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?”
DREW FELT AS IF HE’D NEVER be able to get rid of the light sheen of sweat that covered his skin. Of course, he acknowledged that the thick heat wasn’t entirely to blame, even though it definitely was getting to him, since he’d been careful to bring only the clothing a businessman attending a professional convention would need. Suits to reflect a first timer’s unfamiliarity with the Crescent City.
But the clothes and weather weren’t the only reason for his discomfort. Rather his anticipation of promised time alone with Josie Villefranche had him in a constant heated state.
It had been some time since he’d been with a woman, and he was afraid his body was showing him exactly how long. After his ex had pulled the stunt she had on him, he’d been subconsciously leery of becoming involved with anyone, even physically. The laser-like focus he’d put on rebuilding his career also explained the ease with which he’d steered clear of women.
But Josie…
While he tried telling himself his interest in her was merely professional and physical, there existed in the pit of his stomach the sensation that there was something more to his attraction to the mysterious hotel owner. He’d listened as she’d shared her story about her mother and grandmother, told of her attachment to the hotel, and he’d felt admiration for her fighting spirit and loyalty to the establishment.
And guilt that it was his job to take it away from her any way he could.
He stood outside a small shop nearer the more touristy area of Bourbon Street, not really seeing the T-shirts or the colorful beads. If he knew what was good for him, he would forgo his three o’clock date to meet Josie back at the hotel. Offer up a story about a superior requesting his presence at the convention. He’d told her he’d hoped she didn’t think he was going too fast. In reality, he was beginning to think he was. A concept that had never occurred to him before. He’d always been painfully careful about personal attachments, including with his ex-wife. But no matter how cautious he’d been, he’d still gotten burned by a woman who’d turned out to be far too similar to his mother.
And while Josie couldn’t have been further away from Carol in looks, temperament and background, and she was obviously fiercely independent, she was in financial trouble. And he’d learned long ago that money, or rather the lack of it, made people do unexpected and hurtful things. It was that very fact that he exploited in his job every day.
Then why was his gut twisting into knots at the prospect of enjoying Josie’s company at the same time he talked her into selling the hotel?
Conscience.
He’d once been accused of not having one. It had been early on in his career and he’d befriended an older man, Bernard Glass, who had built up his shoe factory over a period of fifty years into a moderately viable business he’d hoped to leave to his grandson, who would be graduating college in a year. Then one very successful television show had written the lead character as a Glass shoe fanatic and overnight the old man’s orders had quadrupled.
And his factory had become prime pickings for an Italian clothes designer who had had his eye on adding a shoe company to his impressive list of businesses.
“Can I help you find something, sir?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.
Drew stared at the young saleswoman.
He found himself fingering a necklace of tiny shells like the ones Josie wore around her slender ankle. He removed his hand. “No. No, thank you.”
He strolled down the street in the opposite direction of the hotel, not due to meet Josie there for another fifteen minutes, his mind still on Glass and his company.
Back then, Drew had still been testing the boundaries of how far he would go to close a deal. He’d had the grandson investigated and discovered David had more than a taste for gambling. Worse, he was in trouble way up to his neck, owing a loan shark near Boston University, which he attended, far more than he could ever hope to repay on his own.
Drew had shamelessly used the information, and played up the grandson’s lack of direction in life beyond finishing university, to convince the old man he needed to sell his company rather than leave it to the grandson.
A month later Drew had received a visit from the old man, who had finally figured everything out.
“You have no conscience, Drew Morrison. And one day you’ll be paid back several times over for all the wrong that you do.”
He’d tried to deny his part in the scheme. Strangely, he’d grown attached to the old man, who had built his company with his own two hands. But Bernie wouldn’t hear him. He’d merely said his piece and left Drew with a new awareness of boundaries he hadn’t recognized before.
From there on in he’d left families out of the business equation, no matter how easy the target. He’d relied solely on his own skills to accomplish the task he was being paid for-most times very well.
Then there was Josie…
Certainly, he’d come across his share of marks attached in some strong way to their companies or interests. But usually they were neglecting another part of their lives that was easily amplified. Children who wanted more of their attention. A hobby that could be turned into a career. Sometimes he even allowed himself to believe he was doing the marks a favor by helping them improve their lives, although that feeling never lasted more than a couple of seconds if only because he knew his clients were the ones benefiting monetarily. After all, a mark wouldn’t be a mark if that person didn’t have something the client wanted.
In Josie Villefranche’s case, he’d never expected he’d be the one doing the wanting and that what he wanted had absolutely nothing in common with what his client wanted.
JOSIE SWIPED THE BACK of her wrist across her forehead as she stirred the boil pot on the old, industrial stove in the kitchen of the Josephine. She’d coerced Philippe into looking after the front desk again, telling him she wanted to take care of dinner tonight. He hadn’t said anything. After all, they often traded spots if just to keep things interesting, or if she felt the itch to keep her cooking skills fresh.