Make You Mine (9 page)

Because that’s what would happen.

The concept of happily-ever-after was like finding sunken treasure at the bottom of the ocean—sure, he’d heard stories about it, but he’d never actually seen it happen.

“I know what I’m missing.” He took her hand from his face and placed it on her thigh.

With a shake of her head, Allie laced her fingers between his. The intensity behind that one innocent gesture sent an electric pulse buzzing along his flesh like a completed circuit—energy flowing in a circle back to where it belonged.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “Not yet.”

Using her free hand, she grasped his tie and pulled him in for a gentle kiss, a taunting sweep of lips that obliterated his control and had him instantly falling into her arms. She ran her tongue lightly along his bottom lip and inched away, forcing him to chase her mouth, to admit to both of them how badly he craved her touch. He hated himself for his weakness, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping an arm around her waist to draw her as near as she could get.

With Allie’s mouth moving in sync with his own, the world fell away. There was no
Belle,
no staircase, no river, only the intoxicating press of her wet lips and the luscious taste of her on his tongue. He gave himself up to the swell of longing that radiated from deep within, devouring her mouth and taking as much as he could get. But no matter how tightly he crushed her to his chest, it wasn’t enough. On an instinctive level, he knew one time with Allie would never be enough.

This was different from their last kiss—every bit as scorching but bigger somehow. Like he’d taken a piece of Allie and left a slice of himself with her in return. It was a foreign experience for him, equal parts wondrous and frightening, but as the seconds passed, the fear began to outweigh the pleasure. The sensations were too much.

He pulled back to escape the intensity, breaking their kiss but keeping his eyes closed to trap a bit of her inside him. When he opened his eyes, Allie was watching him from beneath heavy lids. The loaded smile that curved her lips made him grin in return.

“What?” he asked.

She untangled their fingers and used the stair rail to stand, then brushed off her backside. “Nothing.” Nodding toward the next landing, she said, “I’d better go change. After all, I’m back on the clock, and there’s all that hygiene to consider.” Then she left him to admire the gorgeous curve of her legs as she climbed the stairs.

“We’ve got to stop doing this, you know,” he called after her.

He couldn’t quite hear her response, but it sounded like, “You’ll be back.”

And, yeah, he probably would be. It took all his control not to dash up the stairs after her.

Marc leaned to the side and shamelessly peeked up her dress before returning to his duties. He didn’t know what to do about Allie, but he couldn’t wipe the dopey expression off his face. It was still slanting his mouth when he returned to the galley.

Beau glanced up from his cutting board and gave Marc a smirking once-over. “So, did you set her straight, Captain?” The sarcasm in his voice could cut steel. “Show her who’s boss?”

“Very funny.” Refusing to be baited, Marc pulled a bottled water from the fridge. He unscrewed the top and chugged a few gulps, then leaned against the counter near Allie’s workstation. “I’m here to set
you
straight before she gets back.”

“Me?” Beau quit dicing onions and pointed the knife at himself. “What’d I do?”

Marc cocked his head and gave him the
don’t be obtuse
look. “I saw you hanging all over Allie and Ella-Claire when you came aboard.”

One corner of Beau’s mouth lifted. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah,” Marc said flatly. “That.”

Shrugging, Beau returned to his work. “What can I say? I’m an affectionate kind of guy.”

“Affectionate, my ass.” Marc darted a glance out the open door to make sure nobody was within earshot. He lowered his voice to deliver a stern warning. “Just remember you’re here to scramble the eggs, not fertilize ’em.”

Apparently, Beau thought that was the funniest damn thing he’d ever heard, because he broke into a heaving guffaw. He tossed down his knife and clutched his belly and doubled over, the annoying jackass. His braying reverberated off the walls, prompting Marc to close the galley door.

“Yuk it up all you want,” Marc said, scooting aside the canister of flour that doubled as a doorstop. “I’m not screwing around.”

“Shit, man.” Using a handful of his T-shirt, Beau blotted his watery eyes. “You gotta warn me next time you drop a one-liner like that. I could’ve lost a finger.”

