Книга - A Noble Pursuit

A Noble Pursuit
Meg Lacey


Undercover cop Shay O'Malley has the toughest assignment of his career. He, a Yankee, has to bring down one of the most prestigious families in New Orleans.Worse yet, he's unknowingly slept with Juliette Fortier– Princess Juliette Fortier–who may or may not be into the "family business" up to her lovely neck. He'd rather think she's an innocent, but after their night together, he knows better.…Juliette just wants a fling–a one-night stand before she settles down, bound by her royal responsibilities. But Shay keeps turning up in the strangest places…and she's powerless to resist his charms. Being powerless doesn't sit well with a princess.…









“Don’t stop,” Juliette whispered fiercely


Stop? It would have been easier to stop a freight train, Shay thought. Desperation and desire—a volatile combination. It made the ordinary extraordinary. The act of making love took on a whole new dimension.

Greedy, she devoured his mouth. “More. I want more,” she demanded.

“Everything I’ve got…promise,” he told her, and then moments later, he was as good as his word as he tightened his hold on her and she on him and their tension built to release.

Slowly, reality returned—bodies cooled, vision cleared, the night once again took on form and dimension. Shay still held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go, positive that if he did, he’d wake up and discover it had all been a dream.

“All right, princess?” he breathed into her ear.

Her answer came, still dreamy with passion as she tightened her legs, reluctant to let him go. “Perfect. But you don’t need to call me Princess. I don’t use the title.”

“What title?”

Her eyes popped open. Oh, damn!


Dear Reader,

Haven’t you ever wished you could run away from your everyday life and have an adventure? Haven’t you ever wished you would be swept off your feet by a bold, handsome man who whisks you away to a life of passion and laughter…with no laundry to do? I sure have.

And this is exactly how Princess Juliette Fortier feels as she sits on a park bench in New Orleans and wishes for a man to sweep her away, temporarily, from the future stretching before her. The only problem is she gets more than she’d bargained for when her adventure begins for real. She gets Detective Shay O’Malley, a hot-blooded cop hot on the trail of a criminal.

I hope you’ll love this story as much as I’ve loved writing about Juliette and Shay. Please let me know. I’d really enjoy hearing from you. You can e-mail me: MEGLACEY@aol.com, visit me at www.eclectics.com or through www.eHarlequin.com or send a letter to: Meg Lacey, P.O. Box 112010, Cincinnati, OH 45211.

Happy reading!

Meg Lacey




Books by Meg Lacey


HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

734—SEXY AS SIN


A Noble Pursuit

Meg Lacey






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To dear friend, Robin Graff Reed, who dropped everything and jumped in when I needed her.

To my terrific editor, Susan Sheppard, who hung in there and taught me more than I can say. Thank you.




Contents


Chapter 1 (#uc3c1353d-b4ab-5937-9b2b-e8326e9f55e1)

Chapter 2 (#ua052d742-59f3-550a-9bb3-3ec5b0c85df8)

Chapter 3 (#u5618f41e-66a1-59f5-afab-d388a13e9234)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)




1


SHE SAT ON THE PARK BENCH, naked and alone.

Or at least that’s the way she looked to Shay O’Malley as his gaze skimmed over her. She was actually dressed in navy-blue silk and dainty heels, but the expression on her face told him she was stripped to the bone emotionally and isolated from the lively activity around her.

Shay sighed. Damn, she looked so young. Or was that because he was studying her with his jaded cop’s eyes? He took another look. On second thought, not that young. Early to mid-twenties, at least. He glanced toward the street. In any case, she seemed too innocent and lovely to be sitting by herself on the fringes of the rowdy, wicked Mardi Gras crowd.

He knew immediately that he couldn’t walk away. He’d have to make sure she was all right. His damn hero-to-the-rescue complex came out at the most inconvenient times.

Swearing under his breath, Shay shrugged his shoulders, feeling the weight of his old, brown leather bomber jacket as it shrugged with him. Slowly, he walked over to the park bench. “Miss? You look like you got a problem. Can I help?”

The woman gasped, then glanced up at him with an air of surprise that made her seem ill-prepared to face the world. Her ocean-blue eyes were as wide as a child’s. Shay wanted to groan as he compared her with the sultry hooker who was flaunting herself by a lamppost near the street.

“You’re kind of young to be out here with this type of crowd, aren’t you?” Regardless of her actual age, Shay knew firsthand there were too many predators waiting to prey on those who looked like innocents.

Her gaze raced over him from the top of his head to his toes, but still she said nothing. She only gripped her fingers more tightly together and stared at him, as if he were the devil sent to tempt her to hell.

Shay frowned. “Don’t be scared, okay? I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

The tip of her tongue moistened her naked mouth, running slowly over her full bottom lip. Shay felt a jolt that was purely sexual. It singed his gut and quickened his breath. “I said, what’s your name?” Uncomfortable at his reaction, he spoke more harshly than he’d intended.

“I…” She blinked, her mouth trembling for a moment, and then she said, “I can’t…” She stared up at him, her breath coming a bit faster as her gaze roamed his face, touching on each feature.

He cocked his head, considering her. “You can’t tell me your name?”

“I…” Still she stared, then gave a little shrug. “I can’t remember.”

“You forgot your name.”

She looked confused for a moment. “Uh-huh.”

“So. Memory’s completely gone?” He tried to say it lightly, even though he knew cynicism was sneaking into his tone. His inclination to trust her was at war with his experience as a cop.

She was silent for another moment, then she squared her shoulders. “Exactly.”

Shay frowned and tried another approach. “What are you doing out here by yourself? Aren’t you with someone—friends, parents…?”

Her head snapped up. “I’m not a child!”

Shay’s gaze dropped and he took in the curves beneath the silk of her dress. She was no child, for sure. His gut tightened. Full-grown or not, there was something about her that made him want to shine up his armor and sharpen his lance.

“And I’m not with friends,” she continued less vehemently. “I’m alone.”

“Okay, you’re an adult. Still, isn’t there somebody…a boyfriend? Maybe you had a fight or something?” He glanced around the park, then his gaze swept over her again. “It could get rough out here later. If you were my woman you wouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“Your woman?”

“That’s right.”

She gave him a hint of a smile. “Do you need a woman?”

He was shocked. He’d have bet his badge she wasn’t a hooker. “Are you offering?”

“That depends.” Her eyes gleamed with an unexpected excitement.

Shay tilted his head. Now that was familiar, that seductive, teasing tone. His eyes narrowed as his gaze came to rest on her mouth. Her lips trembled again, but whether from fear or excitement he didn’t know. Maybe he’d misunderstood her tone. From force of habit, he called her bluff. “Depends on what?”

“On if you feel like being a hero.”

“You need a hero?”

“Every woman needs a hero.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Not today they don’t. Most women would rather be the hero than depend on one.”

“I’m not most women.”

“I’ll say.” The words rushed out before he had a chance to think about them. He could feel his neck flush at the sly glance she gave him from under her long dark lashes. “What I meant was, most women wouldn’t be sitting here alone on a night like this. Or if so, they wouldn’t be alone long.” As if to underscore his remark, a group of revelers, dressed to the hilt in colored satin, frothing lace and elaborate headdresses wove past them. Their laughter was accentuated by the rumble that had been growing steadily louder throughout the evening.

She shrugged and touched the wooden slats of the bench. “I came here because I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

“Where’s there?”

The woman scowled, avoiding his gaze. “Where I was.”

Shay rubbed the spot between his eyebrows where tension was starting to build. Talking to this woman was like being caught in a never-ending loop. “Let’s get this straight. You don’t know who you are, where you’re from or why you’re here. That about cover it?”

She shrugged. “That’s the story of my life.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Life has a beginning, a middle and an end. You’re still working on the first couple chapters.”

“I think my middle and end are already written.”

“You’re too young to be a cynic. Trust me, I know.” Did he ever. No one lost his ideals faster than a cop.

“Aren’t cynics merely the flip side of idealists?”

He lifted a brow, studying her in closer detail, now more intrigued than ever by her aristocratic Southern accent and the aura of class she wore. What the hell was she doing out here? “That’s pretty heavy thinking for a woman who can’t remember her name.”

She frowned. “Maybe I read that somewhere.”

“Do you remember reading your address?”

She squeezed her eyes shut before saying in a fierce whisper, “No, I don’t.” She opened her eyes and stared into his, her gaze intense and gleaming with purpose. “Do you believe in fairy tales? In legends coming to life?”

“Fairy tales?” The intoxicating scent of jasmine brought on images of sultry nights under the stars, crushed flowers and soft moans, and Shay shook his head to clear it. They’d warned him in Cincinnati that New Orleans was more seductive than a high-priced whore, but he’d shrugged it off. Now here he was, lurking in a park near the Renard Restaurant on a half-baked tip from an iffy informant and what was he thinking about? “Nah, I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

“How about fate? Do you believe in fate?”

“I believe in making my own fate.”

A self-satisfied smile touched her lips. “I thought you’d say that.”

Shay straightened. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” He shoved a hand through his hair. He had a job to do and he couldn’t do it with this type of distraction. He’d already decided that this stakeout was a waste of time and he’d been about to cut bait when he saw her.

“What would you like to do?”

Her voice, soft and provocative, whispered on the breeze as Shay glanced at his watch, then at his companion. Despite the temptation, he made the instinctive decision to protect his undercover status. “I’d better find a cop.”

“A cop?” A hint of alarm crept into her question. “Why do you want a cop?”

A gust of wind stirred the branches above them. “Get real. Why do you think? You don’t know who the hell you are. I can’t leave you here. You’d end up a crime statistic.”

