He opened his mouth to reply, but Doc Linc, in a show of bold hostility Josh hadn't expected, cut him down. "Lennon's not stupid. She'll see right through you." Turning his back, the man made his way toward a crowd admiring an oil on canvas depicting a nude woman and a flying dwarf.
Josh mentally bumped up the name Lincoln Palmer, M.D., to the top of the suspect list. Although a flash-and-bang tossed at Miss Q couldn't be interpreted as an attempt to win over Lennon, Josh wouldn't put it past the man to frighten the McDarbys just so he could sail in to rescue them. His finances might not have yielded anything suspect, but the way he'd been sniffing after Lennon since the reception...
Not even the strong espresso Josh drank in the sculpture garden could wipe the bad taste from his mouth after the encounter. He didn't want to analyze too closely why a suspect's comments had stung. Josh had spent most of his adult life trying to create distance between himself and his family. It looked as if he'd achieved his goal.
On a more pleasing note, the plastic surgeon did steer clear of Lennon for the rest of the tour, which culminated in the auditorium, where Miss Q spoke about the gallery's mission statement of preserving, collecting and exhibiting erotic art.
She spoke about how Josh's grandfather had collected in the narrow field, which didn't mean his field of vision was narrow.
"His passion for discovery," she said, "was focused and intensified because he was intimately acquainted with his subject. Each search became a grand adventure, with his view of the world constantly challenged and refreshed by finding things no one ever thought were there."
Not even Josh, who'd known his grandfather his whole life, could help but feel awed by the man and his accomplishments. He found the scope of the gallery very impressive. Especially Lennon's contribution.
She took the stage, confident and relaxed, to present the more practical aspects of the gallery's public resources. Josh sat in the wings, listening to her speak about curriculums for educators and students, various online programs, teacher workshops and school tours.
She'd also arranged a national lending program that made the Joshua Eastman Gallery's art accessible to museums throughout the United States.
A polished, comfortable speaker, Lennon held her audience's attention by keeping to the point and promising everyone that she'd soon let them get back to having fun.
He remembered the many business and charitable fund-raising functions his grandmother had dragged their family to during the years--most of which entailed sitting through lengthy banquets and even lengthier speeches, and never with a smile.
Focused solely on business and the bottom line, his grandmother never mixed business with pleasure. In fact, to Josh's knowledge she didn't know the meaning of the word fun. If Eastman Antiquities or a charity organization required a board meeting, it was conducted in a conference room with no distractions. All fund-raising presentations were focused on the horrible things that would happen if enough money wasn't raised.
Hell, he would never forget the annual Christmas party wars, as he'd dubbed them, when she would badger his grandfather to give up throwing a party for his employees. A waste of money, she'd always said, declaring the money would be much better spent increasing the amount of the Christmas bonuses.
Josh wondered if his father had knuckled under to her wishes after his grandfather's death. Josh wouldn't venture to guess, not when he could be watching Lennon instead.
And as he watched her, he had to admit that Doc Linc did have a point. She'd make some man one hell of a wife. Damn shame he wasn't in the market for a society bride.
As the guests milled about the gallery before the luncheon, Josh found himself back in the rococo exhibit, facing another reminder that he'd put himself in the gutter, as Doc Linc had so aptly expressed it. As Joshua Eastman's grandson, he was expected to be an art authority.
"What do you think of this artist's use of aquatint?" a jewel-bedecked matron who sidled up to him asked.
Truth was, Josh hadn't even noticed the piece. He only stood beside it because it kept him close to Lennon.
"His soft tonal effects work well, don't you think, Josh?" Lennon turned to them, making it obvious that she was still paying close attention to him.
"Absolutely," he agreed.
"Oh, leave it to an Eastman to recognize talent," the matron enthused, earning a smile from Lennon before she moved on to the next piece in the exhibition.
"So you recognize talent, black sheep, is that right?" She arched a brow dubiously.
