Midnight Bayou (20 page)

“You’re bringing it back to life. It’s more than the money and the work.”

“Could you live here?”

Her eyes, startled, even panicked, whipped back to his. But his gaze stayed calm and level. “I have my own place.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you could. If you could be comfortable here, or if the idea of sharing the place with . . . ghosts or memories, whatever you’d call it, would bother you.”

“If it bothered me I wouldn’t have come over tonight so you could feed me. Which reminds me, what are you feeding me,
cher
?”

“I’m going to try my hand at grilling tuna.” He pulled his pocket watch out. “In a bit,” he said after checking the time.

She was mesmerized by the watch in his hand. Her stomach jittered as it had done when she’d seen the candlesticks. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it at a shop today.” Alerted by her tone, fascinated by it, he held the watch out. “Look familiar?”

“You just don’t see many men using that type of watch anymore.”

“I knew it was mine as soon as I saw it. I think you bought it for me,” he said, and her head jerked up. “A long time ago.” He turned the watch over so she could read the inscription on the back.

“Lucian’s.” Because her instinct was to curl her fingers into her palms, she made herself reach out and touch the engraving. “Very strange. Strange indeed, Declan. You think I was Abigail?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you think that’s a little too neat and tidy—and self-serving?”

“Murder, despair, suicide, a century of wandering souls?” He shrugged and slipped the watch back in his pocket. “Not very tidy, if you ask me. But I think, Lena, that maybe love is patient enough to wait until its time comes around again.”

“God, you are so . . . appealing. And it’s irritating that I have to be the sensible one around here. I like being with you, Declan.”

She toyed with the key on her neck chain as she spoke. A habit, he thought, she was probably unaware of.

“I like your company, I like your looks. And I like making love with you. That’s all I have right now.”

He took her into his arms. “I’ll take it.”

L
ena rolled over, slid along one pillow to the other. She heard singing—a deep, male voice in a dreamy refrain. And sighing, she ran her hand over the sheets.

He wasn’t beside her in bed, but his warmth was.

Opening her eyes, she blinked against the misty sunlight. She hadn’t meant to stay the night. But with Declan, her intentions often twisted around to meet his wishes. More, somehow his wishes circled until they ended up being hers as well.

Clever man, she mused, yawning as she burrowed into the pillow. He rarely seemed to push, never appeared to be unreasonable. And always got his way.

Damned if she didn’t admire him for it.

Even now, though she’d have preferred waking in her own bed, she was glad she’d stayed. Her mood had been heavy, and a bit prickly, when she’d arrived. Seeing her mother usually had that effect on her. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about it, and had just enjoyed being with him.

That was enough—and would have to be enough for both of them for as long as it lasted. Seeing Lilibeth was a stark reminder of the promises Lena had made to herself.

To succeed, on her own terms. To live, precisely how she chose to live. And never, never to place her hopes, her needs, her wants in the hands of another.

Declan would move along sooner or later. Everyone did. But she cared more this time, and would make a genuine effort to be and to remain friends.

So, she’d would be very, very careful not to fall in love with him. Very careful not to hurt him while he believed he loved her.

Her brow creased. She
did
hear singing. In the shower, she realized, Declan’s voice over the drum of water.

“Long years have passed, child—I’ve never wed, true to my lost love, though she is dead.”

An odd tune for a man to belt out in the shower, she thought, and found herself singing the refrain with him in her mind.
After the ball is over, after the break of morn.

Puzzled—where had those lyrics come from?—she rose and went to the bathroom door. She knew the tune, but more, she knew the words. The sad story of lack of faith, of death, melded to the romantic melody.

And her heart was pounding. She felt the pulse of it jump in her throat.

Dancing in the moonlight with the house a white beacon against the night. A girl in faded muslin, and the young man in elegant black tie. The smell of lilacs. Heavy and sweet.

The air’s thick with flowers. So thick it’s hard to breathe. So thick it makes you dizzy as you spin around and around through the garden, along the bricks with the music playing.

Dizzy, dizzy from the dance. Dizzy, dizzy from the fall into love.

She swayed, reaching out to brace a hand against the door. But it opened, and steam poured out as she fell forward.

“Whoa!” Declan caught her, scooped her off her feet. Still wet from the shower, his hair dripping onto her face, he carried her back to bed.

“I’m okay. I just . . . lost my balance.”

“Baby, you’re white as a sheet.” He brushed her hair back, rubbed her chilled hand between both of his. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Torn between confusion and embarrassment, she nudged him back to sit up. “I got up too fast, is all. Then I lost my balance when I reached for the door and you opened it. I’m fine,
cher. Ça va.
It’s just a little early for me to be up and around.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Sweetheart, don’t fuss. Simones aren’t swooning sorts.” She ran a finger over his chin. It was all fading away now, the song, the scent of lilacs, the giddy sense of reeling. “Though that handsome face of yours does take my breath away. You leave any hot water for me?”

