BREAKFAST WITH WILLIAM was a lighthearted—and potentially fattening—affair. How he kept himself in such good shape with delicious food like this always at hand, Anne wasn’t sure. She could only manage by taking much less of Estelle’s to-die-for French toast than she wanted.
“It tastes like sin, but Estelle is a wizard with substitutions.” William indicated the toast with his fork. “You’d be surprised how low the fat and caloric content of that is.”
“Ah. Your secret weapon. I’d wondered.”
“Wondered what?”
The arched eyebrow made her blush. “Nothing.”
“Play fair, Anne.”
She stared at her plate. Then forced her gaze upward. “How you stay in such great shape.”
A quick, delighted grin. Then a poke at her embarrassment. “So you’ve been looking me over?”
“Oh, bother.” She glanced out the window. “So what if I have?”
The teasing glow heated into more. “So I like it. You thinking about me.” He shrugged. “It’s only fair, after all. I spend an inordinate amount of time admiring you.”
Her gaze shifted. “You do?”
“You’ve stolen more than a few hours of sleep from me, Anne.” He laced their fingers. “This experience is as new to me as it is to you,” he said, low and husky. “Most men marry again very soon after they lose a mate. I’d never intended to. Not because I didn’t enjoy being married, but just—” He raised their locked hands to his lips. “I’m a very selective man. I’ve always had a taste for the…special. The unique.” His warm mouth brushed her knuckles. “I hadn’t found that until you.”
She was a little breathless. “I’m not extraordinary.”
“Oh, but you are, my darling. You absolutely are. Shall I enumerate the ways?”
She tugged at his hand, face hot. “I don’t think so.” She was still trying to absorb the my darling.
His grin was fond and quick. “Actually, it might do you good. You may poke fun at my ego, but yours has remained remarkably modest when by all rights it shouldn’t be. You’re a beautiful woman with a privileged background and every reason to expect a pampered life. Instead, not only do you create an exceptional hotel with guests who return year after year precisely because the experience you give them is unique, but you bear four lovely, bright and capable daughters, choosing to rear them yourself with minimal outside help. And you made one man extremely happy in a partnership that few understood but many envied.” He was all seriousness now. “Including me.”
Her eyes stung. “Thank you for that. Especially for acknowledging Remy. I—William, if we’re to make something of this, I need to be able to speak of him without worrying about the impact on you.”
He nodded. “The same goes for Isabel. They both existed, Anne. They were important to us. We passed much of our lives with them, and that made us who we are.” His lips curved. “I like who you are.”
Relief was a cooling wind. “And I like you.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe more than like.”
His pupils darkened. “I want that more. A lot of it.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I’m moving as slow as I can manage, but I want credit. It’s damn hard. When I see something I want, I’ve never rested until I had it.”
“I’m not a possession.”
He shook his head. “That you most certainly are not. You’re work, Anne, a lot of it.”
“Too much?”
He chuckled. “Not on your life.” He eased his hand from hers, tracing one finger over the back of it. “Now, much as I’m ruing my decision to stay active in my business when most men would be retired, I have a meeting I can’t miss.”
She couldn’t resist casting her eyes toward the staircase. “Not the previously-referenced meeting involving me, I assume?”
“As if I didn’t already regret the need not to cancel the one downtown.” He tapped a fist to his heart. “You’re killing me, you evil woman.”
“I thought I was unique and special.” She rose and placed her napkin on the table.
“That, too.” He followed suit.
“Well, I have a date with my mother, it seems.”
“Oh, ouch. Maybe I could shuffle my meeting back a little. Be your bodyguard.”
“I only wish, but no…I have to do this all by myself.”
“I don’t believe in others taking punishment for my misdeeds.”
“As I recall, I kissed you first.”
His gaze lit again. “And I will thank you for that for some time to come.” He sobered. “Truly, I would accompany you if you asked.”
She smiled and cupped one hand to his jaw. “I believe you. It won’t be necessary, I promise. My mother doesn’t frighten me.”
“I said you were unique. Half of New Orleans is terrified of her. The other half hasn’t met her.”
Laughter bubbled up, and she was struck by how long it had been since she’d laughed this much in one day. “My mother still thinks you’re Prince Charming. I’d lay money on that.”
“Don’t hold it against me, okay?”
She was delighted that he seemed honestly worried that she would. She rose to her toes and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. “I won’t. Have a great day.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He grabbed her around the waist, hauled her to him. “Let’s make plans. I know you spend much of the day at the hotel now and my schedule’s tight, too, but are you free tonight?”
“Why, Mr. Armstrong, are you asking me for a date?”
“I’d admit to a little worry over using that word. You might say no. You have before.”
She peeled away, amazed at how much fun flirting could be. “Try me,” she cast over her shoulder.
“Pick you up at seven-thirty.”
She glanced back. Enjoyed the sight of him, so tall and strong. “How shall I dress?”
“Is naked an option?”
“William!” She cut a glance toward the kitchen. “Estelle,” she hissed.
“Estelle likes you. She thinks you’re a lady.”
“She won’t if you keep this up.”
