One-Night Man

“Seeing you dressed in nothing but hair will be worth the wait, chère.”

He was definitely on to her.

Lennon jammed the sheath dress onto the rack and tried to segue back to business, without appearing to admit defeat. “Auntie Q likes to mix business with pleasure, so fund-raising isn’t so dry and stuffy. Talking business with Lady Godiva should liven things up, don’t you think?”

“The Eastman Gallery could expect some hefty donations.”

“Humph.” Lennon didn’t need to turn around to see his grin. She heard amusement loud and clear in his voice.

“Okay, I got the risqué part. Now I need to know how the finances work, but let me grab something to take notes on.”

From the corner of her eye she saw him sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Lennon waved him off and said, “I’ll get something. Where?”

“My briefcase on the table.”

She sailed out of the room without a backward glance, relishing the activity and the breather from being bombarded with testosterone at close range. “Do you think money could be the motive, Josh?”

“I always cover all the angles. You never know what’ll motivate people.”

Lennon didn’t reply, just dug through his briefcase and told herself to get a grip. She couldn’t think of Josh as a romance hero. Sure, he looked the part of some Navy SEAL or Cold War spy, but he needed a quick demotion to a more human plane.

Palming a day planner from his briefcase, she weighed its worn leather cover in her hand. Businessmen used day planners. Businessmen from the twenty-first century. Day planners hadn’t been around when swashbuckling romance heroes had inhabited the earth. Except the hero she currently wrote about. A spy for England during the Napoleonic Wars, he was also a titled lord, which meant he had an estate to manage and would own a leather-bound journal to record his activities, one very similar to this….

Arrgh! Heading back into the bedroom, she tossed the day planner at Josh, ignored his politely murmured thanks, and sought refuge in the closet. “The finances are really very simple. In a nutshell, your grandfather bequeathed his collection to Auntie Q along with the pieces they owned jointly. She took those and included some she owned herself and donated them to the museum. Together, they included a financial endowment large enough to construct the gallery and the sculpture garden.”

After hanging up her dress for the cocktail party, she stowed her empty garment bag on the closet floor, out of the way. “Technically, the museum owns the collection now, but there’s overhead it can’t swing until the exhibition starts bringing in income. That’s where the fund-raising comes in. We need to collect enough to carry the Joshua Eastman Gallery until it establishes a name for itself.”

Lapsing into silence, she stacked her shoe boxes to the sound of Josh’s pen strokes.

“Sounds like a lot of work,” he finally said.

“It has been. Pulling this together has consumed Auntie Q for the past two years.”

“I’m sorry my grandfather wasn’t around to help her.”

Lennon didn’t have to turn to know he watched her. She sensed his gaze, felt her heartbeat thud in response. “Auntie Q’s convinced he meant to keep her busy after he died.”

“What do you think?”

“She’s probably right.” Steeling her nerves, Lennon swung around, leaned back against the wall and tucked her legs beneath her. “Great-uncle Joshua used to talk about his plans for this gallery. It was his passion. But whenever I’d ask when he was going to break ground, he’d just smile and say he wasn’t done collecting yet. He told me not to worry, though, that he’d been given Auntie Q as a gift to help him focus on what was important, and that she’d make sure things got done. I remember thinking he knew he might not be around to get the gallery started because he was older than she was.”

“You knew an entirely different side of my grandfather.”

She heard regret in Josh’s voice, a realization that he’d missed out on something special. She wanted to reach out and smooth the tight edges from his mouth, say something to erase his hurt, but squelched the crazy urge. She had no right to comfort this man. She hadn’t seen him in years and hadn’t really known him even back then.

Sure, he’d sometimes showed up on their doorstep, and Auntie Q had whipped out her stash of cookies. But Lennon had been eight years his junior and not particularly interested in hanging around to listen to whatever her great-aunt coaxed out of him.

“Damned bizarre situation.” His gaze pierced the distance, and Lennon felt the connection as if it were physical. Two people bound by the actions of others, each clinging to their parts of the whole and wondering what they were missing.

Then, in an instant, Josh shuttered his expression behind a grin. “Are you scarred forever?”

“Naw. Just focused. Despite the unusual gestalt of the situation, what’s not to like about love?”

“Ah.” He gave a brisk shake of his head that sent his black ponytail brushing his collar. “The romance writer.”

“I can write it however I like it.”

“And how do you like it, chère?”

The intensity of his expression made her pulse quicken. “If you want to know, you’ll have to read my books to find out.”

