Don't Tempt Me

by Julie Ortolon

  "Yeah, and it's really a shame. As a boy I had such potential."

  She plucked the card from his hand and headed for the door. "See ya next week." When she reached the door, she turned and blew him a kiss.

  "Hey, come over here and do that. I dare ya."

  "Never dare a pirate." She smiled and breezed out of the room. The minute the door closed behind her, she fanned herself with his business card. He thought she wasn't interested? Lord, if he only knew. Actually, thank goodness he didn't. As long as he never found out how much she wished his flirting were real she could handle being around him. She hoped.

  Chapter 4

  When Jackie drove out of Corpus Christi a week later in her battered blue pickup truck, her first stop was a convenience store for Rolaids and Advil. She and Ti had fought that morning ---again ---even though they hardly ever fought. But boy, they'd had some doozies over the last few days. He'd been like an uncle to her for as long as she could remember, and when they'd left the islands, they'd promised each other: no more treasure-hunting ever again. And while he liked to reminisce, he was serious about that pledge.

  She'd tried to explain that this wasn't like that. This would be a legitimate excavation done by marine archeologists. Instead of being appeased, he'd only become more incensed and called her reckless. Her jaw had dropped at that accusation, since he usually teased her about being too uptight and cautious.

  What choice did she have, though? Go down without a fight? The problem was, Ti didn't know how bad things were, so she couldn't explain her reasoning. Yes, odds were fifty-fifty at best that she was making a mistake, but the gamble was worth it. Or so she assured herself repeatedly during the long drive up the coast.

  When she reached the causeway that connected Pearl Island to Galveston, though, she knew Ti was right. The small, private island lay before her, a lush green world unto itself, filled with the romance of old legends, but rather than lift her spirits with hope, the sight of it made her stomach churn with dread.

  She was being reckless.

  The world of marine archeology was a close-knit community that kept tabs on treasure hunters. Her only hope was that the archeologists on this project wouldn't make the connection between Jackie Taylor and Buddy Taylor. If they did, she was screwed and so were the St. Claires. No respectable organization would raise money for a project of this magnitude based on evidence she presented if they knew her history.

  Well, she told herself as she followed the tree-lined drive across the island, whatever was going to happen, she couldn't back out now. Adrian and his sisters had arranged a meeting in the morning with the Galveston Historical Society, a private group that planned to back the project if the state agreed to put the artifacts recovered on display in the Texas Seaport Museum in Galveston.

  That was her first hurdle. If she could get past tomorrow's meeting, she could breathe a tiny bit easier.

  As she broke from the trees, the inn came into sight, a three-story, fanciful structure overlooking a deepwater cove. She found a parking place in the crowded oyster-shell lot to the side and sat for a moment awed by the beauty of the old mansion. Built of pink granite, it had a turret at one corner topped with a tall spire. A large veranda stretched across the front while gargoyles snarled down at her from the third-floor balcony ---the very balcony from which Henri LeRoche had fired the cannon that had killed Jack Kingsley.

  Now there was a comforting thought.

  Don't think about failure, she told herself. Wasn't that what her father had always said? Picture everything working out exactly the way you want, and it'll happen.

  That philosophy may have gotten him killed in the end, but it had worked like a charm for years before that, years of living high and living fast. She only needed it to work once. Glancing sideways, she saw the document envelope that held the letter. She picked it up, closed her eyes, and tried to picture all new sails for the Pirate's Pleasure. When the image refused to form in her mind, she tried for something less ambitious: having enough money to make payroll without dipping into savings. That alone was lofty enough, considering how many new crew members she'd need to pull off the St. Claires' idea.

  That concern waited way off in the future, though. Right now, she simply needed to get through tomorrow.

  Don't think about failure, she reminded herself as she chomped down on another orange-flavored antacid and climbed out of the pickup. The sunny day held only a slight chill of autumn and the tangy scent of the Gulf. As she grabbed her duffel bag from the bed of the truck, the back of her neck prickled as if someone were watching her. She whirled around, scanning the parking lot, but saw no one. She looked toward the cove and the dazzling light on the water made her squint behind her sunglasses.