“She believes you’re good for me. She won’t quarrel with my methods of securing your presence here.”
He was so arrogant he took her breath away sometimes.
He was also wonderful. And fun.
And two could play. “She’s not a live-in, right?”
Even across the room, she saw his eyes darken at the inference. “No. And she could have a lot of days off, if that’s important.”
“You’d be sorry. I can’t cook.”
He began to move toward her, a panther on the prowl. “I have a phone and a wallet. Or an entire hotel kitchen staff at my disposal.”
She backed away. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
His voice was low, his gaze intent. “Then you’d better run, little girl. ’Cause I’m just getting up to speed.”
“You don’t scare me—” He pounced, and she squealed.
Just before he cut off her breath with a kiss that melted all her wiring, his body plastered against hers, her back to the wall.
After her synapses shot into overload, finally, he eased away, mere inches between them. “Dress up,” he said so casually she would have thought she’d dreamed what had just happened if she couldn’t still feel his body’s reaction to her.
And hers to him. She let her breath out, long and slow. “Whew.”
He laid his forehead against hers. “Yeah.”
“Well, then. I guess—” She still couldn’t think straight. She slipped her wrists from the big hands that had circled them. “I should—”
He smiled. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“May I leave my car where it is?”
“That mouthwatering red Corvette?” He shook his head. “Bait for a car thief, for sure.”
She flushed. “It was Remy’s. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, so when times got hard, I sold my car instead. I know it’s too young—”
“We’re as young as w
e feel. Me, I feel about sixteen at the moment. Sure thing, leave it while you face the executioner. Or if you’d prefer to move it to my drive, I can switch my car before you go.”
“No. I won’t be long. I hope.” She was surprised by how much she didn’t want to leave. “You’ll tell Estelle goodbye for me? And thanks again for the yummy meal?”
“I will.” He reached for her hand. “It’s going to be a long day.”
She all but danced backward. “No touching. You’re too dangerous.”
A wide, delighted grin split his face. “I’m not the only one.”
She whirled before she gave in to the impulse to stay. They both had responsibilities. She was astonished at how completely he’d taken her mind off the hotel’s troubles.
“Anne, wait.”
She paused, one hand on the doorknob.
“Thank you,” was all he said. “For coming to me this morning. I know it wasn’t easy.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “I’m working on…all of this. I promise.”
He nodded, and she thought he really might understand. “Have a wonderful day.” He grinned. “Call me if you need reinforcements with Celeste.”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me.” She smiled back. “Have a lovely day yourself. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll be counting the hours,” he said.
She walked down his steps, realizing that she would be, too.
ANNE WALKED the block to her mother’s home, still bemused by the morning’s events. Nothing Celeste would say could possibly rattle her as thoroughly as her own behavior had.
As William had.
She touched her lips and fought a secret smile. They were tender. Ultrasensitive. Still alive and tingling a bit, however absurd that might sound.
The man could kiss. He had a way with his hands, as well. He was a man who was confident in his skills, secure in who he was and what he’d accomplished.
And he found her extraordinary.
She might be sixty-two and a grandmother, but she was feeling just a bit giddy right now.
Then she opened her mother’s front gate, and her euphoria drained away.
“Ridiculous, Anne.” She lectured herself all the way up the front walk. She’d learned to handle her mother long ago, at least as well as anyone ever had. Her father had chosen the path of least resistance with his overbearing, opinionated wife, and Anne’s brother Pierre had suffered for it. He’d been a handful as a small boy and real trouble when he got older; Celeste had been so determined to force him onto the right path that she’d been extremely harsh on him.
Anne had spent her childhood protecting her adored younger sibling. Being obedient herself had bought them both some cover. She’d been the perfect Creole princess, rising to the ultimate heights as Queen of the Crewe of Rex during Carnival after a brilliant debutante season.
All the while dreaming of Paris and a garret. Of a starving artist’s life. Of side trips to Florence, where she would replenish her soul for the stunning works she would paint. She’d been talented, maybe more than a little.
But their father had died when Anne was seventeen. Her younger brother, Pierre, had walked out the door a few years later and had never been seen again. Though her mother was hardly easy, she was alone then. Anne had tried to offer her support, but by this point she had met and married Remy Marchand, walking away from both her mother’s plans for her—and her own.
Nothing had mattered but Remy.
The early years had been rough, not only with the endless hours and struggle required to get their hotel on its feet but the chill between herself and her mother. They’d gone months without speaking. No telling how long it might have lasted, if not for Charlotte.
Celeste’s inflexibility crumbled like an aging brick wall when her first grandchild came into the picture. She and Anne mended fences. Anne had never enjoyed holding a grudge, though her mother could do so endlessly.
Celeste had installed herself as a fixture in their lives and welcomed each child as she was born. If she ever thought about the son she had cast from her life, Anne couldn’t tell it. Celeste was too busy meddling in Anne’s family, attempting in her not-always-subtle ways to mold her granddaughters into the path she’d kept Anne on until that fateful meeting with the odious Cajun who’d stolen her daughter’s heart. That Celeste and Remy got along at all was more a credit to Remy than Celeste, though she’d made her peace with the man who’d fathered her new hopes for a proper society princess.
