Roche liked seeing Bleu inside his offices.
He liked seeing Bleu anywhere—more than might be good for his health.
She knew he was watching every tiny move she made, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Like him, she was still wrestling with Spike’s announcement.
“Before you suggest I’m hanging out here because there’s nothing to do and I’m lazy,” Roche said, “I’ve been getting through paperwork.” And trying to figure out where we go from here.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said.
No, he didn’t. But she sounded defensive, and the set of her chin could mean she was thinking more than she was saying.
Once Spike left, Roche had insisted on putting the rusted bike into his waiting room, then locking all the doors in the building with the two of them inside. By the time he’d finished, she was eyeing him as if he could be the rapist she’d more or less accused him of being.
He’d dealt with plenty of anger, and he felt some brewing in Bleu. “You haven’t said much since we left Spike,” he said.
“Neither have you.”
“Bleu? Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She moistened her lips. “I guess I’m still thinking about what Spike said. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing someone tried to kill you.”
Roche thought about it. “I don’t think he tried that hard.”
“But what he did could have been enough.” She shook her head. “Spike said I got lucky. How can you say…What do you mean, you don’t think the guy tried that hard? He booby-trapped my car, then tried to make sure I ran out and got in it by torching the house.”
She had come to that conclusion all on her own, Roche thought. “That’s a new slant.”
“Who knows?” She flopped into one of the gray corduroy chairs in the waiting room. A single forefinger jabbed in his direction. “You asked me once if I was a quitter. I’m not, damn it. And I am sick of feeling pushed around. I didn’t come to Toussaint to find another way to be frightened.”
A wise man knew when to keep his mouth shut. But he admired her flash of anger and the courage she showed.
Bleu got up. “I’m getting a handle on my feelings. No one has to do anything they don’t want to do, just because of me.”
What, he wondered, was the “anything” she had in mind?
“From now on, I’ll deal with my own problems. So you can stop wasting time trying to help me. I know I’m a charity case for you, and that’s admirable. But I don’t need your charity.”
This wasn’t an argument he could either win or lose without feeling like a jerk.
“You heard what Spike told us,” she said. “He was playing it down, but I’m sure they’ve got an idea who the killer is. They’re going to get him, and they don’t want any civilians poking around in their turf before they do. I’m sure they’re watching him so closely, they have to cover their eyes when he goes to the lavatory.”
She paused and turned pink. “Why didn’t Spike tell us who it is?” Her voice quivered. “Then we’d know who to watch out for.”
“I don’t think Spike does know. That’s why he’s so edgy,” he said. “You’re overwrought.”
“I am not overwrought.”
But she was more than agitated. “I’d like you to lie down now.”
“I just bet you would.” Pink cheeks turned scarlet. “I mean, that’s the last condescending thing I’d better ever hear from you. You lie down if you need to.”
“I will, if you will.”
“This is serious.” She spread her arms and her eyes glittered. “I’m never like this. I’m a quiet woman. And it’s all your fault. Before I met you I don’t think I’d raised my voice to a man. And I had plenty of reason…”
Her arms fell to her sides and she lowered her eyelashes. “Good grief. Don’t take any notice of me. I’m a bit—I’m not myself. I had to push myself to come looking for you this morning.” She looked up at him. “I felt sick about the way I treated you last night. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, when I’ve only got rumors to go on. I don’t know if you’re a rapist or not.”
The next change in her color was even more interesting. Bleu became so white she almost matched her blouse.
“Forget it,” he said hurriedly. “We’re all strung out. I understood.”
“No, you didn’t. You stormed away in a rage. I could feel the electricity crackling around you.”
“You’re wrong. I was frustrated because I don’t have a way to prove my side of the story, but I wasn’t in a rage.”
Bleu paced away from him. “The woman you…the woman you were with, wouldn’t she speak for you? Not that it’s necessary to prove anything to me. I’m a good judge of character. But would she speak for you?”
“No.” Damn, he detested this subject. “She’s dead.”
Bleu faced him again, frowning. “That’s awful. Was she ill?”
“She died suddenly.”
“And you don’t like talking about it. Of course you don’t.”
“No.”
