His fingers tugged her hair, and he bent to press his forehead against hers. “I’ll be in charge from here on out.”
“I think that’s best,” she whispered.
But he saw the white of her teeth as she smiled. “Minx, sleep.”
“You can manage single syllables. Can’t have been that good.”
His chest shook. Eight inches deep and he was laughing. Now, that was a first.
* * *
As he lifted her from his lap, Tilly felt as boneless as a rag doll. She was exhausted. Sated as she’d never been before. For now, she was content to let him take over and arrange her body.
He dragged her up the mattress, rolled her to her side, and spooned against her back, a thick arm resting in the curve of her waist. His hand slid under her head, and he placed his arm beneath her. His beefy bicep would be her pillow. Harder than she was accustomed to, but also reassuring. She sighed and snuggled against his heat.
“None of that,” he growled.
“Don’t worry. I have no further designs on your body.” A yawn threatened, but she swallowed it. “Can’t keep my eyes open anyway.”
“Might be fun to see if you’d wake up for your next orgasm.”
Liking the fact he felt comfortable enough to tease her, she smiled. “You’re teasin’, right?”
“Go to sleep, Tilly.”
“Yes, Boone.”
His hand smoothed over her hip then back up to her waist, over and over, lulling her into sleep. “Tilly?”
At his tone, her eyes blinked open, and her body stiffened. Was he going to ask? Please, no. I don’t want to lie to him.
His hand smoothed again, and he sighed. “Just sleep.”
She felt his disappointment. And the fact his breathing wasn’t that of a man relaxing meant he was still thinking. Now she couldn’t relax. “I guess I’m not used to sleepin’ with a man.” Not really a lie. A diversion, but true just the same.
“Glad to hear that,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Are you?”
“Am I used to sleeping with men?” he asked, laughter in his voice. “No.”
She sighed. “I wish you weren’t quite so…”
“What?” he asked, pressing a lingering kiss against her shoulder. “Intimidating?”
“Nice.”
“Tilly, I’m not nice.”
“I think you are. You’ve been nice to me. I know I sound like an idiot. Like I’m twelve years old. I do know you have reasons for hirin’ me, and I don’t want to hear what they are. But you didn’t have to be nice.” She released a sigh. “I would have slept with you anyway.”
“You’d have slept with someone you didn’t think was nice?”
“I’d have slept with you because I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”
He was silent, his hand slowing on her hip.
Well, that felt awkward. She didn’t expect him to reciprocate. “Just thought you should know,” she mumbled. “You don’t have to keep bein’ nice. I’m not some wiltin’ Southern lily.”
“I’ll keep that under advisement.”
Another kiss landed on her shoulder, and she relaxed. Boone didn’t know it, but he was a nice man inside his hard-edged, calculating businessman exterior. He was a survivor and not likely to show anything he considered a weakness, especially toward someone he might consider an adversary.
And for all that she wished she weren’t, she was keeping something from him, something so vital he might not forgive her if he ever found out. Releasing a tired sigh, she snuggled deeper into his embrace, taking pleasure from the heat of his body and the measure of security he gave so effortlessly.
I’ll take care of you, Boone, if you let me. I’ll build those bridges between your world and mine. It was the least she owed him.
Chapter Eleven
Early the next morning, a soft knock sounded on the door. Boone opened his eyes, surprised to find light flooding the bedroom. He’d overslept.
The reason lay draped across his chest, her knee dangerously close to his balls. Gently, he moved Tilly off his body, but needn’t have worried about waking her.
Muttering softly, she rolled to her side and fell back to sleep.
Boone climbed off the bed and padded to the door, opening it a crack.
Serge stood in the hallway, his gaze lifting beyond Boone’s shoulder to the bed. “I hate to disturb you, boss,” he said, his troubled gaze boring into Boone’s, “but you’ve got visitors—the sheriff and some pencil-neck who’s all up in arms about the fire.”
Boone stiffened. “Give me a minute. I’ll be down.”
His friend arched a brow. “No rush. Beatrice arrived. She’s serving them coffee and crumpets.”
