BornontheBayou (3 page)

Jace wrenched open his car door and leapt out, heading for
the couple.

Rebennac glanced at him and sneered. “Cain’t you see we’re
busy? Fuck off, you bastard. You never belonged here and you never will.” He
was big, but Jace had learned some tricks since the big man had last turned him
into a bloody pulp.

As long as Rebennac was looking at him, he wasn’t messing
with Beverley. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Don’t care how you take it. Me and the little lady are just
having some fun. Ain’t we, sugar?” He released her arm, only to grip her jaw
and grind his lips against hers. She struggled and bucked against him.

Rebennac pulled his hand away and clamped it over her mouth.
She reached up, clawed at his back, but he only laughed. “Regular wildcat,
ain’t we? Don’t worry, I’ll make it all good.”

“You?” Jace almost spat the word. “What would you know about
giving a woman a good time? You’re so useless you have to fight for it. Always
were, Rebennac. Always will be. Dick the size of a cricket, or so one of your
ex-girlfriends told me.” He took a step back, widened his stance. “You had a
lot of exes, didn’t you? Once was enough for most of them.”

That did the trick. With a yell of rage, Rebennac propelled
himself off the woman and toward Jace. Who was waiting, ready. He had time to
glance at Beverley, but he could see she wasn’t in a state to help herself.
He’d thought of tossing her his car keys and telling her to lock herself in,
but she was visibly shaking.

No more time to look at anything except the big, angry Cajun
coming his way. “I’ve whupped you before and by hell, I’ll do it again. You’re
always in the wrong place, Beauchene.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He was ready when Rebennac swung. He
knew the big man’s technique of old and he wasn’t surprised now. He’d learned,
but his opponent hadn’t.

He narrowed his eyes, waited until Rebennac had committed
himself to his punch and then leaned back so Rebennac swung through clear air.
When his opponent stumbled, Jace blocked the wilder left he swung and half
turned, bringing up his leg with a sharp kick to the knee. He acted faster than
the big Cajun, swinging around as Rebennac went down and bringing his arm up in
a swift, old-fashioned jab to the jaw.

Rebennac went down, hitting the tarmac hard and cursing, but
he didn’t black out. He came back up, spewing a stream of invective, but Jace
hadn’t kicked blindly at the knee, he’d aimed for the nerve and he’d hit it
right on target. With a yell, Rebennac went down again, his leg refusing to
support him. “What did you do, you motherfucker?”

“Learned how to fight,” he said. No way would he get beat up
like he had in his youth. The so-called rich kid, the one with the mother who
refused to socialize with the other moms, the one whose parents never showed up
to sports events or graduation ceremonies. Easy to bully, easy to upset. Well,
that didn’t happen anymore. It hadn’t for a while, so the depth of his fury now
startled him. “You’ll be okay. In a while. Be thankful I didn’t break it.”

Rebennac cried out in agony as he got to his feet but he managed
it. Jace knew exactly what he’d done. A little knock, that was all. Who’d have
thought that the biggest bully in school would go down like a stone? Not used
to being hurt, only used to hurting. Jace had aimed for a nerve, but that would
soon pass, and a man could easily fight through that level of pain.

But not this one. Casting a vicious glance at Beverley, now
standing by the side of the road buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers,
Rebennac headed for his car, getting in and slamming the door.

He took off like the proverbial bat out of hell, screaming
his car to within an inch of Jace’s Ferrari. Jace almost hoped he’d scrape it,
because he would only have to pay for repairs to the rented Ferrari, and he’d
bet that the red beast was Rebennac’s pride and joy. The man deserved some
agony. More agony.

Jace wished he’d hit the bastard harder, but he’d expected a
proper fight, had expected to get in more kicks and punches. The schoolyard
weakling wasn’t supposed to fight back, even when the weakling had grown into a
reasonably fit man. Maybe Rebennac thought that with Jace’s profession, he was
surrounded by wusses. Fuck, sometimes he wished he was.

