by Dita Parker
“Anything else you’d like to comment on or maybe know about me?”
Lucie looked at him, a playful smile curving his lovely mouth. The less she knew the less she would have to miss when he was gone. He had already given her plenty to chew on.
“No. I think it’s time for you to go.”
MacCale nodded, his smile fading. “You sure are in a hurry to throw me out.”
Lucie threw him a dirty look that made him grin before his expression turned somber again.
“I know I have no right, but could I ask for one small favor before I go?”
“What is it, Mac?”
“Will you show me the box, if it still exists?”
“Why would you—”
“Please, Lucie. It would mean a lot to me.”
“Then will you go?” she asked.
“Only then will I go.”
“Fine,” she sighed. Why not? “Follow me.”
She led him out into the corridor, drawing the door closed behind them.
“Hold up.” He jogged back into her bedroom to return a moment later, pocketing his phone and wearing his shoes.
Getting ready to leave.
Lucie led him in silence downstairs and through the house to the room across from the double sitting room. She let him in and flipped the lights on, the gasoliers converted to electricity lending light to a space she had thought magical as a child and still loved.
From wall to wall, from floor to ceiling, the room boasted art and artifacts from different eras, gathered first by her father and later by her. Everything from maps, prints and paintings through Asian chests and china to sculptures and figurines big and small. Some had cost a small fortune, some she had gotten for free or for a pittance, but each object was equally precious and memory-laden in her eyes.
Among her treasury, encased in thick glass with no openings, stood her very own Pandora’s Box. Lucie walked MacCale to it, both staring at the small forbidding lead chest in silence.
“Why did you keep it?” he asked.
“It’s a reminder of my youthful recklessness. My original youth. Not that I could ever forget. It certainly hasn’t made me any more cautious.” She gave a grim laugh. “I didn’t dare try to destroy it not knowing what I might unleash on the world if I did.”
Lucie turned to MacCale. He was studying her closely.
“Why didn’t you marry, Lucie? At twenty-six, you were certainly old enough.”
How did he do it? Not much seemed to shake or amaze him. He was unbelievable and so should have her history been, but MacCale looked at her oozing calm as he waited for her answer.
“My father died early on and I had to help my mother run the house. The time never felt right and when it finally might have been it had passed me by. I was relieved, to tell you the truth. I would have lost the relative freedom I had as an unmarried woman. And when I…when I changed it became a non-issue.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. MacCale took her hands in his and only held them for a moment, a strange expression she couldn’t read on his striking features.
“Thank you.” He kissed her hands softly, the warmth of his lips making Lucie shiver with awareness. With one tender touch he could take her apart.
Just as she was about to step out of his reach, he wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered near her ear, “May I have my shirt back or will you get cold? I do love seeing you in it, though.”
Lucie fought against the need to close her eyes and lean into his strength and warmth. Before she succumbed, MacCale straightened and let go of her.
Lucie’s hands trembled as she went for the buttons. He took hold of her hands again, set them to her sides and opened up the buttons for her.
Doing her damnedest to keep her voice even, Lucie said, “There’s a guest bathroom two doors down the hall. You’re free to use it if you want, and there really should be everything you need.”
“Hmm, I seriously doubt that,” he murmured and peeled the shirt from her body. A shiver of hot and cold ran through Lucie as she stood naked before him, MacCale putting the shirt on in his turn.
If he was trying to punish her for the dress stunt she had pulled at Boyd’s…he succeeded. Lucie felt exposed, and so willing to be touched and held by him she couldn’t believe where her head was at.
Oh god…
Lucie snapped her eyes open, realizing she had closed them. MacCale ran his hands down her arms. He moved over to her belly and circled her waist, skating up to brush the backs of his fingers against her breasts. He didn’t linger, only gave her a taste of everything he was capable of doing to her with nothing more than the tips of his fingers on bare flesh.
She wanted to reach out for him. She wanted to pull him to her and kiss him. And if she did, she would never be able to let go. If she did, she could forget about rational thought or a sensible course of action. He would set her on fire all over again, and she would burn for him as she had done last night, as she threatened to do just thinking about it.
He made her weak. And he almost made her forget her lines, her purpose and her part.
“I need to…I need a shower, Mac.”
“And that’s my cue,” he sighed. “Unless you want an encore. I could call the cab company and—”
“That’s your cue.” So he fucked like a dream. The last thing she needed was memorable. What if he made it unforgettable?
“Go take your shower, baby,” he uttered thickly and stepped back. “I’ll show myself out. Goodbye, Lucie.”
“Goodbye, Mac,” Lucie countered him, never missing a beat.
He turned, stalked to the door, and without another word or glance her way he was gone.
She didn’t go after him. She didn’t check up on him.
It was for the best, Lucie reminded herself. A clear, clean-cut break.
How civilized of them. How very sensible and grown-up.
Standing naked in the middle of the room, trembling from the awful feeling he’d stripped her of something more than just clothing, all Lucie wanted was to throw a tantrum.
