MidnightInk-epub Page 15

  “I’m fine.”

  “You want my toothbrush?” Eli offered grudgingly. “I got plenty more at the house.”

  Bart barely hesitated. “That would be great, thanks.”

  Ignoring Rhonda’s grateful smile, Eli went back down the hall and retrieved his brush and paste. It was more than the boy deserved at the moment, but then Eli didn’t deserve being subjected to his sick-breath either.

  “Here ya go,” he said when he returned, giving a little tap.

  The toilet flushed as water ran for a couple of minutes, and then the door opened with a whoosh of Glade-soaked air. Bart accepted the supplies with an embarrassed look. “Thanks.”

  Man, even shorn like a sheep and pale as a ghost, the big blondie was still pretty.

  “Don’t thank me yet, cher,” Eli muttered.

  He seized Rhonda’s arm and pulled her into the break room. Locking the door as he closed it, he took their jackets from her and hung them on the open hooks. Then he leaned back against it and crossed his arms again.

  “All right, ma chère,” he drawled. “How ’bout you tell ol’ Eli what you and your fiancé are doing here.”

  ***

  Rhonda’s heart gave a breathless jerk as everything in her low belly went soft and hot. God damn, Elijah Bell was sexy. She’d always been a sucker for tats, and Eli’s left arm was inked all the way down to his fingertips. That, combined with his thick Cajun accent, dark good looks and strong, lean body, made him even more compelling in person than he’d been on Skype.

  As if all that weren’t enough, his unyielding pose and the way he skewered her with those blue-hazel eyes made her feel as though she were standing in front of her stern-but-handsome Catholic school principal again, being reprimanded for wearing hip-huggers to class right before she was sent home to change.

  She was reacting now exactly the same way she had then, only this time the man staring holes through her spoke with a deep, accented voice that could make even the nuns fan themselves—and she wore considerably less underwear to soak up the evidence.

  Gay, Rhonda, the man is gay. He was Bart’s lover, remember?

  Eli crooked a sleek black brow at her. “Well, whatchu got to say, Miz Rhonda? I don’t got all night.”

  Rhonda very nearly squirmed at the heat trickling through her. Ooh, this was bad—time to take control of the situation before she made a fool of herself.

  Crossing her own arms, she arched a brow back at him. “Why don’t you tell me what went on between you and Bart back in college.”

  He scowled. “That old dog won’t hunt with me, teefee, now talk. Or do I need to turn you over my knee and administer a little encouragement?”

  “Just try it,” she dared.

  There was a glint in his eye when he shook his head. “You don’ wanna go there with me, ma chère, you really don’t.”

  Oh, she did, she really did. Her heart was pounding, and her nipples and clit tingled in anticipation. Damn, damn, damn!

  “Aren’t you gay?” she asked in a breathy tone.

  He grinned. “I ain’t too picky either way.”

  Oh boy, Eli was bi? Why hadn’t Bart mentioned that little detail?

  The doorknob rattled. “Eli? Rhonda?” Bart gave the door a couple of sharp raps. “Open up.”

  “Laissez les bon temps rouler,” Eli said with a sardonic look before reaching behind him to open the door.

  Relieved and yet damnably disappointed her time alone with Eli was over, she gave an exaggerated sigh. “Eli, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t speak French?” When Bart walked in accompanied by the muffled strains of “Cherry Pie,” she laid her hand on his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, honey. I need a translator.”

  The dark promise of retribution in Eli’s smile sent another wave of heat through her.

  “I don’t speak French either,” Bart said, “but that last was ‘Let the good times roll.’ He used to say that all the time.” Then he leveled a sharp look at Eli. “The fuck, dude? Why’d you lock the door?”

  “Same reason I’m lockin’ it now, so’s I can have some privacy while I find out why y’all are here.” Eli pushed the door shut and locked it with a quiet click, shutting out the music along with the rest of the world before facing them. “Your fiancée ain’t been too forthcoming, cher. Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.”

  Chapter Three

  Of course Eli would skip the pleasantries.

