by Eve Gaddy
Nick pulled into the garage. Casey got out and waited while Nick helped Esme out of the car. She took her aunt’s other arm, shocked at how frail it felt.
“Your parents are coming home today,” Esme said as they entered the house through the back porch door.
Casey exchanged a startled glance with Nick. “Aunt Esme, Maman and Duke…they’re gone.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Esme said acerbically, sounding more like herself. “I’m neither senile nor stupid.”
Casey closed her eyes. Oh God, she’s talking about their bodies.
“Jackson set the funeral for the day after tomorrow,” Esme continued. She sat down at the breakfast table they’d moved onto the porch for the duration of the renovation, and frowned at Casey. “We should make some calls in case not everyone sees the paper. Your friend Viv has offered to help.”
The very last thing Casey wanted to do was to make those calls, but she couldn’t leave the burden on her aunt’s shoulders. She nodded, not speaking.
“If you’ll give me a list, I’ll be glad to make some of the calls for you, too,” Nick said.
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.” Esme gazed at Nick before adding, “Perhaps I was wrong about you. You’ve been very kind. Both to me and my niece.”
Nick smiled and shook his head. “No, Miss Esme, you were exactly right. I’m still that no-account gambler you thought I was when we first met.” To Casey he said, “I have to go to the boat but I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll walk you out,” she said, responding to his signal.
“Make sure your aunt eats something,” he said when they got outside. “She looks like she’s going to keel over if she doesn’t.”
“I’ll have Betty fix something quick. Sandwiches, maybe.” She could use food, too. Her stomach had been so jumpy she’d hardly eaten since the eggs Betty had fixed her at lunch the day before.
“And you eat, as well,” he added, reading her mind. “It won’t help anyone if both you and your aunt pass out.”
“I will. Nick, thank you. Not just for today, but for last night. I didn’t want to be alone.”
He shrugged and glanced away. “You could have stayed with your family.”
“I didn’t want them. I wanted you.”
He looked at her and she was startled to see the torment in his eyes. “Casey, don’t read any more into this—into my being here—than it is. It will just make matters that much worse in the end.”
“I know that’s what you say.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, until he slowly, reluctantly kissed her back. “But it’s not how you feel, is it, Nick?”
“I have to go,” he said, and left her abruptly.
In spite of everything, her heart felt a bit lighter. Nick cared, no matter what he said.
When she went back inside, to her surprise, Esme was still sitting at the table.
“That young man is in love with you.”
“I know.”
“But does he know it?”
Casey nodded. “Yes. He’s just having trouble admitting we could last. I intend to change his mind.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Esme said dryly. “You are a Fontaine.”
THE NEXT FEW DAYS, including the funeral itself, passed in a blur for Casey. The only mercy was that getting ready for the influx of mourners, and those people who would stay overnight after the services, took up so much of her attention that she didn’t have much time left over to dwell on her newest relation and what was going to happen to Bellefontaine.
To Casey’s surprise, the funeral brought her a measure of peace. While she hadn’t been able to totally forgive her father for what she still thought of as his betrayal, she was able to mourn for both her parents sincerely. And seeing the number of people who’d come—from friends, acquaintances and employees to their many relations—brought her comfort, as well. Duke and Angelique had mattered to a great many people and would be sorely missed.
She spent the nights with Nick, and they were both very careful not to mention when he planned to leave or how she planned to deal with it when he did. They didn’t make love, but Casey stayed every night in his bed and in his arms. She wondered how he could be so blind to the commitment he’d made to her.
Casey went back to work the day after the funeral. Not only did Len need help with the harvest—he’d been working on his own for days—but she needed to do something worthwhile. Something that might take her mind off Nick and her new sister. Besides, it made her feel closer to her father, doing something he would have approved of. He wouldn’t want them to neglect Bellefontaine.
A couple of days later, while she was out in the fields, she got a call from Jackson on her cell phone.
“Remy Boucherand is coming over. He wants to see you, me and Aunt Esme.”
“Is it about Broderick?”
“Yes. He’ll be here in about half an hour.”
“All right, see you then.”
They met with Remy in the billiards room, the same room in which they’d discussed the fire with the Fire Captain, the first night she’d seen Nick. She sighed and tried to focus on the matter at hand.
Remy waited until they were all seated and then began. “It looks like Harold Broderick is responsible for a lot of your problems. We had him cold on the vandalism and assault charges, since both Nick and Casey identified him. We were also able to match a fingerprint we found in the kitchen to his. When he realized we had him on that one, he confessed to setting the fire, as well. He’s also confessed to a third crime.”
“The stolen harvester?” Jackson asked.
Remy nodded. “That’s right. He arranged to have it stolen, and the story he gave checks out.”
“But why did he confess?” Casey asked. “Did you have any proof?”
Remy smiled at her. “No, we didn’t even have a lead on it. Broderick wanted to make a deal. Here’s the interesting part. Broderick claims he acted under orders. Says he committed all three crimes at someone else’s instigation.”
They all exchanged glances. Casey said, “Someone paid him to do all those things? Why?”