Speaking of fingers, Marc raised an extra-special one at his brother to send a message not even
he
could misinterpret. “Keep your fly zipped. Or I might not wait for the next port to kick you off the boat.”

“Keep it zipped, huh?” Beau folded his massive arms over his equally massive chest and stared down his nose at Marc. “You gonna follow your own orders, Captain?”

“Of course I am,” Marc said. And since he’d never technically unzipped around Allie, it was true. “This is business.”

“Uh-huh.” Beau’s tone made it clear he didn’t buy what Marc was selling. He tapped an index finger against the corner of his lips. “You’ve got something right here. I’m no expert, but I think it’s lipstick.”

Marc scrubbed a fist against his mouth. When he pulled back his hand, Allie’s bright coral gloss stared back at him, proving his brother right.

Shit.

A low chuckle shook Beau’s chest. Nodding, he used his hand like a gun and fired it at Marc’s heated face. “Busted.”

“It’s not like that.”

“No? Were you trying on her makeup, then?” Beau immediately flashed a palm. “Not that there’s any shame in that. I don’t judge.”

Maybe Marc should make good on that promise to dump his brother overboard.

“I’ve been gone a while,” Beau said, “but I still know you up one side and down the other.” Retrieving his knife, he approached the cutting board, but ignored the onions in favor of studying Marc with a critical eye. “Never seen you like this before, though.”

Marc knew he should let it go, but curiosity took control of his vocal cords. “Like what, exactly?”

“Whipped.” A satisfied grin unfurled across Beau’s lips. “Harder than a rented mule.”

“Bullshit,” Marc said with a dismissive wave. He wanted Allie—no use lying to himself—but that didn’t mean he was pussy whipped. It was attraction, plain and simple. “Maybe all those years of playing football rattled your brain.”

“Hey, I took a few whacks to the noggin, but I can still tell Allie’s got you sprung.” Beau turned his gaze to the cutting board and began chopping onions at the speed of sound. “I get it, little brother,” Beau went on. “Those Mauvais women have a way of sneaking inside your head when you’re not looking, then digging in and never letting go.” His blade never slowed, but Beau’s voice took on a softer tone—one that sounded an awful lot like regret. “I’d know.”

Marc dipped his chin in shock. “You mean Devyn? I thought she was a fling.”

Beau huffed a dry laugh. “So did I.”

“Wait a minute.” Marc shook his head skeptically, pointing his water bottle at his brother. “You’re telling me that Beau Dumont—the guy who
supposedly
lost his virginity to the Playmate of the Year—can’t get over Allie’s ice queen sister?”

“Hey, that totally happened,” Beau said, jabbing a finger at Marc. “I was big for my age, and Miss July thought I was eighteen.”

Marc rolled his eyes. Beau was still big for his age.

“And if Dev turned out prickly,” he continued, “it’s probably my fault, not hers. I screwed her over pretty hard.”

“Damn,” Marc swore under his breath.
Devyn Mauvais
. He’d have never guessed it. But the more Marc thought about his brother’s ill-fated fling, the more he began to wonder if they’d experienced any anomalies during their . . . well, private time. “So,” Marc began. “Did . . . uh . . .” He trailed off, drawing a sudden blank.

“
Did uh
what?” Beau asked.

What was Marc supposed to say?
Did the bed catch fire the first time you touched her? Was Pawpaw right—did your junk fall off afterward? Did you break out in boils south of the border?
Each question on Marc’s tongue sounded more absurd than the last.

“The old legend,” he finally said. “About the hex on our family . . .”

“What about it?”

Marc studied his shoes. “Did you ever get the feeling it was real?”

Beau didn’t answer at first, but once he’d finished dicing his onion, he set down his knife and huffed a sigh. “Honestly? Yeah, I did.”

“Really?” Marc asked. “Why?”

“Can’t say for sure.” Beau lifted a shoulder. “It seemed like something was keeping me from getting too close, like an emotional fence. Or hell, maybe I was just wasn’t ready. But I do know one thing.”

