of hair over his forehead. He’d left New Orleans yesterday evening after his odd encounter with Marissa Sturgess and made the twenty-mile journey northwest of the city in an attempt to get the vexing woman off his mind.
The powerful sexual attraction he felt for her spooked him. Beau wasn’t accustomed to such rampant physical desires, especially toward a woman who provoked all his worst qualities.
He was damn glad she’d given up and gone on back to New York after the beer-bottle incident. If she had kept pestering him, he didn’t know if he would have had the courage to resist her. He was that damn attracted. And the last thing he needed was to get involved with a woman who charged through life stuck in high gear.
Been there, tried that.
Marissa never took the time to smell the daisies or stroll through the grass barefoot and feel the dew between her toes. She never just sat on the porch and watched the river roll by. Even if she went to a trendy spa and paid people to rub the physical kinks from her body, she never mentally let go for a moment.
He knew this about her because he used to run the same fast-track lifestyle she was racing and it had almost killed him. Beau knew what she needed, even if Marissa did not. She needed to find the joy in just being alive. She needed to lie on her back on a blanket and look up at the stars. She needed to roller-skate and roast marshmallows around a campfire and catch lightning bugs in a jar.
She needed to let go of her high ideals and lofty expectations. She needed to value herself first and foremost as a human being and not solely for what she could produce. She needed for someone to strap her to a rocking chair and make her sit there until she really saw what was going on around her.
Or maybe she needed someone to tie her to the bed and give her the most mind-altering orgasms of her life.
Beau grinned at the provocative image.
Thank heavens she’d left Louisiana or he just might have volunteered. This sex-simply-for-the-sake-of-good-sex idea would not be such a hard concept to master if it involved someone as enticing but inaccessible as Marissa.
He also hated that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her job offer. Already his creativity—which had pretty much gone underground after he’d left New York—roared back to life with a startling vengeance. Consumed by a tumble of ideas for the video game, he’d barely slept last night.
“I’m not doing it,” he muttered. “I’m not going back. I can’t go back.”
The thought of returning to the high-pressure world that drained every ounce of fun from him caused Beau to shudder. He might currently be directionless, but it was a damn sight better than feeling as if your life had been stolen and your very soul sucked dry.
Still, tempted a part of him, it might be a kick to try your hand at designing a sexual video game.
His grin widened at the idea of playing that very game with Marissa and goose bumps actually broke out on his forearm. He blamed the cool breeze but he knew he was fooling himself. Marissa was what had him feeling tense and restless, not the chilly air.
“Forget that woman. She’s nothing but trouble.”
Ignoring his direct order, his psyche delivered up a mental picture of her. Intelligent brown eyes, determined chin, forceful carriage, firm caboose and her take-no-prisoners strut.
He got excited all over again.
“Easy, bucko, she’s a man-eater.”
Anna lifted her head, whined and gazed at Beau expectantly.
“No, not you. Go back to your nap.”
The dog thumped her tail but made no move to get up. He reached down and stroked her golden head that uncannily enough was almost the same color as Marissa’s hair. How come women couldn’t be as loyal and uncomplicated as man’s best friend?
Yes, considering the way he was dwelling on her it was a very good thing she’d left town.
He heard tires crunch on the graveled driveway in front of the house and he glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. A little early for guests to be checking in, but the Scarlett O’Hara Room was vacant.
The sound of a car door opening punctuated the quiet followed by the aggressive strains of a hip-hop beat. He furrowed his forehead in surprise. Most of Greenbrier’s guests consisted of older couples seeking to avoid the hustle and bustle of New Orleans or history buffs looking to revisit the past. Neither of whom seemed the type to listen to Snoop Doggy Dog.
To each his own. Beau shrugged it off. He’d go help with the luggage.
Anna sprang up the minute he got to his feet, wagging her tail and ready for action. He bent down to retrieve her Frisbee and tossed it out across the lawn before turning and heading around the side of the house.
Snoop Dogg snapped off in midsentence and the car door slammed shut.
Leisurely Beau sauntered around the corner, Anna at his side with her slobbery Frisbee in tow. He saw a fire-engine-red Thunderbird convertible parked beside one of the ancient magnolias lining the driveway.
Flashy wheels, he thought, and wondered just who was driving the car, but the trunk was up, blocking his view of the occupant.
Maybe it was one of Jenny’s friends.
Ambling closer, he could make out a woman’s shapely backside protruding from the trunk. Beau squinted against the sunlight and discovered she wore a tushy-hugging black miniskirt and four-inch high heels. Peculiar travel outfit.
His curiosity was definitely aroused.
She pulled a suitcase from the trunk, set in on the ground, then straightened and gazed toward the veranda. The direct sunlight slanted through the magnolia leaves, bathing in her silhouette. She turned her head and he caught a glimpse of her exquisite profile.
Something about her looked very familiar.
A sense of wariness stopped him in his tracks. She hadn’t spotted him. Shouldering her luggage, she turned and stalked toward the house.
It wasn’t! It couldn’t be.
But it was.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
There, looking for all the world like General Patton storming his enemies’ stronghold marched Marissa Sturgess, stilettos and all.
“WHAT IN THE HELL are you doing here?”
“My goodness, where’s your famous southern hospitality?” Marissa put on a calm, cool facade but inside, her knees were quaking and her heart was doing the cha-cha-cha.
Beau Thibbedeaux had scooted up the path in front of her and he was now blocking her way, his hands fisted on his narrow hips. He didn’t appear any too happy to see her. In fact, he looked really mad.
“What are you doing here?” Beau repeated with a growl.
“Why, I’ve taken a room for the night. The Scarlett O’Hara, I believe it’s called.” She forced a lighthearted tone into her voice.
“I
