Sandra Hill - [Jinx 03] (9 page)

Not if I can help it.

“Well, best I be goin’ to sleep. Tee-John’ll be leavin’ early, and I wants ta give him a good breakfast before he’s gone.”

Celine went on red alert. “Where’s he going?”

“I doan know. It’s a secret, I suppose.” The old lady yawned loudly and rolled over.

“Is he leaving because of me being here?”

“Prob’ly.”

Celine lay awake pondering, even after soft snores came from Tante Lulu’s mouth. Finally, she got up and pulled on her sandals. She didn’t bother changing her clothes since she was decent in the fake-silk tank top and tap pants she slept in, or fairly decent.

“Where you going?” Brenda asked sleepily.

“To knock some sense into an idiot.”

Chapter
8

She crept through the living room, not wanting to disturb Jake, Ronnie, and their little girl who were sleeping on a pull-out sofa. The three of them planned to leave tomorrow after the project was officially launched; Remy would be coming for them in his hydroplane. That’s probably how John intended to leave.

Caleb and Adam slept in bunk beds in the second bedroom upstairs. John had told them over dinner that he planned to sleep in a self-enclosed tent outside, nature’s way.

“You’ll be covered with mosquito bites by morning, Nature Boy,” Adam had scoffed.

“Not inside my tent,” Tee-John had insisted.

“Hope an alligator doesn’t chomp you for a tasty snack.” Adam had clearly meant the opposite.

Tee-John had gotten the last word in. “Me, I’m too sweet for any ol’ gator. They prefer tougher meat . . . Yankee meat. Yep, Yankees make good gator kibbles.”

Luckily, the loud whirring of the ceiling fan covered the sound of Celine opening and closing the screen door. She had thought he would be on the porch, but a quick survey under the light of a full moon showed that instead he had put up his small tent down near the stream, across from the island.

Although Celine hadn’t moved to southern Louisiana ’til she was in tenth grade, she had a strong appreciation for the bayous. Probably the Cajun in her blood. Even when dark, like it was now, there was a beauty in the silence, which wasn’t really silence at all. And the sense of mystery! Surely there were ghosts lurking about . . . the spirits of southern belles and their handsome gentlemen, escaped slaves, and, yes, pirates like Lafitte. Even outlaws, like Bonnie and Clyde, who were rumored to have met their death here in Cajun Louisiana.

A sturdy affair, the tent appeared to have thick screening on three sides and fabric on the fourth side and the roof. When she got closer, she hissed, “John! Wake up!”

Nothing. He slept soundly on his side, his back to her. It appeared as if he was wearing boxers and nothing else. That was okay. It wasn’t his body she was after.

“John!” she whispered again.

Nothing.

She went to nudge her shoe against his behind which was backed up against the tent screening, but she slipped and instead kicked him.

“Hey!” He shot to a sitting position. Then, peering outside, he said, “Celine?”

“Yes, let me in. I’m being eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

“You want to share a tent with me?” His incredulity was rather insulting.

“Just let me in, dammit, or I’ll really kick you this time.”

“I’m the fool, I reckon.” Swearing under his breath, he unzipped the tent and moved over to make room for her. It was a tight squeeze.

Lying on his back, propped on his elbows, he grinned at her.

She smacked his chest.

“Ouch!”

“I didn’t hurt you. Yet.”

“First a kick, now a slap. You into S and M or somethin’,
chère?
”

“You wish!” She managed to lie down beside him by shoving her hip against his. He was still grinning. Braced on her elbows now, too, she turned and asked him, “Are you quitting this project?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Because of me?”

“Mostly.”

“You are not quitting this project.” She smacked his chest again.

“Are you sure about the S and M?”

“Just be glad it’s not your head. Then again, I suspect you’ve got a concrete brain.”

“You’re orderin’ me around like a dominatrix. And those sexy slaps? Oooh, baby!”

“Like I would even know what a dominatrix does!”

“Really, Celine, you’re way too uptight. How about releasing your inner sex kitten? You’re halfway there in that screw-me red outfit.”

She gritted her teeth, then released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d inhaled. “This is perfectly respectable sleepwear.”

He shrugged, as if that was debatable.

“Furthermore, I have not ever been or want to be a sex kitten.”

“Your loss, baby.”

The jerk really, really annoyed her. Which had probably been his goal. Yep, he lay back, his arms folded under his neck, a silly grin on his mouth.

