Josette (10 page)

The moment Josette opened her front door, Cameron knew he should never have accepted the invitation to dinner. She stood there, a goddess in peach silk cut so low a saint couldn't help but gawk.

One glance and his flesh rebelled against any resolve to remain neutral. Worst of all, his eyes failed to obey his command and flickered not once, but twice, over the top of her gown. And his mouth—curse the beggar for wanting a taste of that creamy-looking skin. Well, his traitorous body could bloody well go back into hibernation because laying so much as a finger on Josette was out of the question.

A flash of puzzlement crossed her features. And then that telltale light in her eyes flashed mischief. The one that told him she knew exactly what had crossed his mind.

Blast it all, how long had he been staring? He'd bet a small fortune she'd worn that dress on purpose, the minx. Well, let her play her little games now—she had no idea the one
he
had in mind. He cleared his throat. “Did you receive the note I sent ahead informing you we'd be a couple hours late?”

“Indeed.” She stepped aside and bade him enter.

Her ethereal scent nearly did him in as he walked past her, but then the spicy aroma of Cajun cooking hit his nostrils and precious childhood memories slammed into him so hard, he nearly stumbled. Darn, he missed that long-ago way of life.

“Your pardon for our delay.” He handed her a velvet sack containing the bottle of rum he'd promised—or threatened her with—depending on how one viewed the matter. “It seems little Miss I've-Been-Into-Everything-Imaginable-Today needed a good scrubbing. We collected one of the dresses Madame Charmontès had at the ready. The remainder of the order should be here sometime tomorrow.”

Josette openly perused the length of him. “You obviously made a stop at your tailor's, as well. You must feel more comfortable in your lighter-weight clothing. It becomes you, by the way.”

He gazed into those luminous eyes as if they were magnetic, slowly drawing him near. He now stood too close; that was the problem. Either that or he shouldn't have added rum to his lemonade. Probably shouldn't have drunk three tall ones before setting out. Damn, she was beautiful. He managed a step back, as if doing so would set a new level of self-discipline. Odd, but this close, she somehow seemed familiar. Had to be because of her sister. No, Madame Olympée said the two looked nothing alike.

Alexia marched past them, a scowl furrowing her brow. “I got me a powerful hunger. I'll see you at the table.”

“As do I have a powerful hunger,” Cameron murmured.

A soft snort left Josette's lovely throat. “Aren't you the clever one?” She eyed the retreating Alexia and her new rose-colored dress. “Just because she wore ragged clothing when you first laid eyes on her, doesn't mean her closet is bare. We are not strangers to Madame Charmontès's shop, I'll have you know. What happened that left your daughter in such a foul mood?”

For whatever reason, Cameron's instincts told him not to mention that Alexia had been caught thieving again.

He glanced around the entry, at the gilded ormolu table festooned with flowers, at gold-framed oil paintings hung against pale, damask-covered walls, all in a vain attempt to ignore the essence of one stunning woman. “Judging by the incredible cooking smells in here, I'd say the girl is on a mission guided entirely by an empty stomach. Although I don't know how that could be since she talked both Michel and Abbott out of their lunches.”

He gave a nod to Vivienne, who stood behind and to the side of her cousin, a vague smile tilting her mouth. “Evening.”

Josette handed her cousin the bottle of rum. “Would you mind taking this into the parlor, then joining us for dinner?”

“
Oui
,” Vivienne said, and disappeared.

Josette turned to Cameron. “My other cousin, Régine, has dinner at the ready. If you'll follow me.”

He walked alongside her and tried like hell not to glance her way. With his height, even a brief glimpse meant looking down that blasted bodice. His nether regions saluted him and begged for a peek.

“Very nice,” he said when they entered the formal dining room. Old Louis LeBlanc couldn't possibly have had a hand in this kind of decorating, not with the lace tablecloth, French chairs upholstered in velvet, and walls painted in a bold trompe l'oeil of green ivy, colorful flowers, and, hell, even butterflies that looked amazingly alive.

