Читать книгу Bad Boys Southern Style - JoAnn Ross - Страница 9

“Well.” Out on the raised deck of her Malibu home, which looked out over the vast blue Pacific, Emma Broussard hung up the phone and eyed the man seated across the white wrought iron table. “I’ve done all I can. Whatever else happens is up to you.”

“I owe you, darlin’.” Sloan lifted his glass to her. “Big time.”

Her smile faded and a warning glinted in moss green eyes. “If you hurt her—”

“I know. You’ll have Gabe rip out my lungs.”

“That might be an option,” she agreed mildly. “But only after I hack your balls off with a rusty knife and feed them to that shark that was spotted offshore last week.”

He blew out a breath as just the suggestion of the threat had his testicles shooting up into his tonsils. “Wow. Who’d guess an expectant mother could be so harsh?”

“I like you, Sloan. A great deal. I also enjoy your artistic vision and believe that you’re one of the few people who understands and appreciates my husband’s complexities enough to draw an amazing performance from him. I’d like to believe that’s because, although you do appear to have a bit of a Peter Pan complex, you’re not a typically shallow, egotistical Hollywood movie prick.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“It was meant as a compliment. Roxi’s been my best friend since we were in kindergarten.” Her expression softened and her eyes drifted back over the sun-silvered waves. “We met the day she put a spell on a boy who’d called me fat.”

“I hope she turned him into a frog.”

“Nothing that dramatic. But he did fall off his bike riding home from school and broke his arm.”

“Let’s hear it for the witches,” he said with a grin, then sobered. “Kids can be mean.”

Sloan knew, by some standards, especially Hollywood standards, the adult Emma would be considered overweight, as well. Personally, he found her lush and ripe and sexy as hell.

“It was the truth,” she said with a shrug. “I was, as my mother insisted on pointing out, a ‘butterball.’ But you should have seen the way Roxi lit into him. She was a five-year-old warrior.” She smiled at the memory. “Thinking about it now, although the books hadn’t been written yet, she’s always reminded me of Morganna.”

She slanted Sloan a knowing look. “I believe you see her the same way.”

“I’ve never met the woman.”

He’d been in the Sahara when Gabe and Emma had gotten married, and a damn sandstorm had kept him from getting to Louisiana and acting as his friend’s best man.

“Yet here you are, planning a trip all the way across the country to be with her. After asking me to lie for you.”

“And I appreciate it, Emma. But it wasn’t exactly a lie.”

She lifted a bright russet brow, reminding him yet again that the lady was no pushover.

“More like a sin of omission,” he qualified. “Number one, I really did grow up in Savannah.” He began counting off on his fingers. “Second, I am going to be scouting shooting sites there.” A third finger went up. “And finally, meeting with someone who believes herself to be a real witch will help flesh Morganna out.”

Believes herself to be a real witch. That qualification did not escape Emma’s attention.

“Do you believe in destiny?” he asked suddenly.

“Of course.”

“I never did. I always figured we made our own destiny.”

“Perhaps it’s a bit of both,” Emma suggested. “We all have free will, the ability to make choices, take different paths. Take advantage of opportunities.”

She crossed her legs and took a sip of herbal tea. “Gabe and I knew each other back in Blue Bayou growing up,” she said. “We’d been friends for a lot of years. Well, to be perfectly honest, I’d been a friend who had a major crush on him. But things didn’t work out.”

From the shadows in her expressive green eyes, Sloan sensed that was an understatement. “He moved to Hollywood. Then my marriage broke up, and Gabriel had his little problem—”

“His scandal, you mean.”

The sunlight returned to her eyes when she laughed. “Ah, yes, let’s hear it for kinky sex scandals…Anyway, after he decided to return home to hide out from the press until things blew over, a friend of both Gabe’s and mine pulled a few strings, forcing us to spend some time alone together. The sparks were still there, so…”

“You lit yourself a fire.”

