A Time to Keep (14 page)

She placed a hand over his. “Where are you going?”

The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame. “To tell Nattie that I'll take you home.”

Her fingers tightened. “I'm not ready to leave. I like the
band.” She liked the food, music, and the friendly, outgoing people who'd come to the Outlaw with the intent of having a good time.

Shiloh leaned closer. “Whenever you're ready to go home I'll make certain you get there…safely,” he added.

Gwen removed her hand, her breathing in concert with Shiloh's, their chests rising and falling in a measured syncopated rhythm. “Are you
that
certain I'll be safe with you?”

He moved and stood behind her, inhaling the warmth of her perfumed flesh. A shudder eddied down his body, and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her with a passion that had eluded him for longer than he was willing to admit.

“No,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

He was there, then he was gone, Gwen watching his retreat and unaware she'd been holding her breath.

Picking up her glass, she took a long swallow, and welcomed the iciness bathing her constricted throat. She'd asked, and Shiloh had answered. But it wasn't the answer she expected.

The fluttering in her chest eased as satisfaction pursed her mouth. A feeling of calm swept over her, and she knew she was ready to let her good times roll. Three minutes later he was back.

“That was quick.” She scooped up the small purse she'd placed on the stool next to her.

He tugged gently at the curls falling over her ear. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

She gave him a sassy smile. “You don't know what I had to go through to make certain nobody sat here.”

“What did you do, darling?”

“I'm not telling,” she whispered, staring up at Shiloh through her lashes.

His gaze lingered on her parted lips. “I never thought you'd be a tease.”

Her expression changed. “Tease how?”

Shiloh hesitated, wondering how to explain to Gwen how being in her presence affected him. Would she believe he was coming on too strong if he told her that he wanted to see her every day, that there was something about her that made him want to know her—in and out of bed.

“There's something about the way you stare at a man that makes me believe you're flirting when I know that isn't your intent.”

“You've got that right, Shiloh Harper. I've never had to flirt with a man to get his attention,” she said without bravado.

His gaze moved slowly from her face to her breasts, then down to her feet before reversing itself. A knowing smile creased the skin around his luminous eyes and curved his strong mouth upward.

“I can see why,” he crooned.

A swath of heat burned Gwen's face when she registered his blatant suggestion. She picked up her glass and drained it at the same time the bartender placed Shiloh's drink in front of him.

“First one is on the house tonight.”

Shifting on the stool, Shiloh reached into his pocket and pressed a bill into the bartender's hand. “Thanks, Z. That's from me and the lady.”

A dreadlocked, tattooed Zachary Howard palmed the bill, grinning. “Thanks, man.”

Shiloh looped an arm around Gwen's waist. “Have you eaten?” She nodded. His arm tightened. “Then come with me.”

He helped her off the stool. Balancing his drink in his free hand, he led her through the restaurant to a side door with an Employees Only sign. “What are you doing?” Gwen asked as he punched in a code on a keypad.

“I want a quiet place where we can talk.”

Her eyes widened when she found herself in a room overlooking the water. A daybed and rocker with a footstool
covered with matching floral cushions, two round tables with pull-up chairs, and a quartet of flickering candles under chimneys set the scene.

“Talk about what?”

“Us.”

“I didn't know there was an us,” she said softly.

Shiloh eased Gwen down to the daybed, then sat next to her. He rested his arm over her shoulders as he took a big gulp of his drink, grimacing as the bite from the liquor exploded in his chest.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and smiled. “I want to know if there can be an us?”

Caught off-guard by the question and the seriousness in Shiloh's voice, Gwen was barely able to swallow her gasp of surprise. It wasn't often that she was at a loss for words, and it was a full minute before she was able to form a reply.

“Us how?”

“Getting to know one another better.”

Reaching for his glass, she placed it on the table before she turned and gave Shiloh a long, penetrating stare. The flickering candlelight flattered the ridges and angles of his handsome face.

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” His eyes widened until she saw their jade-green depths.

“Did I ask you to sleep with me?”

“No. But—”

“But nothing,” Shiloh said, cutting her off. “I've never had a problem making myself understood, Gwen. If I'd wanted you to sleep with me I would've said that.” He ignored her soft exhalation. “I want to know if we can keep company?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Company?”

“Date, go out, be seen with, court.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don't have to be so sarcastic, Shiloh. I don't think it's an admirable trait in a man.”

“Oh, so you think it's better in a woman?”

“I didn't come in here to debate.”

“Point taken.” A sly smile softened his firm mouth. “If that's the case, then I suggest we get back to the subject of us dating each other. I'd like you to go out with me.”

Everything that made Shiloh Harper who he was wrapped itself around her, and held her hostage to emotions she did not want to feel. It'd been four years since a man had reminded her why she'd been born a woman, and she had no intention of allowing herself to fall under the sensual, erotic spell that told her to throw caution and common sense to the wind.

“Why me and not some other woman, Shiloh?” she asked, sidestepping his question. “You're young, intelligent, single and attractive. I'm certain there're a lot of women who would go out with you if you asked them.”

Shiloh crossed his arms over his chest while stretching out his long legs. “I'm not talking about other women. I'm talking about you.”

“Why me?”

“I'm not interested in women who do the chasing.” 

Gwen sat up straighter. “Most men would find that a turn-on.”

“I don't.”

Virgil Harper had always cautioned his sons not to kiss and tell, but Shiloh wanted to open up to Gwen about his ex-wife, who pursued him until he married her. And she continued to chase any man who gave her the slightest glance.

Gwen didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered by his assessment of her. What Shiloh wasn't aware of was that she
was
interested in him, but had become quite adept in hiding her feelings behind a facade of indifference.

