Authors: Jean Brashear
A
NNE FINISHED HER FIFTY LAPS
,
her muscles now warm enough that she contemplated simply remaining in the water until the sun was overhead. Getting out would be as painful as going in had been.
But the light was changing from whitewashed rose to an increasingly crisp blue, and she had plans for the day. Still, at this instant, she wished that Zack, the pool attendant, was on duty. He would meet her with a towel and limit the number of seconds she’d experience as a human Popsicle.
Ah, well. She swam for the shallow end, where she’d left her robe, then stood to climb the stairs—
Her robe, brilliant ruby, was held suspended at the pool’s edge.
“Zack, you’re my hero.” She looked up, smile at the ready.
The face that greeted her was not crowned with messy brown hair. Instead, she encountered blue eyes and a thick mane of silver.
“William.” She resisted the urge to sink back into the water. A swimsuit wasn’t the same as being naked, but
it might as well be. And her lines, however hard she worked to keep them trim, were softer now. Rounder.
Would she ever be ready for any man but Remy to see her without the comfort of artifice?
“You are either the bravest or most insane person in New Orleans this morning.” Even white teeth smiled from a face that was attractively weathered and increasingly compelling to her.
But still…
“Whatever I am, I thought I was alone.”
“You’re going to freeze. Get up here and let me warm you.” Something must have shown in her face because he laughed. “With the robe, Anne.”
“Surely you were married for enough years to know that no woman past thirty wants to be seen in her swimsuit. What are you doing here at this hour?”
“You’re visible whether you’re in the water turning blue, or up here where I can spirit you inside.”
She hesitated, though he was right: she was chilled to the bone.
“I missed you,” he said. “And our morning talks before the day gets harried.”
When she still didn’t respond, he began to fold the robe. “But I see that my impulse was in error.” He turned to set it back on the chair.
“Wait.” She was being unfair. And she missed their mornings, too, though she couldn’t quite recall when they’d slid into them, only that it had been…easy. Too easy, perhaps, considering his and Remy’s past.
Oh, Remy…
But William had faced her again, his expression void of all teasing now. A man of great dignity and power. One whose companionship had become increasingly important to her. If only she didn’t somehow feel…disloyal to Remy for liking William so much.
Was it always this way for a widow who had loved one man to distraction?
“You loved Isabel, right? Really loved her?”
He seemed startled at first. “Of course I did.” Then his eyes warmed as he comprehended her dilemma. “It’s not a sin to live again.”
She wasn’t sure she liked how well he saw into her. Nonetheless, she rose from the water.
His gaze shifted for only a second. Widened.
What— Oh, no—she resisted the urge to glance down. The cold. Her nipples must be— Quickly, she spun around. Barely kept from crossing her arms over—
“Anne,” he said fondly, indulgently, taking up her robe again and holding it open. “For a native of New Orleans, you are such a little Puritan. Pretend I’m blind and get over here before that pretty behind of yours freezes right off.”
She did as he said, though she had never been a woman to follow orders, unless they intrinsically made sense. She slipped her arms into her robe, still trying to process the
pretty behind
remark he’d tossed off so casually, as if it were true. Instead of letting go, he enfolded her into the soft fabric. Held her for a moment in which she was torn between the struggle to remain apart…and the urge to sink against him.
She chose distance.
William exhaled, then turned her and tenderly closed the lapels snug beneath her chin. Tied her belt tightly, then paused, glancing between her eyes and her lips.
He’d kissed her before, of course, but only the social buss on the cheek so prevalent in their circles or a brief brush of one mouth across the other at the end of an evening. She hadn’t been ready for more, though she was certain he was. Gentleman to the core, he hadn’t pressed.
But this time…
“William,” she began. But she didn’t know how to finish. What she wanted.
He bent toward her, his eyes trapping hers.
Just do it. Don’t let me think too much.
As if he heard her, he smiled briefly. “Don’t be a coward,” he murmured, only microns away. “You’re too brave for that. Meet me halfway.”