“So all you’ve got to back up your story is your reputation and your character.” Her sudden smile transformed her. “I’d say that’s good enough.”
He wanted to thank her, but waited for her to add a clunker, like it was good enough for other people but not for her.
“Why did you bring the bike in here?” she asked.
“What?”
“You brought my bike in and locked all the doors,” Bleu said.
“We don’t want it stolen.” If he were the blushing type, he’d blush now.
“That heap of junk?” Bleu said. She wrinkled her nose. “I hope I get the insurance settlement fast. I need to go used-car shopping.”
Coming clean had worked for him before. “I want you here with me for as long as we’ve got this morning. No one would be likely to connect you to the bike, but just in case…”
“You’re hiding me away,” she said, flipping up the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been kidnapped. Should I be worried?”
“That’ll depend.”
She gave him a questioning stare.
It’ll depend on you and on me. “I thought we’d see what happens. Be open to anything.”
She swallowed, swallowed again.
“You’re not in any danger from me,” he said. At least that was the truth. When the chips were down, he had iron control. He took her by the hand and led the way into his consulting room. Once more he shut—and locked—the door.
“What’s with locking the doors?” she asked in a small voice. “All I have to do to get out is turn the handle.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Glad you noticed that. What I don’t want is for someone to walk in on us.”
“Your car’s parked outside,” she said.
“That doesn’t have to mean I’m here. I always park out there when I come into town but I don’t always stay in the office.”
Bleu gave him a long look, then studied the room. “No wonder the townhouse looks tacky to you,” she said. “Fifties funk isn’t your style.”
“I told you I’m into jukeboxes.”
“You’d have a special room for them, like a museum.”
“Wait till I get my own place here, and you’ll see where I put them.”
She felt her hair, as if she expected it to be mussed. It wasn’t. “You’re not going to stay at Rosebank?”
“Not forever.” In the past couple of days, the question of a home had started to interest him again. “I want to do it right if I build. I’ve spoken to Marc Girard about architectural plans. We haven’t gotten far yet, but we will. I’m wondering about the Cashman lot. I’d like being close to the bayou, and it’s moody there. Moody appeals to me.”
Her silence caught his attention. “What?” he said. “You don’t think it would be good to build there? You don’t like atmosphere?”
“I do. I was thinking about the school.”
He grinned at her. “So am I. And I haven’t forgotten that’s the perfect spot for the school. Do you know how big that parcel of land is? Huge. It could be divided and the house wouldn’t be within sight of whatever else goes up.”
“You do a lot of planning, don’t you?” she said. “In your own world everything works out your way. You don’t even know who owns that lot now.”
“No, but I will.” He let the other slide past.
Bleu nodded. “What if someone calls you here this morning?”
Fortunately, he switched gears easily. “Someone like?”
She shrugged. “A patient.”
“It wouldn’t matter who it was. The phones are switched over to my service.”
Why, Bleu wondered, didn’t she try opening the door? If he stopped her, she’d know she had something to worry about.
She crossed the beautiful blue carpet and turned the door handle. The lock popped undone.
She looked at Roche over her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. Propped against his desk, he watched her speculatively.
“Hmm.” She engaged the lock again and faced him. “I’m a bit obsessive-compulsive—I have to check things out. But now I know, I promise I won’t keep on doing that.”
“It’s okay if you do.”
Bleu went to stand in front of him. Only inches separated them, and she inclined her face while she studied his eyes, filled with dark blue shadow. He matched her scrutiny, feature for feature.
“We’re not a fit, y’know,” she told him. “We’re really different.”
That brought a one-sided smile. “I’m glad.”
“You know what I mean?”
“Of course I do, and I don’t agree with you. What you call a ‘fit’ doesn’t have much to do with experience.” He touched the side of her face, pushed her hair back.
Bleu kissed his palm, rested her cheek there.
Light in the room was soft, but clear. “I like looking at you,” she said.
“Ditto,” he said softly, and shifted just enough to lean forward and part her lips with his. He put a breath’s distance between their mouths and said, “Looking at you in that mirror was…I’d better shut up.”
They kissed a long time, with Roche using only his hand on the side of her head to hold her. They breathed from each other, their eyes squeezed shut. Bleu’s breasts tingled. The flutters in her belly concentrated and pooled into a low burn.