“I can’t involve the police.” Her voice started to rise, which set Shay’s warning lights flashing. Why was she so afraid of the police?

“I’ve got to get you somewhere safe.” Shay slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Damn, what kind of…did you hit your head? Is that why you can’t remember anything? I didn’t even check. Maybe we ought to find a hospital or a clinic.” His fingers probed gently in her hair—searching for an injury, he told himself, not because he wanted to touch her. “Let me know if anything hurts.”

She slapped his hand away and stood up. “Nothing hurts. Nothing you can see, anyway.”

Shay straightened and reached for her arm. “Wait a minute. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to go now.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere.”

Shay grabbed both of her arms and swung her around to face him. “Hold it. You’re not—”

“I’ll be fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

“The hell you will. Look, I’ll take you down to the precinct myself.”

She tugged her arm away, surprising him with her strength. “No. I can’t let you do that.”

A jagged flash of lightning split the sky. Shay glanced up, then back at her before grabbing her wrists. “You don’t have a choice.”

Her eyes abruptly filled with tears and her voice tightened. “No, no, let go. I can’t go to the police. I can’t have that kind of—please let me go.”

He pulled her close, stroking her tense back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” What in the hell was this woman mixed up in? he wondered. Should he tell her he was a cop, after all? Not that he had anything but temporary jurisdiction on one specific case, but still—

She struggled, attempting to pull away from him. “I have to go. Please, I’ll be okay.”

Another crack of lightning split the sky, followed immediately by a roar of thunder. “I’m supposed to let you run away into a storm, without knowing who you are? Forget it, lady. I can’t do that. What kind of hero would I be?” The rain started to fall lightly but steadily. All around the area people were running for cover. For a moment, Shay was at a loss. Even if tonight’s tip was proving a waste of time, he was still on the job, and he took his duty seriously. But, like every good cop, he knew when to cut his losses. He glanced toward the street and, with no sign of his quarry in the vicinity, decided to bail out. Then Shay pulled his attention back to the woman in his arms. Staring down at her, he cradled her closer. “I have to take you somewhere.”

The woman hesitated, then blurted, “Then take me home with you.”

“Home with me?”

“Yes. I can stay until the rain stops, and then I’ll go anywhere you want me to go.”

“That’s not the greatest—”

She shivered as the breeze whirled around them. “I’m getting cold.”

“Ah, hell.” Shay looked down at her, trying not to be distracted by the way the wet silk was clinging to her body, outlining every curve. He stripped off his jacket and threw it over her as the rain started falling harder. “Come on, we’ll have to run for it. My car’s on the other side of the park.”

Shay wrapped his arm around her, tucking her close to his side as they started running. They cut across the grass as the path was now crowded with fleeing people, some laughing, some swearing and some so drunk they were stumbling into each other. A man attempted to grab hold of them to steady himself.

Shay shoved him away. “Go sleep it off, jerk.”

“Looks like you’ll be doing the same,” he slurred with a leering glance at Shay’s feminine armful.

Sudden protective instincts leaped to the fore and Shay had to stop himself from punching the guy. “Get out of here before I arrest you.” The man moved away and only then did Shay realize what he’d said. He glanced down at the woman next to him, only to see a quick smile cross her lips.

“That was a clever way to get rid of him. I’ll have to use that.”

Shay chuckled as they continued to cross the wet grass toward the sidewalk. “No one in their right mind would take you for a cop, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Just then the heavens opened, spilling rain in great drenching sheets. Shay grabbed the woman’s hand and tugged her along, running down the concrete walk to the side of an old white Porsche that had seen better days. He dug into his pocket for his keys, swearing when his hand stuck in his wet jeans. Meanwhile the rain was plastering his shirt to his chest.

Shay glanced at the woman next to him to see how she was doing under his leather jacket. Marginally better, but not much. He managed to grasp his keys and remove his hand without turning his entire pocket inside out, then leaned down to unlock the door.

Pulling it wide, he began tucking her inside. “In you go, Red.”

She stopped halfway into her seat. “What did you call me?”

“Red. I have to call you something.”

“Why Red? Why not—”

He ducked his head as a particularly unpleasant gust of rainwater pelted his back. “We’ll talk about it when I get in, okay?”

She looked up at him, seeming only then to notice how wet he was. “Oh, of course…”

Shay scarcely heard her “Sorry” as he dashed around the car and slid behind the wheel. He shook his thick hair like a dog coming in from a dunking, and laughed. “Damn, it’s kinda wet out there.”

The woman stared back at him, looking slightly amazed at his good humor. “Yes, it is.”

“I’d offer you a towel, Red, but at the moment I don’t have one handy.”

“I don’t have red hair. So I don’t see—”

“I thought you liked fairy tales.”

“I do.”

“You remind me of Red Riding Hood.”

“And you’re…?”

“The hero, what else?”

She snorted as she lifted her brow to consider him. “You look more like the Big Bad Wolf.”

Shay grinned. “Hey, you’re starting to remember already.”

She glanced away. “I…suppose so.”

“Who knows what you’ll come up with by the time the rain stops?” He glanced through his windshield. “If it stops. This looks ready to settle in for the night.” He reached for the key and started the car, turning on the wipers and the heat. “We’ll have it warm in no time.”

True to his word, after a moment the car’s heater spat out a blast of warm air that quickly made the small interior feel even more cozy, more intimate. Their shoulders practically touched as they sat in the sports car. They were so close that Shay was aware of everything about her—the rain-sweet smell of her damp hair, the subtle jasmine perfume she wore, the small, perfect pearl drops that decorated her earlobes, revealed when she tucked her hair behind her shell-like ears. He could hear the soft slide of wet silk as she shifted in her seat, looking for her seat belt, and immediately wondered what it would be like to have that silk shifting against him. He stared at the rain rolling down the window glass, which was fogged by their breathing. They were enclosed in a cocoon of sensuality, and Shay had no idea how to break the spell. He didn’t particularly want to, either. To him, the atmosphere seemed thick, laden with unvoiced desires.

She smiled a bit nervously and held her hands, palms out, toward the heater vents on the dashboard. “That feels good. Hot even.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was hot.

Luckily, he kept his mouth closed, so the thought didn’t spill out and make him more uncomfortable than he already was. He was a cop, for God’s sake. He wasn’t exactly on the job tonight, but even so, he couldn’t run around with his zipper at half mast just because he was getting a hard-on the size of California. Not and still call himself a professional. Hell, he couldn’t understand it. He’d resisted some of the most gorgeous call girls in the business during his undercover career. It made no sense to jeopardize his integrity with some sexy little waif. Not that this woman was related to his case; she wasn’t. Regardless, he’d placed her under his protection whether she knew it or not. Which made this entire situation and his response to it as unethical as hell.

“Whew.” Taking his jacket off her shoulders, she folded it on her lap. “It’s getting a bit steamy in here.”

I’ll say. He scowled as he registered her creamy shoulders, which were barely covered by her damp silk wrap. “Keep that on—you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” She indicated her clothing. “I don’t want to get your coat any wetter and ruin it.”

“You can’t hurt that jacket. I’ve had it practically since I was a kid. Lots of good memories in that jacket.”

“What type of memories? Tell me. Maybe they’ll help me remember.”

Shay laughed, grateful for a chance to get his mind off his groin and back on safer topics. “I doubt it, Red. My favorite memory is wearing that jacket to my first college football game and trying to put the make on Heather Johnson under the bleachers.”

“Oh.” Then she grinned back at him. “I can sort of relate. Except for the leather jacket, the football game and Heather, of course.”

“And you’re relating to what?”

“To wearing something that made you feel special.”

Shay’s gaze sharpened. Pretty astute young woman. It only reinforced his growing unease. Something about this entire situation was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He didn’t know much about amnesia, except it was traumatic for the sufferer. Of course, she had gotten upset when he wanted to call the police, but he wasn’t sure that reaction was symptomatic of losing your memory. Or was it? What the hell. He’d spent his entire career adapting the game to meet his rules, so he’d play this situation until it was over, too. It could be worse, he thought, smiling to himself. She could be eighty-eight and weigh three hundred pounds. He checked his mirrors and pulled out into traffic, before glancing over to answer her. “You’re right. I did feel special in that jacket.”

She smiled, sending him an admiring look. “Still do, I’ll bet.”

“Now it’s like a second skin. I’ve got it broken in just the way I like it.”

Shay saw her absentmindedly stroke the leather on her lap. Desire started gnawing at him again. He set his jaw in a tight line, imposing the control that was supposed to tamp down the fire. As long as he didn’t look at her, he figured, he might have a chance of coming out of this with his pants still on.

They drove in silence, each aware of the other. At least Shay could swear she was as aware of him as he was of her. This feeling couldn’t be one-sided. It was too strong and she was too close—way too close. For the first time, he wished he drove a full-size van.

She cleared her throat before asking, “Do you live far?”

He shook his head. “Just uptown a ways, in the Garden District. How about you?”

“I live—” She seemed to swallow her words. “I…” She stared at him, her eyes suddenly huge in her pale face.

“Sorry, just thought I’d give it a try. Take you by surprise and see what happened, you know?”

“Well, it almost worked until I thought about it.”

THAT’S THE TRUTH, Juliette thought. She’d almost blurted out her address the minute he asked her, just because she was so conscious of him that he sent her mind reeling. Not once could she ever remember being this aware of a man, being so drawn to someone that she wished he’d absorb her into his bone marrow. It’s what she’d have liked to feel about the man her brother wanted her to marry. But she didn’t. Of course, her intended fiancé was part of a practical arrangement, one that would unite their family fortunes—a normal occurrence in her social circle, especially since her father was a bit old-fashioned.

