Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set (25 page)

Darkness, like a giant fist, closed over his face again. For a heartbeat, Gabrielle felt as if she was looking into the eyes of a stranger.

‘Goodnight,’ he said finally.

The door to the spare room opened, then closed after him, and she was alone.

The
early morning streets of the French Quarter were drenched in sunlight. Puddles of rainwater, remnants of yesterday’s storm, gleamed along the pavement. Gutters and roofs still dripped gently in those shady corners where the sun had yet to reach. But the sky was a cloudless blue and the breeze warm. It was as if an early spring had settled over the city.

By the time Gabrielle finished her morning run to the flower shop, her shorts and cotton T-shirt were dark with perspiration.

She’d half expected some sly comment from Alma. But her assistant was too distressed by the details of James’s accident to take anything but casual notice of Gabrielle’s unladylike appearance.

‘That poor man,’ she said, taking a towel from the shelf in the back room and tossing it to Gabrielle, ‘
hurtin’ his knee and all. I’m just glad he’s all right. I kept hopin’ you’d call and let me know how he was.’

‘I meant to.’ Gabrielle blotted her face and neck, then draped the towel around her shoulders. ‘But—well, things got kind of hectic.’ She hesitated. ‘We had to find James a new place to stay. The elevator at his hotel was out of order, and he couldn’t manage the stairs.’

‘However did you find anythin’?’ Alma asked in amazement. ‘There’s never a room left by the time
Mardi Gras
weekend rolls around.’

Gabrielle looked at her. Now was the time to tell her that she’d taken James to her house. But the words caught in her throat. The memory of James as she’d seen him when she peeped into his room this morning, asleep and sprawled across the narrow bed with the blanket tangled at his hips, was still too vivid.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘We finally worked something out.’

‘I can’t imagine how—unless he found a room in some dilapidated hole in the wall across the river. How’s he
goin’ to enjoy Carnival if’

Gabrielle tossed the towel aside. ‘Speaking of Carnival,’ she said quickly, ‘didn’t you say the Hyacinth Club is going to parade this afternoon?’

Alma rolled her eyes. ‘Folks call them “krewes”, Gaby, not “clubs”. And it’s the Irises, not the Hyacinths, for goodness’ sake.’

Gabrielle grinned. ‘Well, I was close.’

The older woman laughed. ‘Sure. You got the parade date right. Which reminds me—if you want to get close enough to see anythin’, we should get to Rampart Street early. I thought we might...’

Gabrielle glanced at her watch as Alma spoke. She’d been gone more than half an hour.

Was James still asleep?

She’d left a note in the kitchen, tucked beneath a carafe of orange juice, but she wanted to be there when he awakened. It would be nice to have a breakfast of fresh coffee and warm
beignets
on the terrace. The sun and the soft morning air might be the best kind of medicine.

‘So what do you think, Gaby? Shall we?’

Gabrielle blinked. Her assistant was looking at her, eyebrows raised.

‘I’m sorry, Alma, I guess I was daydreaming. I didn’t hear you.’

Alma sighed. ‘I was saying’ there won’t be any business to speak of today. We only have two bouquets to deliver and then we might as well close up shop—if that’s all right with you.’

‘That’s fine. In fact, I was going to suggest it myself.’

‘Good. I’ll call Billy and tell him to come in early for the deliveries. Oh, and I’ll give my cousin a ring, too. Carolyn and I always do the town together come
Mardi Gras
.’ She eyed Gabrielle speculatively. ‘Why don’t you come with us? You two would get along fine.’

Gabrielle shook her head. ‘Thank you for asking. But I can’t.’

‘
Mardi Gras
isn’t any fun if you’re alone.’ Alma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re plannin’ to stay home all weekend.’

There was no getting around the truth. Gabrielle took a deep breath.

‘I might. But not for the reasons you think.’

Alma put her hands on her hips. ‘Nonsense. The reasons are always the same—you just don’t want to meet people. I know you told me to mind my own business, but’

‘It isn’t that.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Alma looked at her in surprise, and Gabrielle touched her tongue to her lips. This was the first time she’d ever tried, to answer the familiar accusation. ‘It isn’t that,’ she said again, this time more softly. ‘I—I want to meet people. It’s just that—that there are things that happened back in New York....' She fell silent.

‘I wasn’t
tryin’ to pry.’ Alma’s tone was gentle. ‘But I hate to see you alone all the time. If some man broke your heart back home...’

‘It wasn’t what you think. Things happened to me, and...’ She paused and her eyes met her assistant’s. ‘People use people.’

Her voice faded. What had ever possessed her to say that? It was as if meeting James was making all her carefully maintained defenses crumble.

‘Gaby,’ Alma moved closer and put her hand on her friend’s arm, ‘you have to forget. Learn to trust again.’ Gabrielle smiled. ‘I have,’ she said. ‘I trust you.’

‘But not James?’

She hesitated, and her smile wavered a little. ‘Re
member when you asked how I managed to find James a hotel room?’

‘Yes. But what does that have
to do with trust?’

‘Well, I didn’t find one. I mean, I couldn’t. There wasn’t a room anywhere.’ She paused, then hurried on. ‘So I took him home with me. James is staying at my house.’

‘James Forrester? You took him...’ Alma's eyes widened. ‘I don’t believe it!’

Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t believe it, either,’ she said with a forced laugh, ‘but that’s what I did. There didn’t seem to be any other way.’

Alma raised an eyebrow. 'Uh huh.'

‘We spent hours trying to find him a room,’ Gabrielle said defensively. ‘What else could I have done? He was hurt and exhausted and...’

Alma threw her arms around Gabrielle and gave her a quick hug. ‘I’m so glad.’

