Shayne: The Pretender Read online

  “Is it large?” Since they were currently in the Garden District, Bliss suspected it was a long way from the carriage house she and Zelda shared.

  “Enormous. It’s one of those mansions that cotton built. It’ll be one helluva job if you decide to take it on.”

  Part of him felt vaguely guilty for conning her this way. Another part remembered those paste jewels that had disappeared the night of the party.

  Bliss couldn’t deny the excitement that was sparking like electricity through her veins. Such a commission would be marvelous challenge. Not to mention being highly lucrative. She could undoubtedly pay off all her bills and run the store for a year on the profits.

  “Why me?”

  “I told you, you come highly recommended. And besides, when I first saw you in Paris, I could tell that you were a woman of rare and special tastes.”

  “I thought the first thing you noticed about me was my wraparound legs.”

  “True. Your business skills were a bit down on the list, somewhere below your silk fire hair. But believe me, Bliss, I noticed them.”

  Since it had been a very long time since she’d felt good about anything, Bliss allowed herself to bask in the glow of that compliment for a moment, then felt obliged to comment on his plans for his new home.

  “It could be very expensive to furnish,” she warned.

  “Since I plan to be doing a great deal of business entertaining, I view it as an investment. One that’s a lot more appealing than some of the blue-chip Fortune Five Hundred stocks my broker keeps selling me.”

  “There’s something to be said for blue-chip stocks,” Bliss murmured, thinking of Zelda’s nest egg. The one Alan had stolen and Michael, bless him, had recovered.

  “They’re boring.”

  “And you’re not a man who likes being bored,” she suggested.

  “You called that one right.”

  Unlike the French-style houses in the Quarter, set flush to the sidewalk, but boasting hidden courtyards in back, the magnificent mansions in the Garden District had been built back from the street in true American style, their lush green and flower-bedded front yards bordered by hedges, walls and fences.

  Shayne stopped in front of a lacy cast-iron gate on tree-lined Prytania Street.

  “We’re home,” he announced as he lowered his window, leaned out and punched a series of numbers into the box embedded in a brick pillar. A moment later the gate opened.

  “This is this your house?” She stared in awe at the palatial mansion built in the eclectic blend of Greek Revival and Italianate styles that had been so popular in the booming South before the Civil War.

  “Something wrong with it?”

  He paused again between another set of pillars set on either side of the cobblestone driveway a long distance from the street. The electric eyes scanned the car, then opened the door to an oversize garage that could easily hold three cars with room to spare.

  “It’s so—” her mind was whirling “—huge.”

  “I told you it was.” Shayne pulled the Jag into the garage; the door closed behind them. “Are you saying you’re not up to the challenge?”

  She tilted her chin and stiffened her spine. “Not at all. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting anything quite so grand.” A terrible thought occurred to her. “What’s it like inside?”

  “You’re about to see. But don’t worry, it’s not a wreck. The previous owners had it restored. All it needs now is someone who knows how to return the interior to its glorious past.”

  He got out of the car, shut his door and came around to open hers. After she’d climbed out of the front seat, he lifted a wicker basket from the back, then punched another code on the box beside the door leading from the garage into the house.

  “You certainly have enough security,” she murmured.

  “You can’t be too careful. No telling when some cat burglar or jewel thief might decide to pay a visit.”

  He was looking down at her, something unreadable glittering in his crystal blue eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Shayne was angry with her.

  “That’s a frightening idea. It’s bad enough worrying about thieves breaking into the shop. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night worrying about someone breaking into my home.”

  “It’s not exactly a pleasant thought,” he agreed dryly, deciding that she was in the wrong business. If she ever decided to give up filching diamonds for a living, she could always turn to acting. She’d be a sure winner for best performance by a sweet-smelling jewel thief.

  The door opened on to a wide double parlor, resplendent with soaring ceilings that appeared to be at least fifteen feet high, exquisitely carved moldings, and a mural depicting life in the Antebellum South that ran around the entire length of the room above the chair rail.

  “Oh!” Bliss stared around in wonder. “It’s magnificent.”

  “It’s also empty.” He didn’t mention that Cunningham had been less than pleased at the idea of stripping the government safe house of furniture on such short notice. “Which is where you come in. If you decide to accept the assignment.”

  “I’d be crazy not to.”

  She walked across the gleaming mahogany floor, through the arched doorway festooned with plaster detailing, to a marble-floored foyer. The focal point of the foyer was a magnificent, curved double stairway.

  Furnishing Shayne Broussard’s Garden District home could solve all her financial difficulties. On the other hand, she reminded herself, the job would put her in constant contact with a man who already was providing more temptation than was safe.

  Deciding to think about all this later, Bliss opted to relax and enjoy the moment. And the company. “Why don’t you show me the rest of the house?”

  “After lunch. There’s gotta be at least thirty stairs to the second floor...I wouldn’t want you swooning from hunger, falling down and breaking your lovely neck.”

  When he brushed a finger over the nape of her neck, Bliss couldn’t restrain the slight shiver. He was suddenly too close for comfort.