She hadn’t meant her reply as a challenge, but it was definitely taken as one. She could see fire leap into Josh’s eyes, his smile broaden appreciatively.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Swinging those long legs over the side of the bed, he planted his booted feet on the floor. “Right now I’ve got to get hotel security on the phone about the letter that was waiting for Miss Q when she arrived. I want them to question the desk clerks to see who dropped it off. Be ready to leave for the cocktail party at four.” He crossed the length of the bedroom in a few quick strides. “I’ll need a copy of your guest list. Miss Q said you had one.”

Lennon nodded, feeling a bit off balance, disappointed that she’d been so easily dismissed from their bantering.

She squelched that feeling fast. “I’ll get it for you. Josh?” she added, causing him to stop in the doorway. “Auntie Q got a threatening letter last night at the museum, one this morning at home and another today when she arrived here at the hotel. Do you think whoever’s harassing her may decide that frightening her isn’t getting the point across? Do you think he might try to really hurt her?”

His expression sobered, but he met her gaze with a promise in his. “Don’t worry. Olaf and I won’t let anything happen.”

For the first time since Josh had shown up, Lennon felt that perhaps Auntie Q had been right to call him.

4

A MAN WHO HADN’T HAD SEX since creating his own fireworks with a flight attendant over July Fourth weekend had no business holing up with a woman who looked like Lennon, Josh decided. Not if he expected himself to act with any self-control.

Dressed for the cocktail party, she was a vision in a clingy dress that molded her curves as though she’d been dipped in gold. Delicate chains flashed around her neck and wrists, drawing his attention to all the creamy skin exposed in between.

And her legs… Those strappy sandals should have been illegal the way they showed off graceful ankles, defined sleek calves until her legs seemed a mile long.

Josh’s pulse kicked hard, a reminder that July Fourth weekend had been seven months ago.

“Wow, black sheep. You clean up nicely.” She paused in the bedroom doorway and eyed him in a way that he didn’t think his several-years-old tux warranted. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you actually still belonged in our world.”

“Must have me confused with someone else.” The thought of making small talk at this party tonight was killing him.

“Nope, don’t think so.” When she smiled, shiny peach lipstick made her lips look ripe for kissing. “You may not choose to live the part, but you can’t rub off good breeding. It sticks like sugar on Monkey Bread.”

“Makes years of chasing bad guys a total waste.”

“Not necessarily.” Slinging the gold-chain strap of a handbag over her shoulder, she sauntered into the living room, each fluid stride making her dress shimmer over sleek curves.

Josh swallowed hard.

Popping open her handbag, she rooted through its contents, the smooth fall of blond hair sexily hiding her profile. “I thought I stuck my key in here. Lipstick. Blush. Mints.”

“I’ve got mine.”

“Ah, key.” She glanced at him, apparently ignoring the fact that she wouldn’t be out of his eyesight long enough to need her own key. “All set.”

“Let’s go. We need to do a walk-through of the gallery.” Preceding her to the door, he held it wide as she passed through, catching a whiff of her subtle spicy scent.

“I’m ready.”

And Josh was, too—damn his long-ignored libido.

But the protesters they encountered when their cab pulled up to the museum’s main entrance soon demanded his attention.

“I can’t believe they’re here so early,” Lennon said, peering out at the small crowd crossing streets and turning corners. It was a group of seemingly normal people Josh might expect to see commuting home on a Friday night for a weekend of watering lawns and family picnics.

Except for the signboards.

Don’t Confuse Art With Pornography!

Keep Smut away from our Local Treasures!

Lennon inhaled deeply, as though steeling herself for the unpleasant encounter ahead, and reached for the door handle.

“Not yet, chère.” Josh stayed her hand, before telling the driver, “Circle the block. We’ll let museum security deal with them, so Miss Q and Olaf won’t have to when they arrive.”

He retrieved his cell phone, dialed and waited for the call to connect. “Josh Eastman with private security for the Eastman Gallery. I’ve got protesters outside the main entrance….”

While they drove around waiting for security to disperse the crowd, Josh scanned the nearby rooftops for any signs of a threat and pondered the connection between the messages on the protesters’ signs and the letters Miss Q had received today.

Their messages mirrored almost exactly, but the format of the letters surprised him. To date, Miss Q had received only handwritten and computer-generated letters, yet both messages today had been pieced together from cutout magazine letters, like cheesy warnings from a B flick.

The connection between the messages and the protesters’ signs seemed obvious—too obvious. He mentally filed the concern, and by the time the entrance had been cleared and he’d paid the driver, Josh decided to have security arrange for the police to patrol the museum to keep any other such groups from forming.

