Falling for You (33 page)

“Well, there you are,” Betsy said, spotting her. A silver bob framed her rosy face.

“Betsy, what are you doing here?” Rory asked stepping around Chance and the children. “You have an inn full of your own guests to feed.”

“I decided Ron and my daughter could handle that for one morning,” Betsy insisted as she carried the baking sheet to Allison and Paige.

“Steven...” Rory turned to one of her favorite innkeepers. “You didn’t leave David on his own, did you?”

“Now, don’t fuss, Sugar.” Steven plopped his hand on one hip. “We knew you’d have your hands full with so many town folks to feed on top of your guests and that news crew.”

“We would have managed,” Rory insisted.

“That’s what I told them,” Allison said, laughter dancing in her eyes. She sat on a stool at the center island as she glazed cinnamon rolls.

“Listen to you,” Betsy scolded Alli with motherly affection. “Eight months pregnant, waiting on a hungry crowd.”

“Relax, Betsy,” Alli said, glowing with a serenity that had enveloped her since her pregnancy had started to show. “I promise not to lift anything heavy.”

“As if we’d let you,” Betsy said.

Paige ducked her head, but not before Rory saw her stifle a laugh.

“As for you”—Betsy turned to Rory—“I don’t want to hear any objections about me helping. Truth is, I’m here for purely selfish reasons.” A smile blossomed on her face. “I wanted to be part of the action.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Rory crossed the spacious kitchen and hugged the woman who was both mentor and friend. She smelled as comforting as the pastries she’d been making. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you
,” Betsy said, hugging her back.

Watching them, Chance breathed a sigh of gratitude. Having a few extra hands in the kitchen meant he could focus fully on Aurora. Especially if he pulled them in for kid duty.

“Hey, Allison,” he said, putting AJ on the floor. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into watching these two for awhile?”

“I’d love to.” Alli beamed at Lauren and AJ. “Come on, Sweeties. Grab your step stools so you can help get these trays ready.”

The kids raced noisily for the stools in the corner, no doubt hoping some of those fresh-from-the-oven goodies wound up in their tummies.

Chance noticed Aurora had gone to see what Steven and Rusty were whipping up so he moved closer to Allison to talk without his wife hearing. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at the kids. “One less thing for me to worry about.”

“How are you holding up?” she asked quietly.

“I’m nearly as much a wreck as Aurora.”

“You’re hiding it well.”

“Trying to.” He huffed out a breath. “Letting her know I’m nervous for her would just make her more nervous.”

“You’ve learned to read my sister well.” She nodded in approval.

“And thank you,” he added to Paige. “We really needed you today.”

“You know I’m always happy to help out.” Paige looked a bit confused that he even felt a need to thank her.

He suppose she had a point since she was the closest thing he had to a sister. “Still,” he said, “it’s appreciated.”

“Then you’re welcome.” She sent him the shy, nurturing smile he knew so well. To his surprise, she and Captain Bob had never started a family of their own, but they seemed content to keep it just the two of them. “Be warned, though, my husband is out there with his digital camera, ready to do a photo-documentary of the whole day for Aurora’s Website.”

“You know”—he chuckled—“I think after this is all over, she’ll actually be happy about that.” He checked his watch. “Right now, however, I need to drag my camera-shy wife off to a fate worse than death. Aurora?” he called.

“Hang on.”

He turned to see she’d slipped on an apron. “Naw-uh,” he said, going to pull it off over her head. “No cooking.”

“I was just going to help stir the hollandaise. I have time.”

“No, you don’t.” He tugged the apron away from her then took her by the hand. “If you people will excuse us...”

“Break a leg,” Allison called as he pulled Aurora from room.

“You’re not coming?” Aurora asked.

“In a minute,” Alli promised as he led Aurora into the back hall.

He chose that path to bypass the crowd in the dining room, but the moment they entered the central-hall-turned-lobby, the hush of the inn surprised him.

“Where is everyone?” Aurora asked, glancing into the empty music room and dining room where the buffet had been spread on the sideboard. Normally, by this time of the morning, several guests sat around the big table visiting and eating. He spotted a few dirty plates and crumpled napkins, but no people.

