Part of her wondered if that was his seduction plan. Was she flattering herself to think he had a plan relating to her? Did he want to lull her into believing that he cared for her before taking what he desired and leaving her behind? She shook her head. Obviously she was more tired than she’d thought. She wasn’t cynical and she wasn’t planning to be used. She wasn’t Mona Stone’s daughter for nothing. And if there was one area in her life where her mom had control it was over her men.
She glanced up and found Preston staring at her. She knew that she’d been looking at him with all the longing of a child looking through a candy shop window. She cleared her throat and spoke before he could.
“Look at this piece. Can’t you just imagine the things it’s seen.”
Though he’d stayed, he seemed cold and arrogant. Much the same as the distant English noblemen in the gothic novels she loved to read. Would his home be dark and forbidding? It would match his looks and attitude.
“Oh, yes, angel,” he said with a distinctive drawl.
Sex again. Growing up in the city that seemed to reek of sin, and not just once a year at Mardi Gras, should have inured her to the things he suggested with his silky tone and bedroom eyes, but it didn’t. She’d always been a good Catholic girl.
“Not those things.”
“What then?” he asked. Preston was polishing a brass wind-chime chandelier that she had to ship to a mansion in Atlanta on Monday.
“You know the life it’s seen. Maybe a baby was born between these head-and footboards.”
The only time she had a glimpse of his real personality was when he flirted with her. And she was so helplessly inept at it that he made her feel awkward. He winked at her. “I’m sure at least one was conceived.”
His words made her hot. She’d been imagining them in that tester bed upstairs: his hard lean body over hers; the sounds of New Orleans pouring through the window with the scents of the Mississippi and the Gulf in the air; the warm breeze caressing their skin as they bonded together.
But she wanted more than sex from any man in her life. She’d never made love to a man, because she believed that love existed and Mr. Right was waiting out there for her. Preston made her doubt herself, and she didn’t like that.
“Is sex all you think about?” she asked. Because when he was around it was all she thought about. She forgot about her dreams of getting married, wearing white and having a couple of babies with a nice guy who’d be content to buy a Creole cottage with a white picket fence and raise kids in her hometown.
“Lately it is.”
With Preston working beside her on the steamy August night it was easy to believe the desire coursing through her body was something other than just lust. Since it was the one thing he understood, she answered honestly. “Me, too.”
“Dammit, Lily, it wouldn’t hurt you to lie once in a while.”
She looked away. She’d never guarded her words. She’d always spoken straight from the gut and more often than not it had brought more trouble than a ship full of pirates intent on pillaging.
Tucking her polishing cloth into the back pocket of her overalls, she stood. She didn’t trust herself around this man. He called to the dangerous part of her that had always longed for adventure but had never been brave enough to set foot outside of Orleans Parish. “Let’s call it a night.”
He crossed to her and stopped so close she could count the individual eyelashes surrounding his gray eyes. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Your words go straight through me.”
For the first time she understood there was more to Preston than he wanted the world to see. She’d suspected it when he’d hatched the love dare, but his words just now confirmed it. Could she break through the barriers he used to protect himself without getting hurt? Did she want to?
He stood so closely that if she leaned forward the tiniest bit, she’d brush his body. She teetered toward him before she realized what she’d done and retreated a half step. “I don’t understand this attraction to you, Preston.”
He said nothing. She knew he was a man accustomed to dating and bedding women. She’d seen his picture in the society pages since he’d moved to New Orleans in the early summer, but she wasn’t used to this type of man. It’s just business, she told herself. “I know we’d both be better off apart.”
“I don’t think I would be,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I’ve been alone too long.”
“Me, too,” she said softly.
He brushed a butterfly-soft kiss against her forehead.
“Don’t let me hurt you.”
I won’t, she thought. But inside she didn’t know if she’d be able to protect herself from him. There were emotions he brought seething to the surface of her soul that she’d never grappled with before and honestly didn’t know how to control.
Four
Two days later Lily still wasn’t sure what to do about Preston and the attraction she felt for him. She’d invited Preston to accompany her to an antique importer just outside of town. It was a steamy New Orleans day, typical of late summer, and she knew riding in her ’59 Chevy truck without air-conditioning would be hot and uncomfortable.
Even though it was ten minutes before they were scheduled to leave, when he was interested in meeting with someone, Preston was always very punctual. And as he slid out of the car, she acknowledged he was always very attractive.
She’d pored over books and the Internet trying to find romantic couples to use to convince him love existed. She didn’t know which of them would hold out longer. Her or Preston. He had a secret ally in her traitorous body. She’d woken up in a sweat last night, dreaming of him moving over her in the bed. How was she going to prove love when she was obsessed with sex?
She had her doubts. Love was hard work and in the end she knew that it required effort and belief on the part of both partners in a relationship. Some things were worth the risk, she thought, but her hands continued to sweat and her body tingled.
