Winning the Heiress' Heart

by Susanne Bellamy

  Eva sat on a fallen trunk beside the path and wiped her forearm across her brow. As she caught her breath, the sweet, heavy perfume of ripening pineapples insinuated its way into her consciousness.

  Somewhere ahead lay Luc’s home. Luc hadn’t received her note so he hadn’t known of her request regarding Seb. Her nephew liked Luc, and the company of the young males in Luc’s program was helping him get past his grief. An apology was appropriate.

  And necessary. She might not trust Luc’s motives, but she would give him the benefit of the doubt when it came to understanding young men. For Seb’s sake.

  And for her own?

  She preferred not to dwell on the emotions induced by proximity to Luc. Steeling her resolve against an inconvenient attraction, she rose to her feet and marched down the path.

  As she rounded a bend into open space, a welcome breeze cooled her warm cheeks and the tang of salt air and a view of sunlit sand greeted her. Above her, built into a gentle slope, Luc’s house perched on a bluff overlooking the sea. Lush gardens of bird of paradise and yellow hibiscus vied with elephant ear plants below a wide, shady veranda. Yellows, oranges and greens wrapped around a house of soft grey stone walls, teak trim and shutters. The single story dwelling nestled stately as a queen in the middle of a tropical paradise.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Eva? What are you doing here?”

  Luc’s voice sounded close behind her left shoulder and her heartbeat kicked up several notches. She turned quickly and her sandal caught in a gnarled root. Arms flailing, she fell. Luc grabbed her wrist, and an arm like an iron band wrapped around her waist and hauled her up close and personal. For the second time in as many weeks, she was breathless in Luc Martineau’s arms.

  This was a habit she needed to break...and fast.

  Eva drew a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. Shadowed by the brim of his hat, flecks of amber highlighted deep wells of chocolate-brown.

  “Do you always sneak up on people?” With a jolt, she realized she had wrapped one arm around his neck while the other was pressed against his chest, just over his heart, which thudded strongly beneath her fingers.

  His grip on her wrist shifted and his thumb traced a path over the back of her hand. “Do you always throw yourself into men’s arms?”

  “I don’t throw myself.”

  “So it’s just mine you fall into?”

  “I tripped.” Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. “And you’d be the last man I’d throw myself at.”

  Yet why would he believe her when her heart pounded as though she’d run a sub four-minute mile? He must feel it when each breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. Heat flared between them and awareness blocked out everything but him.

  “Seeing you’re in my arms, am I to assume we’re the last two people on Earth?”

  “Not even then, Mr. Martineau.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh but made no move to release her. “Oh, but I think we are, Miss Abbott. Here, in my little patch of paradise, there is no one else.”

  She knew if he released her, she would spin into orbit around him, unable to escape the force of his attraction. He was the reason she’d walked over, not Sebastian, nor even the break-in. It was crazy and ridiculous and she didn’t even like him.

  But she wanted him.

  She ran her tongue over her top lip. “Um, you can let me go now.”

  His gaze roamed her face, lingered on her lips. “I like to keep my enemies close.”

  Breathless, she stammered, “I’m not your enemy.”

  “Then if you’re not my enemy and you’re not my friend, what are you?”

  “Too close. Please, let me go.”

  He eased his hold from her waist and she staggered back. Concern flashed across his face as he caught her elbows and steadied her. “Perhaps you should sit. You appear to be shaken by your fall.”

  She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. If only it was the fall that had shaken her. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Why are you snooping around only a day after you gave me my marching orders? I thought I was the last person you wanted to see.”

  She darted a glance at his face then looked at the ground. “Seb…”

  “Ah, yes, you still need me to train Seb. So you’ll put up with talking to me while I’m useful.” He released her as though her skin burned him and shoved his hands into his pockets. Jaw clenched, he turned away. “How does it feel to play the martyr, Eva? Does it make you feel virtuous?”

  She caught her lower lip, aware of the irony. Virtue didn’t come into it. Just the ridiculous sense of security Luc’s arms gave her. She shook her head. Her safe place couldn’t be in his arms. “I came to apologize. You were right. I shouldn’t have said what I did to you.”

  He leaned against a tree, pushed his hat back with a thumb and surveyed her. “Big of you.”

  He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. And why should he? What she’d said was inexcusable. “If you’ll have him, Seb would love to continue working with you, and—I wanted to thank you for allowing him to fix his bike.”

  “Seb is welcome here anytime. I don’t go back on my word.”

  “But I’m not. Is that it?” She straightened her shoulders, tipped her chin up and met his gaze. “I guess I deserve that. Thank you for—”

  “Of course that’s not what I meant.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Wild disarray suited him, like he’d just gotten out of bed.

  Her fingers itched to plunge into the dark waves but fantasy didn’t change the fact he wanted her land. Why did he get under her skin so much? “You have a beautiful home.”

  He slapped his hat against his thigh and met her gaze. “Look, we’re neighbors now and Seb is going to be here every day. Shall we at least try to get on better? Truce?”

