Читать книгу A Noble Pursuit - Meg Lacey - Страница 8

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.