Be My Baby (19 page)

A quiet snort escaped him. Yeah, right. Like one fish-eyed stare was likely to stop her. Half of New Orleans probably knew about the hickeys on Juliet’s neck by now.

But who had time to worry about that? He’d been spending what little free time they’d had cajoling Juliet out of her coolly contained snit. She didn’t scream or slam doors like his sisters would have done, but it was amazing how much displeasure she could display without ever raising her voice.

He glanced at her sitting at a desk over by the water cooler. Since there was no safer place than a cop shop, he’d taken to bringing her to the station the past few days. She had dragged Roxanne along with her today, so the two of them could go over hotel stuff while he searched the computer’s data banks for cases involving antique guns. He noticed, however, that Roxanne appeared less than her usual efficient self today. She seemed to spend more time flirting with Bettencourt than working with Juliet, but Juliet apparently didn’t mind. She’d been scribbling notes and talking on her cell phone almost nonstop since they’d arrived.

The marks on her neck had faded to the point where she could once again sweep her hair up in that regal, French coil thing. She’d worn it down until this morning, and returning his attention to the computer, he scowled down at the screen in
front of him. He did
not
feel a need to brand her all over again.

“You plannin’ on avoiding your sister and me forever, Dupree?”

Beau looked up to see Luke standing to the side of his desk, looking aggressive and restless. Beau tipped back in his seat and looked his erstwhile friend in the eye. “I’m not avoiding either one of you.”

“The hell you say. You haven’t been back to your house in—what—four days? And you’ve been in and out of here a couple of times, but you sure as hell haven’t talked to me or stopped by to see Josie Lee.” Luke narrowed his eyes. “I can live with your anger, Beau. But she misses you.”

“I doubt that.” Beau knew his own eyes had probably gone flat in that don’t-fuck-with-me cop mode, but it couldn’t be helped. The truth was he missed Josie Lee, too, but he couldn’t get the image of her and his ex-best friend out of his mind. “I’m sure you’ve managed to keep her real busy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You talkin’ about in bed? Dammit, Beau, she’s not thirteen anymore!”

Suddenly Beau was on his feet and the two of them were facing off, the belligerent thrusts of their jaws only inches apart. But he kept his voice low. “I know she’s not thirteen,” he said through gritted teeth. “But she’s certainly young enough to be taken advantage of by someone old enough to know better, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know your sister for shit if you think anyone could take advantage of her.” Luke thrust
his face a little closer. “But the same can’t be said about you, can it, Dupree?” He jerked his head in Juliet’s direction. “She have any idea yet about your big dream to screw half the eligible women in New Orleans? Why don’t you whisper
that
in her ear the next time you’re suckin’ the blood up to the surface of her neck? Or maybe you just plan on fucking her right up to the moment her job’s done and you can hustle her onto a plane back to Boston, huh?”

He took a large step back, slicking a hand over his shaven skull. “Shit. I swore I wouldn’t get into this. I don’t know why I bother, anyhow—you’re so goddam blind once you’ve made up your mind to something.” He turned and stalked away.

Beau resumed his seat, but when he looked at the computer screen, all the words blurred together. He was breathing much too fast and made a conscious effort to inhale deeper, holding the breath in his lungs for several counts before exhaling. It was hard to hold on to rational thought when his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest in anger.

Clearly Anabel had been shooting off her mouth. Well, big deal, what the hell. His sex life had been so barren that linking him with any woman, let alone one whose connection to him was supposed to be strictly professional, was probably really hot news on the Dupree grapevine. And trust Luke to take the knowledge and run with it to make his own duplicity palatable.

Well, Beau didn’t buy it. There was no way in hell he was taking advantage of Juliet the way Luke
was of Josie Lee. Juliet knew the score: she was a thirty-two-year-old woman, not a kid fresh out of college. Maybe he hadn’t exactly sat her down to spell out the terms of their relationship, but it wasn’t as if she was looking for love everlasting from a debt-ridden, middle-class Southern cop anyway. She’d be going back to her own kind when her job here was finished, and would probably be thrilled to do so, too. And he would finally get around to pursuing his long-held fantasy.

No way in hell did that make him the hypocrite Luke tried to paint him to be. It only made him a realist.