Putting his disappointment aside, he turned to the person
who needed him. Only to find her watching him with black anger in her gaze. “So
now, not only do I not have a job, I don’t have clothes.” She bent and picked
up a crushed leather bag, shook it and sighed. After opening it, she dipped
inside with finger and thumb and picked out a shard of broken mirror. She
dropped it back in. “Seven years’ bad luck. That sounds about right.”

He cleared his throat. “Not yours. Gaston Rebennac’s. He was
always a bully.”

“I got that when he stopped the car. But I had the situation
under control. Another minute and I’d have had my knee in his balls.”

“He’d have had his hands in your panties.” He walked to his
car and leaned against the back.

She planted her hands on her hips. “How do you know I wasn’t
enjoying it?”

He hadn’t pegged her for a victim type, but a twinge of
doubt touched him. Did she enjoy rough trade? Not by the way she was still
shaking, despite her valiant attempts to conceal it. “He’s a rapist, not
because he needs to, but because he enjoys it. I know him.” He hesitated. “I
caught him once.” Another pause while she watched him, eyes widening very
slightly. “You enjoy it rough? Then find someone to indulge your fantasies
safely, don’t go for somebody like him. He has no control and he’ll hurt you.”

She took a step back, faltering when her heel hit the rough
grassland behind her. He went forward but she held up her hand, halting his
progress. “That man has taken off with everything I own. All I have now is my
passport and credit cards and a little money.” She paused and bit her lip in a
gesture he recognized as a tear-staller. “If you want to help, take me to the
airport.”

“You’re giving up?”

“I don’t have anything to stay for.” She shrugged. “I have
family and contacts back in London. Here, I don’t have anything.” She fixed him
with a hard stare. “Not even a job.”

His mouth tightened. “We’ll see about that.”

“I don’t want anything from you. You lost me that job in the
first place.”

He watched her, waited for the tears to fall but they
didn’t. He liked her for that. He knew she must be devastated, but she held her
shit together and glared at him with glistening eyes and dry cheeks. “Then it’s
up to me to make amends. I just want to do what’s right, not do you any favors.
Now I owe you a wardrobe. Get in.” No way would he leave her there, or at all
if he had any say. At the very least, he owed her some amends for such a shitty
day.

He opened the car door and waited, the air-conditioning
pouring out and cooling his growing need. Because he wanted her still. The rain
drizzled down, wetting that blouse, making her nipples even more prominent. He
wasn’t sure she knew, even now. “If you walk into the airport like that, you’ll
cause a riot.”

She straightened and he groaned, an involuntary sound but it
nevertheless caught her attention. “What are you talking about?”

“Look down. Really look.”

She did, and he saw the moment she noticed. With a squeak he
personally found more arousing, she folded her arms over her breasts. “I had no
idea this shirt got transparent when it was wet. It’s new, I never wore it
before.” Adorable confusion flushed her cheeks pink.

“It’s not just when it’s wet, cher,” he murmured. “I could
see that gorgeous bra earlier, clear as day.”

“Fuck, oh fuck.” She turned her back to him, then finished
the rotation, obviously realizing it was pointless hiding now. “So that’s why
Gaston made his move today. He must have taken it as an invitation.”

“No doubt. And you didn’t have him under control.” He
gestured at the still-open door of the car. “Come on. I’ll take you to town and
get you some stuff.”

She moved toward the car. “I should call for a cab or
something. It can’t be far back to the house.”

“Five miles. You were in a sports car, don’t forget.” And
about to get into another, if he had anything to do with it. He wouldn’t leave
her here, but he supposed that if she wanted a taxi, he’d wait until one
arrived. He smiled wryly. “It’s not often I’m the safest option.”

“But…” She moved her hands, waving them vaguely.

With an impatient gesture, he unbuttoned and stripped off
his shirt. “Here.” He tossed it to her.

Chapter Three

She stared at that expanse of bare chest. Weren’t rock stars
supposed to be pale and skinny? Not the words that came immediately to mind
when she saw what Jace Beauchene had been hiding under that seemingly
conservative shirt. At least it looked that way until she’d seen the dancing
skeleton on the back. Then she’d just thought “eccentric chef”.

