by JoAnn Ross
“That just happens to be shop merchandise.”
“Not anymore.” He reached into his pocket, took out a gold clip, peeled a few bills off the top and laid them on the counter. “Because I just bought it.”
“Then you should keep it,” Bliss countered with feigned sweetness as she plucked the comb from her hair, damning the rebellious curl.
There was a battle of wits going on, Shayne realized as he looked at the delicate shell-like comb in her palm, then up at the determination glittering in her eyes. “As nice as it is, it’s not really my style.”
“Surely you have a woman friend you can give it to.”
“I just did.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bliss,” Lilah complained, rising to her feet with a lazy feline grace Bliss had envied on more than one occasion. The kind designed to capture and hold a man’s attention. “Would you quit being such a stick-in-the-mud and take the damn comb?”
Taking matters into her own hands, she plucked the comb in question from Bliss’s hand and stuck it back in place. “There. That looks absolutely lovely.” She smiled at Shayne again. “You have excellent taste.”
He smiled back, but didn’t take his gaze from Bliss’s face. “I know.”
A silence settled over them, as deep and dark and steamy as the bayou at midnight.
“Gracious.” Lilah picked up a satin, lace-trimmed fan from the counter and began fluttering it dramatically. “Is it getting hotter in here, or is it just me?”
“That’s it.” Bliss snapped out of the trancelike state Shayne’s presence seemed to have induced, snatched her purse from beneath the counter and glared up at the object of all her consternation. “Did you say something about lunch?”
“Absolutely.” He turned toward Lilah. “Can you lock up?”
“Of course.”
He flashed another of those woman-killing smiles Bliss was beginning to hate. “Terrific.” He cupped her elbow. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“Wait just a minute.” Bliss dug in her heels as he tried to urge her out of the store. “I’m not staying away until closing.”
“That’s what you think. You agreed to lunch, remember?”
“Yes, but—”
“And what I have in mind will take awhile.”
“There are any number of wonderful places right here on the block. After all, New Orleans is known for its food,” she insisted. “Why, just off the top of my head, I could probably name a dozen—”
“Bliss.” He touched a fingertip to her lips. “You’re beginning to babble again, sweetheart. The same way you did in Paris.”
“Paris?” Lilah snapped to immediate attention. “You two were in Paris together?”
“We met at a party,” Shayne said. “Didn’t Bliss tell you?”
“No.” Lilah folded her arms across the front of her short, tight dress. “Other than the fact that she found lots of needed stock, the only other thing she mentioned about the trip was that she’d blasted through all her credit card limits.”
Shayne slowly shook his head as he looked down at Bliss. “I’m crushed.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she muttered, knowing she was going to face intense questioning from her longtime friend.
It was bad enough being interrogated by Zelda. Beneath Lilah’s soft cotton-candy-pink exterior dwelt the original steel magnolia. The woman could be downright ruthless when it came to extracting personal secrets.
“It was, without a doubt, one of the most romantic nights of my life,” he informed Lilah, whose eyes widened further at this little newsflash. “Strolling along the Left Bank at midnight, sharing pastries in a little out-of-the-way bistro, the violin player...” He looked back down at Bliss. “I still have that chalk drawing the artist did. I look at it several times a day and think about you. Which is why I realized I had no choice but to track you down.”
“Be still my heart.” Lilah sighed dramatically and patted her breast. “If you don’t want this guy, Bliss, the least you should do is give the rest of us a shot.” She fluttered her lashes in her best Southern belle manner. “How do you feel about blondes?”
“They’re my favorite. Right after mouthy redheads,” he added.
“This is getting more ridiculous by the minute,” Bliss huffed. “All right, if it’ll shut you up, I’ll go to lunch wherever you want. Lilah, please close up the shop. And, if you don’t mind, would you feed Hercules?”
“Like the beast would starve if he missed a meal,” Shayne muttered.
“Do you have something against cats, Mr. Broussard?”
“Only monster ones who decide to take my hand off.” He held out the hand in question.
Viewing the angry red slash mark, Bliss decided against admitting that she was the only person who could get along with the huge stray she’d rescued back when he’d been a kitten caught outside her store during a monstrous summer thunderstorm.
“I should probably give him an extra helping of kibbles for being such a good guard cat,” she said mildly before turning back to an openly amused Lilah. “Oh, and if Michael shows up before you leave, would you please tell him that if I don’t come back to finish this month’s books tonight he’s to send out the Saint Bernards. And the storm troopers.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Lilah returned a languid salute. “However, ending the evening working on ledger sheets sounds like a horrendous waste. If it were me...”
“It’s not,” Bliss snapped uncharacteristically.
“Low blood sugar,” Shayne suggested smoothly. “It’s obviously made her cranky.” This time he put his hand possessively on her hip. “Come along, darlin’, let’s get you something to eat before you swoon.”
Frustrated as she was, Bliss didn’t notice the way his deep voice had unconsciously slid into the soft sound of his Louisiana roots. “I’ve never swooned in my life.”