Alexia humphed at his dallying. “Food's getting cold.”

He leaned over and boldly scrutinized the lower lip she'd just licked clean. A smattering of crumbs clung to the front of her dress. She slid her hand into the folds of the tablecloth, but not before he spotted a hunk of half-chewed bread. He nearly laughed. “And judging by the wonderful smells and Alexia's twitching nose, we'd best seat ourselves or there'll be nothing left.”

He drew out a chair at one end of the table for Josette, but instead of properly seating himself to her right, he helped Vivienne into that chair and chose an empty one opposite Josette. He'd be facing her straight-on all evening, blast his lust-filled heart. Not even the bowl of fresh flowers sitting low in the center of the table was going to obscure his view.

Flickering candlelight from the chandelier danced across Josette's dark hair and played over a mouth tilted at one corner. What was that about? Did she have her own secrets? She glanced up at him, as though she'd read his thoughts. The woman was sultry as sin and didn't even know it.

“White wine or red?”

“Red,” he said. A bottle, maybe two, would do.

She gave a nod toward the table. “As you can see, we have shrimp étoufée, brown jambalaya, and two kinds of gumbo. Despite the formal table setting, I'm hoping you subscribe to the casual dining this kind of food calls for.”

He grinned. “Have you forgotten I grew up in the Vieux Carré?”

“Then do feel comfortable in helping yourself.” She lifted a vessel of steaming étoufée her way and spooned a ladleful into her dish.

Cameron reached for the same glazed crock as Alexia. “I'm the guest,” he said with a cocky grin and a wink. “Me first.”

Despite Alexia's foul mood, her lips twitched.

He heaped his bowl full of the aromatic stew thick with chicken, andouille sausage, and tasso—the spicy, smoky Cajun pork that gave the dish its rich color—something else he couldn't come by in San Francisco. Would mannerly Josette abide by the tradition of dunking chunks of bread into the bowl?

She answered his silent question by promptly breaking off a hunk from a hot, crusty loaf, her supple fingers managing the act with graceful ease. She dipped the bread into the broth and popped the juicy morsel into her mouth without spilling a drop.

His groin hitched.

He tore off a piece and followed suit. Appreciation sounded at the back of his throat.
“La seule manière de savourer la nourriture des dieux.”

The only way to eat food from the gods.
It was a tradition, this saying, meant to accompany the first bite of anything Creole or Cajun. How many times had he spoken that phrase? But somehow, tonight, the words uttered low in his throat felt more like a seduction meant for Josette. What the devil was wrong with him? His daughter sat to his right and Vivienne to his left, for God's sake.

He emptied his glass of wine and poured another to steady his nerves, then focused on a woman who'd quietly entered the room and set another basket of hot, crusty bread on the table. “You must be Régine.”

She nodded and flushed scarlet.

“This has to be the finest jambalaya I've ever tasted. There's nothing like good Creole and Cajun cooking to bring back pleasant family memories,
oui
?
Merci beaucoup
.”

Again, she merely nodded, then scurried out the door.

Candlelight reflected in Josette's dark gaze holding steady on him. He paused with the bread midway to the bowl, waiting for her to say something about what had just occurred.

Vivienne shot her a narrow-eyed glance.

Something odd flickered over Josette's countenance and, shifting in her seat, she went back to eating. A dichotomy, this woman. Strong and purposeful one moment, then apprehensive the next. Exploring her in all her naked glory would be a mesmerizing dance of wills, to be sure.

Where had
that
blasted thought come from? He'd be a damn fool to try to seduce her. He needed to do or say something to distract himself from his prurient thoughts. “Pass the étoufée, please.”

Without a word, Alexia shoved the bowl his way.

“Do be civil,” Josette warned. “What's gotten into you?”

Gads, one could cut the air with a knife between those two. A little levity might do the trick. Cameron speared a fat shrimp with his fork, and holding it up for examination, fell into his best clipped British accent. “I say, Miss Alexia, would it be considered a contradiction in terms to call this fat tidbit
jumbo
shrimp?”

