The Love Potion (23 page)

All of Luc’s family inhaled sharply with shock at Valcour’s condemnation of his own son, Tante Lulu most of all. The little woman stood to her full five feet and told her nephew-by-marriage, “You are the one who’s bad to the bone, Valcour. What Adèle saw in you, I never knew. She mus’ be rollin’ in her grave now to see you put down your own
son.”

Valcour’s fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Fortunately, he’d let go of Tee-John’s nape. The boy stared in fear up at his father, whose face flushed so bright a red Sylvie feared he might have a stroke. “I will not have you, or Lucien, interferin’ with Cypress Oil business. He’s in jail where he belongs.”

“Not for long,” Sylvie vowed.

“I don’t care if you two are screwin’ each other’s brains out. I don’t care if you stem from some blue-blooded Creole family that thinks its vomit smells better than the rest of us. I don’t care what you think of me. You will not do
anything
to affect my holdin’s in Cypress Oil. And that’s a fact, missy.” Valcour was wagging his forefinger at Sylvie the whole time, and spittle clung to the edges of his mouth as he spat out the vicious statements.

Before anyone could protest his horrible words, Valcour spun on his heels and left the house, dragging Tee-John with him.

At first, there was just stunned silence. How a father could have such virulent feelings toward his own son was beyond them all. Sylvie’s heart went out to Luc, wondering how he’d survived childhood in the same house with that hateful man.

“Killin’ would be too good for that man,” Tante Lulu said finally, pretty much summing up all their opinions.

“Will Tee-John be okay?” Sylvie asked.

“Yeah,” Remy answered. “Dad won’t do anything with so many of us watching his every move. Oh, he’ll make the kid miserable, but he’ll be safe.”

“I’ll go over and check up on him later,” René
promised.

“Back to my
…our
problem…how we’re going to get Luc out of jail,” Sylvie began.

“No, Sylvie Marie, it is most definitely not
your
problem,” her mother stated. “Let Lucien’s family and friends take over from here. Pack a small case and come home with me now. I forbid you to involve yourself further.”

Forbid?
Sylvie’s hackles rose. “I told you before, Mother, I am not leaving till Luc is out of jail. Furthermore, must I remind you, this is my home. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you care at all what this could do to my career?” her mother wailed. “Disgrace yourself and you disgrace me, you selfish child.”

Sylvie exhaled with a whoosh of frustration. “Of course, I care about your career, Mother. But sometimes it’s necessary to take a stand, despite the consequences.”

“Personally, I think you need some professional help. Why don’t you call your therapist?”

“My therapist?” Sylvie’s voice was shrill even to her own ears. She exchanged a glance with Remy, who had told her two days ago that her mother had suggested a mental imbalance. At the time, Sylvie had considered such an idea impossible. Now, she wasn’t so sure. “I’m exhausted, Mother. Not crazy. I think it would be best if you and I don’t say anything else to each other right now, lest words be said that can’t ever be taken back.”

Inez stared at her as if she couldn’t believe this was her own daughter speaking. “So be it,” she said finally, and left in a huff.

The room resounded with an embarrassing
silence as everyone avoided looking at Sylvie. How they must pity her! To have such a cold woman for a mother must seem unfathomable to them. Well, no, they had Valcour to deal with in their own family.

The old Sylvie would have slunk off in shame, too mortified to face anyone. The new Sylvie straightened her shoulders, ignored the heat that flamed over her, and said, “Well, what are we going to do about Luc?”

“Your bail has been set for $500,000,” Lt. Ambrose “Rosie” Mouton informed Luc, who was dealing out new hands of cards for the next set of
bourré
. “Captain just got a call from the court clerk before I came down here.”

Luc raised his eyebrows at his longtime friend and former classmate at juvie hall. Rosie had reformed a long time ago, long before Luc had decided to walk the straight and narrow. He’d been lording it over him ever since. “Is that all? Tsk-tsk-tsk. And I’m not even an ax murderer. Talk about!”

Detective Pierre Landry, another cardplayer at the table, laughed. “Hell, LeDeux, you’ve landed in deep shit this time. Too many important people with their noses out of joint. They’re gonna make sure you can’t make bail. And when it comes to trial…you’re gonna fry, man, fry.”

Luc shrugged and continued to deal the cards. His shoulder wound bothered him a little bit as he moved his arm, but it was nothing to be concerned about. The bruises on his face and ribs were another thing. He’d like to get hold of those secu
rity guards who’d roughed him up before turning him over to the authorities.

His cellmate, Frank Martin, regarded him with awe. “My bail is only $50,000, and I’m in for armed robbery and possession of a controlled substance. You mus’ be one dangerous dude.”