  On guard, Bart met his gaze with as much indifference as he could muster. Elijah Badeaux Bell had always had a commanding way about him, and even a couple of inches shy of Bart’s six-four, he was…intimidating. His lean frame had filled out over the years, and his arms looked strong and competent, as if he’d done a lot of manual labor. The black tats on his left arm completely covered his olive skin, adding a whole new dimension to his appearance—it was as if he weren’t entirely human anymore, and his hard face only reinforced that impression.

  Elijah Bell looked cynical, almost cruel, and Bart’s empty stomach tightened with regret and anxiety. Had he put that look there?

  “I threw away the toothbrush,” he said abruptly.

  Eli smirked. “Glad to hear it, cher.”

  Kicking his own ass for sounding like an idiot, he tried again. “How’s Josh?”

  “He’s married with a couple o’ kids, workin’ for an oil company up in Baton Rouge.”

  “That’s great. And your grandma?”

  “Memère passed on last year. Are we done makin’ small-talk now?”

  Fuck. Could he do anything right tonight? Josh and Eli’s father had walked out when Eli was still in diapers, and after their mother was killed in a car accident, their grandparents had raised them. Bart knew Remy Badeaux had died when Eli was in high school but he’d thought the fierce-eyed, sharp-witted Leona would probably outlive both her grandsons. The one time they met, he’d found her a little disconcerting, with her thick accent, expressive hands and knowing eyes—not to mention her strategic use of French words—but Eli had been devoted to her.

  He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, cher. She lived a good life and died in her own home, surrounded by four generations of family. You can’t ask for much more’n that.”

  “I’m still sorry. I know you miss her.”

  “That I do.”

  “Did she ever come back home?”

  “To the city, yes, but there was no goin’ back to the Lower Ninth. Gettin’ the neighborhood cleaned up and rebuilt has never been high on the priority list of anyone who could get things done. Most of her neighbors were either dead or scattered to the four winds anyhow.”

  Bart nodded. He’d read somewhere that anywhere from a quarter to a third of New Orleans’ evacuees had never returned after Katrina, and most were from poorer areas like the Lower Ninth Ward. Large swaths of it were still deserted and overgrown with weeds, and the people who’d managed to rebuild were underserved because so few businesses had returned.

  “That’s really sad,” Rhonda said.

  “It’s a tragedy,” Eli agreed. “But my aunts got together and bought Memère a little house in Mid-City the next summer. She lived there ’til she died and then I bought it.” He looked at Bart. “How’s your daddy?”

  Bart tensed. “Pretty good, actually. He got married last year.”

  “He still runnin’ your life?”

  Although he deserved it, Bart didn’t like the derision in his tone. “He never did run my life, Eli.”

  “You still work for him, though,” Eli said, as if there weren’t any doubt about it.

  There was unbelievable satisfaction in being able to say, “As a matter of fact, no. I’m a firefighter-paramedic.”

  Eli went wide-eyed for a second before his lips slowly curved into a broad grin.

  Then he exploded into motion, exclaiming, “Mais, ça c'est bon!” as he shook Bart’s hand, pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back several times. “That’s great
, Bart! I’m proud o’ you,” he added as he drew back.

  Flushed with embarrassed pleasure, and breathless at his musky scent and hard, masculine touch, Bart glanced at Rhonda self-consciously, trying to pull his hand from Eli’s without being obvious about it.

  Eli held on until Bart looked at him again. “That almost makes up for not saying goodbye when you left, cher.”

  The quiet reproach sucked away all the pleasure Bart had felt at his praise, leaving behind only embarrassment and a sickening sorrow. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. Rhonda was frowning.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not even sure himself which of them he was talking to. “I was…I just…couldn’t…”

  Jesus, he was never going to get this out. That was one thing about Eli that hadn’t changed at all; his presence still affected Bart like a goddamn drug, making him empty-headed and weak. Making him want to beg for things he couldn’t have and wouldn’t deserve even if he could.

