Slow Heat in Heaven (38 page)

He smiled pleasantly. "You see, I'm gay."

"That wasn't very kind."

Schyler was leaning against the corner pillar of the veranda. Her hands were folded behind her lower back. The balmly breeze blew against her, molding the soft dress to her body. Fair strands of hair stirred against her cheeks.

The night was almost as beautiful as the woman. The sky was studded with brilliant stars. The moon limned the branches of the live oaks with silver light. The orchestra of insects had tuned up and was in full swing. Floral scents hung heavily in the sultry air.

"What she was doing to you wasn't very kind either." Mark was lounging in one of the fan-back wicker chairs. He'd been appreciating a snifter of brandy for the last half hour. He now drained it and set it on the small round table at his elbow. "You know that it's not like me to be unkind. I couldn't help myself. I stood it for as long as I could. Tricia deserved to be taken down a peg for what she was doing to you."

"Which was?"

"Trying to steal me."

He was right. It was just painful for Schyler to admit it. She stared off into the distance. "You took her down more than a peg. You knocked the slats out from under her."

Mark raised his hands above his head and stretched, shoving his feet out in front of him at the same time. "That's probably why she flounced upstairs. The look she gave me was so venomous I should be dead by now. Your sister is a viper."

"You shouldn't say things like that about her to me."

"I refuse to apologize."

"As her husband, Ken should have jumped to her defense. Instead he laughed."

"Yes," Mark said wryly, drawing his long, elegant limbs back in. "Your brother-in-law was delighted by my announcement. Now he knows that I don't pose a threat."

"A threat?" Schyler's head came around. "To whom?"

"To him. Don't you realize that the man was eaten up with jealousy?"

"Over Tricia."

Mark's blond head reflected moonlight as he shook it. "Over you. He still loves you, Schyler."

"I don't think so." Pulling her hands from behind her, she made a dismissive gesture. "Maybe he thinks he still loves me, but I think what he feels is something else. I'm an anchor, something he needs to hold on to."

"Why? Is he slipping?"

Mark had intended that as a joke, but Schyler answered him seriously. "Yes, I think he is. At least he feels that he is. There's something
wrong . . .
no, that's too strong a word. There's something
not right
with Ken. I'm not sure what."

"I do." She glanced at him inquiringly. "He knows he made a grave error. He married the wrong woman. He has let Tricia and your father make all his decisions for him. His life isn't worth shit. That's hard for a man to take."

One of the things she had always admired about Mark was that he didn't mince words. Even when it hurt to be blunt, he was. "I think you're probably right," she said softly. "He's made several advances."

"Of a romantic nature?"

"Yes."

"How pathetic. What was your reaction?"

"I've warded them off, of course."

"On moral grounds?"

"Not entirely."

"Then you don't love him any longer?"

"No," she said sadly. "I don't. There wasn't so much as a spark when he touched me. I think I had to come back to realize it though."

"Want to know a secret?" He didn't wait for her reply. "I think you stopped loving him a long time ago, if you ever loved him at all."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was tempted, but you wouldn't have believed me. You had to find it out for yourself."

"I wasted so much time," she said with regret.

"I don't believe time is wasted when one is healing. You had a lot of healing to do. Does the brandy come with the room?" He nodded at the silver tray Mrs. Dunne had brought out bearing two snifters and a decanter.

"Please help yourself."

"You?"

"No thanks." Schyler watched him pour himself another drink. He took a sip, leaned his head back against the wicker and closed his eyes to fully appreciate the bouquet of the potent liquor. "Mark?" His eyes came open. "I believe what you said about Ken is right. But I hope you weren't obliquely referring to anyone else I know when you said his life isn't worth shit."

He smiled at her ruefully. "Live with a woman for six years and she thinks she knows you."

"I do know you."

He held up the snifter and studied the moon through its amber contents. "Perhaps you do."

"I recognize the melancholia."

"Don't be too alarmed. You know I go through these phases periodically. They're almost as regular as your menstrual cycle. I'll get over this funk in a day or two. In the meantime I'll wallow in self-pity. I'll wonder why I didn't let my parents go on deluding themselves that I was straight and marry the woman they had chosen for me. Everyone would have been much happier."

"No one would have been happier, Mark. Especially not the woman. You couldn't have fooled her for long. And certainly not you. As honest as you are with everyone, including yourself, you would have been miserable living a lie."

"But my mother and father would have been happy. They wouldn't have looked at their only son and heir with horror and disgust."

Schyler's heart ached for him. He'd been banished by his parents, who maintained a high profile among Boston's elite. That their son was gay had been an abomination, something untenable. Like a malignancy, they had cut him out of their lives.

"Have you heard from them recently?"

