Читать книгу Hard To Tame - Kylie Brant - Страница 8

Six Years Later

He was back again. Watching her.

Sara noted the man’s entrance and her muscles tightened, even as she fought to remain expressionless. She laughed at something one of her customers said, made a quick remark, but the awareness, the heightened sensitivity, was already creeping down her spine.

This was the third day he’d come into the café on her shift. The restaurant had plenty of regulars, but none who looked like this man. None who projected a darkly seductive threat merely by his presence. None who moved as though an untamed animal prowled below his smooth, sophisticated exterior.

Moving away, she checked with the people seated at the next table, then turned to go to the kitchen. En route, Candy, another waitress, sidled up to her.

“Your admirer’s back.”

Sara didn’t smile at the woman’s teasing tone. “Promise if he sits in my section you’ll switch with me.”

“Glad to, but we both know it’s not me he keeps returning for.”

Giving her new orders to the cook, Sara loitered as some of her other orders came up. Candy shot another indiscreet look at the dark stranger and lowered her voice even further. “I discovered some information about him, in case you’re interested.”

Loading her arms with plates of steaming food, Sara didn’t look up. “I’m not.” She’d been packed since the first day she’d seen the man—ready, if necessary, to flee at a moment’s notice. The man unnerved her, had from the first. She couldn’t decide whether it was her well-developed survival instincts that quivered to life around him, or something much more elemental. Both were equally dangerous—to her.

Without missing a beat, the woman went on. “He’s a hometown boy by the name of Nick Doucet. Yes, dear—” she began gathering up her own filled orders “—that’s of the Doucet family, from Soileau Street. Very old name, not to mention old money. Comes back to New Orleans a few times a year for a visit, and this time he’s been home over a week.”

“Naw ’Leans.” The woman’s pronunciation pegged her as a native. And even though Sara had lived there only a month, she recognized the family name Candy had mentioned. She wound her way back to her tables fighting a sense of relief. The mysterious stranger had a reason to be here. He hadn’t been sent after her. She wouldn’t have to leave again. Not yet.

With swift precision she unloaded the dishes before four customers seated outside under the awning. It was early, barely seven-thirty, but the air was already thick with a sticky heat. By noon it would be nearly unbearable, and the only ones who would choose seats on the patio would be tourists and other masochists.

“Hey, Amber, you’re sure lookin’ fine this mornin’.” The compliment came from Douglas, fortyish and graying. With no consideration for his bulging middle, he’d ordered steak and eggs with a mound of potatoes covered in cheese. There was a chorus of agreement from the other men. Sara smiled and seamlessly shifted back into her role.

“And how are the fab four doing this morning? Douglas, how’re the twins? Michael, the haircut looks great.” She swapped banter with the men even as she was aware, much too aware, of Doucet seated several tables away, speaking with the manager, Lowell Francis.

“When you gonna run away with me, Amber, huh?” This from Baldwin, the youngest member of the group of businessmen. With his slicked-back brown hair and soulful eyes, he reminded her of a hound dog begging for affection. She didn’t bother telling him that when she ran away, she always ran alone.

“I guess when your wife gives you permission to leave town without her, Baldwin.”

At the others’ laughter, Sara leaned closer and said soothingly, “If I was married to a fellow like you, I’d keep you on a short rein, too.” She left the table amid their good-natured ribbing, and made a studious effort to ignore the man sitting nearby.

“It won’t work this time.” The words were low and smooth, and Sara’s stomach quivered. Even before turning she knew who the voice belonged to. Nick Doucet. Fixing a smile on her face, she met his dark gaze and said, “Someone will be back in just a moment to take your order, sir.”

She lost no time reentering the restaurant, scanning the place for Candy. But when she found the woman, the other waitress shook her head and threw a look over her shoulder at the manager. “Francis just warned me about staying in my own area. Sorry, girlfriend.” Catching the frown on the manager’s face, she hurried away, and Sara slowly went to the kitchen to check on her orders.

So she wouldn’t be able to avoid Doucet any longer. A shiver worked down her spine as she picked up plates at the kitchen window. The threat she sensed from the man wasn’t directed at her, that much seemed apparent. And so his interest must be personal, and could be dismissed easily. She was an expert at rejecting men, could even, when the spirit moved her, do it without crushing their egos.

