kinds of sexy would be an understatement. Her hair was curled into some kind of up-do with little tendrils deliberately hanging about her graceful neck, and there was glitter in her hair, too.

  By the end of this night, Cage expected to have glitter on him, too. And not from a jar. He sure hoped it was edible.

  “You look good, too, Justin.”

  He made a little bow. How soon can we make love?

  “Thank you for coming. I know formal attire wouldn’t be your first choice.”

  He wore a black half-mask to match his tuxedo. One of Em’s designs, it was contrasted with red feathers. Maybe he would wear it later… hmm. How soon can we make love? “I was just ragging you about wearing a tux. We SEALs—any single officers on the Naval base, for that matter—are always bein’ asked to wear our dress uniforms at formal affairs. Visiting dignitaries and their families. Politicians. Stuff like that. Usually at the Hotel del Coronado. The Del is a famous place where movie stars and famous people stay all the time.”

  “And are you expected to dance at these events?”

  “Sometimes.” Or run an extra five miles in the morning.

  “I bet you look really hot in uniform.”

  He grinned. “Sizzlin’.” How soon can we make love? He twirled her around then till she got dizzy and had to clutch his shoulders to stay upright. He kissed her shoulder and murmured against her skin, “I’ll show you someday.”

  They circulated among the crowd, too, and picked at some of the buffet offerings. Em introduced him to lots of folks… some of them artists like herself, others, community bigshots giving huge donations to the cause, a shelter for homeless single women. She never mentioned his SEAL background, on his advice, but just said that he was an old friend who was visiting Louisiana. That last hadn’t been his idea. Old friend, my ass! How soon can we make love?

  After that, a new band took over for the second set, a local Zydeco group that livened up the joint immediately. Now this was Cage’s kind of music. He and Em danced and danced and danced. He showed off his moves. She showed off hers. They were really good together. They even participated in a sort of Cajun line dance that had everyone in the room howling with laughter. A good time. And they hadn’t even had that much to drink. Two glasses of wine, max.

  By the time the old fogies were back on the stage playing big band songs, they were glad to see them. Slow and easy was the way they wanted to end. Barely moving, just holding each other. Cage couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Against her ear, he whispered, “I love you, Em.” And yes, he thought, How soon can we make love? But not in a crude way. Well, maybe a little crude.

  Instead of protesting with that “just friends” crap, she whispered against his ear, “I love you, too.”

  He pulled back to stare at her. “Let’s get out of here.” r />
  It seemed like everyone in the world wanted to talk to them from the dance floor to the coatroom to the car park. The fifteen minutes seemed like fifteen hours before they were ensconced in his Jeep. He turned on the ignition but then turned to her. “Come here, you.”

  She slid over as far as she could with the bucket seats and her voluminous gown. He leaned as far as he could and kissed her. Soft, her lips were so soft. And pliant. Open for whatever he wanted or offered. And he wanted so much and would offer her anything. Everything.

  Reluctantly, they drew apart and they drove in silence to her home about ten blocks from the hotel where the charity ball was held. He didn’t ask if he could spend the night. He just pulled into her driveway, all the way into the back courtyard, went around the vehicle to help her get out with her gown intact, then put an arm around her shoulder, tucking her against him as they walked side by side up the back stairs.

  A mounting tension rose between them, but it wasn’t an urgent, gottahaveyougottahaveyou need. More like a dreamy intimacy of slow, slow, slow arousal, rising a beat higher with every look they exchanged, every accidental brush of skin against skin, every sigh or breathy exhale. All of his senses seemed enhanced. The smell of the flowers in her garden and the light, flowery perfume she wore. How her silk gown felt when he rubbed a section between his fingers. The flavor of her lip gloss, which he could still taste on his tongue from their brief kiss in the car. And sounds… well, who could hear anything with Thad barking up a storm inside her French doors?

  “At least you know that he’ll be a good warning against burglars,” Cage said.

  “Hah!” Emelie laughed. “He’d probably lick them to death.”

  Thad and me, both. Well, me licking you, not burglars.

  His phone binged then, his regular line, not the secure one. It was from JAM. Cage quickly read the text. All clear on Boom front. Make your own fireworks tonight, good buddy.

  “Everything okay?” Em asked.

  “Perfect,” he replied and gave her a quick kiss.

  Once the door was unlocked, Thad barreled out and galloped down the stairs, two steps at a time, and was about to raise his leg.

  “No, Thad, no! Not St. Jude,” Em shouted.

  The dog gave her an apologetic look—Cage swore he did—and moved his raised leg over to a bonsai kind of tree. Still not good, but at least not a sacrilege.

  “Have you come to appreciate my gift yet?”

  “He’s growing on me,” she admitted.

  “I knew it, I knew it, a match made in doggie heaven.”

  “Don’t push it,” she said, tapping him playfully on the arm with her hand-painted Mardi Gras fan, a favor from the ball.

  Now that he’d done his business, Thad galloped back up the steps, gave Em a few doggie kisses, which left glitter on his fool tongue, then sprawled out on the balcony, about to settle into his guard duties. Or else sleep, if that wide yawn was any indication.

  Cage and Em looked at each other and smiled, closing the doors behind them as they entered the bedroom. Cage was not sharing his bed with a dog tonight. He locked the door, and Em turned on a soft bedside lamp. Cage set his backpack on the floor by the door and removed the pistol, which he placed on the nightstand. Em watched him setting up his emergency gear, but didn’t ask anything. Thank God! He wasn’t in the mood for discussions on SEAL protocol at the moment.

