by Leslie Kelly
She’d always been something of a creature of the night. Her mother said it was in her blood, that surely there must have been a vampire or two in the New Orleans side of the family. That wouldn’t surprise her. Jade had a passion for vampire novels. Not the gooshy ones with lots of blood and bodies, but the romance ones where the vampires actually had sex.
She wouldn’t want to be a vampire if she couldn’t have sex.
She laughed softly, knowing what her always-striving-to-be-proper mother would think of tonight’s adventure, not to mention Jade’s own thoughts. She’d be horrified. So it was a good thing she’d gone off on a cruise with her new husband, leaving Jade to take care of Aunt Lula Mae. And this Ryan Stoddard business.
Then she spied the perfect spot for tonight’s interlude. “The fountain,” she murmured, beelining toward the little corner area on the east side of the property.
It was shaded by willow, oak and magnolia trees, and curtained by loops of gray Spanish moss, which glistened with the same late-night moisture that clung to the grass. Once upon a time, it had probably been a place where ladies took tea in the afternoon and met their lovers late at night.
Unfortunately, though it did a good impersonation of one, the area was no longer a perfectly private and secluded haven. Back in the days of ladies and tea parties, there hadn’t been those nice, powerful spotlights on the back corners of the house and on either side of the French doors. They were mostly pointed toward the statue of the general in the center of the lawn. But when the rear lights were turned on, the entire back yard was also well lit. Certainly anyone standing on the porch would have an excellent view of the antique fountain, complete with angels and seraphs, splashing an endless cycle of cool greenish water.
Not to mention anyone standing next to that fountain.
And the lights would be on. Right at midnight, when the entire party would come outside to raise a glass to the statue of the general. This grand reopening had been scheduled for his birthday, just so they could make the annual toast.
“Perfect,” she murmured as she sat on a stone bench beside the fountain, waiting for Ryan Stoddard.
He’d think they were unseen. And they would be.
“Until the toast,” she said with a grin.
“Toast?” a voice said.
Jade quickly schooled her features into a welcoming look, giving Ryan a smile. “What shall we toast to?”
He joined her on the bench, handing her a glass.
“To new acquaintances?”
“To Savannah?”
He thought it over, then lowered his voice suggestively. “How about to a glass of wine and a half an hour?”
She noted the wicked twinkle in his eye, reflected by the tiny lawn lights outlining the fountain and bench area. Not understanding his reference at first, she lifted the glass to her lips. Jade bit back a sigh of resignation and steeled herself against the bitter taste of beer. But what crossed her lips was a fine, heady, full-bodied red wine.
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and swallowed, appreciating the flavor and the warmth. Now she understood what he’d meant by his toast.
“I didn’t take you for the beer-drinking type.” He sipped his own, then added, “And I think we’ve officially known each other for more than a half hour now.”
She thought about her comments earlier on the dance floor. A half hour and a glass of wine until she could determine if she was attracted to a man. It had taken less than that with this man. Not for the first time this evening, she wondered if she might be in over her head.
It didn’t matter, even if she was. She owed it to her sister to see this through, no matter how personally uncomfortable it was becoming. And her attraction to her victim was making things very uncomfortable.
“You’re very sure of yourself.” She inhaled the aroma of the wine and sipped again.
“Just determined.”
There was that confidence again. That certainty of her—of the situation, of his own charm—both intrigued her and angered her. Because the same charm had been used on a woman much less adept at handling it than Jade.
“I don’t know that I needed the half hour,” she said, her voice almost a purr as she hid her flash of anger.
“You want me for my wine, hmm?”
“It is good.”
He nodded his agreement. “Found it in a tiny local grocery store. I figured they’d only carry six-packs and screw-top bottles.”
“Savannah takes its food and wine almost as seriously as it takes its history.”
