Heart Stealers

by Patricia McLinn

  Taking advantage of the excuse to openly watch her, Chance sat back and drank her in. The wind whipped her white uniform shirt around her body and the sun backlit her hair, turning it to fire. The rest of the world faded as the pontoon boat wove its way around tugs and barges.

  Seagulls dove and begged in the wake of an incoming shrimper.

  “Right now,” she continued, “we’re entering the main shipping channel of Galveston Bay, which as you can see carries a lot of commercial traffic. Before the Houston ship channel was dug, Galveston was one of the largest ports in the South. It also has one of the most colorful histories as the home of notorious pirates such as Captain Jean Laffite. In fact, the cove where we’ll dock during lunch is one of the possible locations of Laffite’s famous missing treasure.”

  “Mom said we’re gonna go right over a shipwreck,” a young boy chimed in.

  “We certainly are,” Aurora responded with suitable enthusiasm. “But I’ll wait until we get closer to Pearl Island to tell you the story, since we have a lot of other neat stuff to see on the way, okay?”

  “Okay,” the boy agreed, smiling at Aurora as if she were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Chance felt a tug of sympathy as he remembered his own crush on her in his youth. It had been painful and intense. And he hadn’t outgrown it yet. He was beginning to fear he never would.

  “So,” Captain Bob asked Paige as Aurora resumed her talk on the history of Galveston. “Where are you from?”

  “Hmm?” Paige turned to answer the man while Chance continued watching Aurora. “I live here in Galveston.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The boat driver sounded especially pleased with that. “And where have you been hiding that I’ve never seen you before?”

  “I’ve been at college the last few years,” Paige answered politely. “Even when I’m home, though, I don’t get down to the commercial piers very often.”

  “You don’t like boats.”

  She laughed. “Actually, I love boats! My father does, too. Currently, we own a cabin cruiser and a thirty-two-foot sloop. Do you sail?”

  “Honey, I used to be king of the Corpus Christi regattas.”

  “Really?” Paige responded, clearly impressed.

  “Oh, no.” Stacy laughed from her seat across from them. “I think we just lost Paige for the day.”

  “Fine with me.” Paul smiled at his fiancée. “Now you’ll pay more attention to me.”

  Chance glanced at Paige to be sure the overly friendly captain wasn’t bothering her. She’d turned fully toward the man, so he couldn’t see her face, but he heard the excitement in her voice as she and the captain fell into a discussion on sailing. Deciding she didn’t need rescuing, he turned his attention back to Aurora.

  Half an hour later, they pulled into the cove at Pearl Island and he got his first glimpse of the house. So much had been done in such a short time, he could hardly believe it. Where storm shutters and boards had been, now glass gleamed in the mid-day sun. They’d also torn down the chain-link fence and laid sod on the slope down to the private beach, creating a blanket of emerald-green grass. A path of white oyster shells lined with crape myrtles and azaleas led from the beach to the house. The shrubs were small now, but would form an eye-catching trail as the plants matured.

  It seemed odd that they would have landscaped so quickly, but he supposed they’d needed to do the outside first for the lunch run.

  Aurora had just finished her story about Marguerite and Captain Kingsley when the boat bumped up to the dock. “And now for lunch.” She turned off the mike and leapt out to secure the lines. “Everyone, watch your step,” she cautioned as she helped passengers disembark.

  “Oh, isn’t it lovely?” Paige said as they rose and waited for their turn to step onto the dock. Her eyes sparkled as she linked her arm through his. “I’ve anchored in this cove before, and have always wanted to see the house up close.”

  “Do you think it’s really haunted?” Stacy asked in a hushed tone.

  “Don’t worry,” Paul said, pulling her snugly against him. “I’ll protect you... from everything but me.” Stacy giggled as Paul kissed her neck. The giggles increased at something he whispered in her ear.

  Paige cast them an envious look, then turned away. “The new owners appear to have fixed the house up quite a bit.”

