Kitabı oku: «Reclaiming His Legacy»

One

“What happened to the nanny, Father?”

For a moment, Blake Boudreaux thought his father wouldn’t answer. Instead Armand Boudreaux adopted the inscrutable, haughty look that matched his perfectly fitted suit, manicured hair and highly polished shoes. All of which said he wasn’t obligated to give excuses to anyone. Then one perfectly trimmed brow slowly lifted and he replied with dead calm, “My traitor of a wife cleaned out her bank account. A sizable amount, I might add. I had to recoup my investment somehow.”

“By firing the nanny of a sick child? Are you crazy?”

“You never had a nanny and you were just fine.”

Blake could say more than a few words on that subject, but this wasn’t the time or place… Not that his father would care anyway. Besides, being back inside the Boudreaux plantation house was making his skin crawl already. This place left him chilled to his core, even after all these years away. “I didn’t have epilepsy. This is a serious illness. Abigail needs to be supervised. Taken care of.”

“That mess is all in her head. Obviously so, or her mother wouldn’t have flaked off to Europe and left her behind.”

Wasn’t that sympathetic of him?

“So the doctors are lying?”

“They’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, they should do what they do best. Give her a pill that will make it all go away. It doesn’t need to be more involved than that, I’m sure. As long as she takes the medicine, she’ll be fine. And more importantly, she will believe its fine. That’s about all its good for.”

Blake knew a lot of things about his father. He was cold and autocratic, and spent his life tearing holes in the people around him. Sometimes he was subtle about it…sometimes not. But this was the first time he’d known Armand to truly jeopardize someone’s life. Blake truly believed this was not something to play around with.

Abigail, Blake’s half sister, was seven years old and her symptoms had been severe enough for her “flaky mother” to take her to a specialist. Of course, the minute the diagnosis had been made, she’d packed her bags and headed out to less stressful pastures.

“The doctors aren’t crazy. This could be dangerous,” he insisted.

“It’s not as bad as they make it seem. Besides, you sound like someone who honestly cares,” his father pointed out with a smirk. “Considering this is the first time I’ve seen your face since you told me to shove my money and my parental rights seventeen years ago, I guess I should take you seriously.”

The dig wasn’t unjustified. This was the first time Blake had set foot in his father’s house since he was eighteen years old. If he had never again walked through the doors of the infamous Boudreaux plantation house, he would never have missed it. He could have continued to live in the most luxurious settings in Europe, rather than return to this arctic tundra of a house despite the sultry heat of the Louisiana summer outside.

He would never have met his father’s much younger second wife, Marisa, and his then five-year-old half sister if said wife hadn’t been on a trip in Germany at the same time Blake had been involved with the princess of a small, nearby principality.

That’s when he’d discovered that Marisa loved to travel to exotic places and be seen by the most important people. Abigail’s care was relegated to a nanny while her mother spent her days exploring her next big adventure. She’d only taken Abigail along because Armand had refused to let her leave the child at home. Marisa matched his father in narcissism, though she lacked his vindictive streak.

Blake had never thought he would ever care about children in any capacity that had an impact on his life. His playboy reputation was widely known and accepted by all but those women who tried—and failed—to change him. Children were something that existed and were cute…as long as they belonged to someone else.

But one charming afternoon with the little girl with soft ringlets, wide brown eyes and a keen curiosity about everything around her had this playboy hooked. Luckily, Marisa had facilitated his attempts to stay in touch with his half sister until a few months ago. Blake would have had no idea about the present situation if his half sister’s former nanny hadn’t called out of the blue two days ago with the distressing news. Blake had rented a private jet and gone to New Orleans immediately.

Thank goodness he had an inheritance outside of his father’s reach. His mother’s exclusive gift had given him the chance to live a carefree life without a thought to money…or his father’s opinion. The fact that he successfully supplemented that income with an avid interest in producing and distributing art was a bonus known only to him.

“I do care about Abigail,” Blake finally said. Better to keep it simple than give his father any ammunition to use against him. “Someone should.”

“She’s weak. Life will toughen her up.”

His father turned his laser-focused gaze on Blake, studying him in a way that made Blake want to squirm. He resisted the urge, of course. He was long past the point where he would allow his father to direct his actions in any way. Showing any sign of weakness would be seen as a victory by the old man, and Blake wasn’t giving an inch.

“But since you’re here, I might consider giving you the job.”

That wasn’t what Blake expected at all. “Excuse me?”

“The job of looking after her. Though you’re hardly qualified for childcare, now, are you?”

At least I’m willing to try. Blake simply locked his jaw and waited. If his father was willing to about-face, there would be a price to pay. Might as well wait for the bill.

“I don’t know,” the older man said, fiddling with his diamond cuff links as he pretended to consider the situation. “I haven’t decided if I’ll let you see her at all.”

A sudden tiny gasp sounded from behind a chair tucked into the far corner of the room. Unfortunately it echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and was magnified for the listeners nearby. His father’s gaze swung immediately to the shadows.

“I told you to stay in your room,” he yelled, his booming voice forcing Blake to suppress a wince.

A little girl slid out from behind the piece of furniture. Despite a little extra height on her, Blake would have said she was unchanged in the last two years. She had the same brown ringlet curls, though they were currently a tangled mess. The same vulnerable gaze. She hesitated before obeying, her brown eyes, flecked with green, seeming to memorize every inch of Blake as if afraid she would never see him again. Blake could certainly relate. His father was just enough of a jerk to forbid him to ever see her if he realized how much it meant to Blake.