  She stepped back. “I told you, I’ve never swooned in my life.”

  “Good for you. Let’s try to keep it that way.”

  He was carrying the basket in his left hand. Linking the fingers of his right with hers, he led her through another arched doorway. “I thought it’d seem more like a picnic if we ate outside.”

  The walled garden was a riot of bright, colorful blooms—hollyhocks, roses, larkspur, rain lilies and foxglove.

  “This truly is lovely,” Bliss said as a soft breeze wafted past her, carrying the scent of flowers. Fat bees buzzed around the blooms, butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom. “I’m glad I let you talk me into it.”

  Bliss, who couldn’t help but be enchanted, began thinking of ways to bring the garden look indoors. The house was so large, so formal, floral prints and live plants would make it seem more livable. More of a home.

  Shayne paused in the act of unpacking the wicker basket to drink in the sight of her wind-ruffled bright curls, her green, pleasure-filled eyes, wider and softer, more innocent than any thief’s eyes had a right to be. Her lips were full and pink, and tilted in a smile as they currently were, made him want to kiss her senseless.

  He wanted to touch her—to tangle his fingers in her hair, to run the back of his hand down her cheek, to cup her too strong chin in his fingers and claim her mouth with his own. He wanted to strip that emerald green silk blouse and short pleated skirt from her and drag her down onto the floral printed cushions of that white wrought iron garden bench and...

  When he found his fantasies once again getting too X-rated for comfort, when he felt his heated-up body start to overrule the cool logic of his mind, Shayne reminded himself, yet again, that she was not only an assignment, but a suspect.

  The chef at the hotel had outdone herself, providing a fresh green salad topped with avocado and artichoke hearts, spicy shrimp packed away in an insulated container
, chocolate éclairs, and a bottle of champagne.

  Bliss arched a brow as he opened the dark green bottle with an ease that suggested a great deal of practice. “What are we celebrating?”

  He poured the champagne into the flutes the chef had packed along with the picnic lunch and handed one to her. “Take your choice. A successful collaboration—”

  “I haven’t agreed to work with you, yet.” But she would, she knew. The temptation of this lovely home, not to mention the money involved, was irresistible.

  “Then reunions.” He touched the tip of his glass to hers. “I’ve thought about you, Bliss Fortune. More than I should. More than I’d expected to.”

  Her step backward was instinctive. As was the hand that went up to press against his chest. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

  “I’m not accustomed to women messing up my mind and interfering with my work.”

  His voice was tinged with the soft vowels of the South, reminding her that she knew nothing about this man. “Where are you from?” she asked suddenly.

  A shutter went down over his eyes. “Here and there.” She could feel him emotionally distancing himself.

  “That’s really not much of an answer.”

  Tough. Because it’s all you’re going to get, Shayne said silently. “We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I never really felt like any place was home.” It was definitely time to change the subject. “If you don’t want to drink to collaborations or reunions, how about to us?”

  “I told you—”

  “I know. There isn’t going to be an us. But at least we can agree to be friends. After all, Mike O’Malley did vouch for me.”

  And Michael was, Bliss reminded herself, more than a mere tenant He was a true friend. Perhaps the best she’d ever had, which was why it bothered her that he didn’t have any woman in his life.

  As she thought, not for the first time, that such a warm, kindhearted man as Michael O’Malley should have a loving wife and a houseful of children, Bliss wished that he stirred even the slightest desire in her. Or she, in him. Although she’d sworn off men after her divorce, she couldn’t deny that the idea of being loved by such an honest, dependable, sexy man was more than appealing.

  And speaking of sexy... As Shayne’s gaze settled on her lips, Bliss’s breath backed up in her throat and lungs.

  He trailed the fingers of his free hand up her arm and decided her skin reminded him of rose petals.

  “You realize, of course, that you’re driving me crazy.”

  “Oh?” She wished she sounded strong and sure and not so breathless.

  “Here’s the deal.” His own voice sounded strained and rough as he put his glass slowly, significantly down on the table. “I’m giving you fair warning, Bliss. If you don’t tell me to leave you alone right now, I’m going to kiss you.” His free arm curved around her waist, drawing her close enough that she could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers.

  She should do exactly that. She should put her champagne glass on the table next to his and run away from this man and the dangerous temptation he represented.

  That’s what she should do, of course. But then again, as Zelda had pointed out on more than one occasion, sometimes it was very difficult to take one’s own good advice.

  She thought it said something positive about Shayne’s innate honesty that he’d given her fair warning, rather than just taking what he wanted without any consideration for her own feelings. Especially since she knew that she wasn’t fooling either of them. She didn’t accept this luncheon invitation today because she was hungry for spicy shrimp.

  “Time’s up.”

  Unlike the first time, when his lips had been cool, the kiss brief, his mouth claimed hers with a hot, hungry passion that created an instantaneous flare of heat.

  He didn’t coax her into the mists, he .dragged her weak-kneed into the flames. His lips didn’t tease or tantalize, they plundered, frightening her even as they made her want more.