A silver ring glinted in the rain-misted sunlight. Fuck,
there were two of them. Rings slotted through hard brown nipples, the tips
peaking as she stared at them. Wait, that was wrong, surely her nipples should
be doing that. Oh wait. Shit, they were. If she moved her hands he’d see.

She stared at him, drinking in the gorgeous sight. He had
ink on one arm, and she recognized it as a dragon with an open mouth, fangs
extended. It was drawn in black only, depicted in fine detail.

He laughed. “It’s my only tatt, but it continues down my
back.” Obligingly he turned. Clutching his shirt, she saw the dragon curling
its way down his spine, its wings furled, the end of its tail hidden below the
waistband of his pants. It was gorgeous, almost as if it would spring at her
from its captivity under his skin. “That’s amazing.”

“Thanks. I had it done around four years ago. I liked the
artist’s work.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “One day I’ll get the wings
done properly, over my shoulder blades.” He turned back to her. “Are you going
to let me see yours?”

As if she had any. She let her lip curl but didn’t reply.

She had no choice, she had to use his shirt. Although she tried
her best to cover up as fast as she could, his low chuckle told her he’d
noticed the state of her nipples. “Not that much of a Southern gentleman after
all?” she taunted, making her voice loud to push through the tremors
threatening to reveal her precarious state of mind.

“Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.” His voice lost the
teasing tone. “I promise you’re safer with me than with that bastard Rebennac.
Everything with me is consensual, Beverley.”

Her name dropped like a stone in a pond, delving deep—deeper,
more meaningful, reaching parts of her she hadn’t been aware of before. Her
name sounded so different when he said it, and it had nothing to do with his
accent. It sounded intimate, special, precious.

None of those words applied to her, never had.
Unaccountably, her anger, which had subsided, rose again but this time she was
aware of it and she forced it down. He didn’t deserve it, not for saying what
he did. All the other things, sure.

So yes, he should pay. He’d lost her the job and he’d wasted
her time, and then he’d rescued her, which made her anger worse. She didn’t
want to be beholden to him. Then he’d made Gaston drive off with her luggage.
Now she knew who he was, she realized he must have the money to buy her a few
things, and she couldn’t deny she needed them. She could use her credit cards
to buy them for herself, but why should she? That was one way to make him pay
and, she barely acknowledged, a way to spend more time with him. Because under
her anger lay fascination. She’d never met anyone like Jace Beauchene before.

She walked across to him and got into the car, trying not to
touch him. His hand brushed against her shoulder and he leaned across her. She
tensed. He fastened her seatbelt and withdrew, his knowing smile infuriating
her all over again.

He got in and started the engine. After glancing at her
face, he left her alone. She stared in front of her, avoiding looking at that
luscious body, although she couldn’t help noticing the rings glint as he turned
to smile at her. “Everything okay?”

Even that sounded provocative. Just her imagination, it had
to be.

By the time they reached Baton Rouge, she’d worked herself
into a nervous frenzy. She didn’t know how to handle this kind of person, and
who would have thought having a half-naked man next to her would work her into
this state? Shit, in her previous life she’d shared changing rooms with men she
wasn’t involved with, seen them in less and never felt a twinge, but this man
had some kind of aura about him that drew her into his orbit, however hard she
tried to resist.

Duh.
Rock star. She strained her memory to remember
him and his band. Of course she’d heard of Murder City Ravens, and she’d
listened to their music when it came on the radio, but they’d had a personnel
change recently and their musical style had changed. She’d read a bit about
him, but not much.

Music was something piped into restaurants and some
kitchens. It was what the trainees played on the radio when the other staff had
left them to stack the dishwashers and hand-wash the flatware and crystal. Not
the center of her life. To be honest, her life didn’t have a center right now.