So he hid his own emotions, gave Abigail the barest of smiles and motioned for her to go upstairs…before she heard more from her father about what a problem she was. Blake had grown up with a lifetime of those abusive rants stuck in his brain. He didn’t want that for Abigail.

While her mother was here, Blake had thought she would be protected from the harsh reality of Armand Boudreaux’s judgments. Now there would be no one in a position to protect her. The housekeeper, Sherry, might be able to check in, but she still had a job to do. Would that be enough?

Blake hadn’t even had that much. He remembered long, endless days when he barely saw anyone except the cook, who would fix him a plate. He’d been healthy, but lonely. Except having his father take an interest in him had usually meant an hour of yelling about how horrible Blake was.

Blake couldn’t allow that to happen to Abigail. Two years ago, he never gave his terrible childhood a second thought, but Abigail’s situation was bringing a lot of bad memories to the forefront of his brain.

Turning his gaze back to his father, he continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “You were saying I could help with Abigail’s care?” Caution was the name of the game here.

“Sure. You care so much about her—” Armand narrowed his gaze on Blake, a thin smile stretching his lips. “It might be worth something for you to see her.”

Oh boy. “Don’t you have enough money?”

The seconds-long hesitation sent a spear of worry through Blake. Money had never been an issue for his father. Not growing up. And, Blake assumed, not now. But that hesitation made him wonder.

Then his father said, “Not money, son. Freedom.”

A pretty significant bargaining chip for Blake. It always had been. This would not end well. “I’m not following.”

His father paced back and forth across the marble floor, the click of his dress shoes echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Blake’s stomach sank. This was his father’s move whenever he was plotting…planning. Definitely not good.

His father paused, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “I think there might be a solution to this situation that will benefit us both.”

Hell, no. “I know how this works. Your solutions only benefit you.”

“It depends on how you look at it.” His father’s smile was cold. “This could definitely benefit Abigail. Isn’t that what you say you want?”

“I never said any such thing.”

“Your actions speak loud enough for you.”

And he’d thought he’d shown remarkable restraint… Remaining silent would keep Blake from incriminating himself further. So he kept his trap shut and his gaze glued to the man before him. Armand fitted in so well with the sterile beauty of the Boudreaux plantation. It was his perfect backdrop.

“Yes, I believe this will definitely work. I’ve waited a long time for this.” Armand nodded as if confirming the thought to himself. His full head of silver hair glinted in the sun from the arched window behind him. “And you’re gonna give me exactly what I want.”

Blake turned away, panic running through him at the thought of going back to being that eighteen-year-old boy who had no defenses against his father. But just when he thought he would stride right over to the door and disappear through it, he caught a glimpse of tangled brown hair and pink leggings at the top of the stairs.

What choice do I have?

He could report Armand for neglect, but Blake doubted that would do more than dent his father’s reputation. Armand knew too many people in high places for any charges to go far. Abigail probably wouldn’t even be removed from the home.

He could take her with him now, but that would probably lead to him being accused of kidnapping…and she’d end up right back home.

He needed more time, more resources…but he could not let Abigail down, even if it meant turning his own life inside out to help her. Who would have guessed this playboy would grow a conscience?

He turned back to his father. “What do you want me to do?”

With a grin that said he knew he’d gotten his way, Armand slipped through the double doors at the far end of the room leading to his office, then returned with a file folder in his hand. Blake didn’t dare look up the stairs and give away Abigail’s continued presence. But he was conscious of her sitting just out of his father’s line of sight.

“There is a woman here in town, Madison Landry. She has something that belongs to me. Something you will retrieve.”

“Can’t you get a lawyer to take care of that?”

“That route has proved…fruitless. Now it’s time for a different approach.”

The rare admission of failure was unheard of from his father, which piqued Blake’s interest. “So you want me to convince a former…what, lover?…to return something to you?” Obviously legal channels hadn’t worked, so his father didn’t have a legitimate leg to stand on.

His father smirked. “Hardly.” He pulled a photograph out of the file. “Have you ever heard of the Belarus diamond?”

“No.” Jewels had never been a major focus for Blake.

“It’s a rare, two-carat, fancy vivid blue diamond that was gifted to our family by a Russian prince before we settled in Louisiana after leaving France. When I was young and foolish, I had the diamond placed into a setting for an engagement ring. For a woman who did not deserve anything nearly so special.”

Well, this was news to Blake. He studied a photograph of a brilliant blue oval-shaped jewel. “You were engaged before my mother?”

“To the daughter of a now nearly extinct family from Louisiana society, Jacqueline Landry. The engagement lasted less than a year.”

“So she dumped you?”

If not, Armand would have taken steps to get back what was his before walking away.

Armand’s back went ramrod straight, as if he were affronted by the assumption. His sigh indicated he had no high horse to sit on. “She made the foolish choice to leave, and took the ring with her. That diamond belongs to our family. It is mine to do with as I wish.”

But not the ring? This wasn’t about a piece of jewelry Armand could hand down to his children. It was about something else… Money? Pride? Surely not after all of these years.

“Then you shouldn’t have given it away,” Blake reasoned.

“I sent several letters through the years demanding the ring back, all of which were returned unopened.”

“From my limited experience with broken engagements, that’s her prerogative.”

His father’s snap to attention told Blake he’d touched a nerve.

