Love Is Lovelier

by Jean Brashear

  She tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Shh, it’s okay. They’ll hold the table if you’d like to think about it awhile.”

  They probably would. One of the perks of power. She leaned back, met his scrutiny. “I don’t know what I want. Maybe you should just go. Call someone else.”

  He smiled only slightly. “I threw away my little black book.”

  She could drown in those blue eyes. “That might not have been wise. Have the garbage men come yet?”

  He laughed then.

  “It’s not funny. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just hang on to me for now. You don’t have to decide anything or be anything but yourself.”

  “I’m sixty-two years old, and I changed clothes four times this evening. I still haven’t found the right outfit.”

  He scanned her without letting her go. Waggled his eyebrows. “Looks good to me.”

  “What’s underneath won’t.” Then she sucked in a breath of horror that she’d said it aloud.

  To his credit, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he picked up one hand and laced their fingers. “Would it help you to know that I nearly didn’t show?”

  “Really?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  When she tried to yank her hand away, he only tightened his grip and kissed the pad of her thumb. She inhaled sharply, and he nipped lightly with his teeth, then grazed a path down to the mound at its base.

  She felt it all the way to her insides, as though he’d hit on a direct connection. She couldn’t quite stifle a tiny moan. “William, I’m serious.”

  Heated breath crept over her palm. She wanted to yank her hand away. Wanted more to savor the warmth spreading from one tiny patch of flesh into the furthest recesses of her body.

  “So am I.” The vibration of his voice sent more ripples over her skin.

  Dear, sweet heaven.

  He bent to the inside of her elbow. One slow drag of his tongue over the tenderest part had her breath hitching.

  “I’m not playing,” she protested.

  He crooked her a grin. “Too bad. I am.” He straightened, only to lean again, this time with his mouth brushing the pulse point at her neck.

  My heart pounded, books always said. Had it ever been quite like this?

  Then suddenly, he straightened. Stepped back, still holding her hand. “Ready for dinner?” he asked with the tone of a lazy tiger, if one could talk. “Or shall we order in?”

  “What?”

  His smile was both tease and temptation. “Are you hungry?”

  “For what?”

  His laugh was a little strained. “If you don’t want me making love to you this second,” he said as he drew her toward the door, “we have to go. Now.”

  She followed, still trying to get her legs to function, all the while wondering if food was that important. “Okay. If you think we should.”

  He whirled on her then, and those blue eyes weren’t laughing anymore. They were dark as navy. “What I think is that we should climb in bed for a solid week and tell the world to go stuff itself. But since Mardi Gras is ten days away, and you would never forgive yourself, I’ll settle for postponing. Barely.”

  “Oh.” Her head was still a little light. “Of course, you’re right. We have no business going to bed together with so much else going on.” All too quickly, reality flooded in. “As a matter of fact, maybe I should just stay.” She wheeled and focused on the remaining lilacs.

  “I didn’t say postpone making love, darling. Only the solid week of it.”

  “Um—” She stabbed in the last stalk, finding herself with equal parts relief and fascination.

  “Forgot to worry about what was under your clothes for a few minutes there, didn’t you?” He grinned. “Making love is about more than skin, sweetheart, though I do have an appetite for more of yours.”

  “Oh.” She was beginning to sound like a broken record. “No lights,” she insisted.

  He winked at her. “We’ll negotiate over dinner.” He tugged at her hand. “I’ll warn you that I’m reputed to be quite a shark.”

  “I knew that.” Her stomach fluttered. “I’m not so bad myself,” she said.

  Whistling her way past the graveyard.

  “THIS IS WONDERFUL,” Anne said. She touched the heavy silver, trailed her fingers over the blush-pink linen. Glanced around at their fellow diners and up to the ornate chandeliers as if she hadn’t experienced such luxury often in her life. “Another find of yours.” She smiled at him. “I can’t recall the last time I went even this far for dinner.” She shook her head. “As though Metairie were across the planet and not right next door.”

  “It had never occurred to me before that you didn’t dine out all the time. Check out the competition.”

  “Hardly. With Remy’s hands-on approach and the demands of four children…”

  “And the little matter of a hotel to run,” he offered. “I never cease to be amazed at all you’ve juggled, Anne.” He picked up her hand. Nibbled on her fingers. “You’ve been the poster girl for having it all.”

  “Not really.” A delightful bit of color rose into her cheeks.

  “I have no idea where you got the energy, yet you made it look effortless.”

  “I spent years dreaming of a week to do nothing but sleep.” She made a joke of it.

  He wasn’t buying. “You got your wish a few months ago in the hospital. Scared the hell out of me.”

  Her eyes popped open. “You?”

  “You’d been under enormous pressure. Like all of New Orleans, I had wondered what would happen after Remy’s accident.”

  She removed her hand—or tried to.

  His grip tightened. “No disrespect to you intended, Anne. I understood better than most what would be required for the hotel to continue as it had been. Remy was a genius in the kitchen, and the restaurant was a draw as much to residents as to hotel guests. You had your hands full already, and you were grieving.”