Her ignorance had cost her dearly. If she’d recognized the
smooth-jawed man in the seemingly conservative black shirt and jeans as the
stubble-jawed, long-haired rocker, she’d have kept her job because she’d have
waited for Chaballet. By the time she’d seen the skeleton on the back of the
shirt and the hair brushed back off his face and forehead to rest on his neck
and back, she’d persuaded herself of his identity. And been wrong.

That error had cost her job. That was what annoyed her the
most. He might have led her on, might have decided, for whatever reason, that
he was going to make a fool of her, but if she’d done more research into him
and less into the reclusive chef, she might have got it right. But she’d had no
reason to do so. She’d assumed Jace would be out of the picture soon, since
he’d agreed to sell his interest in the house, so wasn’t worth more than a
cursory look. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself for that, and it infuriated
her.

Once she realized some of the fault had been hers, her anger
subsided a little bit. Nevertheless, he’d still led her on, thought it amusing
to take her away from her new job on the most important day of her new life.

Oh, but she’d waste his time. After all, he’d wasted hers,
hadn’t he? She’d try things on, reject them for one reason or another, give him
back a bit of what he’d given her. She wouldn’t take more than a pair of jeans
and a couple of T-shirts off him, maybe a couple of pairs of panties, enough to
get her back to London.

So she didn’t demur when he stopped in front of the best
department store in Baton Rouge. He grabbed something from behind his seat and
exited the car. She got out before he could walk around to her side, and she
could see he was doing that. Southern manners died hard.

He’d donned a worn leather jacket that looked like the
coolest garment nature ever created. The supple leather had molded to his body
shape, familiar creases blurring what looked like hand-drawn images. He tossed
the keys to a doorman, who grinned and touched his fingers to his hat. “How the
other half live,” she murmured.

She’d managed to get a rental car at the airport on her
arrival, but nothing like this one and it had gone back the week after she
arrived. Bell’s paid her a decent salary, but hotel management was notorious
for low wages and hers was no exception when compared to other industries.

He shot her an amused glance, then turned his attention to
the store’s elaborate façade. “Nice, ain’t it? My mother used to come here.”
She detected a bitter tone to his words that she didn’t understand. However,
when she added two to two, she soon got to four.

When Bell’s had bought into Great Oaks, the first thing
they’d had to do was structural repairs. It was a wonder the place hadn’t
fallen down on its own and the worst of the damage had occurred in the last
twenty years, when Mrs. Austin Beauchene had been in charge.

Despite not having the money for repairs, she’d shopped at
one of the costliest places in Baton Rouge. By the time Bell’s had taken over,
Mrs. Austin Beauchene’s personal belongings had been packed away. They remained
in neatly labeled packing cases in a small storeroom, waiting for her son to
claim them. He hadn’t seemed in any hurry to do so, but to do him justice, he
hadn’t had the time. Too busy making records, touring and partying with the
band. She’d read a little about the drug-addled orgies Murder City Ravens and
their ilk indulged in. And she recalled the news of one of the members going
into rehab a few years back. Was that Jace? Maybe he’d gone back to his old
ways, she thought, in a desperate effort to find something that would distance
her from him.

Was he addicted? She didn’t think so. She wasn’t so
sheltered that she didn’t recognize the pale-faced, glassy-eyed look. Some of
the kids at her high school had spent a lot of time scoring and consuming
drugs. She’d even tried a few of the milder varieties but they hadn’t impressed
her. Pot didn’t add anything to a brownie, it was all the other way about, as
far as she was concerned. What was the point of ruining good food when there
was fine wine in the world?

He glanced at her. “No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m not an addict. Not anymore.”

She blinked, shocked. “How did you know that’s what I was
thinking?”

He grinned but with little humor. “People get a look.
Calculating. Depends if they want the stuff or not, because everybody knows
where there are musicians there are drugs. One time, maybe. Not now.”

He reached for her hand and she didn’t resist, stunned by
his frankness and his ability to read her thoughts. One day she’d ask him. No
she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t meet him again unless he came to one of her parents’
restaurants to eat, and then she’d stay in the kitchen if she happened to be
present. He wouldn’t remember her other than as an embarrassment.

