Page 80 of Frankly, My Dear

Yes, she would go down and talk to him about Etienne’s lessons, and the enlargement of her classes to include the other children.

No, it was late, and he was probably still upset with her over the aerobics session he’d witnessed.

Yeah, but she still wanted to put James in his place, showing him just what he’d be missing when he sent her away.

On the other hand, teasing James might very well turn on her, sort of like offering candy to a lion and being devoured in the process.

She could wear that gauzy wrapper Iris had brought that evening from Mrs. Baptiste, an odd gift for James’s mother to have sent, now that she thought about it.

On and on, Selene waged a silent war with herself. Logic versus pure, obstinate, feminine brainlessness.

Brainlessness won out.

James sat in the library nursing a tumbler of aged whiskey. He inhaled the intoxicating aroma of the liquor and the pungent odors of the cleaning materials Selene and her household demons had used that day.

He gave up on making sense of the plantation accounts. Instead, he leaned back precariously in his chair and propped his long legs, crossed at the ankles, on the edge of the desk. Picking up Selene’s magazine, We, he shook his head in weary disbelief. Bon Dieu! Who ever heard of naming a magazine We? That would be like choosing some foolishly simplistic title, like People, or Life. Men and women of Selene’s time must be incredibly unimaginative.

Selene. There she was again, insinuating herself into his every thought. He rubbed his fingertips back and forth across his upper lip, deep in thought, as he studied the magazine once again, trying futilely to understand her presence in his time…his life.

“Oh, how could you? I don’t believe this!” The witch in question stormed into the room, glaring down at him from her great height, hands on hips. The whole effect was lost, however, because the wispy garment she wore barely concealed her tall body with its lean curves. Hell, when had her skinny bones translated in his benumbed brain to “lean curves?”

“Get your filthy boots off that clean desk,” she demanded. “Do you have any idea how much work it took to polish that monstrosity?”

“Monstrosity?” he asked, amazed by her tirade. “I like this desk.” He took a long drink from his glass.

“And drinking again!”

“Shut up, Selene. And go back to bed,” he said tiredly. “I’m exhausted. I’ve been drinking. And I’m in a dangerous mood. Escape while you have a chance.”

“No.”

He slanted her a look of disbelief. “No? Did you tell me ‘no’?”

She raised her hand distractedly to brush a strand of hair off her face, and he saw the long scratch running down her forearm. He gulped with sudden concern. “Did you have the cut tended by Blossom?”

“Yes. It was nothing.” She waved a hand airily.

“Cuts get infected easily in the bayou.”

“I’m all right, James,” she insisted. “I need to talk to you,” she added, shifting uncomfortably from bare foot to bare foot.

Oh, merde. If her feet are bare, does that mean she is wearing nothing beneath that flimsy wrapper? “You need to talk to me, naked?”

Her face turned a charming shade of pink, which he could tell annoyed her. “I am not naked.”

He studied her boldly, telling her without words just how naked he saw her.

Her eyes shifted guiltily.

He narrowed his own eyes suspiciously. “Selene, have you come here to seduce me into your bed?”

“Absolutely not!”

Before he had a chance to analyze her motives, she dropped down into a chair on the other side of the desk. Light from the oil lamp on his desk and the candelabra near the window flickered in the slight breeze. Seductive shadows danced about the dark room, creating an aura of privacy, an isolation from the rest of the world. A dangerous, tantalizing atmosphere, he decided immediately.

“So do you really believe that Oprah earned ten million dollars last year?” he asked, seeking some neutral subject that would not catapult him onto a course that could only lead to his destruction.

“Huh?” She glanced down at the publication in his lap. “Oh, you’ve been reading my magazine again. Can I have it back now?”