It was a great party. Simone was glad that she’d come. Of course she was. The man she loved had told her that he loved her. That was a big, BIG deal.
Nothing had changed, though. They still had seemingly insurmountable barriers separating them, her job being the most glaring one, but they’d had no chance to be alone to discuss a resolution, if there could be one. She had to accept Adam’s assurance that they would work things out.
In the meantime, the band played a wonderful mix of modern rock and traditional Cajun music, the food was spectacular, and the conversation was stimulating and fun. It touched her heart to watch Adam in an Uncle Sam top hat and flag bathing trunks dance a slow jitterbug with his little girl, who was adorable in a star-spangled bathing suit and a lopsided Lady Liberty tiara.
His brother came up to the patio table where she was sitting. A few years younger than Adam but with a much bulkier frame—all military muscle—Dave was a good-looking man. Especially when she’d first seen him in his uniform, but still double-take-worthy now in drab green shorts and a U.S. Army T-shirt. His hair was short, shaved on the sides and not much longer on top. A high and tight, she thought the haircut was called. Lots of male cops adopted the style, too.
Plopping into a chair next to her, he said, “So, you’re the one?”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. My brother’s batshit nuts about you.”
“You just arrived in town. You know this . . . how?”
“By the way he looks at you.”
She arched her brows.
“Like you’re a hot fudge sundae, fifty-yard-line Super Bowl tickets, brand-new Porsche, and virgin nymphomaniac all wrapped in one pretty white package.” He pretended to ogle her borrowed white bathing suit, which by now was covered by an open, white dress shirt of Adam’s with the sleeves rolled up.
“All those things, huh?” She took a sip of her ice water, having given up on alcohol about two hours ago. “And how do I look at him?”
“Like he could butter your biscuit and lick it off any day, anytime.”
“Daaaave!”
“Sorry. That was crude. I heard Tante Lulu say it.” He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Well, then, it must be all right.” She smiled. “So, you’re home on leave.”
“Sort of.”
That was . . . mysterious. “For sort of how long?”
“Not sure. I might take a temporary assignment at Fort Polk. Go inactive for a little while.”
Definitely a story there, especially when her police skills detected a bit of sorrow in his pale brown eyes. She knew haunted when she saw it.
Adam came back then and squeezed a chair in between her and his brother. “Be prepared,” he said. “The LeDeux looney birds are about to perform.”
“Adam! You promised.”
“Cross my heart. They gave me their word,” he told her. “I wasn’t too hot for the Richard Gere slash Debra Winger nonsense myself, wearing Dave’s uniform.”
“What about my uniform?”
“Ever seen An Officer and a Gentleman? The last scene?”
“Are you kidding? That’s every grunt’s go-to movie for getting laid . . . um, lucky. ’Scuse my language, ma’am,” Dave said to Simone. Then, addressing Adam again, he added, “I could do that routine for you, bro, blindfolded.” As proof, he began to sing “Wind Beneath My Wings.”
“That would defeat the purpose, bro.”
“Which is?”
“Which is me getting laid . . . um, lucky. Not you.” Adam grinned at Simone. “Right, darlin’?”
“You’re overdoing the darlin’s today, darlin’.”
He grinned some more.
Maisie arrived and crawled up on her Uncle Dave’s lap. The little girl had been clinging to her uncle, off and on, all day, afraid he would take off again for “Granny-stan.”
“Let’s go find PawPaw,” Dave said, tossing a giggling Maisie up over his shoulder, then blowing a raspberry into her neck. “Betcha he’s hiding in the garden shed, smoking one of those smelly cigars I brought him.”
“Oh, Uncle Dave!” Maisie giggled some more.
Just then, René LeDeux, dressed like a hottie Ben Franklin with wire-frame glasses, shirtless except for a red, white, and blue vest, walked out onto the little stage to the sound of a loud drumroll. The band had already dismantled, but they’d brought their own taped music for the show that was about to begin. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to . . . ta, da! . . . the Cajun Village People.” With a loud version of “Macho, Macho Man . . .” adapted to “Cajun, Cajun Man . . .” the LeDeux men and women in full patriotic, cornball costumes strutted their stuff. Singing, dancing, gyrating, shimmying. They were really, really good, drawing numerous bouts of laughter and spontaneous clapping. The highlight of the entire performance had to be Betsy Ross, aka Tante Lulu, twerking. Or maybe it was George Washington (John LeDeux) doing a very sexy striptease right down to white wig, buckled shoes, and very brief briefs that had battery-operated stars on them that flashed when he hip bumped his laughing wife, Martha (Celine).
