by JoAnn Ross
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
“And I decided I’d rather spend the rest of my life in a Turkish prison.”
“I seem to remember Roarke saying something along those same lines. And he’s real happy living with Daria.”
“Good for him. Maybe, when all this is over and I can come out in the open, the four of us can get together and toast his newfound domesticity. Meanwhile, I have a jewel thief to capture. And I could really use your help.”
Michael’s granite expression could have been carved on the side of Mount Rushmore, but Shayne felt the unwavering fraternal support and knew that however much it cost Mike personally, his brother would come through for him.
“Hell.” His tone was flat and held not an iota of enthusiasm. “What kind of cockamamy plan have you come up with this time?”
CAUGHT UP IN her enthusiasm for the largest and most artistically challenging project she’d ever tackled, Bliss was working nearly around the clock. Zelda, unsurprisingly, had been hovering over her like a mother hen, worrying that she wasn’t eating properly, or sleeping enough. And then there’d been that strange convoluted story about Alan and jewel thieves and a paste necklace disappearing during the party in Paris.
“It’s just another scam,” she assured Zelda.
“You didn’t see his face, honeybunch.” The older woman twisted her hands together. The purple shadows beneath her eyes revealed her own lack of sleep ever since her former grandson-in-law had told her the incredible story. “Somebody beat him up real badly.”
“Good.” Bliss took a gulp of coffee and peeled a banana, knowing from experience that it was probably the only thing she’d be eating until much later today. She had to drop by the store, then she was going to a plantation house auction in New Iberia with Shayne. “Probably some irate husband whose wife he was fooling around with.”
“He says he’s worried about you.”
“That’ll be the day.”
Bliss didn’t want to talk about her cheating, lying former husband. She didn’t want to think about him. Even if it did help her keep her distance from Shayne. Not that she needed any help. Ever since that day at his marvelous house, he’d been an absolute gentleman, not revealing in any way—with looks, words, or touches—that he wanted her.
Perhaps he’d changed his mind, she thought as she put the cup in the dishwasher. That would certainly be conforming to the type of person he was—the rich man who, when he didn’t get what he wanted immediately, moved on to the next target
“I’ve got to run.” She kissed her grandmother’s powdered cheek. “Don’t wait up for me. I could be late.”
“Perhaps you could bring your beau back with you this time,” Zelda suggested. “So I could meet him.”
“He’s not my beau. He’s a client.”
“So you say.” Bliss’s grandmother’s knowing gaze swept over her. “Carting home antiques can be dirty work. I’m surprised you chose that dress.”
Bliss ran her hands down the front of the short skirt. A watercolor garden that could have washed off an impressionist painting bloomed on the silk and was echoed in the boat-necked sleeveless blouse.
“It’s cool.”
“It’s silk.”
“That’s the point. Silk breathes. Besides,” Bliss insisted, “it’s washable silk.”
“Well, then.” Zelda’s lips quirked in a smile. “That makes all the difference.”
Although she’d felt pretty and confident when she’d chosen her skirt and blouse, by the time Bliss got to The Treasure Trove, she was second-guessing her decision. If Zelda saw through her motives so quickly, what was to stop Shayne from realizing that she’d dressed for him?
“Why don’t you make up your damn mind,” she muttered, frustrated by her unwanted feelings for the man.
Feelings that were in danger of becoming an obsession. Bliss thought about Shayne Broussard first thing in the morning, when she woke up. She thought about him all during the days, which were growing increasingly steamy as summer approached, and his handsome face and devilish eyes were the last thing she’d see before drifting off into a restless sleep, a sleep tortured with hot, erotic dreams in which Shayne played a starring role.
“It’s only natural,” she insisted as she put aside a brass kaleidoscope she thought would look nice on the mahogany tripod table she’d found for his library. “He represents the biggest commission you’ve ever had. This job could catapult you into the big leagues. It’s only normal that you’d think about him all the time.”
Bliss was so caught up in her emotional and mental turmoil, she didn’t hear the silvery tinkle of the bell as the door to the store opened.
“Still talking to yourself, I see,” a deep, dreadfully familiar voice said.
She spun around and was surprised when her usual knee-jerk reaction of anger didn’t rock through her. Hercules was apparently not as forgiving. He uncurled himself from the wicker basket he’d been dozing in, jumped down onto the floor in front of Alan Fortune, arched his back and hissed.
“Hello, Alan.” Another surprise. She could say his name without any danger of choking.
“Hello, Bliss.” After scowling back at the cat, which he’d always hated, he glanced around the shop. “This is such a quaint place. It always reminds me of the inside of a Fabergé egg.”
“You should know. Since you’ve undoubtedly stolen one.”
“Never had the privilege.” He picked up the kaleidoscope and held it up to the front window. “Ever wonder about the appeal of these things?”
“They’re fun. And pretty.”
“True.” He turned the tube, causing the pieces of colored glass to change position. “But I think people like them because they remind them of their own lives. Constantly shifting and changing.”
“Is there a point to this, Alan?”
“Actually, there is.” He put the kaleidoscope back on the counter. “I came for the jewels, Bliss.”
“The jewels?”