  Her gaze darkened. “I barely remember those days. For months, all I could do was just get up each morning and put one foot in front of the other.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you do.”

  “But I had it easier. I was accustomed to being the sole force behind my business. You had lost not only a mate but a partner.” He turned her hand over and stared at her palm. “Anne, it would be disingenuous of me to deny that once I would have enjoyed getting the best of Remy.” He glanced up. “But as competitors in a fair fight. I never wished you any harm, and I would not have seen you go through that for anything.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I watched you pick up the entire burden, and I was all too aware that the odds of your making it were not strong.”

  “And now they’ve caught up with me,” she said, seeming unutterably weary and sad.

  “No.” Here was one more thing he could do for her. Bolster her spirits. “I’ve seen you in action. You are a force to be reckoned with, Anne Marchand.”

  Her pleased surprise said his judgment was sound.

  “I won’t say I don’t worry, though” he confessed. “You landed in a hospital bed not that long ago. I wish—”

  Now it was she who gripped his hand. “I appreciate that you want to help, William. I do.” Her voice wavered, and she pressed her lips together, staring at the tablecloth.

  Then her gaze rose. “You have no idea what it means to know that you’ll stand back and let me fight my own battles.”

  A stake through the heart. The war inside him, quiet for a bit, heated up once more. He wrestled with his conscience and his need to shield a woman becoming increasingly precious. “Anne—”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t kid myself that you like doing it, but I can’t possibly express the strength it gives me to know that you will. Even more, that you’re there. That you care.”

  “I do.” If he conveyed nothing else to her, this was paramount. If he was making a mista
ke, there was no malice in it. He subdued the unrest inside him, deciding to have faith that she would understand, once she knew what he’d done. “Anne, I do care. Probably more than you’re comfortable with yet.”

  She smiled. “You might be surprised. I am.” Before he could respond, she continued. “You’re right. Something did happen today. Are you up for listening?”

  “Of course. Would you care for coffee while we’re talking?”

  A quick shake of her head. “I’m fine.” A quicker curve of lips. “But I might want to make you some at my place.”

  The suggestion in her eyes made his heart skip. “I have a cake Estelle made at my place.”

  “A new twist on ‘want to see my etchings?’”

  He twirled an imaginary mustache. “Do you?”

  Her laughter gave him hope. Keeping a firm grasp on the hand he’d been holding nonstop since dinner, he lifted the other to catch their waiter and signal for the check. “Okay,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  “We have another offer for the hotel. From a new party.”

  The squeeze of his fingers was involuntary. “Who is it?”

  Her mouth turned down. “A trustee, so it has to be a competitor, seeking to disguise their true identity.”

  This was hard. So hard. “Any guesses?”

  She shook her head. “We haven’t gotten that far. Charlotte was devastated.”

  “Why?”

  “This means word has gotten out that we’re in trouble. The vultures will be circling.” She sighed. “We almost have to take it because it’s a decent offer, and if we don’t snap it up, it will likely go away as soon as the other offers begin to come in.”

  He frowned. “There’s no—” He cleared his throat. “Is there a time limit on it?”

  “No, and that’s odd. Probably just means it’s not a local entity, but word spreads.”

  Damn it, he’d meant to ease her mind, not burden it. “Would it be so wrong to accept the offer? You said the terms are generous.”

  “I’ll probably have to, but—” She rubbed her forehead. “Doing so will mean saying goodbye to Remy’s dream. To Charlotte’s future. Oh, the money will allow me to set each of the girls up, as well as take care of myself if I’m careful—”

  “Anne, I want to—” He signed the check, all but shoved it at the waiter. “Damn it, I want to take care of you. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  She blinked at him. “What are you saying?”

  The alarm in her tone had him scrambling for footing. It was not a sensation he was accustomed to. And definitely didn’t like. “I’m in love with you.” He paused, jutted his chin. “Go ahead. Run away from it. I know you want to.” He shoved to his feet. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Wait, wait.” She put her face in her hands. “I can’t keep up with you.”

  “Well, speed up,” he ordered. “Or tell me to go to the devil and leave you alone.”

  “Would you sit down?” she hissed. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to catch up, just—”

  Elegant Anne, hissing. In public. He almost smiled. If he weren’t so off-balance and sure he’d just screwed up everything he’d driven himself nuts holding back from, he’d laugh.

  “Please.” She looked up at him.

  He was out of practice at backing down. About fifty years out of practice.

  But she’d said please. And, damn it, he loved her. So he sat. “You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

  “Well, join the club,” she snapped.

  First hissing, now snapping. He did laugh then. Leaned across the table and caught her gaze. “Which of us, do you suppose, is the most out of their element?”

  Her lips twitched, and the hazel eyes warmed again. “I’ve been the soul of rationality for so many years.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” His laughter was a shout this time. “I thought I was settled now. Ready to ride slowly into the sunset.”

  She snorted. “Get real.”

  Snorting now, his Anne. His Anne. Good heaven, she made him feel alive again, his world wide with possibilities. “Want to ditch this place?” He tilted one eyebrow. “See just how slowly I can ride?”

  The sudden darkening of her pupils told him all he needed to know. “I think I just might,” she answered, and the huskiness went straight to his gut.