  Was Jack Kingsley's ghost really out there, haunting the waters of the cove? The mere possibility raised goose bumps on her skin ---not that she believed in ghosts, she reminded herself.

  Swinging the duffel bag over one shoulder, she headed up the path to the inn. Confetti-colored chrysanthemums bloomed to either side of the stone steps, adding a cheerful touch. She barely noticed them, though, as she made her way to the ornate front door. Since the welcome sign said to come on in, she opened the door and stepped inside. From somewhere in the distance came the muffled sound of a TV.

  "Hello?" she called, taking off her shades to glance about the wide central hall. The place hadn't changed much since her first visit; Victorian sofas and chairs sat in a conversational grouping before a massive fireplace. Carved sea serpents supported the mantel while more nautical beasts had been carved into the crown molding. At the far end of the hall, a wide staircase curved upward, lit by three tall, stained-glass windows. "Anybody home?"

  She was about to step back out and look for a doorbell to ring when Adrian's youngest sister appeared in the doorway to her right, a stunning young woman with reddish-gold curls tumbling about her supermodel figure.

  "You made it!" The sister came forward with a smile as bright as her hair. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Aurora Chancellor, or Rory, whichever you prefer."

  "I remember." Jackie nodded, feeling dwarfed since the woman nearly reached six feet.

  Rory's gaze dropped to the envelope. "Oh, goodness. Is that it? The letter?"

  "Yeah." Jackie tucked it closer to her body.

  "I can't wait to see it. But first let me grab the key to your room, then we'll go find Adrian. He'll want to know you're here." Rory ducked into the office, then led the way through the inn, walking backward half the time, chatting away. "We're so glad you agreed to come stay with us. Even Scott is excited, though with him it's hard to tell. You haven't met him yet, have you?"

  "Scott?"

  "Lawrence. My sister's fiance. The guy who called you last summer."

  "Scott Lawrence is engaged to your sister?" Oh great. On top of everything else, they had a celebrity involved in the project, which would bring that much more attention to it. Although publicity was the point, she supposed, as long as it didn't get out of control.

  "You'll like Scott," Rory assured her as they reached the dining room. "He's really nice ... once you get to know him."

  Jackie nodded absently as she glanced at the fresco on the ceiling of King Neptune charging toward the doorway with his triton. Looking at it, she wondered what Jack Kingsley had thought of the ornate surroundings when he'd sat in this very room as a dinner guest. Probably that his host had too much ego and too much money. And in the early days before he'd reformed, he'd likely spent a good portion of the evening wondering how to lighten ol' Henri's pockets a bit. That was when he hadn't been plotting ways to sleep with the man's wife.

  As they passed through the butler's pantry, she heard Adrian's voice ahead. He sounded as if he were teaching a cooking class. "You have to be really careful when you sprinkle on the nuts so you get just the right amount," he said slowly. "See, like this."

  A squeal of delight split the air as she and Rory entered the vast kitchen where commercial-grade ap
pliances contrasted with aged-wood rafters and red brick walls. Adrian stood at a center island sprinkling nuts over several trays of brownies, with an adorable little cupid perched on his hip.

  "Ma-ma-ma-ma!" the baby chanted, her golden ringlets bouncing.

  "Hey, peanut." Rory hurried forward, hands outstretched. "I didn't know you were awake. Adrian, you should have told me. I would have taken her off your hands."

  "Like I mind having her to myself for a few minutes." He let his sister take the baby from him. Spotting Jackie, he smiled. "You made it."

  "I made it." She shrugged.

  "Great." Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he came toward her. He looked as fabulous as ever wearing a gray pullover with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows and black jeans. He'd traded his usual gold hoop earring for a dangling silver one. "Did Rory tell you about dinner?"

  "Dinner?" Jackie asked.

  "We thought we should all get together this evening," Adrian explained. "You know, celebrate your being here, read the letter, go over what to expect tomorrow, unless you have other plans."

