There was no one to hear her if she screamed now.
“Okay, I'm spooked.” But she made herself enter the attic and look around. The antique chest still sat in the middle of the mess, open, with its glittery contents spilled out into the lid. But no sword. For all the junk piled in here, there wasn't much of anything big enough to hide behind, or in. Which made her shiver in a clammy, sweaty kind of way. Because if there was no place to hide, then where had Sebastien come from? Had she been so distracted that she hadn't noticed him walk up the steps?
Somehow, she doubted that. Sebastien was incredibly … noticeable.
Of course, the alternative was believing he was actually … well, exactly what he claimed to be.
“Yeah, right, sure. A pirate genie with a cupid complex. Not.” She swore under her breath but took one more look before pulling the chain and retreating—quickly—to the second floor.
She headed to her bedroom. She loved this room. It was elliptical in shape and sat directly over the shop, with French doors opening onto a balcony that sat out over the corner below. It had likely been used as a salon in a former life, and she loved the unique shape and view of the Quarter it provided. Yet, rather than sit down at the small table and chair she'd put out there and absorb the sounds and smells as she'd done many nights before, she went directly to the chiffonier, opened the top drawer, and slid off her earrings and watch, dumping them in the small inlaid jewelry box she and her father had haggled for in a bazaar in Madagascar.
She unwound her dark-blond hair from the single thick braid she usually wore it in and brushed it out good and hard. When she was finished, she wound it right back up again. It was so damn hot. She debated fighting with the water pipes for a cool shower but didn't feel like losing, so she peeled out of her clothes, kicked the duvet off her bed, and flopped onto her cool linen sheets. It was going to be a long night.
She stared at the ceiling, then crawled back out of bed and put a thin nightshirt on. She hadn't hallucinated that kiss. No way.
She forced her thoughts away from Sebastien and his insane claims and began to plan her attic workshop. She drifted into a heavy sleep—where dreams of model ships, buried treasure, and hot, fiery pirate kisses took over.
One pirate in particular stole into her room—and kept a watchful eye on his mistress through the long, restless night.
Chapter 3
Sebastien Valentin loved women. Having dallied with a fair share of them over the ages, he considered himself quite the connoisseur. Of course, it was that very appetite that had gotten him into this eternal fix. Not that he was complaining. He had been in his prime when Oriane hexed him, and now he existed eternally as such, able to adore women for centuries instead of mere decades. Not such a bad destiny, all in all.
And matching souls was not such an arduous labor. He believed most heartily in love and living happily ever after with a soulmate. This was not the case for himself, mind you. He was an exception. Some men were meant to sample at life's bountiful buffet, never to be satisfied or satiated with the same meal twice. He was one of those men. But his experience with the fairer sex had afforded him an expert eye for the look of love. It had stared him down many times. He simply had never looked back.
He'd discovered on his very first mission how gratifying it was to see that initial spark between two people burst into flame. A flame, if properly fed, that would warm their hearts for the rest of their mortal lives. To know he'd been even partially responsible for such contentment … well, surely that was more a blessing than a curse.
Oriane, island priestess and protective mama—the latter being the more dangerous by far—had damned him eternally by forcing him to bring together and nourish in others that which he could never have himself. She'd fiercely punished him for the virginity he'd stolen from her only daughter. But Sebastien had only taken what was freely given. When Oriane had demanded to know if he loved the girl, he'd answered truthfully.
And ended up as he was now.
However, considering that his mortal exploits most likely would have landed him in hell at an early age, this was not a bad alternative.
He breathed the damp morning air in the Quarter and looked to the bright blue May sky. Ah, yes, this was certainly the better opportunity. And, ever the opportunist, Sebastien had made the most of his time when summoned forth.