Juliette understood the business reasons behind her family’s wishes, but she resented—no make that hated—being used as a pawn in some game she didn’t want to play. She wanted romance, passion. She wanted a soul mate, a man who could touch her in ways she’d never dreamed of and could make her keep on wanting. What was the matter with a bit of fantasy? Was being swept off your feet by a bold, dashing figure astride a spirited stallion too much to ask? Just then Juliette caught sight of her rescuer’s reflection in the glass. A little smile caressed her lips. Or in this case, being swept off by a man wearing a brown leather jacket, beige T-shirt, blue jeans and boots, and driving a beat-up Porsche?

He indicated the window. “What do you think? Anything around here look familiar?”

She carefully avoided looking at the ornate building near the park that had belonged to her family for almost a hundred years and was now headquarters for the family business. “No, nothing.”

For a moment Juliette felt guilty for lying to her dark-haired stranger, then she pushed the feeling aside. She hadn’t asked for him to come to her rescue, she rationalized, but there he’d been, offering to help her. When a man like this one offered anything how could a woman say no? She’d have to be blind, deaf, dumb and 133 years old to resist his appeal. That certainly didn’t apply to Juliette, who was 24. Her upbringing might have been grounded in old-fashioned rituals, but her libido was a product of today’s world. She stared at his muscular thigh, which looked long and lean through his tight jeans. This man put all of those suave society men she’d always known to shame. Too bad he was temporary. She sighed.

“That was a damn big sigh, Red.”

“I know. Everything seems so…complicated…at the moment.”

Shay chuckled. “I guess it does if you can’t remember anything.”

“Yes, that was dumb, wasn’t it?” Of course it was, you idiot! He’s not interested in your personal problems. He’s only interested in finding a way to deal with the woman he picked up like a stray puppy. The thought that he might really be attracted to her died a quick death. He was just a Good Samaritan chalking up a virtuous deed for heavenly reward. The thought depressed the hell out of her.

“So, any idea why you were in that park tonight?”

Juliette spoke without thinking. “Escaping.”

“Escaping from what?” His voice sharpened and his expression turned to steel.

She shifted on her seat, avoiding his probing glance. “I don’t know.” Liar, she thought. She was running away from her future.

She’d just bolted from a boring business dinner. For hours, Juliette had sat listening to the discussion, smiling when called upon, uttering polite, meaningless words, knowing that this could be one of the routines of her life from this point on if her brother had his way. She’d have to be perfect on the job, perfect at home, perfect, perfect, perfect! It was enough to make a saint scream! Lately she’d become more and more resentful of her safe, predictable lifestyle. She’d watched her brother and his best friend, the man he’d been pushing as her fiancé in all but name, wheel and deal with business associates until she couldn’t stand it another minute. She wanted noise, color, atmosphere, laughter and music instead of a subdued, sophisticated ambiance. She ached for an adventure before she chained herself to marriage. Was that so selfish? Her cousin Carlyne had done it. Carlyne’s recent phone call replayed in her mind. “Juliette, you’ve got to take a risk, let yourself go. You’d be surprised what might happen.”

So she’d created a bit of a scene, a discreet one, of course, because Juliette couldn’t create a major disturbance without someone noticing, and the wrong type of publicity would be very bad for a young woman heading a major charitable fund. She’d pleaded a headache and escaped to the lobby, with her brother right on her heels. After their short, whispered argument, her head really did ache. However, instead of letting the maître d’ call a taxi as she’d promised she would, Juliette had escaped into the French Quarter to get some air.

Restless, feeling very much alone and removed from the activity around her, she’d wandered for a while, envying the obvious enjoyment and energy of the people celebrating carnival in New Orleans. In contrast, her own life stretched before her, bleak and devoid of enthusiasm. She’d skirted the Mardi Gras crowds watching the parades and finally wandered into a small park not far from the Renard Restaurant, but secluded enough not to be seen by her brother should he look for her. Taking refuge on a wooden bench, she’d sat down, alternately feeling sorry for herself and wishing she could find a bold warrior who’d rescue her and whisk her off to his bedroom, where they’d live passionately ever after. It was stupid and childish.

Then he had appeared.

As if she’d conjured him up from her fantasy, a man larger than life had strolled into view. Shocked at the real-life warrior who’d suddenly appeared, she had gaped at him as he’d walked toward her. As he’d passed under a streetlight she’d caught the subtle mahogany-red flare of his dark brown hair, which she decided hinted at passion—or was it temper? She had wanted to look away, but his arresting face had captivated her. She had shivered as she took in the broad brow, the slashing dark eyebrows, the piercing green eyes that gleamed like warm jade and had an edge that could cut like a jeweled dagger. He had looked quite fierce as his gaze bored into hers. She’d caught her breath at his aggressively chiseled cheekbones, at the square jaw shadowed by dark stubble. His nose looked as if it had been broken at some point. All she could do was stare at him like a backward child when he’d spoken to her. She had been so stunned that she couldn’t say a word, and as she’d stared at him, all she could think was What if I had no memory of my past? What if I could start my life here and now?

Why not?

Now, as she sat in the close confines of the car, Juliette slid him a look from under her lashes. Even soaking wet and a bit on edge, the man was impossible to resist, which was good because she didn’t want to resist. She’d been yearning for adventure and he’d showed up—the perfect man for a passionate escapade. She studied him surreptitiously. There was danger about him, but still, for some reason she knew she could trust him.

“Well, are you?”

His voice intruded into her thoughts, startling her. “Am I what?”

He adjusted the blower on the heater, then surprised her by sending a penetrating look in her direction, a look that cut into her thoughts and brought her survival instincts to the surface. “Are you warm enough now? I’ve got it on full blast to dry us off.”

“I, oh…yes. Thank you.” Juliette glanced away again, suddenly cautious. She had a suspicion that she’d better not underestimate him or push him too far.

A moment later, he said, “You’re awfully quiet, Red.”

The intimate timbre of his voice sent a current of electricity racing through her veins, leaving behind anticipation and a strange feeling of safety. Juliette stared at his fingers gripping the steering wheel. She wondered how they would feel on her body. Would they be hard and careless or callused and tender, his rough skin igniting flames with each touch? She could picture those hands stroking her to awareness, even through the wet clothes molded to her body.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Inhaling deeply, disturbed yet excited by the images running through her mind, Juliette blurted, “Making love in the rain.” Surprised at herself, she caught a brief glimpse of his face, eyes wide, mouth open with astonishment, before she turned her head to stare blindly out the window. He started to speak, but began coughing instead, until he finally choked out, “I beg—your—pardon?”

“There was a couple back there…” Juliette was thinking at lightning speed, trying to salvage the situation “…standing in the rain making love.” Of course, she couldn’t tell him the couple was in her imagination, and that it was them.

“Making love?”

His question jerked her back to reality. What am I doing here? If anyone ever finds out... After all, it was one thing to fantasize about a passionate adventure with a stranger and another thing altogether to actually have one. Yet why was she here if she wasn’t determined to live out her fantasies with this man? Not that she thought about having sex with him—exactly. Perhaps going just far enough to supply a warm memory for the long nights of chilly formality that her future promised. What was wrong with that?

He leaned forward to look past her out her window, then checked his rearview mirror. “I didn’t see anyone making lo—”

Juliette interrupted, abruptly changing the subject. “You said no one would take me for a cop? Why is that? I could be on a special assignment or something.”

Taking his time, he ran his eyes over her, then smiled. “You don’t have the look.”

With the back of her hand, she dashed away a trickle of water that was running from her hair into her eyes. “What look is that?”

“The disillusionment. You still look as if you believe in Santa Claus.”

“Since when is believing in Santa Claus a problem?”

“He’s a fantasy.”

“What’s wrong with fantasy?”

“Nothing, unless you let it get in the way of what’s real.”

Juliette shifted on the leather seat. “And if reality isn’t the way you want it to be?”

“Then change it.”

Juliette studied his intent expression as he peered through the windshield. With one sentence this man had given her confirmation that she was doing the right thing—rash or not. This is fate—signed, sealed and delivered. Her gaze touched on his firm lips. This man. It dawned on her that she didn’t even know his name. Should she ask him? What if his name was totally unromantic, like Ferdy or Linus or something. But she couldn’t call him Warrior King or Prince Charming—somehow she didn’t think he’d go for that. She sat trying to match a name with his profile.

“Why’re you looking at me so funny? Is my face on upside down?”

Juliette smiled. She’d never seen a face on better in her life. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused. “No, it looks fine to me.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know your name.”

The man threw her a startled glance. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“It’s Shay.”

“Shay?” The name fit him—short, to the point and intensely masculine.

“Shay—”

She stopped him before he could continue. “Shay’s enough. It doesn’t seem right for you to have two names when I can’t even remember one.” Besides, she thought, a complete name would make this episode too concrete to live forever in her memory, as it must. “Shay is what nationality, originally?”

“My family’s as Irish as they come—shanty Irish, you know, the kind that kept the saloons in business? They came down the Ohio River during the potato famine and ran out of money in Cincinnati, so they stayed. At least that’s how the family legend has it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with starting at the bottom of the ladder.”

“And you’d know about that how, sweetheart?”

“What do you mean?”

He slid her a probing look. “You’ve never seen the bottom of a ladder in your life. You’ve got that high-class look that comes from centuries of good breeding—like some kind of royalty. Maybe I’ll just call you Princess instead of Red. I kind of like that.”

