Going All Out (9 page)

But it was hard to hang on to that thought when his mouth devoured hers hungrily, when his tongue pursued hers with a leisurely insistence that made it difficult to think or to wait when she knew her bed was just up the stairs.

A part of her wanted Lucas to be the one to cross that
boundary, to simply be so eager for her that he couldn’t wait. If he asked, she wouldn’t say no.

Not when she wanted to arch her body against him, to ride the length of his thigh, to feed the needy little ache growing between her legs.

Bree managed to keep the invitation from her lips, not because of self-control but because she’d have to stop kissing him to talk. She couldn’t keep from rocking her hips from side to side, trying to nurture the ache inside, tipping her hand at how hot she burned for him. Taunting him.

Lucas replied in kind. Slipping his hand down her back, he took full advantage of the moment, dragged his outstretched palm over the curve of her bottom. He pressed her so close that she could feel the length of his erection, knew she wasn’t the only one yearning right now. It wasn’t an invitation but an admission of how much he wanted.

That hardness caught her in exactly the right spot, and it was so easy to lose herself. To forget they stood on her front step. To forget that Tally or Christien or Mark could show up. To forget this man was practically a stranger. To forget she should challenge him.

The next thing she knew, he was breaking out of the tangle of their bodies. She exhaled a sigh that was part protest and part relief and peered into his face to recognize a restraint as tenuous as her own.

“Tonight.” The word tumbled from her lips unbidden.

“Tonight.” He smiled, a promise. “Sweet dreams, Bree.”

Funny, she thought when he turned and strode down the steps with long, sure strides, his deep voice still lingering in her ears. Bree knew her dreams tonight would be very sweet.

G
ABRIEL SAT ON THE GATE
linking his careless descendents’ front lawn with the alley leading to
le Vieux Carré.
The French Quarter. No matter how much this magnificent city had grown and changed in the centuries since he’d walked the streets in life, certain things remained infinitely more civilized in French.

He would cling to those things, the only things he had left in this cursed hell of an afterlife.

His pride, gone. His peace of mind, too.

Especially as he watched Lucas stroll back into the court trying to look normal. His swagger told a different story. No matter how long he’d been dead, Gabriel hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to walk with his crotch as hard as a mainmast.

And he was pleased with the progress of Breanne and her lusty new beau. He wasn’t pleased that desire seemed to have addled both their brains. Would that they had taken all their passion upstairs into the bedroom!

Instead these two had indiscriminately fondled each other, then had gone their separate ways. Now Lucas strolled past the alley, oblivious to the man standing in the shadows of the piazza hedges. An intruder who’d been waiting in those shadows ever since Breanne and Lucas had returned, watching their passionate antics.

Gabriel’s instincts were one of the few things that had followed him from life into death, an echo perhaps or a memory that he clung to, deluding himself that something of the man he once was remained. He refused to analyze this too closely, didn’t really want to know which it was. Some things he was content to simply let be.

This intruder in the shadows was not one of them.

An overgrown wisteria vine shielded him from the light of a street lamp, but he had a crow’s-nest view of the proceedings on Breanne’s front doorstep.

The intruder seemed very interested and very displeased.

Which was why Gabriel sat here and waited to see what the fellow did next. With a vested interest in both Breanne’s and Lucas’s continued health at the moment, Gabriel needed to keep lookout. First he had to keep
belle grand-mère
from starting up her nonsense to keep Breanne from Lucas the way she had tried—and almost succeeded—to keep Tallis and Christien apart. Now this intruder.

If only Lucas had scooped Breanne into his arms and taken her straight to bed. Gabriel guessed by her vibrant aura that Breanne wouldn’t have resisted, and the sooner they got on with this business, the better for all of them…. Oy, but he had made a muddle on his hands.

The intruder didn’t attempt to waylay Lucas. He simply watched Lucas disappear inside Number Sixteen, then crossed the lane as if he had every right to be in this court. Pausing by Breanne’s gate, he stared up at her doorway with an expression filled with surprising longing.

Gabriel exhaled a sigh of relief. Even if this intruder’s actions didn’t cast him in suspicion, his aura confirmed he had more darkness in his soul than light. Auras never lied. Not to the dead, anyway.

Unfortunately the living only saw outer appearances, and this fellow looked nothing like his aura. Women would surely swoon over his dark good looks and piercing eyes.

He retrieved a cellular phone from his pocket. Modern developments had transformed New Orleans since Gabriel’s time. He found himself fascinated with some, unimpressed with others.