Glancing over, she saw his eyes glued to her breasts.

Even worse, she noticed some movement in his shorts.

She did blush then.

He chuckled. “What’re you doin’ here, Celine?”

“I told you that I wouldn’t write any more articles about you. And I promised Ronnie I wouldn’t print a story on the project ’til after it was completed. So, what’s the problem?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she exhaled with disgust. “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not just me. My boss says we can’t take a chance. I either drop out, or they’ll force me into a boring as hell witness protection kind of set-up . . . probably in some seedy motel in Bodunk, Mississippi.”

“And your boss reacted this way all because of me?”

“Bingo!”

“They don’t trust me?”

“Pfff! Why should they? The press and police are rarely bedfellows these days, although . . . ” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She ignored his suggestive eyebrow waggling. “Do
you
trust me?”

“Hell, no!”

For some reason, his lack of trust hurt. “When I give my word, I keep it, and, frankly, I’m insulted that you would think otherwise.”

“Celine, I don’t know you. Until last week, I hadn’t seen you since college. Even then, we didn’t hang with the same crowd.”

“You mean, you were with the in-crowd, and I was with the losers.”

“Give me a break. I meant that you were two years behind me.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got one serious bug up your butt where I’m concerned. What’s with that?”

“That’s your imagination.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Call your boss in the morning and let me talk to him.”

“Are you nuts? Why would I do that?”

“Maybe I can convince him that you’re safe here.”

“Why would you care one way or the other if I stay?”

“Because I feel responsible.”

“I’m a big boy. I don’t need a woman to cover my ass.” He grinned. “Unless you’re offering . . . ?”

“Get serious.”

“I don’t know, babe. You on my ass would be seriously tempting.”

“Are you trying to say you would stay if I offered you sex?”

John went stiff with surprise, and, well, stiff for other reasons, too. About two feet of space separated them, and he could swear he felt her body heat . . . her female body heat. He tried not to show his shock to Celine. “Uh . . . well . . . is sex on the table?”

“John! You and I know that I’m not your type.”

“Are you kidding? Red silk. No bra. Wide-legged tap pants. Probably no panties. Sex heaven, as far as I’m concerned.”

Her lips parted and her eyes went wide.

John had been around the block too many times not to recognize that Celine was turned on by his words. He faced her now, so close he could smell the mint of her toothpaste. “Wanna make out?”

“No.”

“Liar. I’ve learned stuff since we were together that one time.”

“I would hope so.”

“Hey, I was drinkin’.”

“Give it up, John. You and I are not going to happen.”

He trailed the back of his fingers down one bare arm, shoulder to wrist.

Goose bumps rose on her skin, and her nipples peaked under her shirt, giving lie to her words.

Oooh, boy! John was on a slippery slope here. Still time to jump off, but maybe he could slide a little bit longer. It could be a hell of a ride. No, no, no. Celine was not the type a guy fooled around with, then jumped off the happy train. Sucking in a deep breath, he encouraged, “Tell me about your son.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“He’s beautiful and fun and I love him to pieces.”

“Is the guy in Afghanistan his father?”

“No.”

“Does his father share custody? Ever see the kid?”

“No!” There was horror in her voice.

“The bastard! Ya want me to kick his ass,
chère?
”

A chortle of amusement escaped her lips. “That would be interesting. But, no thanks. And, really, I would rather change the subject.”

“Ya wanna make out?”

Celine was tramping up the incline to the cabin a short time later.

The good thing was that she was smiling.

The bad thing was that she was tempted.

By seven a.m., there was a chain of pirogues . . . well, four of them . . . headed upstream toward the project site. The flat-bottomed, dugout-style canoes were indispensable here in the often shallow waters of the bayou.

Famosa and Caleb led the parade with Jake, Ronnie, and their kid in second place. Then came Brenda and Tante Lulu, and finally John and Celine.

Although they’d already transported most of the equipment and supplies the day before, the pirogues were well-stocked again today. For example, Tante Lulu, declining efforts to get her to stay back at the cabin, insisted on bringing a small camp stove for what would no doubt be a gourmet lunch, Cajun style.

