Night Fires

by Sandra Marton

  Alma looked at her. ‘Because of somethin’ that happened to you back home?’

  Gabrielle busied herself with the roses. ‘You could say that, yes.’

  The other woman sighed. ‘Gaby,’ she said slowly, ‘you are goin’ to hate me for what I’ve done.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish. Why would I?’

  Alma squared her shoulders. ‘I told your Mr Forrester to stop by this morninY

  ‘He is not my Mr ’ Gabrielle straightened and

  stared at her assistant. ‘You told him what?’

  ‘He said he’d be in the neighbourhood and he asked

  if you’d be in. So I said ’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have.’ Gabrielle stabbed the rose she was holding into a vase. ‘You had no right to do that, dammit! I told you I didn’t want to talk to him.

  Or see him. Or ’

  ‘Good morning, ladies.’ Both women spun towards the sound of the amused male voice. James Forrester stood in the open doorway of the shop, a faint smile on his face. ‘I hope that’s not me you’re arguing over.’ His smile broadened. ‘Although, I have to admit, it’s not every day a man has the pleasure of being fought over by two such charming women.’

  Alma’s cheeks turned bright pink. She giggled and turned to Gabrielle, who was staring at her with icy calm. Her laughter became a cough, and she looked away.

  ‘I… I’ll just take these roses into the back,’ she said, scooping up the roses and the ferns. ‘And I’ll call the

  wholesale florist, and I’ll ’

  ‘You do that.’ Gabrielle’s voice was glacial.

  A scattering of ferns drifted in Alma’s wake as she hurried to the rear of the shop and the green and blue beaded curtain that separated it from the back room. The beads swung’ violently as she pushed through, and then subsided.

  Gabrielle’s heart was racing. How dared Alma do this to her? And how dared this man pursue her in this way?

  She drew a deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see how upset she was. Be calm, she thought, be cool…

  She turned slowly and faced him. He was still standing in the doorway, watching her. At least, she assumed he was watching her: he was wearing those damned mirrored sunglasses again, the ones that masked his eyes and his emotions. He was dressed casually, in faded jeans, Reeboks, and a black turtle-neck sweater. A leather flight jacket, well-worn and expensive-looking, hung open over his shoulders.

  Gabrielle swallowed.

  ‘What are you doing here, Mr Forrester?’

  He stepped inside the shop and closed the door behind him. ‘And good morning to you, too, Miss Shelton.’ She flushed. ‘I asked you a question.’

  He grinned. ‘I take it you’re not happy to see me.’

  ‘Mr Forrester…’

  ‘I’m here to buy flowers,’ he said. He smiled. ‘Why else would I be here?’

  She watched as he began to walk slowly through the shop, pausing every few seconds to peer at a plant or floral display, occasionally bending forward to sniff at a blossom.

  ‘Mr Forrester,’ she said finally, ‘I am very busy this morning. So if you’d come to the point…’

  ‘What do you call this?’ he said, poking his finger at a hanging basket.

  Gabrielle looked at the plant and then at him. ‘It’s a spider plant,’ she said. ‘And now if you’d just tell me…’ He smiled. ‘Descriptive. And this?’

  ‘That’s a begonia,’ she said impatiently. ‘Look, Mr…’

  ‘Roses,’ he said triumphantly, pausing beside the red ones Alma had stripped from the wedding display. He looked at Gabrielle and grinned. ‘I just wanted to show you I’m not completely ignorant about these things.’

  Gabrielle drew in her breath. James Forrester was standing very close to her now; his scent—masculine and musky—filled her nostrils with a dizzying richness.

  ‘Which of these do you prefer?’

  She looked at him in bewilderment. He was staring into the case filled with roses and orchids.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ .

  Forrester sighed. ‘It’s a simple question, Miss Shelton. Do you like orchids?’ He nodded at the white and lavender blooms in the case. ‘Those are orchids, aren’t they?’

  Gabrielle stared at him. ‘Yes. But ’

  ‘Well, which do you like better? The orchids or the roses?’ ■

  She looked at him blankly. ‘I’ve never thought about it,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘The roses, I suppose.’

