by Nina Bruhns
"Two hundred and twelve this year," he replied. "I took Katherine by them today."
"How nice. What are your plans for tomorrow, dear?"
"We'll be at Jolene's in the morning, then we'll stop by Girard and Val's for lunch."
Kit thought with alarm of how cozy they'd gotten this afternoon. And how precarious keeping her distance from Beau was becoming. "Are you sure I won't be in the way? I can stay—"
"Not at all. And you know I can't leave you here alone. Not till we find out—"
"Who shot me," she finished glumly, unconsciously fingering her bandaged arm.
She wasn't sure which she'd rather face, the barrel of her would-be assailant's gun or another day driving around the countryside in close quarters with Simon Beaulieux. It was a close call. Much more of the kind of closeness they'd experienced today and her resistance to him would be in serious jeopardy.
There was nothing to do but steel her emotions and try to hold out. She had to find Remi and the jewels he'd stolen, and to do that she had to work with Beau. Better not dwell on her feelings for him. It would just make things harder than they already were.
After dinner, Beau came to fetch her, a decanter in his hand and a book under his arm. "Would you like to go with me to see Grandmère this evening?" He flashed her the book in his hand.
She eyed the title and raised a brow. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
"You like romance?" He led her out into the hall and she fell into place beside him. "Novels," he added with a grin.
"Love them. Tell me, what do you do when you get to the naughty bits?"
"Have another drink, usually. Then skip over them."
"Cheat."
He winked. "I go back and read them after she falls asleep."
He looked so adorable with his little-boy grin and his twinkling eyes, her heart twisted.
She cursed herself for allowing him to get to her. She knew better. And it was only going to get worse the longer she stayed around him. Just a few more days, she assured herself as they greeted Madame Beaulieux.
Beau was a wonderful reader. His low, rumbling voice soon lulled her away from her troubles and she lost herself in the story he read. She and Grandmère listened, completely engrossed. Occasionally, he'd look up, take a sip of bourbon and smile at her. She couldn't help smiling back.
Nobody had read to her since she was five years old. She wished he'd go on forever, so she would never have to leave this peaceful, comfortable room in Beau's tranquil corner of the world.
The thought startled her for a moment, as if there was something wrong with that picture, but she shook it off and once again became absorbed in his reading. All too soon, Grandmère fell asleep and they quietly slipped out. Beau walked her back upstairs, and when they got to her door, he reached for the knob.
"Kit…"
She looked up, nearly undone by the warmth in his eyes. He took a step toward her. Oh, Lord, he was going to kiss her.
He surprised her by pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Thanks for today, darlin'. You were very patient, letting me drag you all over the countryside."
"Don't be silly. I had a wonderful day, despite not finding Remi. Terrebeau's great, and so's your family."
He smiled and she slipped her arms around his waist. It was a mistake being this close to him. It would just complicate an already difficult situation. But she couldn't resist a little hug. It felt so good to be in his arms. So very good.
"I'm glad. They liked you, too." He pulled her a bit closer, his embrace tightening just a shade. "How's your arm? Am I hurting you?"
"No, it's feeling much better today. Just a little tender."
"You up for helping me at Jolene's shop tomorrow?" he asked.
"As long as I don't have to choose colors. I wasn't kidding this morning. My whole condo is painted white."
His low chuckle vibrated softly against her breasts. It felt incredibly erotic. Their tips beaded, and she squirmed against him. He'd put on a stiff cotton shirt for dinner, but it would be just her luck if he could feel her reaction through the starched fabric.
"No colors. I promise."
"So, you've probably got scads of work to finish tonight," she said, drawing back. Trying to escape. Before it was too late.
He held fast. "Piles of it." He kissed her forehead, her temple. "Stacks and stacks." His mouth dropped lower, to the corner of her eye.
He was killing her. The faint trace of his cologne smelled exactly like disaster about to happen. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself not to kiss him back. "In that case, I should let you go."
