Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (23 page)

And I spent half last night thinking about you, too, she thought. But it wasn’t the same.

‘We had a nice evening,’ she said stiffly, her eyes on the road. ‘But...’

‘But you’d decided you weren’t going to see me again.’

Startled, she looked over at him. He was watching her narrowly, his face dark and unreadable.

‘Yes,’ she said after a pause. ‘That’s right, I did.’

James shifted in the seat. ‘Can you tell me why?’

She swallowed drily. ‘I—I can’t, no. It’s too complicated.’

His hand closed over hers. ‘Is it because you don’t trust me?’

A pulse beat in her throat. ‘Why do you say that?’ she whispered.

He sighed and leaned his head back. ‘The day I came to your shop, you were full of questions about the way we’d met and the things I knew about you.’

Her laughter was forced. ‘I was, yes. But you can’t blame me for that. Alma says it’s because I’m from the north.’

He smiled. ‘She’s right. New Yorkers are the most suspicious lot in the world.’

Gabrielle’s smile vanished. ‘I didn’t say I was a New

Yorker, James. How did you?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No.’ Her voice was sharp.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m sure you did.’

‘I didn’t.'

‘But you are from there, aren’t you?’ She nodded, reluctantly, and he laughed easily. ‘Well, then, it was a lucky guess. I went to university in the city; I can still tell a New York accent without half trying.’

Gabrielle drew a deep breath, then let it out. What he’d said made sense. On one of her college courses, the teacher had been able to determine where the students were from by the way they spoke.

‘But I don’t blame you for not being ready to trust just anybody, Gabrielle. It’s a mistake not to question motives. You’d be a fool not to have learned that by now.’

This time, his words sent a chill dancing along her spine. ‘What do you mean?’

His hand tightened on hers until she feared her bones would be crushed, and then the pressure eased. When he spoke, his tone was light and teasing.

‘I’d have thought beautiful women learned to distrust half the men in the world by the time they passed puberty. But you can trust me, of course.’

She looked at him. ‘Can I?’

He flashed her a quick smile. ‘How could anyone not trust a man with his trousers sliced open?’

His eyes were warm, his expression open, and finally Gabrielle smiled too.

‘How, indeed?’ she said.

James grinned. ‘I’ll remedy that as soon as we reach my hotel. Turn right at the next corner.’

Maison Lillian was a small, elegant building several blocks from La Vie en Rose. Delicate wrought-iron balconies graced its upper stories, and Gabrielle could imagine the way the hotel would look when the weather warmed and sultry greenery hung from the balconies and trellised walls.

She pulled in before the hotel, ignoring the ‘no parking’ sign, then hurried around to the passenger side of the car so she could help James on to the pavement.

‘If you don’t behave, I’ll take you back to the hospital and hand you over to the nurse,’ she said when he protested. She hovered beside him as he edged his way up the narrow steps that led to the lobby. ‘Can you manage?’

He nodded. ‘No problem.’

But she saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, and she was glad when they topped the final step and entered the hotel. James moved slowly towards the reception desk. The concierge looked up, her face crumpling with concern when she saw him.

‘
Mr. Forrester! What happened?’

James smiled reassuringly. ‘Just a little accident,
madame.
If I could have my key?’

She nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said, taking a key from the board behind her. Her forehead creased in thought as she handed it over. ‘You’ll never manage the stairs,
Mr. Forrester. Not like that.’

James frowned. ‘You’re right, of course. How foolish of me.’

Gabrielle looked from him to the concierge. ‘Isn’t there an elevator?’

He shook his head. ‘Not since yesterday. It’s an old one...’

‘An antique, Mr. Forrester,’ the concierge said quickly. James smiled, but Gabrielle thought she could see the exhaustion that underlay it. .

‘A different room, then. Something on this level?’

The concierge frowned. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Forrester, but it’s almost Carnival. We have no rooms.’

‘What about the next floor? I’m sure I can manage…’

‘We have no rooms,’ the woman repeated. ‘None at all.’

Gabrielle put her hand on James’s shoulder. ‘That’s all right,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ll find you a room elsewhere.’

Madame’s
thin brows rose delicately. ‘Are you from New Orleans,
mademoiselle
?’

