Page 90 of New Orleans Rush

She wiggled against him. “If you don’t stop, we’ll be late meeting your brothers.”

He pulled her neckline down and exposed her shoulder. “Don’t care.”

She tipped her neck, giving him more access. “But you’ve waited nine years to learn what your father left you.”

“Mmmm.” He’d devolved to incoherent sounds, and everything hard behind her got harder.

She’d happily spend the next year like this, trapped between the counter and Huxley’s hard place. That’s what happened when you staged your death, almost stopped breathing, and nearly broke up with the man you love. But today was important.

She swiveled around and pushed at his chest. “Huxley Marlow, don’t make me punish you.”

He quit pawing at her. “Will there be whipped cream involved in this punishment? I’m still dying to know what you do with it.”

She had some delicious ideas up her sleeve. “Yes. There will be whipped cream. Right now, however, there will be beignets, then there will be a trip to the bank. Fox told Della about the safe-deposit box and wants to know if she can come. He said you’re ignoring your phone.”

“Of course she can come. She’s family.”

Bea knew Della didn’t want to be Fox’s family. Not of the sisterly sort. But Della probably wanted to be there for Fox today.

Huxley had done some preliminary work and discovered a different deposit box his mother hadn’t touched. It may have been left to Huxley, but he wanted his brothers with him, to stand together while they uncovered this last piece of their father. Della obviously wanted to support Fox for this emotional moment, the way he’d always supported her. Bea was thankful Huxley understood.

She went to place a thank-you kiss on his cheek, but he moved to capture her lips. When they came up for air, she placed two beignets on a plate and headed for the door.

“Where are you going with my breakfast?”

She turned to catch Huxley adjusting himself in his briefs. Her mouth watered. She contemplated abandoning the bank plan and having something else for breakfast, but today was more important than her lusty fantasies. “We’re eating outside.”

“We have a perfectly good counter. A table, too.”

“Beignets taste better outside.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a fact.”

“A ridiculous fact. And we’re not dressed for it.”

Her tank top and flannels were just fine. His briefs were maybe a tad skimpy. “Throw on one of your nerdy T-shirts.”

“No.”

“Then come as you are. Mrs. Yarrow won’t mind. She’ll take extra-long watering her peonies.” One look at him in his briefs, and their neighbor would turn the hose on herself. Bea planned to keep a close eye on the spray-tanned woman, who cornered Huxley at will, trying to coax him to see her azaleas. She still wasn’t convinced the married woman hadn’t sent in the rogue bee.

“Inside is fine,” Huxley said, unmoving. Obstinate.

She took a page from his book and growled. “Then I’m tossing in one of my poker chips.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

Rule One of forgiving her man and moving on was talking about their issues. Not letting them slumber in her dormant volcano of unaired grievances. Rule Two was taking advantage of the fallout. “You don’t get to almost bet my savings and get off scot-free. I’ve earned favors.”

“Yeah, okay. But…” He rubbed his nape and glanced at the floor. At the spot where she’d staged her death. “There are bees outside.”

Oh. Bees.

Her frustration deflated. Huxley Marlow was a tall man. He was a proud man. He’d withstood a near-fatal beating and had kept most of his family together. That didn’t make him invincible. “There will always be bees.”

“But the outfit I ordered for you hasn’t arrived yet.”