“That, he doesn’t know. Unfortunately, he also has no idea who his employer was.” He rubbed his jaw and sighed. “I’ve got to tell you, we don’t have a lot of faith in the man’s confession.”
“Why not?” Esme asked. “Why would he confess to another crime if he didn’t do it?”
“Oh, we think he did it. We just don’t believe someone paid him. He can’t identify the man. Claims he was paid cash, that the money was dropped off in a locker at the bus station. And here’s the real kicker—he’s since lost the money. Says he gambled it away.”
“Obviously you haven’t been able to verify that fact,” Jackson said. “So you think Broderick was operating on his own and he made up the conspiracy to get himself off the hook.”
Remy nodded. “It’s the most logical explanation. Broderick’s really got it in for your sister. He’s irrational where she’s concerned. When she fired him, it sent him off the deep end. Between you and me, he didn’t have far to go.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Casey asked, annoyed. “The man came to work drunk. Twice. Any rational person would have fired him.”
“I’m not arguing, chère,” Remy said soothingly. “Just explaining his motivation.”
“Any hope of getting our harvester back?” Casey asked, thinking of the increase in their insurance rates. If they recovered the harvester, that might lessen the blow.
“Sorry, chère,” Remy said, and got up. “Virtually none. That machine could be anywhere in Mexico by now. We’ll do what we can with what he told us, but don’t get your hopes up.”
It looked like she’d have to be satisfied with having Harold Broderick behind bars. Besides, she had other things to think about now. Like Nick and her.
She’d decided that she wasn’t giving up Nick without a fight. And she knew she had to act quickly, since she was sure he�
�d be leaving soon. In a perfect world, she could have taken her time, but her world had been anything but perfect lately.
Exactly how she intended to accomplish her goal, she wasn’t sure. She thought she might have an idea to get them started in the right direction, though.
She was going to seduce Nick, and take it from there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NICK WENT TO CASEY’S that evening after he finished up at the casino. She’d called earlier and asked him if he would come over, and he hadn’t been able to think of a good reason not to. Except that the cottage held too many memories of their making love.
But he didn’t think she wanted to hear that, so he told her he would come by. And now that he’d arrived, he had regrets. It had been hard enough sleeping with Casey, holding her in his arms every night, but never making love to her. Only that morning he’d woken up with a hard-on the size of Texas. He’d wanted to kiss her awake and make long, slow love to her for hours, then start all over again. Instead, he’d rolled out of bed and headed straight into a cold shower.
So he wouldn’t spend the night with her again. Because if he stayed the night, even one more night, he would lose control and they’d make love. And that would be a mistake for both of them.
Casey needed to get accustomed to his absence. He’d been there for her after her parents died, and he didn’t regret that for a minute. He couldn’t have left her when she was so vulnerable, when she’d needed him so much. But she couldn’t continue to lean on him—not when he’d be leaving soon. In truth, he could leave next week if he wanted to.
He used the key she’d given him and stepped inside, halting on the threshold in shock. A score of candles lit the room, casting a romantic glow. The house smelled incredible—expensive, exotic, like a hothouse or tropical garden. It looked like one, too, with flowers of all varieties in vases on every flat surface. He was surprised rose petals weren’t leading the way to her.
His eyes lifted to meet Casey’s. She sat on the couch wearing an extremely sheer nightgown the color of her eyes. For an intense moment he simply stared at her. Finally, his brain began to function again. Oh, shit, I’m dead meat now, was all he could think.
Casey laughed softly. “You look absolutely panic-stricken, Nick. Surely a romantic setting isn’t enough to put that expression in your eyes.”
No possible way could he resist her in this mood. But he had to try. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, surprised he could speak without stuttering.
She didn’t respond, but smiled and poured wine into two crystal glasses. “You’re an intelligent man,” she said, picking up a glass and rising. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Now shut the door, Nick, you’re letting all the cool air out. And come have a glass of wine.”
He closed the door with a bang and walked toward her. He tried his best to keep his eyes on her face, but with all the smooth, glowing skin exposed by the nightgown, he didn’t stand a chance. His eyes were riveted, as he was sure she’d intended, on the very tempting swells of her breasts. He took the glass she handed him and gulped down some wine.
“Nice,” he said, and picked up the bottle. “I wasn’t aware you knew wine.” Excellent vintage. Pricey as hell. Or it had been the last time he’d had it, in Monte Carlo. He wondered what a bottle went for nowadays. It appeared Casey was pulling out all the stops.
“I don’t know a thing about wine.” She grinned. “I got it from the wine cellar at Bellefontaine. What I do know is where they keep the good stuff.”
“So, what’s the occasion?” Two more minutes and he’d be sweating. No, begging. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in far too long.
“Nothing. Just…to us.” She picked up her glass and touched it to his. She tasted hers, grimaced and set it down on the coffee table. “Are you sure the wine isn’t sour? It tastes funny to me.”
“No, it’s great.” He took another sip to prove it. Smooth and rich, just like her skin. He set the glass on the coffee table. “I hate to ruin your plans, but I think we can cut to the chase. This isn’t going to happen.”
