Love, Alabama (Alabama Series Book 2) Page 10

  The back screen door banged. Maureen looked up to see her big, handsome son, Ben, come into her kitchen. It never failed to fill her with pride at these adults she raised. Their father would be so proud.

  “Hi, honey. To what do I owe such a nice surprise?”

  “I had to speak with a client about a goat and thought I’d stop by.” She grinned, but he waved away the question in her eyes. “Really, don’t ask.”

  “Well, I won’t look a gift goat in the mouth—”

  “Ugh. I had that coming.” He gave her a hug and moved toward the coffeemaker.

  “Help yourself. Coffee’s fresh. And there’s cake.”

  He grinned. “Looks like somebody’s getting married.”

  It wasn’t unusual for there to be mountains of wedding cake, birthday cake, and every other kind of cake lying about the kitchen since her house doubled as an event planning, hosting, and catering venue. The kids had grown up dashing through other people’s occasions taking place within their own home. The house was a gigantic centuries-old plantation passed down from Maureen’s mother’s side of the family. It was known far and wide as The Evangeline House.

  “That’s the tasting cake for my wedding. Watch out for the basil-flavored one. Tastes like the pasture, according to Howard.”

  “Got it.” He joined her at the oversized farmhouse kitchen table. “So, do you know what’s going on with Emma and this director guy? I’m hearing rumors and getting a weird vibe. It’s making me nervous.”

  Funny how her children were so intuitive to each other’s energy.

  *

  It seemed like every overprotective, shrieky momma in town graced her studio today. They were all stressed. It was time to outfit the darlings for all the events. There were garment bags everywhere. They all wanted her opinion. She appreciated that and could give good advice, but it got hairy sometimes.

  Emma hated to be rude about what was her living, and the young ladies weren’t the problem. It was truly their mothers. Either they’d never had the opportunities their daughters were being afforded and were living vicariously through them or reliving their own glory days in the pageant circuit. Young or old, today was the witching day. Perhaps there was a full moon?

  Whatever it was, she couldn’t remember witnessing so many meltdowns between mothers and daughters before and after class. Emma didn’t allow the parents to have contact with the girls and one boy she coached during class. It was a hard and fast rule. No contact during class. If they needed to speak with their child, class was over for them that day. Distractions were trouble. Case in point was Judith, who remained homebound.

  By the time she locked up at the studio, Emma was beyond frazzled. It was the worst time of the year. All the pageants happened within weeks of one another; some were scheduled on the same weekend. The entrants were all ages; so typically, it wasn’t a problem, except for the one coaching all the girls at the same time.

  Then it occurred to her—Matthew was coming over. How had she forgotten? Emma checked the time. She would have fifteen minutes tops by the time she got home to freshen up her bedraggled appearance. Had she shaved her legs recently? Ooooh.

  *

  No woman had ever moved with the kind of lightning speed as Emma Jean Laroux from the time she hit the front door. Yes, her legs required attention from Lady Schick. Without a doubt, she required a shower and her teeth needed brushing. Matthew Pope wouldn’t see her like this. She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste as she jumped into the shower. Nothing wrong with multi-tasking, was there? Thankfully, she’d had a recent pedicure and had washed her hair that morning. Twisting her hair into a clip, Emma managed a five minute scrub down and leg shave.

  By the time she’d fluffed her hair, put on deodorant, dashed into her closet and grabbed a cute but simple sleeveless crepe shift in slate blue, and slid her feet into a pair of comfy leather flats, the doorbell rang.

  She exhaled with relief. Right on time. She opened the front door. Matthew stood juggling two bags and a bouquet of lovely bright red tulips.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  Emma didn’t miss his appreciative sparkle in his eye. She caught a whiff of him. Maybe it was aftershave or shampoo, since his hair was still a little damp. Whatever it was, she resisted the urge to move closer. Then, she caught a whiff of what was inside the bag.

