The second book in the Dangerous Liaisons series, 2006

THERE WERE TIMES when Josie Villefranche felt like the French Quarter hotel she owned and ran was still a brothel of legend.

Maybe it had something to do with the timelessness of her surroundings. Could be her mixed-race heritage was to blame. She was one quarter African American, like many of the women who would have run or worked in the onetime bordello over the past 150 years. Or perhaps her assistant manager was right in that one of her ancestors’ ghosts still haunted the place, an ancestor who was rumored to have been one of the most successful madams in the Quarter’s history.

Whatever the reason, this hazy Sunday afternoon was one of those times. She sat behind the check-in counter fanning herself with a starched lace fan. She’d found it among her granme’s things in the fourth-floor room Josie had left untouched since Josephine Villefranche’s death nearly a year ago.

Josie fingered the tattered edge of the fan, wondering where her namesake had picked it up. Was it a gift from a male admirer? Had she bought it herself at a local shop? And had she once sat right where Josie was sitting now, fanning herself, longing for someone, anyone, to walk through those front doors? Or thankful that all was quiet so she could catch a few moments to herself?

She released a long sigh. Of course, in the here and now, those quiet few moments were adding up, which was the reason Josie’s mind now traveled to times long ago. The hotel had been doing very little business since the murder of that girl in 2D two weeks ago.

She glanced idly toward the winding, wooden staircase leading to the room in question. A sense of unease wound through her veins. Yesterday she’d been forced to cut her only maid, Monique, back to part-time. A temporary measure, she’d called it, until she could generate some business that would give the young woman more rooms to clean and more resources with which Josie could pay her. So as owner and operator, she, herself, had taken over some of the cleaning duties.

Merely being in room 2D earlier this morning had made her feel out of sorts. As if somehow the dead woman’s soul remained behind, reluctant to leave until her killer was brought to justice, although all physical traces of her had long since been washed away.

Claire Laraway, that had been her name. Her one-night lover, and a onetime frequent customer of Hotel Josephine, Claude Lafitte, had been accused of her murder and arrested, then ultimately released. But not until after he’d taken a female FBI agent hostage and had shot off a round at the check-in desk to ward off New Orleans police officers. The bullet was still embedded in the front of the counter, just another part of the history of the old building. A building in dire need of repairs and sweeping renovations Josie couldn’t afford.

If she didn’t find a way to drum up some business, and quick, the hotel would become the property of the U.S. government by way of her overdue tax bills.

Then, of course, there was the matter of the killer still out there somewhere, on the prowl. A killer Monique half feared would strike at the hotel again. A view apparently shared by Josie’s regulars, if the current vacancy of the rooms was any indication.

Josie caught herself waving the fan too quickly, kicking up a breeze that did nothing to cool the moisture that coated her skin. On the shelf under the top counter lay the latest of several offers made by a large national hotel chain to buy the Josephine. Offers she routinely refused to consider. Offers that offended her. Not because of the generous amount offered, but because Hotel Josephine was her birthright and it wasn’t for sale. What would she do if she didn’t have the business to run?

For as long as she could remember, the hotel had been a part of her life. It was included in one of her earliest memories, when her mother used to bring her there for brunch every Sunday after church. They’d sat with her grandmother in the courtyard restaurant in their best clothes-even now she could remember the delicate white gloves and hat she’d worn-enjoying café au lait and toast with jam.

Later, when her mother had met what she’d called “the one,” the man who would change her life, there’d been no room in the picture for a girl whose black heritage was apparent, while her mulatto mother had been blond and blue-eyed. So Josie had been dropped off in front of the hotel with a plain paper bag holding her meager belongings, left staring at a grandmother who had been just as surprised to see her as she’d been to be there.

Josie smiled faintly. Of course, Granme had made the best of the situation, as she always had. And Josie couldn’t imagine how her life would have turned out had her grandmother not raised her.

Some may have viewed the work she’d done around the hotel beginning at a young age as an abuse of the child labor laws. Josie had seen it as inclusion. She’d preferred being around the adults, dragging a mop along the floor or stripping the beds and washing towels, to being on the street playing with other children her age. It had made her feel as if she were an adult. Someone in charge of her own life. She realized now that much of that desire to be older than her years stemmed from her never having known her father and from abandonment by her mother, but back then she’d only known a desire to be in control, however illusory that control was.

And now? Now that she’d inherited Hotel Josephine and was one missed tax payment away from losing her?

Often in past days she’d wondered what her grandmother would have done. Surely, she, too, had experienced tough times, and she’d obviously managed to come through them okay.

Josie would find a way, as well.

Footsteps on the banquette outside the hotel. She looked up to find a tall, wide-shouldered man in a suit considering the exterior of the place, then glancing inside. One of the few buildings loyal to French influences in the Quarter after the fire of 1794, the structure boasted double doors, a marble-tiled lobby with high ceilings and ornate cornices that spoke of glamorous times past. Her granme had loved plants, and they stood in every corner, giving the illusion of coolness to compensate for the lack of air-conditioning and insufficient ceiling fans. Josie squinted at the would-be customer, noticing his weathered yet expensive brown leather suitcase and his hat. Somewhere in his early thirties, he was an attractive man. But it was more than his good looks that made him that way.

“He’s got that zing, that it,” Granme would have said. “You stay away from men like that, Josie. Not a one of them is worth the heartbreak they’ll bring.”

Despite her advice, men seemed to break Josie’s heart on a regular basis. While the city and its atmosphere of casual sex and impermanence might be partially to blame, she’d only ever found herself in the role of lover, but never partner. Never had she been referred to as someone’s girlfriend or enjoyed the title of fiancée. It hadn’t helped that four out of the five men she’d had temporary relationships with had been guests at the hotel. But since so much of her life revolved around the hotel, it was understandable that the majority of the men she crossed paths with would be guests, people just passing through. And leaving her behind without a backward glance when it was time to check out.

The visitor looked at something in his other hand. Josie realized it was one of the flyers Philippe Murrell, her assistant manager, had talked her into making up a couple days ago to distribute at the airport. She hadn’t expected anything to come of the endeavor. Yet here was someone obviously brought to her doorstep as a result of Philippe’s idea.

She rose to her five-foot, three-inch height and pretended busyness, praying for the man to come in.

When he finally did, she had to suppress a breath of relief, even though it would take a lot more than this one handsome man to save her hotel.

DREW LET HIMSELF into room 2C, put his suitcase on the wrought-iron bench at the foot of the matching double bed, then crossed to the open French doors. He stepped out onto the narrow balcony and gripped the ornate railing, Bourbon Street spilled out like a strand of black pearls before him. He’d never actually stayed in the Quarter before. He might entertain his clients there, but he’d always stayed at the better hotels on the fringes of the famed district.

There was something almost…decadent about being there now. Although it was Sunday afternoon, he made out the sounds of a jazz band warming up in a bar across the street, watched as a few teenage girls, apparently on vacation, shopped for beads in a place a couple doors up, the faint smell of decay and beer and Cajun spices filling his nose.

A homeless black man wearing a crocheted African hat and holding a trumpet case walked by the hotel, raising his hand to wave inside, presumably at the alluring owner, Josie Villefranche.

The view Drew took in was worlds away from the cityscapes he usually saw outside his hotel-room window. For that matter, it was certainly worlds away from the trailer park he’d grown up in outside Kansas City. In KC, being poor meant to the bone, no romance in the situation as families and single parents tried to make the rent and put cheap food on the table. Here…well, here poor seemed to be worn as a badge of honor. It didn’t appear to be something you were, but a state you just happened to be in. In the French Quarter, strippers mingled with CEOs of large corporations, while in KC, most of the strippers would be lucky to meet a guy who worked at the Midland factory.

The contrast interested him. How would he have ended up had he been raised in a place like this, rather than the only son of a diner waitress in Missouri? A woman who’d smoked and drunk too much and had never let him forget where he came from? Who’d ceaselessly told him that his father was a useless, good-for-nothing deadbeat who had probably died when Drew was three to get out of paying child support?

Then again, you could change the story’s setting, but the characters would still be the same, so Kansas City or New Orleans, it likely wouldn’t have made a difference.

He stepped back into the room and looked around. It wasn’t bad. Not too big. Not too small. The high ceilings helped, even though the ceiling fan did little more than stir the heat. The carved woodwork and cornices were original if painted over and chipped. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and he made out what looked like a water stain in one corner, but overall the structure looked solid. He ran his finger along the top of the dresser. It was also clean. A double wrought-iron bed, two matching nightstands and lamps, and the bench were the totality of the furnishings, although the room was large enough to accommodate a desk and a couple of chairs. He moved toward the bathroom and switched on the light. The black-and-white mosaic tile that might date back at least a century needed re-caulking, and the claw-foot tub could use some attention. The cloudy mirror needed to be replaced and the sink held iron stains. He switched the light back off. The entire hotel would need a complete renovation before it could even be considered as part of the Royal Emperor Suites empire.

Then again, that wasn’t part of his job, questioning his clients’ motives. It was how to get them what they wanted. And this particular client wanted Hotel Josephine.

The black, rotary phone on the nightstand rang. Drew stared at it, then crossed to pick up the receiver, idly wondering when the last time was that he’d seen such an old phone.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison.” He recognized Josie’s sexily husky voice. “I just wanted to let you know that our hotel offers a full menu and room service should you be interested.”

Drew sat down on the bed, listening as the bedsprings squeaked. “That’s nice to know. I might just take you up on that.”

“Room service, then?”

He shrugged out of his jacket, hung it on one of the iron posts of the footboard, then began rolling up his sleeves. “Do you offer service downstairs?”

“Yes. In the courtyard.”

“Then that’s where I’ll take my meal.” After all, there was no time like the present to begin convincing the lovely Miss Villefranche that her life would be much easier without the hotel…and along the way perhaps entice her into sharing his bed while he was there.

LATELY, NIGHT WAS the worst time for Josie. It was when she most profoundly recognized the reality that there was nothing she could do to help what was going on with the hotel. When long, quiet hours stretched out before her devoid of hope.

It was when the ghosts came out to play.

The muted night amplified the panting sound of the ceiling fan turning lazily above her. She looked up from the papers spread before her on the front desk to gaze out onto Bourbon Street. The stream of tourists’ faces was occasionally interrupted by familiar faces from the neighborhood, some laughing, others drawn in thoughtful conversation. Some faces that were a lot more familiar up until recently, because they’d frequented the Josephine with their paying guests towed behind them.

She heard the creak of the stairs.

To conserve energy, she’d turned the dimmer on the lights down to low, the small banker’s lamp on the desk illuminating the papers before her.

There was only one guest, so she didn’t have to look up to know that Drew Morrison was coming downstairs, probably to add his face to the others flowing past her door.

Josie concentrated harder on her work.

“Evening,” Drew said quietly, his voice closer than she was prepared for as she made a note in the margin of one of the ledgers.

She looked up. “Evening.”

In the low light he looked like any one of a hundred attractive men capable of attracting any one of a hundred attractive women. Women who filled the bars and restaurants and Bourbon Street itself.

Why, then, was she wishing she were one of those potential females?

She absently rubbed the back of her damp neck, suddenly all too aware of how alone she was at the hotel. A fact that normally didn’t bother her. After all, she had been alone in the Josephine since Granme had passed away.

She swallowed hard and forced her gaze away from Drew and back to the ledger. Tomorrow she’d ask Philippe if he’d mind staying over for a night or two until she shook the uneasiness she’d been feeling lately.

Footsteps. She glanced up to find Drew walking toward the open doors. Probably to go on the hunt for one of those hundred attractive women. Instead, she watched him stop in the doorway and lean against the jamb, his legs crossed at the ankles as he slid his right hand into his pants pocket. His back was to her, so she felt safe in watching him without his being any the wiser. He seemed to be considering the foot traffic on the street much as she had earlier. A part of, yet separate from, the crowd.

“It’s quiet.” He cleared his throat and added, “At least it’s quieter than I would have expected.”

Josie lifted her brows. “Yes.” She fiddled with the curls pressing against her forehead then slowly closed the book in front of her, placing it under the desk. “Would you like some recommendations on where to go?”

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “No. I think I can find my way around.”

She had little doubt that he could. A man of his caliber could probably find his way around anywhere. And have a warm and willing companion in his bed for as long as he chose.

“That is if I was interested in going out.”