Marc nodded for him to go on.

“If I get another chance, I won’t quit so easily.” Beau grabbed another onion and picked up his knife. “I’ll go after what I want, curse or no curse.”

The response didn’t alleviate Marc’s confusion, but he felt relieved knowing that Pawpaw had exaggerated the consequences of tangling with a Mauvais. If nothing else, at least his manhood was safe.

“But it’s different for you,” Beau added. “I’m not in charge of the family business, and Dev isn’t my employee. You’ve got no place chasing Allie’s skirt.”

Marc jerked his gaze to Beau’s while his blood pressure hitched up a notch. Less than an hour on board, and already the pissing contest had begun. He should have known better than to assume they could have a peaceful conversation about women.

“No, you’re not in charge,” Marc agreed. “So go ahead and get that through your thick skull before we go any farther.”

Beau snorted in derision. “I heard about the jazz singer.”

“Yeah?” Marc said. “Then you probably heard I never laid a hand on her. That was Alex and Nicky’s doing.”

“What do you expect from two horny college kids, especially when you set the example for them? You’re captain now. It’s time to—”

“That’s what this is
really
about, isn’t it?” Marc interrupted. “That Daddy made me captain and not you.”

Beau scoffed. “I don’t want your job.”

“Of course you don’t—that would require you to stick around.” Marc made a noise of contempt. “You want to give the orders and leave the work to the rest of us. Well, we’ve got it covered. Just do your job, and I’ll cut your paycheck. Then you can disappear again.”

Beau gritted his teeth and fell silent, but the redness rising into his face said that Marc had plucked a nerve. Good. It was about time someone took him down a peg.

But despite that, Marc couldn’t take pleasure in delivering the perfect blow. If anything, he felt worse than before. He must be going soft.

The galley door swung open, and Allie drifted inside wearing a pair of hip-hugging khaki pants and a boob-hugging staff polo shirt.

She stopped short at the sight of Marc, probably wondering why he was in the galley instead of the casino, where he belonged. The Texas Hold’em tournament would begin soon, and if his head were screwed on right, he’d be helping Nicky with the last-minute preparations, not frozen in place and mentally undressing her.

“I should go,” Marc said, more to her than to Beau. “The tourney starts in a few hours.” But despite that fact, he couldn’t seem to leave the kitchen. “Lots of loose ends to tie up.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, stopping to brush past him, never mind the six square feet of open space between Marc and her workstation. Her pink nails skimmed across his chest, leaving behind chills everywhere she touched. “And I need to make dessert.” She peeked up at him, her lips still slightly swollen from their kiss. “I’m in the mood for something extra sinful—maybe a double-chocolate torte to add to the dessert buffet. What do you think?”

From nearby, Beau made a mock gagging sound. “Quit dancing around each other and shut up with that mess. I’ve got a weak stomach.”

This coming from the two-time Fried-Pickle Eating Champion.

But he had a point. It was time for Marc to clear his head of Allie’s perfume and see to the tournament. There was work to be done. No matter what his brother said, Marc wasn’t whipped. Not even close.

The
Belle
came first—she was the only lady in his future.

“So, did you take a three-hour tour on the SS
Manwhore
yet?”

Devyn’s acerbic voice sounded even sharper through the cell phone, but the effect brought a smile to Allie’s lips. She could picture her sister leaning against the back wall of the Sweet Spot, gripping one hip and glaring at any customers who dared to interrupt her call. But crankiness notwithstanding, Allie missed her sister like crazy. Growing up, she and Dev had been more than siblings. The avoidance of their superstitious classmates had made them best friends, too.

“Or,” Dev continued, “have you finally regained control of your brain?”

Allie kicked off her kitchen clogs and reclined on the bed. As soon as her body sank into the mattress, her back muscles groaned in relief, thankful for a moment’s reprieve after she’d spent all day on her feet. “I’m going to ignore that last question, since you’re running the shop for me and all.”