His other hand settled on her neck, slid beneath her blouse to fold over her shoulder, but only for a moment before he tugged her closer, landed her against him.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached between them to unbutton her blouse, his fingers shaking but still moving rapidly. Spreading the front open, he smoothed his hands over the tops of her breasts and inside her bra. He scooped her up and bent to lick the tender flesh, his tongue trailing closer and closer to her nipples, but never quite touching.
Unexpected sunlight through the window struck Bleu’s eyelids and she flinched. She opened them and his head rested against her chest, his hair black against her pale skin.
Roche slid the edges of his thumbnails over her nipples. Bleu gritted her teeth. She stood there, passive, while he touched her. And he made her want him to do it, and do it.
The sunshine washed over them, over the office.
“No!” She was strong and she shoved at his shoulders, pushed his head away from her.
She wrapped her blouse over wet, reddened nipples and turned her back to Roche. She shook, not outwardly, but inside, and her teeth wouldn’t stay together.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“It’s not your fault. I let you think I wanted it. I came to you.” Never in daylight. “It won’t work. Darn, it won’t work. I can’t change everything about me quickly enough.”
“Quickly enough for what?” He sounded gruff.
“You aren’t going to wait for me to deal with my hangups. I’ve got them, Roche, and I’m fighting as hard as I can, but it’s going to take time. I still can’t believe…. When I think about us, together at my place, I wonder if that was me, or someone who took my place.”
“That was you,” he said. “I’ll sign an affidavit if I need to.”
She began buttoning her blouse.
“Start talking about the hangups.”
“No.” Bleu shook her head. There was nothing familiar for her anymore. She had promised herself a fresh start far away from things she knew—and detested—but she felt adrift, without foundations.
“We can take as much time as you need. You don’t have to worry about anything happening quickly enough. What set you off just now?”
“The sun,” she said, before she could decide not to tell him. “The sun in my eyes.”
“Go on.”
She didn’t want to. “I’m not comfortable doing some things in the daylight.”
He settled an arm across her shoulder. “Talk to me, Bleu.”
“I’m not your patient.”
He sighed. “No, you’re not. You’re far more than that. Look at me.” Gently, he turned her toward him. “I do know you’ve had a hard time. Not why or how or most of what’s going on now. But you have issues.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Yes. But we’re talking about you. You cover yourself up.”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t respond.
“Is that it? You aren’t comfortable being undressed around me?”
Forgetting that he was trained in these things would be a mistake. “I want to drop this now.”
“Nothing doing, Bleu.”
“Okay, then!” She flung away from him. “I’m not comfortable with it. Not in the—daytime.” She sounded crazy. “I’m not ashamed of my body, just—awkward.”
“C’mere.”
He couldn’t make everything better by holding her.
“Come here,” he repeated, but didn’t wait for a reaction. “If you’ll let me share this, we’ll work through it. If you want to.” He guided her to a chair.
She sat down and crossed her arms.
Roche turned on a lamp beside his desk and went to the wall spanned by a row of high windows. There were louvers and he tapped switches to close out the light electronically. “More comfortable?”
He didn’t understand. But how could he? “I’m fine. I need to get to the rectory.”
“When you go, I want you to take my car.”
“Thanks, but no.”
He smiled. “Are you afraid people will talk?”
“You know exactly how to pull my chain. No, I’m not afraid of that. I don’t accept charity, that’s all.”
“For God’s sake.” He bore down on her. “Borrowing a friend’s car isn’t charity, but have it your way.”
“Thanks anyway.”
“Did you enjoy sleeping with me?”
“Don’t.” She blew out a gust of air. The office was filled with shadows; even Roche seemed a shadow. “I told you, I don’t understand what happened. But yes, I did enjoy sleeping with you. I loved sleeping with you.”
“And before it got light, you put on your pajamas.”
“I expected you to bring that up.”
“I have to, Bleu,” he said. “But then I undressed you—”
“Please—”
“Just listen to me. Try to stop closing down. You were shy when I undressed you, but you let yourself go. You loved it, sweetheart. I know what I felt with you.”