Josie would have been surprised to find herself walking toward the door had she taken half a moment to think about it. But the truth was, she was tired of thinking for the night. Tired of thinking about the hotel and her problems. Her mind clamored for a few minutes of peace. Of quiet conversation.

Drew moved slightly as she leaned against the opposite doorjamb and crossed her arms in front of herself. A couple strolled by, arm in arm. Newlyweds, maybe. Or perhaps in the beginning stages of love when there existed no flaws, only the need for the other’s company.

The reflection made her overly aware of the man next to her. Of how tall he was. Of the subtle scent of starch and fresh cologne.

“First time in New Orleans?” she asked quietly.

She felt his gaze on her. “Yes.”

She nodded, going silent again as a group of young men who stumbled by apparently weren’t holding their first beer. They hooted at a group of women half a block up, too young to realize the loud attention would get them nowhere. Too old to be indulging in such juvenile behavior.

“You?”

Josie looked at Drew. She wasn’t prepared for the intensity in his eyes.

“Are you from here or a transplant?”

She felt the man next to her so completely she nearly couldn’t draw a breath. “Fifth generation New Orleanian.”

“Where was your family from before then?”

Josie had never been asked that question before. She supposed because her answer was usually all that the other person needed.

“ Carrefour, Haiti.”

“Ever been?”

She shook her head, keeping to herself that she’d never really traveled outside the city and its surrounding bayous.

She considered him for a long moment, trying to ignore the slow thud of her heart at being this close to him. “Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”

His grin was slow and wide. “All the time.”

“Part of your job?”

There was an almost indistinguishable stiffening of his limbs although he hadn’t moved. “You could say that.”

It seemed that the man liked to ask questions, but he didn’t like answering them.

Josie cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the street. Most men she crossed paths with were the same. It was almost as if they wanted to adopt a different persona while in the decadent city. Live out some kind of anonymous fantasy. Many of them forgot that she and the natives were just like everyone else. That they hadn’t been placed there strictly for their amusement or as players in whatever fantasy they’d concocted on the plane ride down.

If it was disappointment she was feeling that Drew was just like every other man who visited the city, she told herself she was being stupid.

ONLY DREW HADN’T GUESSED he’d be drinking that tea alone.

He lay back in his double bed staring at the whirling fan and the shadows playing across the ceiling. It was somewhere around 3:00 a.m., and in the room next to his the squeak of bedsprings had finally stopped along with the moaning he suspected was faked, but he couldn’t be sure.

What he was sure about was that the sound of a couple having sex, albeit it professional sex, ratcheted up his own growing desire for the elusive hotel owner.

He rubbed his forearm draped over his brow then sighed. It was hot. Hotter than he could remember it being for a long time. Or perhaps his keen awareness of it was due to the lack of air-conditioning.

His gaze fixed again on the ceiling. But not to look at the shadows there. Instead, he tried to detect any more sounds from the room two floors above his. A room he assumed was Josie’s because when he’d been standing on the balcony over the hotel entrance, he had heard her lock up and shortly thereafter had followed the sound of her footfalls up the stairs. There had been no more customers. But earlier, at around midnight when he’d been sipping his tea-alone-in the open doorway, he’d watched as a walking tour of some sort had stopped in front of him and a guy in period clothing had outlined the happenings of a couple weeks ago. The nine or so tourists had stared at him and the hotel in awe. Then the guide had gone into a story that went back much farther than recent history, and had made the murder of Claire Laraway pale by comparison.

“It’s said that Hotel Josephine is still haunted by the ghost of the original owner, Josephine Villefranche, who wanders the halls at night. Some say she seeks revenge for the wrongs done to her. Others say it’s a heart-wrenching attempt to find her lost love-the man who took her life during the fires of 1794.”

Drew had saluted the group with his empty glass, then headed upstairs to his own room.

He wondered how Josie felt about being associated with such notoriety.

From somewhere in the hotel he heard a phone ring. He suspected it was the main phone. He looked up at the ceiling again, wondering how long it had been since Josie Villefranche had gotten a break from all the hotel’s demands.

And wondering how he might convince her that was exactly what she wanted most in the world.

JOSIE’S BREATH LEFT HER at the first touch of Drew’s mouth against hers. One moment she’d been walking, talking about…she couldn’t remember. The next, he was gently turning her toward him, brushing his fingertips against her jaw, and kissing her as if he hadn’t been able to help himself.

And the surprise she read in his eyes surely had to be reflected in her own.

When Drew Morrison had walked through the doors of the Josephine yesterday, the last thing on her agenda had been personal involvement of any sort. She’d traveled down that road before and knew the dead end she would eventually crash into.

But what she hadn’t factored into the equation was that she’d gone into her previous luckless relationships without using her head. Each interlude had offered an opportunity just to feel.

And feeling was exactly what she was doing now, as she stood in the middle of the street kissing an almost perfect stranger.

And enjoying it more than was safe.

Drew’s tongue slid along her bottom lip, then dipped inside her mouth. He tasted like coffee and powdered sugar from the beignets they’d gotten at Café Du Monde. He tasted like one hundred percent man. Like desire and want and need all rolled up into one nicely wrapped package.

And Josie wanted more than anything to open it.

She splayed her fingers against the hard wall of his chest and broke the kiss.

“That was…” She drew a ragged breath, her eyes turned downward. “Unexpected.”

Drew chuckled, the sound rumbling against her palm. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Josie stared at her short, unpainted nails against his expensive Egyptian broadcloth shirt. She was dark to his light. Poor to his wealth. Yet on a primal level they emerged equals.

She knew instinctively this man could make her body feel things as it never had before. But it was time to bring her head into the equation for a change.

“Look, Drew,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I don’t want either one of us to go into this with our eyes closed.”

“Into what?”

She smiled softly. “I’m not naive. Most of the men who come down here are looking for a brief, no-strings-attached affair with a native.”

“Josie-”

“No, don’t interrupt.” She twisted her lips. “I’m not passing judgment on you, merely stating fact. And the fact is there is no hope for a future beyond this moment. I understand that.”

He ran the back of his index finger across her brow. “Josie, we just kissed.”

“No lies, Drew,” she said quietly. “That’s all that I ask. No lies. What develops-if anything develops between us-is temporary. I don’t want either one of us to pretend otherwise. That’s all. That’s my only request.”

He stared at her for long moments then nodded. “Okay.”

A simple word, really. But one that immediately smoothed the tension from her shoulders. Wiped the memories of the other times when men she’d been involved with had sworn never to lie to her then proceeded to do exactly that.

She kissed him again, long and hard. “I, um, think we’d better get back to the hotel.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

She laughed softly. “I need to relieve Philippe so he can do his job instead of mine.”

She began walking. She felt Drew’s hand on her elbow then shivered as he moved it down to grip her fingers in his.

“Would I be moving too fast if I asked for the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?”

Pleasure. Yes, it would definitely be a pleasure to dine with Drew.

“No. You wouldn’t be moving fast enough. How about a late lunch? Say at around three?”

“NO, I DIDN’T DREAM OF BEING a car-parts salesman.” Drew searched for the words to tell her the truth. Tell her who he was and what his intentions were-his client and the consequences be damned. He had to tell her. He couldn’t continue without her knowing the truth.

“What did you dream of being?”

The question took Drew aback.

He could count on one hand the times he’d been asked something so personal. And even then the questions had been asked by people like school guidance counselors whose job it was to steer him toward something more productive than what his upbringing had prepared him for.

He looked at Josie now.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“There had to be something. A fireman? Policeman?”

“Indian chief?”

Her laugh reached in and touched something he hadn’t known was inside him. A sensitive place, a soft spot that absorbed her interest like a dry sponge drank up a drop of water.

“Funny. You know what I mean.”

And, remarkably, he did.

Had anyone else asked the question, he would have come up with some off-the cuff response like “A lawyer, because I used to watch Perry Mason.”

But he was finding that giving Josie any kind of easy, superficial response was impossible. And that he genuinely wanted to answer her questions.

“A postman.”

One of her finely shaped brows rose. “Like in mailman?”

“One and the same.” He finished his soup and took a sip of his wine. “Our mailman, George, was just about the only positive male influence I had in my life growing up. So I wanted to be like him.” He chuckled quietly, having long forgotten about George and the memories connected to him. “When I was seven I actually went and collected the mail from the neighbors’ boxes, put them in my own makeshift bag, then redelivered the mail.”

“Oh, boy,” Josie said.

“Oh, boy is right. A grumpy old man a couple of trailers up called the police on me. Who knew playing-although tampering is the word that was used-with the U.S. mail is a felony?” He shook his head. “The officer that responded seemed to understand, though. He ruffled my hair-which, of course, I hated. George never ruffled my hair. And he told me to go play kick ball or something else that didn’t involve the mail. Or if I felt the need to deliver, I could make up my own mail.”

“Did you?”

“No. By then the shine was off the silverware.”

Josie leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. “You know, listening to you makes me remember about how I once dreamed of being an actress.” She cringed as if the memory were embarrassing. “I’d watched a movie with Mae West in it, then found an old red boa in my granme’s things and proceeded to strut around the hotel flipping the boa and asking, ‘Why don’t you come up sometime and see me, big boy?’”

“Uh-oh…”

Drew looked around him, considering the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

Josie laughed. “My granme nearly strangled me with the boa when she caught a traveling salesman trying to take me up on my offer.” She visibly shuddered then smoothed the goose bumps from her arms by rubbing them. “Of course, I was six and had no idea what kind of trouble I could have gotten into if not for my grandmother, but now…”

Drew tried to imagine a six-year-old Josie slinking around the hotel lobby wearing a red boa and making dangerous propositions to strange men. And he felt a desire to protect her surge up within him that he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Oh! I almost forgot the next course.”

Drew watched her clear the bowls of soup. “You mean there’s more?”

“Is there ever.” She took the top off a large pot. Steam rose up, dampening her honey-colored skin and pinkening her cheeks. “Move the silverware and the glasses off to the side of the table for me, will you?”

He did as asked, watching as she tipped a high container full of something he couldn’t see into the pot, then used a long-handled spoon to stir the mix. Then she turned and grabbed a small pile of newspapers.

“Here,” she said, “help me spread these across the cutting board.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, so he watched her open the papers and place them so they covered the surface before him. He did the same. Their hands bumped and they both paused, their gazes meeting between the short distance that separated them.

Up this close, her eyes were the palest shade of brown he’d ever seen. And were so damn captivating he didn’t dare blink.

She gave a shaky smile. “I think that should do it.”

Was it him or was her voice just a tad breathless?

She went to the pot and lifted what looked like a colander from inside it. Giving it a good shake, she stepped to the table then tipped the contents out onto the papers.

Crabs. Dozens of them. Orange and glistening and all about the size of his hand.

She put the colander back inside the pot then returned to the table, handing him what looked like a nutcracker.

“Blue crabs,” she said. “A Creole specialty. Although they’re better in the spring during the mating season, these will do.” She gestured to where he held his shell cracker awkwardly. “You probably won’t need those since the shells are soft.”

Drew chuckled, staring at the mass of seafood covering the papers between them. “What do I do?”

She picked up one of the crabs then inserted her fingertips into the top and pulled. The shell easily split in two. She picked meat out and slipped it into her mouth, moaning as she licked her fingers. “Try it.”

He did and found it amazingly easy to mimic her movements.

“No, don’t eat that,” she said. “Intestines.” She gestured toward the top half. “There.”

He carefully plucked out the meat and put it into his mouth. The texture was smooth and solid and magnificently good. The flavor exploded on Drew’s tongue. “Spicy.”

She smiled. “It’s the boil.”

He opened another crab.

“Mmm, a sook.” Josie leaned across the table and scooped something out near the bottom of the inner shell. “Here,” she murmured, holding the food near his mouth.

His heart beating thickly in his chest, he leaned forward and opened his mouth, slowly encircling her slender fingers with it. He closed his lips, enjoying the taste of the crab as much as the taste of her. Hot cayenne pepper and sweet Josie was a combination no man could resist. And Drew wasn’t in a resistant mood.

He sucked gently, then swirled his tongue around her index finger, his gaze glued to her expressive face. The black of her pupils nearly overtook the golden brown of her irises and she caught her breath as he trailed his own damp fingertips over the inside of her wrist.

“Those, um, are the female’s eggs.”

He withdrew his mouth. “Good thing you told me that after I ate them.”

