The crowd joined with much enthusiasm in singing the refrain:
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
Sylvie gasped. “You told me earlier today that you would be my Cajun Knight. Did you say something to René?”
“Would I be crazy enough to divulge that to my brother? I guess I’m just not all that original.”
It was original to me, Sylvie thought.
Through hard times and many a year
the knight did travel the bayou,
his poor lance rusting away.
But always in his heart of hearts
were dreams of Delta honey.
Hooting with laughter, the crowd joined in again on the refrain:
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
“He’s awful, isn’t he?” Luc commented.
“Yes… no… I mean, his lyrics leave something to be desired, but his theme is kind of touching.”
“Touching? You are definitely under the influence of alcohol if you think references to my rusted lance are touching. And you can’t be naive enough to think the honey he mentions comes from a bee hive.”
The Creole flower was withering on the vine,
her moat nigh dried up.
Still, she pined for her Cajun love.
But the little warrior just could not come.
She was a lady, he was a rogue,
never the twain should meet.
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
Cajun knight and Creole flower.
“Moat? Moat?” Sylvie sputtered. “Is he referring to what I think he’s referring?”
“He is.” Then Luc seemed to remember another part of the lyrics. “And my warrior is definitely not little.”
“Withering on the vine? Who says I’m withering on the vine? Oooh! You don’t need to kill him, Luc. I’ll do it for you.”
Luc had to pull her back from going up on the stage after René. The crowd clapped in encouragement.
“Let’s get out of here before he moves on to other body parts with his cockeyed metaphors,” Luc suggested, pressing his lips against her ear.
The crowd was singing the refrain so loud the floor was vibrating. Or was that the rippling effect of Luc’s breath against the inner whorls of her ear, reverberating all the way to her toes?
Panic overcame her suddenly at the prospect of leaving the crowded bar, where she was somewhat protected from her own overactive hormones. “I thought you wanted to dance with me,” she complained over her shoulder as Luc steered her off the dance floor and toward the exit with a hand pressed to the small of her back. “It’s what you’ve mentioned every time we’ve met up in the past twenty years.”
He stopped abruptly and pulled her around to face him. “More than anything in the world, I want to dance with you,” Luc told her in a low, husky voice. His head swooped low to nip her bottom lip, which was no doubt hanging open. The little biting kiss was over before it began… too little time for her to savor how infuriatingly delicious it had felt.
But, wait, Luc was still talking to her in that sexy half-whisper. “You’d better believe I want to dance with you, darlin’,” he was continuing, “especially dancing the way you promised this morning.”
Oh, Lord!
“But right now, I want much more from you than dancing, chère. Much, much more.”
He chuckled at the dazed expression on her face, and made a great show of using a forefinger to tip her chin up to shut her gaping mouth.
“Babe, I’ve been suffering like a tomcat in heat with what your chemistry has done to my libido,” he informed her. “It’s time to make some of my own chemistry.”
Chapter Nine
Outside the doors of Swampy’s, Luc inhaled and exhaled for strength. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Sylvie when he’d suggested they leave the tavern, but her love potion was having a powerful effect on him.
Not only had his erection become a living entity, but explosive currents of escalating excitement were ricochetting through his body like short circuits on a hot wire. Given the chance, he could probably outdo that rat Samson. For a certainty, he had a craving to nibble something… or someone.
And, for a certainty, his arousal was affecting his thinking. Was I crazy… making such suggestive remarks to Sylvie? Luc wondered, cringing at the memory of the words he’d whispered a few moments ago: “Much, much more.”