Kitabı oku: «Wickedly Hot», sayfa 3

She was once again forcibly reminded of the reason for tonight’s interaction. Revenge.

The crazy, sexy spell she’d been under dissipated. She finally managed to dig deep and reinforce her wavering determination by picturing Jenny in this man’s arms. That mental picture hurt. Badly. Maybe not for the right reasons, but it worked anyway. She didn’t pause to evaluate those reasons, sensing they could be based more on jealousy than family loyalty.

Family loyalty. It was all that really mattered when one grew up as she had. The name Dupré was associated with both power and loss, sadness and ancient scandal. The family had become adept at dealing with whispers and innuendo, envy and tragedy, until the Duprés had become almost a world unto themselves. That world was a safe haven where loyalty and love were valued above all. It was especially comforting to Jade that she was related to so many people here in Savannah.

One thing was sure, the Dupré women had withstood worse than playboys like Ryan Stoddard.

Back in control at last, Jade widened her lips into the smile perfected by generations of Southern women. Warm but not effusive. Friendly but not precisely welcoming. With a bit of Dupré woman thrown in—purely seductive.

“Well, welcome to Savannah, Ryan. I’ll try my best to make your stay as…memorable as possible.”

3

FOR THE NEXT HOUR, Jade concentrated on the plan. She put herself as a barrier between Ryan and any of the other women at the party who’d been giving him the eye. Tally, for some reason, seemed to want to help. She ran interference once or twice, including saying something to Mamie Brandywine that made the woman’s face turn as red as her long, fake fingernails.

While standing in a shadowy corner, nibbling on canapés and sipping her drink, she leaned forward and touched him as often as she could. Laughed at the appropriate moments. Batted her eyelashes like a stupid twit and all in all did whatever one did to try to attract a man. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to.

She didn’t want to consider whether or not she’d have been trying to attract Ryan Stoddard if she didn’t have to bring him down. Because the answer would probably be yes.

“So how do you like our town?” She pursed her lips a bit, inviting him to stare and remember their kiss. “And its people?”

He tilted his head and arched his brow, staring at her mouth for a long moment—as he was meant to. Finally, he shook his head and tightened his jaw before coming up with a reply. “How do you know I’m not from here?”

“I know,” she replied, certain she’d affected him. Men—they were all so utterly predictable. She gave him a warm laugh, inviting him to join in a gentle jibe at her hometown. “This is a small town for a modern city.”

She didn’t bother going into detail about how long her family had lived here, how many local families had ties to hers, and how her great-aunt was the local voodoo priestess who could name nearly every pureblooded Savannah resident.

“It’s interesting,” he said. “Different from New York.”

“Are you from there?” she asked, wanting to know more of his background, in case she needed to use it against him. She knew he’d met Jenny in New York City, but wasn’t entirely sure that was where he lived.

“Yep. Born and raised. Now I live in Manhattan.”

Manhattan. So he probably had money. He carried himself like a man completely comfortable with his finances.

She’d been to New York last month on one of her treasure-hunting trips, when she’d recovered an Impressionist painting from a very nice elderly couple who lived upstate. The painting had already been returned to the original plantation from which it had been stolen during the Civil War. The place now operated as a tourist destination outside the city and they were utterly thrilled to have the portrait back where it belonged.

For a second, she wondered if perhaps she’d spotted Ryan during her trip, and if that was why he’d seemed familiar to her when she’d first seen him tonight. Maybe her subconscious remembered him.

The picture, stupid.

Yeah, the picture of him with Jenny. No, it hadn’t been a great one, and she’d only seen it briefly. But it’d obviously made an impression. As did the man.

“Let me know when you decide you want that glass of wine, okay?” he said, eyeing her empty soda cup.

She knew what he meant. It had already been more than half an hour. No wonder he was getting confident. There’d been no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He thought he had her. Hell, maybe he did. At least for an hour or so.

Until she could get him naked.

“All right,” she replied. “But for now, maybe we should just dance again.”

