“That makes two of us.”
He looked at her, eyes so sad, as silence roared between them over the hum of the engines.
Con got a nasty feeling in his stomach as the pilot asked them to put their seat-belts on in preparation for landing.
They’d never left the continental United States.
All those snake-curving rivers, all that lush green beauty—he’d never seen it from the air before but he was pretty sure it was the Mississippi Delta he’d spent some seriously rotten times in. And that glimmering fat ribbon down there had to be Old Man River itself. They’d probably flown right over his “alma mater” down in Natchez. And if he wasn’t very much mistaken, right now they were coming in for a landing in…
Louisiana.
He glanced at Lizzie. Tight-lipped, she adjusted her seat-belt—she’d never unfastened it—and stared out the window.
You have good food to eat, a roof over your head, you’re helping Lizzie get back on her feet. You aimed too high and got your wings burned off. You called the tune, and now you have to pay the piper. Deal with it.
He’d been honest when he told her he couldn’t love her. When you loved people, you lost them and it ripped your heart open and bled out all the good stuff. Left nothing but the working parts.
Turned you into the kind of person who could deceive someone you cared about.
He took a deep breath and straightened his cuffs. Braced himself as the plane descended toward a sliver of tarmac shimmering in the afternoon heat. A couple of bumps and they were down.
He forced a smile. “We’re here.”
“Yes.” She didn’t glance at him. She looked nervous, stiff, her fingers fumbling with her seat-belt clasp, eyes darting about.
“We don’t have to go through with this, you know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be a liar. We can tell them it was a mistake, that we’re not ready to get married or something.”
He held his breath and cursed himself for wanting to marry her anyway. It made no sense, but—
She turned on him, eyes wide. “I’m not a liar. I’m marrying the man of my dreams, remember?” She yanked her bag down from the overhead compartment. “You were the man of my dreams not so very long ago. I’m just playing fast and loose with chronology.”
He held out his hand to take her bag. She ignored it.
“Where are we?” he asked the middle-aged pilot who had emerged from the cabin.
“This is the Houma-Terrebonne airport in Houma, Louisiana.”
I knew it. Con managed a polite nod and glanced at Lizzie.
She stood rigid as they waited for the door to open.
What the hell were they doing here?
He shouldn’t have told her where he was from, but he’d vowed to himself he wouldn’t lie to her anymore. Wouldn’t even bend the truth. He’d turned over a new leaf, and he wasn’t going back.
Whatever you’ve got coming to you, you deserve it.
A deep, ugly voice from the past echoed in his head. Made his fingers curl into fists.
“This way, watch your step!” The cheerful pilot gestured to the stairs. Con indicated that Lizzie should go first, and she did, tossing her hair stiffly behind her shoulders.
Heat and humidity wrapped around him. A black limo idled on the stained tarmac, shining in the sun. A driver got out. “Miss Hathaway?”
“Yes.” Lizzie handed him her bag and climbed into the car with no further preliminaries. Con put his own bag in the trunk.
“Where are we going?” he asked the driver, fear snaking in his gut.
“Some place called the Dumas Plantation.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. Probably near home.
Home. What a funny word for your own personal hell.
He climbed into the car with Lizzie and closed the compartment between them and the driver.
He leaned close enough to feel the heat from her skin, to smell the traces of perfume that clung to it. “This is no surprise to you. You told them to choose Louisiana.”
“I always said you were smart.” She held her chin high, corkscrew curls of hair trailing over her shoulders.
“Why?” To punish him? What had she found out? His gut tightened, and he swallowed hard.
“So you can visit your ‘ancestral home.’ Go back to that fantasy plantation all your pretend ancestors came from.” She turned to him, eyes flashing. “Be the lord of the manor for real.”
He frowned. “You’re kidding.”
She pulled her hair up and twisted it into a knot. “Nope. It’s real. Do you like the idea?”
“Can’t say I do.” He’d rather be any place on earth than here in Louisiana. This place held all the guilt and shame he’d tried so hard to run from. Things he couldn’t even think about without—
He blew out a breath of air and shook his head. Looked at the smooth, slightly flushed skin of her cheek as she stared out the window.
“You said that when you were with me you felt like you really were an aristocrat with an avenue of live oaks, so now you’ll have your live oaks if only for a few days.”
She didn’t turn to look at him, but her voice sounded soft, almost nostalgic. Had she really planned this as a kind of treat? Maybe he’d misjudged her. She’d been so hostile lately he thought she was out to draw blood from him any way she could. Maybe she still had a little bit of heart left that he hadn’t broken.
“That’s sweet of you. I mean it.” Damn. He was touched. Wanted to give her a hug. Wanted to kiss those warm soft lips he couldn’t get near anymore.
Almost forgot it was part of a scam they were pulling on a cable network and the viewing public.
She turned to him again. “I do hope there are no outstanding warrants for your arrest in the state of Louisiana.”
“Nope. I think the statute of limitations has expired on all of them.” He winked and actually started to relax a little. Who’d have thunk it? Here he was, back in Louisiana, a grown man and master of his own destiny.
Well, not really, but he would be once Lizzie had her fun with him.
