Be My Baby (18 page)

He reached over her desk and wrapped his hand around her upper arm. Turning his head, he looked at the AA. “Excuse us a moment, won’t you, Constance?” It was clearly less a request than a demand.

Constance Warner gave him a half-smile. “Certainly. In fact, why don’t you take your break now, Josie Lee. You’ve been working straight since lunch.”

Josie Lee grimaced wryly. “Thank you. I won’t be long.” She allowed Luke to drag her out of the office, but extricated her arm once they had pushed through the front door and out onto the square marble porch way. She faced him coolly. “Was it really necessary to do that in front of my boss, Luke?”

“Probably not.” He slicked his hand over his smooth-shaven head and stared at her in frustration. “But I get the impression you’re avoiding me, Jose, and it’s scarin’ the shit out of me.”

She looked at him standing there, hand wrapped around the base of his skull, his elbow jutting to
ward the sky, and her heart contracted. Her priorities also reestablished themselves. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have been avoiding you, and it’s so stupid that I don’t even know if I can explain the reason why, exactly.” She brushed her fingers down his triceps, and he dropped his arm to his side. “This is going to sound crazy,” she said, “because I know Beau was dead wrong this morning. But somehow, once I cooled down, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face when I kicked him out of the house, and I feel…” She blew an exasperated breath. “Oh, God, this is so absurd.”

“You feel guilty,” Luke said.

“Yes! Do you feel it, too?”

“Oh, yeah.” His gaze pinned her in place. “But not enough to give you up.”

“You’d
better
not—that’s the last thing I want.” She laughed then, but the sound wasn’t filled with humor. “What I want, I suppose, is to have it all, and I want it to be
easy
. But I don’t think I can have it both ways.” She stepped closer. “If it comes down to a choice, though, Luke, I choose you. I do. I just got sidetracked for a while this afternoon.”

“You’re not going to have to choose between us, baby. It will never come to that. Beau’ll come around—I promise.” He stepped back into the shadow of one of the Doric columns and pulled her into his arms. “But you gotta promise me something: Don’t go hiding from me if you’ve got a problem. It makes me kinda crazy.” His arms tightened and he ground his chin into the top of her head. “Jesus, Jose, how’d you get to be so important to me so fast?”

“Does it seem fast to you? That’s funny—I feel like I’ve been waiting for you all my life.” She squeezed him hard. “And you’re officially mine now, you know. You all but made a declaration of intent in front of Constance.” Tipping back her head, she grinned up at him. “It’ll be all over the building by quittin’ time.”

J
uliet was sleeping soundly when the beeping started. It was an intermittent but persistent noise that was fortunately soft enough to ignore. Exhaustion sucked at the edges of her consciousness like an undertow in a black sea, and she was on the verge of being dragged back into the depths of oblivion when Beau stirred. With a quiet oath, he eased her off his chest and rolled toward the edge of the bed, and when the beeps abruptly ceased, Juliet deduced in a far corner of her mind that the sound must have originated in his beeper.

She was already drifting toward unconsciousness again when he began punching out numbers on the telephone. The first word out of his mouth, however, startled her awake.

“Anabel? This had better be good, sugar—it’s one o’clock in the morning.” He listened a moment and then said with low-pitched incredulousness, “There’s a
what
in the bedroom? For Gawd’s sake, dawlin’ I’m working here—get a broom! What?
No, Ana, take care of it yourself. Yes, you can. Then close the damn door and sleep on the couch…All right…all
right
! Take a deep breath and settle down. Just keep the door closed until I get there—I’m on my way.”

By the time he’d rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, Juliet had pushed the hair out of her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow. His tone had been laced with the familiarity of a long-term relationship, and an awful thought suddenly occurred to her.

“Are you married, Beauregard?” Her voice emerged all froggy-sounding, and she cleared her throat, moving to sit against the headboard, the sheet pulled up and tucked beneath her armpits.

He made a rude noise as he twisted around to face her. “No, I’m not married—and don’t go thinking that’s gonna change in the near future, either. I’ve been up to my armpits in female problems since I was twenty-four years old, and it’s way past time it stopped.” He climbed to his feet and pulled on a pair of pants.

“It wouldn’t occur to you, I suppose, that it’s a bit insulting to assume I have designs on your bachelorhood simply because we’ve slept together a couple of times.” She kept her tone mild—and in truth, at the moment she was simply too tired to take offense.

“Hey, what can I say—I lost my head. I know a rich girl like you has no long-term need of a guy like me.” And for some reason that didn’t seem to set well with him, either. He scowled down at her.
“Get dressed. We gotta go rout a baby ’gator from a bedroom.”

She looked at him blankly and he added ironically, “Welcome to my world.”

Ten minutes later they were climbing into his car. Beau fired up the engine, and Juliet buckled her seatbelt and leaned back in her seat, politely covering her yawn.

