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“I wish I could talk, but I don't know what to say. It's awful.”

“It's not awful, dammit.” He grabbed her hand and took it to his mouth. “It's wonderful. I didn't imagine you liked it when I kissed you. You were right there with me. Can't we just go with that? What are you afraid of?” He passed her knuckles back and forth over his mouth.

Aurelie contracted her belly. He might as well have stripped her bare and made love to her right there—her reactions were powerful, exciting, frightening. And he didn't need to ask why she was hesitant. She found her voice. “I'm afraid we've crossed a line that'll push us apart. I'm afraid there's no going back.”

“I want to make love to you.”

She gasped and tried to free her hand, but he gripped her tightly.

“We've got to stop this,” she said. “I'll go right now. Please, Nick, help me to save us.”

“From what? From being together? I don't want to and I don't think you do, either. Do you?”

He wore pajama bottoms that rested low on his hips. She tried not to stare at him but failed. Nick wasn't trying to avoid looking at her.

“I've wanted you for a long time,” he said. “You're right. There's no going back and I can't pretend anymore. Tell me what my chances are. What do you feel for me?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“You don't want me?” Muscles in his jaw sprang hard.

Tears slid, hot, down her face and she let them go.

Nick wiped them away.

“Can't you see that this won't work?” she asked him. “We'll hurt other people and we'll hurt ourselves. We would lose something wonderful forever.”

“Tell me you don't want me.”

Aurelie shook her head again. If she were stronger, she'd lie and say the words. She couldn't do it.

“Hold me,” he said.

He threaded his fingers through hers and eased her toward him.

“Stop being afraid,” Nick said. “There may not be any going back, but you don't want to. Any more than I do.”

She didn't want to. But she pulled her hand from his, whirled around and left the kitchen.

N
o footsteps followed her.

Outside his bedroom door she stopped. Wiping moist palms on her nightie, breathing through her mouth, she went into the room. Dark green walls had begun to glow with the early-morning light. Over the iron bed with its tall, primitive posts, a wooden fan moved slowly.

A breeze reached Aurelie and she saw long, sheer drapes billow from a French door Nick had cracked open.

“I'm afraid to ask what this means,” he said from behind her.

“Then don't.” She crossed her hands and gripped the hem of her nightie—and drew it slowly over her head.

“My God,” Nick said. “Don't you dare do this out of pity.”

“Sometimes you should keep your mouth shut.” She threw the gown on the bed and stood there shivering, not because she was cool but because she was too hyper to stay still.

Standing close at her back, Nick slid his hands under her arms and supported her breasts. Very slowly, carefully, he stroked them with his thumbs. He kept his left forearm over her aching nipples and flattened his right hand on her belly. Pressed against him, she felt his arousal and arched her back. Cold chased heat deep inside her.

Aurelie settled the back of her head against his chest and let her arms hang at her sides. Slowly but with a fine tremor that showed his struggle to keep control, he stroked her body. His heart beat hard enough for her to feel. She heard her own inside her head.

He touched his mouth to the back of her neck, kissed her there, kissed her spine, moving down, vertebra by vertebra until he knelt and nipped at the very base of her spine. With his mouth pressed to her back, he gripped her thighs and ran his hands up her body to her breasts once more.

Aurelie needed to slip down in front of him. Her legs were weak and a faint humming seethed its way around the places she'd never expected to share with this man.

“Down,” she whispered. “I can't stand up.”

“C'mon.” He eased her to join him on the dark, silky rug. His tongue in her ear sent shivers across her skin. Every touch, carefully, firmly applied, turned up the heat.

Aurelie felt the last vestiges of fight going out of her. She spread her knees and sat astride his thighs, felt him respond beneath her bottom and put a hand beneath herself to hold him against slick, throbbing folds.

“Aurelie,” he murmured. “I…I don't know how I waited so long.”

She didn't have an answer to that but wiggled her bottom until he cried out and spun her to face him.

Nick held her arms, leaned her away so that he could look at her. “Say something,” he asked very quietly.

No, she wouldn't put words to this, just as she wouldn't give it up.

