Authors: Jean Brashear
Anne laughed. “My daughter and her fiancé, who’s our chef now, would kill for it, but…no. What you have here is a treasure box of a place, Miss Celia.”
“I can’t be calling you Anne if you won’t call me Celia.”
“Celia, then.” Anne nodded, and William’s estimation of her only increased with the respect she’d accorded a woman who’d likely never even finished high school and was clearly several steps below her own exalted position in the very stratified society of New Orleans.
“At any rate,” Anne continued. “I’d want to be the first to know if you ever got tired of running this place, yes indeed, because the Hotel Marchand would be lucky to have you. But I think you love what you’re doing, and I only barged in back here because I wanted to pay my respects in person.”
“I thank you for that.” Celia nodded soberly. “I’m mighty honored. Remy Marchand was a legend in New Orleans food. But Mr. William gave me—”
William pushed inside then. “Celia, my love, is this woman trying to steal you from under my nose?”
“Now, Mr. William, you know I won’t never forget—”
“Tonight’s shrimp is as magnificent as ever,” he interrupted before she could tell all.
Anne shot him a look that said she was onto what he was doing. “William,” she said sweetly while her eyes twinkled. “Why don’t you just go on back out there while Celia and I finish our little chat.” She turned back to Celia. “Exactly what part has William played in this establishment, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. Mr. William believed in me when no one else would. I was cookin’ at the nursin’ home where his great-aunt twice removed stayed, and I was lucky to get that job ’cause I had a little trouble with the law, see, some years back.”
“Celia, it’s not necessary—”
She silenced him with a look. “Oh, yes, sir, it is. Fact is that I wanted my own place all my life, but I woulda settled for just workin’ in someone else’s restaurant, long as I respected the quality of the food.” She glanced sideways at Anne. “Someplace like Mr. Marchand’s woulda been my idea of heaven.”
“Thank you. He would have appreciated that compliment from someone of your skill.”
“Imagine that. Remy Marchand and Celia Dubois crossin’ paths.” Celia shook her head. “Anyway, Mr. Armstrong here, he heard Miss Letty goin’ on about my food so much that he came to see for himself one day when he visited. Long story short, next thing I know, he’s talkin’ to me ’bout my own place.” Her dark face split in a huge grin. “’Course I thought this is one crazy white boy, but no reason not to hear him out, was there?”
William felt Anne’s perusal like a caress. He hadn’t
brought her here to learn this about him, but he was resigned now.
“Of course not,” Anne murmured, still watching him.
“Anyhow, he tried first to hire me for The Regency, but he has this fancy-face chef from France who didn’t want no part of me, I could tell, and I wasn’t out to cause trouble for Mr. William when he’s givin’ me a chance, after all. I asked him to let me do some cookin’ for him first, the kind I like to make, as a tryout.” The smile she aimed in his direction was bright as summer sun. “The rest, as they say, is history. I didn’t see how any bank was ever gonna loan me one thin dime, but turns out that Mr. William was going to be the bank, with extra generous terms.” She looked at him, then Anne. “No finer gentleman in New Orleans than this one, I promise you that. He gave my whole family a chance at a future.” She laughed. “And now, I think I’ve just about embarrassed the daylights out of this man, so you two get on back to your table. I’m makin’ you a special dessert.”
“Oh, Celia, that’s not necessary.” She brushed one palm over the curve of her hip, just where William would like to place his own hand. “I’ve eaten so much already.”
“Yes, it surely is. I always fix somethin’ special for Mr. William, and it would be an honor to serve Remy Marchand’s wife.”
Anne looked distinctly uncomfortable then. Was it the reminder of Remy or—
He wasn’t sure, but suddenly it hit him that perhaps, given the threat to her health, she had dietary restrictions
he should have thought about. “Perhaps Anne and I could share a portion, Celia?”
Anne’s expression thanked him for the save. “That would be perfect.”
He bent past her to press a kiss to Celia’s weathered cheek, glistening with sweat. “We’ll just get out of your way now. Thank you for yet another amazing meal.”
Celia’s face glowed with pleasure. “I’d feed you every day and not make a dent in what I owe you. You bring this fine lady back soon, you hear me?”
“I will do my very best.” Tendering the hand that had been itching to touch Anne, he kept it light on the small of her back as he ushered her back to their table.
She smiled up at him, and he bent closer to hear her words over the chatter and clink of forks and glasses and plates. “You fraud,” she said.
Her face was near enough that he could see the softness of her skin, the fine lines of a life in which he’d had no part. Joys and sorrows, passion and loneliness, exasperation, anger…he wanted to see beneath the masks Anne utilized to keep her thoughts private, her needs buried, her longings at bay.
