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Amelie gave him a glare. “Well, we’re in no position to oblige. It’s not like you’re gonna give up your career any time soon.”

  He smoothed his hands over her bottom. “You know skirts aren’t the best armor if you’re trying not to have sex. A man can toss it up easy and have his way.”

  She reached back to push down the hand he was using to tug up her skirt. “Your mama’s around. Do you really want her to hear us?”

  “She’s in the garden, and she all but told us to have sex.”

  “And you’re always a dutiful son?”

  He smoothed back her thick hair that fell around her cheeks. “I am when it suits me. And right now, it suits me to obey.” He gripped her hips and pushed up between her legs, grinding on her. “Why not ride me?”

  “Because…condom…” she sputtered.

  “But you already said you’re not ovulating.”

  “I’m probably not.”

  “Definitely not,” he said, giving her another more centered grind.

  She held still, and her eyelids drifted closed. “Do that again…”

  “Uh-uhn. Don’t want to muss that dress.”

  Giving him a dark scowl, she gripped her dress and lifted it over her head, twisting on his hips a bit to free the material bunched between their bodies. The dress went sailing.

  He unclasped her bra and gave a deep sigh when her breasts fell into his hands. “Good Lord, they’re bigger.”

  “I’m facing downward,” she said, her tone flat. “They’re just stretched.”

  He fingered the elastic on her underwear.

  She moved off the bed and shoved her underwear to the floor while he quickly opened his belt and his pants and pushed them past his hips. His cock pointed toward the ceiling.

  “You still sore?” he asked, more to annoy her than out of concern.

  “Nope.” To prove it, she climbed over him, bent to reach for his cock then placed it at her entrance. Then she backed onto him, not straightening until he was a couple of inches inside.

  “You’re a little dry.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’ll get friction burn if I don’t—”

  “Don’t you worry,” she muttered and began to slowly swirl her hips, screwing his cock in circular movements that dragged him around and around. Sure enough, fluid quickly filled her channel, coating him like hot silk. “You can’t come inside me,” she bit out.

  “I won’t. Promise.” And then deliberately forgot what she’d demanded. No way would he pull out of her silky hotness. And he had no doubts she’d ignore common sense as well. He knew this woman too well.

  When she’d screwed herself all the way down his cock, she rested against him, their groins mashed together. Like a lock and its key. Or a cork in its wine bottle. Okay, so he was running out of bad euphemisms, but they’d served their purpose, keeping his attention distracted so he didn’t go off like a rocket.

  Hell, there was plenty to distract him as he looked up at her. Amelie had been a pretty girl, but she was damn hot now. A full-figured goddess. As she moved, he admired the way her breasts jiggled. The way her soft belly quivered. He cupped a tit then moved his fingers from her ribs to her bellybutton, enjoying her silky softness and imagining…

  She’d be a good mama. And sexy as hell. He dropped his hands to her hips and concentrated on watching her bounce on his cock. Her thighs strained as she moved up and down, giving him teasing glimpses of his cock playing hide and seek inside her. Her neatly trimmed bush drew his fingers, and he tugged on the soft, curly hair.

  Amelie slowed, dragging in deep breaths.

  “Want me to take over?”

  She nodded and moved off him.

  “Stay on your knees.”

  He stood then came behind her, urging her to move backward until her knees were on the edge of the bed. He gave her ass a swat, just to see what she’d do.

  She gasped, but didn’t throw him a glare, so he figured she’d kind of liked it. He moved closer and fed his cock inside her before gripping her hips and starting to move.

  They didn’t last long. He pounded; she dropped to her elbows and moaned. The position made sure his balls slapped the top of her sex. When she flung back her head and held her breath, he lost it, pulling out a little late, and only because he wanted to see his spunk on her butt.

  When he withdrew, she crawled forward and stretched out on the mattress on her stomach.

  After pulling up his pants, Thibaut went to his drawers, found an ancient T-shirt, and carried it back to the bed. He used it to clean them both up. “I hear footsteps,” he whispered.