They were all sitting at a table in the rec room of the local jail, unrestrained. He couldn’t be
that
dangerous.

Really, though, Luc wasn’t all that concerned about being in jail for a few days. Cypress Oil would have a tail on his butt as soon as he stepped out of the jailhouse door. This way he could have Remy and René and Claudia finish up the groundwork that would seal their case, while Cypress Oil thought its opponent was powerless.

And there was another important reason why he didn’t mind being in jail. Sylvie. If he was released, he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He would hot-tail it to her house faster than…well, faster than a man with two tons of testosterone driving his brain. He would
have
to be with her. He just would. And God help him, he didn’t want to do anything more to put her in harm’s way.

How had he come to care so much? Was it the love potion? Would it wear off in a few days? Did he want these intense feelings to end?

“You lose, LeDeux,” Rosie hooted, tossing his winning hand down on the table. “Where’s your mind, man?”

“He’s under the influence of a love potion, dontcha know?” Landry told Rosie with a smirk. “I read about it in the newspaper.”

“Really?” Rosie inquired. “Does it work?”

“Is it like that Vi-ag-ra?” Frank asked. “I knew a guy once who had a twenty-four-hour hard-on from taking too much Viagra.”

“No shit?” Rosie and Landry exclaimed at the same time, their mouths hanging open with incredulity, and interest, as they stared at Frank.

The dunces!

“Had a heart attack and two strokes, but he died with a smile on his face,” Frank hooted, slapping his knee at having played a joke on them.

“Hey, LeDeux, you got a visitor,” announced another police officer. “This is becomin’ a reg’lar social beehive in here.”

He was right. Luc had already seen thus far today: his brothers Remy and René, Tante Lulu, Claudia, and his lawyer, Clovis Dupree. He’d refused to see his father or Sylvie’s mother, though why the latter would want to see him, he couldn’t imagine.

“This
visitor
put up your bail,” the officer informed him as he unlocked the gate to the holding cell.

“
What?
” What jerk had gone behind his back and extricated him? He’d explained the plan fully to his brothers and Claudia. Everyone had agreed with him, or so he’d thought.

“Mus’ have deep pockets, this one,” Rosie said, following behind him, “’cause every bail bondsman from Shreveport to New Orleans has been warned away from you. Paid in cash, too.”

Luc said nothing as he walked through the cell door into the visiting area. He was gonna kill the person who’d pulled this dumb maneuver. Really, he was gonna…

Oh, God!

It was Sylvie Fontaine.

Luc is not pleased to see me
. Sylvie’s heart sank with despair at that recognition.

How could he look so good to her, even with a black eye and bruised lip and prison-regulation uniform, while she apparently held no appeal for him whatsoever? Almost immediately the answer came to her: The love potion must have worn off.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he gritted out; at the same time he yanked her roughly into his arms and hugged her fiercely. With his lips at her ear, he whispered hoarsely, “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Uh, you folks gotta sit on opposite sides of that table there,” the guard informed them. “No huggin’ or nothin’ allowed. Prison rules.”

They separated, reluctantly, but not before Luc gave her a quick, wonderful kiss on the lips. Joy rushed through Sylvie as she sat down, as instructed, though she was still confused by his angry expression.

“Leave us alone for a few minutes,” Luc instructed the guard.

Surprisingly, the guard nodded. “The paperwork’s being prepared for your release anyhow.”

Luc scowled at him, then at her. “Where did you get $500,000?”

“From…from the bank,” she stuttered out. You’d think he would be glad she’d obtained his release. Instead, he acted as if she’d performed some criminal act.

Her answer clearly astonished him. When he finally shut his gaping mouth, he asked, “You have $500,000 in the bank?”

“I have more than that, Luc. A trust fund passed down through generations of Breaux women. Why? Does it matter?”

“Hell, yes, it matters. I have a thousand in savings, if that.”

“So what?” She’d come here to secure his release, not take abuse because her bank account was larger than his.

“You should not have posted bond for me without my permission,” he berated her.

“What? Are you a flight risk or something?”

“Or something,” he growled.

She stood abruptly and slammed her purse on the table between them. “You ungrateful slob. Why don’t I go out to the desk and take back my check? You can sit here till the cows come home for all I care.” She hated the tearful break in her voice that betrayed how hurt she was.

Luc reached across the table and put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back gently to her seat. “I’m sorry if I was abrupt, Sylv. I guess I’m a little…uh, tense.”

“Don’t take your bad moods out on me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at her.

“And don’t smile at me, either.”

“Why? Because my smiles make you breathless?”