All the sounds retreated, leaving them inside a shell of silence in which he could feel her breath on him, spiced from the food they’d shared, her eyes wide and open to him as never before. It came to him then that though Anne Marchand was toughened by life and able to withstand its storms and demands, there was within her a fine, gentle creature that had known fear, had learned to guard itself in order to be strong for others.
In this moment, he glimpsed that creature, fragile as a butterfly’s wing, fluttering on the currents of an insatiable curiosity about people and a tender regard for their vulnerabilities, understood precisely because she had soft places of her own.
Within William rose a determination to shield her, to do whatever was required to protect the gentle mysteries of Anne Marchand.
And to give her more chances to laugh and be free of her worries. He would offer to safeguard her past the current crises and usher her into a new life, one where he could show her new puzzles to solve, share with her the joy of exploring a wide world for which she had such a thirst. What good was all the money he’d amassed if he couldn’t put it in service of the woman he—
“William?” Questions circled in her eyes.
But he was still caught with one foot on the cliff-edge of a startling new vision, and he didn’t answer quickly.
Loved.
Could it be that he loved Anne Marchand?
He hadn’t thought this day would ever come, yet he couldn’t help grinning with the sheer, crazy wonder of it.
“Are you all right?” she asked, and already she was closing in, becoming the person who was strong and alone, who watched over others.
He pressed that hand on her back and brought her nearer. Traced her hairline with a finger that wasn’t quite steady. Remembered, just in time, that they were in the center of a restaurant.
“I’m just great,” he responded, hearing his voice husky and low.
Her pupils darkened in response to the unspoken message he knew she wasn’t ready to hear.
So he rescued her, understanding that he was in for the negotiation of his life.
But she was worth the effort.
And he would win.
He released her, though he wanted to touch much more of her, and pulled out her chair. “So you think I’m a fraud, do you? Mighty tough word to bandy about, Miss Anne.”
She visibly relaxed at his light, bantering tone and gifted him with a quick, flirty smile. “But accurate. What else is there that you’ve been hiding from me?”
He winced, glad for the chance to dodge as he rounded the table. If only he’d known he’d be playing for all the marbles when he’d set his offer on the hotel in motion.
Too late now.
L
UC’S PHONE CHIRPED
later that evening. He frowned at the number that flashed on his screen and merely shoved the phone back into its holster.
“You need to get that?” asked the woman at the hotel bar.
“Nah. They’ll leave a message.” Not the Corbins, for a change. An international number.
“Persistent girlfriend?” The blonde dug for information, her own interest evident in her gaze. “You must meet a lot of women in your job. Anyone special?”
“Only you, sugar.” He grinned and patted his chest. “My poor heart hasn’t recovered since you walked in.”
She dimpled at the byplay. “Anyone make you register that smile as a dangerous weapon?”
Leo the bartender snorted, and Luc’s gaze flickered over, saw him roll his eyes. “Leo, you’re tough on a guy’s ego.”
“Best I can tell,” the bartender replied, “your ego isn’t hurting for attention.”
The blonde laughed. “You must have to beat the women off with a stick.”
“Oh, darlin’.” Luc assumed mock sadness. “My
tastes run to pleasing women, not hurting them.” The phone at his hip started the irritating beep that indicated a message waiting. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m off-duty, but as long as I’m here, I’m never truly off the clock.” He nodded to Leo. “Would you please give the lady a drink on my tab?” He turned to go, needing privacy before he listened to news he was sure he wouldn’t want to hear.
“Will you come back?” she asked. “We could go somewhere…else, so you wouldn’t be bothered.”
“Much as that tempts me, it’s been a long day.” And he was too professional to do more than light flirting with a guest. If he ever figured out a way to stop the freight train barreling toward the Hotel Marchand, he wanted, more than ever, to be able to stay here. He liked this job. This place. The people who were family, even if they didn’t know it.
The blonde made a moue of disappointment. Leo, bless him, distracted her with discussion of the drinks he could prepare for her.
Luc headed for a quiet corner and flipped open his phone. Punched in the code for voice mail.
“Luc,” the voice said. “This is Ram Singh.” A friend with whom he’d worked in Thailand. “I have some news, gossip, really, but you might need to hear it. Please call me.”
Luc started dialing.
W
HEN THEY LEFT
Celia’s, a fine, nearly-full moon hung, melon-ripe, in the sky. Its lure was so potent, its mystery
so compelling, that Anne felt the call in a way she hadn’t since her body had turned from the once-inexorable tide of its rhythms.
How many moons had she ignored since last she’d danced to its tune? How many nights had she been so distracted by the needs of family or business that she’d missed its quiet beauty?
Now the sensation of William’s palm was tingling at the small of her back, and tendrils crept along her nerve paths, tempting her. Unsettling her. She was a moth circling in starlight, and he brushed at her wings, rending the layers of protection she’d built up, scattering the flakes like showers of moondust.
