Sylvie sighed, shaking her head. Had she just imagined the whole thing? Had she been so shaken up, her world so completely rocked last night by Jefferson that she’d begun hallucinating and just imagined her grandmother’s Wyeth was missing?
No, Jefferson knew that the painting was missing—that it had been taken. He’d been the one to ask if she wanted him to call the police.
She wanted to ask Luc if the painting was there when he’d hung up the others, but she didn’t know how to do that without raising his suspicions. Maybe someone had just taken it as a Twelfth Night prank.
Taking a deep breath, she ran her hand through her hair. Sylvie felt light-headed, almost to the point of passing out. She wondered if this was what having a nervous breakdown was like.
But then, if she was having a nervous breakdown, would she feel like singing? And she’d felt like singing since this morning.
Deal in realities.
The reality was that the painting was exactly where it was supposed to be and so was Daisy Rose. She should have felt like celebrating three times over. What else could she possibly ask for?
You know what else you could ask for, a small voice whispered in her head.
She did her best to shut it out, telling herself not to be greedy.
IT SEEMED TO LUC that he was never going to breathe normally again. Especially if his heart didn’t settle down.
He’d managed to do it just in time. Return the painting back to its original spot a few minutes before Sylvie walked in.
He took a second to savor the moment. His conscience had been bothering him since the minute he had the painting in his possession. But he had to admit that what tipped the scales for him was his keen sense of survival. Being caught with the painting would have severely interfered with that.
Causing a few small items to disappear—none of the things he’d taken from the various rooms were of any real value—came under the heading of nuisance. But the Wyeth, well, that was grand theft. A very real, very long prison sentence would be attached to a conviction.
It wasn’t something he was willing to chance, especially when he was no longer certain about the course he was on. It was just too risky. If anyone had found the painting…
Luc didn’t finish the thought. Dan and Richard weren’t going to be happy with him. But then, they wouldn’t have been the ones doing time if he had been caught.
It was better this way, he thought. There were other ways to make waves. And he needed to come up with one fast, to get the Corbin brothers off his back.
SYLVIE LOOKED at Jefferson, a thousand emotions raging through her—scrambling, tangling, making both her heart and her head ache. She’d never been happier—or sadder—in her life. How was that possible? Unless, of course, she was in—
Was that it? she thought suddenly, surprised. Was this what being in love was all about? Thrilled at the possibility, yet terrified of losing it at the same time? Terrified on so many levels?
And happy on even more. She sighed, but it was a joyful sound.
After Celeste’s painting was back in its place and Shane Alexander had returned to the hole he’d crawled out of, it still wasn’t business as usual for her.
Far from it, she mused, trailing her fingers down Jefferson’s bare arm. He had placed his concerned daughter on a plane bound for Boston and had remained to attend his fraternity reunion. Had remained to weave himself into her life in the space of five days. Five days that had gone by much too fast.
And this was the last night. She’d attended the final reunion gala with him, trying to absorb every moment, every word he said, every expression. Praying that somehow the evening wouldn’t end.
But it had. And now they were in his hotel room.
In his bed.
She’d made a resolution to remain strong, to walk away from him at the end of the evening with dignity. She’d had no intention of being here with him like this.
But then an annoying little voice had whispered, Why not? This might be the last time you’ll be together. Why not stay? Why not make love?
Why not indeed.
So she had. And they did. They’d made love as if this would be the last time. As if the world were coming to an end in the morning. In a way, for her, it was.
Trying very hard to be brave, Sylvie now forced the words to her lips. Words she felt were expected of her. She stared at the ceiling instead of at Jefferson, thinking if she did the latter, she would cry.
“I’ll drive you to the airport in the morning.”
She felt Jefferson shifting beside her. “About that…” he began.
She didn’t want to hear it. Rising up on her elbow, she looked at him. “If you’ve made other plans, cancel them,” she ordered.
Amusement played over his lips. Was he laughing at her?
“Are you sure you want me to do that?”
She raised her chin, struggling to control nerves that were suddenly, unaccountably, fraying. “I just said so, didn’t I?”
The look on his face was unreadable. “Don’t you even want to hear what my other plan is?”
Why would she want to do that? “What? A taxi? Your friend Blake? That carriage you commandeered the night of the blackout?”
“No,” he replied quietly, running his finger along the curve of her neck, “my other plan is not to leave.”
Stunned, she stared at him. “What?”
“Well,” he explained, “not in the permanent sense.” He would have to fly back to Boston, to make arrangements. To tie up loose ends. To pack.
She wasn’t following. “Is this some of that lawyer double-talk?”
“No, straight talk,” he promised. He wasn’t good at teasing. “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time for me to move back here. Emily said she wanted to, and the best years of my life have their roots right here.” His eyes held hers for a moment. “I think they might again.”
Excitement and joy vibrated within her. She was afraid to hope, but wanted to desperately. “You’re going to live here? Really?”
Jefferson smiled but held himself in check, wanting nothing more than to sweep her back into his arms and make love with her all over again. That would be setting a record, he realized. His own personal best. She did that: she brought out the best in him.
“I take it that doesn’t meet with your disapproval?”
It sounded too good to be true, Sylvie thought.
“But what will you do?” she asked.
“I renewed a few friendships at the reunion tonight. Seems there’s an opening at one of the major firms here. I know the senior partner. As a matter of fact, he made me an offer that’s quite attractive.”
Sylvie didn’t remember hearing any talk of offers. Was he just making this up? Teasing her for some reason? “When?”
Jefferson grinned. He could almost see the thoughts scooting across her mind. “When you went to powder your nose.”
She scrutinized his expression, looking for a sign that he was joking. But there was none. “Then you’re serious?”
“Very.” Knowing the value of a well-placed pause, he made use of it now before continuing. “Oh, there’s one more thing.”
Here it comes, she thought. The bombshell. She braced herself for disappointment. “What?”
Jefferson wrapped his arm around her, bringing her closer to him. “Will you marry me?”
Okay, now she was sure of it. She was dreaming.
On the small outside chance that she wasn’t, Sylvie softly asked, “What?”
“Will you marry me?” he repeated even more earnestly than the first time.
He was going to regret this, she thought. “But you don’t know me,” she protested.
“I know everything I need to about you.” Emily, he thought, was right. That girl was wise beyond her years, but he was still going to keep a watchful eye on her. “That I love you. I knew the first time I looked at Emily’s mother that she was the one for me. I felt the same thing when I looked at you.” B
ecause the thought had scared him, he fought it. But now he knew this was the right thing to do. This was the right woman for him.
He smiled into her eyes, stopping only to kiss her softly before going on. “I’m never wrong when it comes to things like this. We don’t have to get married right away. It can be a long courtship. Say, six months or so if you like. It’ll take that long to get everything squared away in Boston. I’d want Emily to finish school…” He grew serious, realizing how much her answer meant to him. How much he feared hearing the wrong one. “I realize that this is sudden and you’re going to need some time to think things through, but—”
“Yes.” The single word burst from her lips.
He raised a brow. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she cried.
“You don’t want any time to think about it?”
“I have been thinking about it,” she confessed. “Thinking about it ever since you kissed me. And in case you’re wondering, I love you, too. And Daisy Rose talks about you all the time.”
His eyes grew soft as he brought her mouth back to his.
“Good,” he replied. “Very good.”
And it was.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5368-5
THE SETUP
Copyright © 2006 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella is acknowledged as the author of the work.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Setup Page 18