"It's what I live for. Take this painting here." Slipping his fingers around Lennon's elbow, he led her in the opposite direction from the matron. "The brush strokes and the attention to detail on that nude woman and flying dwarf--"
"Nude woman and flying dwarf?" Lennon drew the attention of several onlookers. "That's Venus and Cupid, black sheep. I take back what I said about your classical training. You've been slumming too long and it's showing."
"Funny, that's the second time I've heard that today."
She eyed him curiously. "Oh, really. What happened?"
"Nothing noteworthy, trust me." He wasn't about to get into the Doc Linc story and his designs on Lennon. No opinion of plastic man's was worthy of repeating, no matter how close he'd managed to hit the bull's-eye.
To distract Lennon, Josh glanced up at the wall at a painting of a young woman sitting at a window with an older woman behind her. "What's erotic about that? Looks like a mother and daughter. Or maybe a chaperon with her charge."
Lennon gave him a slight smile. "That may look like an innocent scene, but you've got to read between the lines. The title is The Galician Women. Anyone familiar with this period knows Galicia was a Spanish province where courtesans and prostitutes lived. See the low neckline and the red flower?" She pointed to the portrait. "That's a whore and her pimp."
Sauntering away, she left him staring after her, seriously considering whether the time had come to crawl back out of the gutter.
8
LENNON FINALLY CORNERED Auntie Q in a private alcove before she disappeared into the sculpture garden, which was filled to overflowing with guests for the poetry reading.
Before Lennon could get a word out, though, Auntie Q wheeled on her and Josh, her gaze sweeping over them in delight. "So you're sleeping together, dears. How wonderful.""That's all we're doing together, but you knew everyone would think otherwise when you blocked that last room so Josh and I would be forced to stay together in mine."
"Lisette hasn't decided if she's going to make an appearance this weekend. What else can I do? Olaf insisted. If there's even a chance to acquire Tete-a-tete... You know how much your great-uncle adored that piece." Spreading her hands in entreaty, Auntie Q looked like a fragile butterfly in her multi-hued pastel chiffon.
A very deceptive appearance.
Olaf shrugged, and Auntie Q apparently considered that reinforcement enough to support her case, because she said, "Josh Three needs to stay with you to protect you, don't you, dear?" She swung that feigned innocent look Josh's way.
"I do."
"Then I fail to see the trouble. Olaf's sharing my room to protect me."
This conversation was heading exactly where Lennon didn't want to go, so she cut to the chase. "You've got a two-bedroom suite. No one thinks you're sleeping with him."
"If it bothers you, then say Josh Three's your, oh, I don't know...how about your assistant?" Auntie Q suggested. "You're a successful author. Don't authors have assistants?"
"New York Times bestselling authors, maybe."
"Well, it's not as if you'd starve without that pittance you eke out from those books, dear. Everyone knows you come from money and can afford an assistant."
Lennon's mouth popped open, but no words came out. She made a very good living with her writing. Okay, maybe not as much as if she'd gone to medical or law school, at least not yet, but as soon as she made the New York Times bestseller list... She'd already made the USA Today list.
Au
ntie Q quickly realized she'd bordered on hurtful with that remark, because she took Lennon's hands and held them. "Let people speculate about what you're doing. Especially with someone as handsome as Josh Three. Look at him, Lennon. Look at his ponytail. Makes him look like that swashbuckling pirate from your last romance novel, doesn't it?"
Lennon tried to hang on to her anger but failed miserably in the face of her great-aunt's heartfelt enthusiasm.
"The spy," she finally said.
Auntie Q darted her gaze back to Josh. "Not the pirate?"
"He had gray eyes."
"Oh, well, I haven't met your spy yet," Auntie Q conceded. "All the better. You need inspiration to write those spicy sex scenes, since you haven't had any inspiration yourself recently...." She waved a hand melodramatically. "Let people think you're sleeping with Josh Three. You are, aren't you?"