She sat back down. “Best part of the crab.”

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, although Drew’s mind couldn’t have been farther from the food in front of him, no matter how good. Instead, his thoughts were solely on the delicious woman across from him.

Damn, but she was beautiful. And sexy. And the seductive way she cracked open the small crab claws and sucked the meat from them made his groin pull tight. What made him harder still was the unselfconscious way she ate, without concern of how she might appear, no pretense, no formalities. Only a pure enjoyment of the meal and of his company.

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped eating until her movements slowed, then halted altogether. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she couldn’t pull in enough air from her nose alone. And he felt like the precious resource was at a premium in the warm room. He watched her pulse beat at the base of her throat, a droplet of moisture moving down her neck to disappear into the deep neckline of her dress. He followed the movement and unconsciously licked the corner of his mouth as if he could taste the salty droplet.

Josie’s pulse pounded so hard she couldn’t hear anything else but the hastening beat of her heart. As Drew’s gaze slid to her breasts, she felt her nipples harden into tight knots beneath the light fabric covering them. He looked devilishly handsome in that one moment. Irresistible. And so damn sexy that she felt her mouth water with the desire to kiss him again. Not on a public street. But here in the private haven of her hotel’s kitchen.

At the same time, they reached for the newspapers covering the cutting board between them, shoving them and the shells and whole crabs to the floor along with their wineglasses and the bottle of wine. They both climbed up on top, their hands seeking each other’s faces, their mouths meeting hungrily.

Josie couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so spontaneously compelled to have sex with anyone before. She wanted Drew with an urgency that almost hurt.

He touched her legs, scooting his fingers up the hem where she kneeled. When she thought he might touch her aching flesh, he rounded to her panty-covered bottom and pulled her until she was straddling him on top of the table. She snaked her arms around his neck and held tight, feeling the rigid length of him nestled in her shallow channel, nothing but fabric separating them. She restlessly tilted her head to the right, then the left, kissing him with a desperation that bordered on insanity, as he did the same with her, first holding her head still as he launched an assault on her lips, then pulling her hips tightly against his until she moaned.

“Jesus,” he ground out, nuzzling her neck almost roughly. “I’m burning up.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair, mindless that they were still damp with crab juice, and kissed him. “It’s the spices.”

He shook his head as they kissed again. “No, Josie, it’s you.”

He peeled her from him then slid off the table, pulling her hips until they were even with the edge. Josie gasped at the sudden move, helpless to stop him as he shoved her dress up. Her chest heaved as he stared at her womanhood covered by her purple satin panties. She pulled the rest of the dress off, watching with satisfaction as his gaze moved from her thighs to her breasts. Breasts that were normally constrained in a bra but she’d left free and loose while she cooked.

He leaned in as if to take one of her breasts into his mouth, but she stilled him with a hand against his chest, then pulled his shirt up and over his head. She took him in. For a car-parts salesman, he had a dark tan and a fit physique, equal to that of a male cover model. She licked her finger and drew it from his thick, well-defined collarbone down around one of his flat nipples, before tweaking the tiny pebble of flesh then drawing it into her mouth.

Drew grew taut, groaning at her unexpected attention. It seemed only natural to Josie that if a woman could get so much pleasure from having her breasts licked, then the same would apply to a man. And she took private pleasure in being proven right.

Drew’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as she worked, laving each of his nipples then suckling them, blowing on the distended flesh while it was still wet. His hips bucked, putting his erection against her. Then his fingers found the sides of her panties and he stepped back, freeing her from her one last bit of clothing.

He stood for long moments, saying nothing as he nudged her knees farther apart with his hips and stood gazing at her bared womanhood with what she could only call awe. Then he was touching her dark, springy curls, parting her farther. Josie grasped his shoulders and shivered at his light touch.

He kissed her again. Hard and demandingly. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he pushed her back until she lay flat against the table. He rested one hand between her breasts and held her still as he leaned forward to pull one of her nipples deep into mouth.

Sensation exploded within Josie. Hot, so very hot. Realization slowly sank through her passion-clouded mind that it must be the spices. The cayenne they’d eaten and that remained on Drew’s tongue made each lick hotter than the one before, adding a sensation she’d never experienced before. She tightly grasped his shoulders, bracing herself as a blissful shudder ran through her body.

Is that how her licking had made him feel?

She didn’t have a chance to answer the question because Drew had left her breasts and was laving a path down her quivering stomach toward the V of black hair at the top of her thighs. She restlessly licked her lips, wondering if her sensitive flesh could withstand the spicy attention. Then he was parting her with his thumbs and taking her tight bud between his lips and the worry was whipped from her mind, replaced by searing pleasure.

“Oh!” Josie sought something, anything, to grab a hold of-Drew’s hair, the edge of the table-to gain a stability that she feared she’d never find again. He sucked in deeply, then one of his fingers rimmed her flesh before thrusting inside to the hilt, so that she felt the palm of his hand pressing against her burning clit.

Red, hot sensation shot over and through and around Josie again and again. She writhed on the table, bearing down against the hand bringing her so much pleasure, rubbing the spices even farther into her swollen flesh.

She was just beginning to flutter back down to earth when she blinked open her eyes to find Drew had shucked his pants with his free hand and was rolling a condom down the thick, hard length of his erection. She swallowed hard and braced her feet against the side of the table, readying herself for his first thrust.

NEVER HAD DREW VIEWED a sight as breath-stealing as Josie spilled over the cutting-board table, her X-rated body undulating in pleasure as she welcomed the climax he’d brought her to. And now as she readied herself for him, he wondered if he’d ever made love to a woman so gloriously unconscious of the way she looked. A woman not driven by shallow motivations but by a deeper need to connect with him in the way he needed to connect with her.

Drew touched her feet, caressing his way up her silky legs to her knees, his gaze caught by hers. Forgotten was the fact that they were in the kitchen of a hotel. Gone were any concerns over his role in her life. All that mattered was this one moment in time.

He positioned his hard-on between her slick, fleshy lips and rubbed himself lengthwise down then up again, purposely denying himself the pleasure of filling her as he stroked her externally. He watched her throw back her head as if the anticipation were killing her. She tried to force a breach by curving her ankles around his waist and drawing him against her. But the urgency of her movements merely increased his desire to draw this out.

He worked his head against her clit, massaging it, the catch in her breath and the shivering of her stomach revealing the effect he was having on her.

An effect that mirrored the quake beginning to shake him from the inside out.

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so…at one with a woman. So on the same wavelength. He didn’t need to hurry. Or wonder if he was doing the right thing. Or listen to her whisper orders about how to touch her there or do this just so. Instead there existed a mutual understanding between them that all was game and that the simplest touch could be the most erotic. There was no rushing toward an end.

Finally, Drew fit the thick, pulsating head of his erection against her opening. He paused, noticing the way she stopped breathing, her face flushed, her lips parted as she anticipated his next move. He slowly entered her by degrees then stopped, allowing her tight, slick muscles to become acclimated to his girth. She hungrily licked her lips, allowing him to call the shots. Drew reveled in the power he had. Over himself. Over her. Over them both.

He glided in to the hilt, the quake inside shaking him to the core while Josie’s moan wove around him. Her back arched and her glistening breasts shivered. Drew felt as if his very heart beat at the base of his penis as he slowly withdrew then stroked her again…and again.

Josie released her ankles and matched his deep rhythm, her eyelids fluttering closed with every thrust as if unable to bear the exquisite pleasure that he was giving her. That they were experiencing together.

He splayed his hands against her stomach, wondering at the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dark rose of her puckered nipples. The moisture that clung to her skin made her look darker yet. Keeping his strokes long and deep, he slowly slid his fingers down over her sides, then back up and over her breasts, intoxicated by the feel of her inside and out.

He realized he’d stopped his movements, his erection throbbing inside her. He watched her suck her bottom lip into her mouth and bite down hard as if unable to take the torture. Drew slipped his hands to her hips and held her tight as he withdrew then thrust into her hard.

“Yes. Oh, dear God, yes…”

Her softly whispered words empowered him further and he increased the speed of his thrusts, the next faster and harder than the one before. He wanted to consume her. Wanted to possess every part of her. The sound of damp, hard flesh smacking together filled his ears: the sweet smell of her sex blended with his sex filled his nose.

Then he was sailing over the edge of the world and into a parallel universe he’d never visited before, suspended in darkness, his mind uncharacteristically unconcerned about his powerless state.

Then Josie cried out, in the middle of her own crisis and he was moving again. Frenetically, wildly, speeding through the darkness with an incredible sense of freedom.

“HOLY MOTHER OF GOD,” Josie heard Monique say as the maid rushed down the stairs into the lobby the following morning, crossing herself countless times before looking at Josie with eyes the size of large, glossy marbles. “You got the voodoo.”

Josie stretched her neck. She’d forgotten to tell Monique not to bother with Room 2D, that she’d see to cleaning up the mess in there herself, but hadn’t had a chance after Philippe had called in sick, leaving her alone to man the desk. Something he must have eaten, he’d said, saying he’d try to make it in later if he felt better.

Now she stood staring at a clearly terrified Monique.

Josie had been raised around voodoo. It was as much a part of her heritage as her dark, Caribbean skin. While her granme had never practiced it or let her anywhere near it growing up, she remembered her mother trying out love spells in an attempt to get the latest true love to fall for her and take her away from this life.

Josie had never placed much stock in the hokey rituals. Oh, she knew enough about them. Even counted priests and priestesses among her friends, including her best friend, Anne-Marie Paré, and the Rooster Man, the old black man who lived up the block and whose counsel many sought to lift curses and perform white magic spells. It was said that back in the day, the Rooster Man had placed his share of curses. But it was also said that for every bad spell that was cast, bad luck to the power of ten would return to the caster. When his wife and young son were killed in a freak automobile accident thirty years ago, he’d done a one-eighty and only performed good voodoo. Some said he performed white magic as penance for past wrongs and to guarantee his family entrance into heaven.

Josie thought it was more likely the only way he knew how to make a living and that he had long since stopped believing in any higher spiritual power.

“Monique, Monique, get yourself together, girl.” She rounded the desk and pried the broom from the young woman’s hands before she broke the stick and hurt herself. “I’ll take care of 2D.” She touched Monique’s arm to find her cold. “In fact, why don’t you go ahead and take the day off altogether? I’ll take care of the duties.”

Monique nodded several times. “Yes, yes. I need to make sure that nothing sticks to me.”

Josie knew what she meant. She wanted to make certain that the curse meant for Josie hadn’t transferred to her.

She watched Monique hightail it out of the hotel without another backward glance. What remained was who would want to place a curse on her in the first place. She remembered Drew asking the question last night. Who would want to do this? She hadn’t told him. Mostly because she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone unless she was entirely sure they were behind it. But also partly because she had been too tempted to melt into Drew’s ready arms and let him take care of her.

The temptation itself had frightened her more than the voodoo ritual. She’d never allowed anyone to take care of her. Mostly because there had never been anyone who had offered to take the job. Even her granme had warned her from a young age, “You’ve got to learn how to step up and take care of yourself, Josephine.” Usually these words came after she’d been frightened by something and had turned to her grandmother for comfort. She would give it to her, but in small doses. “Ain’t nobody going to take care of you as well as you can take care of yourself. And I’m not going to be here forever.”

Josie looked toward an undefined spot above herself, wondering at the prophetic content of her grandmother’s words.

The police had come and gone last night, barely making note of the event except for its connection to the murder of the girl. Fact was, voodoo rituals were more the norm than the exception in New Orleans, and if the police followed up on every reported voodoo spell, the city’s crime rate would raise exponentially because they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Voodoo shops selling do-it-yourself ritual kits were everywhere in the Quarter. On occasion, Josie herself had even browsed through a shop or two, curious. And, of course, Anne-Marie owned one where she also consulted tarot cards and gave spiritual readings. Before her grandmother had passed away, when Josie had had the time and cash for outings, she’d often met Anne-Marie there and they’d gone out for lunch. And now and then Anne-Marie had even set up shop here in the hotel’s courtyard.

Interestingly enough, her friend really hadn’t been by since Granme had passed, except to pay her respects. Even then, she’d commented on some sort of “presence” in the hotel and had appeared uncomfortable.

There was a shadow at the door. Josie turned toward it, her heart giving a squeeze as she found herself wishing it were Drew. Only it wasn’t. Instead, it was a man she was hoping to avoid by not calling the police last night.

