Don't Tempt Me (12 page)

Oh, hell.
He glanced at Alli and saw the same wounded look. "You weren't, and you know it. It's just, I'd like to ... I don't know, not worry about anyone but me for a little while. And truthfully, I don't think Jackie is any more interested in marriage and kids right now than I am. So, no matchmaking, okay? All it will do is create a really awkward situation for everyone concerned."

"Oh, all right," Rory groused, and he would have breathed a sigh of relief if she hadn't smiled. "Although you're wrong about Jackie not wanting kids. Or haven't you noticed the way she looks at Lauren?"

"What?" He blinked.

"Rory's right," Allison said. "I noticed it, too."

"Give me a break." He laughed nervously. "Alli, you've told me yourself, not all women want to be mommies."

"Maybe not," Alli said. "But Jackie does."

Before he could even think of an appropriate response to that, he heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs. He turned just as Jackie appeared in the doorway wearing a white shirt tucked into worn-out jeans that had a split at one knee. From the swell of her breasts, he knew she'd left off the sports bra in exchange for something more feminine ---but what? Plain cotton? Satin and lace?

His libido did a slow spin as he contemplated the possibilities.

She stopped abruptly when she noticed his scrutiny. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head to clear his brain.

"Good morning," Rory said brightly, glancing between him and Jackie. "We were wondering when you'd come down."

"Did you sleep well?" Alli asked.

"A little too well, I guess." Jackie sighed. She'd finger-combed her damp hair straight back, accentuating her exotic features. "It looks like I slept through breakfast."

"Not a problem," he assured her. "I can fix whatever you want. Eggs, bacon, French toast?"

"Just a pastry and some coffee will be fine." She rubbed her stomach and he realized she did that a lot.

"Here you go." Rory grabbed a cup and filled it from the silver coffee urn. "Do you take anything in it?"

"No, just black."

Adrian checked the wicker basket of pastries that sat in the middle of the table. "Try one of the bran muffins. It'll soften the blow of that caffeine."

"Thanks." She accepted the coffee cup from Rory and took a sip but made no move toward the table.

Rory nudged Allison and nodded toward the door. "We'll be in the kitchen if you two need anything."

He stifled a groan as they bustled out with their arms full of dishes. So much for Rory not playing matchmaker. Someday his baby sister needed to learn she couldn't order the universe around with the sheer force of her will. Wanting something, even wanting it badly, didn't automatically make it happen.

"So," he said to Jackie as he continued clearing the table, "do you have any plans for today? Other than reading the diaries?"

"Actually" ---she stepped closer to him to check out the pastries and he caught the scent of some tropical shampoo that made him wonder how she'd look in a bikini sunning herself on a white sand beach ---"I was thinking I should go see the ship before everything goes to hell and I have to leave."

"What?" He shoved aside a fantasy of tumbling naked with Jackie in the surf to concentrate on her words. "First of all, everything's going to work out fine. And second, even if it doesn't, you're free to dive around the ship anytime you want."

"I appreciate that, but I've learned to not count on people's hospitality lasting beyond the moment."

"Not a bad philosophy ... for a pessimist."

"A realist." Her lips curled up in a sexy smile and his heart rate kicked up a notch.

"Well ..." He glanced out the window where morning sunlight streamed through branches of the trees. "If you're planning to dive, looks like you picked a good day for it. Not that the air temperature will make a difference sixty feet underwater."

"True."

"Let me know what time you want to go, and I'll go with you."

"Still trying to get me alone on the beach?"

"That depends. Will you be diving in a bikini or a wet suit?"

"A bikini in November?"

"Hey, I'll be happy to keep you warm."

"That's okay. You don't need to bother."

"Well, you're not going alone."

"Why not?" Her brows came together. "I'm experienced enough to manage a dive this time by myself."

"Sorry, house rules. No one dives without a buddy."

She rolled her eyes. "If you insist. Can you be ready by ten o'clock?"

"Absolutely. Now, have a bran muffin." He pushed the basket toward her.

She looked over the selection and grabbed a chocolate croissant.

"You know," he said, "chocolate is as bad for your stomach as coffee."

She gave him a cocky look. "Didn't anyone ever tell you: never get between a woman and her chocolate?"

"I think I invented that saying. I just didn't think it applied to you."

"Why's that?" She tipped her head.

"I don't know." He floundered for a reason. "Your whole statement about grabbing whatever's cheap and easy when you're hungry, I guess."

"That doesn't mean I won't go for rich and decadent if it's offered." She bit into the pastry, and her eyes fluttered. "Oh, this is good. Did you make it?"

"I am the chef."

She took another bite, drawing his gaze to her plush lips. "Oh,
mmm
, really good. Mind if I take it to my room?"

"Not at all." He tried not to think about covering his body in chocolate and offering himself up as a treat.

"I'll meet you on the dock at ten o'clock." She headed for the stairs, giving him a nice view of her jean-clad backside. Maybe they could cover each other in chocolate. Or wrestle in a big vat of it. Then he remembered why they couldn't do that.

Why did she have to be off limits!

~ ~ ~

Jackie hurried out the front door of the inn, hardly believing the time. How had the last hour sped by so fast? She saw Adrian already down at the dock, dressed in a wet suit and sitting on a storage bin with his arms crossed over his chest.

She waved, then headed over to her truck and unlocked the metal chest in the bed to get her scuba gear. Once she'd hefted it out, she tugged on the legs of her yellow and black shorty, wishing the wet suit covered more of her legs since the day was clear but crisp.

