A rush of heat washed over her body, like stepping before the flames of a roaring bonfire. Except this heat came flooded with desire, a flash so sudden and unexpected it consumed her. Her imagination kicked into high gear and she had a movie-like image running through her mind, the camera panning over items of clothing strewn about in the hallway, a bra, a sock, pair of trousers, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading the viewer farther down the hallway toward a room at the end where sounds could be heard, whispers and moans, and then over to the bed, the rumpled sheets a precursor to the activity atop it, where she and Jackson were as tangled as the sheets, each of them naked, and kissing, until he adjusted his position to begin slowly moving down her body, taking her hardened nipple in his mouth—
Her inner policeman busted in on the fantasy. Step away from the scene with your hands high!
“Thank you,” she managed, trying to douse the heat. “That was a nice thing to say.”
“I didn’t say it to make you feel better.”
“Then why did you?”
He shrugged, served himself crawfish. “Because it’s the truth.”
“And you always speak the truth?”
“Yes.”
She polished off her drink, feeling a courage born from the alcohol easing through her veins like the bayou named after it. She leaned forward in her chair, not minding that her position might just offer Jackson a glimpse of her ample cleavage. That’s why she’d selected this blouse in the first place. Maybe later, and sober, she’d regret it, but not now.
“In that case, how about a few truths about yourself?” She picked up a piece of crawfish and ate slowly as she watched his expression. It went from neutral to guarded in about half a second.
“You see?” she said to him, before he’d had time to respond.
“See what?”
“Your face.”
“I can’t exactly see my own face.”
“I know you can’t, but you know yourself, and you know how you feel. And right now, you’re not very comfortable. I want to know why.”
He said nothing for a long time, as if considering her question. Or, Carla thought, whether he wanted to answer it.
As if confirming her guess, he sighed and set down his fork. “I didn’t bring you here to play Twenty Questions.”
Carla smiled. “Interesting,” she said, taking a bit of maque choux.
“What?”
“How fast you became defensive before I said anything. You’re warding off questions before they’re even asked.”
He locked gazes with her and sat in his chair as silently as a statue, the twitch of muscle at the back of his jaw the only indication he’d heard her.
“Let me prove you wrong,” he finally said.
She looked at him through narrowed eyes, clearly not believing him. “What do you mean?”
“Ask your questions.”
“And you’ll answer them?” An excited thrill skittered down her spine.
“Yeah. I’ll answer them.” His shoulders slumped and he slowly exhaled, casting his eyes to the ground as if bracing himself for an unpleasant conversation.
The thought of having caused him to feel that way killed her earlier excitement and put an odd ache in Carla’s heart, like she’d disappointed a new friend.
“Jackson, I’m sorry. Let’s forget it, really. Your personal business is yours alone. I overstepped my boundaries.”
To her surprise, he adamantly shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You were right. Sometimes it takes a stranger to point out something you should have known for years. I’m not comfortable talking about myself, but maybe I should learn to get over it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being private.”
“No, there isn’t,” he agreed, swallowing the last of his drink. “But it’s tough to know me if I clam up on your questions.” He saw her glass was empty. “Can I get you another drink?”
“No.” She shook her head, definite on that point. “One of these is plenty.”
“Doesn’t have to be alcoholic. I’m having sweet tea.”
“Oh, well in that case. Tea sounds good.”
At that moment their waitress passed by and Jackson held up two fingers. “Deux thés,” he said as she picked up their empty glasses.
Once she’d left, Carla decided his French background was the perfect place to begin. “Okay, let’s start with your parents. Are they French?”
He nodded tightly. “Yes.”
“But you were born here?”
“Yes. Amy and I both.”
“And I assume you learned French from your parents and English from school?”
A shadow of a smile crept across Jackson’s lips. “I would say I learned English more from watching TV.”
“Really?”
“When you’re a kid, you’re a sponge. You soak up knowledge. So I’d describe my English as primarily Saturday morning cartoons with a dash of after school specials thrown in for good measure.”
He said it with a straight face, but she could see the twinkle of humor in his eyes as he spoke.
“I thought I detected a Saturday morning cartoons accent.”