Despite those thoughts and her fierce denial, when they
connected, she shivered.

“Everything okay?” He sounded as if he actually cared.

Of course he did. He’d seen her nipples, as had all the
workers at Great Oaks that day. But at least he’d shown her his in return.

Nobody questioned the sight of a man with a naked chest and
leather jacket towing a woman in a see-through white blouse and a shirt three
sizes too big for her walking through one of the swankiest stores in the city.
In a moment she realized why. Women stared at him, eyebrows rising, but with
smiles curving their lips, mascaraed eyes fluttering.

That was another thing she’d lost. Her makeup. The rain must
have washed it away. She hadn’t dared use one of the tissues from her bag
because her mirror had shattered when Gaston had pulled the bag off her and
tossed it aside. Little shards of glass were everywhere, but she’d wiped the
black away from her eyes with her fingers and hoped for the best. Her hairstyle
had long gone too, and her hair straggled around her in damp tails.

In any case, nobody was staring at her. They gazed at him
with unabashed curiosity. A local celebrity. Looking as he had before, he might
have gotten away with strolling through the store, but not now, when he’d
chosen to dress so outrageously, displaying those gorgeous nipple rings. Or so
it must seem. Nobody could say the look didn’t suit him either. Close up, his
heat and sheer vitality overwhelmed her.

He didn’t hesitate but took her into the nearest elevator.
Three women already occupied it and they showed every indication of moving in
on Jace. One took a step forward and in this cramped space that meant she was
as close as Beverley to him.

Jace’s dark eyes widened and before the woman could speak,
he dragged Beverley close. She landed heavily against his chest and he brought
his mouth down on hers.

He destroyed her. First her analytical faculties stuttered
to a halt, then her sense of place followed it into oblivion. Her gasp when
he’d pulled her so hard meant her mouth fell open when he kissed her and he
took full advantage. His big hand spread over her bottom, cinching her close
against an impressive erection that pushed at his fly.

When he pushed his tongue into her mouth, she purred low in
her throat and caressed his tongue. She wanted him with a joy and willingness
she’d never known before. Fuck, what she’d been missing.

He drew back and smiled, his lips still damp. “Good?”

She nodded, unable to deny it.

Only one woman remained in the car. Just one. They must have
hit the fashion floor and gone past it. He loosed his hold on her. “We took the
scenic route.” He leaned forward and pressed the button for the second floor as
if they’d just been chatting. If he hadn’t kept her in front of him she’d have
doubted it happened. Except it had, and he was still erect.

She wanted him so, so much, for once in her life her body
taking the driver’s seat. He leaned closer. “Beverley, you’re a firecracker.”

Using all the discipline she’d acquired over the years,
Beverley walked out of the lift on the fashion floor with reasonable sangfroid,
glad she’d put on relatively low heels that morning. Chefs rarely admired
ultra-high heels, especially in industry professionals. Most insisted on
special shoes for the kitchen, and fined staff who failed to obey the edict.
After she’d left the kitchens, she’d bought one pair of high heels and loved
them. She didn’t have them now. Gaston Rebennac did. She hoped they’d suit him.

Remembering her resolve, she heard Jace talking to the
personal shopper who hurried forward to greet them. “My friend here lost her
luggage. Airlines are a bitch, aren’t they?” The woman agreed without a qualm.
It seemed unfair to blame an airline, however imaginary, but it was as good an
excuse as any. She readily agreed to outfit Beverley with anything she wanted
and took her into a lush suite of changing rooms.

The woman, “Call me Lucy,” turned out to be good at her job,
that job being to outfit Beverley in the way she thought Jace would like. Jace
turned down all attempts to send him away for an hour and said he’d wait to see
what she chose.

Lucy tutted at her bra, but left her underwear, giving
Beverley a cute T-shirt with “Rock me baby” emblazoned on it in bright pink and
a pair of jeans so tight that if they hadn’t had stretch built in, she’d never
have fitted into them. As it was, she had to suck her breath in to fasten the
button.