Love Is Lovelier

by Jean Brashear

  He’d said it a thousand times, that he was damned for loving her more than God, but it was a price he’d gladly pay.

  She didn’t believe it, though. Remy Marchand was many things, but chief among them, a good man with a huge heart. The God in whom she placed her faith would have seen that and welcomed him to heaven with open arms.

  They’d talked about being alone a few times, but mostly she’d dodged a subject she couldn’t bear to think about. It still hurt her that he had died with her thousands of miles away, no matter that she’d taken Melanie to Italy at Remy’s urging, to help their daughter recover from her divorce. Not being able to say goodbye was a cruelty that was still a ragged tear inside Anne’s heart. Her only consolation was that they’d told each other many times a day how much each was loved, and showed it in a thousand other ways.

  Remy had forced her to listen, more than once, to something she hadn’t wanted to hear. You are a woman with so much love to give a man. When I am gone, don’t stay alone long. He’d grinned and continued, of course you will miss me, doucette—how could you not? I am a magnificent specimen.

  She’d laughed and tried to change topics, but on one occasion, he’d insisted that she hear him all the way through. With serious eyes, he’d held her in place. I’m not sayin’ I like the idea of you with another man—and heaven help the ones who might try while I’m still here—but it would hurt my heart, ma belle, for you to be alone when I know what it is to see you happy and safe. Mais yeah, you can take care of yourself, but if some good man comes along who knows how to love you, you take him up on it, écoutes?

  She’d refused to agree, had distracted him with kisses flavored with the tears that erupted whenever the slightest thought of losing him appeared. But when her sorrow had quieted and she’d settled into his strong embrace, he’d whispered to her once more. I mean it, Annie Belle. You don’t have to agree now, but you remember I said it.

  She took up her favorite picture of him, snapped in Tuscany during one of the few vacations they’d taken. Oh, Remy, why didn’t we spend more time playing? The snapping blue-green eyes, bright with laughter, seemed to answer her. We were building something, chère, and there was fun in doing it.

  That was Remy. Worked hard, played hard. Sometimes difficult to distinguish the two, as he was never happier than in a steamy kitchen, unless it was surrounded by his girls.

  Or making love to her.

  There is a man, she told his picture. A good man who wants to love me, I think. Who tries to take care of me already. He would be wonderful at it, if only I’d let him. But Remy…it’s William. How would you feel about that? Would you still mean what you said?

  The face in the photo belonged to a man who had confronted life, head-on, and had done his best to wrest everything possible from it. He’d never flinched from reality, had made her acknowledge it, as well, time and again. Don’t look through the eyes of your fear, ma belle. See what is and deal with it.

  Oh, Remy. Tears gathered in her eyes. I am afraid. Afraid to love him because it means letting you go.

  She sat there quietly, clutching his picture to her breast, weeping tears she thought she’d exhausted long ago, for the man who’d been her first love, her long love, what she’d believed was her forever love.

  But William’s face kept popping up, the blue eyes both kind and commanding. The visage that of an older man, something Remy would never be.

  See what is and deal with it.

  So she held on to Remy’s picture for courage and dared to think of another man. And found the end of her tears…the lightness that followed the storm of them.

  William’s face was a strong one, less angular perhaps than the young man she’d known, but more compelling with the power inherent in someone who has found his place in the world. He was forceful, yes, but not humorless—far from it. Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes and around his mouth. His features were carved by time and battle; he’d fought in an arena she could only imagine and emerged victorious. That he was not ruthless with her, when he was obviously a man who obtained whatever he really wanted, was to his credit.

  Then she was forced to smile. Okay, he was a little ruthless, but he was also gentle into the mix. Determined but thoughtful, and had shown more understanding of her dilemma than she had of his.

  All right, you…Cajun, she thought with the affectionate epithet she’d thrown at Remy often. You win. I’ll give love another chance.

  She pressed a kiss to his picture, but, instead of replacing it by her bedside where she’d moved it for comfort after his death, she returned it to its original spot on the shelves in the living room.

  Then, finally sleepy, she climbed into her bed.

  And out again as an idea occurred to her. With a smile, she set the alarm.

  She owed William an apology for the detour she’d forced in his plans tonight.

  In the morning, she would make a start on finding their way back.

  FRESH FROM THE SHOWER, William lifted a cup of his housekeeper’s excellent coffee—leaded this time, as opposed to last night’s decaf—and took a grateful sip. He hadn’t slept well. “You are a goddess, Estelle.”

  She flicked a dish towel at him. “Oh, go on with you, Mr. William. You’re too easy. Sit down, and I’ll have your breakfast finished in a jiff. That Bo is ready to walk.”

  “Always is.” He settled in with the morning’s paper, but his thoughts were troubled over more than last night’s rocky date with Anne, though that was concern enough.

  He replayed yesterday’s meeting with Glen and didn’t like the results any better now. He’d always been an excellent judge of people; the success of his organization was testament to his ability to select the cream of the crop as employees.

