Easy Love Page 12

  And that’s ridiculous. He’s been dead for two fucking years.

  “The dates are getting more recent. Here’s 1977.” She sighs. “And these are sisters. Look,” she points at the dates on the stone. “They were only two years apart. Died in the same week.”

  “They were spinster aunts,” I inform her, remembering the stories I’d been told of the old maids. “They lived together, here, their whole lives. They were odd.”

  “Odd?”

  I grin. “This is the Bayou, dawlin’. Let’s just say they enjoyed the eccentricities that living here brought them. And if you ever made one of them mad, well…Bad things usually happened.”

  “They were witches?”

  “Of course not.” I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “They were simply Bayou women.”

  “Oh, this one looks new.”

  It is new.

  She reads the stone and her eyes grow wide. “Your daddy.”

  I nod and read the stone for myself.

  Beauregard Francois Boudreaux

  1947 2012

  Beloved Husband & Father

  I’ve adjusted my sails.

  “I’ve adjusted my sails,” Kate reads aloud, and looks at me with a raised brow.

  “Daddy always said, you can’t control the wind, but you can adjust your sails. It was his way of reminding us that you can’t control most of what happens in life. You can only control your reaction to it. I imagine he did the same in death.” I smirk. “I’m quite sure he’s running Heaven by now.”

  “I met him once,” she says. “You get your height from him.”

  “Yes, and if you ask Maman, I got my stubbornness from him too.”

  “Naturally.” She tilts her head as she watches me. The coin in my pocket is hot in my fingers, from me rubbing it hard, but I can’t stop. “You’re tense.”

  “As I always am when I’m around my father.”

  “You didn’t get along?”

  I shrug a shoulder, every instinct in me screaming at me to shut it down, walk away from the conversation and take Kate back to our room where I can sink inside her for about two days.

  “I loved him fiercely,” I say instead, surprising me. “And there were days that I hated him just as much.”

  “Those are extreme emotions.”

  “I spent my entire life trying to live up to what he wanted me to be,” I say quietly, and remember the man now six feet under the ground. His loud laugh. His cold hazel eyes. His disapproving shake of the head.

  “I’m sure he was very proud of you.”

  “No,” I reply, and let Kate fold herself into my arms for a long hug. “He wasn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “What?” She pulls back with a frown. “He told you that he wasn’t proud of you?”

  “Let’s sit.” I guide her to the bench beneath a nearby magnolia tree. She sits facing me, waiting to hear more.

  Am I seriously going to tell her something that I’ve never spoken aloud before?

  “He told me to pull my head out of my ass and do what I was born to do, which was take care of my family’s business.”

  She blinks for several seconds. “That seems harsh.”

  “He was right.” I sigh and rub my hand down my face. “He’d already groomed Beau to take over as CEO of Bayou Enterprises, which makes sense because he’s the oldest. I have a master’s degree in business, but I spent ten years partying, taking advantage of the perks that money brings. Fucking random women.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I was irresponsible and old enough to know better. I would have been disappointed in me too.”

  “You’re not those things now,” she says.

  “No,” I agree. “Sitting beside my father as he took his last breath, his last words being, ‘You can be so much better than this’,” will turn a man around.” She takes my hand in hers and places a sweet kiss to my knuckles. “So, I focused all of my energy on the business, on the family. I work stupid hours.”

  “That’s a good description.”

  “It’s accurate. Working twenty-hour days is stupid, but I can’t stop. I work, I look in on my family, and I go back to work. Occasionally, I call up one of the several women I know to hook up with and scratch that particular itch, and then I go back to work.”

  Kate flinches. “You seem to respect women more than that.”

  “Of course I respect women,” I reply. “My mother would kill me herself if I treated any woman with anything other than respect. But sex is sex, Kate.”

  She nods. “I’m following.”

  “Women don’t usually understand that.”

  “I do.” She shrugs. “I haven’t been divorced long, and the relationship I just came out of was…combative. I’m not looking to replace it.”

  “Combative,” I repeat, and just like every time she begins to talk about the hell—a hell I don’t even fully understand yet—that her ex-husband put her though, my hands want to clench and I want to simply kill him.

  With my own bare hands.

  “Mmm,” she confirms with a nod.

  “He hit you.”

  “I told you he did.”

  I nod. “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Kate. You’re a smart woman. Did he ever put you in the hospital?”

  “Pshaw,” she tips her head back, staring up into the branches above, but doesn’t directly answer. I grip her chin in my fingers and thumb and pull her gaze back to mine.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything, just don’t ever lie to me, Kate. Did he put you in the hospital?”

  “Once,” she whispers. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “So, you see,” she clears her throat, “I’m in no hurry to jump into anything serious.”

  “I wasn’t trying to warn you off, cher.”

  “I know. But even if I did want something serious, this,” she points back and forth between us, “has an expiration date.”

  “Really.”

  “I’ll be gone in a few weeks. But I need to make something very clear, Eli.”

  “Keep going.”

  “While you’re doing…stuff with me, you’re not doing that same stuff with anyone else.”

