“Magazine articles are as airbrushed as those photographs on their covers. They leave out a lot.”
“Your life with Noelle sounded like a fairy tale,” she said, turning the conversation back to what she was curious about.
“Yes. It was supposed to. We were much admired.” His deep voice sounded full of pain. “Image was important to me then.”
“But no longer—after last night in my bed,” she said.
“I think you’ve made that point before.” His eyes met hers. “Don’t sell yourself short. “Still, I’ve always had a knack for getting what I want, and back then, I was greedy for success.” He hesitated. “But, be careful what you wish for, as they say. Even success can be dangerous.”
She could tell him a thing or two about danger. Like tonight. What was she doing here with him? Listening to him? Believing him? Almost forgiving him?
She shifted on her seat. “So why did you come looking for me tonight?”
“You mean besides the fact that you are a sexual goddess.”
She laughed.
“You are, you know?”
“Right.”
“You’re spectacular. And not just in bed.” His hand reached across the table and folded hers inside his fingers, causing a trill of warm sensation to flood her.
“Cici, I received many calls today, thanking me for the wonderful party I threw my grandfather. Apparently, he had the time of his life all because of you. Thank you for making him so happy.”
“I can’t take all the credit. You paid for everything. You’ve been letting him come into the office.”
“You showed me that I was neglecting him…just like I neglected Noelle. And he’s actually proved himself useful at the office. He knows so much about the company’s past, and he’s very wise. Hopefully, because of you, I’ll be more attentive to him in the future.”
“Like having breakfast with him in the morning?”
“Like that.”
She smiled. “He loves you so much.”
“I love him, too. I owe him everything.”
“Funny, how easy it is to forget those we love sometimes.”
“Not so funny.” He pressed her hand tightly and then brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips warmly. “I’ve run roughshod over the people I’ve loved,” he whispered. “It’s time I stopped.”
“You know what they say about good intentions, Claiborne.”
“If you can wear that demure blue dress, maybe I can change a feather or two of my plumage.”
“It’s not so easy, you know.”
“You forget how determined I can be when I want something.”
Their food and beer came, and he withdrew his hand. She ordered more crackers. For a while their food and drink proved so distracting, they didn’t talk. Then he asked her to dance, and being held in his arms was even more distracting than chatting or holding hands or eating had been.
He pulled her close, his voice in her ear as they swirled faster than the elderly dancers. Tonight there was no one to stop them from dancing with each other as long as they liked, so they remained on the dance floor for nearly an hour. She was breathless when he led her back to their table.
“It’s late, and I’m very tired,” she said. “Would you drive me home?”
“You trust me to drive?”
“Yes, but that’s all I trust you to do.”
“For now,” he said in a husky tone.
Nine
It was a balmy spring morning with water splashing in the nearby fountain and bees buzzing in the azalea blossoms.
Logan was being the perfect gentleman, not that he was to be trusted, Cici reminded herself. Still, she was enjoying his company as well as Pierre’s way more than she wanted to as she sipped steaming chicory coffee and nibbled at her scrambled eggs and spicy Chaurice sausage on the wide veranda.
A swamp girl could get used to the high life. Yes, she felt totally at ease with them and their elegant surroundings as the old man proceeded to extract each detail concerning the failed merger from his grandson.
“This is a temporary setback,” Pierre said. “A challenge. Mitchell will come around.”
“I don’t think so, and frankly… I’m not sure…” Logan’s sudden grin revealed a flash of straight white teeth.
Underneath the tablecloth, his leg was nudging Cici’s much too flirtatiously, causing her to gasp.
“You’ll see. If you ask me, Mitchell was a bit too happy to sink the deal,” Pierre murmured before turning to include Cici. “But we’re boring you.”
The warm heat of Logan’s calf grazing hers had her blushing now.
“Not at all,” she murmured, scooting further away from Logan.
Pierre patted her hand. “Nevertheless, I insist we talk about the wonderful party you gave me. I had the time of my life—seeing friends I hadn’t seen in months.”
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Me, too,” Logan agreed.
When breakfast was over, Logan walked her to the library before he had to leave for the city.
“You make him happy,” he said. “I like that. Still, I’d like to be selfish and borrow you so I could enjoy you myself for a while. I do have a library in New Orleans, every bit as good as this one.”
“I’d love to see it sometime,” she murmured carelessly as she lifted a book off a table.
Gently he took the book from her and closed it. Setting it down, he said, “Why not today? Cici, I think we’ve wasted enough time…and all because I was such a fool.”
“You were far worse than that.”
“You’re right. And I am sorry. And I know I’m probably rushing you, but like I said, I’m selfish. I’d really like for you to follow me back this morning. I lay awake all night thinking about this. We need to get to know each other better.”
“I grew up here, remember. I’ve known you most of my life.”
“I mean…know each other as adults. I have a huge house. You could stay in it…write in my library. I’d be away all day, but in the evening we could go out together. We could talk, dance… We could see where this thing between us is going.”