T
he Garden Crown was ablaze with lights and packed with people, and Juliet finally found herself with a spare moment to catch her breath. Celeste had been dragging her from one person to another all evening long, and while Juliet didn’t doubt that the Boston Club members were all very nice people, they differed very little from the society in which she’d moved her entire life—which perhaps explained her failure to share in Celeste’s excitement. She was much more interested in seeing how the pre-opening cocktail party fared overall, and this was the first opportunity she’d had to assess the result of their efforts.

They were lucky to have pulled it off as well as they had, she decided, looking at the beautifully attired crowd milling throughout the first floor and the discreet servers who wove between them, bearing trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. The tilers had worked right up to the last minute on the ladies’ room floor, and the workers laying
the temporary dance floor had been in and out all day, competing with caterers, florists, and the wine steward for her attention. Thank God for Roxanne. While Juliet was stuck with the Boston Club people, she’d seen her assistant directing servers and trouble-shooting a myriad of last-minute details.

“Wonderful affair, Miz Lowell.”

Juliet turned. “Acting Captain Pfeffer.” She had forgotten all about sending him an invitation, but extended her hand with automatic courtesy. “How nice that you could attend. And this must be Mrs. Pfeffer.”

“Yes, ma’am, mah bettah half.” He performed the introductions.

Juliet felt a presence at her elbow and knew before turning that it was Beau. She drew him forward. “You know the acting captain, of course. Have you met Mrs. Pfeffer?”

God, he looked devastating. You’d never know he’d inherited his tux from his father; it fit him like a glove, and the pristine white of his shirtfront set off his swarthy coloring. He’d even shaved again just before the event began and his lean cheeks gleamed with a sleek, satin sheen.

The charm he turned on Mrs. Pfeffer left the woman nearly stammering, but his eyes turned cool when they settled on her husband. “You’ve got one helluva nerve showing up here after ignoring my requests for more personnel,” he growled, but kept his voice low enough that Juliet doubted even Mrs. Pfeffer overheard. “It’s been a logistical nightmare trying to keep track of the peo
ple comin’ in and out of this joint the past few days.”

Ignoring the criticism, Captain Pfeffer turned to Juliet. “May we expect to meet your fawtha this evenin’?”

She made herself relax against the stiffness his question induced in her posture. “No, Father is tied up on another project at the moment.”

Beau’s hand spread warmth across her back. “Care to dance, dawlin’?”

“Yes, please, I’d like that.” She smiled at Pfeffer and his wife. “I haven’t had the opportunity to try out the band yet. Please excuse us, won’t you?”

“Stupid son of a bitch,” Beau muttered as he led her onto the dance floor and turned her into his arms. “It’s idiots like the Pissant that keep everybody jawin’ on about corruption in the New Orleans Police Department.”

Juliet’s head came up. “You said New Orleans.”

“Well, of course I said New Orleans. What was I suppose to say, St. Louis?”

“N’Awlins.”

He looked at her down his nose. “Only tourists call it N’Awlins, dawlin’.”

“But I’ve never heard you call it anything
but
—” She didn’t need to watch that one black brow lift to cut herself short. “Ah, of course. It was all part of your hey-shucks-howdy, let’s-pull-the-wool-over-the-ignorant-Yankee’s-eyes routine.”

“No, it was part of the persona I put on back when I was still dumb enough to think I could actually make you ask for a replacement.” He skimmed his hand down her side. “And for what
it’s worth, that was before I realized there was any actual danger that you needed to be defended from.” His shoulder shifted beneath her hand. “Or pretty soon afterwards, anyhow.” He looked down at her and blatantly changed the subject. “So, Big Daddy’s tied up on another project, huh?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Otherwise he’d be here for your big night?”

A cynical laugh escaped before Juliet could prevent it.

Beau moved in a little closer, wrapped the arm around her waist a little tighter, as they swayed to the sounds of the six-piece band. “He wouldn’t be?”