  “Hi. Come on in. And bring those bags. I’m starving!”

  He grinned, and she took the flowers.

  “These are gorgeous. I adore tulips.”

  He followed her inside toward the kitchen. “I figured you for a tulip girl,” he said.

  Something about the way he said it, so easy, and so—Southern made her turn around and eye him speculatively.

  “What?” He asked, innocence in his expression and body language. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Uh, no. You just sounded like somebody from around here the way you said that. Definitely not somebody from up North.”

  “Oh. I told you I moved around as a kid. I’ve been in New York for the past six years or so. It’s definitely different from living in the South. I don’t hate the South, if that’s what you were thinking.” He seemed to take a moment to choose his next words carefully. “It’s just that I don’t love everything about it.”

  She studied him for a moment. “I don’t think I want to hear your analysis of those things you don’t care for in my home.”

  “Maybe you don’t. But you’re not one of them.” Then, he grinned again, with that deep dimple on the right side of his cleanly-shaved face becoming prominent and causing a rush of heat that went straight down to her—

  She bit her lip and turned around quickly, absolutely certain the heat in her cheeks showed him exactly where the rest of her blood flow was diverted.

  “I’m starving.” she said again, still not facing him.

  “Yeah. Me too,” he murmured from behind her.

  His silky tone made her think of hunger that had nothing to do with food. Suddenly, his warm breath was on the back of her neck. She shivered. He pulled her hair to one side and pressed the softest of kisses just behind her right ear. All thoughts of food fled.

  Her next thought as they were wrapped around one another on the rug in middle of her kitchen floor was—how did I get here? Then—oh, my God. Don’t stop—ever. She had been on hiatus from sex for a really long time, an embarrassingly long time.

  So, the sounds coming from her lips might have been a little over the top. Was she a screamer? What a revelation.

  She came the first time from his very skilled fingers touching her though her clothes. How embarrassing. He seemed to like it based on his continued interest.

  From there he magically—and yes, she was convinced he was magic—had them both naked in her bed, condom on. She had to look at him. Because, well because, Holy mother of God, he was gorgeous. Not an ounce of fat on him.

  “I won’t make fun of your breakfast anymore.”

  He leaned back, his expression perplexed in the moonlight. “What did you say?”

  “You—you are beautiful. All those egg white omelets and turkey bacon.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. But not for long. Because in the next moment, he was right back to the matter at hand, which seemed to be trying to make her scream with intense pleasure. She was going to die from it.

  *

  Matthew had every intention of using all the manners he possessed by feeding her dinner at least before going caveman and flattening Emma on her kitchen floor. But his self-control fled when she’d bitten her lip and turned her back to him. He hadn’t missed the flare of desire in her eyes. And that had done him in.

  And, quite frankly, he’d never experienced such a powerful rush of instantaneous need as he had in that moment. He simply couldn’t wait. Thankfully, her desire seemed to match his. She was incredibly responsive to his touch. And her body. Emma Laroux was luscious. Lucky him.

  Frilly pillows were scattered in every direction abou
t the room. Both were breathing heavy, and Matthew rolled onto his back, finally breaking contact. He was still reeling from what had just happened and stole a look at Emma. She was staring at him. They burst out laughing. It wasn’t a nervous kind of thing, more a gut-busting kind of laughter that was both unexpected and freeing.

  “Wow.” It was all he could come up with as he wiped away the tears.

  “Yeah, wow.” She hiccupped.

  “I’m starving.” Matthew realized it as he said the words.

  “Let’s eat,” Emma said.

  “Oh, hell yeah.” Matthew hadn’t felt this light in years.

  They finished every container, fried pickles and all.

  Chapter Nine

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  Mom’s wedding was now two days away and preparations became the only other thing in Emma’s life besides work and thinking about Matthew Pope and their night together. She’d been putting him off since then. Had their amazing hot sex together been a huge mistake? It had been hot and amazing. But she worried. And she was anxious that Tad knew.