Jade sipped again, daring only a small bit more as the stuff was heady. The warmth pervading her wasn’t helping to remind her of her purpose. Nor was the hot summer evening, thick with the smells of moss, freshly-mown grass, and the sweet scent of magnolia from the profusion of trees in the yard.
Not to mention his cologne. Or maybe that was just the natural scent of his skin filling her head.
“Spicy,” she murmured, taking a deep breath to appreciate all the scents.
“The wine?”
She rested her glass on the bench and looked at him through half-lowered lashes. “The air.”
He gave her a quizzical look, then turned his head and closed his eyes. He remained silent for a moment or two, breathing deeply, then nodded. “You’re right. Fragrant’s not the right word. Spicy. It fits.” Then he set his own glass on the ground, and turned slightly to face her. “Both the air…and you.”
“Me?” she asked with an air of feigned surprise that every Southern girl had learned by her fifth birthday. She didn’t need to add the “li’l ole” part to the sentence. The meaning was clear enough.
“Yes, you. Spicy and dark and exotic.” His voice was husky and thick, the low, masculine timbre echoing in her ears for a moment longer than it should have.
It wasn’t the first time a man had called her exotic. Her thick brown hair, jet-black lashes and chocolate eyes had invited the description before. She’d inherited the looks from her great-great-grandmother, an acclaimed beauty and granddaughter of a slave. She’d been taken as a mistress by a Louisiana planter named Dupré at an Octoroon ball more than a century ago.
Exotic. Suited her bloodline. After all, she had descended from slaves and mistresses. Women who’d shaped their own destinies in spite of what the men in their lives had demanded.
But Jade had never liked the word exotic as much as she did when it came off this man’s perfectly shaped lips.
Cool it. Those lips whispered promises that broke your sister’s heart!
And, she reminded herself, they were the ones she needed to kiss. Soon. Very soon. Part of the plan, after all. But even as she moved her mouth to his, being the aggressor, she wondered if this was an entirely altruistic kiss.
When their lips met, she realized something.
No. It wasn’t.
Then she couldn’t think at all. She could only feel. The touch of their mouths—soft, dreamy. The teeny hitch in her throat as they drew a hair’s width apart and shared a breath. Then intense pleasure as he moved forward again, capturing her lips and coaxing them apart with smooth, sweet caresses of his tongue.
She moaned, trying to remember what she was doing here. Trying to remember who she was and what she wanted, when all she could focus on was the new place they’d created with the meeting of their mouths.
“You’re not what I expected, Jade,” he whispered when they drew apart again.
She immediately stiffened and tried to regain her senses and put her thoughts in order—nearly impossible while still under the spell of his kiss.
Finally she managed to say, “Expected? What could you have expected after an evening’s acquaintance?”
His eyes shifted slightly and he bent to retrieve his glass. “I meant, when I saw you inside, I’d expected a cool Southern beauty. Not an impulsive woman I’d be kissing in a private garden within a few hours.”
She watched his face, gauging the truth of his words. Again, she couldn’t help the tin
y moment of wonder about just how easy this was. How quickly he’d fallen into her trap.
“You expected cool, and you got hot instead, is that it?” she asked, tilting her head back in pure provocation, inviting him to look at the line of her neck.
He responded. As if reading her mind, he lowered his mouth and pressed one hot, wet kiss to that hollow. His thick hair brushed her face and she couldn’t resist raising her hands to tangle her fingers in it.
Then he moved up to kiss her again, his lips still tasting of the wine. The kiss was deeper, harder than before as they both acknowledged the buildup of passion between them.
And suddenly Jade began to wonder if she was really going to be able to go through with her plan after all. Because, somehow, letting this revenge-only seduction turn into a real one seemed altogether too appealing.
RYAN HADN’T KNOWN WHAT he’d find when he came outside into the garden. An armed woman demanding his money? A trickster telling him a sob story and begging him for a way out of some financial trouble?
Certainly not this. Certainly not a seductress. God help him, never a wanton, irresistible lover.
