Read Lucky's Lady for Free Online

didn't appear ready to pick one either. They were probably exhibiting better judgment than she was, Serena thought. Perhaps they had met Lucky and his friend Mr. Knife before. They were probably all sitting there wondering what she was doing with the most dangerous man in South Louisiana.
    She lifted her chin a notch and drew together the tattered remains of her composure as Lucky guided her down the steps and across the parking lot.
    “I'd like to go home now, if you don't mind,” she said. “I can see you're a busy man, Mr. Doucet. I can make other arrangements to get to Gifford's tomorrow.”
    Lucky stopped and jammed his hands at the waistband of his pants. He looked out at the bayou, squinting into the afternoon sun, and exhaled a long breath through his teeth.
    This was stupid. He wanted to be rid of her, didn't he? He wanted her to think the worst of him, didn't he? He should have been happy that she was ready to give up, but he wasn't.
Dieu
, what a masochist he was! Why should he care that a woman like Serena Sheridan looked at him with wary contempt? The feeling was reciprocated a hundred and ten percent. He couldn't look at her without feeling . . .
    What?
    Hot. But that was just an instinctive response. Of course he wanted her. Any man with feeling below the waist would want her. She was beautiful in the cool, ethereal way of a goddess. Of course it drove him wild. Of course he wanted to bury himself between those long, sleek legs. Of course he wanted to stroke and kiss those high, proud breasts. But he knew too well that what lay under those pretty breasts of hers could be pure evil.
    Anger. That was what he really felt, he told himself. Anger. Resentment. She was her sister's twin. She was Shelby with a doctorate in psychology—
Dieu
, what a nightmare!
    She was also Giff Sheridan's granddaughter. And he had made Giff a promise. The reminder made him sigh again and mutter an oath in French.
    “Look,” he said quietly. “I don' know what all you saw or heard in there, but it's got nothin' to do with takin' you out to Giff's. I promise you'll get there in one piece. I'm not gonna feed you to the 'gators or sell you to white slavers or anything like that. Giff's a friend of mine.”
    Serena watched him closely, amazed. There was a flush on his high, hard cheekbones. He shuffled his boots on the crushed shell of the parking lot and refused to look at her. He actually looked contrite and embarrassed and . . . well, cute.
    Lord, what was the matter with her, thinking he was cute? Puppies were cute. Boy scouts were cute. Lucky Doucet was a grown tiger. He probably had boy scouts for lunch and ate puppies for dessert and picked his teeth with prim blond psychologists who saw redeeming qualities where there were none. She shouldn't be thinking any kind thoughts about him. She should be afraid of him . . . but she wasn't.
    She was obviously losing her grip on sanity. It was this place, this wild, primal place. The air was ripe with scents that invaded the brain. What common sense she had left told her not to trust this man any farther than she could throw a horse, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away from him.
    “I'm amazed,” she said at last.
    “What?” He gave her a narrow look. “That I wouldn't sell you to white slavers?”
    A corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile as she started toward the dock. “That you have a friend.”

CHAPTER
                        
    3
    CHANSON DU TERRE. IF SHE LIVED TO BE A HUNDRED, Serena knew she would never tire of seeing it. It gave her a feeling of security and tradition. Sheridans had lived there since winning it in a card game in 1789. She may not have chosen to live there herself, but it was her heritage.
    The house stood at the end of an
allée
of moss-draped live oak, the broad crowns of which knitted together to form a high bower above the drive. The house was an old Creole chateau, a combination of French Provincial and West Indies