As he reached behind her to open her door, his lips trailed tenderly across her cheek. "Sure?"
The world tilted and she opened her mouth to tell him just how unsure she really was. Luckily, her good sense rescued her in the nick of time. "I'm sure."
He released her and gave her a resigned smile. "If you need anything, you know where I am."
Nodding, she went inside and closed the door firmly behind her, then sank back against it, not daring to breathe until she heard his footsteps fade and his office door click shut.
She had to get hold of herself. She was not interested in the kind of life he could offer her at Terrebeau. Not remotely. This was just hormones. Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure.
Right?
Crossing to the bed, she looked under the pillow for Beau's pajama top. Instead of the usual black one, though, she found another, the color of rich forest green.
Who had replaced it, Delia or Beau? She smiled, imagining Beau slipping into her room, perhaps lifting her pillow to his nose and seeing the top. Deciding to subtly let her know he was thinking of her sleeping in his pajamas…
She stroked her hand over the satiny fabric and closed her eyes for a moment, then determinedly swiped it up and headed for the bathroom. For a second she squinted uneasily at the door to Beau's bedroom, then relaxed. No, it wasn't her body she had to worry about. Just one small part of it. The part that beat wildly out of control whenever she got near him.
She showered and got into bed, pulling the covers to her chin. Bright moonlight and a warm breeze poured in through the screened French doors, riffling the lace curtains. The old house ticked and groaned as it nestled down in its foundation, as if trying as hard as she to cast off the restlessness of the day. An hour later she was still staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
Finally, she gave up and flung off the sheet. Padding out to the gallery, she propped herself against one of the columns supporting it. It was a beautiful night, warm and sweet-scented, filled with the serene sounds of the countryside. Cicadas hummed and a far-off bullfrog belched out its song. From the verdant gardens below came the distinct rustling of some large creature.
She leaned over the railing to see if she could spot the animal, but it must have sensed her looking down on it and ceased to move. Fine by her. If there was an alligator lurking under her window, she'd just as soon not know about it.
A drifting whiff of cheroot smoke drew her eyes to the windows of Beau's room, which also overlooked the gallery. The bedroom was dark, but a light still burned in his office. The man was a workaholic. He should be out here with her, enjoying the night air, not cooped up with his stuffy old papers.
A bistro table and chairs arranged at Beau's end of the gallery gave her an idea. Maybe she could relax for a few minutes with something to munch on. A snack always helped her to fall asleep.
Grabbing the robe she'd borrowed from Jolene, she jogged down to the deserted kitchen. Rummaging through the pantry and fridge, she found cocoa, sugar and milk. In a big jar on the counter, hidden behind a bowl of fruit, she hit paydirt. Homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies with double-chocolate chips. Oh, baby.
She savored her treat at the scarred wooden table in the kitchen. After four cookies, she finally made herself stop. She'd have to jog a mile in the morning to work off the calorie overload. But it had been well worth it.
About to wash out
the things she'd used, she paused and thought of Beau upstairs, working so hard. She looked at the pan in her hand and the box of cocoa on the stove. Poor guy. He deserved a treat, too.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
When there was a knock on the office door, Beau prayed it wasn't his mama coming for another chat. He didn't think he could deal rationally with getting the third degree about his love life. Especially at this hour. He looked around and smiled in relief when Kit poked her head through.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Yes, thank goodness. I could use a break."
She took a few steps into the room, but still hung back. She was holding a tray. "What's that?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"I brought you a little late-night treat. Some hot chocolate and cookies. I thought—"
"Hot chocolate and cookies?"
His shock must have registered on his face, because she stopped in midsentence and took a step backward. "You don't like hot chocolate. I'm sorry, I—"
"No!" He gathered his wits. "I mean, yes, I do. Very much. It's just—"
Just that the last time anyone but the housekeeper had brought him a snack upstairs was when he'd still been in short pants. Why was that? he wondered suddenly. Not that he needed to be waited on. He was a grown man, after all.
