Free Gator Aide by Jessica Speart Page A

certain things Southern gentlemen don’t talk about in front of a lady.”
    I had reached my bursting point as far as Southern charm was concerned. “Don’t hand me that crap, Santou. Either we work on this together, or we’re wasting each other’s time.”
    The sun highlighted the silver streaks in his hair and deepened his sallow complexion to a rich golden brown. As we approached the car Santou took off his jacket, casually tossing it over his shoulder as he leaned against the passenger door, his eyes narrowing as they homed in on me.
    “Good. I’ve never liked having to deal with some fragile lady. My day is now officially over, so how about having some Cajun food with me and seeing what life in Louisiana is really like? I don’t imagine you’ve come across much of that living in the French Quarter.”
    His remark took me by surprise. “How did you know I live in the Quarter?”
    Santou stared at me a moment, then smiled. “You told me. Last night.”
    “No, I didn’t.” Growing up in New York, the first thing you learned was never to tell anybody where you lived right away.
    Santou shrugged, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Lucky guess, then.”
    I could feel the tension radiating off Santou’s hot-wired veneer. If he was all that curious about my address, it would have been easy enough for him to find out. In spite of myself, I found I was flattered. But not enough to let him off the hook right away.
    “I thought I’d been invited along on a business meeting, Santou. Not to be shunted around like some Southern belle from one room to another. You made me look like a fool back there while you and Hillard were busy playing country boys.”
    Whatever Santou was about to say, he consciously repressed it, wrapping his arms across his chest as though to bottle it in. Studying him in the afternoon light, I didn’t see any one physical characteristic that could be called attractive all on its own, but there was something about the man that exuded sensuality.
    “
Chè
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, don’t you know how to get along with people? Make them feel comfortable? Hillard and I are just two ol’ country boys playing a bit of round-robin with each other. Nothing wrong with that.” Santou’s body still blocked my entrance to the passenger door. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go for a ride.”
    “If all this was just to get me out on a date, you should have saved yourself the trouble. I’m not interested.” I made a move for the door handle but Santou didn’t budge.
    “Don’t flatter yourself, Porter. You’re a good-looking woman, but I just got out of one mess. I don’t need to get myself right back into another.”
    It struck a chord, echoing one of my reasons for leaving New York. In truth, I had run away. I needed to believe that if I picked up and moved, somehow my life would change—or at least my pattern of failed relationships with men. While I had always thought of myself as an independent woman, I kept making the same fatal mistake time and again. I tended to define myself by the way each man had wanted me to be.
    “Listen, Porter, I’m talking dinner between two people working on the same case, that’s all. But it’s up to you. As far as Hillard is concerned, I knew I’d get more out of him if you weren’t in the room.”
    “I’d expect you to tell me what you found out whether we went to dinner or not. That was the deal, wasn’t it?”
    Santou stepped away from the car. Opening the door, I sat down on a hot plastic cover that melted into my skin.
    “Yeah, that was the deal.”
    Santou slid in behind the wheel and reached beneath his seat. “Jesus, Porter. What’s the big deal? We’re not talking date rape, just relaxing over a decent Cajun meal in a setting a whole lot nicer than this while I fill you in on the details. Is that considered torture where you come from?”
    Pulling out a bottle of Mylanta, he twirled off the top and took a swig, making him seem