Make You Mine Read Free

wrapped. So what if a Dumont man hadn’t made it to the altar in almost a hundred years? If you asked him, that was a blessing, not a curse.
    Allie took a step closer and fanned the back of her neck, filling his senses with the candied scent that clung to her body. It made him want to lick her throat to see what she tasted like.
    “Been behaving yourself?” she asked.
    “Only by default.” Marc retreated a pace. “I’m taking over the
Belle
. She keeps me pretty busy.”
    That seemed to surprise her. “Your daddy’s retiring?”
    Marc shrugged. “Had to happen sooner or later.”
    But truth be told, the news had surprised him, too. In all the years Marc had spent working aboard his family’s riverboat, his old man had never found a nice word for him, never clapped him on the back for a job well done or given any indication that he’d trust Marc with the Dumont legacy. When he’d deeded over the
Belle,
he’d left Marc with seven words:
She’s yours now. Don’t muck it up
.
    The old man neglected to disclose how much work the
Belle
needed or how much it would cost. Or, more importantly, that he owed the waitstaff and cleaning crew two months’ back wages. But if everything went according to plan, the two-week Mississippi cruise he’d booked should draw enough income to pay off the bank.
    Which reminded him . . .
    “I should run.” He nodded toward the French Market Place. “There’s a lot to do before the next trip.”
    “Good luck. Don’t be a stranger, baby.” She winked an eye—the one the color of aged bourbon—and pulled open the door to her shop. A blast of cool, delicious air rushed onto the sidewalk as she stepped inside, and Marc pulled it deep into his lungs while his mouth watered.
    Damn, he wished he could stay, and not for a bear claw, either.
    He peeked through the glass and watched the gentle sway of Allie’s hips, then exhaled in a low whistle. If only she weren’t a Mauvais.
    Marc shook his head and strolled onward. For no real reason, he crossed to the other side of the street before continuing to the river.

Chapter 2
    Marc shielded his eyes and gazed at the love of his life. She was seventy-five years old, high maintenance, and she’d been ridden hard by thousands of men, but he’d never beheld a more glorious sight than the
Belle of the Bayou
.
    Sunlight glinted off the solid brass roof bell, polished to a gleam by Marc’s own loving hand. You couldn’t see it from here, but his family crest was engraved deep into the metal, a testament to four generations of Dumonts who’d broken their backs to keep
Belle
riverworthy. The steam whistle perched nearby like an open-beaked eagle, ready to call travelers aboard for relaxation and adventure.
    Marc took in all four white-railed decks, lined with arched windows and doorways, and pictured them teeming with guests, imagined the inimitable noise of conversation and laughter reverberating off the water. From there, his eyes moved upward to the twin black smokestacks and the pilothouse beyond, where he would soon stand at the helm for the very first time as captain.
    Lord, he couldn’t wait.
    Even though
Belle
threatened to drown him in a tidal wave of debt, he couldn’t deny the surge of pride beneath his rib cage every time he looked at her.
    But there was work to be done. A rhythmic percussion of clunks pierced the air as workmen hammered at the oak paddle wheel, repairing damage from last season’s collision with a bridge. John Lutz had parked his familiar windowless van near the dock, which meant the mechanics were already in the boiler room. Now Marc needed to schedule the last round of interviews and meet with his managerial staff—his brothers and Pawpaw.
    Time to quit standing around.
    He jogged up the bow ramp onto the main deck, then took the stairs to the second-floor dining room, where they’d always held their staff meetings. It was no coincidence that the executive bar—and all the top-shelf liquor on