The idea of Beatrice serving anything but a starchy stare was laughable. Boone’s mouth twitched.
He shut the door and turned back to the bed.
Tilly was sitting, the comforter pulled under her chin to shield her body. “Leon’s here?” She rolled her eyes. “Bet he’s checkin’ to see if I’m still all in one piece.”
“Maybe you should put on my robe and join us,” he drawled. “Just to put his mind at ease.”
She shook her head, her lips pursing in a gentle rebuke. “That wouldn’t be the best foot to put forward, Boone. No need to give him another reason to distrust you. The man’s been after me forever.”
“Exactly my point,” he muttered under his breath as he strode toward her. But Tilly’s blush reminded him his agenda wasn’t necessarily hers. “I’ll shower. You can take your time.”
“I have to wear my Daisy Dukes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t exactly prepare for an overnight.”
Boone reached down to take her hands and pulled her forward. The comforter fell, and he glanced down at her naked body, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat at the sight of her pink nipples. Damn, but he wished he had time to savor sucking the tender flesh into full, beady erection. “I think you’ll find clothes in my closet.”
“Wow.” Her eyebrows rose for a second, and then they lowered. “You took a lot for granted. Or should I expect to have to squeeze into someone else’s size two?”
He knew better than to let his gaze dip again, and met the militant gleam in her blue eyes. “I didn’t expect anything, Tilly—I hoped.”
She lowered her head, slowly tugging her hands from his. “Go get your shower, Boone. Leon doesn’t like to wait. He can be ornery when he’s pissed.”
Boone left her, not liking the tension that remained between them, not after the night they’d shared. But then, maybe the distance was for the best. Tilly was a distraction. She tempted him to rethink his plans, and he’d worked too hard to arrive at the point where he actually had the power and influence to set things in motion. So why was his chest tight?
When he entered the parlor fifteen minutes later, he felt as though he’d entered enemy territory.
Leon Fournier stood with his hat in his hand, his uniform pressed with knife-edge creases and his badge shiny. The stare he leveled on Boone was hard and cold. The man who accompanied him was short, bald, and wearing a light, badly fitting suit. He held a large yellow envelope and wore a piggish, self-righteous expression. Neither was sitting or drinking the coffee set on a side table.
Beatrice offered him a thin smile, and then began the introductions. “You know the sheriff, Mr. Benoit. And this is Mr. Gentry from the state’s division of historic preservation. Both gentlemen have some concerns regarding the fire last night,” she said with a pointed glance.
Leon sniffed as though smelling something bad. “Was wonderin’ why you didn’t call in the fire, Mr. Benoit.”
Boone smiled. “The blaze was small, contained. My employees were able to put it out.”
“You do know that every buildin’ on this property is listed on the national registry?” Mr. Gentry lifted his pointy chin. “If it was purposely set…”
Boone winced at the man’s irritating whine. “It was an accident
. Wood as old as that.” He shrugged, staring the man down.
“Funny, no storms, no lightning strikes to explain it,” Leon said. “And that particular cabin…You can see why we’d be suspicious.”
Mr. Gentry’s shoulders stiffened. “And there are the renovations goin’ on now. I’ll need to inspect. You didn’t request any variances. I can find no record of a request coming through our office.”
“I can assure you, sir. The house and grounds are being restored to their previous state. If my staff overlooked any documentation they should have forwarded you, I apologize. Beatrice can show you around. There have been a few upgrades to the electrical wiring and amenities in the kitchens and bathrooms, but nothing that should alarm you. I trust you can inspect quickly, because I have a crew eager to continue the work.”
The little man’s jaw jutted.“You should have applied for permits. In advance.”
“This is my home. I didn’t need permission.”
“It’s a public treasure.”
Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Boone smiled. “If you’ll check with Mr. Axiom at the office of cultural development,” he said, naming Gentry’s supervisor, “you’ll find he has reviewed my plans. If they weren’t properly filed, you’ll need to take him to task.”