“Oh, it’s just like you to rub in my own foolish admissions. No, your smiles don’t make me breathless…not anymore. They make me angry.”

“You’re pretty when you’re angry.”

“Ooooh, be forewarned, Luc. I’m about to belt you with my purse, and it’s really heavy since I just came from the bank.”

“What? You’ve got another $500,000 in your
purse?” he asked with mock horror.

“This conversation is going nowhere fast. I came down here to spring you. Well, you’re sprung. I’m out of here.”

“Uh…just a minute, Sylv. I’ve been thinking.”

She forced herself to smile.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because you’ve been thinking.”

“That was mean, Sylv. Not like you at all.”

“Maybe you don’t know me.”

He glanced nervously at the large mirror on the wall, which was presumably a two-way glass. “This is the thing, Sylv.” He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “I don’t think you and I should see each other anymore…or for a while, anyway. We need to give it a rest…and…ummm, think things over. Slow down a bit.”

Sylvie gasped and put a palm over her heart, which was splintering apart at his words.

“I should have known this would happen. A one-night stand, that’s all we shared, right?”

He looked as if he’d like to speak, but held himself back after staring pointedly at the mirror, then at her.

“Well, I don’t know what I expected,” she went on. “The love potion was bound to wear off eventually. The fact that it did so earlier than I expected is disappointing, but the end result would have been the same. All I represent to the great Lucien LeDeux is a good lay…if that.”

“Sylvie, you can’t really believe that.” His body gestures were nervous as he squirmed under the presumed watchful eye of the police.

“Can’t I?” She didn’t care who overheard their conversation as she waited for a further explana
tion from Luc. When none was forthcoming, she felt she’d been given her answer.

It took monumental effort on Sylvie’s part to rise with dignity and exit the holding room. Let Luc find a way home himself. She needed to get out of his presence as soon as possible, before she broke down.

“You don’t understand,” Luc called after her.

“That’s the problem,” she answered him sadly, never bothering to look back. “I
do
understand.”

Luckily, Sylvie made it home before she broke down.

With shaky fingers, she inserted her key in the front lock. She assumed there was a bodyguard about somewhere, though she saw no one. Claudia had assured her that there would be two guards, one in front and one in back, twenty-four hours a day.

The minute the door closed behind her, the tears came. And came and came and came. Slow, silent streams of grief for something so precious that had seemed within her reach.
Such a fool! How pathetic I must seem! He doesn’t want to see me again
.

Sylvie had the foresight to lock the door behind her before tossing her purse onto a chair and making her way upstairs, crying the whole time, though in a restrained, gulping fashion. She made
quick work of removing her clothing and stepping into her glass-walled shower stall. Only when the water was pulsating hot and steamy did she let loose with all the pain that seemed to have built up inside her.

It was Luc’s betrayal, of course, that had prompted this breakdown, but there was more than that. She hadn’t realized how much tension she’d built up over the love-potion discovery, the bullets shot into her home, Luc being captured. It was all too much for a normally reticent Sylvie to handle, especially on top of Luc’s words this afternoon that he didn’t want to see her again. Oh, he’d softened it by saying
for a while
, but she knew he was just trying to let her down easy.

With eyes closed and her face held upward, she basked in the hot pellets of spray that numbed her face and hopefully her heart. She was a strong woman. She would get over this…eventually. But, God, it hurt so bad.

“Sylv?”

Sylvie could barely hear the voice over the pounding shower, but before she had a chance to register the danger that someone had entered her house, Luc opened the shower door. He cursed softly under his breath on witnessing her sorry state, and entered the shower, fully clothed.

Luc saw the anguish on Sylvie’s face and could have died, knowing he’d caused her pain. Without care for his jeans and T-shirt, or the athletic shoes on his feet, he walked into the watery cascade. He couldn’t let another minute go by with Sylvie crying
…over him
.

The minute he’d left the holding cell and realized that Sylvie wasn’t in the waiting room, he’d
panicked. Sure, he’d told her that they shouldn’t see each other for a while, but he’d been expecting to have time to explain his reasoning…in a private place where hidden eyes and ears couldn’t eavesdrop. He had pictured her tapping a foot angrily at the front desk, pissed off at him, calling him bad names, having second thoughts about helping him. But he’d never pictured her
not there
.

When he’d seen that she was gone, and realized that he might have pushed her too far, a sense of utter desperation overcame him. He’d only been involved with Sylvie for a few days. Still, in a flash of insight, he’d realized how miserable his life would be without Sylvie in it. Amazing, but true.

Tante Lulu had always claimed that when the thunderbolt hit, there would be no doubts. Well, he’d been hit with the mother of all zaps to the heart.

