PerpetualPleasure (7 page)

She looked him square in the eye. “No, that’s not why I
panicked.”

He started pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He was
so achingly beautiful even in his fury, all Lucie could do was stare at him in
awe.

He came to a sudden stop and turned back to her, his eyes
feverish. “Bullshit. Bullshit, Lucie. I was there. I tied you up and made you
beg. Oh god.” His piercing gaze averted hers for several seconds as he fought
for composure. “You don’t have to forgive me but you have to believe me when I
say I never meant for you to feel helpless.”

“I wasn’t traumatized by it, if that’s what you’re driving
at.”

“Well, I was,” he said under his breath.

He sounded genuinely sorry and so shaken Lucie wanted to
explain, pacify him somehow. She wasn’t feeling used or abused and she didn’t
want him to think that’s what he’d done.

“You never hurt me. It’s just that…I’m used to being the one
in charge.” Lucie smiled at him reassuringly, needing for him to relax, needing
one more moment of his unwavering strength and power. He was sure to leave
soon. He had to.

And she had to will herself to let him go.

“Just calm that perfect butt of yours down, okay?”

Watching her with slanted eyes, he pasted on a smile Lucie
wasn’t sure reflected what he was feeling at all.

“A perfect butt. Really?”

“Come on, Mac. You know you’re a hottie.”

“Anything else you’d like to comment on or maybe know about
me?”

Lucie looked at him, a playful smile curving his lovely
mouth. The less she knew the less she would have to miss when he was gone. He
had already given her plenty to chew on.

“No. I think it’s time for you to go.”

MacCale nodded, his smile fading. “You sure are in a hurry
to throw me out.”

Lucie threw him a dirty look that made him grin before his
expression turned somber again.

“I know I have no right, but could I ask for one small favor
before I go?”

“What is it, Mac?”

“Will you show me the box, if it still exists?”

“Why would you—”

“Please, Lucie. It would mean a lot to me.”

“Then will you go?” she asked.

“Only then will I go.”

“Fine,” she sighed. Why not? “Follow me.”

She led him out into the corridor, drawing the door closed
behind them.

“Hold up.” He jogged back into her bedroom to return a
moment later, pocketing his phone and wearing his shoes.

Getting ready to leave.

Lucie led him in silence downstairs and through the house to
the room across from the double sitting room. She let him in and flipped the
lights on, the gasoliers converted to electricity lending light to a space she
had thought magical as a child and still loved.

From wall to wall, from floor to ceiling, the room boasted
art and artifacts from different eras, gathered first by her father and later
by her. Everything from maps, prints and paintings through Asian chests and
china to sculptures and figurines big and small. Some had cost a small fortune,
some she had gotten for free or for a pittance, but each object was equally
precious and memory-laden in her eyes.

Among her treasury, encased in thick glass with no openings,
stood her very own Pandora’s Box. Lucie walked MacCale to it, both staring at
the small forbidding lead chest in silence.

“Why did you keep it?” he asked.

“It’s a reminder of my youthful recklessness. My original
youth. Not that I could ever forget. It certainly hasn’t made me any more
cautious.” She gave a grim laugh. “I didn’t dare try to destroy it not knowing
what I might unleash on the world if I did.”

Lucie turned to MacCale. He was studying her closely.

“Why didn’t you marry, Lucie? At twenty-six, you were
certainly old enough.”

How did he do it? Not much seemed to shake or amaze him. He
was unbelievable and so should have her history been, but MacCale looked at her
oozing calm as he waited for her answer.

“My father died early on and I had to help my mother run the
house. The time never felt right and when it finally might have been it had
passed me by. I was relieved, to tell you the truth. I would have lost the
relative freedom I had as an unmarried woman. And when I…when I changed it
became a non-issue.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. MacCale took her hands in his and
only held them for a moment, a strange expression she couldn’t read on his
striking features.

“Thank you.” He kissed her hands softly, the warmth of his
lips making Lucie shiver with awareness. With one tender touch he could take
her apart.

Just as she was about to step out of his reach, he wrapped
his arm around her waist and whispered near her ear, “May I have my shirt back
or will you get cold? I do love seeing you in it, though.”

Lucie fought against the need to close her eyes and lean into
his strength and warmth. Before she succumbed, MacCale straightened and let go
of her.

Lucie’s hands trembled as she went for the buttons. He took
hold of her hands again, set them to her sides and opened up the buttons for
her.

Doing her damnedest to keep her voice even, Lucie said,
“There’s a guest bathroom two doors down the hall. You’re free to use it if you
want, and there really should be everything you need.”

