by Leann Harris
“Angeline?”
The sweet seduction in his voice made her knees weak. He said nothing more, and she knew he wanted her to look up. But if she did that, she’d be lost.
“Chère, look at me.”
She’d be a coward if she refused.
The choice was taken from her when he cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. Just as she knew, the consuming hunger in his eyes threatened to swallow her. All she had to do was give him the slightest indication, and he would finish what they had started.
He lied to you, a merciless voice inside her head whispered. Don’t be a fool and give in to the wanting. You did once before with Richard, and what did it get you? A broken heart, that’s what.
Shaking, she placed her hands on his arms and tried to move them. He resisted her at first, but after he read the determination in her gaze, he allowed her to slip away from him.
“Do you think that whoever searched this house found anything?” she asked, walking back into the living room. He followed.
“Who can say?”
She turned to face him. “Did Marianna ever mention a special hiding place she had in this house?” Angie laughed at her own foolishness. “If she had, you probably would have already checked it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. When you cleaned up, did you find anyplace that might’ve served as a hiding place?”
“No.”
A horn sounded from outside. Jean-Paul went to the window and saw Pierre in his truck. He turned back to her. “I brought your car back. It’s fixed.”
She gaped at him.
He shrugged. “In the heat of the moment, I forgot to mention it.”
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, picking up her purse from the end table.
“Nothing.”
“What? I know you probably had to replace the radiator.”
“Don’t worry. I called the rental company. We’ll settle with them.”
He stopped at the front door. “Angeline, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my prison record. But I wanted to help you, for Marianna’s sake. I was afraid if you knew, you wouldn’t accept my help.”
She nodded stiffly. “I understand. Thank you for all you’ve done.”
But, really, she didn’t understand. She wanted him to help her because... What? she asked herself. Because he is wowed by your beauty and sex appeal? Get real, Angie.
The horn sounded again. “Jean-Paul,” Pierre bellowed. “We got a wreck on the highway. Come.”
Jean-Paul opened the door and waved at Pierre. “In a minute. Keep your shirt on.” He turned back to Angie. “Tomorrow morning we have a date to go to the historical society, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And I will come and pick you up and drive you there, since you don’t know where it is?”
“I could get directions.”
He shook his head. “Non. I’ll throw in a hot breakfast at the diner as a bribe.”
Pierre blasted them again with the truck horn.
“I’ll stand here until I get the right answer, Angel.”
“All right. You win this time.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “A war is fought a battle at a time. Bonsoir.”
She should have been annoyed by his insistence. Instead she was comforted. And that worried her.
* * *
Angie pushed away the half-eaten bowl of granola. She wasn’t hungry. Her trip into town had robbed her of any appetite. After Jean-Paul had departed, she’d raced into town for some groceries.
As she walked through the market she wondered if she’d grown another arm, with all the stares she’d received. The experience brought home how much she’d come to depend on Jean-Paul these past few days.
She placed her bowl in the sink, then wandered to the back door. The sky was streaked with the fading reds and golds of the setting sun.
Something dark and sensual tugged at Angie, begging her to come out into the gathering night. This time she gave in to the urge. The instant she pushed open the door the moist heat surrounded her, bringing with it memories of Jean-Paul.
The thought of him invoked a dozen different images. His anger at her claims. His strength as he held her when she cried. The passion in his kisses and the warmth of his smile.
She wrapped her arms around her waist. Jean-Paul tapped into that wild part of her nature that she had striven so hard to control, and he brought things to life in her that she hadn’t known existed. The Angie she knew and had striven so hard to become was changing before her eyes.
And that was what frightened her the most.
She could deal with the revelations of the past few days. They only changed the outward circumstances of her life. But Jean-Paul was changing the inner person into a stranger she didn’t know and was afraid to trust.
Chapter 11
Jean-Paul pushed aside his plate, his appetite gone. He glanced outside at the gathering darkness. An unexplained tension gripped his shoulders and neck. It was nothing, he told himself. Just the aftereffects of the bad accident that he’d help sort out this afternoon. He shook off the odd mood, collected his dishes and went to the sink.
After washing up, he wandered outside. This was his favorite time of the day, when the heat eased and the salty breeze from the Gulf of Mexico caressed fevered skin. His nightly ritual of sitting on the steps and relaxing in the cooling wind was one of the things he’d missed the most while he was in prison.
A neighbor’s hounds began baying at something that had caught their attention, setting off a chain of howls that ran through the parish.
Yet in spite of the familiar smells and sounds, there was a nagging apprehension in Jean-Paul. And he could pinpoint the source—Angeline.
Why was he courting trouble by helping her? And make no mistake about it, helping Angeline would result in trouble. His debt to Marianna was part of the reason. But there was more.
He wanted Angeline.
A harsh laugh escaped his lips.
There it was, bald-faced and unadorned. He wanted to make love to the woman who had no idea of her own beauty. Of course, that would be refreshing after all the lovely society ladies of New Orleans, who only considered a man’s social standing and his bank balance. Those genteel ladies made a distinction between little flings and social alliances. He had fallen into the former category.