  “I think it’s time I left you two alone to talk,” Rhonda said.

  Bart sucked in a sharp breath. Shit, was she leaving him?

  “No.” Yanking free of Eli’s grip, he grabbed her shoulders and shook his head. “We stay together.”

  “Bart, I’m just going back to the hotel,” she said with an understanding look. “You have some things to say to Eli and I’m distracting you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Panic just about made his head explode. “God dammit, no you’re not!”

  “Shhh. Bart, it’s okay.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  Refusing to be diverted, he didn’t kiss her back but waited until she pulled away to say, “Your piercing’s not done yet.”

  She smoothed her hands down the front of his silk shirt and then stepped back. “Maybe Eli can squeeze me in on New Year’s Eve, for the benefit.”

  “You don’t already have big plans?” Eli asked.

  She shook her head and reached for her jacket. “We were just going to enjoy the party from our room.”

  “That’ll do just fine then, chère. I’m donating my proceeds from that night to the American Cancer Society,” he said as he took the jacket and helped her into it. “Where you stayin’?”

  “At the Marriott.”

  “Mais, that’s uptown! We’ll just walk you back, maybe grab a bite, do some more talkin’. I ain’t had my supper yet.”

  “He probably needs a little something in his stomach,” she told him, “but nothing spicy, please. And no alligator.”

  Eli grinned. “He never did like that shit.”

  Rhonda’s eyes widened. “Bart! Why did you order it if you don’t like it?”

  “Old habit, I guess,” he muttered, his heart still beating a little too fast as heat seeped up his neck into his face.

  Chuckling, Eli handed Bart his windbreaker and then pulled on a black polar fleece jacket. “Gator’s an acquired taste, but apparently he ain’t gonna acquire it in this lifetime no matter how many times he eats it.”

  Bart looked back and forth between them, unable to think of an intelligent retort. He was ready to burst out of his skin with nerves, and Eli and Rhonda were laughing and shooting the breeze like they were at a garden party. How could they be so casual about this? Did they think it was a game?

  “I’m just funnin’ with you, mon amie,” Eli said, looping an arm around Bart’s stiff neck and yanking him close enough to press a quick kiss to the side of his head. While Bart was regrouping his marbles, which had scattered at the affectionate contact, Eli took a black zippered bag off one of the hooks and slung it on his shoulder. “Allon! Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

  He ushered them down the hall and out the front door, stopping only long enough to make Rhonda’s appointment for New Year’s Eve with Sassy. Then he led the way up Canal Street, whistling all the way, while Bart and Rhonda walked silently behind him. Bart felt like smacking the back of his shaggy head. Did nothing rattle the man? Ever?

  When they reached the hotel, Rhonda tugged Bart toward the front doors. “Excuse us for just a minute, Eli.”

  “Mais oui! Of course, chère. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.”

  Inside, she led Bart up the short flight of steps and around the corner into the lobby. There, at the end of a couch, she shoved his back against the wall and kissed him fiercely, deeply.

  His heart slamming against his breastbone, Bart wrapped his arms around her waist and locked her hips to his, staking his claim for the thousandth time, telling her with every press of his lips, every sweep of his tongue, and every humid breath he shared with her that he was never letting her go.

  “You’re mine,” he growled when she finally tore her mouth away.

  Rhonda cupped his cheek, her lips curving in a smile he couldn’t quite decipher. “I am yours, my love, totally and completely. But you may not be totally and completely mine.”

  When he opened his mouth, she covered it with her hand. “Don’t deny it. We both know it’s true.”

  He poured all his worry and frustration into a heavy sigh.

  “I know you won’t be happy about this,” she said, taking her hand away, “but until you’re sure what you want, I’d like you to keep something for me…”

  His heart fell into his stomach and then right down into his boots as she tugged off her engagement ring. “Baby, don’t do that. Please.”

  “It’s not forever, Bart—just for now. For tonight. You can give it to me again if you want to, after you’ve worked out this thing with Eli. ”

  Was she insane? “If I want to? Hell, I don’t even want you to take it off now!”

