Josette (21 page)

Her chin lifted. “Of course. Ladies whisper all sorts of secrets in my shop. I just didn't know there was an earl named after them. How humiliating for him.”

Cameron grunted. “Since the good earl's been dead a couple hundred years, I doubt he gives much thought to anything. However, I suspect the item of discussion was named after him, not the reverse. As for humiliation, that is exactly what your brother is up to.”

He studied her. “You don't understand, do you? You're being manipulated by Bastièn.”

Confusion ran rampant in her eyes. “I am not.”

Whatever anger Cameron had left in him was pushed out by a powerful urge to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the curve of her neck. “We both are.”

His voice rasped, and his breathing took on an unsteady rhythm. “First he moved into your home and insisted that I ordered him to do so. And then he intended to shame me by sending along his personal stash of goods.”

Just saying the words had heat crawling up his neck. “You haven't a clue how impossible it would be for me to slip one of your brother's godforsaken
gifts
on my person with thoughts of bedding you. Believe me, Josette, there would be a certain part of my anatomy that would shrink in horror.”

Her entire demeanor shifted. Was that a smile working at a corner of her mouth? Her tongue took a small swipe at her lower lip, and her eyes glittered. “I still think I might hate you.”

Cameron hadn't missed any of it, even the fact her voice had taken on a smoky quality. He took a step closer, his skin heating. This, he could handle. “Is that so?”

His blood churned, sending his heart pounding out a chaotic rhythm. How could just being near her stir him like this? “In that case, I don't like you, either.”

She took a step back, but the smile working at one corner of her mouth blossomed into a sultry, crooked grin. “That's not true or you wouldn't lust after me.”

He took another step closer.

She raised her hand between them as if to push him away, but instead, her fingers splayed across his chest.

The touch of her hand went right through him. Suddenly, all he could think of was sinking deep inside her. “I believe you just crossed a line into trouble.”

Her lips parted and she gazed at him, her eyes smoldering.

He had her up against the wall now and could plainly sense the want in her. Her breath came in shallow pants, sending hot, jagged messages along his nerve endings.

“You've had a bad day,
chère
.”

“
Oui
. I've had a bad day.”

“I know just the remedy.”

“Do you, now?”

He dipped his head. “Indeed.”

He wasn't sure who made the next move, but suddenly they were tangled in one another's arms, mouth to greedy mouth.

She yanked his shirt out of his trousers.

His hand slid under her skirts.

He growled. “Why the devil do you wear so many clothes?”

“Take them off me if you don't like it.” She fumbled with the buttons on his trousers, her nails scraping his skin in a good kind of hurt.

They sank to the floor in a jumble of skirts and petticoats, her hat disappearing somewhere beneath them, hairpins flying.

“You devil, Cameron. You drive me insane.” She shoved his trousers down and wrapped her hand around his erection.

He fought for breath, sucking in her sweet scent, watching her eyes burn with desire. He grasped her drawers and pulled them off, then shoved her skirts to her waist.

When they were skin to hot skin, he tried for a deep breath, but her mouth found his again. Her tongue swept inside and moved in a matching rhythm to her hand massaging his cock.

He cupped her wet softness, opened her with his fingers. “Let go of me,” he said, his words a bare rasp against her mouth. “I want inside you. Deep inside you.”

A low moan and she released him, only to grab hold of his buttocks with both hands and cant her hips. He thrust inside her hot, tight body. A raw, naked edge of need blurred his thoughts and he was lost in that ancient, pounding rhythm of erotic pleasure.

“Don't stop,” she cried, as the first pulse of her orgasm squeezed tight around him.

He drove into her over and over, holding back his own climax until her final contraction eased. The intense pleasure sent him over the edge and he withdrew, spilling his seed on her belly, his groan vibrating through them both.

He lowered his forehead onto the carpet, waiting until his rapid breathing slowed. He rose on his elbows and gazed into her eyes. Lifting a hand, he stroked her hair, and brushed his lips back and forth across hers. “I ended up in your bed last night because I arrived at your door in a foul mood. Now you've ended up on the floor of my home because you rushed in here like a termagant. We ought to stop fighting like this.”

Josette's laugh sounded low and wicked in her throat. “You can't be serious. That was the most enjoyable fit of temper I've ever had.”

