She strove to maintain her calm in spite of the dread that was gnawing at her stomach. Cleaning up after that fire had wiped out the last of their reserve fund. She’d been counting on the insurance settlement. “The total of the premiums we have paid over the past several years far exceeds the amount of this claim, Mr. Manning. Surely there is some room to negotiate—”
“You’ll have to take that up with your contractor. Goodbye, Miss Marchand.”
The connection terminated. Jackson loosened his grip on her wrist and tipped his head away from hers. “That’s strange,” he said.
She lowered the phone. “It’s more than strange, it’s a disaster. We can’t afford this.”
“I meant the police report. Why would Fergusson move so fast on that when he doesn’t seem to put much effort into anything else?”
Not for the first time Charlotte wished that the case had gone to someone more competent, like Detective Rothberg, instead of Fergusson. “I’m afraid I share your doubts over his abilities.”
“He was either too lazy to do a thorough job or he was deliberately cutting it short.”
“I’m going to get an explanation,” she said, dialing Fergusson’s number. Instead of the detective, she got a recorded message. Frustrated, she hit the disconnect with enough force to bend her fingernail double.
“What?” Jackson asked.
“He’s gone for the day. An insurance agent with a cold is still at work, but our police detective isn’t.” She jabbed another number. “I’m going to call Manning back. How dare he try to slide out of his obligations.”
Jackson plucked the phone from her grasp. “Maybe you’d better take a few deep breaths instead.”
She held out her palm. “Give me the phone.”
“I’d better not,” he said, placing the phone on the bookcase beside the photos. “You look as if you’re going to throw it.”
“Jackson—”
“Take some deep breaths.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, reaching past him.
He caught her hand and lifted it between them. “Your fist is clenched and your pulse is racing. This isn’t good for you, Charlotte.”
“You might have appointed yourself my bodyguard, but you’re not my therapist.”
“I don’t want to see you stress yourself into a heart attack twenty years from now the way Anne did.”
“You’re not my doctor either.”
“Don’t be stubborn. I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your pity, Jackson.”
He brought their joined hands to his chest. “Then what do you want?”
Oh, that was the wrong question, especially when he was holding her hand. The awareness of how close they stood had been simmering in some part of her mind since she’d answered the phone. She’d done her best to ignore it, but she couldn’t any longer. She drew her lower lip between her teeth, wondering whether he realized there were reasons other than stress for her racing pulse.
He turned his wrist, twining her forearm with his to pull her closer. “Okay, since you’re not talking, how about if I tell you what I want?”
She looked at his mouth. He wasn’t smiling, but that didn’t seem to matter. She could feel his smile in the slide of his arm against hers and the easy grasp of his fingers. “What?”
“Better yet, I’ll show you.”
“Jackson…”
He pulled her clear from the bookcase and wrapped his arms behind her back.
He’d held her before, twice, but this time it was different. There was no tension in his frame or anxiety in his touch. His warmth surrounded her like an invitation, coaxing her to relax and join him.
Charlotte managed to hold out for a full ten seconds. She counted them off, keeping her fists clenched and her back stiff as her mind went through the familiar litany. She had too much to do. Too many people depended on her. She had to stay in control. She should be thinking of the hotel, not of herself.
But this felt so good, how could she fight it? What harm would there be if she stayed where she was for a little while longer? Sighing, she closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against Jackson’s shoulder.
And as easily as that a rush of familiar sensations tingled through her body. Her senses remembered the feel of him. It was like seeing a photograph from her childhood or catching the aroma of her grandmother’s magnolias. A forgotten pleasure was within her grasp once more. The need to return the embrace sliced through her reason, and her hands slid around his waist to lock behind his back.
He widened his stance so that she could step closer. The outsides of her shoes brushed the insides of his boots and more sense memories crashed over her. They were fitting together the same way they used to. The bones in his shoulder weren’t as sharp as before—a layer of muscle padded the hollow—but she still found the spot where she’d loved to nestle. The fresh scent of night air clung to his sweater, just as it had when he used to walk her home.
He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’ve wanted to do this for three days.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Hell, I know that. Why do you think I waited three days?”
She couldn’t believe the laugh that rose to her lips. How could she feel like laughing when she was doing something so stupid?
But this was how it used to be, too. There had never been anything logical about their relationship. They’d been honest about that, too.
His breath blew gently across her hair. “Do you want me to let you go?”
“Not yet.”
He moved his hand to the back of her neck and sifted the ends of her hair through his fingers. “Imagine that,” he murmured. “It’s different, but it still feels the same.”
She knew he was referring to her straightened hair, but he could have been talking about everything else. The past was mixing with the present, giving an extra dimension to what she felt now. And for an instant, she almost was his Charlie again….
The thought alarmed her. What on earth was she doing? As tempting as it was, she couldn’t afford to let the old feelings stir. Nothing could come of this—it was only stress mixed with nostalgia. It would be madness to confuse it with anything more.