  “Yes, they certainly have,” Chance muttered, surprised by a twinge of resentment. After all the work he’d put into helping the St. Claires with their business plan, it didn’t seem right that he should be left out of the execution.

  When they stepped onto the dock, he hesitated long enough to catch Aurora’s eye. “Have you decided what color you’ll paint the trim?”

  “Actually, we haven’t,” she answered without looking at him. To the passengers at large she called, “Just follow the path on up to the house. Lunch will be served on the veranda.”

  The brush-off wasn’t unexpected, but it rankled nonetheless. He brooded over it as he and Paige started up the path.

  Rory let out a sigh of relief as she watched them go. Thank goodness Chance and his friends hadn’t been the last passengers off the boat. She wasn’t sure she could have handled walking right behind them all the way to the house. Her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since she’d turned around and found him standing on the pier.

  Now that they’d landed, she didn’t have the microphone to hide behind. The jittery current in her gut climbed into her chest, making every breath a struggle. She tried to ignore it as she and Bobby followed the passengers up the trail.

  “Welcome to Pearl Island!” Adrian greeted the visitors from the top of the stairs. He presented a dashing sight in the big-sleeved shirt and wide leather belt that Allison had talked him into wearing. Rory wished Alli could have been there to see him, but the antique shop had refused to let her off on a Saturday.

  “Come. Have a seat,” Adrian invited with a sweep of his arm. The actor in him couldn’t help but play the part of pirate host. “Let us serve you our sumptuous island delights.”

  The female guests either sighed or giggled as they made their way to the tables. Rory was glad to see Adrian had managed to get everything set up in time, from the white tablecloths to the candles and fresh flowers. The hanging baskets they’d found on sale added just the right finishing touch to the setting. More than one guest remarked on the beautiful view of the cove as they took their seats. The breeze couldn’t have been more perfect, soft on the skin and scented with salt water, the kind of breeze that invited people to sit back and enjoy the day.

  When everyone was settled, she joined Adrian by the ice chests to load small bowls of fresh fruit onto the serving trays.

  “Good grief,” Adrian whispered. “How many tickets did you sell?”

  “A bunch,” she answered, sharing his excitement in spite of her nerves.

  “Although I’m surprised to see Chance here,” Adrian said. “I figured he’d lose interest in us since his bank turned us down.”

  Rory managed a casual shrug. “Maybe he’s just curious.”

  “Maybe so.” Adrian lifted a tray to his shoulder. “Well, let’s get these people fed.”

  She took a deep breath and lifted her own tray, planning to ignore Chance and his friends the best she could.

  Adrian’s laugh boomed forth as he played his role to the hilt. She envied him his ease. She enjoyed people as much as he did, and was just as good at making them feel welcome, so why did she have to be cursed with this horrible, irrational anxiety at times?

  Except it wasn’t really people that made her panic. It was the fear of making a mistake, of appearing stupid, that caused her nerves to go haywire.

  She was down to a handful of bowls on her tray when she realized Chance’s table hadn’t been served. And that Adrian’s tray was empty. She tried to send her brother a pleading look, but he was headed for the iced-tea pitchers to make a round of refills.

  Okay, I can handle this, she told herself as she neared Chance’s table. She ap
proached them quietly from Chance’s back, hoping she could set their fruit bowls down and slip away without him realizing she was the one serving them.

  “I hate to bring up a bad subject on such a pretty day,” Paige was saying to her friend, “but do you know if we’re any closer to finding a location for the Buccaneer’s Ball?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” the brunette said. “Ashton Villa and the Menard Home are both taken that weekend.”

  “Wait a second,” the brunette’s boyfriend said. “I thought you were using the ballroom at the Hotel Galvez this year.”

  “We were,” the brunette explained as Rory lifted a fruit bowl and bent her knees to slip it between Chance and Paige. “But they had some pipes break and it caused water damage throughout the whole lower floor. So now we have to find a new location, and on such short notice.”