He lifted her shoulder, pulled out her crushed hat, and tossed it across the room. “I doubt you'll be wearing that again.”

She gave his earlobe a nip and giggled. “Whatever will people think of me walking through the streets with a bare head?”

“I'll send you home in a carriage.” He planted kisses along the curve of her neck. “God, you're a wildcat.”

A bell clanged, signaling someone was at the front gate.

“
Merde
. I forgot about the maid.” He scrambled to his feet, buttoning his trousers as he went, then gathered Josette off the floor. “At least she has enough sense to alert us that she's returned. I'm taking you upstairs.”

He swiped her mangled hat off the floor and hooked it over the finial atop the newel post.

“Why did you do that?” Josette grabbed her discarded drawers and reticule.

“I'm letting her know I have company so she won't intrude.”

“My hairpins.” Josette managed to gather three off the carpet before Cameron clamped his hand around her wrist.

“Madame, your lips are swollen, your hair is in a wild state and your gown is not only wrinkled, but the front is undone. Would you care to join me above stairs or do you wish to remain in place so as to greet my gossip of a maid?”

Brandy, beignets, and a beautiful woman. Despite earlier events, the day couldn't get much better if someone offered Cameron the moon.

Dressed only in trousers, he lazed on the bed with his back propped against a stack of pillows, watching Josette examine the voodoo doll that had been left on his pillow the other night. She sat with her legs curled beneath her, wearing nothing but his white shirt, which reached her knees, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. He wouldn't mind seeing her dressed like that for the next three days.

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell pealed five o'clock. One would think they'd both be overheated by what they'd engaged in these past few hours, but afterward he'd cooled their naked bodies with water from the pitcher on the dry sink. At least for now, they were comfortable. He'd even opened the heavy curtains covering the balcony doors and left the sheers to blow in the breeze. Living in darkened rooms during the hottest part of the year irritated him.

“Have you figured out the doll's meaning?”

Josette squinted at the padded heart with knotted strings dangling, her cheeks flushed. “I . . . I need to think about this. At any rate, the doll did not come from Maman or my brothers. The design and manner of cross-stitching is not theirs.”

“Don't tell me René and Bastièn play with dolls.” Oh, the wicked ways Cameron could twist this bit of news.

She glanced up. “Careful. Do not misinterpret my brothers' ways with a needle and a few scraps of cloth. Have you forgotten who our mother is?”

“Ouch, you wound.” Cameron reached out and lightly brushed his fingers back and forth across the bent knee peeking out from under her shirt—his shirt. Lord, she was lovely. Even lovelier during these private times when she was uninhibited and clearly living in the moment. “What kinds of lessons did your mother teach the lot of you?”

She set the doll on the bedside table and exchanged it for her reticule. “Bastièn took a keen interest in the use of herbs and roots. He turned out to be an excellent
Guérisseur
.”

“Bastièn a healer? Huh. Who would've thought?”

She shoved her thick hair over her shoulder. “Don't most people have a secret world inside of them? He's not inclined to show that aspect of himself unless it's needed, so his healing ways are not public knowledge.”

Cameron stroked the inside of her thigh. Just touching her satin skin soothed him. “So tell me, what's in your secret world?”

A vague smile drifted across her mouth. “I thought we were discussing my brother. I know you don't care much for him, but he does have his principles.”

Cameron grunted. “Yes, but they are very small and well-hidden.”

She ignored his comment and opened the reticule, then lifted out a folded packet.

“What the devil are you up to?”

“What do you suppose this one is made from?”

“Josette, put those damn things away.”

“Bastièn says he prefers to use sheep's intestines over what's in here.”

“Well, I do hope the old boy removes them from the sheep first.” Cameron laughed at his own joke.

“That's not funny.”

“In my mind it was hilarious. The least you could do is placate me with a smile. Better yet, set your bag aside and come crawl all over me.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to make love
again
?”

He grinned. “I would if I was fully able, but at the moment one part of me refuses to cooperate.” Too lethargic to move, he stretched out his arm and beckoned her. “Come,
mon chaton
.”

She set her reticule on the table and worked her way over to his side. “You called me a wildcat a bit ago and now I'm your little kitten?”