  As if they had all the time in the world, they took turns undressing each other. His jacket, her gown. Her high heels, his dress shoes. Her thigh-high hose, his socks. Her red, almost-nothing panties—which he had plans for later—and his red—yes, he’d worn red for the occasion—boxer briefs. In between, they murmured soft compliments, chatted, even smiled and laughed.

  “Do you ever wear thongs?” he asked.

  “No. Do you?”

  “What? I’d be drummed out of the teams.”

  “Do you have to work out a lot to have muscles like that?”

  “Every day.” He struck a pose for her that had them both falling over onto the bed with laughter. Suddenly serious, he looked down at her and said, “I can’t hold it in anymore, Em. I love you. I never stopped lovin’ you.” Please don’t say we’re just friends. Please don’t buzzkill this high I’m on. Please… just please.

  She reached up a hand to tenderly cup the side of his face. “I love you, too, Justin.”

  He turned his mouth into her hand and kissed the soft skin of her palm, then her wrist. “I don’t know where we go from here, but—”

  She put a forefinger to his lips. “No promises.”

  “All I know is that I can’t go on pretendin’ that I don’t think about you night and day. I fantasize about all the ways I want to make love to you. I imagine the look on your face when I take you to all the places around the globe where I’ve been. The Middle East. Europe. South America. Even parts of the good ol’ U.S. of A. that you might not be aware of. And I want to show you off to all my friends and brag that you’re mine.” He saw that she was listening intently to everything he said. He summed it up with a shrug. “You’re my world, babe.”

  She smiled. “How about rocking my world then, babe?”

  He wanted more than those teasing words. A confession of how he consumed her life, too. How she dreamed about him and yearned for him and all that stuff that should be hokey but wasn’t. It would come later, he promised himself. For now, he growled at her and said, “That sounds like a challenge to me, and I should forewarn you, there’s nothin’ a SEAL likes better than a challenge.”

  She giggled, but not for long.

  After he’d kissed her for a long time, about three minutes, and caressed her breasts and belly and lower, way more than three minutes, he asked in a sex-husky voice, “Do you ever fantasize about me, Em?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Them are fightin’ words,” he told her and used his fingers, which could be tools of sweet torture, if he did say so himself, to tease her secret places to the point where she finally screamed and said, “Stop! Yes, I do fantasize about you sometimes.” And she whispered something particularly wicked in his ear, something that surprised even him.

  Without skipping a beat, he said, “I could do that. But later.”

  For now, he settled in what he’d wanted to do all night. Make love to his girl. That’s how he would always think about Em. His girl. Even when she was eighty and he was eighty-one, she would be his girl.

  By the time he’d settled into the deep hard strokes of making love with Em, he’d already told her over and over how much he loved her. She held his eyes with hers as her climax approached, the whole time repeating his words back at him, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  Later, much later, he felt himself falling asleep, despite his best efforts to stay awake. After all the stress with his grandmother’s illness and Project Boom and his worry over how he was going to convince Em that he still loved her, and the fact that it was already 2 a.m., his body shut down for needed rest.

  “I’m sorry,” he kept saying on yawn after yawn.

  “It’s okay. Go to sleep.”

  “Don’t go away. Don’t leave.” He was afraid to fall asleep and find this was all a dream. Or that she would have second thoughts. But he was so tired.

  “Where would I go? You’re in my bed,” she said, laughing.

  “Right.” Jeesh! I must be whacked out if I forgot that.

  Still, he pulled her over, half on top of him with her face resting on his chest, his arms firmly holding her in his embrace, just in case. Now that he had her back, he wasn’t letting her go.

  “I love you,” he said one last time.

  The road to love is filled with potholes…

  Emelie was too hyped up to sleep. She lay propped on one elbow for a long time and watched Justin sleep. Just watched.

  He loved her, he’d said so. And she loved him. They’d brought it out in the open. But now what would they do?

  Emelie tried to imagine all the scenari
os, how they might make this new love work. Logistics, that was their problem. He lived in California, and she lived in Louisiana, and she didn’t see any way the twain could reasonably meet. Would they get together whenever they could for hot weekends? Here? There? In-between? Would that be enough? It would have to be. And really, maybe they would last longer than most couples who lived together. Absence making the heart grow fonder and all that.

  By 4 a.m. Emelie couldn’t hold out any longer, and she fell asleep, with questions still swimming in her head. It seemed like only minutes, but must have been an hour when she was awakened by Justin, who was wide awake and raring to go. Dawn light was rising in the sky beyond her courtyard.

  She squirmed under him and said, “What is it about you and making love in the daylight? I must look a wreck.”

  “You look sexy as hell and hot as heaven,” he said. “Besides, haven’t you heard the best thing about sex in the morning?”

  “No,” she said hesitantly.

  “It’s like you have a secret the rest of the day. An image you carry in your head, but can pull out whenever you want and get turned on all over again.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “You’re impossible,” she said. “But I love you.”

  “Ditto, darlin’. I can’t wait to make plans with you for our future. We’ll get married, won’t we, Em?”

  “Uh. Was that a proposal?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “I thought that was understood. Love, marriage, the whole works. Oh, damn! I should get down on one knee, shouldn’t I?”

  She grabbed his shoulders when he started to move off her. “No, I don’t need a formal proposal.” Besides, he’d asked her once when she was sixteen, and for her that was the one she wanted to remember forever, now that the heartache that followed was over.

  “But you will marry me?”

  “I don’t know. Yes. Probably. I mean, there’s so much else we need to talk about first.”

  “No, you’re wrong. As long as we love each other, we’ll find a way to work out the details. They’re incidental. Do you believe me?”

  She nodded, although the logical side of her brain told her that life wasn’t so simple. On the other hand, maybe they would come up with a solution that worked for them. Possibly not a traditional one, but one suited to their particular situation.