"Of course not," Lennon exclaimed, not bothering to keep her voice down, though she knew they were attracting attention.
Auntie Q shot Josh a glance that suggested he wasn't up to snuff. "You've got your work cut out for you."
Josh nodded. "I do."
"Your grandfather was man enough for the job when he courted me. Are you?"
From the way Josh's lips quivered, Lennon knew he was fighting back a smile. "I am."
"Good."
Auntie Q's blue eyes twinkled and Lennon tugged her hands away, leaving them to their lunacy. She was having no part of this craziness. Not when just the mention of sleeping with Josh started that insistent throb between her thighs. "You've all lost your minds."
Herself included.
Heading toward the sculpture garden, she plunged into the crowd of guests gathered for the reading of the first edition of Shakespeare's erotic poem, Venus and Adonis. Lennon greeted people, clearing her mind of Auntie Q's manipulations to get her to abandon the search for Mr. Right.
How ironic that her search had already ended now that everyone thought she was sleeping with Josh. Lennon couldn't lust after Josh and check out the bachelors--not and still look herself in the mirror. But she wouldn't let Auntie Q know that.
Or Josh either, for that matter.
She'd asked for his help and he'd refused it. That exempted him from any explanations.
Whether she decided to sleep with him or not.
Lennon settled herself on an unoccupied bench not far from the piazza, where Auntie Q had set up a podium that displayed the priceless first edition.
Architecture in New Orleans wouldn't be complete without the requisite courtyard, and this thought had inspired the sculpture garden. With the benches positioned throughout the piazza to invite visitors to admire the ornate fountain and enjoy the wild songbirds that made their homes in the abundant foliage, Lennon thought the sculpture garden more resembled a tiny Eden.
The winter sun warmed the garden with its midafternoon heat, and Lennon thought the sunshine showed the garden to its best effect. The fountain's spray broke in a wide arc from the sculptured base, a haze of diamond chips that rippled on the surface, a gentle patter beneath the buzz of the guests' chatter.
The setting had been designed to be informal, encouraging visitors to enjoy a break outdoors, and Lennon did so--for all of two glorious seconds.
Inevitably someone would notice her sitting by herself in a crowd. Of course, that someone would be Josh, and she scooted toward the edge of the bench when he sat down.
"Are you done playing games with Auntie Q?" she asked. "If memory serves, you wouldn't let Louis Garceau voice opinions at my expense. Would you mind explaining the difference between him belittling my books and you trashing my reputation?"
"Happy to, chere," he replied magnanimously, leaning against the back of the bench and hooking his hands behind his head, so his dress shirt stretched taut to accommodate the width of his chest.
Lennon forced her gaze up to his.
Mistake.
Those green eyes glinted with amusement, a reminder of the intimacies they'd shared, of a night spent twined around each other, of naked bodies and slow hot kisses and revealing reactions to the edgy side of sex.
That ache between her legs throbbed a little harder.
"Well?" She lowered her voice, as Auntie Q had taken the podium and was encouraging guests to gather around.
"I'm not trashing your reputation. I'm establishing a cover to put a safe perimeter in place around you. I want every guest to know that they can't get near you without going through me. Not in public, not when you're asleep in bed." He paused for effect, his eyes flashing. "And I'm staking a claim, too, because I fully intend to make love to you."
Make love. She found his choice of words rather ironic--or would have had she been able to actually reason through the incongruities of having sex as opposed to making love.
As it was, just watching the possessive words form on his lips had scattered her thoughts so completely that she stared at him, not quite sure how to react. She heard the buzz of the PA system as background noise, but couldn't focus on anything but the desire so evident in Josh's expression.
Until his expression changed to a scowl before her eyes.
Suddenly Lennon noticed how quiet the garden had become. Peering around, she found every face turned to her and Josh.
Had everyone overheard their conversation?
The thought made her heart skip a beat, but before Lennon had a chance to say or do anything--like she could possibly say or do something to fix a faux pas of this magnitude--Auntie Q's voice rang out from the microphone.