  She pushed on his chest until he loosened his hold and then slid the ring into his pants pocket. “I just want you to be free to do whatever it takes to figure this out. If that means sleeping with him, then you won’t be cheating.”

  His jaw clenched. “You taking off that ring doesn’t make me any less committed to you, Rhonda.”

  “Same goes.” Resting her forearms on his shoulders again, she stroked his nape with her fingertips. “But for now that commitment is open, with no expectation of exclusivity and no right on either side to be angry or upset if the other chooses to have sex with someone else. No harm, no foul, right? So do what you need to do, Bart, and then come talk to me about it, because I really want to know you. All of you.”

  Both her words and the scrape of her long nails made him shiver. It was as though she were suddenly someone else, someone he didn’t know as well as he’d thought. And suddenly he was someone else, too—someone alone, without the safety net that had been protecting him for the last five years. Being free to sleep with Eli scared him right down to his bones, because it was all too possible he would. He’d wondered too long. Been afraid too long.

  And no matter what she said, it would cause harm. Somebody was bound to be hurt—probably all of them. But he had to finish this thing with Eli, had to see it through to the end. For all their sakes.

  He swallowed hard. “I love you, Ronnie.”

  “I love you, too, babe. You have your room key?” she asked, gently extracting herself from his arms.

  “It’s in my wallet.”

  “All right, then…guess I’ll see you later. Or tomorrow.” As she backed away, he caught her hand and held it until she tugged. “You have to let go, Bart. Eli’s waiting.”

  “I love you,” he repeated as her soft fingers slipped out of his.

  She smiled as she turned around. “Good night, Bart.”

  Then she walked away.

  Chapter Four

  Eli zipped his coat with a shiver and turned up his fleece collar to ward off the chill in the air. When Bart said he didn’t mind walking a mile or two, they’d headed a few blocks farther down the street and then around the corner toward Kiley’s Café, where there was plenty of comfort food for a fussy stomach.

  Bart looked as though he wasn’t in the mood to talk so Eli held his tongue, but the i
nside of his head was like a press conference, a virtual riot of questions demanding to be answered. Uppermost in his mind—what was Bart thinking right now? And why had Rhonda sent them on without her? Had he just imagined the attraction humming between them? Was there any chance at all he could get them both into his bed?

  “Why the American Cancer Society?” Bart asked out of the blue.

  Startled, Eli glanced at him. “Memère died of breast cancer. The stubborn woman never went to the doctor because she was never sick, so they didn’t find it until it was too far gone.”

  A few heartbeats later, Bart said, “My mother died of cancer, too.”

  “I remember. How old were you?”

  “Twelve. My sister Melanie was twenty and already married, so it was just Dad and me at home.”

  Eli shook his head. “Man, that’s a tough age to lose your momma.”

  “You lost yours, too,” Bart said.

  “Yeah, but I was only four. I barely remember it, or her.”

  “I remember everything. My dad was wrecked.”

  Eli remembered that, too. Bart had always used it as a defense when Eli gave him hell about living the life his daddy wanted for him rather than the life he wanted.

  “So how did you finally go from working for him to being a paramedic?” he asked.

  Giving him a wry look, Bart said, “Well, as you predicted, I was fucking miserable working nine to five at an investment company. When I met Rhonda, I was drinking more than I should, sleeping with a different woman every week, and risking my life on a regular basis just to feel alive. Rock-climbing, skydiving, scuba diving, boxing…” He snorted. “I even tried my hand at stock car racing.”

  Eli watched him. Was that what he’d done with all those daredevil hobbies, tried to feel alive? Or had he tried to prove to himself and everyone else that he was a real man?

  “Rhonda seemed to see right through me,” Bart went on. “She started peeling me like an onion and made me talk it out until I could see that I was hurting both Dad and me by not being honest with him. When I finally told him that I’d always hated finance and wanted to be a firefighter, he was more upset that I hadn’t felt like I could talk to him about it.”