After that, people started to straggle home, and by the time the fireworks were scheduled to start at nine in the skies over the park several blocks away, easily visible from Adam’s backyard, there were only about fifteen people left. “Help me put Maisie to bed,” Adam urged her.
“Won’t she be upset that she didn’t get to stay up?” Simone asked.
“Maybe, but look at her. She can’t keep her eyes open.” The little girl was planted, legs horizontal, feet not touching the ground, on the glider between Dave and the yoga beauty, whom Simone knew without being told was Adam’s old girlfriend, Sonia. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her being here, even if she wasn’t involved with Adam anymore. “Besides, all her little friends left a long time ago.”
He carried Maisie upstairs, with Simone following behind them carrying, at Maisie’s insistence, a Lady Liberty tiara, a piece of Tante Lulu’s Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake, which she intended to have for breakfast, and a garden gnome, which Simone’s mother had apparently gifted the little girl, all of which she wanted nearby when she slept. Right beside the Chatty GI Jane doll that Adam had given her earlier that day. Apparently, the doll not only talked, saying such things as “Army gals rock, Army guys roll!” but also had a set of uniform changes, including day-of-the-week underpants.
Finally, the little imp was tucked in and had said her prayers, and God blessed everyone she could think of, including Simone, whom she hinted was part of some Tante Lulu/St. Jude secret. Leaving a night light on, Simone and Adam crept out into the hallway.
“I should go home now,” Simone whispered.
“Not a chance!” He tried to back her up against the wall.
But she slipped under his arm. “The party’s over, Adam.”
“Hah! The party’s just about to begin.” He was feinting and parrying her every move.
She shook her head at his playfulness and dodged a pinch of her butt. The guy had a fascination with her behind. “You still have guests down there.”
“Let my dad take care of them.”
“Won’t they wonder where you are?”
“Let them.” He was eyeing her carefully, obviously planning his next move.
“We should at least go watch the fireworks.”
“I intend to make my own fireworks,” he said, making a successful grab for her, and opening the next door in the hallway. His bedroom.
And he was right. There were fireworks. And not just those that could be seen through the rear windows.
You could say it was his final argument . . .
Adam wasn’t sure what to do first. Talk or make love. He decided to make love first to soften her up for the talk. He knew sure as stubborn Cajun women she was going to resist what he had to propose.
“Stand right there,” he said, placing her in the center of the room, backlighted by the fireworks and the tiki flames outside. Someone had turned on the stereo and soft rock music played, a calming contrast to the raucousness of the day. Then he quickly shrugged out of his clothes and sat, bare-assed naked on the bottom corner of his bed.
She blinked with amusement at his nakedness, taking special note of one particular body part. “Nice rocket!”
The rocket lurched, but didn’t take off, thank God! He wasn’t going to be diverted into a quickie, if he could help it. Waving his hand at her, he ordered, “Take it off, darlin’. Slow and easy. I’ve been imagining this all day.”
For once, she didn’t argue. Instead, she eased out of his dress shirt and was shrugging her bathing suit down, inch by inch. She let it hang from her hips.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak if he’d wanted to. His tongue had frozen in his mouth. He was probably having a tongue hard-on.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was swaying from side to side to the soft music. Her breasts were large, but not so large that they sagged. Just right to fit in his big hands. Her dark hair, wavy from all their dips in the pool, lay about her bare shoulders. Her face was sun-kissed and slightly flushed, bare of make-up.
“More,” he urged on a groan.
Without opening her eyes, she curved her lips in a little Mona Lisa smile, and proceeded to shrug out of the suit all together.
“Lord have mercy,” he said. She was a goddess. Big, curvy, lush in all the right places.
“You’re praying now?” Her eyes opened. She was teasing him, fully aware of her effect on him.
“Witch!” He spread his legs and beckoned with the fingertips of both hands for her to come closer.