  Her head jerked to the side. “Is someone coming?”

  “Not sure. Better get dressed.” He moved away, chucking the T-shirt under his bed, then bent to retrieve her dress and tossed it at her. He yanked up his zipper, snatched her panties from the floor, and stuffed them in his pocket, just a second before the door flew open.

  Laure Cyr bounded inside, jumped up on Thibaut, and wrapped her arms and legs around him. “Cuz, you’re home! Why didn’t warn us you were comin’?” She leaned back and gave him a kiss as she grinned at him.

  Thibaut hoped like hell she didn’t move a little downward, because his cock was still a little hard—and this was his cousin, for fucksake.

  A throat cleared. Thibaut glanced at Amelie and gently pushed on Laure’s hips, forcing her to lower her legs and move back.

  Laure darted a glance over her shoulder at Amelie. “Hey, Emily.”

  “Ah-melie,” she muttered.

  Thibaut sighed. Laure had never fully accepted Amelie. She’d had a crush on him since she’d been a toddler and had never liked any other girls hanging around him.

  Laure leaned into him and gave him a hug. Then she sniffed. “Damn, cuz, you need to air out this room.”

  Chapter 11

  Amelie’s backbone stiffened. Laure Cyr had never been her favorite person in the Cyr clan. The girl had always clung to Thibaut like a tick.

  As well, she’d grown into a beautiful woman, very much a mix of her parents’ DNA, what with her ashy blonde hair, doe-like brown eyes, slender shape, and height.

  She’d been the only one of the family who hadn’t warmly welcomed her back.

  As Thibaut put some distance between himself and Laure, Amelie stepped forward, although she paused before automatically reaching out to touch his arm and invite his embrace. Laure might read too much into the gestures and think that they were on the mend, and that was far from the truth.

  “We should probably head out,” Thibaut said, giving her a pointed look.

  “Oh look, your dress is wrinkled,” Laure said, her tone a little snide.

  “It’s your cousin’s fault,” Amelie responded, her tone treacly sweet.

  Laure gave her a quick glare then pasted on a smile and turned her body toward Thibaut. “You have to come by our place for a meal while you’re here, Thibaut. Daddy would love to see you.”

  “Tell Gerry I’ll try. But we’re kind of in the middle of something.”

  “I heard Josette has had some trouble. Give her my love.”

  Thibaut grabbed Amelie’s hand, gave Laure a quick peck on the cheek, and headed out the door.

  Amelie gave one last glance at the room and wished she had time to straighten the coverlet, but at least they hadn’t left any damning “evidence” behind. Then she remembered. “What did you do with the T-shirt?”

  “I shoved it under the bed.”

  “No, you did not!”

  They found his mother coming through the kitchen door. She gave them a smile. “Are you leaving already?”

  “Have to, Mama,” he said, giving her a kiss, but she didn’t let him get off that easy, cupping his face and kissing both of his cheeks.

  “I expect to see you again before you leave.” She turned to Amelie and gave her a wink. “Your dress is wrinkled, dear.”

  Amelie blushed and swept a hand down her skirt to smooth the cotton. Hopefully, the humidity o
utside would take care of the problem.

  Once they were on the road again, Thibaut dug his fingers into his front jeans pocket and pulled out her panties. “You might want these.”

  It was awkward, but she managed to don them without having to unbuckle her seatbelt. “Where to now? We have time before we can get back into the store.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Would you think I’m too much of a tourist if I said I want some beignets and coffee from Café du Monde and to visit Jackson Square?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. But I assure you, nothing’s changed.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  They ate beignets covered in confectioners’ sugar and drank large cups of café au lait. Then he drove her car to his hotel where a valet parked it. Stepping away from the hotel entrance, they turned left and walked toward the rear of St. Louis Cathedral. Once there, they took a side alley and made their way to the open square with its wrought iron fence surrounding the three-acre square.

