Christine Feehan - Night Game

Heat shot through his body, blood pounded in his veins straight to his aching, thickening groin. He had to stop touching her. The alternative was unthinkable, not with his grandmother coming through the doorway with a welcoming smile on her face. He nearly groaned, catching the back of Flame’s shirt to hold her in front of him.

“That’s just so not fair,” he said.

Her soft laughter taunted him, teased his senses as she deliberately moved back until her bottom rubbed up against him, a mere brush, but it was enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“How wonderful to see you again,” Nonny greeted. She reached out and tucked her hand in the crook of Flame’s arm. “Let’s sit in the parlor, cher , and get to know one another. Raoul, you can bring the tea in.”

“I’m sorry I was so late getting here, Mrs. Fontenot,” Flame apologized. “It was unavoidable.”

Nonny patted her hand. “Thas’ just fine, no worries,” she assured. “I understand you’re staying with Burrell on his houseboat. He’s a good friend of mine, child.”

“That’s what he said.” Flame cast Gator a smoldering look over her shoulder promising retaliation. She knew he’d really put a homing device on the airboat, that he’d already checked up on her. “He’s a wonderful man.”

Gator sent her his quick, easy grin, balancing the tea tray easily in one hand as he trailed after them.

Nonny sank down onto the couch and patted the seat beside her. “Sit here, cher , and tell me all about your family.”

“My family?” Flame echoed, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to lie to this old lady the way she lied to everyone else. Why hadn’t she considered that it would be the first thing the woman asked her? Nonny Fontenot was all about family. She was concerned for her grandson and wanting Flame to be the mother of his future children.

Gator watched the color fade from Flame’s cheeks. She glanced up at him almost helplessly and his heart turned over. She actually pressed backward into the pillows of the couch as if to get away from the question. “Flame’s an orphan, Grand-mere . No blood relatives.”

Nonny clucked her sympathy. “That don’ matter, cher . When you marry Gator, you’ll have all kinds of family. More family than you know what to do with.” She patted Flame’s hand again, more of a stroking than a pat.

Flame had a foolish desire to cover the back of her hand with her palm, to hold that small gesture against her skin and take it out later to feel it all over again when she was alone. She flashed Gator a look of anger. How could he have betrayed his family for Whitney? She wanted to slap his face. Wake him up. Shake him. This wonderful, sincere woman loved him and surrounded herself with his pictures and drawings. She’d probably fixed him chicken soup and read him stories when he was sick.

“How long have you known Burrell?” She needed a food, safe topic.

Nonny gestured to her to pour the tea. “Oh, a lifetime. We both grew up in this parish. He was so handsome and smart, but the river claimed him. All he wanted to do was travel the Mississippi. Of course he came to every fais do-do when he wasn’t on the river and all the ladies wanted to daance with him.”

Gator made a sound of pure shock. Nonny quelled him with a stem look. “I’m not dead, Raoul, just old. Of course I noticed how handsome Burrell was. He brought me flowers every couple of months after Rene died. Sometimes he’d come over and we’d sit a spell on the porch and smoke his pipe. He’s the only man I ever smoked a pipe with.”

“I love the smell of his pipe,” Flame admitted. “I tell him smoking is bad for him, but I do inhale a lot when I’m around his pipe.”

“In your delicate condition,” Gator said, “do you mink you should be inhalin’ cher ?”

The teacup rattled on the saucer as Flame handed the cup to Nonny. She gave Gator a swift, scowling reprimand, but he simply grinned at her. “I do hope you have pictures of Raoul when he was a boy. I’d love to see what he was like. I imagine he was curly-headed and strong-willed.”

Nonny nearly clapped her hands. “He still has that wonderful head of hair.” She raised her voice. “Wyatt. bring me the family album.”

“No. Grand-mere ,” Gator groaned “Don’t do that to me.”

“Great idea, Grand-mere ,” Wyatt said cheerfully. He went to a large antique sideboard and pulled open a drawer. The album was wrapped in a hand-crocheted shawl. Wyatt carried it over to his grandmother with obvious care.

Gator sank down onto the couch beside Flame, deliberately crowding her, his thigh tight against hers as he leaned forward to grab a handful of cookies off a hand- painted plate. “I was a cute kid,” he admitted. “Everyone said so.”

“There’s a naked picture of him in there,” Wyatt pointed out with glee as his grandmother opened the album cover, her hand smoothing over the pages with near reverence.

Flame leaned toward Nonny, away from Gator to peer at the picture of the baby happily throwing water into the air. He sat in an old cooking pot with two handles, looking joyfully at the camera in the first picture. In the second he stood waving chubby arms, hair dripping water into his face, laughing while giving a full frontal view. He looked about eighteen months to Flame.

Gator nudged her. “Even as I child I was well- endowed,” he teased, feigning pride. He shifted his weight so he was wedged tight against her again.

Flame peered at the pages, listening to the pride in his grandmother’s voice as she told stories of his childhood. Wyatt leaned over her shoulder and pointed to a black- and-white picture. There was five-year-old Gator with a torn shirt and ragged knees. He’d been protecting one of his younger brothers from a neighbor. The seven-year- old Gator had a black eye and a big grin. Nine-year-old Gator had tape over his nose and two little girls staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. Eleven-year-old Gator had two black eves and a grin as wide as the Mississippi as he swept off his straw hat and bowed toward three little girls sitting on a pier.

“There seems to be a pattern emerging here,” Flame said. “Was he always in fights? And was there always a female audience around?”

Nonny laughed. “Oh my, yes. He was a fighter, that boy. And a charmer.”

“I still am,” Gator said and lifted Flame’s knuckles to his mouth.

She snatched her hand away, shocked that she was holding his hand and didn’t even realize it.

The afternoon seemed entirely surreal to Flame. She kept forgetting to stay on her guard, relaxing and laughing with Nonny before she realized she was doing it. Nonny talked about the four Fontenot brothers, her voice spilling over with love. Both Wyatt and Gator talked in low, affectionate voices, and they leapt up to get Nonny whatever she asked for. Often they addressed her as ma’am. Flame found it very quaint and endearing.

She rose reluctantly to go. It was the first time she’d ever really felt at home and she was aware she probably would never get to have the feeling again. “I had a lovely time, Mrs. Fontenot,” she admitted. “Thank you for the tea and cookies. Your home is wonderful.”

“Come back soon,” Nonny urged.

Gator took her hand as she stood up. “I’m going with you,” he reminded.

Flame shot him a quelling glance as she made her way to the front door. “It’s quite all right, Raoul. I’m perfectly fine on my own.” She leaned close to him. “I’ve had enough of your company and you’ll only get in my way.”

He retaliated by kissing the nape of her neck. “I can run circles around you, babe. I’ll follow you with your bike and we’ll make the exchange at the houseboat,” Gator added as he escorted her out the door.