Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  She flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You told me some great stories, not all of them real. You didn’t save me from Cornell, did you? He was well respected, considered a great man in some circles. He didn’t attack me because he wanted to kill me, he merely wanted a taste so he could control my discretion better. You made him attack me.” He lifted his hand and she flinched, but he merely pushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes. “Probably drugged him, am I right? I still don’t know for sure why you did it, but Didiane, you got what you wanted. Cornell’s dead. Now leave me alone.”

  He would have entered his room, but she caught his sleeve. He looked down at her hand until she removed it, then back at her. Her eyes slitted with fury, her mouth become a thin line. “You are mine. I made you, I own you!”

  “I think not.” This time he did enter his room.

  It was abundantly clear to him now what Didiane had done, exactly how poisonous she was. Jordan had checked the website Sarah told him about and discovered some of the truth.

  Vampires were part of a larger community, calling themselves Talents, and they had pledged not to reveal their existence to the world at large. Cornell was merely taking a taste of Jordan’s blood in order to control him better and ensure he maintained that silence. That was all. Talents could be killed if they broke this one law, and if they tried to compel rather than to persuade by using telepathy. Like Sarah had said, Gillespie Cornell was a respected vampire and Talents mourned his death.

  Didiane had claimed she’d saved him from the violent and uncontrollable Cornell, a renegade prepared to kill when and how he liked. A false claim, the same as her claim that he owed her, that she was somehow his mistress in more than a sexual sense.

  In Paris Didiane had kept him apart from others of his kind, claiming they were rare, that there were no others in the city, but here, on his own turf, he’d finally met someone who’d told him the truth. He wouldn’t have met Sarah had he not been forced to follow Didiane to protect Karey from her. He didn’t know who he was more angry with; himself, or the woman who had kept him in thrall for six months. After his conversion, he’d been traumatized, needed rest, but she’d kept him busy, in bed and out, and only now could he begin to come to terms with what he had become.

  He stripped and climbed between the sheets, thankful Didiane hadn’t repeated the canard about vampires sleeping in coffins. That would not have been comfortable. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he remembered someone else.

  Karey. Didiane was vindictive and spiteful. She would seek to destroy her. He groaned. This was getting more complicated by the minute. He would have to push Karey away, prove to Didiane that he wasn’t interested in his wife as more than an object on which to slake his thirst for blood and his sexual need.

  Jordan slept.

  * * * * *

  After spending most of the morning resetting the cameras, Karey returned to the office, where Bernard was still working. He informed her he was planning the opening, something Auguste had left in his hands until he returned. “If I do this well,” he said with a slight grimace, “I’m due a raise.”

  “Doesn’t Auguste pay you well?” Karey had always found Auguste the most generous and thoughtful man, but she had never known him as an employer before, just as Jordan’s cousin and her friend. However, since she had taken this assignment at the house, she had no complaints. Auguste insisted on paying Hosts to Ghosts’s standard rates, and then some, and given her free accommodation.

  Bernard shrugged in answer to her question. “The hotel trade doesn’t pay well.”

  She strolled across the room and looked over his shoulder at the screen. He turned his head and flashed her a smile. “I’ve been working on that idea from this morning. I thought we might use the ghosts as a draw. When they’ve finished with the upstairs rooms, I’m proposing of theme, the Haunting Experience. I guess a few people will pay extra for that. And we can attract the ghost hunters.” He laughed shortly when he heard her protest. “Not like you, Karey. The amateurs, the people who do it for kicks.”

  “Auguste wants the place cleansed. I think he’s right. He thinks whatever has control here is dangerous. So any ghosts you have in your Plantation Experience will have to be false.”

  She thought she saw him smile again, but he had his back to her and the reflection on the computer monitor was too faint for her to be sure. She was probably mistaken. “We don’t have to tell everyone that though, do we? This house has a reputation for being haunted. We’ll prepare a handout for interested visitors, and perhaps have a Ghost Trail. You’re planning to bring in a TV crew, and that will give us great publicity. That way we can put the cemetery to use. Auguste won’t have it touched. I suppose if my ancestors were there I might feel the same.” She didn’t imagine the bitter tone to his voice. He turned his head. No, she wasn’t mistaken; she saw the sourness in his eyes. “My ancestors were black as well as white, plantation workers, not domestics. On my mother’s side, they were probably buried where they fell.”

