by Leann Harris
Silence settled on the cab of the truck, but Jean-Paul savored her answer as he drove the rest of the way home. His mood soured at the sight of Guy Boudreaux sitting on his porch, obviously waiting for them.
“Now what?” he grumbled.
Angie faced him. “You promised, Jean-Paul, you would try to be nice to him.”
He noted she gave his name the proper inflection.
“And as you told me earlier, you always keep your promises.”
She didn’t need to remind him. “I remember, Angeline.”
Guy stood and walked down the steps to greet them. He nodded to Jean-Paul and kissed Angeline on the cheek. Jean-Paul was tempted to push Guy away from her, but he restrained himself.
“I tried calling you, Angeline, but got no answer. I became worried and came over to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine. Jean-Paul was with me. We went—”
“Out.” Jean-Paul didn’t want Guy to know where they’d been, because Guy would turn around and tell Roger.
Angeline frowned at him, but he shook his head, silently telling her not to say anything more. And although he knew she didn’t agree with him, she complied.
“Uh, yes, out.”
A warm feeling wrapped itself around his heart at her show of trust in him. Even her comment to Guy that she’d been with him, said with a confidence that implied she’d been safe, made him proud.
Guy cleared his throat. “Well, the reason I was calling is I wanted to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. I know your impressions of my father and my wife are somewhat colored, but they’re sorry for their earlier actions and want the opportunity to get to know you and have you know them.”
Jean-Paul wanted to scream to the heavens that Guy was lying through his teeth. That the only reason those two rats wanted Angeline to come was so that they could ferret out any weakness she might have and use it against her. But one look at Angeline’s face and he knew he couldn’t tell her that. Given time and opportunity, Angeline would discover that truth herself.
“I’d be delighted to come. May I bring Jean-Paul with me?”
Guy looked as if someone had kicked him in the pants. “Of course. We’d be delighted to have him accompany you.”
Like hell you would. But he’d give Guy this, he was a smooth liar.
Angie touched Jean-Paul’s arm. “Will you go with me?”
He’d rather eat with snakes, but he wouldn’t allow Angeline to walk into that pit without him. “Yes. I’ll go.” And protect you. His gaze locked with the other man’s, and silently Jean-Paul promised him that if anything happened to Angeline, Guy Boudreaux would pay—in blood.
Chapter 14
“I want to thank you, Jean-Paul, for being polite to Guy this afternoon,” Angeline said, sitting back in the rocker.
Jean-Paul, who was sprawled on the couch watching TV, sent her a disgruntled look. From the instant he’d agreed to go with her, he regretted the decision. But there had been no other choice short of ordering Angeline not to go, and he knew she wouldn’t sit still for that kind of high-handedness from him.
She ran her hands up and down the curved arms of the wooden rocker. “I know you’re not pleased about my going, but I feel I have to take this opportunity to get to know Guy and his father.”
He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sugar, a gator is a gator. And when he’s out on the bank sunning himself, he looks like a lazy, old critter. But you get close enough and give that gator the opportunity, you’re goin’ to be his lunch.”
“I knew it.” She sounded like a mother who’d just caught her child stealing cookies from the cookie jar. “I knew you were upset.”
“I’ll admit that I’d rather eat with gators than Roger Boudreaux, but I made you a promise. And I plan on living up to it.”
She stood. “I think you’re blaming Guy for the sins of his father.”
If he told her how he really felt about the situation, it would appear he was attacking Guy, and that would drive Angeline right into his hands. Jean-Paul shrugged. “Could be.”
She walked over to where he sat. Her chin came up and the light of battle entered her blue eyes. “You’re just saying that to make me happy. You don’t believe that.”
Why was she trying to pick a fight with him? Slowly, he rose to his feet. “How do you know that, chère?”
“Because I feel it here.” She laid her hand over her heart.
His larger hand covered hers and his fingers rested on her breast. “I can believe that, because it’s the same for me.” His fingers contracted, bringing a small gasp from her lips. Blood pounded through his brain and his jeans suddenly became too tight. “Why is it that way for us?”
“I don’t know.” She backed away from him, her eyes reflecting her confusion.
“Why won’t you trust your heart, Angeline?” he asked, stepping toward her. She scooted around the couch. “Tell me, chère, why you don’t give in to your passion?”
Her lips trembled. “You want to know why?”
“Please, help me to understand.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective gesture. “I’d been teaching a year when the college invited this actor with wonderful credentials to come and help put on several Shakespeare plays. Richard was charming, dramatic and could coax a snake out of its skin. He certainly charmed me.” She paused, swallowing several times.
“And you fell in love with him?”
She nodded. “When he asked me to marry him, I was flattered, excited and immediately said yes. He found a lovely, little house right outside of town for us to live in.”
Jean-Paul knew what was coming next and braced himself.
“Richard was embarrassed that he didn’t have the cash for the down payment, but he told me the owner wanted to sell and someone else had bid on the house. I gave him the ten thousand he needed. He skipped town with the money.”