When she stood close enough, between his knees, he kissed her belly. Her moan was all the encouragement he needed. He stood, took her in his arms, and let them both fall to the bed, which, unfortunately, caused the bed frame to crack and the mattress and box spring to fall through to the floor. Luckily, no one heard over the racket outside. Laughing, they couldn’t care less whether the mattress was high or low.
“I can’t wait,” he growled, sliding on a condom and pushing himself into her body. “Sorry, but . . . holy hell!”
Her inner muscles were convulsing around him in a rapid-fire, rat-a-tat orgasm. Apparently, she couldn’t wait, either.
He let his weight rest on her for a moment, forehead to forehead. “I guess some rockets just combust before launching,” he told her.
“And some launch pads just self-combust,” she said. “I didn’t even kiss you silly like I planned.”
He rolled on his side, removed the condom, and tossed it in a bedside wastebasket. Then, facing her, he brushed the hair off her face and said, “We have plenty of time.”
“Do we?”
Okay, so now was the big moment. He was a lawyer. A trained talker. This had to be the best opening argument of his lifetime.
“We should get married. Soon,” he told her. Best to present your case right up front.
“Whoa!” she said and tried to pull away.
He wouldn’t let her. With his hands on her buttocks, he forced her to stay in place.
“I love you, Simone. And you love me. You told me so, and I’m holding you to it.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I want to be with you. All the time,” he interrupted and gave her a small kiss. “I want to live with you. I want to sleep with you. I want to share my life with you.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to marry.”
“It does when there’s a child in the picture.”
“Lots of people live together, without marriage, even with children.”
He shook his head. “Not me. And not you, if you’re honest about it.”
“Adam, you don’t want to marry again any more than I want to marry again.”
“Actually, I do. Want to marry you.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” He shrugged. It was as simple as that. “Tell me the truth. Do you want to marry me, or are you just afraid?”
“My history,” she reminded him. “Three failed marriages.”
“Mine, too, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do better.”
She sighed. His arguments were working. Maybe. “What about my job?”
He sighed then, too. “I can’t promise not to worry, but I can promise not to interfere again. Or try not to.”
“I don’t know, Adam. I just don’t know.”
He rolled over, tucking her up against his side. “I had a short talk with my brother today. Apparently, he lost a couple buddies recently, and someone important to him. He didn’t elaborate. What he did say, more than once, was, ‘Carpe diem!’ Seize the day! Treasure the present because you never know what tomorrow may bring.”
“That’s all well and good, but in reality you and I are like oil and water.”
“In reality, sweetheart, how would you feel if we broke it off today, never to see each other again? In fact, let’s take it a step further. Suppose I was the one to die tomorrow. How would you feel?”
“Devastated.”
He shrugged, as if he’d won the case. “Marry me, Simone.” He cupped her face with one hand and kissed a line down her jaw.
“My mother would have a bird.” She arched to give him access to her neck.
“Maisie would be in high heaven. Marry me.” He pressed her onto her back and moved his kisses in a line down her chest, between her breasts.
“What if we tried a trial living together? Private, discreet, my apartment, wherever that will end up being.” She gasped as he licked one nipple, then nipped at it.
“No trials. No sneaking around, discreet or otherwise. Marry me.”
When he began to move his mouth even lower, she grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him up and over her. “All right.”
“What?”
“I’ll marry you.”
“You will?” He smiled. “This isn’t just your Cajun Crazy speaking, is it?”
“You, my love, are going to be my last Cajun Crazy. My forever kind of Cajun Crazy.”
He could live with that. He sealed the deal with slow lovemaking (his specialty) that caused more than a few fireworks . . . inside, not in the Louisiana skies outside.
When she lay splatted out with depletion an hour later, he reminded her, “We’re going to be married.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know what I want for a wedding gift, from you.”
She cocked open one eyelid.
“Handcuffs.”
But she got back at him for the fixation he had with the handcuffs she’d mentioned weeks ago. “I don’t think we’ll need a wedding planner.”
Huh? He was thinking hot kinky sex, and she was thinking embossed invitations and reception halls. “Why is that?”
“Now that Maisie has proven how good a party she can throw, a wedding should be a piece of cake for her.”
He chuckled.
“Provided she gets a little help from . . .”
He stopped chuckling. When she didn’t finish her sentence, he thought she’d fallen asleep.
But then she added, “. . . from Tante Lulu.”
Thunder crashed in the distance, or maybe it was just the fireworks.