Princess. He was very observant, but she hated to be called that. Her father had always called her his little princess right before he issued some directive sure to choke her independent spirit. “You are a Yankee, then. I wondered about your accent.”

He chuckled. “I’m not the one with the accent. Not when it takes you three times as long to say a sentence as it does me.”

Juliette arched her brow, giving him her sauciest look. “We don’t see much need to rush in New Orleans. We like to take it slow and easy.”

“Yeah, N’awlins—the Big Easy. They told me.”

“Who did?”

His face tightened. “Just some people I work with, is all.”

“What type of—”

“We’re here.” Shay pulled up to the curb in front of a charming, four-story house, an old family home that had obviously been converted into a series of apartments. An elaborate wrought-iron fence surrounded the gardens that embraced an aged brick facade. Window boxes spilling vines and flowers hugged the side of the building in the cool rain. He turned off the engine, but didn’t move. “This is where I live.”

Juliette peered through the side window. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s a sublet. Just temporary.”

“You aren’t planning on staying in New Orleans, then?” She held her breath. It would be better for her peace of mind if he wasn’t around to tempt her after tonight.

“I’m only here to wrap up some business and then I head back north.”

“I see.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, each was reluctant to make a move. Finally Shay said, “The rain looks as if it’s letting up a bit. We’d better get inside before it changes its mind.”

Juliette smiled. “Good idea.” Before I do, too, she thought.

Shay slipped out the side door and came around to open hers, reaching down a hand to draw her from the car. “Careful, there’s a big pud—” Juliette landed with both feet in a puddle that flooded over her shoes “—too late.” Shay reached for her. “Ah damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t see that when I pulled up.”

Juliette laughed as his arms encircled her waist. “It could be worse. I could be drowning.”

Shay grinned back. “Atta girl, that’s the spirit.”

At his words, Juliette felt as if she’d just been awarded the medal of honor. She could feel herself blushing, even though the rain was cool. “Thank—oohh!” He startled her as he yanked her from the puddle, swept her up into his arms without further conversation and headed for the iron gate. As if on cue, the skies opened, drenching them anew as Shay carried her up the sidewalk.

“Much more of this and we’re both gonna drown,” he muttered as he stepped onto the porch. He shouldered his way through the front door, then stopped in the vestibule, shifting Juliette in his arms and muttering under his breath.

Her arm went around his neck—for balance, she told herself, not because she wanted to get closer to him or anything. “Am I too heavy?” She’d said it automatically, praying he wouldn’t release her yet. She could feel his strength, the hard muscles of his arms and chest tense against her body. All she had to do was turn slightly to touch his lips with hers. It was tempting, very tempting.

“Heavy?” Shay grinned down at her. “Since when are sprites heavy?”

“A sprite?” She was sure her eyes were starting to twinkle as she stared into his. His green eyes were glowing, and he tightened his arms as if he didn’t want to let her go any more than she wanted him. “That’s rather fanciful, isn’t it? For a man who doesn’t believe in fairy tales?” she teased, just to see what he would do.

Shay scowled as a stain of red slashed across his cheekbones. “I need my key to get in the other door,” he said gruffly.

“Where is it? Did you leave it in the car?”

“No. It’s in my pocket, but I can’t reach it while I’m holding you.”

“Then you’d better put me down.” She hoped he didn’t hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah, maybe I should.” Despite his statement he held her a bit tighter. “But it’s not a heroic thing to do, not to a damsel in distress. Forget it—can’t do it. Not when you’re dripping from the knees down.”

“I’m still wet, whether you’re holding me or not,” Juliette said in a reasonable tone.

“True. We could be stuck here till your shoes dry. Unless…” His brows lifted in a hopeful expression.

“Unless?”

His expression changed. A glint sparked in his eyes. “You wanna get it for me?”

“Get what? Your key?” Juliette gave him a suspicious look, warned by the challenging light in his eye. “That depends on where it is.”

“Back pocket, right side.”

“Back—” He was definitely up to something—something more than taking her mind off the “sprite” compliment that had embarrassed him. At least, she’d taken it as a compliment. Sprites were lovely, magical beings to her. She caught his lips twitching and glanced up quickly to see a teasing glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you put me down? Then you can get it yourself.”

“I can’t. Your feet are soaking wet and this rug is practically an heirloom, my landlady said.”

Juliette looked down at the faded Oriental carpet beneath Shay’s feet. “This carpet? Well, it certainly looks old enough.”

“We don’t want to damage it.”

“What about your feet? They’re wet, too.”

“I’m not dripping water the way you are.” He pointed at the ornate pattern, which was now a bit darker than before. “See?”

Juliette decided he was not only teasing her, he was testing her. Why, she didn’t know, unless he’d seen through her amnesia act. It probably wasn’t the best role she could have chosen for her escapade—not that she’d consciously done so—but it was too late to backtrack now. Juliette looked him boldly in the eye and called his bluff.

“Back pocket, you said?”

She leaned around so she could slide her hand down his side, past his waist and over his tight butt. Her fingers hesitated at the top of his pocket, but his eyes held a challenge, and with a quick move she slipped her fingers inside his pocket and began grasping for the key. Her fingers slid over his firm buttocks as she explored the inside of the pocket quite thoroughly, then jerked her hand up and out. She wanted to blow on her fingertips to cool them off. “The key’s not there,” she announced in a tight voice.

His eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “It’s not? I wonder what I…oh, how stupid. I remember now. I put in on my chain with my car keys this morning.” He lifted his hand and revealed the key ring dangling from his little finger. “Sorry, Red. I forgot. Seems like you’re not the only one with a bad memory.” He leaned down and unlocked the door.

She stiffened and her voice dripped ice when she said, “You can put me down now.” She knew he was suspicious of her story, and he’d just confirmed it. She’d have to watch it from now on, or run as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

“No can do, the same carpet is in the hallway.” Clasping her high in his arms, he practically strolled down the hall toward the ornate caged elevator at the other end.

Annoyed, Juliette hissed like a wet kitten. She hated it when people patted her on the head and treated her like a fool. “I suppose you pulled that little trick to humiliate me? Right?” She raised her brows to their haughtiest level. “I demand that you put me down immediately.”

He chuckled as he stepped inside the open elevator and slid the cage shut. He pressed the button for the third floor before he answered her. “Now, Princess—”

“Don’t call me Princess.”

“—don’t lose your temper. You tell me what man could resist hanging on to an armful like you? I just wanted to see if you’d lost your spirit along with your memory.”

Her spirit. He thought she had spirit? Was this man off track! If she had any spirit at all she’d tell her brother that she didn’t intend to get married right now. Especially not to a man she didn’t love and had known practically forever as another brother. Spirit. That’s a laugh. The most spirited thing Juliette had ever done she was doing at this very moment. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do next.




2


SHAY SET HER DOWN just outside the doorway to his apartment.

Juliette looked at her feet and dripping hem. “No heirloom carpets up here, I suppose?”

Shay laughed. “My landlady didn’t mention the carpets up here at all.”

Juliette shuddered as she stared at the huge red cabbage roses that sprawled across the moss-green background. “I don’t blame her.”

Sending her an amused glance, Shay fit his key into the lock and turned the knob. He shoved the door wide and said, “After you.”

Juliette hesitated at the threshold. After all, the minute she stepped over it she was committed. Whatever happened for the rest of the evening was in her hands. Her breath quickened at the absolute knowledge that she was in control. Right now she could take what she wanted and the rest of the world be damned. No past, no future…only the present.

“If you’re worried about the carpet,” he said with a wink, “take my word for it—ain’t no roses on this floor.”

A small laugh gurgled in the back of Juliette’s throat. “Thanks for telling me, but I’m not concerned about the rug.”

Shay’s expression sobered, his voice suddenly gruff, as if he was trying to allay her fears. “Don’t be concerned about anything else, either. It’s safe.”

“Like a sanctuary, you mean?”

“Being a former altar boy, I wouldn’t say anything so sacrilegious.”

“Since when is safety a sacrilege?”

“When it’s used to run away from things people should be facing.”

Juliette froze. It was as if he could see into her soul. How did he know so much? Or was it merely a lucky guess? Lucky guess, she hoped. But he was right. She was running away, even if it was temporary. Instead of being here, she should be standing up to her brother right now, saying that although she loved him and wanted to help him, she had to consider what she wanted, too.

“Go on in, Red. I’ll make some coffee to warm us up.”

Juliette entered the short hallway, blinking when he reached around her and turned on a light. The soft glow illuminated the room beyond, beckoning to her, inviting her to leave the past behind and take temporary refuge. Regardless of what Shay had said, the thought relaxed her. She looked around the soft, rosy-peach-colored room. “This is very nice, so soothing.”

Shay snorted behind her as he ducked into a doorway off the hallway and headed into the kitchen. “I might as well be living in a perpetual sunset.”

“I like that. Don’t you?”

Shay flung open the white shutters that separated the kitchen from the living area. “Not every minute, I don’t. I’m more of a dark-chocolate-and-beige man.”

Juliette chuckled. “Lots of leather, I suppose?”

Shay leaned through the cutout opening and winked at her. “Only on my women, Red.”

“Oh—I forgot your coat. I left it in the car.” She could still feel the weight of his leather jacket as it had engulfed her, still smell the masculine scents that lingered in the lining.

He gave her an airy wave. “I’ll get it later. Come to think of it, that old leather looked pretty good on you.”

She stared back at him. His face was perfectly charming when he relaxed and put all of his formidable nature behind him. Or maybe she was seeing something she wanted to see. After all, it would be much better for her if he was a pussycat instead of a tiger. It wouldn’t be quite as threatening, or as damaging to her view of herself. Not that she didn’t have the stomach for lion-taming. At least she hoped she did. It was hard to say. Most of the men she’d known had been rather tame beasts. Now that she looked at Shay again, the thought of him as a neutered house cat was laughable. If ever a man was tense and ready for action, it was this one.