“I don’t think so. My uncle is here. I’m set up here…”
“Why not? Just for a day or two, then. What if I promise not to touch you?”
“That would be dull indeed.”
“Don’t tease me. What I’m suggesting is an old-fashioned courtship.”
“Forgive me if I’m missing something, but I don’t think old-fashioned courtships have ever consisted of young women who’ve already spent the night in a young man’s arms moving in with him.”
“Well, then it’ll be an old-fashioned courtship with a modern twist. What do you say, Cici?”
“You probably think this is just the sort of proposition that would appeal to a swamp girl like me.”
“I beg you not to tease me.”
“That’s harder than you think, you know.”
“Will you come?”
“I shouldn’t.”
It was nearly noon when Cici followed Logan’s Lexus up his narrow driveway in the Garden District. Looking up, she saw his double-galleried, three-story, Italianate mansion lit softly by golden sunshine filtering through the trees.
Grinning at her for gaping at his mansion, he got out of his Lexus and swung her car door open. “Well, what do you think?”
“Your city home is every bit as impressive and magical as Belle Rose.”
“I hoped you’d like it. And, remember, I’m not bringing you here for sex.”
“Oh, really?” she teased, lifting her eyebrows with a pretense of schoolteacher primness. “But would a man who clearly wants to impress a girl with his wealth turn it down if she offered it?”
“Such a girl shouldn’t push her luck. Not with a man whose character has been less than perfect in the past. There are six bedrooms in this house. You can have any of them.”
“Even yours?”
“That one, too. I repeat:
your choice. But I thought maybe we should slow it down.”
“What a shame.” With a smile she followed him up the stairs onto the lower gallery of his fabulous mansion.
After a night of passion, he had come after her, saying he was a changed man. He had brought her here to his home, saying he wanted to formally court her. Nonsense…probably…even thought he did seem boyishly sincere.
His mansion was as formal and classical inside as the outside.
“Oh, how lovely it all is, but then I knew it would be,” she said. “But then I already said that, didn’t I?”
“My mother restored this home as well as Belle Rose. She had impeccable taste and spared no expense. It would have been a marvel simply to restore both houses, but, no, leave it to her to acquire original furniture, portraits, and then mix them with antiques she carefully chose.”
“So, do you have time to give me a tour of this wonderful house before you go to the office?”
“All right. For starters, the house was built in 1860, right before the Civil War. I’m sure Noonoon told you that our family were royals who left France with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their jewels sewed into their pockets during the French revolution. Because of their title, their children married into the wealthier families in Louisiana. So, marrying well has always been part of the family culture.”
“No wonder your grandfather didn’t want a girl like me for one of his grandsons,” Cici said.
“Times change. But back then our ambitious family bought plantations with their jewels. By marrying well, too, they prospered. Then one of my most enchanting Creole ancestors, Francoise, married Able Claiborne, an extremely rich American, and he gave her this house for a wedding present.”
“Lucky girl.”
“What if I told you he kept the quadroon mistress he’d been in love with before his marriage?”
“Right. Back then a man could marry well and maintain the woman he really loved on the side.”
“Sometimes. In any case, Francoise didn’t get to enjoy her honeymoon here long. The Yankees occupied the house during the war. When she got it back, she was horrified to find her furniture burned for firewood and hoof prints from the Yankees’ horses on the ballroom floor and stairs. Of course, now these very same hoof prints are much prized.”
Cici laughed. “And I thought that was a cliché.”
“It is.”
He led her to the staircase and showed her the hoof marks. Then she looked up as he explained that the staircase coiled upward past large windows and double doors that opened onto a back piazza. The ceiling above the graceful stairs had magnificent plasterwork and a stained glass oculus in its center.
Once upstairs, he showed her all six bedrooms, the last and most splendid being his large master bedroom where an immense four-poster bed dwarfed the other furnishings.
“So, which bed will you choose as yours?” he asked, catching her off guard while she stared at his red satin spread.
Startled, she whirled. In the confined space of his bedroom, his height and wide shoulders made him seem huge. Or was it his teasing reckless grin that made her feel so vulnerable?
“Why…why…maybe that last one at the end of the hall,” she said too quickly.
“The one that is as far from mine as possible?”
“Exactly! You did say you wanted an old-fashioned courtship.”
His grin broadened.
She caught her breath.
“Relax. I’ll bring your bags up before I go to the office. The kitchen downstairs is well stocked. If you need anything you can’t find, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.” He pulled out a business card that contained all his phone numbers and circled his cell number. Then he leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“You didn’t show me the library,” she whispered even as her heart drummed violently in reaction to his lips.
“Oh, that,” he said, his breath warm against her skin.
“After all, it was your library that tempted me to accept your invitation.”
“Not me?”
“No, definitely, it was your library.”
“I warned you about teasing me,” he murmured in a husky undertone. “Now I really must prove you wrong.” He caught her hand and pulled her nearer.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you up on your challenge.” Catching her shoulders he pulled her into his arms. She let out a little cry before his mouth came down on hers.