‘No. Well, yes, yes, I am, but I’m new’

‘You are indeed, or you would know there are no rooms available only days before
Mardi Gras.
She dismissed Gabrielle with a wave of her hand. ‘I shall have the bellman pack your luggage and bring it down while I make inquiries for you, Mr. Forrester, but where you’ll be able to find a suitable room in New Orleans now is anybody’s guess.’

Hours later, the woman’s patronizing words had proven all too true. Gabrielle had driven through the streets of the Quarter, then through the Garden District and the Downtown area, but the story was the same at each hotel.

All rooms had been booked weeks and months in advance.

The doorman at one of the larger hotels had taken pity on them; he’d given them the name of a woman who took in boarders. She had no rooms, either, but she gave Gabrielle a list of rooming houses that took her in all directions, only to hear the same message.

James had waited in the car.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he’d insisted the first few times, but finally he’d simply nodded when Gabrielle said it was foolish for them both to make enquiries. ‘All right,’ he’d said, and his quick acquiescence, coupled with the drawn expression on his face, caught at Gabrielle’s heart.

‘Are you in pain?’ she’d asked softly.

‘No, of course not,’ he’d said. But it had needed no crystal ball to know he was lying.

By nightfall, the Toyota was parked outside a dilapidated old house in one of New Orleans’ less desirable neighborhoods.

Gabrielle sighed as she opened the door and got into the car.

‘Don’t tell me,’ James said. ‘There’s no room at the inn.’

Gabrielle looked at him.

His tone was light, but she knew it masked his exhaustion. She could see his face clearly in the pool of light from a street lamp. He looked worn and vulnerable, and her heart went out to him.

Where next?
She’d run through the list the doorman had given her. There was no place left to try. If only she knew someone with a spare room.

Her pulse quickened. No, she couldn’t do that. It was impossible...

‘Look,’ he said tiredly, ‘you’ve done more than enough. Why not drive me back to Maison Lillian and I’ll throw myself on
madame’s
mercy? There’s a couch in the lobby.’

‘The one in the corner?’ Gabrielle shook her head. ‘It was a love-seat, James. You’d never get any rest.’

He grimaced and rubbed his knee. ‘The hospital, then. It’s probably the only place in town with an available room. I suppose I can survive one night in Orthopedics.’

Gabrielle swallowed drily. ‘There’s—there’s another place.’

James grunted and shifted his leg. ‘Damn! I should have taken those tablets Nurse Ramrod was pushing.’

‘Does your knee hurt?’

He didn’t answer, but one look at him told her it had been a foolish question. His face was pale, his eyes closed, the lashes dark against his cheeks. Gabrielle bit down on her lip, and then she started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

‘Where to?’ James murmured. He sighed and looked at her. ‘If the next place looks like the last, I’d just as soon pass.’

She smiled. ‘I guarantee it’s much nicer, and I know for a fact there’s a room.’

‘The woman’s hallucinating,’ he said with a groan. ‘Have you been hitting Nurse Ramrod’s pills?’

Gabrielle laughed. ‘I’m perfectly sober, James.’ She slowed the car as they approached a red light and smiled at him. ‘Remember the other night when you dined
chez Gabrielle
?
'

James sighed. ‘The woman’s not only sober, she’s starved. Forgive me—I forgot all about dinner. Look, why don’t you stop somewhere and let me buy us a meal? Then you can drive me back to—to...’

‘To where? We’ve tried every place in the city.’

He shrugged. ‘I told you. To my hotel. Or to the hos
pital. Don’t worry about me—I’ll think of something.’ ‘I already have.’

She drew a deep breath as the light changed and she eased the car forward. ‘I don’t have any steaks, but I do have eggs and bacon.’

‘I told you, you’ve done more than enough. I’m not going to let you make dinner, too.’

Gabrielle lifted her chin. ‘You’re not only dining
chez
Gabrielle, you’re going to stay there.’

James stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Look, there’s not a hotel room within a hundred miles of New Orleans. I have an extra bedroom, right on the main level, and there’s a bath just off the kitchen.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t impose. I’

‘You wouldn’t be imposing. I—I’ve been uncomfortable lately; the carriage house is old, you know, and at night it squeaks and moans and...’ She cleared her throat. ‘You’d be doing me a favor, when you come down to it.’