She opened her eyes and blinked them into focus, only to discover her nose was on a level with the base of Jackson’s throat. The scent of hotel soap and male skin overwhelmed the memories. So did the glimpse of crisp dark hair and the muscular contours that she could see down the loose neckline of his sweater. The last time she’d seen Jackson’s bare chest, he’d had only a few fine hairs in the center.
Her gaze moved up to his jaw, lingering on the hint of beard shadow along the edge. When she’d known him, he’d only needed to shave every other day. That had obviously changed, too. She tipped back her head to look at his face.
The shift in her balance brought her lower body more firmly against his, and the heat that shot through her from the contact had nothing to do with nostalgia. Behind the barrier of his denim jeans she could feel the long, hard length of his erection.
There was no way to confuse the fact that she was being held by a man, not a boy.
Jackson met her gaze squarely. His pupils had expanded, making the blue that remained more intense than she’d ever seen it. He had to realize that she was aware of the reaction of his body, yet he made no attempt to conceal it. Instead he closed his fingers over a lock of her hair and boldly dropped his gaze to her mouth.
There were no nerve endings in her hair, yet she could still feel his caress. Only his gaze touched her mouth, but her lips tingled as if he were stroking her. Her breasts swelled against his chest and her pulse throbbed, warm and heavy.
She couldn’t confuse this with a memory, either. It was too vivid, too…new. She hadn’t felt such a strong physical reaction to Jackson in the past, yet she’d lost count of the number of times he had stirred this response in the last three days.
The sexual awareness had to be a sid
e effect of the circumstances, she reasoned. It was completely natural, nothing to be distressed about. It would only become a problem if they let things go further.
She spread her fingers quickly, unlocking her grip from Jackson’s waist.
“Charlotte…”
She held up her palm to stop whatever he was going to say. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that her hand was shaking. “I need to check in with the hotel,” she said, stepping back. “I’ll use the phone in the kitchen.”
GRITTING HIS TEETH, Jackson slid into the steaming water until his head rested on the rim of the bathtub. There was no shower in Charlotte’s bathroom, only a vintage claw-footed tub that wasn’t designed for a man his size. He had to fold his knees in half and angle his elbows over the sides just to fit himself in, but it was good for one thing—already he could feel the heat loosening his tensed muscles.
The night on Charlotte’s sofa had left his body in knots. That particular piece of furniture hadn’t been designed for a large man either, yet he knew that wasn’t the main reason for his discomfort. It was from staying awake half the night thinking about how he’d rather have been in Charlotte’s bed.
It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have touched her. And once he had, he should have maintained better control over his thoughts. Yes, Charlotte was a desirable woman, but he wasn’t some randy teenager anymore, he was a mature, responsible man.
The problem was, he was also mature enough to recognize when desire was mutual. There had been no mistaking the way Charlotte’s body had softened against his when she’d nestled into his arms. He’d seen her eyes darken and felt the surprised puff of her breath as her lips had parted. That hadn’t been the first time it had happened, either, and the knowledge only added to his restlessness.
It was a good thing she’d had the sense to walk away, right?
He thudded his head back against the tub. He couldn’t let himself get drawn into anything with her again. It was worse than pointless. Their bodies and the ages on their driver’s licences might have changed, but nothing else had. The hotel was still Charlotte’s priority, just as it had been twenty years ago. Once this threat to her business was over, she wouldn’t need him anymore. And that was good, because if Yves could repair his hand—
No, not if. When. He still wouldn’t allow himself to consider the alternative.
He lifted his right wrist from the water, scowled at his lax fingers, then twisted his head to look at the watch he’d left on top of his clothes. He wanted to stop by the hospital to visit Uncle William again before he took Charlotte to the hotel this morning, and if he was going to manage shaving left-handed without slitting his throat, he couldn’t afford to rush. He unfolded himself from the tub and grabbed a towel.
Charlotte was already up by the time he reached the kitchen. Even though it was a Saturday, she was dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a tailored jade skirt. A matching jade suit jacket was draped over the back of a wicker chair. She stood at the window that overlooked a small terrace, early-morning sunlight gilding her delicate features and streaking her hair with gold. The quality of the light and the elegance of her appearance made her look as if she could have stepped straight out of an Impressionist painting…if she hadn’t been holding a coffee cup in one hand and a telephone receiver in the other.
“It would be wonderful if you could contact the people on that list,” she said. “Thanks, Renee. Oh, Genevieve left a message. She said our costumes are ready.” She paused. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”
Jackson waited in the doorway while she terminated the call. “I didn’t expect you to be awake already,” he said.
She put the phone on a small glass-topped wicker table that rested beneath the window. A fax machine sat near one edge, a sheaf of papers stacked in front of it. “I had a lot to do. Would you like some coffee?” She nodded toward the coffee-maker on the sideboard. “I usually have breakfast at the hotel, so I’m afraid I don’t have much else to offer you.”
“I take it you still don’t cook?”
“Not if I can avoid it.” She glanced at his chest, then quickly averted her gaze. “I leave that to the people who are good at it.”