His kiss was so tenderly reverent, she imagined in its sweet heat promises he’d never made before, promises she didn’t dare let herself believe. And suddenly all the joy she’d hoped to find in his loving her when she’d been a naive eighteen-year-old girl filled her heart anew, and she surrendered to his exploring tongue for a few delicious moments without the slightest reservation.
Her arms came around his neck, and she clung with far too much relish. But slowly sanity returned and she remembered that a woman her age had to be smart about wealthy, sophisticated men like him. Sucking in a sharp breath, she pushed against his chest.
Reluctantly he released her. “I’ll get your bags.” Then he turned, and she heard his footsteps loping down the stairs.
In his beautiful bedroom, she stared after him and longed for another taste of him, longed for all the things that had been rudely ripped from her when she was eight…and then ripped from her again by him later…love…security…family…the sense of belonging to someone, somewhere, forever.
Before she knew it, she heard him downstairs again, returning with her bags. The last thing she needed was for him to discover her in his bedroom so shaken from his kiss she was harboring all sorts of wildly romantic fantasies.
Determined to get to work and get her mind off him, she dashed down the stairs to explore his library while he carried her luggage up to her room.
Knowing that Cici was at his house and would be waiting for him, made it more difficult for Logan to concentrate than usual. He called her twice. When she said he was interrupting her, he called her back and then teased her for answering when she chided him again.
He hung up. Almost immediately he picked up the phone and called a florist to order flowers for her.
Five minutes later he was on the verge of calling her back when Hayes strode inside his office without knocking.
“Good news,” Hayes said, his black eyes as sharp as his voice. “At least, it could be good for us. There’s rather more to Mitchell Butler’s asbestos problem than he led us to believe. Not only that, he’s just lost that big government contract to build more patrol boats for the U.S. Coast Guard. He’s carrying a boatload of foreign debt. I think he’s in trouble with the Feds.”
Hayes went to Logan’s computer and pulled up a Web page.
“Wow, this is bad,” Logan said. “He’s been bilking the company like a bandit. Looks like you need to give him a call and make a new offer.”
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
When Logan gave him a rock bottom number, Hayes let out a low whistle. “You certainly haven’t lost your killer instinct. Yesterday you were so down…”
“Save the compliments. Just make the offer. See what he says. Then get back to me.”
“Enjoying your crispy quail salad?” Logan said.
“Oh, my goodness, yes!” Setting her fork down, Cici glanced up at him. “Excuse me. Yes.” She dabbed her lip with her napkin. “It’s delicious.”
“So delicious, you haven’t said a word to me in at least five minutes. I never thought I’d be jealous of a quail salad.”
She laughed. “Then order one for yourself.”
“Did you get anything done on your book?”
“Your library was too fantastic. You might say I bogged down in my research.”
Their restaurant was located in the heart of the French Quarter. He’d told her it was world famous, and she could see why. It’s soft lighting, slow but attentive service and excellent food made for th
e most romantic dining experience, at least, when a girl wasn’t gorging on her quail salad.
“I didn’t mean for you to stop eating,” he said. Then he frowned as he glanced to his right at a couple who’d just walked in and were being seated at a table against the far wall.
“Oh, no,” he murmured when the brunette, who’d been about to take her chair, saw him, stood up again and fled.
“Alicia?” Cici hadn’t seen much of the woman other than her stricken expression and slim back, so she wasn’t sure who it was.
“I’m afraid so.”
Her companion, an older man with a tanned face and thick, silver hair, stood up and turned toward Logan. Instead of following his dinner companion, the man threw down his napkin and strode over to their table. When Logan thrust out his hand, the man stared at it so coldly, Logan let it fall to his side.
“Your CEO called me today, Claiborne.”
“Sorry to hear about your recent…er…troubles,” Logan said. “Still, you weren’t completely honest.”
“So, you’re moving in for the kill.” Mitchell’s expression darkened as he turned vengefully to Cici. “I’d watch him, if I were you, young lady. He’s not just some nice, tame guy who takes pretty girls to expensive restaurants. He eats people alive.”
“That’s uncalled for, Butler.”
“Is it?”
“You were the one who lied. I’m merely exposing the lie and offering to bail you out.” Logan pushed his chair back, but not before Mitchell had begun backing away from the table.
“Go to hell.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll consider my offer.” Logan turned back to Cici. “Sorry about that,” he added. “I hope he didn’t ruin your quail salad. He and I have some unfinished business. I’m afraid he wasn’t entirely forthcoming about his shipyard. Or his other affairs.”
“Nothing could spoil my salad,” she whispered.
But strangely, as it turned out, she couldn’t eat another bite. She kept remembering Alicia’s stricken look and Mitchell’s warning to her about Logan. Of course, the man was bitter about the merger and Logan’s new offer, so his words could mean nothing. Still, it was nearly half an hour before she could resume her participation in the light banter they’d been enjoying before Mitchell Butler had so rudely interrupted them.
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