by Leann Harris
Her gaze traveled down his chest to his jeans, then back up to his face. She swallowed. “No.”
He wanted to shout his victory to the night sky. He settled for a wicked smile. Crouching before her, he untied her robe and slowly peeled it down her arms. His lips followed the material.
“You taste like the sweet cream we put on strawberries,” he murmured. Sitting back on his heels, he paused to study her. The Saint Christopher medal he’d given her rested between her breasts. He lifted the chain over her head. “You won’t need this tonight.” He kissed it and put it on the nightstand.
When he turned back to her, she soothed her fingers over his brow, then rested her hand on his cheek. “Love me, Jean-Paul. Show me what is meant to be between a man and woman.”
She had just handed him the moon and stars. And the glory of the night sky rested within her eyes.
He stood, stepped out of his shoes, unsnapped his jeans and stepped out of his remaining clothes. He pulled her to her feet and helped her discard her nightgown. Resting one knee on the bed, he held out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her down on top of him as he stretched out.
He laughed at her stunned expression.
“You’re not quite so adventurous this time, hein?”
She gave him a shy smile. “Well...”
He turned, rolling them onto their sides, facing each other. This time he would take her slowly into that realm of the joining of hearts. And souls.
He ran his hand down her side and up her back. His mouth took hers while he caressed her with strong, sure strokes. He cupped her breast, his fingers finding the nipple, lightly playing with it.
She moaned and shifted her legs restlessly.
“Touch me, mon coeur. Your touch is like living fire eating me.”
Shyly at first, then more boldly she moved her hands over his body. And the heat of her touch burned him.
He turned her onto her back and his mouth replaced his fingers on her breast. The little sound of surprise and pleasure plunged Jean-Paul further into a fiery furnace.
His fingers moved down her belly to the core of her. Angeline’s eyes flew open and sought his. He settled himself between her thighs. His hands cupped her face. “Am I the first?”
Her body stiffened and her gazed slipped away. He had his answer, but at what price? He captured her chin and brought her gaze back to him. “Angel, listen to me. The reason I ask is because I’m concerned with how gentle to be. Nothing else.”
His fingers played along her jaw. “But if the truth be told, mon coeur, I really am your first. The first to touch your heart.” He smiled tenderly. “And you’re my first.”
Her body, under his, relaxed as his mouth sought hers. He felt her passion begin to build again. He kissed his way across her cheek to her ear. His tongue traced the whorls of her ear, then he lightly bit the lobe.
“Jean-Paul.” He heard in her voice her need. Yet he continued to build the fire inside her. She would know completion, if it killed him. Her hands stroked up and down his back.
His mouth returned to hers, his tongue preparing her for the final act to come. She rolled her hips under him and he positioned himself at her woman’s core and drove home.
“Jean-Paul,” she panted as he moved in and out of her. He felt her tension building, building, and then she screamed as she convulsed around him.
The feel of her heat around him plunged him through the final barrier. As he came back to reality, Jean-Paul knew he’d come through the fire, died and come out the other side a different man. A whole man.
Chapter 15
With her head resting on Jean-Paul’s chest and her body curled around his side, Angie listened to the beat of his heart. She watched the first rays of dawn wash across the sky. When she woke minutes earlier, a sense of well-being she hadn’t experienced since childhood had surrounded her.
She now knew what heaven on earth was. Jean-Paul had shown her that place last night. What she’d shared with him in no way resembled what had passed between her and Richard years before. She tried not to remember, but those other, more distant memories came flooding back.
She and Richard had gone back to her apartment after spending the evening at a friend’s party. She’d had several drinks, and Richard had had even more. After a few uninspiring kisses, Richard talked her into seeing if they were sexually compatible. The brief, hurried encounter on her couch left her wondering what all those romance novels touted. She’d found the experience totally negligible.
That is until now. Until Jean-Paul.
Her hand idly stroked across Jean-Paul’s chest. The pleasure he’d shown her was indescribable. She had reveled in each touch of his hands, each brush of his lips, the feel of his body imprinting itself on her. It was quite a surprise to know she was so hedonistic. It was also very disturbing.
But what had truly shocked her was the feeling of oneness she’d shared with Jean-Paul. What had happened between them went beyond the physical. They’d touched souls and exchanged secrets. And Angie knew she’d given him her heart. The implications of that terrified her.
“Ah, Angel, what a wonderful feeling to wake to. Your soft fingers on me.”
Her hand jerked away as if burned. He captured her wrist and placed her hand back where it was.
“Non, chère. I like your touch.” His accompanying wicked smile left no doubt as to what he meant.
Her hand slipped down his body to close around his manhood. His eyes widened and his body convulsed.
“This is what you had in mind, hein?” she asked mischievously.
He threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve made you a Cajun, yes?”
The fleeting thought danced through her brain that maybe he had. “Perhaps. You’ve certainly shown me how to appreciate, uh, things.”
“Is that right? Well, because you’re such a perceptive pichouette, and such a fast learner, I want to reward you.”