He realized he hadn’t yet fastened his shirt buttons. He pulled the sides together and began with the bottom one. “It sounded as if you’ve already started working.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking things over and I have to admit I share your lack of confidence in Detective Fergusson. I decided it would be best to get some other opinions about the cause of the fire.”
He fumbled the first button into the hole and started on the next. “How?”
“First I’m having Mac and Tyrell get detailed statements from the staff who were there that night. In addition, Renee’s going to contact all the emergency personnel who responded to the fire. She knows how to get in touch with them, since she had invited everyone to breakfast at the hotel.” She took a long sip from her mug. “We thought if we found enough people who don’t agree with Fergusson’s finding, we could force the police to reopen the investigation into the fire. At the very least, we should get some ammunition to make a stronger case with the insurance company.”
“Sounds good. I’ll add my input.”
“Thanks.”
“If you’re lucky, you might uncover something that can lead the police back to the Corbins.”
“That would be the best-case scenario, all right.” She hesitated, glancing back at his chest. “Do you want some help with those?”
He shoved the next button closed. “No, it’s okay. It takes me a while, but I’ll get there.”
She chewed her lip briefly, then took another mug from a glass-fronted cabinet and filled it with coffee. Without asking, she added two spoons of sugar and a few drops of cream, just the way he used to take it. He liked the fact that she had remembered, so he didn’t tell her he preferred to take it black now.
“Is that the reason you’re wearing cowboy boots?” she asked. “Because they don’t have laces?”
He cocked his head to glance at the scuffed leather toes of his boots. “No, that’s a habit I picked up years ago. I found they were faster to get on than sneakers. They lasted longer, too, which was an advantage when there weren’t any stores around.”
She carried the mugs to the table and sat in the chair where she’d draped her jacket. “Your life has been so different from mine, it’s difficult for me to imagine.”
He buttoned his right cuff but had to leave the left one undone. He took the chair opposite hers. “I live part of each year in Philadelphia, too. Operating on paying customers is how I pay my own bills.”
“But you prefer to be overseas, don’t you?”
“That’s where I can do the most good.”
“What’s it like, Jackson? Traveling the world, working in disaster zones and refugee camps?”
“It’s hard to generalize because each place has its own unique flavor, just like New Orleans.”
“Then tell me something specific.”
The first scenes that rose to his mind were too grim to bring into this sunlit room. He searched for one that he could share. “I spent a few weeks in Kashmir after the earthquake in ’05. The mountains were beautiful, in a raw, powerful way that stole my breath every morning.” He slid the sweetened coffee toward him, still sifting through the memories. “I was thankful for my boots then. The rains that came right after the quake soaked everything. The town’s hospital wasn’t safe to work in, so we set up shop in makeshift tents, only they leaked like sieves.”
“How did you cope?”
“One day the parents of a patient I was working on rigged up a canopy from a piece of plastic and some metal rods from a wrecked bus. They stood on each side of me and made sure the operating table was dry while I set their son’s leg. After that, they passed their improvised umbrella to the next family.” He smiled. “Problem was, the next bunch was only kids, none of them tall enough to keep that contraption above my head, so they took turns
sitting on each other’s shoulders to hold it up. I had a hell of a time keeping the stitches straight because they kept knocking into me.”
“Who were you stitching?”
“Their mother. That’s why I couldn’t order them out of the tent. She’d been seriously injured while she’d been digging her kids out from the rubble of their house. She got frantic if one of them stepped out of her sight.”
Charlotte’s eyes misted. She reached out to fasten the button on his left cuff. “I’ve never known a man who is as compassionate as you are, Jackson. They’re lucky you were there.”
“The work never stops.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
He looked at his right hand where it rested on the glass tabletop in front of him. Frustration with his handicap was never far from the surface, but he wouldn’t allow himself to start complaining. Compared to others he’d seen, he really was one of the lucky ones.
“You might not realize this,” Charlotte murmured, “but I always admired you for sticking to your ideals, even when I resented you for leaving.”
“Same goes for me. You always knew exactly where you belonged.”
She nodded. “We both did.”
“It’s ironic that we find ourselves back together now, isn’t it?”
“I had the same thought myself.”
Silence fell between them. It wasn’t awkward, yet it wasn’t comfortable either. The old argument was still there, unresolved and waiting. Something more needed to be said. “Charlotte, I’ve never had any illusions that I’m saving the world, but if I can save one more person, I have to keep doing it.”
“I know you do.” She brushed her fingertips over the red line on the back of his hand. “And I understand that you’ll go back as soon as you’re able to. That’s who you are.”
Her touch was featherlight, and the area where her fingers rested had recovered less than sixty percent of normal sensation, yet at her caress, his body responded as quickly as it had the night before. Without thinking, he turned his hand over to clasp hers.
His fingers didn’t have the strength to hold her in place, yet she didn’t pull away. Even when he rose from his chair, braced his other hand on the table and leaned across the space between them, she didn’t retreat. He focused on her lips. “It wouldn’t be a good idea if I kissed you right now, would it?”
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