“Dammit, this is not the time for your flippant sarcasm. I want that ring and I will have it.” Armand smoothed down his hair and jacket in a move utterly familiar to Blake. Growing up, he’d seen it often after his father’s rages. Blake steeled himself as a wave of unpleasant emotions washed over him.

“You will get it for me, Blake.”

“How? You don’t even know if Jacqueline’s daughter still has it.”

“There’s never been any record of it being found or sold. Which means it’s still in the family’s possession somehow. You will find this woman and get it back from her. With her knowledge or without it.”

“You expect me to convince her to just hand over a priceless diamond that belonged to her mother?”

“You’ll find a way. I’m sure a man like you, one who has seduced and discarded numerous women through the years, will have no problem with this mission. It should be a perfect use for the very few skills you’ve actually cultivated in your lifetime.”

Blake had to admit, that stung a little. Even if it came from his father, who wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about him if he’d used his wealth to become a big-shot CEO, either. Of course, the other skills Blake had developed he kept well disguised behind the facade of his carefree lifestyle. “Those women knew the score going in.”

“This one won’t. And I forbid you to enlighten her.” He narrowed his gaze on his son. “Until afterward, of course. If you want to tell her you stole from her to save your sister, that’s your business.”

Armand handed over a file with all the confidence of a man who would get his way. “Read it. Let me know.”

“I can’t do this.” Could he?

“And there’s one more condition,” his father went on, as if Blake hadn’t spoken. “Access to Abigail will be limited by me until the job is done. But afterward, you can have her all to yourself. I’ll sign the paperwork to wash my hands of her, and you can give her the upbringing you claim she needs.”

Bile rose in the back of Blake’s throat. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d walked back through the Boudreaux plantation’s doors, but no part of this conversation had gone according to plan. What business did a man who’d spent his life deliberately avoiding any type of responsibility have raising a young girl with epilepsy?

As if he could read Blake’s thoughts, his father smirked. “Are you sure a playboy like you is up to the challenge?”

“Sleepy?”

Madison Landry started awake, embarrassed at being caught sleeping by her boss at Maison de Jardin. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered out, “I’m just not sleeping well right now.”

“It’s not a problem for me,” Trinity Hyatt said with one of her trademark gracious smiles, “especially since you’re here on your day off. Want to tell me why that is?”

Madison tried to shrug off the question with a lame excuse. “There’s always plenty to do around here.” And there was.

The charity, which provided a safe haven and life skills training for abused women and children, was in a constant state of managed chaos. If it wasn’t laundry that needed doing, it was job applications or fund-raising or any number of things. The desk in front of her in the downstairs office was filled to overflowing with paperwork and records.

Not for anything would Madison admit she’d come over to Maison de Jardin, which shared a border with her family estate, because she needed a distraction. Not because work needed to be done.

The last thing she wanted to discuss were the sleepless nights. The memories of her father’s last painful days. Dreams where she could hear him struggle to breathe with the pneumonia clouding his lungs, causing fear to tighten her own chest. Waves of gratitude over the old-fashioned doctor who would still come to the house to treat him after her father’s refusal to be moved to a hospital. The stuff of her nightmares.

Though the understanding expression in Trinity’s soft gaze said she probably knew already. And her boss wasn’t one to shy away from the hard discussions. “Well, I hate to see you suffering from insomnia. I had the same issue after my mom died. Just couldn’t turn my brain off for anything.”

“That’s definitely an issue,” Madison agreed, fiddling with her pen as she thought back over so many sleepless nights lately. It was one of the few things Madison felt comfortable discussing. She tried distracting Trinity from any deeper issues. “Besides, it’s hard to retrain yourself to sleep well after having to stay alert during the night for so long.”

Only her attempt at distraction just gave her boss more fodder for discussion.

“How many years did you take care of your dad?” Trinity asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

Her gaze swept over the room with familiarity, giving Madison a momentary reprieve. After all, the office had last been Trinity’s. She’d only moved up to take care of Hyatt Heights, the company started by her late husband. He and his parents had established Maison de Jardin in New Orleans when he’d been a young man. But taking over his company meant Trinity didn’t have time to run the charity, too, especially after her late husband’s relatives had gone to court to fight over his estate.

Madison just happened to be in the right place at the right time. She’d known Trinity since she was a teenager, coming over to the shelter to help whenever she could. Unfortunately, her dad’s illness had prevented that at times. But when Trinity had to move on, she’d trusted Madison to step into the role despite her age, knowing her life experience went way beyond her years.

Trinity’s perusal of her old office ended with a look straight at Madison, who squashed the urged to squirm in her seat.

Madison cleared her throat. “Ten. But the sleeping and mobility issues were only a problem for the last five or so.”

“Madison,” Trinity said in a voice so gentle it eased Madison’s instinctive panic. “You realize that it’s perfectly normal to not be okay. Right?”

Madison knew her answers were clipped, but the dread she’d felt for weeks was clawing at the back of her throat with each word.

Multiple sclerosis was a tough disease. One Madison didn’t wish on anyone after dealing with it up close and personal. The thought of what her dad had gone through always made her sad. He’d lost his business when Madison was young, then been diagnosed with MS before losing the love of his life. But they’d had good times together, too, leaning on each other for comfort and joy.

Madison could barely respond above a whisper. “I know.” With a hard mental shove, she locked all those roiling emotions away. The more she talked about them, the more power they had. It was better just to move forward. “It’s really okay,” she said, mentally reminding herself that her restlessness and fear and pain could be normalized. “Last night, I spent the time cleaning and reading some more of my mother’s journals.” After all, what else was there to do at three in the morning?