  Glen was one of those, handpicked to succeed William at some point. He was sharp and savvy and driven, much as William himself had been. Had his argument concerned any other hotel property, William would have agreed with Glen’s assessment completely.

  But this was Anne’s hotel, and every moment spent in her presence only reinforced what a blow the loss of it would be to her.

  Glen’s value to Regency Corp., however, lay in his ability to divorce himself completely from emotion and consider only the effect on the company’s bottom line. He’d been right to jump on Judith’s concept of melding the two properties together. William’s daughter was proving herself to be every bit as bright and promising as he ever could have hoped.

  But without bringing Anne—and his hopes for their future—into the picture, William could not expect to garner Glen’s or Judith’s understanding of why he would not allow that cut-rate offer to be made.

  His refusal would make a heretofore smooth business relationship rough, and foreclosing the possibility of the takeover stood to rob his daughter of a much-needed success.

  All of this, he thought, with an urge to bang his head on the table, for a woman who resisted him at every turn. Who was attracted to him but refused to acknowledge it, much less act on it. And if she actually felt for him a fraction of what he did for her, she was fighting every opportunity to let that bond grow.

  If he had a lick of sense, he’d go back to the socialites lying in wait to snatch up the catch he represented.

  Too bad he found Anne and her obstacles catnip to a retired raider. He felt twenty years old again and itching to take on all comers.

  Damned if he didn’t love the juice the challenge of her gave him.

  Estelle put his plate in front of him. “Now what’s got that cat with canary look on your face?”

  He snapped the unread paper closed. “It’s a great day, don’t you think, Estelle?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I knew I smelled a woman’s perfume this morning. You get lucky last night, boss?”

  Estelle championed the notion that he needed a permanent woman in his life, and she wasn’t afraid to stick her nose right in his business.

  “Not really.”

  “Then why you smilin’?”
r />   He finished chewing a bite of her wickedly good French toast. “Maybe it’s just your cooking, ever think of that?”

  She snorted as she wiped her hands on her apron. “You been eatin’ my cookin’ for seven and a half years now, but I haven’t seen that particular smile ever before. It’s got woman written all over it.”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Though he’d learned long ago that secrets from Estelle were few and far between.

  She pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you think I won’t. Now you gonna invite Miss Anne in, or shall I?”

  His head jerked up. “Anne? She’s here?” He rose.

  “Right out on the porch.”

  He dropped his napkin and rounded the table. “How long has she been there? Why didn’t you let her in?”

  “’Cause she just this minute walked up the steps.”

  He was nearly to the dining room door when she called after him. “Miss Anne better be some part of that smile you had, is all I got to say. I like that woman. She’s different from those bottle blondes always pantin’ after you.”

  But William wasted no time arguing; instead, he called for Bo.

  “Wait—you didn’t finish. And Miss Anne might need to eat, too.”

  She was right on both counts, but he didn’t want their first encounter after last night to be in the presence of others.

  Bo didn’t count; he wouldn’t carry tales. William had no idea why Anne would be here this morning.

  “Estelle, I apologize for wasting that good food.” He faced her as Bo wriggled beside him. “But I need to see Anne alone first.”

  She waved him off. “I can make more. You go on and bring her back with you, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right, then. Have a good walk. And you mind your manners, Bo. Miss Anne’s a lady, through and through.”

  William returned her wave and opened his front door.

  Anne turned at the sound, one hand against the white Doric column as if she needed bracing. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” He closed the distance between them.

  She didn’t quite smile as she met his gaze earnestly. “You always think of me first, don’t you?” Before he could answer, she went on. “I didn’t sleep well. I owe you an apology.”

  This wasn’t how he’d anticipated their next encounter proceeding. “For what?”

  “Where shall I start? For crying on your shoulder but refusing to let you help with my business concerns?”

  “Changed your mind?”

  “No.” She did smile then. “But I appreciate the gesture more than you can imagine. It’s wonderful just to be able to voice my worries to someone who understands their context, someone who can help me put them in perspective. I’ve never had that.”

  “Never?”

  She took a deep breath, let it out. “Remy and I were partners in everything, but not equal ones. He had too much on his plate with running the restaurant and being its chef. He had to be both manager and culinary genius. He was superb at both, but—” She shrugged.

  “That left you running the hotel. A daunting task on its own.”

  Her smile was grateful. “We made the big decisions together, but the day-to-day…”

  “Can be a real grind.”

  She seemed surprised.

  “You weren’t there to see it, but I did that on my first two hotels. It was a few years before I could afford to step back from the day-to-day and assume a strictly oversight position.”

  “No wonder you understand so much.” She glanced away. “But there’s another apology I must make, and it’s a harder one. About…last night…”

  “You don’t owe me anything. I pushed, and you weren’t ready.”

  She straightened. Cocked her head. “I led you on, so maybe we’re even.”

  A dull ache settled in. Led you on. She might never be ready for more than friendship, and he had to accept that.

  “We’re still friends, aren’t we?” he asked. “We’ll leave it at that. Bo’s ready for his walk, as you can see.” Bo had, by now, wound his leash around both of them. “So, after you, madame.” He began to untangle them.

