Authors: Julie Ortolon
“Why’s that?”
“I live in New Orleans.”
“You’re from New Orleans?” Her voice lost some of its friendliness. “What part?”
Glancing over, he found her eyes narrowed with something that could have been suspicion. Had she recognized him? No, he didn’t think so.
Why would she turn wary at the mere mention that he lived in New Orleans? She was the one who’d brought it up.
Whatever caused that look in her eyes, he needed to be careful. Maybe wait until they were at the restaurant and had ordered dinner before he spelled everything out. That way she’d have to listen to him plead his case.
He thought fast for a way to answer her question that wouldn’t be a lie. If he admitted he’d grown up in the French Quarter, it wouldn’t take long before she uncovered the whole truth. An answer sprang to mind. “My family lives in the Bayou Lafourche.”
“Lafourche?” The wariness vanished. “Are you Cajun?”
“Ah, mais oui,”
he said, drawing on the limited amount of French he knew. “Well, part Cajun on my mother’s side, anyway. My father’s from Texas. Any Cajun in your family?”
“Sadly, no. Just a big dose of straight French.”
“Classy.”
“That’s what they say.” She rolled down the window to let in the early evening breeze along with the sound of people, traffic, and horse hooves on pavement as a carriage full of tourists jangled by.
He watched as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes to soak in the sounds and scents of Galveston. His gaze dropped to the tempting curve of her neck, and longing nipped at him.
Oh God,
he sent up in silent plea,
give me strength.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “do you miss New Orleans?”
“Not really.”
“Surely you must have plenty of family there.” He knew damn well she had family there. One of the wealthiest, most influential families in Louisiana.
“Maybe that’s why I don’t miss it.” The lips she’d painted a glossy red turned into a teasing smile.
He looked at her in surprise. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”
“Let’s just say, I wouldn’t trade my new life on Pearl Island for anything.” Straightening, she pointed to a large parking lot. “Pull in here.”
He turned the car into a paved lot bordered on three sides by palm trees and bougainvillea as orangey-red as the sky at sunset. The weathered wood building that rambled along the wharf-side looked like a mishmash of sheds with rusty metal roofs.
“Don’t judge it by the outside,” Chloe said as she raised her window. “It’s actually really nice inside. And the food is awesome.”
“No worries. I happen to like places with character.”
“Me too,” she said, clearly pleased.
As they stepped from the car, seagulls cried and dipped overhead. The tang of the bay mingled with the scent of butter, garlic, freshly baked bread, and perfectly cooked seafood. “It certainly smells promising.”
Inside, white tablecloths and flickering candles offered elegance amid a rustic décor. The clatter of diners enjoying their meals underscored the noise coming from the open kitchen. The hostess led them through the crowded indoor dining areas to the covered deck that extended over the harbor. Piers stretched to either side, with boats of every variety bobbing in the slips. None of them commanded more attention, though, than the
Elissa,
a three-masted barque moored beside the Texas Seaport Museum.
Despite the ship’s majestic presence, Luc’s gaze went straight past it to the museum. The necklace currently resided there, locked away in a display case along with all the artifacts from the excavation of the
Freedom,
the ship that had gone down in the cove at Pearl Island. Visiting the museum had been his first stop after arriving in Galveston. He’d wanted to confirm with his own eyes that the pendant Chloe had found really was his grandmother’s. Standing before that glass case, seeing something that meant nearly as much to him as it meant to his grandmother, he’d felt a tug of need and frustration.
The same frustration pulled at him now, to be so close yet unable to even touch it. As far as the museum and the State of Texas were concerned, the priceless object was “on loan from the private collection of Chloe Davis.”
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” He jerked his gaze away from the museum to find Chloe smiling up at him.
“The
Elissa
.” She gestured toward the restored sailing ship docked beside the museum. “She’s one of Galveston’s star attractions.”
“I can imagine.” He saw the hostess standing by a table, waiting to seat them, and motioned for Chloe to precede him.
“Would you care for a wine list?” the hostess asked as they took their seats next to the rail.
“Please,” Luc answered automatically, then looked at Chloe. “Unless you prefer something else.”
“No, wine would be nice.” She didn’t bother opening her menu. “I’ll be having the crab-stuffed snapper smothered in the most divine lemon-butter sauce you’ve ever tasted, if that helps you pick a wine.”
“Eat here often?”
“Every chance I get.”
When the waitress arrived, Luc ordered the blackened redfish for himself and a bottle of sauvignon blanc that sounded crisp enough to cut through the rich flavors of their entrees.
“Good choice.” She nodded in approval of his wine selection. The way she leaned back and shifted, he could tell she’d just crossed her legs, which would bring one of her feet, clad in those distracting sandals, mere inches from his shin.
His willful imagination had her running her toes up his calf. Rubbing a hand over his face, he ordered his brain to stop doing that. Talking to Chloe about the necklace was going to be awkward enough without this riptide of lust trying to drag him under. Maybe if he bought himself some time with a little date talk, the current would subside. Except, he sucked at date talk.
His only chance of not sounding like a social moron was to do what he always did in awkward situations. He asked himself,
What would Blade do?
“So,” he said, leaning back and trying for a lazy smile, “you really think the seafood here can measure up to New Orleans?”
“I’ll put it up against any food in Le Vieux Carré.” She shifted again, most likely swinging that sandal-clad foot. “Except for the beignets. One of the few things I miss since moving here is the Café Du Monde. When I was growing up, I used to hang out a lot at my uncle’s townhouse, which is just a block off Decatur Street. I’d get beignets to go, and we’d sit on his balcony so we could people watch.”