She froze. Sudden moisture pricked at her eyes. Once she’d been so free, so uninhibited.
A lingering splinter of grief pierced her. She’d never been with any man but Remy. Never expected to want to be.
But William was right. She’d always refused to yield to cowardice. Faced whatever life had handed her.
Until now.
Until
him,
a man who was starting to matter too much.
“Oh, bother,” she said, irritated by herself.
And met him halfway, just as he began to laugh.
Laughter turned on a dime, however. Became more.
More,
that was all she could think as his mouth, only
his mouth, sparked sensations she’d thought dead in her. Teased her, taunted. Beckoned her to the fire when she hadn’t realized she was shivering in a dark and lonely place.
And she wanted it. Beyond thinking, she merely responded. Slid her arms around his neck. Rose to her toes to bridge some of the gap between their heights.
The man who’d built an empire didn’t let the opportunity escape. In seconds, she was wrapped in strong arms, pulled close. Closer.
Oh, how dizzying and wonderful it was to be touched by a man again. Made to feel juicy and ripe.
William Armstrong was one very gifted kisser, if different from—
Oh, Remy…
The man she was used to. Who knew everything she liked, every inch of her body.
She tensed, and William soon followed. Ended the kiss and stepped back. Studied her sadly. “Someday,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth, “you’ll think of me without feeling guilty.” His eyes were a little hard.
“William, I’m sorry—”
He stopped her words with one finger on her lips. “Shh. I understand.” He pressed one more kiss to her hand, then tucked it into his. “Now I’m ready for breakfast, and I have it on good authority that this establishment serves nearly as good a meal as The Regency.” He grinned as he invoked the name of the New Orleans flagship of his hotel chain, and the awkwardness eased. “How long will it take you to change?”
If the decision were left up to her, she would have
retreated to her rooms and put space between them. Time to think.
William, however, was battle-tested, once a young maverick who’d dueled with captains of industry, and won. Now he was one of them. He’d grant her space…but not too much.
And she really had missed him. “Give me ten minutes,” she answered.
He chuckled. “You forget—I’ve been married and raised a daughter. I’ll start on the paper and coffee and count myself lucky if you’re down in thirty.”
“Then you’ll be surprised,” she retorted.
“My dear Anne, it would not be the first time. I’ve come to count on you for a great deal of spice in my life.” Once again, his gaze held warmth and promise, as if her faux pas had never occurred.
Or as if he truly understood.
Maybe he could. Perhaps her love for Remy wasn’t the only one in the world. William had lost his mate, too.
Lifted by hope, she winked at him. “Just you wait. I’m not through startling you yet.” With that, she crossed the courtyard quickly, headed for the stairs that led to the family quarters above the bar.
At the top of them, she paused. Glanced back.
He stood there, tall and strong.
Still watching her.
H
E’D ALMOST HAD HER
.
For long seconds, she’d been his at last. The girl he’d known, the one his mother and hers had wanted him to marry.
He might have had a chance, if she’d never met Remy.
But he hadn’t been ready back then, and neither had she. Determined not to knuckle under to her overbearing mother, Celeste, Anne had been a willow, bending rather than breaking. Buying time, rebelling in her own quiet manner.
He’d had his own plans, not yet of a mind to settle down. Then the firm his father had chosen to update The Regency’s interior had hired her as an intern. She’d encountered The Regency’s young genius chef, Remy Marchand, William’s rival for his father’s favor. Bennett Armstrong had been a firm believer that competition sharpened the killer instinct, that both William and Remy would be honed to a gleaming edge by the heat of their fight for dominance in the hotel.
Remy had won one battle, lost another. From the day Anne had set eyes on Remy and he on her, there had been no one else for either.
But when Remy had abandoned Bennett’s designs for a chain of restaurants featuring Remy’s cuisine, in favor of owning his own hotel and restaurant, William had captured his father’s clear favor. Bennett had pushed William to beat Remy at his own game, to use The Regency’s leverage to harm the infant Hotel Marchand, but William had chosen his own path. He walked away from his father’s hotel and created his own empire. Married a lovely woman and had been blessed with a daughter, Judith, who now worked with him.