Mr. Gentry swallowed, and then nodded. “I’ll get in touch with his office. In the meantime, I accept your invitation to inspect.”
Boone gave Beatrice a steady stare, telling her they would have a conversation later. She hadn’t been called to the estate and should have been working at the New Orleans office, but he thought he knew why she was here. In the past few months, she’d become possessive of his time. Not something he’d encouraged. Worse, her presence now might prove awkward for Tilly, and he wanted no setbacks in his campaign to seduce Tilly Floret.
When Beatrice and Mr. Gentry left the room, he turned his gaze back to the sheriff.
“Hello, Leon,” came a sultry voice from behind him.
Boone glanced back, satisfaction flooding him at the sight of Tilly entering the room. She wore a casual turquoise blouse with thick shoulder straps and a narrowed waist, white silk capris, and silver ballet flats. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a high, tight ponytail, the barest hint of makeup brightening her cheeks and eyelids. Her mouth was a little swollen, but maybe he was the only one who noticed, because he knew the cause.
“Tilly,” Leon said, his narrowed eyes sweeping her body as she came to a halt beside Boone.
“I see you’ve come to check out all the excitement we had last night. Everything happened so fast,” she said, her Southern drawl a tad exaggerated. “Boone and his workers were all over it, makin’ sure the other cabins didn’t catch a spark as well.” She shivered delicately. “The smoke was awful. Chased me right out of my cottage.”
Leon’s stare lasted a second longer than it should have, but then he blinked.
Boone wondered if the sheriff was equally as fascinated by this Tilly—chicly dressed and smiling confidently.
Leon glanced at Boone, winced, and then returned to Tilly. He cleared his throat. “Mae’s worried about you. Said you left without givin’ her any notice.”
Tilly’s down-turned mouth reflected real regret. “I’m sorry I left her in such a rush, but there was an incident that Black Spear had to respond to. The timing was perfect for me to see the operation in action. It was all very excitin’. I got swept away.”
Boone nearly snorted, but kept his expression neutral, letting Tilly do exactly what he’d hired her to do.
A flush creeping up his neck, Leon cleared his throat again. “Tilly, perhaps you could make time to stop by and speak with Mae. Ease her mind and assure her you’re doin’ well.”
Tilly reached out and touched the hand clutching his uniform hat. “Tell her I’ll be by soon.” She gave him a pat and her hand dropped away.
Leon nodded, his fingers clenching hard around the brim. His gaze hardened the instant it landed on Boone again. “I’ll be outside waitin’ for Mr. Gentry to finish his tour. Tilly, Boone…”
When the sheriff was out of earshot, Boone turned to Tilly. “That was some performance.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Thought you might need a little Southern honey to sweeten that sourpuss. Leon’s not a bad man, Boone. He could be a valuable ally, but if he’s got his back set to keep you under the microscope, he can be a real pain in the ass.”
Bemused by her sudden change from smooth honey to vinegar, Boone’s mouth twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His gaze flickered downward. “I see you found something suitable to wear.”
She leaned closer. “I shudder that someone on your staff knows my bra size,” she whispered. “It’s unnerving.”
Boone quirked an eyebrow. “Join me for breakfast?”
“That might be awkward,” she said, lifting her chin. “Don’t you think if we’re gonna keep this thing under wraps, that we ought to—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s just breakfast. After the night we had, I’m starved. You must be as well.”
Her lips pressed against his finger.
His skin warmed as he remembered her mouth on certain parts of his body. But he quickly leashed the feeling. What he wanted to do—sweep her up and lay her down on the nearest soft surface—and what he should do—protect her modesty—warred inside him. The last thing he wanted was to leave her embarrassed over the fact everyone would know she’d screwed the boss. His people would be discreet, but Leon was just outside…
Her eyes were wide, perfect windows into her pretty head. She was worried about how everyone would treat her today, knowing where she’d slept. But also worried about how he was going to treat her. She’d behaved fiercely proud in front of his company to save face.
Boone dropped his finger and picked up her hand, setting it on his arm. “Breakfast, and then I’ll have you shadow Jonesy for the morning.”
