Page 5 of Cursed (Decorah Security 2.0, #14)

He tipped his head to one side, watching her. “You could try one of my shirts and a pair of my pants—if you like the ragamuffin look.”

“I’ll pass on that,” she answered, trying to match his light tone.

“Since it’s stopped raining, I can give you some privacy.”

Before she could answer, he strode around the SUV, and she saw him rummaging again in the bags. This time he pulled out a tee shirt and jeans much like the wet ones he was wearing.

Standing out on the road, behind the vehicle, he pulled his sodden shirt over his head, and she found herself staring at the mat of dark hair spreading across his broad chest, then dragged her eyes away. He said he wanted to give her privacy. She should do the same.

She looked down at the robe still warming her lap. The garment was old and beautiful, like something from a vintage clothing store. Very appealing. Yet as she stared at it, she was oddly reluctant to put it on.

A thought lodged itself in her head . If you put on the robe, nothing will ever be the same again .

Nonsense. It was just an old item of clothing. As good as anything else to cover her goose-bumped flesh. Probably it had belonged to his grandmother or some long forgotten female guest.

Quickly, while he was changing his own clothing, she struggled with the buttons of her blouse. Leaving on her damp panties and bra, she pulled her arms through the sleeves of the robe, then closed the front and began working the buttons.

All at once her fingers became numb and her head muzzy.

Delayed reaction from almost being swept downstream. Because the world was spinning around her, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

For a moment, she felt like she was floating away from the earth, tethered by only the barest of threads. Dreamily, she slid her hand down the front of the garment, sending little currents of heat over her skin.

Exhaustion had her drifting, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Then a deep, masculine voice called her name, bringing her back to the world. Only it wasn’t her name—or the twenty-first century. Was it?

“Linette.”

Her eyes blinked open. The sun had dipped low behind the trees at the edge of the clearing.

She was sitting on the porch, in the old rocking chair that Papa had made.

A bowl sat in her lap. A big wooden bowl of beans she was supposed to be snapping.

But really, she had come out here as she had on many evenings, hoping that her love would ride this way again.

She looked toward the shadows, prepared for disappointment. But this time she saw him, and her heart leaped inside her chest. “Andre.”

He didn’t venture any closer to the cabin in the bayou, and she knew the reason. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be seeking her out. She had told him it was wrong. Told herself. Yet here he was. Come from the plantation house to her little cabin.

He could probably guess that her papa was out checking his traps. But did he know that her momma had gone to take care of a sick friend?

Despite all the words of denial that had passed her lips, she set down the bowl on the gray boards of the porch and hurried down the steps, her long skirts swishing around her legs as she picked up speed.

Avoiding the vegetable garden, she dashed into the trees—into his arms. He caught her against his broad chest, hugging her to him.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t come back,” she said in a breathy whisper.

“I shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t stay away.”

“Thank the saints for that,” she heard herself say.

“I am not good for you.”

Probably he was right. But now that he clasped her close, everything felt righter than it had in weeks.

She hung on to him, feeling her heart racing, closing her eyes as his strong hands stroked up and down her arms.

“I had to hold you. Just hold you.”

“Only that?” she teased, then tipped her face up, silently asking for his kiss.

He was glad to oblige, lowering his mouth, brushing his lips back and forth. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he moved his mouth more firmly against hers. They had done this before, but she knew he had always set limits on himself.

Now she wanted to push him past that limit.

When she boldly pressed her body against his, he answered with a low groan that made her knees weak.

Gathering her more tightly in his arms, he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips.

She opened instantly to him, and his head angled for deeper possession.

When his tongue circled hers in a seductive dance, she felt her head spin.

His hands moved restlessly up and down her back.

Through her skirt and petticoats, she felt a hard rod pressing against her.

She knew what that was. Knew what it meant, because her mother had warned her that when a man’s body changed like that—he would be dangerous.

He might try to bed her. And if he did that, no other man would want her for a wife.

She knew her mother was right. She knew it when she was away from Andre, when she was thinking clearly. He wanted to make love with her, and that was wrong. But when she was with him, her own desire leaped up to meet his.

He lifted his mouth, and she moaned in protest. She wanted more. So much more.

They were both breathing hard now.

In the good girl part of her mind, she knew she shouldn’t be doing this.

She had warned herself often enough that the daughter of Jacques Sonnier had no place with the son of Henri Gascon.

He was from the plantation. She was from the backcountry.

His family had wealth and power. Hers scraped out an existence for themselves as best they could.

Andre Gascon must marry a woman from another powerful family. And Linette Sonnier must wed a man of her own station.

All of that was the truth. But none of it made any difference, now that she was in his arms.

When he bent to kiss her again, a shiver travelled over her body as he stroked the sensitive inside of her lip, then played along the edges of her teeth.

His hand slid up her ribs, sending heat through her body, then eased inward, brushing the side of her breast, creating a jolt of hot sensation.

Their eyes met, and she saw desire. He wanted her. And what he was doing was making her forget she must tell him to stop.

She dragged in a breath. But before she could speak, a voice was interrupting them.

Her father? Had he come back and caught them?

Fear crackled through her.

But it wasn’t her father. It was someone else. Far away. Too far to reach her and Andre.

“Morgan? Morgan, are you all right?” The words floated toward her from across the bayou. Floated on time and space.

She longed to stay where she was. In his arms, wrapped in the pleasant but pungent aroma that clung to his skin. His scent. For the rest of her life, she would know him by that familiar scent.

Then his hand closed over her shoulder, his fingers burning into her flesh as he gently shook her.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring up at a face that was the same as her lover, yet not the same.