“Always a fun sport in the French Quarter.”
“Absolutely. Do you visit the French Quarter often, or avoid it the way some Louisianans do?”
“I’ve spent a fair amount of time there,” he said vaguely.
“Really? I wonder if I ever saw you.” She tipped her head, studying him. “You know, you actually look familiar.”
“I, uh, doubt you would have noticed me.” At least he prayed she hadn’t noticed him and the way he’d watched her from behind his sketch pad every time he’d seen her striding across Jackson Square.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She ran her finger around the rim of her water glass, gazing at him through her lashes. “If I’d seen you, I’m sure I would have noticed.”
“Highly unlikely,” he countered. Channeling his inner Blade, he infused his voice with a tone of mystery. “Since I would have been practicing my super-secret, covert spy skills.”
“Your what?” A startled laugh escaped her. Her expression went from open and interested, to skeptical. Even a bit disapproving. “Are you saying you’re a spy?”
Shit, the Blade thing didn’t work on her. Or maybe he needed to ramp it up a notch. “I’m many things.” He lowered his eyelids slightly, trying to appear tough and mysterious. “Spy, pirate, dragon slayer.”
“Oh, are you, now?” She cocked a brow, looking annoyed.
He was definitely blowing it. With a sigh, he dropped the Blade act. “I don’t suppose you’re into gaming.”
“Gaming?” She frowned. “As in Dungeons and Dragons and stuff like that?” Her laugh held derision. “No.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” His mouth twisted. She didn’t like his alter ego, and now she knew he was a geek.
Might as well have told her the truth.
He opened his mouth to speak.
“Hang on a second.” She laid her hand on the table between them. As she searched his eyes, he saw her consider her answer. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy gaming. I just don’t know enough about it to judge.”
Her willingness surprised him, but her lack of knowledge didn’t. Anyone who dabbled even on the fringes of the gaming world had heard of Vortal. If she’d heard of it, she would have recognized the necklace she’d found on the beach that day. The pendant, and the things he’d seen when he held it, had inspired Vortal. He even used one of his drawings of it as the company logo.
That was why he wanted it back nearly as much for himself as for his grandmother. Losing it hadn’t altered his life as profoundly as it had altered hers, but he still felt its absence as if something vital had been ripped away.
Which meant he needed to tell Chloe about it, so they could start discussing what he needed to do. Looking at her, though, seeing her interest in learning more about his world, made him hesitate. Could it be she liked him, the real him, rather than the way-more-macho Blade?
Maybe if he just acted like himself and explained how much the pendant meant to him, she’d understand. But understand enough to not draw back when she realized he was the brainiac freakazoid from Newman School? It was worth a try.
Taking a deep breath, he looked straight into her eyes. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, you’d do anything to get it?”
Chapter 4
Chloe went still at his question.
God yes
, she wanted to say. Every day. She wanted to be part of the Pearl Island family so much, the ache throbbed in her chest. Allison and the others had accepted her right from the beginning, when she’d first come to the island as a twelve-year-old runaway looking for her uncle. Her Uncle Scott had been staying at the inn as a guest, which was how he’d met and fallen in love with Allison. But Chloe still didn’t feel like she truly belonged.
The St. Claire siblings had been a revelation. She’d seen, to her amazement, that some families were as kind and loving in private as they appeared in public. She’d wished ever since then that she’d been born into that family, instead of her own.
Rather than admit that, she shrugged lightly. “Wanting something badly? I might know a little about that.”
“That’s what gaming is for me. It’s not something I do as a pastime. It’s my life.” His passion for it lit his whole face, as if a mask had fallen away. “I don’t just play games. I own a gaming company.”
“Really?” Fascination filled her as she took in the change in his demeanor. The bored, cocky Cool Guy who had crept in for a few minutes had vanished, thank God. “You own a company that sells games?”
“Not exactly. I mean, yes, we sell games, but we only sell one. The one I created. Vortal. Creating it has been my life’s work.”
“Your ‘life’s’ work?” She looked him up and down, appreciating the view. “You’re not that old.”
“I started scripting it when I was ten.”
“Seriously? I can’t imagine anyone knowing what they want to do by age ten.”
“The nucleus of the idea came to me even before that. I was inspired by… something.” The hesitation lent weight to the word rather than dismissing it. “Something that is nearly as important to me as the game itself.”
“So, tell me about this game of yours.” She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward.
“You actually want to hear about it?”
“Of course.”
“Well, okay then.” He looked dubious but pleased. “By the time I was sixteen, I knew I had something big. I could have sold it to one of the major gaming companies, but I knew what would happen if I did. They’d pay me a pittance, then cut me out of the picture. So I decided I’d start my own company.”
“Makes sense.” She shrugged.
“Oh, how easy you make that sound. It took patience, cunning, and sheer guts.” He spoke the words with conviction rather than conceit.
“Impressive,” she said, having no problem with confidence in a man as long as it was earned.
“You see,” he said, leaning forward as well, “back when I decided to keep Vortal to myself, things were very different than they are today. Corporations controlled everything, because people didn’t buy games off the Internet. They bought them in stores. The big companies were the only way to get a game produced and distributed. So, I bided my time while I learned the ropes from the inside. I landed my first job as a code writer practically the day I graduated high school. Not something that pleased my parents.”
“Why wouldn’t that please them? Most parents like it when their kids get a job. Unless they wanted you to go to college first.”