“Detective Chevalier,” she greeted coolly, pretending an interest in her nearly empty guest book on the desk.

“Miss Villefranche.” He took off his fedora and put it on the desk on top of the book, forcing her gaze up to him.

N.O. Homicide Detective Alan Chevalier had worked the case of Claire Laraway and, if his presence was any indication, he still was.

“I heard about what happened last night,” he said. “Any idea who might want to do something like that?”

She shrugged, removed the book from under his hat and then closed it. “Probably some neighborhood kids playing a prank.”

And the phone calls? she silently asked. Were those a prank, as well?

“Hmm. Have you cleaned up yet?”

She turned and retrieved the key for 2D. “No. Make yourself at home.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then took the key.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He looked around the empty lobby. “How many guests do you have in residence?”

Josie’s throat tightened. “One.”

His brows rose.

While the Josephine had never been a popular place, she had managed to keep at least half her rooms full most times.

Most times, that is, until the unsolved murder two weeks ago.

“Who?”

“A businessman in for a convention,” she said, hating to describe Drew that way. “A Mr. Drew Morrison.”

“Is he in?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ll be wanting to talk to him.”

“He wasn’t here when I found the candles.”

“Nonetheless…”

He left the word hanging as he turned to make his way toward the steps. Halfway there, he backtracked and picked up his hat, folding the brim back as he looked at her. Then he turned away again.

“Detective?” she found herself saying as he climbed the first couple of stairs.

He slowed his steps then stopped, apparently waiting for her to continue.

Josie swallowed hard, realizing she had nearly told him of the late-night phone calls.

“Would you like something to drink? A tea, perhaps?”

“Yes. I’d like that. I’ll take it in the courtyard when I’m done.”

DREW HAD WANTED TO MAKE a beeline straight for Josie when he’d returned to the hotel, but was thwarted by the presence of a woman who had to be around Josie’s age but looked at least thirty years older. It was more than the colorful turban and the loose-fitting long dress. Her haunted eyes were older than her years.

Josie sat with the dark woman in the courtyard, tiny coffee cups between them, the other woman’s many bracelets jangling as she gestured with her hands while she spoke. Josie sat back, seeming amused by what her companion had to say, but also paying attention.

Drew stepped into the courtyard.

Josie looked at him, and the woman she was with studied him with a guarded expression.

“Drew,” Josie greeted.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Come. I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine. Anne-Marie Paré, this is Drew Morrison. He’s a…guest at the hotel. The only guest actually.”

Anne-Marie extended her hand toward him. Drew took it, noticing the cracked red nail polish she wore and the ashy appearance of her skin.

“A pleasure,” he said.

“Hmm,” Anne-Marie responded, her dark eyes intense as she looked him over. “I’d say Mr. Morrison here is more than a guest.”

Josie smiled. “Anne-Marie is a voodoo priestess.”

“Ah,” Drew said, extracting his hand from the uncanny woman’s bony grasp.

“Miss Villefranche?”

Josie looked over his shoulder to where a man stood wearing a wrinkled gray trench coat and holding a fedora.

“Detective Chevalier.”

“Do you have a moment?”

Josie excused herself, leaving Drew with Anne-Marie and her unsettling eyes.

“Please,” she said, indicating the chair across from her with a jangling motion of her hand. “Sit.”

NO MATTER HOW HARD Josie tried, she couldn’t seem to draw in a breath deep enough to clear her mind. Then again, air probably had nothing to do with her light-headed state. She suspected Drew was completely responsible for that. The gentle way he held her. The soft, knowing stroke of his hands over her back and her face. The growing hardness against her stomach.

He gripped her chin in his hand and kissed her deeply, stealing the bone from her knees and rendering her helpless to his sensual onslaught.

Yesterday had been all about urgency. By closing the hotel for the first time in its recent history, she’d guaranteed that tonight would be all about slow and sure.

Drew’s tongue stroked hers. If she’d harbored any doubts about coming to his room, they all but disappeared. She wanted this. Needed to feel grounded, real, and in control. It was strange that she should feel that when she seemed to have no control over herself the instant Drew touched her.

Everything in her life was spiraling out of control. She stood on the brink of losing her hotel. Someone was taking extreme measures to try to frighten her. And out there somewhere was a killer who could strike again anytime.

Drew’s hand rested at the base of her neck, his index finger caressing as if monitoring the quickening of her pulse there. Then he was working that same index finger under the thin strap of her slip dress, doing the same with his hand on her other shoulder, so that the light material whispered down over her breasts and hips and then puddled around her ankles. Josie stepped out of the circle, gloriously aware that she was completely exposed while Drew was fully dressed.

She was about to remedy that when he swept her up and carried her to the bed. Whatever he’d had on top thudded to the floor and then he was laying her down, only momentarily breaking their long, leisurely kiss.

He climbed onto the bed with her, positioning himself between her legs then prying open her knees with a slow nudge. His thigh slid against her throbbing womanhood, causing her back to come up off the mattress. He took full advantage of her momentary distraction and ran his tongue along an engorged nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

The bed beneath Josie was soft and cool, while Drew above her was hard and hot. She reveled in the contrast as he lifted to kiss her again. At the opportunity, she went to work on the buttons of his shirt, tucking her fingers inside the edges so that they brushed against the warm steel of his stomach. She reached the bottom and pressed her palm flat against his abdomen, just above his erection. She savored his low hiss before pushing the material from his wide shoulders. There. She wanted to kiss him there. She placed her lips against his shoulder, swirling her tongue against the salty, manly taste of his skin. And there. She kissed his collarbone. And there…

Everywhere she kissed him left her wanting more.

Drew moved so that both his knees were between hers. He lay against her so that his long, rigid hardness was cradled between her legs. She grasped his hips, holding him there, swimming in the anticipation that shuddered through her.

The slow burn was quickly turning into something more powerful. Josie braced her hands against his shoulders then turned him over so that he was lying on the mattress and she was above him. She kissed him long and hard, her right hand slinking down over his torso toward his slacks. She popped the fastener then tugged down the zipper, dipping her hand inside his boxers so she could cup his silken length. So long…so thick…so hard. She pulled her mouth from his, her breasts swaying as she repositioned herself between his knees. She caught him watching the movement. She grazed her nipples against his chest, first one way, then the other, rubbing them against his. His eyes darkened and he grasped her hips, shoving down her panties to bare her fully to his gaze. She dragged her breasts down the remainder of his abdomen, then pressed them against his hard ridge before lifting to rid him of his slacks and boxers. But rather than returning to kiss his mouth, she straddled his leg. Sitting straight up, she cupped her breasts in her own hands, squeezing her nipples, knowing he was watching her raptly. Then she wantonly rubbed her wetness against the prickly hair covering his thigh, nearly causing herself to climax right on the spot.

He grasped her wrists and groaned. “Come here.”

She stretched and grasped his hands, then drew his arms above his head.

“Shhh,” she said, kissing him deeply as she rubbed her breasts against his chest again.

She curved his fingers around the wrought-iron headboard, then slid back down again, running one of her nipples over his exposed length, then the other, before taking his turgid flesh in her hands. For long moments she visually examined the example of prime male virility, aware that his breathing was shallow and that he hadn’t moved a muscle. She met his gaze as she licked the thick knob, then licked again to taste the bead of moisture there.

“Sweet Jesus…”

Drew threw back his head and gripped the headboard so tightly the entire bed shifted.

Josie went down on him, enjoying the salty taste, that he was watching her, that she knew exactly what to do to please a man as she fondled his soft, hair-covered sac.

When she sensed he was on the threshold of coming, she moved her other hand up and down the base of his shaft and increased the suction, thirsty for proof of his desire for her.

Instead, he growled and grasped her shoulders. She thought he was going to pull her away. But instead, he repositioned her so that she still had complete access to him…and he had the same access to her.

She carefully balanced her knees on either side of his head against his shoulders, then took him back into her mouth. When she felt his thumbs probe her engorged flesh, opening her to him, she nearly climaxed.

And moments later, when he fastened his mouth over her tight bud, she did come.

Drew marveled at the power he had over Josie as he breathed in her musk and absorbed her spasms and shudders. She not only smelled like fruit, she tasted and looked like it, too. He cupped her bottom, spreading the fleshy, split peach of her womanhood farther, drawing out her crisis by alternately suckling her then blowing on her, feeling her breasts crushing against his stomach and her fingers grip his thighs as she rode the wave of sensation.

When he was about to edge her bottom down toward his aching member, he felt her mouth take him in again. He was so unprepared for the move that his hips bucked involuntarily and he found himself coming with an intensity that made his balls ache.

For long, breathless moments he lay back, his mouth against her soft inner thigh. The room was dark but for the shaft of red light shining in from the club across the street. The ceiling fan whirled, blowing hot air against their moisture-covered bodies. He didn’t know if he could continue their lovemaking. His climax had been so all consuming, he didn’t think there was anything left for him to give.

Then he felt Josie shift slightly, lifting back up to her elbows. And that sweet mouth of hers was on him again.

He grasped her bottom and nudged her downward until she gripped his ankles and her swollen flesh was above his stiffening length. He reached for his slacks that were strewn across the bedside table and fished a condom out of his back pocket. Then he was parting the rounded globes of her perfect backside and thrusting upward, entering her in one, long, slick stroke to the hilt.

Josie let loose a moan that made his hard-on double in size. He thrust again, watching the latex glisten with her juices as his erection disappeared inside her, then reappeared again. He placed his thumbs on either side of her engorged labia, coaxing a deeper meeting as he thrust upward again. To his amazement, she found her own pleasure in her awkward position by grinding against him. The friction caused by her pubis against his balls made him grit his teeth to keep from coming again.

Slowly, she sat up so that she was straddling him reverse-cowgirl style. He stroked the long, graceful line of her back, then the swell of her bottom as she braced herself against his thighs and lifted herself off him, then dropped back down again. Then again.

He grasped her hips. “I want to watch you,” he whispered harshly. “Turn around.”

She did as asked, reaching down between them to reposition the tip of his arousal against her portal. Their gazes met as she slid down over him, inch by torturous inch, until he filled her to the hilt. She stretched out her long neck and moaned soulfully, rivaling the sound of the trumpet outside. Drew cupped her breasts as she moved, marveling in the way they filled his hands, the way they trembled with her movements. Then he splayed his hands against her slender hips, at first just letting them rest there as he watched her move against him, then guiding her movements, holding her still as he thrust hard up inside of her.

This enchantress was the most fascinating sight he’d ever seen. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him from under the fringe of her dark lashes. Up and down…up and down.

Yes, he thought, the word echoing in his mind. Dear God, yes.

This time when he came, he took her with him.

JOSIE FELT BLISSFULLY TIRED. After slipping from Drew’s bed somewhere around dawn and going upstairs to her private rooms to take a shower, she went to the kitchen to put on some much needed coffee. She didn’t see the need for an exercise routine because she got enough physical activity from taking care of the hotel. But her thighs and butt and even some aches in the backs of her arms were letting her know that perhaps she should look into at least doing some stretching.

Today was Monique’s scheduled day off, and since Josie didn’t know if Philippe would be feeling well enough to come in, she figured she’d better see to cleaning room 2B before officially opening the doors for the day. All the materials she’d need were in a supply closet on the second floor, so she climbed the back stairs from the kitchen, collected fresh linens and the bucket of cleaning supplies, and used her master key to open the door after a brief knock she knew wouldn’t yield any results. Frederique never stayed the full night.

Josie pocketed the key and used her back to open the door. Normally, at night she would hear every creak and moan coming from this room, mostly because she was two floors upstairs in her room alone with nothing else to do. But last night, she and Drew had given Frederique and her guest a run for their money, at one point earning a quiet knock.

“Hey, keep it down over there. A body’s trying to work,” Frederique had said.

Josie turned to let the door close behind herself and took in the condition of the room. Only her gaze never made it beyond the bed. Because Frederique was draped over the end, face up, her throat cleanly slit from ear to ear. Just as Claire Laraway had been two weeks ago.

Josie dropped the linens and the cleaning bucket and smacked a rubber-gloved hand to her mouth, a sob welling up from the tips of her toes.

It looked like Frederique wasn’t going to have to worry about working ever again.

