Wedding Favors (9 page)

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip,
cher.
It’s almost always wrong.”

“And in this case?”

“Wrong.” He swept her into a tight embrace and covered her mouth with his. He teased open her lips with his tongue and sank into the kiss with a silent moan.
Mon Dieu,
she was fine. He held her and kissed her until she stopped wriggling to get away. “Dead wrong,” he murmured when he finally let her up.

“Shay—”

“Please? Let me change your flight for you.” When she would object, he cut her off. “It’s not paying for your services, it’s being a gentleman. Since it’s my fault you have to reschedule. I’ll even upgrade your ticket to first class.”

“It already is first class,” she said tartly, and he grinned, wanting her even more.

“Vien avec moi, ’tite chatte,”
he pleaded softly, his smile slowly fading. “Let me tie you up in velvet bonds and make you come in ways you’ve only dreamed of.”

He felt a quiver travel through her body. He lowered his hand to her backside and pressed her into him, center to center. There was no possible way she could miss his massive hard-on.

“Don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be,” he told her. Except now he was the one lying. Because it
was
complicated. And getting more so by the minute. He realized if she didn’t say yes soon, odds were he’d just lift her into his arms and carry her off anyway.

Dieu.
He’d never felt this much like a caveman over
any
woman before. It was downright terrifying.

But that wasn’t going to stop him.

“All right.” She relented. “I’ll come with you,” and he let out the breath he’d been holding, probably since the first second he’d seen her at the
maison
bar last night. Hell, since the first second he’d seen her, a skinny little angel gazing up at the
Jaillissement,
fifteen years ago.

What was
happening
to him?

She scraped his hand off her ass and started toward the parking lot, her curvy bottom twitching back and forth enticingly as she walked. “Better hurry. Before I come to my senses.”

It
was official.

She’d lost her mind. This was a huge mistake.

Tessa looked at Shay, then back at the imposing plantation house he’d parked the Lamborghini in front of. Like everything else about him, it was impressive. It was also very spooky.

Three stories of columned, antebellum elegance were tucked in shabby dissolution among the massive tangle of vegetation and forest of hardwoods and palmettos that covered the twenty or so acres of the surrounding estate. Vines crept over the mansion’s gabled roofline, petals of heavily scented yellow jessamine flowers dripped from its covered galleries. Spanish moss hung in ghostly strands from the magnificent oaks that towered over it and cast the entire structure into shadowed gloom. Oh, what she could do with a landscape canvas like this!

As magnificent and striking a picture as it was, the place looked like there should be a serial killer living in it.

“It’s, um ...”

“Creepy?” Shay helpfully supplied along with a sardonic smile.

“Yeah,” she admitted, feeling a trickle of nervousness despite her professional objectivity about the out-of-control garden. “Very.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I was kidding about the ghosts.”

She darted him a glance to see if he was teasing. He grinned. She made a face. “You can’t tell me you don’t have the money to fix this place up. Hire a landscape architect.”

“I do,” he said, unlocking the front door. “And I’ve tried. But as soon as I have it cleaned it up, the plantation house decides it doesn’t like being presentable, and within weeks it’s back to looking like this. I’ve given up, and we’ve declared a truce. As long as it doesn’t start dropping roof tiles on my head, I leave it alone.”

Wow. And this was the man who didn’t believe in voodoo? “Maybe it just needs a woman’s touch,” she murmured without thinking.

“Maybe it does.” He swung the door open for her. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

She might just take him up on that. “Or maybe it doesn’t,” she breathed, her jaw dropping in astonished awe as she walked into the foyer. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, Shay.” He led her into the great room, and she turned in a full circle, taking it all in, then looked at him with a whole new respect. “I guess the house doesn’t mind looking nice on the inside.”

“A fickle thing, admittedly. Would you like to see the rest?”

“Yes, please.”

Each room was more beautiful than the last. Not new and shiny, but glowing with venerable age and impeccable taste; even the slight fraying at the edges lent an air of worldly contentedness.

On the third floor, he pushed open a set of carved wooden doors and walked in. He turned back to her and spread his hands. “My rooms,” he said simply.

Even if he hadn’t said it, she would have known. She stepped into a luxurious sitting room furnished in rich, masculine leathers and blues and greens. The rugs were deep Orientals, as at the
maison.
There was a fireplace, bookshelves, and beautiful paintings of local unique landscapes.

She walked up to one. It was a moody painting of an outdoor maze. The hedges that made up the living puzzle were verdant green and clipped in a wild, unkempt style that belied the exact precision of the intricate pathways. In the middle, a woman in a flowing white gown waited for her lover, who was in the midst of the tangle of paths, hopelessly lost.

“Wow,” she said. “This is beautiful. And very ...”

“Disturbing?”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. Kind of. But the maze is, well, amazing. I love it. Is it a real place?” She’d told him on the drive up that she was a landscape architect. He had also surprised the hell out of her by opening up about his life and his hopes and even some of his most personal aspirations. Treves Duchesne was a complicated, thoughtful man.

