Fully Dressed Page 11

  She let out a breath of relief when they cleared where she remembered the edge of the tributary was, only to suck it back in as the rain assaulted them from all sides. Combined with the gusts and chaotic current, it made for a ride she’d have associated with white water rafting, not cruising down toward the Mississippi.

  “Do we have to get to the main river to get to your place?” Her throat was raw from shouting and they were barely out of the small tributary where Sonja and Henry’s neighborhood rested.

  “Do you mean the Mississippi? Yes, but it won’t be for long. With the current we’ll cut the usual time in half.” The white flash of his grin under the slicker hood angered and comforted her. She stepped up to him and pulled his hood back as she had hers.

  “You need to be able to see better.”

  His eyes met hers for a brief moment and in their blue depths she saw that he hadn’t forgotten her, or what was going on between them. Not at all.

  It was probably ridiculous to enjoy the burst of lust he lit low in her center. Downright dangerous, in the midst of a natural disaster, to think about what they could be doing on this boat if the rain weren’t coming down in buckets.

  “Should I start bailing the water out?” She looked around for a pail. Her plastic bag of all her worldly goods was floating on the few inches of rain that sloshed on the deck. Poppy grabbed it and shoved it up against the windshield in front of her.

  “This boat’s got a pump. It’s doing its job or there’d be a lot more water in here already.” He took them around a large semicircle turn and she widened her eyes as she looked through the windshield and saw what lay ahead.

  Frothy foam wave caps indicated where the current on the Mississippi raged in all its fury. The same expanse of water that had been as flat as a plate of glass and as calm last week had erupted into a boiling mess of mud, fallen limbs and trees, and water. If she were standing on the riverbank she’d appreciate the sheer raw power of nature. In a flat-bottomed aluminum boat that was being thrown around like it was no more than a toy, she was scared senseless.

  Until she looked at Brandon. He was the captain of their adventure, leading them to safety with the confidence only gained from a lifetime of acquaintance with these waters. He whistled and alternatively swore as the boat was jostled and shaken by storm debris and rough currents. If he had any of the same fears as she, he didn’t reveal it in his relaxed wide-legged stance at the helm, or in how comfortably he held the wheel. He was a thoroughly modern man driving a boat outfitted with the latest technology, but he might as well be a seventeenth century Caribbean pirate, or one of the French explorers who’d arrived in the river delta three centuries ago. Brandon Boudreaux was as much a part of the bayou as crawdads and the Mississippi, and he had the pedigree to prove it.

  “You’re staring again, Yankee girl.” He shouted over the din of the rain but his eyes never left the water and she wondered how the hell he could see.

  “How will you know where to pull over—oh!” The boat pulled into the river and it was like hitting a wall when it hit the current. She flew to the side, against Brandon, who kept his hands on the wheel.

  “Hang on to me, damn it! I can’t let go of the wheel until we’re at my place.”

  He didn’t have to tell her, as she’d already wrapped her arms around his waist and clung like a baby possum to her mama. But Brandon’s body was nothing like a soft cuddly animal. All tension and focus, his muscles conveyed the deep concentration his mind enjoyed.

  “Sorry!” She gave him a quick, friendly squeeze. This wasn’t the time to worry about how he interpreted her gestures. The longer she held on to him, the more the warmth of his body seeped into hers and she allowed herself to relax against him. It was a better way to handle the jolts and jarring slap-downs the bottom of the boat was going through. She’d never complain about having to attend a dinner boat cruise around Manhattan again. As the rain continued she didn’t know when or how they’d get to safety.

  She trusted Brandon that it’d happen.

  * * * *

  Brandon had been on the river in all sorts of storms, but the deluge was absolutely crazy—the kind of adventure he’d have loved as a teen or college kid. But with a woman clinging to him for her life, all he wanted was to pull into his dock.

  The woman holding on to him continued to intrigue him, at the worst time of his life for any kind of relationship. Sex-only, sex-and-friends, sex-and-romance; no matter what Poppy would be willing to settle for, he didn’t have it to give.

  And yet, as he faced and fought the roughest ride he’d ever had on the Mississippi, he had a goddamned erection. What the hell kind of rescuer was he?

  A horny one.

  Her hot petite body was all but wrapped around him and a sick, twisted, reptilian throwback part of his brain imagined her going down on him right now. Wrapping first her hands and then her wet, hot mouth around him and sucking until he couldn’t take it anymore.

  Thwack.

  A huge tree winged past the boat, and he knew there’d be a dent to pound out later.

  Her arms tightened around his waist again and realization struck him as fast as the lightning that had bolted the area earlier. Having Poppy next to him felt real. Comfortable. Expected.

  Natural.

  “Fuck.” He had a bad habit of thinking aloud. Her head lifted from its spot on his back, where he felt the heat imprint of her breasts and abdomen through both of their slickers.

  “What?”

  “Ah, er, I’m thinking about how big of a dent that tree made.”

  “As long as it doesn’t put a hole in the keel.”