"No, of course not," he said, draining the snifter for the second time. "But that's not why I'm melancholy."

"Oh?"

"No. I'm depressed over losing my roommate."

Schyler smiled wanly and ducked her head. "How did you know?"

Mark left his chair and came to stand in front of her. He laid his hands against her cheeks. "My analogy comparing you to a hothouse orchid was outrageously poetic, but accurate, I believe. You've flourished here, Schyler." He gazed around him, taking in the density of the night. "This is where you belong."

She sighed deeply. "I know. For all its drawbacks, I love it." Tears formed in her eyes. "The ratty little town, the narrow-minded people, the forests, the bayous, the smell of the earth, the humidity and heat. Belle Terre. I love it."

He hugged her hard, pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder. "God, don't apologize for it. Stay here, Schyler, and be happy."

"But I'll miss you."

"Not for long."

"Always."

He tilted her head away from him and wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. "When we met we were emotional cripples. Whether you had come home or not, I'm not sure it was healthy for us to go on depending on each other for support and safekeeping. We had a mutually beneficial arrangement. You didn't have to fight off unwelcomed attention from men. I hid my homosexuality behind your skirts. Most married couples aren't as good friends as we are." His smile was wistful. "But we can't go on living together indefinitely. You need more than that. You need more than I can give you." He leaned forward and whispered, "You need Belle Terre."

"It needs me, too."

She had kept him abreast of her tribulations because she knew he was genuinely interested. During their tour of the house, he had listened patiently while she brought him up to date.

"Tomorrow Daddy will be home. I'm delighted. But that means I'll be dividing my time between him and my work at the landing. I can't sacrifice one to the other. I want to include him on decisions so he doesn't feel useless, but I can't let him become too emotionally involved or he could suffer another attack. It'll be a real juggling act."

"You can handle it."

"Do you really think so?"

"I really think so." He combed his fingers through her hair. "When were you going to tell me that you were here to stay, Schyler?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure I knew for certain myself until you said that about losing your roommate. I guess my final decision was lying there in my subconscious, waiting for someone to pull it out."

"Hmm." He nodded thoughtfully. "Does your subconscious decision to stay have anything to do with the cigarette?"

"The cigarette?"

He hitched his chin in the direction of the woods beyond the yard. "There's been one glowing out there for as long as we've been on the veranda."

Schyler whipped her head in that direction. "Cash," she whispered.

"Mr. Boudreaux," Mark said dryly. "His name pops up frequently in your conversation. I wonder if you realize how often it's, 'Cash says this,' or 'Cash does that.'"

She couldn't quite meet the amusement in his eyes, so she stared at the carefully knotted necktie at his throat. "It's not what you think. It's very complicated."

"It usually is, love."

"No, Mark, it's more than just boy-girl games.
He's. . ."

"Wrong for you."

"That's an understatement."

"His reputation with women is dubious."

"Not dubious at all. It's definite. Quite definite. He nails everything that moves."

"Is that a quote?"

"Roughly."

"I thought so. It didn't sound like you."

"It's not only that Cash is a womanizer. He's—"

"From the wrong side of the tracks. In this case, the wrong side of the bayou."

"I'm not a snob," she said defensively.

"But most people are," he reminded her gently. "And, after all, you're a Crandall from Belle Terre. What would people think?"

"It's not even as simple as that. I've never given too much thought to what other people think. Mama did. Cotton was just the opposite. He never gave a flying—I'll skip that quote." Mark laughed and it was good to hear his laughter. Shrugging, smiling, she said, "I guess I fall somewhere in between them. I don't really care what people think, but I feel a responsibility to Belle Terre to keep us respectable."

"You're getting off the subject. What about Cash Boudreaux?"

"I don't know.
He's. . . It's. . ."
She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "So damned confusing. I don't trust him and
yet. . ."

"You lust for him."

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She'd never been able to lie to Mark. She couldn't even stretch the truth. His bald honesty with himself demanded honesty from everyone else. "Yes," she confessed softly. "I lust for him."

Mark embraced her. "Good. I'm glad. A case of raw lust is going to be very healthy for you." Chuckling, he added, "This is going to be interesting to watch, even from afar." He kissed her temple, then her lips. "Be happy, Schyler."

He released her and moved across the veranda toward the screen door. "Don't bother showing me upstairs. I know the way. Forgive me for abandoning you tonight, but
I
'm exhausted. The flight and all." He blew her a kiss, then stepped inside.

Schyler remained where she was, staring at the empty doorway. After several moments, she turned, still keeping contact with the pillar, and looked out across the lawn.

The red glow of a cigarette winked at her.