  “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own.

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad we’re not measured in degrees of African blood any more. Not that I’m ashamed of where I came from. Far from it. I’ve learned a lot from my family.”

  “Moving in on my wife, Foret?”

  The new voice, harshly accusing, came from the doorway. Both their heads went up to see Jordan, elegant as usual in dark red silk shirt and black pants, the studded belt slung around his narrow hips. He smiled, but no warmth lit his steely grey eyes.

  Bernard removed his hand. “A gesture between friends. Karey seems to need friends right now.”

  Karey stared at Jordan. It was as though last night hadn’t existed and enmity still thrummed between them. A movement behind her caught Karey’s attention and she watched Didiane, as elegant as Jordan, but in a blue silk dress that matched the celestial color of her eyes. Didiane moved to stand beside Jordan. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t need to. It was clear from her ease that she knew him, that she was comfortable with him. “You seem to have done some moving in yourself,” she said to Jordan.

  She saw the briefest response in his eyes, a flicker of hurt, before it was gone and the cold, unfeeling stranger lounged before her. “The sooner I sign those divorce papers the better. Can’t you have copies brought down here?”

  She hadn’t thought of that, though she knew she should have done. “I’ll send for them if it’s quicker for you.”

  “Probably best. We’re going out, and we’ll probably be back late. Does that cause any problems for the security around here?”

  Bernard shrugged. “You have the side door key and the alarm code. Better use that.”

  “We’ll party awhile. It’s a long time since I’ve been to one of the wilder parties New Orleans has to offer.” He kept her gaze and she saw in the turbulent depths what he meant. If you knew where to look for it, the wilder parties included orgies, drug parties and various other delights. It was as unlike the Jordan she’d thought she’d known to make her wonder whether her soon-to-be ex-husband had a twin brother.

  He must have seen something in her eyes, because his smile broadened. “Perhaps we should have taken that honeymoon after all. I might have changed earlier.” He pursed his lips slightly and studied her. “No. I don’t think I would.”

  Karey flushed at the hurtful barb and not for the first time wished her redhead’s skin didn’t reveal her emotions so easily. Didiane chuckled and Jordan turned to her, slipping his arm around her slender waist, and allowing his thumb to caress the curve. “Come on, ma belle, time we were out of here.” Turning her, he strolled away.

  Karey took a deep breath. “I’ve changed my mind about that rain check, Bernard. If your offer still stands, I’d love to have dinner with you tonight.”

  * * * * *

  Bernard took her to the Deux Patrons, one of the best restaurants in New Orleans. O
ne of the two owners, Guy Millard, met them at the door. He had a professional smile fixed on his broad face, but overlaid with concern. “Ms Murray, your husband is here.”

  “Jordan? And please call me Karey.”

  Guy nodded. “I’m sorry. Do you still wish to retain your reservation?”

  When Bernard had given her the name of the restaurant, she’d recognized it as one Jordan used while he was down here. She should have guessed he’d come here to eat before commencing his wild partying.

  Karey closed her eyes for a second, then opened them on Guy’s anxious expression. Guy was African American, a giant of a man, but his face was overlaid with concern for her now, and the tender expression gave a hint of a generous nature beneath the strong body. “Just don’t put us near his table, Guy.”

  “I would hate for your evening to be spoiled.”

  Karey exchanged a glance with Bernard. “It won’t,” she said, deliberately infusing a deeper meaning into her words. Jordan wouldn’t trouble her, she wouldn’t let him. Last night she’d almost fallen under his spell again, but his behavior this afternoon showed her how little that meant to him.

