Spellbound

by Rebecca York

She sat up and looked toward the door, then gave a startled exclamation.

  Her suitcase and her carry-on, which had been locked in the trunk of the car, were sitting just inside the door. Obviously, while she’d slept, someone had put them there. Janet had said Andre would get them in the morning. So had he been in her bedroom without her knowing it?

  Another thought occurred to her, and she climbed quickly out of bed. The car keys had been in the ignition. Which meant that the trunk might as well have been unlocked. Anyone could have looked through her belongings before they arrived in her room. The most valuable thing she’d brought along was her computer.

  Quickly she opened the zipper of the carry-on, then breathed out a sigh when she found the laptop still sitting on top of the change of clothing she always brought along on a plane in case her checked luggage was delayed. Sitting next to the carry-on was her purse, and she realized with a start that she’d forgotten all about what might be in there.

  First she thumbed through her wallet. As far as she could tell, no money or credit cards were missing. Her checkbook was also in an inside pocket, along with the silver honey-bear charm Trevor had given her to tease her about her sweet tooth.

  Satisfied that she hadn’t been robbed, she got out toilet articles, clean underwear and a casual top and slacks, then locked the bedroom door before changing her clothing.

  ANDRE STRETCHED OUT his long legs under the kitchen table, trying to appear relaxed. When Janet turned from the stove, she gave him a sympathetic look.

  “It’s good you got her suitcases.”

  “I knew she’d want her things.”

  “Yes.”

  The conversation ground to a halt. Andre fiddled with the cutlery in front of him on the table, then put down the spoon he was turning in his hand.

  “You’re nervous,” Janet said.

  “Why not? I wouldn’t say we had a very calm night.”

  Janet nodded. “I’d like to choke Yvonne. Too bad you can’t do something to shoo her away.”

  He sighed. “Yes, too bad she’s put a protective charm around her skinny body and her blighted soul.”

  “She thinks her reasons for being here are valid,” Janet reminded him.

  “Yes,” he admitted, then fell silent again. After several moments he cleared his throat. “What did you think of Morgan Kirkland?”

  “She’s pretty. And strong. She’s not easily spooked, I think.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  He was about to say something more when the sound of footsteps in the doorway made his head jerk up, and the woman he had been waiting for stepped into the room.

  Her gaze swung from him to Janet and back again. “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation.”

  “You’re not interrupting anything. Not really,” he said.

  MORGAN STIFLED THE URGE to fold her arms across her chest. They had been talking about her. She’d heard that much. But they’d stopped as soon as they’d become aware of her.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly surprising that she’d cut off the conversation. Talking about your houseguests wasn’t polite. At least not in front of the guest.

  Nerves had made her voice more sharp than she’d intended. It wasn’t just from the conversation she’d interrupted. It was seeing Andre sitting there at the kitchen table looking so much like the Andre in the dream that she couldn’t tell them apart, except for his modern clothing.

  She’d been kissing the man in the dream. A lot more than kissing. He’d stroked her breasts, pulled her on top of his body, made her—

  She cut off that thought. But she couldn’t prevent the feelings that went with the dream. Linette had been in love with Andre, so in love that she was willing to jeopardize her future for the pleasure of making love with him.

  Those weren’t her feelings, she told herself. They belonged to another woman. She pulled herself up short. Linette wasn’t real. Morgan couldn’t blame Linette. The dream had come from somewhere in her subconscious. From when Andre had rescued her from the flood and held her in his arms?

  Unable to move forward, she stayed where she was in the doorway. She wanted to keep her distance from Andre. She didn’t want to feel anything for him or get him mixed up with the man in the dream.

  “Come sit down,” he said in the deep voice that was his and also the voice of the dream man from long ago.

  There was no way to explain the dream—to him or to herself. So she crossed the room and pulled out a chair, being careful not to brush his knee when she sat.

  “Did you sleep well, child?” Janet asked.

  “Mostly,” she allowed.

  Holding out a cup, the housekeeper asked, “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The woman brought her a cup of thick black brew, rich with the smell of something she didn’t usually associate with coffee.

  “What kind is it?”

  “A Cajun brand. With chicory. The best you’ll ever taste.”

  Morgan took a cautious sip. It was good but strong, and she decided that despite her usual custom, cream would make a good addition. It did.

  A plate of eggs and French toast sat on the table. Andre had already taken several triangles of toast. He pushed the plate toward her, a very ordinary gesture. A host offering his guest some breakfast. But sharing food took on an unintended intimacy as his strong hand brushed against hers, and a current of energy seemed to spark between them.

  His voice turned deeper as he said, “Janet’s eggs and pain perdu are excellent.”

  “That’s the Cajun name for French toast?”

  “Yes. But it’s better than any you’ve ever tasted.”

  She put his bragging statement to the test and found he was right. The toast was rich and crusty, and sweet with the addition of real maple syrup.