But somehow she knew that nothing in her experience had prepared her for a man like Nick Doucet.

After delivering the dishes to customers, she moved to his table, donned her bright waitress smile and took out her pad. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Are you angry with me, Amber?”

Her smile froze, but she managed a quizzical lift to her brow. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“For not letting you ignore me any longer.”

Nerves kicked in her stomach. A mental image of the conversation she’d witnessed between him and the manager flickered across her mind. “We rarely allow our customers to starve. Someone would have been along to take care of you.”

“But I wanted you.” The words hung in the air, quivering like a plucked harp string, and that unwelcome shiver shimmied down her spine again. She had the impression that he knew the effect he had on her, which made her all the more determined to hide it.

She reeled off the specials, ending with, “If you’d like variety, the buffet is always good. Ten ninety-five for all you can eat.”

“Just fruit. Wheat toast and coffee. Black.” The ordinary words had greater impact when delivered in that smoky tone, coupled with the intent look in his fathomless ebony eyes. There was nothing ordinary about this man. A well-developed intuition told her that.

He had a presence that commanded attention. Slightly over six feet tall, his broad-shouldered form was lean rather than bulky, with the dangerous stillness of a bomb waiting to detonate. His hair, as dark as his eyes, swept back from a slight widow’s peak. The slashes at either corner of his mouth could have been etched in granite. His brutal handsomeness gave the impression of lethal power, ruthlessly harnessed. And Sara was more grateful than she’d like to admit when she was able to move away from him.

The swelling number of customers in the café gave her a ready excuse should he try to speak to her again. But he seemed content to lounge in his chair, regarding her silently. And no matter how busy her job kept her, that uncomfortable awareness wouldn’t fade.

It was several minutes before she noticed that Doucet had garnered his own share of attention. Candy’s wasn’t the only unsubtle look sent his way, and more than one table of patrons was holding a whispered conversation in which his name figured. As Sara slid plates onto the table before three elderly men, one of their murmured remarks hung suspended in the air.

Bastard. It was impossible to tell whether the word was meant in the figurative or literal sense. She felt an unwilling flicker of sympathy for Doucet, one that was totally unnecessary. If he experienced the same sense of unease that she did at being the recipient of such attention, it certainly didn’t show. The only emotions reflected on his face were ones he allowed to appear there.

And all that showed right now was his continued interest in her.

It took more fortitude than it should have to collect his order from the kitchen, approach his table with it. But when she entered the patio area Doucet was no longer alone. Douglas Fairmont had left his party to address him, and she felt a ridiculous wave of relief that his presence would provide a buffer between them.

“I’d really like to lay it all out for you.” At a gesture from Nick, Douglas looked around, saw Sara. He shifted his girth to allow her room to set the plates in front of the man, but it was clear he had no intention of leaving. “If I could have just a half hour of your time, I promise you’ll see for yourself the possibilities for future growth.”

She quickly unloaded the tray, giving far more concentration to the act than was warranted. As she set down the linen-wrapped silverware, Doucet reached for it. Their hands touched and she snatched hers back with a suddenness that had his attention shifting from Fairmont to her.

“I might be interested.” Although still addressing the other man, his dark gaze was fixed on Sara. “You can stop by and give me the details this evening, say, at seven?” Nick’s eyes traced her features as Fairmont stuttered out an agreement. “On the condition, of course, that you bring Amber with you.”

“No way, Douglas.” Sara gripped her purse and hurried more quickly down the sidewalk, unmindful of the heat. She worked a split shift that day, with a couple hours off before she was needed for the lunch crowd. She’d planned to spend that time dropping by the library, maybe picking up a few groceries. But the man glued to her side wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“Be reasonable. And slow down, for God’s sake.” He pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and wiped his broad forehead, which was already gleaming. “All I’m asking for is an hour of your time.”

“How many ways can I say it?” She never broke stride. “I’m not going.”

“There’s a hundred dollars in it for you.”