  Is it any wonder that I can’t get enough of her? She’s fucking adorable.

  “What kind of stuff?” I grin as she blushes.

  “You know perfectly well what kind.”

  I lean in and tuck her hair behind her ear, then drag my nose over the apple of her cheek to her ear and plant a kiss there, making her shiver.

  “Walks around the Quarter?”

  “No.” She sighs as I nibble down her neck, then back up again and kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Pizza on the balcony?”

  “Now who’s playing dumb?”

  “I want to hear the words.”

  “You always want to hear the words.” Her hands grip onto my T-shirt. I love that I can turn her on so easily. She’s so fucking responsive.

  I grin wickedly and kiss her forehead, and then it occurs to me: My life has been in black and white for the past two years, and the minute she walked through my office door, everything was in blazing color.

  I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

  Except enjoy her, for every moment she’s here.

  “What is the stuff that we do?” I ask again.

  “The sex stuff.”

  “You can do better than that.”

  “Do you have any idea how many Hail Marys I’m going to have to say because of you?” she demands.

  “A lot,” I reply with a laugh. “I haven’t seen you go to church while you’ve been here.”

  “I only go when I’m visiting my parents.” She shrugs one slender shoulder. “Okay, I’ll make it clear. While you’re fucking me, you don’t fuck anyone else.”

  Fuck.

  I have to swallow hard as I stare down at her determined green eyes. Fuck someone else?
I can’t think of anyone else.

  “And you can’t fall in love with me,” she adds primly.

  “I can’t?”

  “No. No love. Just friends, and laughs, and…stuff.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “And sex. I’m not saying the other word again today.”

  I watch her for a long moment, then tug her into my lap, cup her face in my hands, and kiss the fuck out of her. “You’re all I see, Kate. I don’t give a shit about other women. So you don’t have to worry about me fucking anyone but you for as long as you’re here.”

  “And no love.”

  Why does that statement make my heart hurt?

  “I don’t do love, cher.”

  “Me neither.”

  Liar.

  “But one other thing,” I say, my lips against hers.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to say fuck again today. You’re going to say it a lot.”

  “Why does that turn you on?” She giggles and sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of my head.

  “Because hearing those dirty words come out of your pretty mouth makes me hard.” I kiss her, long and deep, then pull away when we’re both gasping for breath. “Jesus, everything you do makes me hard.”

  “Maybe it’s just been a while since you got laid.”

  That’s what I thought too.

  “No, it’s you. It’s just you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kate

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Mama’s for dinner?” Gabby asks us as she gathers her handbag and car keys and settles Sam’s baseball cap on his head.

  “We’ll be fine here,” Eli replies with a grin, sips his sweet tea, and keeps his sexy, naughty eyes on me. “I’ll show Kate around.”

  “I thought you showed her around yesterday,” Gabby replies dryly. Eli simply shrugs one shoulder and takes another sip of his tea, watching me. God, he’s potent. He showed me around yesterday, all right. Around his body, and mine, and I’m pretty sure he discovered erogenous zones that I didn’t even know I had.

  And muscles. I’m sore today. Sore. My inner thigh muscles are singing. How does that happen?

  “How is it that you don’t have any guests tonight?” I ask.

  “I always have an empty inn on Sunday nights. That gives me time to catch up on laundry and cooking for the upcoming week, and I can get away to Mama’s for dinner.”

  “Convenient for me,” Eli says, and laughs when Gabby glares at him.

  “You’re my brother.”

  “That’s the rumor,” he says with a smile.

  “No, you are,” Sam adds solemnly. “Nannan says so. Plus, you look alike. I don’t have any brothers.”

  “No, you don’t,” Gabby says with a laugh.

  “I want some, though,” Sam adds.

  “Let’s go.” Gabby sighs and shakes her head. “Clean up your own messes, big brother.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replies in that slow, sexy accent that never fails to make me weak in the knees, and the grin spreads over his face when Gabby’s engine starts and drives down the driveway. “Alone at last.”

  “We’re alone quite often,” I remind him.

  “Mm,” he replies, leaning his hands on the kitchen island, just staring at me with that smirk on his face as I lean on the breakfast bar opposite him.

  “Are you going to just…do me here on the counter?”

  “Do you?” He tilts his head back and forth, as if he’s considering it. “Probably. But first, I’m going to cook for you.”

  “Cook for me.” It isn’t a question. “You cook.”

  “I cook just fine, thank you very much.” He cocks a brow.

  I bet he does. He does everything very well.

  “And what are you going to cook?”

  “You’ll see.” He turns to the fridge and begins gathering supplies, moving about the kitchen as if he’s perfectly comfortable here. Which kind of throws me, because let’s face it, watching the uber successful billionaire businessman, who admits to being a workaholic, work in the kitchen like it’s second nature is…hot.

  “Where did you learn to cook?”

  He chooses a knife from the butcher block and begins chopping up an onion.

  “Mama taught us all to cook.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just look gorgeous and keep me company.”