  A truce with Luc meant learning to trust him a little and keeping a rein on her emotional response to him. It would be difficult under the best of circumstances and they had got off on the wrong foot but what choice did she have? She held out her hand. “Truce.”

  His hand enveloped hers, warm and strong, and extended in guarded friendship. Friendship? It was a beginning, as long as she stopped saying outrageous things to him. If only she could stop wanting the safe feeling his arms gave her, maybe they could be friends. “Good, well, I’m glad that’s sorted. I should head back home.”

  “Why don’t you come up to the house, have a drink and then I’ll drive you back.”

  “I should be getting back. Seb—”

  “—is working and won’t notice where you are.” He tipped his head to one side and scanned her face as though weighing up an important decision. “Have dinner with me? Tomorrow night at the club?”

  Yes. Oh, yes. An evening with Luc, maybe dancing in his arms. Then what? Was she strong enough to resist what would surely follow? “I can’t. Really, I should be going.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face and she squirmed uncomfortably. Heat pooled low in her belly and her bodice tightened, constricting her breathing. Where was her famous ice queen poise when she needed it? It had worked on Timothy Smythe-Jones. Little Miss Frigidaire he’d labeled her to his Oxford set.

  “Are you afraid to be seen in my company?”

  She was afraid. Of Luc and the way he made her feel when he was near. She didn’t want to feel like that—exposed and vulnerable. Like she wanted to crawl into his skin with him.

  But she couldn’t fail to notice the tension in his tone and expression. Had her refusal offended him or was his pride stinging him? “I thought we agreed to a truce.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question. Forget it.” His jaw tightened and he stepped away.

  Before she realized it, her hand reached for his forearm. “No. I’m—I haven’t been out since Phillip…since he died. I’m not afraid of—” She sucked in a breath at the lie.

  “Eva? What is it?”

  Concern colored h
is tone and she thought of how much better she felt when Luc was near. Aside from his offer to buy her land, which had been made up front, his presence made her feel better than she had since Phillip’s death. She needed that feeling to last a little longer. “I will take you up on that drink, Luc. I—need to tell you something.”

  Wordlessly, he took her arm and led her up to the house. They crossed the wide verandah and entered a high-ceilinged reception room. Teak doors and beams contrasted with white walls and carved furniture. He seated her on a rattan chair opposite a picture window that framed a view of the sea. “Would you like a whiskey or juice?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day for hard liquor?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you needed some Dutch courage.” He poured two glasses of juice, handed one to her, and then sat in the single chair beside her. “So, what do you need to tell me?”

  “Last night we had an intruder.”

  “An intruder? Why didn’t you phone me?” He sat forward and the intensity of his scrutiny warmed her, like a protective blanket.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I thought I’d had a silly dream but a window was open in the library and a—paper had been folded as though someone was taking it with them but dropped it.”

  “You didn’t see him then?”

  Eva shook her head. “I smelled smoke on the curtains this morning.” Amoka. It had to be Amoka.

  “Was anything taken?”

  “Well, that’s just it. I think he was looking for a particular something and didn’t find it.”

  “What?”

  She’d said too much already. “Look, I don’t want to burden you with my nonsense. I just thought you should know, so you can take precautions.”

  Piercing dark eyes assessed her. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  ***

  Eva handed Luc the photo and perched on the edge of her office desk. He had insisted on seeing the library first, and he had discovered footprints along with an unusual black cigarette butt beneath the library window. She hadn’t thought to look there.

  “You think the intruder was taking this photo? But why? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. But it’s the only thing that was out of place and I didn’t fold it.”

  “You said the window was open. Maybe the paper blew down from wherever you’d left it and he stepped on it on his way out. It could be that simple. Unless you have a reason for thinking this photo means something to someone.” He examined the photo again and held it up beside her face. “There’s a strong resemblance to the woman in the portrait, as well as the red hair. Are you related to her?”

  “She was my ancestor, Josephine Dubois. Back in the late eighteenth century, she married a wealthy merchant and moved to New Orleans where that portrait was painted. Her diary records her marriage and—other people she knew.” Eva could feel heat creeping up her cheeks. Josephine had known Ivan all too well. The memory of some of her entries about her lover elicited a tingly sensation in Eva’s stomach. Tingles that spread lower when she looked at Luc. To love someone as Josephine loved Ivan must have been heaven. And hell when she lost him.

  “Do you have her diary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she talk about the necklace?”

  “She sketched and described it. I think it may have been a gift.”

  “Her husband must have been a very wealthy merchant to afford such a piece.”

  “I don’t think he gave it to her.” She cleared her throat. “I think it was a gift from her lover.”

  Luc’s eyebrows rose and he whistled long and low. “Some lover’s gift. It looks like a piece fit for a queen. Who was he, this lover?”

  “Josephine only referred to him as Ivan. I assume he was Russian by his name.”

  “So a Russian lover gave your great, great-aunt an emerald and diamond necklace and now, in 1960, this photo is the only thing out of place after a break in. Tenuous link at best, don’t you think? Is your family connection to this portrait widely known?” He laid the photo on the desk between them.