The processing of his release had taken only a half hour, but it had seemed like forever. His intuition had told him, and rightly so, that he needed to reach Sylvie immediately and explain himself before it was too late.

Was it already too late?

“Sylvie, let me explain,” he said now, not even caring if he looked like a fool standing fully clothed in her shower.

“Go away,” she wailed, trying to turn her face and naked body toward the wall.

It didn’t matter if it was shyness or resistance on her part. He couldn’t allow her to put that kind of distance between them. Small spans soon became canyons, in his experience; best to close that gap now. “Listen to me,” he ordered, but Sylvie went wild…kicking, biting, crying.

Because she kept struggling, he pressed her up against the wall, his fingers interlaced with hers, and held her hands above her head so they both clasped the showerhead. His already waterlogged body crushed against her nudity, chest to groin, till she was unable to move, trapped between him and the ceramic wall.

“Ah,
chère
, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she cried.

“Why did you leave without me?” he asked accusingly.

She blinked wetly at him. “Because you told me you didn’t want me anymore…” Then she added as an afterthought, “You louse.”

He inhaled sharply. “I never said that. But I’m a louse, if you say I am.”

“Yes, you did, Luc. You louse.”

“I suggested we not see each other…for a while. There’s a difference.” He shook his head from side to side, as if she were a thickheaded child. “Can’t you tell how much I want you?” he asked, even as his head was descending toward hers. Her lips were full and red and swollen from crying, and he couldn’t resist the temptation. He just couldn’t.

He saw from her expression the moment she became aware that he was pressing his erection into her lower belly. Instead of being embarrassed, as she usually was, or angry, she looked sad. “You just want sex, Luc. Any willing body would do.”

“Oh,
chère
, that’s not true.” Sylvie thought she was the one with the lack of confidence, but he could match her in the self-doubt department, insecurity for insecurity. All his life, he’d had drummed into him the idea that he was bad. How
could someone like Sylvie love him, for himself? He had to prove himself worthy. What if he made love to her? That was something he could do for her. Maybe she would love him for how he made her feel.

Having made that decision—and it wasn’t all that difficult, considering his constant half-arousals when around Sylvie—he decided to kiss her senseless. Then he would do all those other things he’d become proficient at over the years. He might not be a good person, but he was a good lover.

Unfortunately, Sylvie had other ideas. “No,” she said firmly, and tried to turn her head away.

But his mouth just followed after hers. “Do you need the words,
chère?
”

“No…yes…oh, God!” He assumed the “oh, God!” was an involuntary admission that she wanted him, too. At least, he hoped that was the case.

His lips were already slanting across hers. “I want you,” he whispered huskily against her mouth.

She sighed a wispy surrender, and parted her lips for him.

“I want you,” he repeated.

His tongue plunged deep inside her mouth, then withdrew.

When he came up for air, she asked, “Is the love potion kicking in again?” For some reason, she didn’t appear happy at that prospect.

“Hell if I know.” He was pulling his shirt over his head even as he continued kissing her.

“Is that the reason for this…uh, reversal of affection?”

“Huh?” he said against her mouth, which he was devouring with delicious expertise.

“I said, are you feeling the effects of the love potion again?”

“Why? Are you taking notes?”

“Mmm.”

He bit her bottom lip lightly in punishment.

“I’m too excited to give you logical answers now, Sylv. All I know is I want you. I want you, I want you, I want you,” he groaned out…a painfully sweet sexual litany.

His fingers were no longer interlaced with hers, but still she held onto the showerhead for support. Otherwise, her legs would probably give way with the scandalous things his mouth and hands were doing to her.

But he had an even bigger problem now. He was having a helluva time undoing the wet zipper on his jeans. The damned metal tab just wouldn’t move. Where was Houdini when he needed him? With a howl of frustration, he grabbed for a cake of soap and rubbed it over the zipper, up and down.
Voila!
He was free. Well, almost free. He had the same problem with the laces on his sneakers. By the time he rolled out of his jeans, like a banana out of a tight peel, he was feeling more like a…well, cucumber. Whatever. He now stood naked before Sylvie.

He looked up to see her smiling.
Smiling?
Hey, at least she wasn’t still crying.

Then her eyes traveled down his body and stopped dead-on…dead on the
cucumber
, that is. To say she was impressed was probably an understatement. Hell, he was impressed, and he’d been living with that body part for thirty-three years.

Somewhere, somehow, sometime…whether from a love potion, lack of use, or a zipper soap-rubbing…his organ had taken on a huge, vein-popping, tumescent life of its own.

He shrugged ruefully. “Sometimes you get a blue steeler. And sometimes you don’t.”