“Mmm.” He eased her splendid length fully atop him.

His entire body thanked him.

A different kind of pleasure flowed through him. Unlike the blaze that had run rampant these last few hours, having her lying on him was like a soothing, slow-moving river of desire. No lust. No searing need. Only silken, sensual comfort.

He kissed the top of her head, ever so lightly. Acting less on thought and more on instinct, he set his fingers to her back, brushing the tips over the soft fabric of his shirt, barely touching her skin beneath it.

“Mmm, that feels so good, Cameron. Please don't stop.” She pressed light kisses across the span of his chest, then rested her cheek there. “I can hear your heart beat. It's slow and steady. Strong. As if you could live forever.”

His hand swept through her hair, along her back and over her pert rump. “You have the smoothest, tightest, most exquisite bum in existence.”

She laughed softly and drew a nail over his skin. His muscles rippled. “When I saw you that first time at my door, I never would have guessed you were a man who likes to cuddle.”

“Is that what we're doing?” Whatever it was, he wasn't about to quit. In its own way, holding her like this, stroking her with a light touch, seemed as intimate as what had transpired earlier. He kissed the top of her head again, then took care in folding his arms around her. A kind of sigh ran through him.

“I've never been held,” she said, the slow cadence of her words sounding drowsy. “It feels rather special.”

“Not even when you were a child?”

“Never,” she murmured. “Maman would have nothing to do with me, so René took charge. He held my hand to keep me from doing dangerous things like falling out of the pirogue or off the porch and into the bayou, but that was about all. He was so very young to take on such a heavy burden—what did he know about nurturing back then? Still, I always knew he cared, and that he did his best by me.”

Cameron didn't know what to say. As a child, he'd never wanted for affection. He couldn't imagine what life would've been like without his mother's benevolent care. Josette had never been held? Gads, she must have lived a cold and dispassionate married life. An urge to remedy that filtered through his thoughts. He slid the fingers of one hand into her hair and massaged her scalp and the back of her neck in slow-moving circles.

She gave a sleepy moan. He was going to miss her when he left. But doing so in three days was definitely for the best. Not once had she brought up anything regarding his imminent departure, despite the obvious fondness growing between them. But to linger in New Orleans would only make it harder for both of them when it came time for him to leave.

And leave he must.

There was nothing for him here any longer. Even with the streets bustling with traffic, pedestrian and otherwise, the place seemed empty with no family but Michel around. And Felicité would soon be gone, most likely taking her father with her. Eventually, he'd find a place in the world to settle down, one that felt right. He had no idea how to go about finding it other than take to the seas. He was a privileged man to be able to wander the earth in search of . . . in search of what? A place to land? In search of himself?

Josette's breathing grew steady until suddenly, the muscles in her body gave way and she relaxed against him completely.

She'd fallen asleep.

He smiled to himself.

For a long while, he lay there, not thinking, not moving. Only feeling the length of her body against his, her breath falling softly against his bare chest. Though the morning had been particularly miserable, Josette's appearance had certainly improved his day. And after he hadn't thought the afternoon could get any better, it just had.

He didn't know how long they remained in one place, her asleep, him halfway there, when a light tapping sounded on the door.

Oh, hell.

He tried easing Josette off him without waking her, but her eyes fluttered open. “Stay where you are,” he murmured in her ear.

He made his way to the door and cracked it open.

“
Mischie
Cameron,” Marie said. “Monsieur René Thibodeaux is downstairs asking for you. He has your daughter with him.”

“Bloody hell.”

“What is it?” Josette called out.

Marie tried to peek around Cameron.

He blocked her view with his body. “I'll be down in a minute. Do not tell them I have company.”

She stared at his bare chest. “Of course not. What you take me for?”

Closing the door, he strode to the wardrobe and pulled out a fresh shirt. “
Merde
. I thought you said René wasn't due back until tomorrow. He's below stairs, and he's got Alexia with him.”

Josette pressed her fingers to her lips and laughed through them. “Oh, dear.”

“You didn't think my sheep joke was funny, but this is?” He stuffed his shirt into his trousers and grabbed a vest, only to toss it aside. They worked in shirtsleeves in this heat at the office, so who'd expect him to be dressed otherwise in the privacy of his own home? “You won't find it so funny when he puts a bullet through me.”