Preston wasn’t a man who’d learn to love easily, but she’d decided she wasn’t going to let him fly out of her life as easily as he’d drifted into it. Actually, she thought it hadn’t been all that easy. She scooted closer to the workroom window so that she could watch Preston. He stopped to talk to Leroy, her deliveryman.
The deep sounds of his voice drifted with the warm breeze through the open window. Lily closed her eyes and let both wash over her. There was something about a man with a deep voice—
“Va-va-voom!” Mae said from behind her.
“Mae,” Lily chided, hoping none of her lustful thoughts were revealed on her face.
“Is he yours?” she asked. Mae wasn’t in the market for a man, having married her high school sweetheart last year.
No, she thought, but I want him to be. “Maybe.”
“Be careful, Lily. He’s the World Series, and you’ve been having trouble in the minors.”
Lily chuckled. “You don’t even know what that means. Why do you try to use sports analogies?”
“You know what I mean. I’ve dated that kind, and they are only good for one thing.”
“Sex?” she asked without thinking.
Mae arched her a look that told Lily she’d revealed more than she’d intended to. “No, Lily, heartache.”
“Advice received.”
“But not accepted.”
“Not yet.”
“Just be careful, honey.”
Mae left quietly. Lily continued to watch through the window. Maybe Mae was right. He was out of her league. She knew, heck, he knew it, too. But she wanted to know the Preston who’d told her he was tired of being lonely. Because that man wasn’t rich as Midas and needed something that plain Lily Stone could give him.
He stepped into her cluttered workroom as if he owned the place. Moving with confidence through dirty, broken pieces of the past. She’d told him to dress casually, but he looked ready to step onto a yacht. Didn’t the man own a pair of jean
s? And did he always have to look so arrogant.
“Hello, angel.”
His gaze lingered on her mouth but he kept five inches of space between them. Fire swept through her body and the tingle in her skin increased. She wanted to clutch at his shoulders and pull him closer to her for a welcoming kiss, to feel his tongue sweep deep inside leaving no part of her untouched and making her long for another taste of him. But their relationship wasn’t at that comfortable level yet. He wasn’t her man. No matter how much she wanted him to be.
Though he was strong and sure of himself, he wooed her carefully because he wanted her and knew she was unsure. Her nipples tightened, and she leaned closer to him, brushing against his chest.
He groaned deep in his throat. “Want to play?”
More than she wanted her next breath, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to pay the piper at the end of this dance. She stepped back. No matter what her body said, her mind wasn’t ready to give in to Preston. “Not today.”
“Angel, you’re killing me,” he said, but winked at her.
“You’re in a good mood.”
He nodded, absently picking up a sterling goblet and twirling it in one hand. “I just signed a deal for some property in Barbados.”
“Congratulations,” she said, and meant it. But part of her realized he’d be leaving some day. Even if she could convince him forever existed, he wasn’t planning to stay.
“Come on, if we’re not there when they open at eleven, all the good stuff will be gone.”
“Then by all means, let’s hurry.” He smacked her on the derriere as he walked past her.
“Pres, I don’t trust you in this mood.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“I know. Still going to prove to me love exists?”
“Yes. As a matter-of-fact, I’m planning a lovers-through-time thing to show you the different ways that love has been expressed.”
“What a treat.”
“You do sarcasm well.”
“It’s a gift.”
“I hope you lose it.”
They bantered back and forth until they reached her truck. She waited for him to get in the cab. As he climbed into her painfully neat but worn vehicle, she tried to ignore that he didn’t fit in her world, but the image stuck in her mind as she drove away.
Preston let the warm Louisiana breezes waft over him through the open window. The hot setting sun lulled him into a feeling of almost contentment. He’d spent the day in an import yard going through dirty antiques and loading them in the back of Lily’s pickup.
Though the work had been hard, he’d found it fulfilling in a way he’d never imagined blue-collar work to be. He’d really enjoyed himself and made a mental note to find some way of thanking Lily for giving him this experience.
Lily concentrated on her driving, and he had to admit she wasn’t extremely skilled. She kept to the right hand lane and drove with care, but frequently looked at him, making eye contact as she drove. Swerving toward the center and back again. The bed of her pickup was piled high with furniture and covered with a tarp. He’d offered to drive for her but had received a quelling glance in return.
No one ever dared to stand up to him, but she did. It was as if she didn’t care about his position or power. And maybe she didn’t.
There was something very real about Lily and at the same time something ethereal. She moved with quick decisive actions, but when she touched her beloved antiques there was languidness to her movements, as if she really touched the past.
That bothered him because he’d been running from the past for most of his life and she seemed to wallow in it. To surround herself with bits and pieces of it instead of focusing on the future.
A rush of adrenaline pumped through his body. A big part of it was desire for Lily and her luscious body, but another part was the thrill of riding in the car with her. The wind in his hair and the sound of Dixieland jazz in the air.
