Be My Baby (5 page)

The man was a walking, talking menace to
women’s health. She’d watched him flirt everywhere they’d gone and had seen him collect phone numbers with the enthusiasm of a kid exchanging baseball cards. He’d treated her as if she were an expensive but brainless Afghan on the end of his leash, and had tried to embarrass her by pretending he was going to kiss her. She felt hot and sweaty, manipulated and misused.

Well, enough was enough.

Holding his gaze, Juliet toed off her shoes. She located the elasticized lace band at the top of her left stocking through the silk of her dress, and raised her leg slightly to work the band down to the point where it no longer hugged her thigh. Then she reached beneath her hem and, displacing her skirt as little as possible, rolled the nylon down her leg to midcalf. As it collapsed in a silken tangle around her ankle, she pointed her toes, grasped the fragile nylon over them, and peeled the stocking free.

As a striptease went, she was certain it was deathly dull, but it was something she’d never in her life performed in front of another human being, let alone in an open-windowed car in the middle of town in front of the King of Hormones. Still, it was worth every bit of her own discomfort when he stared at the filmy length of off-white hosiery dangling from her fingertips and croaked, “Christ! What the hell d’you think you’re doin’, Juliet?”

“Why, just following your excellent advice.” Emboldened, she repeated the routine with her right stocking and then pointed out gently, “The light is green, Beauregard.”

Swearing beneath his breath at the cars that began to honk behind them, he rammed the gear shift into first and left a patch of rubber behind as he roared off the line. Juliet folded her hosiery into a neat little pile and settled back in her seat, feeling
much
more tranquil. The rush of cooling air against her overheated legs didn’t hurt, either.

She should have known it wouldn’t last. A short while later Beau pulled beneath the hotel’s porte cochere and parked. When he rounded the hood to open her door, she gave him an empty social smile and extended her hand, hoping to forestall his habit of grasping her any old which way to haul her out of vehicles. “Well, it’s been most…educational,” she murmured as he actually assisted her with a modicum of gentleness. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I imagine, as there appears to be no avoiding…” He hadn’t bothered to move back, and her voice trailed away as she straightened from the car and found him standing much too close.

Sweat plastered his shirt to his chest and heat rolled off of him in waves. Juliet’s pulse began to drum as he put his hands flat on the car roof on either side of her, hemming her in. “Forget tomorrow, sugarplum; today’s not over yet. I’ve got five more hours on the clock.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sticking with you for five more hours.”

“But that’s preposterous!”

“Damn right it is—you know it and I know it. But you heard ‘Acting’ Captain Pfeffer: my job’s to guard your body. And I pride myself on my work.” He sniffed the air. Then he turned his head
and sniffed again near her temple, like a bloodhound scenting prey. Suddenly he lowered his head, stopping just short of burying his nose in the contour of her neck. Juliet’s heart tried to bang its way out of her chest as Beau inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and she held herself very still. Slowly he raised his head again, an exhalation filtering out through his parted lips. “So this is what a rich girl smells like,” he murmured, and his eyelids were heavy as he studied her. “
Nice
.”

Then he stepped back, sweeping out a lean brown hand to indicate she should go first. “Shall we go in, then?”

Juliet struggled for composure as she preceded him into the Garden Crown. He was crazy, just plain crazy. That was all there was to it.

W
hat are you, friggin’ nuts? The plan was to freak her into demanding a new escort, not
—Beau ruthlessly chopped off the end of his thought; he didn’t even want to think about how his so-called plan had turned around and bitten him on the butt. Arms crossed over his chest, feet thrust out in front of him while he slumped on his tailbone on the same chair he’d occupied outside Juliet’s office before their foray into the Quarter, he scowled at Roxanne.

As if she cared. He swallowed a snort. The ginger-haired secretary reminded him of his sisters in the way she was able to ignore him with such apparent ease. And it wasn’t as if he were pissed at her, anyhow; she was just a convenient substitute. He was mad at himself.

