Wedding Favors (8 page)

Still, there was no way she’d let
him
know his actions were making her cream her panties. She knew a player when she saw one.
Hello
, they’d met in a bordello! Oh, excuse me, a
maison.

Thank God he’d made that unthinking remark about money this morning and reminded her that their relationship—and she used the term very loosely—had zero future. And
there
was her problem with men in a nutshell. She was far too quick to involve her heart, when almost always the man’s only interest was in a short-term good time. She wanted more than that. She wanted a dress and a ring and a happily ever after, the whole nine yards. She wanted a man to sweep her off her feet and take command of her in bed and treat her like a lady out of it. Yeah, she wanted a man to look at her the way Etienne was now gazing at his new bride. But all she ever found were men who were only interested in having fun.
Their
fun.

When would she
ever
learn?

She’d tried last night. Really, she’d had every intention of using Shay as he was obviously using her. As a temporary sex object and nothing more.

But then he’d been so ... compelling. Gently leading her to do things she’d never in a million years believe she’d do. Subtly urging her, little by little, to submit and surrender to his powerful will. And she had. Willingly. Eagerly. No wonder she’d begun to surrender her heart to him, as well. The man had a voodoo all his own.

The one time she’d met a man who knew how to take command of her and sweep her off her feet in every possible way, he’d turned out like all the rest.
Damn.

“Shall we dance,
cher
?” he murmured in her ear.

Though, to be fair, he was thrillingly persistent.

He’d driven her the few blocks to the reception in his—get this—
Lamborghini,
and she hadn’t trusted herself to say a word to him. They were now standing silently at the side of the dance floor watching the bridal couple take one last spin before inviting the rest of the crowd to join them. Shay was directly behind her, his body pressed intimately into hers, his arms looped casually around her middle. She was about to disintegrate from confusion.

“What do you want from me, Shay?” she asked. “I’m
not
going to sell myself to you today—or ever—if that’s what you’re after.”

“Hell, no. I won’t make that mistake again.”

She ground her teeth.

“What I meant was,” he backpedaled, apparently feeling her back stiffen, “I won’t make the mistake of trying to
buy
your favors.”

Good save. But ... “Nice try. Except you distanced yourself from me even before the money was mentioned.” It had been her first clue to his perspective on their affair.

His arms tightened slightly around her. “Yeah. And I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” He glanced at the dance floor.
“Vien.”

He led her out among the dancers, and she didn’t have the strength to protest. Naturally, it was a slow number. She went reluctantly into his arms, doing her best to ignore how incredibly right it felt to be there. She really had it bad.

“I’ll admit,” he continued as they began to move, “I was pretty freaked out by the whole fountain incident. Not sure what happened there. I kinda lost it for a few minutes.”

In spite of herself, she gave him a faint smile. “You think?” To be honest, he hadn’t been the only one.

“I don’t believe in voodoo. I honestly don’t,” he assured her.

“Then what was that virgin sacrifice all about?” she asked dryly.

He pulled back and grinned. “Hardly a virgin by that time,
cher.”

“Ha-ha.”

He led her in a twirl. “Anyway. As I said, I sort of lost track of myself. Definitely
not
something that’s in my normal repertoire. But whatever that sacrifice was all about, it seems to have worked.”

“Oh?” A tingle of foreboding spilled through her.

“This morning I received some good news about a project my family has been trying to get off the ground for fifteen years. A courtyard restaurant next door to the
maison.
Fifteen years of rejections and stalling by the Historical Society, and suddenly, just hours after we made our wish, or broke that damn curse, or whatever the hell we did, I get the green light. A weird coincidence,
non?”

Oh, dear
. Was there such a thing as a coincidence?

She felt her ears going warm as her own wish echoed through her mind.
Please, let the pleasure go on forever!

She was so screwed.

She choked on her bad choice of inner laments.

“What?” he asked at her pained expression.

“Yes, I agree,” she recovered. “Very strange. But that has nothing to do with you and me. I’m still not interested in repeating last night.”

He captured her eyes as he pulled her closer. “Liar,” he said, then bent to nuzzle his nose against her neck. “I can smell it on your skin—your desire for me.” He traced a path upward, to her ear, and whispered, “If I slid my hand into your panties, they’d be drenched, wouldn’t they?”

She didn’t dare deny it. He’d probably just insist on proving he was right.

Thank God the song ended, and she almost flew backward out of his arms. She backed straight into Laura, who cheerfully looped her arm through hers and said to Shay, “Is it okay if I borrow my bridesmaid for a moment, sugar?” She winked at him with a grin. “Bouquet strategy.”

He sketched a graceful bow, though Tessa didn’t miss the flash of impatience in his eyes. “By all means.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Laura drew her close and hurried her toward the powder room. “Omigod, girl, what are you doing with that man? Do you have any
idea
the kind of things Treves Duchesne is into?”

“Wait. Who?” Tessa asked, momentarily distracted from confirming that Laura hadn’t set her up.

Her friend glanced at her incredulously. “Shay! Please, don’t say you don’t know who he is? He didn’t tell you?”

“He’s ...” Tessa faltered, growing alarmed at Laura’s obvious agitation. “Well, no, actually. We never exchanged last names. Who is he?”

Her friend shoved her into the powder room and plunked closed the toilet lid, pushed her down on it, and locked the door with a rustle of silk and a pouf of petticoats. “Oh. My. God. Tessa! That’s Treves Duchesne!” When she didn’t react, Laura explained, “As in Chez Duchesne. The owner of the
maison
!”

