Rising on tiptoe, Gwen brushed her lips against Shiloh’s. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot them.”
“So am I,” he said as his lips left hers to sear a path down her neck, and further to her bare, scented shoulders.
Gwen opened her mouth and gave in to the dizzying sensations pulling her into an erotic undertow from which there was no escape. She swallowed a moan as the pulsing between her thighs thrummed in concert with the tingling sensation in her breasts. She didn’t know Shiloh Harper, but none of that mattered. Touching him, tasting him, smelling him was a dreamy intimacy that hinted of more—so much more than she was ready for at the moment.
Reluctantly, she pulled back, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run a grueling race. “Take me home, Shiloh.”
He cradled her face between his hands, his gaze racing over her strained features. “What’s the matter, darling?”
Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “Take me home before I ask you to do something I know I’ll regret later.”
“What do you want?”
Gwen closed her eyes against his penetrating stare. “Please, don’t ask me.”
“Did we not promise to be truthful with each other?”
She opened her eyes. “That’s doesn’t mean I have to tell you my innermost secrets.”
Shiloh refused to relent. “I’m not going to take you home until you tell me what’s bothering you.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not? After all, I am the law.”
“That constitutes an abuse of power.”
“You can file a complaint.”
She stomped her foot. “Shiloh!”
He laughed, the sound low, throaty. “Tell me what it is you want, Gwendolyn.”
Gwen knew she had to tell Shiloh or their impasse would never be resolved. She’d met someone who was as stubborn as she was. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been involved with a man.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
“Go on,” he urged gently.
She stared at a spot over his shoulder. “Being here with you, kissing you just reminded me of what I haven’t had in four years.”
“Look at me, Gwen. Look at me,” Shiloh repeated when she hesitated. He caught and held her gaze. “This is just not about you or me. It’s about us. I know what you’re feeling because I have the same feelings. If we’re going to have any type of relationship I don’t want it to be based on sex. That I can get from any woman.”
“Or me from any man,” Gwen added.
Shiloh nodded. “If and when we share a bed, it will be at the right time and for the right reason.”
“What would constitute the right reason?”
The gold-green eyes smoldered with passion and tenderness. “A commitment to see each other exclusively.”
Gwen blinked once. Shiloh Harper offered her what she’d sought from a man the first time she’d thought that she was in love. A smile softened her mouth. She would enjoy her time with Shiloh, and if or when it ended she would be left with her memories.
“You can take me home now.”
Without verbalizing it, Gwen had let Shiloh know that he could look forward to reviving a part of his life that had ended with his marriage—a social life.
He’d brought her home to talk, listen to music and dance.
They’d talked.
Dancing and listening to music would have to come later.
CHAPTER 9
I want to know everything about you.
What makes you laugh, cry, happy or sad.
And I want to know what I have to do to make you feel good.
Gwen smothered a yawn behind her hand as the interior decorator removed an instrument with a flat blade from her leather satchel. She was exhausted.
She’d spent the past few nights tossing and turning as she agonized over whether she’d made a mistake in agreeing to date Shiloh. The physical attraction was evident—for both—but she had to ask herself whether she needed Shiloh as much as she wanted him. Everything about him was a constant reminder of how long it’d been since she’d decided not to become involved with a man.
Tuesday morning she’d spent three hours in the Tribune’s office. Nash McGraw had talked nonstop, giving her an historical overview of the parish. The newspaper’s part-time staff of four included two contributing editors from the neighboring parishes of St. Mary and the northern portion of Terrebonne, and because she’d begun her tenure with the Gazette covering the crime desk, Nash wanted her to write the Blotter.
She now wondered if the editor’s decision to hire her as a crime reporter was based on her prior experience or because she’d attended the fund-raiser with the local sheriff.
Gwen, aware that she would be the liaison between the Tribune and the St. Martin Parish Police Department, had to keep in mind that her position with the newspaper could possibly impact her attempt to have a personal relationship with Shiloh.