She was down the steps and walking through the damp, cool grass before she even realized the fluted column was no longer supporting her. It seemed to take forever for her to reach the woods, but then before she could prepare herself for it, she brushed aside a clump of crepe myrtle blooms and came face-to-face with Cash. He tossed down his cigarette and ground it to powder with the toe of his boot.

"What are you doing skulking around out here in the dark?" Schyler angrily demanded. "If you were spying on me, why—"

"Shut up."

He took her jaw between his hard fingers, backed her into the trunk of a pine, and forced her lips to open beneath his kiss. His tongue arrowed toward the back of her throat as his lips rubbed kiss after hot kiss upon here. Her arms went up around his neck. She drove her fingers through his hair and held his head fast. He released her jaw and moved
both hands up and down her body, touching as much of her as he could.

He tore his mouth free and locked his lustful gaze with hers. Their breaths made a thrashing sound in the dark stillness.

"Goddamn you, say you want me."

Schyler moistened her swollen, vandalized lips. "I want you. That's why I'm here."

He enclosed her wrist in the circle of his fingers and dragged her deeper into the forest. She stumbled along behind him, half laughing, half crying. She wasn't frightened. Her heart was churning with exhilaration, not fear. She didn't feel a sense of being dragged away from everything that was familiar and safe, but rather toward something that was new and exciting. And though he had her wrist imprisoned in his grasp, she felt free and unfettered.

He took her to the place on the bayou where he'd treated the dog bites a few weeks earlier. The same lantern was there, die same pirogue.

"Get in."

She stepped into the small boat and unsteadily lowered herself onto the seat. Cash pushed the boat away from the bank and stepped into it in one fluid motion. Taking up the long pole, he moved the pirogue through the shallow, murky waters by pushing along the bottom with the pole.

He stood in the prow, never taking his eyes off of Schyler. His silhouette looked large and dangerous and dark against the moonlit sky. The moon played in and among the trees that lined the bank, so that the surrounding forest was a constantly shifting pattern of light and shadow. The waters of the bayou swished pleasantly against the pirogue. Bullfrogs croaked from their natural barges and night birds called to each other.

"Why did you leave him and come to me?"

"Mark?"

"Did you break it off with him?"

"There was nothing to break off."

"You could get hurt playing me for a fool, Schyler."

She didn't doubt that for an instant. "Mark is gay. Our living arrangement was purely platonic."

He didn't laugh. He didn't accuse her of lying. He didn't express disbelief.

She would have expected any of those reactions. He said nothing, and only continued to help the slow-moving current by applying the pole to the muddy bottom of the bayou.

Sometimes the channel was so narrow that tree branches interlaced above them and formed a canopy. The bayou took twists and turns until Schyler lost all sense of direction. Even the moon seemed to change position in the sky.

She experienced sights and sounds and smells that she had never experienced before. The air felt different, still, but teeming with energy, with life unseen. It was an alien world, Cash's world. He was lord of it, so she wasn't afraid.

At last the pirogue nosed against the bank. He stepped out and dragged it to more solid ground. Dropping the pole, he reached for Schyler's hand and helped her alight. Carrying the lantern in his free hand, he led her up the incline toward his house.

They entered through the screened porch. He set the lantern on his bedside table and turned to face her. For endless moments they said nothing, just stood there, staring at each other, feeling apprehensive about what was about to happen.

Moving simultaneously, they fell on each other hungrily. His fingers sank into her hair and folded around her scalp. He angled her head back and kissed her mouth, then her throat, then her mouth again. In between those explicit kisses, he murmured even more explicit words. Some were spoken in the language of his mother's ancestors. If the words were indistinguishable, his inflection was easily understood. Schyler responded to the sexual dialect, demonstrating her willingness by arching her body against his.

The fabric of her dress was so soft, so sheer, that it seemed as insubstantial as cotton candy against the hard, demanding toughness of his body. Schyler wanted to be wrapped in his virility.

His kisses gentled. He moved his tongue in and out of
her mouth with deliberate leisure, savoring each nuance, the sleek texture, the sweet taste.

"Last time, you didn't know what hit you," he said gruffly. "This time, lady, I want you buzzing."

"I'm already buzzing." She gasped as his hands moved down the front of her dress. His palms were hot. They seemed to melt the fabric.

He looked down at her and smiled. "Good. That's good." He bent his head and kissed her mouth again. He reached for her buttons. Ending the kiss, his eyes followed the movements of his hands as he meticulously released each button from its hole. When they were all undone, he parted the bodice. Her demi-bra was pastel and floral and all for show. It seemed to disintegrate beneath his deft fingers.

And then her breasts were lying in his palms and his thumbs were sweeping back and forth over their tips. "Cash." Softly crying his name, she placed her hands at either side of his waist as her body angled back.