Something close to pain passed over his features, but he closed his eyes and kissed her again. He opened their mouths wide, pressed his tongue deep inside hers until she responded with as much force as she could. Aurelie broke contact and he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. She matched him, move for move, and the morning light turned to darkness again.

Raising her hips, she took him in her fingers and guided herself over him, buried him inside her and swallowed her own cry. Nick shouted aloud and there was no stopping, not for anything, not for either of them.

She felt herself flowering wide, an exquisite pain, and tried to hold back, but the speed of his pelvis, his drive, turned rhythmic and hard and she let go, fell on top of him as he dropped to his back and pulled her over him.

Shock waves fanned from the center of her sensation and she allowed herself to turn heavy and boneless on top of Nick.

He breathed great sighs, kissing her neck again and again. And all the while he stroked her back and buttocks, ran his fingers up into her hair and murmured things she couldn't understand.

“Are you cold?”

She heard that. “Mmm, no. You're obsessed with cold.”

“I'm obsessed with you.”

He rolled them to their sides, got up, lifting her as he did so, and put her on the bed. He raised her again and threw back the covers. Climbing over her, he lay heavily on his side, still breathing hard, still running his fingers over her.

The sudden sensation of him touching her again, smoothing his way past still-aching skin and flesh, shocked her. Aurelie started to jackknife her knees, but recovered in time to keep them flat on the bed. She crossed her ankles.

“Fly with it,” he said against her throat. “It'll be good. You aren't finished yet.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but faint stirrings turned into a rush and he proved himself right. Tossing her hips, she grasped him, tried to pull him on top of her, but he placed himself there and made love to her until she threw her arms wide and wailed at the ceiling. The threads to sanity had broken. They clung together, hot, sweating, slipping against each other.

When they rested, limbs entwined, the daylight forced its way into Aurelie's mind. She looked at Nick's face. His eyes were closed, dark lashes moving against his cheeks. His man's mouth, often hard by day, was soft, the lips slightly parted to show a hint of his strong teeth. And a definite paler line outlined those lips.

This was Nick. This was the boy who had looked after her—and Sarah—when they had no one in the world. He had grown to manhood as their rock, the one who would always be there for them. And she'd blown it. They'd blown it.

A little voice told her to snuggle into his arms and enjoy every moment, to take whatever she could get and not look back.

Sometime today she would face Sarah, who had also been ready to slay dragons if that's what it took to keep her little sister safe.

Nick's breathing was deep and even.

Aurelie eased a couple of inches from him and turned onto her back.

Nick didn't stir.

She moved an arm, a leg, pulled the rest of her body closer to the edge of the bed. The feelings she had for this man wouldn't go backward. By tomorrow, or next week, she wouldn't want to go running with him, not as much as she would long to be right where she was now, or where she had been only minutes ago.

Aurelie turned her face toward him, and jumped. Those dark blue eyes stared back. Except for the question she saw there, he seemed expressionless.

“You shocked me,” she said, breathless. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I know. I'd like to be but I don't dare. You'll leave me.”

Covering her face, she struggled to think clearly, to think of something to say that would be right.

The mattress moved and Nick put an arm around her. He began to pull her closer again but she stiffened her body. Nick moved her anyway in the end, she couldn't stop him.

He took her hands from her face and held her wrists on the pillow, rose on his elbows to look down at her. “Stop it,” he said.

Her efforts to release her wrists were useless. “Don't hold me down, Nick. You don't want to do something like that.”

“Get over the past,” he said, his voice rumbly and tough. “We didn't make love because of the past—except for the part that let us get to know each other. I want us to take this wherever it'll go. Maybe it can be something great.”

“Let me up,” she said. “It's late. I've got to get ready for work.”

“Don't be an idiot. It's early.”

“No, Nick. It's late. For you and me, it's too late. We've made the one mistake we'll never recover from.”

He pushed himself away from her. “Why did you come into my room? You could have walked past the way I thought you would.”

“I thought that's what I would do. But I wanted you, too. I'm not going to suggest I'm not as much to blame as you are.” She got up and wouldn't let herself search for her nightie.

“Don't go,” he said, much quieter now.

