Don't Tempt Me

by Julie Ortolon

  " 'When the first blast from the cannon struck the ship, the captain took the wheel himself, looking as if he meant to run the ship right onto the beach in his effort to reach Marguerite. I argued with him to bring the ship about, but he shook me off. Then a second cannon blast caught us, igniting the gunpowder in the hold.

  " 'I saw in his eyes he knew we were sinking. At last, he gave the order to abandon ship. Yet rather than head for the lifeboats with the rest of us, he ran through the flames toward his quarters. I went after him, I swear upon my honor. You must believe me when I say I did not abandon him to his own insanity in that final hour. Still did he push me away, shouting that he would not leave the ship without the treasure.

  " 'I pray that you remember the treasure of which I speak, for I heard him tell you many times the tale of Jean Lafitte and his grandfather as he showed you the powder horn that hung in his cabin on the wall behind his desk ---' " Scott glanced up, excitement lighting his eyes.

  "Wow ..." Chance sat forward, shoving his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. "That couldn't be more perfect."

  "No kidding." Adrian set his plate aside. "It's exactly what we need ---confirmation that the powder horn was on board, plus an indication of where."

  "Okay, great, but read the rest." Rory waved a hand at Scott.

  He turned his attention back to the letter. " 'As your father raced down the passageway ahead of me, a great blast came from beneath us. The heat and fire knocked me back toward the hatch. When I recovered enough to stand, I saw a sight I shall never forget.

  " 'At the end of the passageway, I saw your father trying to open the door to his cabin, yet he could not. His hand passed through the handle, unable to turn it. I heard him roar in frustration just as one of the masts crashed to the deck, and I stumbled to keep upright.

  " 'It was then I realized the figure at the end of the passageway couldn't be the captain, only my wild imaginings, for your father lay dead at my feet.

  " 'I carried him to a lifeboat, refusing to leave him to a watery grave, yet did that strange apparition of him remain behind, as if even in death, he could not leave the powder horn behind. The memory of it haunts me still, compelling me to write and tell you why Lafitte's treasure meant so much to him. He wanted to pass it on to you as a symbol of all his dreams for your future, all his hopes that he had passed on to you the best of his blood, not the worst.

  " 'I sailed with your father for many years, Andrew, and I know what honor meant to him. I pray you now and always to remember that. To remember everything your father ever told you about facing life with true courage. If only he had realized that was the treasure he had to leave you, not a mere object from your family's past.

  " 'The powder horn is gone, sunk in the cove of Pearl Island. But your father's dream for you lives on, of that I am certain. Treasure that, and hold this letter close to help you remember. Live honorably as your father lived in his last years. Do not take the easy route to riches, but seek the path that will let you live in peace with yourself. And learn to value those things that have worth beyond monetary measure.

  " 'Respectfully Yours, Bernard Kramer.' " Scott frowned, then cleared his throat. "He, um, started to sign it 'First Officer of the Freedom,' but crossed that out and signed it, 'Your Friend'."

  A moment of silence followed. "Well." Adrian released a pent-up breath. "That's some letter."

  "Yes." Jackie cleared her throat. "That's why my family kept it."

  "And we're glad they did." He smiled at her softly. Then, without warning, he took her hand and brought her to her feet as he stood. She found herself engulfed in a brotherly embrace, too startled to return it. "Thank you," he said, releasing her. Before she could recover, Aurora and Allison were there, hugging her in turn, both of them crying.

  "Yes, thank you," Allison said. "We know this isn't easy for you. We understand."

  Looking into her eyes, Jackie realized they did understand. All of them. Suddenly, she wasn't outside the circle, but standing right in the middle. The show of acceptance made some unfamiliar emotion expand inside her chest as everyone resumed talking at once. Their voices and excitement swirled around her and the newness of solidarity filled her so completely, she feared she'd start crying, too.

