Sister Lenora Likes Jek’s Gumbo #2
“Setting your natural covering free.”
“What!?”
“Please?”
She froze at the soft request then went to sputtering. “What for? I don’t ever wear my hair down.”
“And why on earth not?” he marvel-fussed. “Our Seer says it’s a woman’s glory, why do you hide it.”
“Because it’s a glorious… mess,” she assured, her heart beating frantically in her chest as the smell of his cologne or soap permanently marked her.
“Wow, it’s long.”
His soft praise sent more heat through her.
“I’ll braid it back before you go.”
She stilled. “You can braid?”
“I can,” he said, working out the second braid now. “I have a sister.”
He finished, carefully sliding his fingers through her hair. She shivered hard, closing her eyes. Focusing on the glorious feeling.
She suddenly opened them and found him sitting again, staring at her like a man seeing something profound.
“T’es la plus belle femme que j’aie jamais vue. Et je voudrais rien de plus que t’embrasser et faire de toi mon tout.mentally.” His gaze burned on her and through her. “And no, I’m not translating it.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? You can’t… why would you not tell me!?”
He stood and began packing up. “It was a confession. For God’s ears only.”
She stood and helped. “I’m not God! And it was my ears that heard!”
“God is here,” he said simply. “I was saying it to Him.” He winked at her and it totally wrecked her composure, leaving her scattered inside her own mind and body. From a wink!
“Come, belle teet suhr,” he said, leaving. “Time to head back.”
She chased after him. “Repeat the French, I’ll look it up myself!”
He laughed. “Not happening.”
She got ahead of him and planted herself in his path.
He stopped before her and sighed.
“Please tell me!”
He set down the pail. “Move or I’ll move you myself.”
She regarded the pail on the ground then him. “I don’t want a confrontation, I just want to know what you said!”
“Are you moving or am I moving you.”
She again counted the risks, wondering what he might do. He was a gentleman, so, it couldn’t be much. “I am asking politely—”
He was so fast she had no time to react! She was now over his shoulder being hauled like a sack of produce!
“Jek! What… this is highly inappropriate! You better put me down!”
He spoke a long string of French, his tone infuriatingly calm and silky.
She caught the faces of people watching the embarrassing show, snickering and whispering. Shame burned her face.
“You are a gentleman! I vouched for you!”
“I am,” he assured. “And you’re a belle teete pah-trawn.”
She gripped his shirt in her fists, anger flaring. “And you’re a… big belle dummy!”
He laughed and she growled. “I’m a big pretty dummy?”
She froze. Belle meant pretty? She tried to remember how he’d used it. Little and pretty. Was it the bossy word?
He suddenly unloaded her onto the steps of the infirmary and opened the door and walked in. She glanced around, finding a few people around, but none that cared or looked. She spotted the pail he’d set down and hurried to get it, her hair everywhere like a disaster mop.
She carried the pail back, locking her eyes on the infirmary, struggling to keep humiliation out of her posture and step. She was surely going to have a word with him about that kind of physical behavior. It was forbidden with the nuns, and he of all people should know that rule!
She went into the infirmary and made her way to the kitchenette table, seeing him out the corner of her eye, loading wood into the stove.
She gathered her courage and dignity and a little anger to keep it steady, ending near the sink. “I’m required to inform you that all physical altercations must be reported to my superiors.”
He straightened, his smile soft, his gaze even softer on her. “Yes ma’am,” he said, roaming his stare over her hair and face. “Think I’ll get time in jail for it?”
“You’re making light of it which tells me you’re not even sorry.”
“Very perceptive.”
“I will likely be relocated,” she said.
“That would be terrible,” he said, walking up to her. “Excuse me, I need to get by.”
She looked on either side of her, seeing no room for him to pass. She stepped aside and he went to the sink. “Gonna put on another pot of coffee. Was thinking we could discuss our next project.”
He was ignoring this! Mocking her! “There’s no point in discussing projects if I’m not going to be allowed to work with you on it.”
“And who is your superior?” he asked, adding grinds to the pot.
“Sister Isla.” It was technically true, she was above all, and given his obstinate arrogance, she needed her biggest guns. “Wife of the Quantum King,” she added, in case he forgot.
“Ohhhhh,” he said with dread, turning on the pot and facing her, palm on the counter.