He shook himself out of his confusion. "That was very nice of you. Come, put the tray here on my desk."
She hesitated, then padded softly across the carpet. Under a silky robe he spied the pajama top he'd left beneath Kit's pillow. It skimmed along the tops of her shapely bare thighs, making him think of other hot treats he'd enjoy much more than chocolate. His loins gave a painful lurch and his fingers itched to slide up under the layers of slippery fabric to find out what else she might be wearing. Or not.
Easy, boy. With one hand he clutched the wooden arm of his chair and reached for his cheroot with the other. "Looks good enough to eat," he commented, his voice only slightly strangled.
Quickly, she glanced at him. But he'd managed to slap on that innocent expression that came in so handy, and after a second she apparently decided he wasn't making a pass but a joke.
If only she knew what it was costing him not to reach for her as she bent over his desk.
"The cookies are scrumptious. If Delia made them, you aren't paying her enough."
He chuckled. "I could pay her triple and it still wouldn't be enough. She's one in a million." He tore his eyes from her derriere. "And so are you for bringing me this. Thank you."
"No problem." She shrugged, flustered. "My mom used to—that is… You shouldn't work so late. You need sleep, too, you know."
He inhaled a puff of calming smoke. "I find I'm having a bit of trouble falling asleep these days. For one reason or another."
Her tongue peeked out and swiped along her bottom lip. "Me, too," she confessed, barely above a whisper.
"I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one." Setting down his cheroot, he gripped the edge of the desk. "I don't suppose…"
She jumped back, suddenly skittish as a colt. She must have sensed how close he was to throwing her down on top of his piles of work and putting an end to the torture.
"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. Too vigorously. It gave him a little satisfaction to know she was hurting as much as he was. "Enjoy your hot chocolate and cookies," she blurted out, and fled from the room.
Heaving a sigh, he gazed unseeing at the computer screen.
It was going to be one hell of a long night.
* * *
The next morning, Kit woke from a fitful sleep. She heard Beau go downstairs early and wondered where he was off to at such an ungodly hour. She flopped over and tried to sleep a while longer, but only tossed and turned. Eventually, she figured she might as well get up and face the world.
At seven-thirty Delia entered the bedroom with a pot of coffee. Kit looked up from the notes she was jotting down on things she could do to locate Remi.
Mr. Potter had just called again—in itself an indication of how much pressure he was getting from higher-ups—and grilled her on what she'd done yesterday. He hadn't been too pleased with her report, either. Accounting wasn't budging on their decision to terminate all in-house investigators except the one with the most black ink after his or her name. And with those sapphires in the red column, she'd be right down there at the bottom of the list. Only by recovering the necklace and getting a big fat "solved" stamp on the cover of the Beaulieux file did she stand a chance of keeping her job.
"Mornin', Miz Colfax. Sleep well?" Delia greeted her.
"Hi, Delia. As well as can be expected under the circumstances." She smiled to show she meant no disrespect.
Delia gave her a sassy grin. "If Mr. Simon is pesterin' you, girl, just tell me, and I'll take a hickory stick to his backside."
Kit laughed. "I bet you would, too. No, he's being a perfect gentleman, Delia. I'm anxious to get back to work, that's all. Not used to so much time on my hands."
"Time is what you make of it," she said, setting out the cup and saucer on the piecrust table next to her chair. "If you're bored, I could put you to work in the kitchen."
"I might just take you up on that. Especially if I could weasel that secret gumbo recipe out of you."
Delia chuckled. "Who knows, maybe one day…" She straightened. "You know, Mr. Simon, he's a bit old-fashioned, but he's a good man. He takes care of what's his."
Kit glanced sideways at the housekeeper, wondering where this was going. "Yes, I've noticed that tendency."
The woman glanced at her inquiringly.
"I like knowing I can make it on my own," Kit said by way of explanation.