Much as he might want to ignore the reasons why, he couldn’t seem to prevent his thoughts from returning to them over and over again, like a tongue probing the jagged edge of a broken tooth.
He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him. Juliet Rose Astor Lowell wasn’t even his type. He liked ’em small, stacked and brassy, not middlin’, willowy, and repressed. So what was he doing getting turned on by the sight of her
feet
, for chrissake?

Damn, that had to have been the most pitiful excuse of a striptease he’d ever seen in his life…and he got half hard all over again just thinking about it. He had to get out more; that’s all there was to it. His sex life was a joke, and had been for pretty much the entire decade since his folks had been killed. But hell, what other alternative had he had: to stand back and watch his family be broken apart? Not in this lifetime—and face it, he’d hardly been in a position to bring women home: his sisters had been way too young and impressionable. Nor had there been an abundance of free hours to go out searching for action. It all added up to a pretty damn sorry and sporadic love life.

That was all going to change any day now, though, and it sure as shit didn’t have to be this pathetic in the meantime. Hell, Juliet Rose hadn’t even intended her little stocking removal to
be
a tease; it was simply a minor rebellion against the jibes he’d been using to drive her away. But her skin was pale gold and smooth as honey, and he’d caught glimpses of it in an exposed calf here, a slender ankle there. And her feet—man, he didn’t know what it was about her feet, but they were long and slender, with high arches and long, narrow toes. Her toenails had been painted a virgin pink, where he’d expected them to be as prudishly
unadorned as her fingernails. And the
smell
of her…

He shifted uncomfortably, muttering an obscenity.

“All right, Dupree, that does it,” Roxanne suddenly snapped, and he blinked at her in surprise. He’d forgotten for a minute where he was.

She pointed to the door. “Go check out the hotel, grill the staff, walk the grounds. Do whatever it is you do, but do it someplace else. Juliet’s three o’clock is due at any moment and the woman considers me her social inferior. I might have to put up with her subtle snubs, but I
don’t
have to sit here and listen to you swear. Go away.”

“Why, Miz Roxanne, I’m crushed.” Beau shoved to his feet. “But hey, I’ve been kicked out of better places.” Catching her skeptically raised eyebrow, he rolled his shoulders and gave her a crooked smile. “Okay, maybe not better—this is a pretty cushy crib. But I’ve been kicked out by tougher folks than you, for sure. How many appointments does Juliet have, anyway, not counting the snob?”

“None.”

“No kidding?” That perked him up. “Think she’ll be done by three-thirty?”

“Maybe. By four certainly.”

“All right. Tell her to be ready to move out at four-oh-five.”

She raised that eyebrow again, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he regarded her impatiently. “
What
?”

“I’ll tell her you’ve requested the pleasure of her company—”

Beau snorted.

“—but I don’t guarantee you’ll get it. She may have other plans.”

“Then she can just cancel them.”

At Roxanne’s inelegant get-real snicker, he planted his hands flat on her desk and leaned his weight on them, looming over her. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m here at her request—”

“No,
sweetheart
, you’re here at her father’s. You clearly don’t understand Juliet at all, so you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you she’d never have asked for protection on her own behalf, and doesn’t want anything to do with the deferential treatment she’s been given.”

He straightened. “She doesn’t?”

“Good Lord, no.”

Well, hey, that should make little Miss Juliet Rose all the more eager to get rid of him then. He fought down the smug smile he felt rising and merely said, “Huh.”

“Oh, you chatty types,” Roxanne said with a perfectly deadpan expression. “How
is
a girl to get a word in edgewise?”

“You’re such a card, Miz Roxanne. And just cuter ’n a button, too.” Beau flashed her a crooked grin as he headed for the door. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time, Sergeant Dupree. All the time.”

“Five after four,” he reiterated. “Tell Juliet Rose I expect her to be ready.” And with a little bit of luck, maybe by this time tomorrow he’d be back to doing what he did best: real police work.