Only after his father’s death had William returned to New Orleans and added The Regency to his chain. Over
the next twenty years, he and Isabel had lived a good and happy life until he’d been widowed eight years ago. Off and on, his and Anne’s lives would touch, if distantly. He would float offers to purchase the Hotel Marchand, but Remy—and Anne, he was forced to admit—always refused them. Their social circles would cross now and again, and it was impossible to be in New Orleans and not know the names of Remy and Anne Marchand—or William and Isabel Armstrong, for that matter. His nephew Jackson was once involved with their daughter Charlotte, back in high school.
But mostly, their lives were separate. William traveled a lot, and Anne and Remy were absorbed in their large family and their business. He’d long ago written off a boy’s interest in a lively, magnetic girl with hazel eyes and long dark hair. Now he was much sought-after by New Orleans hostesses and had learned to be careful of the many socialites who wouldn’t mind snaring him and moving into the Garden District home that was much too large for him but which he couldn’t quite decide to leave.
Then, four years ago, Anne had become a widow.
He hadn’t rejoiced as he once might have thought. Her devastation was obvious to all. For a time, he’d considered making an offer for the hotel, but only too soon, he and all of New Orleans had watched in admiration as she valiantly battled to keep the hotel afloat in a struggling economy to which even his own hotel had not been immune. The difference was that he had other resources to bring to bear.
Anne had not. She’d taken out a second mortgage, choosing that over owing her mother money, he supposed. Celeste could well have afforded it, he was certain.
But Anne not only had grit; she had pride. Perhaps too much of it.
She had buckled down, worked harder, if possible, with her eldest daughter Charlotte at her side. Slowly, they’d begun to turn the corner—
Then, last fall, her heart had rebelled. A heart attack—mild, thank God—had felled her. She’d been hospitalized, her daughters had gathered round to take up the slack. She’d acceded to their wishes and moved into Celeste’s Garden District mansion just around the corner from his.
And William had decided to act. Many years had passed since their teenage flirtation; more than a few hard feelings had erupted between him and her husband. There might be no future for them or any common ground they could inhabit.
But he had vowed to find out.
“Hah!”
He blinked, and there she stood. “Thank you, Robert,” she said to the man settling her in her chair. “William, I’d like you to meet the finest executive chef in New Orleans, Robert LeSoeur. Robert, this is William Armstrong, who mistakenly believes his chef at The Regency is better.”
“We’ll just have to prove him wrong, then, won’t we?” The younger man extended his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Armstrong.”
“I’ll have to admit I’m impressed already. My chef doesn’t cook at breakfast.” William rose and completed the handshake.
“As executive chef, I rarely get the chance to cook these days, but I still like to pitch in every once in a while. Besides, your chef isn’t planning to marry the boss’s daughter.” Robert winked at Anne.
Anne laughed. “Your position was secure long before Melanie arrived. My guess is that you and Charlotte have an early meeting.”
He looked only a little startled. “Your daughters would do well not to forget just how much you manage to pick up even when they’re determined to shield you.”
“My daughters,” she said tartly, “would do well to remember who taught them this business.”
“Only a fool would wade into the midst of Marchand women and their intrigues.” Robert laughed. He bent to kiss her cheek. “Nice to meet you,” he said to William, his eyes clearly curious about the two of them.
“You’ll see me around more often,” William promised.
The younger man’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.
Anne merely arched one of her own as she waved. “Have a good day, Robert.”
As Robert hustled away, William could only imagine how this would add fuel to the fire of Charlotte’s skepticism and Melanie’s resistance to any man replacing their beloved father.
Too bad. His own daughter was even less welcoming of the notion, but this was between him and Anne.
Who glanced pointedly at her watch. “It’s now fifteen minutes, and we spoke with Robert for at least five of them.”
“Two,” he said, merely for the sake of argument.
“Five,” she insisted.
“You drive a hard bargain, madame.”
“When one comes up against a master negotiator, one must persevere,” she rejoined.