He stopped and looked in a store window, examining the tailored suits that draped the mannequins in such dapper fashion. Not bad, this current style. Not bad at all. This had been his longest dormant period—just over fifty years, according to the morning papers. Edgar Santini had hidden the sword well, he supposed. More likely it had merely gotten buried in the clutter that seemed to flourish wherever Edgar lingered. Ah, Edgar. A smile crossed Sebastien's face as he pushed the door open and entered the clothier's narrow shop. As he was fitted for his new wardrobe, he recalled those weeks of reckless abandon with great pleasure. Yes, Edgar had known how to have fun. And New Orleans had never forgotten how to deliver it. Matching Edgar with the young and beautiful Lucille Bergaret had been one of his more brilliant achievements. A truer love had never blossomed.
With a smile of satisfied remembrance, Sebastien stepped from the shop an hour later and smoothed his hands over the crisp pleats of the trousers and lightweight linen shirt he now wore, cuffs rolled back in deference to the building humidity. Not bad, he thought, for off the rack. He'd requested the remainder of his custom purchases, along with the clothes he was forever wearing when summoned forth, to be delivered to one Jamie Sullivan on Rue Royale. He smiled in anticipation of seeing his new mistress once again. He doubted she'd appreciate the delivery. Or the bill. Precisely why he'd done it.
She was unlike any woman of his acquaintance. Something about her defensive posturing spoke to his mischievous side. And he was certainly never one to thwart his own impulses.
She was going to be a different sort altogether than Edgar. A shame, in a way. She was also far from his type, which was probably just as well. But she'd already provided him with a challenge. And he loved challenges. Thrived on them. He rubbed his palms together, a plan forming in his mind, then the pleasant tug of hunger in his belly took over his thoughts.
He found an antiques shop and made a terrible deal on one of the few old coins he had in his pocket when summoned, but he wasn't in the mood to haggle. He was in the mood to eat. He strolled toward the riverfront, pleased to see that the Café du Monde was still doing a brisk business. He ordered a strong cup of chicory-laced coffee and a bag of sugar-dusted beignets, then settled down with a copy of every newspaper sold on the corner. It was time to catch up on the world. He anticipated being shocked by certain advances after such a time lapse. But he also knew from experience that while the world continued its rapid growth and development, people, for the most part, stayed the same.
His packages would arrive at Happily Ever After in three or four days. He'd be as prepared as he could be by then. He'd make a swift trip to Barataria, praying everything was still where he'd last left it, then take care of financing this particular adventure. The remainder of his time would be spent doing research. True love didn't always come easily.
Ah, the thrill of the hunt. It never abated.
The packages were delivered at noon on Thursday.
Jamie handed the bag containing two books to her customer. “Come back again.” With a nod and a smile, the older woman departed, jingling the bell on her way out.
Turning to the deliveryman, Jamie acknowledged the three boxes and several thick garment bags he placed on her floor and shook her head. “I think you've made a mistake.”
The young man checked the slip on the box. “Happily Ever After, right? You are Miss … Jamie Sullivan?”
Frowning, Jamie nodded. “But I didn't order any of this.” She checked the suit bag, noting the name of a prominent men's shop in the Quarter. “Men's clothes?”
He nodded, then tore the bill from the box and handed it to her. “C.O.D.”
<
br /> Jamie laughed and folded her arms. “Oh, I don't think so.”
Ree Ann came out from the back, her arms full of fresh-cut flowers. “Who are they for?”
“I have no idea. You didn't get the sudden urge to cross-dress, did you?”
Ree Ann laughed. “Not in this lifetime, sugar. Maybe they're Jack's?”
“I don't think he'd dare stick me with that bill.”
“Maybe a gift for a new love in his life?” Ree teased, and Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “You're right. He prefers to be on the receiving end of such magnanimous gestures.”
Jamie turned to the deliveryman, whose eyes were glued to Ree Ann. She didn't even sigh, long since used to this particular genetic disorder. “Is there another name on the order?”
He reluctantly focused his attention back on Jamie. “Uh, let me see.”
He read the name just as the bell announced another customer. Jamie echoed the name as the man himself stepped into the shop.
“Sebastien Valentin.”