Hearing the tears in her voice, Jean-Paul moved around the couch and pulled her into his arms. “The fault wasn’t yours for loving, Angel.”
She turned her face into his shirt and burrowed deeper into his embrace.
“Did they ever catch the man?”
“Yes.”
There was a tortured quality to her voice that warned him he hadn’t heard the worst. “Tell me the rest, mon coeur.”
“Richard had done the same thing to another woman in the next county at the same time. When he was caught fleecing a third woman in upstate Vermont, they prosecuted him and called me as a witness. I had to sit there and tell all my neighbors and friends what a fool I’d been. Several had cautioned me about him, and there I was admitting I didn’t have the sense of a turkey.”
The pain her words brought surprised Jean-Paul. He knew exactly the humiliation she’d endured. And he knew how that could scar a heart. He’d lived through a similar experience.
His hand cupped the back of her head and he tilted it up to gain access to her mouth. He tasted the saltiness of her tears on her lips. Her hands grasped handfuls of his shirt, bringing her closer to him.
She needed him, almost as badly as he needed her.
Suddenly, she pulled away. Anguish and regret turned her eyes the color of a storm-darkened sky. “I can’t. I almost didn’t survive the pain the last time, Jean-Paul.” She held out her hand. “Please understand.”
“You didn’t survive, Angeline. You’ve allowed him to rob you of your heart.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re wrong. When I was arrested, I was engaged to a very well-connected lady. It didn’t take her two hours after hearing about my arrest to break off the engagement. Her excuse was, How would it look to be associated with a criminal? It was her heart that was shallow. Not mine.”
“What of the grudge you hold against the Boudreaux family?” she shot back. “That rules your life, just as Richard’s actions rule mine.”
Her words were like a slap in the face. “You are a Boudreaux after
all.”
He turned and walked out the front door.
* * *
Angie collapsed onto the sofa, ashamed at what she’d said to Jean-Paul. Her trembling hands covered her face and she bent over her knees. The Saint Christopher medal that he’d given her the previous night slipped out of the neck of her blouse.
She clasped the disk and looked at it. “I’m sorry, Jean- Paul,” she whispered to the empty room. “So very sorry.”
Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Her only excuse for being so hateful was that she’d been fighting for her very existence. If she’d surrendered her heart to Jean-Paul, yielded to the pulsing beat of life that he called forth, and then he turned from her, she knew she would never recover. What she’d felt for Richard paled in comparison to what she felt for Jean-Paul. She would never survive his leaving her. So wasn’t it better not to give in to her feelings for him, than to risk losing it all?
The phone rang, causing Angie to jump. After taking a deep breath, she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I must have the wrong number. I was calling for Jean-Paul Delahaye.” She started to hang up.
“Wait,” Angie cried. “You have the right number.”
“Oh... May I speak to him?”
“He isn’t here right now. May I take a message?”
The woman at the other end paused. “Yes. My name is Nancy Wells. Tell him that I have the information on the Boudreaux case that he asked for.”
“What did he ask you to find?”
“I can’t share that with you.”
“Please. I’m the reason Jean-Paul is trying to find out who took the case. The answer may tell us who killed my mother.”
Angie had given up hope Nancy would answer, when she said, “Tell Jean-Paul that Edward Dias was the only attorney in the Boudreaux case. John Kirby never saw the file.”
“Edward Dias?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“You know him?” Nancy asked.
“No, I don’t.” But the implications were stunning. “Thank you for the information.” Her hand shook so badly that it took two tries to hang up the phone.
The news was explosive. And she was afraid of how Jean-Paul would react. She turned off the TV and sat back on the couch to wait for his return. Her mind raced with a dozen different ways to break the news to him. When she heard his footsteps on the porch, she sat up straighter.
He seemed surprised to see her, but he didn’t say anything. He started toward the kitchen.
“Jean-Paul.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around to face her. She ached for him, wanted to wrap her arms around him and comfort him. But how could she do that when she was the major cause of his pain?
“Nancy Wells called.”
“What did she say?” he asked, turning toward her.
“She said Edward Dias was the only attorney on the Boudreaux case after you left.”
“Not John Kirby?”
“No.”
It was as if she’d laid a whip across his back. His face tightened with pain. “And I sent her to him.” The moan that ripped from his mouth came from the deepest part of his soul.
She stood and took a step. He moved back, away from her.
“Go to bed, Angeline.” He turned and walked into the kitchen, then out the side door into the night.
* * *
Angie glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It showed two minutes after two. It had been four hours since Jean-Paul had walked out of the house. She had changed into her nightgown and robe, but hadn’t bothered going to bed. She knew she couldn’t sleep.
She looked out the bedroom window, searching for him among the trees and tall grass. The ache in her chest expanded, robbing her of breath. Her fingers worried the Saint Christopher medal.
He was out there, hurting and blaming himself for Marianna’s death. And he needed her.
The pull of that need overwhelmed all her fears and she hurried through the house out into the night.
Angeline.