When she straightened, she saw Adrian walking up the trail. "Sorry I'm late," she called as she grabbed her air tank in one hand and her dive bag in the other. She met him halfway down the hill.

"And here I was starting to think you were the exception that proved all the cliched rules about women true. Now I learn you can't resist chocolate and you delight in keeping a man waiting."

"Oh, I didn't keep you waiting that long."

"Actually, it was worth it." His gaze dropped to the region of her chest. "Forget the bikini. You look absolutely ... eatable in a wet suit."

"Eatable?" She laughed. "Well, let's hope there're no sharks around."

"None but me."

"You, I can handle," she said with bravado, then nearly choked when he bent over to retrieve her air tank. His traditional black wet suit molded to his muscular back and cupped a pair of buns so firm they should be bronzed. Eatable, indeed.

Determined to keep a cool head, she slung her bag of gear over her shoulder and continued down the path toward the sandy beach. The Gulf breeze became more pronounced as they stepped onto the pier. Overhead, seagulls screeched a hopeful plea for bread crumbs.

"So why are you running late?" he asked as they reached the end of the pier.

"I got caught up in the diaries." She dropped her bag onto one of the storage bins and turned so Adrian could help her with her tank.

"I take it you're enjoying them."

"I am. Very much." She looked down to fasten the inflatable vest that held the tank in place and saw how much cleavage she was showing. Good grief, she thought as she pulled the zipper higher, no wonder Adrian had ogled her. "The early volumes I read yesterday were tedious at times, but for the most part, it's better than reading a novel."

"How far have you gotten?"

"I'm almost back to the part where she meets Jack for the first time."

"Back to?"

"Yeah, I cheated and read that part out of order. I can't wait to get back to it." She sat to pull on her flippers, thinking over all that she'd read so far. The entries had fascinated her right from the beginning, since Marguerite had started by telling how she'd come to be known as a good-luck charm.

The voodoo midwife who'd attended her birth had heard that the mother meant to send the baby to an orphanage. Convinced that such a fate would somehow be worse than being raised in a brothel by a prostitute mother who didn't want her, the midwife blessed the baby, naming her Marguerite, which meant "pearl," and said, "Whoever keeps this pearl shall have good fortune." Then she'd taken a magnificent pearl pendant from around her own neck and draped the chain about the child, telling the mother that the necklace had to stay with the child in order for the blessing to work.

Later, Marguerite learned that the voodoo woman died that very night, and that the necklace she'd passed on to her had once belonged to Jean Lafitte. He'd given it to the woman many years earlier as thanks for her helping his brother, Pierre, escape from jail shortly before the famous Battle of New Orleans.

Surprisingly, Marguerite accepted that her mother only kept her because of that blessing, and seemed amused by the fact rather than bitter. Indeed, her mother's luck had improved when a wealthy patron of the brothel fell in love with her and set her up as his pampered mistress. When his own financial fortune increased, her mother told him the tale of Marguerite's birth, which discouraged him from any thoughts of ending their relationship. He'd also been the one who introduced Marguerite to opera by letting her attend the theater with them, and later, by paying for her music lessons.

Perhaps that was what amused Marguerite so much, the fact that people went out of their way to make her happy once they heard about the blessing. Even the owner of the opera house where she eventually made a name for herself had treated her like a queen ---and with good reason. The place had been struggling when she'd first started singing there, but quickly became one of the premier theaters in New Orleans.

As Marguerite's fame as a singer spread, so did the stories of her power to bring good fortune to those around her. Men the world over, including more than one titled aristocrat, went to ridiculous and often hilarious lengths to woo her. She turned them all away, however, clinging to her independence.

Until Henri LeRoche came knocking on her dressing room door. His dark good looks and aura of danger captured her attention from the start. Even so, she'd held him at arm's length, just as she had the others. He wore her down slowly, though, with his seemingly sincere vows of devotion.

Finally, she'd told him the price of her bed was marriage, thinking such a prominent businessman would balk at marrying the daughter of a prostitute. Instead, he'd proposed in such a romantic manner that if Jackie hadn't known how it all would end, she'd have been deeply touched.

He brought Marguerite to Galveston and showed her the island he'd purchased "for her," even though Jackie suspected he really bought it as a perfect base from which to run the illegal aspects of his shipping trade. Then standing on this very beach, he showed her the architect's drawing for the house he would build for her if she married him.

Looking up at the mansion now, at the steadfast façade, Jackie could understand Marguerite's decision to marry Henri in spite of all her doubts. It wasn't the grandeur of the house that swayed her so much as what it represented. Marguerite, like Jackie, had always hungered for a family to love and for true acceptance.

So, she accepted his proposal, and Henri had the house built as her wedding present.

From there on, though, things went from romantic to horrific in a hurry. On their wedding night, Marguerite realized Henri was like all the others, wanting her only for the luck she would bring him. When she confronted him, he didn't even try to deny that he'd lied to her from the beginning. She threatened to have the marriage annulled and he beat her savagely, swearing she'd never leave him or Pearl Island alive. The house that he built as her present became her prison and her fairy-tale marriage a nightmare.

Jackie found it sadly ironic that the necklace that made Marguerite a good-luck charm for others had become an albatross around the woman's neck. If she had been in Marguerite's shoes, she'd have thrown the necklace into the cove. But Marguerite had cherished the pendant as part of who she was, the sheer serendipity of being born at all, and the eternal hope that someday, somehow, she'd find true happiness.

Was that the real lesson to learn from Marguerite? Not to simply survive, but to never give up hope?

"Hey." Adrian waved a hand in front of her face. "You still with me?"

"Oh. Sorry." She shook her head. "I was just thinking.