Anne had come to her daughters’ rescue countless times as their grand-mère interfered in their lives. One could not be faint of heart and deal successfully with the Queen.
She would survive this encounter, too, but it wouldn’t be fun.
The front door flew open just as she lifted her hand toward the ancient brass knocker, gleaming as always.
“I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.” Renee’s blue eyes sparkled with merriment.
“Oh, thank God. Reinforcements.” Anne’s embrace was perhaps more ardent than usual. Renee and Celeste had only recently come to a rapprochement after years of difficulty. She would be a welcome buffer.
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom.” Her strawberry-blond daughter, slim and taller than Anne, pretended to think. “I should probably get to work immediately to deal with the flood of tabloid reporters. I can just see the headlines now—St. Anne a Fallen Woman? Or no, wait—William the Conqueror Has His Way—”
“Don’t start with me.” But Anne couldn’t hold firm again her child’s amusement. Charlotte would be standing beside Celeste, frowning, but Renee, even before her years in Hollywood, had been much less judgmental. “But you might want to leave before the shouting starts.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for a shot at the cover of Condé Nast Traveler.” Renee leaned over as they walked down the long hall toward the execution chamber. “Of course, this escapade is more likely to be on the front page of the Enquirer.”
“Very funny.”
“You don’t mind if I set up a conference call on my cell phone, so I can broadcast the pictures to the others?”
Anne’s head whipped around, then she had to smile at how much Renee was enjoying this. “Don’t get cocky, doucette. You know one of us is always in trouble with her. You haven’t been in her good graces that long. Things could change.”
“I’m not worried. All I have to do is say the word wedding, and it’s instant favorite grandchild status.”
“Only if you and Pete don’t elope. And you agree to invite no less than five hundred.”
Renee grimaced. “You’re a sore loser, Mom.”
“Actually—” Anne paused before the parlor doors and patted her daughter’s cheek. “I’m feeling pretty lucky this morning.”
“Mom!” Her daughter’s eyes popped wide, and it was all Anne could do not to laugh. “Why, you hussy.” Renee rubbed her hands together. “Okay, I’ll be your decoy, but you have to dish details as soon as we escape.”
“Oh, chère.” Anne hugged her again and held on. “I am so happy to have you here with us. I know you and Pete will have to return to L.A. soon, but—”
Renee tightened her grip. “No, Mama, we don’t.”
“What are you saying?”
“As a top-notch director, Pete’s in demand, yes, and he has to travel a lot, but he understands the importance of family. He knows we all have to pull together right now to make the hotel’s future sound, and he says he can just as easily have New Orleans as his home base.”
Anne’s eyes stung suddenly. “Oh, bébé. I wouldn’t have asked—”
Renee kissed her cheek. “I know. You don’t have to, Mom. We love you, all of us. We admire how you kept going after Papa died. We want to be here for you.”
“Then I’m more than lucky today. I’m truly blessed.”
“Is that you, Anne?” Celeste’s voice came from behind the door.
Anne sighed. Rolled her shoulders like a boxer. “Oui, Mère.”<
br />
“I’ve got your back,” Renee whispered and squeezed her hand. “And anyway, we can run faster than she can.”
They were both trying to stifle their giggles as Anne opened the door.
WILLIAM WAS on his way downtown immediately after Anne left. He’d sent an e-mail last night to Jud Lawson, the attorney who was serving as trustee for his offer on the Hotel Marchand, requesting that the lawyer he’d hired for this one purpose clear time for him as soon as possible today. First thing this morning, there’d been an answer that Jud had pushed all his appointments back and would be available as early as William cared to arrive.
There were benefits to being a powerful man. William was not averse to trading upon them when needed, and now was such a time. The desperation in Anne’s voice last night when she’d spoken of the demand Charlotte had received worried him. Anne didn’t want to sell; he knew that. But rather than jeopardize the financial welfare of her daughters, she very well might force herself to accept the loss of Remy’s dream. Her dream. At base, he was certain that what she and Remy had wanted, as all good parents did, was to give their children as secure a future as possible. Anne had proven willing to take risks for herself, but he doubted that extended to her girls. If the hotel’s future seemed doomed, she would cast aside those dreams in favor of cashing out for whatever she could recoup.
She deserved better. If she had another offer in hand, a decent one, with no urgency attached, perhaps she would feel the freedom to hang on for a while, and matters might improve. She and her girls were working hard to steady the hotel’s footing, and he would never bet against Anne Marchand.
Especially not when it gave him more time to lend his own influence toward that end. If she wouldn’t accept money from him, he could be there to encourage her, yes, and he would. But he also had the ear of suppliers they held in common, and giving them a nudge to offer her more favorable terms or ride with her longer would be easy enough for him to do.
A delicate balance would be required not to trigger a lot of questions that would make the rounds of the hospitality community in New Orleans. He would never want to embarrass Anne in front of her contemporaries, nor did he have any desire for word of his tinkering with fate to get back to her.
Love Is Lovelier Page 8
