Any Way You Want It (25 page)

She flipped open the book, the pages parting at a section about the French Opera House. The building had once been right where the hotel she was staying in stood now. The Opera House had burned to the ground in 1919.

The hairs on her neck rose. A cold chill ran over her rain-moistened skin. She glanced around, looking for a window or an air vent to explain the sudden coldness. All she spied was more books.

She continued to read, discovering that several people had been killed in the blaze. One of whom was one of the performers, Annalise Broux, a young woman of Creole descent. The opera being performed at the time was La Conzoni di Vita. Maggie vaguely recognized the title. In fact, she had heard other pieces by that composer. What was his name?

Her eyes scanned the paragraph, landing on his name.

Renaldo D’Antoni.

Another shudder not stemming from a draft shook her whole body.

Renaldo D’Antoni. Ren Anthony.

She snapped the book shut, fumbling to stack it back with the others. No. It couldn’t be.

She backed away from the shelf, still staring at the spine of the book. Hadn’t she just said that coincidence and signs ran rampant in this city?

But this was too crazy to be part of the peculiar vibe of the city. This would mean that Ren was…

she tried to calculate roughly the age he’d have to be.

That opera was roughly ninety years old by the time it was performed at the French Opera House. So that would make Ren well over 150 years old.

She blinked at the shelf, the books now only a colorful sea in front of her as her rattled mind tried to decipher what she was thinking.

Nonsense, her mind finally told her. Utter nonsense.

He couldn’t still be alive. And only in his late twenties. A weak laugh escaped her—she must be mad to even consider this idea.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

A small squeak escaped Maggie as she turned to see the man from outside.

She pressed her hand to her chest, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“I’m sorry, my sweet.” He did look genuinely regretful. “Anything you like?”

She nodded, managing to sound relatively normal. “Yes. You have a lot of fascinating books.”

He nodded. “Well, let me know if you have any questions.”

She told him she would, and then she forced herself to wander some more, absently browsing the aisles.

Finally, she purchased a book of postcards, feeling like she should buy something. Then she stepped back onto the street. The sky had darkened to a slate gray and the rain was coming down in earnest now.

She hurried down the sidewalk, avoiding the largest of the ominous filth-filled puddles, making her way back to her hotel to get clean clothes. The hotel that now stood where the Opera House had once been.

When she entered the lobby, she went right to the service desk. Jo and Erika had said they would bring her suitcase down to the front desk when they checked out, so she could then check back in to a single.

At the front desk, the woman told her that Jo and Erika had already had her room changed, and her luggage was waiting for her there.

Maggie smiled. She could kiss her friends. All she wanted was to get into her room, into a hot shower and talk herself out of the absolutely crazy theory she’d developed—all because of a similarity in name.

She accepted her new key card, gave her thanks to the desk clerk, then headed to the elevators.

Her mind still buzzed with the fact that she’d actually considered that she might—and this truly was the craziest might ever—be having sex with a man who was nearly two centuries old.

She stepped off the elevator, trying to recall what room number the lady had told her.

“Two…two-twenty?” she said to herself, trying to recall, when she turned the corner and saw a figure sitting on the floor in the hallway.

She hesitated, and considered turning around and heading back down to the lobby as the figure rose.

“Maggie.”

Feeling ridiculous at her jumpiness, she realized it was Ren. Of course, if Ren was two centuries old maybe she should be jumpy. She almost laughed at her silly thoughts earlier today.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she approached him. He didn’t look dead or old, she decided. He looked gorgeous, his hair damp, his shirt clinging to his broad chest.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “When I woke up and you were gone, I was afraid you decided to end things early.”

Part of her wondered if that might not be a good idea. Safer for her heart. She had to admit she was shaken. Last night had been so intense. So right. And she did feel very invested in him, which was not a good idea. An even crazier idea than him being some sort of undead creature.

But as she looked at him, she knew she wasn’t going to end it. She’d take whatever time she had, whatever way she could have it.

“No. I just woke up and decided to go for a walk. I left you a note.”