Her breath left in a sigh, rosy color flooding her cheeks. She lifted her head and gave him a sideways glance that was at once kittenish and bold. “Mornin’, by the way.”
Warmth spread through him at her husky greeting. “We have stools in the kitchen now.”
She laughed. “I’m almost disappointed.”
* * *
Tilly was relieved Colby Jones, or “Jonesy” as he’d insisted she call him, didn’t seem to mind her company throughout the morning. But then again, he didn’t show any pleasure either. In fact, he showed absolutely no emotion. She wondered if being impassive was a SEAL thing or just the fact they were accustomed to hiding their thoughts. She could only imagine the things they’d all seen.
Jonesy was another ruggedly built man, nearly as burly as Bear, and with a jaw the WWE wrestler John Cena would have envied. Hazel eyes, dark hair that glinted gold when the sunlight struck it—he wasn’t handsome, but he was so masculine that she wondered how she would maintain a professional demeanor when all she wanted to do was simper. She wondered what he’d do if she raised the back of her hand to her forehead and faked a faint.
The thought of his dismay made her smile.
“We’ve been working from photos from the Historical Society, the library, and Boone’s family album,” he said, sweeping a hand across the long table set up in the library next to the French doors that opened onto the backyard patio.
“I remember how it was,” Tilly said, nodding. “The Benoits used to open the estate for Fourth of July. There was a big picnic, then fireworks on the lawn where the helicopter lands now. It’s the only cleared spot in Bayou Vert that’s big enough. I remember the trees along the drive, and the fact that there were always flowers in bloom, but not much else about the festivities.” She glanced down at the printed scan from a photo and then looked out at the garden behind the house.
Workers were busy clearing flower beds and pruning roses. The far side of the garden was a mess. Debris from the rising bayou during some great storm was tangled in bushes and the lower tree branches. Stones framing rose beds we
re being dug from the debris and stacked to one side.
She gave Jonesy a hard glance. “Looks as though he’s planning to reconstruct the garden exactly as it was. Why’s that?”
“You’ll have to ask Boone,” he said, reaching out to open the doors and then indicating she should exit first.
Ask Boone. She wrinkled her nose. She was getting very tired of that answer. Ask Boone, my ass, she mouthed because she didn’t want Jonesy to hear her disparaging his employer and friend.
They strode toward the gazebo, or what was left of it. The roof was gone, panels of latticework missing as well. “You don’t think it would be easier just to demolish it and start fresh?”
He arched a brow, but his mouth remained a firm line.
“I’ll ask Boone why not,” she muttered. They walked a path recently cleared through the woods, dappled light peeking through the canopy of oaks and sycamores above. The ground grew spongier with a thick blanket of leaves.
The path they followed led to a small clearing beside a dredged canal, a finger of water too perfectly formed to be a natural eddy. Huge oak posts stood at the bank and ten feet into the water.
“This was a dock,” Jonesy said with a wave of his hand. “We’ll do a better job of clearing the path, then rebuild the dock. There used to be slips for a couple of airboats and a pirogue.”
“I suppose guests might like a swamp tour,” she said, shrugging.
Having been born on the bayou, she never quite understood tourists’ fascination with the dank, dark waters and the frightening creatures that lived there. Men in town enjoyed hunting and fishing; they knew every twist and turn of the waterways that fed into the bay.
Before her father had left when she was very young, he had taken her brother and her into the water. She’d enjoyed the hum of the boat engine. But when he’d cut it off and used a pole to get closer to the banks, she’d grown frightened by every wake in the water, imagining alligators ready to leap and clamp their giant jaws around her arm. Her father had laughed at her apprehension and pulled her into his lap to give her hug. One of the few memories she had of her father. Warm, but confusing. How could he have seemed so loving, and yet leave them so abruptly? She remembered grieving when he’d left, more because her mother cried for so long than for her father. Her mother had always been the hub of the family, and Tilly had been comforted, knowing her mother’s hugs would keep her warm and safe.
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