Raisonne Curse Read Free Page A

would have called but I dropped my cell in the swamp.” Her shoulders slumped. “Things have a way of not going to plan with me. Tooter did say he’d come back and get me in a few hours. If you have a bandage, I don’t mind waiting on the pier.”
    Pryor grinned. Old Tooter would be back, all right. And he’d be looking for cold beer. He was one of the few who didn’t avoid this part of the swamp at night. Well, close to night anyway. Pryor took her elbow as they closed in on his home. The sudden loud creak of the scaffold just as they passed underneath made him grab Elita and pull her out of the way. She let out a funny squeak as she fell against him, one arm wrapping around his neck, one soft breast pressing against his chest. He lifted her off her feet, skirted the whining scaffold and got her safely inside.
    It hadn’t made any noises like that before and he briefly looked over his shoulder as the feeling of another’s presence tickled the hair on the back of his neck. Nothing was there. Nothing he could see anyway.
    He set her down in the parlor, knowing she’d be able to see his arousal, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d been alone on the plantation a long time, having put off his usual trip out of town for feminine company. Elita Raisonne was every inch a tempting beauty with her shapely legs, and curvy hips and breasts. Turning away, he headed toward the downstairs bathroom, where they kept the first aid supplies. “Follow me. We’ll get your back fixed up.”
    As he walked down the hall, the indistinguishable whispers of many Bernaux generations began again.
    Startled, he stopped, cocked his head, feeling the rumble of emotion building. He touched the wall, and the crackle of energy humming along the surface tickled his fingers. The Bernaux had been silent for years.
    He turned and watched the woman’s face, taking in the slide of her gaze right and left, the way she hugged her arms to her chest despite the heat.
    She heard the ghosts of his family.
    Something only a Bernaux was supposed to do.
    Rattled, he continued leading her toward the large downstairs bathroom. Technically, it was on the second floor since the first was mostly a series of brick pillars, but they’d always called this downstairs, because their rooms were even higher. He flipped on the light and glanced around to make sure the bathroom was clean. With three bachelors in the house, they sometimes let a few rooms slip the cleaning noose. A red towel lay crumpled on the floor next to the pair of filthy jeans he’d worn shrimping three days ago. They didn’t smell so great. Oops. But the old-fashioned claw foot tub, toilet and sink looked shiny and clean.
    After opening the cabinet over the toilet, he pulled down the big, plastic container filled with first aid supplies, then handed her a clean towel. “I’ll wait in the hall if you’d like to pull off the shirt and use this until I can get you a clean T-shirt.” He swiped up the dirty towel and jeans.
    He was surprised when she nodded almost absently, clutching the towel to her chest, gaze darting past him and into the hall. Her eyes flared. The hair on the back of his neck stood again, and he glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. Felt it though. It was like a smear of a nightmare had stood in place long enough to leave an oily residue in the air. He sniffed, frowned and left the bathroom, pulling out his cell phone as he walked down the hall and out of earshot.
    “Yeah, whatta you want?”
    Mercer’s lazy phone manner never failed to amuse Pryor because his oldest brother used it with everyone—even his investor clients from up north, who probably squirmed with impatience waiting for him to get sentences out.
    “One of the Raisonne women showed up here.”
    The silence on the other end said a lot. Pryor could practically hear the worry pouring off his brother.
    “Don’t even think about it. You wait until Wyatt and I can get home.”
    Pryor frowned at