  Matthew had shared with her that he’d been stopped by the local police and mildly threatened after the taillight incident. Of course, that was Tad’s doing and his way of showing them what he could do if he had a mind to. And that was before Emma’s night with Matthew. There were no secrets around here. Somebody was sure to have seen Matthew’s car here so late.

  Tad could have even sent a patrol car by. Was she paranoid, or based on her past experience with Tad and his barely-concealed threats, was she completely realistic to believe him capable of causing her real trouble? She knew it would sound crazy to pretty much anyone she said the words out loud to.

  She would sit tight for now, because he hadn’t actually done anything for certain besides cause the broken taillight on Matthew’s car and have him stopped by the police. Emma could connect the very distinct dots on that one. Plus, he’d stopped by Matthew’s house that night. Proof positive in her mind. It might not hold up in court, but Emma knew, just like Tad wanted.

  Shaking off the nasty Tad thoughts, Emma deliberately focused on the time she would spend with her family this evening.

  She and her sisters and nieces had their final dress fittings for Mom and Howard’s wedding. They were all going to be together at Evangeline House for dinner together. Cammie was cooking on set today, but at the same time, cooking for the family. It was kind of nice that her fantastic food was available to share. To be filmed, it had to be actually cooked. There was a food stylist on set who helped with the cooking, and made sure all the food on television appeared fresh and appetizing. So, there had to be a pretty good supply of fresh product on hand at all times to replace what sat for more than a few minutes and lost its beauty. That was the stuff they refrigerated for later.

  Tonight, they would all come back to Evangeline House after their respective jobs and have a big try-on, then eat Cammie’s jambalaya, one of Emma’s favorite dishes. She did a pretty good job making it, too. Emma wasn’t considered the cook in the family, but she’d learned a few tricks over the years. She did enjoy her food and wasn’t too bad in the kitchen.

  Emma had adjusted her schedule today so she finished early enough to make it to her mother’s house in time for the dress fitting and dinner. She’d been squeezing her yoga and Pilates in early in the morning since she hadn’t had to go to the set to help with Cammie’s makeup. The new stylist/makeup artist had arrived from New York, though Emma hadn’t yet met her. Nor had she heard anything about her from Cammie, or Matthew for that matter, which was odd. Emma had to admit, she hadn’t taken time to ask either.

  Matthew had called pretty much every night after work asking to see her. It had been almost a week since “the night of hot sex,” and as much as she desperately wanted a repeat, she couldn’t shake the idea that it was a really bad idea. She liked him, a lot, actually. But the warning bells were loud and insistent in her brain. She was a cautious woman these days due to lessons learned in her younger years. She’d trusted in a man, albeit a younger one. She’d believed him when he’d said forever. He’d broken her heart. And now he still refused to leave her be.

  Disgusted with the ride on this train of thought to nowhere, Emma shook her head to clear it. Thankfully, the pageants started in force next weekend. Tonight was Friday. They would have all day tomorrow to get everything before the rehearsal tomorrow evening. The wedding was set for Sunday at six. It wasn’t a usual time for a wedding, but there wasn’t anything usual about any of this.

  Emma stopped by the diner on her way to Evangeline House to pick up a couple of their locally famous lemon meringue pies—her contribution to dinner tonight. Cammie shouldn’t have to do all the work. She noticed what looked like Matthew’s car parked in the lot. Emma frowned.

  The bell tinkled as she pushed open the glass door. Yep, there he was, still dressed in his bossy attire from the set—starchy, but a little less so than he generally looked in the mornings. He’d loosened the tie. Why in the world did he wear a tie?

  He looked up as she approached. As soon as he recognized her, his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze connected with hers, communicating his desire so blatantly her knees nearly buckled as she made her way toward his booth. She felt her cheeks flush.

  “Hi there.”

