strictly sexual. In fact, she hadn't involved herself in an affair of any kind for what suddenly seemed like ages.
She kept busy with her practice and her volunteer work at a mental health clinic in one of Charleston's poorest areas. She had friends and a nice social life, but no serious romantic entanglements. She'd been married once to a fellow psychologist, but the marriage had fizzled for lack of interest on both their parts. It had been based on friendship, mutual interests, convenience. Noticeably absent had been the kind of intense physical magnetism that often acts as an adhesive to hold the other parts of a relationship together. They had drifted apart and divorced amicably four years after taking their vows.
Since the divorce, Serena had dated sparingly, casually, never finding a man who motivated her to anything more than that. She had decided that perhaps she simply wasn't a sexual creature. She hadn't inspired that much passion in her husband, nor had he excited her to the kind of mind-numbing ecstasy she'd heard about from other women. She had decided she simply wasn't made to react that way to a man. It probably had something to do with her need for emotional control. Looking up at Lucky Doucet, she decided she might have to rethink the issue.
“Like what you see, sugar?” he drawled lazily, staring down at her with those unblinking amber eyes.
“Not particularly.” She thrust his canteen back at him in an effort to keep him from noticing the telltale blush that warmed her cheeks.
“Liar.”
It was a statement of fact more than an accusation. He took the canteen, deliberately brushing his fingertips over hers. Serena jerked her hand back, winning her an amused chuckle.
Serena lifted her chin a defiant notch. “You have an amazingly high opinion of your own appeal, Mr. Doucet.”
“Oh, no,
chère
, I just call 'em like I see 'em.”
“Then I suggest you make an appointment with an optometrist at the earliest possible date. A good pair of glasses could save untold scores of women the unpleasantness of your company.”
Their gazes locked and warred—hers cool, his burning with intensity. She congratulated herself on defusing a potentially disastrous sexual situation. He congratulated himself on goading her temper. Both went on staring. The air around them thickened with electricity.
On the eastern bank of the bayou an alligator roused itself from a nap, plowed through a lush tangle of ferns and coffee-weed stems, and slid down into the water.
Serena jumped, jerking around to stare wide-eyed at the creature. The alligator was lying in the shallows among a stand of cattails, just a few feet away from the pirogue, its long, corrugated head breaking the surface of the murky water as it stared back at her.
Lucky gave a bark of laughter. “
Mais non, mon ange
, that 'gator's not gonna get you. Unless I throw you overboard, which I have half a mind to do.”
“I don't doubt it—that you have half a mind, that is,” Serena grumbled, snatching the canteen away from him to take another swig of false courage.
And just how much of a mind do you have, Serena, antagonizing this man?
Good Lord, he was a poacher and a bootlegger and who knew what else. He gave her a nasty smile, reminding her enough of the nearby alligator to give her chills.
“No wonder Gifford's holed up out here,” he said, taking up the push-pole again and sending them forward with the strong flexing of his biceps. “I don't see how a man could stand to be stuck in a house with two just like you.”
Serena kept one eye on the alligator and both hands firmly clamped to the edge of the seat. “For your information, my sister and I are nothing alike.”
“I know what your sister is like.”
The cold dislike in his statement made her glance over her shoulder at him. “How? I can't imagine the two of you run in the same social circles.”
Lucky said nothing. That mental door slammed closed again. Serena thought she could
She kept busy with her practice and her volunteer work at a mental health clinic in one of Charleston's poorest areas. She had friends and a nice social life, but no serious romantic entanglements. She'd been married once to a fellow psychologist, but the marriage had fizzled for lack of interest on both their parts. It had been based on friendship, mutual interests, convenience. Noticeably absent had been the kind of intense physical magnetism that often acts as an adhesive to hold the other parts of a relationship together. They had drifted apart and divorced amicably four years after taking their vows.
Since the divorce, Serena had dated sparingly, casually, never finding a man who motivated her to anything more than that. She had decided that perhaps she simply wasn't a sexual creature. She hadn't inspired that much passion in her husband, nor had he excited her to the kind of mind-numbing ecstasy she'd heard about from other women. She had decided she simply wasn't made to react that way to a man. It probably had something to do with her need for emotional control. Looking up at Lucky Doucet, she decided she might have to rethink the issue.
“Like what you see, sugar?” he drawled lazily, staring down at her with those unblinking amber eyes.
“Not particularly.” She thrust his canteen back at him in an effort to keep him from noticing the telltale blush that warmed her cheeks.
“Liar.”
It was a statement of fact more than an accusation. He took the canteen, deliberately brushing his fingertips over hers. Serena jerked her hand back, winning her an amused chuckle.
Serena lifted her chin a defiant notch. “You have an amazingly high opinion of your own appeal, Mr. Doucet.”
“Oh, no,
chère
, I just call 'em like I see 'em.”
“Then I suggest you make an appointment with an optometrist at the earliest possible date. A good pair of glasses could save untold scores of women the unpleasantness of your company.”
Their gazes locked and warred—hers cool, his burning with intensity. She congratulated herself on defusing a potentially disastrous sexual situation. He congratulated himself on goading her temper. Both went on staring. The air around them thickened with electricity.
On the eastern bank of the bayou an alligator roused itself from a nap, plowed through a lush tangle of ferns and coffee-weed stems, and slid down into the water.
Serena jumped, jerking around to stare wide-eyed at the creature. The alligator was lying in the shallows among a stand of cattails, just a few feet away from the pirogue, its long, corrugated head breaking the surface of the murky water as it stared back at her.
Lucky gave a bark of laughter. “
Mais non, mon ange
, that 'gator's not gonna get you. Unless I throw you overboard, which I have half a mind to do.”
“I don't doubt it—that you have half a mind, that is,” Serena grumbled, snatching the canteen away from him to take another swig of false courage.
And just how much of a mind do you have, Serena, antagonizing this man?
Good Lord, he was a poacher and a bootlegger and who knew what else. He gave her a nasty smile, reminding her enough of the nearby alligator to give her chills.
“No wonder Gifford's holed up out here,” he said, taking up the push-pole again and sending them forward with the strong flexing of his biceps. “I don't see how a man could stand to be stuck in a house with two just like you.”
Serena kept one eye on the alligator and both hands firmly clamped to the edge of the seat. “For your information, my sister and I are nothing alike.”
“I know what your sister is like.”
The cold dislike in his statement made her glance over her shoulder at him. “How? I can't imagine the two of you run in the same social circles.”
Lucky said nothing. That mental door slammed closed again. Serena thought she could
Similar Books