Shock rendered Tessa speechless. The
owner
?

Laura paced back and forth in the tiny confines of the powder room. “When I saw you go upstairs with him last night, I was stunned to say the least.”
So much for being set up.
Laura gestured widely. “But okay, he can be charming, and despite his reputation for enjoying, um ... bondage and domination ... I know he’s not into actual pain, so I figured you were safe enough.” She turned to Tessa, eyes wide as dinner plates. “But Jesus, girl! You can’t possibly be interested in him? As in
interested?”

“I, u-um—” Tessa stammered.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy and a good friend to Etienne,” Laura blurted out. “But obviously, he’s the worst kind of womanizer going. There’s no
way
you’ll last more than a night or two in his bed, no matter what kinky stuff you let him do to you or how good it feels. You know that, right?”

No kidding. Tessa wasn’t particularly surprised at either revelation. She’d figured out that much all on her own. “I appreciate the warning,” she found herself saying. “And I promise you, if I do get involved with him”—
What?
she exclaimed inside her head—“I’ll be careful not to put emotions into the equation.”

“Wow,” Laura said, visibly taken aback.
Join the freaking club!
“When you decide to let yourself indulge in a fantasy, you really go whole hog.”

Tessa smiled shakily and stood up. “I guess I do. Who’d have thought, huh?”

Laura chuckled, totally fooled by Tessa’s hard-won and very fake bravado. “Ho-kay, then,” her friend relented. “You realize you’ll be the envy of every woman here, including me? Shay Duchesne is considered
the
lay of New Orleans.”

Why did that not surprise her? “Yeah?”

“His reputation as a cockswain is pretty damn impressive. But he’s very choosy about who gets to see him naked. And lately, there hasn’t been more than a handful of women who’ve succeeded in tempting him.” Laura kissed Tessa’s cheek then unlocked the powder room door. “So, you go, girl. Just promise me you’ll be very, very careful.”

“I will. I swear,” she said. And she meant it. She would
not
mistake a fling for anything more than it was.

Laura went to join her new husband, leaving her with a parting shot. “I’m serious, Tessa. No matter what he says, do
not
give that man your heart.”

Tessa
returned from her little tête-à-tête with the bride and walked straight to a clutch of satin-clad bridesmaids, grabbed a flute of champagne off a tray, and proceeded to deliberately ignore him. Shay couldn’t decide whether to be aggravated or impressed.

Clearly, his cover was blown. He was only sorry because he’d wanted to tell her himself that he was Treves Duchesne, of the infamous New Orleans Duchesnes, owner of the
maison
and heir to a fortune. Lord knew what lurid tales Laura had spun for her. He
should
have told Tessa in the car. But he hadn’t been thinking of anything but how to finesse her out of that slinky pink bridesmaid outfit. Obviously, Tessa’d decided to let him twist in the wind. And just as obviously, she did not know him very well if she thought that would deter him from his pursuit.

He’d never been concerned for reputation, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of a bunch of satin-clad women. But he had to admit, it was refreshing that the woman in question was not impressed by his outward credentials and wealth. It gave him hope that she was different. Special.

He strolled over and joined them. He kissed Tessa on the cheek. “Miss me,
cher?”
He smiled broadly when she gave him a death-ray glare. Oh, she was different, all right.

“No.”

There she went, lying through her teeth again.

The other women giggled nervously. As usual, his notorious reputation preceded him. So what was new? “I understand you ladies were guests at Chez Duchesne last night. I hope you enjoyed the
maison’s
unique hospitality?”

One of them blanched, the other’s cheeks went scarlet.

“Ah,” he said with his most charming smile. “I see you did. Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have some business to discuss with Miss Kittredge.” Mais,
yeah,
he told her with his eyes as he took her arm,
I now know exactly who you are, too.

“I’m getting a little tired of being hauled around by everyone like a sack of potatoes,” she said as he led her away.

“Not my fault your friend felt compelled to warn you about me.” He spoke pleasantly but didn’t let up on his grip or his pace. He was heading to his car. “Bouquet strategy? Really, now.”

“Yeah,” she said. “How to
avoid
catching it.”

“Now, that’s just plain hurtful,” he returned evenly. “If you don’t want to marry me, just say so.”

She just glared at his attempt at humor. “Where do you think you’re taking me?” she asked, digging in her high heels when they reached the path to the parking lot.

“My place.”

“Shay, we’ve already been through this. I have no intention of going back to your house of ill—”

“My plantation,” he corrected her. “Up by Bayou Lafourche.”

She blinked, nonplussed. “Your ... Why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I was planning on going up after the reception anyway. Check on things. Maybe spend a day or two. I like to do that every few weeks. Make sure the old place is still standing. I could use some company. To hold my hand when the ghosts start rattling their chains.”

Not that there were any ghosts. That he knew of, anyway. And the only chains were the ones he’d fasten around her limbs just before he fucked her to within an inch of her life.

“What do you say?” he asked, getting warm under the collar of his tux shirt just thinking about the assortment of toys awaiting them.

He could see he’d piqued her interest. An old Southern plantation was irresistible to women. Usually involving some fantasy about mint juleps and Rhett Butler. Hell, he could do Rhett Butler. But
his
movie would definitely be X-rated.

She licked her lips. Always a good sign. He waited patiently.

“It sounds intriguing,” she finally said. “But I’m afraid I can’t. My flight home is tomorrow.”

“Flights can be changed,” he said. “I’m sure there’ll be another on the day after, or in three days. Or a week.”

Her brows rose. “I was told I wouldn’t last more than two nights in your bed.”