  Well she was a big girl, and Jordan Arcenaux wasn’t about to ruin her evening, or run her out of a meal she had been looking forward to. She turned a dazzling smile on Guy. “It’s nice of you to look out for me, Guy, especially since it’s Jordan you know best, not me.”

  Guy frowned. “I’m not sure I do know him now. He’s changed. I couldn’t believe it when Auguste told me you’d split up, but now I’ve seen him for myself—well.” He shrugged. “We used to play together as kids. Jordan was always the moody one, but he seems to have gotten worse these days.” He expression warmed in a smile. “Come in and be welcome.” He nodded to Bernard. “I’m sorry to meet you with this news, Foret.”

  Bernard shook his head slightly. “No problem. I appreciate you telling us, but if it doesn’t worry Karey, then it doesn’t worry me.”

  A young woman in the dark green uniform used by the restaurant came forward, smiling her welcome. “May I show you to your table?”

  Bernard smiled back. “Merci.”

  Karey tried not to show her dislike with the way French was used here. Jordan used it, even in New York, and sometimes hadn’t noticed he’d slipped into another language. Every time someone else did it, the words reminded her of Jordan’s throaty French, the language of love, the language he’d used in their most intimate moments. All too few.

  If they’d had more time to love, would things have been different? She doubted it. Jordan seemed determined to shut her out of his life, and she could do nothing about it. Except hold her head high and never let anyone know how her heart was tearing apart. Especially Jordan. He would never know how much he’d hurt her; never see that she cared so much. Cared still. That was the hell of it.

  Their table was at the other end of the restaurant to the one occupied by Jordan and his friends, but Karey could still see them from the cozy table for two set in the window embrasure. Jordan sat next to a young girl in Goth get-up—pale make-up, black, droopy clothes, a girl Karey faintly recognized as the maid at the house. Didiane sat next to a youth in biker gear.

  Despite their attempts at sophistication, or perhaps because of them, the younger couple looked like teenagers, and completely out of their depth next to the elegant couple entertaining them. The girl stared at Jordan for most of the time, and to her annoyance, Karey saw he had his arm curled around the back of the seat and occasionally played his fingers against her shoulder blade. Where had he learned that trick? He’d certainly never used it with her.

  Flushing, she looked away to find Bernard gazing at her, a sympathetic twist to his mobile mouth. “Shall we go somewhere else?”

  “No, this is one of the best restaurants in New Orleans and I want to stay. I was merely wondering about the kind of girl interesting my husband these days.” She picked up the menu and studied the contents.

  Jordan drew her eyes. She wanted to look her fill, and she wanted to look away. The back of her shoulder blades prickled and she glanced up to find him looking at her. For an instant their gazes melded, and nothing else mattered, but then she frowned ferociously.

  “We’ll leave soon. Enjoy your meal, ma chaton.”

  Where had that come from? That voice, so much like Jordan’s echoing in her mind? He hadn’t spoken and even if he had she couldn’t have heard those soft tones at this distance. She must have made it up.

  She grimaced and returned to the menu, but Bernard suggested, “Will you allow me to choose?”

  Karey looked up smiling and saw the intent gaze in Bernard’s eyes. He wasn’t hiding his attraction for her, but allowing her to see it for herself. Her smile faded. “Bernard, don’t even think about it. I don’t mean to get involved with anyone ever again.”

  His mouth formed an exaggeratedly petulant pout, making her laugh, but when he unpursed his lips were rich with voluptuous promise. “When he finally leaves, we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

  “Will your sense of southern chivalry allow you to play?” After all, why not? Jordan had amply demonstrated his indifference to her today. He couldn’t wait to leave.

  “You said all Arcenaux needed to do was sign the divorce papers. When he’s done that, you’re free, right?”

  When he did, they were divorced, and she owned Hosts to Ghosts. Karey told herself she couldn’t wait for that day, despite the ache in her heart, an ache that was so much a part of her she almost took it for granted. “But in charge of the company. I’ll have to spend a lot of time in New York,” she reminded him. “Do you want a long distance romance?”