But she was anything but indifferent about Shiloh Harper, because she'd known there was something special about him the first time she found herself in his arms. She liked everything
about him: his face, soft, drawling voice, his smell, the protective warmth of his embrace and his masculinity. The more she saw him, the longer she remained in his presence, the more her pledge not to get involved with another man shattered into millions of pieces.

The harder she tried to ignore the truth the more it nagged at her. She wanted the man out of bed, and she needed him in bed. Her lids slipped down over her eyes, hiding her innermost feelings.

“If I'm not involved with something, then yes I will go out with you.” She kept all emotion out of her face and voice, determined to show Shiloh how unconcerned she was about his invitation.

Placing two fingers against the column of her neck, Shiloh shook his head slowly. Her pulse pounded a runaway rhythm. “You'll never be as accomplished as your actress aunt.”

“You…” Her words trailed off when Shiloh covered her mouth with his, permitting her to taste the liquor on his tongue. Her arms came up of their own volition, tightening around his strong neck as he fell back on the daybed, bringing her down with him.

“Don't talk, darling. Please don't say anything,” he murmured in between soft, nibbling kisses at the corners of her mouth.

She lay atop Shiloh, her breasts against the solid wall of his chest, legs cradled between his, and his hardness reminding her of where she was, and what could possibly happen.

Shiloh heard the sound before Gwen. Within seconds he eased her off his body. “Someone's coming,” he whispered harshly.

The door opened, and Juleen walked in. She stopped when she saw Shiloh sitting on the daybed with a woman.

“I'm…I'm sorry, Shiloh,” she stammered.

He beckoned to the waitress. “Come on in, Juleen. Gwen and I are just talking.”

Gwen forced herself not to glance at Shiloh. They were doing a lot more than talking. If they hadn't been interrupted, then she wasn't certain how far they would've gone.

Juleen shook her head. “It's all right, Shiloh. I'll find someplace else to take my break.”

Reaching for Gwen's hand, he stood, pulling her gently up with him. “Stay. We're leaving.”

Gwen wasn't given the opportunity to protest as Shiloh opened the screen door and led her down a back staircase to the landing where
La Boule
's engines were revving for a return trip. They boarded the ferryboat, sat together holding hands, both lost in their private thoughts.

It wasn't until Shiloh maneuvered his car along a road in the opposite direction from her house that she broke the comfortable silence.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my place.”

“To do what?”

“Talk, listen to music, and hopefully you'll let me dance with you.” They were all the things he'd missed sharing with a woman.

“We can do that at my place.”

Shiloh gave Gwen a quick glance. It was apparent that she was apprehensive about going home with him. “You're going to have to learn to trust me. Nothing's going to happen that you don't want to happen.”

Gwen closed her eyes and pressed her head against the headrest. She trusted Shiloh. It was herself that she didn't trust. When she opened her eyes she realized the landscape had changed. The paved road ended, and trees and underbrush crowded what had become a narrow, winding gravel path.

Gwen, her gaze fixed on the bright beam of light from the car's headlights, said quietly, “You live in the country.”

Shiloh chuckled, but did not take his gaze off the road. “Southern Louisiana
is
the country.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I suppose to a city girl any place with trees and a one-lane road is the country.”

“Correction, darling. Dirt road.”

He liked when she called him darling. Did he want to become her darling? Yes. Did he want her to become his darling? A knowing smile found its way over his face. Yes, he did.

Reaching for a device attached to the windshield visor, Shiloh pressed a button and a wooden barrier lifted. He drove past the manned gatehouse, passing several newly erected homes before driving the Mustang around to the back of his house and parking alongside the Suburban. He helped Gwen out of the car, then led her up the double stairway of a two-story Louisiana Cajun country house. Soft lighting illuminated the first story within seconds of his unlocking the door and deactivating a security alarm.

Gwen didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't the cookie-cutter kitchen she'd expected. Recessed lighting, Tiffany-style ceiling fixtures, and white Euro-style cabinetry, devoid of any detail, gave the open space a clean look. A countertop divided the kitchen from a living/dining room and flowed into another area that doubled as a family room. The inside of the house had a new smell.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Not long,” Shiloh said, removing his holstered automatic and concealing it in the top drawer under the countertop.

“How long is not long?” Gwen asked, as she braced her arms on the partition separating the kitchen from the dining area.

“I moved in at the beginning of the year. Why?”

“It doesn't look lived in.”

Shiloh closed the distance between them and propped his elbows on the partition. “The only thing I haven't used is the stove.”

She met his amused gaze. “Do you at least know how to turn it on?”

Pressing his forehead to her hers, he kissed the end of her nose. “You got jokes, Miss Taylor?”

Gwen affected a sensual moue, bringing his gaze to linger on her mouth. “No. I just want to know whether you're domestically challenged.”

“On a scale of one to ten I'm about a six. I know how to use the microwave, do laundry, iron and make a bed.”

She smiled. “Do you cook?”

“Nope. One chef in the family is enough.”

“How long has the Outlaw been in business?”

Straightening up, Shiloh held out his hand. “Come with me. I'll give you a quick tour while I bring you up-to-date on a few colorful characters in my family.”

He led Gwen up a staircase to the second story and regaled her with stories of his bootlegger maternal grandfather who'd earned the sobriquet, the Outlaw, because as a teenage boy, he had successfully evaded revenue agents during Prohibition.

The three-bedroom house was designed with sitting rooms and adjoining baths, and the master bedroom was the only one of the three furnished and decorated. The bedroom had a king-size bed with a wrought-iron frame, a massive bleached pine armoire, with matching nightstands complementing the soft café-au-lait-colored walls.

The living-dining room, and family areas were defined by the positioning of furniture, and not walls. A drop-leaf table was filled with photographs of several generations of Shiloh's family.