Juliet finished tracking down the missing shipment of linens for the dining room, and looked at her watch. It was nearly three-thirty and Celeste Haynes had yet to put in an appearance. She was reaching with her free hand for the phone’s intercom button when Roxanne’s voice suddenly emanated like a summoned genie from the speaker.

“Mrs. Haynes has arrived, Juliet.”

Juliet’s hand settled back on the desk. “Thank you. Please send her in.”

The last word had barely left her lips when the door opened and an exquisitely turned-out woman in her early sixties wafted in on a subtle cloud of expensive perfume. She was quite tiny, but something about her ramrod posture and vintage tailored clothing made her appear almost tall. Juliet stood and rounded her desk. “Celeste, how nice to finally meet you. I’m Juliet Astor Lowell.”

The older woman’s white bouffant hair dipped regally as she gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Of course you are, dear.” She imperiously extended a soft, beringed white hand with her fingers curved down. No excuse was offered for her tardiness.

Juliet wondered if the woman expected her to kiss the presented knuckles like some courtier of old. She awkwardly grasped the proffered fingertips and shook. Releasing them, she said, “Please, make yourself comfortable,” and walked back around her desk. Before she could resume her seat, however, Celeste had bypassed the visitor’s chair and crossed to the settee on the other side of the
office. She took a seat and patted the cushion next to her invitingly.

“Do come sit down, dear. I’ve asked Lily to bring us a nice little repast. We must talk and get to know one another.”

“Uh, Juliet?” Roxanne’s voice crackled to life from the intercom speaker. “There’s a woman here with a tray. She says she’s been instructed to—Wait a minute, ma’am!” Her voice grew fainter as if she’d turned away from the receiver. “You can’t just—”

The door opened and an ancient woman wearing a white-aproned black uniform backed into the room, balancing a large tray. Turning, she shuffled straight over to Celeste. “Here’s your tea, Miz Celeste.”

Celeste patted a little side table. “Set it down right here, Lily.”

Roxanne appeared in the doorway and rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she mouthed with a little grimace, and Juliet gave her a slight, bemused smile. Roxanne held the door for the elderly maid and they both withdrew, Juliet’s assistant pulling the door softly closed behind them.

“Come, dear, have a seat. Lily brought us a nice mint iced tea. Do you take sugar?” Celeste quirked a white eyebrow, the silver tongs suspended daintily over the Sevres bowl of sugar cubes.

“No, thank you.” Juliet took a seat, wondering how on earth her business meeting had transformed into a tea party. It suddenly felt as if her beautiful hotel had metamorphosed back into a private home and she was trespassing.

“Watercress sandwich or cucumber?” Celeste extended a plate.

“Watercress, please.” Juliet selected one of the quarter-sized tidbits and placed it on the fragile china plate Celeste passed her, which she then set aside. “Now. About the schedule, Celeste—”

“Cookie?” A new plate was offered.

“Thank you, no. Ab—”

“Tell me about your family, dear.”

Juliet swallowed a sigh. “My father is a Lowell of the Boston Lowells. My mother was an Astor. I was raised by my maternal grandmother, Rose Elizabeth Astor.” Juliet took a small sip of her iced tea.

“And a true lady she must be, dear. It’s apparent in your exquisite manners.”

“Thank you, that’s very gracious. Now, about—”

“My Edward, of course, is a Haynes, and I am the last of the Butlers. This mansion was in the Butler family for nearly two hundred years, dear. As I’m from the distaff side, I’m ineligible to inherit, but as you know, Edward and I were charged with its maintenance until your corporation made the offer to buy it from the estate.”

Actually the Butler Trust people had offered the estate to Crown Hotels, but Juliet didn’t correct her. “And you maintained it beautifully,” she complimented her and then said firmly, “Now, about the calendar of events you’ve arranged. I’d like to discuss it so I’ll know how my own schedule needs to be arranged before the Grand Opening.” She rose to her feet and walked over to the desk. Pressing down the intercom button, she said,
“Roxanne, come in, please, and bring the appointment book.”