There was a gentle caution in Trinity’s question. “Are you sure you’re ready to clean out the house, Madison? Your father has only been gone six months.”

As much as she sometimes wished it didn’t, Madison was well aware that life had to go on. “The house has to go on the market soon. With only me to clean it out…” She shrugged, as if this wasn’t a discussion she’d had with herself a million times over.

Shuffling the papers on the desk before her didn’t distract her from the ache of knowing she would have to sell the only home she’d ever had. It was falling down around her, even after years of doing the best she could with it, but every one of her lifetime of memories involved that house somehow. Knowing she would have to part with it was only making her grief grow exponentially.

But who knew how long it would take to clean out the clutter and sort through her parents’ possessions? She discovered new pockets of stuff all the time. Just a couple of months ago she’d found a collection of journals that had belonged to her mother. Reading them had brought her memory back in vivid detail. They brought her a lot of solace as she sorted through more and more stuff.

And she had no idea how she would afford to do any of the repairs the house would need, much less cosmetic work, before she put it on the market. Her job here paid her substantially better than the odd jobs she’d taken to keep her and her dad afloat after her mother’s accidental death, but years of neglect had led to some significant damage in what had once been the most beautiful, stately home in New Orleans’s Garden District.

Deep down, Madison just wished it was all over and done with. That the house was fixed, sold and being renovated by someone who could afford to return it to its former glory. It might hurt to rip the bandage off, but at least it would be gone.

I can only do so much…was the mantra she lived by. All of her life Madison had focused on one task at a time, because she was only one person, usually working without any help. Coming to Maison de Jardin had allowed her to be part of a team. But for much of her life, it had been her…or nobody.

“I’m so sorry, Madison.”

“Don’t be,” she replied with a shaky smile. But at least she still remembered how to form one. “Coming to work here has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you, Trinity.”

“Girl, I couldn’t do it without you. Especially right now. I know the women here are in good hands. But—” She grinned. “Enough of all this emotion… I have an exciting surprise for you.”

“What?” Madison welcomed the change of subject, relief easing her tense muscles.

“Your dress came in!”

For most women, the news would be exciting. For Madison, it brought on another fit of nervousness. Next week they would be attending a society fund-raising event, a first for Madison. She’d never had cause to leave her father’s sickroom for such things, nor the funds. But in her new capacity as director for Maison de Jardin, it would be her job to mix and mingle with New Orleans’s best and brightest. Though their legacy from Trinity’s deceased husband should fund them for a long time to come, it never hurt to have support from others who could afford to help.

Thus, Madison found herself about to be presented to New Orleans high society.

A generation ago, it would have been Madison’s rightful place. Her parents both came from established families that had helped found this incredible city. The last of their respective lines, the love merger should have cemented them as a power couple.

But Madison only knew this from a few stories she’d heard from her mother growing up. Her mother had been very secretive about their marriage and choice to live a more isolated life despite their prominent home in New Orleans’s Garden District. Something had happened around the time of their marriage, but Madison had never been able to figure out quite what the scandal had been.

Which was why she’d been reading her mother’s journals each night after finding them in one of the closed-off rooms on the upper floor of their house. Maybe there she could find some clue to how her parents had met and married. After all, stories like that might replace the sad memories she currently fought off during her sleepless nights.

Trinity took her hand and led her through the halls of Maison de Jardin to the master suite up on the second floor. It was currently empty, having been Trinity’s room before she moved out when she married Michael Hyatt a mere two months ago. Michael’s tragic death and Trinity’s current battle over his estate left her life a little unsettled. Since Madison lived nearby for the time being, she hadn’t claimed the space as hers, wanting Trinity to still feel like she had a home here if she needed it.

Laid across the pale blue bedspread was a beautiful lavender dress. Madison gasped, letting her fingers train over the soft flow of material.

“It’s an unusual color for a redhead,” Trinity said. “I think it’s gonna be a fabulous choice.”

Madison hoped so.

This was how she would be presented to society. Her stomach churned, though her nerves were a welcome distraction from her earlier grief. First impressions were a big deal. While her family name had been well known in NOLA in the past, history had slowly erased it from the current consciousness. The South still prided itself on its history, and the history of its families, but money stood for a lot more. It was the way of the world. Madison knew that and knew she couldn’t change it. With her father’s illness, her family had drained its coffers until all they had was social security and what little she could eke out from various odd jobs. Her father’s health meant she couldn’t go to work full-time.

She had to remember, this was her job now. Making a good impression would allow her to be helpful to the charity—now and in the future. But that didn’t ease her nerves.

Should she back out now? Give in to the fear and tell Trinity she would need someone who could better handle this part of the job?

“Let’s try it on!” Trinity exclaimed, her excitement puncturing Madison’s growing fears.

When she stepped back into the bedroom suite after changing, Madison didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. The bodice was fitted, with only one strap made out of fabric flowers that went over her left shoulder. Multiple layers of chiffon allowed the skirt to swing around her legs to right above her knees.

“A killer set of strappy heels and you’re all set.”

Madison chuckled. “Let’s just hope I don’t break a leg in them.”

“You’ll be fine. It just takes practice.”

Madison brushed her hands down over the gown, learning the shape with her shaking fingers. She didn’t even look like herself. It was hard to take it all in.