  He wanted to turn his head, turn his body, and take her in his arms. Find out how she knew what a keel was, what it was about her that made him so fucking hard. But if he did that there’d be no figuring anything out because they’d wind up at the bottom of the Mississippi. The realization that he couldn’t take his eyes off the current, had to hold on to the wheel to stay on course, sobered him enough to clear away the haze of lust he was thinking through.

  “You okay back there?” His voice sounded like a damned adolescent’s.

  “I’m fine.” Her muffled response against his back affirmed what he suspected. Poppy was scared. He might not be able to control how his body reacted to her, but he damned well could make sure she had no reason to fear for her safety.

  Except even he was no match for this kind of storm. Time to man up.

  * * * *

  By the time Brandon steered them out of the raging Mississippi and through one after another tributary until they were dealing with only the heavy rains, Poppy felt like she’d run a marathon through the Amazon Rainforest. She was soaked inside and out—on the outside from the rain and her body was coated with sweat from the non-breathable material of the slicker. Her teeth had started to clatter as shivers racked her but she didn’t care. They’d made it.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Yankee girl.” Brandon spoke loudly but no longer had to shout, as the rain’s constant beating was their only companion as they motored up through a marshy area. Even the boat’s motor seemed quiet after the roar of the river.

  “I’m meditating. This is pure zen compared to what we just went through.” She hoped he understood that she meant the river, and not the sexual attraction that had been their constant companion since they’d met on Friday. “That current was insane.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “Naw, I’m fine.”

  “Liar.”

  “How far is your place?”

  “It’s right over there.” He pointed past the swamp, past a grove of what might be crepe myrtles, she couldn’t tell for sure in the rain and with no blossoms. Her gaze kept going, looking, until it landed on a large but simply lined structure. Its front picture window was the only clue that it wasn’t an industrial building.

  “Did you d
esign it?” It looked like the two boats of his she’d been on so far—organic to the bayou, practical, functional. “I’ll bet you have only the best technology in there.”

  His laughter was balm to her shivering heart as it wrapped around and through the space between them. “Yeah, you could say I like my toys. Henry likes to tease me that I’d live in a mud house as long as it had Wi-Fi.”

  “Is he right?” She watched his face closely for any hint of pride or entitlement as he looked out at his property. All she noticed was the soft edge to his eyes, the half grin of his mouth.

  “I’m a guy. I get to live my dream every day, building bigger versions of the models I built as a kid. Boats by Gus has allowed me some financial freedom, and I have fun with it, to a point.”

  He pulled up to a dock that was miraculously above water and killed the engine. As he threw two lines over onto the wooden structure, he jumped out and made quick work of tying them to stanchions painted in the same colors as the Boats by Gus logo she’d seen on his other boat and the T-shirt he’d worn the other night.

  Poppy grabbed her bag and made to scramble out of the boat but Brandon beat her, holding his hand out.

  Without a word, she held onto him—for balance purposes only. It burned from his heat where he’d touched her because she was freezing.

  “Okay, let’s get inside and I’ll show you around before I have to come out and move the boat.”

  “Why do you have to move it?”

  “The tide. It’s going to go a lot higher, maybe by up to four feet, before this lets up.” He spoke from under his hood again and was close enough to her that their hoods formed a sense of cocoon around them. Poppy took a step back.

  “That makes sense. I’ve never been a boat person, even though I grew up on the water.”

  They walked down a long pier to a large stretch of land that formed the bank the house sat on. “Did your family live in New York your entire life?”

  “Oh no, I’m not a native Manhattanite. I went there for college, when I met Sonja, and fell in love with the city. I grew up in Western New York, in Buffalo. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been there?”

  “Yes, several times. You know there is a huge boating community on Lake Erie, right?” His teasing made the dimples on his cheeks deepen and she felt her cheeks redden in response. What would it be like to really flirt with this man, to be charmed by him? Instead of the tug-and-push of the attraction they kept cha-cha-ing around?

  “Yes. I’ve been to the boat show there. It’s amazing to watch the big sailboats out on the lake. I just thought it was for the wealthy, though. Of course, I always thought nothing compared to the force of lake-effect snow storms in Buffalo but after today I’ve changed my perspective.”

  They were on his back deck now, but it was concrete instead of wooden and it wrapped around the house. He led them to a side door where he looked into a tiny cup and keyed a PIN into an access pad.

  “You do not have a retina scanner.”

  “I do. Backed up with a keypad in case someone pops my eye out to break in.” His drawl was emphasized and she could blame it on the exhaustion but she knew him well enough to know he was teasing her.

  “Hey, it’s the bayou. I’m learning anything can happen here.”

  So far, all she’d experienced was having her best friend’s wedding crash and burn, closely followed by her career. Despair swamped her as she remembered her personal circumstance, which while on a back burner as long as she was stuck in NOLA, was going to come to full spotlight as soon as the storm lifted.

  As soon as she could get back to New York.

  Chapter 11

  “Make yourself at home. I’m going to check on the generator.” Brandon took her slicker and paused as if just noticing how wet she was. “On second thought, go get yourself a hot shower. Guest room is through the kitchen, around back. There are robes and towels in the linen closet. You can wash your clothes later.”