Indeed, she was so fast a learner, she didn’t recognize herself. But he pushed her back into the pillows, leaving her no time to worry about it.
Later. She’d worry later.
* * *
“Your choice, Angel. Shower or make coffee?”
She slipped out of his hold and ran to the bathroom. “You make the coffee,” she called out over her shoulder, then shut the bathroom door.
After viewing her charming backside on her dash from the bed to the bathroom, Jean-Paul was tempted to join her in that shower. He discarded the notion. His angel was tender, and to take her a second time this morning would be greedy.
Throwing back the sheet, he slipped into his jeans and padded into the living room. As he walked by the telephone, it rang, and he lifted the receiver.
“Jean-Paul, this is Nancy. Did you get my message last night?”
The subject he had purposely avoided thinking about came roaring back. He steeled himself against the pain. “Yes, Angeline gave it to me.”
“I was nervous about giving it to her.”
“There was no need.”
“Good.”
He could see his former secretary, a tiny woman with blue- black hair and an infectious laugh. He had probably been the only male in the office who had not tried to hit on her. That was probably one of the reasons she felt a loyalty to him.
“Jean-Paul, Edward caught me in the file room and asked me what I was doing. I made up a story about getting some background information on another case. I don’t think he believed me. He’s watched me like a hawk ever since, and this morning I was notified I was being transferred to another office.”
That’s just what he needed, to put someone else in danger. “I’m sorry, Nancy.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was getting uncomfortable in that office. Odd things were starting to happen. I called to warn you, and tell you if you need any more information I won’t be able to help.”
“You’ve helped more than you know.” He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. The bitterness of Edward’s b
etrayal came roaring back, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t know if Edward had sold him out after he’d been set up or if he’d been in on it from the beginning, but Jean-Paul vowed he was going to find out.
He picked up the phone, called Ted Peters and related the conversation he’d had with Nancy. “If you still have any friends on that commission, Ted, I think you need to suggest they investigate Edward. Something’s going on.”
“I will,” Ted answered. Ted had left the commission six months before Jean-Paul’s arrest. Ted had been fed up with the bureaucracy and the dealings that went on. “How’s Angie?”
“Someone burned down her house, Ted.”
“They what?”
Jean-Paul sighed. “Someone hit her on the head, then set fire to the house.”
Ted cursed. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but she’s staying with me until we find out who’s behind all this. Call me and let me know how things are progressing in New Orleans.”
“I will. You keep that little girl safe.”
“With my last breath.”
* * *
Angie rushed through her shower, afraid Jean-Paul would join her at any minute, disappointed when he didn’t. She hurriedly dressed in another borrowed skirt and blouse. Today, sometime, she needed Jean-Paul to take her shopping to replace some of the items she had lost in the fire.
A wave of anger and sorrow washed over her. Marianna’s house was gone. The pictures, letters, her birth certificate and adoption records gone in the blaze.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Angeline.”
She checked herself in the mirror and wiped away the tear on her cheek. Fixing a smile on her face, she threw open the door. Jean-Paul’s grin faded when he saw her. He placed the cup of coffee on the sink and rested his hands on her shoulders.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, not wanting to discuss it. “Nothing.”
“What is it, Angel? And don’t say nothing again. I see it in your eyes.”
His perceptiveness only added to her confusion. It was as if Jean-Paul could see clearly into her soul, and she had no shield against his knowing gaze. “I was thinking we need to go and buy me some clothes today.”
His hands ran up and down her arms in a soothing motion. “And?”
Suddenly, it was too much effort to try to hide anything from him. Besides, she wanted to share her pain with him. “I was thinking of the pictures and letters that burned.”
He gathered her into his arms and rocked her. “It’s all right, chère. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”
As his heat sank into her, she knew he was right. Physically she was safe. But what of her psyche, her emotions? What had happened to the Angie Fitzgerald who came to Mirabeau less than a week ago? That woman no longer existed.
* * *
They arrived at the historical society’s building at ten. Henri Colton was waiting for them at the front door.
“Bonjour,” Henri called out as he hurried down the steps. “How are you this fine morning, Angeline?” He clasped her hands and kissed her on each cheek.
“Wonderful, Henri,” she answered.
An odd twinge of jealousy assaulted Jean-Paul. It was a common enough greeting and he knew Henri had no designs on Angeline. Still, it irked him.
The old man turned to him. “And you, Jean-Paul? How you doin’?”
“Fine,” Jean-Paul answered.
“Well, come. Let me show you what Marianna was working on.”
They followed Henri into the building that at one time had been the home of a prosperous planter. The ground floor of the two-story structure had originally been used for storage. It now contained exhibits of farming tools and clothing worn at the time the house was built. The second story had been restored to its pre-Civil War glory.
Henri took them on a quick tour of the facility, then led them outside to the bachelor quarters. “What did your friend the biology professor say when you called her?” Henri asked.
Angeline gasped. “Oh, Henri, I forgot to call. Guy was waiting for us when we got back and—it was very confusing. And one thing lead to another.” She touched his arm. “I promise I’ll call Sharon today.”