  Chapter 7

  Jackie stood on the balcony outside her room gazing up at the night sky and listening to the wind rustle through the trees. The fist of anxiety that had gripped her stomach for the past week had finally relaxed; not completely, but enough for her to do something she hadn't done in years: dream about the future.

  The St. Claires' excitement had proved infectious. Perhaps tomorrow everything would go well and this would be the start of an exciting and lucrative endeavor.

  On the horizon, a falling star streaked across the sky.

  She wanted to laugh as she remembered all those childhood wishes made on stars, wishes for a place to belong filled with security and love. How did the old rhyme go? I wish I may, I wish I might ...

  Odd, but she couldn't remember the rest. Even so, she squeezed her eyes tight and made a wish with all her heart: Please, God, don't let me screw this up.

  As if in answer, a burst of night wind kissed her cheeks and ruffled her hair. She hugged the moment to her, committing it to memory: the scent of flowers blooming below her, the rustling of the palm trees, the chill in the air, all held a sense of magic.

  A soft click came from behind her, but it sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet. She whirled just as one of the tall windows into the hall swung open and she realized it was a door, like the one that led into her room. Adrian stuck his head out.

  "I thought I saw someone out here."

  She slapped a hand over her racing heart. "You startled me."

  "Sorry." He stepped onto the balcony. "I expected you to be sound asleep, or sitting in bed reading the diaries."

  "I meant to do just that." Her senses, already alive with the night, tingled at his nearness. "But I'm too anxious about tomorrow to read or sleep. What has you up prowling at this hour?"

  "Same thing, I guess. Plus, I remembered I hadn't made my rounds to lock up." He came to stand beside her, leaning sideways against the rail, his expression playful. "If you're interested, I know the perfect cure for sleeplessness."

  "I just bet you do." A laugh escaped her.

  "Good God, the woman laughs." He put a hand to his heart.

  "You've heard me laugh before."

  "But not often enough. A shame, too." His gaze held hers. "You have a really great laugh. Low and sexy with no girly giggling. A woman's laugh."

  Her heart sped up at his words. Flustered, she looked up at the sky. "Do you know, I think you can see nearly as many stars from here as you can out in the Caribbean."

  "Really?" He looked up. "Hey, I have an idea. Let's grab a blanket and go lie on the beach to count stars. You know, sort of like counting sheep."

  "Yeah, right!" She laughed. "Adrian, tell me, honestly, do you ever think about anything but sex? Or food, of course."

  He cocked his head, studying her. "Actually, I was serious." Then a mischievous smile had his dimples flashing. "But if you'd rather have sex, I'm game."

  She shook her head and resumed stargazing. "I like your family."

  "Let's see, changing the subject means no to sex, right?" He gave a loud sigh. "Okay, but I've heard it's a great sleep aid."

  "Are you saying sex with you would be so boring, it would put me to sleep?"

  "Oh, you are a cruel woman, throwing out a challenge like that when you know I can't take you inside and prove you wrong."

  She cocked her head, studying him. "This flirting really is just a game to you, isn't it? You have no real intention of seducing me."

  It was his turn to scoff. "As if you'd let me."

  If only he knew! "I'm glad to see you're smart enough to recognize an impossible feat."

  "You are tempting fate, now, with two challenges in a row."

  She leaned slightly toward him and
pitched her voice low. "Maybe I like living dangerously."

  His gaze dropped to the scooped neck of her top. "Must be all that pirate blood."

  "Must be." He was right, though, she was tempting fate standing alone with him on a moonlit balcony.

  "So, how about it?" He rested his weight on one elbow, bringing his face down to her eye level. "You wanna walk down to the cove and lie on the beach?"

  "Do I look stupid? I know what happens when a man and a woman take a blanket down to a beach at night. Besides, don't you have to be up early to cook breakfast?"

  "I'll manage." His gaze moved over her face. "And we already agreed I'm not going to seduce you, so you have nothing to fear."

  "No. We agreed that I won't let you seduce me." She grinned at him, feeling reckless. "However, I'll tell you what I will let you do."