“Probably not.” He eased down to sit beside her. “I’ve got to replace that water heater. If you give it a half hour, it should come through for another shower.”

“Mmm. Now what could I do with a half hour?” Laughing, she pulled him into bed.

N
ow that, Lena decided, was a much better way to start the day. She lingered over her first cup of coffee at the little table Declan had set up on the gallery outside his bedroom. As his breakfast pickings were slim at best, she’d settled on a bowl of Frosted Flakes and had watched him load his down with sugar.

“
Cher
, why don’t you just have yourself a big old candy bar for breakfast?”

“Don’t have one.”

He grinned over at her, and damn it, he
did
take her breath away.

“You’ve got yourself a nice spot here,” she told him. “Good morning-contemplation sort of spot.”

“It’ll be better when I get some of the boards replaced and it’s painted. Needs more stuff, too.” He glanced around. “Pots, you know, flowers and things. A glider or a swing.”

She spooned up some cereal. “You’re just a homebody, aren’t you,
cher
?”

“Looks like.” And it delighted him. “Who’d’ve thought?”

“And what does the homebody have planned for today?”

“I want to finish the first section of the exterior stairs. If the weather holds through the weekend, I’ll have a good start on the front of the house. I’ve got guys coming in to start on the other bathrooms. Got some more shopping to do. Want to come with me?”

“I’ve never seen a man so crazy to shop.” It was tempting to give in to the charming image of hunting with him for treasures. And to have some part in selecting pieces for the house.

And wouldn’t that go toward forging another link in making them a couple instead of two people just enjoying the moment?

So she shook her head and denied herself the pleasure. “Unless this shopping involves looking at shoes or earrings, you’re on your own, sugar.”

“I could probably fit that in, between hunting up drawer pulls and hardware. In fact . . . hang on a minute.”

He rose and went inside while Lena stretched back and, cupping her mug in both hands, looked out over the gardens to the pond.

She’d distracted him, she thought. Or at least he was
pretending to be distracted from what had happened that morning. She’d damn near fainted, and that would’ve been a first.

Something in the house, she mused, was affecting her, just as it did Declan. One side pulling her in, another pushing her out, but she was determined to stand firm.

Was it possible he was right after all? Could it be so perfectly neat? He had been Lucian in a past life, and she his doomed Abigail?

Had they danced in the moonlight to that old, sad song?

If it were true, what did it mean to them now, in this life?

Her face was clear of worry when he stepped out again. And put a small box on the table beside her bowl.

“
Cher
, you keep picking up presents like this, what’re you going to do when my birthday rolls around?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to top my salt and pepper shakers, but . . .” She opened the box, expecting to see some cute and foolish pin or silly earrings. Then just stared down at the pair of ruby and diamond hearts.

“They caught my eye.”

“You—you can’t give me something like this.” For the first time since he’d known her, she stuttered. “You can’t just—just give me earrings like these. These are real stones. Do you think I’m too stupid to recognize real diamonds?”

“No.” Interesting, he thought, that she’d jump from fluster into temper at the gift of diamonds. “I thought they’d look good on you.”

“I don’t care how rich you are.” She snapped the lid back down on the sparkle of blood and ice. “I don’t care how much money you’ve got stuffed away in your portfolios and your bank accounts. I don’t want you buying me expensive jewelry. If I want diamonds and rubies, then
alors
, I’ll buy them for myself. I’m not sleeping with you for baubles and profit.”

“Well, these were a big hit.” He tipped back in his chair to meet her furious eyes, as she’d leaped to her feet as she’d shouted at him. “So, they’d be okay with you if they were glass? Let me get the ground rules clear. If I see something I’d like to get for you, it has to be, what, under a hundred? One-fifty? Give me a ballpark.”

“I don’t need you to buy me things.”

“Lena, if you needed me to buy you things, I’d buy you groceries, for Christ’s sake. These were pretty, they made me think of you. And look at this.” He picked up the box, ran his free hand around it. “No strings attached.”

“Something costs as much as a decent secondhand car’s got strings,
cher.
”

“Wrong. Money’s relative. I have a lot of it, so deal. You don’t want them, fine.” He shrugged, picked up his coffee. “I’ll give them to someone else.”

Her eyes went to slits. “Oh, will you?”

“They appear to upset your moral balance, but there’s no point in them going to waste.”

“You’re trying to make me sound like an idiot.”