He’d fallen right into her web, been totally suckered by the moonlight on her hair, the way the red wine drenched her lips, darkening them with a seductive moisture until he had to kiss them or go crazy.
She’d tasted amazing. Even better than she had inside, on the dance floor, because this time she’d initiated the kiss. She’d wanted it. Demanded it.
And he’d been more than happy to give it to her.
Now, however, he was finally regaining his senses. He needed to step back, to regroup. To remember who he was and why he was here before he did something stupid like have sex on a public lawn with the woman who’d robbed his helpless old grandmother.
That stiffened his spine. He pulled his mouth away, resisting the urge to inhale one more deep breath of that intoxicating scent she wore, and slid away on the bench. She pulled back, eyeing him through half-lowered lashes. The fullness of her lips nearly pulled him back into another kiss. Nearly.
He resisted the urge by reaching over and thrusting his fist into the cool water of the fountain. “Cool. Feels good on a night this hot. I didn’t know what the term sultry meant until I came here to Georgia.”
She quirked a brow. “We’re talking about the weather now? Sultry as in hot and humid?”
Hot, yes. Sultry, yes. And he’d be willing to bet she was more than a little humid after the passionate kiss they’d just exchanged. His body had certainly reacted with sexual predictability, which made his pants uncomfortably tight across his lap.
“Yes, as in hot and humid weather.”
Her bottom lip curled out in a tiny pout. “My, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been kissed by a man who then proceeded to talk about the weather.” Her curved lips hinted at disappointment, but her eyes were sharp, studying him with wonder and a bit of disbelief.
He’d miscalculated. A woman with Jade’s experience would be suspicious if he put up too much resistance, particularly when she had to have, um…felt how interested he was in her.
Trying to steel himself against reacting, he moved close again. The key was to win her trust until he could find out what she’d done with the painting. Hopefully without losing either his pants or his mind in the process.
“Sorry,” he whispered, reaching over to run his fingertips over her jaw, then across her full, bottom lip. She quivered beneath his hand, and he felt an answering flush of heat.
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t falling into something you didn’t want. The moonlight, the wine…”
She stared at him intently, as if gauging the truth of his words. Then she slowly nodded. “Maybe you’re right. We can talk about the weather for a little while. You should see how things will heat up next month. July’s nothing compared to August.”
Sounded like she expected him to be around a while. But he planned to be long gone as soon as he retrieved his family’s property.
“How’d you know your way around back here?” he asked as he shifted to focus on the stone angels instead of the fantasy woman who’d just been in his arms.
She didn’t reply for a moment, merely watching with a measured glance. It was as if she was testing his resolve, wondering if he was really pulling away, or merely building the tension through verbal small talk.
Neither. He was merely trying to hold on to his sanity before he did something insane like haul up her dress to see whether she was wearing anything underneath.
From what he already knew about Jade Maguire, he suspected not.
Jade finally answered. “I’m pretty familiar with the city. Especially the historic buildings…like this one.”
He knew a lot about her—her tour company—but wanted to see how much she’d reveal about herself. “You’re a native?”
She nodded. “Born and raised. As were my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and so on.”
That surprised him. “You can really trace your genealogy back so far?”
She nodded. “Right back to the plantation.”
The detective hadn’t mentioned anything about that. “You’re descended from some local plantation? From a long line of Southern belles?”
She laughed, but her laughter sounded more forced than amused. Shrugging, Jade rose from the bench, walked around toward the stone wall and leaned against it. She continued to sip her wine slowly. Then, seeming almost unaware she was doing so, she casually lifted one foot, slipping off one shoe, then the other. She arched a foot, stretching her leg, then her whole body, as sinuously as a cat. “Mmm, that feels wonderful.”
Damn, even her feet were sexy. High-arched, delicate, with hot-pink-tinted nails. His mouth went dry as he pictured running his hands from those delicate ankles all the way up her legs. Up. Up. Under that black dress to find all her mysteries laid bare, waiting for him.