MUCH LATER THAT NIGHT, long after the police had finally left and Philippe had helped her clean up the mess they had made Josie sat at the front desk, going over the events. The front doors were open, the shotgun under the desk within easy reach. The back door was double locked.

She’d insisted Philippe go home. She didn’t want to risk his having a relapse. She needed him here as much as possible in the coming days. She’d be able to hold her own for the night.

At least that’s what she’d thought when she’d assumed Drew would be returning. But she hadn’t heard a word from him all day. Not since he’d left after talking to Detective Chevalier.

“Stay away from that guy, Jos,” Philippe had told her before leaving. “If I didn’t know you’d kick me out, I’d insist on staying tonight just to keep you two apart.”

“He doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on,” she’d insisted. “You’ll see that he doesn’t.”

But now that the hours were stretching, and he hadn’t bothered contacting her, she was beginning to think Philippe and Anne-Marie might be right.

Of course, the alternative was that he was done with her. He’d had his fun and was ready to move on.

What did it say about her that she preferred to think of him as somehow involved in the shady goings-on around the Josephine?

Given that there were now two murders that appeared linked together, both rooms 2D and 2B were blocked off, yellow crime-scene tape banning entrance. Not only couldn’t she enter them, she couldn’t scrub the room in which Frederique had been murdered, which bothered her to no end thinking that her blood still stained the mattress and the floor.

“You’re damn lucky I don’t just shut the whole operation down,” Detective Chevalier had told her. “The whole freakin’ hotel is a crime scene.”

The phone rang near her elbow. Josie jumped, not realizing how wired she was until that moment.

She snatched it up in the middle of the second ring, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Drew?”

She hadn’t realized that’s what she was going to say until the name was out of her mouth.

“Josie?”

A female voice.

She closed her eyes and forced a deep breath. Not just any female voice, but that of her cousin.

“Look, I heard what went down there today,” Sabine said. “Are you all right?”

It was difficult to believe in light of all that had gone on in the past year that she and Sabine had once been very close. Much more like sisters than cousins. She remembered times when they’d dressed up in white gloves and sat with their dolls, drinking tea in the courtyard, feeling a part of the adult world.

Josie looked at the dark and empty courtyard now, wishing for those times again.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” And she meant it.

“So, does that mean you’re finally ready to give this hotel sale a shot?”

Josie’s breath was stolen straight from her.

She slowly took the telephone away from her ear, her fist gripping it tightly, and hung up. She had no more words to say to Sabine. They’d been over this so many times Josie couldn’t count.

When Granme had died, leaving everything to Josie-which was the Josephine and all her many problems-Sabine and her mother had balked, laying claim to half of Josie’s inheritance. They’d tried to obtain legal counsel to sue her for half, only they couldn’t come up with an attorney willing to take the case because Sabine and her mother had a long history of staged accidents and welfare fraud.

Until five months ago. Josie had been visited by a corpulent attorney in a white linen suit and straw hat hired by Sabine and her mother to threaten her with a lawsuit.

Josie had tried to make right from the beginning. She, as well, had been surprised Granme had left her the hotel and everything in it, giving her daughters and other living grandchild, Sabine, only pictures and mementos. Of course, her own mother had yet to surface to claim her sentimental inheritance. It still sat in a pink box in the corner of Josie’s closet upstairs just in case she did show.

She’d been brainstorming ways to work everything out in a way that wouldn’t involve selling the Josephine when her cousin had started calling, threatening to take the entire hotel away from her. Between trying to hang on to the hotel and being on the defensive, she’d never really had a chance to come up with something that might work for all of them.

And at this point, she didn’t have it in her to care anymore. If Sabine was going to sue, she was going to sue. Only, Josie had never heard from that attorney again…

She stared at the phone. Could Sabine be behind the late-night phone calls she’d been receiving? How about the voodoo ritual she’d found in room 2D the other night? She wouldn’t put it past her cousin.

While Granme had always raised her to believe she had no one to take care of her but herself and that she should do so with integrity and pride, her cousin seemed to believe everyone owed her something. Government? Give me money, I deserve it. A woman with a nice car who made the mistake of going to the wrong supermarket? You backed into me, no matter that I made sure you would. Pay up.

Josie didn’t think her cousin had ever worked an honest day in her life. And when she’d offered Sabine a job at the hotel, her cousin had laughed at her, apparently above toiling away at a menial job, no matter the pay. Of course, she’d also said that if she took a job that was on the books, she’d lose her government checks. The same applied when Josie had offered to put Sabine’s name on the hotel’s deed. She’d lose her government benefits. Couldn’t Josie just sell the hotel and give her the money, real hush-hush like, so welfare wouldn’t find out about it?

She pushed up from the chair and walked toward the door. Outside on the street, the world continued to turn, people continued to live, and nothing stopped for anyone. She didn’t realize that she held the latest offer from the hotel chain that was aggressively pursuing her to sell the Josephine, until she was staring at it. She swallowed hard. She’d never once seriously considered the offer.

Until right at that moment.

After the first couple offers, she’d stopped opening the envelopes, merely stuck them in a drawer under the front desk. Now she ripped open the end and shook out the letter within, then unfolded the single piece of thick stock paper. The amount they were offering had gone up significantly. It was surely enough to cover her debts, give Sabine the money she was looking for and see to it Josie got a fresh start.

Fresh start where?

She looked over her shoulder at the lobby. She didn’t know anything else but the Josephine. What else could she do?

She held the letter tightly. Selling would mean no more sleepless nights. No more eighteen-hour days spent doing nothing for stretches at a time. No more dealing with leering old men who insisted on thinking the right dollar amount would put her in their beds for the night.

No more fearing that a killer somewhere out there in the sea of faces had her name on his list.

A loud thud coming from the lobby behind her sent her pulse racing. Whipping around, she searched the shadows to no avail. She looked back over her shoulder at the crowded street filled with people who didn’t have a clue of the fear she felt, much less could care. She reached to shut the doors, then thought better of it. She didn’t want to close herself in should she have company.

Her pulse pounding in her ears, she crept slowly forward, her ears alert, her eyes wide. All the lights were off except for the dim emergency lights leading up the stairs and a small pool of light created by the banker’s lamp on the front desk where she’d been sitting. The farther away she moved from the door, the louder her heartbeat sounded. The more isolated she felt.

The lobby smelled of candle wax and furniture polish. The tall plants cast eerie shadows against the walls. Too many dark places for someone to hide. No one around to care.

That thought more than anything caused Josie’s chest to hurt.

No matter the warnings or how well Granme had tried to prepare her, there was no way she could have been ready for the sheer loneliness that would descend on her upon her grandmother’s death. She had no one. Not a single person she could turn to with her fears or for help.

No Drew…

She hadn’t realized how profoundly his absence was affecting her until that moment.

She’d taken her sandals off earlier and now her bare feet padded over the grit dusting the marble tile, the shells around her ankle quietly clinking together.

She was almost to the desk and the light there. More importantly, the shotgun she had hidden behind it was nearly within reach. She might not have anyone, but she had herself. She’d done a pretty good job of taking care of herself for the past year, and for some time before that when Granme had given her more responsibility at the hotel. She’d do the same now.

With a shaking hand, she reached over the desk and lifted the weapon with a minimum of noise. She tucked the butt between her arm and rib cage and pulled the cocking mechanism, metal scratching against metal as buckshot shells were loaded into the gun, ready to be fired through the short barrel.

Fear no longer paralyzing her, she gave the lobby another quick scan, noticing a broom she had propped against the wall behind the desk had fallen over.

She dropped the gun to her side.

“You’re letting all this voodoo crap get to you,” she muttered to herself.

A loud shriek sounded at the same time as something launched in her direction. Quick thinking kept her from filling the black cat with buckshot.

Josie was convinced her heart hadn’t just leaped into her throat; it had catapulted from her body altogether.

“Jesus, Jez, what in the hell’s gotten into you?”

The cat wound around and around her legs, rubbing the side of her face against Josie’s ankle.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she said, putting the shotgun back behind the desk and scooping the old feline up into her arms. “I forgot to put food out for you today, didn’t I?”

Jezebel’s response was a loud purr as she licked Josie’s chin.

Scratching the cat behind the ears, she headed toward the kitchen.

She pushed open the door and Jez jumped from her arms, scratching her arm in the process.

“Ow.” Josie switched on the overhead light and checked the shallow scratch. Thankfully there was no blood, but it wouldn’t hurt to put some disinfectant on it.

She wondered how the cat had managed to get in.

A loud meow and a hiss drew her attention toward the back of the kitchen. The door she had locked and double locked an hour ago stood wide open, the screen door squeaking on its hinges.

And Josie was without her shotgun.

JOSIE COULDN’T BELIEVE that someone had gained access to the back door…again.

She positioned a two-by-four diagonally across the closed doorway and took a nail out of her mouth, then hammered it in. She repeated the process with twenty nails until she was convinced that there was no way anyone was going to be coming through that door again until she could get the locks changed.

She looked over her shoulder at the brightly lit kitchen. She only hoped she had locked the intruder out instead of in.

After picking up the shotgun from the cutting-board table, Josie made her way back out through the courtyard and into the lobby, Jez following on her heels. She’d switched on all the lights so not a shadow remained, and had even gone through the rooms upstairs, although she was relatively certain whoever had gained access to the kitchen hadn’t made it up the stairs. She would have heard them.

She glanced down at the inexplicably friendly feline. “Have you decided to keep me company tonight?”

Jez rubbed Josie’s shin with her nose.

Josie picked her up with her free hand. “Good. I could use some.”

She’d already locked the front door and put a Closed sign in the window. While it wasn’t the first time she’d been alone in the hotel, that way, it was certainly the first time she was overly aware of it.

And if Drew returned?

For some reason she couldn’t explain, she knew he wouldn’t be coming back tonight.

And maybe not for any other night.

The possibility made her feel even lonelier.

DREW KNEW ONE THING and one thing only: he had to come clean with Josie. Tell her exactly who he was and what he had come there to do…and what he now wanted to do. Or, rather, wanted to help her to do. And that was to save her hotel.

At around nine-thirty the next morning, after having made calls to check the liquidity of his cash resources, he headed to the hotel, only to find a note on the door meant for Josie’s employees. He read it, then returned it to where it had been.

Where was she? While he would be the last to profess to know Josie better than anyone else, he sensed that she wasn’t the type of person just to up and leave her hotel with the Closed sign hanging in the window if there wasn’t a good reason.

Was she inside?

He rang the bell then stepped back to look up at the doors to her rooms. In fact, the doors to all the rooms were closed. It was the first time he’d seen that.

He knew a moment of concern. Then another thought quickly followed: had she given up and was even now arranging to sell the hotel to Dick Rove?

He dialed his client, his back teeth clenched tightly together at the thought of Rove taking the hotel from her.

Rove’s secretary told him he was unavailable but offered to take a message. Drew didn’t leave one. Instead he slapped his cell phone closed and looked around the street. He wouldn’t know where to begin looking for her. He just hoped she wasn’t with the other “closer” Rove had hired to work Josie.

A person Drew suspected might be setting him up to take a fall, as well.

Damn.

A bar across the street had just opened its doors and a young man wearing an apron was spraying down the sidewalk and curb.

Drew held out a twenty-dollar bill. “Have any coffee in there?”

The kid smiled. “No, but I will.”

Drew took a seat right near the door with a clear view of the front of the hotel. He had no choice but to wait.

HE WAS TOO LATE.

Drew knew that the moment he entered the hotel and the assistant manager, Philippe, considered him with barely concealed contempt.

He’d had a bad inkling all morning. Actually, since last night he’d had the strange suspicion that somehow, some way, Josie had learned the truth about him. And that had bothered him beyond his capacity to deal with it just then.

He looked around the lobby and courtyard and didn’t spot the person he was looking for, the only one who mattered in this entire situation.

“Where’s Josie?”

Philippe crossed his arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

There it was. What Drew had been dreading: she knew.

He turned toward the stairs.

Philippe moved faster than Drew would have thought possible, blocking his progress. “Whoa. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find her.”

“I told you she doesn’t want to see you.”

Drew stared down the younger man, suppressing the urge to remove him physically from his path. He was surprised by the primal desire. For the past decade he’d used words to make his point, to wage his business war. He hadn’t resorted to physical confrontation since his stint in the military.

It didn’t help that his adversary seemed to be egging him on, as if he wanted Drew to take a swing at him. Which gave him considerable cause for pause.