“That’s right. And don’t forget you’re making it up to me in Vegas. I’ve earned that vacay a dozen times over.”

“Is it that bad?” Maybe Allie should have checked in sooner. Dev had a good head on her shoulders, but she’d never run a business. “Did something happen?”

Dev snorted through the phone. “There’s a lot of
something
happening. I swear your job is giving me gray hair. Crow’s-feet, too.” She paused as if checking her reflection in the metallic shelf brackets near the phone. “But we’ll talk about that later. First things first—quit dodging my question. Did he hit it and quit it?”

“Dev!” Allie bolted upright in bed. A problem at the bakery—her livelihood and her dream—easily trumped sex talk. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

“You first.”

Allie made a frustrated noise and flung herself back onto a stack of pillows. “That’s emotional blackmail.” But she knew better than to attempt a battle of wills against her sister. Devyn was so stubborn, she could train a cat to bark.

“Fine,” Allie conceded. “The answer’s no.”

“What?”
Dev’s reply was loud enough to alert the whole French Quarter. “You haven’t banged him yet?”

“Shh!” Allie clamped a hand over the phone to muffle her sister’s voice. “Please tell me nobody’s in the store!”

She could practically hear the sound of Devyn’s eyes rolling. “We’re all grown-ups here.”

“Still!”

“So what’s the holdup?” Devin asked, totally nonplussed. “It’s not like he’s saving it for marriage.”

“Do we really have to talk about this?”

“Did I wake up before sunrise to carve up a ten-pound block of butter?”

Allie sighed. “At least tell me everything’s all right at the shop.”

“Everything’s all right at the shop,” Dev parroted.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie swear.”

“Okay. It’s the ‘curse.’” Allie used her free hand to make air quotes. “Marc won’t say so, but I can tell he’s afraid something will happen if we go any farther.” Then she told her sister about Chef Regale’s bed catching fire after Marc had kissed her . . . omitting the more torrid details of their romantic encounter. “And everyone thinks I did it because Regale sabotaged me in the galley.”

“Hmm,” Devyn mused. “Maybe you did.”

“Wha—” The accusation stung like a slap to the face. She thought Devyn knew her better than that. “You can’t be serious.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Dev clarified. “I know you’d never willingly hurt anyone. But you have Memère’s spirit watching over you. That’s more than enough to cause a reaction when someone like Regale does you dirty.”

“If that’s the case,” Allie argued, “then why hasn’t this happened before, like after last year’s hit-and-run? Why didn’t that pizza delivery guy’s engine explode when he totaled my front end?”

“Because you’re missing an important connection.”

“Being?”

“Marc Dumont,” Dev said as if the answer should be obvious. “He’s the one carrying around Memère’s curse, not the pimple-faced dick who hit your car. I think the bed igniting was a message from the spirits that you’re playing with fire.”

“Going for the literal interpretation, I see.”

“I’m serious. Look, I know you’re hot for this guy, but he’s going to hurt you.” Dev paused to let her words sink in. “You understand that, right? He’s never been faithful—no Dumont man has. This can’t end well.”

That wasn’t wholly true. Marc had never committed to a woman, so by default, he’d never been
un
faithful. But since that point wouldn’t help win her argument, Allie kept it to herself. “I hear you, really I do, but there’s more to him than you think.”

A noise of disagreement echoed through the phone.

“No, really,” Allie insisted. “His daddy’s lying and cheating twisted Marc’s whole perception of relationships. He doesn’t believe in love because he’s never seen it. Deep down, he’s a good man.” And before Devyn could issue another sarcastic grunt, Allie told her about how Marc had barely eaten or slept the past two days because the poker tournament had run longer than expected. He’d divided his time between the pilothouse, the casino, and the purser’s desk. And every night without fail, he put on his most charming smile for the guests in the dining room, making sure to greet each table. “He could’ve pushed the responsibilities onto his staff, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“So he can’t delegate,” Dev said. “Color me unimpressed.”