  “Charming,” I reply with a sigh. He’s in another black T-shirt and blue jeans, which I think is unusual for him, but look amazing on him. His forearms flex and bunch as he chops. Just like they bunch when he’s over me, gripping onto the mattress as he thrusts in and out of me. His whole body gets tight. And this man isn’t short on muscles.

  I want to lick him.

  “Kate?”

  “Huh?” I blink rapidly and try to focus. “What did you say?”

  He sets the knife on the cutting board and smiles. “What were you just thinking about?”

  My first reaction is to say nothing, but instead I walk very slowly around the island toward him. “I was thinking about licking you.”

  He leans his hips against the island and crosses his arms, making his biceps flex, and just like that, I want to tear his clothes off.

  “Is that right?”

  I nod.

  “Where would you like to lick me?”

  I grin and drag a fingertip down his neck. “Right here.”

  He swallows hard, making me even wetter. I love turning him on.

  “You’re distracting me,” he says evenly, and it would bruise my ego if his eyes hadn’t just dilated and the pulse in his neck sped up.

  “I think that’s the point.”

  He shakes his head and returns to chopping. “I’m cooking dinner.”

  “I don’t particularly give a crap about dinner.”

  He smiles, like he always does when I don’t use the usual curse words, but doesn’t look me in the eye.

  “You’ll give a shit later, cher. You’ll need the energy for what I have planned.”

  “That sounds fun.” I cup his very firm, stellar ass in my hand and kiss his bicep. “Let’s skip to that part.”

  He laughs, turns and lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and kisses me mindless, until I can’t think; I can’t even feel my fingertips.

  But I can sure as heck feel the pulsing between my legs.

  The next thing I know, he sets me on the counter top, plants a smacking kiss on my lips and backs away, returning to the cutting board just a few feet away.

  “Stay.”

  I stick my lower lip out in a pout and bat my eyes at him, but he just reaches over and smooths the pad of his thumb over my lip, drags his knuckles down my cheek, and whispers, “Trust me. Let me feed you. Let me pamper you a bit. I like it.”

  Well, how in the heck am I supposed to say no to that?

  “Can I snack while you cook?” I ask, as he chops through celery surprisingly quickly.

  “Sure.” He passes me a celery stalk. “Wine?”

  “Always.”

  He pours us each a glass of white, we clink our glasses together, and take a sip before he resumes chopping and I munch my celery.

  “You feed me a lot.”

  “You’re a good eater.”

  I pause with the celery halfway to my mouth and frown at him.

  “What are you implying?”

  “That you eat well?” He asks with a shrug.

  I glance down at my small-ish chest and flat-ish stomach and then back at him. “Am I fat?”

  He busts out laughing, not breaking his stride in his chopping.

  “No, Kate. You’re not fat. You enjoy food. And in doing so, I enjoy watching you eat. I’d feed you every meal every day if I could.”

  Oh.

  “Can I have more celery?”

  He grins, passes me the celery, and kisses me soundly before pulling away to get back to work.

  Sitting here, watching him cook, is not
a hardship in the least.

  ***

  Dinner was delicious. Eli is just one big surprise after another. It’s amazing to me how normal he is. The whole family, really, and it shouldn’t, because I’ve been so close to Van and Dec for so many years, but this family is rich beyond my wildest dreams, yet they’re as grounded and down to earth as anyone else. There aren’t servants bustling about. Their cars are new and expensive, but no Aston Martin.

  And on a Sunday afternoon, I’m lying on the couch with this powerful man, who has the ear of governors and high-powered people, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise with ease and efficiency.

  He’s snuggling me, on his back, with me lying on his chest, watching some stupid movie on cable, while his fingertips glide up and down my bare arm, my shoulder, my neck and into my hair and back down again.

  If I could purr, I so would right now.

  “We have the whole house to ourselves, and you want to watch a movie?” I ask lazily. He plants his lips on my head, takes a deep breath, and hugs me tight before his fingers resume their trek over my skin.

  “Is there something else you’d rather do?”

  “Well…” I grin and kiss his heart, over his T-shirt, breathing him in. He smells good. Clean. A little citrusy. I shift my pelvis over his and feel him start to harden, and his fingers still on my shoulder. “Yes.”

  His fingers sink into my hair as I kiss down his torso, lifting his shirt as I go, and plant wet kisses over his flat, chiseled abdomen. His breathing speeds up, but he’s quiet; the only sounds are the TV and my lips smacking on his smooth, warm skin.

  I could kiss his stomach all day long.

  His T-shirt slips back down, and I frown up at him. “Can we dispose of this, please?”

  He sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it on the floor, and shuts the TV off before lying back down. “Better?”

  “Hmm.” I push up to kiss his lips, tug on the lower lip with my teeth, then work my way down his throat, chest, and back to his stomach, enjoying the ridges of the muscles there. “I thought the six-pack was a myth. Or the work of Photoshop.”

  “Not if you work your ass off for it,” he replies. His breath hitches when my tongue finds the groove of that V in his hips and trace it down to where it disappears into his jeans. I make quick work of the button and zipper, and smile when I see he’s not wearing underwear.