  "Nope. No plans." She smiled stiffly, wondering why they couldn't have waited until after she read the diaries to get the ball rolling.

  Adrian turned back to his sister. "Hey, sis, could you slide the next batch of brownies in the oven for me while I show Jackie to her room?"

  "Certainly. Here." Rory tossed a ring with two keys.

  He caught them one-handed, then reached for Jackie's duffel bag.

  "I've got it," she insisted. "Just lead the way."

  Rather than return through the dining room, he took her through a back hall and pointed toward a set of narrow stairs that led downward. "The family apartment is in the basement. Come on down around six so you can visit with everyone before we eat. We invited Bobby and Paige, but haven't heard if they're coming."

  When they slipped through a small door into the main hall, she noticed a couple in the music room watching a TV that had been set into an antique armoire. Another couple was coming down the stairs as they started up. Adrian, the congenial innkeeper, greeted both pairs.

  "You appear to have a full house," she observed as they reached the landing where the stained-glass windows bathed the area in colored light.

  "We've survived our first year at least, and business has really picked up since we built a few bungalows along the jogging trail." He continued up the stairs, explaining the schedule and the amenities. The upper hall had another sitting area, this one cozier than the one downstairs. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a sideboard next to a wicker basket of individually wrapped tea bags. "We put coffee and hot water up here every morning so you don't have to come down for your first cup."

  The small luxury brought back vague memories of life before her parents had divorced, when she'd lived in one island resort after another, her father preying on other guests, her mother ordering room service and lounging on white sand beaches while Jackie built sand castles.

  Adrian moved toward a bank of tall windows opposite the stairs. Gauzy curtains obscured the view, but she could make out a balcony and the blue and white cove beyond.

  "Here we are." Adrian opened a door to the left of the windows. "We call this room the Pearl, since it was Marguerite's. The best room in the house."

  Jackie walked to the middle of the large, airy room and let her duffel bag drop to her feet as she took it all in. The soft white walls, gilded furniture, and filtered light from the sitting room in the turret made her feel as if she'd stepped into a cloud. The headboard even had a painting of cupids flying against a gold background.

  She turned back to him. "Don't you have something smaller? Because I really don't want to be obligated to quite this extent."

  "Ah, I see you're on to me already."

  "I usually am."

  "True." He came toward her. "I might as well confess my dastardly scheme."

  "I'm sure I'll be shocked."

  "Actually, you will, since it doesn't involve anything more than your returning the favor. Whenever we get the cruises going, I'd like to be on the first half of the first trip. I'd do the whole thing, but hate to take off for that long."

  "I suppose you'll want my best cabin."

  "Unless you're short on space." His eyes twinkled, and she saw some suggestive remark coming.

  "Don't," she warned. "You're on your best behavior, remember?"

  "Darn it." He grinned, completely unrepentant. "But for now, come check this out." He led her through the elegant sitting room in the turret to one of the tall windows, which was actually a door.

  Following him onto the balcony, she caught her breath at the view.

  "Gorgeous, isn't it?" he said. A change came over him as he looked out to where palm trees guarded the mouth of the cove. Sunlight sparkled off the waters of the bay beyond but something brighter seemed to shimmer around him. "I've often wondered how many times Marguerite stood in this very spot, thinking about Captain Kingsley and wondering when she'd see him again." He glanced at her. "Maybe she's still here, waiting."

  Jackie blinked at his shift in mood, this quiet side of him she'd never seen before. "Do you really believe in ghosts?"

  A sudden breeze came off the cove, and he turned in that direction, his face in profile against the blue sky. "Let's just say that sometimes, when I stand here, looking out toward the bay, I feel ... something. A sense of expectation mixed with grief and longing. As if the house is waiting."

  "Waiting for what?"

  A smile turned up the corners of his lips. "For Captain Jack to return, of course."

  A shiver raced down her spine. "What about the diaries? You said I could read them."

  "We'll hand them over at dinner tonight." He checked his watch and sighed. "Right now I have some catering orders to fill. Please make yourself at home. Feel free to borrow any of the books or magazines lying about, watch TV downstairs, or explore the island. I'll see you at six."