"Well, come on, dears. Don't be shy. We're all looking forward to hearing you read our illustrious first edition. Aren't we, everyone?"
Enthusiastic applause followed.
"Of course, it's only right that they read from this treasure," she continued once the noise died down. "Josh Three to honor his grandfather, and, as most of you already know, Lennon writes romantic erotica. Maybe someday she'll pick up the story where Shakespeare left off...."
"How can she?" Olaf asked from the fringes of the crowd.
"Good question," Louis Garceau agreed from the front row. "Adonis died at the end of the poem."
Someone in the crowd laughed heartily. "Necrophilia!"
"Absolutely not." Auntie Q tutted. "Lennon likes happy endings, so she'll think of something. If Rhett and Scarlett can get back together..."
Josh was the first to come to his senses, pushing to his feet with a growl. He extended his hand and Lennon took it, walked toward the podium on legs gone stiff with her irritation.
Trapped.
She could only smile politely, when the last thing on earth she wanted to do was sit in front of this crowd and ape the erotic pleas of Venus as she vainly tried to persuade Adonis to abandon his hunt and take her to bed.
Auntie Q had always possessed a bizarre sense of humor, but this time she'd gone way too far.
On a more satisfying note, Lennon observed that Josh also looked as though this performance was on the bottom of his list of things he wanted to do. In fact, he looked downright out of sorts.
"Come here, dears." Auntie Q motioned them to a bench. "Sit here where everyone can see you."
Great. And of course they had to sit sandwiched together to read from the first edition. Lennon couldn't begin to say what distracted her more--Josh's hard thigh pressed against hers or the fact that fifty people gathered around, eagerly waiting to hear two supposedly real lovers act out a sexy power struggle between two mythical characters. With her on the losing end.
Arrgh. She gazed out at the sea of people gathered around and almost didn't have to fake her smile when Josh groaned by her side. After affixing the clip-on microphone Olaf provided to her jacket collar, Lennon inhaled deeply.
With unspoken agreement, they fell into a comfortable pattern of her reading Venus's words and Josh reading the narrative and Adonis's part. His voice was strong and rich, with just a hint of Southern drawl that made her forget the audience as the sound filtered through her senses.
She surprised herself by sounding reasonably normal, and it actually wasn't too bad until she reached the lines:
"'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?'"
Lennon spoke the words, remembering the way she'd begged Josh, by her actions if not her words, to kiss her last night. And she suspected he might have been remembering, too, when he started whispering racy asides that earned chuckles from the nearby guests. The whole affair became quite lively, with the audience enthusiastically interjecting comments into the pauses, such as, "Come on, Adonis, give her what she wants."What had started out as a dignified poetry reading degenerated into raucous entertainment at Shakespeare's expense, and Auntie Q beamed in approval from a seat beside the podium. People were having fun. Her great-aunt thought there was no better pastime than that.
By the time she lamented the death of Adonis, Lennon remembered Josh's comment about her getting to attend all the fun parties. Hadn't his family made time for fun?
That was a question she couldn't answer. After all, she'd never actually had to deal with the Eastmans.
But when Josh bowed to hearty applause from their audience, Lennon met his smile with one of her own, pleased he was here this weekend to be a part of this tribute to his grandfather and the recipient of Auntie Q's own unique brand of affection.
SHORTLY AFTER a museum staff member returned the first edition to its display case, Josh escorted Lennon from the sculpture garden with Miss Q and Olaf.
"We can ride back to the hotel together," Miss Q suggested.Josh glanced at Lennon, who inclined her sleek blond head in consent. "Works for us," he said, not eager to tackle the midafternoon French Quarter in a suit and tie.
Olaf reached into a pocket, dug out a set of keys. "I'll get the car."
As he turned to leave, Miss Q wavered slightly, just a step backward that made Josh recognize she was unsteady on her feet. He reached for her the same time Lennon did.
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