“There’s another pattern under this one.”
The interior decorator’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “What did you say?” She looked at the woman as she peeled an inch-wide strip of paper off the wall in the master bedroom.
The auburn-haired woman with sparkling emerald-green eyes removed a second layer of paper from the wall. “It looks as if there are several more layers here.” Turning, she stared at Gwen. “What do you want to do?”
“What are my alternatives?” she asked, answering Lina Davidson’s question with one of her own.
“I can have all of the paper removed, repair whatever damage there is to the walls and paint them.”
Resting a hand against her cheek, Gwen shook her head. “No.” Within seconds she reached a decision. “I want all of the bedrooms papered.”
“What about the sitting rooms?”
“I want them painted in pastels that correspond to the wallpaper’s dominant color.”
“What colors do you want for this room?”
Gwen stared at the fading blue and peach-colored patterned paper. “Pale yellow, lime-green and ecru. The walls in the sitting room can be painted yellow or a pale green. Will you be able to get fabric in the same pattern as the paper?”
Lina smiled as she entered notes into her Blackberry. “Yes. The textile manufacturer I work with does happen to make matching paper and fabric. What do you want the fabric for?”
“The window seats.” Many of the window seat cushions in the sitting rooms showed signs of wear and tear. “And I want a more masculine look in one bedroom.”
“How masculine?”
“Pinstriped paper. I’d like a soft dove gray background with a barely discernible white-striped pattern.”
“Do you want the same pattern on the window seat?” Lina asked, her thumbs moving over the handheld computer with amazing speed.
Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Gwen closed her eyes. “No,” she said as she opened her eyes. “I’d like to go with a herringbone, glen plaid, or perhaps a tweed.”
Lina flashed a wide grin. “Very formal and somewhat British.”
Gwen was certain her father, uncle and brother-in-law would prefer sleeping in an English-inspired bedroom to one decorated with flowers and frills.
Lina made a call to a moving company to arrange to pick up the pieces to be refurbished by a team of renowned cabinetmakers. “They’ll be here tomorrow to pick up all of the tagged items. A team of workmen will come Thursday to begin all of the outdoor work before the tropical storm season begins. They’ll start with the replacement of window sashes and shutters. Then they’ll move indoors. I project a couple of weeks for them to complete the walls before they strip the floors. You should consider finding somewhere else to stay while the floors are being scraped. The dust and the odor of the polyurethane can be irritating.”
Gwen nodded. If she had to be out of the house while work was being done, then she would stay at Jessup’s boardinghouse.
Lina dropped the Blackberry into
her bag. “I’m going to need keys for the workmen. All of them are bonded, which means you can leave them here even if you’re not.”
Reaching for a set of keys hanging from a hook under a cabinet, Gwen handed them to Lina. She took a quick glance at the clock over the stove. It was almost four-thirty. She had less than three hours before Shiloh’s arrival.
“I’ll be here when they come tomorrow morning,” she told Lina as she walked her to her car.
Within minutes of the decorator’s departure, she returned to the house to prepare for her date.
* * *
Gwen positioned a crystal vase of fresh-cut flowers between a matching pair of five-shell-base Georgian silver candlesticks. Taking a step backwards, she surveyed the table in the kitchen’s dining area. It would just be she and Shiloh for dinner, but she’d decided on a formal table setting.
Something soft brushed against her ankle, and she glanced down to find Cocoa. She’d had to lock the dog in the laundry room to keep her from biting Lina’s sandal-shod toes.
Bending over, she wagged a finger at the frisky puppy. “I won’t lock you up again under one condition,” she crooned softly. Cocoa jumped up at the wagging finger. “Don’t bite my boyfriend.” Gwen swallowed a groan. “No, I didn’t call him that.” The words were barely off her tongue when the doorbell chimed.