“Good for you. But there’s always a first time for everything.... Goodbye, Miz—” he paused, “I just realized I didn’t catch your name.” He knew, of course, exactly who the blonde was. But there wasn’t any way to admit that. He’d almost made a stupid, careless mistake, which wasn’t at all like him.
“That’s probably because I didn’t toss it,” Lilah suggested silkily. “It’s Lilah. Lilah Middleton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lilah,” Shayne answered with the politeness drilled into him by his Southern mother. “I’m Shayne Broussard.”
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.” Lilah dimpled prettily and fluttered her lashes. “And if Bliss decides to throw you back into the dating pool, I’m in the book.”
Shayne had been away for so long he’d forgotten exactly how forward Southern women could be. They had learned, he recalled now, the trick of coating their lack of reserve in sugared flirtaciousness so that they never appeared as aggressive as Yankee females.
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” he promised.
Actually, now that she’d brought it up, if he struck out with Bliss, Shayne thought, getting close to her assistant would probably be the next best thing. And Lilah Middleton had already made it clear that he wouldn’t need to put in for hardship pay.
“You do that, darlin’.” She waggled her pink-tipped fingers. “You two have fun, now.”
“You really are impossible, you know,” Bliss said as they walked down Pirate’s Alley toward where he’d parked his car across the street from Jackson Square.
“You’re not the first person to suggest that,” Shayne said mildly.
“And I doubt if I’ll be the last.”
“Probably not.”
“You don’t have to be so damn agreeable,” she muttered, wanting to dislike him, but finding it more and more difficult. “Especially since I know you’re a fraud.”
“Oh?” He stopped and looked down at her, his face as smooth as newly polished glass.
Sensing something new, something different, Bliss glanced up at him in surprise. And although sh
e wasn’t positive, because it came and went so quickly, she thought she detected a flash of ice in his eyes.
“It’s easy for rich people to be agreeable,” she explained. “Since they get everything they want.”
“Is that what you really think? That I get everything I want?”
“Don’t you?”
He laughed at that, but the sound held scant humor. “Hardly.”
Shayne Broussard irritated her, frustrated her, and dammit, interested her. “So, what do you want that you haven’t been able to get?”
He began walking again. “Well, there’s you to start with.”
“You’re going to have to manage to survive without that one,” she said dryly. “What else?” She was, Bliss realized as they crossed Decatur Street, suddenly curious.
“That’s the hell of it,” Shayne confessed. “I don’t know.”
For the second time in as many minutes, he’d let the mask he’d worn for nearly a decade drop just long enough to give Bliss a glimpse of the real man hiding beneath the pleasant, urbane exterior. There was something there moments ago, she decided. Something that was dark, ice-cold and and potentially dangerous. And just now she’d sensed a certain sadness.
Telling herself she was being fanciful, that her imagination was running wild after a sleepless night and a busy day, she shook off the strange feeling.
“When you figure it out, let me know.”
“You’ll be the first I tell.”
The funny thing was, as he stopped beside a sleek Jaguar convertible, she decided he wasn’t kidding.
“Nice car,” she murmured.
He opened the passenger door with the flair of a man born and bred in the South. “I can take it back to the rental place and see if they have an old battered Pinto or Pacer.”
Her lips curved into a reluctant smile as she slid into the buttery soft seat redolent of sun-warmed leather. “Don’t you dare.”
She waited until he was backing out of the parking lot beside the old Jackson Brewery building, then sighed and said, “At least you can’t accuse me of not being well-balanced.”
He glanced over at her as he paused for a clutch of tourists, laden with shopping bags, crossing the street. “I’m afraid that reference escapes me.”
Bliss was woman enough to admit when she was behaving abominably. “I suppose, if pressured, I’d have to admit that the past couple years, I seem to have acquired a chip on both my shoulders.”
He threw back his head and laughed at that, a rich bold laugh that cleared the air and sent streamers of warmth flowing through her.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you. Besides your wraparound legs and drop-dead gorgeous face.”
Not knowing how to answer that without getting herself into hot water, Bliss didn’t respond.
Shayne drove another two blocks before he glanced over at her and said, “Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To say something nice about me.”
“Oh.” She pretended to give the matter grave consideration. “I already told you. This is a nice car.”
“That would only be a compliment if I’d designed and built it. Want to try again?”
She thought again. “I suppose you’re not bad looking. Actually, now that I think about it, you remind me a lot of Michael.”
“Mike?” He’d been wondering if she’d caught the resemblance to his older brother. “Really?”
She gave him a long, judicial look. “His features are more harshly drawn, but yes, there’s definitely a resemblance. You look a lot like his brother, Roarke, too.”
“So you know Roarke?”
“We’ve met. He’s currently living with an assistant district attorney. They’ve bought a few pieces of furniture for their house.”
Roarke antique shopping. Now that was a revelation, Shayne decided. He also vowed to wrap this case up as soon as possible, if for no other reason than to meet the wonder woman who’d managed such a miracle.