“It was a cute practical joke and I’ve no idea how you pulled it off, especially since I wouldn’t have guessed you had a larcenous bone in your lovely little body. But you’ve made your point. So now it’s time to come clean. Before you find yourself landing in prison. Or worse.”
“Excuse me?” She lifted a copper brow. “I’m afraid, except for the part about my not being larcenous, the meaning of that statement eludes me.”
“Dammit, Bliss.” Frustration was etched into every line of his tanned face. A face she’d once thought was handsome. But now, comparing it with Shayne’s, she realized it was soft and lacked character. “I realize that I didn’t exactly treat you fairly—”
“That’s putting it mildly, Alan.”
Once again Bliss was surprised when she could discuss his treachery with such inner calm. In the past, just the thought of her former spouse could cause fury to simmer inside her.
“You seduced me, married me before I knew what was happening, was unfaithful the entire time—making a fool of me in front of all your jet-set friends—then you had the unmitigated gall to steal my grandmother’s nest egg.”
“No one’s perfect,” he muttered. “What do you want me to do? Admit that I behaved abominably, then get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness?”
“That would be a start.” She couldn’t help smiling at the image of this suave man on his knees. She also knew it would be as phony as everything else about her former husband. “But it’s not necessary. It’s over, Alan. Truly over.”
She shook her head, surprising herself as much as him. “I used to think about you all the time. I envisioned your flaming car plunging from the Huey P. Long Bridge. I imagined you getting eaten by alligators after your speedboat turned over in the bayou.
“I even once contemplated putting some money on Marie Laveau’s tomb and asking her to put a voodoo curse on you. But that’s all in the past. I don’t think about you, Alan. In fact, it’s as if you never existed.
”
“Dammit, would you quit being so stubborn?” His eyes hardened, but observing him closely, Bliss could detect fear in them. “Didn’t Zelda explain the danger?”
“She mentioned something about a necklace and paste. But to tell you the truth, since I wasn’t interested, my mind drifted and I didn’t quite get the gist of this latest story.”
“It’s not a story! Don’t you get it? You’ve been set up.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t have known that if Angela didn’t talk in her sleep.”
“Angela?”
“It’s not important.” He waved the identity of his latest bedmate away with an impatient hand. “You may be right that I owe you for whatever pain I caused. Which is why I’m risking my own life to warn you that those jewels aren’t real. They’re part of a trap, dammit.” He curved his hands around her shoulders, his fingers digging tightly into the silk-covered skin.
The pain was surprising. Although he’d savagely wounded her heart, and her pride, Alan had never lifted a hand to her.
“You’ve signed my death warrant, Bliss.” Seeming both frustrated and horribly frightened, he shook her. “And you could be next.” Another shake, hard enough to make her teeth rattle.
Before she could answer, the door to The Treasure Trove burst open and Alan was literally jerked off his feet and thrown across the room, where he hit the composite cuirassier’s suit of armor consisting of seventeenth-century and Victorian pieces she’d bought at a savings and loan bankruptcy auction in Baton Rouge.
“If you even try to get up, I’ll break every bone in your body,” Shayne said in a voice that reminded Bliss of the low, threatening growl of a wolf. “And if you ever touch this woman again, believe me, I’ll kill you. Then cut you into little pieces and feed you to the gators.”
He was standing over her former husband, hands curled into tight fists, menace radiating from every male pore. Bliss didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.
“Shayne...” She reached out and put her hand on his arm where muscles had tensed to the hardness of boulders.
“Stay out of this, Bliss.”
Without shifting his gaze from Alan, who was lying dazed amidst the scattered pieces of metal, he reached over to the wall, took down a Confederate officer’s sword, pulled it from its leather scabbard and pressed the gleaming point against the cowering man’s throat.
“Now,” he said with a cold smile and a deadly resolve that frightened Bliss, “where were we?”
8
“WHO THE HELL are you?” Alan tried for bluster and failed. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently as he swallowed. Hard.
Shayne’s eyes were as smooth and cold as an Arctic ice field. “I’m Shayne Broussard, the man who’s about to send you to your Maker.”
“I’ve heard of you.” A bit of fear faded from wide, terrified eyes. “You’re some sort of wheeler-dealer in Europe.” As Bliss watched, her former husband began to relax by inches. “You’d never risk prison by committing murder.”
“Want to bet?” Shayne’s smile belied the picture he made with the gleaming steel point of his sword still pressed against Alan Fortune’s throat. “Besides, if you know my reputation, you’ll also know that I have powerful friends. Friends who’ll ensure that I’d never serve a day in prison for justifiable homicide.”
“Justifiable? I was merely having a discussion with my ex-wife when you came bursting into the shop like a madman, threw me against the wall and threatened to kill me. What the hell is justifiable about that?”
“You had your hands on Bliss.”
“So?”
“No one touches her but me.”
“Ah, hell, is that all this is about? Jealousy? Believe me, I’m not interested in having sex with her. She’s all yours.”
Although Bliss was still frightened by Shayne’s surprisingly violent behavior, Alan’s statement stung. The nerve of the man, to think he possessed the right to so blithely hand her over to another man for sex.