  He nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll take them.’

  You’ll take…?’

  ‘The red roses, Miss Shelton. I’ll take all you have.’

  A flush spread across her cheeks. ‘I have six dozen long-stemmed red roses, Mr Forrester. They were supposed to be for a wedding, but ’

  He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Six dozen are fine.’

  Gabrielle’s flush deepened. ‘Save your money,’ she said sharply.

  James Forrester’s eyebrows rose. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, save your money, Mr Forrester. The roses will cost you a small fortune.’ Her chin rose. ‘And they won’t mean a damn to me. In fact, I’ll throw them away.’

  His eyes glinted with laughter. ‘That’s a bad business practice, Gabrielle. How can I buy them if you throw them away? Unless…’ He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You don’t think I was buying them for you, do you?’

  She stared at him. ‘Don’t play games, please. You’ve

  telephoned a dozen times in two days ’

  ‘Three,’ he said.

  ‘—and then you walk in here and buy up all my roses…’

  ‘Why didn’t you take my calls, Gabrielle?’

  Could her cheeks get any redder? She fought against the desire to touch them with her hands. ‘I’ve been busy. I…’

  He smiled suddenly, the kind of smile that suggested they shared a very private joke. ‘I thought you might have been trying to avoid me,’ he said softly.

  Why had she let Alma vanish into the back room? She wasn’t good at these games, she never had been, even before she’d learned to question everything a man said or did.

  ‘And that would have distressed me deeply.’ The smile came again, flickering across his lips like a shadow. ‘You see, you have something I want, Gabrielle.’

  His voice was husky and intimate. Gabrielle looked at him, the sudden leap of her pulse reminding her of the feel of the feel of his mouth on hers. He laughed softly, as if he knew what she was thinking, and then he leaned away from the wall and began moving towards her.

  Her heart lurched wildly. She took a step back; the marble edge of the work-table pressed into her spine.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she said throatily, her eyes on his. ‘Please, stop this right now. I’ll call Alma…’

  He reached out slowly and put his hand to her cheek. Gabrielle swallowed as he smoothed an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was scratchy. ‘I don’t…’

  His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘You have my jacket.’ .

  His jacket! She had his jacket! Gabrielle’s face registered disbelief, then shock. Of course, how could she have forgotten? But she had: the incident in the alley, his kiss, his knowledge of the name of her shop had all boiled together into a witch’s brew of anxiety. She’d stumbled into the shop, gasped out her story to Alma, and tossed his jacket unceremoniously into the supply cupboard in the back room where it still lay, the dirt and grime of the New Orleans street probably now embedded in the soft tweed for eternity.

  No wonder the man had phoned so often. He wanted his jacket returned, that was all.

  ‘That jacket’s been with me a long time.’ He was unsmiling, but he was laughing at her—she could hear it in his voice. ‘I’d hate to lose it now.’ His eyebrows rose politely. ‘Unless, of course, you’ve developed an attachment to it.’

  Gabrielle cleared her throat. ‘I�
�m terribly sorry about this, Mr Forrester. I’m afraid I forgot all about your jacket. I haven’t even had it cleaned.’

  James Forrester clucked his tongue. ‘Terrible way to treat a man’s favourite Harris tweed,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘Look, I’ll take care of it today. I’ll send it to the cleaners and…’ She turned and snatched up a pad and pencil. ‘Just tell me the name of your hotel and I’ll have it delivered first thing tomorrow.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Miss Shelton.’

  Gabrielle nodded. He was probably right. After so many days, the jacket was most likely ruined. ‘I’ll replace it, of course, if the cleaners can’t do anything with it.’

  Forrester frowned. ‘You can’t replace it. I told you, that jacket’s been with me a long time.’

  Gabrielle ran her tongue across her lips. ‘I don’t know what else I can do.’

  A boyish grin spread across his face. ‘I do,’ he said, and suddenly she knew he’d been leading up to this moment all along. ‘You can agree to have lunch with me.’

