Shayne: The Pretender

by JoAnn Ross

  She took a sip of the sparkling wine for courage, then met his friendly gaze with a worried look of her own. “Do you think it’s still possible for us to work together?”

  “Of course. So long as you want the job.”

  “I do. But after what happened...”

  “The only thing that happened, darlin’, is that we shared a kiss. One that was, admittedly, more world-tilting than most. But it was only a kiss.”

  Only a kiss. She imagined that entire galaxies had been blown to smithereens with less force and heat. Still, since he seemed able to take what to her had been an earth-shattering experience in stride, and desperately needing this job, Bliss vowed to try to do likewise.

  “You’re right.” Her smile wobbled slightly, revealing her lingering uneasiness. He touched the neck of the champagne bottle to the rim of her glass and as they both drank to a successful collaboration, Bliss hoped that she wasn’t making a fatal mistake.

  7

  WHILE BLISS WAS sharing her picnic lunch with Shayne, Zelda was glaring up at the man who’d rung her doorbell. “You have a helluva lot of nerve, showing your face around here. If you’re looking for Bliss—”

  “Actually, it was you I wanted to speak with.” With the deft tenacity of an aluminum siding salesman, Alan stuck his buttery-soft Italian loafer in the door, forestalling her from slamming it in his face.

  The elderly woman folded her arms across her breasts. “I can’t see that we have anything to say to one another. My Southern upbringing doesn’t allow me to say what I’d like to to you. And believe me, boy, there’s nothing you could possibly say that would interest me.”

  “How about the little fact that Bliss is in danger?”

  “If you’re talking about that fellow she met in Paris—”

  “She met someone in Paris? Who?”

  “I don’t know his name. It’s just some rich man who took a fancy to her. Which isn’t surprising, since she’s one helluva catch. Unfortunately, thanks to your shenanigans, she’s gun-shy when it comes to getting involved again.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  “Well; for someone who wasn’t meaning to, you did a bang-up job of it. Not to mention stealing my nest egg.”

  “That wasn’t personal.”

  “No, it’s just the way creeps like you make your living.”

  “Actually, it is,” he agreed mildly, appearing unfazed by her unflattering description. “As for Bliss, I’ll admit that marrying her was a mistake. I never meant to get in that deep.”

  “You just meant to seduce her, steal whatever you could get your grubby hands on, and move on.”

  “That was the plan.” Again, he seemed to take her accusation in stride. “Actually, she wasn’t really a target, since it was more than a little obvious that she didn’t have anything worth stealing.

  “But there was something about Bliss. Something so fresh and innocent, that I found myself believing I might be able to change. To become the man she thought I was. The man she deserved me to be.”

  Zelda looked unimpressed. “That’s a right pretty speech, Alan. And I’m sure it works wonders with softhearted females. But my heart is a lot tougher than Bliss’s. And I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  He cursed, took off his sunglasses, and dragged a hand down his face. When he took it away, his features looked uncharacteristically haggard. Closer examination revealed a black eye, a bruised jaw that was turning a sickly yellowish green and a white line around his grimly set lips.

  “We need to talk, Zelda.”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  “I never realized you were such a liar. You undoubtedly have a great deal to say to me. However, recriminations will have to wait. Because this is a matter of life or death.”

  Zelda snorted. “As if I’d care whether you lived or died.”

  “It’s not my possible death you should be concerned about. But Bliss’s.”

  “What?” Zelda’s bright eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So help me God, Alan, if this is another con—”

  “I swear, it’s not.” He glanced around, as if looking for spies. Or potential assassins. “If you’ll only trust me...”

  “Now there’s a concept,” Zelda muttered.

  “It’s not a con,” Alan repeated doggedly. “If Bliss is mixed up in what I think she is, her life’s in danger. I need you to warn her.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “She won’t talk to me.”

  “And you think I will?”

  “Yes.” His expression was grim. “Because the one thing we both have in common, Zelda, old girl, whether you want to accept the idea or not, is that we both, in our own way, care about your granddaughter.”

  She gave him a long, thoughtful look. Then sighed and opened the door wider, inviting him into the cozy little cottage.

  “THIS IS TRULY AMAZING!” Bliss wandered from room to room, staring in wonder at this house Shayne Broussard wanted her to furnish. No, she corrected, no one could possibly consider this a mere house. It was a mansion. A dream. And, the answer to all her prayers.

  The interior possessed a scale and architectural adornment unimaginable today. Bliss doubted that even Donald Trump or any of the Rockefellers could have afforded such grand attention to detail.

  “Is that original?” she asked, staring up at the fresco adorning the arched dining-room ceiling.

  “Supposedly. The house was originally built by a tobacco planter who’d moved from Virginia right before the war.”

  He did not have to mention which war. Having grown up in the South, Bliss knew there was only one conflict of any note or interest—the War Between the States. Or, as Zelda had muttered on one occasion, the war those damn Yankees insisted on calling the Civil War.

  “As if there was anything civil about it,” Bliss’s grandmother had huffed at the time.

  “Then it was built after the war?” She ran her fingers over the ornate gold-leaf frame of a mirror that had to be at least ten feet tall.