“Hmm, I seriously doubt that,” he murmured and peeled the
shirt from her body. A shiver of hot and cold ran through Lucie as she stood
naked before him, MacCale putting the shirt on in his turn.

If he was trying to punish her for the dress stunt she had
pulled at Boyd’s…he succeeded. Lucie felt exposed, and so willing to be touched
and held by him she couldn’t believe where her head was at.

Oh god…

Lucie snapped her eyes open, realizing she had closed them.
MacCale ran his hands down her arms. He moved over to her belly and circled her
waist, skating up to brush the backs of his fingers against her breasts. He
didn’t linger, only gave her a taste of everything he was capable of doing to
her with nothing more than the tips of his fingers on bare flesh.

She wanted to reach out for him. She wanted to pull him to
her and kiss him. And if she did, she would never be able to let go. If she
did, she could forget about rational thought or a sensible course of action. He
would set her on fire all over again, and she would burn for him as she had
done last night, as she threatened to do just thinking about it.

He made her weak. And he almost made her forget her lines,
her purpose and her part.

“I need to…I need a shower, Mac.”

“And that’s my cue,” he sighed. “Unless you want an encore.
I could call the cab company and—”

“That’s your cue.” So he fucked like a dream. The last thing
she needed was memorable. What if he made it unforgettable?

“Go take your shower, baby,” he uttered thickly and stepped
back. “I’ll show myself out. Goodbye, Lucie.”

“Goodbye, Mac,” Lucie countered him, never missing a beat.

He turned, stalked to the door, and without another word or
glance her way he was gone.

She didn’t go after him. She didn’t check up on him.

It was for the best, Lucie reminded herself. A clear,
clean-cut break.

How civilized of them. How very sensible and grown-up.

Standing naked in the middle of the room, trembling from the
awful feeling he’d stripped her of something more than just clothing, all Lucie
wanted was to throw a tantrum.

Chapter Five

The unseasonably cool spring day was perfect for the
Scottish Games. The mild weather had to be a relief for athletes and dancers
alike, all putting their best foot forward for the spectators gathered around
the stages and field strips reserved for the numerous competitions taking place
through the day.

Standing behind one of the tables in the genealogy tent,
Lucie let her eyes sweep the campus of the Bethesda Home for Boys on one of the
rare spare moments she had had all morning. The Clan Row had seen a steady
string of visitors, people stopping by their clan tents and chatting with local
historians.

It had been her favorite spot on campus for a couple of
years now. Too bad it wouldn’t be for much longer and then not for a long
while. First she would have to suffer comments on how she hadn’t changed a bit
since last year. Before scrutiny turned to suspicion, she would have to leave
town.

For now, she enjoyed reciting personal stories disguised as
research findings and listening to stories about the different clans and their
heritage. She never tired of talking about local, Scots and Irish history,
something she’d studied in earnest for the past few years.

The chapel replica was all that there was left of the
original structures. She couldn’t visit the site without remembering all that
had once stood there. And there was no visiting Bethesda without thinking about
Richard or the Civil War.

She had worked at the hospital set up on campus after the 7th
Georgia Battalion had established its headquarters there. It had been Richard’s
final term as mayor and the worst year the city had seen since 1820 when they
had lost hundreds of lives to the yellow fever epidemic and half a thousand
buildings in a fire. Union troops had marched toward Savannah, and Richard and
the town’s aldermen had chosen to surrender the city rather than see her
destroyed. He had helped save lives countless times over the decades and in
December 1864, he had saved the city and her citizens again.

But it wasn’t Sherman and his army who now stormed the
grounds at Bethesda, it was a group of men led by Boyd Ferguson. The old
gentleman walked briskly, his head held high, his back straight and his
shoulders squared as if he’d lost twenty years since she last saw him simply by
donning his clan’s emblems.

“Gentlemen, we have a French spy among us, and such a lovely
lass is she, I say we steal her away and keep her forever. Mind you, I saw her
first,” his voice boomed. “How are you, dear?”

Lucie rounded the table to meet him, just to be on the safe
side. He looked ready to steamroll his way through it. He gave her a warm bear
hug and she kissed his cheek in return. The sweet widower beamed, sighing
loudly, and winked at his friends.

She shook hands with the rest of the party as Boyd made the
introductions. Some of the men she already knew, some she didn’t, and one she
wished she had never set eyes on.

“There you are. Step forward, son. Lucie, I’d like you to
meet my grandnephew MacCale Moore, come to break field records and make us
proud. MacCale, Miss Lucie Marcotte, the best-kept secret in Savannah.”

“Oh, I believe she is,” he said, snatched her trembling hand
in his and kissed it lightly.
“Enchanté, demoiselle.”