  He rose, grabbed her hand, drew her to him. “Come on. Let’s blow this joint.”

  He tucked her under his arm and resolved to do whatever was required to keep her this close forever.

  She snuggled into him as they walked into a night filled with stars.

  I WANT TO take care of you. I love you.

  Dangerous words, those. Her head was spinning, and it wasn’t from two glasses of wine, however excellent. All the way to his house—he hadn’t asked again but just set his course—they rode in silence. As if to speak one word might fracture the fragile thread spinning between them, though its girth seemed wider by the moment, its heft more daunting. She had the ineluctable sense that this night, they had crossed—or would cross—a boundary, and returning to the safety of her known world would be nigh unto impossible.

  Not that her world seemed all that safe, at the moment. But it was familiar. Held a history and a place she knew how to inhabit.

  William might be older, but he was no less the buccaneer than in his youth. At least not with her. His single-minded pursuit was both intoxicating and slightly alarming. But flattering, oh yes, indeed. Nearly enough to make her forget the notion that every block they traveled brought her closer to…getting naked.

  She couldn’t. Oh, why couldn’t someone invent a time machine, so they could travel to an alternate universe where she could have the figure she once had, the smooth skin, the lean flanks? Where she didn’t—

  The car swerved to the curb. He jammed it into Park and in an instant had his mouth on hers.

  “Wha—” But her question was swallowed up into…glory. Heat. Outrageous hunger.

  Just as quickly, he released her. “There. You’re thinking too much.”

  She was miles behind him, scrambling. “You’re out of your mind.”

  A slash of white teeth. “You will be, too, very shortly, if I have any say over it.” He began driving again, but shot her a glance. “And I intend to.”

  She hopped from one thought to another and couldn’t settle on any notion of how to feel. What to say.

  And the long, sweet pull in her belly was…amazing.

  So she let her head fall back on the seat and released a shaky laugh. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

  “You have no mercy.” He punched the accelerator. He gave a chuckle, but it wasn’t much steadier. “I like that about you.”

  Together, they shot through the night.

  HE TRIED, he really tried. He’d planned to draw her out of the car and escort her inside, chat a little to relax her as he opened the champagne he’d been chilling. Cristal, the only choice for a diamond of the first water, as Anne was.

  But as though they were kids, the second he had her door open, he was pulling her to her feet and plastering her against the car, racing his mouth over her throat, her face…those astonishing lips of hers.

  Then she slid her foot up his leg, and whatever thoughts he’d had were sucked up into a cyclone and scattered here and yon.

  Somehow, they made it inside. He was carrying her, that much he knew, but the details of keys and doors were hazy, lost in kisses as much hers as his, in small hands sliding into his hair, over his shoulders.

  In the feel of something precious in his arms that he wanted to never let go.

  Blindly, he made his way to the destination he had, thank God, preprogrammed into his brain, or heaven knows where they might have ended up. He tore his mouth from hers with just enough presence of mind to say, “Close your eyes.”

  She looked up at him, those pupils huge and dark and mystified and…filled with the secrets only women knew. Ones men spent their entire lives trying to un
lock.

  “Please,” he asked hoarsely.

  Silently, she complied.

  He set her on her feet with great reluctance. Cupped her face in his hands. “Stand here for a minute. Don’t look, all right?”

  She nodded, and he kissed that mouth, pouring all he was into it. Only barely did he manage to tear himself away.

  Then he raced around like a madman, lighting candles, snagging the Cristal and a bucket of ice.

  Hoping like hell he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

  But he hadn’t wanted their first time to be in a bedroom either had inhabited with someone else, or in a hotel room, either, however luxurious. So he went for her favorite room in his house, and felt pride in having such a spot.

  Because he wanted this night to be about pleasure for her. About respite and peace, though maybe not too much peace, he grinned to himself. But a glimpse for her of what the future could be.

  Would be, if he had any choice in the matter.

  God willing, he would.

  Finally, he was done, and he paused only for an instant to look at her, surrounded by flowers but eclipsing them all.

  Let me do right by her. Please.

  “Okay,” he said. “You can look now.”

  He hadn’t been this nervous since he was sixteen.

  ANNE SMELLED the flowers before she saw them. Breathed in the rich scent of earth and blossoms, signs of hope and beginnings. Slowly, she lifted her lashes.

  “Oh.” She sighed at the beauty of it. Moonlight poured through the glass ceiling, leaf-dappled and lovely. Candles glowed, small golden blooms amid a riot of red and orange, white and hot pink.

  And in the center of a space he’d cleared, a daybed, a wide one. Plump cushions in rich tones of burgundy and bronze, forest-green and cerulean blue. A silver bucket stood nearby with a bottle inside and two flutes on a small table.

  “Oh, William…it’s stunning.”

  He caught her hand, brought it, as he often did, to his lips. “A pale backdrop for your beauty, Anne.”

  The nerves in his eyes, and the faint tracery of relief, steadied her somehow. She had no idea what to say, except “Thank you.”

  He let her hand go and walked to the bucket. “Champagne?”