“Suits me fine.”

Suited her fine, too. Especially because, when they returned to the dance floor, he moved his cheek close to her hair and inhaled. She knew his head was filled with the special orange-blossom-and-almond conditioner Aunt Lula Mae made for her. His murmur of appreciation told her he liked it. He liked all of it.

Good. The man was making it incredibly easy. He’d sought her out—she hadn’t even had to make a move on him. When he looked back on things later, he’d have to remember that much, at least.

“You truly seem to fit in here,” he murmured as the music continued and they moved as carefully as possible amid the crush of people.

“You don’t.”

He chuckled. “Why not?”

“Blue suit. Genuine smile. Interested look.”

“That makes me stand out?”

“Like a June bug in a bowl of rice.”

He laughed again, looking down at her, eyes sparkling with interest. Dark green. Long lashed. Crinkled at the corners, probably from casting his wicked smile at any woman old enough to be affected by it.

He’s a heart-breaking reprobate! She struggled to remember that as he continued to smile down at her.

“I like Southerners.”

“We don’t particularly care for you-all.”

That made him laugh out loud.

She nibbled her lip, forcing her eyes to focus somewhere over his right shoulder so she wouldn’t get caught up again in his good humor, wouldn’t lose herself in his twinkling eyes and irresistible grin. Maybe dancing hadn’t been such a good idea. Hard to remember silly things like family honor and vengeance when being held closely by a man as fine as this one.

“Honesty. I like that in a woman.”

Well, darlin’, you’re not gonna like me very much, then.

“So tell me, how can I make myself fit in?”

“Got a few million dollars lying around?”

He shook his head.

“Genteel impoverished, but able to trace your lineage back to before the war?”

“Which war?”

She raised a brow and gave him a wounded look. “Whichever do you think?”

Their eyes met and she saw the laughter in his. He’d been teasing her, just as she’d been teasing him.

“I’m afraid I’m an Irish-English-German mutt,” he replied with a mournful-sounding sigh. “Can’t trace my roots further back than Ellis Island, for the most part.”

“But I bet you have good taste in beer. Irish, English, German?”

He nodded, still looking amused.

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t get you in with this crowd.”

“How about with you?”

“Are you offering to buy me a beer?” she asked, leaping on the opening he’d provided. The time had come to get him alone. Now—before her defenses dropped even further and she forgot she wasn’t allowed to like this man. “I doubt they serve it here.”

“I have some in the fridge up in my room.”

Ooh, cutting right to the chase. Trying to get her up to his room. How incredibly easy he was making this. And his smooth way of trying to get her alone reinforced her certainty that he was the creep her sister made him out to be, even though he’d been nothing but charming and friendly—if a bit flirtatious—all evening.

“I could meet you on the back patio for a cold one.”

Okay, so he wasn’t trying to get her to his room. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

She’d thought through several scenarios. The original one had involved his hotel room, a bedpost, her long red scarf and a wide-open door. Because he’d moved to the Medford House, she’d have to modify things a bit.

But the scarf was still included.

“How do you know I’m the beer-drinking type?” she asked as he waited for her answer.

His expression screamed confidence, as if he knew all there was to know about her after an hour of conversation.

“Let me tell you what I’ve figured out about you.”

She smirked, daring him to be accurate.

“You’ve been nursing ginger ale all evening. Before I rescued you, you’d done nothing but look at the paintings, the furniture and that old necklace. You didn’t return one glance at one of the rich guys who’d probably love to invite you to bathe in champagne back at their pampered palaces.”

“Champagne bath? Sounds ticklish,” she retorted, though the mental image created a surge of warmth low in her body.

He ignored her. “Your foot was tapping with suppressed energy and your fingers clenched and released about thirty times a minute.”

“You were watching me that long, hmm?”

He didn’t try to deny it. “You had my complete attention the moment I became aware of your existence.”