Chapter Five
The unseasonably cool spring day was perfect for the Scottish Games. The mild weather had to be a relief for athletes and dancers alike, all putting their best foot forward for the spectators gathered around the stages and field strips reserved for the numerous competitions taking place through the day.
Standing behind one of the tables in the genealogy tent, Lucie let her eyes sweep the campus of the Bethesda Home for Boys on one of the rare spare moments she had had all morning. The Clan Row had seen a steady string of visitors, people stopping by their clan tents and chatting with local historians.
It had been her favorite spot on campus for a couple of years now. Too bad it wouldn’t be for much longer and then not for a long while. First she would have to suffer comments on how she hadn’t changed a bit since last year. Before scrutiny turned to suspicion, she would have to leave town.
For now, she enjoyed reciting personal stories disguised as research findings and listening to stories about the different clans and their heritage. She never tired of talking about local, Scots and Irish history, something she’d studied in earnest for the past few years.
The chapel replica was all that there was left of the original structures. She couldn’t visit the site without remembering all that had once stood there. And there was no visiting Bethesda without thinking about Richard or the Civil War.
She had worked at the hospital set up on campus after the 7th Georgia Battalion had established its headquarters there. It had been Richard’s final term as mayor and the worst year the city had seen since 1820 when they had lost hundreds of lives to the yellow fever epidemic and half a thousand buildings in a fire. Union troops had marched toward Savannah, and Richard and the town’s aldermen had chosen to surrender the city rather than see her destroyed. He had helped save lives countless times over the decades and in December 1864, he had saved the city and her citizens again.
But i
t wasn’t Sherman and his army who now stormed the grounds at Bethesda, it was a group of men led by Boyd Ferguson. The old gentleman walked briskly, his head held high, his back straight and his shoulders squared as if he’d lost twenty years since she last saw him simply by donning his clan’s emblems.
“Gentlemen, we have a French spy among us, and such a lovely lass is she, I say we steal her away and keep her forever. Mind you, I saw her first,” his voice boomed. “How are you, dear?”
Lucie rounded the table to meet him, just to be on the safe side. He looked ready to steamroll his way through it. He gave her a warm bear hug and she kissed his cheek in return. The sweet widower beamed, sighing loudly, and winked at his friends.
She shook hands with the rest of the party as Boyd made the introductions. Some of the men she already knew, some she didn’t, and one she wished she had never set eyes on.
“There you are. Step forward, son. Lucie, I’d like you to meet my grandnephew MacCale Moore, come to break field records and make us proud. MacCale, Miss Lucie Marcotte, the best-kept secret in Savannah.”
“Oh, I believe she is,” he said, snatched her trembling hand in his and kissed it lightly. “Enchanté, demoiselle.”
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Moore.” She pried her hand from his, silently cursing the tremor in her voice.
“Oh, you two have met each other,” Boyd exclaimed jovially. “But of course.”
“Yes, I had the pleasure at your party, uncle,” MacCale said, over-enunciating the word “pleasure” in a way that made Lucie blush. It had to be a century and a half since she had last blushed for anything or anyone.
And this wasn’t happening.
What the hell was MacCale doing at the Games besides making the womenfolk swoon? His powerful calves were in plain view, a tartan clinched at his lean waist, his arms, chest and back bulging in a tight, white tee that had her drooling in admiration.
“We had an interesting discussion I wouldn’t mind picking up. Do we have time?” MacCale asked, talking to his great-uncle but staring at her.
“Some five to ten minutes before we start, I believe,” Boyd said.
“That’s all I need. I’ll meet you there.”
“Very well. Enjoy your day, dear,” the old man said, “and do not let him bully you. He can sometimes be a bit…overbearing.”
“What can I say?” MacCale shrugged. “It’s an occupational hazard.”
The group set off chatting and laughing, leaving Lucie to silently wonder what occupation might that be.
She didn’t want to know. The less she knew, the faster she got rid of him, the better.
“Does Boyd know?” he asked, his eyes following the group for a brief moment. “Does he know about you or was the best-kept-secret line just in reference to the spy joke?”
“He knows,” she said, trying to gather her bearings. “He’s the only man alive who does. Or was.”
“The whole town may know or at least suspect,” he said. “But this city knows how to keep a secret. And so do I, Lucie. Have no fear.”
She believed him. Looking into his eyes staring somberly into hers and with an intuition honed through the centuries, she believed her secret was safe with him.
Lucie stepped farther away from the eyes and ears at the tables nearby, MacCale promptly following her.
“I didn’t think you’d stick around,” she confessed.
“You never asked, did you? About me, about anything.” The same hurt and tinge of anger she had seen in him the night before was there again. Lucie fought hard not to look away in something terribly akin to shame and regret.
“I don’t want to know,” she said quietly. “It’s for the best.”
“Find ’em, fuck ’em, forget ’em.”
The truth sounded awful delivered deadpan but it was what it was. Her system of survival. And what better way to dishearten him than convince him she didn’t have a heart.
“Exactly. I didn’t hear you complaining when you had your cock inside me to the hilt.”