“He wasn’t there for my first piano recital. Or when I graduated high school or college.” She made certain her expression was bland as she met his gaze. “No, I think it’s safe to say he wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, that sorry-ass son of a bitch.” He seemed far more incensed about it than she, and for some reason his rigid jaw made Juliet’s heart lighten. Then the frown between his eyebrows smoothed out. He brought her right hand, which he’d been holding in approved waltz position, up to his shoulder and then wrapped his arms around her and tugged her close. “Did I mention you look really, really pretty tonight?”

“Thank you, Beau.”

“I like that dress a lot. It actually shows a little skin.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, you gotta admit, this is a whole lot sexier than the good-girl dresses you usually wear. Now the world knows you’ve actually got legs.” He craned his head around to look down at them and then flashed her a white grin. “Great legs.”

“What’s wrong with the dresses I usually wear?”

“Nothin’, I suppose. They just make you look like a good little girl.”

Feeling faintly insulted, she raised a haughty brow. “Perhaps I simply wear what I am.”

“Can’t argue with that, honey chile. Gawd knows, you are very,
very
…good.” His tone was low and insinuating. “No doubt about it.”

Heat flashed through her veins. Lord, he made her feel sexy. Impulsively, she dipped her head and pressed a kiss on the side of his neck. When she pulled back she noticed the lipstick imprint she’d left behind, and unhooked an arm from around his neck to wipe it away.

She stopped with her thumb poised over the kiss-shaped smudge. Then, smiling slightly to herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck again.

He pulled his head back to study her with sudden wariness. “What?”

“Hmmm?” Her lips curled up a bit more at the corners.

“Oh, man. It scares the bejesus outta me when a female smiles like that, because it always means I’m just about to get mine, big-time.”

Juliet laughed. “What an imagination you have, Beauregard.”

“Imagination, hell. You’re up to something, sugar.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Okay, so maybe she understood a little better about that urge to brand thing now. Maybe it wasn’t only trailer park people who felt the compulsion to leave their mark behind. She sighed and rested her forehead against his throat.

“You nervous, Rosebud?”

“About what?”

“The speech you have to give?”

“Oh, no. It’s what I’ve been groomed for.”

His step seemed to hesitate a fraction of an instant, but perhaps that was merely her imagination, for he swirled her around in the next breath. “Yeah? Groomed in what way?”

“Oh, Lord, in every way. For as long as I can remember, until the day I left for college, I attended a daily two-hour tea with my grandmother, where she would test me on my elocution, my manners, my grasp of etiquette—you name it.”

“And you were how old?”

“I don’t know—a toddler. When I said for as long as I remember, I meant it literally.”

Beau frowned. “And you spent two hours every friggin’ day playing little Lady Astor Lowell?”

He sounded so incredulous that she impulsively confessed, “Sometimes I just wanted to jump up and run around and around in circles until I collapsed in a dizzy heap. I really envied the gardener’s kids, because they got to play games outside that looked wonderfully fun.”

He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch, but when she asked him to re
peat it, he gave her a dazzling smile and said it wasn’t important.

The next hour was magical. She felt pretty and sexy and much wittier than she knew she actually was, and she was in love. God, so deeply, desperately, ecstatically in love. She really ought to tell Beau, but the right moment just never seemed to present itself. And that was okay. For the time being it was fun simply to drag him from group to group, introduce him around, and laugh and flirt and dance with him.

At eleven o’clock, with Beau right behind her, she climbed the grand, open staircase to the gallery that overlooked the lobby. She picked up the little handbell they’d placed on a small table earlier and rang it to get everyone’s attention.

As the lobby quieted down, she set down the bell and picked up a handheld microphone. “I promise not to interrupt the festivities for more than a few moments,” she said with a smile as she looked down at the faces raised up to her. “But it would be terribly remiss of me if I didn’t take this opportunity to thank you all for coming. The Crown Corporation is proud that we’ll soon be opening this new hotel in your beautiful city, and as you might imagine, it takes the cooperation of many people to bring a project of this size from conception to fruition. The Garden Crown is my particular baby, and it’s been my great good fortune to have the help of some amazing people while I’ve been here. Your own Edward and Celeste Haynes have gone out of their way to introduce me to most of you
gathered here this evening.” She went on to thank a few of the individuals and societies that had hosted the events introducing her to the cream of New Orleans’ aristocracy. Then she arrived at the acknowledgment she most wanted to make. “Matters have occasionally gotten a bit crazy around here,” she said, in what she considered a fine understatement for having been publicly shot at. “And I would especially like to introduce you to the woman who’s been my right hand throughout sane times and mad times alike. Roxanne, would you come up here, please?”