A scarlet glow crept into Gabrielle’s cheeks. ‘It’s not what you think. It’s just that James needed me. I couldn’t turn away from him, could I?’

Alma’s smile grew gentle. ‘No, of course you couldn’t. And how is he feelin’ this mornin’?’

The image of James lying sprawled across the narrow bed, his skin tan against the white sheets, flickered in Gabrielle’s mind again.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking away from Alma’s steady gaze. ‘He was still sleeping when I left.’

‘Well, then, you’d better hurry home before your patient wakes and finds his nurse
isn't there.’

Gabrielle turned towards her.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I can call James and tell him I’ll be a while.*

The older woman shook her head.

‘Go on,’ she said gently. ‘Get back to your patient before he wakes and finds his nurse gone. Here,’ she added, plucking a rose from the vase beside her, ‘give him this on his breakfast tray.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Just be sure and tell him it’s from me.’

Outside, the sun beat down as if determined to make up for the recent days of poor weather. The early morning streets were unusually crowded as people gathered to begin the long holiday celebration.

Gabrielle almost regretted running this morning.

When she’d awakened, she’d dressed automatically in shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes, but by the time she went down to check on James she’d begun to think about cancelling the run. Driving to the shop would be quicker.

But then she’d quietly pushed open his door and looked into the room.

James had been lying on his belly, naked to where the blanket lay tangled across his hips. One leg—the injured one—was thrust out, tan against the white sheet. Pale sunlight dappled his skin, dusting his flesh with gold.

Her mouth had gone dry.

Quickly, she’d stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut. And then she’d scribbled a hasty note and let herself quietly out of the house, hoping that running would bring back her sense of equilibrium.

She wasn’t naive. She had attended an exclusive girls’ day school. Her classmates were the daughters of wealthy men—bankers, lawyers, politicians—some of whose photos hung on Uncle Tony’s walls.

‘Respectable people,’ he’d said with a throaty laugh as he wrote out the first tuition check and handed it to her father. ‘Nothing’s too good for our Gabriella, hey, Giovanni?’

The school prided itself on protecting its young charges from the real world. But its curriculum was thoroughly modern. Even the health classes offered the most up-to- date texts and films, and her teacher had been frank to the point of embarrassment.

‘Your body readies itself slowly—we’re more fortunate than men when it comes to such things. A knowledgeable young woman can never be rushed into something she’ll later regret.’

It had all sounded reasonable, if somewhat mechanical.

And it had proved accurate. Gabrielle had dated— a classmate’s brother, a couple of boys she’d met at school dances, a few of the men at work—and she’d always had the time and the will to push away from their goodnight kisses before they deepened.

The kisses, and the furtive touches of their hands, had been pleasant at best, but never anything more.

That wasn’t the way things had been last night. Reason had fled while she was in James’s arms, and there’d cer
tainly been nothing slow about her body’s reactions.

Desire had been a white-hot flame, burning out of control. Gabrielle had dreamed about those moments all night, and then this morning, seeing him asleep...

She stumbled over a crack in the pavement.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why hadn’t she telephoned home from the shop?

Waking James at a discreet distance would have been sensible.

Well, it wasn’t too late. The bakery was just ahead. She’d order coffee and the cakes, and while the clerk was filling the order she’d call James. There was a public phone just outside the shop...

Yes, but it was out of order.

So much for her clever scheme, Gabrielle thought a little later as she let herself quietly into the still silent house, the bakery bag clutched in her arms.

She started to ease the door shut, then thought better of it and let it slam like a clap of thunder. She waited, heart racing. But the hall filled with silence.

She sighed as she walked into the kitchen.

The juice and note were on the counter, untouched. All right, she’d make coffee and put the cakes in a warm oven. Maybe the smells of breakfast would awaken James. If not, she’d shower: the plumbing in the house was venerable and moaned and gurgled with age. If all that noise didn’t do the trick, well, then she’d have no choice but to awaken him.

She worked quickly, measuring the coffee and pouring boiling water through it, setting out a basket for the cakes. Every now and then, she lifted her head and listened for sounds from the spare room, but there weren’t any, and gradually her disappointment at his not being awake turned to worry.

Suppose James was ill? Suppose he had a fever? Suppose he’d got up while she was out and fallen?

Her heart tripped. Something terrible might have happened to him and here she was, hiding in the kitchen. Quickly, she hurried down the hall.

His door was still shut. Carefully, holding her breath, she opened it and looked inside the room.

James seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was lying on his back, both arms thrown above his head, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Gabrielle’s gaze moved swiftly over the patches of dark hair in his armpits, to the mat of it across his chest, then to the flat ridges of muscle in his abdomen. A shadowy arrow led down from his navel, dipping below the blanket that lay across his groin.

‘James?’ Her whisper hung in the still air. She cleared her throat. ‘James?’ Her voice was louder this time, but he didn’t move.

What now? The answer was obvious. Now, she had to cross the room to his side, put her hand on his arm, touch him...

‘No!’

She started, shocked by the raw sound of his voice. The word sounded as if it had been torn from his throat.

‘No,’ he cried again. His eyes were closed tight, his face contorted. Suddenly, his arms shot into the air, his hands closing on something unseen. ‘Gabrielle. Gabrielle!’

She reached him just as he sat up abruptly, his back against the headboard.

‘James. James, wake up,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

His eyes opened. His stare was empty and unfocused. Then, as she said his name again, he turned towards her and his gaze steadied.

‘Gabrielle?’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘It’s all right, James. You just had a bad dream.’

He stared at her, then ran his hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks back from his brow.

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s still early. How does your knee feel?’

James shifted his leg free of the sheet. ‘I think the swelling’s gone down. Why don’t you check?’