Page 104 of Frankly, My Dear

A short time later, Selene looked up to see James enter the kitchen where Blossom was showing her how to make syllabub. He carried two bottles of bourbon, one of which he handed to the cook for the mint juleps, along with several crystal goblets.

“James, I’ve just discovered the most fabulous drink. It’s like liquid beignets.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Selene was whipping together fresh cream, sugar, and apple cider in a pottery bowl until it frothed. Dipping a finger in, she tasted the sweet drink and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Ummmm. That’s delicious.” She couldn’t resist and stuck her forefinger in again.

“Here, let me see,” James said, laying the bottles on the table and taking her wrist in his.

“What?”

He raised the dripping finger to his mouth, holding her eyes the entire time, then lapped up the frothy mixture from the base of her finger to the tip, over and over. With each long stroke, Selene felt the caress over her peaked breasts, between her thighs, even on the sensitive balls of her feet. She could swear her toes curled.

“Oh.”

He chuckled and took the end of her finger in his mouth, sucking hard, and Selene felt an answering pull deep in her woman’s center. She leaned back against the kitchen table for support.

“Touché, James. Your point.”

“Lordy, you two are like cats in heat.”

“What?” they both said at the same time, having forgotten that Blossom was in the room.

“You want I should send everyone home so you two can lick each other’s…fur?” Blossom suggested.

Embarrassed, Selene turned back to mixing the drink, but James just grinned. The tomcat!

“Here, syllabub tastes better with a little kick.” He poured a generous dollop of bourbon into her bowl.

“Uh oh,” Blossom said.

“I don’t know, James. It’s only afternoon. We’ll be crocked before dinner.”

“The way I’m feeling right now, crocked sounds pretty damn good.”

Selene carried the tray of glasses out to the gallery, some with mint juleps, some with the spiked syllabub, and some with plain lemonade. James brought the bourbon and glasses, taking a swig right out of the bottle twice before they joined his guests. Once he put a palm to her backside and squeezed. “Mon Dieu! You really aren’t wearing any undergarments.”

Selene would have slapped the silly grin off his face if she had a free hand.

“Behave yourself, Selene,” he advised just before they rejoined the smiling company. But Selene soon realized that he didn’t intend to take his own advice.

“Has Selene told you about her arrow-backs classes and group therapy?” James asked Ellen, who accepted only lemonade as she blushingly admitted she was in a “delicate condition,” fanning herself girlishly.

“Why, no, she hasn’t,” Ellen said, looking toward Selene as she passed out mint juleps to Andrew and Pierce and James’ mother, taking a glass of syllabub for herself.

Ignoring her frown, James poured himself enough bourbon to stun a horse and settled into his chair for the entertainment.

For a fleeting moment, as Selene looked around the gallery, a picture from Gone With the Wind swept through her mind. This is just how Tara would have been before the war, she thought.

“I do declare, you must tell me all about yourself, Miss Selene,” Ellen simpered.

Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Selene thought, forcefully reminding herself that she was not Scarlett and that the roguish, half-drunk oaf ogling the neckline of her dress was definitely not Rhett.

“I’m so looking forward to your company. Why, I’m sure you and I will have so many interests in common. Do you embroider?”

Selene shook her head.

“Only stories,” James contributed.