Protesters provided the perfect cover to involve the police without raising the museum’s suspicions about the flash-and-bang attack. But unfortunately, the process took another thirty minutes and put them way behind on the walk-through of the sculpture garden and the new gallery.

As it was, they arrived at the reception along with the guests, but Miss Q didn’t seem to mind.

“Did you case the joint?” she asked breathlessly, apparently relishing being part of an active investigation.

Josh let Lennon explain about the protesters, and then mentioned the security measures he’d implemented.

“Oh, Josh Three,” Miss Q said. “I just knew you’d take care of everything. Now I don’t have to worry about this letter that was waiting for me when I arrived.” She plucked a folded white envelope from her handbag and handed him what proved to be another cut-and-paste warning: “Museums shouldn’t have XXX ratings!”

“How’d you get it?” he asked.

“From the clerk at the information desk. He said someone left it on the counter.”

Any of the protesters could have slipped inside the building unseen, so Josh didn’t hold much hope of discovering who’d delivered it. “I’ll talk with security.”

Miss Q beamed as though he’d made her day, and Josh couldn’t help feeling pleased that he’d reassured her. Her approval had always had a way of pumping him up.

“Olaf,” he said, extending his hand.

“Mr. Joshua would expect us to keep his ladies safe.”

Olaf obviously meant business. Josh recognized the outline of a shoulder holster under the man’s formal wear. The way his pants pulled suggested another weapon tucked in the waistband. And if his personal arsenal wasn’t enough, he hovered over Miss Q like a Saints’ defensive lineman.

“Agreed.”

Miss Q darted an approving gaze from one to the other. “I’m not surprised about the protesters, though. Given the amount of coverage the media gave us today.”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper yet.” Lennon frowned. “They haven’t said anything awful, have they?”

Olaf met Josh’s gaze and laughed, a sound like the rumble of an avalanche. “Miss Q and Lennon resent the collection being termed a pornography exhibit.”

“Pornography, bah!” Miss Q waved an impatient hand. “It boggles my mind to see how many narrow-minded and misinformed people there are in this world. Sensuality is part of every culture. Even the earliest tribes had sexual rituals. Why shouldn’t those rituals be appreciated as part of history?”

“No reason I can think of,” Josh said. “I’m sure you and the Eastman Gallery will heighten society’s awareness.”

Miss Q beamed once more. “The media is doing its part, too, which is why we have detractors lining up at the doors. Nothing negative today, though, except Agnes, the old bat, made sure the cultural society wasn’t officially connected.”

“Agnes is the current president of the society,” Lennon whispered as an aside.

Josh nodded.

Miss Q fixed a laser-blue gaze over the rim of her champagne glass. “Agnes is miffed because I didn’t ask that smarmy grandson of hers to participate in the bachelor auction.”

Lennon shrugged. “Some might consider him a good catch.”

“Wilfred the weird, dear? Perish the thought. He may have money, but he didn’t earn a penny of it. It’s all his grandfather’s. Not to mention that Olaf caught him slinking around Bourbon Street with a person as tall as he is, who was dressed prettier than a debutante at her coming out party, if you take my meaning.”

Lennon must have, because she barely swallowed back a laugh at her great-aunt’s delicate description of a cross-dresser.

“If that’s where his tastes lie,” Josh said, “then you’re right not to include him in the auction. His grandmother would only be more annoyed if no one bid on him.”

Olaf laughed. Lennon arched a fine golden brow.

Miss Q passed her glass to Olaf and clapped delightedly. “You’re absolutely right, Josh Three. We couldn’t have that. The whole point of this weekend is to educate the public about erotic antiquities and convince the tight fists around here to contribute to the gallery, either with art from their own collections—if I deem the pieces worthy, of course—or by donating monetarily.”

“With the lineup of risqué fund-raising events you’ve got scheduled, I’m sure you’ll meet your goals,” he said.

Miss Q’s eyes glowed with amusement. “There’s something to appeal to everyone—the art exhibition, the masque, the scavenger hunt. I hope you’ll find something that appeals to you.”

Glancing at Lennon, Josh remembered pressing against her in the cab. He’d find something to amuse him, no doubt.

“When you’re done in the garden, dears, I want you to go talk to Louis Garceau and his cronies. See what they think about our first edition of Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis. What a coup. Your grandfather and I tracked down that book right before he died. There was thought to be only one surviving copy and Louis has been trying to corner me to ask about it.”

She scowled. “You tell him it has been authenticated and any true literati would know the difference between a 1593 first edition and a facsimile reprint. That literary set always annoys me.” She lifted her gaze to Josh, blue eyes twinkling. “They get so academic about an orgasm. I always thought the whole point was not to think while I was having one.”