“We can do your hair like this,” Trinity said as she lifted Madison’s mass of thick auburn tresses to the top of her head. “With some drop earrings and curls.”

“I feel kind of like Cinderella,” Madison said with an unsteady laugh.

“Well, maybe you will meet a Prince Charming at the ball. It’s really just a good ol’ New Orleans party, but you know good and well there will be dancing. Won’t that be fun?”

The very concept was foreign to a practical girl like Madison, but the transformation hinted at in the mirror egged her on. After all, she’d never been someone who backed away from what needed to be done. Ever. “I could use a little fun.”

Trinity gave her an exaggerated wide-eyed look in the mirror.

“Okay,” Madison conceded, “I need quite a bit of fun.”

“As long as it’s safe.”

And requires nothing that makes me think too hard. In fact, a Prince Charming might be a little too complicated for her right now. Her life had always been and continued to be full of responsibilities and organization and obligations… She needed some space from all of that.

Madison smiled at herself in the mirror.

And who knew? Maybe she could find a Prince for Now to have some fun with. A girl could dream, right?

Two

What the hell was he doing here?

Blake should have been perfectly at home at the party being held at the home of one of Louisiana’s most famous power couples. It was the type of event where people with money gathered to discuss local gossip and politics, and generally impress others with their money and intelligence…or lack thereof. Blake frequented many such parties all across Europe. The only change was the language and food. The people were mostly the same.

While he usually anticipated getting lucky at such parties, he’d never gone to one for the express purpose of initiating a one-night stand.

Yes, casual sex was a part of his lifestyle, but the women he spent time with were always on the same page. He made sure of that up front. The fact that the only plan he could come up with—in terms of feasibility and expediency—was to get into the Landry home by way of a one-night stand brought on a completely foreign feeling of shame.

But for Abigail, he’d do what he had to.

Hell, even reporting Armand for neglect wasn’t an option. His father had more than one city official in his pocket. Besides, could he risk the possibility that Abigail might be forced into foster care before he could get everything worked out? At least at home there was a sympathetic housekeeper to keep an eye on her. Sherry couldn’t be with her all the time, but she was always nearby and looking out for Abigail. At least, that’s what Blake had gathered from their phone conversations. Given the odds of her ending up some place worse than his father’s house, Blake knew his best bet was to get the diamond as soon as absolutely possible.

So, as uncomfortable as the idea made him, his only choice seemed to be seducing Madison Landry to fulfill his father’s demands…unless he wanted to resort to breaking and entering.

It hadn’t taken him long to spot the woman he sought in the crowd, though she appeared much younger than he’d anticipated.

Even in the photographs in the file, she hadn’t looked quite as old as her twenty-six years. Maybe it was her pale complexion or the dusting of freckles across her nose that she hadn’t bothered to hide for tonight’s occasion. But somehow he’d expected the hard life that had been briefly chronicled in the file to show on her face.

She’d also spent most of her time here barely speaking and rarely venturing from the table she was standing near. He’d been anticipating someone eager to display herself on the marriage market, rather than the quiet woman he saw before him. After all, she was young, single and had too hard of a life to be a party girl. She wasn’t dancing, though she moved slightly to the music as if it intrigued her. There was no steady round of interested men introducing themselves. Certainly no flirting.

She appeared to be a species he had no experience with.

He had enough confidence to approach her while she was still surrounded by her friends. But now it looked like he wouldn’t have to. She’d just returned from the restroom to her table alone, looking longingly out on the dance floor. A young woman who needed to have some fun…and Blake was the perfect partner in crime.

Glancing down at the napkin in his hand, he grinned. Now he had an interesting opening to approach her.

Blake crossed over to the table and paused beside Madison’s chair. She glanced up, then did the double take he was used to. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at him, though she quickly tried to mask her reaction. He’d never been uncomfortable knowing he’d dressed to impress—but for some reason he was tonight; it made him feel like a used car salesman.

“Hello,” he said simply.

“Hi there.” Her smile wasn’t quite firm at the edges.

Then she glanced around as if he surely must be looking for someone else. But he wasn’t. Blake knew exactly who he was meeting tonight.

Slowly he slid the napkin in front of her on the table and gave her a moment to get a good look. Her brows went up, then she leaned in for a closer look. Step One accomplished.

He’d made a sketch of her on the white scrap. Her face was in profile, and dead accurate, though the drawing lacked the vibrant color of her auburn hair and the multihued strings of lights decorating the large room.

He pitched his voice slightly louder to be heard over the music. “A woman this beautiful shouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines.”

The muscles in her throat worked as if she had to swallow a couple of times before she answered. “Is that a remark about my physical appearance or your artistic prowess?”

“Both?” he answered, surprised at her response. Most women would have gushed over the gift or been flattered by his remarks. He’d never been questioned over a drawing before.

Despite that, she rubbed her finger over the edges of the sketch. Finally she looked up with a small smile that seemed genuine. “How long did it take you to draw this?”

He shrugged. “About five minutes.”

“At least you aren’t too invested as a stalker,” she said, raising a single brow as if in challenge.

Blake was shocked enough to laugh. Definitely not what he’d expected. Neither was her voice. On the deep side, slightly husky, it evoked images of mystery and sex. The opposite of her young, bright presence.

She ducked her face down for a moment, before glancing up at him through thick lashes. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.”

“Definitely not.” But she could keep talking all she wanted.

“I knew I’d never fit in here.”