He frowned. “You did? Where?”

“On that kitchen table.”

“Oh,” he said. “I missed it.”

“So you came here to camp out until I finally returned.”

His expression was again very sheepish as he nodded. “Sort of stalker-ish, huh?”

Maggie laughed. “Sort of. But in your case, more romantic than stalker.”

“I’ll take that.”

He kissed her.

“Come in while I take a shower. Then we’ll go to that restaurant you mentioned?”

“Sure. Do you have a fancy dress?”

“Yes,” she said as she slid the keycard into the door and pushed it open. “Is it that fancy?”

She gave him a questioning look, then noticed he was wearing one of his funky sort of rocker-style shirts and faded jeans. Which looked fantastic but not fancy, exactly.

He shook his head, giving her that Cheshire cat smile. “Not necessarily. I just want to see you all dressed up.”

She rolled her eyes, but then went to her suitcase to pull out a black dress that Jo had given her because it didn’t fit right. The dress was better suited to Maggie’s lush curves—a rare find in fashion. She rummaged around for undergarments and the heels she wore with the dress.

Behind her, she noticed Ren waiting around, seemingly agitated, as he had been the last time they were here.

“Did you know this was the site of the French Opera House? It burned down in 1919.”

She sensed rather than saw him stop.

“Yeah, I did know that. The French Opera House was a beautiful building.”

Maggie turned to look at him.

“Or so I have heard,” he added.

She nodded, another chill running down her spine. But as she looked at him, she just couldn’t reconcile all that warm skin and live muscle with her strange theory based on a name in a book. It was nuts.

She picked up her clothes. “I’ll be quick. Feel free to check out the mini bar if you want.”

Ren watched her disappear into the bathroom. Relief at being with her again almost calmed his tense muscles, but not quite. He forced himself to sit on the queen-size bed in the center of the room.

He’d woken up earlier than usual, because of the storm blotting out the sun. He’d actually panicked when he’d realized Maggie was gone.

His first thought was that his reticence with her comment about moving to New Orleans had driven her away, that she’d decided to end things.

He’d thrown on his clothes and headed straight here. And then he’d waited, sitting in the hallway, leaning on her door like a desperate teenager or a deranged stalker—neither one a role he’d ever thought to find himself in.

When she arrived, and didn’t order him to leave, his muscles had weakened with relief, making him nearly sag against the wall.

Ren heard the shower start, the rush of water a calming sound. He listened to her movements in the other room.

He looked around the room, wondering what prompted her to mention the structure that had once stood in this building’s place. Probably one of the staff mentioned it to her; since it was a tourist town, everyone considered themselves a guide.

He heard the scrape of the shower curtain. He imagined Maggie standing in the shower spray, water cascading over all those lush, soft curves. His discomfort and worries faded with the vividness of the image. As had been the case since meeting Maggie, good sense took a backseat to his desire. He rose from the bed and knocked lightly on the door.

“Yes?”

He pushed the door open. “I was thinking.” Was he really going to suggest this? How would this help either of them? It wouldn’t. Still he couldn’t not ask. “Why don’t you spend the rest of your vacation with me?”

Maggie peeked out at him from behind the shower curtain, her face rosy and wet. “I was planning to.”

He smiled. “No. I mean not even keep this hotel room. Just bring your stuff to my place.”

Maggie’s smile deepened. “Okay.”

His body reacted instantly. “Did you happen to need help in there?”

Her wide grin transformed into a sexy smile. “I was just thinking I might.”

Ren smiled. “Good. Because I’m just your man.”

He closed the door, leaving behind everything but warm water, slick soap, Maggie, and total ecstasy.

“Did I mention how much I love that dress?”

Maggie laughed. “Just once or twice.”

Now that she was in his company, after the toe-curling sex in the shower, and now this incredible dinner, she wondered what had her so keyed up earlier today. She felt good with him.

“Want to go get a drink?” he asked as they stepped out of the restaurant. The rain had stopped and actually managed to take a little of the humidity with it.