  "Oh?" His eyes lit with interest.

  She stepped before him, and he turned to face her, his back to the rail, his weight on both forearms. His expression turned wary when she straddled his feet and placed her hands on the rail to either side of him. She leaned so close, their bodies nearly touched, but not quite. With her lips near his ear, she could feel the heat of his skin, smell his scent, almost hear his heart beat.

  "In the morning ..." she whispered in a husky voice, "I'll let you cook my eggs ... hard and scrambled ... and serve my bacon ... crisp."

  She saw him shudder and felt an echo of it flutter in her own stomach.

  Pulling back, she found his eyes had gone dark and the teasing smile had finally vanished. He didn't move a single muscle, just watched her with a hungry gaze as she stepped away.

  "Sweet dreams." Smiling, she turned and walked as sensuously as she knew how to the door to her room, then glanced over her shoulder.

  He stared at her as if fighting the urge to pounce.

  She slipped inside, and the second she had the door closed, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She couldn't believe it. She'd finally figured out the way to best Adrian at his own game: fight fire with fire. A very apt phrase, she thought, fanning herself.

  Except, how would she ever sleep with her pulse hopping like the beat of a steel-drum band? Her gaze fell on the diaries, which she'd left on the nightstand. A little reading might distract her from fantasies of rolling naked on a beach with Adrian.

  After changing into an oversized T-shirt, she climbed in bed and searched through the stack of leather-bound volumes for the one she wanted. Allison had put them in chronological order but had bookmarked the first mention of Jack Kingsley. Stuffing a pillow behind her, she opened to the bookmarked page. She fully intended to read all the diaries, but couldn't resist reading this one entry out of order.

  Her eyes scanned the first few sentences, and she scowled in disappointment. It was a description of what Marguerite planned to wear for dinner that night. As if Jackie cared about women's fashion in the 1800s. As she read more, though, she caught the bitterness behind the words and realized the newly arrived gown from Paris was something her husband had commanded her to wear.

  Apparently, Henri was throwing a lavish dinner party for the captains who carried cargo for his shipping company. Marguerite described the expected guests as the "coarsest of seafaring men who will devour every delicacy put before them with all the manners of drunken sailors in a dockside tavern while Henri secretly laughs at their crudeness."

  The low-cut gown would also have the all-male dinner guests salivating onto their plates, making Henri feel even more superior since she "belonged" to him.

  What a jerk, Jackie thought recoiling at the plight of women in a time when they were little more than property.

  The exquisite sapphire bracelets Marguerite would wear with the gown suddenly sounded more like a prisoner's manacles than fine jewelry.

  With a note of resignation, Marguerite ended the diary entry in order to dress.

  A second entry for the same day followed, though, and Jackie's attention was piqued, since it had been written after the party.

  Tonight at dinner there was a man, a man I've not seen before. He was a sea captain, like the others, and yet not like them at all. I still can picture how he looked in that first moment I saw him. Seated near the head of the table next to Henri, he was leaning back in his chair, holding a goblet of wine. He watched the room with lazy eyes and a half-smile that said he found the other men amusing but beneath him. There was about him an unmistakable arrogance, as if he, not the painted Neptune over his head, commanded the very tides to do his bidding.

  Then his eyes lifted and he saw me. For the barest heartbeat, the detachment vanished and he looked ... surprised. He rose with the kind of gallantry I once took for granted and now sorely miss. And as his gaze held mine I saw such admiration that some of the numbness in which I've cloaked myself these past years faded. I felt raw, exposed. Like a person again, rather than a porcelain possession with no purpose save that of being displayed. I cannot recall what he said to me by way of a greeting, but the respect in his voice nearly made me weep.

  I could almost hate him for that, for making me feel again. Yet, a part of me yearns to see him once more. As painful as it was to be in his presence, for a moment this evening I remembered that I am still a woman, I am still alive, and I am still capable of longing for love.