On their surface, the words could be taken as if she were teasing, just making polite conversation, but the way she worried her bottom lip with the edge of her teeth told him otherwise. “First time?” he asked.

She nodded, causing the colored lights to reflect off the glorious red of her hair. Blake had the sudden urge to see it down around her shoulders, rather than pulled back from the heart shape of her face. His lips suddenly felt dry. “Me, too,” he murmured.

To his surprise, she leaned a little closer. “So you’re not from around here?”

“Yes—” Suddenly the music cut out, making Blake’s voice sound loud. “Yes, I am from here, but it’s been a while. Care to be new together?”

Again her teeth pressed against the fullness of her lower lip, causing blood to rush into the curve as she released it. “My friends will be back soon.”

Blake ignored the subtle rejection. “Good, then they can watch me not stalk you on the dance floor.”

Suddenly the music started up again, this time with an exuberant trumpet player in the lead.

He moved in closer to make himself heard. Leaning toward her ear, he asked, “Would you like to dance?”

Her breath caught, trapped inside her throat as she swallowed once more. Then her body gave a quick shiver, though it was far from cold in the room. Blake should be grateful for her reaction, this confirmation that she wasn’t immune to him, but instead he felt a strange mixture of grim determination and melting heat low in his belly. Did she feel the same attraction as he found trickling through his unprepared consciousness?

Madison’s gaze swung longingly toward the dance floor. Until now, the lively sound of jazz tunes had filled the air all night but she hadn’t once approached the dance floor.

“Well, I don’t think so.”

To his shock, she pulled back a couple of inches. “What’s the matter? Part of coming to a dance party is to dance.”

“I think people come to parties for a lot of different reasons,” she said, glancing down as she ran her finger over the edge of the drawing once more. “To socialize, to drink, to eat, to be seen…” She paused, and he swore he saw a flush creep over her cheeks, even in the dim light.

A woman who still blushed? Blake couldn’t remember the last time he’d dealt with one of those. Before he could confirm it, she glanced the other way. Maybe to look for her friends? Maybe to hide the evidence?

He wasn’t sure, but part of him, the part that had been watching her tonight, wanted to know for sure. In fact, the more he watched, the more he wanted to know. And that interest made him even more uncomfortable with what he was doing here tonight.

“I’m Blake Boudreaux, by the way,” he said.

To his relief, no recognition showed in her expression.

“I’m Madison.” She seemed to relax a little before she asked, “Did you move away for work?”

Oh, she was gonna make him earn that dance, wasn’t she? “More like life management.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Leaving allowed me to have a life.” He softened his unexpected answer with as charming a grin as he could muster.

Madison cocked her head to the side, awakening an urge to kiss her delicate chin. He straightened just a little. “I’m just visiting long enough to handle a family issue.”

She nodded, the move containing an odd wisdom considering her youth. “Those aren’t easy.”

“Never, but they are the reason we drink and have fun.”

The laugh that came from her surprised him. No giggles for this girl. Instead she gave a full-bodied laugh that made tingles run down his spine. She didn’t try to hide her enjoyment of his little joke or keep her response polite.

“So how about that dance?”

Suddenly a strange look came across her face—a combination of surprise and panic and almost fear. This time her retreat was obvious. Blake sat stunned as she mumbled, “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean…” She waved her hand in front of her as if to erase her response but inadvertently bumped her drink and knocked it over.

“Oh, my. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Blake wasn’t sure why, but he reached out to grasp her hands in his. “It’s okay, Madison.”

She started to smile, but then her face contorted and she jerked her hands away. “Good night,” she said, then turned on her heel and ran into the crowd.

Blake stared for a moment in confusion. They’d seemed to be having a good time. She wasn’t as comfortable with men coming up to her as he’d expected, but she hadn’t shown any signs of hating him during the conversation. What had gone wrong? This was not at all how he’d expected tonight to turn out. But then again, not much about Madison had turned out how he’d expected.

Honestly, this hadn’t happened since he’d passed his eighteenth birthday, and he had no idea how to handle it. Something had spooked her. Should he leave it for tonight and try to find another way in?

Thoughts of Abigail and what might happen to her in the amount of time it might take him to find another opening into Madison’s life had his heart pounding hard in his chest. He clenched his fists. He would not let her down.

Reaching out, he righted the now-empty wine glass. The small amount of liquid that had been inside had already been absorbed by the tablecloth. Next to the stain lay the napkin with Madison’s sketch on it and a small lavender bag.

A bag? As the realization hit that it must be Madison’s, so did a renewed sense of purpose. A one-night stand might not be an option, but at least he could arrange a date? It would afford him a chance to impress her and possibly find another way into her house to do some digging.

Plunging into the crowd, Blake didn’t give himself time to think or plan. Halfway across the room he saw Madison and her friends near the door, speaking to the hosts as if they were about to leave. Adrenaline quickened his step as he realized his window of opportunity was closing.

The opportunity to find the diamond and save his sister. To understand more about the unusual woman with her emerald green eyes. To explore the strange feelings she called up inside of him.

Blake called out her name when she and her friends were just steps from vanishing through the door into the warm Southern night.

“Madison.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she saw him. She turned back to her friends, but Blake wasn’t going to let that stop him. He stepped into the circle without an invitation.

“Madison, I believe this is yours.” He held out the lavender bag.

“Oh, yes.” She frowned as she looked at the offering. “Yes, I’m so sorry—”

“I thought you might need it,” he said, cutting off her words, which seemed to just compound her awkwardness.