There was a note of intensity, almost a growl in his voice, which surprised her. Again she wondered, briefly, if she’d ever met him before, perhaps on one of her trips to track down and retrieve artifacts stolen from local families during the war.

But she knew she hadn’t. This was one man she would never have been able to forget.

“Your face, your mouth, your eyes, your body, they were all saying one thing,” he continued, uncaring of the open ears surrounding them on the dance floor.

Take me?

“Bored.”

That, too.

“Bored enough to want to do something different.” His voice lowered, and there was an unmistakably suggestive tone in it. “Maybe something crazy. Which is why I decided to shock you out of your boredom during our initial conversation.”

Oh, yeah, their initial conversation. The one that had included mention of her nipples and breasts, both of which were still aching as their bodies brushed against each other.

“I’m still not sure I’ve forgiven you.”

“I don’t think I asked for forgiveness.”

Again that confidence. That suggestive—not salacious—tone. He was a self-assured man who’d noted their instant attraction and was acting on it without games, without the typical steps of flirtation. She liked that about him. Damn, she liked him more and more the longer she remained in his arms.

“Are you sure you’re not a P.I. or something? You’re pretty good at watching people,” she said.

Her tone was teasing, though she was a teensy bit worried. If she didn’t know for certain he was an architect, she might have thought the P.I. thing was nearer to the truth. The man was incredibly observant!

“You’re very interesting to watch,” he said, his voice low and only for her ears. “Fascinating.” Then he lightened up. “Besides, it beats watching the white-haired guy with the ruffled shirt trying to look down the blouse of every cocktail server here.”

She followed his glance. “Mr. Sherman. Disgusting, but harmless, especially since his wife tried to castrate him back in the seventies.”

He stopped dancing, nearly stumbling on his own feet. His eyes were wide and she merely shrugged. The story was an old one.

“You’re serious?”

“Why do you think none of the servers have slapped his face? Everyone feels sorry for the limp old thing.”

He shook his head, drawing her close again to continue the dance. “What about the couple over by the buffet table? He looks thirty years too young to be her husband. I thought she was his mother until I saw them kiss on the dance floor.”

Jade glanced over, unable to hide a frown of disgust when she saw the couple. “The latest divorced matron with her rebound boy toy.”

“That kind of thing happens in the rich crowd even in the South?” He sounded truly surprised.

“Obviously you haven’t seen or read The Book.”

“The Book?”

“The tell-all novel that changed the image of Savannah in print and on film.”

He nodded. “Ahh. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.”

“Here, we just call it The Book.”

“Okay. And actually, I have seen the movie. I assumed it was fiction.”

“Some was. But not the eccentricities of the city’s residents.”

He shrugged, looking neither surprised nor disappointed. “It fits. Eccentricities, beautiful homes, fine things.” He stared into her face, studying her eyes, her hair, her cheekbones. Jade resisted the urge to lick her lips, wondering if they were still as glossy red as they’d been when she’d touched up her lipstick earlier.

“I like looking at fine things,” he murmured.

She sucked in a breath. The way he said the word fine made her shiver deep inside, as if he’d examined her, studied her, and declared her as lovely and desirable as a perfect piece of art.

God, what deceptive things come in pretty packages. Because she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t being honest. She wasn’t anything he thought her to be.

For a brief moment, she wished they’d met under different circumstances. If Jenny had never mentioned Ryan Stoddard. If she’d never seen the man’s picture—which had enraged Jade even more, considering how irresistible he’d be to a vulnerable twenty-one-year-old. If only…

If only there’d been a big mistake and he wasn’t the man she’d sworn revenge on.

But he was. And it was time to get on with it.

“Okay, Ryan. I’ll have that beer with you.”

RYAN LEFT THE BALLROOM of the old mansion, telling Jade he’d meet her outside in fifteen minutes. She gave him a measured look, then nodded her agreement and stepped out of his arms. He’d had to stand there on the dance floor for a moment, to calm his pulse, to evaluate what he was doing, to make sure he wasn’t about to make a mistake.

