Obsession (4 page)

She stopped not because she’d run out of words. But rather because she’d looked at Drew and seen in his eyes the sudden urge to kiss her.

And before he knew it, he was doing just that.

He wasn’t sure what had inspired the move. It could have been the way she spoke with such love and longing, her pink, bowed lips moving, her eyes as warm as melted brown sugar. Whatever the reason, his kiss had little to do with his ulterior
motives and everything to do with the woman who blinked at him in surprise and wonder.

Then she easily returned his kiss.

J
OSIE’S BREATH LEFT HER
at the first touch of Drew’s mouth against hers. One moment she’d been walking, talking about…she couldn’t remember. The next, he was gently turning her toward him, brushing his fingertips against her jaw, and kissing her as if he hadn’t been able to help himself.

And the surprise she read in his eyes surely had to be reflected in her own.

When Drew Morrison had walked through the doors of the Josephine yesterday, the last thing on her agenda had been personal involvement of any sort. She’d traveled down that road before and knew the dead end she would eventually crash into.

But what she hadn’t factored into the equation was that she’d gone into her previous luckless relationships without using her head. Each interlude had offered an opportunity just to feel.

And feeling was exactly what she was doing
now, as she stood in the middle of the street kissing an almost perfect stranger.

And enjoying it more than was safe.

Drew’s tongue slid along her bottom lip, then dipped inside her mouth. He tasted like coffee and powdered sugar from the beignets they’d gotten at Café Du Monde. He tasted like one hundred percent man. Like desire and want and need all rolled up into one nicely wrapped package.

And Josie wanted more than anything to open it.

She splayed her fingers against the hard wall of his chest and broke the kiss.

“That was…” She drew a ragged breath, her eyes turned downward. “Unexpected.”

Drew chuckled, the sound rumbling against her palm. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Josie stared at her short, unpainted nails against his expensive Egyptian broadcloth shirt. She was dark to his light. Poor to his wealth. Yet on a primal level they emerged equals.

She knew instinctively this man could make her body feel things as it never had before. But it was time to bring her head into the equation for a change.

“Look, Drew,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I don’t want either one of us to go into this with our eyes closed.”

“Into what?”

She smiled softly. “I’m not naive. Most of the men who come down here are looking for a brief, no-strings-attached affair with a native.”

“Josie—”

“No, don’t interrupt.” She twisted her lips. “I’m not passing judgment on you, merely stating fact. And the fact is there is no hope for a future beyond this moment. I understand that.”

He ran the back of his index finger across her brow. “Josie, we just kissed.”

“No lies, Drew,” she said quietly. “That’s all that I ask. No lies. What develops—if anything develops between us—is temporary. I don’t want either one of us to pretend otherwise. That’s all. That’s my only request.”

He stared at her for long moments then nodded. “Okay.”

A simple word, really. But one that immediately smoothed the tension from her shoulders. Wiped the memories of the other times when men she’d been involved with had sworn never to lie to her then proceeded to do exactly that.

She kissed him again, long and hard. “I, um, think we’d better get back to the hotel.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

She laughed softly. “I need to relieve Philippe so he can do his job instead of mine.”

She began walking. She felt Drew’s hand on her elbow then shivered as he moved it down to grip her fingers in his.

“Would I be moving too fast if I asked for the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?”

Pleasure. Yes, it would definitely be a pleasure to dine with Drew.

“No. You wouldn’t be moving fast enough. How about a late lunch? Say at around three?”

D
REW FELT AS IF HE’D NEVER
be able to get rid of the light sheen of sweat that covered his skin. Of course, he acknowledged that the thick heat wasn’t entirely to blame, even though it definitely was getting to him, since he’d been careful to bring only the clothing a businessman attending a professional convention would need. Suits to reflect a first timer’s unfamiliarity with the Crescent City.

But the clothes and weather weren’t the only reason for his discomfort. Rather his anticipation of promised time alone with Josie Villefranche had him in a constant heated state.