“Thank you so much.”

He glanced at the couple standing with them, but the woman simply gave a composed smile. “We’ll meet you at the car, Madison,” she said and they turned to leave.

Madison took the bag from his outstretched hand, then fiddled with the strap for a moment. “I really do appreciate this,” she murmured.

Luckily, they were far enough away from the dance floor that he could hear her. “Look, Madison. I think maybe I came on too strong back there.”

“No. No, it wasn’t you. It’s me. I’m just not used to—” She waved her hand around them. “Please don’t think you did anything wrong.”

He could almost feel her need to leave as the feeling came over her. Something about her body language told him she was ready to run. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Tell you what, how about you make it up to me?”

Her gaze flicked up to his, and he gave her a teasing smile. “Or rather, how can I get a second chance…an opportunity to get to know you when I don’t have to yell to be heard?”

Her muscles relaxed and she smiled, just a little. Why did that smile feel like a big victory?

So let’s try this again… “Where can I pick you up?”

“Why in the world did I agree to this?”

Madison looked around at the array of clothes that she’d brought over to try on for Trinity. Never in her life had she done this. She’d never been the girl to worry over what she wore or what her makeup looked like or how other people perceived her outward physical appearance. Because her life didn’t have anything to do with that.

It was about helping others and doing what needed to be done for her daddy. Not clothes and shoes. Her daddy had never cared about any of those things. And neither had Trinity. It was easier to do their job in jeans or yoga pants.

Even her mother’s journals provided no blueprint for how to date. Madison had found them oddly lacking in information from before her marriage. There were a few comments about a happy childhood but nothing about dating or her engagement.

Right now, it was easier to focus on clothes than to wonder whether she could sit across from a man as suave and charismatic as Blake Boudreaux and be comfortable and happy and…have fun?

The women at Maison de Jardin were grateful for a helping hand and a friend. That was what made Madison feel fulfilled.

Wasn’t it? She had to admit to an unfamiliar restlessness since her daddy had died six months ago. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy helping people. But there was an aching need for something a little more. Something only hinted at on the nights she sang at a local nightclub—a hobby that she could indulge now that her father was gone. The pure enjoyment of losing herself in things that didn’t require her to meet someone else’s needs. That didn’t require her to work, to figure out how to fix things. She’d been doing that stuff all her life.

Maybe it was the extra space in her life now that her last living relative was gone. Maybe it was her age, and the realization that most young women were starting to settle down or already had by now. Maybe it was just a quirk of her overactive imagination. But for once, she simply needed enjoyment without any responsibility attached.

Would she find that with Blake? Everything about that man made her nervous and excited and tingly in ways she’d never felt before. He made her feel emotions that weren’t exactly comfortable enough to be called fun. He made her feel too much. Especially when he moved in close, smelling spicy and exuding heat.

Just thinking about it made her heart thud hard against her ribs.

She hadn’t imagined two people could have that much chemistry outside of a bedroom. He made her think of magic and sin and heat all mixed together in the air. Incredible.

Which only made her more awkward, more anxious than she’d ever felt. Her life was built on a definition of success that had become uniquely hers through the years. Not money or fancy cars or expensive clothes, but days and hours and moments of achievement through sheer determination, hard work and action. Not this uncertainty that made her feel paralyzed.

“What am I doing, Trinity?” she asked, unable to resist nibbling at the inside of her lower lip. “Why did I say yes to this?”

But she knew why. It had been a combination of that tingly excitement and the fact that he’d tracked her down and given her purse back. She’d hastily surrendered her phone number, then rushed out the door with burning cheeks and butterflies in her stomach.

“Everything will be fine,” her friend assured her. “Did he tell you what y’all were gonna do?”

“No,” Madison huffed. “He said he wanted it to be a surprise. All I have is an address and that’s about it.”

“Which I know is driving you crazy. You’re nothing if not prepared.”

Trinity knew her too well. “The mystery should be perfect. It should help me step out of my comfort zone. Instead—” Madison pressed her fist against her stomach.

“I know, love.” Trinity gave her a quick hug. “What’s the address?”

Madison picked up her phone to review Blake’s texts. “Looks like it’s somewhere down near the river.”

“Well, meeting him there is a smart move.” Trinity’s lips twisted in a small grimace, confirming Madison’s belief that she needed to keep her own vehicle nearby. Better to take precautions and be safe than sorry later. “I guess working in this place makes me extra cautious.”

Me, too. Madison had tried to be a modern woman—also something she didn’t have a lot of experience in—assuring Blake she could get herself where they were going. After all, what did she really know about him besides chemistry? Except now the lack of information made her feel even more ill-prepared for the night ahead.

The array of clothes before her included a relatively small number of articles from her own closet and a few she’d just spent a meager part of her salary on at an upscale secondhand store. “So we’ll be near the river, right?” she asked herself more than Trinity. With an impatient sigh, she grabbed a new pair of jean shorts and a casual blouse and forced herself to dress without thinking any more about how she looked.

Trinity offered an understanding smile. “If you need anything, keep your cell phone on you. I’ll come get you if you call. No matter what time.”

“I will,” Madison said as she tried to breathe through her nerves.

“Text me anyway when you get there so I know everything is okay.”

This time Madison smiled. “Yes, Mama.”

But she was very grateful for Trinity’s offer when she arrived at the address and found herself near a marina. She walked along the worn planks of the dock until she found Blake waiting for her halfway down. Next to him in the slip was a very smooth, very elegant boat.