Aurelie held her back straight. Her throat hurt so much with needing to cry yet not wanting to cry in front of Nick. He was right—she could and should have passed his room and gone to her own.

“Dammit, Aurelie!”

She covered her ears and shot around to look at him.

Nick sat on the bed, the white sheet scrambled around his tanned hips. He pointed at her. “Listen to me. You'll get over the guilt. There's no guilt here, no shame, nothing wrong, just two people who could…two people who care a lot about each other.”

“You're right about me feeling guilty,” she told him. “And you know I do, because you feel it yourself.”

He leaped to the floor and she thought he would come after her. Instead, he dropped his shoulders, wiped anger from his face, breathed slowly through his nose and said, “Remember one thing. What we just had together isn't nearly enough. It's hardly a start.”

She waited, her heart thudding.

Nick pointed a long forefinger at her. “And I am
not
your brother.”

E
ileen Moggeridge managed Poke Around for her sister-in-law, Emma Duhon. Emma's husband, Finn, owned the Oakdale Mansion complex.

Aurelie had dodged Eileen's questions about why she'd already been at the shop for several hours when Eileen arrived. The Hummer stood in the parking lot and all Aurelie had to do was look past the dusty black vehicle to have a clear view of Nick's condo.

She deliberately turned her back to the outside. As if that would change a thing about the problems she'd been a full party to making.

She polished the espresso machine, a glamorous red affair reminiscent of an old Cadillac. Café tables and chairs stood in front of the counter where pastries, muffins and cookies tantalized from beneath glass domes. Jars of biscotti invited more indiscretion and a range of hand-dipped chocolates beckoned.

Sabine Webb, who “did” for Nick when she wasn't “doing” for Delia out at Place Lafource, pushed the door open with her back and came in with her arms full. “Mornin',” she said, glowing as usual. “Is that your brother's car I see over at his place, Aurelie?”

Aurelie polished with a lot of vigor.

“Hey, girl.” Sabine put her face where Aurelie couldn't ignore it. “That Nick, is he home today? Me, I been worryin' about that boy.” Since Sabine couldn't be any older than Nick, the term sounded strange, would sound more strange coming from anyone else. “He's not behavin' like himself.”

“Nick's home,” Aurelie said. She felt herself being watched and caught Eileen staring at her. She smiled and so did Eileen, but not until she'd paused too long.

“What's going on with him, then?” Sabine asked. Her long hair, wound into a zillion tiny braids, shone from the oil she'd added. Tortoiseshell combs at the sides held the braids away from her deep bronze face in heavy loops. She tapped Aurelie's forearm with slender fingers. “Cat got your tongue? You heard me?”

“Well—y'know—yes, of course I heard you.” She smiled. There was nothing to be gained by being evasive. “He's been in a bit of a mood.”

“A mood?”
Sabine shook her head. “Girl, it's time for him to get over his mood. I'm so behind with my work I could just
spit.
I'll do this, then I'll get right over to that Nick and whip him into shape.”

“I'd leave him for now,” Aurelie said quickly. “He had a late…night.”

Once more she met Eileen's gaze and her dark eyes held concern.

“We'll see about that,” Sabine said. “I've got somethin' you've got to carry, Eileen. You're gonna be right on the cuttin' edge with this. Everyone's gonna want one.”

Eileen, tall, voluptuous and exotic, walked over to see Sabine's latest wonder.

“See?” She hauled a pale pink radio from the box she'd brought in and wedged it between two jars of biscotti. A pale blue one followed, a yellow, a green and a white. “Don't go much for the white, myself,” she said.

“Radios?” Eileen said.

“Not just any radios, Eileen, so don't you go soundin'all superior like I was missin' a drawer or two in my dresser.”

“Never suggested any such thing,” Eileen said.

Aurelie leaned on the counter and eyed the green radio. “I like this one.”

“Listen to this,” Sabine said. She flipped a switch on the green one, pressed a button and stood back with her hands pointed toward it as if she'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

Conversation, talk about politics, droned out.

“I don't get it,” Eileen said.