  Her body flamed, her mind emptied. She wrapped her arms around his waist, vaguely aware on some distant level of the sound of crystal shattering on brick as she clung to him, her hands fretting up and down his back, reveling in the feel of taut muscle beneath her fingertips.

  She felt so soft. So warm. So willing. Shayne pulled her closer, pressing her slender body against his in a way that set a series of chain reactions rioting through him. Her lips were silk and avid beneath his; she welcomed the invasion of his tongue, answering it with a sensual dance of her own.

  His hot mouth ravaged her throat in a blaze of passion, and he was rewarded when she gasped out his name and clung harder, tilting her head back, inviting his possession.

  Her arched back lifted her breasts in a way that made him want her. Made him crave her. It took all the self-control he possessed not to rip that emerald silk away, but instead he brushed his palms against the soft yielding flesh, satisfied when he felt her nipples stiffen to a diamond hardness.

  “Shayne...”

  “It’s all right, sugar.” He pulled the blouse free of the skirt’s waistband. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

  A dark, dangerous desire unlike anything she’d ever experienced surged through her veins, bringing with it an edge of fear Bliss found both exciting and terrifying. She’d never felt like this in her life; she hadn’t known it was even possible for one woman to feel so much. And still need more.

  “Shayne...” Her planned words stuck in her throat. She swallowed painfully and tried again. “Please...I don’t think...”

  “That’s right,” he encouraged, his tongue creating wet havoc at an ear she’d never realized possessed a direct link to that hot aching place between her legs. “Don’t think, darlin’. Just feel.” He dragged her even closer against him, allowing her to experience the full extent of his arousal.

  Her mind reeling from the primal demands of her body, Bliss heard a pained, ragged moan and realized it had been ripped from her own throat. She felt her body hum, her knees weaken.

  “Shayne,” she repeated on a gasp as he caught a nipple between a thumb and forefinger and tugged almost painfully. “Please...don’t...I can’t.”

  His blood was pounding in his ears. His body felt on the verge of exploding and what he’d always considered his ironclad control was deserting him, as if it had been melted away by the heated demands of their bodies. But when he heard her soft plea, he managed, just barely, to drag himself back from the brink.

  He took in a deep draught of air and looked down into her lovely, larcenous face. “I think you mean that.”

  “I do.” Her cheeks flamed even hotter as she was forced to acknowledge exactly how outrageously she’d behaved. “I never meant for things to get so out of hand so quickly.”

  “Believe me, darlin’, if you give me a chance, I promise to take things real slow from here on in.”

  There it was again, that slow drawl that reminded her of warmed molasses. It lapped against the flimsy ramparts of her self-control like a rising river threatening the levee.

  She combed a hand through her hair. “I can’t get involved with you,” she insisted.

  He caught the trembling hand on its second pass and brought it to his lips. “Can’t?” He kissed her fingertips, one at a time. “Or won’t?”

  Feeling herself slipping beneath the warm waters of seduction again, she jerked her hand away. “Can’t, won’t, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Since either way, the answer’s no.”

  He gave her a long deep look. “You’re right, of course,” he said finally, just when her nerves were about to shatter. “I was brought up to understand that when a lady says no—for whatever reason—a guy backs off.”

  She was wondering why she was faintly disappointed that he was surrendering his seduction battle so quickly, when she felt his knuckles brush against the bare flesh of her torso, then realized he was just tucking her wrinkled blouse back into her waistband.

  “I promised you lunch.
”

  She stared up at him as if he were suddenly speaking another language. “You still want to eat?”

  “I’m starving. And, I suspect, after the day you’ve had, you’re hungry, as well.”

  “Well, yes, but...” Suddenly uncomfortable with this conversation, she turned her gaze toward the fountain, pretending sudden interest in the sun-gilded water.

  “If you think I’m going to hold your changing your mind against you, you should know, right off the bat, that sulking isn’t my style.”

  The edgy hunger in his voice had been replaced by that easygoing humor that had so attracted her to him in the first place. Encouraged and confused, she looked up into his pleasant, but frustratingly unreadable face.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “There’s not that much to understand. I’m a normal man, Bliss. With normal desires. When I see a lovely woman who turns me on—” he skimmed the back of his hand up her face “—I want her. It’s as simple as that. But I’m not into forcing women...lovemaking works best when the lady in question wants me, too.”

  He sounded so worldly. So experienced. So like Alan, that tiny voice of warning in the back of her mind managed to counsel.

  “I’ll bet a lot of women have wanted you.”

  He gave her a quick, charming grin, but watching him carefully as she was, Bliss noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  Deciding that it was time—past time—to change the subject, she glanced down at the shards of glass at her feet. “I broke the champagne flute.”

  “You can have mine.” He pressed it into her hand. “Drink up. I think you’ll like it. It’s the same label we shared in Paris.”

  “I’m surprised you’d remember.”

  “I remember everything about that night, Bliss. Including the fact that I’ve never wanted to take a woman to bed more in my life than I did when I kissed you. Until this afternoon, that is.”

  This time his smile seemed genuine, lightening his eyes to the hue of a cloudless summer sky. Bliss was confused, attracted, and, dammit, still physically needy.