Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (13 page)

But what Laurent ignited within her was different. She couldn't deny the ache she felt for him, and knew it would be easy to lose herself in his eyes, his lips, his hands.

His decorum was perfect and they spoke only polite conversation during the main courses of dinner—of business and weather and the recent expansion of their city. The wine flowed freely and she did not hesitate to send Rosette for another carafe when theirs was empty.

"Dinner was wonderful," Laurent said at the end of the final course as Rosette placed bowls of sweet pudding before them. "I could not ask for a more delicious meal or dinner companion."

"It is the very least I could do for what you have done for Amélie."

"She is still well?"

"Yes. It's remarkable. A miracle really. It's like she was never sick." Élise looked down to hide tears suddenly gathering in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, discretely wiping them with the napkin. "Almost losing her was overwhelming."

Laurent's fingers softly touched her cheek and delicately brushed a tear away. "You need not apologize," he said. His fingers lingered on her face a moment longer before he pulled them away.

She very much wanted to receive his touch again.

"I understand. I have a young son myself. I fear his health is even more precious to me after his mother died during his birth."

"I am sorry to hear that." She shook her head. "It is hard to be widowed so early in life. My late husband died before Amélie was born. Tuberculosis. He was a strong, young man. It was shocking."

"Do you miss being married?"

It should have been an inappropriate question, but she felt comfortable sharing such a personal matter with him. "I am lucky my husband left me with a healthy estate and I am well taken care of. But… there are many things about married life I miss. Things money cannot buy."

"It can be very lonely," he agreed.

The wine was making her bold. "But you are a man. Surely you have your share of mistresses..."

"Not at all. I have been mostly content being a celibate man. It wasn't until…" His gaze drifted over her face. Abruptly, he cleared his throat. "I apologize."

She ignored the dismissal. "Until what?" her voice sounded two octaves too low.

His gaze lingered on her face, his dark eyes filled with longing. "Until I saw you walking in the rain," he finally replied in a quiet voice. "I cannot lie…I have not stopped thinking about you since that moment."

She had no words. Desire had them trapped in her throat. Her mouth opened, but only a stuttering, "I…I…" came out.

With little warning, he leaned across the table and kissed her. Startled at first, she hesitated. The overwhelming sensation of his lips gently moving against hers quickly shoved doubt and propriety aside. She wanted more, needed more. She moved her body closer to him.

His hand cupped her face and the kiss deepened. Warm desire flooded her body and a murmur of approval tickled her throat. Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers with perfection. Purposeful yet filled with passion and tenderness.

It was too much. Breaking the kiss, she stood abruptly, panting for air. It went against everything she'd ever been taught. It was wrong. It was forbidden. Yet, how she wanted him…needed him…it was as strong as the desire to breathe.

He rose as well. "I am sorry. I forget myself. Please forgive me."

Élise lost what little bit of control made her pull away. Her thoughts were devoured with torment while her body ached with desire only his touch could satisfy.

She reached for him, using the lapels of his coat to pull him close, causing their hungry lips to crash together with force and determination.

The kiss was all consuming. Lust made her knees weak, causing her to stagger. Laurent broke the embrace long enough to scoop her into his arms. His lips covered hers again and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

A heat she'd never known burned through her body. It made her ache with desire. Desire that could only be fulfilled one way. Desire that could not be denied because of decency or what might be considered
proper
. At that moment, she needed him more than anything, even more than decorum, especially more than decorum.

"My boudoir," she murmured between kisses, "is across the hall from Amélie's room."

Closing her eyes, she hugged his neck tightly as he scaled the stairs, nestling into his neck, drowning in his scent, in the sensation of his hands on her flesh. She kept her hold firm until she heard the door quietly close behind them.

The second her feet hit the ground her eyes opened to his, filled with aching desire. Their hands began unbuttoning, pulling, and tugging at clothes. His coat, vest, shirt, her gown, and his trousers fell to a pile on the floor.

As the last string of her short corset was unlaced, he began feverishly kissing her jaw, her neck, the tops of her breasts.