  Janet sat down at the table with them and helped herself to the toast and scrambled eggs flecked with onion and sweet red pepper. She might work for Andre, but they apparently didn’t stand on ceremony.

  Morgan took several bites of toast, watching the other two people at the table from under lowered lashes. The questions circling in her head were making it difficult to swallow. Finally she asked, “Who was it that I heard outside last night?”

  Janet’s cup clattered in the saucer.

  Andre finished the bite of eggs in his mouth, then asked, “Chanting and beating a drum?”

  “Yes.”

  His lips quirked. “Would you believe LaToya Jackson?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “More like the voodoo priestess,” he said.

  “The one who lives at the edge of town?”

  “Yes.”

  She raised her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me about her before I came here?”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Is this breakfast or a business discussion?”

  “Both.”

  “It’s better for the digestion if we separate the two. We can talk about business in the office later.”

  Morgan wanted to press the issue. But this was his house, and she had come here to work for him. Which meant she couldn’t turn everything upside down—not without a good reason. So she took some more bites of the toast and eggs while he poured himself another cup of coffee.

  “Where are you from?” Janet asked.

  “Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.”

  “How did you get into the private detective business?”

  “I, uh, worked in covert operations until my husband died.”

  “You were married?” Janet asked in surprise.

  “Yes.”

  Andre’s expression didn’t change, and she suspected he had already known that fact—and probably a lot more.

  When he told Janet that the meal had been excellent, Morgan added her praise, along with a sigh of relief that they were going to get to work.

  Andre led her down the hall to a small office. He walked around the desk and stood for a moment looking out a set of French doors that led to a carefully cultivated gar
den.

  Morgan watched him making an effort to relax the tension in his shoulders. Her gaze flicked from him to the beautiful view, and a sudden insight hit her.

  Stepping up behind him, she said, “You designed this garden for your own pleasure.”

  “Yes,” he answered without turning.

  “A lot of men wouldn’t care about the view.”

  “This is my home. It’s in my soul,” he said.

  The emotion in his voice made her chest tighten.

  He sat down at the antique desk, putting the wide surface and the computer between them like a barrier.

  Morgan sat in the wing chair in the corner. “You sent me a lot of material before I arrived. But you didn’t give me a report on any voodoo priestess.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t sure the Light Street Detective Agency would take the job if I started talking about her.”

  Chapter Five

  Andre shifted in his seat. Damn the priestess. She could have given him a couple of days’ grace. But she’d been right there chanting and drumming like the wicked witch of the south last night. Probably because she knew what he was up to, and she didn’t want him to succeed.

  Unfortunately there wasn’t anything he could do about her except try to contain the damage she’d caused.

  He had loved every minute of his long e-mail correspondence with Morgan. He had felt so free to tease her and joke with her and absorb every scrap of information he could pick up about her.

  But he hadn’t thought through the details of their day-to-day life in the armed camp where he lived. Now he was forced to give her his best imitation of an open look, as he said, “I didn’t want you to think I was a nut-case. I wanted you to meet me first and see that I was…grounded. A realist. Admit it. If I’d started talking about a voodoo priestess in my e-mails, you would have decided I was a candidate for the funny farm. But if you got here and found that a…disturbed woman came to my garden at night and chanted and beat a drum, you wouldn’t hold that against me.”

  It was Morgan’s turn to look uncomfortable. “You’re right.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “Thank you for being honest.” He was having trouble concentrating. Even with the desk between them, he was too aware of her. They’d only met in person yesterday, yet it felt as if he’d known her all his life. Maybe he had.

  Seeing her clinging to a tree in the middle of a raging torrent had made his heart stop. Then he’d leaped in to rescue her and held her close. He could remember the feel of her body pressed to his—even if the reason had been strictly nonsexual. That hadn’t prevented him from reacting on so many different levels. Their meeting had been dramatic. Much too dramatic.

  The drama hadn’t ended with the rescue. After months of obsessing about her, he’d finally brought her to his house. Then he’d been forced to disappear—to spend an agonizing night wondering if she was going to pick up her suitcase and leave in the morning because the situation into which she’d stepped was just too weird for a normal person to cope with.

  In the morning light she was still here, and he wanted to gather her close and hold her the way he had the day before. But he knew it would be a disaster to rush their personal relationship, so he stayed behind the desk. When he realized his fingers were clamped on the arm of the chair, he deliberately loosened them.

  “Tell me about the priestess,” she pressed. “What’s she doing in your garden?”

  “Scaring away the vampire bats.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you took the question seriously.”

  “I thought you liked my jokes.”

  “I did. Now I want information.”

  He sighed as he weighed how much to tell her. “Okay. About a hundred years ago, a young man from my family wanted to marry the niece of the local voodoo priestess. Both sets of parents forbade her to see him.”

  She looked startled but asked, “What happened?”

  Picking his words carefully, he said, “It ended badly.”