Despite his words to Celine last night, John was still here, obviously, with no immediate plans to return to Houma with Remy this afternoon. He’d promised the Chief in a post-dawn phone call that he would stick to Celine like Krazy Glue, even when they were sleeping, the last of which had not amused his boss. When he’d informed she-of-the-red-hootchie-mama-nightwear, he’d made sure he was outside of slapping distance. In the end, she agreed, reluctantly, although she probably didn’t think he was serious about the sleeping arrangement. He was. Oh, yeah, he hot damn was. He had plans.

For now, heat shimmered above the tannin-stained waters with the sun already beating down on them, but in a pleasant way. It was going to be in the eighties today, which was balmy for the bayous where temps often rose over a hundred. Plus, the radio weather station predicted low humidity; so, hopefully no rain, at least not while they were away from the cabin.

“Do you spend much time in the bayous,
chère
?” He was speaking to Celine’s back as she was on the shelf seat in front of him, doing the right-hand rowing, while he handled the left rear. They made a good team . . . for canoeing anyway.

“Not much anymore. My grandfather used to take me crabbing on the bayou outside Houma when I first moved in with him. But then, I turned sixteen and had other interests.”

“Boys?”

“No, tree stumps.”

He grimaced. Her sarcasm had a bite to it. But then, he was getting his own back at her, in a more silent way. Every time she leaned forward to dip her paddle into the water, her butt lifted up slightly off the seat, straining the fabric of her shorts so that he got an up close and personal view of two perfect half moons. Even better, the whole rhythm thing . . . dip, stroke, lift, dip, stroke, lift, over and over, reminded him a little bit of another exercise. Okay, maybe his mind was working overtime, seeing as how he’d been celibate for a long time . . . one whole month.

But then, he noticed something. Tapping her on the shoulder, he indicated that she should put down her oar and look to the left bank. He moved forward carefully so that he knelt behind her, banking the pirogue slightly in the muddy edge of the stream so it wouldn’t move. She turned in her seat; they were shoulder to shoulder.

“Isn’t that amazing?” he whispered.

A huge mama alligator, at least eight feet and ugly as sin, was ambling along the muddy bank with three of her young’uns riding her back. They were probably headed toward their nest, a raised platform of mud and sticks.

“They are so cute,” Celine whispered back.

“Oh, yeah, cute as a chain saw in a kindergarten. Even those babies have teeth that could chomp off a finger.”

“I know, but they’re still cute.”

“Speaking of cute, you’re lookin’ pretty cute yourself today,” he remarked, knowing full well that it would annoy her.

She was wearing sunglasses, a pink baseball cap, probably one of those breast cancer awareness things, a pink short-sleeved T-shirt proclaiming “I’m a Saint,” in honor of the beloved New Orleans Saints football team, black thigh-length, spandex running shorts, along with hiking boots, a necessity when bee-bopping through the swamps, as they would be today. “Enough with the fake compliments! Do you see me making personal remarks about your appearance?”

“You can if you want to.”

She removed her sunglasses and gave him a full-body survey, then said succinctly, “Cute,” and not as a compliment.

Okay, he would let that semi-insult ride. “Anyhow, that’s not what I wanted to show you. Look up there.” He removed his sunglasses, as well, and pointed to a half-submerged bald cypress limb rising out of the waters, the knobs of its roots rising up here and there like knees. On one of its limbs, faintly obscured by the hanging moss of a nearby live oak, sat two herons, their necks intertwined, like a braid. They stayed unmoving in that intimate position for a long time, then unwound themselves and just stared ahead. Soon, the male was wrapping himself around the unprotesting female again. “The male is trying to seduce the female into mating,” he told Celine.

Instead of her making her usual sarcastic reply, she sighed. “They’re beautiful. Thank you for showing me.”

He and Celine remained still, watching, she half-turned on the low seat, he on his knees. The bayou surrounded them, like a cocoon. The silence, the lush beauty, the rich scents of a hundred different flowers and plants, the warmth of the sun.

John couldn’t help himself then. With the fingertips of his left hand, he coaxed her chin a little more so that she was facing him. Now would be the time for her to tell him to buzz off or for her to shove him overboard, but instead her eyelids were already drifting closed and her lips parting.

Oh, man, this is so not a good idea.

His kiss was gentle but open-mouthed, wanting to take all of her in, laving her lips to wetness with his tongue. Then, still gentle, he moved his mouth back and forth over hers in changing patterns, learning the shape of her lips. And, worst of all, or best of all, she allowed him to coax her into pliancy and began to kiss him back.