“No, you’re acting like an idiot. I’m just playing my part in your little drama. I’d like you to have them, but not if you’re going to think they’re payment for services rendered. That’s just as insulting to me as it is to you, Lena,” he said when her mouth dropped open. “Your telling me you don’t want payment for sex is telling me I’m willing to buy it from you. They’re just goddamn rocks.”

“They’re beautiful rocks.” Damn, damn, damn! Why did the man constantly throw her off balance?

And wasn’t it just like him, just exactly like him, to sit there, calmly watching her flash and burn?

She took a deep, steadying breath while he looked at her with both patience and amusement. “I was rude, and I
overreacted. I’m not used to men handing me diamonds and rubies over bowls of cereal.”

“Okay. Want me to wait and give them to you over a nice steak dinner?”

She gave a weak laugh, dragged her hair back. “You’re entirely too good for me.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.

But she shook her head, then picked up the box. She studied the earrings against their bed of velvet for a long moment before taking them out, putting them on.

“How do they look?”

“Perfect.”

She leaned down, kissed him. “Thank you. They just scared me a little, but I’m getting over it pretty quick now.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to have to wear my hair back with them. Show them off. Damn it,” she said as she ran for the door. “I have to see.” She stopped at the mirror, held her hair back with one hand. “Oh God! They’re fabulous. I’ve never had anything so lovely in my life. You’re a sweet man, Declan. A hardheaded, crazy, sweet man.”

“When you marry me,” he said from the doorway, “I’ll give you diamonds for breakfast once a week.”

“Stop that.”

“Okay, but keep it in mind.”

“I’ve got to get on. I want to stop by and see my grandmama before I head back.”

“Give me a ride over? I’ve got something for her.”

Her eyes, when they tracked to his in the glass, were indulgent and just a little frustrated. “You bought her another present.”

“Don’t start on me,” he warned, and stepped back out to gather up the bowls.

“Why do you have to buy things all the time,
cher
?”

She knew him now, and the little ripple movement of
his shoulders told her he was annoyed and uncomfortable. So she softened the question by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ve got money,” he said. “And I like stuff. You trade money for stuff, which is more fun and interesting than having a bunch of green paper in your wallet.”

“I don’t know. Me, I like that green paper just fine. But . . .” She fingered the diamonds at her ears. “I could grow mighty fond of these pretty rocks. Go on, get whatever you’ve gone and bought for Grandmama. Bound to brighten her day, whatever it is, ’cause it’s from you.”

“You think?”

“She’s sweet on you.”

“I like that.” He turned, wrapped his arms around Lena’s waist. “How about you? You sweet on me?”

A long line of warmth flowed down her spine, nearly made her sigh. “You make it hard not to be.”

“Good.” He touched his lips to hers, then eased away. “I like that even better.”

H
e carried a little gift bag out to her car. It struck her as odd and charming that he would think of things like that. Not just a present, a token he could so easily afford, but the presentation of it. Pretty bags or bows, ribbons or wrappings most men—or men she’d known—would never bother with.

Any woman she knew would call Declan Fitzgerald one hell of a catch. And he wanted her.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” she began as she started the car.

“True or false? Multiple choice?”

“I guess it’s more the essay type.”

He settled back, stretched out his legs as best he could as she started down the drive. He’d always aced his tests. “Shoot.”

“How come with all those fine ladies up in Boston, and all the good-looking women here ’round New Orleans, you zeroed in on me?”

“Not one of them ever made my heart stop, or sprint like a racehorse at the starting gun. But you do. Not one of them ever made me see myself ten years, twenty years down the road, reaching out to take her hand. But you do, Lena. And what I want most in the world is to hold onto you.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare, as everything inside her seemed to fill up so she knew one glance at his face would have it all spilling out. Warm and sweet and conquered.

“That’s a good answer,” she managed.

“It’s a true one.” He took one of her tensed hands off the wheel, kissed it. “God’s truth.”

“I think it is. I don’t know what to do about it, Declan. You’re the first man who’s ever made me worry about what to do. I’ve got powerful feelings for you. I’d rather I didn’t.”

“Here’s what I think. We should elope to Vegas, then you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“Oh, I’m sure the Boston Fitzgeralds would just be thrilled hearing you’ve eloped to Vegas with a Cajun bar owner from the bayou. That’d set them up right and tight.”

“It’d give them something to talk about for the next decade or two. My mother would like you,” he said, almost to himself. “And she’s no easy mark. She’d like that you’re your own woman and don’t take any crap off anyone. Run your own business, look after your grandmother. She’d respect that, and she’d like that. Then she’d love you because I do. My father would take one look at you and be your slave.”