by Nina Bruhns
Tempting. So tempting, she had the irrational urge to accept his scandalous proposition.
Man, oh, man, she had it bad. She'd better get this guy behind bars quick, before he could do some serious damage to her life-style. She didn't do stuff like this. She didn't even think stuff like this. She wasn't interested in romance, or affairs, or one-night stands. She wasn't interested in having anything to do with a man. Any man, let alone a thief. Especially the thief who was going to get her her job back.
Pretend it's a bikini, she repeated over and over in her mind as she did a deep knee bend to retrieve the dress from the floor—deliberately ignoring the fact that she'd never dared to wear one of those in public, either—and turned to confront him.
One look at his face gave her renewed strength. He hadn't moved a millimeter—in fact, he seemed incapable of movement at the moment. His eyes had turned the color of bitter chocolate, roaming the front of her body with the hungry look of a man who hadn't eaten in a year.
Ha. Served him right, the scoundrel. Now she had him just where she wanted him. Success was as good as hers.
She gave him an innocent smile, dropping the dress on the table and leaning back against the edge. "Sorry, I don't eat breakfast," she said, idly adjusting one lace-top stocking. "So, are you finished betting?"
He studied her, his expression subtly shifting.
"Beau?"
He turned on a heel and ambled back to his chair. "I'll pass," he said, easing his tall frame down onto the velvet plush.
"All right. I guess that means I call." She leaned over and flipped her down cards faceup. "A pair of kings."
Beaulieux gave a nod of approval. "Impressive."
Though obviously not impressive enough. Kit released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Better luck next time, sugar." She reached for the dress.
"Not so fast, chère." With a barely discernible glimmer of triumph in his eyes, he turned over the queen of spades and laid it next to the queen of hearts already sitting on the table.
Pretending to be worried, she dropped into her chair. He topped the pair with the queen of diamonds and she let out a low whistle. Damn, she was good. Dad would be proud.
"Not bad, Beaulieux."
He leaned back and smiled. A cat-and-canary kind of predatory male smile. The kind that usually put her back way up, but in this case made her quiver in a hot-cold tremor of awareness that had her head spinning.
She blew out a steadying breath. "How did you do that?"
Driving her fingers through the hair at her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying he wouldn't notice her trembling hands. "You'll keep your promise, won't you?"
"Why don't we play for it now?"
She opened her eyes and licked her lips. "I don't think—"
"One night, kitten." His gaze mesmerized her. "What's left of it. And I'll give you the dress in the morning."
She forced herself to shake her head. "I, um—"
"You find the thought of being with me … unappealing?"
"No." Lord, no. "More like unwise."
A little smile broke through the masculine pique that had momentarily threatened his urbane facade. "Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"
Unfortunately, she could think of any number of things. "No. Nothing," she said quickly.
He lit up another cheroot, considering her carefully. "All right. When would you like your rematch?"
"I'm not sure," she said, hedging. She needed to meet with him alone, just not quite as alone as he had in mind. "Where are you staying? I'll give you a call."
"Here, in this hotel."
"Fine. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Rising, she glanced at the door, steeling her nerves.
His brows shot up. "You can't really mean to leave dressed like that."
If she could pull this off, it might just convince him she was bold, daring, unafraid to take risks. That she'd be a worthy partner in his illegal activities. So she could spring her trap.
She shrugged, putting into the gesture all the sangfroid she wasn't at all feeling. "Why not?" Picking up her purse, she winked. "They'll just think I'm part of the show."
"Sorry to disillusion you," he said as he stood and walked behind her to the door, "but that outfit's much too classy to be mistaken for a showgirl's costume."
"Funny." She reached for the doorknob and suddenly his hand covered hers. The heat of his body whispered against her back. She could feel the edges of his jacket brush her hips through the film of silk that covered them. Instantly, the air crackled with electricity. Oh, no. Please, no.
"You don't have to do this. Take the dress," he murmured.
"I can't."
"Just put it on, Kit. No strings."
She turned and her breath caught at the look on his face. He regarded her with liquid, half-lidded eyes, his full lips poised in a sensual suggestion. It was all she could do to resist taking it. "If I do that, I'll have no excuse to see you tomorrow, will I?"
With that, she opened the door and swept through it.
She kept her chin high and her eyes straight ahead, walking the gauntlet of the casino as nonchalantly as she could, clad only in a few wisps of blue satin and black thigh-highs. Chanting "bikini" under her breath, she ignored the astonished looks she garnered along the way.
When she reached the middle of the room, she slowed to take a deep breath, casting a quick glance behind her. Leaning against the backroom door, Beau stood casually puffing on his cheroot, watching her exit. She nearly stumbled. She could still feel him grinning as she hurried into the lobby and ran right into Ricky.
"There you are. Thank God, I— Kit!" he gasped, his eyes nearly popping from his head.
"It's rude to stare, Ricky," she said, heading for the elevator bank, elated with the success of her night's work. "Toss me your jacket, would you?"
He peeled it off and handed it over, stammering the whole time. "Wha—what…? Whe—where's…? Kit, there's some—"
"Oh, man, it was great!" she said when they were alone in the elevator. There was nothing like the high of pulling off a tough job. "It went off without a hitch. Perfect! You should have seen this guy."