“They must all be out on the veranda, waiting to watch the interview.”

“Oh, great.” She released a shaky breath. “So, now I get cameras
and
a live audience.”

He started to laugh, but as they reached the base of the stairs, cool air brushed his skin. He stopped abruptly.

“What?” Aurora asked, then stopped as well. The way her eyes widened with wonder told him she felt it too. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked about as his senses tingled—not with fear, just awareness.

There was a time, years ago, when they’d all been sure Marguerite and Jack had finally found peace and moved on to wherever it was ghosts went, but every once in a while they seemed to come back.

But only when someone in the family needed help.

Like the day AJ, at age two, slipped away and made it all the way down to the dock with no one seeing him. Chance had been working in the office when his body turned ice cold and a vision of his son drowning popped into his mind. Without stopping to question, he’d charged out the front door and spotted AJ standing at the very end of the dock, bending his little legs like he was about to jump in. Shouting all the way, he’d raced down the lawn and onto the dock to snatch the boy into his arms. With his heart practically beating through his ribs, he’d turned to see Aurora right behind him. She’d had the exact same vision. Swimming lessons had started the very next day.

“Do you ever wonder,” Aurora said gazing about in awe, “if Marguerite and Jack are the reason we suffered so little damage?”

“Actually, I do,” he admitted. “You?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “I never wonder. I know they did.”

He looked at the wood paneling, noting how it gleamed, and how colored light poured through the stained glass window to shine against the stairs. Not one pane of glass on that window, or any other, had broken during the storm.

People could explain away the lack of broken glass, but not the rest.

When the order came to evacuate, they’d rushed to board up the entire inn then moved the furniture to the ballroom on the third floor. He remembered too well, how it felt to drive away not knowing what they’d find when they returned. Aurora had sat beside him, stoic and dry eyed during the gut-churning days that followed while they’d watched the twenty-four-hour storm coverage. When they’d returned to the island, they’d feared the worst, especially after driving through Galveston and witnessing the damage there.

Then they’d walked through the front door of the inn and stared in relief—and wonder. Everything from the ground floor up looked exactly how they’d left it. The only things ruined by water damage had been the modern additions in the basement.

“I know a lot of people would scoff, but I think you’re right,” he said. “Marguerite and Jack saved the inn. Not for themselves, but because they know how much the place means to all of you.”

“Us,” she corrected, but her eyes looked troubled.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you... ever feel a little guilty? That we survived virtually unscathed when other people didn’t?”

“No.” He took her other hand so they stood facing each other at the base of the stairs. “I feel blessed. And not just for the lack of damage, but everything. For you, Lauren, and AJ. For all the good things that have happened over the years. I feel... ” His chest swelled with joy as he stared into her amazing blue eyes. “I feel incredibly blessed.”

“Me too.” She smiled up at him as love replaced the worry and nerves until her face glowed. “Me too.”

Releasing her hands, he cupped her face, marveling at how just being with her filled him up inside. “I love you, Aurora.”

“I love you too.”

Lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his own and poured everything he felt into a long kiss that came from the heart. Her arms twined about his neck as she went up on her toes, pressing her body to his. As desire stirred, blending with tenderness, he wished all the family, friends, guests, and news crew a thousand miles away. He wanted Aurora as passionately as he’d always wanted her. His hands moved to her hips, pressing her against him. Her throaty moan told him she felt the same. For one insane moment, he wondered if they had time to slip into the office and lock the door for two really quick, really hot minutes.

Then someone opened the front door. “Oh, there you are.”

He sprang back and saw the silhouette of the female news producer backlit by the morning sunlight.

The woman checked her watch and a clipboard. “We only have a few minutes, so we need to get you fitted with a mic.”

“Okay,” Aurora said, sounding winded. “I’ll be right there.”

The woman went back out, closing the door behind her.

“Well.” Chance released a breath, willing his body to settle. “That was annoying.”

“What?”

“Being interrupted twice in a row. First Lauren, now the news people.”

“At least you managed to distract me.” Her laughter finally sounded real.

“My pleasure.” He noted the flush of color in her cheeks and wiggled his brows in a promise to do something about that later. “You ready?”