“What isn’t going to happen, Nick? Our making love?”
She tilted her head and smiled, a sultry, sexy smile that made him want to say to hell with his scruples.
“Why not?” she asked.
He hardened his heart, and his voice. “It’s over between us, Casey. These past few days you needed a friend. That’s all I’ve been.”
She moved closer to him and put her arms around his neck. She kissed his jaw, a string of tiny nips that were as arousing as anything he’d ever experienced. He felt sweat pop out on his forehead and gritted his teeth.
“Liar,” she said softly in his ear. “I’ve been sleeping next to you, remember? You still want me.”
Want her? More than he’d ever wanted anyone in his life. “I’m leaving town next week,” he said desperately, as her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and her mouth—Lord, that mouth—followed her fingers, skimming his chest with heated kisses. He was mesmerized by Casey, swamped in her scent, the feel of her skin, soft and warm against his.
“Really?” She shoved his shirt down his arms, her eyes alive with wicked laughter. “Sudden decision, isn’t it?” She rubbed her breasts, covered only by a thin layer of silk, against his bare chest.
He couldn’t stop a groan. Couldn’t stop his arms from going around her, his hands from clamping on her hips, holding her tight against him. “You’re killing me,” he said, and crushed his mouth to hers.
“That’s the idea,” she whispered, when he let her up for air.
He knew it was wrong. Hell, he knew it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. But there was no way in hell he was leaving her house without making love to her. Without putting his mouth on every inch of her luscious skin, and having her mouth on him. Without being inside her and knowing that last taste of heaven.
“I can’t fight you any longer,” he said, and kissed her again.
By the time they reached her bedroom they were both naked. He barely managed to put on a condom before he parted her thighs. Her back arched, and her hips lifted to meet his. He’d wanted to make it last, but Casey was as frantic as he was, her hands and her mouth urging him to completion as her body tightened around him.
“Too fast,” he said, trying to slow down. He kissed her mouth, mating his tongue with hers.
“Just right,” she whispered when his mouth moved to her throat to taste her.
Her eyes glazed, and he felt her convulse around him. As her muscles contracted, he drove into her again and again, and spilled deep inside her.
“NICK? ARE YOU AWAKE?”
They were lying in bed, and she had her head on his shoulder and was tracing circles on his chest with her fingers. It was later, much later, after they’d made love again. Nick had never felt as content as he did at that moment. But the feeling couldn’t last…could it?
“I’m awake.”
“Stay with me.”
He looked down at her and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not tonight, anyway.
“No. I mean, stay for good. Live with me, here at the cottage.”
Damn it, hadn’t he known it was a mistake to make love with her? Now she was dreaming about happily ever after, and if Nick knew one thing, it was that he wasn’t fated for happily ever after.
“I can’t. I told you that before and nothing’s changed.” He got out of bed and went looking for his pants. He found them in the hall, pulled them on and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He considered drinking the wine, since he knew damn well that Casey wouldn’t let this subject drop.
She didn’t. A few minutes later, she came into the room wearing a soft terry-cloth robe. She didn’t look particularly upset, though she did seem a little exasperated. She sat on the couch and watched him finish the glass of water.
“You can’t keep running, Nick. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face it.”
He shoved his hands through his hai
r and glared at her. “Face what?”
“Your past. Or whatever it is about your past you can’t deal with.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve been avoiding it for nearly thirty years now. I see no reason to change.”
She frowned. “Well, beyond the obvious reason that you’re never going to have a permanent relationship until you deal with it, I guess that’s true.”
He walked into the living room and sat on the couch, as far away from Casey as he could get. He picked up the glass of wine and drank it, then poured more into his glass. He started to fill hers, but she covered the glass with her hand.
“You didn’t tell me all of it, did you?”
He shook his head. “There was no reason to. Not then, or now.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t talk about it. Ever. There’s no point.”
“I think you’re wrong.” She put her hand on his arm and rubbed it up and down, comfortingly. “What are you hiding from?”
He set the wineglass down with a bang. “Damn it, I’m not hiding from anything. It was a miserable time in my life. Why should I talk about it? Besides, it was years ago.”
She didn’t lose her temper. She remained maddeningly calm. “You said you went into the orphanage when you were seven. Tell me about the time before that.”
He turned his head and glared at her again. Why the hell couldn’t she just leave it alone? Why did she have to push him to remember something he’d buried for the better part of three decades? Something that should stay buried. Something too shameful to even think about, much less talk about.
“You’re not getting off my back until I talk, are you?”
“No.” She smiled ruefully. “I want to understand. I want to help you.”
“I can’t understand it—why should you?” He focused on a vase of flowers. Tiger lilies. Fiery splashes of orange and red. Beautiful and exotic. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d seen flowers. There sure as hell hadn’t been any vases sitting around his parents’ apartment or any beds of plants surrounding the desolate buildings of inner-city Dallas. Not even a damn daisy or wildflower had dared showed itself in that neighborhood.