  Jackie stared at the page, caught off guard by an instant stab of kinship. Tonight, watching the St. Claires, she too had longed for things she'd thought she'd forgotten: family, home, a sense of belonging. No wonder she'd almost cried when Adrian and his sisters hugged her. Hope could be both joyful and painful.

  Marguerite's hope had ended in tragedy. A warning Jackie decided to heed as she set the diaries aside and turned out the light. And yet, she thought as she lay in the dark, sometimes, surely, as long as one didn't dream too big, dreams could come true. Couldn't they?

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, Adrian headed for Chance's BMW parked in the small lot behind the inn. He planned to ride with Rory and Chance and meet the others at the Visitors' Center. The throaty rumble of a big engine came up behind him and he turned to find Jackie sitting in a truly ugly pickup truck on which blue paint fought a losing battle with primer gray.

  She rolled down the window and flashed him a playful grin. "Hey, mister, need a lift?"

  "I don't know ..." He made his expression intentionally leery, remembering last night on the balcony. "Will I be safe?"

  She laughed. "What if I promise to be on my best behavior?"

  "If your best behavior is like mine, that's not very reassuring."

  "Do you really want it to be?"

  The look of sensual challenge she gave him set off danger sirens in his head even as his body hummed with glee. He stepped over to Rory, who was buckling Lauren into the baby seat. "I'll meet y'all there, okay?"

  "What?" Rory glanced from him to Jackie and back again. Her brow arched in speculation. "Oh, okay."

  "Now, don't be getting any ideas," he told her. "We're just playing around. But not the way you're thinking."

  Rory gave him a sure-you're-not look, which he ignored. Crossing to the truck, he opened the passenger door, then waited for Jackie to make room on the seat by moving a toolbox into the back of the cab.

  "Just kick that stuff out of the way," she said, motioning to the rigging blocks that littered the floorboard.

  He climbed in and rolled the window down to enjoy the crisp fall weather as they followed Chance's car along the winding, sun-dappled drive. Shifting to face Jackie, he soaked in the sight of her in a denim shirt, silver earrings, and sunglasses. "Did you like your breakfast?"

  "I did." She laughed, and the rich sound turned the low hum in his belly to a steady purr. "Although I'd like to know what you told Rory, because she gave me a really funny look when she brought out the plate of bacon and eggs made to order just for me."

  "Funny look?" Actually, he hadn't told Rory anything. He'd just handed her the plate and asked her to take it to Jackie.
"Funny how?"

  Jackie tipped her head to look at him over her shades. "Like she was trying to figure out if we had something going on and found the possibility hunky-dory with her."

  "Rory finds a lot of things in life hunky-dory."

  "I've noticed that" The breeze through the windows picked up as they reached the short causeway that connected Pearl Island to Galveston. "Maybe you should explain to your sister that we're not each other's type."

  "As a matter of fact, I just told her something to that effect," he said, then scowled. "What do you mean, 'not each other's type'? What kind of man is your type?"

  "For a serious relationship?" She mulled that over.

  "Quiet, reliable, and not so gorgeous I'd spend all my time beating off the competition."

  "I'm reliable."

  "One out of three?" That really got her laughing. "Sorry, mister, not good enough."

  So she did find him attractive, just not in a serious- relationship sort of way. Which was good, he assured himself. Having Jackie fall for him would complicate things. He'd been through that with too many co-workers back in his days as assistant chef at Chez Lafitte. Still, he was starting to chafe at her cracks about his looks and taste in women. "You overestimate my appeal, and underestimate your own."

  "Oh yeah?" Her brows went up. "Are you saying you're ready to forsake your legions of admirers to pursue me and only me?"

  He studied her, thinking she was just a little too cocky from one-upping him last night. "I don't know." He let loose a sensual smile and lowered his eyelids halfway. "Are you willing to make it worth my while?"

  "Ha! In your dreams."

  "Oh yeah." The color that flooded her cheeks intrigued him. "I definitely had a few of those last night. How about you?"