Vivienne giggled while Josette smiled, but Alexia shoveled more jambalaya-soaked bread into her mouth. “I ain't heard dat word ‘contradiction' afore, so ain't nuthin' funny about it, don'cha know.”

“Brilliant.” He grinned at her and bit off half the shrimp.

Josette placed her bread on the side of her plate. “Alexia, that's the thickest accent you've managed yet. I do believe you have an apology to make to your papa.”

Cameron popped the rest of the shrimp into his mouth. “More like a hundred, but I'll take what I can get.”

Alexia took another bite and mumbled, “When I be done eatin'.”

Josette set down her spoon. “Finish what's in your mouth before you speak. If you don't wish to apologize, consider your meal finished and take yourself to bed.”

Alexia swallowed with a big gulp. “But my belly's not full and cousin Régine made peach pie. Saying what needs saying can wait or I fear it'll sour my stomach.”

She looked at her father and smiled sweetly. “You wouldn't want me going to bed with a bellyache, now would you, Papa?'

Cameron gave a low laugh. “After all you've put me through today? I couldn't give a damn whether you end up in bed with an empty belly or an aching one. Your aunt has my curiosity piqued.”

Alexia heaved a sigh, set her spoon to her plate with a
clink
, and kept her head down. “I apologize for lying to you about my manner of speaking. I only used the Cajun patois to irritate you.”

Shocked, Cameron shot a glance Josette's way.

She nodded.

“Alexia,” he said. “Look me in the eye when you speak to me or we'll be here all night until you do.”

She glanced up and, without blinking, repeated herself, then added, “My jambalaya is getting cold.”

“Don't be fresh,” Josette said.

Alexia folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.

Oh, the little conniver. This was getting good. Cameron drained his glass of wine, poured another, then mirrored the toe tapping and arm crossing. “And I owe you an apology, as well.”

Alexia's foot drumming ceased. “You do?”

He'd be damned if she was going off to Odalie's tomorrow as she'd announced when they'd left the shipping office. He'd take her back to his place and tie her to a chair if need be, but he wasn't about to let that voodoo witch get her hands on his daughter. “I should never have said you couldn't return to the shipping office. I have a few things to do first thing in the morning, but if you can manage to arrive at ten once again, I'd be pleased to have you.”

A sheepish expression fell over Alexia. “But what of Monsieur Abbott? Won't he throttle me soon's I appear?”

Josette sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Ah, so that's what's wrong with you. No doubt you have good reason for being concerned. Your change of clothing wouldn't have anything to do with Monsieur Abbott being irked at you, would it?”

There was a long pause while Cameron and Alexia stared at each other, silent messages passing back and forth. Could this be an opportunity to build a bond of trust by saying nothing? He had to do something to resolve her future so he could sail off wherever the wind blew.

Well, worth a try. “It was nothing. I'd had a long day and my temper was on a short fuse. Abbott is not used to any disruption in his precisely planned labors, and having a guest in house didn't sit well with him. He'll get used to having Alexia there.”

The sigh of relief in his daughter's exhale filled Cameron with humor. She rubbed her eyes, shoved a hunk of gravy-soaked bread into her mouth, and, while chewing, stifled a yawn.

Vivienne raised a brow. “Finish your meal before you fall asleep in your plate, Alexia. Then let me ready you for bed.”

Alexia thrust out her lower lip. “It wouldn't be the first time my face landed in my soup. I haven't had any peach pie.”

Josette opened her mouth to respond, but Cameron spoke first. “How about you have it for breakfast, when you're up and full of energy?”

Alexia's eyes widened. Her gaze flitted from Josette to his and back again. Then she grinned as though she herself had pulled something over on her aunt. She rose and moved close to Cameron. To his surprise, she blew him a kiss on each cheek. “G'night, Papa.”

For a moment, just for a moment, his heart folded over onto itself. When she made to walk away, without thinking, he reached out and pulled her back to him. “I rather like your lovely French accent. I'd hate to see it fall by the wayside altogether.”