That stopped her. The look she fixed on him was fierce enough to have him backing away a step, raising his hands in mute surrender. “I meant no disrespect, Amber, honest.”

Forcing a lid on her roiling emotions, Sara took a deep breath, reached for calm. “I don’t mind doing you a favor, Douglas, but Nick Doucet…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

“But you won’t. Not really.” Seizing the opportunity to make his case again, Douglas went on eagerly. “My appointment is for seven. We’ll arrive, maybe have a drink, then he and I will discuss some business. Afterward, I’ll take you home. You won’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

Sara started walking again. The man’s wheedling tone couldn’t begin to quiet the alarm shrilling in her mind. Doucet was trouble. Maybe not the kind of trouble she’d originally imagined. At least she no longer feared he’d been sent to kill her. But he presented a different kind of danger. She was much too aware of the man for it to be otherwise. “You can just show up without me. He heard me say I wasn’t coming. He won’t blame you.”

“I can’t take that chance.” Fairmount reached out to take her arm, and she pulled away in an involuntary response that no amount of acting could effectively disguise.

He balled up the handkerchief in his hand, his fingers clenching and unclenching around it. “This is important to me. I have a deal in mind that could make my career—all I need to do is line up the financing. I’ve been to everyone else in town, but Nick Doucet might be the only one with the vision to take a risk on my venture. I know you don’t owe me a thing, but he may be my last chance. C’mon, Amber, whaddya say?”

People strolled past them on the sidewalk, parting for the drama being carried out between the pair. Seeing the cautious hope mirrored on Fairmont’s face, Sara felt suddenly ancient. She could have told him that hope was as dangerous an emotion as need or trust. Far better to have no expectations at all than to risk having them shattered.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to do just that. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I’d like to help you. If it were anybody else…but there’s no way I’m going to have anything to do with Nick Doucet. Not even for you.”

An hour later she was ensconced in a comfortable chair near the entrance of the New Orleans main library, reading the newest selection from a popular horror writer. The cool, quiet environment was a welcome balm after the outdoor heat, and from the nerves that quivered to life whenever Nick Doucet got too close.

Sara turned a page, squelching a twinge of conscience as she remembered the crestfallen look on Douglas’s face when he’d realized that no amount of persuasion was going to convince her to change her mind. But she’d learned long ago the folly of allowing emotion to dictate her actions. Her instincts were keen, honed by years on the streets, and those instincts came screaming to life every time Doucet was in the vicinity. She knew better than to ignore them.

A woman hurried by, grasping a young child by the hand. She spared Sara only a cursory glance, a fact that relieved a measure of the tension that had been building in her for the last several days. She knew what the woman saw when she looked at her—a medium tall, slender woman with badly cut hair, twisting a cheap locket around her index finger as she read the latest offering from a popular horror author. The picture was exactly the one Sara meant to present, accentuated by the gaudy, obviously cheap costume jewelry. The image fit Amber Jennings, and would be easily shed when she decided to move on to another city. Another state. She never kept any of her identities more than a few months.

The next half hour meandered by, the pace a welcome contrast to her usually hectic work schedule. When voices interrupted her concentration, she looked up, frowned slightly. A group of women in filmy, flowery dresses was trooping out of an inner room toward the exit, their goodbyes disturbing the relative quiet of her sanctuary. They strolled out the door, trailing expensive perfume in their wake.

Returning to her book, Sara was once again lost in the author’s imaginary world when a slight movement to her left disturbed her again. This time it was a solitary female, upwards of eighty, she’d guess, with the patrician bone structure that reflected beauty regardless of age, and pale, almost translucent skin.

But it wasn’t the older woman’s beauty that held Sara’s attention; it was the way she was clutching the edge of a table, swaying slightly on her feet.

Hesitantly, Sara asked, “Are you all right?”

“Quite all right, thank you.” The crisp words were delivered with just an air of haughtiness, and usually would have been enough to deter Sara from inquiring further. She guarded her own privacy too zealously to be at ease poking into others’. But for some reason memories picked that moment to swarm to the surface. Sean had had a grandmother he’d loved dearly. She’d been, he’d often claimed, the only member of his family who’d given a damn about him. Hundreds of times over the years Sara had reached for a phone, longing to dial that rest home in Illinois just to hear someone else mention his name. Each time realization of the risk had overpowered the emotion. Sara still made sure the woman knew she hadn’t been forgotten, but she did so anonymously. It was safer, far safer for all involved.