  “During.”

  “You’re kidding.” Surprised, she looked over at him, leaning against the molded mantel of the two-way fireplace, arms crossed over his chest.

  “He began construction in 1861. Finished it in 1866.”

  “That’s an amazing accomplishment, considering the privations people were suffering in the city at the time.”

  “I suppose this house is proof of the fact that if you want something badly enough, you can accomplish anything.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Her heels tapped on the wood floor that had been polished to a glossy, mirrorlike sheen as she went through an ornately decorated plaster archway into a back parlor where French doors opened to yet another dazzling garden. This one, however, was far more formal, designed in the style of a nineteenth-century French garden, with diamond, circle and star-shaped flower beds bordered by leafy green privet hedges and pea-size stones.

  A skirted table would be nice in front of the bay window, Bliss decided. Along with a Victorian gentleman’s open armchair and a lady’s matching settee. But not the usual velvet, which would be too heavy. Perhaps a nice green damask that would bring in the outdoors. Or better yet, needlework cushions. That idea conjured up a mental picture of a woman of the era dressed in a hoop-skirt, sitting in the slanting afternoon sunshine, working on a floral canvas.

  “Fascinating,” Shayne murmured.

  Bliss dragged herself away from her mental picture of a floral Kashmir rug in the center of the room and looked up at him. “What?”

  “Watching your mind work. You looked a million miles away.”

  “More like several decades. I was picturing this house as it might have been.”

  “And can be again.” Having watched her roam the empty-rooms, Shayne had felt almost guilty for deceiving her. Jewel thief or not, she definitely loved antiques. “If you take the job.”

  “I’d love it.” A smile bloomed. Anticipation sparkled in her eyes li
ke sunshine on a tropical lagoon, making him want to kiss her senseless.

  “I suppose it’s only fair to warn you that I believe in a hands-on management style.” He slipped those hands in question deep into his pockets to keep them out of trouble.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll want to work closely with you. Discuss your plans for each room. Go to auctions or wherever it is you find the furniture and knickknacks that will turn this place from an empty mausoleum into a home.”

  “We’ll need to discuss a budget.”

  “What if I said whatever it takes?”

  She laughed at that. “You’ve obviously no idea what you’re getting into. With an attitude like that, if I were a dishonest person, I could end up bankrupting you.”

  He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “Lucky for me you’re an honest lady.”

  He was suddenly standing too close. Something Bliss reluctantly recognized as desire skimmed down her spine. She edged away to study a mural of a chateau perched on a hillside somewhere in the French countryside.

  “Lucky,” she murmured.

  Heaven help her, she could still feel the touch of his fingers in that spot behind her ear that she’d never imagined could be so sensitive. Dual feelings of anticipation and apprehension fluttered inside her.

  As badly as she admittedly needed this commission, as much as she’d truly love bringing this glorious old house to life, a very strong part of her feared she wouldn’t have the strength to avoid falling in love with this man.

  She turned, her expression worried. And resolved. “I want the job, Shayne. But that’s all I want.”

  Liar. He wondered if she honestly thought he hadn’t picked up on the vibrations that had hummed through her when he’d touched her. Wondered if she believed that it was possible for either one of them to work closely with the other and not keep thinking of that shared kiss. And wanting to repeat it. Again and again.

  “I’m disappointed, Bliss.”

  “Because I’m stating up front that I won’t have sex with you to get the job?”

  “No. Because you aren’t willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of dragging every woman I do business with off to bed.”

  She blushed at that. Another soft wash of color that Shayne found both appealing and disconcerting. It was difficult to keep his objective in mind when that damn innocence he was beginning to suspect was not an act kept popping up.

  Feeling like a man walking a tightrope, he crossed the room, stood toe-to-toe with her, and framed her face between his palms. “I’ll admit to wanting to go to bed with you, Bliss. But I’m also willing to wait until you want it, too.”

  That was exactly the problem, she thought miserably. That’s precisely what she’d been wanting—been fantasizing about—since that magical, reckless night in Paris.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “No.” Truer words had never been spoken. “But I’ve never trusted simple. Or easy.” He traced her top lip with the pad of his thumb. “We’ll keep our relationship on a professional level for as long as you want.”

  She looked up at him, searched his disconcertingly blue eyes for answers and decided that about this, at least, he was telling the truth. “Thank you.”

  She would be strong, Bliss vowed. Whenever she felt herself slipping under Shayne Broussard’s spell, she’d just remember Alan.

  As they began walking back through the empty house, their footsteps echoing around them, Shayne linked their fingers together in a casual nonthreatening way.

  Just when she began to relax, he revealed an uncanny ability yet again to read her mind.

  “When we finally do make love, believe me, sweetheart, you’ll forget that rich playboy ex-husband that’s got you so spooked ever existed.”

  It was not, Bliss feared, an idle boast.

  SEVEN DAYS AFTER first taking Bliss to the safe house, Shayne opened the door to his hotel suite to find his older brother, who, without waiting for an invitation, walked into the room.

  “You realize, of course, that I ought to punch your lights out.”