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Moore.” She pried her hand from
his, silently cursing the tremor in her voice.

“Oh, you two have met each other,” Boyd exclaimed jovially.
“But of course.”

“Yes, I had the pleasure at your party, uncle,” MacCale
said, over-enunciating the word “pleasure” in a way that made Lucie blush. It
had to be a century and a half since she had last blushed for anything or
anyone.

And this wasn’t happening.

What the hell was MacCale doing at the Games besides making
the womenfolk swoon? His powerful calves were in plain view, a tartan clinched
at his lean waist, his arms, chest and back bulging in a tight, white tee that
had her drooling in admiration.

“We had an interesting discussion I wouldn’t mind picking
up. Do we have time?” MacCale asked, talking to his great-uncle but staring at
her.

“Some five to ten minutes before we start, I believe,” Boyd
said.

“That’s all I need. I’ll meet you there.”

“Very well. Enjoy your day, dear,” the old man said, “and do
not let him bully you. He can sometimes be a bit…overbearing.”

“What can I say?” MacCale shrugged. “It’s an occupational
hazard.”

The group set off chatting and laughing, leaving Lucie to
silently wonder what occupation might that be.

She didn’t want to know. The less she knew, the faster she
got rid of him, the better.

“Does Boyd know?” he asked, his eyes following the group for
a brief moment. “Does he know about you or was the best-kept-secret line just
in reference to the spy joke?”

“He knows,” she said, trying to gather her bearings. “He’s
the only man alive who does. Or was.”

“The whole town may know or at least suspect,” he said. “But
this city knows how to keep a secret. And so do I, Lucie. Have no fear.”

She believed him. Looking into his eyes staring somberly
into hers and with an intuition honed through the centuries, she believed her
secret was safe with him.

Lucie stepped farther away from the eyes and ears at the
tables nearby, MacCale promptly following her.

“I didn’t think you’d stick around,” she confessed.

“You never asked, did you? About me, about anything.” The
same hurt and tinge of anger she had seen in him the night before was there
again. Lucie fought hard not to look away in something terribly akin to shame
and regret.

“I don’t want to know,” she said quietly. “It’s for the
best.”

“Find ’em, fuck ’em, forget ’em.”

The truth sounded awful delivered deadpan but it was what it
was. Her system of survival. And what better way to dishearten him than
convince him she didn’t have a heart.

“Exactly. I didn’t hear you complaining when you had your
cock inside me to the hilt.”

“Did you hear me thinking about it ever since?” And then, as
if he hadn’t said it, he added, “Genealogy, huh? Your journals would make for
one hell of a biography.”

“I guess so,” she said. “But it’s my private history and I’m
not prepared to share it with the world.”

“Would you share it with me? What if I wanted to commission
a genealogy study, or history, or whatever you call it?”

Digging up the professional inside, she stated evenly, “I’m
sorry but I’m swamped at the moment. I could give you—”

“It has to be you, Lucie.”

So calm. So damn serene she could almost disregard the
insistent edge in his voice.

“And you would pay extra to get me ASAP?”

He studied her silently for a moment, giving Lucie time to
think about how her question sounded. It wasn’t as if her life was on sale,
only her services. So why did she feel her soul was what she would be handing
him in the end?

“I promise you’ll get everything you’re due,” he said.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Your life, in your own words, complete and unabridged.”

“You’re not entitled to it. None of it.”

“But I’d like to read it all the same,” he said. “If you’ve
written any sort of memoir, any notes on the life and times of
mademoiselle
Marcotte, I would pay any price for the privilege of reading it.”

“Why?” she challenged him. “Am I some kind of psychological
science project? Research to help you do your job better next time?”

His brows pinched in a frown of pure disapproval. “Next
time?”

“Someone threatens to die on you on the job. You’re a cop,
aren’t you? Or a shrink. Or a lawman slash shrink, a crisis negotiator.”

The mask of censure lifting, he laughed long and low. “Not quite,
honey. Although the whole protect and serve thing isn’t that off the mark, come
to think of it.” His expression turned somber. “You’re not a project. Unless
getting to know you outside the bedroom counts as one.”

“Maybe I should pay you to back off,” she muttered.

“You don’t have that kind of money, trust me.”

“Everyone has a price, MacCale. Want to hear mine?” She
threw a preposterous sum at him. Way over her regular fee and most certainly
out of his league.

“Deal,” he said, without delay.

The man was crazy, there was nothing else to it. Seriously
rich or heavily in debt but definitely demented.

“FYI, I’m not doing it,” she said.

“FYI, no one has ever died on me on the job.”

Lucie fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why am I not
surprised?”

“Because you have the distinct feeling I’m there to see that
they don’t.”