"Kit, I, uh…"
"His pictures really do not do him justice."
"No, I'm sure they don—"
"Too bad we have to put him away, though. I liked him."
"Actually, we—"
The elevator stopped at their floor and she shot out, Ricky hustling after her. "Good card player, too. For a while there, I thought he was on to me."
"Kit, listen. Did you lose the necklace?"
"That was the plan, wasn't it? I attract him with the necklace, lure him to steal more where that came from, then—bam!—we catch him in the act. Of course, I lost it."
"Aw, hell."
She dug into her purse for her room key. "The dress, too. Obviously."
Ricky groaned.
"Hey, don't worry. I'll get it back before the boss finds out. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is the man you were playing with downstairs is not Remi Beaulieux."
She spun around in shock. "Ricky, that's not the least bit amusing."
His face was a portrait of misery.
Her heart plummeted. How could this have happened? "Tell me it's not true."
He shook his head, lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm sorry, Kit. We've stung the wrong guy."
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Simon Beaulieux let out a long, low hum of appreciation as he watched Kit's sinuous stroll through the casino. Mon Dieu. She was all woman, from the top of her tawny blond head to the tips of her three-inch spike heels. The lady had some kind of brass to take a walk like that. He couldn't help grinning like a fool before tipping back his head to laugh. What a woman!
Back home he had women standing in line for his attentions, yet this sassy lady had turned him down flat—twice. Now there was a novelty he hadn't experienced
in years.
The only question was, if she wasn't after his body, what was she after? It couldn't be the usual—his wealth, position and estate—not if she thought he was his black-sheep cousin.
He'd had plenty of women hit on him over the years, trying to insinuate themselves into his world, his plantation, his family. They took one look at him and he could practically see them start to strategize. Sometimes he wondered if there was a big, round target painted on his chest.
Not that he minded all that much. If a pretty lady offered him something sweet, it would be downright rude of him to refuse her. But he always kept his head. And he was always careful not to lead her on. That would be ungentlemanly.
The thing was, women tended to try to change him, to turn him into something he wasn't. At the core of it, he was just a down-home family man, a simple planter. He didn't cotton to the hints women always made that he put Grandmère in an old folks' home, marry off his sister, Jolene, and relegate his parents to the overseer's house. Either that or they prodded him to move to New Orleans so they could enjoy spending his money on the fast city life.
No, he liked life at Terrebeau just the way it was. With no female with ideas of her own around to upset the delicate balance he maintained with his many responsibilities.
But then, he wasn't at Terrebeau right now.
At Beau's signal, the security man he'd hired to watch the door stepped out from the shadow of a nearby potted palm.
"Make sure she gets where she's going, Gage. Then come tell me where that is."
"You bet, Mr. Beaulieux." The man strode off, parting the wake of moonstruck men Kit had left trailing behind her.
But this woman… This woman felt different somehow. Sure, he still felt like a target, but Kit Colfax thought she was pursuing another man entirely. What could she possibly want from Remi that would precipitate this elaborate ruse?
Ducking back into the room, Beau tamped out his cheroot and picked up the dress from the table. Lifting the slinky blue fabric to his nose, he inhaled deeply.
An immediate, primal recognition coursed through him. Incredibly, in the few minutes he'd stood close to her, her unique smell had imprinted itself on his brain. A rich, sweet perfume underlay the arousing, musky-light scent of female. His head spun with a craving to have that scent on his hands, his skin, on his sheets.
The potency of his reaction startled him. He certainly loved women, and they did love him back. But he wasn't a man who indulged in tempestuous love affairs. Laissez-faire was more his style. Slow and civilized. No strings, no expectations and definitely no future aspirations.
Temporary diversions, however, were more than welcome.
Beau had shamelessly and deliberately taken the lady's dress, hoping to tempt her into winning it back in a more creative fashion than playing poker. It was purely his bad luck that the one woman in living memory who had bestirred his jaded male instincts wasn't interested in him, his money or his body.
Shaking his head at the irony, he dropped the dress on the back of a chair and reached over to retrieve the necklace. His male instincts weren't the only ones she'd aroused. While playing for the sapphires, he'd been struck with the crazy notion she was shamelessly and deliberately manipulating him. Yeah, he'd ended up with the necklace. But he'd bet his mama's secret gumbo recipe it was only because she had wanted him to. He'd watched her closely, and she was too good a player to have lost it by accident. No, she'd seen him coming. At the time he just figured she'd decided to go along with his own not-so-subtle game plan. But now he knew that wasn't so.
He examined the necklace consideringly. Quality stuff—vivid blue stones, full of highlights. Definitely the real thing.
The coincidence of him posing as his jewel-thief cousin and her practically throwing the expensive necklace at him was too great to ignore. Could she be angling to get mixed up with Remi and his damn jewel thieving? What a little con artist!
Of course, he should talk. He himself was engaged in one hell of a sham just to flush out his wayward cousin. He never thought he'd be reduced to playing the role of impostor, but it seemed like the only way to rattle Remi out of hiding. He'd tried all the usual means, to no avail.