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Sullivan.” Sebastien's dark shadow filled the doorway. He made a short bow in her direction. The sunlight filtering into the shop seemed to bathe him in a golden glow, making him even more impossibly, devilishly handsome than she recalled. Which had been far more often than she cared to admit.
“I'd finally convinced myself that you were a hallucination,” Jamie muttered. Apparently not softly enough.
“Oh, I assure you, I am quite real,” he responded with a broad smile, earning a scowl from her.
Like the pirate he was, he'd plundered her dreams that first night and each subsequent one since. She'd awoken every morning tangled in her sheets, frustrated that he'd wormed his way into her subconscious. And worse, she'd had to start each day with the emptiness of a hunger gone unfulfilled.
She combated this sensation with a nice early-morning run along the Riverwalk coupled with one of Ree Ann's apple tarts—okay, maybe two. In the daytime, she'd been able to convince herself that she had the upper hand, since he wasn't really real or, at the very least, since he was gone for good.
Yet here he was. Larger than life. Despite herself,she noticed his very nicely tailored street clothes and thought that they should have made him less imposing. Yet he crowded the room with that broad chest, those long legs, and all that thick shiny hair cascading to his shoulders. He almost looked more the marauder now than he had that night in full pirate regalia. He exuded sensual charm with that twinkle in his dark eyes and that smug, knowing smile curving those lips. God, those lips. Lethal lips. Lips that had touched hers.
“Did you miss me, ma chère?” Before she could guess at his intent, he took her hand and gallantly kissed the back of it.
She yanked it back and wiped it on her trousers. “No,” she lied baldly. “I'd forgotten all about you.”
“You blush, Mademoiselle Sullivan. A sure signal that the heart and head are speaking different tales.”
There was a counter between them, yet Jamie felt as backed against the proverbial wall as she had been literally that first night. She pointed to the boxes and garment bags. “I believe this delivery is for you,” she said, firmly taking charge of their conversation.
“Yes, I hope you don't mind. I do not as yet have a fixed address.”
Oh, lovely, a homeless pirate genie. With his looks and charm, Jamie doubted he'd have any trouble finding lodging. But it wouldn't be under her roof. She took the bill from the deliveryman's still-outstretched hand and slapped it in Sebastien's. “Then you won't mind taking care of this.” She walked to the other end of the counter and out from behind it. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some stocking to do.” Another lie—she'd sold only three books so far that morning—but maybe if she hid in the back long enough, he'd take the hint and go away.
Before she could make her escape, Ree Ann opened her perfectly painted mouth and did the Southern-hospitality thing. “Why, Jamie Lynne Sullivan, I'll tell your daddy what a poor hostess you've become.” All flirtatious smile and curvy walk, Ree Ann turned the full voltage on Sebastien. Jamie had never seen a man yet who could resist her. Deciding she'd enjoy this particular dismembering, Jamie leaned back against the counter and folded her arms.
“Ree Ann Broussard, meet Sebastien Valentin. Ree Ann is my partner; she runs the café. Sebastien is a … magician,” she managed. “Of sorts.” Close enough.
Ree's eyes widened in real surprise. “A magician? Are you here performing in the Quarter? Or over at the casino?”
Sebastien shot Jamie a knowing grin, as if to say he'd play her game. For now. Then he bowed toward Ree with a gallant flourish of one hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Broussard.” He straightened. “Let me take care of this transaction, then perhaps we can better that acquaintance.”
Ree fanned her face and goggled at Jamie as Sebastien turned to the deliveryman. “You've been hiding things from me,” she whispered, waggling a ruthlessly manicured nail at Jamie. “Naughty, naughty.”
Jamie sighed. Even Ree's killer instincts had gone haywire with nothing more than a gallant bow. “No secrets. He was … in the shop at the grand opening. I think he's a little …” She circled her finger next to her head. “So be careful.”
Sebastien turned back to them as the deliveryman left, just in time to catch Jamie's actions. She quickly altered the motion, scratching her head instead. “I'll be in the back if you need me.”
