Chapter 9 #2
The cool night air wafted up beneath her skirt, reminding her with every step that she was naked down there. He was right. Everything about it felt racy, decadent and dangerous and kept her blood stirring.
Once in the kitchen, she preheated the ovens and pulled the trays she’d prepped the night before from the refrigerator.
While she worked, Maurice moved around the shop with a clean, damp rag, touching up, straightening chairs and wiping fingerprints off the display cases they’d missed the day before.
Several times, she caught him staring at her, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as if he knew her secret.
And he did.
Each time, her core heated, and her pulse quickened.
The sooner she finished the baking and delivered the product to Broussard’s, the sooner she could buy more condoms. Monday was her day off. She could do whatever she wanted to, including spending the day in bed.
With Maurice.
If he was willing.
Based on the smoldering glances he was sending her way, he was willing.
Once the bread and pastries were baked, bagged and tagged, Maurice helped her load them into the delivery van. The sun was just rising as they closed the back door and rounded to the front.
She held out her hand. “I’m not leaving without you know what.”
His lips curved in a smile. “Let me guess. Your mother told you always to wear clean underwear in case you got into an accident.”
Her cheeks heated. “Exactly.” She wiggled her fingers. “Give me.”
With a sigh, he pulled the panties from his pocket. “Can’t go against a mother’s loving rule.” He held out the panties.
She reached for them, but he snatched them back. “Did you learn anything from your morning working while going commando beneath your dress?”
“Yes.” She lunged for his hand, snagged the undergarment and darted away. “Never trust a man who gives you an orgasm and steals your panties.”
She stepped into the panties in front of him and pulled them up beneath the dress. “Now, I need to get these items to Broussard’s before they open for the day.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Maurice gave her a mock salute. “Just so you know, I’ve had a hard-on all morning knowing I had your panties and you didn’t.”
No man had the right to be as sexy as Maurice Boucher.
Amelie’s sex clenched. Alan Broussard had better have a huge stock of condoms, or she’d be in deep trouble for the rest of her day off.
And he did.
After they deposited the pastries and bread, Amelie shopped for a few necessities, including a dozen eggs, a beef roast, baking potatoes and fresh salad ingredients. She slipped into the toiletries aisle at the last minute, searching for a big box of protection.
Having left Maurice talking with Alan Broussard, Amelie figured she had a few minutes alone to find what she needed and slip it into her cart.
“The ribbed ones give the woman more pleasure. Of course, the man couldn't care less as long as he’s protected from paternity suits.”
Amelie spun, heat filling her cheeks as she faced Chrissy Brousard, mother of six Alan Broussard’s wife and Amelie’s friend Shelby’s older sister. “Hey, Chrissy. How’s the little one?”
Alan’s pretty bride held her sixth child cradled in her arms, barely four months old and suckling at her breast barely concealed beneath a light blanket.
She smiled. “Trust me. You want as much pleasure as you can get before you’re swimming in babies and never get a whole night’s sleep to yourself. ”
Amelie had always admired how Chrissy juggled motherhood and business ownership like a champ. Her children might not always be as well put together as their mother, Chrissy, but they had clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads and healthy food to help them grow big and strong.
“Um. I was just looking for some ointment for a rash I might have.” She reached for a tube of hydrocortisone.
“Honey, don’t let embarrassment keep you from protecting yourself and your future.
Your choice to be with a man shouldn’t be because you didn’t take the proper precautions, and now you can’t afford to raise a child on your own.
Women should never have to rely on a man to help them raise a child.
They should be in a position to raise a child on their own. ”
Her cheeks still burning, Amelie looked away. “I would never abandon a child because I made a bad call sleeping with his father.”
Chrissy’s face relaxed, and she chuckled. “I’m giving you a hard time when I should be helping you celebrate good times.”
Amelie frowned. “What good times? Someone broke into my bakery. I had to trash all the ingredients I’ve collected all these years, close my shop and conduct a massive cleaning effort as well as restocking shelves.”
Chrissy grimaced.
Amelie snorted softly. “That’s no reason to celebrate.”