She laughed…a soft, ripply sound. “Sort of like an Almond Joy?”

“Exactly.”

She was still standing under the streaming water with her hands extended over her head, clutching the showerhead. She began to lower her hands…to embrace him or take the ol’ bar of LeDeux Joy in hand, he wasn’t sure which…but he protested immediately, forcing her hands back upward. He wanted to savor this picture of Sylvie standing before him thus.

“Let me,” he begged, and took a container of liquid body wash in hand. Squirting the fragrant fluid onto his palms, he began to work it into her neck and arms and underarms.

“I’m mad at you,” she said weakly, squirming under his touch.

“I know.” He bypassed her breasts and lathered her sides and buttocks, her abdomen and flat belly. Going down on one knee, he concentrated on her thighs and calves, as well, even the arches of her feet, and toes.

“Sex doesn’t solve everything, Luc,” she protested, but her voice was breathy and uneven as she spoke.

“I know,” he agreed once again, standing to refill his palms with the slick soap. He couldn’t help chuckling when he added, “But it’s a helluva start.”

He lathered her breasts over and over with wide,
circular kneading motions. Then he used his soapy fingertips on the peaks, over and over and over and over, till she was mewling continuously with pleasure and the need for fulfillment. He let the shower wash the soap off her then, and replaced his fingers with his lips and tongue and teeth, suckling her ravenously.

She was probably crying again, but he didn’t care now because it was for sexual need of him. That had to be a good thing.

When he moved his ministrations lower to the dewy curls and hot wetness between her legs, she let herself go limp, the only thing holding her up being her grip on the showerhead. He tipped her face up with a finger under her chin, forcing her glazed eyes to meet with his.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He hadn’t known he was going to say that, and he was as surprised as Sylvie. But it was the right thing to say and the right time.

“I love you,
chère
. Remember that, always. I don’t deserve you. I may never have you. But don’t ever doubt that I love you.”

“Luc, I—”

Before she had a chance to say anything, he turned off the water and took her in his arms, carrying her to the bedroom. Uncaring of their wet bodies, he laid her on the coverlet, then came down on top of her.

For what was probably only a half hour, but seemed like forever, Luc made slow, endless love to Sylvie. And it was so good, he wept, too.

Whoever said, “Ain’t love grand?” didn’t know the pain it could bring, in Luc’s opinion. Even as
he basked in the joy of loving Sylvie, Luc sensed the agony to come.

And so he left.

When Sylvie awakened several hours later, Luc was gone. She wasn’t overly alarmed, though, even when she read his terse note on the kitchen counter, next to Samson and Delilah.

The reference to cleaning the cage had to mean that he’d taken the hidden Cypress Oil documents that Remy had intended to take earlier, but had forgotten. And as to telephone calls, she assumed all their lines were bugged at this point.

The thing that gave her hope—and perhaps it was a sign of how pathetic she’d become—was that Luc had underlined the word
love
. She was hoping that was his secret message to her, reinforcing what he’d told her earlier, that he loved her.

There was such joy in her, knowing that she loved Luc, and that he loved her in return. Even though she hadn’t confessed her feelings to him yet, she was certain he must know.

Throughout the afternoon, she held that joy close to her heart, refusing to let anything pull her down, even when she started a list of all the people she would need to talk to or make appointments with: Charles, Aunt Margo and Aunt Madeline, her
lawyer, Claudia, Blanche, Matt Sommese, her mother. She grimaced upon writing that last name on her notepad, but really, she and her mother had some serious issues to resolve…ones that had been festering for years.

But first things first. She suspected that Luc, even while he’d been in jail, had already begun the process of discovering who had been shooting at them in her apartment. Between him and Claudia and the police, she was certain the culprits would be caught and her safety ensured. But there was another danger she could work on herself…the voodoo curse.

She leafed through the telephone directory, then picked up the phone on the kitchen wall and punched in a series of numbers.

“Hello. Tante Lulu?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sylvie Fontaine.”

“I know that, dear. Is Luc there?”

“No, he left some time ago.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s wonderful…with Luc, that is.”

“Hallelujah. You’d better say a little prayer to St. Jude, honey.”

“I will,” Sylvie said with a smile. “But that’s not why I called. I have to ask a favor of you. Do you happen to know any…uhm, ah…well, voodoo people?”

“Why? You wanna get a love charm? Ha, ha, ha. I know some good love charms for you to nail that Luc down good and proper. Alls you gotta do is buy a pure white beeswax candle and under it you place a piece of paper with Luc’s name on it. Then
you burn that candle down till the name is completely covered with wax so that no one can ever read the name. Oh, and did I tell you the name has to be written in dove’s blood?”