“That’s all right, Philippe.”

They both turned to see Josie standing at the top of the stairs.

For an all too brief moment, the world stopped turning. Or rather, it began revolving again, propelling life in the right direction.

Drew’s breath froze in his lungs. While Josie was wearing a summery dress similar to the others he’d seen her in, she could have been wearing a slinky evening gown, the way the sight of her stopped his heart. Just looking at her made him feel not himself somehow. As if the moment she entered a room, a part of him fused with her, as if they were two parts of one whole instead of separate entities.

The sensation was unfamiliar to him. And left him feeling unprotected. As if he were in the middle of a clearing with twenty sniper rifles aimed at him.

The expression on her face told him she was experiencing some similar emotions that she didn’t quite know how to handle either.

Her expression also told him that he’d lost something he’d never be able to regain: her trust.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

Philippe spoke, “Haven’t you already said and done enough?”

Josie started down the stairs. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, Philippe.”

The other man appeared prepared to object.

But thankfully he thought better and moved out of Drew’s way as he followed Josie to the kitchen. Drew didn’t miss Philippe’s lethal look though, that conveyed all that Philippe would have said and done if Josie hadn’t appeared.

As he walked behind her, Drew couldn’t keep from taking in the gentle, unconscious sway of Josie’s hips and the sexy curve of her neck. But he had no place appreciating her pure grace when inside he felt so impure, as though a tar-like stain spread under his skin. A dread that all they’d begun to build between them was forever lost.

As much as he wished otherwise, Drew knew that this meeting in the kitchen wouldn’t have anything to do with food and Josie being enjoyed on top of the island.

He expected her to turn toward him when they entered, but instead she busied herself making coffee.

“Talk,” she said.

Josie’s heart was beating so hard she thought for sure he could see it through her chest.

When Detective Chevalier had spilled what he knew, she hadn’t wanted to believe he was telling her the truth. It didn’t fit in with anything she knew about Drew or with what had happened between them.

But as the homicide detective had continued talking, verifying that the tip had been phoned into his office by an anonymous source who had nothing to gain, and that some checking had proven that Drew wasn’t a car-parts salesman but rather an independent contractor who’d been dubbed “The Closer” by those he worked with, she’d had the sinking sensation that Chevalier was right.

Drew had always seemed a step above the salesmen she usually crossed paths with. A little too well groomed. A little too edgy.

And now…

Well, the instant she’d glanced into his eyes, she’d known the information was right. And that he knew that she knew.

She quirked a brow at him over her shoulder only to find his gaze lingering on her backside.

Her blood heated, but not in anger. Instead, desire ignited in her stomach and rushed through her veins. A reaction she was sorely unprepared for.

How could she still crave him sexually when he’d hit her with such a crushing emotional blow?

“Josie, I…you have to believe me when I say that the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

He surely couldn’t be saying what he was.

She turned fully and leaned against the counter while the coffee brewed. The only sounds were the spitting of the machine and the uneven cadence of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be. “Is this where you try to convince me that you only had my best interests in mind?” She swallowed past the emotion clogging her throat. “Drew, you…you wanted to take away the Josephine. My hotel.”

Pain rippled across his handsome face. “I used the present tense, not the past.”

She tried to follow him but her brain seemed oversaturated, incapable of making sense out of even the simplest of statements, and his had been anything but.

He looked suddenly agitated, as if understanding that he stood on a sinking boat that was taking on more water than he could bail out. And stunningly, she felt a need to make things easier for him.

How could that be? This man had come to her place under false pretenses, had lied to her from the word go. Had schemed to take away the thing that meant the most to her.

Hot tears flooded her eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she whispered, starting for the door so she could go up to her rooms and lock herself in where no one could bother her. No one could touch her. Lie to her.

She hadn’t expected him to grasp her wrist as she passed. In a knee-jerk reaction, she slapped him soundly across the face with her free hand.

He blinked at her, and she got the impression that his wince was as much due to the physical blow as to the crack to his ego.

“I suppose I deserved that.”

“You deserve much worse.”

He averted his gaze. “You’re right, I do.”

Josie didn’t know how she knew, but she sensed that he meant what he was saying. And hope lit anew in her stomach.

A hope she didn’t want. Not when what they’d shared had been temporary anyway. She’d always known it would end.

For some reason, she didn’t want it to end badly.

He looked up into her eyes again, his gaze intense. “I know all this-what you’ve learned about me-is a shock. And that right now you’re reacting on an emotional level…and that you’re hurting.” He lifted his hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. When she moved so he couldn’t touch her, he dropped his hand back to his side, his eyes beseeching. “Think about it, Josie. Try to look beyond how you’re feeling right now.” She heard the click of his deep swallow. “Not once did I ever mention a word to you about selling the hotel. Not ever.”

She couldn’t fully absorb his words.

“What do you think that means, Josie? Here I am, a guy whose only intention, supposedly, is to get you to sell, yet I never mentioned the hotel and the many problems you’re having. Not once.”

From a place outside herself, she realized he was right. He’d never made the hotel or her ownership or possible sale of it the focus of any conversation they’d had.

Of course, most of their time together had been spent having sex.

Still…

She reached beyond the cloud of betrayal and hurt and tried to grasp something that was just outside her ability to get hold of just then.

“‘The Closer,’” she whispered. “I get the impression you’re very good at your job, Drew. At whatever you decide that job to be.”

He shifted on his feet and she noticed the way he held his hands tightly still, as if barely able to contain his longing to touch her. And suddenly, irrationally, she wanted that touch more than her next breath, despite her knowledge that he could be working her still, even at this moment.

His voice lowered to a rasping murmur that made her shiver. “If you can’t answer the question of why I never mentioned the hotel, Josie, then answer this one-what am I doing here? Why am I standing before you right now, out of my mind with the thought that I’ll never again be able to touch you? Kiss you? Taste your sweetness on my tongue? Hold you in my arms?”

She searched his eyes, her brain stalling, her body longing to surge forward, longing for him. But she had more to say. “You could be here because you didn’t finish what you came here to do.”

She watched his eyes close briefly. Then he lifted his right hand, put it down again, then raised it again so that he could trail his fingertips over the inside of her arm at her elbow. Goose bumps ran over her skin at the subtle yet powerful touch. Over her wrist, her palm, then he was lacing his fingers with hers. He lifted her hand so that the back of it rested against his chest.

“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t finish what I started.” His pupils dilated, taking over the blue of his eyes. “Only my objective did a complete one-eighty the instant I kissed you. The moment you invited me into your body…and into your heart.”

The aforementioned organ had contracted to the point where it clutched painfully in her chest.

“And I am there, aren’t I, Josie?” He moved their hands so that they rested between her breasts. “Just as you’re in mine.”

A part of her didn’t want to hear what he was saying. Wanted words that would feed the ache in her stomach and help her shore up her crumbling defenses.

“Yes, I’m an independent contractor. Yes, I worked for a client that wants your hotel. Yes, I came here with the sole intention of getting it for him.”

She narrowed her eyes. Where was he going with this? Every word seemed to aim for and hit her where she was most vulnerable.

“But all that’s changed, Josie. None of that makes sense to me anymore. My job seems so unimportant.”

She licked her lips, unable to speak, unable to move, mesmerized by what he appeared to be saying.

“What is important is the fact that I’m falling in love with you.”

An almost unbearable pain mixed with hope inside her.

“Correction-I’m not falling in love with you. I’m in love with you. And falling deeper every moment I gaze into your eyes and touch your soft skin.”

His thumb was stroking her hand, sending sensations rushing up her arm and over her sleep-deprived body.

“I can’t…” she began, towing her gaze from his face and searching for something, anything, with which to pull herself free from the overwhelming emotions enveloping her. “I can’t deal with this right now, Drew.” She found a piece of strength within to draw from. Strength that had been in the Villefranche family for longer, much longer, than she’d been a part of it. “Maybe what you’re telling me is the truth. Maybe not. Maybe this is all just some sort of ruse to try to salvage a situation beyond repair.”

On a level she was loath to recognize, she sensed that this wasn’t the case, but her doubts needed to be addressed.

She smiled sadly, giving in to her own overpowering need to touch him and lifting her free hand to his face. She ran her fingertips over his strong cheekbone, over his jaw, the rasp of his stubble rough against her palm.

“Look,” she whispered, focusing her attention on his mouth rather than his eyes. “We both knew that this, whatever it is that exists between us, was temporary. That it would end almost as quickly as it began.” The prospect of not seeing him again hurt her more than what had transpired in the past few hours. What did that mean?

“Yes, but I’m not gone yet,” he murmured.

Then he leaned in and did what she wanted most in the world in that one moment.

He kissed her.

DREW KNEW AN ALL-CONSUMING relief as he softly kissed Josie’s sweet lips. She didn’t resist. Moreover, she appeared to want the contact as much as he did.

Dear God, he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this chance, but he wasn’t about to screw it up now.

He ran his thumb along her cheek then entwined his fingers in her dark, silky curls, pressing her nearer to him. She smelled like heaven and tasted even better.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, crushing her nose against the side of his neck, her breathing rapid and shallow.

“I need…time,” she whispered.

Time was something neither one of them had, judging by everything he’d learned during his research.

But time was what he had to give her. He owed it to her. Even though he knew that with a few expert touches she’d writhe, needing and wanting, under his power.

“Okay.”

He stepped away from her. Not far. A mere few inches. But she blinked at him as if he’d moved across the room.

“How long…”

She looked away, as if the beginning of the question she’d been about to ask wasn’t one she wanted to hear the answer to.

“How much longer am I staying?”

She nodded, although she still avoided his gaze.

“I leave tomorrow.”

Her eyes flooded with pain as she stared at him.

“Not for good. I have some things I have to see to. Some business matters.”

She bit her bottom lip, her hand going to the side of her neck. “Related to the Josephine?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She didn’t say anything for long moments.

“No more secrets, Drew. Please.”

He groaned inwardly, wishing he could erase the hurt from her lovely face.

“Just one more.”

Because in the past few minutes with her, witnessing her generous spirit and heart, realizing she was forgiving him even though she hadn’t said the words, he decided not to tell her what he was doing. He didn’t want her to refuse what she would certainly see as an act of charity. Instead, he felt that incredible desire to take care of her again. To move heaven and earth to get her what she wanted. And she wanted this hotel. No matter how battered. No matter the ghosts that walked the halls. No matter the darkness that lurked in the shadows.

He realized that he could just as easily have been describing Josie herself and his own need for her.

He took the card from the Marriott from his shirt pocket on which he’d scribbled his cell phone number. “My flight leaves in the morning.” He took her hand, turned it palm up, then placed the card there before putting his fingers over them both.

He didn’t say anything more. Didn’t have to. They both knew that the act of his giving her the card meant it was up to her if she wanted to see him. All she had to do was call.

Drew leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple, breathing in the fresh, sexy scent of her. Then he turned and walked away, even though it killed him to think that it might be for the last time.

FOLLOWING THEIR CONVERSATION in the kitchen, Anne-Marie insisted that the first order of business was to scour room 2B. No cleansing ritual could be expected to work while the blood of a dead woman still marred the place, she’d said.

So she and Josie cleaned it. Top to bottom. Placing the stained mattress in the back alley, despite Detective Chevalier’s instructions that neither guest room was to be touched since they’d been deemed crime scenes.

After they’d completed that somber task, Anne-Marie had gone back to her shop, promising to return shortly, while Philippe stayed in the kitchen to make dinner.

Josie, on the other hand, was in her rooms, once her grandmother’s rooms, on the fourth floor.

She stood in the middle of her bedroom, looking around with eyes other than her own. While the additional rooms had always belonged to her grandmother, this one had been hers. It had changed over the years. From a twin canopy bed with pink accents, to a queen-size wrought-iron bed not unlike those in the guest rooms. Except it had a canopy with white sheers draped around the top posts, lending it what was supposed to be a romantic effect, but now only looked ghostly. Especially with the breeze blowing in from the open French doors, disturbing the gauzy fabric so that it billowed out, resembling a phantom.

She’d never had a man up here before. Had never had cause to because all her liaisons had been fleeting, carried out in the guest rooms where her lovers had stayed.

She reminded herself that Drew fell solidly into the same category, even if he was no longer staying at the hotel. Only she knew that the connection to him that dwelled within her, that grew every time he touched her, would be with her till the grave.

