by Jo Leigh
She was still debating what to do when H sat down next to her.
“You look worried,” he said.
“Yeah.” Pepper glanced back at the closed study door. “My aunt has a lot riding on this.”
“If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on her.”
“Me, too—if it weren’t for the fact that Aunt Irene and I come from a long line of star-crossed lovers.” She waved a hand. “This plantation house isn’t exactly the best setting for happy endings. There’s got to be a lot of bad vibes here because of the way things ended up for Adam and Elena.” She glanced toward Cole again.
“You know about their story then?” H asked.
“Not all of it. I couldn’t read the ending. I figured it would be too depressing. A slave and a plantation owner—I mean you can’t get much more star-crossed than that.”
“They were married in the gardens at the back of this house. There’s a gazebo on the spot.”
Pepper turned to stare at him. “They got married?”
H nodded. “His parents tried to stop it. They even tried to send Elena away, but Adam prevented them and told them if they sent her away, he’d go with her. According to the stories, they had several children, and the plantation flourished for several generations. In fact, Butch bought this island from a woman who swears she’s a great-great-great-granddaughter of Adam and Elena.”
The story ended happily. They got married, Pepper thought, and the queasiness in her stomach eased.
BUTCH MOVED BEHIND his desk and waved at one of the chairs. “Sit down.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
Butch grunted and did the same. For a moment the silence stretched between them. Butch found for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say, where to begin. Worse, he wasn’t even sure who this woman was. H had been right. She wasn’t his sweet little Renie. She was the woman on the tapes he’d seen rappelling down from rooftops in front of a viewing audience that comprised more than half of San Francisco.
He lifted the hand that still held the cigar, intending to light it and gain a few minutes to think. His hand was shaking. That fact stunned him. No one had ever made his hand shake.
Irene planted her hands on her hips and though he couldn’t see it, he was pretty sure her foot was tapping.
“Well?” she asked.
He stared at her. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d not only made his hand shake, she’d made his heart stutter. He didn’t want to think yet about those endless minutes when he’d stood on that balcony—waiting.
Her eyes narrowed and flashed as she moved toward the desk. She wasn’t the old Renie, but she was magnificent.
“I stole that damn Monet twice for you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t get away with it the second time.”
She planted her hands flat on his desk and leaned toward him. “It was in my hands when you and Cole busted in. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Therefore, I stole it twice. Plus, Pepper and I took out the amateur you sent up. You did send that guy, didn’t you?”
Butch shrugged. “H had just figured out who LeBlanc really was. I thought the painting would be safer in my hands until we sorted everything out. So I sent in my man Tony.”
Irene gave him a curt nod. “You gave me a few bad moments. When I first figured out that you must have sent him, I wondered if your taste for French Impressionists had overcome your resolve to stay straight.”
“No. I’m still resolved to do that.” He planted his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “And if we’re going to talk about handing out bad moments, you’re winning. Thanks to Cole, I witnessed your descent from the roof to Atwell’s balcony. And I never want to relive those moments I spent waiting on the balcony outside that room.”
IRENE DIDN’T BLINK, but her heart was not steady. It never had been when she was in Butch Castellano’s presence. This was a man she hadn’t seen for almost forty years. She knew she loved him, but she hadn’t been sure that the chemistry would still be there. The fact that it was—at least for her—had her heart beating faster and her body heating.
She pushed the realization away so that it wouldn’t distract her. He was going to try to send her away again. She felt it in her bones. Otherwise, why the big invite back to his house for the group party? He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t made a move to talk to her until she’d called him stupid in front of his guests and his staff.
Even now he wasn’t making any move to get close to her. He’d even put his desk between them. Nor had he tried to bring up the topic that they’d come in here to discuss.
Men. Irene mentally shook her head. They always had so much damn trouble talking about their feelings. Why couldn’t a man be more like a woman?
Well, she knew quite a bit about unlocking doors and safes. She would just unlock him too.
“Renie…” he began.
She slammed a hand down on the desk. “That’s just the way you started out forty years ago. Whatever else happens here, history is not going to repeat itself, Butch Castellano. I am not going to listen to you tell me again that you are going to send me away for my own good.” When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand to stop him. “Let me finish. I’m sixty years old. I know what’s good for me. And I’ve decided that it’s you. I still love you. I’ve never stopped. Oh, I’ve dated. I’ve even taken some lovers. But none of them ever compared to you. And I never loved them. The one thing I have to know before I go any further is how you feel about me. Do you still love me?”
There, she thought. Let him wiggle out of that one. And then she held her breath.
He said nothing, and as the silence stretched, Irene felt her heart sink.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I was going to tell you tonight. In the moonlight. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you might like some romance.”
