Red Letter Nights

by Alison Kent; Karen Anders; Jeanie London

  He took her hands in his. “I love you, Chloe. We’ll take all the time we need for that.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  AND THEY TOOK the time they needed that afternoon—to drink wassail, eat Christmas ham and all the fixings at her sister’s apartment surrounded by all the people who meant so much to Chloe.

  Later that night, as they walked across the court back to Chloe’s town house, Chloe smiled when Jack stopped walking and gave her a slow smile.

  “There’s another red envelope on my door.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Do you think it’s from my Santa’s Sexy Elf?”

  “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions until you have all the facts.”

  He enfolded her hand into his and brought her with him to his door. He pried off the Santa tack.

  He took a whiff of the scarlet paper. “Smells like the same helper.”

  Jack pulled the paper out of the envelope and read the words silently, but Chloe knew the poem by heart.

  Elemental Love

  Earth: Emerald shades of stability

  renewing itself

  once touched by love

  we too become solid as earth.

  Water: Sapphire shades of flexibility

  there is power in softness

  victory is yielding

  Water like love seeks all openings.

  Fire: Scarlet shades of hunger

  altering lust from empty frenzied need

  to a glowing, hot heart of golden passion

  Fire tempers the combustion of emotion into love.

  Air: Silvery shades of enigma

  Air and love share the secret of invisibility,

  whispered on the air of our emotion

  the heart divines the secret.

  Chloe

  Eyes warm and full of the love he had for her, Jack leaned in close. “Could you paint this on a canvas for me?”

  “I’ve already painted it. I’ll show you.”

  He squeezed her hand before she could go any farther. “Merry Christmas, Chloe.”

  “A very Merry Christmas, Jack.”

  He took her in his arms and pulled her tight to him and they stood for a few moments in the balmy air. He tugged her toward his town house. “Show me, later. Come, cher, share my bed.”

  Chloe, filled with so much happiness, took his hand this time as they went into Jack’s house and closed the door.

  THE DAY AFTER Christmas, Chloe left the warmth of Jack’s arms to open up her café. But when she arrived, everyone from Court du Chaud was already there and somehow they had learned of the events of the previous day. Madame Alain, no doubt. Tally was behind the counter, the beignets already baked. Josie Russell took Chloe by the arm and made her sit down. Then Jack walked in with a smug look on his face. “It was you,” Chloe accused.

  “Yes. I told everyone what a treasure they could have lost yesterday.”

  He sat down at the table while Tally served them.

  “Beignets and coffee for everyone, Tally. On the house,” Chloe said. She leaned close to Jack as she took a bite of the flaky pastry and gave Tally a wink. “The girl is learning,” Chloe said, taking a sip of her café au lait. “I think I’ll get a chance to get to an early morning yoga class more often.”

  Chloe took his face in her hands, feeling such a rush of love for him that it made it hard to breathe. “I love you, Jack Castille and your whole family,” she whispered brokenly. “God, how I love you.”

  Stroking her hair gently, he gazed at her, a heart-stopping smile in his eyes; then he lowered his head and kissed her in front of everyone. Her neighbors, her friends—her family—roared and clapped. Jack looked around. “That’s what it’s all about, cher,” he whispered back, his mouth moist and warm against hers. “That’s what it’s all about.”

  SIGNED, SEALED, SEDUCED

  Jeanie London

  1

  Ma chérie,

  You outdid yourself with your sexy performance last night. I still can’t get you out of my head. The way you stripped off that dress, exposed your beautiful body inch by glorious inch. You took such care peeling away your hose, your hands sliding over your legs, tempting me with each slow stroke. You seduced me as you explored your desire. And watching you touch your most intimate places turned me on….

  Je t’ai regardée. Je t’ai désirer. Maintenant je veux te toucher.

  La veille de Noël

  Number 16

  Court du Chaud

  JOSIE RUSSELL REREAD the message inside the Christmas card, had been rereading it since awakening this morning to find it inside her foyer. The bright red envelope had her name scrawled in bold letters across the front, an adult version of handwriting familiar from long ago. The card inside was simple and tasteful, the sort a man might choose.