There was something so intriguing about the woman. Her strength, her charm. The way she stood her ground when surrounded by catty women whose dislike probably stemmed from jealousy more than anything else.

She seemed above it, somehow, not rising to it except for that one moment with Mamie. But even then, she’d regained her cool head pretty quickly.

He didn’t know why, but he had a strong sense of misgiving about how the evening was progressing. He was supposed to be the hunter. So why was he suddenly feeling hunted?

“You’re imagining things,” he told himself. Things were going perfectly. It was only his overactive imagination—and overheated sex drive—that needed to be brought under control.

Unfortunately, someone else overheard. “Imagining things? No, you’re not.”

Ryan looked up and saw the woman in the hoop-skirted ball gown who’d been talking to Jade earlier. She should have looked ridiculous, but somehow, her innate grace made the silly dress work. At least in this setting.

“Tally Jackson,” the woman said, extending her hand for a limp, ladylike handshake.

Ryan took it and introduced himself.

“Now, were you thinking you were imagining ghosts?”

Ryan raised a brow.

“You mentioned something about imagining it?”

“No, sorry, I was mumbling to myself.”

She tsked. “Best be careful of that. Here in Savannah, you never know when one of your little quirks might end up in the pages of a book.”

He grinned, having been forewarned by Jade about what book she probably meant.

“I just assumed you saw the ghost,” the woman said.

“Ghost?”

“Well, Savannah is the most haunted city in the U.S. Oh, this house isn’t spectacularly haunted, mind you. Not like the Lowe or the Winston house. But there have been a few occasions when guests swore they heard the sound of a man crying.”

“A man?” He raised a disbelieving brow. Ryan didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm from his voice, being well used to ghost stories about old buildings like these. “Are you sure you don’t mean a poor spurned mistress or a child lost at a tragically young age?”

Tally didn’t take offense. “No, no, definitely a man. Some say it was the millionaire who owned the house back at the turn of the century, crying over the woman he loved, who married another.” Then she pointed to the curved staircase leading to the upper floors and bedrooms. “He hanged himself from that very banister on Christmas Eve, 1904.”

Ryan looked up, wondering if he was supposed to shiver or shudder or feel someone walking over his grave.

None of the above. It was only a staircase. Stairs. Banister. A normal, sweeping, curved staircase built so often in neoclassical mansions like these. The story was probably one of the dozens made up by con artists like Jade Maguire who made their living scaring the tourists, just like Mamie had said.

“Guess Christmas wasn’t very merry that year,” he replied with a rueful smile.

“You don’t believe me?” Tally said.

“I’m certainly not calling you a liar,” he said, trying to end the conversation gracefully.”

Tally obviously heard the placating note in his voice and knew he was humoring her. “You don’t believe in ghosts? Or is it that you don’t believe a Southern woman could capture a man’s heart so completely, he can never love another?” Her stare was so intense, so piercing, that he knew the question wasn’t merely a casual one. Their eyes held for a long moment, hers asking questions. Before she could voice them, he beat her to the punch.

“Tell me about Jade Maguire,” he countered, knowing that’s who the woman meant.

“Touché,” she said with a light laugh. “You’ve caught me. I saw you kiss her and nearly tripped over my hoops.”

Considering the width of her hoops, that would have presented an interesting sight. “It was impulse. Trying to prevent her from going back to claw Mamie Brandywine.”

Tally nodded, showing her disbelief. “Oh, I’m sure it was entirely selfless.”

He couldn’t deny it. “I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it….”

She laughed aloud. “Good. I’m sure she did, too.”

“You’re friendly with Jade?”

She nodded. “Her mother is my second cousin. We’ve been best friends since childhood. I love Jade like a daughter.”

Ryan heard a hint of warning in her voice.

“She seems…fascinating,” he said. “Someone I’d like to get to know better.”