  She watched him go, almost wishing he would stay. Impossible as it seemed, Serious Adrian was even harder to resist than Playful Adrian. What on earth did she do about that? Tell him to go back to teasing her?

  Shaking her head, she stared across the cove and her thoughts shifted to Marguerite. How would it feel to have to wait like a prisoner in this house, day after day, year after year, for a few stolen moments with a secret lover? Knowing the penalty for getting caught would be brutal and swift. Jack Kingsley must have been one hell of a man for Marguerite to risk the wrath of her violent husband to be with him.

  Chapter 5

  Adrian looked up as Sadie, his sister's sable and white sheltie, came bounding down the apartment stairs, heralding the arrival of Allison and Scott. The dog raced into the living area where Rory was bottle-feeding Lauren. The baby squealed in delight and tried to wriggle free as Sadie took off to greet Rory's husband, Oliver Chancellor, who sat at the bar that divided the living and dining area from the kitchen. Chance laughed as the dog dashed around the bar to beg for treats.

  "You are completely spoiled, you know that?" Adrian told the sheltie as he nudged a piece of toasted French bread onto the floor.

  "So, where's our guest of honor?" Allison asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs with Scott right behind her. Unlike his youngest sister, Alli had a petite build, hair as dark as his, and a shy manner that had caused men to overlook her for years ---until Scott Lawrence had checked into the inn last spring.

  "I told her six o'clock, so she should be down soon." He nodded to his future brother-in-law. "Hey, Scott. How goes the new book?"

  "It goes," Scott sighed, looking like one of the villains in his own books in his all-black attire.

  "Hey, Alli. Hey, Scott," Rory called as she gave up trying to feed Lauren and carried the baby to Chance.

  Allison shrugged out of the cardigan sweater she wore over a simple blue dress. "It's exciting, don't you think, to have Jackie here? Almost like a family reunion."

  "Did she bring the letter?" Scott hung his jacket a
nd Allison's sweater in the closet beneath the stairs. "After all the research I've done, I can't wait to read it. It's the last piece to the puzzle."

  "She had it with her when she checked in." Rory went to wash her hands and help in the kitchen.

  "Da-da-da-da." Lauren gave her father a slobbery, milky kiss on the cheek. Chance retaliated by lifting her frilly dress and giving her a raspberry on the tummy that sent the baby into peals of laughter.

  As his sisters visited, Adrian realized how little non-working time he spent with them these days. The inn hadn't even opened before Rory had moved into Chance's apartment. Chance had started out as their financial advisor and later became a partner, then part of the family when he married Rory. The two of them had built a small house just behind the inn, so they were nearby, but it wasn't the same as having Rory live under the same roof. And now Alli was marrying Scott, and they planned to live in the Bouchard Cottage in town.

  The cottage had been built by Henri LeRoche as a way to banish his and Marguerite's daughter, Nicole, claiming she wasn't his daughter at all. Upon his death, Pearl Island and the LeRoche Shipping empire had gone to a nephew. Rather than fight him, Nicole had taken her mother's maiden name, then followed in Marguerite's footsteps to become a star of the stage in New York, London, and Paris, only to die divorced and destitute in the small Galveston cottage.

  All of Nicole's descendants had lived in the cottage since, as those "scandalous Bouchards," whispered about by Galveston's "polite society." Adrian and his sisters had grown up in the cottage after their parents' death. But when Pearl Island had been foreclosed on by Chance's bank, they'd jumped on the opportunity to turn the old mansion into a bed-and-breakfast.

  The cottage currently belonged to their aunt, Vivian Young, but since she lived in New York, she'd offered it to Scott and Allison. Which meant Adrian hardly saw either of his sisters in the evenings.

  They all still worked together, with Rory and Chance handling the business end of things. Allison ran the gift shop, and Adrian handled the cooking. They served breakfast together each morning, and on Saturdays they served lunch on the veranda to the boatload of tourists Bobby and Paige brought for the Haunted House Lunch Run; but they never had time to sit and visit like a family anymore.