When he’d met Charlene Dilhurst, he thought he’d met a woman who was different from the rest. Their courtship had been whirlwind. Then, days before they were to announce their engagement, he’d been arrested. By the time he got out on bail, Charlene had discreetly visited his apartment and left her engagement ring on the kitchen table along with her key to his place.
Now he found himself saddled with a woman who had no idea of her own power and seemed to go to great lengths to deny her true nature. And every impulse in his body screamed for him to help her discover her true sensual self. He could be such a devoted teacher, if she would allow him.
But this was Marianna’s daughter. Could he repay his friend by seducing her daughter? Even if Angeline hadn’t been Marianna’s child, Jean-Paul knew he couldn’t use her and walk away.
Then what, Jean-Paul? Do you have something more permanent in mind for the two of you?
He stood and pushed aside the thoughts. Going inside, he turned on the television and stretched out on the couch, intent on watching the baseball game. But his thoughts pursued him.
Why did Angeline fight the fire in her soul? Who was the man who had made her doubt herself? Had she loved him? Had she gone wild in his arms, yielding to the heat she kept carefully hidden?
The TV announcer announced that after thirteen innings this game would go down as game of the year, and Jean-Paul realized he couldn’t recall one play. He turned off the set and went to bed, amazed that his little northern wren had outranked his most indulged passion—baseball.
* * *
Jean-Paul woke with a jolt. He was wet with sweat and breathing hard. Something was wrong. Bad wr
ong, as his maman would have said. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he saw the time was close to one.
He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what it was that was giving him this feeling of urgency.
Angeline.
He threw off the sheet and grabbed his jeans, not bothering with his briefs. There wasn’t time. He slipped on running shoes without socks, snatched his key ring from the dresser and raced out to his truck.
He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened.
He cursed, found his flashlight and jumped out. The ignition wire on this old heap had probably come loose again. He opened the hood and turned on the flashlight. It took him several minutes and two scraped knuckles, but he attached the wire.
Fingers crossed, he tried to start the engine again. It cranked on the first try.
Jean-Paul floored the accelerator and careened down his drive. It seemed as if it took hours to cover the short distance between his house and Marianna’s, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes.
In the headlights of his truck Jean-Paul caught sight of a man racing away from Marianna’s house. His heart tightened with fear. He slammed the truck into park and jumped out, leaving the motor running.
The smell of smoke hit him. He jumped onto the porch. “Angeline,” he bellowed.
Reaching for the front door, he found it ajar. He fought the panic, knowing he needed to think clearly if he was going to find Angeline.
“Angel, where are you?”
Smoke and the dancing light from the fire came from the back of the kitchen. With one glance, Jean-Paul knew he wouldn’t be able to put it out. He ran into the bedroom. Angeline lay at a strange angle across the bed.
“Angel.” He shook her. She didn’t wake, and there was no time to rouse her. Scooping her up, he raced out of the bedroom.
Black smoke filled the living room, making it hard to see and breathe. He bumped into the end table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. He stumbled for several steps, running into the wall. Angeline moaned.
“Hold on, mon ange,” he said, shifting her. Straining to see, Jean-Paul made out the frame of the open door. In three steps he was out, breathing in the fresh night air.
He hurried to his truck and gently placed her inside. In the dim glow of the overhead cab light, he saw a stream of blood behind Angeline’s left ear. Carefully, he examined the wound. It was obvious she’d been hit with a heavy object.
She moaned again and began to cough. It was the sweetest sound Jean-Paul had ever heard.
His first inclination was to try to ask her if she knew what had happened. But the lady needed a doctor before anything else.
He hopped in beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders, bracing her against his body. Awkwardly, with his left hand, he put the truck into drive and took off.
“Jean-Paul.” With her lips pressed against his flesh, he felt her say his name more than he heard her. Coughing accompanied her effort.
“Shh. Don’t try to talk. I’ve got you. You’re safe, chère.”
She relaxed against him.
He passed the fire engine on the way, but didn’t slow down until he reached the parish hospital in the next town.
The longest hour of Jean-Paul’s life was waiting for the doctor to examine Angeline. Not even the time he spent waiting for the jury to come back with its verdict had been more torturous than this.
He ignored the disapproving glances directed at his bare chest from the couple sitting in the waiting room with him. Too bad if they thought he lacked manners. He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. He just wanted Angeline to be okay.
Finally, after sixty-three minutes and thirty seconds, the doctor appeared.
“How is she?” Jean-Paul asked, grabbing the doctor by the arm and hauling him out into the hall. He didn’t care to discuss Angeline’s condition in front of strangers.
“She’s doing fine. She is suffering from smoke inhalation and a slight concussion. We’re going to keep her here for observation. But you can probably take her home tomorrow afternoon.”
Jean-Paul sagged with relief. “May I see her?”
“Sure. This way.”
With shaking knees, Jean-Paul followed the doctor down the hall to Angeline’s room. Her eyes fluttered open and tears spilled down her cheeks when she saw him. She held out her hand to him.
That simple act of trust sealed his fate. Whatever happened, Angeline would always be in his heart.
The doctor looked from Angie to Jean-Paul, smiled, and left the room.