Tally studied his face, as if gauging the truth of his words. Then she nodded. “Yes, I think you would. But remember, dear boy, you’d better treat her well. The Dupré women…well, let’s say we know how to exact revenge if one of us is done wrong.”

“Should I be afraid for my life?”

Or just my valuables?

Tally stepped closer and tapped his chest with the end of her fan, the strap of which she had looped around her wrist. “Not if you don’t deserve it.” Then she smoothed his jacket, tsking as she stared hard at the color. He guessed Jade had been right about the navy blue thing.

“My goddaughter can handle herself. But I shouldn’t like to see her hurt, or give her any more reason to stay away from my parties. It’s difficult enough to get her to come to events like these.”

“Why?”

“Jade loathes these types of things. Her mother’s cup of tea, not Jade’s. And Patty Jean is a social butterfly. She also thrives on evenings like these as retribution for her side of the family being excluded from society in the old days.”

This was getting interesting. “Excluded?”

Tally nodded, obviously as big a gossip as the owner of this inn. But this gossip might help him get inside the head of the woman he was chasing. Learn what made her tick and what buttons he could push, if it came right down to it.

He’d prefer to bring her down legally, but if he had to resort to blackmail, he’d do it.

“Patty Jean’s from the Henri Dupré side of the family.” She said it like that was supposed to mean something to him.

“Never heard of him.”

Tally shrugged. “You wouldn’t have, being a northerner. But that side of the family tree includes lots of scandalous branches.”

Hmm. Maybe the family tree grew beautiful thieves. That would certainly explain Jade.

“So,” Tally continued, “you’d best be careful with Jade. One of the most famous local Duprés is Lula Mae.” The woman turned back toward the ballroom, smiling at someone inside.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Ryan asked, suddenly feeling Tally wasn’t a gossip at all. He sensed she’d been in control of this conversation from the very beginning and had given out only a teeny bit of actual information. Because, now that he thought about it, he realized she hadn’t revealed much at all. And then, only what she’d wanted to, not what he’d asked for.

“Oh,” Tally said, smiling at him over her shoulder. “Not really. Just wanted to warn you not to get on the wrong foot with Jade. Her great-aunt Lula Mae is a voodoo priestess.”

She disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Ryan alone in the foyer. “Voodoo priestess, my ass,” he mumbled, wondering why these Southerners loved their supernatural nonsense so much. And why Tally Jackson had felt it necessary to warn him about Jade.

Was her warning meant to keep him away from the mysterious brunette? Or to fascinate him even more? Because he had to admit, he was already pretty fascinated. He’d expected someone cold and calculating and instead had found a hot, sultry woman who turned him on right down to his bones.

Even more surprising, he actually liked her. Her wit, her confidence, her comebacks.

Her smile.

“Moron,” he muttered aloud, knowing he’d let his defenses down way too quickly.

He needed to put them back up, and pronto. Because he wasn’t backing away from Jade one inch. He had a score to settle, a debt he’d soon be calling in. He trusted her about as much as that little black dress covered her sweet figure, and that wasn’t much.

As he went up to his room, he heard the trill of his cell phone in his suit pocket. Too late for a business call, and he’d told his friends he’d be unreachable for a week or two. So it had to be family. Probably not his parents, who were at their mountain place for the summer. And almost certainly not his sister, at home with twin four-month-olds.

That left grandmother.

“Hello?”

“Ryan. How are you? Where are you? What’s happening?”

Yep. “I’m fine, Grandmother. Everything’s fine.”

“Have you found her?”

The anxious tone in the old woman’s voice reinforced what his mind had been trying to forget during the hours he’d spent being charmed—and attracted—by Jade.

She’d hurt his family.

“I’ve found her.”

The woman waited expectantly, then finally asked, “And?”

“And, I’m on her trail. Here in Savannah.”

“Savannah! Oh, goodness, you found her right there in Savannah?”

“It wasn’t hard. If you’d only remembered her first name originally, I wouldn’t have been distracted by the wrong woman in New York.”