“It’s more fun that way,” Josh agreed.

Lennon said, “Auntie Q!” in a singsong exhalation that clearly conveyed her exasperation, but Josh found the old woman’s humor refreshing. He’d spent too many years at functions that were exercises in patience because his grandmother didn’t know the meaning of the word fun.

Plucking two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, he handed one to Lennon. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Q, Olaf. We’ve got to interrogate your guests.”

“You shouldn’t encourage her,” Lennon cautioned, once out of earshot.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t care who’s around, and she’s worse than a sailor when she gets going. When Great-uncle Joshua was alive, they could get me blushing so hard I thought my cheeks would melt.”

“Sounds like you went to the fun parties.”

“You think?” She eyed him as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her before.

Josh didn’t want her thinking he’d resented sharing his grandfather. Lennon had been dealt her cards just as he had. Neither of them had been given much choice.

“Come on. Let’s go talk to your guests.” Taking her hand, he led her onto a cobbled path that led around the garden.

A live band played on the piazza in front of the fountain, filling the garden with mellow strains of jazz. Twilight glazed everything in a starry haze, making it damned hard to differentiate between the walkway and shadowed recesses in the foliage. Josh could only follow the jagged slices of artificial light cast by strategically placed lamps.

“This place is so spread out,” Lennon observed, mirroring his thoughts as he tried to map the layout mentally. “Another grenade could come from just about anywhere, couldn’t it?”

“Not unless the assailant wants to be hauled off to jail.” At her look of confusion, Josh explained, “A twelve-foot security wall surrounds the perimeter. The only entrance to the garden is from inside the gallery, and museum security has it covered.”

“Oh.” Looking relieved, she cast her gaze around. “And Olaf promised Great-uncle Joshua he’d care for Auntie Q, so I know he will.”

“He will. I’m not surprised he transferred his attention to Miss Q rather than stay on at Eastman Antiquities. He picked the better of the jobs.”

Given his choice of staying on as part of the Eastman empire or tending a flighty, but sweetheart of an old lady and her gorgeous niece, Josh would have found himself part of the McDarby household, too.

“That’s very nice of you to say.” Drawing to a halt in a bower, Lennon lifted her gaze, the amber glow in her eyes deeper than ever in the lamplight. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, either. You’ve come to the rescue like a knight in shining armor.”

Her voice was light, teasing, but there was no question in it, only a solid assurance that she trusted him to do what he’d promised. That she felt so safe with him came as something of a surprise. He wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t had anyone who meant anything rely on him in a very long time. Apparently Lennon meant something. Why? Because of her connection to Miss Q and his grandfather? Or because he was attracted to her?

And he was attracted to her in a big way. Just being with her heightened all his senses. A breeze kicked up, preventing him from sweating in his tux, but not enough to raise the hairs along Lennon’s bare arms. The guests’ chatter crackled above the music like the buzz of an electrical wire.

Lennon made him aware in a way he couldn’t remember ever having been aware of a woman before, on some emotional level he’d always managed to ignore. Ignoring Lennon was impossible, so he resorted to evasive maneuvers.

“Who’s this?” He motioned to a nearby sculpture.

Lennon followed his gaze to the marble sculpture that occupied the bower. “Calliope.”

“The muse of epic poetry?”

“Careful, black sheep, your classical education is showing.” Lennon’s whiskey-smooth eyes glinted with amusement and she cocked her head sexily to survey the sculpture.

Josh surveyed her, not nearly as enthralled with the sculpture as he was by the way the delicate gold-link chain she wore around her neck dipped into the shadows of her cleavage.

When an accented male voice rang out, “Lennon, love” he dragged his gaze from the lovely lady to see a man with a pencil-thin mustache and a goatee hurrying toward them.

A suspect.

“Get ready.” Lennon passed Josh her champagne glass and extended her hands to the newcomer in a gesture of fond welcome. “Louis, I was looking for you. Auntie Q said you wanted to hear about Venus and Adonis.” She dutifully lifted her face as the man brushed kisses on both cheeks.

“She wouldn’t tell me a thing, the devil, except to say I could find you in the bushes with a man.” Swinging a narrowed gaze to Josh, he extended a hand. “Louis Garceau.”

“Josh Eastman.”

One look at Louis’s open mouth confirmed the type of reaction Josh could expect from Miss Q’s guests this weekend. In polite New Orleans society, his grandfather’s relationship with Quinevere McDarby had been accepted, even respected for its endurance. But his grandfather’s life with Miss Q had not crossed over into his life with the Eastman family.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.