Noite Chère (18+)

Noite Chère (18+)

Paulina Aurieux

70.7k Words / Ongoing
810
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Introduction

Entrando no bar, Chase olhou para trás e por cima das portas batentes.

"O que a gente vai fazer, Bridgette? Não tem muito o que a gente possa fazer com essa chuva lá fora." Um homem pelo menos dez anos mais novo que ele estava sentado em um freezer encostado na parede dos fundos. Chase observou o homem olhar para a figura curvilínea da mulher que estava inclinada, amarrando a boca de um saco de lixo. Chase não pôde deixar de notar o volume crescendo nas calças do homem.

O homem caminhou até Bridgette, "O que você acha de a gente se divertir um pouco?" Ele pulou do freezer. Antes mesmo que ela respondesse, ele puxou a camisa por cima dos ombros, revelando o peito musculoso.

"Ah, merda!" Chase murmurou baixinho. "No que diabos eu fui me meter?"

*****************************

Arcadia é um trecho aparentemente esquecido de estrada no interior da Louisiana, que respira libação e proeza sexual nas águas circundantes do pântano. É uma cidade de intriga e mistério. É uma cidade onde histórias de fantasmas começam e pessoas desaparecem sem deixar vestígios. Arcadia acolhe amorosamente o viajante ocasional - desde que esse viajante siga seu caminho. Para aqueles que ficam... Bem, 'Boa noite, Chère.

Chase Fuller está determinado a comprar a Casa da Plantação Bellefont e viajou de Nashville para vê-la pessoalmente. O que ele não esperava era encontrar Lenora e Bridgette Theroit. Lenora é a mais jovem, com um temperamento explosivo que traz consequências irreconciliáveis. Bridgette é a irmã amorosa, que protege Lenora e é os olhos de Arcadia e seus segredos.
Junte-se a Chase e suas aventuras para encontrar uma das mansões mais sedutoras do velho sul. Assim como a tragédia que chega a uma cidade esquecida pela história.

As Histórias de Arcadia seguem a vida de uma joia perdida na história do sul - uma de superstição, mistério e o fascínio da sexualidade.
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About Author

Paulina Aurieux

Chapter 1

Chase Fuller sentiu um arrepio subir pelos pelos invisíveis de sua espinha enquanto olhava para a antiga casa de fazenda caiada de branco, emoldurada pelo sol poente e por dois carvalhos centenários de cada lado. A casa inclinava-se alguns graus para a direita, uma varanda solitária no segundo andar pressionando suavemente a árvore invasora cujos galhos finos se estendiam como tentáculos curiosos tentando agarrar-se.

A propriedade tinha apenas quinze dos seus 3.000 acres originais, mas para um jovem escritor de Nashville, quinze eram tão bons quanto 3.000. A casa estava no mercado há quase três anos, como evidenciado pela placa de "vende-se" de madeira tomada pelo mato. Na verdade, toda a propriedade precisava de uma boa limpeza e poda. Chase anotou mentalmente que sua primeira tarefa, uma vez dono da propriedade, seria podar o mato do portão. Ele estava de pé sob o alto portão de ferro forjado cujas portas estavam abertas, uma das quais uma raiz de árvore acima do solo havia engolido. Espinhos e trepadeiras haviam tomado conta do outro portão, segurando-o firmemente no chão como um cadeado enferrujado sem chave.

Apesar do trabalho e do dinheiro, ele sabia que, quando terminasse, teria restaurado uma das grandes propriedades Antebellum esquecidas da Louisiana. A palavra "esquecida" era um eufemismo. Ele encontrou a Bellafont Plantation por acaso, depois de folhear dezenas de revistas antigas, jornais e seu melhor amigo Google. De todos os lugares, ele encontrou um pequeno artigo sobre a propriedade na revista Lost Treasure. O título do artigo também não passou despercebido por ele—Tesouro Abunda na Esquecida Bellafont. Embora a história em si parecesse um pouco exagerada e algo do lado dos médiuns, caçadores de fantasmas e psíquicos, era uma boa leitura.