Juliet saw her assistant’s startled face in the crowd below, and smiled in delight and gestured her forward. While Roxanne picked her way through the crowd and up the stairs, Juliet explained to the gathering, “In an undertaking like this there is always a multitude of details that require strict attention, and it’s a rare individual who, without being asked, is both willing and able to step in and attend to them.” As Beau stepped aside to allow Roxanne access, Juliet turned and reached out an arm to encircle her assistant’s shoulders and drew her forward. “Not only did Roxanne attend to her own overburdened allotment of details with grace and efficiency, she took up the slack and attended to mine as well when I was unable. So please join me in recognizing Roxanne Davies.” Guiding Roxanne to stand slightly in front of her, she dropped her arm and brought her hands together in applause. Lowering the microphone, she said for her assistant’s ears only, “Thank you, Roxanne, from the bottom of my
heart. You’ve been a godsend.” She extended the mike. “You want to say a few words to the people?”

Roxanne’s face was so flushed that her ginger freckles had disappeared entirely, and it belatedly occurred to Juliet she might have embarrassed her assistant beyond belief. Oh, damn, why hadn’t she thought this through? If Roxanne’s white-knuckled grip on the gallery railing was any indication, she was miserably self-conscious at being the center of attention.

The applause died down and Juliet raised the mike back to her lips. “Thank you all for coming. Please continue to enjoy the food and wine and the marvelous band.” Setting the microphone on the little table, she turned back to her assistant, who had sagged against the railing. “Roxanne, I’m so sorry—I didn’t think. I wouldn’t have embarrassed you for the world.”

Her color still high, Roxanne turned. “Holy catfish, don’t apologize.” She gave Juliet a sheepish smile. “I’m so proud that you would honor me this way, and it’s just plain ridiculous the way I simply
freeze
when I have to get up in front of people. You had no way of knowing: it’s not as if I’m ever at a loss for words under ordinary circumstances.” Straightening, she frowned and turned again toward the railing, reaching out a hand to give it a hard, impatient shake. “What is it with this thing? It feels awfully—” It broke off in her hands, abruptly leaving a three-foot gap in what seconds ago had been a secure barrier.

It caught her off balance, and Juliet watched in
horror as her assistant teetered on the edge of the opening. Then Roxanne’s right foot slipped off the edge, and Juliet dove forward to grab her. Her hands closed around Roxanne’s forearm just as her assistant’s left foot toppled into space, and the sudden dead weight at the end of her grip pulled Juliet into a tottering, headlong race toward the abyss as well.

“No!” Amid the screams from below, Beau’s roared denial echoed in her ears, and she felt his muscular arm wrap around her waist and jerk her against his body. She bent double, and her shoulders screamed at the weight that abruptly yanked the ball joints against their sockets.

Roxanne’s white face stared up at her as she dangled in space. She twisted in a half circle and then rotated back again, and it petrified Juliet that the only thing standing between her assistant and a sheer drop to the marble-floored lobby below was her own puny upper-body strength. Even as the thought scudded through her mind, Roxanne’s arm slipped an inch through Juliet’s grasp.

“No!” Tears of frustration and fear rose in her eyes, blurring Roxanne’s terrified face. Her hands were rapidly losing strength, and Roxanne slipped another fraction of an inch.

Then Beau reached over her back and his long fingers closed around Roxanne’s forearm just above her own grip. She felt the muscles of his thighs bunch as he braced himself.

“Let go of her and—”

“No!”

“Juliet, listen to me,” he commanded in a voice
that brooked no insubordination. “Let go of her and slide out of the way. I’ve got her—I promise you I’ve got her. But I can’t get any leverage to pull her up with you in my way.”

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, to loosen her grip on her assistant, but she peeled her fingers away one by one. When Roxanne didn’t immediately crash to her death on the floor below, Juliet scrambled to one side, clearing the way for Beau. She knelt in place, panting for breath and watching as he braced himself firmly on his knees.