  “Wait.” She stopped him with one slim hand on his arm. “You’re giving up? Just like that?”

  What the hell do you want from me, woman? he wanted to roar. “Anne, you’ve made yourself clear. You enjoy my company, but that’s all you’ll commit to. That’s fine. I’m a realist. I value—”

  Whatever he’d thought to say was swallowed up when she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Hard.

  William didn’t waste time asking questions. He dropped Bo’s leash and grabbed her. Kissed her back.

  Whoa. The kiss went on and on, and every last thought but one drained from his head.

  He’d go to his grave wanting her. And damned if he was giving up.

  He was on the verge of sweeping her into his arms and charging up the stairs to his bedroom when Bo barked.

  “Anne Robichaux, what on earth are you doing?”

  Her battle-ax mother Celeste stood on the sidewalk, hands on her hips.

  William swore in three languages. But he didn’t let her go. “She’s kissing me, Celeste.” Anne’s head was buried against his chest, and he felt her shaking.

  “On the street—in view of everyone we know,” Celeste complained.

  “On my porch, Celeste. Not one car has passed.” Not that he cared, but Anne might. Mentally he beseeched the heavens for a lightning strike at that moment.

  Then he sighed, knowing that Bo still had to be exercised. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll continue with our walk. I’d invite you to accompany us—” when hell froze over “—but I know that you don’t care for dogs.”

  “You’ll come see me afterward, Anne.” No queen was ever more imperious.

  He felt Anne tense to turn and respond, but he intervened, still holding her close. “I regret to tell you that Anne has agreed to accompany me to a meeting where her input will be invaluable.” He smiled to remove the sting. “But I’m certain she will be talking to you soon. She’s a good daughter.”

  With a slow, satisfied smile Celeste shifted her gaze between Anne and himself. If a black widow spider could produce a smile, it would surely resemble something like Celeste Robichaux’s. William was reminded vividly that once this woman and his mother had conspired to accomplish exactly this result: Anne in his arms. In his life.

  On that, he and Celeste were in perfect agreement. The fly in the ointment was that Anne had rebelled against her mother’s schemes more than once in her life, so Celeste’s backing might actually harm his cause.

  Celeste nodded at him as if the idea had occurred to her, too. “She’s my only child, and I’m grateful for her.”

  William felt Anne flinch at the falsehood. Celeste had another child, a son whom she’d banished, the brother Anne still longed to find. He squeezed her arm and answered in her stead. “Good morning to you, then, Celeste. We’ll just be on our way.” Not to the heaven I’d envisioned a few moments ago, thanks to you, he resisted saying.

  Celeste studied the two of them a second longer. “Au revoir.” And she was off.

  Anne’s trembling frame parted from him, and he prepared to soothe her.

  Turned out, he couldn’t have been more wrong. She burst into gusts of laughter she’d obviously been restraining. “Caught like a couple of kids on Lovers Lane,” she blurted between whoops. “Oh, lordy, what I wouldn’t give for a picture of her face. Anne Robichaux, what on earth are you doing?” she mimicked.

  He had no choice but to join her. Bo whirled in circles and barked, and they both laughed so hard they collapsed on the wicker swing behind them. William couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this good. This lighthearted.

  At last, they wound down to small, intermittent chuckles.

  The morning silence wove between them, around them, encasing them in a universe where he was supremely
aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, the heat of her body beside his.

  The pure rightness of all of it, Anne here, in his home. His life.

  She spoke first. “My input will be invaluable?” Her teasing tone brought his head around. She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Exactly where is this meeting?”

  The mischief in her gaze lightened his heart almost enough to make up for the exasperation of Bo tugging on his leash. “Would you be scandalized if I said upstairs in the master suite?”

  He was ready, so ready to make love to her. To make her his.

  “Would you be scandalized if I said the idea has appeal?”

  He swore his heart stopped. He had to get this absolutely clear. “You said you led me on last night.”

  “I didn’t mean to, but I was confused.”

  “Are you confused now?”

  An endless pause. “Not so much.”

  “How much?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “Should I leave?”

  “Not a chance.” He grabbed her before she could move. “A little, I can live with.” He flashed her a grin and cautioned himself to take things slow. If it killed him.

  Which he was sure it would. “Let’s walk this dog. Then I’m under orders from Estelle to bring you in and feed you.”

  “And then what?”

  He glanced down at her, liking the feel of her tucked into his side. “Then I work on whittling down a little into no doubts at all.”

  “Careful with that ego, Mr. Armstrong. There are some low branches on our route.”

  “But you’ll comfort me if I come to harm, won’t you? Tear your petticoats and bind my wounds?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll keep Bo from slobbering on you. My petticoats disappeared after my debutante ball.”

  “Why, Miss Anne, you surrendered your petticoats?” he said in as near a falsetto as he could manage. “I do believe I am scandalized, after all.”

  Bo tugged, and they followed him.

  Laughing once more.

  CHAPTER SEVEN