Not dread. Mockery.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fluttering over him, his male perfection scarring her virgin retinas.
“I’ll call her and ensure you’re allowed.” He put his hands in his jean pockets and crossed his legs. “I’ll explain everything that happened.”
Her eyes got swallowed by his midsection and everything bulging there. She gulped down the sudden burn in her throat. Her eyes snapped up. “What did you say?”
He was smiling. “I said I’ll call your superior and explain everything that happened.”
The scenario played out in her mind, dumping icy panic in her veins.
“Unless you don’t want to be my apprentice anymore. Then there’s no point.”
She stared at him. He was being something else!
“I’m sure there’s plenty of sisters I can train that would happily help,” he added.
She barely caught her gasp. He was surely right, there were plenty of sisters that would love to be his anything. Was he trying to make her jealous? He would have to think she liked him to try that, and he’d have to want her not to leave. Or was it to test her? See what she wanted and how much?
What a dirty trap! And a magnificent one!
She shoved up her mental sleeves, not prepared to lose whatever game he seemed to be playing. But she also didn’t want to go too far and lose what was most important to her—their beautiful friendship. She would never want to jeopardize that.
“Maybe take some time to think about it.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “You can call me and let me know what you decide. Give me your number and I’ll text you mine.”
Really! Give me your number! Call when you want! I’ll get more sisters to help me!
She thought quickly. “Alright,” she said, using her professional voice while hurrying to her bag hanging near the door.
“I don’t want to cause unnecessary trouble,” she assured, trying to remember what she was even defending.
Yes, the shoulder hauling assault! Fresh humiliation emboldened her resolve as she walked back with her phone, finding him chuckling at his.
She looked at her own, remembering how difficult the contraption was, her eyes flicking up to see what he was doing, only to never make it past his hips and all that still bulged there. She cleared her throat, finally getting the thing turned on.
“Booting up now,” she announced.
Wait, that wasn’t the right term.
“Coming on line,” she said. “This thing is slower than molasses in the dead of winter.” She eyed him again, his thumbs flying over his phone. Who was he texting? Somebody serious, judging by his expression. Her gaze lowered again, and this time her mind dared to imagine all the wrong things.
“Got it?”
She jumped in her skin and shot her guilty eyeballs up, running into his handsome face so dark and angry looking. “Yes, I have it.”
He walked over and held out his hand for her phone. Confused, she gave it to him, not at all accomplished in her recent gadget study requirements. He typed something in her phone and handed it back to her. His phone rang and he pressed buttons, typing again then he put it in his back pocket.
“I have to go petite surh,” he said, usual kindness gone from his voice. “I’ll text you later.”
Her heart sank as she fought with her fears. “Okay,” she said, watching him gather his things. “I should apologize,” she said, not wanting him to leave angry with her.
“For what?” he asked, not looking at her.
“I was… childish. I shouldn’t have been so bossy. I do want to be your apprentice, and I hope you don’t call Sister Isla and tell her everything that happened.”
He was heading for her, and her heart banged her chest. “Do you need to keep my coat?”
She looked down. “Oh heavens, no, you need your coat!” She quickly put her phone in her apron pocket and removed it. “Thank you,” she said, giving it to him.
He quickly put it on and eyed her before returning to her personal space. “Turn,” he said, his warm fingers guiding her by the shoulders.
She didn’t resist.
His hands moved over her hair, and she gasped at realizing what he was doing. “You don’t need to do that,” she said, zero conviction in her voice.
“I know,” he said simply. “Only have time for one braid.”
“That’s perfect,” she assured, her nerves so worked up over everything that happened or almost happened.
“There.” He laid the braid over her chest then lowered to her ear and said softly, “Je ne suis pas faché contre toi. Prie pour mes frères, s’il te pla?t.
Je t’appellerai ce soir et je te parlerai francais jusqu’à ce que tu t’endormes, pour ma pénitence.
Je te blame pour ce qui est arrivé aujourd’hui. Tu étais irresistible.”
She sucked in a breath as his fingers settled softly on her shoulders.
“I said to you ‘I'm not angry with you. Please pray for my brothers. I will call you tonight and speak French to you until you fall asleep for my penance. I blame you for what happened today. You were irresistible.”
His fingers slowly slid off her, and she remained breathless with her eyes closed. She listened to his boots across the floor then the door opened and closed.
She finally breathed.