  Tables were already set up for the tourists. Artists selling paintings and creating caricatures of anyone willing to pay added color to the scenery. Several tables were covered in dark cloths where psychics reading cards, bones, and runes told tourists their fortunes.

  Amelie pointed toward a tarot reader she knew. “Want Celestine to tell your fortune?”

  Thibaut gave Celestine a smile but shook his head. “I’d rather not know.” He was a SEAL. He didn’t need portents of dark, dangerous times ahead. He already faced more of that…if he didn’t leave active duty. Lord, she wished he would.

  They sat on a bench facing the cathedral and watched a little boy with a striped shirt toss bread to the pigeons surrounding him. Soon, he ran out of bread, but the pigeons moved closer, and he began to cry.

  Thibaut rose and waded into the sea of birds, lifted the boy, then held him out to the arms of his laughing mother.

  Amelie’s heart tripped at the sight. She could so “see” him doing the same for their little boy. She startled and realized her hand rested on her belly. Best not to daydream about things that would probably not—no, definitely not—ever happen.

  Thibaut glanced toward the sky. The sun had lowered out of sight, hidden by the buildings. “Shall we?” he said, holding out his hand.

  She placed hers against his large, hard palm and felt another flutter of awareness. He’d always been “handsy”, holding her hand or cupping the small of her back as they walked. She’d missed feeling connected to another human being like that.

  When they arrived at the shop on St. Anne’s, Remy was pulling down the yellow police tape. “It’s a mess in there,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Henri is on his way. He’ll talk to you about the repairs, and he’s bringin’ his wife, Ann.”

  From the corner of her eye, she watched as Josette strode toward them, her white cane held out in front of her, not tapping, just as a warning to anyone coming near that she couldn’t see them. She had no need of tapping because she’d been walking this street for over thirty years.

  “Tante, how did you get here? I would’ve come for you had I known you intended to be here.”

  “Henri and Ann picked me up. They’re finding someplace to park.”

  “You sure you’re ready to go inside?” Amelie asked. “It’s going to be a mess.”

  Josette shook her cane. “Why do you think I have this? Might be blind, but I can smell and feel.”

  Remy cut the tape that sealed the door and opened it. Then he waved them through.

  Amelie entered first and reached for the light switch beside the door. She was almost surprised when it blinked on. She scanned the interior of the shop. While the items on the far shelves were still in their places, many of the display racks in the middle of the shop were toppled, candle jars shattered, beads and dolls scattered and dirty. A coating of black soot covered the shelves and knickknacks nearest the storage room door.

  And there was evidence of water damage to the old planked flooring as well.

  “The insurance adjustor promised he’d be here in the morning,” her aunt said. Her mouth was pressed into a narrow line.

  Amelie looked at her, and it was though her aunt had shrunk two inches in height since she’d entered the store. Her shoulders were bowed. “Tante, there’s nothing here we can’t clean up or get fixed. It’s just stuff.”

  Her aunt reached out for Amelie’s hand and gripped it tight. “I know that. But this is a job for the young. I’m not sure I have the heart.”

  “We’ll handle this, Josette,” Thibaut said, leaning toward her. “You have friends. Many friends.”

  She patted his chest. “I know that. It’s just…I can smell it. The hate. This was pure meanness.”

  “Maybe you should sit down while we take a closer look and talk to Henri,” Amelie said.

  “Yes, I’d like that. At my table, please.” And although she knew the way through her shop, she let Amelie and Thibaut lead her to the tiny curtained room.

  When Amelie pulled back the curtain, she sucked in a deep breath. “Remy?” she cried out.

  He hurried toward them. “What’s wrong?” His eyes widened as he gazed around the room that looked as though someone had wielded an axe to destroy her table and chairs. Even the walls were missing chunks of plaster. “This wasn’t what it looked like when the firefighters left yesterday. There wasn’t any damage to this room—I made a walkthrough this morning.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m sorry, Josette. I’ll need everyone to leave. This room’s now a crime scene as well.”