“For your information, Alan Fortune—”
“Stay out of this, Bliss,” Shayne interrupted in a quiet voice. “This is between Fortune and myself.”
“You’re just as bad as he is.” Her frustrated breath ruffled her bright bangs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Shayne, this just happens to be between me and my former cheating, lying, stealing, rat of a spouse.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel about me?” Alan asked dryly.
“She’s right. So shut up.” Shayne pressed the sword a little deeper, drawing a scarlet bead of blood.
All assurance Alan had managed to recapture instantly fled. “Dammit, let me go. You’re a crazy man, Broussard.”
A deep voice entered the conversation. “I’ll second that.” Three pairs of eyes immediately cut to where Michael was filling the doorway of The Treasure Trove. “Since I assume you all aren’t staging a reenactment of the battle scenes from Gone with the Wind or Captain Blood, does someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
“This weasel was threatening Bliss,” Shayne said.
“What is he, suicidal? Or just stupid?”
“My guess would be both.”
“It really wasn’t anything,” Bliss began earnestly, worried at the way her tenant’s eyes had turned as dark and dangerous as Shayne’s. Once again she was struck by the resemblance between the two men, although this time she noticed that Michael, who’d always seemed so nice and easygoing, appeared even more dangerous than Shayne.
“He also laid hands on her,” Shayne continued the explanation, ignoring Bliss’s attempt at soothing the waters.
“Well, hell.” Michael’s hand went to his shoulder holster. “I think we ought to take him out in the bayou and shoot him.”
“Good try, fellas,” Alan said, attempting the feigned cheer that had always made him such a good con man. “You’ve scared the hell out of me and taught me a lesson. You’ve won this round.”
Shayne and Michael exchanged a look. Then Michael nodded, as if in silent agreement to some unspoken suggestion.
“I don’t think you understand,” Shayne explained patiently. “The entire point is to ensure that there aren’t any more rounds.”
“Which is why we have to kill you,” Michael said.
Certain that they didn’t really mean it, that she couldn’t be such a horrendous judge of character to not only misjudge her own former husband, but her friend and tenant and the man she feared she was falling in love with, Bliss decided to relax and enjoy the show.
“You’re kidding, right?” Alan’s voice held a tremor as his nervous gaze went back and forth between both men who were towering over him.
“I never kid about killing,” Shayne said in that same pleasant voice that suggested they were merely engaging in some polite social conversation. “But I’d hate it to be said that I don’t give a man a fair chance.”
“But the guy’s a weasel,” Michael said, reaching again for his pistol.
“I realize that.” Shayne sighed. “But I’m afraid, if I have a flaw, it’s that I’m a fair-minded man. Which is why I’m tempted to give him an even chance.”
Michael made a sound of pure disgust. “I still think we just ought to take him out and shoot him.”
“As attractive a scenario as that is, I believe I have a better idea.” Shayne glanced at the wall where more swords were on display, then back down at Alan, whose complexion was beginning to fade again to an unhealthy shade of gray. “Have you ever heard about Dueling Oaks?”
“In the park? Where idiots used to duel to the death over what they considered honor?” Alan’s scathing tone suggested what he thought of that outdated concept.
“Exactly.” Shayne nodded. “I’ve always thought it might be amusing to fight a duel.”
“Over a woman’s honor,” Michael agreed, picking up his cue with perfect timing.
Shayne lifted the sword from Alan’s neck and swished it through the ai
r a few times. “This has a really nice feel to it. You know, I love watching those old swashbuckler movies on late-night cable.” He sighed. “I think I may have been born a century too late.”
“Or you could have been a pirate in another life,” Michael suggested.
“Now there’s a thought.” Shayne looked down at Alan again, studying him thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a plank for you to walk.” He switched the sword from hand to hand as he appeared to be considering his options. “I suppose, times being what they are, I’m going to have to let you go.”
Never one to miss an opportunity, Alan scrambled to his feet, scattering pieces of armor. But he also seemed unwilling to leave without a final parting shot.
“I wasn’t lying, Bliss,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re talking life or death, here.”
With that he was gone.
Watching him practically run across Magazine Street, Bliss missed the look exchanged by the two brothers.
“What was he talking about?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know, really,” Bliss hedged.
It was bad enough that Michael already knew she’d gotten involved with a con man. She hated for either of them to know that Alan was somehow trying to link her to the theft of some necklace. Since, from what she’d been able to tell from Zelda’s convoluted story, the stones had been paste in the first place, she couldn’t see that it was really that big a problem. Obviously, Alan had some scam going and she decided that the best thing to do was just to continue to ignore him.
“He said it was life or death,” Shayne persisted as Hercules began weaving between his legs, purring with something that resembled feline bliss. Not trusting the mercurial cat, who seemed to be begging to be petted, Shayne did not risk his hand again.
“That’s Alan, always exaggerating.” Bliss flashed him a bright false smile. “I still wonder what on earth I ever thought I saw in that man.”
Wanting to put the unpleasant matter behind her, she went up on her toes and kissed Michael’s cheek. “Although it undoubtedly makes me a terrible person, I have to admit I enjoyed watching his face when you threatened to shoot him. Thank you.”