She walked to the kitchen opening. “Need any help?” she asked.

“Nah. If there is one thing I know how to make, it’s coffee.”

“It smells delicious.”

“That’s because I grind my own beans.” He indicated the coffeemaker. “I buy them special at the market and keep ’em in the fridge. You gotta do that so they stay fresh. You don’t want stale beans.”

“How did you become such a coffee connoisseur?”

“All co—” He stopped as if he’d shut off a switch.

“All what?”

“Uh, in my line of work I stay up late and do a lot of waiting for stuff, so a great cup of coffee really helps pass the time.”

“What do you do?”

Shay turned slowly and looked at her. “It changes, depending on my assignment. Sometimes it’s computers, sometimes it’s people-oriented, so—”

“You’re a temp, then?”

“A temp?”

“I mean a temporary employee, working for an employment agency?”

“Yeah. You could say I’m here on a temporary gig.”

She smiled, thinking this type of independence suited him. “I always thought that would be an ideal way to work. You’re constantly changing, going from place to place, job to job, learning something new, meeting different types of people. Not stuck in the same old rut.”

“Are you stuck in the same old rut?”

“Yes…” Belatedly, she remembered she shouldn’t remember. “At least I must have been—or do I mean must be? Why else would I forget everything? If I wanted to remember, wouldn’t I remember?”

Shay shook his head and reached for two mugs hanging on pegs over the stove. “It probably depends on what happened to make you forget. Amnesia’s a funny thing, I’ve heard. It can be physical or psychological—last a few minutes, a few hours, or much longer. Trauma can bring it on. But the odd thing is, you don’t forget everything. Somebody said you remember things that might not bear any relationship to your everyday life.”

Now Juliette was really feeling guilty. She liked it much better when he was questioning whether she could be faking. At least when he was skeptical she was better able to deal with deceiving him. But nice? Then she wanted to confess her lie.

“What I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about the memory stuff. It’ll come back. I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”

I should take that bet, Juliette thought, but she said nothing. “Thank you for saying that. I appreciate it.” She blinked, trying to keep at bay the tears that suddenly threatened. It had been a long time since a man had made her want to cry. The big hunk standing in the kitchen didn’t have the vaguest idea that he was inspiring such thoughts, and Juliette didn’t intend to enlighten him, but she wanted to…oh, how she wanted to. She stood there awkwardly, watching him pour steaming coffee into two mugs, then he turned and strolled out of the kitchen, around the corner and into the living room.

He extended his hand, a grave look upon his face. “Here you go.” He touched his mug to hers. “To better times.”

“And drier clothing.”

“And drier…” He shoved his hand through his hair as his gaze honed in on her dress, immediately dropping to focus on her chest. “Ah hell, you’re really soaked, aren’t you? I mean everywhere, not just your feet.”

“Yes, but I’ll—”

“It’s hard to tell with a dark dress.” He jerked his gaze from her breasts, and Juliette realized her nipples were suddenly standing at attention, practically begging for a salute from his lips.

Her breath caught for a moment, before she muttered, “I’ll dry out. Besides, you’re wet, too.”

He shrugged. “Weather doesn’t bother me much, but I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I’m not that delicate.”

Shay’s eyes darkened as his gaze skimmed over her. “Not true. I held you in my arms, remember.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I remember.” Did she ever!

There was a heavy silence for a moment before he said, “I’ve got a robe in the bathroom over there. Why don’t you put it on and I can hang up your dress to dry.”

She froze and then warmed all over. His robe. Should she…?

“It’s okay. You can trust me.”

She met his gaze, his steady and reassuring, hers questioning not his motives as much as her own. She knew she could trust him. He was the type of man you depended on, even as he kept you guessing. Yes, she could trust him—damn it! Damn it all because that meant that if anything was going to happen tonight, she’d have to make it happen. For all her bold resolve, she was hoping he’d take the entire issue out of her hands. That way she wouldn’t have to face her conscience tomorrow morning. She laced her fingers together, more to prevent herself from cupping his chin and pulling his face toward hers than to hide any distress.

“Red?”

“I know I can trust you. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, Shay.” For the first time she said his name aloud. Shay. She glanced up from under her lashes. The name suited his strong and cocky demeanor, his devilishly handsome looks. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

Shay seemed to relax for an instant, then as his eyes swept over her, he stiffened again. He jerked his hand puppetlike to a door off the living room. “Right through there. The robe’s on the back of the door.”

“Thank you.” Juliette handed him her coffee cup. Turning around, she managed to walk to the bathroom with some semblance of dignity. She stepped into a room the soft color of a summer morning, the clear blue walls and ceramic tile floor accented by porcelain as pure and white as fluffy clouds. She twisted around to reach her zipper, sliding it down until she could slip the straps off her shoulders. With one quick wiggle the straight sheath dropped to her feet, pooling against the white area rug like a black puddle. Juliette was relieved to be alone. She needed a few minutes to think. She glimpsed herself in the mirror. She’d worn nothing under the dress, her own tiny act of defiance, seizing the moment to prove she controlled her own destiny even though her brother was trying to arrange it otherwise. Not that anyone would have noticed if she’d been sitting at the restaurant table tonight as naked as a newborn babe; when they were talking business nothing else existed. But she’d known and marveled at her boldness. Provocative dress was not her usual attire—normally she wore chic business suits. But tonight she’d felt the sleek, smooth silk as it whispered against her skin like a lover, and she’d burned for the real thing. Now it seemed as if she might get the chance to experience that reality. If she could make him want her, that was.

Frowning, Juliette smoothed her hands over her small breasts and down her narrow hips. No wonder Shay had first taken her for a child. She might be petite and well-groomed, but she’d give her eyeteeth for statuesque and sexy. She gnawed at her bottom lip, wondering what to do. Unfortunately, nothing brilliant came to mind, so she’d just have to play the hand fate had dealt her. How fortunate that her father had taught her to love games of chance. She was about to play the biggest game of all, and risk everything if anyone ever found out.

Glancing around, Juliette spied Shay’s robe hanging right where he’d said. She hesitated for a moment, then went over to lift it from the hook. The white terry cloth was worn thin and felt as soft as a baby’s blanket. Juliette smiled and hugged it close. For some reason this tatty old robe made Shay even more appealing. No GQ look for this man, just clothes he felt comfortable with, Juliette bet. How long had it been since she’d been really comfortable with anything? Comfort meant accepting who you were, and she was having problems doing that at the moment. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if her life had taken a ninety-degree turn—at least not until she met Shay.

Shay. So unexpected. So different. So tempting. So perfect.

She’d been accustomed to the best of everything throughout her life, so she often took perfection for granted. Not that she meant to; it was just part of her existence. Recently, though, she was questioning her lifestyle overtly—not just as a passing thought. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the robe, imagining the nubby fabric rubbing over his arms as he performed the same act time and time again. She settled the robe around her, feeling the weight on her shoulders, the soft fabric draping her like a familiar lover. She tied the sash, pulling it tight, and chuckled when she realized it practically circled her twice. Glancing in the mirror, she decided she looked rather like a lone potato in a large sack, so lost did she seem. Good God! She couldn’t let him see her like this. Whatever made her think she could be a sex kitten? When he’d first mentioned his robe, her imagination had kindled erotic visions of herself in a sleek satin, wine-red number with a neckline that plunged to her toes and was guaranteed to drive any man crazy. She peeked at herself again, decked out in what resembled an oversize bath towel. Although she might find the terry cloth appealing, she doubted he’d feel the same way.

“What are you doing? I think you’ve really lost it, girl,” she whispered to herself.

Juliette stood on her tiptoe and peeked at herself again. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were huge. It was an appealing look if you liked drowned rats or waifs. She swore under her breath and reached for a towel to dry her hair. Leaning over, she rubbed her head briskly, her mind scurrying in place like a hamster on a wheel as she tried to control her panic. Ohmygod, maybe there’s a window I can climb through. She didn’t get a chance to find out.

The door shuddered with the force of a fist knocking. “Red, hey Red, are you okay in there?”

Juliette whirled around and stared at the door as if it had spoken to her. “I—” Her voice emerged as a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t feel dizzy or anything, do you?”

Only when I think of coming out of here and what I want to happen next.

The doorknob jiggled, then turned. “I’m coming in.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m coming out.” With a quick, despairing glance in the mirror, Juliette reached for the door and twisted the handle. She stepped from the bathroom, smacking into Shay, who was planted on the other side. Her face buried itself in his chest, which was exposed by the open shirt he wore. His rough hair tickled her nose, and her hands automatically came up to push herself away. However, she found them lingering on that chest, unwilling to move, her fingertips wantonly caressing his firm muscles, the sculpted perfection beneath her hands. She glanced up at him, only to find him staring down at her, his eyes sharp and intense.

“You changed your clothes,” she said, for want of anything more.

“You weren’t the only one who got wet.”

Juliette’s breath caught. He didn’t know the half of it. She ached, needed, wanted, longed… “Oh yes,” she whispered. “How stupid of me.”

“Are you warmer now?”

“Definitely,” she murmured. “How about you?”

“Me, too.”

She knew she should step away from him, but she didn’t want to. Couldn’t make herself do so. She had wanted the consummate fantasy, the ultimate adventure, and it was standing right in front of her. The reality was right under her fingertips. She couldn’t make herself move if she’d been standing on dynamite ready to blow. She felt his heated flesh practically scorching her fingertips.