* * *
Gwen opened the door, her breath catching momentarily in her throat when she saw Shiloh smiling down at her. He wore a wheat-colored linen suit, sky-blue shirt, and tan and navy-blue patterned tie.
She smiled at him. “Please come in.”
Wiping his feet on a thick straw mat, Shiloh moved into the entryway, leaned over, brushed a kiss on her cheek, before handing her a blue-and-white checkered bag from Turner Treats. “I brought pralines for dessert.”
Gwen took his hand, leading him across the living room and into the kitchen. “I made dessert.” She’d baked a jellyroll cake.
He sniffed the air, smiling. “I smell it. What do you have there?” he asked when he spied a flurry of brown scooting across the kitchen floor.
Gwen let go of Shiloh’s hand and placed the bag on the cooking island. “Cocoa Taylor.”
He clapped his hands, and the dog came over to investigate the sound. He scooped up Cocoa. “Hey, pretty girl. She looks like one of Holly Turner’s prize-winning poodles.”
Gwen met his gaze, nodding. “She is.”
“Lucky you.”
Gwen opened the refrigerator and removed plastic covered dishes with marinated vegetables and lamb chops. “She gave me Cocoa and a batch of delicious chocolate chip cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”
Shiloh rubbed a forefinger over the puppy’s head. “Did she invite you to her Sunday afternoon soiree?”
“Yes, she did. How did you know?”
“A couple of years back Mrs. Turner and her genteel Southern ladies were accused of racism after they’d rejected a woman of color who’d showed up at one of their gatherings uninvited. Since that time they’ve embarked on an ongoing campaign to integrate the parish’s Genteel Magnolia Society.”
“How long have they been meeting?”
Shiloh angled his head. “They go back to the late 1890s. Membership is based on family name, and passed down from great-grandmother, grandmother, daughter and granddaughter.”
Gwen turned on the stovetop grill, her thoughts tumbling over themselves. There was no doubt that the Magnolia Society ladies could become an inexhaustible source of information about the comings and goings on in the parish. Yes, she decided. She would join Holly and her friends for their Sunday-afternoon tea party.
“Be careful Cocoa doesn’t nip your ankles,” she warned Shiloh as he set the puppy on its feet. The tiny dog turned over on her back, her tiny tail twitching. Gwen clapped her hands. “What do you think you’re doing, Cocoa Taylor? Stop showing your business!”
Shaking his head, Shiloh laughed. “You sound like a mother with a fast daughter.”
“I’d say the same if she were male.” She clapped again. Cocoa did not move. “Now, roll over, you shameless little hussy.”
Cocoa lay on the tiled floor, her underside exposed until Shiloh hunkered down and tickled her belly. He picked her up again. “Come to daddy, baby girl. Mama just doesn’t want you to have any fun.”
Resting her hands on her hips, Gwen glared at the man who was a constant reminder of what she’d sacrificed for longer than she wanted to acknowledge. If she’d met Shiloh Harper four years ago she knew she would not be the woman she was now.
“I can see what kind of father you’re going to be.”
“And that is?”
“A punk.”
Shiloh lifted an eyebrow, struggling not to laugh. “I think not.”
“I think yes,” she argued softly.
He moved closer to Gwen, his gaze lingering on the tempting curve of her full lower lip. “And you think you’d be less of a punk than I?”
She gave him a saucy grin. “I know I would. My cousin’s children know that when Auntie Gwennie says no, then it’s no. Now, please stop spoiling my dog.”
A slow smile parted Shiloh’s lips as he set Cocoa on her feet. “You’re tough until they hug you and tell you that you’re the best auntie in the whole wide world.”
Her smile matched his. “No lie,” she agreed.
Shiloh’s gaze never strayed from her upturned face. Everything about Gwendolyn Taylor was hypnotic: the hair floating around her flawless face in sensual disarray, the sparkle in her fathomless dark eyes, the scent of her perfume, the delicate fabric of a classic white silk blouse she’d tucked into the waistband of a pair of coffee-colored linen slacks. Her feet were covered with a pair of high-heeled leopard-print pumps. There was no doubt that she was addicted to shoes.