  As Rory’s hand moved past Chance’s shoulder, he started and jerked around, bumping her arm. The bowl tipped sideways, and the fruit headed straight for Paige’s lap.

  In agonizing slow motion, Rory tried to stop it, only to lose her balance on the tray. It slipped and fell in the other direction. Fruit bowls and the serving tray hit the stone floor of the veranda with a resounding crash that went on and on as the objects spun slowly to a halt.

  When the noise finally ended, Rory looked up to see everyone staring at her. Except Paige, who stared at the glop of fruit in the lap of her yellow silk shorts. Chance’s horrified gaze bounced between Paige and Rory. Someone at a far table whistled, and then others began to applaud. It was the expected response when a waiter dropped a tray. She should have laughed it off, taken a bow, then cleaned up the mess.

  Instead, her chest constricted like a vise around her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.

  Couldn’t... breathe.

  With the heel of one hand pressed to her breastbone, she ran blindly toward the front door. It banged behind her as she dashed inside, needing somewhere to hide.

  “Aurora!” Chance called and ran after her, past a startled Adrian. Adrian started to follow, but Chance waved him back. Once inside, he closed the door, then came to a halt. Rather than the dark musty hall he’d seen before, sunlight filtered in through the doors to the outer rooms. The stained-glass windows across from him bathed the hall and stairs in colored light. The place had a long way to go, but at least the cobwebs and dust were gone. “Aurora?”

  Her name echoed into silence. He stood, listening. The thick stone walls blocked the sounds from outside. He strained to hear any noise that would tell him which way she’d gone.

  From somewhere overhead came the faint sound of weeping. The eerie echo of it prickled the hair on his arms. Following the sound, he climbed the stairs toward the second floor. The step next to the top creaked—and the weeping stopped. The prickly feeling moved to the back of his neck.

  “Aurora?” he called, listening. He heard her then. Not crying at all, but sucking in huge gulps of air. He found her in Marguerite’s sitting room in the tower. She sat on the fainting couch, her head between her knees, her hands shielding her face. Her whole body heaved in the rhythm of her heavy gasps.

  Alarmed, he rushed forward and dropped to his knees. “Aurora!” A shaft of sunlight came through the windows, nearly blinding him with its stark light. He touched her hair, her shoulder, needing to see her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She gasped. “I just... can’t breathe.”

  “Can I help you? Tell me what to do. Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No!” To his surprise, she laughed as she sat up on an in-drawn breath. “No ambulance. It’s just... a panic... attack.”

  “A panic attack?”

  “It’ll stop... as soon as... I relax.”

  “Okay. All right.” He felt a bit panicked himself as he wondered what to do. “Here, lie down.” He pressed her back onto the fainting couch. Sunlight gleamed off the dust cover, making her skin look nearly white.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned, draping an arm over her eyes. “I made... a total... fool of myself.”

  “No you didn’t.” He swung her legs onto the cushion then knelt at the foot of the couch and removed her canvas deck shoes. “You dropped a tray. So what? People drop trays all the time. Besides, it was as much my fault as yours, since I bumped your arm.”

  “I wanted... today to be... perfect. And I ruined it!”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.” With his thumbs on the soles of her feet, he began to massage. “Deep breaths. Relax.” He watched her carefully as her chest rose and fell. Gradually the deep gasps slowed and steadied. “That’s it,” he said softly, concentrating on his task. Her long, slender feet fit perfectly in his hands, soft clean skin over fine bones. The nails were neatly trimmed but free of polish.

  He moved his hands to her ankles and continued massaging. As her ankles relaxed, he moved up the calves, feeling the muscles dissolve beneath his fingers. Her breathing settled to match his own. He closed his eyes halfway, attuning himself to her body. He thought if he listened carefully enough, he’d hear the beating of her heart.

  His own pulse deepened at the feel of her supple skin against his palms. He tried to ignore the stirring of arousal as he smoothed his hands up her shins, curled his fingers around her calves, and drew his hands slowly back to her ankles.

