Free Steamy Southern Nights by Nancy Warren Page A

skidded at the sound of his voice. She turned her head, glad of her sunglasses so she could stare at her new lover hungrily without him knowing.
    “Beatrice? Yes, I told her.”
    He looked altogether too good. He was dressed in his usual business casual work gear and all she could think about was getting him naked. And soon.
    “And?”
    “She’s okay with it.”
    “Well, that’s good.” He tweaked her pony tail. “Maybe you can stay over the whole night next time.”
    She tilted her head so she could look at him over the top of her glasses. “Maybe.”
    He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m going in to work for a few hours. I usually go Saturdays.” He sent her a mock serious glance. “That’s when we make a killing on the tourists.”
    “I bet.”
    “Come by the main store later and I’ll give you a daylight tour, then we’ll grab some dinner somewhere. After that I’m taking you to the Preservation Hall for some of the greatest jazz you’ll ever hear.”
    “Tourist stuff, huh?”
    “You’ll like it. Oh, and Lucy? Bring your toothbrush. You won’t be making it home.”
     
     

7
    Lucy was having trouble concentrating on her research. She’d done it. She’d taken her resume and a nice letter and she’d officially applied for the position of assistant professor, tenure track. She needed to get hold of her mother and get copies of reference letters and a few other things.
    And, she admitted, she needed to let Claude know what she’d done. If he freaked out, well, that was a pretty clear indication that their romance was strictly short term in his mind. That was fine, too. She’d decided that whatever happened with Claude, she wanted this job.
    Somehow she needed to tell him, though.
    She took the streetcar home and walked the couple of blocks to Beatrice’s place. She let herself in with her key, noting that her hostess’s car was gone. She was alone, which was fine by her. She needed to think about how she was going to tell them – him. She might not even get the job, but she already knew that Beatrice and Claude knew everybody and if word got out she’d applied, well, she wanted them to hear it from her first.
    She slipped off her shoes and thought she’d run upstairs and call her mother.
    A slight noise from the living room made her stop. Beatrice was out. Wasn’t she? Unless her car was being serviced or she’d lent it to someone.
    “Beatrice?” she called walking into the room.
    She stopped dead in her tracks, all the blood draining from her face so she felt like she might faint.
    “Claude,” she said, and the weight of disappointment was so great she could barely get the word around the lead weight clogging her throat.
    “
Merde
. Lucy. I thought you were at the university.”
    “Obviously.” She found she was shaking so she sat down.
    He was crouched beside an open safe she hadn’t even known about since it was inside a chest she’d assumed was pure furniture. In his hands was the three string pearl necklace with the giant emerald she’d seen on the thin, rich woman at the historical society party.
    She didn’t think she’d have felt any worse if she’d found her brand new lover in the arms of another woman. The betrayal felt as sharp. “I asked you if you were a thief. You never answered me.”
    He’d half risen and spoken her name urgently. Now, he settled back down and stared down at the gems in his hand. “No. I never did answer you.”
    “At least you’re not a liar.”
    He breathed a heavy sigh. “No. I’m not a liar.”
    The doorbell rang. He cursed again. “Now, what?”
    “I’ll go and see who it is.”
    She walked to the front door and peeked out the peep hole. Perfect, just perfect.
    She opened the door to the glamorous police officer who stood there with a male detective at her side. “Hello, Lucy. Is Claude here?”
    Her brain whirled. Should she deny him? Turn him in? While she stood there dithering she felt Claude appear behind her.
    “Isabelle,