Embarrassed heat washed over her immediately. Only sheer determination kept her feet walking toward him. He was dressed in a designer polo and dress pants, standing next to the nicest boat she’d ever seen—even on television. She tugged down on the hem of her shirt, wishing she’d opted for a summer dress at the very least.

What the heck was she doing here? she asked herself for the bazillionth time that evening.

Blake didn’t seem to notice. “Good evening,” he said smoothly.

Madison drew her gaze away from the craft, realizing her mouth had dropped open…just a little. But all that gleaming chrome sure was pretty…and way above her pay grade.

“I’m glad to see you made it,” Blake said, as if he hadn’t noticed her gawking.

Madison could barely meet his eyes. This wasn’t a situation she knew how to handle or fix or arrange. What should she say? Nice boat? Was it even called that? Or was it a small yacht? Ugh. “I’ll admit, I almost backed out.” Dang it. Why did she say that?

But Blake chuckled. “I guess I understand. After all, I’m practically a stranger. Though why you wouldn’t want to spend the evening with someone as heroic as me…”

“Heroic?”

With a sheepish grin, he offered a hand to steady her as she stepped onto the craft. “I did return a missing purse.”

“That hardly qualifies,” she scoffed.

“A guy can hope, right?”

She raised a brow at his begging puppy dog expression, then forced herself to glance around the boat. “The question is, can you pilot this thing without breaking it?”

“You’d be surprised how smooth she is in the water. A captain’s dream.”

Something about the way he said the words sent a tingle along her spine. The good kind…not the afraid-he’s-a-serial-killer kind. To distract herself, she hurriedly took a picture of the boat’s name on the prow and texted it to Trinity, much to his bemusement. Even though Blake didn’t give her any creepy vibes, she wasn’t taking any chances…and he needed to know that.

“A girl can’t be too careful,” she said with a shrug. “After all, if you are secretly a serial killer and I disappear tonight, at least my friends will know where to start looking.”

His shocked expression made her laugh. Normally, Madison never censored herself when it came to laughter. There’d been too many sad times in her life for her not to cherish every happy moment. But here, on this beautiful boat with a beautiful man, her full-bodied laugh suddenly seemed loud, obnoxious. She quickly smothered it.

“That’s actually pretty smart.”

To her surprise, he didn’t seem offended that she might think he was dangerous. She hoped that proved he could handle the quirks that made Madison who she was. Not that she should care. She should have the attitude that if he didn’t like her, she could easily walk away.

This was about fun. Not relationships or happily-ever-afters.

So why did her hand in his feel much more important than that?

Blake had clearly spared no expense when it came to tonight. The boat itself was brand-new, with a lot of bells and whistles from what she could tell. It had a large deck, covered access below and several leather-upholstered chairs in the upstairs driving area. It was the on-water equivalent of a luxury car.

Blake cast off, then joined her in the chairs up front. Now it was just the two of them. Maybe she should be happy that there wasn’t a captain to navigate and watch their every move all night. She wasn’t actually sure if that would have made her happy or not.

Only twenty minutes into this date and settling down seemed impossible. Blake guided the boat smoothly out of the slip and down the channel to where the shore spread out before them. The boat practically glided on the glassy surface.

At this time of year, the breeze at night was cool and comforting, a relief from the midday heat. A recent rain had lowered the humidity, though Madison knew from experience that in a couple weeks it would be uncomfortable no matter what time of day without a breeze and a cold drink.

That was life in the South.

Blake picked up speed as they gained open water, which was when the first bit of uneasiness hit Madison’s stomach. Her focus turned inward as she tried to figure out the source. Maybe her nerves? After all, she had experienced plenty of anxiety over the past few days. No, this was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The queasiness rose with each passing minute, forcing Madison to swallow once or twice. She tried to concentrate on the feel of the wind on her skin, praying that the feeling would pass. Of all the things she’d anticipated tonight, feeling sick was not one.

Blake slowed, then stopped the boat out in the middle of the glassy gray water. The wake rocked the boat, sparking a quick surge of nausea. Madison breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly. Maybe she’d be better now that the boat had stopped.

Blake smiled over at her. “Good?”

She nodded with what was hopefully a steady smile. The last thing she wanted was a double helping of embarrassment tonight.

“I’ll set up dinner then.”

Madison didn’t move as Blake made his way to the back. At the press of a button, a portion of the deck floor retracted and a table rose out of the depths. Well. She guessed they wouldn’t be eating off paper plates from their laps, would they?

She didn’t have a lot of experience eating outdoors with formal silverware. More like fast-food wrappers and brown paper napkins.

Madison turned back toward the front of the boat, pretending to be absorbed in the view of the water. But her stomach continued to churn. What should she do?

Ask to go back? The thought of that trip had bile backing up into her throat. She definitely couldn’t eat right now. So she simply breathed and prayed whatever this was would go away.

To her relief, the unease in her stomach subsided. She gave herself another minute, then two, but the ticking clock in her head told her he would start to wonder what was going on if she kept delaying. Finally Madison stood to make her way to the back of the boat. The world seemed to tilt as she walked, even though she could swear the boat wasn’t rocking. What was wrong with her?

“I’m about ready,” Blake said as she approached. Then he looked up from his task. “Are you okay?”

She tried to smile. She really did. Then she glanced down at the table and saw an open container of what appeared to be chicken or crab salad. Two seconds later, she was hanging over the edge of the boat to empty her stomach.