He’d been afraid of the whole state for ten years, almost shivering when he heard the name, but now he could fly right in here in a private jet and go about his business.
He stretched and took off his jacket. Folded it up and placed it on the seat beside him. It wasn’t until they drove out of the airport complex and pulled onto the highway that old haunted feeling crept over him again and threatened to suck the life out of him.
He’d left this place to save his own hide, and there was no running from the guilt that came with that choice.
The car drove along quiet back roads for an eternity. A feeling of foreboding crept up on Lizzie like the Spanish moss that engulfed the trees.
Since they’d left the highway the landscape was eerie and desolate and several of the houses they’d passed seemed to be abandoned ruins. Sometimes a new house was built right next to the crumbling wreck of an old one, the past hunkered in the backyard like a ghost. Bayous and deep swamps gleamed through the trees around them.
“So this is where you’re from, huh?”
Con stared out the window, transfixed, silent for most of the ride. “Yeah.”
“It’s kind of creepy.”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of beautiful too.”
“Yeah.”
Con’s slick charm had apparently been left behind in New York and he stared out the window, not talking unless she did first. She was relieved when the car finally pulled onto the promised avenue of live oaks and began its approach to the Dumas Plantation.
“Wow.” Con craned forward to peer out the windshield. The bright white Greek Revival mansion loomed at the end of the driveway, windows shaded by deep verandas on both floors. “It’s huge.”
“It has to accommodate the entire crew, and the wedding will be in either the garden arbor, or the indoor ballroom, depending on the weather.”
“Indoor ballroom.” He smiled.
“I like that.”
“And look, there’s the first camera.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt, anxiety shooting up her spine. “At least I think that’s a camera.” The lone cameraman looked so unimpressive, no lights, no giant microphones, just a scruffy guy with a camcorder on his shoulder.
A girl with a clipboard came running to the car the moment it stopped. Gia. Breathless and sweaty, her fine hair sticking to her forehead.
Fierce heat and humidity rolled in as Con lowered the window.
“Hey, guys, have a decent flight? Great. That’s Dino, the camera guy. He’s going to take some handheld footage of you arriving as soon as I get out of here, okay, so just act natural, head up to the steps and whatever you do, don’t look at the camera. I’ll meet you inside.” She slammed the door and scurried away without giving them time to get a word in.
“Act natural, but don’t look at the camera.” Lizzie licked her lips. “This should be interesting. It seems so rude not to say hi to the camera guy.”
They climbed out of the car and a weird fake smile attached itself to her lips. She waited for Con to join her, but he’d gone round the back to get their bags. There was some fumbling and muttering with the driver about who’d carry the bags, and Con finally joined her, empty-handed, with his own weird fake smile fixed in place. He offered her his arm, and she took it gratefully.
The walk up the rather cracked driveway took about three hours. At least that’s what it felt like. She could feel her hair bushing out in the sweltering damp air and sweat droplets moistened the skin between her breasts.
“Isn’t it lovely,” she murmured, sounding about as natural as a singing Barbie.
“It’s magnificent,” replied Talking Ken. Oh, lord, this was going to be a really long few days. Her entire body felt rigid, a walking robot, as they marched past the cameraman, eyes firmly fixed on the front door.
She stumbled on the gray-painted wooden steps and suppressed a curse, but Con’s strong arm stopped her from falling. When they opened the door, Gia was right there with her clipboard.
“Let’s do that again,” called the cameraman, just as Lizzie was about to dive into the welcome shade of the interior.
She turned to greet the man she’d so pointedly ignored, but he didn’t notice as he was busy doing something to his camera.
“He wants you to get back in the car and walk up again. It’s often more natural the second time.” Gia smiled. “More real.”
Chapter 12
Lizzie’s sandals squeaked on the polished wood floors as she trailed behind Gia during their tour of the house. She could smell fresh paint on the walls and even the draperies looked brand-new—expensive reproductions in luxurious fabrics. Fine antiques occupied the rooms with stately confidence that implied they’d been there since the house was built.
The only serious snag seemed to be a lack of air conditioning. The system had died and apparently they were waiting to install new duct work before replacing it. The kitchen was a relic from the 1930’s, with monstrous white enameled appliances and a sink large enough to gut a pig, but since the show had brought a genuine Louisiana chef with them from New York, that wasn’t her problem.
Their tour ended in the master bedroom, which unfortunately Gia expected them to share. The four-poster bed loomed in the middle of the room like a prison with only four bars. Con already sprawled across it, the jailor.
“C’mon, babe, you know you sleep better wrapped up in my arms.” He tipped his head and smiled softly at her, for the benefit of Gia and Dino, who stood in the doorway.
She stiffened. Unfortunately, it was true. She had such a terrible time sleeping lately she’d take a tranquilizer if it would help her rest. Con’s arms were cheaper and more readily available, if no less addictive.
“To be honest, we don’t really have a spare bed,” said Gia. “Other people would have to double up if one of you takes another room.”
Lizzie smiled stiffly. “I’m just worried about shocking the viewers.” Thank God the camera was off for now.