‘That’s quite an about-face,’ he said slowly. ‘First you spend the day avoiding me, and now you invite me to move in with you.’ A slow grin creased the comers of his eyes. ‘Not that I’d mind, of course, if that’s what you want.’

Gabrielle hesitated. Was it what she wanted? Only hours ago, she’d had a list of good reasons for never seeing James Forrester again, and now she was offering to share her home with him.

‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s—it’s what I want.’

James laughed softly. ‘Well, then, how can I possibly refuse?’

There was something in his laugh, in the silky tone of his voice, that made her breath catch. She looked across the car at him. Was it the light, or had some of the weariness fled his face? He moved in the seat, and for a second it seemed that even his leg was more mobile.

Gabrielle looked away from him.

No. That was im
possible. He’d been in an automobile accident. There was no way you could exaggerate that. And she was doing the only decent thing. She was giving him a room. It was the least she could do for a man who’d done so much for her.

It was nothing but a humanitarian gesture. And it was harmless—wasn’t it?

She felt her pulse begin to beat in her temple, like the throb of a distant drum. Was it apprehension or was it excitement? she wondered.

He reached across the console and covered her hand with his, and the change in tempo of her heart was all the answer she needed.

‘I hope you don’t mind sharing quarters with all these boxes,’ Gabrielle said as she switched on the light in the little room down the hall from the kitchen. ‘I never did get around to unpacking everything after I moved in.’

James leaned his crutches against a maple dresser, then hopped to the narrow brass bed tucked against the wall and sank down on it.

‘The room’s fine,’ he said with a tired smile. ‘Tonight, I don’t think I’d mind sharing quarters with a Marine battalion.’

Gabrielle smiled as she opened the wardrobe.

‘The worst you might have to put up with are one or two mice,’ she said, tugging blankets and pillows from the shelf. ‘The house must have been empty quite a while before I moved in. I’ve gotten rid of just about all of them, but every once in a while a straggler turns up.’

‘Just as long as they don’t snore, I won’t say a word.’

‘Now,’ she said, dropping the linens on the foot of the bed, ‘what would you like for supper? Soup? Crackers...’

Her questions trailed off as she looked at James. He was sitting with his head back against the wall, his eyes closed. In the unyielding light of the ceiling fixture, his exhaustion was easy to see, and she won
dered how she’d ever, even for a moment, doubted it.

‘James?’ she said softly. ‘Are you all right?’

He opened his eyes and nodded. ‘Fine. I’m just a little tired.’ He winced as he straightened his leg. ‘All I need is some rest and I’ll be good as new.’

‘Won’t you let me fill the prescription the hospital gave you?’

‘No,’ he said, sitting forward and gently rubbing his bandaged knee. ‘There’s no need. I told you, I’ve gone- this route before.’

‘Yes, but it would ease the pain.’

‘The prescription’s for a narcotic.’ His voice was suddenly sharp. ‘Something that dulls your reflexes and puts you to sleep.’

Gabrielle smiled a little. ‘And what a terrible thing that would be if someone’s hurting,’ she said gently.

James’s eyes met hers. ‘Chalk it off to male ego,’ he said after a pause. ‘OK?’

‘How about food? Does this ego of yours extend to that, too, or shall I make you something to eat?’

He grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d ask.’

‘What would you like? Soup? Bacon and eggs? Toast? Jam?’

James laughed. ‘All of that, and a gallon of coffee besides.’

‘And two aspirin. Don’t say “no”,’ she warned when he began to shake his head. ‘If you do, I’ll take you back to St Francis and turn you over to Nurse Ramrod.’

‘I surrender,’ he said, laughing as he held up his hands. ‘You wouldn’t believe the terrible things that woman threatened me with. I had to promise her you were a cross between Florence Nightingale and the Good Fairy.’

‘You played a risky game, didn’t you? I mean, you weren’t even sure I’d come.’

‘Once they said they’d called you, I never doubted you would.’

His gaze moved over her face, intimate as a caress. Gabrielle’s pulse leaped in unexpected response, and she turned away from him.

‘Soup will be on in ten minutes,’ she said, and before he could answer she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

She leaned against it and drew a deep breath.