“I’ll confess, Angel, I’ve imagined seeing you in bed. But this isn’t exactly how I envisioned it.”
She started to chuckle, but it came out a choking cough.
He moved to her side. “Easy, chère. I meant only to make you smile, not cough.”
She relaxed against the pillow and gave him a weak smile. “I know.”
His fingers curled around hers. “Can you recall what happened?”
“I thought I was dreaming. I heard a sound and started to get up, when this dark shadow appeared and hit me with something.” She fell silent for a moment, then asked, “What happened, Jean-Paul?”
He didn’t want to be the one who told her, but then again maybe he could ease the blow. “Someone broke into Marianna’s house and set it on fire. When I drove up, I saw him fleeing. Although I pulled you out in time, I doubt that the house survived the blaze. When I was rushing you here, I saw the fire truck on its way to Marianna’s.”
“But you don’t know for sure if it’s all gone.”
“Pretty sure. It was an old house. The wood—” He shrugged. There was nothing else to say.
She closed her eyes, forcing the tears in her eyes down her cheeks. “What’s going on, Jean-Paul? What could be of so great an importance that someone would kill my mother, burn her house to the ground and try to kill me?”
“I don’t know, but I plan to find out.”
Her fingers played along the edge of the sheet. “I guess someone didn’t like the questions I was asking this morning and wanted to stop me. The fire could’ve been set to make my death look like an accident.”
He soothed back the hair from her face. “That is why I acted like a crazy man today. There’s an evil here, Angel. I’ve been on the receiving end of its wickedness and seen too many others suffer not to know it would reach out and try to touch you.”
He leaned close and brushed a kiss across her lips.
“Is that why you were at my house, Jean-Paul?”
“Your guardian angel woke me and whispered you were in trouble.”
She laid her palm on his cheek. “You are my guardian angel, Jean-Paul. Thank you.”
“That, ma petite, is something I don’t wish to be.” He captured her hand and pressed it to his chest. “My thoughts go in a different direction.”
Her eyes widened and a blush rose from her throat to her cheeks.
“My, what a touching scene.” The words were an ugly parody of what they should have been.
Angie gasped and her gaze flew to the man standing in the doorway.
Jean-Paul straightened slowly and turned. He recognized Dennis Mathers’s voice. He heard it in his nightmares. “What do you want, sheriff?”
Dennis arched his brow. “Are you always so rude, Jean-Paul, at this time of the night? No wonder the ladies prefer to spend the night with me and not with you.”
Jean-Paul’s jaw tightened so hard, he was fortunate he didn’t snap the tendons. Ignoring the tawdry comment, he asked, “Why are you here?”
Dennis sauntered to the end of the bed. “Did you forget, Jean-Paul? I’m the sheriff, and this lady’s house burned down. I need to ask her some questions.”
A bitter laugh burst from Jean-Paul’s mouth. “Why even bother to show up, Dennis? We all know that if you didn’t set the fire yourself, you probably hired the man who did.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jean-Paul saw Angeline push the ca
ll button on the remote lying on the bed, summoning help.
“You think you’re something special because you went to that fancy eastern school, don’t you, Jean-Paul? But all that education didn’t help one little bit when you were in prison. Did it?”
“Anytime, anywhere you say, Dennis, I’ll meet you and beat the cr— We’ll settle the score. Of course, I know what a coward you are. You’ll probably try to have the courts do your dirty work. Or if that fails, you’ll hire someone to do the deed.”
“Why, you bastard,” Dennis growled, taking a step toward Jean-Paul.
“Sheriff,” the doctor said, rushing into the room. He was followed by a deputy and an orderly. “My patient is in no condition to answer any questions tonight.”
“When will she be able to talk?” Dennis asked, still glaring at Jean-Paul.
“I plan to release her tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan.”
Dennis pointed his finger at Jean-Paul. “You bring her by my office tomorrow.” He strode out.
The doctor turned to Jean-Paul. “That wasn’t a smart move.”
“Don’t I know,” Jean-Paul murmured, rubbing his jaw. “But sometimes, Doctor, you have to stomp on the snake, even if it bites you.”
“Yeah, well, I hope I don’t have to treat you for a knife or gunshot wound in the back.”
“I hope so, too.”
* * *
From her hospital bed Angie watched the sky brighten with the new day. She had only dozed during the night, wakening every few minutes, frightened that whoever had tried to kill her hours before would try again.
Each time she thought of those few horrific moments when she’d seen a form hovering over her, her blood ran cold.
What did he want?
She swallowed hard. Her throat protested, sore from the smoke and rounds of coughing. If it hadn’t been for Jean-Paul, she would have perished in that blaze. How had he known? According to him, her guardian angel woke him. In spite of how farfetched it sounded, Angie had the oddest feeling that it somehow was true. He knew she needed him and had come.
“Good morning, chère. How do you feel this morning?”
Jean-Paul stood in the doorway. And although he didn’t look any better than she felt, he was a welcome sight. His hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it constantly. His clothes were wrinkled, but at least he had a shirt on this morning. The memory of resting her head on his naked shoulder brought an odd sort of contentment to her heart. And embarrassment.