The Bourbon Kings
Page 113
As Lane sputtered and turned red as that Mercedes he’d bought her, Miss Aurora laughed at him in a kind way.
“You’re a bad boy, Lane.”
“I know, ma’am. That’s why you have to stay here and keep me straight. I keep tellin’ you that.”
Instead of stopping in front, he went around to the back, because it was closer to her quarters. Pulling up to the rear door, he hit the brakes, cut the engine … and didn’t get out.
Looking over at her, he whispered, “I’m serious. I need you to help me here, on earth—in this house, in my life.”
God, it was impossible to ignore the fact that three days ago she had been barking at him that she wasn’t going anywhere, but now, something had changed. Something was different.
Before she could say anything, the garage door went up and the chauffeur came out with the Phantom, that five-hundred-thousand-dollar car proceeding by them as it headed around to the front of the house.
“He is evil,” Lane said. “That father of mine …”
Miss Aurora lifted her palms. “Amen.”
“Where the hell is he going this morning?”
“Not to church.”
“Maybe he’s going after Chantal.”
The instant he spoke the words, he cursed.
“What are you talking about?”
Lane shook his head and got out. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Not the way it went. When he went over and opened her door, she just sat there with her purse in her lap, and her gloved hands folded one over the other. “Tell me.”
“Miss Aurora—”
“What did he do to you?”
“This is not about me.”
“If it’s about bringing back that horrible wife of yours, you bet your fanny it’s about you.”
Lane fought the urge to bang his head on the Porsche’s hood. “It really doesn’t matter—”
“I know she got rid of your baby.”
As those dark eyes stared up at him, he cursed again. “Miss Aurora. Don’t do this. Leave it. There are so many other things worth worrying about.”
All she did was cock that eyebrow.
Lane sank down on his haunches. God, he loved her face, every crease and crinkle, each curve and all the straightaways. And he loved how she was as lady-like as they came, but strong as a man.
She and Lizzie were so alike.
“There are some things that aren’t worth knowing, ma’am.”
“And others you shouldn’t keep to yourself.”
For some reason, he found himself dropping his eyes, as if he had done something he should be ashamed of. “She’s pregnant, Miss Aurora. It’s not mine.”
“Whose is it,” she demanded.
The rest of the story was communicated silently—and the funny thing was, she didn’t seem totally shocked.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a low tone.
“That’s what she said. And when I confronted him? It was in his face.”
Miss Aurora stared straight ahead, her brow furrowed so low, he could no longer see her eyes. “God will punish him.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath for that.” He rose up and offered her his hand. “It’s getting hot out here. Come on.”
Miss Aurora looked back into his eyes. “I love you.”
It was her way of apologizing for what she knew they had all been through with their father. Not just this Chantal ugliness, but those decades of what had gone before, back when they were children.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve never thanked you. For all those years of being there, I never … you held us together, me especially. You were always there for me. You are always there for me.”
“God gave me that sacred job when he crossed my life with y’all’s.”
“I love you, Momma,” he choked out. “Forever.”
FORTY-ONE
The sound of the chainsaw in Lizzie’s hands was so loud, she didn’t hear the car approach. And it wasn’t until she let up on the gas and the thing’s engine fell to a mutter that a very sexy male voice announced she was no longer alone:
“You are the hottest woman I have ever seen.”
Twisting around and looking down, she found Lane leaning back against his Porsche, arms crossed, feet planted, expression intense.
From her vantage point on the mangled roof of her Yaris, she lifted the chainsaw over her head and pumped it a couple of times. “Hear me roar.”
“Hear me beg.”
She had to laugh as she jumped off to the ground. “I’ve made some good progress, don’t you think—”
Lane cut her off by putting his mouth on hers, the kiss getting so hot, so fast, that he ended up bending her nearly backward. When he finally let up a little, they were both panting.
“So … hi,” he said.
“Did you, by any chance, miss me?”
“Every second.” He straightened them up. “God, I love y—I love the way you handle that chainsaw.”
It was impossible not to catch his slip—and she had to stumble in her own mind as an instinct to float out an ILY struck her as well.
Lane covered up the awkwardness with aplomb, however. “So I really did bring dinner. Takeout from the club. I got you that salad you hopefully still like, and a crap load of tenderloin—you know, just in case we need it to recover.”