“Did you hear me thinking about it ever since?” And then, as if he hadn’t said it, he added, “Genealogy, huh? Your journals would make for one hell of a biography.”
“I guess so,” she said. “But it’s my private history and I’m not prepared to share it with the world.”
“Would you share it with me? What if I wanted to commission a genealogy study, or history, or whatever you call it?”
Digging up the professional inside, she stated evenly, “I’m sorry but I’m swamped at the moment. I could give you—”
“It has to be you, Lucie.”
So calm. So damn serene she could almost disregard the insistent edge in his voice.
“And you would pay extra to get me ASAP?”
He studied her silently for a moment, giving Lucie time to think about how her question sounded. It wasn’t as if her life was on sale, only her services. So why did she feel her soul was what she would be handing him in the end?
“I promise you’ll get everything you’re due,” he said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Your life, in your own words, complete and unabridged.”
“You’re not entitled to it. None of it.”
“But I’d like to read it all the same,” he said. “If you’ve written any sort of memoir, any notes on the life and times of mademoiselle Marcotte, I would pay any price for the privilege of reading it.”
“Why?” she challenged him. “Am I some kind of psychological science project? Research to help you do your job better next time?”
His brows pinched in a frown of pure disapproval. “Next time?”
“Someone threatens to die on you on the job. You’re a cop, aren’t you? Or a shrink. Or a lawman slash shrink, a crisis negotiator.”
The mask of censure lifting, he laughed long and low. “Not quite, honey. Although the whole protect and serve thing isn’t that off the mark, come to think of it.” His expression turned somber. “You’re not a project. Unless getting to know you outside the bedroom counts as one.”
“Maybe I should pay you to back off,” she muttered.
“You don’t have that kind of money, trust me.”
“Everyone has a price, MacCale. Want to hear mine?” She threw a preposterous sum at him. Way over her regular fee and most certainly out of his league.
“Deal,” he said, without delay.
The man was crazy, there was nothing else to it. Seriously rich or heavily in debt but definitely demented.
“FYI, I’m not doing it,” she said.
“FYI, no one has ever died on me on the job.”
Lucie fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you have the distinct feeling I’m there to see that they don’t.”
A shrill whistle caught their attention, a man standing beside Boyd Ferguson waving at them and signaling for MacCale to get moving.
Before she could swallow it down, Lucie was asking, “What do you do besides invest in the local nightlife and uphold the family honor?”
“I’ll see you soon, Lucie,” he said, jogging backward toward the group of men waiting on him.
Lost for words, she shook her head in denial.
“Soon,” he shouted, turned around and took off running.
* * * * *
He didn’t so much as glance her way the rest of the day and she would have noticed doing her best to catch a glimpse of him as she was. MacCale utterly focused on throwing hammers like softballs and cabers like toothpicks, men cheering him on and women eating him up with their eyes. Not that she could see them ogling, but what else could they be doing, the man was a sight.
Lucie cringed in self-disgust after craning her neck for the hundredth time to try to spot him through the crowd. He had to be some sort of professional athlete, she decided. He had the strength, agility and stamina of one.
And she would not go online when she got home to dig up what she could about him.
More Moore. Just a little bit more. Then again, with a little luck she might find something to make her hate him with a passion, some excuse not to think about him, some reason not to want him. Anything to convince her she wasn’t thinking of giving him what he asked for. More than just sex, more than her body. Until she was free of the curse she’d put on herself, she wasn’t free to give more than that to anyone.
Richard had understood. He had settled for her friendship and her help.
MacCale didn’t strike her as man who settled for anything less than what he wanted.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Lucie jumped at the sound of his voice scant inches from her ear. How the hell did a man his size manage to sneak up on her? Gathering herself as best as she could, Lucie turned to face him.
“Oh we agreed on more than that,” she reminded him.
“So you are doing it? Letting me read your journals?”
“No,” came her flat reply. To derail his train of thought, she answered his original question instead. “I was thinking about my number-one hero. I was thinking about Dr. Arnold.”
“Dr. Arnold, huh?” he drawled, his chest expanding as he straightened his shoulders and shook his arms as if getting ready to start swinging. “Should I be worried? Jealous? Maybe I should have a word with him so that he knows you’re spoken for. Where can I find the heroic doc?”
“At Bonaventure.”
His arms dropped, his eyes glinting with jest. “He’s dead?”
“For over a century now, I’m afraid.”
“Oh. I’ll let him go with a warning then.” His trunk of an arm lashed through air in a magnanimous gesture before he turned his full attention to her again. “Were you two involved way back when?”
“No. I worked as a nurse, meaning I tried to help every way I could and stay out of his way when I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “It was a long time ago, but I remember him so vividly every time I come here.”
A light sparked in his golden gaze. “And I almost forgot I promised to call one of my favorite people in the world. Do you mind?”
“No. Of course not.” Still lost in reverie, Lucie moved to give him some privacy. Before she could step out of his reach, he’d taken hold of her elbow.