Read [Bayou Gavotte 00.0] Back to Bite You for Free Online

sweetly lush, lurked coyly behind a lacy tank top; and her skirt curved gently over her ass, hinting at the delights beneath.
    He shouldn’t nurture the tiny remnant of hope that she would change her mind about him. He dropped a spoonful of whipped cream into his coffee and slowly stirred. Silence hung in the air as she finished the pies and packed them in a plastic carrier.
    “I’m off to the club.” She looked down her nose at him and added, “So, since your business is done, I guess you’ll be driving back to New Orleans tonight?”
    He cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, I was going to offer to stay awhile and work on the house.”
    She frowned—not the hostile frown he expected, but an uneasy one. After a long moment, she swallowed and said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
    Watching the supple movement of her throat, he almost died of desire. He took a breath. “I’m sure my grandfather didn’t mean to leave you with the burden of fixing up this tumbledown old place.”
    “Maybe not, but it has nothing to do with you.” She sounded tired. She might be strong for a girl, but she wasn’t up to doing the repairs on her own.
    “Arthur would want me to help out,” Gerry said. “In fact, he would insist.”
    Mirabel was silent. She poured herself a coffee and walked over to the window.
    “No charge,” Gerry said, “if that’s what’s bothering you.”
    Still she didn’t answer, her face partly averted, her gaze fixed on the backyard. Ophelia had taken out the mess of bamboo by the back fence, and for the first time in Gerry’s memory, the last rays of afternoon sun bathed the lawn. Not that he much wanted to see across the alley to Mrs. Dodge’s house. She’d chased him out of her strawberry patch more than once during the spring vacations he’d spent here with Grandpa Arthur. She’d complained to April and June, who had given him hell about it when he’d returned to New Orleans, ranting incessantly about Arthur’s bad influence.
    He’d become good at shutting his ears, but he’d never had the heart to tell them to stuff it. They’d meant well, more or less.
    Gradually, Mirabel’s stance and expression changed from anxious indecision to reluctant acceptance.
    “Okay.” She faced him. “If you’d help me reshingle the upstairs roof, I’d appreciate it. You can have Arthur’s room. It doesn’t leak.”
    He let out a long breath of relief, and hope surged inside him. Dumb, but he couldn’t help it.
    “But you have to park your truck someplace else. I don’t want anyone to know you’re staying here.”
    Huh?
This wasn’t the Victorian era, like when the house was built, and nothing could convince him Mirabel was a prude. “Why not?”
    “I’d rather not say,” she said.
    * * *
    His expression said he thought she was nuts.
    “Sorry, but it’s none of your business,” Mirabel continued. She didn’t want to be rude, but if she played this right, she’d have the help she needed and Gerry wouldn’t get hurt. She could keep her distance while they got the roof taken care of, and then he would go home. Besides, if she explained the situation, he might change his mind—or freak out once he knew what she was.
    She hadn’t admitted it to herself until now, but the catastrophic state of the house had really gotten her down. She didn’t have the money for a contractor right now, and together they could repair the upper roof in a couple of days, and besides . . .
    Might as well admit it to herself: she wasn’t going to let him go just yet. Fine, but she had to protect him. “If you’re planning on going to the club tonight, we’ll have to arrive and leave separately.”
    His frown returned. “I’m not going to the club.”
    Right
.
Stick up his rump
. Again, she found that hard to believe. His mixed messages were becoming seriously confusing.
    “I’m having dinner with a friend,” he said, and then added stiffly after a beat, “A guy I knew from summers here as a