She heard the cry as clearly as if he’d shouted it. She paused on the bottom step, scanning the area beyond the house. Through the leaves of a pecan tree, she saw him sitting on the ground, his back braced against the trunk.
The moonlight filtered through the rustling leaves making odd shapes of light dance over his extended legs, but his face was buried in the shadows of the night. She didn’t need to see his expression. She felt it. Felt the blame he heaped on himself, and the despair.
She slowly approached him. “Jean-Paul.”
He said nothing, but watched her approach. She held out her hand to him. “Come back inside with me. Please.”
He didn’t move and she couldn’t simply turn around and leave him out here in his anguish. She knelt beside him and took his hand. His eyes were black with pain. “It wasn’t your fault. How could you have known? And if you had, you never would’ve sent Marianna to him.”
“I called him a friend,” he whispered, his voice raw. “How could he have betrayed me like that? After I got out of prison, I called him and asked who’d taken over the case. He swore up and down it was John. That by the time the case was turned over to him, all the evidence had disappeared.” His head fell back against the tree trunk.
She scooted closer and rested her other hand on his cheek. “Didn’t you just tell me that my heart wasn’t the one at fault, when I loved and lost? The blame isn’t yours, Jean-Paul. It’s Edward’s.”
He moaned, and buried his face between her breasts. His arms wrapped around her waist and she felt the violent tremors that shook his body. She closed her eyes, relief washing through her that he had given in to his sorrow.
Her hands held his head, her fingers lightly stroking the rich strands of his dark hair as the grief roared through him.
Her poor Jean-Paul. He had cared too deeply to guard his heart. And had paid the price. But she didn’t doubt he’d love again. And oddly enough, his pain gave her the courage to risk her own heart.
She felt his lips press against the inside slope of her breast again and again in a series of small kisses.
“Angeline,” he moaned, his voice dark with need. “My sweet angel.”
His hold slackened and she pulled back to look into his eyes. Through the hurt, Angie saw something that drew her. A yearning. A love. She answered by settling her mouth on his. Her tongue plunged past his teeth, reveling in the unique masculine taste of him.
He pulled her across his lap, then cupped the back of her head, angling it so she had better access to his mouth. The heat and smell of him surrounded her and filled her senses. But more than that, there was a wildness in Jean-Paul, a natural joy in the pleasures of life that called to her. And that heat and passion melted the cage that held her soul.
The solid wall of his chest pressed against her side. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. His hand stopped her.
“Are you sure, chère? Because there will be no turning back once we become lovers. You’re not doing this simply to comfort me? You want this as much as I do, don’t you, Angeline?”
Tears filled her eyes. That he would consider her feelings and needs at this time proved to her he was a man of honor. At that moment, she knew without doubt she loved Jean-Paul.
“Yes, Jean-Paul. I want this. I want you.”
He released her hand. He didn’t move or make any other gesture to further the intimacy, and she knew he was giving her one final chance to back out.
She leaned up and ran her tongue over his lower lip, and her fingers resumed their task of unbuttoning his shirt.
“Such a clever little tongue,” he whispered. “Give it to me.”
He settled his mouth over hers and allowed her to lead the dance. Angie’s fingers got to the last button and pulled his shirt from his jeans. He helped her slide the material off his shoulders and down his arms.
Her hands skimmed up his arms and down over the muscles of his chest. “You are so beautiful,�
� she breathed, laying her palms against the hardness of his belly.
He gritted his teeth and threw his head back.
“Jean-Paul, what’s wrong?”
His laugh was a cross between a bark and a moan.
“Those sweet, little hands of yours are killing me. But it’s a death I gladly welcome.” He picked up each one and placed a kiss in the center of the palm.
His reaction made her giddy.
“I want more, Angel, but not out here. The sheriff’s been known to snoop around people’s homes. I think we should go inside.”
Angie blushed and scrambled to her feet. The very idea of making love out in the open was scandalous. But oh, so appealing.
“Someday,” he said as he stood, “I promise we’ll come to this very spot and love the night away.” He picked up his shirt and threw it over his shoulder, then swept Angie up into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you inside. I don’t want to lose you now.”
“You won’t, Jean-Paul.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”
As he carried her insignificant weight, Jean-Paul thanked heaven above for the miracle that had been dropped into his lap. He’d been lost in a pit of despair and anger, his heart crying out. Then suddenly his angel had been standing over him, holding out her hand to him.
He’d remembered silently calling out her name in his head. And until his dying day, no one would ever convince him that she hadn’t heard that cry of anguish.
He felt the fine trembling in her body and promised himself that soon her tremors would be from pleasure and not fear.
He walked through the house to his room. Gently, he set her on the bed and threw his shirt on the chair. When he looked back at Angeline, her head was bowed and her hands were folded primly in her lap. She looked like a nervous bride.
And he could think of her no other way. His. She was his. He would fight Roger and Guy Boudreaux to his dying breath to protect her.
With his knuckle he lifted her chin, almost afraid of what he’d see in her eyes.
“Have you changed your mind?” He had to ask the question. His heart demanded it.