Lily was dressed in faded denim jeans that should have been illegal. They’d been washed too many times and clung to her legs and backside like a lover. She’d discarded a man’s work shirt earlier, leaving her clad only in a tight little T-shirt that accentuated the firm mounds of her breasts. All he’d been able to concentrate on while she’d been looking over antiques was whether her nipples would be brown or pink.
Would they respond to his mouth the way they had to the cool air-conditioning in the manager’s office at the import yard? Would she let him suckle her?
“Did you really have a Louis XIV settee in your childhood home?”
Preston shifted on the seat to relieve the tension in his crotch. “Yes. My nanny and I used to sit on it to read bedtime stories.”
“You had a nanny?” she asked.
“Yes. She raised me until I was eight.”
“What was she like?”
Preston thought about it. Greta Parcell had been all that was warm and kind. Loving in a way his mother never had been. In fact, he’d thought Greta was his mother until she left abruptly. “She was a paid servant, Lily. What do you think she was like?”
“I’m sure she was very motherly.”
“She was.”
“My grandmother used to employ Dora to help around the house, and she’s practically part of the family now. Do you still keep in touch with your nanny?”
“No, she took another position when I was eight and I’ve never heard from her again.” Preston still remembered how he begged her to stay. But in the end his father had been right. Money was a powerful motivator, more powerful than any of the emotions despite what people might say they’d do anything for money.
“Did your mother take over raising you then?”
Preston glanced out the window at Lake Pontchartrain. Leisure boaters and fishermen vied for space on the water. He didn’t want to dwell on his mother. He wondered if he could coax Lily onto his yacht tonight. Take her out under the stars, let the rocking of the boat seduce her as he wooed her carefully into his arms.
“No,” he said quietly.
He put his fingers over Lily’s lips before she could ask another question. He didn’t want to talk about his family any more or answer any of her questions. He wanted to steer her back onto safer ground. “How are you going to prove that true love exists in my life?”
“By showing you the love that is already there.”
“You’re going to have to dig deep to find any in my life.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, quietly. She stared at him for a minute until a honking horn drew her attention back to the road. Waving apologetically out the window while Preston observed her in silence.
He wanted Lily like he’d wanted no other woman. But he didn’t want to hurt that rose-colored view of the world she had. She was a shrewd businesswoman, he’d seen the evidence with his own eyes as she’d bargained at the import yard but a part of her had remained innocent about life.
“I thought you mentioned lovers in history.”
“I did. My theory here is that love is kind of sneaky. Are you ready?”
“As ever.”
“Do you know the tale of Tristan and Isolde? It’s a Celtic tale from the twelfth century.”
“I’m not familiar with it. But then, I’ve never really been interested in the past,” he said.
“Well, it’s a good thing I am. You’re going to love this tale of passion and devotion that withstands all trials.”
“I can’t wait.”
Preston rested his head against the backrest and watched Lily drive and talk. Sometimes swerving into the other lane as she became more involved in her story. Her large sunglasses covered her eyes but when she came to the ending where they both died and two trees with their branches entwined sprung up from their graves, tears spilled down her face.
“How’s that for true love?”
He realized then what a fragile flower Lily was. She wasn’t the tough gal who negotiated with the
butcher-faced man at the import yard. She was a closet romantic who probably waited for her fairy-tale prince to come and sweep her away to his castle.
But Preston had never been too good at happily-ever-after. Not once had anything lasted long enough for him to look beyond the surface of what his money had purchased.
“Preston?”
“Great tale. But it’s not real life.”
“I know. I’m priming the pump and getting you thinking about epic love. You’ll find it yourself in life once you learn what to look for.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“No, but I’m hoping.”
He was hoping, too, because he liked the spark that Lily brought to his life and he wanted to keep it for a while longer. He liked the challenge she represented.
Lily hated social situations that required her to know which fork to use. She knew them, but her nerves usually guaranteed she’d drop something before the night was over. Though Preston had said that a night in his home wasn’t cause for nerves, she was agitated just the same.
He’d been watching her the way a lion watches its prey. Gauging her reactions to him and carefully keeping his distance all day at the import yard so his invitation to dinner had caught her off guard. She’d almost said no. But he’d leaned closer, the scent of his cologne surrounded her and she’d been unable to say no.
Her only alternative was a lonely night at home watching public television. So now she stood in the foyer of his condo and wished she’d chosen television. Soft music played in the background, and candles provided the only light.
“Let me take your bag,” Preston said, leading her into the living room. A bank of windows looked down on the French Quarter. The evening stars were bright, and she knew from experience that the night air would be filled with chattering tourists, hawkers and jazz music. But tonight she and Preston were ensconced in air-conditioned splendor.
The Tycoon's Temptation (HQR Silhouette Desire) Page 4