“You know what?” She looked around and a confident smile settled over her face. “I am. Thanks to you and Marguerite.”

“To Marguerite?”

“For reminding me I’m a Bouchard, descended from the Pearl of New Orleans. We cower before no audience.”

He laughed out right at that.

“What?” She frowned in confusion.

“You realize most people fear ghosts. Around here, we treat them as part of the family.”

“They
are
part of the family.”

“True,” he conceded. “And if a visit from Marguerite is what you needed, then I’m glad she popped in.”

“Me too.” She beamed up at him.

“All right, then.” He inhaled deeply, breathing in the moment it. “Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they walked to the front door and out into the sun-washed day.

~ ~ ~

Learn more about Julie Ortolon and her heartwarming, contemporary romance novels at
http://JulieOrtolon.com

Sign up for Julie’s Newsletter

or send her an email at

http://JulieOrtolon.com/contact

Read on for Chapter One Excerpts

from

Lead Me On
, book two in the Pearl Island trilogy

and

Don’t Tempt Me
, book three in the Pearl Island trilogy

and

Almost Perfect
, book one in the Perfect trilogy

~ ~ ~

by Julie Ortolon

Chapter One

Scott figured if a guy couldn’t get lucky on Galveston Island during tourist season he had to be a loser. And luck was exactly what he needed right now—in more ways than one.

The thought made his grip tighten on the steering wheel as he pulled the black Jaguar to a halt before the Pearl Island Inn. The inn sat on a private island on the bay side of Galveston Island. He hadn’t been to Galveston in years, and hadn’t particularly wanted to come back now. But his situation had grown so desperate he was willing to try anything. “Take a break,” his agent had told him. “Go somewhere and relax. Get laid if that’s what it takes. But for God’s sake do something to get your old charm back before your career goes down the toilet.”

Get your old charm back.
The words had brought the mansion on Pearl Island instantly to mind. Setting the brake, he looked up at the three-story Gothic structure with its gargoyles and gables, surprised at how much the place had changed since the last time he’d seen it. It seemed odd, seeing the old monstrosity with clean windows, fresh paint, and baskets of ferns hanging on the stone veranda.

Staring up at it, he wondered if he was nuts for coming here, nuts to believe in old legends about good-luck charms, and even more nuts to think a vacation fling would cure his recent bout of writer’s block. If he had any sense left in his brain, he’d turn the car around and head straight back for his townhouse in New Orleans and force himself to write. Discipline was what he needed—not luck.

He reached for the gearshift—ready to call the whole plan off—but stopped when a movement on the veranda caught his eye. There in the shadows he swore he saw the figure of a woman. Her pale, gauzy dress gave her an ethereal quality that brought to mind every ghost story he’d ever heard about “the Pearl.” Then the figure faded deeper into the shadows, making him wonder if he’d imagined her.

Stepping out of the air-conditioned car, he lowered his sunglasses and squinted against the glare of afternoon light. The salty breeze off the nearby cove ruffled his shirt and hair, relieving the humid heat along the Texas gulf coast.

The figure appeared again, this time stepping fully into the light. Definitely not a ghost, but a flesh-and-blood woman with the face of an angel and hair as black as French lace. The ghostly attire was actually a white cotton sundress that left her arms bare as she raised a pitcher to water one of the hanging baskets.

As she lowered her arms, she spotted him and smiled. “Hello” she called. “Are you Mr. Scott?’

Hello yourself
, he thought as he gave one curt nod. Maybe his agent didn’t have such a crazy idea after all. A little quality time relaxing on a beach with a beautiful woman might be just what he needed to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

Grabbing his laptop from the passenger seat, he headed up the oyster-shell path to the wide sweep of stone steps. “Yes, I’m Scott,” he said as he mounted the steps to stand before her. Soft, shoulder-length waves framed her face, and he saw her eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost gray. “Although it’s not Mister. It’s just Scott.”

“Oh, sorry.” A blush tinted her cheeks. “My sister Rory took the reservation, so I wasn’t sure. I’m Allison St. Claire.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to the Pearl Island Inn.”

Her Southern-lady accent gave his gut an interesting tug, even though he normally preferred women with voices like smoky blues on Bourbon Street, not mint juleps served on a veranda. Her handshake was friendly but impersonal. An innkeeper welcoming a guest.

