Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“You don’t mind staying here by yourself?” Stephanie asked her assistant again.
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
Claire gave her a direct look. “The way it sounded, they were after you—not me.”
She answered with a tight nod.
“Go on, then.” Claire looked around, “And maybe you want to take the back way.”
Stephanie hated the idea of sneaking out of her own shop, but she knew that Claire was probably right.
She slipped out the back door and stood looking around before heading down the alley and over a few blocks to the house she’d bought.
She kept herself from running, but she walked quickly through the afternoon streets.
When she stepped inside her living room, she breathed out a sigh before locking the door firmly behind her, then looking around at the room she had so lovingly furnished—with some pieces from the Garden District mansion and others that she’d picked up at flea markets and garage sales.
The house itself was old but charming, and she’d picked it up at a very good price from a couple who had decided to leave the city for a town that wasn’t hit with hurricanes on a regular basis.
The down payment had taken a chunk of the money she’d inherited from her mother. But she hadn’t wanted to live with her father in the Garden District mansion. She’d been happy here—well, as happy as she could be. Now her life had turned itself upside down again.
The first time had been a few months ago, when John Reynard had asked for her hand in marriage, and she’d known she had to accept. Then an hour ago, Craig Branson had touched her, and the world had flipped over again.
Her mind had opened to Craig’s. And his to her.
He’d tried to hide it from her, but she knew he had come to New Orleans because he thought John Reynard had something to do with the death of his twin brother.
That’s why he’d been at the charity reception the other night.
He’d been stalking Reynard—and he’d locked eyes with her.
She thought about that and about what else she’d discovered.
Since birth and perhaps before, Craig had been tied to his brother, Sam, in a way that he had taken for granted.
That connection had been ripped away by a stray bullet, leaving him hardly able to cope with his life.
But he had done it. And he’d vowed to avenge his brother’s death.
She shuddered as she thought about the rest of what had been in his mind. He’d never expected to experience that intimacy with anyone again—but he had. With her.
What did it mean? How was it possible?
She was trying to work her way through the encounter with him when a knock on the door made her whole body jerk.
Was that Craig? Coming after her.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
“John.”
Oh Lord, John. The man she was going to marry. The last person she wanted to see now. Well, not the last. Those men who had come to the shop were at the top of the list.
She got up on shaky legs and crossed to the door. From the front window, she saw John standing on her doorstep, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He dropped them to his sides when he saw her staring at him.
Quickly she unlocked the door and stepped aside. He came in and closed the door behind him, then turned to her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“You were attacked.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated for just a second before saying, “I was calling to say hello, and Claire answered the phone. She sounded upset, so I asked her some questions. Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“She says two men came into the shop and threatened you. Then a stranger came to your rescue.”
“Yes.”
“I assume you got his name.”
“He’s Craig Brady,” she said, giving the false name that he’d given to Claire.
“And you never met him before?”
She wondered what the right answer was, then decided on, “I didn’t meet him, but he was at that charity reception the other night.”
“The guy who was watching you?”
She winced. “I guess. I didn’t really pay much attention,” she lied.
John kept his gaze on her, and she worked to keep her expression neutral. She knew he’d noticed Craig at the plantation house. And done what? Maybe had his guys make a move on him?
“So what about the men who attacked you?” John asked. “Had you ever seen them before.”
“No.”
John continued his interrogation. “What did they want?”
“I never found out.”
His eyes narrowed. “But I suspect you think it has something to do with your father.”
Her mouth had gone dry, but she managed to answer, “Yes.”
“He’s gambling again?”
“I . . . don’t know for sure.”
“You’d better tell him to behave himself. I’m not a bottomless well of money.”
“I understand.”
“I hate it that he’s responsible for bad stuff happening to you,” he said, the tone of his voice changing. She knew that change. He was feeling tender toward her, and amorous.
He reached out and took her in his arms, cradling her against himself, and she fought to keep the stiffness out of her body. She didn’t want him to hold her, but she could hardly object to her fiancé’s comforting her after a frightening experience.
He crooked one hand under her chin and tipped her face up as he lowered his mouth. His lips touched down on hers, settled, then began to move with the skill of a man who had made love to many women.
Stephanie tried to relax and kiss him back, when all she wanted to do was duck out of his arms and flee the room.
He was an experienced lover, and she’d convinced herself that marrying him wouldn’t be a personal disaster for her, yet as he kissed her, she couldn’t stop herself from comparing her feelings now to the sensations and emotions that had threatened to swamp her when Craig had held her in his arms.
Then she’d been aroused. Hot and pliable and ready for sex. Now she was only tolerating the attentions of the man whose bed she would share in a few months.
She hoped he didn’t realize what she was really feeling. When he drew back, she felt relief and shame warring inside her. If she were honest, she would tell John Reynard that she couldn’t marry him, but she knew that was as impossible as her flying off to Oz in a hot air balloon.
At least he hadn’t forced her to make love with him.
She’d told him that she couldn’t do that until they were married, and he’d grumbled about the edict.
But he’d respected her wishes. She wondered if he thought she was a virgin.
Probably not. Probably he’d investigated her background enough to know that she’d been intimate with a few men, but the relationships had never gone very far.
Maybe he was thinking that he’d wait until marriage, so she didn’t have a chance to walk away when she was disappointed.
He looked down at her. “I guess you’re still upset by what happened.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I should let you rest.” The edge in his voice made her grasp his arm. “I’m sorry. I just can’t . . .” She let her voice trail off rather than try to explain any further.
“I’m going to have some of my men protect you,” he said.
Her gaze shot to his face. “What do you mean?”
“Some of my men will be watching over you.”
“You mean they’re coming here?”
“They won’t bother you, but they’ll be around.”
“Yes, thank you,” she managed to say, when she really wanted to scream at him to leave her alone.
He left the house then, and she collapsed into a chair, glad to be alone. Yet at the same time she was terrified by what had just happened. She’d never wanted to marry this man. Now she understood just how bad a decision it would be.
Would be? Was she still thinking that she had a choice?
For the past few days, Craig had been following Stephanie around. Now it was more important than ever for him to keep up the surveillance—not just for himself but for her. But as he rounded the corner at the end of her block, he saw Reynard leaving Stephanie’s house.
He stopped short, ducking back around the corner, fighting a spurt of jealousy that stabbed through him.
That bastard had access to Stephanie, and Craig did not.
She was engaged to the man, but she was never going to marry him.
Craig would make sure of that. The depth of his emotions shocked him.
He hadn’t felt this strongly about anything since Sam’s death.
Then he’d been filled with despair. But also determination, he acknowledged.
The determination was just as strong now, along with an excitement that coursed through his veins and made his heart pound.
He had to pry Stephanie away from John Reynard, but he couldn’t exactly pull out a gun and shoot the man.
He had to get something on him—something that would stop him in his tracks.
Evidence from Sam’s murder? He’d been prepared to play a long game getting that kind of information.
But now the time frame had changed. It would be much better if it was something more recent that they could take to the cops.
They? Was he already thinking Stephanie was on his side?
He pulled himself up short. Take it a step at a time, he warned himself. You just met her. You can’t change her world in a couple of hours.
Still, he did feel a small measure of victory. Reynard had come running over to Stephanie’s house after the incident. Probably he’d thought he could comfort her—like in the bedroom. Now he was on his way out the front door. Hopefully because Stephanie hadn’t wanted him there.
How could she? After what had happened in the shop.
Reynard left the house, but before he drove away, he glanced toward two men sitting in a car across the street from her house.
The men who had attacked her in the shop?
What would it mean that Reynard knew they were here?