He opened the door to make his exit and glanced back at her. “Lock the door behind me and don't make any noise.”

He couldn't help but grin. She practically had her fist stuffed in her mouth. Her hair hung wild around her head. Her eyes sparkled.

“Oh, for heaven's sake. I can take care of myself. But as for you—good luck wheedling your way out of this one,
Mischie
Cameron.” She rolled over and buried her face in a pillow, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

He shut the door behind him and descended the stairs. Halfway down, Josette's bonnet caught his eye, hanging like a bloody flag on the newel post.
Merde.
Well, he wasn't about to pick it up and draw further attention to it.

A flour sack stuffed with God-knew-what lay atop the sofa.

His temper flared.

A few more steps and he spied Alexia standing in René's shadow, her hand clutching his. Dirt smeared her face and stained a dress torn in too many places to count. Fine lace that had edged the collar now hung in grimy tatters. What had she been through?

Cameron had never seen dread in her eyes before, but he saw it now. Good God, she was afraid of what he'd do to her!

An urge to fix everything, to wipe away her distress overshadowed his anger. But she'd crossed a line, and he couldn't let her off so easily just so he could remove the tension from his own gut. He trotted the rest of the way down the stairs. “Why didn't you take her to your sister's home for the night?”

Raw fury snapped in René's dark eyes. “You are her father,
oui
? Then why make my sister handle your responsibility? I am leaving Alexia with you.”

He glanced past Cameron to the balustrade and Josette's hat. Then his ominous gaze traveled up the stairs. Alexia's curious observation followed suit. Recognition lit her face. Surely the man wouldn't be so foolish as to do or say anything with Alexia present.

Marie rolled a tea cart into the parlor holding a plate of hot beignets and three cups of café au lait. “Would anyone care for some of my famous sweet treats? They's hot and fresh as a morning sunrise. Coffee's fresh-made too.”

Alexia's attention shifted from the hat to the beignets. Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip.

Good old Marie—she'd honed her impeccable sense of timing over the years on both Cameron's and Trevor's youthful escapades. She'd kept them out of trouble more times than he could count. He nearly laughed at the absurdity. Here he was, thirty-two years old, and she was interrupting with yet another distraction.

René bent down and picked two hairpins off the carpet. He inspected one of them before returning his overt gaze to Josette's bonnet. Cameron swallowed a laugh. If the bastard thought to intimidate him, he could jolly well forget it.

Marie hustled across the room and grabbed the hat off the finial. “Beggin' yer pardon, Monsieur Andrews. I done left my hat out here. Didn't have no business being so careless.”

A cynical smile curled a corner of René's mouth. He held out one of the hairpins. “Would this be yours, as well?

“I reckon so.” Marie snatched it from his hand and scurried down the hall toward the rear of the house.

He slipped the other into his pocket and fastened his flinty gaze on Cameron.

In another minute Cameron was going to ask Alexia to take herself into the kitchen with Marie so he could kick René's arrogant arse out the door.

Alexia shoved a beignet into her mouth, her wide eyes shifting back and forth between René and Cameron. She started toward the stairs. “I need to get me something clean to wear that's in the bag
ma tante
sent over.”

As she tried to pass him, Cameron grabbed her around the waist and in one smooth move, swung her around next to him. “I want you in the kitchen with Marie while your uncle and I discuss a few things.”

René lifted a brow. “Why don't you want her going upstairs for a change of clothing? Look at her, she's filthy.”

Enough was enough. Cameron would be damned if René would control Alexia or this household. “Because while I'm here with you, she'd be gone over the balcony in a flash and down the street stealing again.”

“
Non
, Papa. I won't be stealing anymore. It's a promise.”

Still holding her around the waist, he curled his fist under her chin, lifting it. “Look at me, Alexia. Didn't you make that same woeful promise not long ago?”

She turned her face from his scrutiny and bit her bottom lip. A familiar stubbornness filled her countenance.

Damn it.

The entry door opened and closed. Felicité marched in. Cameron let go of Alexia and, fisting his hands on his hips, sucked in a breath. “Has the entire blasted town decided to barge in on me unannounced?”