“Come on inside, and I’ll get you checked into your room.” She took a moment to carry the pitcher to a shadowy alcove, then led the way to the ornate front door. Her walk was as ladylike as her handshake, nothing sultry about it. Even so, he tipped his sunglasses down again to better appreciate the feminine sway of hips beneath her loose-fitting dress.

“Do you want to bring your bags now?” she asked over her shoulder. “Or get them later?”

“Later.”

As they stepped inside the wide, central hall, the cool air enveloped him. He noticed the large space had been converted into a lobby with Victorian sofas and chairs set before one of several fireplaces in the house. Rather than cobwebs and dust covering every surface, sunlight poured in through the doorways of the outer rooms, adding a soft, welcoming glow.

The stillness of the place seemed almost reverent with the three tall stained-glass windows that lit the stairway at the far end. The room to the left, the old library, had been turned into a gift shop.

“We have you booked into the Baron,” Allison said as she led him into the parlor to their right. She took a seat at an ornate desk before a rose marble fireplace. “It’s one of our larger rooms, and the only one with a desk, which Rory says you requested.” She glanced at the computer screen. “You’ll be staying through the end of the month?”

“Correct.”
One month
, he thought, remembering his agent’s advice and hoping that would do it. Although he never should have confessed to Hugh Ashton how long he’d been without a woman. Two years was an embarrassingly long time for a healthy man to stay celibate. Well, that was about to end. Hopefully.

The thought must have shown on his face since Allison St. Claire glanced up and froze. For a moment she stared back at him as awareness warmed the air between them. She was everything he liked in a woman: attractive face, slender body, a spark of intelligence in her eyes. The last was a must in his opinion, even for a temporary liaison. As he’d matured, he’d decided that sexual partners should be as stimulating out of bed as in—which probably had something to do with his long bout of abstinence.

Holding her gaze, he allowed an inviting smile to lift one corner of his mouth. Color flooded her cheeks and her eyes widened. She looked away, fumbling at the keyboard. “Yes, well, if you’ll give me just a minute, I’ll, um, have you checked in and can show you to your room.”

Okay, so she was either shy or not interested, he thought. Or maybe he was so out of practice at smiling that he’d snarled at her instead. He knew his expressions could be intimidating at times, but the dark scowls were supposed to scare off blood-sucking leeches, not potential lovers.

Although, watching Allison St. Claire, he became almost relieved at her lack of interest. The woman had an aura of basic goodness that pegged her as the marrying kind. Which was not what he was looking for. Too bad. He would have enjoyed discovering the body beneath that dress.

“I, um...” A frown puckered her brow. “I see you reserved the room with a credit card, but some information’s missing. Do you have the card on you?”

“Certainly.” He knew exactly what information was missing—his last name. He’d intentionally rattled the person who took his reservation so he wouldn’t have to give it. A last-minute impulse to pay for the whole trip with cash made him hesitate slightly before reaching for his wallet. He missed the privacy of those days when he’d first changed his name and, to the world, he’d been Scott Nobody.

Resigned, he laid the card on the desk... and knew the moment she read the name.

“Scott Lawrence?” Her gaze shot up and awe filled her eyes. “
The
Scott Lawrence?”

He nodded curtly, disappointed at how quickly her chilly demeanor melted away.

“Oh my.” A brilliant smile lit her face. The smile made her positively breathtaking, dammit. Why couldn’t she have given him that smile before she knew his name? “I love your books!” she said. “All suspense novels really—the more hair-raising the better—but your books are some of my favorites! I know, you probably hear that all the time, but I can’t tell you how often you’ve kept me up all night biting my nails.” She leaned forward, her face glowing. “I especially like how you throw ordinary people into so much danger, and have them win against such impossible odds. You’re a fabulous storyteller.”

“Thank you.” He frowned, surprised that someone so innocent-looking would actually have read his gritty suspense-thrillers.

“Oh goodness.” Still smiling, she entered his name into the computer. “This is so exciting. Our first national celebrity. I can’t wait to tell Adrian, he’s my brother, and another big fan of yours. He’s going to be so jealous that I met you first.”