Juliette smiled. “You seem very warm.”

“I am.” His hands lifted to cup her shoulders. “Matter of fact, it’s downright hot in here.”

She licked her lips. “Uh-huh.”

“Ah, hell. Now you’ve done it.”

She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders as she met his gaze. “Done what?”

Shaking his head, he muttered, “It’s the mouth. I’ve always been a sucker for a mouth like yours.”

Her lips felt as dry as a desert under the noonday sun. She licked her lips again, this time aware that his eyes followed the movement of her tongue. “A mouth like…” she let her words trail off, inviting his response. Maybe this seduction thing wouldn’t be so hard, after all.

“Like yours.” He leaned down, his lips touching hers with a gentle pressure, molding to her full contours.

Her lips tingled as they met his. She hadn’t known a man’s mouth could be so soft. She sighed. “Mmm…”

He drew back and looked at her, cupping her face with his hands. “They’re as full and sweet tasting as a ripe berry. I love berries.” He licked her lips, like a kid savoring a lollipop. “I could eat them up.”

Her lips parted slightly as his tongue stroked over them. “What’s stopping you?” She breathed the question into his mouth.

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m taking care of you. I can’t take advantage.”

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage.”

“Yes I would.” He dropped his hands and stepped back from her.

“But—”

He turned and started for the living room. “Come on. The coffee’s getting cold.”

Stunned, Juliette stared at his retreating back. What had happened? One minute the man was completely turned on, and the next he was sauntering away as if he were on his way to a garden party. Juliette’s eyes narrowed as she considered his tight buttocks and long legs. Her temper started to simmer. If he thought he could taste her lips like a rich dessert, then walk away from her as if he’d decided it was too fattening, he’d better think again. If he hadn’t kissed her, her senses might have returned. She might have decided this entire episode was best left as it was—charming, exciting, but ultimately unresolved. After all, part of her knew that was the smartest thing to do. But no, he’d thrown down the gauntlet. He had to kiss her and walk away. No woman could take that type of insouciant challenge lying down. If he thought this was over, he was sadly mistaken. Before the night was done she’d have him. Her family history dictated that the Fortiers fought for whatever they wanted, and she wasn’t about to let her ancestors down.

She wanted Shay.

SHAY KNEW HE’D BEEN playing with fire. Of all the stupid, unprofessional, brain-dead things to do! He’d known better than to kiss her. It was bad enough that he’d carried her inside, even though it had served a purpose. He was trying to shock her and see if her memory would return. At least that was part of it. But the rest—ah, the rest… He couldn’t resist the thought of getting his arms around her any way he could.

Shay could feel her eyes boring a tunnel through his back. He wondered what she was thinking, then decided he didn’t want to know. Instead he walked over to the end table and picked up one of the coffee cups he’d set there a few moments before. He turned and held it out to her. That’s when he got his first real view of her wearing his bathrobe.

“Son of a—” He choked down the rest of his words.

He would never be able to wear that robe again without imagining her in it. He’d almost thrown it out a few days before, but now that he’d seen it on this woman he might have to frame it. The thin terry caressed her curves, molding them and beckoning him closer. He wanted to hold her, to keep her safe from life’s harm. What was she doing out on her own, anyway? Some man should have tucked her in his jacket pocket and not let her out of his sight. She looked slender and delicate, but not breakable. He took a closer look. No, definitely not breakable. There was something different about her, a glint in her eyes that put his senses on high alert. He didn’t have the vaguest idea what was going on, but he suddenly knew that if he had any sense, he’d run for his life. He strove to get the situation back to normal. In other words, back under his control. After all, controlling events was what he did best.

“Here’s your coffee, Red.”

She walked toward him with a disturbing swish of her hips, reminding him of a cat on the prowl. Now that he thought about it, she had the look of an exotic feline, with those slightly tilted vivid blue eyes, winged black brows, high cheekbones and triangular face. He could only pray she wouldn’t lick her lips like he was a saucer of cream, because that darting little tongue was what had set him off the last time. Her fingers touched his as she cupped the mug.

“Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. Lifting the china to her lips, she took a tiny sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious.”

Shay had to look over her shoulder, resisting the temptation to crush her mouth under his. He thrust a hand through his hair. “I grind—”

“—your own beans. I remember.”

Shay was positive his face was turning red. Either that or it was hotter in here than he’d thought. “Glad you remember something,” he mumbled.

“I’ve also remembered that I really love coffee. Real New Orleans coffee, hot and so strong it could blast the top of your head off.”

She said it with an innocent tone, but when he glanced at her, she looked anything but innocent. She looked as if she knew that his head was ready to blow any minute, and if she didn’t knock it off he was going to haul her into his lap and make love to her until she didn’t care if she ever remembered anything but him. Unable to think of a comeback, an unusual circumstance for a man in his line of work, Shay grabbed his own cup of coffee from the sofa table and indicated a chair.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Carefully he stepped around the table to sit on the sofa, only to jump up a moment later when she sat down next to him. With hasty steps he crossed to the bright colored armchair at right angles to the sofa and perched there like a confused parrot.

With an amused smile, Juliette curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under her, making herself right at home. “I won’t bite.”

“No. I know. I just didn’t think…”

Man, was that the truth. If he’d thought at all, used even one-tenth of the brains God gave him, he would’ve minded his own business earlier this evening. Even though he suspected he’d been given a poor tip that wouldn’t amount to anything at all, if he’d only used his brains he’d still be staking out the park where he could see the action…and possibly even glimpse his suspect. If he’d only used his goddamn brains he’d have left this lost waif—who was looking less lost by the minute—on the park bench instead of parked all nice and cozy on his living-room sofa.

He took a gulp of coffee and practically spat it back into the cup as the heat hit his mouth and tongue. He’d obviously underestimated the power of the reheat setting on his microwave. He swallowed, feeling as if his throat was on fire.

“Are you all right?”

Her concerned voice exacerbated his temper. When he could talk again, he said, “No, I’m not all right.”

He glanced over at her, and her appealing look made him want to kick himself. What the hell was the matter with him? The woman had amnesia, for cryin’ out loud; he couldn’t have walked away from her. As a cop, he might be a real hard-ass, but as a man…well, he’d recently rescued a kitten from a Dumpster in Cincinnati and taken it home. So how could he live with himself if he didn’t rescue, a two-legged creature? Especially one with such great legs, he thought as he caught a glimpse of bare skin showing through the robe as she adjusted her position on the sofa. Whoa, boy—forget that. You’re here to serve and protect.

Juliette patted the sofa next to her. “Why don’t you come sit with me?”

“That’s not a good—”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Shay’s spine snapped to attention. “Of course not.”

“Well then?”

She smiled, and Shay could swear he saw the remnants of an age-old Greek siren in that smile, the type of woman who lured sailors to death on the rocks. Somehow he was on his feet moving toward her without having any idea how he’d gotten there. He sat beside her, taking care to leave plenty of room so their bodies didn’t touch. Pretending to be at ease, he leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee, unwittingly exposing his ankle holster.

“Is that a gun?”

Ah hell, he’d forgotten about that. He’d automatically put it back on after he’d changed into dry jeans. “Yeah, but don’t worry, it’s legal. I have a license and everything.”

“I’ve never known anyone who had a gun, except hunting rifles, of course.” Obviously shaken, eyes round as doughnuts, she pointed at his ankle. “Do you still call it a handgun if you wear it on your foot?” She grimaced. “And why do you have a gun in the first place?”

Trying to relax her, he teased, “Well, I could be an escaped convict or some…” He stopped, realizing what a stupid thing he’d just said. Here she was, unable to remember anything, sitting in a stranger’s house, wearing a bathrobe. He opened his mouth to reassure her when she tilted her head, saying thoughtfully, “You don’t seem like a criminal.”

“Why not? What do you think a criminal seems like?” God, he’d never known anyone so naïve. It scared the bejesus out of him.

She nibbled on her fingernail as she studied him. “I don’t know, but not like you. You seem to have too many principles.”

“Then maybe I’m a cop. Cops have principles.” And he’d better remember them fast if he knew what was good for him. Never mix business with pleasure, remember?

“You’re not a police officer.”

“I’m not? Why not?” Not seeming like a cop was his stock in trade, so at least something was working right tonight.

She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim for a long moment. “You could be, I suppose, but I can’t quite see you as one. You don’t appear that…that…”

“That what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Crude, or maybe I mean hardened.”

“Not all cops are like that, sweetheart. Just the ones on TV. I could be a nice, sweet, sensitive cop who’s in town on the trail of a criminal.”

“What type of criminal?” From the expression on her face, she’d obviously fallen for his game and was playing along.

Shay grinned. “A real bad dude.” The leader of a smuggling ring he was determined to nail. Failure wasn’t an option in Shay O’Malley’s book.

“Bad in what way?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious. I’ve never known a cop. That is, if you’re really a cop, which I doubt.” She recoiled at the sharp glance he gave her. “What?”

“How do you know you don’t know any cops? Is your memory returning?”

“No…” She paused. “It just doesn’t feel familiar, is all.”

He shrugged, automatically protecting his assignment. “Since I’m not a cop, I’m talking out of turn, but I’d guess cops are like everyone else.”

From the way she looked at him, Shay had a feeling she was absorbing everything about him, from his untrimmed hair to his love for Irish poetry. “I suppose they could be, but—” she shrugged her shoulders “—I really wouldn’t know.”

“If you have no experience with cops, why were you so terrified that I’d take you to one?”

“I wasn’t afraid of the police, but the publicity.”