  Shayne paused in the act of taking two imported beers from the hotel minibar and glanced up. “What did I do now?”

  “Bliss has been walking on air for the past week, planning design boards for all the rooms, going through catalogues, making phone calls to dealers all through the South, even as far away as Baltimore and New York, thinking that she’s going to be decorating that damn house of yours.”

  “Is that all?” Shayne closed his mind to the twinge of guilt caused by his brother’s words, shrugged and handed Michael one of the bottles. “Hell, I’m not hurting anyone. It’s not as if she’s had to put out any of her own money. And I’m reimbursing her for the long-distance calls.”

  “She might not be out any money yet. But what about the auction in New Iberia?”

  “I have a generous expense account on this case. I can afford to buy enough stuff to keep her happy.”

  “Happy?” Michael unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. “That’s not exactly the word I’d use. How the hell do you think she’s going to feel when the truth comes out? That you were using her? And that I was helping you, dammit.”

  Observing his brother’s obvious frustration, Shayne felt a stir of something alien deep in his gut. “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it? That I accidentally got you involved.”

  “I told you,” Michael said grimly, “Bliss is a special woman. I don’t want her hurt. The idea that I might have any part in that—no matter how peripheral—is tearing up my insides.”

  Hell, Shayne realized with unwelcome surprise, that strange feeling was jealousy. He was actually jealous of Mike’s close relationship with Bliss.

  “Exactly how involved with her are you?”

  “We’re just friends,” he said, echoing Bliss’s earlier claim. “But in case it’s escaped your attention, some people value friendship as much as they do sex.”

  “Some people need to get out more.”

  “Dammit, Shayne!” It was a roar. One Shayne recalled all too well from his youth.

  “Last time you yelled at me like that, you proceeded to knock my block off.”

  “You deserved it. LueAnne Comeaux was only seventeen years old. Even if you overlook the fact that she deserved better than a tumble in the back of your Trans Am, she was jailbait.”

  “I was only just eighteen myself,” Shayne reminded his older brother. “And for the record, she’d been throwing herself at me for six straight weeks. Hell, she even showed up for our date with a condom in her purse.”

  “You were the guy. It was your responsibility to let her down gently.”

  “In the first place, no eighteen-year-old hormone-driven kid in his right mind would have turned LueAnne down.” And very few had, Shayne remembered as he took a pull on his own beer bottle.

  “If she was anything like her sister, LueAnne might have been a little fast,” Michael conceded. “Lord knows Roarke got beat up trying to defend the older Comeaux girl’s less than pristine honor. But that still didn’t make what you did right.”

  Shayne sighed. “Some things never change. You’re as rigid and chauvinistic as ever.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Has anyone told you that women have the vote? And the pill? Not to mention the right to initiate sex these days?”

  Michael did not appear at all disturbed by the unflattering suggestion that he was behind the times. Instead, his eyes immediately narrowed, his gaze like a laser as it drilled into his brother’s face.

  “Are you saying Bliss came on to you?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. But if she does—hell, if we decide to swing from the Victorian brass chandelier in her precious Treasure Trove, or make mad, passionate love in an antique bathtub in the safe house, it’s no one’s business but our own.”

  “I don’t want her hurt.”

>   “She’s a jewel thief—”

  “The hell she is!” Michael slammed the beer bottle down onto the table, causing an explosion of white foam to bubble over the rim. “You’ve been hanging around The Treasure Trove since you got into town. And you’ve broken into it every night—yeah, I’ve watched—” he said in answer to Shayne’s surprised look. “So tell me, hotshot, have you found one single shred of evidence that she’s what you say she is?”

  “No, but—”

  “There aren’t any buts about it. You haven’t found any evidence because none exists. I’m a detective. Don’t you think I’d notice if my landlady was involved in something as nefarious as jewel smuggling?”

  “You might, if you weren’t so prejudiced in her favor. I’ve decided she wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep the jewels in the shop, and since there’s no record of any safe-deposit box, she’s obviously got them stashed in her house somewhere. Which is where you come in. She mentioned you were friends with the grandmother—”

  “No way.” Michael set his jaw in a stubborn line Shayne remembered all too well. “I am not going to help you invade Bliss’s privacy. It’s bad enough that I haven’t told her who—and what—you are.”

  “If you truly believe she’s innocent, you’d think you’d want to help me prove it.”

  Michael’s answering curse was ripe. “I can’t believe I’m letting you get me involved in one of your damn scams.”

  “I’m not asking for a favor. The government’s prepared to hire you as a consultant. And believe me, Mike, they’re willing to pay well to shut down this ring.”

  “Bliss Fortune doesn’t belong to any damn international jewel theft ring.”

  Although Shayne was not yet prepared to admit his misgivings, he was admittedly beginning to have his own doubts. During his years working for the Company, he’d learned to recognize all the signs of a person who was not what he or she appeared to be. And try as he might, he couldn’t make Bliss fit the profile.

  He took another drink of beer, meeting his brother’s challenging look. “Then help me prove it”

  “Hell.” Michael shook his head with self-disgust. “Did you ever think about retiring and settling down in a nice little house with a white picket fence, two-point-five kids and a dog?”