“You’re not listening. He’s invested in the
Belle,
not because it’s easy money, but because it’s keeping his whole family together.” Which was something Marc had missed during his childhood. If it weren’t for the boat, he and his brothers would barely know one another. “We take it for granted that Mama and Daddy loved each other, but their example set the foundation for the rest of our lives.”

Dev softened a little at the mention of their parents. She released a nostalgic sigh. “Remember how he’d have tulips delivered the first Friday of every month?”

“To celebrate the day they met.” Allie felt a pull at her stomach. The deliveries had continued after her parents died together in a car accident. One of the saddest moments of Allie’s life was calling the florist to cancel Daddy’s long-standing order. “He loved her so hard.”

“And she felt the same way.”

“But imagine how different it could have been,” Allie said. “If Daddy had knocked up some other woman and left us for a new family, maybe we’d act like the Dumonts. Then people would call us cursed.”

“Some already do.”

“You’re missing the point again.”

“No, I get it.” Dev lowered her voice in a reluctant concession. “But knowing
why
the Dumonts are messed up doesn’t change the fact that they’re messed up. It’s just a matter of time before Marc lets you down, just like Beau did to me.”

“Not necessarily.” Not if Allie could reshape Marc’s way of thinking—show him how it felt to trust and be trusted in return. In essence, show him what he’d been missing all these years. “I don’t think he’s damaged beyond repair. And if it doesn’t work out . . . well, a broken heart never killed anyone.”

“I’ll remind you of that in Vegas when you’re crying in your poolside margarita.”

“I’m sure you will.” And since Dev had mentioned her ex, Allie figured she should rip off the Band-Aid and warn her of his sudden reappearance. “Hey, speaking of Beau . . .”

“That’s twice too many times I’ve heard his name today.”

“Sorry, baby, but he’s back. He finished his enlistment with the marines, and Marc hired him to replace Regale in the galley. I thought you’d want to know. It’s just a matter of time before he shows up in Cedar Bayou or New Orleans.” She braced herself for a tirade of obscenities, but the long silence that ensued prompted Allie to check the cell phone connection to make sure the line hadn’t disconnected. “You still there?” she asked.

“We’ve been bombarded in the shop,” Devyn finally said, shutting down like a liquor store on Sunday. “Apparently, your desserts are a hit with the passengers on that floating garbage heap. They’ve been calling and texting home to rave about your crème puffs, and now we can’t keep up with the orders.”

Allie wanted to press her sister to talk about Beau, but all thoughts of the man vanished, replaced by a hopeful tickle inside her chest. “Are you serious? That’s fantastic!”

“Psh,” Devyn said. “Fantastic for
you
. I had to hire three temps to help out. I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to.”

“You’re the best,” Allie told her sister. “Just keep thinking of Vegas.”

“For all the sleep I’ve sacrificed, you should hire me a stripper. One of those beefy cowboys whose chaps rip off with one tug.”

“For you, I’ll hire a whole posse.” Before Allie could offer to throw in a bonus construction worker, her cell phone chirped to announce a text message. Glancing at the screen, she recognized the number to the Natchez fire department. “Gotta go. But thanks for holding down the fort. I owe you, big.”

Dev grumbled, “It’s a good thing I love you,” and disconnected.

“Love you too, baby,” Allie said into empty space. She tapped her cell phone screen, and it rewarded her with the message she’d been waiting for.

Hey, Allie. RE: the mobile device you supplied, it’s possible that a faulty battery overheated and ignited the bedspread, resulting in a fire. But please note that without examining all the evidence, we cannot officially
 . . .

That was all Allie needed to hear.

She pumped a fist in the air and hopped off the bed to slip on her shoes. Finally she had proof that otherworldly forces had nothing to do with Regale’s fire, and she couldn’t wait to show Marc, even if it
was
ten o’clock at night. She tucked her phone in the back pocket of her jean skirt and headed for the door. When she slung it open, she stopped short at the sight of a gleaming nose ring.

Mrs. Gibson stood at the door with her knuckles poised to knock. The woman jumped in shock and pressed a hand over her heart. “How’d you know I was here?” she asked. “I didn’t have a chance to knock yet.”

