Was he falling in love with Sylvie? Or had he always been a little bit in love with the girl?
And if so, was it the fault of the love potion? Or some chemistry that had been between them for ages, just waiting to react?
God! My brain has entered an altered state. How could I even think such unthinkable things?
Enough of this stuff! He and Sylvie had no future. Once the love potion wore off, along with his perpetual hard-on, his life would be back to normal. He didn’t want or need this kind of aggravation.
Maybe he should go out and catch some fish to keep his mind off the… aggravation. Just then, Sylvie moaned in her sleep. Her lips parted, her back arched, and her legs spread slightly. Man, oh, man, that must be some dream!
He stood carefully, not wanting to awaken her in the midst of… well, whatever she was doing. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass her. Well, not quite the last thing. He began to tiptoe toward the front door.
Just then, though, Sylvie did an unforgivable thing. She moaned again, ever so softly, and through her lips came one whisper of a word. “Luc.”
Luc stopped dead in his tracks.
And smiled.
Sonofagun! Sylvie Fontaine… dreaming about the bad boy of the bayou. I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder what I’m doing. Sonofagun! How did that old Hank Williams song “Jambalaya” go? “Sonofagun, we gonna have good fun, down on the bayou …”
Good fun?
Yep!
It was one thing to play the noble Cajun Knight when the woman was unwilling to be seduced or vulnerable. But Sylvie was dreaming about him! Hot damn! She’d told him back at Swampy’s that she wanted him, but he’d figured it was the oyster shooters talking. But maybe it was just the booze making her reveal her secret longings. Secret longings? God, he liked the sound of that.
First, she gave him a love potion. Second, she fueled the fire by telling him she wanted him. Third, she dreamed about him.
All bets were off now.
Sylvie awakened about one p.m., totally refreshed after her long sleep and ready to take back control of her unraveling life. She inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of fresh air after the recent rain and the fragrant scent of roses… lots of roses.
First, she checked on Samson and Delilah, who had adjusted surprisingly well to their new home. A pot of canned chicken noodle soup had been left warming on the stove… presumably for her. She ate it, standing up, from the pot, with some crackers, discovering she was ravenous. Quick work was also made of two homemade beignets… presumably from Tante Lulu’s kitchen. Her stomach satisfied for the moment, Sylvie sipped at a cup of black coffee, which might have tasted fine when Luc brewed it many hours ago, but was now bitter and lukewarm. Still, she felt revived, and ready to take on the world. Or at least Luc.
Strolling around the large room, she noted a framed photograph here and there… one of the three brothers as teenagers, their arms looped over each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera in a rascally fashion. This was before Remy’s accident, and he was almost painfully beautiful to look at. But then, René and Luc were pretty darn gorgeous, too.
Another photograph prompted a giggle from Sylvie. It showed Tante Lulu standing next to a pre-adolescent Luc, coming up only to his chest even then. Based on his cute little three-piece suit, prayer-folded hands, and the rosary around his neck, Sylvie assumed it was a First Communion picture. Hard to imagine Luc ever being so angelic.
Last, there was a picture in an antique frame of a beautiful Cajun woman, about twenty, standing on the prow of a shrimp boat, Sweet Adele, staring off into the watery distance. Sylvie assumed it was Luc’s mother, shortly before her death.
One thing she noticed as she walked around the room was that there wasn’t a speck of dust or clutter. Even the dishes that Luc must have used for his own breakfast and lunch had been washed and put away. No sign either of all the canvas sacks he and Remy had brought in. The straw matting had been rolled up, the wood floors swept, and the Cajun carpets laid around the room. Even the windows looked as if they might have been washed. A bouquet of fresh-picked pink and white roses held center place on the big cypress kitchen table. Luc had certainly been a busy bee while she’d been sleeping half the day away. What did all this say about the kind of man he was? Had he always been a neat freak? Or had it been pounded into him?