She felt drained—all her energies had gone into the past few minutes, into smiling and talking with a casual indifference, as if the realization that she’d really brought James to stay with her hadn’t sent a sudden shock through all her senses.

Not that she hadn’t known what she was doing when she’d asked him to stay at the carriage house—it was just that the reality had been different from how she’d imagined it.

It had been almost overpowering stepping into the dark foyer with James behind her had been like walking into another dimension, one in which there was no sound louder than her own suddenly erratic heartbeat.

James had felt it, too. She knew it, even though he hadn’t spoken. She’d heard it in his quickly indrawn breath, felt it in the tension instantly flowing between them with the potency of a force field.

She’d pushed by him and hurried through the main level of the carriage house, throwing on all the lights, chattering brightly about the spare room, apologizing for its condition, and all the time she’d been almost painfully aware of James’s nearness and the way he seemed to fill the little house with his presence.

Now, as she switched on the kitchen light, she felt almost light-headed. Well, why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t eaten anything in hours. And James wasn’t the only one who needed aspirin: her head felt as if someone had tied a tourniquet around it.

She got down the bottle of aspirin, shook two tablets into her hand, and gulped them down with a swallow of water.

Two more for James—no, three, and she wouldn’t brook any arguments. He had this ridiculous male thing about taking medicines—her father had been the same, until the pain got too strong—but he’d either take the three tablets or she’d force them down his throat.

Gabrielle laughed softly as she opened the fridge door and peered inside. That was a thought, wasn’t it? James was al lean muscle; she’d be helpless against him. His strength had frightened her when he’d come barging through the door last night.

Last night. How could that be? How could things have turned upside-down so fast? This morning, she’d vowed never to see him again, and now, instead of fearing him, she—she what?

Stop that. Concentrate on making supper. That’s it. That’s the way.

Her hands shook as she took a loaf of bread from the fridge. There were only a few slices, barely enough for two. The egg carton was almost empty—well, James could have the three that were left. At least there was half a pound of bacon. She made a face as she carefully plucked away the discolored top slice and tossed it into the dustbin.

The cupboard was no more promising.

A couple of tins of soup, a half-box of crackers—stale, probably. At least there was coffee and sugar, although if James liked cream with his coffee he was out of luck.

She filled the kettle, then set out the Chemex.

In the morning, early, she could pop out to that little shop around the corner. They baked their own breads and sweet rolls—what was it James had said he wanted?
Beignets,
that was it. She’d buy fresh-made
beignets
and a pound of New Orleans coffee, aromatic with chicory, and when he awoke he’d find breakfast waiting.

For dinner—she smiled as she whipped the eggs and added a splash of cold water in lieu of milk—dinner could be a little more exotic. There was that old cookbook she’d found in the cupboard, the one with all those Creole and Cajun specialties in it—things like shrimp jambalaya and crawfish gumbo. She could get all the ingredients at the farmers market, where the air was redolent of spices and court bouillon.

And the next day, if he felt up to it, they could drive out to one of the plantations Alma had told her about and...

Gabrielle stopped in the center of the room.

What was she doing?

She was trembling with excitement over plans for tomorrow and the next day with a man she knew nothing about.

What had happened to all her questions? What had become of caution?-

‘Ah, that coffee smells wonderful.’

Her heart turned over and she whirled towards the doorway, her hand pressed to her breast. ‘I didn’t hear you,* she said with a nervous laugh.

James had managed to change his torn trousers and soiled shirt. But the repairs only emphasized the toll the accident had taken.

His face was drawn with fatigue, the skin a mask beneath which the bones showed in harsh relief. Shadows lay dark beneath his eyes; the bruise on his jaw had turned as black as the tiny silk stitches that angled across his cheek.

Gabrielle hurried to the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down, James,’ she said. ‘You look exhausted.’

He nodded as he crossed the room, the rubber-tipped crutches squeaking against the tiled floor.

‘To tell the truth, I feel pretty rocky.’ He eased the crutches from beneath his arms and sank into a chair. ‘But a cup of that coffee will fix me up in no time.’

‘Aspirin first,’ she said, holding out her hand. James looked at the three tablets and then at Gabrielle, whose eyebrows rose dramatically. ‘You don’t get coffee unless you down those first.’