They’d been working flat-out from daybreak to nearly midnight the past few days, and although she had questions she would love to have answered—such as exactly where they were headed—she couldn’t quite wake up enough to form the words. The familiar rumble of the GTO’s engine lulled her, the soft worn leather of the wide bucket seat embraced her, and the next thing she knew, Beau had parked the car on a quiet side street somewhere and was squatting outside the opened passenger door, reaching in to massage her shoulder where it curved to meet her neck.

“Wake up, Juliet Rose,” he murmured. “Come on, sugar, we’re here.”

“Where’s here?” She unlatched her seatbelt and swung one leg out of the car. A big yawn caught her unaware and she gave vent to it, not bothering to cover her mouth as she stretched luxuriously. Climbing to her feet, she leaned sleepily against Beau. “Who calls you at one in the morning to come clear her bedroom of alligators?”

“My sister Anabel.” He slammed the car door behind her and escorted her into a courtyard. “She thinks I was put on earth expressly to take care of any little inconvenience life puts in her path.”

“I would think an alligator in the bedroom is a rather large inconvenience.”

Beau shrugged. “Whatever.” He stopped in front of a royal blue door and rapped on it.

It was immediately opened by a tiny brunette. “Thank God you’re here, Beau.” She blinked in surprise at Juliet. “Oh! Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Juliet, this is my sister Anabel. Anabel, Juliet Astor Lowell.”

“Oh?” Anabel’s dark brow lifted as if wondering where this unexpected companion fit in her brother’s life. Then her eyes rounded in comprehension. “Oh! The lady you’ve been assigned to protect!”

Beau pushed Juliet over the threshold and stepped in behind her, closing the door. “I told you I was on the job, Ana. When you rousted me, you rousted her. You better at least have some of your pralines to offer us.”

He sounded grumpy, but Juliet was charmed by the whole situation. She tried to imagine Father climbing out of bed and driving halfway across town to come to her rescue…but simply couldn’t. He’d probably hire someone to address the problem.

“I’ll need a pillowcase,” Beau said, and when Anabel had fetched it for him, he commanded, “Y’all go in the kitchen while I deal with this.” Then he bent his head to his sister’s. “You okay, Anabel? How the hell did a ’gator get in your room, anyhow?”

“All I can think of is that it must’ve come up
through the plumbing in the bathroom. Either that or it got in earlier when I had the front door open.” She shuddered, and touched her brother’s stubble-roughened cheek. “Thanks for coming, Beau. I’m sorry I got you out of bed, but I sorta freaked when I saw that thing in the dark, movin’ across my floor.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he groused, but hauled her in for a brief, commiserating hug. Setting her free, he opened the bedroom door a crack, slid into the room, and pulled the door closed behind him.

Anabel turned to Juliet. “I’m so sorry to drag you out of bed before the crack of dawn. You must think I’m crazy.”

“Actually, I was thinking you’re rather lucky to have somebody who’ll come running when things go bump in the night.”

“Yeah, Beau’s our Galahad—bad temper, rusty armor, and all.” Anabel’s grin was full of affection. “C’mon into the kitchen—let me fix you a cup of tea.”

They drank tea and ate Anabel’s homemade pralines, and exchanged desultory conversation in counterpoint to the occasional thumps and curses coming from the bedroom. Beau emerged a short while later, the pillowcase in his fist swinging gently, weighted now at the bottom. The expediency and prowess with which he’d accomplished his mission made Juliet think of other things he did with the same exceptional skill. He looked so intensely cocky as he walked up the short hallway, so dark and masculine and full of himself, that Ju
liet felt her cheeks heat and her bare toes curl in her sandals.

He grinned as he entered the kitchen and victoriously thrust the pillowcase aloft, then he thumped his other fist against his chest. Anabel laughed and jumped up to congratulate him. Juliet sat nailed to her seat, immobilized by a shocking lust for ownership.

She’d never yearned to possess a man in her life, but she wanted to possess Beau Dupree. Worse, she wanted to
belong
to him, to be one of the chosen few for whom he’d get out of bed in the middle of the night to go rescue. Watching him, she would have liked nothing better than to believe it was only his audacity, merely a case of an exceptionally charismatic sex appeal, that drew her in.

But it was more than that, and she knew it. Way more. It was the endearing way he looked out for his sisters, the way he concentrated all his attention when he made love to
her
, his obvious love for his job, his humor—oh, God, she had to quit dancing around it the way she’d been doing the past couple of days and just come right out and admit it. She was in love with him.

Beau pulled out a chair and swung it around, straddling it backward. He dropped the pillowcase at his feet and it rustled furiously. Anabel jumped back with a screech, and he gave her a crooked smile.

“It’s okay—I tied it off at the top. He’s not gonna get out.” He slapped his palms down on the tabletop. “Where’s my reward?”

Anabel pushed the plate of pralines across to
him. “You want coffee to go with that or milk?”

“Milk.” He looked across at Juliet. “So how ’bout you, Rosebud—aren’t you gonna tell me what a hero I am?” He crooked his fingers at her in a gimme gesture. “C’mon, I can take it.”

Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, she smoothed back her flyaway hair and unthinkingly twisted it into a French roll. Then, scraping together every bit of composure at her disposal, she batted her eyes at him. “Oh, Beauregard. You’re so big and strong.”

“Damn straight, sugar. Just wrestled me an alligator.” But the cocky grin fell off his face and something dark and intense replaced it as he stared at her neck.

“What?” She straightened self-consciously in her seat, her hands dropping away from her hair. It slid down her neck to cover whatever had captured his attention.

But not quite soon enough, apparently. Anabel suddenly sat forward and reached out a finger to sweep Juliet’s hair away from her neck. She looked at the exposed skin for a moment, then turned incredulous eyes on her brother. Letting Juliet’s hair drop, she pointed the finger accusingly at Beau.

Juliet’s hand went to her throat, but she didn’t feel anything different. “What?” she demanded. “What are you two looking at?”

Beau crossed his arms over his chest and directed cool defiance at his sister. She shook her finger at him like an incensed mother. Juliet reached for her purse, determined to find her small pocket mirror
and see exactly what it was that was drawing so much attention.

“Beauregard Butler Dupree!” Anabel exclaimed. “When you said that rousting you meant rousting her, I thought you meant from another room.” She shook her finger beneath his nose and demanded, “But you’re the one responsible for all these love bites on her neck, aren’t you?”

Juliet quit looking for her mirror and slapped a hand to the side of her throat. She stared at the siblings in horror. “For the
what
?”

Celeste poked her head into Juliet’s office. “Hello, dear,” she said, ignoring the sergeant sprawled out in a chair in the corner. She was perfectly aware that after one brief, penetrating look at her, he went back to reading his computer printout, but she chose to concentrate on Juliet.

She was a bit taken aback to see Juliet’s hair down. She’d never before seen it thus, and it was quite…unruly. Rather common-looking, actually, the way the thick waves bobbed and swayed with every motion of the young woman’s head. Juliet looked up, and Celeste tore her eyes away from the uncivilized coiffure to focus instead on Juliet’s eyes, which at least were appropriately neutral in color—even if they did have that flamboyant charcoal rim around the iris. “I stopped by to discuss the cocktail party Friday night,” she said primly. “I thought it would be helpful if I knew the agenda.”

Juliet smiled warmly. “Please, come in. I know Roxanne put one here somewhere.” She riffled through a stack of papers on her desk.

Celeste crossed the room. “I’m quite pleased to report I’ve had several RSVPs from people I hadn’t
dared
to dream would attend. People who belong to the Boston Club. I want to be sure we don’t duplicate our efforts by scheduling your introductions to them during a time already allotted elsewhere.”

“I believe the only time set in stone is when I give the thank-you speech, but let me just find that…” Juliet pulled forth a sheet of paper. “Here we go. Beau?” When he looked up she gestured at the chair in front of her desk. “Would you bring that around for Celeste so she and I can go over this together?”

He got up and sauntered over to the desk. Picking up the chair in one hand, he thumped it down to the side of the desk and made an after-you gesture to Celeste before he turned away and returned to his own chair.

It appalled Celeste that such a rude young man had the potential to be the instrument of her and Edward’s downfall. But she buried her feelings and took her seat.

They were concluding their meeting when Celeste noticed the marks on Juliet’s throat. The young woman’s hair swayed away from her neck for a moment, and exposed blood-dark splotches that caused Celeste to stiffen in outrage. She knew what those were. Those were love bites—hickeys, the vulgar young called them. Oh! And to think the little slut was in charge of
her
home. Well, Miss Astor Lowell’s antecedents might be impeccable, but she had clearly been swayed off the righteous path by that low-class Yat in the corner.

It was all Celeste could do to excuse herself civilly. Unlike some she could name, however, she knew her duty and icily attended to the courtesies. Then she fumed all the way back to her and Edward’s rooms. The moment she entered their apartments, she crossed to the bellpull in the corner and gave it an emphatic yank.

She knew what she had to do now, and she knew exactly when it needed to be done. It was simply poetic justice that Juliet herself had handed her the timetable. All Celeste needed to do was supply the means.

Speaking of which, where was that Lily? She was so abominably
slow
these days. Time was limited and Celeste had an errand for her, but she could hardly send the woman to do it if she kept taking her own sweet time about answering the summons, now, could she? Well, the minute Lily got here, she could just turn right around and trot down to the garden shed. Celeste needed the saw.

Two days later, Beau still found himself gnawing on the way he’d felt upon seeing those love bites on Juliet’s neck. There’d been an uneasy sort of shame in realizing that marking her gave him so much juvenile satisfaction. And it bugged him that he had such perfect recall of how it had felt to be sprawled out on top of her, their fingers linked while he stretched her arms high above her head and latched his mouth to her arched throat. Then there was the fact that, for the first time he could remember, one of his sisters’ opinions didn’t matter. In fact, when Anabel had dared chastise him
like some randy teenager, his visceral reaction had been to snarl at her to back off. He’d barely managed to confine himself to a look guaranteed to discourage her from butting into his business.