Swiping a hand over his face, he slipped the strand of sapphires into his wallet. Obviously Kit didn't know Remi personally, or she would have spotted Beau for an impostor. There was a fair resemblance between him and his cousin, but not enough to fool anyone having more than a passing acquaintance with either of them. When he'd decided to take a week's leave and set up the backroom game using Remi's name in his usual Vegas haunt, Beau hadn't counted on attracting anyone's attention but his cousin's, or one of the ubiquitous contacts Remi seemed to have all over the country.
And then Miz Colfax had turned up.
He'd have to be careful with this woman. It could get real uncomfortable if he landed in the middle of a scam, or worse, a bust. The residents of Verdigris, Louisiana, would not take kindly to their chief of police being arrested for grand larceny, even if it was a case of mistaken identity. As defender of the law and heir to the parish's leading family, he had standards to uphold.
And then there was the small matter of the old family legend. What were the chances he'd ever run into a real person named Kit Colfax? It was astounding, really.
Not that he was superstitious or anything…
The door opened and Gage stepped in. "I followed the woman like you asked, Mr. Beaulieux. She's staying here. Room 5713. Registered under Katherine Colfax."
He nodded. "Good."
"Oh, and she met up with some man."
Beau glanced up, frowning. "A man?"
"Yeah. They went into her room together."
"Her husband?"
Gage shook his head. "Doubtful."
He scowled. So she had a sugar daddy. None of his business, anyway.
"He was just a kid, really," Gage went on. "Couldn't have been much over twenty-one. Not her type, either, if you ask me. Thick glasses, sneakers."
A wave of masculine relief washed over Beau, which was quickly squelched by the thought that if she was running a con, she'd naturally need a partner. "Get his name?"
The other man shook his head. "Not registered."
"Okay thanks." He scooped up a handful of chips and dumped them in his pocket, then indicated the remaining pile. "Can you see that those are cashed in under my account and the dress sent to my room?"
Beau glanced at his watch: 2:15 a.m. Too early yet to call home and make sure everything was going smoothly at Terrebeau or to get hold of his deputy to run a background check on Kit—something he planned on doing ASAP.
He left the back room and walked through the casino, heading toward the elevators. The room was still packed with gamblers, despite the late hour. Under brilliant spotlights the croupiers chanted and the slot machines binged and pinged like crazy. The beat of cheerful music poured from overhead speakers, the hoots of winners and the laughter of people who'd had too much to drink nearly drowning it out. But beneath it all, Beau detected a note of quiet frenzy, sadness even, as if the revelers were trying just a little too hard to have a good time.
He hated it here. The bright lights and the glamour of Vegas, Atlantic City, even New York, held zero appeal for him. How could Remi choose this anonymous glitz over the quiet, satisfying life back home, where you could still hear the cicadas sing, and everyone called you by name?
But even if Remi despised the small town and rambling plantation where they'd both grown up, he still had no right to do what he'd done. It would kill Grandmère to find out the family heirloom jewels were missing—and that her own grandson was responsible. She had little enough time left as it was. Beau was determined to find his cousin and shake some sense into him. Set things to rights. Before it was too late for Grandmère. And before Remi ended up in jail.
As head of the family, it was Beau's duty. But that didn't make his task any easier—to expose the deceit of a man he'd held closer than a brother for most of his l
ife. Up until a few weeks ago, Beau had steadfastly refused to believe the accusations against his cousin. Even now, with the evidence overwhelming, he still harbored hope there would be an explanation.
"I hear you're looking for Remi Beaulieux," said a voice behind him. He turned to see a pale, weasel-faced man leaning against one of the slots. Finally, the grease money he'd been throwing around town had come through with an informant.
"That's right. What do you know about him?"
"I hear he's in San Diego."
"How reliable is your information?"
The man shrugged. "Word is he's delighted with the alibi you're providing him up here."
Beau rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Vintage Remi. So much for his plan to flush out his recalcitrant cousin. He should have known it wouldn't work quite the way he'd envisioned—it never did. Still, the elusive Remi had finally let his whereabouts be known, so he'd be expecting a visit. What the hell. Beau had always wanted to see southern California.
"Thanks," he said, tossing the man one of the poker chips from his pocket. He could catch a flight tomorrow.
Tomorrow… But what about Kit? He felt a sting of disappointment at the prospect of leaving without seeing Miz Colfax again. No, he simply could not do that. He had promised her a rematch. A slow smile spread over his face.
And he was nothing if not a man of his word.
* * *
At first Kit thought the pounding was in her head. But she'd barely touched her drink last night, so that just didn't make any sense, even to her sleep-befuddled mind.
She tossed a pillow at the form huddled under the blanket on the bed across the room. "Ricky! Quit that racket, would you?"
An offended grunt wafted out from under the blanket, which probably meant he hadn't made the racket. Logical, considering they'd both been up till after three last night sorting out what had gone so wrong so fast with their carefully conceived plan.
That left the door.
"Come back later," she groused to what she assumed was the maid wanting to make up the room.
"Flowers for Miss Colfax," a decidedly unmaidenly voice answered.