  “Thanks.” She bit her bottom lip to keep her teeth from chattering and made her way through the stainless-steel world that was Brandon’s home. At least in the kitchen, where every appliance reflected a fuzzy shape of her drab appearance. A second shower in one day, after being drenched again, didn’t exactly appeal to her but the warmth it promised did.

  Only after she’d dried her hair did she realize she’d not ever questioned her safety. Brandon’s expertise on the water and through the storm was unquestionable. And she’d never felt as though she were going to be at risk here, alone in his house with him. Not that Brandon struck her as any kind of serial killer or perv, but she hardly knew him, truth be told. Big city living had taught her to be cautious when selecting a lover.

  “What the hell?” She spoke to herself as she walked barefoot out to the bedroom area and through to the hallway. A. Brandon wasn’t a lover, no matter how much her body craved him, and B. She had been in extremis, thanks to the weather. The entire southern part of Louisiana was, judging from the storm.

  A long thin faucet indicated filtered water at the sink and her thirst kicked in. She looked around at the understated gray-stained cupboards, trying to guess which one held glasses.

  “Last cupboard on the left.”

  She whirled around, the hardwood floor as smooth as the black granite counters.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  He stood at the other end of the massive kitchen island, in a fresh white T-shirt and faded button-flys. She wondered if he had a weathered pair of jeans for each day of the week.

  “How’s the water pressure in the guest shower?”

  “Uh, fine? Good, actually.”

  He scrubbed his nape and shoved his other hand in his front pocket. Next to where the button-fly was. Get your head out of his crotch. Brandon was obviously taking the high road and making good on his promise that nothing would happen between them. Which was good. Necessary. Maybe a little frustrating. Or a lot.

  “I ask because I haven’t had many, ah, guests and I wondered if the rain forest shower head really worked.”

  She looked away and retrieved a glass and filled it. “It works great. You know you just admitted that you only have women who stay with you, and not in the guest room?” Damn it, she couldn’t keep her mental filter in place to save her life. “Sorry, none of my business.”

  He regarded her with a smug expression but not before she caught a flash of surprise. “Correct. None of your business. But if you’re wondering, you’re right. Except that I usually go to their place if we’re going to engage in some fun.”

  She held up crossed fingers in front of her as if he were a vampire. “TMI. Sorry I said anything. What is your Wi-Fi password, by the way?”

  “The network is BBG-5, the only one that will come up. You may not have noticed in this downpour but there aren’t any other homes for at least a half-mile radius.” He walked over to a built-in desk and wrote the password on a sticky note. “Here. Feel free to use all of your devices at once—you can’t slow my system down.”

  “Thanks.” She took the note from him and did not dwell on his hands. He had workingman’s hands. Large, muscular, a few calluses. The kind that provided the best kind of friction as he ran his hands over her body.

  He caught her glance and held it, too long. Heat pushed up from between her legs to her breasts and she shook uncontrollably. It was all she could do to not untie her belt and drop the robe. She wanted to hide from Brandon as much as she wanted to completely expose herself to him.

  “I meant what I said, Poppy. You’re safe here. This time together is a matter of circumstance. We’re stuck here for as long as the weather pattern holds. Feel free to work wherever it suits you.”

  “Thanks.” A lead weight plumbed her stomach as if he’d said “you’re no more than a stranger to me.” Poppy looked around at the open, airy kitchen. Anywhere but at Brandon. “I’ll talk to you later.
”

  She all but ran to the guest room before she made a complete idiot of herself. Before she blurted out that she didn’t have any work to do.

  Even more odd was the sense of loss that haunted her as she settled into the guest room. Her living space for the duration. For the first time in her life, Poppy was without a job and with no idea what she was going to do next.

  * * * *

  Brandon was relieved that Poppy retreated to the guest room. An hour later he heard the washer and dryer spinning when he walked by the laundry room, so she’d taken him up on his offer and made herself at home.

  She’d looked like a lost rabbit in that fluffy white robe. When he’d built the house he’d spared no expense on the decor, and the interior designer had insisted he’d be glad he’d agreed to have the guest room completely outfitted. The only person who regularly used it was Jena, but since she was overseas it’d gone empty. Henry lived close enough to not need it and his parents… They’d visited him here once. That hurt, somewhere deep down, but not as much as he knew Henry was smarting. To have your own wedding blow up in your face because of your parents was unconscionable. He wanted to drive up to his father’s offices and punch the old man in the face for how he and his mother had treated Sonja. But that was Henry’s circus.

  He sat down at his computer and read an email from the investigator he’d hired to find Jeb. No luck on figuring out where the funds were, but a little news on Jeb’s location. Apparently, his best friend had disappeared after arriving in Paraguay. What the hell? Who absconded with fifteen million dollars and went to Paraguay? Wouldn’t Rio or Costa Rica be nicer places to blow Boat by Gus’s hard-earned cash?

  “Jesus.” He ran his hands through his hair, wondering for the thousandth time why he didn’t notice Jeb was getting ready to bail in such a spectacular fashion.