He closed his eyes as he drew in another deep breath of hot night air. When he opened them, he found Jade watching him, a matching look of intensity on her face.
So, he wasn’t the only one feeling it. This strange, instant attraction had affected them both.
If only he didn’t have to hate her.
Trying to find something to distract himself with, he glanced at her wickedly high-heeled black shoes lying on the patio. He didn’t understand how on earth women could contort their feet into such unnatural shapes. “Why do women wear the things if they’re so painful? Do you really care what men think of your shoes?”
Shoes. A perfect topic of conversation for any woman. That heated look left her eyes as she gave him a pitying look. “No, of course we don’t care what men think of our shoes. We care what women think of our shoes because we all love them.”
She was right, though he still didn’t get it. His own mother and sister felt the same way, as had every woman he’d ever dated. “All a man needs are two pairs of dress shoes, brown and black. Plus a casual brown pair for jeans, and some athletic shoes for sports.”
Jade’s shudder was almost comical. “You don’t strike me as the type of man who has only four pairs of shoes in his closet.”
“Ah, you can add,” he said, not admitting she was right. “Most of the women I’ve met here tonight didn’t look like they’d be able to.”
This time, her surprised laughter sounded real, not forced. He found himself entranced by it, by the way her eyes lit up and crinkled a bit in the corners when she was really amused. She didn’t look calculating now. Didn’t look the seductress. Merely like an attractive, normal twenty-six-year-old. One who, under normal circumstances, he’d have been trying to get naked by now.
Naked. Bad thought. He swallowed hard, forcing it away.
“Oh, suh,” she said, mimicking a thick accent, “I’m so awful lucky you don’t have more shoes than I have little ole fingers,” she retorted.
“Good thing,” he said, getting up and moving to her side. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, turned sid
eways so he faced her. “Now tell me about your family’s grand and glorious past on the plantation. Did your ancestors raise tobacco or cotton?”
“Cotton. And they picked it as much as raised it.”
Good humor still kept her lips wide as he thought about her comment and finally understood it. “Really?”
She nodded. “We came from the wrong side of the Lancaster family tree. Via the mulatto mistress of the grand and valiant General Lester Lancaster, my great-great-great-great-grandfather.” Then she added, “My great-great-great-great-grandmother, on the other hand, was a field hand who came to the attention of lecherous old Lester.”
Descended of slaves. Fascinating. “I’m amazed you can track your family back so far.”
“Many of the true locals can. That’s why I know so much about the city—every bit of history, every piece of land.” Her voice dropped, growing thick with intensity. This was a subject she truly cared about. “The architecture, the artifacts, the people, places and events. I’ve studied it all, read about it, been enthralled by it for as long as I can remember, examining it from both sides of my life to try to understand where I came from.”
She seemed passionate about the subject. It sounded like he’d found the woman’s real weakness. Beyond money, beyond sex or stealing, she was enthralled by the past. “Are you a historian?”
A mysterious smile widened her lips as she shook her head and returned to her seat, patting the bench until he sat down, too. Close to her. Very close. “Not exactly. But I do…dabble.”
Dabble. He swallowed hard, wondering what other things the woman liked to dabble in. Naughty things?
“I like to explore things that interest me.”
The way she said the word interest, combined with a slow lick of her lips and the way she watched him, sent his blood roaring through his veins.
He turned slightly so their faces were only a few inches apart. As were their bodies. “Things that interest you. You like to study them?”
She nodded, her gaze never straying from his face. “I like to study. And to touch.” Her voice grew breathier. “To feel and to savor.”
The heat was back, instant and unrelenting. He’d fought it valiantly for the half hour they’d been outside, but it surged back inside him. Every one of his senses was on alert, reacting to her nearness. Unbidden, his body moved closer. Closer. Close enough so they were sharing breaths and warmth and a physical desire that hung between them like a curtain.