It had been some time since he’d been with a woman, and he was afraid his body was showing him exactly how long. After his ex had pulled the stunt she had on him, he’d been subconsciously leery of becoming involved with anyone, even
physically. The laser-like focus he’d put on rebuilding his career also explained the ease with which he’d steered clear of women.

But Josie…

While he tried telling himself his interest in her was merely professional and physical, there existed in the pit of his stomach the sensation that there was something more to his attraction to the mysterious hotel owner. He’d listened as she’d shared her story about her mother and grandmother, told of her attachment to the hotel, and he’d felt admiration for her fighting spirit and loyalty to the establishment.

And guilt that it was his job to take it away from her any way he could.

He stood outside a small shop nearer the more touristy area of Bourbon Street, not really seeing the T-shirts or the colorful beads. If he knew what was good for him, he would forgo his three o’clock date to meet Josie back at the hotel. Offer up a story about a superior requesting his presence at the convention. He’d told her he’d hoped she didn’t think he was going too fast. In reality, he was beginning to think he was. A concept that had never occurred to him before. He’d always been painfully careful about personal attachments, including with his ex-wife. But no matter how
cautious he’d been, he’d still gotten burned by a woman who’d turned out to be far too similar to his mother.

And while Josie couldn’t have been further away from Carol in looks, temperament and background, and she was obviously fiercely independent, she was in financial trouble. And he’d learned long ago that money, or rather the lack of it, made people do unexpected and hurtful things. It was that very fact that he exploited in his job every day.

Then why was his gut twisting into knots at the prospect of enjoying Josie’s company at the same time he talked her into selling the hotel?

Conscience.

He’d once been accused of not having one. It had been early on in his career and he’d befriended an older man, Bernard Glass, who had built up his shoe factory over a period of fifty years into a moderately viable business he’d hoped to leave to his grandson, who would be graduating college in a year. Then one very successful television show had written the lead character as a Glass shoe fanatic and overnight the old man’s orders had quadrupled.

And his factory had become prime pickings for an Italian clothes designer who had had his eye on
adding a shoe company to his impressive list of businesses.

“Can I help you find something, sir?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Drew stared at the young saleswoman.

He found himself fingering a necklace of tiny shells like the ones Josie wore around her slender ankle. He removed his hand. “No. No, thank you.”

He strolled down the street in the opposite direction of the hotel, not due to meet Josie there for another fifteen minutes, his mind still on Glass and his company.

Back then, Drew had still been testing the boundaries of how far he would go to close a deal. He’d had the grandson investigated and discovered David had more than a taste for gambling. Worse, he was in trouble way up to his neck, owing a loan shark near Boston University, which he attended, far more than he could ever hope to repay on his own.

Drew had shamelessly used the information, and played up the grandson’s lack of direction in life beyond finishing university, to convince the old man he needed to sell his company rather than leave it to the grandson.

A month later Drew had received a visit from the old man, who had finally figured everything out.

“You have no conscience, Drew Morrison. And one day you’ll be paid back several times over for all the wrong that you do.”

He’d tried to deny his part in the scheme. Strangely, he’d grown attached to the old man, who had built his company with his own two hands. But Bernie wouldn’t hear him. He’d merely said his piece and left Drew with a new awareness of boundaries he hadn’t recognized before.

From there on in he’d left families out of the business equation, no matter how easy the target. He’d relied solely on his own skills to accomplish the task he was being paid for—most times very well.

Then there was Josie…

Certainly, he’d come across his share of marks attached in some strong way to their companies or interests. But usually they were neglecting another part of their lives that was easily amplified. Children who wanted more of their attention. A hobby that could be turned into a career. Sometimes he even allowed himself to believe he was doing the marks a favor by helping them improve their lives, although that feeling never lasted more than a couple of seconds if only because he knew his clients were the ones benefiting monetarily. After all, a mark wouldn’t be a
mark if that person didn’t have something the client wanted.