He leaned a hip against the edge of a countertop, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think you would be a good mother?”
Gwen felt as if her emotions were under attack. Her knees shook, her heart raced a little too quickly, and she chided herself for broaching the subject of parenting. She wondered whether Shiloh was challenging or just teasing her.
“I pray I’d be a good mother. I know I’d love my children, and most importantly establish boundaries.”
His expressive left eyebrow lifted. “Do you want children?”
“How did we get onto this topic?”
“You started it, Gwen.” Leaning closer, Shiloh pressed his mouth to her forehead. “Do you want children?” he asked again.
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“I’ve given myself until I’m thirty-eight.”
He pulled back, vertical lines appearing between his eyes. “Do you always run your life by a timetable?”
“Yes, because it works for me, Shiloh.”
“What about marriage? At what age would that work for you?”
Gwen forced all expression from her face. Shiloh wanted an answer to a question she wasn’t prepared to answer. Changing her marital status was something she hadn’t given any consideration since ending her short-lived engagement ten years before.
“Nemo tenetur seipsum accusare.”
Shiloh lowered his arms, his eyes widening, momentarily speechless in his surprise. Gwen Taylor was unlike any woman he’d ever met or interacted with. She wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense of the word, but there was something about her that was so ardently feminine, sensual, that whenever they occupied the same space he’d found himself at a loss for words. She was smart, very, very smart, outspoken, and secure enough not to downplay her intelligence in order to impress a man.
Gwen represented a total package—everything he’d looked for and wanted in a woman.
“No man is bound to accuse himself,” he translated. “Where did you learn to speak Latin?”
She adjusted the grill’s thermostat. “I went to a parochial high school, and took Latin for three years in college.”
“We have something in c
ommon. I also had a parochial school education before I attended a Catholic college.”
“Which one?”
“Notre Dame.” Shiloh met her gaze. “Which college did you go to?”
“Mount Holyoke.”
“You stayed in Massachusetts.” Her jaw tightened, and he knew Gwen wasn’t going to elaborate about her decision not to attend an out-of-state college.
His gaze moved to the beautifully set table in a spacious alcove. He felt he had to do something—anything but stand and watch the woman to whom he’d found himself drawn when she hadn’t given him any indication that she wanted more from him other than friendship.
“Can I help with something?”
Gwen nodded, not meeting his gaze. “You can open a bottle of red wine. It’s in the fridge on the lower shelf.”
Shrugging out of his jacket, Shiloh left it on the back of a high stool at the cooking island. Reaching behind his back, he left his holstered handgun on the stool’s rush-covered seat, and made his way to the half bath to wash his hands. He returned to the kitchen and was met with the tantalizing aroma of grilling meat and vegetables.
* * *
Shiloh closed his eyes and smiled. The whirring sound of the blades from the back porch ceiling fan joined the cacophony of nocturnal sounds sweeping over the countryside. The air was thick with perfume from blooming night flowers as streaks of lightning crisscrossed the nighttime sky.
He lay on a cushioned recliner, a barefoot Gwen resting between his outstretched legs and Cocoa, who had fallen asleep, on her lap. Light from antique wrought-iron lanterns positioned between tall windows framed by sea-foam-green shutters cast a soft golden light on the worn, uneven porch floor. Her warmth, the curves of her body merged with the peace that made him want to stay where he lay until the dawn of a new day.
Dining had become a comfortable and relaxed three-hour interlude. Gwen had loaded a CD carousel with discs from her aunt’s jazz collection, and over an appetizer of crab-stuffed shrimp with a basil sauce, a mixed green salad with a Thai-peanut dressing, grilled asparagus with lemon and garlic, grilled mint-flavored lamb chops, fluffy white rice and a dessert of jellyroll cake topped with fresh whipped cream they discussed everything from sports to politics.
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