  Bernard grinned. “There’s always phone sex. I’m told it can be fun.” He paused when the waitress arrived and he ordered quickly, in French. Karey heard a few key words and her mouth watered. She hadn’t anticipated a meal with any real eagerness for a long time. Since Jordan sent her his letter, she’d eaten to survive, nothing more. Perhaps this was what she needed to move on, an adventure, something different and not entirely serious.

  Just after their first course arrived, Jordan and his party stood up to leave. Karey had studiously ignored them, but the slight commotion caused her to look up from her shrimp bisque.

  Didiane led the way past their table, although they could have walked the other way and avoided each other completely. Karey had control over her emotions by now. She spotted a slight shrug of Jordan’s shoulders, but wasn’t sure what he meant.

  Didiane flashed them a brilliant smile. “We’re going on to the Bite Me nightclub, in case you want to follow us there as well.”

  Karey looked up at her unsmilingly. “I think not.”

  “Going home to bed?” The young man behind Didiane sniggered. Jordan, his arm loosely draped around the young girl’s shoulders, visibly winced.

  “What business is it of yours?” Bernard asked. His brilliant eyes gleamed with antipathy and the smile froze on his face. “I have to warn you not to bring anyone back with you.” His glance flicked over both of the young people and back to Didiane. “Our insurance won’t cover anyone extra in the house. The renovations make it dangerous.”

  Didiane gave him a sinuous smile. “I think we can manage.”

  “Fond of foursomes, are you?”

  Didiane’s eyes gleamed in response, taking up the challenge. Karey couldn’t help thinking Bernard and Didiane would be a match for each other, but she wasn’t sure why she thought that, unless it was the brief spark she saw pass between them. “Sometimes. But I take your advice. We will not compromise safety.”

  “Oh, but I want to see the ghost!” the girl exclaimed, pouting dark red painted lips. “You promised me!” She turned her face to Jordan. Underneath the paint she was quite exquisite, delicately pointed chin, high cheekbones and dark hair down to her waist. Karey had to admit Jordan had taste, though the implications of the foursome prospect nearly made her gag. She had never concerned herself with other people’s sexual tastes, but
this was Jordan. Thinking of him twining his limbs around someone else, fucking someone else, made her sick to her stomach.

  She deliberately turned away from the thought. Jordan was nothing to her any more. He was nothing.

  Jordan dropped a brief kiss on the pouting lips turned up to him. “We’ll see. I never promised you the ghost, ma petite, merely a story about it. I’ll show you when you are at the house during the day.”

  “We can go straight to my apartment,” the young man said eagerly.

  “Oui,” Jordan said. He gave Karey a smile, too brief, too easy. “I’ll be back later, and I’ll keep watch.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested,” Karey said, keeping her voice low, the better to control her quivering emotions.

  “Call it a swansong.” With a push and a swerve they were past, and on their way out of the restaurant.

  The staff had been watching. As soon as Jordan’s party had gone, Guy bustled across the restaurant, a bottle of wine in hand. He placed it on the table with a smile. “My compliments,” he said. “I’m sorry if you were upset.”

  Karey was quick to respond. “No, it’s nothing. Marriages break up every day. No biggie.” She smiled, and forced herself to relax, back into the old Karey who enjoyed a good meal in pleasant company. “It’s certainly not going to spoil my enjoyment of this wonderful meal.”

  It wrecked any enjoyment she might have had. Karey could put on a good show, and she did so now, relishing every mouthful of a meal she couldn’t taste, a meal masked by the ashes in her mouth. The wine helped, or she couldn’t have choked down a morsel.

  Unbidden and definitely unwanted images returned to haunt her. Thoughts of Jordan, in bed with two, maybe three other people, enjoying, watching and indulging. Her imagination worked overtime, but she wished it wouldn’t.

  In response she was the perfect dinner guest, engaging in flirting, discussing any topic her companion wanted to bring up and trying to interest herself in Bernard. A new friend, and perhaps in a week or two a new lover. Her third. In all her life she’d only known three men intimately, too busy for anything else, too caught up in studies and career. Only now, and for the first time in her life did she regret it.