A weary sigh escaped Scott as he took back his credit card. He could already hear it coming, all the predictable questions people asked when they met a writer.

“So”—her gaze flickered to the case for his lap top—“are you going to write a book while you’re staying here?”

“Not a book. Just a proposal.” A seriously past-due proposal. And if he could manage to even start one, he’d be grateful to the writing gods.

She lowered her voice. “You know, I’ve always wondered, where do writers get their ideas?”

He nearly laughed, not just because that was the biggie—the number one most frequently asked question—but because at that moment he desperately wished he knew the answer. Instead he gave her his best deadpan look. “Personally, I order mine online from Plots.com.”

She covered her mouth as laughter danced in her eyes. “Sorry. I guess that was a silly question.”

“Not silly, just common.” He offered a lopsided smile.

She retrieved a sheet from the printer and laid it before him. “Here, if you’ll sign this, we’ll be done.”

Setting the computer case down, he leaned over the desk to review the room charges. Alli had barely a moment to study him unobserved. Though his smile had faded, its effect lingered, for it had transformed the aloof expression of his wickedly handsome face into something that bordered on... mischief. Not boyish mischief, though. It was too carnal for that.

The look in his eyes as his gaze held hers had sent flutters of alarm rioting through her system. For a second, she’d thought he was flirting with her. Except men never flirted with her. They flirted with her sister, Aurora, all the time—not that Rory ever noticed—but Allison they treated with utmost respect or sisterly affection.

Then she’d seen his name, realized who he was, and knew she was being foolish. Someone as exciting as Scott Lawrence would hardly notice a background fixture like her. He was just being kind when he smiled. What a relief. And what a thrill to finally see what he looked like! His books never had an author photo in the back and the short bios revealed little about him.

As he signed the form with swift, bold strokes, her gaze skimmed over his short, dark hair and closely trimmed beard. He was younger than she expected for someone who’d achieved so much success, early thirties perhaps, and very fit for a man with a sedentary occupation. The short-sleeved black shirt and tan slacks accentuated his broad shoulders, narrow hips—

He straightened abruptly, and his whiskey-colored eyes caught her in mid-gawk. That sardonic brow of his lifted and she realized the beard did nothing to soften the razor-sharp edges of his face.

Her cheeks heated as she took the printout and set it aside. “Well then, I’ll um... just show you to your room.” She retrieved a key ring from a drawer and came around the desk to hand it to him. Oh my, he was taller than she’d first realized. Not as tall as Adrian, who was well over six feet, but he definitely towered over her less-than-impressive height. “My brother and I live on premise. Right downstairs. In the basement. Well, in an apartment in the basement. What I mean is, if you need anything, there’s always someone here.” Was she babbling? Surely not. She never babbled. Straightening her shoulders, she composed herself. “We lock up at night, so you’ll need the gold key to get in the front door after dark. The silver key is to your room.”

“Got it.” He gave another lopsided grin and butterflies danced in her stomach. God, he was so gorgeous when he did that, like a movie star who would play nothing but villains and still have every woman in the audience swooning.

Trying to appear casual, she led the way back into the hall, describing the inn’s policies. He nodded absently, seeming more interested in looking about than what she was saying.

“You’ve really fixed up the place,” he said as they started up the stairs. “I never would have imagined it could be this... inviting.”

Startled, she paused on the landing, where the stained-glass windows bathed them in colored light “You’ve been here before?”

He shrugged. “My family vacationed in Galveston a lot while I was growing up.”

“Really?” she asked, fascinated.

“It was a common enough dare for kids to sneak out here and see if they could stay all night without running scared from the ghost. My sister and I took it a step farther and broke into the house with sleeping bags and stance candles.” As if realizing he’d just admitted to breaking and entering, he quickly added, “This was, of course, long before your family owned the place.”

“
Ghost Island
,” she breathed in awe. “Your first book.”

“My first published book,” he clarified.

“It was about three boys who broke into a haunted house on a dare, and wound up discovering a storeroom for international art thieves.” She looked about, seeing the house through different eyes. “You based that house on this one?”

“Pretty much.”

“Can we tell people that? I mean, would you mind?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”