“I’ve always wanted to do one.” She made a face. “Not a lot of demand for them, unfortunately. Mazes are a particular interest of mine, professionally, I mean.”

“Hell, you definitely have the job, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” he said and led her over to the French doors.

The mullioned glass door led to a covered gallery overlooking a vast, sloping meadow that ended at the reedy shore of a shallow bayou. “That was once a thriving branch of the Mississippi,” he said at the direction of her gaze. “When the water disappeared, my family wasn’t affected, but the planters who depended on the river for their livelihoods were bankrupted.”

“What happened?”

His smile wasn’t pretty. “Politics happened. What else?”

For some reason, she felt compelled to go to him. She put her arms around his neck. “Thank goodness for Chez Duchesne.”

He smiled down at her, skimming his fingers down the slippery fabric of her bridesmaid dress, shaping her waist and hips with his palms. “Yeah,” he said, his black eyes darkening. “But this is what I really wanted to show you.” He pointed to an area of dense shrubs growing to the side of the meadow, bearing the faint, ghostly outlines of what obviously used to be a maze.

“It’s the maze in the painting!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his arms around her again. “The couple in the painting, that was my
grand-père
et
grand-mère.
She’s the one who designed the maze, as a kind of living symbolism of their convoluted love story. You see,
Grand-mère’s
parents, they didn’t approve of
Grand-père.
She came from one of those
Mayflower
type Northern families. In those days, Chez Duchesne was still a real bordello, and his reputation wasn’t any better than it had to be, if you know what I mean.”

“Sort of like you?” Tessa murmured with a smile.

“Very funny,
fille.
If I’m so bad, what are you doing here with me?”

She brushed a kiss over his lips. “Oh, I’m here
because
you’re so bad.”

“Is that so?” His hands traveled slowly down her sides. “You like your men bad, do you?”

“I like
you
bad,” she whispered.

“In that case,” he said, “I have more to show you.”

“More?”

“Rooms in the house.”

“Hmm. Let me take a wild guess.” They both knew what was about to happen. There was no reason to be coy. She pressed closer. “Your bedroom?”

“For instance. Shall we take a look?”

Through an open side door she caught a glimpse of an antique wrought-iron bed. It looked high and wide and very sturdy, with ironwork rising from each of the four corners to form a sort of canopy box, but without the canopy fabric itself. “Is that where you keep the velvet bonds?” she asked, her pulse starting to pick up speed. Her boldness was so out of character, she hardly recognized herself.

His lips curved. “Would you like to try them?”

She swallowed heavily.
This was it.
This was something she’d been fantasizing about since Shay had taken charge so thoroughly last night. She hadn’t had the guts to bring it up then. But today, ever since Laura had mentioned his predilections ... well, she hadn’t been able to get the idea out of her mind ... or her body. “Shay ...”

“Yeah,
cher?”

Her knees started to tremble. “Laura told me you’re into bondage and domination?”

His eyes narrowed, a shade warily. “I got the impression you are, too.”

“I...” Nervously, she slipped her hands under his tux jacket, brushing them over his white silk shirt. She could feel his compact nipples harden at her touch. It gave her the courage she needed to say, her voice almost a whisper, “I want you to dominate me.”

He regarded her cautiously. “What exactly do you mean by that,
cher
?”

“I don’t know,” she quietly confessed, feeling her face heat with mortification. Both at her request, and at her naïveté. “I’m not even sure what it involves.”

His fingers tightened on her hips. “You want to find out? Is that what you’re saying?”

She pillowed her aching breasts against his chest. “Last night you called me your sexual possession. That’s what I want to be. Yours, to do anything and everything you want to. No limits. Nothing forbidden.”

His black eyes swirled with dark, glittering excitement. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sure. Take me, Shay. Make me your odalisque.”

For
a second Shay’s heart stopped in his chest, then surged to life, pounding fast and hard in exhilaration.

Tessa’s tremulous request thrilled him to the marrow.

This was
exactly
what he needed.

“And you’re willing to do anything I ask of you?” he wanted to know. “You’re not afraid?”

“Terrified.” The shaking of her voice confirmed it, but she said, “I trust you, Shay. I know you won’t hurt me.”

Her blind trust humbled him, filling him with a fierce surge of protectiveness. “I am not into pain,” he assured her. “Strictly a pleasure man.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled uncertainly, as though she’d never considered that risk.
Dieu,
she was an innocent.

“Donc,
if at any time you wish to stop, just say”—he thought for a moment—“coffee break.”

She seemed to understand. “Okay. But I won’t.”

“Best to be safe.” He smiled back. “This way you can scream
no
all you like.”

She paled, but in a good way.

Last night he had toyed with her will, coaxing her submission in their light forays into public exposure; he had also bound her wrists during their love play. He’d sensed instinctively she’d enjoyed both experiences. She was a natural submissive with daring tastes ... yet another thing that had fascinated him about her. The adventuress inside versus the conservative exterior—an intriguing combination.