Ree laughed. “No worries, sugar. I'll be just fine.”
Jamie grinned back. “Maybe I wasn't talking to you.” She stepped quickly away and studiously avoided looking at Sebastien. She had no doubts Ree Ann could easily handle their guest.
But, much as she'd like to see Ree Ann in action, she refused to risk getting caught up in any further shenanigans Sebastien might have in mind. That she'd been affected by him at all was as good a wake-up call as any. She'd sworn off impulsiveness where men were concerned. If and when she decided to indulge herself—and at thirty, she had no plans to become a nun—she'd choose someone safe, someone she could control. Someone for the occasional night out, maybe even till morning. But no head-overheels, full-out affairs of the heart. Uh-uh. Those relationships were a thing of the past.
Sebastien's full-bodied laugh filled the front room, and Jamie's body hummed like an inboard motor.
Ree Ann ducked her head into the back. “We're going out for a little stroll. Will you cover for me?”
She managed a nod, quashing the ridiculous stab of jealousy that poked at her. Ree was more his type anyway. Jamie heard the bell clang against the door as they left. With a bit more strength than necessary, she ripped open a box of books that didn't need shelving.
Sebastien guided Ree Ann along the Moonwalk toward Riverfront Park, the Mississippi rolling along lazily beside them.
“So, you never answered me,” she was saying. “Are you performing locally?”
“You might say that,” he responded with a small smile. He'd been doing a fair job of keeping the conversation focused on her. It hadn't been as easy as he'd initially expected. Most beautiful women he'd met were more than happy to pass away hours of time discussing themselves. There was far more to Mademoiselle Broussard than met the public eye, but she worked hard at keeping up this facade. He wondered why. The answer would be necessary information if he was to find her true match. “How did you come to open a bookstore with your friends? Royal Street real estate, especially a corner building, is still a scarce commodity, is it not?”
“Still? Have you been to the Quarter in the past?”
Sebastien silently cautioned himself. He'd never gone so long between summonses, and the time frame was a bit trickier to handle when dealing with other people. Rarely had more than a year or two passed without him being called forth. Though the sword had left New Orleans on several occasions, amazingly most of his matchmaking had occurred right here. He was glad to discover that Edgar had kept it in the Vieux CarrÉ. With such a time lapse to deal with, at leas
t he had the benefit of familiar territory.
“Often enough to know it takes more than a small business loan to realize a dream like your bookstore and café,” he replied.
Ree suddenly stopped, the smile on her face hardening a bit. Her eyes lost their flirtatious twinkle, and all the fiery intellect that was buried behind came gleaming through. “I just figured it out,” she said, the disgust in her voice self-directed. “Stupid me. Still a sucker for a pretty face, I guess.”
Perplexed, but feeling rewarded for finding a chink in her heavy female armor, he said, “Figured out what?”
“You work for him, don't you? You probably tried to pump Jamie for information, and then you met the gold-digging bimbo herself and figured you'd go straight to the source.”
“Bimbo?” He'd discovered the wonderful world of computers at the library. The Internet had proved to be a more magical discovery than any treasure trove he'd ever plundered. But this was a term he hadn't picked up during his crash course on the last fifty or so years.
She stepped in closer, her Southern accent deepening as the steel filled the magnolia. “Don't play dumb, it doesn't become you. Please tell Mr. Santini that he can come after my property until he draws his last breath, and I will make damn certain I hold on to it at least one breath longer.”
“Edgar Santini?” Sebastien damned his loose lips as soon as the words were spoken. He'd assumed Edgar's building had changed hands several times over since his last visit. He hadn't had time to look him up, and hearing Edgar's name had surprised Sebastien. But, then, this woman was nothing if not full of surprises.
Her eyes narrowed. “You knew Edgar?”
Knew.“So, he has passed on,” he murmured, feeling the pang of loss. This was the one downside to his eternal fate. Surviving, such as it was, beyond those he was summoned to match. “And his beloved Lucy?” The question just popped out.
Your Wish Is My Command Page 3