She might have resisted the sheer physical allure of him or that effortless charm. In the beginning, she’d suspected that she was merely a conquest, a prize long-delayed in the granting, the trophy he could now wrest from Remy, though the father he needed to impress was long departed.
But Celia had changed all that with one story, and William with his discomfort over Anne hearing it. The warm, giving man beneath the urbane exterior was the pick that shattered the lock on her own heart.
She shivered, as much in anticipation as fear.
“Cold?” he asked, even his deep voice a tangible caress.
Don’t make me weak
, she wanted to plead.
I have to be rock-solid yet
.
“William,” she began. “I know we joked about coffee and—”
“It was no joke for me.” He caught her chin. Turned
it up to him. “I want you, Anne.” His eyes searched hers. “For many reasons. It’s not just sex.”
Dear God, was she actually blushing? “William…” She was helpless to explain in any terms but the bald truth. “I’m…done with that now. I’m too old.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You’re normally seen with younger women.”
He was silent for so long that she was sure he agreed.
Then he sighed. Chuckled, but the sound was tinged with rue. “I can’t decide whether to be flattered that you’ve paid attention to my social life or insulted that you’ve just made me sound like someone who needs his ego propped up. And if you’re too old for sex, then what am I?”
She started to respond but didn’t get a chance.
“I do not for a second buy that you’re too decrepit for lovemaking—and don’t kid yourself, Anne—” The empire builder stared at her now, the prince who’d abandoned the comfortable castle and scrambled to create his own kingdom from the ground up. “It won’t be simple sex between us. You and I will make love.”
“You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? It must be nice.” Even she heard the pique in her voice.
The laugh was full-throated. “I had an easier time convincing the banks to gamble on a destitute black sheep’s first hotel purchase than I am talking you into bed.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“No, ma’am, I surely am not.” The buccaneer’s white teeth gleamed. “But I did offer to flip for whether we go to your place or mine.”
A part of her wished it was just sex they were talking about. Though the very idea of getting naked with a man who didn’t see her through the veil of a shared youth terrified her, he was right; she was lying about the desire she felt for him. Every encounter reminded her only too clearly that she had definitely not lost interest in the communion of two bodies. He was more frank about his attraction, that was all.
But the physical realities weren’t at the heart of her reluctance; it was the notion that the two of them would connect on other levels. That, as he challenged, there would be more between them.
She could not allow that
more
to distract her, not yet.
“You’re going to reduce me to being Stanley Kowalski, bellowing up at your window, aren’t you?”
The notion of blueblood William Armstrong, unkempt and sweaty in a wifebeater undershirt, shouting her name from the sidewalk like Marlon Brando, forced a giggle from her.
“There you are,” he said softly. “The Anne who wanted to live in Paris.”
Her breath caught. “You remember that?”
“I recall a lot of things about you.” He traced her jaw with one long finger. “And I want to learn more.” He bent and grazed his mouth over hers. “Be with me tonight, Anne. Let me remind you just how young you are.”
Oh, how lovely that sounded. To abandon herself to his handling, which she was certain would be adroit and masterful, just as the man was. “I don’t know,” she murmured, eyes still closed.
He brushed her lips again with exquisite slowness. “Say yes. Let me give you this refuge,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.
If only… But Charlotte’s worried face rose before her. Daisy Rose’s trust. All her family, struggling.
She opened her eyes. “I wish—”
“Don’t say no,” he ordered, and drew in a deep breath as he refused to release her gaze.
“I want to, William, but it’s not that simple.”
“Tell me. Share with me.” Something pained crossed his face. “Trust me.”
She studied him, wondering if she dared. He was her competitor, in the strictest sense, yet his wealth and holdings were so much more extensive that she didn’t see how her hotel could have any effect on his business. This new ultimatum from the Corbins had disturbed her, but that was a concern she was unwilling to share.
“Coffee, then.” He withdrew a coin from his pocket. “I’ll settle for coffee.” He grinned. “For now.”
Trust me. Share with me
. Oh, how she wanted someone to confide in, to help her regain perspective.
“Coffee.” She nodded.
He tossed the coin twice but didn’t ask her to call it. Instead he shook his head. “Can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“You’re ruining me, you know that, don’t you? I was perfectly happy as a raider, plundering ships and kidnapping maidens, until you came along.” His eyes sparkled.
She couldn’t resist a smile. “So what have I done now?”
He proffered the coin. “Here. My lucky coin.”
She frowned. “You want me to toss it?”
“I’m surrendering it as a gesture of trust.”
Slowly, she peeled it from his palm. Closed her fingers over it and felt his warmth lingering there. “I could use a lucky coin,” she said.
“I know.”