A shrill whistle caught their attention, a man standing
beside Boyd Ferguson waving at them and signaling for MacCale to get moving.

Before she could swallow it down, Lucie was asking, “What
do
you do besides invest in the local nightlife and uphold the family honor?”

“I’ll see you soon, Lucie,” he said, jogging backward toward
the group of men waiting on him.

Lost for words, she shook her head in denial.

“Soon,” he shouted, turned around and took off running.

* * * * *

He didn’t so much as glance her way the rest of the day and
she would have noticed doing her best to catch a glimpse of him as she was.
MacCale utterly focused on throwing hammers like softballs and cabers like
toothpicks, men cheering him on and women eating him up with their eyes. Not
that she could see them ogling, but what else could they be doing, the man was
a sight.

Lucie cringed in self-disgust after craning her neck for the
hundredth time to try to spot him through the crowd. He had to be some sort of
professional athlete, she decided. He had the strength, agility and stamina of
one.

And she would
not
go online when she got home to dig
up what she could about him. More Moore. Just a little bit more. Then again,
with a little luck she might find something to make her hate him with a
passion, some excuse not to think about him, some reason not to want him.
Anything to convince her she wasn’t thinking of giving him what he asked for.
More than just sex, more than her body. Until she was free of the curse she’d
put on herself, she wasn’t free to give more than that to anyone.

Richard had understood. He had settled for her friendship
and her help.

MacCale didn’t strike her as man who settled for anything
less than what he wanted.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Lucie jumped at the sound of his voice scant inches from her
ear. How the hell did a man his size manage to sneak up on her? Gathering
herself as best as she could, Lucie turned to face him.

“Oh we agreed on more than that,” she reminded him.

“So you
are
doing it? Letting me read your journals?”

“No,” came her flat reply. To derail his train of thought,
she answered his original question instead. “I was thinking about my number-one
hero. I was thinking about Dr. Arnold.”

“Dr. Arnold, huh?” he drawled, his chest expanding as he
straightened his shoulders and shook his arms as if getting ready to start
swinging. “Should I be worried? Jealous? Maybe I should have a word with him so
that he knows you’re spoken for. Where can I find the heroic doc?”

“At Bonaventure.”

His arms dropped, his eyes glinting with jest. “He’s dead?”

“For over a century now, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. I’ll let him go with a warning then.” His trunk of an
arm lashed through air in a magnanimous gesture before he turned his full
attention to her again. “Were you two involved way back when?”

“No. I worked as a nurse, meaning I tried to help every way
I could and stay out of his way when I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “It was a
long time ago, but I remember him so vividly every time I come here.”

A light sparked in his golden gaze. “And I almost forgot I
promised to call one of
my
favorite people in the world. Do you mind?”

“No. Of course not.” Still lost in reverie, Lucie moved to
give him some privacy. Before she could step out of his reach, he’d taken hold
of her elbow.

“Don’t wander off now.”

Hypnotized by his voice and fixed stare, and not a little
intrigued by whom he was calling, Lucie froze. “Okay.”

He placed the call. “Hey, it’s me. Whoa, what do you got
there, a circus?” He listened intently for a moment, gave a laugh and
commiserated before saying, “Put the birthday girl on.”

Lucie stole a glance. He was smiling at her. Or maybe at
something he heard over the line.

“Hi, sweetie, happy birthday. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,
are you having a good time?”

Lucie wouldn’t have said he was crooning, but his voice took
on a tone she hadn’t heard before.

“Chocolate cake? Hmm, my favorite. Sure. Real soon, I
promise. When I get back, okay? Wanna know who I met here? A queen. Did too,
the queen of Savannah. She’s really nice. Yes, pretty too.” MacCale winked at
her. “I don’t know but I could ask her. Sure. I promise I will. Now put your
dad back on, okay? Bye, sweetie, have fun.”

While whoever was on the other end went for her father,
MacCale said to Lucie, “Em wants to know if you have a crown or a tiara, being
queen and all, and if you do, could I take a picture of you wearing it? She
loves the princess stuff and the stories.”

“Great.” Lucie threw her hands in the air, part in jest,
part in earnest. “Another young mind infected.”

“You bet,” he said emphatically. “I enforce it every chance
I get. Every girl should believe in true love.”

“And Prince Charming?”

“Especially Prince Charming,” he said.

There it was again, that odd marshmallow-soft, sweet tone.

“Or Princess Charming, whichever way they roll.”

And then it struck her. “Oh my god, you’re a romantic. You
do know it doesn’t really go with—” Her hand motioned to the general direction
of where the heavy athletics competition had taken place before sweeping his
length from head to toe. “This.”