"I am forever lost," he murmured.

She let out an approving moan to encourage him to keep going. He assisted her escape of her undergarments, following with kisses as she stepped away from her falling chemise. He once again scooped her into his arms and set her gently on the bed.

They were both fully unclothed and she couldn't avert her eyes from his bare chest, broad and muscular, tightening as he held his body above her. His gaze drifted over her body, lingering on her breasts and her lips, before settling on her eyes.

"You are too beautiful," he said, bending for another kiss.

She arched her back with anticipation, easing her legs apart, yearning for more of him. His kisses moved downward. Her nipples tightened and he rolled his tongue over the tips. His fingers trailed down her stomach and over her hips.

With quick breaths she pulled his head back to her lips. She needed him, his tongue in her mouth as his hand slipped between her legs. Sweet fire shot through her. She opened more for him, arching for more. "Mon Dieu," she moaned.

The first thrust when he entered her was euphoric. The second…ecstasy. It was as if her world had stopped and all she could see, feel and taste was him. Their bodies moved in perfect motion, pleasure shooting through her with each delectable thrust. His smell, his gentleness, his essence overwhelmed her.

He caught her eyes in a final lustful gaze when her body exploded into spasms of pure pleasure. Frantically trying to catch her breath she crumbled in his arms, just before he crumbled into hers.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
n an instant, Lottie was torn from the memory. She blinked in the dim light, trying to regain her senses. Panting, her body burned with a passion that wasn't hers but felt just real, just as intense as if she'd actually been there, under Laurent, his lips on hers, his body heavy above her…

Cool liquid ran over her forehead and dripped down her cheek. Glancing up, she saw Delia sponging water from a pail onto her face. Across the room, Xavier was draped in his chair, an old woman with long, gray dreads mimicking his mother's action.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Everything about their conditions matched, down to the expressions of shock. His eyes lifted to meet hers and once there, held her gaze firmly.

She knew immediately.

Pushing Delia away and rising roughly to her feet, she clomped over to him with staggering steps. The old woman tending to him faced the other way and for a minute, Lottie was worried she was going to run into her. Somehow—perhaps because her uncoordinated footsteps sounded like a herd of charging horses—the old woman moved aside just at the last moment, and Lottie collapsed to her knees on the carpet beside Xavier, clutching the arm of the chair for support. He tried to rise, but like her, his body was a clunky, slowly responding machine.

"You experienced it too," she panted.

His brows pushed together and he tried to shake his head, but she could see it in his eyes.

"You did. I know you did."

"I—"

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't let him keep lying to himself, to her. Grabbing his head, she pressed her lips to his, enveloping him in the most passionate kiss of her life. Letting every ounce of desire buzzing through her body pour into him with every thrust of her tongue. His response was no less passionate. Wrapping his fingers in her hair he locked her to him, seeming to devour every drop of her kiss.

It was only reluctantly that she finally pulled away. This was a passion unwilling to be sated with just a kiss and there were two unwelcome observers in the room.

"See," she whispered smugly. "You can't deny that passion. You can't deny you didn't live it."

"Is that why you kissed me?" He sounded appalled. "To prove to me I shared your vision?"

"Yes! See, you did! Laurent...Élise..." She shook her head. "The love between them... I couldn't let you deny it. And it's still in me, just like it's still in you. I can feel it. I know you do too."

"I was kissing you, Charlotte, not Élise Cantrelle."

"How do you—"

The most horrifying shriek interrupted her. She turned to see the old woman looming ominously above them. Her eyes were clouded over, so white they were opaque. And wild. They were positively wild. Or maybe it was the halo of gray dreads.

Lottie was suddenly very frightened.

"Boy, I told you to forget that name!" She turned to Xavier's mother, who cowered under her stare. "And you!" The mother cowered even more. "You allowed this?"

"I don't…I don't know what—"

"Élise Cantrelle," the old woman shouted. The room seemed to shake with her anger. "Is that who you channeled? Élise Cantrelle?"

"Yes," Xavier's mom said meekly.