  “That feels good,” she whispered.

  Bowing his head, he continued the long sensuous strokes over muscle and bone. Up the shins, down the calves. Blood pooled in his groin, an ache of wanting he knew he couldn’t fulfill. He ran his hands up, then moved his fingers around to press the sensitive pulse points at the backs of her knees. A hum of pleasure reverberated in her throat as he drew his hands downward to massage her ankles. She moaned again and the rush of his desire became harder to ignore.

  “I think you need to stop,” she murmured in a husky voice.

  His hands stilled on the tops of her feet. Opening his eyes, he let his gaze travel up the length of her bare legs, over her flat stomach and full breasts, to her face. She looked back with eyes that mirrored his need.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He offered a lopsided smile, then kissed the tip of one toe before rising. She sat up, swinging her legs to the side, and he took a seat beside her.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Yes and no.”

  Her humorless laugh perfectly expressed his own frustration. He was sitting alone with Aurora, his body aroused, while the woman he intended to marry sat right outside. Not one of his prouder moments, even knowing he wouldn’t give in to temptation.

  “I should get back downstairs,” she said. “And clean up the mess I made.”

  “Not yet.” He placed his hand over hers. “Give yourself a minute.”

  She started to argue, then relaxed and nodded.

  “So, um...” He searched for a neutral topic. “How go the renovations?”

  “We approved the plans from the contractor yesterday.” Her expression turned sad as she looked about. “I guess next week they’ll start tearing the place up.”

  “You knew they would, though. When you decided to convert the house to an inn.”

  “I should have, yes. But I guess I saw it more as restoring what once had been.” She shook her head. “You can never recapture the past, though, can you?”

  “No, I guess not.” Their eyes met for a moment. “So”— he cleared his throat—”how are you doing with the bookkeeping? Did you get the software I told you about?”

  She groaned. “I haven’t even gotten a computer yet.”

  “Then how are you keeping track of everything?”

  “By sticking all the receipts in a shoe box.” She offered a sheepish grin.

  “Aurora...”

  “No, don’t even start.” She stood and moved away, to gaze out toward the cove. “We’ll manage on our own. We aren’t helpless, and how we do things is no longer your business.”

  “I see.” He frowned over that for a minute. “I wish it were, though.”r />
  “Were what?” Irritation edged into her voice.

  “I wish it were my business.” Surprise came first at how much he wanted it, followed by excitement. “I mean that. Literally.”

  She gave him a wary look. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Aurora...” He spoke carefully as figures, data, potential, and risks clicked through his brain at lightning speed. In the end, none of the numbers mattered, only the sense of exhilaration singing in his veins. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Would the three of you consider taking on a partner?”

  “A partner?” She drew her head back.

  “I’m serious. I can put up an amount equal to whatever portion of the business you’re willing to sell. And I’d be an asset. I could handle the books, be involved as much or as little as you want, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my duties at the bank, of course.”

  “But... why would you want to?”

  The answer came with startling ease. “Remember the day you came by my office and said how nice it must have been to grow up knowing what I’d do with my life?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Something to that effect. The point is, I never picked my future. It was just handed to me, and I never questioned it. Banking is what the Chancellor men have done for a hundred and fifty years. I’m a Chancellor, so I became a banker.”

  “Are you saying you don’t like being a banker?”

  “I—” He hesitated, searching within. “I thought I did. But maybe I should at least try something else before I settle down.”

  “Before you settle down,” Rory echoed. As in, before he committed himself to married life with Perfect Paige. Is that what she had been to him? An experiment to see what else was out there before he settled down to marriage? Well, apparently he’d decided his little debutante was the right one, after all. “How do you think Paige will feel about your going into business with me?”

  Some of the enthusiasm dimmed from his eyes. “I—I don’t know.” He rose to pace as he thought aloud. “I don’t see how it would matter. I’d be going into business with all three of you—not just you. So there’d be no reason for her to be jealous.”