The flicker of memory was enough to have her rising. Pulling up a chair, she said, “Why don’t you sit down until it passes?”

The elderly lady aimed one fierce look at her, visibly battling her infirmity through sheer force of will. Then, the struggle obviously decided for her, she sank into the chair with a frustrated sigh. “Darn dizzy spells,” she muttered, her eyes closing for an instant. “There’s little I despise as much as the weakness that comes with the years.”

“I suppose none of us like to show our vulnerabilities, regardless of age.”

The woman’s eyes snapped open again. “No,” she murmured, studying Sara closely. “I imagine not. What’s your name, young lady?”

“Amber.”

“I’m Celeste. And since I’ve inconvenienced you this much, perhaps you wouldn’t mind lending me your arm and walking me to my car.”

Sara leaned forward and Celeste rose, clinging to her arm for support. “You aren’t expecting to drive, are you?” she asked dubiously.

The older woman gave a surprisingly strong laugh. “Good heavens, no. My husband considered it extremely gauche for women to drive themselves, and although times have certainly changed, I suppose it’s a bit late for me to learn driving skills.” As they spoke they moved slowly through the door and down the wide steps outside. At their appearance, a gleaming black Rolls pulled to a stop beside the curb, and a uniformed driver got out, opening the back passenger door to the vehicle.

Once Celeste was ensconced in the back seat, she looked up at Sara. “I’d like to repay you for your kindness. Would you care to accompany me home for tea?”

The invitation took Sara aback. “I…I’d better not. I have to get back to work soon.”

Celeste waved a hand and the driver went around to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door. “I’ll have Benjamin drive you when you have to go. Please don’t waste time arguing, dear. I make it a point to get my own way. It’s one of the few pleasures left to me.”

Studying the woman, Sara noted the flush in her cheeks, which couldn’t be blamed on the heat. They’d merely exchanged one air-conditioned environment for another. No doubt Celeste had a full staff and a family at home to see to her health. But Sara still felt compelled to accept, if only to see her home safely. There was little risk. Surely this sweet, frail woman wouldn’t lead her to danger.

So she engaged in uncharacteristic small talk with the woman as the car made its way across town. After several minutes it turned off the street through an open gate and up a long winding driveway.

Sara fell silent in something approaching awe. The sprawling, ancient mansion was white, with small dormers marching along the roofline proclaiming its French architecture. She could almost imagine the centuries falling away to reveal hoopskirted ladies and gentlemen in cutaway coats sipping mint juleps on the wide veranda.

“Impressive, is it not?” Celeste said as the car drew to a stop before the house. “It was built by my ancestor Claude in 1722 for his wife, Pauline Fontenot.” Simple pride rang in the woman’s voice as she was helped from the car by the driver. Sara rounded the vehicle, and Celeste set her hand lightly on her arm as they climbed the steps. “Claude brought his young bride to New Orleans, after it was settled for King Louis XV. This house was damaged by the fire in 1794, but my great-great-grandfather, Jean-Paul, presided over the restoration himself, and made sure the structure was duplicated exactly, rather than allowing the Spanish style of architecture to influence the rebuilding. My grandson is the ninth generation to live here, although—” she made a moue of disappointment “—he doesn’t spend nearly enough time here.”

The long lineage the woman cited was difficult for Sara to comprehend. She hadn’t known her own grandparents. Family hadn’t meant a whole lot to her mother. Janie Parker had been most concerned with good times and handsome, fast-talking men. She’d made it her business to fill her life with both.

When they reached the huge, double front doors, Celeste showed Sara inside to a graceful tiled hall with vaulted ceilings supported by carved beams. After ordering iced tea from the servant who met them at the door, the older woman led Sara into an old-fashioned parlor, complete with furniture that looked as though it had traveled from France with Claude himself.