  “So what are you saying—that woman comes out here to keep up an old grudge?”

  “Yes. But she’s just chanting and beating a drum. She’s not my major problem. She’s not killing people and leaving them in the swamp.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Would she be so open about her hostility if she were?”

  She nodded. “I guess not.”

  He used the opportunity to change the subject. “You already know two men followed you from town. You think someone at the gas station may have sabotaged your car.”

  “Yes.”

  He spread his hands. “Focus on them, not her.”

  “I guess I have to. But appearances can be deceiving. I met some other people, too. Like the head of the chamber of commerce, Dwight Rivers. And probably Sadie Delay. You did a good job of filling me in on the players. They seemed nice, but they didn’t know I was coming out to Belle Vista.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Thinking that he shouldn’t have wedged the two of them into this small room, he pushed back his chair and stood up. “We should take a look at the library and my book collection.”

  “Why?”

  “So, if anyone comes by, it will look as though you’re doing the job you told them you were hired to do.”

  “Is it likely that someone is going to check up on me?”

  He managed a small shrug. “You never know which busybody from town is going to drop by, at least in broad daylight. And there’s your car. I arranged to have it pulled out of the ditch and towed into town. Someone will bring it back here when it’s finished.”

  She made a rather unladylike exclamation.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

  “I forgot all about getting the car towed. Thank you for taking care of that.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind since you got here.”

  She studied his face. “Don’t tell me the car is being towed to the same gas station where I stopped?”

  “That’s the only alternative. I talked to the rental company, and they asked me to pay the bill, then get reimbursed from them.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said quickly. “But I hate trusting that guy Bubba to fix the brakes.”

  “I’ll check out everything when it comes back.”

  “You can fix a car?”

  “Yes. Out here you have to be self-sufficient. I would have done the repair work myself, but that would have meant dealing with the gas station for parts. As you can imagine, I’m trying to have as little to do with the town as possible until the situation is resolved.”

  “I understand,” she answered.

  Of course, there was no way she could really understand the whole picture yet. That would have to wait. Or maybe his plans were only a pipe dream. Before she’d arrived, he’d convinced himself that everything was going to work out the way he wanted. Now he was feeling as if the ground was slipping out from under his feet.

  “Come see the library,” he said, then strode out of the room.

  THIS WAS THE STRANGEST JOB she’d ever accepted, Morgan thought. She’d come here on assignment for a guy who turned out to be a hunk. But that was no reason to start having erotic dreams about him as soon as they met.

  She followed her host down the hall, staring at his broad shoulders, his narrow hips. In truth, she didn’t want to be alone with him any longer. She wanted to escape into town. But that was impossible, with her car out of commission. Besides, she had come here to do a job, and that meant she couldn’t avoid listening to anything he wanted to tell her about the case.

  Because her mind was focused inward, she almost bumped into him as he stopped to open a pair of pocket doors.

  When she made a small sound, he turned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes!” she snapped, then modified her tone and added, “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep too well.”

  “I’m sorry that you had a disturbing night,” he answered as he stepped into the room beyond the doors.

  Be
fore she could stop herself, she snapped out a question. “What about your night? How was it?”

  He went still. Without turning to face her, he answered, “My night was the way it always is.” The way he said it was like a warning: don’t go there.

  She might have pressed him, but she was worried about her dreams. What if he’d had the same dream?

  As that thought flashed into her head, she was glad his back was still to her.

  He couldn’t have had the same dream! That was impossible. And if he had, she didn’t want to know about it. With her teeth clenched, she tried to force that outrageous idea out of her head.

  In the next moment she had something else to focus on. The room beyond the doors took her breath away.

  His office had been full of modern equipment. This room was like something she might have imagined in an old British college. It was all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling shelves with beautifully carved moldings. As she walked inside, she could smell the unmistakable aroma of old books. It was obvious that Andre had inherited a sizable collection of volumes along with the estate.

  Scanning the shelves, she saw that some of the books were old and rare. But he’d obviously added to the collection, because others were modern. When she walked closer, she saw all kinds of nonfiction subjects, coffee-table books and the latest bestselling novels.

  The focal point of the library was a polished stone fireplace. In front of the hearth was an almost thread-bare Oriental rug, forming a conversation area for two comfortable chairs arranged to take in a view of the leaping flames. But as in Andre’s office, the chairs were also positioned to look out over the beautifully tended gardens. While the office view had been restricted by high shrubs, the library windows looked out on a brick patio and a wide green lawn rimmed with flower beds.

  “So, do you spend a lot of time here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  She walked over and ran her hand along some of the spines of the books. “You must haunt the bookstores in New Orleans.”

  “No. I used to get catalogs from various bookshops. Now I mostly order from the Internet.”

  “Oh.”

  More books were piled on a polished library table. His recent acquisitions. Or maybe they were volumes he had taken out and hadn’t put back yet.