Gathering fresh linens from a nearby closet, she stripped the bed and remade it, fluffing the pillows on top. Then she took the white candles on black wrought-iron stands that were placed throughout the room and repositioned them on the nightstands on either side of the bed, careful to tuck the canopy sheers on the back board so they wouldn’t accidentally catch fire.

Narcissus.

She thought she smelled the unique, indigenous fragrance on the night air. The unmistakable scent her grandmother always wore. She turned her head, trying to identify the source of the smell.

Then she did what she’d only done once, very briefly, in twelve months. She stepped out into the main drawing room and stood outside her grandmother’s private rooms.

She’d breached Josephine Villefranche’s sanctuary one other time since saying her final goodbyes a year ago. But she hadn’t stayed long. Hadn’t been able to. She’d only picked up the fan she used at the front desk that had been lying on her grandmother’s rocking chair and then had quickly left.

She sniffed. The scent was stronger here.

Odd that she shouldn’t have sensed it until now.

She gripped the doorknobs of the ornately carved double doors and slowly pushed them inward.

As impossible as it seemed, a gust of fresh air hit her head-on, blowing her black curls from around her face and infusing her with the smell of narcissus, as though an entity not of this world had just traveled through her. She stared unblinkingly at the familiar room, half expecting her grandmother to materialize in front of her, looking for her usual kiss on the cheek.

Of course, she didn’t appear. But Josie felt her presence everywhere. Smelled it. Sensed it.

She slowly stepped from one familiar object to another. From an old oval picture frame that held a shot of Granme with her two young daughters, the girls looking as different from each other as night and day. To the wooden rocking chair that still held Josephine’s favorite shawl. To the bed that Josie had left made as if her grandmother might want to use it some night.

The source of the narcissus came from the wrought-iron dressing table. She stepped to it, picked up a crystal spray bottle and squeezed the decanter so that a fine mist filled the air. Immediately she was enveloped in everything that was her grandmother.

“Remember, always, that you are only as beautiful as you feel,” she’d said to her while Josie had sat in the rocker watching her grandmother get ready for church one Sunday morning. “And smell.”

She sat down on the bed, the same bed that when she’d first arrived at the hotel, she’d spent sleeping in with her grandmother to help chase away the nightmares that abandonment had caused. She ran her hand over the meticulously tatted lace.

It seemed like a long time later when she finally got up and left the room, closing the doors after herself.

And it was only then that she realized she still held the bottle of perfume.

“ALLOW YOURSELF TO FEEL the love, Josie. Love is the true genesis of all things good. No bad can hide from love.”

Anne-Marie’s parting words echoed in Josie’s mind as she reached out, filling her, lifting her, making her feel outside herself. Her heart floated in her chest, her stomach felt fathomless, and every cell, every throb of her pulse, was aware of the man standing opposite her.

Gone from her mind was his deception. Banished was any thought of this night being their last time together. Nowhere in sight were the problems she was having. All that existed in that one moment in time was love. Her love for Drew. And, yes, she realized, his love for her as well.

Rather than turning away from the raw emotion so clearly etched on his handsome face, she reveled in it. He loved her. It was there in the dark blue depth of his eyes. If she placed a hand on his chest, she felt sure she’d feel it in the heat of his heart. A heart he’d opened to her as surely as she’d opened hers to him. While she hadn’t been aware of what was happening at the time, now that she did know, rather than closing the door, she opened it, drawing from the extraordinary emotion, allowing it to dictate her thoughts, her actions.

“Come,” she said softly, leading him to the open door of her bedroom.

The candles burned on the nightstands, giving an otherworldly feel to the room. The air coming in through the open French doors flickered the flames and stirred the sheers on the canopy.

Josie stopped at the foot of the bed then turned to face Drew again. He had yet to say anything, and she didn’t need him to. Everything that needed to be expressed would come through action rather than words.

She released his hands then crossed her arms in front of her breasts as she reached up to her shoulders. She brushed the light material down over her shoulders, baring one at a time. Drew watched her movement as she caught the fabric between her breasts. But she didn’t use it to cover herself. Rather her nipples stood out, prominent and proud, and then she allowed the sheath to pool around her feet on the floor.

She watched Drew swallow and she read what he couldn’t say. He found her beautiful. And she felt beautiful. Wanted. Wanton.

He moved, unbuttoning his shirt as if on automatic pilot, his gaze never leaving hers as the soft cotton rasped from his skin to join her sheath on the floor. The whisper of a zipper later, his slacks and boxers followed suit, his need for her evident in the erection that seemed to reach out for her.

Josie slowly curved her fingers around his turgid flesh, watching as his pupils dilated and his breath came out in a rush. So thick. So hard. So hot. She explored the silken shaft with her fingertips, finding a bead of moisture on the engorged knob. Her mouth watered with the desire to taste him, to feel him against her tongue. She slid down to one knee, then the other, until her mouth was mere millimeters in front of his arousal.

Drew still hadn’t moved. He stood stock-still, watching her as she cupped his sac, reveling in the feel of his coarse pubic hair against her palm. She kissed his erection, then swirled her tongue over the tip, lapping up the moisture there even as she added a different type of moisture with her mouth. Then she fitted her lips around the end, creating a wet channel with her tongue, and took in as much of his considerable length as she could, withdrawing when she reached that point, then starting over again.

She felt his flesh pulsate and grow thicker. Sensed his growing urgency from the stiffness of his body and the rapidness of his breathing. She gently squeezed his sac, then moved her fingertips to just beyond, to the nerve system there, and pressed the knotted flesh, holding off his crisis even as she slid her mouth to cover him again.

He tasted sweet and sour, hot and hard. And she couldn’t seem to get enough of him as she licked and suckled and squeezed.

Finally, he moved.

She felt his hands on her bare shoulders and understood he was urging her to stand up before him. His face was savage with need. His fingers indented the flesh of her hips as he curved them around to her backside, cupping her bottom. Then he lifted her so that her legs went around his hips and she felt his hardness pressing against her slick softness.

Josie’s heart seemed to stop and expand and beat harder all at once. She balanced herself with her hands on his shoulders, her gaze locked with his. Then he slid his hands down further from behind, his fingers finding the tight bud nestled in her curls. She lost her breath as he pressed it. Then he parted her swollen labia, testing her readiness, the proof of her arousal covering his fingers, lubricating them so that they easily slid inside her tight canal.

Josie’s eyelids drifted closed as she rode the swell of white-hot sensation.

Then he replaced his fingers with the head of his shaft. Slowly, torturously, he moved her down until she covered him fully, her pubis resting against his, her curls entangled with his. Bare flesh meeting bare flesh.

Josie pulled air deep into her lungs, her tingling breasts lifting until they brushed the fine hair sprinkling his chest. She grasped on a deeper level the significance of their joining without protection. The trust inherent in such a move touched her beyond words, beyond understanding. Everything that was her seemed to fuse with him, throbbing, expanding and contracting, their heartbeats one as she crossed her ankles behind his back and lifted herself up from his shaft, then slowly slid back down.

He was kissing her. Gently at first, one hand supporting her bottom, the other curving around to the back of her head, holding her still as he launched a sensuous assault. His tongue flicked over her bottom lip then dipped inside her mouth. Her hunger growing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, entangling her fingers in his hair, pressing her breasts fully against his chest, her nipples hypersensitive.

He slid his hands to her waist, taking his time. Gripping her hips, he lifted her up, then back down, establishing an easy, deep rhythm that made her quake from the inside out as she squeezed and released the tension of her legs to accommodate the move. She leaned back so that only her fingers were laced behind his neck, encouraging an even deeper meeting. Then she swiveled her hips, rubbing provocatively against him.

He groaned, his erection twitching inside her when she did it again. Then again, her own crisis growing nearer as she watched the effect she was having on him. Moisture dotted his forehead, dampening the hair that had fallen over his brow, drawing attention to the desire darkening his eyes. Then she released her grip on his neck…

Drew knew a moment of fear when Josie let go of him, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to support herself. He shifted his balance to protect her…only it appeared she knew exactly what she was doing. Clasping her hands tightly over his at her hips, she leaned back, farther and farther, until she could touch the floor. The view the move provided sent his blood pressure soaring: his member buried deep inside her, her pink flesh engorged and glistening in the candlelight.

She released his hands then stretched her arms over her head, bracing herself against the floor and tightening her legs behind him. Then she moved.

Drew’s heart beat thickly as his hips bucked, once, twice, then he was releasing his seed in her slick, tight opening at the same time her own passion-filled moan filled his ears.

For long moments, he was incapable of movement, his knees threatening to give way under the sudden weakness. He felt Josie’s hands on his again, and he grasped them, lifting her until he held her tight against his chest. She released her legs and slid down the length of him, the mere feel of skin against skin enough to make his erection twitch back to life.

Then she kissed him.

Dear Lord but this woman was going to be the end of him. She tasted of sweetness, and heat and desire, her lips claiming his in gentle persuasion. But what she was trying to persuade him of, he didn’t know. Surely she knew that he loved her? Was she perhaps attempting to get him to say it? He gazed deep into her eyes and knew that she wasn’t. Instead, she seemed to be saying the words herself.

The realization nearly knocked him over with the power of it. Deepening the kiss, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the canopy bed, laying her gently across the length of it. Then he followed, covering her body with his, doing nothing more than kissing her and somehow feeling that if he could do that for the rest of his life, he’d never want for anything more.

The sound of the trumpet grew almost mournful as it drifted through the open doors. The candlelight flickered over her, her exotic beauty dark against the white linens and pillows. After long minutes, he trailed his fingers down over her defined collarbone, over the damp skin between her breasts, over her toned stomach. Reaching her moist curls, he nudged her open with his index finger and thumb. He dipped into her slick channel, then used the proof of their desire to swirl his fingertip around her tight nub. Her back arched against the mattress, thrusting her breasts into the air. He hungrily claimed them, taking each into his mouth as he caressed her below, licking and drawing them deep until they were shiny from his attention. Then he thrust two fingers deep inside her waiting flesh, drawing her muscles tight.

After riding the wave of sensation caused by his move, she looked at him with her whiskey-brown eyes. The raw emotion there stopped him in his tracks. And touched him more profoundly than any physical act. The honesty…the nakedness…the power was almost too much for him to view head-on.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he smoothed his hands over her lithe body, then coaxed her to roll over onto her stomach. She rose up onto her knees until her sex was in contact with his sex again. She stretched her hands straight out in front of herself, elongating her back as she strained back against him. He ran his thumbs the length of her spine and gasped when he felt one of her hands grasp his erection between her legs and place his knob against her. Then she slid back, taking him in.

Drew instinctually bucked in response, thrusting himself even deeper. And as he moved in and out, watching her juices flood over his turgid flesh, he realized that he hadn’t used protection.

The thought caused him a moment of pause. He’d never gone without protection. Not even while married because Carol hadn’t wanted to go on the pill. Something about weight gain and risks that he didn’t understand. And since he’d never even come close to having the children conversation with her, he’d always worn condoms.

But now…

Josie drew away then rolled over onto her back, placing her legs on either side of his as she gazed up at him.

And in that one moment, Drew knew that he’d be the luckiest man in the world if the woman, this woman, who had rocked his life to the core, would be the mother of his child.

When he reentered, he didn’t turn away, didn’t mask his emotions, and he met hers head-on.

DREW WASN’T SURE what had hit him. All he knew was that when he opened a bleary eye, he was lying facedown first on the kitchen floor, the tile cool against his cheek.

He felt the back of his head, his fingers coming away with dark liquid. Damn, but that hurt.

He attempted to get up, only to feel the floor shift under him again and force him back down. Oh, boy. This wasn’t good. He remembered the open front door.

Josie…

DREW’S HEAD HURT LIKE HELL and he didn’t feel exactly threatening in the towel around his hips, but all that melted into the background in light of the scene before him. Philippe holding Josie by her soft curls, the white sheath she’d worn earlier hanging low to reveal her precious nakedness to the world.

“Release her. Now.” He shoved the gun harder against the assistant manager’s head.

Philippe let her go.

Drew knew a moment of relief so powerful he let his guard down.

Philippe went sailing over the desk, the lockbox in hand as he scrambled for the open door.

“Shoot him!” Josie shouted.

Drew stared at her. He remembered Dick Rove accusing him of being capable of murder. While his stint in the military had resulted in his share of gunfire, he knew the severity of the consequences.