  “H-hey. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Where else does a poor guy go to get a meal? It’s not like I can convince you to eat with me.” He looked so sad and lonely just then.

  “Hi there, darlin.’ You here to pick up your pies?” Thelma’s stealthy approach startled Emma.

  “Oh, hey, Thelma. Yes, please.”

  “Pies? What kind?” Matthew appeared interested.

  “Lemon meringue. We’re trying on our dresses for Mom’s wedding tonight, then having dinner. You should join us—for dinner. Not to try on dresses.”

  Holy hell. Had she just invited him to dine with her family? They would eat him alive. Or, at least leave him writhing in discomfort from the all the shots they’d take at him with their unending questions.

  “I’d love to. So, that’s what all the jambalaya was about today. Usually, Cammie invites the crew to help themselves. But yesterday, she sent out a memo that suggested everyone bring their own lunch because she had plans for today’s menu.”

  “Yep. She’s feeding the brood. You sure you want to take part in a get-together with my family as a unit?”

  “You recanting the invite?” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

  “Not me. Just want to make sure you know what a bunch of predators they are when new prey enter into their den.”

  “I’ve met most of them. They all seem perfectly harmless.”

  “Says the furry bunny with the wide, blinky eyes.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s not that they’re bad people, it’s that they are incapable of holding in a single thing that pops into their minds. They’ll grill you mercilessly until you beg for mercy.”

  “Worth it.”

  “Worth what?” She asked.

  “Worth the time spent with you, even with your supposedly evil siblings. If that’s the only way I get to see you, then I’ll take it.”

  She blinked. “I didn’t expect you to say that. What happened to the grumpy Northerner I met when you arrived in Ministry?”

  “Your Southern charm has worked wonders, ma’am. And I’m now using the wonder drug, Flonase. Even your large, furry animal can’t bother me.”

  “Ah, I see. Me and Flonase. Cool.”

  Thelma shuffled up, holding a couple boxes. “I threw in a cherry because I had an extra. Tell your momma I said hi.”

  Emma smiled warmly at the woman. “Thanks, Miss Thelma. You know how much I love the cherry pie.”

  “You taking this one with you or is he going to order?” Thelma nodded her head toward Matthew as if he wasn’t there.

  “I’ll be heading out now
. Thanks, Thelma. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Thelma harrumphed.

  He opened the door and gestured for Emma to precede him. “I’m growing on her.”

  “Are you still ordering the same breakfast?” she asked.

  “Last week I broke down and had real bacon,” he admitted.

  “You’re going to hell. No wonder she’s still stiff with you. Miss Thelma loves people who enjoy their food. It makes her happy to serve happiness.” Emma informed him.

  “You should live to eat, not eat to live. I enjoy food, I just think it’s important to have discipline.”

  “Were you obese as a child or something?” She laughed.

  He didn’t laugh. “Not obese, just heavy.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t made fun of or anything; I just learned as I became an adult that if I eat lean, I stay lean. Of course, I exercise, too.”

  “You get stiff when you talk about your discipline. Your body language changes.”

  They were standing in the diner’s parking lot next to her car. He opened her door.

  “I’m sorry. I joined the military after college and it was—very highly disciplined. That was my take-away.”

  Her eyes were wide. “You were in the military? Did you see combat?”

  His body seemed to tighten, and when he answered, the word was clipped and short. “Yes.”

  “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “I really don’t like to discuss my tour of duty. It was—unpleasant. I got out right after.” Still stiff.

  “O-okay. I won’t pry. If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.” She smiled. “You can follow me and wait around with the guys and have a beer while we try on dresses or meet me at Evangeline House in about forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll stop by my house and change. I’d like to lose the tie.”

  “Good idea. I prefer you without one. You look a little severe when you wear a tie.”

  “I wouldn’t want to seem severe.”

  “I’ll send you the address. See you in a bit.” She used her phone to airdrop the address to Evangeline House straight to his phone.