Delia clasped her hands in front of her apron. "Well, child, I guess I can understand that. But just remember, there is a difference between knowin' you can, and choosin' to do it."
Well, of course there was, she thought, watching the woman disappear into Beau's room. Obviously, Kit knew she could take care of herself just fine. She also chose to do so.
Shaking off the feeling that there was more to Delia's declaration than simple conversation, she slam-dunked two cups of coffee and finished her list. First on it was to call Ricky before she had to be downstairs for breakfast.
"Hey, Ricky," she said, ignoring the sleepy yawn in her ear. "I was thinking."
"I'm in trouble."
"Funny. Could you do a deep background on Remi and come up with some likely places he might be hiding? People he knew, old girlfriends, that sort of thing?"
"Sure." Ricky sounded more alert.
"Can you also find out where I can rent a room and a car in Verdigris? Beau's not coming up with anything useful, and he's got a million things on his plate. Potter just called and turned up the heat. We've only got eight days left. If nothing breaks soon, I'm going to try moving to town to see what I can find out there."
"Kit, please be careful." Ricky's voice was steeped in worry. "Maybe that's not such a great idea. Remi's already taken one shot at you. This gig's not worth getting killed over. Promise you'll let the chief handle any close encounters."
A surge of impatience washed over her when she caught herself suddenly nagged by the doubts Delia had started buzzing in her head. "I can take care of myself, Ricky," she snapped. "I don't need any man to do my job for me or tell me how."
"Hey, I didn't—"
"I know, I know." Kit laid her head back on the chair and sighed. "Sorry, kid. I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just going nuts out here waiting for Remi to surface."
"It's cool. I understand. Listen, I'll call later with that info you wanted."
Kit hung up, feeling out of sorts. What was wrong with her? She should be elated that Remi was nearby. And she was. But it was hell not being able to find him, so she could toss his butt in jail and get away from this explosive situation with Beau. Back to her own carefully planned life, before Beau started weaving his web, making her part of his.
So why was
she so unhappy about the prospect of leaving Terrebeau? She gritted her teeth. Because she'd lost her marbles, that was why.
She had to fight it. Just another day or two and she'd be home free, able to forget all about Beau and his soulful eyes and the fact that he was expected to take care of everyone else while nobody took care of him.
Hell, she couldn't do it. Beau would never move to the city for her. Any future they had would have to be on his terms and on his turf. He would expect her to quit her job and move to Terrebeau, giving up her own dreams and aspirations to be with him. Slowly, he would take over every aspect of her life, filling it with his, and soon there would be nothing left of her.
She couldn't go through that again. Being reduced to a decorative appendage whose sole function was to keep her man's life running smoothly and comfortably was not her idea of a future. There was no way she'd ever fall into that trap again. And she didn't aim to give Beau the chance to sabotage her job, either. If he wouldn't find Remi, she'd do it herself.
She checked the clock. Time to go down for breakfast. Wouldn't do to be late. The Beaulieux were big on everyday rituals, just as her parents had always been. Kept the family close, her mother claimed. Nothing wrong with that. The solid love she'd felt as a child had kept her anchored, even as she yearned to fly free of the monotony of life on the farm. In the end it had been her parents' love that had given her the self-confidence to strike out on her own and to make an interesting and exciting life for herself.
The clock in the entry foyer chimed, and she flew down the stairs into the dining room just as everyone was being seated. Beau pulled out her chair, which she almost missed when she sat down. He looked so incredibly sexy, dressed in worn jeans and a blue chambray workshirt open over his usual ribbed muscle shirt. As he leaned over her to push in the chair, the smell of horses and leather wafted off him. Mmm. She'd forgotten how much that earthy combination turned her on. On him, it was as powerful as an aphrodisiac.
"You've been to the stables this morning?" Jolene asked.
Beau nodded. "Rudy couldn't come over to exercise the horses today, so I took them out for a good long ride."