“No, but I recognize the glow of a woman well loved.” She picked up a box of condoms and added them to Amelie’s basket. “Celebrate, sweetie. Maurice is one of the good guys.”
“We’re just friends,” Amelie blurted and added in a whisper, “with benefits. While it lasts.”
“Whatever melts your butter, sweetie. At the beginning of a relationship, you don’t know how long it’ll last. But if the sex ain’t good, it’ll be over after the first night.
” She nodded toward the box. “Based on your priorities, I’d say this one has a chance.
” She winked and grinned. The baby on her breast pulled free of the nipple with a loud popping sound.
” Without missing a beat, Chrissy adjusted her blouse, kissed the fuzz on the baby’s head and headed for the counter where her husband and Maurice were still talking.
Amelie had hoped that by the time she finished her shopping, the men would have moved on, leaving her to check out with Chrissy. It was one thing to get advice from another woman, but she didn’t want to pull out the box of condoms in front of the two men.
As she approached, Chrissy’s eyes narrowed. “Alan, have you shown Maurice the new fishing poles that arrived yesterday?”
Alan turned to Maurice. “I understand you like fishing in the bayou.”
Maurice nodded. “I do. Mitch has taken me out on occasion to show me some of the good spots to drop a line.”
“Then you might be interested in the shipment of rigs we received yesterday.” Alan led Maurice to a display on the far side of the store.
Amelie gave Chrissy a grateful mile. “Thanks.”
“Women like to take care of business, but we don’t always want to advertise.”
Chrissy laid her baby in a bouncy seat behind the counter and rang up Amelie’s purchases. She had placed the last of her items in a bag when Alan and Maurice rejoined them.
“Ready?” Maurice asked.
Before Amelie could answer, the bell over the entrance door rang, announcing the arrival of customers.
LaShawnda Jones, Bayou Mambaloa’s most successful real estate agent, made an entrance, as was usual for her. Dressed in a bright orange fitted skirt suit that complemented her smooth, cocoa-colored skin, she strode through the door, her matching orange stilettos clicking against the tile.
Amelie envied the realtor’s daring style, color choices and absolute confidence.
Along with her eye-popping orange attire, she wore shiny gold, chunky jewelry around her wrists and neck, and huge gold hoops dangled from her ears. She paused just inside the doorway and turned to the man entering behind her.
Because she owned the bakery, Amelie was familiar with all the locals who called Bayou Mambaloa home. She didn’t recognize this guy and assumed he was new to town. He wore what appeared to be a tailor-made suit that fit him to perfection and shiny black, patent-leather shoes.
“Good morning,” LaShawnda called out as she approached the counter.
“I was just showing Monsieur Peltier around Bayou Mambaloa and wanted him to see for himself how well-stocked the Broussards keep the shelves.” She turned to her client.
“Monsieur Eugene Peltier, I’m pleased to introduce you to Alan and Chrissy Broussard. ”
Alan held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Peltier’s head dipped as he grasped Alan’s hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said with a rich French accent.
Amelie’s ears perked. After three years in Louisiana, with the Cajun accent so prevalent in the bayou, hearing a man speak with a true French accent brought back memories of living in Paris.
Chrissy held out her hand.
Peltier had already turned his attention to Maurice.
Chrissy dropped her arm to her side, her lips forming a thin line.
LaShawnda waved a hand toward Maurice. “And this is Maurice Boucher.”
Maurice held out his hand.
The man started to take it, but hesitated when his gaze took in the scarring and missing finger.
Maurice lowered his arm, his lips twisting slightly. “Welcome to Bayou Mambaloa.”
“Merci,” the stranger said and turned to Amelie. “And who is this?”
LaShawnda waved her hand with a flourish. “None other than the owner of Baked with Love, the best bakery in all of Louisiana, Amelie Aubert.”
When he took Amelie’s hand, he didn’t shake it but lifted it and pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “Enchanté.”
Amelie fought the urge to yank back her hand. The man had ignored Chrissy and now felt he could take liberties with her hand.
Who the hell did this freak think he was?