Technology impressed him. A lot.

Scooting along the gate in an effortless motion, he sidled closer to the man to eavesdrop on this conversation.

“Good, you’re there,” the dark-souled man spoke into the phone, his voice a low whisper. “I need you to get me some information about who lives in Number Sixteen Court du Chaud.”

A rumbling voice replied in a mumble that Gabriel couldn’t make out. He thought he heard the words
trip, back
and
home.

“I’m still here. No, no trouble so far. I’m lying low,” Dark Soul said.

Some more garbled sentences in an accent Gabriel couldn’t place before Dark Soul snapped, “Don’t worry about it. I’m handling her. Just get me that information.”

Her?
Breanne?

As Gabriel had been cursed to haunt Court du Chaud in the afterlife, he couldn’t follow. And damned he was. All he could do was stare after Dark Soul, who took his conversation into
le Vieux Carré,
leaving Gabriel to wonder if he meant trouble for Breanne and her new beau.

“W
E USED TO TAKE CLASS
trips here when I was a kid,” Lucas said while driving down the shady, oak-lined alley that led to the old bayou plantation, Félicie Allée.

A sense of unreality claimed him as the plantation loomed in the distance, two-storied and majestic with tall columns surrounding wraparound verandas. Wisteria, azaleas and Spanish moss splashed color against the pristine white structure. The windows sparkled beneath the shafts of sun slicing through a lattice of tree branches. A long-forgotten but familiar sense that he was leaving the real world hit him, and when Lucas looked at the gorgeous woman sitting beside him, he knew he was heading into a fantasy.

“I visited with school, too,” Bree said. “The company that bought the place has done a lot of restoration.”

She sounded casual, but he didn’t miss the way she’d been staring through those windows, looking thoughtful.

He wanted to ask what was so special about Félicie Allée but perceived that privacy about her again, marveled at the way she could effectively close herself off so a simple question felt like an intrusion. She seemed comfortable sharing only certain parts of herself, and he wondered why.

That was a question he intended to answer this week. “Wrong pirate.”

“Hmm?”

“Félicie Allée belonged to Julian Lafever. You’re descended from Captain Dampier. Isn’t that conflict of interest?”

“Naw, it’s cool. Those old pirates used to hang together. Lafitte. Lafever. Dampier. They all stood and fought for New Orleans when it counted.” She gave a wry laugh. “That’s Tally’s obsession—our pirate captain’s lack of recognition.”

“Yeah, Lafitte got a national park, didn’t he?”

“Lafever didn’t fare so well, though. He left Félicie Allée, of course, but, hey, we’ve got Court du Chaud. More centrally located.” She turned to him, and her dark gaze flashed with such amusement that the tight interior of his brother-in-law’s showy sports car suddenly felt intimate, as if catching Bree inside and containing her all to himself was an accomplishment to be proud of.

He was almost sorry when they reached the circular front drive and wound around to the parking lot.

“Keep your fingers crossed that they came up with something good for us tonight,” Bree said as he pulled open her door.

“You don’t know?”

“Worried?”

“I’ve got you all to myself and the keys to your ride home. What’s there to be worried about?”

“Guess you have the upper hand.” Everything about her tone implied she’d soon prove how much of the upper hand he
didn’t
have.

He looked forward to whatever Bree had in store for him.

“Everything looks the same as it did in the third grade.” He led her down the walkway toward the front entrance.

The doors opened, and a tall man in a black cutaway suit out of a history book appeared to usher them inside.

“Olaf.” Bree flashed a sudden smile. “Working the door?”

“Only for you.”

She rose up on tiptoe to kiss the man’s cheek, treating Lucas to a head-to-toe glimpse of the way her sweater and almost-floor-length narrow skirt hugged her long curves.

“Lucas, this is Olaf, one of the owners of Southern Charm Mysteries. Olaf, Lucas Russell, potential client. He owns a business on the West Coast with lots of programmers.”

Lucas extended his hand, amused by how Bree tossed him to the sharks.

“I’ll be sure to load you up with promotional material,” Olaf said in a richly accented voice that Lucas couldn’t make out the origins of. “Let me know if you want the grand tour and an official sales pitch.”

“Will do.”

Olaf led them inside the three-story octagonal rotunda that showed the recognizable effects of much restoration. Once-faded walls now contrasted richly with highly polished woodwork. Art and antique tapestries Lucas couldn’t remember seeing before were showcased in museum-style displays.