Sabine's hands moved heavenward. “Lordy, do I have to explain every little thing? This is the very latest thing. And what's more, it's been proved, absolutely certain, that it works. Do we or don't we struggle with them rotten armadillos around here? Do we or don't we go to bed at night with gardens full of luscious shrubs, only to get up in the mornin'and find the darn armadillos dug the roots right out from under 'em?”

“It's a problem,” Eileen agreed.

“Yes,” Sabine said, nodding her head, triumphant. “And what do armadillos hate more'n anythin' else? I'll say it for you so you don't have to stretch your minds too much. Those armadillos can't
stand
talk radio. All you gotta do is put one of these little beauties in a plastic bag—keep out the humidity that way—and leave it snuggled down in them lovely bushes. Turn it on first, of course. But I tell you, there won't be no more armadillos.”

Aurelie cleared her throat.

“You want to sell these to me?” Eileen asked. They usually bought what they carried outright because Emma Duhon believed people mostly needed to be paid right away for what they brought in.

“I'll go you one better,” Sabine said, her gorgeous smile casting brilliance in every direction. “I don't want one penny for these until they sellin' out the door so fast you come beggin' to me for more. I can't say fairer than that now, can I?”

“Um—how would we, er—how would we label them?” Aurelie said. “What would we call them?”

“Just you leave that to me. I'll pile 'em up real pretty and if you can't sell 'em, you don't have to keep 'em. How's that?”

“Wonderful,” Eileen said. “Yes, that'll do just fine.”

“I'll do it then,” Sabine said and set about making a radio pyramid on a direct line with the door. “What put that Nick in a snit, then?”

“I'm not sure,” Aurelie said promptly. “Where did you get those pretty radios?”

“Armadilla-killas,” Sabine corrected. “My Ed got 'em. A fellow was sellin” em at a market over in Lafayette. Ed got 'em cheap on account of he took 'em all. Smart man, my Ed.”

Ed Webb, a pale, sinewy man who never tanned, even though he spent most of his days taking care of the grounds at Place Lafource, was renowned for his many “good deals.” He didn't shine as a conversationalist but his love for his Sabine showed and Aurelie really liked him for that.

“Whooee,” Sabine said in her rich voice. “I do believe you've got trouble on the way.”

“Who?” Eileen said, immediately craning to see around hanging flights of battery-driven bumblebees. “Oh, lordy, not at this hour of the day. Lobelia Forestier of all people. What's she doing here?”

“Ooh, gatherin' gossip, I'd say,” Sabine said. “And if we're lucky, maybe sharin' a little. I'll have me a café au lait, please, Aurelie. I know how to use the machine if you're too busy.”

“Sit down and be waited on,” Aurelie said. She didn't look forward to hearing whatever Lobelia Forestier might have on her mind. President of the Chamber of Commerce, Lobelia's primary function was spreading gossip and interfering with town business.

“Don't stare, either of you,” Eileen said. “She'll take it as a compliment.”

Aurelie chuckled while Sabine snapped her fingers to music in her mind.

“She's surely takin' her time,” Sabine said when the shop bell didn't immediately ring. “If she's pullin' weeds and lookin'smug, don't go gettin'mad. Let her do it. I could give a rat's hiney if someone gets pleasure out of pickin' on me, so long as they're helping me at the same time.”

Eileen and Aurelie sniggered explosively. “Hold it,” Eileen said. “Keep your heads down but she's talkin'to someone I don't know. Not that I know so many people.”

“Who is it?” Sabine whispered.

“She can't hear us,” Eileen said. “No need to whisper. It's a woman. That Lobelia is gabbin' away like she's met Santa Claus and he's taking down her list.”

Aurelie put the café au lait in front of Sabine, together with one of the lemon cheesecake and shortbread bars she loved and started checking a rack of clothing. “We need to rotate some of these into the back room,” she said. “There's so much out there and I've heard merchandise should be moved around.”

“You would have learned that in law school,” Eileen said.

Aurelie looked at her sharply, but decided the remark was supposed to be a joke. “You'd be surprised what you learn in law school.”