His grandmother sniffed. She had been annoyed that he’d wasted time on the wrong Maguire woman, even though she’d been the one who’d given him only the minor lead of an initial for a first name. “The silly little waitress. Yes, yes. But now you’ve found her, the real McCoy.”

“Maguire.”

“Of course. What do you think of her?”

He heard a note of expectation in the old woman’s voice and wondered if she didn’t think him capable of handling someone as devious as Jade. “She’s nothing to be afraid of, Grandmother, just a woman with secrets. I’ll figure out where she stashed the LeBeuf. But you’re sure you don’t want to bring the police in on this, now that we know who she is?”

“Absolutely not!” Her voice sounded almost panicked. God love the old thing, so embarrassed at having been tricked.

“All right. I’ll handle Jade Maguire.”

Definitely handle her.

“She is beautiful, don’t you think?” Grandmother said, her tone now more calm.

“Beautiful, yes. But only skin deep.”

“And charming.”

“Very charming. She’d have to be to swindle you out of your favorite painting.”

“Well,” Grandmother said, her voice wavering for the first time, “perhaps I was partially at fault…”

“Nonsense. You were robbed. Victims always wonder if they’re to blame, but you’re not. Jade Maguire is.”

Though his grandmother sounded as if she wanted to protest, he didn’t give her the opportunity. “It’s late. Now go to bed, and let me worry about handling our thief.”

“You’re sure you can handle her? She is quite a handful, isn’t she?”

Quite a handful indeed.

“I can handle her grandmother.”

“And you won’t tip her off! You won’t let her know why you’re after her. You’ll be discreet. You’ll just get close to her, spend time with her, stick to her like glue until you can…figure things out.”

He smiled, hearing the worrying tone in the wavering voice. “Discreet as can be. I’ll get as close to her as possible, then get the information without ever letting her know I’m on to her.”

His grandmother’s pleased laugh told him he’d provided the correct answer. “Good. And don’t let her get away from you. She’s slippery. You’re going to need to stay close to that woman, day and night.”

Day and night. If only his sweet old grandmother knew how very much he longed to stick with Jade day…and especially night. “I’ve got it under control. Now, good night.”

His grandmother gave in with a reluctant sigh. “Good night. Keep your guard up. She’s sinful. A man could get lost with a woman like that.”

Yes, definitely lost, he thought as he disconnected the call and headed upstairs to his room. A woman like Jade could make any man lose his mind, give in to his senses. She silently cried out to a very basic, primal need he’d long since thought he’d suppressed—desire. Flat-out, unrelenting want. The kind of hunger that made his mouth go dry and his hands shake.

Damn, what a vulnerable position to be in with a woman so skilled at deception. She was brilliantly skilled at it. As deceptive and seductive as a modern-day Delilah, and just as deadly. Just as dangerous. And his grandmother wanted him to stay close to such a creature.

If only she knew what she was asking of him. She wanted him to reach out to a hot flame, risk life and limb with someone who could burn him badly. Someone as adept at lying as she was at seducing, as good at stealing as she was at flirting.

This entire situation required acting without thinking, going on impulse and giving in to emotions he’d gotten used to controlling. That attitude had seen him through all his previous romantic entanglements, including his botched engagement. Not to mention his career, where he’d gained a reputation for a cool head, a steady hand, and a brilliant eye.

So why, suddenly, did he feel blazing hot, wildly off balance and blind when it came to the dangers he was about to face with Jade Maguire?

He didn’t know. Almost didn’t recognize the feelings in himself. Another thing to blame the woman for. She had him questioning himself in their short acquaintance and he damn sure didn’t like it. He hadn’t been unsure of himself in a long, long time.

And tonight certainly wasn’t the time to start, no matter how the sexy brunette made him feel.

“Enough,” he told his reflection in the mirror when he reached his room.

He quickly stripped off his jacket and tie for their meeting in the garden, then, remembering Jade’s sticky fingers, he removed one more item from his back pocket.

His wallet.