"You idiot. You fool! She will be so angry." The old woman charged toward Lottie, who cowered just like Delia. "You. Out." A plump, wrinkled arm reached for her, probably ready to drag her from the room. How those blind eyes could see her so accurately…

"Grandmere," Xavier said sternly, reaching across her to block the old woman's hand. "Lottie is here at my request."

"I don't care. She ain't welcome."

Not quite the hospitable reception she would have expected from an old lady.

"Grandmere! What has gotten into you?"

"Tell me Xavier, why did you attempt to contact Élise Cantrelle? Because of this girl? Is that why you even asked about her earlier?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does, boy!" Grandmere turned her blind gaze back to Lottie. "I got nothin' against you personally, little girl, but that won't help anything. You need to leave this house. Now." Setting her round jaw, she "hmphed", and walked from the room.

Lottie stared at Xavier. "What was that about?"

He stared after his grandmother. "No idea."

Wide-eyed, Delia simpered over. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Why was Grandmere so angry?"

Delia just shook her head.

"Mom!"

"I don't know." She wrung her hands. "I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't…I don't know." She kept muttering the words as she sulked from the room.

Xavier ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. "Jesus Christ. This family…"

"I don't understand. Laurent is a Villere, and from what I—we—just…experienced, he seems pretty fond of Élise."

He muttered something, but she couldn't quite make out the words. Although she definitely heard the word, "him".

"What?"

"Nothing." He rose, his movements still a bit shaky but definitely seemed stronger than they were moments ago. He offered his hand. "C'mon."

She let him pull her to her feet, but once there, swayed unsteadily. She clutched her head. "Oh my God."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just…weak. I'll be fine. Once I get to bed." She smiled. "My hotel sure is going to be a long walk."

"Nonsen—"

She never heard the rest of what he intended to say. She took one step and the room spun into a churning black vortex.

~

One minute Lottie was smiling up at him and the next she was falling face-first toward the floor. Luckily, Xavier still had her in his grasp or he might have never caught her in time.

In spite of abnormally weak and tired muscles—what the hell had that séance done to him—he was able to lift her into his arms.

"Lottie." He gave her a gentle shake. She didn't so much as twitch. Her chest rose and fell so he knew she was breathing. Passed out, but breathing.

She'd been through so much he couldn't blame her. As exhausted as his body was from just one little vision, hers must have been completely tapped out. She'd been going through this for what, two days? Three days?

A vision. Had he really experienced that? Could he deny it? Could he really look at the woman cradled in his arms and pretend he hadn't imagined the same vision she imagined?

First things first, he needed to get her to bed. There'd be time later to deny, fret, be dumbfounded by their shared experience tonight. Much later.

And he needed to get her out of this room. It churned with what felt like toxic energy, like pure, putrid hate. Whatever it was, he felt sick breathing it in.

It was a struggle, and he stumbled a few times, but he managed to carry her up to the Guest House suite. For a brief moment, he considered taking her to his bedroom, but the door wasn't lockable, at least not from the outside. And sleeping in his bedroom with him might be a little weird for her. At least in the suite, he could keep an eye on her but still be safely in another room.

He might be able to offer physical protection—well, once his strength came back, which it slowly was—but he couldn't protect her from evil he couldn't see or touch. He needed a few items from the shop for that.

The realization shocked him. That he even considered something paranormal might be threatening her went against everything he'd believed for years. Everything he'd denied. Avoided. Resisted. But what he needed to do felt natural. Right.

After tucking her into bed and checking every corner of the suite for hiding intruders, he locked the door behind him and headed for the shop. If he could have somehow connected the security chain and still made it out of the room he would have. Between Julien and Grandmere's weird behavior, he didn't trust anyone.

Speak of the devil…

Julien stood in the courtyard, smoking a cigarette.

"Did you get Miss Headcase put down for the night?" he asked, exhaling smoke into Xavier's face.

He snatched the cigarette from his brother's hand and tossed in onto the brick, extinguishing it with the sole of his boot. "What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"I'm just trying to keep you from making a huge mistake. Sam told me all about that girl. She's troubled with a capital T."