“Sure.” Her veins already buzzed with the warm merriment of two glasses of chardonnay, but she felt so good and happy, she wanted the night to go on forever.

And she had to admit that she loved being seen with Ren. Several times she’d noticed women doing double takes as he walked by. He didn’t seem to notice, probably because he was used to it, but Maggie had never been on the arm of a man who garnered so much female attention.

Peter had been handsome. Average height, blond. But he wasn’t the same kind of dynamic, truly beautiful handsome that Ren was.

She knew they must make an odd couple. Probably part of the double takes, too. But she didn’t care. She was pleased with this time. She planned to enjoy it fully. And if she left to go back to D.C. with a hefty crush to get over—she’d deal with that then.

As she expected, Ren led her back to the small bar they’d gone to on their second night. When they entered, she also wasn’t surprised to see Vittorio seated on one of the stools at the bar. He chatted with Sheri, although they acknowledged them with a nod when they entered.

“Leave it to you to show your lady the best that New Orleans has to offer,” Vittorio teased.

“Hey,” Sheri said, feigning offense as she snapped at Vittorio with a bar towel.

“Yeah, hey,” Ren agreed, waiting for Maggie to take a stool. She did, and found herself sandwiched between the very attractive Anthony brothers. Then she paused. Vittorio was Ren’s half brother. Maybe they had different last names.

“Ren said that you are half brothers.”

Vittorio nodded, not making eye contact with her. Instead he focused on running his index finger along the rim of his highball glass.

“Yeah,” he said, and again she was surprised at how deep his voice was. It just didn’t match his face.

“So is your last name Anthony too?”

He smiled at that. A strange, almost enigmatic curve of his lips. “Nope. It isn’t. It’s actually Ridgewood.”

She nodded.

“Same mother, different dads.”

Maggie nodded. “Ren doesn’t seem to be overly fond of your mother.”

She regretted the comment as soon as it was out. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, but Vittorio’s reply squelched any worries that she’d said too much.

“Our mother is a very difficult woman to love.” He took a sip of his drink. “Or even like, for that matter.”

Maggie was intrigued. Could she really be as awful as they said? She supposed she must be, since neither brother had reason to lie.

“Where does she live?”

“She moves a lot.” He took another sip of his drink. “I’m not really sure where she is at the moment.”

“That’s funny, that’s what Ren said about you. Should we expect her to show up before the night is over?”

Vittorio grimaced. “God forbid.”

“What are you two talking about?” Ren asked as Sheri, who he’d been chatting with, left to wait on the only other patron, in the back of the bar.

“Our mommy dearest.”

Ren grunted. “Joan Crawford would have been a godsend.”

Vittorio nodded.

“What did she do that’s so bad?” Maggie knew she was asking far too sensitive a question, but she couldn’t help herself.

The brothers exchanged looks.

“It’s all pretty hard to explain,” Ren finally said.

Vittorio nodded, taking another drink.

“Did you two grow up together?” It was clear to Maggie that they loved each other, and it made her feel better to think that even with a terrible mother, they at least had each other.

Ren shook his head. “We met when we were—in our twenties. I was in my late twenties actually.”

Maggie frowned, then glanced at Vittorio. She caught him giving Ren a sharp look, which disappeared when he realized Maggie was watching him. Instead he smiled almost smugly. The expression would have been amusing if it wasn’t so puzzling.

But she let that go, returning to what Ren had said. “Late twenties? How old are you now?”

Ren gave her a look that was just as amusing in its stunned quality.

“Umm, I’m thirty. I guess I must have just lost track of time. We met in our early twenties. Right?”

Vittorio nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t even twenty yet.”

Well, that Maggie could believe. He only looked about twenty-three or so even now. But he did have an angelic quality to his features that made it hard to guess his age. And something in his dark eyes could, at times, make him seem almost old. An old soul, maybe.

She glanced at Ren. He had that look too. She’d thought of it as haunted, but maybe that wasn’t quite the right description. Maybe it was the look of an old soul.