Shay frowned. “The publicity?”

She stared at the blank face of the TV and said, “You know how these things always end up in the news. Poor little person with no memory, found wandering alone. Then you have reporters poking and prying. Everyone making fun and asking questions.”

“You sound as if you know something about the media.”

She sent him a quick glance. “I don’t know that, exactly. It just feels…”

“Familiar.” He found himself transfixed at the way her blush enhanced her cheekbones.

“Yes.”

“Anything else feel familiar?”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, then moved closer to her and took the coffee mug from her hand, placing it with his on the table in front of them. Then he turned back and gently pulled her against him, knowing it was insane, a total mistake, but doing it anyway, not wanting to know if he was trying to get to the truth of her situation or just trying to satisfy his need to have her in his arms again.

She snuggled against him. “This doesn’t feel familiar, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His fingers caressed her shoulder. “This doesn’t remind you of any special man in your life?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “But it does remind me of being warm and cozy.” The old windows in the building rattled and rain pelted the glass. “I’m glad I’m in here,” she whispered.

“There must be someone,” he persisted, sticking to the subject like a bulldog with lockjaw. “You’re too beautiful not to be involved with someone.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” His breath caught in his throat as she looked at him as though he was the only man in the world. He’d never experienced that before, never felt the keen desire to protect and ravish at the same time. “Very beautiful.”

She smiled and pulled his arm closer. “This doesn’t remind me of any other man. At the moment, all I can remember is you.”

Shay had to touch her. He couldn’t help himself. It was as if a goddess had come to life and offered him his heart’s desire—innocence mixed with a bit of vixen and a touch of spice. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingertip lingering there before descending slowly to her earlobe.

“Ears are funny things, you know,” he mused. “On some people they look as if they’ve been stuck on with no thought for what the face looks like, but on you, everything matches….”

Her breath rushed out of her mouth as she whispered, “You’ve made quite a study of ears.”

His fingertip moved down to trace her jawline. “I make a study of everything about every person I meet.”

“That sounds like work.”

He ignored the little jolt to his conscience. “I like it. I like looking at a person and wondering what they’re thinking. Wondering if they know what I’m thinking.”

“It’s hard to tell what people want to keep hidden.”

“Sooner or later most people slip up.”

“Even if they’re very good liars?”

“Good liars are harder to read, but if you’re patient…” His fingertip traced her full bottom lip. “I can be incredibly patient.”

“And if I don’t want patience?”

“Ah, sweetheart…” He outlined her top lip with his finger. “Patience is a virtue.”

“And if I don’t want virtue?”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. Virtue’s overrated. I’ll take sin every time.”

She sucked his fingertip into her mouth, then released it to smile up at him. “Especially during Mardi Gras, when sin is a way of life.”

Shay’s heart needed restarting after she released his finger. He’d felt the tug of her mouth through his entire body. His mind drifted, wondering what her lips and tongue would feel like on more sensitive parts of his anatomy. He forced himself to reply, “Then it’s our duty to uphold tradition, wouldn’t you say?”

“Most definitely.”

“Besides, who knows what you might remember once you relax.”

“I don’t think this is the way to relaxation.”

No lie there, Shay agreed. If he got any more wound up, he’d shoot into outer space. Her lips beckoned him, but no more than the soft little moan of anticipation she made. What red-blooded male could resist that sound? He certainly couldn’t. He bent his head and kissed her, softly at first, then settling into it. His lips stroked over hers, again and again as he coaxed her to open to him. Not that she needed much urging. Her parted lips beckoned him inside, and he was never a man to resist something he really wanted. And he really wanted her.

He deepened the kiss, knowing he couldn’t have left her if he’d tried. He should, he knew, but his blood was starting to run hot. He could no more stop his emotions than he could a runaway train. She was on track with him, keeping pace as their tongues lunged and dueled, her body pressing against his, warming him in a way he’d not known before. Oh, he had known passion, a great deal of it, but he hadn’t known passion mixed with such sweetness and soul-deep desire.

The thought went briefly through his mind that, regardless of what happened, this would be a night he’d remember for the rest of his life. It wasn’t every day a man fell in love with a stranger.




3


“MAKE LOVE TO ME.” Her words whispered into his mouth.

For an instant he couldn’t move. He heard her spoken request with every part of his body. Her plea slipped into his mind and settled down to stay. Shay’s reawakened sense of duty and honor insisted he say no, this would be a mistake, but it was hard to resist something this strong. A feeling rose from his gut to tell him that this moment was what his life was about. This was the missing key to who he was. All philosophical and romantic bullcrap, of course, but it felt so right that it soon overcame his inner warnings. In the grip of intense masculine need, but with a lack of romantic finesse, he muttered, “You got it.”

Clasping her tightly, he wrenched his lips from hers, rolled to his side and sat up, taking her with him. In one fluid movement he shifted her in his arms and rose to his feet, holding her against his chest. Her gaze, frosted with passion, locked with his. She smiled, a slow sensuous lift of her lips that curled his toes.

“I want to make a memory, Shay.” She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead with her fingertip. “A memory that will last…” a lifetime.

“Sweetheart, the way you’re talking is—”

She pulled his head down to hers and slanted her mouth across his. “This is the only thing that’s real. This. Here and now.”

Here and now. Shay lifted his mouth a scant inch from hers. “Then we shouldn’t waste it.” With renewed purpose he strode across the room to the bedroom. He shouldered open the door and stepped over the threshold. Taking her to the bed, he gently placed her upon the quilted spread, then followed her down. Kneeling beside her, he gave the sash of the robe a brief tug. The terry cloth slipped free of its loose tie and fell away. Hands trembling he spread the robe, then sat back on his heels and filled his eyes with her.

Her skin was like marble, fine and almost translucent, but with a glow that invited a man to explore the vitality beneath. She lay, her arms raised slightly over her head, and let him look his fill. She seemed slightly apprehensive, but when a small whistle escaped from his lips she blushed, then chuckled. It was the chuckle that got him. That small gurgle of sound lifted his heart.

He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything this much. He wanted to take, but he wanted to give, too. His hands explored her, starting with the shape of her face and working their way down, over her long elegant neck to her small shoulders, to her perfectly shaped breasts with their high tight buds. “You are so perfect.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Hey, I know what I’m talking about. I love beautiful things, so when I say you’re perfect, you’re perfect.” He continued his exploration, running his hands down her slender waist, down over her hips.

“Ah—” she caught her breath as his hands traversed her hipbones “—a connoisseur. I’m impressed.”

“You should be. Connoisseurs are very picky.”

“Meaning this isn’t a common occurrence with you?”

His fingers brushed her cleft, delving deeper to find the treasure. “There’s nothing common about this experience, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re gonna find out.” He smiled and dipped his head to her breast. “Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike. It all comes back to you.”

Her only response was a moan. Then she gasped and arched as his fingers sought her. “Please,” she whispered.

“I will,” he whispered back as he stretched out beside her, ready to give her all the pleasure he was capable of giving. His index finger and thumb spread her velvet opening for his caress.

She shifted restlessly as he made lazy circles on her sensitive skin, getting nearer and nearer his goal. “I ache.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I’ll make it all better.”

His mouth touched her breasts and lingered, laving first one, then the other, pulling and tugging her nipples to an erection that nearly matched his own. Her hands fisted in his hair and pulled his busy mouth up to hers. He needed no urging to take everything her lips had to offer. Mouths open, they did battle, tongues dueling with fierce abandon—advance and retreat, then advance again. His fingers followed the same pace until finally, hips gyrating, she thrust upward.

Frantic to join her now, to revel in her heat, Shay tore off his shirt and unsnapped his jeans, helped by her eager hands. She yanked the denim down, but the fabric stopped at his ankles, caught on his gun.

Shay swore. He sat up and made quick work of his loafers and holster. Yanking his jeans off, he threw them across the room, followed by his briefs, before turning back to her. He was so hard he was afraid he’d break if she touched him. She was staring at him as if she’d never seen a man in full arousal before. There was something in her eyes that checked him for a moment, an awkwardness that he found enchanting. She was like a barely opened flower offering its face to the morning dew and warming sun. He hated the thought that someone might mishandle this woman. He didn’t know why that thought leaped into his mind. He had no reason to think she might be in any danger, other than the memory loss that could be a result of—of what? He had no chance to follow up on his thoughts.

She put her hands on him, her fingers sliding up his manhood to gently squeeze the sensitive head. “You’re so soft. I didn’t know a man could be so soft.” Wonder colored her voice.

Shay groaned as her fingers slipped up and down his length. “I’m so hard I’m gonna explode.”

“Now that would be something to see.”

He stilled her hand with his. “No, sweetheart. It’s better you should feel it.”

She smiled, anticipation sharpening the angles of her face. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Shay came up on his elbows and reached toward the nightstand. Opening a drawer, he withdrew a small foil packet and quickly protected them both before reaching for her again. “Not a damn thing.”

He took his time, bringing her up to fever pitch again, until she cried with the wanting. Then and only then did he slip inside her. He pressed forward, inch by inch, stunned by the tightness of her body, by the barrier he felt. Alarmed for a moment, he stopped and tried to pull back, but her legs clamped him in place, heels urging him on. Clarity faded, leaving only the crimson flame of desire. He gave…and he took…until finally they shuddered to a climax together.

Afterward he smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Thank you,” she said.

Shay grinned. “No, thank you.”

She met his grin with a wistful expression, her eyes serious. “I’ll never forget this moment.”