Algumas semanas de investigação levaram Chase a um anúncio imobiliário. Algumas fotos e ele estava convencido. A parte difícil foi conseguir ver o lugar. O proprietário não podia ser contatado e nem a imobiliária. Na verdade, nem o corretor nem o agente estavam listados online. Mas, Chase tinha certeza de que sua oferta em dinheiro, dez por cento acima do pedido, faria o proprietário pular para vender. Só porque ele não conseguia contatar os proprietários não impediu um homem como Chase Fuller de tirar um fim de semana longe da vida noturna de Nashville para dirigir nove horas e ver o lugar que pretendia transformar em lar.

Chase alcançou o carro alugado para pegar seu celular. Ele olhou para a mansão decadente sentindo-se bem por falar com sua noiva Rachel após uma longa ausência.

O telefone dela tocou quatro vezes antes de ir para a caixa postal e Chase sorriu ao ouvir a voz dela e revirou os olhos sabendo que ela nunca estava longe do telefone. Ele andava de um lado para o outro em frente ao carro enquanto esperava a mensagem terminar. “Bem, você disse para ligar quando eu chegasse. Como imaginávamos, a casa está caindo aos pedaços, o que, espero, ajude na oferta. A localização é perfeita. Só preciso fazer uma oferta que eles não possam recusar. Mas onde você está? Eu sei que minha noiva mantém o telefone colado ao ouvido, então me ligue o mais rápido possível. Te amo. Tchau.”

"Eu poderia construir algo grandioso aqui." Ele disse em voz alta enquanto jogava o telefone de volta no carro e pegava uma cerveja de um dos porta-copos entre os assentos da frente. Ele tomou um último gole morno, grato por sentir o líquido saciar temporariamente sua sede, mas não tão feliz com a rapidez com que havia esquentado no calor da Louisiana. "Acho que vou ter que me acostumar com o calor daqui."

Ele olhou novamente para Bellafont. Como alguém pode deixar uma beleza como esta cair em tal decadência? Sua única esperança era não ter que remover muito do seu charme. Ele queria preservar o máximo possível. Queria sentir a casa em seu charme original de 1858, um tempo mais simples, mas intenso, pouco antes da guerra que dividiu a nação. Esta plantação era um lembrete muito próximo daqueles dias. Ele inclinou a cabeça para trás e deixou as últimas duas gotas de cerveja descerem pela garganta. "Por outro lado, talvez eu esteja te olhando com óculos de cerveja." Ele disse para a casa e riu enquanto colocava a garrafa vazia em um dos olhos. "Não, ainda assustadoramente feia e bonita ao mesmo tempo."

Ele jogou a garrafa na grama alta atrás dele e caminhou em direção à casa. Um vento fresco acariciou os juncos que se erguiam ao longo do bayou. A incerteza o parou no meio do caminho, como se o vento fosse mais do que um raro alívio do calor. Isso é bobagem, ele pensou, e as folhas dos carvalhos dançaram ao sabor da brisa. Novamente, Chase estremeceu, não acostumado com a sensação estranha que agora estragava sua aproximação da casa.

"Ok," ele reconsiderou sua decisão de ficar mais tempo, "Talvez eu olhe da próxima vez. O lugar ainda não é meu. Provavelmente é rude ficar espiando pelas janelas sem permissão." Ainda assim, a vontade persistente não desaparecia. Ele queria muito olhar dentro da casa. Se ao menos o nó em seu estômago não fosse uma força de vontade mais forte, ele poderia ter ficado mais tempo.

Em vez disso, ele se virou para ir embora. Mas, antes de completar seu giro cambaleante, algo chamou sua atenção. Apertando os olhos contra o pôr do sol laranja brilhante que caía ao lado do mirante da casa, ele jurou ter visto uma figura parada em uma janela do segundo andar. Então, tão rapidamente quanto apareceu, a figura desapareceu.

Foi o suficiente para ele acelerar o passo e abrir rapidamente a porta do carro, tomando cuidado para fechá-la o mais silenciosamente possível. Pensamentos de serial killers armados e a música de banjo de Amargo Pesadelo passaram por sua mente. "Preciso de uma bebida," ele disse enquanto colocava a chave na ignição, soltando um suspiro de alívio quando o motor ligou. Ele engatou o carro e deu ré na entrada, fazendo um Y-turn na saída e acelerando para colocar alguma distância entre ele e a casa.

"Eu voltarei, querida, com a escritura e um exército de empreiteiros," ele disse, observando a casa desaparecer no espelho retrovisor, completamente alheio ao par de olhos que o observavam curiosamente enquanto ele partia.

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