Page 67 of Frankly, My Dear

She made a small whimpering sound deep in her throat, but didn’t pull away when his fingertips grazed her jaw, slowly, from ear to ear. He felt like whimpering, too, from the sweet pain of arousal building between his thighs.

“Or was I looking at your mouth like a starving man,” he continued recklessly, “wondering if you could give me the succor I crave?” The pad of his thumb skimmed her lower lip, which trembled deliciously.

“Oh, James,” she moaned helplessly, and parted her lips, anticipating his kiss.

He leaned closer.

Selene’s heart leapt in her breast at the smoldering desire revealed in James’s beautiful eyes. Lord, how she loved the man! Could he see it in her face? She laid a hand over his. “Oh, sweetheart, is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Have you thought of a way for us to be together?”

“What?” He pulled his hand out from under hers as if burned and shook his head to clear it. Standing abruptly, he knocked his chair to the floor and began to pace, raking his fingers distractedly through his hair. Casting her a look of horror, he exclaimed, “Sacrebleu! What have you done to me?”

James’s harsh tone was a splash of cold water on her flaming emotions. “Me? What have I done to you?” Selene was not pleased by James’s sudden change of mood. How could he look at her with such yearning in one moment and loathing the next? “How about what you’re doing to me? Damn, I’m sick of these roller-coaster mood swings of yours.”

“You made this rollercoaster, chérie…whatever the hell a rollercoaster is.”

She growled with frustration, searching for the right words to tell him just how she felt. “A few moments ago I was leaving this room. You’re the one who asked me to stay. You’re the one who said you had something to tell me. Hah! All you want to do is seduce me with your sexy words, and then when you set my blood to boiling, you turn off the heat.”

“Zut alors!”

“You’re a tease, James…a male tease…that’s what you are.”

Speechless at her accusation, he gaped at her in amazement for several seconds, then turned to brace his arms against the frame of a tall window overlooking the side yard. In the distance could be heard the mating call of a loon and the chirping of crickets as the swamp lands bedded down for the night. Still, James said nothing, just stared out, sightlessly, looking frustrated and miserable. Good!

Finally he pushed away from the window and walked back to her with resolution. “Selene, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me. This morning you kissed me till my bones melted, practically made love to me on the floor…on the floor, damn you.” She inhaled deeply, continuing, “Then you turned around, big as you please, and said you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“That’s not quite how it happened, chérie,” he said, stepping closer to the table.

She stood warily and backed around the other side, away from him.

He continued talking while he stalked her. “The way I remember the event is that you kissed me till my bones melted, wrestled me to the floor, made me come in my trousers…and, oui, I used the word ‘come.’ Then you agreed with me that we have no future together.”

“That’s what I said, you fool.”

“You did?”

“Of course.” She crinkled her nose at him. “Maybe you’ve been inhaling too much of your own sugar lately, because it sure appears as if you’ve got cotton candy between your ears.”

“I don’t understand one word of what you said.”

“Well, fiddle-dee-dee!” Selene exclaimed and then winced. “I can’t believe I just said that. I’m turning into a blooming Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Really, Selene! There is a reason why I wanted to talk to you now. I just got distracted.” He rubbed a hand wearily across his forehead.

A wave of foreboding rippled across Selene’s skin. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“I’ve invited the Collins to visit on Sunday.” He looked at her expectantly.

Selene failed to understand the relevance of that bit of information or the significance of his nervously flexing fingers as he spoke. “Who the hell are the Collins?”

He winced at her swear word. “The Collins—Andrew and his wife, Ellen—own a sugar plantation about an hour down the bayou. They’re coming because…because I sent them a note telling them about you. Andrew and Ellen have two young children who are in need of a governess—”

“You didn’t!” she accused, suddenly understanding. She looked at him through misty, wounded eyes. “Please say you didn’t.”

“—and I think it would be best if you left Bayou Noir and went to work for them.” He lowered his eyes guiltily and added weakly, “After all, you will probably be returning to your own time soon.”

“When did you send them a message, you bastard? And how could you make such an important decision about my life without consulting me?”