“From what,” she drawled as she put her chainsaw down.
“You’re a bad boy, Lane.”
“I know, ma’am. That’s why you have to stay here and keep me straight. I keep tellin’ you that.”
Instead of stopping in front, he went around to the back, because it was closer to her quarters. Pulling up to the rear door, he hit the brakes, cut the engine … and didn’t get out.
Looking over at her, he whispered, “I’m serious. I need you to help me here, on earth—in this house, in my life.”
God, it was impossible to ignore the fact that three days ago she had been barking at him that she wasn’t going anywhere, but now, something had changed. Something was different.
Before she could say anything, the garage door went up and the chauffeur came out with the Phantom, that five-hundred-thousand-dollar car proceeding by them as it headed around to the front of the house.
“He is evil,” Lane said. “That father of mine …”
Miss Aurora lifted her palms. “Amen.”
“Where the hell is he going this morning?”
“Not to church.”
“Maybe he’s going after Chantal.”
The instant he spoke the words, he cursed.
“What are you talking about?”
Lane shook his head and got out. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Not the way it went. When he went over and opened her door, she just sat there with her purse in her lap, and her gloved hands folded one over the other. “Tell me.”
“Miss Aurora—”
“What did he do to you?”
“This is not about me.”
“If it’s about bringing back that horrible wife of yours, you bet your fanny it’s about you.”
Lane fought the urge to bang his head on the Porsche’s hood. “It really doesn’t matter—”
“I know she got rid of your baby.”
As those dark eyes stared up at him, he cursed again. “Miss Aurora. Don’t do this. Leave it. There are so many other things worth worrying about.”
All she did was cock that eyebrow.
Lane sank down on his haunches. God, he loved her face, every crease and crinkle, each curve and all the straightaways. And he loved how she was as lady-like as they came, but strong as a man.
She and Lizzie were so alike.
“There are some things that aren’t worth knowing, ma’am.”
“And others you shouldn’t keep to yourself.”
For some reason, he found himself dropping his eyes, as if he had done something he should be ashamed of. “She’s pregnant, Miss Aurora. It’s not mine.”
“Whose is it,” she demanded.
The rest of the story was communicated silently—and the funny thing was, she didn’t seem totally shocked.
“Are you sure?” she asked in a low tone.
“That’s what she said. And when I confronted him? It was in his face.”
Miss Aurora stared straight ahead, her brow furrowed so low, he could no longer see her eyes. “God will punish him.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath for that.” He rose up and offered her his hand. “It’s getting hot out here. Come on.”
Miss Aurora looked back into his eyes. “I love you.”
It was her way of apologizing for what she knew they had all been through with their father. Not just this Chantal ugliness, but those decades of what had gone before, back when they were children.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve never thanked you. For all those years of being there, I never … you held us together, me especially. You were always there for me. You are always there for me.”
“God gave me that sacred job when he crossed my life with y’all’s.”
“I love you, Momma,” he choked out. “Forever.”
FORTY-ONE
The sound of the chainsaw in Lizzie’s hands was so loud, she didn’t hear the car approach. And it wasn’t until she let up on the gas and the thing’s engine fell to a mutter that a very sexy male voice announced she was no longer alone:
“You are the hottest woman I have ever seen.”
Twisting around and looking down, she found Lane leaning back against his Porsche, arms crossed, feet planted, expression intense.
From her vantage point on the mangled roof of her Yaris, she lifted the chainsaw over her head and pumped it a couple of times. “Hear me roar.”
“Hear me beg.”
She had to laugh as she jumped off to the ground. “I’ve made some good progress, don’t you think—”
Lane cut her off by putting his mouth on hers, the kiss getting so hot, so fast, that he ended up bending her nearly backward. When he finally let up a little, they were both panting.
“So … hi,” he said.
“Did you, by any chance, miss me?”
“Every second.” He straightened them up. “God, I love y—I love the way you handle that chainsaw.”
It was impossible not to catch his slip—and she had to stumble in her own mind as an instinct to float out an ILY struck her as well.
Lane covered up the awkwardness with aplomb, however. “So I really did bring dinner. Takeout from the club. I got you that salad you hopefully still like, and a crap load of tenderloin—you know, just in case we need it to recover.”
“From what,” she drawled as she put her chainsaw down.