"Aren't we all."

"Not like this chick. What nonsense has she put in your head? That our great grandfather was somehow in love with her great grandmother?"

Xavier felt his eyes narrow. "How did you—"

"That little séance of yours wasn't exactly quiet."

Unfortunately, he couldn't respond to that. Shortly after Lottie blacked out he had followed suit. "Well, I don't see what difference it makes."

"C'mon, man. Look past your dick. She's trying to scam you."

There had been many times in Xavier's life when he'd wanted to punch his brother but always resisted. He barely kept his fist from splitting Julien's smartass lip this time. "I don't think so," he said through gritted teeth. "And if she is, it's none of your fucking business."

"Your business is my business, bro."

"Since when?" Exasperated, Xavier shook his head. Maybe Julien was high or drunk, but he was definitely acting out of character. Even his normal, slime-ball act wasn't this slimy. "By the way, give me whatever key you used to sneak into her room."

"I wasn't sneaking," Julien told him with a smirk, pulling the key from his pocket and dangling it in front of Xavier's nose. "I was investigating."

Yeah, right.

He snatched the key and headed straight for the store. He didn't have time for Julien's bullshit. Lottie was alone and vulnerable.

Before gathering his supplies he made sure to grab the master key from the office. At this point he didn't trust another living person—or dead for that matter—with it.

~

Lottie awoke feeling alone, empty, and strangely, well rested.

The bed she lay in was plush, lavish, and huge. She couldn't touch either edge at the same time and the velvety mattress topper made her feel like she was lying in a cloud. Above her, antique tins covered the high ceilings in beautiful, scrolling grids, broken only by the rich mahogany pillars of her bed frame and deep burgundy drapes.

Now she remembered. She must be at the Villere Guest House.

It came back to her in a rush. Being burned in the shower, Julien waiting outside, the séance, sharing the vivid erotic memory of Laurent and Élise's lovemaking with Xavier…

That was why she felt so alone and empty. She hadn't dreamed. The story always continued while she slept, but this time…nothing.

She sat upright in bed, the pit in her stomach growing deeper. What happened after that night? And why didn't Élise share it with her? Surely it didn't end there. Surely that wasn't the end of the story.

How did the children end up in St. Louis? And why did her family, starting with Amélie, the boys, and continuing up to the death of her parents, seem to be cursed with tragedy after tragedy?

She hadn't felt so alone since the morning after her parents' death. The pit grew to a chasm and she suddenly wanted to puke.

A soft snore turned her attention. Slumped in the wingback chair, one long leg draped over an arm, the other stretched out before him, Xavier slept in a position that looked crippling.

The chasm in her gut shrunk.

With a smile, she rose and approached him. He reminded her of a large, gangly puppy, all arms and legs. Okay, a large, gorgeous puppy, with deep brown eyes, and enough muscles to make any girl weak in the knees.

She remembered their kiss and bit her lip. If only that passion had been reserved for her and her alone. She knew he'd been reeling from Laurent and Élise's experience, just as she had. The passion she'd tasted, the passion she'd meant for him to taste, had been residual. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Hey," she said, gently nudging him. "Wake up. You're making me sore just looking at you."

One eye cracked open.

"Good morning, sunshine," she cooed.

He rubbed a hand across his face, and then cracked the other eye. "Was I drooling?"

"A little, but I mopped it up."

Leaning back in the chair, he stretched high above his head. Not only did every bone in his body seem to crack with the effort, but the bottom of his shirt rose a good six inches and she couldn't help sneak a glimpse of his rather nice, rather well-defined abs. Actually, really nice and really defined.

She cleared her throat and took a purposeful step back. "Thanks for putting me to bed." She bit her lip. That sounded wrong. "I mean, thanks for bringing me up here. What happened? The last thing I remember is talking to you. Did I pass out or something?"

"Out cold."

"Weird."

He was stretching again and to avoid gawking at him and his amazing body, she looked the other way, like the bed somehow needed her attention.