“To hell with romance,” Irene said. “I’ve waited too long for you.” But as Butch circled the desk, she held up a hand. “One more thing. Do I still turn you on? I mean, my heart has been doing little tap dances and my nerve endings have been zinging ever since you crashed into Evan’s suite.”
Butch took her hand, raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss into the palm.
Irene felt pleasure streak right down to her toes. It took her a moment to get her breath and then she managed, “Well?”
“I’m not sure,” Butch said as he drew her into his arms. “Let’s try this.”
Irene looked into his eyes, and she saw what she’d dreamed about seeing.
Then Butch lowered his mouth to hers.
Irene had one moment of coherent thought before her mind went blank and filled with Butch. Here were all the sensations that she’d dreamed of—the heat, the incredible melting sensation—and more. Could it be that passion bottled up for forty years could improve with age?
Butch drew away and as if he’d read her thoughts said, “It’s like a fine wine.”
She smiled at him. “Or a French Impressionist painting?”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “I’d say the zing is definitely still there.”
PEPPER SAT DOWN next to Evan. “Did my aunt give you some good advice?”
Evan glanced at her, then back at his untouched champagne before he placed the glass on the table. “She thinks I should tell my mother.”
Pepper covered his hand with hers. “I think you should, too.”
Evan shook his head. “She’ll be so hurt. She has these expectations.”
Pepper nodded. “I know. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what others have expected of me. We’re a lot alike, Evan. I think that’s why our relationship lasted as long as it did.”
“You’re not gay. How can you know what it’s like?” Evan asked.
“You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be gay in a world that’s still afraid of and uncomfortable with the idea of same-sex couples. I have no idea what that’s like. But I
do know about trying to change what you are to win your family’s approval. I tried with the Pendletons in Philadelphia. No matter how hard I tried, I never quite measured up to what they wanted. And I’ve been trying to do the same thing with the Rossis. But I made a mistake.”
“What?” Evan asked.
“I always imagined myself to be someone else.” Her lips curved. “With my grandmother, I always tried to be my mother. With my father, I tried to be the perfect daughter. I thought dating you would please him, so I did. With my brothers, I’ve tried to be a super sleuth like the ones on TV and in movies.” She glanced over to where Cole was still standing on the porch. “But a good friend told me that I’d have more luck fitting in if I was myself, and I think he’s right. I didn’t give my grandmother the opportunity to really know me for myself. I’m not sure it would have done any good. She still might not have liked me. But I would have liked myself better, I think.”
Evan said nothing, but she could see that he was thinking about what she’d said.
“When I get back to San Francisco, I’m going to give the Rossis a chance to see me for what I am. And I’m going to see what kind of a contribution I can make to Rossi Investigations. They may not like me any more than my grandmother did, but I’m going to give them a chance to get to know the real me.”
Evan turned his hand and gripped her fingers hard. “What if they can’t accept you for what you are?”
“What if they can? I don’t want to miss out on that. And you don’t want to either.”
Evan drew in a deep breath. “You make it sound so easy.”
She shook her head. “Believe me, it’s not. But there’s one thing that we both have if things get rocky.”
“What?”
She smiled at him. “We’ve got a good friend to talk to about it.”
“NOW WHY DO I GET the feeling that I’m not getting the whole story?” Luke asked.
Cole bit back a grin and sat down on one of the lounge chairs that dotted Butch’s veranda. Stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, he let the silence stretch for a minute. He could picture his old friend sitting behind his desk, his blond hair tousled from running his hand through it, his fingers working magic on his computer. Cole wasn’t a bit surprised that Luke Rossi wasn’t completely buying the story they’d manufactured.
“This is the Caribbean,” Cole finally said. “The criminal justice system works a little differently down here.”
“Bullshit.” Luke’s tone was amiable, and this time Cole did grin as his friend continued. “The thing I’m still trying to figure out is how my sister beat you down there, and why you didn’t mention her before.”
“She swore me to secrecy,” Cole said easily. Leave it to Luke to zero in on the weakest part of the story. “But she was the one who had a line on LeBlanc. She didn’t know his name, of course, but she found out the name he was using when he crashed Evan’s party.” Of course, LeBlanc hadn’t crashed the party. He’d been on the roof waiting to steal the painting. But Luke wouldn’t have any way of knowing that. “She was the one who swiped the glass and lifted his fingerprints. I don’t think that you have a Pepper Problem anymore. She’s going to be a real asset to the firm.”
“Really? And you say she rappelled down from the roof, broke into LeBlanc’s suite and stole the painting right out from under his nose—while you sat around twiddling your thumbs?”
“There are witnesses,” Cole said. “You can talk to Butch Castellano. He owns the place and he saw everything.”
“Okay, I give up. But one day I’ll figure out the true story.”
Cole laughed then. He had no doubt Luke would do just that. There was no one who was better at tracking down the truth than Luke Rossi.