  She drew in her breath. ‘What?’

  ‘Lunch, Gabrielle.’ She couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored glasses, but she knew they were moving over her just the same, lingering first on the thrust of her breasts and then on the curve of her hip. ‘I suspect you may not have a first-hand acquaintance with the meal, but most people take it at just about this time of day.’

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘I can’t.’ “

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘Would you mind telling me what this has to do with my returning your jacket?’

  ‘Would you mind telling me why you’re so damned determined to avoid me?’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  Forrester laughed. ‘And you haven’t answered mine.’ Suddenly, the smile faded from his face. ‘Are you afraid Of me, Gabrielle?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘ Why would I be afraid of you?’ she said quickly.

  Too quickly. Even she heard the quaver in her voice.

  He nodded. ‘That’s right, Gabrielle. Why would you be?’

  ‘You did come into my life rather unexpectedly, Mr Forrester.’

  She hadn’t expected to say that; the look on his face told her she’d caught him by surprise, as well. If only she could see his eyes, she thought; if only they weren’t hidden behind those damned glasses.

  He smiled tightly. ‘And it’s lucky for you I did, wouldn’t you say?’

  That was true enough. In her mind’s eye, she still saw the truck hurtling through the narrow alley, still felt his arms close around her as he threw her to safety.

  ‘And you knew the name of my shop,’ she said, watching him closely now. ‘La Vie en Rose, you told the cabby, but I’d never mentioned it to you.’

  ‘You must have forgotten. How else would I ?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gabrielle said sharply. ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’ She drew in her breath, then expelled it. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you’d take those sunglasses off.’

  His mouth narrowed. There was a silence, and then he reached his hand to the glasses and lifted them from his face.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  His voice was silky, his expression taunting. Gabrielle’s eyes met his. Yes, she thought, yes, they were that same impossible pale blue she remembered.

  They were also completely unreadable.

  ‘Not really.’ Gabrielle cleared her throat. ‘You still haven’t explained how you knew the name of my shop.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose I noticed it when I walked around the Square my first evening in New Orleans. I watched the street performers for a while, and then I drifted down some of the side streets. Yours is the only flower shop around here.’ He smiled. ‘Clever name, La Vie en Rose. But then, I guess that’s why you chose it.’

  Of course that was the reason she’d chosen it. The former owner had simply called the place Kastin’s Florist, and Gabrielle had known instinctively that you needed something catchier than that to make a go of it, a name people would recall.

  James Forrester had proved her right. Could she really hold that against him?

  ‘And that alley—what were you doing there?’

  He smiled. ‘What were you doing there, Gabrielle?’

  ‘That’s a ridiculous question. I was running. It’s a public thoroughfare. You don’t need a reason to use it.’

  ‘And‘I was walking,’ he said solemnly. ‘It’s a public thoroughfare. You don’t need a reason to use it.’

  She sighed. She’d been joking when she’d told Alma she was paranoid, but that was certainly the way she was beginning to sound. A hesitant smile formed on her lips.

  ‘All right. I suppose I do seem a bit suspicious. But I—

  I’m new here, you see, and ’

  ‘Don’t apologise for being cautious,’ he said. She looked at him, surprised at the sudden edge to his voice. ‘In today’s world, a little caution is a good idea.’ He paused. ‘But not with me.’

  The sheer arrogance of the remark made her laugh. ‘And why not, Mr Forrester?’

  He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Because I’m the man who saved your life, Gabrielle. Surely that entitles me to a modicum of trust?’ A slow

  smile curved across his face. ‘Actually, I’m the one who should be wary of you. After all, you’re holding my favourite jacket hostage.’

  This time the smile reached his eyes. And it transformed him, Gabrielle thought. His pale, cool irises darkened until they seemed deep enough to fall into; his mouth, so stem and unyielding moments before, softened and reminded her of how warm and gentle it had felt against hers.

  She swallowed drily. ‘Mr Forrester…’

  ‘James.’