  A man had—the man who also happened to be her onetime neighbor across the alley and the full-grown version of the boy she’d had a huge crush on while growing up.

  He’d slipped the card through her mail slot during the night, sometime after she’d closed the curtains on another nightly striptease in front of her open bedroom window.

  Last night hadn’t been Josie’s first performance.

  For weeks now, she’d been involved in a sexy seduction that had prompted her oh so handsome audience to leave cards and gifts on her doorstep.

  One morning, he’d sent a compilation of sultry tunes and a belly chain of hand-wrought gold links and tiny diamonds with a request for her to dance. Another, he’d sent a designer set of sensual oils along with an antique Tiffany lamp and a request for her to pleasure herself in the soft light.

  He’d refused to play the spectator any longer, and as Josie skimmed her gaze over the familiar bold scrawl, she savored a zip of forbidden pleasure at the words.

  Je t’ai regardée. Je t’ai désirer. Maintenant je veux te toucher.

  I’ve watched you. I’ve desired you. Now I want to touch you.

  At least she thought that’s what the card read. No doubt he also remembered how horrible she’d been at French. He might have left his family home in Court du Chaud over ten years ago and not looked back, but he wouldn’t have forgotten her struggle to learn the language when she’d been nothing more than his best friend’s pesky kid sister.

  Maybe he thought she’d finally mastered the language. After all, she was New Orleans born and bred, and ten years was a long time. She’d grown up during those years.

  So had Max LeClerc. The boy she’d moon-pied over for so many years had grown up to be entirely scrumptious with his tawny blond hair and deep blue eyes.

  Glancing at his signature, she let the full impact of the words filter through her, a pleasure she refused to feel guilty about. Not after fantasizing about Max since she’d been old enough to understand what a fantasy was.

  La veille de Noël.

  Christmas Eve.

  Max would unwittingly indulge her fantasy by giving in to the attraction that had flared unexpectedly between them since his return home. He wanted to take their unusual flirtation across the alley for one night—Christmas Eve.

  I’ve watched you. I’ve desired you. Now I want to touch you.

  Josie wanted him to touch her, too.

  The timing couldn’t be more perfect, either.

  She’d always adored Christmas, but ever since a mysterious gift-giver had rescued her from a lonely holiday vacation when she’d been sixteen, Josie had had a thing for secret Santas.

  She’d never discovered who her champion had been all those years ago, but she thought it fate that Max would start sending cards and gifts now, a not-so-secret Santa of sorts, which could only mean they were destined to play out this fantasy. And time was running out. He’d told a neighbor he would be leaving the court right after Christmas.

  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

  With that thought, Josie decided to forego coffee. Bypassing the kitchen, she went into the hall to grab her coat and purse. She tucked Max’s Christmas i
nvitation into a pocket, picked up her briefcase and locked up the house, set on a course of action.

  Max’s request had changed everything, and she had preparations to make to honor his request in style.

  Stepping out into the unseasonably warm December morning, Josie smiled at the well-known sight that greeted her.

  Court du Chaud.

  French Colonial row houses surrounded the courtyard tucked cozily away from New Orleans’ busy French Quarter. Only a few blocks from Jackson Square, the “hot” court, as it roughly translated, connected to the busy city by a wrought iron gate and an alley.

  Every resident of Court du Chaud knew the story of this historic courtyard’s notorious origins. History and legend ran wild around New Orleans—even more wild when that history and legend involved Captain Gabriel Dampier.

  Nearly two centuries before, this swashbuckling privateer had secured his place in the local archives by supplying the city’s aristocracy with not-entirely-legal supplies and merchandise to avoid paying the government’s high tariffs on goods. He built the “hot” court for himself and his crew, a place to savor the delights of success before falling out of favor with polite society because of a debacle with a debutante.