  “The newspaper did include a paragraph in their article about it. And the local paper here picked up the story when we arrived, although they made a lot of factual errors in their report.” Including that heiress label. “But that portrait was painted almost two centuries ago. Why would anyone think we know anything about it now?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Frankly, as a theory it seems rather farfetched. Look, the break in was probably a one-time incident, opportunistic and nothing more, but I can send over a gun if that would make you feel more secure. I heard you’ve acquired a manager. I can speak to him if you like, find out if he saw or heard anything.”

  Luc’s calm common sense restored her perspective and his logical approach inspired trust. “I’ll talk to Stefan later. I have my father’s service pistol. I would have thought of that earlier but I haven’t finished unpacking.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “No. Phil showed me how to clean it but I’ve never wanted to fire it. I hope to God I never have to.”

  “If you like, I can check it for you now. Have you got it handy?”

  Eva nodded and opened the cupboard beneath her father’s desk. She ran her fingers over his initials inlaid in the top. Carefully, she placed it on the desk, lifted the lid and removed the pistol. Two-handed, she offered it to Luc.

  He tested the weight and checked the sight, opened it and checked the chambers. “It’s a fine piece. Would you like a lesson after you’ve cleaned it?”

  She swallowed and nodded. “If I’m going to use it, I should know how to do so properly and safely. Thank you.”

  ***

  Luc walked back from the target he’d set up ten yards away. He took up a position behind Eva and repeated the instructions. “Okay, release the safety catch, use two hands to steady your aim, sight and squeeze the trigger.”

  She tensed, shut her eyes and jerked the trigger. The explosion set off a cacophony of squawking in the trees and a flight of parrots took wing above their heads. Unprepared for the kick, she lurched backward into Luc’s solid chest. His warm hands caught her elbows and he chuckled. “You won’t hit anything if you close your eyes, Eva. And you need to squeeze the trigger, not jerk it. Like this.”

  He fitted his length against hers. Heat blazed down her spine as his body shaped hers, surrounding her. Every nerve sought closer contact with him until she was unsure where she ended and he began. The rasp of his stubbled chin against her cheek sent goose bumps down her right side and his warm breath fanned across her skin as he repeated his instructions in her ear. His hands closed over hers on the pistol.

  Her head was cushioned against his shoulder and she nestled against the tanned column of his neck. A fraction of a turn of her head and her nose bumped into his chin. She closed her eyes and inhaled the most intoxicating scent she’d ever smelled. Old Spice aftershave mingled with clean, male sweat and images drawn from the pages of Josephine’s diary. Heat rushed to that place between her thighs, moist and insistent and wanting, and her breath became choppy.

  “You have to look at the target. Eva?”

  She opened her eyes and tipped her head up. Mere inches from hers, his lips shaped her name. Such beautiful lips. The urge built within to trace their outline with her finger, her tongue, to taste them.

  “Eva?”

  She eased one hand from their joint hold on the gun and touched his cheek. Stubble scraped her fingers and a muscle jumped beneath her hand. He lowered the pistol and flicked on the safety catch before sliding it into its holster. In one smooth twist she turned into his arms and slipped hers around his neck.

  He lowered his head and their mouths met in a kiss soft as spring rain. Her body trembled, heat zinged through her veins and pooled low in her belly. All their verbal sparring, their unexpected and heady attraction had been a prelude to this kiss. Prepared for fight or flight, her body chose close quarter act
ion.

  With a groan, Luc wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. His tongue swept between her parted lips and met hers. He deepened the kiss and she met him with her own need and desire, sucking his lower lip and diving into his mouth to tangle with his tongue. Could she get closer? Pressed to his chest, her nipples rubbed against her bra and his muscles and responded by sending desperate messages to her core, which in turn pressed nearer to his thickening erection.

  ##

  “Hey, boss, you up here, boss? Someone’s shooting.”

  Luc reluctantly released Eva’s lips and raised his head. The boys were headed this way and she was still very firmly pressed against him. Her reputation wouldn’t survive the retelling if they were spotted wrapped around each other. And Sebastian was probably with them. What would he think if he saw his boss seducing his aunt?

  He unholstered the pistol and placed it in her hand. “The boys are coming. Take the gun.”

  She blinked up at him. There was little he could do about her kiss-swollen lips or the pink mark where his stubble had scraped her soft skin but he could protect her reputation. He turned her to face the target once more and said roughly, “Eva, take aim and fire the damned gun. The boys are nearly here.”

  She ran her tongue across her lower lip and drew a deep breath. In one smooth movement, she raised the pistol, aimed, and fired as the boys emerged from the trees behind her.

  “Woo hoo! Way to go, Evie! You hit the target.” Seb bounded up and applauded, followed by Acky and Moe. “When did you learn to shoot?”

  “I’ve been giving your aunt a lesson. It seemed prudent after—last night.”

  “You mean the break in? Yeah, well, can I have a go, too?”

  “If it’s okay with your aunt?”

  She cleared her throat and handed over the gun. “Don’t let him take up too much of your time, Luc, and thank you—for the lesson.” Pink blazoned in her cheeks and she turned quickly away.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night.”

  “What for? Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Seven. We’re going to finish our conversation.”