As she regained her seat on the settee, her assistant walked through the doorway. Juliet looked up with a smile. “Pull up a chair. Celeste, you’ve met my assistant Roxanne, I believe? You and she will be working together quite closely to keep the agendas coordinated.”

“I understood I’d be working with you.”

“And so you shall be, but naturally I’m going to be in and out of the office. Roxanne is here all the time.”

“But she’s only—”

“My right hand.”

“Yes, of course,” Celeste said primly, but Juliet wasn’t fooled. Celeste’s impeccable manners masked a rigid sense of societal position. The society in which Juliet moved was loaded with such women. They placed more importance upon one’s antecedents than on the accomplishments that made a person who she was today, and each and every like-minded matron who’d ever had reason to come into contact with Roxanne had regarded her as nothing more than a lowly secretary.

Juliet turned to her assistant. “Sandwich, Roxanne? Celeste, is there another plate?”

“No, I’m afraid Lily only supplied the two.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll inform her that from now on we’ll be requiring three. In the meantime, Roxanne can have mine.” Juliet plucked up her tiny, crustless sandwich and held it between two fingers, her pinky crooked. She passed the translucent china plate to Roxanne, popped the water
cress tidbit in her mouth, and then reached for the platter of sandwiches and presented it to her assistant. “Try one of each. Cookie?”

“Why, thank you very much.” Roxanne smiled demurely. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Juliet passed that plate also. “Now, then, let’s get down to business. Celeste, did you bring the list of functions you’ve arranged for me to attend?”

Usually Juliet derived extreme pleasure from the sense of accomplishment her work brought her. Today, as the meeting wore on, she merely experienced an old edgy feeling of restriction, the likes of which she hadn’t encountered since she was a child watching the gardener’s children run barefoot through the gardens while she was confined to her chair indoors for another interminable tea with Grandmother. She found it difficult to sit still and concentrate. Instead, she wanted to fidget and squirm. She longed to get up and run and run, to spin in balletic circles until she could spin no more and finally collapsed in a dizzy heap.

Naturally, she did not. But when the door suddenly opened and Beau stuck his head in to growl, “It’s four-
thirty
. You about ready?” it took every ounce of poise she possessed not to leap from her seat, exclaiming,
Yes, yes, yes—take me
out
of here
.

“Come in, Beauregard,” she said calmly and, ignoring Roxanne’s raised eyebrow, turned to Celeste. “Celeste, this is Beauregard Dupree. Beau, Celeste Haynes.”

“Yeah, how d’you do,” Beau said and unhesitantly bent over the hand Celeste presented him and planted a kiss on her knuckles. He immedi
ately turned back to Juliet. “So, you ready to go or what?”

She felt laughter tickle the back of her throat and pressed her lips together, swallowing hard against the urge to give in to it. Really, she shouldn’t encourage his appalling manners. She turned to Celeste, who regarded Beau as if he were a wild and unpredictable animal. And no wonder: with his dark jaw, his casual clothing clinging to damp portions of his lean musculature, and the raw, palpable energy he exuded, he looked dangerous and worlds removed from his natural element.

But that wasn’t to say she was about to let this opportunity pass her by.

“I’m sorry, Celeste, but our appointment has run over its allotted time, and I have another commitment. I’ll leave you in Roxanne’s capable hands. Do feel free to contact me in my room later this evening if you have any questions.” She turned to her assistant. “Roxanne, please put together an itinerary for Beau and—”

Her instructions were cut off midstream when Beau strode for the door with her firmly in tow, but she didn’t protest. Light-headed and light of heart, she felt as daring as a kid playing hooky from school. With a sensual appreciation for the cool air-conditioning that wafted against her bare legs, she trotted contentedly in his wake.

In the small, elegant office she’d left behind, Celeste pursed her lips in disapproval and sourly eyed the empty doorway. Well, really! Here she was graciously giving her time in order to ease Miss Astor Lowell’s way into New Orleans’ society,
and for what? To be treated like this? How dare the little chit?