He made small sounds of arousal and gratification as her nipples turned as hard and rosy as pink pearls against his brushing fingertips. He bent his head toward them and laved them quickly with his tongue. He drew one into his mouth and sucked firmly.

"I can't get enough," he groaned, flinging his head up. He pressed her face between his hands and glared down at her, his intense desire bordering on fury. "I can't get enough," he repeated before assaulting her mouth again.

Locked together they fell on the bed. He worked her dress down to her hips, then he tossed it over the bed. He took only an instant to visually admire her skimpy lingerie before helping her remove it.

When she was naked, he laid his hand on her belly and rubbed his calloused palm across it. He stroked the wedge of tight, blond curls. They ensnared his fingertips. Then he curved his strong dark hand around her breast.

Holding his stare, Schyler pulled his shirt out of his waistband and slid her hands beneath it. She combed her fingers through the thick curly pelt. His eyes narrowed with increasing passion. His breath made a whistling sound through his compressed lips.

With rapid, jerky motions, he ripped his shirt buttons out of their holes and shrugged his shirt off. The buckle of his belt required a little more dexterity. He cursed it numerous times before it and his jeans became unfastened. He quickly rolled to his back and, raising his hips off the bed, pushed the jeans down his thighs. He kicked free of them, sending his boots to the floor at the same time.

Naked, warm, and hard, he rolled on top of Schyler and pinned her hands on either side of her head. His kiss would have been ravishment had she not participated with equal ardor.

"I'll kill you if you're lying to me about him."

"I'm not. I swear I'm not."

"Then this is for me? You're hot for me?"

"Yes," she cried out.

Inching his way down, he kissed her neck and chest. She laid her hands on his shoulders and gripped them hard while he stimulated her breasts with his lips and tongue until her nipples were stiff. He kissed his way down her middle, nipping her lightly with his teeth. His tongue flicked over her navel until she was gasping for breath.

Then it became impossible to breathe at all because he planted a hot, wet kiss just above her pubic hair, kissing her so strongly that he drew her delicate skin against his front teeth and made a mark. Her reaction was electric and involuntary. Raising her knees, digging her heels into the mattress, she tilted her hips up and forward.

Cash slid his hands beneath her derriere, pressed his fingers into the supple flesh, and drew her against his open mouth. He ate her with gentle avidity, letting her know he derived as much pleasure from it as he gave. Mindless as she was, and drowning in sensation, Schyler realized that Cash wanted her in the most intimate way.

His tongue pressed high into the giving folds of her body, sliding in and out in a delicious tongue-fuck. When he allowed it to slip free, he made sharp, stabbing motions with it against that kernel of flesh that had become exposed.

She clutched his hair. "Stop. Stop. Cash. No." Her belly grew taut. Her throat and breasts grew flushed. She felt as if she were poised on the edge of a cliff, looking down.

"Come," he grated hoarsely. "I want you to. Come against my mouth."

She couldn't have stopped it if she had wanted to.

When the last wave receded and she opened her eyes, his face was bending close above hers. She saw herself reflected in the swirls of gray and green and gold in his eyes. She smiled tentatively.

"What?" He playfully nudged her belly with the smooth, velvety tip of his iron penis.

"I look thoroughly debauched."

He grinned. "You certainly do." Then he sobered as his eyes wandered over her face. It was rosy and dewy with perspiration. Her lips were full and moist and slightly battered from his kiss and her own teeth. "You look beautiful."

He wasn't a man who handed out compliments frequently, if at all. Schyler had the feeling that he'd never told another woman feat she was beautiful, at least not after he had succeeded in getting her in bed.

Her eyes turned smoky wife fee thought. Moving her fingers over his chest she said, "I think you're beautiful, too." She drew his head down and kissed his lips, licking fee taste of herself off them.

Cash, hissing in sexual agony, caught her hand. He carried it down between their bodies and filled it with his erection. "Hold me. Squeeze me. Tight." He said the last word between clenched teeth, because her hand was already caressing fee smooth, thick shaft. She discovered a drop of moisture on the very tip and spread it in and around fee cleft.

Chanting love words, swear words, Cash reached between their bodies and separated fee moist lips of her sex with his fingers. He planted himself so solidly inside of her feat their body hair meshed.

He whispered, "You're tighter than a fist. Wetter than a mouth."

She massaged him with the walls of her body, contracting and releasing her muscles in an undulating motion that reduced him to a whimpering, quivering male animal, defeated by his own superb sexuality.

"Damn you," he breathed as he began to stroke her harder. "Damn you."

Again and again he delved into her body. Each time he almost withdrew, stretching and opening to give them ultimate sensation when he sank back into her. Schyler arched up to meet each deep thrust. Soon her choppy breathing matched his. When climax was imminent, they clung together and helplessly surrendered to each other, and to the rampant desire that neither wanted.