“So when are you going to be back here with the painting?”
Cole let his glance stray to the living room of the mansion where Pepper was holding Evan’s hand. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since they’d sorted things out in Atwell’s suite. Their time on the island had just about run out. He could hear each minute slipping away in his mind.
“Cole?”
Luke’s voice drew him back to the conversation.
“I’ll be leaving here within the hour. I’ve already called the airport and told them to gas up the plane I chartered. Tell Mrs. Atwell her painting will be back in plenty of time for the auction.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And tell her that she has Pepper Rossi to thank for it.”
“I’ll do that, too.”
As he hung up his phone, Happy joined him on the veranda.
“Looks like we’re the odd men out,” Happy said.
“Yes, it does.” On the outside looking in, Cole thought and he remembered Pepper’s reference to Jane Eyre and Heathcliff.
“I don’t think I ever had a chance with Irene,” Happy said. “But I’d say you have an excellent chance with Pepper.”
Did he? Cole said nothing. The time for their island “deal” had almost run out. And part of the agreement had been that when they got back to San Francisco they’d go back to the way things had been between them. The one thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t allow that to happen. Ever since LeBlanc had been carted off, he’d been trying to come up with the right strategy. Everything depended on the right plan. And so far his mind was a blank.
“A man like you, I bet you’ve got a plan.”
He’d always had one before. “I thought I might give her some time. I’ve rushed her and pushed her into something that she might be having second thoughts about.”
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Later, he would think how odd it was that it was there on the veranda, talking to Happy and watching Pepper take Evan’s hand in hers that he finally was able to say it out loud. Yes, he was in love with Pepper Rossi. He’d probably fallen in love with her the first time he’d seen that picture that Luke carried around in his wallet. What in hell was he going to do about it?
Happy patted his hand. “Life’s short. It gets even shorter when you get to be my age. Don’t wait too long to tell her.”
“She’s going to need some time with her aunt. And I have to get the Monet back to San Francisco.” Maybe he could think of a plan on the long flight across the continent. And then he’d approach her in San Francisco. With his head still spinning, Cole turned to the man beside him. “What are you going to do?”
Happy grinned at him. “Butch is gassing up his private launch, and I understand that one of his men is going to give me a personal escort. He’s not taking any chances where Irene is concerned. Can’t say I blame him. I have five days left of my vacation package on Eden. I still might find someone, not that she’d hold a candle to Irene.”
As Happy spoke, Irene came into the room, her hand in Butch’s. Cole didn’t hear what she said, but it caused Pepper to leap up from the couch and throw her arms around her aunt in a fierce hug.
They’d have a lot to talk about, he mused. And he had a job to do. Turning, he walked off the veranda and headed toward the car he’d driven from the hotel.
18
Saturday, February 14—11:50 a.m.
“TO HAPPY ENDINGS,” Irene said as she raised her champagne flute in a toast.
As Pepper raised hers, she realized that Cole wasn’t in the room. The last time she’d seen him he’d been on the veranda talking to Luke on the phone.
“If you’re looking for Cole, he told me that he was going to take the Monet back to San Francisco,” Happy said.
A mix of panic and anger streamed through her. “Thanks,” she murmured to Happy as she moved toward H.
“I need to get to the airport,” she said. “Cole’s on his way there. He’s on his way back to San Francisco.”
“If you want, I can make sure he doesn’t take off,” H said.
She glanced at him. “You’d take him on? He’s ex-CIA.”
For the first time since she’d met him, H smiled at her.
“I wasn’t thinking of anything quite that dramatic. I’ll just call the control tower and make sure his charter isn’t cleared for takeoff.”
“Thanks.” When they stepped out the door, Pepper stopped short and stared as Cole’s sporty red convertible pulled into a parking space at the end of the long driveway.
“Looks like he’s changed his mind,” H murmured, then moved back into the house.
Pepper watched as Cole climbed out of the car and started toward her. Relief and anxiety slammed into her as she tried to gather her thoughts. Their time on the island was up, and they were going to have to talk about what came next.
Panic bubbled up. On the surface, he seemed all wrong for her. That much hadn’t changed. He was patient; she wasn’t. He was a planner; she almost always relied on instinct. She wished, oh how hard she wished, that she was a better planner right now. But she was going to handle this. Because she knew. She started walking toward him.
She recalled the conversation she’d had with Irene on the night that her aunt had stolen the Monet for the first time. “I knew the first time I looked at Butch that he was the only man for me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the gazebo in the garden that H had mentioned. Elena had probably known that about Adam, too.
Cole Buchanan was the only man for her. She’d known it the first time she’d seen him, and it had scared her to death. Wasn’t that part of the reason that she’d tried so hard to compete with him? Why she’d tried to avoid him? And why she’d agreed so readily to the twenty-four-hour deal he’d offered her?