He yawned and settled her comfortably against his side. “There’ll be a lot more to remember, I promise. I just need to close my eyes for a minute.” Sexual satisfaction combined with an early rising and a long, frustrating day were taking their toll. His eyelids drifted shut for a moment before he jerked them open to look at her face. He smiled again, then pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Rest, sweetheart—” he interrupted himself with a jaw-popping yawn. “—’cause pretty soon you’re gonna need all your strength again.”

She blew on his eyelids. “Go to sleep.”

“Right,” he mumbled.

Her voice caressed him as he slid into sleep. “Sweet dreams… Prince Charming.”

Shay woke just before dawn. Arms aching and empty, he reached for her, just as he’d reached for her a few hours before to make love with her again. This time the bed beside him was empty. There was no trace of the woman with no memory. No trace except for his inevitable erection, her evocative scent on the pillow next to him, and her memory burned into his mind.

AT FOUR IN THE MORNING, Juliette had been lucky to find an empty taxi still cruising the streets looking for Mardi Gras stragglers. Agreeing to let her send him his fee and a big tip for the inconvenience of bringing her home, which was much farther from town than he usually ventured, the cab driver dropped her off at the wrought-iron gates that spanned the entrance to La Belle Rivière des Fleurs. Juliette walked up the magnolia-lined driveway that led to her family home, taking care to stay in the shadows so as not to be observed.

The plantation had been in their family for a very long time, passed from father to son. Heritage, tradition—this was the way of life revered by her ancestors since the beginning. Her privileged family heritage went all the way back to 1807, when her titled Spanish great-great-great-great-grandmother married a bastard French prince who’d been awarded land in New Orleans in addition to his French estates. Each generation sacrificed and struggled to add to the family fortunes, to the family luster. It was just unfortunate, Juliette thought, that she could be the latest sacrifice.

She stopped in the shadow of a weeping willow tree and stared at her home, taking in the classic columns that accented the mansion, supporting the second-story gallery and creating the wide veranda that wrapped around the perfect example of Greek Revival plantation architecture. Or so the guidebooks said. She wondered what Shay would make of it. Would he be impressed? He hadn’t seemed the type of man to be overly impressed with things. People either, for that matter. He took them as he found them, Juliette believed. How did he find her? Would he care that she’d left? Or would he be convinced that she’d made a fool of him, and write her off?

Of course that’s what he’d do.

Her romantic stranger wasn’t really a warrior prince. He was just a normal man who’d had a brief affair that would fade from his memory in a week, while it would last forever in hers. Juliette glanced up at her home again. Much as she’d always loved it, home had begun to feel like a prison.

She crept around to the back of the house and slipped inside the kitchen door. The room was dark, lit only by strips of moonlight spilling through the windows. She tiptoed over to a corner and opened a door to the servants’ stairs. This wasn’t the first time she’d used them, but it was certainly the first time she’d used them after an experience like this. Taking care to avoid the last step, which always creaked, Juliette emerged into the second-story hallway. Leaning against the wall for a moment, she looked down the corridor, focusing on the rich, ruby-red carpeting and the crystal lamps that accented the damask wallpaper. The effect was opulent, yet tasteful—two adjectives that adequately described her life. Not for the first time that evening, she wanted to scream at the confining nature of her existence. However, her upbringing held sway. Screaming was discouraged. It wasn’t appropriate behavior. Although she’d recently screamed her head off in Shay’s arms as she’d succumbed to her first night of passion—loving every minute of it.

With a quick glimpse around to be sure she was unobserved, Juliette sped over the thick carpet to her room, which occupied an end suite off the corridor. She let herself in with a minimum of noise, then leaned back to relish her triumph. She’d managed to experience a true adventure—one even more exciting than she could have dreamed—and no one would ever be the wiser. Her brother would have assumed she’d gone to bed early, as she’d indicated she would when she left the restaurant. And there would have been no one to tell him differently, as her father had left last month for the family’s estate in France to personally handle a crisis involving his vineyards. With no one at home that evening, she’d followed her usual practice and even given the servants the night off. So her secret was safe.

Juliette walked over to her four-poster bed, the bed she’d occupied ever since she was a child. She ran her fingertips over the carved upright posts that stretched to the ceiling, and fingered the ivory silk quilt that spilled over the mattress to pool onto the carpet beneath. It looked different to her now. The last time she’d slept in this bed, she’d been an innocent. Well, she was innocent no longer. She was no longer a virgin, but a full-fledged woman, who’d not only experienced passion, but reveled in it.

Her body still sang with the force of Shay’s lovemaking. It had killed her to leave him as she did. He’d lain with one arm thrown over his head, as relaxed as a boy abandoned to slumber. With his eyes closed, Juliette realized that his thick eyelashes were the longest she’d ever seen on a man, seemingly incongruous with his intense masculinity. Yet it only added to his male beauty. She’d been tempted to press a kiss on his lips, soft with sleep, but feared to wake him. She hated to deceive him. He didn’t deserve that type of treatment. She felt very guilty about that, but had been unable to tell him the truth. Juliette gave a deep, unhappy sigh. It was better this way. Shay wasn’t the type of man who’d be happy to be used as a plaything or an escape.

She stripped off her clothing. With each movement she remembered Shay’s touch, his fingers here, his tongue there. She reached for her nightgown and pulled it over her head, letting the silk whisper past her knees. She got into bed and nestled down under the cover, staring up at the delicate, crocheted lace draping the arches of the canopy. The pattern above her had as many holes as the story she’d told Shay tonight. Yet he’d fallen for it, or pretended he had. Now that she considered it, she wasn’t sure why he hadn’t marched her to the nearest health clinic or police station. For the first time, she really considered the situation and wondered why. Why, beyond the obvious—that she’d seemed in need this evening.

Juliette remembered the vulnerable expression that came into his eyes right before they’d made love, when he’d relaxed and really looked at her. What was she to him? A casual experience, or was he searching for something himself? Was that what tonight was really about—two people with needs, instead of just one? She hoped so. She wouldn’t feel as guilty if that was the case.

She let her mind drift as she relived her night with Shay. From the moment she’d emerged, wearing only his robe, to discover him with his shirt hanging open and the top button of his jeans unsnapped, she’d been lost. Funny how that had happened. One moment she was an innocent, uncertain about her appeal. The next moment she was a siren who couldn’t sing her temptation song fast or loud enough. With this man, she’d discovered a side of herself she hadn’t known existed. Oh, she had imagined the sensual side was there, but had seriously doubted she’d ever be the type of woman to inspire a man’s hunger. She’d been amazed to discover her own hunger was as strong as his. She could still see him, his face tight with desire as he made love to her. Her sensitive body still sang from his lovemaking.

Shay.

She grew hot just thinking of him. She closed her eyes and drifted, smoothing her hands down her body, much as he had done. This is madness. I’ll never see him again. He would remain what he was destined to be—a memory to take into the future with her. But oh, how she wanted to see him again!

Her body moving restlessly, she tried desperately to refocus her thoughts. It was no use. She ached to see him. Make love with him again. She moaned, the ache intensifying as he continued to invade her mind as surely as he had invaded her body. She closed her eyes. Shay, please don’t hate me.

THREE DAYS LATER, Shay O’Malley strode into the first district house of the New Orleans Police Department. He blew past the uniformed sergeant at the front desk and attacked the stairs, climbing two at a time to the second floor, where he slammed through a door into an open room that looked like a bad stage set on a television show. The desks were old and unmatched, scarred with cigarette burns and gouges, stained with coffee rings. The walls were the institutional green that only the government could love, and the floor was linoleum that had been scuffed so often the janitors had obviously given up on it. The room resembled most of the other departments Shay had worked in with one difference. For all the bustle of ordinary police activity, there was a different feeling—one more laidback and easy. It drove him nuts—especially today. His temper was already short because he’d spent the past few days trying to track down his mystery woman. He’d run into dead ends everywhere, almost as dead as his line of questioning with the case that had brought him to New Orleans in the first place. Of course, the entire investigation wasn’t helped by the pace of life in New Orleans, which was dead slow. It was a thought echoed by the laid-back drawl of a female voice behind him.

“Land sakes, Yankee, if you aren’t some kinda busy man today. You’re bustling around like you’re the whole Northern army hell-bent on capturing N’awlins before noon.”

He snapped a glance over his shoulder, taking in the amused attitude of the tall, statuesque, blond-haired woman standing behind him. “I am a Yankee.”

With a casual gesture, she pushed back her hair, then smiled. “I know, sugar, but I don’t think it plays real well down here.”

Turning to face Detective Lucille Monteverde, Shay hitched a hip onto the corner of his temporary desk. “Excuse me?”

The woman adjusted the badge clipped onto the lapel of her well-cut beige jacket. “What I mean is, I don’t think your Northern attitude and way of doing things will get you a lot of cooperation down here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged. “Just some of the stories I’m hearing, is all.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, I hear y’all are in town investigating one of our most illustrious families.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So…some people aren’t too happy about the way you’re going about it.”

Shay folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, now, far be it from me to make any suggestions to a visitor to our fair city, but in this town, you’ll catch more flies with honey than all your vinegar.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The only way I know to do my job is to ‘do my job.’”

“Well, now, if you don’t mind a teeny bit of advice… I’d suggest you smile a bit more if you’re trying to shake down a bank secretary for the financial records of Louis Fortier’s shipping association.”

Shay could feel his neck turning red. He had gotten a bit short with that woman, who was as resilient and homely as one of Louis Fortier’s tugboats. “I tried to play nice, but when she didn’t hand over the information, I played the odds that she’d cooperate if I came on like a jerk.” He leaned forward, his most intimidating scowl in place. “I didn’t think I had a choice. I made a decision. I followed through.”





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