“I did love it,” she whispered. “I want to feel that way again. All the time, when I’m with you. But I can’t control when the other thing comes over me.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?” She gripped the arms of the chair.
“It’s called immersion therapy. If you’re afraid of snakes, get to know a boa, intimately.”
She glanced behind her at the door, and freedom.
“I didn’t say I was going to grab you and rip off your clothes,” Roche said. “I just want you to do it.”
“Just? I’ve never had a conversation like this.”
“Will you let me make love to you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Roche said. “We’ll take things really slowly. But please kiss me again before you leave.”
“I want to make love.” And she did. She couldn’t leave at all without loving him.
And there was the sex—she wanted that, too. Not just holding and joining, but learning more about that wildness he’d mentioned when he wasn’t watching his words closely.
She stood up, unbuttoned her blouse again and took it off. The lacy demi-bra she wore didn’t cover a lot, but she must be in the same shadows as he was.
Keeping her eyes on him, she slipped out of her shoes—and her arms fell to her sides. She couldn’t go on.
“You’re lovely, Bleu,” he said, standing so close she could feel him. “Don’t be uncomfortable in your own skin.”
Again she crossed her arms, knowing she was closing him out.
“I’m going to give you a hug and go take a shower,” he said. “I wish you’d use my car. I’ll ride the bike—I like them.”
“So do I,” she said, and tried to laugh. “I’ve never…I never learned there could be different ways to make love until you. Can we try something else?” If she did much more shaking, she might never stop.
“Soon,” he told her.
“Now.”
Roche rested a forearm on either side of her neck. “No. Please give yourself more time.”
“Now.” If not now, then maybe never.
Muscles flicked beside his mouth.
“Do what I’m asking, Roche. Do it any way you want to.”
She heard his breathing grow heavier.
Catching her by the waist, he lifted her from her feet, unzipped her pants and peeled them off. He set her down, still in her bra and panties, against the front of his desk and trapped her there with his spread legs.
His shirt had buttons, too, but he shucked it over his head, undid his belt and slid it from the loops. Looking steadily into her face, he unzipped his slacks and pushed them down. His shorts went with them.
Bleu looked at him and her skin tightened. She was wet and aching—and disoriented.
Roche’s features were hard, the skin and flesh tight to the bones, his eyes feverish. With a forefinger, he drew a line from the center of her forehead to her chin, down her neck, between her breasts, to her navel and on to the moist place beneath the scrap of nylon barely covering the center of her.
“You’re still sure?” he murmured. His chest rose and fell, and his body shone a little in the lamplight.
Bleu nodded.
“Here, or in bed? There’s a bedroom—we can go there. Whatever you want.” He barely parted his teeth when he spoke.
“Here.”
“Your choice or mine?”
She didn’t understand and shook her head.
“You choose the position or I will?”
“You.” Her legs were weak but excitement mounted. She copied him, drawing a line down the center of him, stopping in the black hair where her finger met the root of his stiff penis.
He drove his teeth into his bottom lip, took her by the waist and spun her around. With one hand he bent her across the desk, with the other hand he parted her legs.
Bleu prepared herself as best she could.
He held her down by the neck and stimulated her, stroking, sliding over her clitoris. She bobbed at every touch, clutched the far side of the desk’s top and jerked.
She shouldn’t like it. She shouldn’t feel that she would die if he stopped.
A climax split her, arched upward and outward. She pushed up on her hands, tried to face him, but he was relentless. He would not let her look at him.
Before the searing ripples faded, she felt him against the opening to her body, pushing slowly just inside. Very slowly into her vagina. He had swelled so much, yet they had been a perfect match the previous night.
But he was huge. He bent his knees, smoothed himself back and forth and tucked just inside her again.
He wouldn’t fit.
He would be angry. Then he’d leave her. Hit her and leave her. Call her names and leave her.
Bleu screamed. She heard the sound bloom from her without deciding to make any sound at all. Again, she cried out and kicked at his shins, beat him with her elbows.
Then she struck at nothing but air.
He was gone.
Collapsed on the desk, her tears scalding, she curled her fingers over the far edge again. The echoes of throbbing hadn’t left the folds between her legs.
She had disappointed Roche. Disgusted him. And he had left her alone.