“No sweat,” said Dino with a dimpled grin. He was a young guy with messy black hair and an easy manner. “Our viewers are pretty open minded. The show’s slated to air right after co-ed wrestling so whatever you do will look pretty tame.”
Lizzie cringed. “Right then, we’ll share this room. It’s lovely, thank you.” Her smile ached. “I’ll take a quick nap if you don’t mind.” It was the best she could come up with short of saying, please leave.
Con winked and smoothed a spot on the bed with splayed fingers. Gia giggled. God, she was practically drooling over him. And he’d already established an easy rapport with Dino the cameraman and Raoul the makeup guy, who’d announced that Con didn’t need makeup. His expression had suggested there wasn’t quite enough makeup in the world for her.
Gia waved at Con and smiled at Lizzie. “Catch you later! Dinner’s at seven and don’t forget we’ll be filming as you come down the stairs.”
“Looking forward to it!” Her smile made one last gargantuan effort, then collapsed as the door closed behind them.
“Get off the bed,” she growled, hurling herself onto it.
“I don’t think so.” He shifted onto his side, looking disgustingly comfortable.
“What the hell are you playing at? I swear, next time you call me babe, I’m going to slap you.”
“I’ve always called you babe.”
“Not in public.”
“True.” He stretched, flexing his muscles until they cracked. “But we’ve never had much of an audience before, have we? I never met your friends. You kept me pretty much under wraps.”
“I’m a quiet, reclusive type.” She stared up at the brocade hanging over the bed, relieved it looked freshly laundered. “I like to keep to myself. That way I don’t have to worry about people trying to trick me and lie to me.”
Her nerves were frayed from keeping a smile fixed in place all afternoon. A question she’d never thought to ask before had popped into her brain almost as soon as they were trapped under the stare of the camera. “When we arranged to meet for lunch that day, and you didn’t show up, and you let me think you worked in the Wheelock Engineering office building, rather than in some garage across the street—was that something you planned?”
Con’s expression darkened. He looked away to the window. “No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “No. I didn’t plan it.”
“So what happened, exactly?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He took a deep breath. “I knew you’d gotten a mistaken impression of what I did for a living. At first I liked that you made all the wrong assumptions about me. That you thought I was successful and educated. It felt good.” He gave her a wary look.
“You were curious to see how well Frankie’s polishing had worked?”
“Yeah, I guess that was part of it, in the beginning. But we were getting more serious, you know, past the flirting stage. I could see myself in a real relationship with you and I figured it was time to set you straight. That was why I asked you to meet me at work. They hired me pretty often and I was hoping to get a full time job there. It was a nice place, neat, well run—” He shrugged. “Anyway, I got held up by a customer, showing him what I’d done to his car, so I was rushed and late and looking out for you while I was still working. I went into the bathroom and cleaned up. When I came out, you were standing across the street outside that office tower.”
He paused, and his eyes took on a shadowed look. “You looked so beautiful. So ladylike and elegant and…perfect. I could tell you thought I worked in that office building.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “When I saw you there I had a weird feeling. I suddenly knew that if I told you the truth about me…I’d lose you.” He shot a dark, piercing glance at her. “And now I know I was right.”
Was he? Her parents would have had a fit if they knew she was seeing an uneducated mechanic. And Maisie. And her so-called friends…
But she could have made up her own mind. Followed her heart.
If she’d had the chance.
“You shouldn’t have tricked me.” Her voice trembled. “You should have let me make my own decision.” She swallowed hard. “When were you going to finally tell me the truth? On our wedding night?” She bit her lip, willed back the tears.
Con swallowed. “I thought that maybe if we were already married…” He looked down.
“I still could have divorced you, you know.” Her voice cracked as she spat the words at him.
He looked down. “I’m sorry Lizzie. You know I am. Don’t cry.”
She avoided looking at him. “I’m not going to cry.” She cleared her throat to get rid of the scratch in her voice. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. And just because you let me wait there for forty-five minutes while you stood across the street watching me and waiting for me to leave—” She gulped a shaky breath. “You are sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“It’s bare wood.” He tilted his head and looked at her with those big dark eyes that so easily turned her into a sucker.
“It’ll be just like home, back in the shack.” She fixed her eyes on him, steeled herself against all emotion. “Which we’ll be visiting tomorrow with the camera crew.”
Con sat up like a shot. “What?”
“You didn’t think we’d come all the way down here and not visit scenic Mudbug Flats?”
Con stared at her, his mouth slightly open. Blinked. “Why?”
“So I can see where you come from. Meet your family.” She rolled onto her side and tried to look relaxed. “It wouldn’t be a real wedding without family. And unfortunately mine are temporarily indisposed.” She extended into what she hoped looked like a casual stretch. “I tried to track Mom down at the ashram, but she’d left. Gone to climb a mountain or something. Probably scaling Mount Everest with Martha Stewart.” Her voice sounded flat. “Anyway, we’d better get dressed for dinner. Formal, remember? Glittering candelabra, plates laden with local delicacies.”
Why did Con still have that strange expression on his face? He was truly rattled.
A Bad Boy is Good to Find Page 12