  As Remy walked away to call his friends in the NOPD, Thibaut swept an arm around Josette. “Amelie’s car is at my hotel. I’ll need you two to wait outside while I go get it, but I don’t like leaving you two alone.”

  Amelie locked her gaze with his. “You go. I’ll stay with her. I’m sure Remy and Henri will wait with us. We’ll be okay.”

  Thibaut gave Josette a hug and left.

  Amelie led Josette outside. A squad car pulled up to the curb. Another arrived right behind it. Henri and Ann hurried down the sidewalk, their eyes widening as they looked at the police cars with their strobing lights.

  “What’s happened?” Henri asked. “I thought they were finished with their investigation.”

  “Someone broke into the shop today and destroyed her reading room.”

  “Fuck me!” Henri swore.

  Ann gave him a sharp look.

  “Sorry, Annie, but what sort of bastard would do something like this to someone as good and kind as Josette?”

  Remy approached them. “I think we can strike Ray Glover from our list of suspects.”

  “Yes,” Amelie agreed. “This was personal. And about the readings.”

  “I’ll be here while the crime lab folks gather evidence. I’ll make sure they don’t miss a single sliver of evidence. Hopefully, we’ll be able to lift some prints.” He glanced down the street. “I think that’s your car, Amelie.”

  Amelie moved her aunt toward the curb. Thibaut pulled alongside them then stepped out and rushed around to the passenger door. He helped Josette step down into the street then into the car. Amelie got into the backseat. She glanced out at Henri and Ann and gave them a pinched smile. Henri returned a grim one.

  Remy stepped out into the street, held up a hand to halt an approaching vehicle, then signaled for them to pull out.

  The drive back to Josette’s was made in silence.

  Chapter 12

  Thibaut walked around the outside of Josette’s house, checking the exterior for obvious points of entry. He wished he had a weapon or that Josette had a big, mean dog, but he guessed that Tom Fowler was a coward, and all he’d really need were his own two fists should the man try anything.

  At least, while he was here. What would happen once he left? If they didn’t find Fowler to arrest him, and couldn’t link him to the attacks, Josette and Amelie wouldn’t be safe.

  He sat on the top step of the porch stairs, scrolled through his co
ntacts, then tapped his commander’s number.

  “Hey, T-Bone, how’s N’awlins?”

  Thibaut smiled at his familiar, gruff tone. “Ran into a bit of trouble.”

  “You in jail?”

  He chuckled. “No. A friend of mine’s found trouble. Her shop in the French Quarter was torched and another friend was injured. I’m going to need more time.”

  “You think about that other thing?”

  Thibaut let out a long breath. “I’m still undecided.”

  “Well, I’ll handle the leave extension. Another two weeks do it?”

  “I think so.” God, he hoped they had Fowler behind bars by then.

  “You take care.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he ended the call, he leaned back on his elbows and listened to the night’s sounds. Nighttime in the South was anything but quiet. Crickets, frogs, dogs howling in the distance.

  Behind him, the front door opened and closed. He didn’t move because the steps were light, and he caught a whiff of Amelie’s fragrance—a hint of some white flower his mother grew in her garden and her own womanly smell. Suddenly, his groin felt a little heavier.

  He looked up at her. The porchlight was turned off, but the moon provided enough light he could see her expression. He patted the step beside him. “Sit with me.”

  “Not worried about the mosquitoes?”

  “They don’t seem to find me very tasty.”

  “Are they crazy?” she teased and settled beside him.

  He glanced at her poppy-covered dress. “You’re still wearin’ it. What did I tell you about skirts?”

  She arched one fine eyebrow. “Figured I was safe out here. No way would you flash the neighbors.”

  “Damn right. I don’t like sharin’,” he said, lifting her hand and giving her knuckles a kiss. “I asked for more time. Two more weeks.”

  Her smile was quick and sweet. “I’m glad. You’re needed here.”

  “I can’t promise more.” And he wouldn’t tell anyone here he was considering getting out. Not until he was sure.

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  He let go of her hand and placed his arm around her.