“So how’s it going, big guy?” Bree asked. “And the wonderful wife?”

“Still wonderful, I think. She’s been holed up in her office, crushing a deadline.”

“No, thinking about it,” a feminine voice rang out.

Lucas glanced around at the woman approaching. She was dressed in contemporary clothing, an interesting, if clearly adoring foil to the tall man she came to stand
beside. “Make a correction—
should
be holed up in her office.”

“Then get to work.” Bree hugged the woman. “I haven’t had anything decent to read since your last book came out. Lucas, meet Susanna St. John,
New York Times
bestselling author.”

He greeted this illustrious personality and found himself the recipient of her open perusal.

“You brought a guest?” Susanna eyed him curiously. “This is a surprise.”

“Lucas is only in town until Mardi Gras,” Bree explained, leaving him to assume she usually came alone on her getaways.

He liked knowing that. He also liked knowing she found him worthy of meeting people she obviously cared for.

“I know you’re partial to the Sky Suite, but I’ve got a full house. Training a sales force out of Baton Rouge,” Olaf said. “I put you in a guest cottage. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oooh, like we’d complain.” Bree smiled at Lucas. “The guest cottages are the penthouses around here.”

“Unfortunately the penthouses mean you’ll have to shuttle back and forth to the main house for meals,” Olaf said.

Susanna patted her husband’s arm. “I’m sure Bree and Lucas won’t mind the walk.”

“Not at all.” Lucas liked the idea of privacy.

“Then you know the drill,” Olaf said. “Hit wardrobe before you head out, and I’ll have everything sent to the cottage with your bags.”

“Wardrobe?” Lucas eyed Olaf’s cutaway jacket.

“Southern Charm Mysteries hosts business training.
The sessions are all based on the history of this place,” Bree said. “We won’t participate, but we do have to blend in.”

“It’s all part of the fantasy we create around here.” Susanna turned to her husband. “Honey, why don’t you have Jerry grab Bree and Lucas’s bags? I’ll take them upstairs.”

She led them up the winding staircase, but they hadn’t made it to the first landing before Bree said, “All right, Susanna. What gives? You usually toss me a room key, tell me to get dressed and send me on my way. Why the five-star treatment? Because I brought Lucas?”

“Because we need a favor. What Olaf didn’t tell you is that he’s giving you the cottage gratis for as long as you want it if you’ll bail him out of a rather delicate situation.”

Bree paused with her hand on the balustrade. “Spill.”

“You know that sales force from Baton Rouge?” Susanna lowered her voice, explaining how they couldn’t find costumes for one of the guests.

“She’s nine months pregnant, Bree, and no one thought to mention it,” Susanna whispered as they turned the second-story landing and started toward the third. “I didn’t ask, but I think she must be having twins. Or triplets. The larger-size costumes are the only ones she can get on, but they’re tight around her middle and hanging everywhere else. She feels awkward because she looks ridiculous.

“She told me privately she’s already having trouble with some of her coworkers. The bigger her belly gets, the more they’re treating her like an invalid. We can’t leave her like this for the rest of the training. I put in a call to Toni, but she’s out of town. Olaf refused to ask you, but I told him I’d make sure you didn’t feel obligated.”

“Bribing me with a free cottage is just incentive, right?” Bree said drily.

“I know how much you love a good deal. Will you help?”

“Of course.”

Lucas still wasn’t clear on how Bree would help this situation, but he listened with interest as they reached the third floor, where they passed a door with a gold nameplate announcing the Sky Suite. Apparently, Bree’s favorite.

They continued down the hall toward a door at the end with a nameplate marked Wardrobe.

The room proved to be an enormous dressing room with a surplus of historic costumes in all shapes and sizes. Susanna pointed toward the walls of garment racks. “We’ve got day wear, formal wear. You name it and we’ve got it. Except maternity. I don’t know what your plans are, so just pull out what you need. I’ll have Jerry bring it all over.”

Lucas glanced at a costume that should be in a museum.

Bree must have caught his expression, because she glanced over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. “Fantasy, remember?”

His fantasy involved bare skin, not brocaded waistcoats, but he shuffled through the racks until producing two likely choices—a casual suit for day, another more formal for night.

Here’s hoping he wouldn’t need them.

When he turned back around, Bree was turning a voluminous dress inside out, inspecting a seam, and he began to get an idea of why Susanna had solicited her help.

“Piece of cake,” she said. “As long as you don’t mind me dismantling a few dresses.”