Celeste waved her to a chair facing the tall narrow windows gracing one wall. “This is my favorite room, partly because of its view of the gardens. If I were feeling more stable today I’d take you on a tour of them. It’s this awful blood pressure medication I’m on, of course. It sometimes causes the worst dizzy spells.”

“The gardens look lovely.” There was a note of wistfulness in Sara’s tone.

“They can be very peaceful.”

“Sometimes peace can be hard to find.”

“You are quite young, I think, to be so wise.”

“I’m twenty-one.” The lie came to her lips automatically as she shaved two years off her age. Amber Jennings was twenty-one. And Sara Parker’s age no longer mattered, since she’d ceased to exist six years ago.

“Ah, to be twenty-one again.” Celeste smiled at her, a dazzling display of charm that transcended her years. “I would be tempted to envy such youth had I many regrets.”

“But you have no regrets, have you?” The words came from behind them, the voice amused. Sara stilled, finding something about it ominously familiar. “Shall we credit that to clean living or a convenient conscience?”

“Nicky!” Delight sounded in Celeste’s tone, sparkled in her eyes. As the older woman offered a cheek for the tall, dark-haired newcomer to kiss, Sara stared, her feeling of foreboding changing to disbelief. Life, she’d often found, contained the cruelest of ironies. That had never been so apparent as right now.

Because the man straightening to greet her was none other than Nick Doucet.

“Amber, I’m thrilled that you will get to meet my grandson. Nicky, this is—”

“Amber Jennings,” Nick murmured, an arrested look on his face. Sara’s pulse tripped, and it didn’t escape her that he used the last name she was currently going by. She had little time to reflect on that fact, however. With his dark gaze fixed on her, he crossed to her chair, took her hand in his. Raising it, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “What a delightful surprise.” The old-fashioned courtliness of his gesture was at odds with the pure wickedness in his eyes. “Welcome to my home.”

Heat flashed through her, owing nothing to the temperature and everything to the simmering, latent sexuality he exuded. His voice was as smooth as velvet, meant for dark steamy rooms and rumpled satin sheets. The image that description conjured up was just a little too real, and had tension spiking through Sara’s muscles.

“You know each other?” Puzzlement was evident in Celeste’s voice as she watched their byplay.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Their simultaneous but contradictory responses had the older woman’s brows climbing.

Sara felt compelled to explain, “Your grandson has come to the café where I work on a few occasions. That’s all.”

“For some reason Amber seems anxious to avoid me,” Nick added, taking a seat next to his grandmother. “What a delightful surprise to find her here this afternoon, especially after she turned down my earlier invitation.”

She gazed at him with genuine dislike. “If I’d had any idea that you were related to Celeste, you can be sure I wouldn’t have come.” In the next moment she flushed, realizing how that sounded, and sent an apologetic glance to the older woman. She needn’t have bothered. Nick’s grandmother gave all appearances of finding their conversation highly entertaining.

“So Amber rejected an invitation from you? How…fascinating.”

“She appears to have a strange, and totally unnecessary, compulsion to avoid me.” He broke off as a servant entered with a tray of iced tea.

Celeste accepted a glass and drank deeply from the cool beverage with obvious enjoyment. “Amber, please forgive my grandson. He has been outrageously spoiled by women, myself included. It does him good to be thwarted by one now and again.”

Sara took a drink of her tea. “I have a feeling he’s more in need of it than most.”

The woman’s eyes crinkled. “Again you are correct.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Nick pointed out. Lazily, he reached out to pick up his glass. As he drank, he took the opportunity to survey his grandmother critically for signs of fatigue. She looked frailer every time he came home, so he’d made his visits more frequent. Watching the indomitable matriarch of his family fade with each passing year was perhaps the only thing capable of touching his heart. “Why don’t you tell me how the two of you happened to meet up?”

“Oh, I just met Amber at the library and we hit it off,” his grandmother said airily. She was an accomplished liar, but not accomplished enough to fool him. Her color was high, and there was a slight tremor in her hand as she set down her glass. He thought he could guess something close to the truth, even if it wasn’t forthcoming from his fiercely independent grandmother.

“I’ve enjoyed seeing your home.” His attention shifted to Amber, who was studiously avoiding looking at him as she spoke to his grandmother. “But I really have to get going or I’ll be late for work.”