“More like a conflagration. But yes. Either one of us could have backed away. In fact, I tried to. But Gabe had other ideas.”

“I don’t blame him. Hell, sugar, if I’d have seen you first, I would’ve given your movie star husband a run for his money.”

“That’s sweet.” She patted him on the knee. “But getting back to the point of this conversation, are you suggesting you believe Roxi may be your destiny?”

“That’s probably an overstatement. But I gotta tell you, Emma, it’s the damnedest thing. The minute I saw that e-mail of your wedding picture, I felt poleaxed.”

“Roxi has that effect on men.”

“It’s more than just her looks. Hell, this is L.A. You can’t throw a stick on a beach here without hitting a dozen women probably just as beautiful.”

“Who undoubtedly wouldn’t enjoy getting hit by flying sticks, but I understand what you’re getting at.”

“The point, and I do have one, is that the woman’s been flat out driving me out of my mind. She’s all I can think about. All I can dream about.”

“I know the feeling,” Emma said dryly. “Very well. But have you considered that it’s because you’ve been so caught up in this new project, and she does resemble Morganna?”

If that wedding picture was any indication, she was the crime-fighting witch in the flesh. He wondered if she owned a catsuit.

“Sure I have. And that’s probably all it is. But if I’m going to be able to keep my mind on work long enough to get this project in the can, I need to find out.”

Surely taking Roxi Dupree to bed would get her out of his system once and for all. And let him get on with his movie. And his life.

“I can understand that, as well. May I offer a word of advice?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve never been one to involve myself in other people’s personal lives, but since it also occurs to me that if it hadn’t been for Nate Callahan, Gabriel and I might not have had a second chance, I’m going to risk a bit of meddling.

“If, after you get to Savannah, you begin to suspect whatever you’re feeling is more than just understandable lust for a beautiful woman, don’t tell Roxi.”

“O-kay.” He knew his skepticism was written all over his face.

“I know what you’re thinking. That deep down inside, no matter what they might say to the contrary, most women are looking for commitment.”

“Far be it from me to make sweeping generalities. But just going by my own experience, that seems to be the case more often than not.”

Although he’d always told women right up front that he wasn’t the marrying kind, after a few months, or even weeks, most suddenly started talking about silverware patterns, and bridal magazines would magically show up on bedside tables.

“Roxi’s the exception. She’s always up for a good time, but if you let her think you’re getting serious, she’s going to run. I’ve seen it happen hundreds of times.”

“Hundreds?”

Emma nodded. “At least. But I’ll let her tell you about her rule of three herself. If things get that far.”

“I know about the rule of three,” he said. “It’s the Wiccan code about whatever you do comes back to you threefold.”

“That’s one version,” Emma agreed. “But Roxi’s got her own take on it.”

“Well now, sugar, I have to admit you have indeed piqued my interest. But if she’s into threesomes, I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed.”

Emma laughed. “I can’t swear to know everything about her, but I’m pretty sure that you’re safe there.” She touched a fingertip to her lips. “But that’s all I’m saying.”

Emma was still smiling long after Sloan had left for the airport.

“I believe,” she told Gabriel later that afternoon, “that things in Savannah could get very interesting.”

They were lying in bed, bathed in the warm afterglow of passion after making love. It still amazed her that after all these months together, she still couldn’t get enough of him. And, amazingly, if his behavior in the past half hour was any indication, her husband, who undoubtedly could have any woman in the world he wanted, felt the same way.

“Mais, yeah.” He pressed his lips against her temple. Skimmed a wickedly clever hand down her side, from her shoulder to her thigh. “Sort of like nitroglycerin and a flamethrower are interesting.”

She laughed, enjoying the image even as heat bloomed beneath his caressing touch. “I suppose it’s only fair.” She twined her arms around his neck and lifted her face for his kiss. “Why should we have all the fun?”

Emma’s last thought, just before her husband took her back into the mists, was that her two favorite commitment-phobic people might have finally met their match.