Henri threw Jean-Paul a look of mutual understanding of what those other things were. Pulling the keys out of his pants pocket, Henri unlocked the door. “This is where Marianna worked. We keep old journals in here, papers that local residents have donated, anything that is a record of the people who lived in this parish. We also have copies of many early parish deeds, birth and death certificates. And several diaries.”
Angie stepped into a thoroughly modern room. Bookshelves lined the walls. Several filing cabinets were back-to-back in the center of the room, separating two desks. A small computer sat on one of the desks.
“That’s where Marianna worked.” Henri pointed to the computer.
“Then there should be a disk around here where she kept her work,” Angeline said, stepping forward.
“That Marianna, she sure did like that computer. Me, I know nothin’ of this. I’m too old for such nonsense.” He turned to her. “But you are welcome to use this machine and search through her things.”
She smiled at him, and Henri straightened his slumped shoulders and sauntered out, whistling.
“I don’t know why everyone said he was such an old...uh—”
“Coot?”
“Character. He’s been nothing but wonderful to me.”
Jean-Paul leaned down and stole a quick kiss from her. “You, Angel, definitely have a strong effect on men. I’ve never seen that old Cajun act like a schoolboy. But you worked one of your miracles on him.”
She sat at the desk and he leaned over her shoulder. “Do you know how to work one of these things?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied, glancing up at him. “What do you think I kept my lecture notes on? And my grades, and—”
“I get the idea.”
Angeline turned on the machine and reviewed the files.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Jean-Paul, why don’t you—” she glanced around the desk and spotted a stack of files “—go through these and see if there’s anything important.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”
She gave him a blinding smile. “You are such a perceptive man. Here.” She picked up the files and dumped them in his arms.
He took the folders and sat at the other desk. He could see her over the metal cabinets. She was in her element here. She looked comfortable, even relaxed as she went through the disks on Marianna’s desk.
They worked all morning. The folders contained notes on various families, interviews that Marianna had done with the living relatives. Several times, Marianna referred to different diaries and journals in the historical society’s archives.
“Jean-Paul.”
Angeline’s voice brought his head up. “Yes.”
“Something’s wrong.”
He stood and came around to see the computer screen. “What is it?”
She pointed to the screen. “You see the listing of files? It’s part of a book. Chapters one to thirteen.”
“So?”
“But look.” She brought up the file labeled: Outline. “You see. She’d planned twenty chapters. Fourteen through twenty were to cover the years 1920-present. Now where are the other chapters?”
“Did you go through all the disks?”
She gave a quelling look. “Yes. And I’ve searched her desk. There are no other disks.”
How come he had never noticed before how her nose crinkled when she was irritated? Suddenly, he wanted to hustle her out to his truck, drive back to his house and spend the rest of the day making love to her.
Immediately, on the heels of that impulse, came guilt. Guilt that all he could think of was his wants, when they were close to discovering why Marianna was murdered.
“Maybe she put the disk in
a safe place away from this site.”
“That’s an idea. Henri might know something.” She turned off the machine and they walked back to the main house. Henri was talking to a young woman in her twenties, who wore a sullen expression. When he spotted them, he excused himself.
“Finished already?” Henri asked.
Angeline shook her head. “No. We came to ask you if Marianna left a disk with you.”
“Disk? Disk? What kind of a disk, chère? One you throw or play on a phonograph?”
Jean-Paul watched Angeline’s bewilderment change to amusement. She reached out and touched Henri’s arm. And much to his astonishment, Henri grinned right back at her.
“No, that’s not what I meant. The disk I’m referring to goes into the computer. It’s flat and square.” She held up her hands to show him the size. “And about so big.”
He clicked his tongue. “Non, me, I don’t mess with that nonsense. That’s for the young’uns, not for the likes of this one.”
“Could she have left it with your assistant over there?”
Henri glanced over his shoulder. “That busybody,” the old man mumbled under his breath. “Claire, come here.”
The haughty angle of Claire’s chin set Jean-Paul on edge. He had the feeling this wasn’t going to be a pleasant exchange.
“Yes, M’sieu Colton.”
“Did Marianna leave anything with you?”
“No.”
Henri turned back to Angeline. “See. Marianna didn’t leave anything with us. Is there something missing?”
“I’m not sure, Henri.”
Claire’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Henri,” she gasped.
Henri frowned at the young woman. “Isn’t a tour arriving soon?”
“Yes.”
Henri waved her off with his hand. “Then go. Prepare.”
Claire hesitated before turning to Angeline. “I didn’t believe everyone when they said you looked exactly like Jacqueline Boudreaux. You do. But you know what they say, blood will always tell.”
If she’d yelled the ugly phrase “You’re a bastard, Angeline Fitzgerald,” her meaning couldn’t have been clearer.
Angeline’s lips tightened, but she didn’t defend herself. Jean-Paul felt Angeline’s anguish and shame as surely as if it had been his.