His brows skimmed upward when Celeste took Amber’s hand in hers and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “It was such a pleasure, my dear. Thank you so much for everything.” With the mantle of age, his grandmother had abandoned some of the niceties of polite society. She didn’t waste time, or civility, on anyone she didn’t hold in some esteem.

“I enjoyed meeting you.” Amber’s smile was the first genuine one Nick had seen from her, and his hand faltered for an instant in the act of raising his glass. As if she felt his gaze on her, her smile quickly faded, to be replaced with her more familiar wary mask.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again. I think I would enjoy getting to know the woman who can hold her own with my grandson.” Eyes twinkling, Celeste rose. “I’ll tell Benjamin that you’re ready to leave.” With careful steps she left the parlor.

Nick took the opportunity to refill Amber’s glass, noting the way she stilled as he drew closer. He could almost see the effort it took for her not to move away, and felt an element of admiration, tinged with amusement. She was determined not to show him even that small weakness. He understood that kind of control, possessed it himself. He wondered what kind of experiences had forged hers.

“Are you going to meet with Douglas tonight?” she asked.

She’d managed to surprise him. Taking his time setting the pitcher down and settling into his chair once more, he studied her. “Why?”

Her fingers worried the earring at her lobe. The nervous gesture was at odds with the defiance in her eyes. “It wasn’t fair of you to make the meeting conditional upon my accompanying him.”

“I don’t play fair, Amber.” A thought occurred to him then, and wouldn’t be quieted. “What’s your relationship with Fairmont?” He was adept at eliciting the information he wanted with far more finesse, but her answer mattered more than it should have.

“Are you asking if I serve him more than breakfast?”

“Do you?”

Silence stretched, while their gazes did battle. “No.”

The elastic tension inside him that had stretched taut while he waited for her answer slowly relaxed. He hadn’t thought so, but her defense of the man had had him reconsidering. “Good.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because…” he paused to sip his iced tea “…I have no intention of entering into a business arrangement with a man I would later have to destroy.”

Shock flickered across Sara’s expression. Her hand clutching her glass, she rubbed her thumb over the condensation collected on it. “And I have no intention of accompanying him here tonight. Will you still help him?”

“I may. It depends on the figures he shows me.”

“So…you’re into investments?”

Smiles didn’t come easily to him, but he felt one on his lips now. “I make all sorts of investments. Some more lucrative than others.”

From her expression it was obvious that his cryptic response failed to satisfy. But she didn’t press him for details as other women might have done. Instead she said in a very matter-of-fact voice, “I won’t sleep with you, you know.”

The tea had difficulty passing the sudden knot in his throat. He hadn’t expected such forthrightness from her, but then, he really didn’t know Amber Jennings. Not at all. “I reserve the right to try and change your mind about that.” He noted with interest the way her fingers flexed on her glass, and wondered if the action reflected anxiety or annoyance.

“You don’t look like a man who enjoys wasting his time.”

“I’m not.”

Her glass made a small clink on the marble tabletop as she set it down, then rose. “I’d like to leave now.”

“I’m sure Benjamin has the car ready.”

She hesitated, then gave a nod. Turning to go, she halted a moment later, and said, “Please tell your grandmother again how much I enjoyed meeting her. She’s a wonderful lady.”

He made no effort to disguise the affection in his voice. “She is, yes.” Strolling along beside her, he opened the front door for her when they’d crossed the hallway. The car was pulled up front, waiting. She started toward it without another word, and Nick followed her out onto the porch, watched her descend the steps. “Amber?”

She halted in the act of sliding into the car, and looked at him.

Raising his glass to her, he said, “I’ll see you soon.”

She made no comment, and he’d expected none. The car door slammed, and the vehicle pulled away. He was contemplating the winking taillights when he heard his grandmother’s voice behind him.

“I like that girl, Nicky.” She tucked her arm into his and he covered her fingers absently with his own. “You will leave her out of those games you play, n’est-ce pas?”

Broodingly, he watched the car as it turned out of the drive. “I’m not playing, Grand-mère. Not this time.”