“Have at it.”

“I’ll need her measurements. When can we get together?”

“Want to settle in first?” Susanna asked.

Bree cocked her head, considering, sending rich, dark waves tumbling sexily down her back. “No. The sooner the better.”

Susanna nodded. “Then I’ll go find her now. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Bree moved to stand with him. Looping her arm through his, she pulled him close to whisper, “Why don’t you go get ready to start our fantasy?”

Awareness sizzled through him, a physical reaction to her warm breath against his ear, the graze of her cool silk hair against his cheek. “Don’t be long.”

Her expression melted into an inviting smile, and she pressed her mouth to his cheek. “Promise.”

That was a promise he would hold her to.

B
REE LOVED THE COTTAGES
. There were four, connected by a cobblestone path that meandered through the live oaks and azaleas. They sat tucked on the banks of Bayou Doré, within easy distance of the plantation yet far enough apart to be private.

She’d never gotten to avail herself of the luxury because the cottages were new additions to the property, modern accommodations that had been designed to mirror the plantation’s architecture on a smaller scale.

They’d been built exclusively for the owners of Southern Charms Mysteries. Olaf and Susanna lived in one, a lovely place with a spectacular view of Bayou Doré, beneath the shady overhang of trees and sunny sky.

Bree understood that two of the company’s partners lived up north, and the cottages allowed them to visit the property or house potential clients without disturbing the training sessions taking place inside the plantation.

Figured Susanna would use them as leverage. Not that Bree minded helping out. Olaf was a doll to let her visit at a special rate whenever she needed a break from the real world, and her work for Toni Maxwell helped make ends meet. Bree didn’t have a degree in design, but Toni let the quality of her work speak for itself. Pinch-hitting for her largest costume account was the least Bree could do to repay her trust.

Hopefully Lucas wouldn’t mind the interruption. Staying inside a cottage gratis wouldn’t impress him. Although she’d issued the invitation, Bree would be surprised if he let her pick up the tab.

It was an unwritten rule among rich men—they always footed the bill. So unless she missed her guess, he wouldn’t let Olaf comp their stay. That would smack too much of his date working to pay their way. Another rich guy no-no.

As she hurried along the path, arms overflowing with gowns, she mentally calculated how best to tackle the work ahead. She’d found the mom-to-be a size that wasn’t absurdly large. With a few creative adjustments she could hide beneath a lace jacket and flounces, Bree could redesign two gowns and solve the problem fairly quickly. She’d squeeze work in around fun.

Finding the cottage door unlocked, she juggled her armful, turned the knob and slipped inside.

The living area could have been a mini antebellum plantation with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in white sheers and decorative friezes over the arched doorways. Buff-colored walls and elaborate wicker furniture made the place charming and homey, and Bree smiled while draping the gowns over the sofa to avoid wrinkling.

She wondered what Lucas thought of their fantasy getaway…actually, Bree wondered where Lucas was.

She found him inside the courtyard that had been built on the side of the cottage to take advantage of the bayou view. He sat inside the steaming spa, a glass of red wine within easy reach and sultry jazz music filling the air.

The water only reached midchest, treating her to the sight of his yummy upper body with silky dark hairs nestled in all those muscled hollows and ridges. Wet skin that would be slick to run her hands over.

Mmm.
And she’d soon get her chance.

“So you got started on our fantasy?” She sounded breathless, felt breathless as he raked an inviting gaze over her, lingering over places that grew all tingly in reply.

“My fantasy didn’t involve costumes.”

“So I see. You look pretty naked in there.”

“I don’t know about pretty, but the naked part is true.”

The words hung in the air between them, and the quiet grew so thick it could have been fog rolling in.

“I didn’t expect to get hit with work when we got here, Lucas. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem. The whole point of spending time together was to get to know you.”

“In the biblical sense?”

“In every sense. If you need to work, too, just tell me if I can do anything to help.”

Help?

She hadn’t expected that. Maybe because he made getting to know her sound so important, when she’d have thought getting her into bed would have been top priority for their fantasy.

“When you said you had work connections, I assumed you meant through Toujacques.” His husky voice sent another sizzle through her. “You do some sort of costuming?”

“I moonlight for Toni Maxwell. She’s a designer with
a boutique in the Quarter. Félicie Allée is a huge account, so she hires me to sew. Gal’s got to make a living.”

“So you’re an entrepreneur and a seamstress. You minimized your talents. Sounds like you got your fair share.”