Allowing her eyes to wander, just enough to see Lobelia in an animated chat with Joan Reeves…Well, hell, that tore it. Or it could. Given the hooded rain slicker and less-than-perfect light conditions, Joan wouldn't necessarily remember Aurelie. Her attention had all been on Nick.

“Now we've got a photographer,” Eileen said. “He's taking shots all around the place. Mmm-mmm, nice lookin', too. Could be I should offer to take some photos of him.”

Eileen was pretty tight with Matt Boudreaux but she made certain to let people know there was no exclusive arrangement. Aurelie—together with most of the town—wondered if there was more to it than Eileen wanted them to know.

The photographer worked like the pro he obviously was. His equipment was strictly professional.

“Damn,” Aurelie said under her breath. The man had joined Joan Reeves and Lobelia.

“If someone doesn't tell me
exactly
what's goin'on out there I'll have to go stand in the window and look for myself,” Sabine said.

“Lobelia's talking to a woman and a photographer,” Eileen said. “How can we know anything else? We can't hear, can we?”

“Guess not,” Sabine said.

“Lobelia looks too happy.” Aurelie turned away again.

“They're comin' this way,” Eileen said. “Be busy, both of you.”

“I'm busy with my cheesecake,” Sabine said, chewing. “Why don't you two join me.”

The shop bell rang and Aurelie talked herself out of hiding in a pile of silk jackets and heading for the stockroom. She did go to the opposite side of the shop and check out the water situation in a row of small pigs made of live ivy growing on wire forms.

“Mornin',” Lobelia said loudly enough to greet folks for a mile around. “Looks like I've come at the right time. Aurelie, I heard you were back. You didn't come to the chamber to see me. What have I done to you? I thought we were friends.”

Aurelie groaned. “Hello, Lobelia.” She had to face the woman. “I have been so busy, you wouldn't believe it. Between moving back to Pointe Judah and finding a job it's been hectic.” She straightened several candles in their holders.

“Hello there,” Joan Reeves said, a big smile on her striking face. She came toward Aurelie with a hand extended. “How great to meet you again so soon. I am so sorry about early this morning. What a dolt I can be. Oh, this is Vic Gross. He's an old friend and he's helping me with the book. Vic's a photographer and his photographs could make anything look good.”

Blond, green-eyed Vic had a charming smile and he looked amused at the buildup. “Nice to meet you.” He shook Aurelie's hand and looked around. “Nice to meet all of you.”

Vic got a warm welcome of his own and his comfort with female approval showed.

“You mean you're workin' here at the shop, Aurelie?” Lobelia asked. “What happened to the fancy lawyer job?”

“I'm taking a break,” Aurelie said, hoping the least she could expect from this encounter was that she wouldn't have to repeat the story too often. Lobelia was likely to do it for her. “It was time to come home and be with my own people.”

“Well, I can surely understand that,” Lobelia said. “Never did like big cities myself. Now, you know it's not my way to talk about unpleasant things, but this town deserves to know what happened last night.” She had taken to having her gray hair dyed a shade of light brown and replaced tight curls with a softer look. Nothing would soften the sharp pleasure in her eyes.

Sabine dropped the end of her cheescake pastry; she'd apparently forgotten it was still between her fingers. “What are you talkin' about, Lobelia? You look like somebody died.”

If she could do it without drawing attention, Aurelie would sit down. She wanted to be somewhere else. Joan Reeves's attention centered on Lobelia, which was a good thing. The longer she was diverted from Aurelie, the better, but Matt had said there should be no discussion about Baily's death.

“You have a truly unfortunate turn of phrase, Sabine Webb,” Lobelia said. “One day you'll learn to think before sayin' something like that. Aurelie, you were out there, weren't you?”

“I can't talk about it,” Aurelie said. “Any questions should go to Matt Boudreaux.” Even that would earn her black marks from Matt.

Lobelia drew herself up and her cheeks turned bright pink under a liberal coating of face powder. “If there's something going on that could put other people in danger, we have a right to know. Who was it they found dead in the rose beds?”

“Really,” Aurelie said, annoyed by the way information spread in Pointe Judah, “I've been told this is a police matter. But I don't think there's anything to worry about,” Aurelie said, praying she was right.