She had the sense that he did. That what she would confide might not be such a secret, after all. “Thank you.”
He snorted. “Don’t thank me yet. Look at the other side.”
She turned it over. Her gaze flew to his face, but instead of the devilment she expected, she found him sober.
“You were going to cheat.” And he’d asked her to trust him. “You think I’m a coward.”
His astonishment was too quick to be feigned, and it mollified her.
“You consider me foolish for not wanting to be alone with you.”
“On the contrary—” He waggled his eyebrows. “I think you’re very astute.”
She could be outraged or disappointed, and either was probably wise.
But a tiger doesn’t change his stripes, and a pirate doesn’t become a shop clerk. The man inside the Savile Row suit was far more complex than she’d realized. Far more fascinating.
“You could turn it on me,” he offered. “Change the wager to whether or not I have to go home alone as a payback.”
“I could,” she acknowledged. “And probably should.” But when had she had more fun or had her assumptions so challenged? Had her predictable life turned on its head?
The woman who’d once been a girl intent on being a bohemian saw the resignation on his face.
And laughed. “Instead, I believe I’ll be flattered.” Delight danced inside her. “We’ll go to your place.”
His eyes widened, and he started to speak.
She placed her fingers over his mouth. “For coffee.”
His gaze was laser-hot as he waited for her to remove her hand.
When she did, he spoke, and his voice was just this side of husky. “How about wine?”
“Coffee.”
“Well, it’s a start,” he said.
“It is indeed,” she agreed.
He handed her into the car, then rounded the hood, his gaze never leaving hers.
The ride was silent, and with every mile, she listened for regret or remorse to creep into her.
But they never did.
“R
AM
? I
T’S
L
UC
.”
“How are you?”
In a hell of a mess. “Good. Yourself?”
“Fine also.”
“What’s this about the Corbins?”
“The authorities in Bangkok—I have it from good source that they are preparing charges of fraud against them.”
“No shit.” Luc seldom swore, but this news was breathtaking. Terrific. The most encouraging thing he’d heard in weeks. Months.
“They will lose all their holdings here. Face serious time in prison.”
Great if they were in Thailand, but they weren’t. “What about extradition?”
“They are not in the country?” Ram asked. “Perhaps their property in Lafayette?”
Careful, Luc. No one knows about your deal with them.
“How should I know? I just remember they traveled a lot.”
“I have heard that they have perhaps turned their eyes on further expansion in America. I thought I should warn you. Richard and Daniel are not good men, Luc.”
Tell me about it.
But for Ram, he adopted a breezy tone. “America’s a big place, pal. But I appreciate the heads-up. If you hear anything else…”
“I will gladly phone you. I did not care for my stay in their employ.”
Then you were smarter than me, my friend
. “I hear you. Thanks, and give my best to your family.”
“I will. Goodbye, Luc.”
“Bye, Ram.”
He closed his phone and stared at nothing while his mind raced.
“O
N SECOND THOUGHT
, let’s go to my place,” Anne said abruptly.
They were a block from his house. He glanced
over at her. Even the moonlight didn’t account for how pale she was.
He chose the path of discretion. She looked ready to run. “All right. I’d like to pick up something from my house first, though, if you don’t mind.”
Her eyes were dark holes. If possible, she paled further. “Oh.” She stared straight ahead. “I hadn’t thought…” She seemed to visibly steady herself. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For remembering about….” She shrugged, and if anything, her voice grew quieter. “Precautions.”
What she meant took a moment to sink in. William choked back the laughter that was his immediate reaction. The need to protect her, even from her own mistaken assumptions, swamped him. Sweet heaven, how he wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Keep anything from ever worrying her again.
He’d only wanted to grab a bottle of wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, not the condoms she obviously thought he meant.
He pulled into his driveway and stopped. He had to handle this gingerly; he wouldn’t embarrass her for the world. “Anne, look at me.”
Slowly, but with obvious reluctance, she complied.
He took her hand. “I want you. I’ve been clear on that.”
When he didn’t continue, she nodded hesitantly.
“I’m doing my damnedest not to rush you, though I suspect you’d disagree.”
A faint curve of her lips.
“I want to spend time with you, whatever that involves. I’m not going to pounce on you.”
There was such hope in her eyes that he buried a rueful smile against her fingers.
“You respond to me. I can feel it. Please don’t deny it.”
Once again, her courage showed in the way she met his gaze. “I won’t.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s good.” With the unerring sense of human nature that had made him a rich man, he broached a topic that she might find easier to discuss in the darkness. “You haven’t been with anyone since Remy?” he asked.
He felt the flinch. “Or…before.”
“Or—” Good God. He was going to lose his mind from lust before this was over. He was toast. He swallowed hard. “Before.” His voice cracked like a teenager’s from sheer, vicious arousal.