“So,” he said with studied nonchalance, “do you and Mike have a thing going?”
She was about to point out that her relationship with Michael O’Malley really wasn’t any of this man’s business, then reluctantly admitted that wasn’t exactly true. Because although she was uncomfortable admitting it, even to herself, something was happening between her and Shayne.
“We’re just good friends.”
Shayne didn’t like the cool feeling of relief triggered by her words. She was just an assignment, he reminded himself. It would be a mistake to forget that.
Bliss settled back in the glove-soft leather bucket seat, enjoyed the feel of the warm soft air on her face and watched the scenery that was both familiar and beloved flash by.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t suppose you’d just trust me to surprise you?”
Bliss remembered a time when trust had come easily to her. But that was before Alan. “I think I’d like some idea.”
“Okay. I thought, perhaps, we could have a picnic.”
“A picnic?”
“Bad idea?”
“Actually, it’s a wonderful idea,” she admitted. “It’s just that I thought you’d prefer something else.”
“Some overpriced restaurant where the waiters snub you in phony French accents while handing you a pretentious twelve-page wine list?”
“Something like that.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. My prejudices are showing again, aren’t they?”
“It seems to be a knee-jerk response,” Shayne said mildly. “I suppose there’s a story behind it?”
“Not one I want to talk about. Not today.” Her tone, and her gaze, as she turned toward him, were firm.
Shayne shrugged. “Whatever you say. We’ve got lots of time to get to know one another.”
“Oh?” Against her will, her curiosity was piqued. “How long are you planning to stay in town?”
“It all depends.”
“On what?”
“How my business turns out.”
“Oh.”
She couldn’t keep the disappointment that she wasn’t the real reason for his trip to New Orleans from her voice. Which was ridiculous, Bliss reminded herself firmly. She certainly hadn’t wanted him to come here in the first place.
Her second thought was to wonder when she’d become such a liar.
6
IF SHE’D BEEN SURPRISED by Shayne showing up at her shop, his next words stunned her.
“I’ve recently bought a home in the city,” he said offhandedly. “And as it happens, I need someone to help me furnish it.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“What?”
“Do you actually believe you can buy your way into my bed?”
“Your bed?” He paused at a red light at the corner where tourists were boarding a green streetcar. “Surely you don’t think a handsome, wealthy, witty man such as myself needs to hand out money to get women to go to bed with him?”
No. She had no doubt that he had any number of gorgeous women on at least two continents vying for that opportunity.
“If that’s not the reason, then I suppose this is where I inform you that I don’t take charity. From anyone.”
“I’m not offering charity, dammit,” he said through clenched teeth.
This wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. What he’d planned was a lazy sun-filled afternoon, when he’d ply the lady with some rich food, a little wine, lower her defenses with a few kisses perhaps, then ease his way around the barricades she’d erected around herself. Instead, he went blurting out his plans like a pimply-faced sixteen-year-old asking the school beauty queen to the Junior Prom.
“I was suggesting a business arrangement. Nothing more. Nothing less. I have a house that’s in need of furniture. Since it’s from the antebellum period, it only makes sense that they should be either genuine antiques or very good reproduction pieces. However, since I can’t tell the difference, I need an expert and having ch
ecked you out—”
“You checked me out?”
“Of course. And everyone I’ve spoken with sings your praises. So, it only made sense that I ask you to take on the job.”
The light changed, allowing him to cross the neutral zone into the American sector of the city. “And believe me, sweetheart, if and when I decide to take you to bed, you’ll know. Because I’m a straight-shooting sort of guy.”
It was the most outrageous lie he’d told her. But it was important that she believe him. Important for him, and, if she was mixed up with the group of deadly individuals Cunningham and his superiors believed she was, important for her as well. She might be a thief, but she’d be a great deal more useful to him alive than dead.
Shayne’s voice, which had always been warm and edged with a certain undeniably appealing humor, had turned as granite hard as his face. As they passed the Victorian Gothic Trinity Episcopal Church, Bliss decided that Shayne Broussard was not quite the easygoing jet-set playboy she’d first taken him for.
“When, exactly, were you planning to show me this alleged house?” She still couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.
“Right now. I thought we could eat lunch there.”
“Alone?”
“Afraid to be alone in an empty house with me, Bliss?”
“No,” she answered, not quite honestly.
“You probably should be,” he admitted. “Mike would undoubtedly warn you that I could be a pervert rapist or killer.”
She remembered thinking that very same thing when she’d gone off with Shayne in Paris. “Are you?”
“Of course not. However, if I were, I’d hardly tell you.”
“Good point.”
“Actually, I figured you’d have a better sense of what I wanted in the house, if we could spend some time in it. That way, you’ll know what you’re getting into if you decide to accept the job.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she agreed. “But why did you buy a house in the first place?”
“Since my company deals in gas and oil leases, I’ve been meaning to establish a base office in Louisiana for a long time. Then I met you, and coincidentally, a few days later the real estate broker I was working with sent me the brochure for the house, which had just come on the market, and it seemed like fate.”