Jackson snapped his fingers and shook his head. “Busted again.”
Carla laughed aloud, just at the moment when their teas were brought. The waitress smiled as well.
“You are ‘aving a good time, non?”
“Yes,” Carla answered sincerely, catching Jackson’s easy grin out of the corner of her eye. “A wonderful time.” She lifted her glass and tilted it toward him. “Cheers.”
“Santé.”
He kept eye contact with her while they drank, his gaze so direct it bordered on rude, but she realized with a start she was beginning to like it. It showed an honesty in him. He didn’t try to be anyone except himself, and he played no games. His intensity was also sexy as hell. He focused solely on her, as if for this moment no one else even existed.
“Yo, Jackson!”
A guy across the room waved a hand and walked over. Tall and rugged, his disheveled brown hair hung long, like an ‘80’s rock star’s. He wore faded jeans that nicely traced the contours of his muscled thighs and a sleeveless black T-shirt revealing biceps the size of mountains. His gaze swept the table as he approached, sea green eyes not bothering to hide his curiosity about Carla’s identity.
He and Jackson exchanged a manly hand slap when he reached their table. “Good to see you out here, man,” he said. “It’s been awhile.” His focus shifted to Carla, a silent but clear indication he’d like an introduction.
“Ah, Chase, this is Carla Saunders,” Jackson said. “Carla, Chase Durand.”
She extended her hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Chase.”
“Enchanté, Carla,” Chase said with exaggerated interest, taking her hand and actually kissing the back of it. He waggled his eyebrows as he did so and said, as if only she could hear him, “Don’t let Jackson know I’m making a move on his date. The guy gets very jealous.”
“It’ll be our secret,” she laughed, liking him already. She also didn’t mind being referred to as Jackson’s date. It had a nice ring to it.
“How’ve you been, Chase?” Jackson asked. “Cool, man. Like always. Been busy, too.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You and me both. Rough patch for a while, but we’re good.” He nodded toward Jackson and Carla.
“Take it easy, Jackson. I’ll see you around. And nice to meet you, Carla.” He gave them a salute and sauntered back over to his table where he joined a boisterous group of friends. Carla noticed Jackson smiling after him.
“A friend of yours, I trust?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “A good one.”
“Have you known each other long?”
He took his tea and downed a long swallow. “Since we were kids. We went to school together.”
“It’s great you still have a childhood friend. It’s unusual these days.”
“I actually have a couple of them, but Chase and I are probably the closest.”
She sat back in her chair, thinking. “I have friends from college, but even those tend to drift apart.”
“Could be a different culture down here. Families know each other for generations and people don’t tend to move as much as they do in New York. Least I’d guess that’s how it is.”
“I think you’re right,” she agreed. “The strong family bonds down here are really nice.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“What does Chase do? Is he in science as well?”
Jackson grinned. “No, not at all. Chase is more of a free spirit, I guess you could say. He’s an artist.”
“Yeah? What kind of art?”
“Glass. Really cool and unusual sculptures. He’s finally started to get something of a following, which he should have because he’s extremely talented.” Jackson paused to drink the last of his tea. Then he added, “There’s something crazy and unpredictable about Chase. I think it’s why we’re friends. I see features of myself in him.”
“You do?” Disciplined, well-ordered Jackson has a wild side? Interesting.
“That surprises you?”
“Well…kind of…”
He wagged a scolding finger. “Never judge a book by its cover, Carla.”
He kept his face serious but she could see by the press of his lips, as if holding back a grin, that he teased. Then, unexpectedly, he winked at her.
A slow burn of desire started low in her groin and made her belly flutter as if millions of hummingbirds suddenly took flight. Her heartbeat thumped like a drum in her chest, pulses building and growing steadily faster. Super hot snake scientist was turning her to jelly. A beautiful, lyrical ballad filled the room. Couples took to the dance floor at once, swept along by the music.
The soft shuffle of boots scraped across the wooden floor as the petite blond crooned about losing her heart on a lonely bayou night.
She watched the couples as they swayed around the room, admiring the ease with which they all seemed to know the dance. She turned back to Jackson, thinking to ask him more about Chase.
Jackson held out a hand before her. “Dance with me.”