Page 4 of Feral
Away from me.
But then my name is on her lips, her soft voice sneaking up on me and I find myself unable to move away.
“You are Mr. Jacob Broussard, right?” she says loudly before dropping down to a whisper. “With my luck, I could be knocking on some old creep’s door.”
That last part is so quiet, I nearly miss her words, it’s as if she’s talking to herself. I hear her sigh and my hand goes to the handle instinctively, slowly turning it, already regretting my decision.
She seems startled and disheartened, her eyes searching mine.
“Save it, little girl,” I warn. “Get back into thepirogueand go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
“Please, you haven’t even let me tell you what it is I’m here for.”
Our eyes lock for a brief moment then I scan her from head to toe, committing the details to memory. Shifting my stance to accommodate my growing bulge I clear my throat and hold her gaze.
“You’ve come all this way to find me out here,pichouette.Only a foolish, career-driven person would do that. You're a journalist, aren’t you? One of those sleazy tabloid ones. You practically reek of it.”
My thick accent must be throwing her off because she takes a few seconds to process what I've just told her.
“But, Mr.Broussard, I want to give you a chance to share your story with the world. The people are interested in finding out more about you now that you’re out. You can't—”
“What part of I don't give fucking interviews didn't you understand, sweetheart? You’re not the first nosy journalist trying to get here looking for a story and you sure as hell won’t be the last. Now, get off my property.” I hold up my arm and point her back at the dock but she stays firmly in place, unmoved by what I just said.
“Please, can’t you make an exception, just this once? For me? I just got off the bus ten miles down the road, then rented a rickety old canoe with what little money I had left to get here in this stifling heat. Can't you please be a gentleman and at least invite me in for a glass of water? I promise I'll be out of your way before you know it.”
I stare at her and she seems determined to have her way. And if I’m being honest, she does look like hell. All sweaty and disheveled in her draped black top and cropped cigarette pants that accentuate her curves to perfection. But it’s that spark in her eyes and her sassy little mouth that finally sway me into ushering her in.
“I am no gentleman,pauvre ti bête,” I say, in as flat a voice as possible. “Allons,get down before I change my mind. You got exactly ten minutes.”
Chapter 3
Jacob
Afrown crosses her pretty face at my last words.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Broussard, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Jesus Christ, are you slow or something? I said get down. Get in. How do I make it more clear?”
“Thank you,” she mumbles a second later as I gesture for her to come inside.
I follow her and watch as she takes in the interior, stopping at the massive solid oak-paneled fireplace on her left. I don’t tell her to sit but she does so anyway, plopping down on the sofa next to the empty hearth. I watch as she takes in the sparsity of the furnishings and the heavy black-out curtains that keep the blazing sun out. Her eyes finally come to a halt at my walker sitting beside the door.
“Do you mind if I take my shoes off for a minute? My feet are killing me. I should have listened to my best friend when she told me to wear something comfortable. I just didn’t think anyone would live somewhere so remote and hard to get to.”
I watch intently as she takes off one short-heeled shoe, then the other. When she bends forward to rub her toes, I catch a glimpse of her ample breasts peeking from her flimsy blouse and my mouth salivates.
“No offense, Mr. Broussard, but this place could use a woman's touch. Could I have that glass of water now, please?”
I pick up my cane and go to the kitchen, feeling her eyes on my back every step of the way.
A couple of minutes later, I hand her a tall glass and watch as she gulps the ice-cold water down in one go. She catches me staring at her chest again and chuckles.
“Clearly, you’ve not been around a woman lately,” she adds after wiping her lips.
I stare at her in awe, wondering if her sass is just an act to cover her fear or if she is genuinely unafraid of walking inside strangers’ homes all by herself.
“Oui,”I retort, refusing to remove my eyes from her delectable cleavage. “What gave me away?"