  ‘James,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘All right, I admit

  I was a little abrupt ’

  ‘You were. And you were rude.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean to be. I’m very grateful for what you did…’

  ‘Then have lunch with me.’

  Gabrielle felt the tension seeping from her bones.

  ‘You,’ she said, ‘are the most persistent man.’

  He chuckled. ‘I prefer to think of it as “determined”.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Is this an example of southern hospitality?’ he said. ‘What would the Chamber of Commerce think?’

  She smiled. ‘They’d think you and Alma were working hand in hand. Did she put you up to this?’

  James grinned. ‘Come on, say you’ll come to lunch with me. Take pity on a lonely tourist.’

  ‘I can’t. Really, I have work to do.’

  ‘Surely it can wait an hour? My guidebook says you can find the best Creole cooking in town just a couple of blocks from here.’

  Lunch, she thought, glancing at him from under her lashes. What would be so terrible about lunch? Somewhere in the background, she heard the phone ring, heard Alma’s soft voice answering it.

  Alma was right, she had been living a self-contained existence since coming to New Orleans, bruised and battered by her father’s death and all that had accompanied it.

  But what did any of that have to do with James Forrester? He’d saved her neck, and look how she’d repaid him.

  Gabrielle glanced at him again. He was waiting for her answer, watching her with a half-smile on his face. Lunch. Only lunch. That would be harmless enough, wouldn’t it?

  And yet… And yet…

  Was it her imagination, or was there some darker side to him, something ready to jump out at her the minute she was off guard?

  ‘Come with me,’ he said again.

  Gabrielle looked at him helplessly. Suddenly, the beaded curtain clattered and Alma poked her head into the shop.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said brightly, ‘but Mrs Delacroix just called. She says the white roses are out, she wants bird of paradise instead.’

  Ga
brielle threw up her hands. ‘Bird of paradise? What does the woman think I am, a miracle worker?’

  ‘I told her it was impossible, but she insists.’ The beads whispered again as Alma drew her head back. Her disembodied voice floated towards Gabrielle and James. ‘She says everybody’s been usin’ roses and she wants something special.’

  Gabrielle sighed. ‘Poison ivy might be nice.’ James chuckled and she turned to him and smiled. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘so much for lunch.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘You mean you’d decided to accept my invitation?’

  Her eyes slid away from his. ‘Yes,’ she lied, ‘of course. How could I have turned you down?’ She raised her head and held her hand out to him. ‘Bad luck, I’m afraid.’

  His hand closed around hers. ‘That all depends on how you look at it.’

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He smiled into her eyes. ‘I’d much rather take you to dinner than lunch.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, that’s impossible.’

  ‘Are you busy this evening?’

  ‘Yes, I mean, no, no, I’m not. But I’ll be exhausted after doing the Delacroix job. It’ll take all afternoon, and ’

  ‘I promise you a quiet evening, Gabrielle.’

  She looked at him helplessly. ‘James, really, I can’t.’ Her heart tumbled as he lifted her hand to his lips.

  ‘I like the way you say my name,’ he whispered, and he pressed his mouth to her palm. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  ‘James…’

  ‘Eight o’clock, Gabrielle.’ He smiled and folded her fingers over her palm, sealing his kiss inside. ‘I’ll see you then.

  She watched in silence as he walked to the door and opened it. At the last minute, he turned. ‘The roses,’ he said. She looked at him blankly and he smiled. ‘The ones I bought…’

  Gabrielle blushed. ‘That’s OK,’ she said quickly, ‘forget about them.’

  ‘I’m staying at Maison Lillian.’ He dug in his pocket, pulled out a stack of notes, and tossed them on the counter beside the cash register. ‘That should cover it, I think. Deliver the roses to me there, please.’

  ‘Six dozen red roses? For you?’

  But the door had already closed behind him. Gabrielle watched as he vanished into the crowded street. She’d have sworn he’d only bought the roses as a ploy. But then, she’d also have sworn she’d never have agreed to go out with this stranger who’d entered her life so abruptly. The heat of his kiss seemed to burn in her palm. Slowly, Gabrielle opened her hand and stared at it.