Sirens sounded from somewhere in the distance.

“We know who he is now, Josie,” he said quietly, putting the gun down as Philippe gained his footing. “The police will find him.”

“The hell they will,” she said, yanking the gun from his hands and taking aim.

Philippe turned at the door as if to give a triumphant grin before he disappeared into the crowded street beyond. And Josie squeezed the trigger, at the last second adjusting her aim so that she didn’t hit him in the head and chest, but rather the groin.

It was enough to take the man down, screaming.

Josie dropped the gun to her side. “That’s what you call Creole justice.”

DREW STOOD LOOKING OUT the window of his office in downtown Kansas City, the phone to his ear. He was on hold. Which pretty much reflected the state of the rest of his life: it was all on hold.

He dry-washed his face with his free hand then turned from the window, blind to his posh surroundings. He’d opened the office some six years ago, prior to that his home office having sufficed, especially given the traveling involved in his job.

Correction: the traveling his job had once entailed.

He sat at his desk, the antique leather chair giving a low squeak. It was impossible to believe that just over two weeks had passed since he’d left New Orleans. Half a month since he’d drunk in Josie’s beautiful face. Sixteen days since he’d held her in his arms. He’d picked up the phone no fewer than a dozen times to call her, then replaced the receiver, determining that it was better if he not make contact. At least not yet. Not until he was done with what he needed to do.

Because when he returned to New Orleans this time, he meant to stay for good.

He looked around at the panoramic view of the midwestern city outside his window, at the signs of autumn, the heat of the Crescent City far away. His surroundings couldn’t have been more different from those in which Josie had been raised. But the city had never really been home. It was familiar, yes. But his brief marriage to Carol aside, he’d never felt a burning need to return here. It had just been a place where he owned a home. There was nothing wrong with Kansas City. The place had been good to him. And it’s where he was from.

But it wasn’t where Josie was.

And wherever Josie was, that was home for him.

He hung up the phone and contacted his assistant. “Get my attorney back on the line, Janice. I was cut off,” he lied.

Truth was he felt like every ticking second was an eternity. And that it put him farther and farther away from Josie.

The telephone rang and he snatched it up.

“Arnold, I need-”

“Drew?”

A female voice. His heart skipped a beat.

“This is Carol.”

His ex-wife.

He rested his elbow against the desk and scratched his head. For a moment, a precious moment, he’d thought it was Josie. Instead, it was a woman who couldn’t be more different from the woman he loved.

“What is it, Carol?” he tried to keep the impatience from his voice, but failed. He really didn’t want to be speaking to her right now. She was part of his past. And he only had room for the future.

“I…” She hesitated.

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t heard from her since she’d made off with his personal savings and the contents of his house. Even then, she’d gotten half the worth of the house in the final settlement.

Of course, he was a man who’d once lived for his career, which meant most of his capital had been tied up in his company, untouchable by Carol and her lawyer.

“I just called to see how you’re doing.”

He squinted at the framed diplomas on the opposite wall. “I’m sorry if I’m having a hard time believing that.”

Silence, then she said, “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me, Drew?”

No. It was on the tip of his tongue. And would have launched right off it only three weeks ago.

Now, however, he held on to it, no matter how much it choked him. Although he really wasn’t sure why.

“What do you want, Carol?”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment and he made out the sound of a car horn in the background of wherever she was calling from. Her cell? Seemed likely.

“Drew, I’m in trouble.”

He clenched his jaw, his suspicions confirmed. She needed money.

“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

He bet she had. Trying to find a way to tap into even more of his cash.

“You got enough from me to set you up for life,” he said.

If she worked it right, invested a good chunk of the funds, perhaps started up a business of her own.

“My attorney and his accountant made off with most of it. I have a hundred dollars to my name.”

“And that affects me how?” he couldn’t keep himself from saying.

“Drew, I…I know you have a lot of cause to be angry with me. What I did to you…it was horrible. I know that now…”

“An epiphany caused by your current circumstances.”

“No! I mean, I’m calling you because of that, but I knew pretty much immediately that what I’d done was wrong.”

Silence.

Drew thought maybe she’d given him up as a lost cause and had hung up.

But then she spoke. “We were married for years, Drew. I made a mistake. A stupid mistake that I justified because you loved your job more than you loved me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Look, I’m not going to make any excuses. It was wrong, and I’m apologizing.”

“In the hopes of…” he prompted.

“In the hopes that we can be friends.”

Friends.

While every other part of the conversation was somewhat familiar to him, sounded like things Carol would say to get what she wanted, the friends part caught him off guard.

He wouldn’t have put it past her to suggest reconciliation. Perhaps even say she still loved him in order to get what she wanted.

But she hadn’t done either.

An image of Josie’s face crowded his mind. He sat back in his chair and loosened his tie.

A buzz, then Janice’s voice on the speaker said, “Mr. Morrison, I have your attorney on line two.”

He didn’t move for an extended moment.

It wasn’t all that long ago that he would have told his ex where to get off. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

But he no longer lived by that motto. No longer subscribed to much of the BS he’d convinced himself of before. Josie had changed all that. Loving Josie had changed all that.

He also knew that if he didn’t help Carol, no one would.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

She named a reasonable amount.

“I’ll give you double,” he said, looking around the office. “But I have a favor to ask in return…”

THERE SHE STOOD BEHIND the freshly varnished front desk of the Josephine. A burst of color in Drew’s gray world. The last two torturous weeks between the time she’d left him standing on the street and this moment disappeared as if they had never existed.

Josie…

The two women she stood with-he absently recognized one as Anne-Marie-became aware of his presence and disappeared back into the kitchen.

That left him and Josie alone, staring at each other.

Drew picked up his suitcase and stepped inside the lobby, much as he had on that fateful day just over three weeks ago. Had it really only been that long? How quickly Josie had become an important part of his life, of his heart. So much so that he couldn’t remember what life had been like without her.

What he had been like without her.

Drew couldn’t begin to reconcile the old him with the one who wanted to be a better man for Josie. His entire philosophy had changed as a result of her love. And while he felt a healthy portion of trepidation about the shift in his life’s direction, he also knew that it was for the better. And no matter what happened in these next few moments, the changes were permanent.

Whatever transpired, he was glad to be here now, rather than at an unspecified time down the road. In a roundabout way, Carol had done him a bigger favor than he’d done her. By agreeing to close up his office and handle any on-site details in Kansas City, she had freed him up to return home.

He put his suitcase down before the front desk. “Do you have any rooms available?” he asked with a hesitant smile.

Josie’s heart was beating so loudly she nearly didn’t hear Drew’s quietly spoken question.

Truthfully, she hadn’t expected to see him again. She’d been convinced that what they’d had, what they’d shared, would be forever relegated to a special corner of the past. Never once had she allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy of his returning. To New Orleans. To her.

She removed her hand from where it lay against her belly as if protecting the precious life growing within her. But protecting it from what, she couldn’t be sure. From pain? From future hurt when Drew left again?

He placed a flyer that Sabine had distributed at the airport on the desk, much like the flyer he’d used the first time around. Josie didn’t have to read it. The pink paper was enough to identify it.

“How long will you be needing the room?” she asked, her throat so tight she nearly couldn’t speak as she turned toward the keys.

“Indefinitely.”

She swiveled to stare at him.

He smiled, seeming more unsure of himself than she’d ever seen him. “Or at least until I can make, um, other arrangements.”

“Other arrangements?”

A man she recognized as a taxi driver lugged in a couple of additional suitcases.

“Just put them over there,” Drew said, indicating a spot near the bottom of the stairs.

The driver mopped his brow with a handkerchief, then tucked the white material back into his pocket. “I’ll go get the rest.”

The rest? Drew had more luggage?

Josie felt as if the floor had just shifted under her feet as the driver left them alone again.

“You didn’t cash the check,” Drew said quietly.

She was so stunned, there was a time delay between when words were said and when they actually registered in her mind.

“Are you really that surprised to see me?”

She nodded, feeling ridiculously close to tears.

Before she could blink them back, he rounded the desk and folded her into his arms. His wonderfully strong arms. A place she’d never thought she’d find herself again.

A place she never wanted to leave.

He smelled of fresh starch and a woodsy aftershave and Drew.

“Jesus,” he murmured, seeming mesmerized as he looked over her face and into her eyes. “You really have no clue how I feel about you.”

She shook her head. No, she knew. But she’d come to learn that feelings and actions were often two different things.

Until now…

He seemed to have forgotten something. While holding her close with one hand, he fished around inside his jacket.

“I would have been here sooner-hell, I would never have left at all-except I had some things to clean up first. Doors to close. Windows to open.” He pulled out a packet of papers in a leather holder and handed them to her. “I know it’s not an engagement ring, but I figured this would mean more to you. Jewelry we can go shopping for together tomorrow.”

Jewelry?

Josie tried to make sense out of what he was saying.

“Take them,” he urged.

“If it’s another check…”

He smiled, skimming his thumb over her cheek then leaning in to kiss her.

Josie melted into him and her mind stopped working at all. Coherent thought gave over to pure instinct.

Oh, how she loved this man.

After long moments, he drew back. “Mmm.” His eyes were dark, his breathing ragged. “We’re going to have to stop doing that in public.” He tugged at his collar. “Go on, read them.”

Josie didn’t think she’d be able to make out a single word, but she opened the envelope anyway and took out the papers. She made out one word at the top of the first page of many: Deed.

She blinked at him.

“Essentially that says you are now owner of the land surrounding the Josephine. Free and clear.”

“What?”

He nodded. “That door I needed to close? It was with my former client, who also employed Philippe.”

She stared at him.

“No, I didn’t know. I suspected there was someone else working the case, but I had no idea who. Needless to say, my client found himself between a rock and a hard place when Philippe was arrested for murder. News like that has been known to bring down the biggest of men.”

She held the papers out to him. “I don’t want these.”

He chuckled softly. “Doesn’t matter, Josie. They’re yours to do with what you want.” He looked around the lobby. “I thought you might want to expand the Josephine.”

She remained silent for a minute, remembering all she’d gone through, all she continued to go through and what the Josephine represented for her. “No. The people who owned these businesses were probably forced into selling, much the same way they wanted to get me to sell.”

He scanned her face. “Then give it back to them.”

Josie’s heart soared so high, she was afraid she’d never be able to cram it back into her chest.

His voice lowered. “Whatever you do, it’s completely your decision.”

The driver appeared in the doorway again, hauling additional bags even larger than the ones before. He was huffing and puffing and didn’t look too happy.

“I’ll…just…go…get…the last…bag,” he said.

Josie couldn’t help giggling.

Giggling! She couldn’t remember when-if-she’d ever indulged in the carefree act, no matter how young, no matter how long ago.

“I hope you tipped him well.”

“I did.”

And she knew he had.

While Drew’s actions in the beginning had been highly questionable, she knew in her bones that the man standing before her was a man of integrity, strength, goodness and love.

And she didn’t know how she’d survived her life so far without him in it.

He slid his hand into his pants pocket. “I may not have been able to decide on a proper engagement ring, but…well…I hope you’ll accept this until we can get you one you like.”

Josie blinked at the band of tiny white shells that matched her anklet. They were so perfect, so small and so her that the tears that had threatened before stated rolling over her lashes.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, swiping the dampness from her right cheek with his thumb. “I’m not very savvy on the meaning of women’s tears. You’ll have to tell me-are these good or bad?”

She nodded, then shook her head. “It’s…they are…I mean…oh, I don’t know what I mean.” She swallowed hard. “It’s good.”

“May I?”

She held up her trembling left hand so that he could slip the shell ring onto her finger.

“Will you marry me, Josie?” he whispered, seeming to look beyond the years of independence, of trying times, of lonely nights, into the very depths of her soul.

“Yes,” she breathed.

There were hoots and hollers from around the corner. But Josie couldn’t acknowledge them. All she could do was marvel at the difference one man could make.

Granme’s words snaked through her mind as Drew held her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “Sha bébé, you must always listen to the little voice inside your head. While your heart may lead you astray, your head never will.”

In that one moment, her heart and head were in complete agreement.

And just like that, the curse that had shadowed the Villefranche women for over two centuries was broken.

She smiled as she kissed Drew again and again. She couldn’t wait to share her own little surprise with him. And for some reason she couldn’t explain, she was convinced the life growing within her, the life they had created, would be a little boy.