  But the captain had left behind his legacy in Court du Chaud, which still kept alive speculation about mysterious clues to hidden treasures, voodoo curses and haunted town houses. Josie had been born and raised here, but this morning, the familiar brick facades, iron-worked fences around neat squares of lawn and foliage seemed fresher and filled with promise.

  Shutting the gate to her yard, she headed across the court to make her way down the alley, but instead of leaving, she crossed the patio of an open-air café, past tables draped in red holiday tablecloths. Café Eros connected her home to the exciting Quarter, the perfect blending of two worlds, past and present, private and public…no, Josie corrected herself, not public, but welcoming.

  The café’s owner, Chloe Matthews, was a woman who’d never met a stranger and, right now, Josie needed her friend’s help to prepare for her special Christmas Eve guest.

  A bell chimed to announce her entrance, and the door hadn’t shut before Chloe waved her toward the counter. Weaving a path through tables, Josie glanced at a wall-sized mural of Captain Dampier, a swashbuckling figure who presided over the counter and kept alive the history of their notorious court. Chloe wasn’t only a welcoming hostess and friend, but a clever businesswoman.

  Mornings were always chaotic at Café Eros. Josie observed the customers…a businessman buried behind the newspaper’s financial section, Claire and Randy from town houses twelve and thirteen with their heads bent low over a plate of sugary beignets. One of Court du Chaud’s newer residents sat alone in the corner with his coffee—the dark and dangerous-looking man from Number 10.

  This new neighbor didn’t seem to notice her, probably wouldn’t have noticed a Mardi Gras float if it squeezed through the front door and parked in the middle of the café.

  He was too busy checking out Chloe.

  Swallowing back a laugh, Josie made a mental note to pick her friend’s brain about Number 10.

  “Tell me I don’t owe you more cookies this morning.” Chloe sounded just breathless enough to convince Josie she was very aware of the man watching her.

  “Tell me you’re not complaining about the business.”

  Cocking an aproned hip against the counter, Chloe said, “I’d never complain about business. But I haven’t met anyone as nuts about Christmas as you are.”

  “What’s nuts?” Josie dropped her briefcase and leaned both elbows onto the counter to get a good look inside the display case. Mmm. As usual, all sorts of scrumptious, high-calorie goodies. “Christmas happens to be my favorite holiday.”

  “Got that part. You’ve had me baking since Thanksgiving.”

  “That really does sound like a complaint, but I’ll forgive you for a cup of that divine-smelling French coffee.”

  Chloe headed toward the coffee machine, and by the time Josie got the first smooth, hot swallow down, she’d decided to cut her friend a break. Number 10 clearly had Chloe on edge.

  “I need you to work your magic on another order,” she said.

  “Why am I not surprised? So what’ll it be today? Honey balls for your boss or more surprise chocolate almond stockings for Madame Alain? Who, by the way, is trying to coerce me into revealing the identity of her secret Santa.”

  “You haven’t told her it’s me, have you?”

  “Of course not. Client confidentiality.”

  “Priests, lawyers and bakers. Oh, my.”

  “Are you sure Nana LeClerc won’t mind that you replaced her so quickly?”

  “Absolutely not.” Josie had played secret Santa to Max’s grandmother ever since he’d left for college. She’d been too sad to stop after Nana’s recent death. “I’m continuing the tradition in her honor.”

  “But you’re continuing the tradition with Madame Alain. Nana LeClerc was a sweet old thing who never meddled in her neighbors’ affairs.”

  Okay, Court du Chaud’s resident busybody might not be the most obvious choice for her attentions…“You know Madame Alain is just as sweet. She’s lonely. She lost her husband then Old Man Guidry and now Nana. She’s the only one of Court du Chaud’s old folks left. Nana would definitely approve.”

  “If you say so.” Chloe shrugged. “So what’s it going to be? And please don’t tell me candy canes. Those little suckers require more concentration than I have right now.”

  Josie glanced at Number 10 in her periphery. No doubt. “No candy canes. I need a Café Eros special order. Remember those sugar cookies that you used to bake Nana to send her grandson, the cookies with the icing messages? I want an order of those. Only I want mine with sexy messages.”