In Josie Villefranche’s case, he’d never expected he’d be the one doing the wanting and that what he wanted had absolutely nothing in common with what his client wanted.

J
OSIE SWIPED THE BACK
of her wrist across her forehead as she stirred the boil pot on the old, industrial stove in the kitchen of the Josephine. She’d coerced Philippe into looking after the front desk again, telling him she wanted to take care of dinner tonight. He hadn’t said anything. After all, they often traded spots if just to keep things interesting, or if she felt the itch to keep her cooking skills fresh.

But she had received a raised brow when she’d instructed him to send Drew back to the kitchen when he arrived.

That was
if
he did arrive. She looked at her watch. It was ten past three. Considering their kiss on the street that morning, she’d half expected him to stick around the hotel until the time she’d set for their late lunch.

Instead, he’d left and had yet to return.

Second thoughts, maybe?

She shut off the fire under the pot then moved it from the burner, continuing to stir.

Since their spontaneous connection, she’d been running their kiss and their conversation through her mind, over and over again. She’d made the request of their temporary liaison for her own emotional safety. But by doing so had she taken the thrill out of it for Drew? Having a woman fall head over heels for you then leaving her when it was time to go might be part of the fantasy. By stating up front that she had no intention of falling for him, had she ended their liaison before it had a chance to get interesting?

Josie realized she’d stopped stirring and continued, doubling her efforts. Even if Drew wasn’t around for the meal, she and Philippe would enjoy eating something other than the staple gumbo they kept on hand for potential guests.

The old black cat that called the hotel home jumped up onto the counter next to the burner.

“Jezebel, what are you doing in here?” She plucked up the curious feline before she could do any damage and carried her to the back door, where she put her outside. Careful to prevent the cat from getting back in, she filled the bowl next to the door with dry food. For some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, being there made her uneasy.

The inner hotel telephone extension on the wall rang, startling her.

She backtracked to the stove, wiped her hands on her apron and answered it.

“He’s on his way to the kitchen.”

Josie’s heart nearly beat straight out of her chest.

She thanked Philippe, then hurried back to the pot, trying to regain control over herself.

It was just a meal, for crying out loud. No reason to be so nervous.

She supposed it might be because she had half expected him not to show and had gotten used to the idea. That must be the reason for the butterflies in her stomach. But when she turned her head at the sound of the door swinging open and saw Drew, she knew she was dead wrong.

It was the fact that her attraction for him seemed to have doubled since earlier that had her heart pounding in her chest.

And if the dark awareness in his eyes was anything to go by, his desire for her was just as strong.

She smiled, trying to force a swallow down her tight throat. “Come on in. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we’d eat in here.”

He blinked as if just breaking from some sort of trance, then looked at the chopping block in the middle of the room she had set with checkered place
mats, linen-wrapped silverware and a dozen candles in different colors and sizes. A bottle of red wine was breathing next to two sparkling crystal glasses.

She’d done so much rattling on during their walk earlier that she was armed with a thousand and one questions she wanted to ask him. Questions that vanished now. She could barely focus enough to keep from ruining the simple yet very Creole meal she’d prepared.

Drew hadn’t moved from the doorway.

She stopped stirring and picked up two bowls from the sideboard. After filling them, she switched on the flame beneath the boil pot, then carried the bowls to the cutting board.

“Pour the wine?” she suggested.

Finally, he moved from the doorway, slowly doing as she asked. After she finished cutting the thick, crusty bread she’d placed on the board earlier, he handed her a glass. She looked to find his eyes regarding her soberly.

“To the strangers we meet along the way,” she said quietly.

He clinked his glass lightly against hers and drank.

She broke eye contact then climbed up on one of the two stools. “This is best eaten hot.”

He sat across from her. “What is it?”

“Yam and crabmeat bisque. Have you ever had it?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

She took a piece of bread. “It’s best eaten this way.” She scooped a bit of the thick soup with the bread then reached to put it in front of his mouth. He cracked his lips and accepted the soup-drenched morsel. He chewed silently.

“Do you like it?”