He grinned. ‘Nurse Ramrod would be proud of you.’ The aspirin went down with a swallow of water. ‘Satisfied, Doctor?’

Gabrielle smiled. ‘Yes. For that, you not only get coffee, you get soup. And crackers,’ she added, setting a plate of them down before him, ‘although I’m afraid they’re pretty stale.’

He bit into a cracker and smiled. ‘They taste like am
brosia. And for God’s sake, don’t apologize. It’s not as if you expected a house guest, is it?’

‘I’m just sorry I kept you riding around in my little car for so many hours. I should have known we’d never find a room anywhere, not with the holiday only days away.’

‘Mmm, that smells wonderful. What is it?’

She laughed as she slipped into the seat opposite him. ‘Campbell’s Chicken Gumbo, straight from the tin. I figured that, now that I was a southerner, I ought to make some concessions to local custom.’

James spooned up some soup and swallowed it. ‘It must take some doing,’ he said, ‘making the adjustment from being a New Yorker to being a—what do they say, an Orleanian?’

Gabrielle smiled. ‘Alma’s trying to help me manage. I don’t think she’s very satisfied with my progress, though.’

He grinned at her. ‘This morning, when I called the shop, I asked her what it would take to get you to the phone, and she sighed and said she’d didn’t know, that you were a damn Yankee and sometimes you just didn’t have the sense God gave mules.’

She laughed. ‘If she weren’t so nice, and I didn’t need her so badly, I think I’d resent that.’

James swallowed another mouthful of soup. ‘She says that you keep to yourself too much.’

Gabrielle’s back stiffened. ‘I love Alma dearly,’ she said, ‘but she talks too much.’ She pushed back her chair, collected the empty soup bowls, and carried them to the sink.

‘Hey,’ his voice was soft, ‘she meant well. The lady’s very fond of you.’

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. ‘I know she is,’ she said finally. ‘It’s just that she—she has a different view of life. She has this—this southern at
titude, a kind of trusting way of dealing with people and things.’

‘And you don’t.’

It was a statement, not a question. Gabrielle shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve had to learn the hard way that things aren’t always what they seem...’ Her voice faded and died. ‘Besides, Alma doesn’t really know anything about me.’

James watched her as she placed a platter of bacon and eggs before him. ‘I’m not sure I do either,’ he said after a moment.

Her eyes met his. ‘Aren’t you? You seem to know a lot, James,’ she said, watching him. ‘The things I like to eat and drink, where I’m from...’

His face gave nothing away. ‘Good guesses, that’s all. But I’m not sure I know the real you.’

Her pulse tripped. ‘The real me?’

James nodded. His pale eyes held hers. ‘ I re
alized last night, I know very little about Gabrielle Shelton.’

‘There’s not much to know. My father died a few months ago and I decided to start my life over. So I came here, to New Orleans...’

‘You make it sound simple.’

The tone of his voice made her head come up. He was watching her narrowly, a smile on his face, but the smile looked as if it had been pasted on.

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘It must be hard to leave everyone you care about.’

She shook her head. ‘I told you, my father died. He was all I had.’

James’s eyes were fixed on hers. ‘Surely there was someone else?’

‘No. No one.’

‘No one?’ His voice was soft, almost a whisper. ‘No one at all?’

She thought of Tony Vitale—Uncle Tony—and she hesitated.

‘There was—there was someone,’ she said finally. ‘But it wasn’t—it didn’t...’

‘A man.’ His voice was flat.

Their eyes met.

His expression was dark and unreadable; she had the sudden feeling that he knew she carried a burden within her, a secret that had become too heavy to bear. Suddenly, crazily, the desire to tell him the truth almost overwhelmed her.

She looked down at the table. Bacon fat had congealed on her plate; the sight of it made her feel naus
eated and her stomach rose involuntarily. Finally she nodded her head.

‘Yes.’ The admission made her dizzy. ‘A man. My...’ she hesitated, then swallowed hard. ‘My uncle.’

James leaned across the table. ‘Tell me about him, Gabrielle.’

She looked up at him.

She was tired of carrying her old identity hidden inside herself.

And yet, how could she unburden herself to a stranger?

Even if she did, where would she begin?