Allie released a shaky laugh. “I didn’t. I was on my way downstairs.”

“Oh, well, I won’t keep you.” The woman lifted an old hardback Bible for show. “I just wanted to share something real quick.”

Allie hoped Mrs. Gibson wasn’t one of those missionary types. “Thanks, hon, but I’m Catholic. My soul’s already spoken for.”

“Nothing like that,” she assured Allie. “I found this Bible in our nightstand drawer. Usually I don’t notice them when I travel, but I felt prompted to pick it up, and look what I found.”

She opened the faded cover and showed Allie an inscription on the inside. In beautiful handwritten script, it read
May those who seek comfort find it here. —E McMasterson,
North River Steamer
.

Allie didn’t see the connection. She looked to Mrs. Gibson for understanding.

“That was my grandfather,” the woman explained, her eyes welling with happy tears. “I don’t know how it ended up here, but this belonged on his riverboat. If we hadn’t lost the honeymoon suite and been reassigned to a different room, I never would’ve found it.”

Allie felt her cheeks break into a warm smile. “See? I told you there are no accidents. This is a message of comfort from your grandfather’s spirit.”

Mrs. Gibson hugged the book to her chest. “Do you think the captain would mind if I took it home with me?”

“Not one bit,” Allie said. “That’s a gift, and it belongs with you. I’ll replace it myself if I have to.” Stepping into her room, she bent to reach into her backpack and pulled free a gris-gris bag for love and luck. “Here,” she said with a wink, handing the sachet to Mrs. Gibson. “Now get back to your room and enjoy that sweet husband of yours.”

After sharing a quick hug, they walked together until they reached the stairwell and parted ways. Allie jogged down the stairs to the casino, figuring that’s where Marc would be. She was right. She found him alone with Nick in the dimly lit room, the tops of their heads illuminated by a lone spotlight above the bar.

Marc had let down his hair and pulled off his tie, which rested atop a nearby barstool along with his captain’s hat and jacket. He grinned at his brother while clinking his glass in a toast. When he tipped back his cola, a visible patch of tanned skin at the base of his throat shifted, trapping Allie’s gaze for several long beats.

She couldn’t stop imagining how his skin might taste beneath her lips or how he’d smell of sunshine and shaving cream. But more than that, she loved seeing him relaxed and happy for once. It lifted the corners of her mouth as she strode toward the bar.

“I take it the tournament went well,” she called across the open room.

Nick whipped his head around and gave her a smile, then pointed behind her to the door. “Hey, Allie. Lock that, will you? We’re closed till morning.”

She spun on her heel and did as he asked. By the time she reached the bar, Nick had poured her a shot of something she couldn’t identify in the dim lighting. Marc pushed out a stool for her and grabbed a nearby bowl of lime wedges.

“Tequila,” Marc said with a mischievous grin.

Allie lifted a palm. “No, no, no. That’s my kryptonite. A few shots of that and I start leaking IQ points out my ears. There might even be table dancing.”

In response, Nick quickly procured a bowl of salt.

“C’mon, Allie-Cat,” Marc said. “Celebrate with us. The tourney from hell is finally over.”

She nodded at his glass of cola. “Why aren’t you partaking?”

“Because I have to stay sober enough to pilot the boat in case of an emergency,” he said. “You and Nicky don’t.”

“Go ahead, darlin’.” Nick tipped aside his blond head and pointed to the spot below his ear. “I’ll even let you lick salt off my neck.”

Allie didn’t have to tell him
thanks but no, thanks
. Marc did it for her in the form of a peanut hurled at his brother’s head. After deftly batting aside the tiny missile, Nick hopped down from his barstool and backed toward the door.

“I know when I’m not wanted,” Nick teased. “I’ll leave you two alone . . . so you can find more interesting places to sprinkle that salt.”

This time it was Allie who pegged him with a peanut. He took the abuse with a grin and vanished out the doors, locking the handles behind him.