  Chloe arched an eyebrow. “Just whom are you sending sexy messages to?”

  “Number 17 himself.”

  “Nana’s grandson?” Chloe demanded, referring to Max.

  Josie nodded.

  “The last I heard he’d only come back to take care of her things after the funeral. Sounds like you’ve been holding out on me, Josie Russell.”

  “Sounds like the pot is calling the kettle black, Chloe Matthews.” She inclined her head toward the corner. “Unless Number 10 over there isn’t aiming his X-ray vision at you.”

  “Shhh,” she hissed.

  Josie gave a laugh that drew the businessman’s gaze above his newspaper.

  Chloe scowled. “Sounds like we need a girls’ night out.”

  “It’s a date. I’ll pencil you in right after Christmas.” She glanced over at their neighbor from Number 12 and added, “We should invite Claire, too. She’s looking pretty cozy with Number 13 over there. You sure you’re not spiking the coffee with aphrodisiacs?”

  “Weren’t you the one who told me about the magic of Christmas?”

  Josie laughed.

  “Fine, I’ll wait for all the juicy details, but you’ve got to give me something to hold me over. What’s going on? Between work and your graduate classes, you barely look up long enough to smile at a guy let alone start up something with sexy cookies. And the last I heard, you were totally put out with this particular guy.”

  Sipping her coffee, Josie considered how best to respond. “I was put out with Max. Not only because he has been treating me like a stranger when we were practically raised together, but he didn’t get home to say goodbye to Nana before she died.”

  “Josie, you said he tried, but he was halfway across the world when you called him.”

  “When I called his personal assistant. No one talks to Max LeClerc without getting through his posse nowadays. If it hadn’t been for Nana and the business section of the newspaper, I wouldn’t know a thing about him.” She hadn’t meant to sound quite so disapproving. But she had disapproved.

  After college Max had headed into the world to seek his fortune. Now, as a venture capitalist, he traveled the globe, leading the sort of high-powere
d life that was light-years away from sultry, slow-paced Court du Chaud. Josie didn’t care how he chose to live his life, but she thought he should have made more time for the woman who’d reared him. A lot more time.

  Dear Nana had been old for as long as Josie had known her, and her passing at age ninety-two had been a peaceful one…except for her heartache at not seeing her grandson one last time. But Josie’s anger at Max had yielded to real concern when she’d seen him at the funeral. There’d been something unexpected about him, something that struck her as so sad and…lonely.

  She’d told herself she was being stupid. The young Max who she’d had a crush on had left all his human qualities behind when he’d gone off to college. The Max she read about in the newspaper’s business section had grown into a ruthlessly ambitious man, who ate, drank and slept corporate takeovers.

  That Max wouldn’t be anything he didn’t want to be, especially sad and lonely.

  But Josie hadn’t expected that Max to deal with his grandmother’s possessions, either. She’d expected him to pass along the job to minions, to hop on his private jet and head into the bright blue beyond without a backward glance.

  She’d been wrong. Max had surprised her by returning home a month after Nana’s funeral. He hadn’t left since.

  “Have you asked the guy what’s up?” Chloe asked.

  “No. He’s holed himself up inside Nana’s place, and I’ve been playing hell trying to get him to come out.”

  Well, not hell exactly…

  “So I ask again, how did we get from being put out with the guy to sexy Christmas cookies?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you trying to seduce him?”

  Not trying. But she wasn’t about to admit this in the middle of the café with customers in earshot, so Josie only smiled mysteriously, which her friend interpreted to mean yes.

  “What about the bad blood between him and your brother?”

  Josie had told Chloe all about how, once upon a time, Max and her brother Lucas had been the best of friends. “To this day my brother refuses to discuss the fight. Whatever happened was between him and Max. Not me. Madame Alain told me he’s leaving right after Christmas. Thank goodness for her or I wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. Since Lucas isn’t due a visit until Mardis Gras, I don’t see a conflict of interest, do you?”