Don't Tempt Me (43 page)

He chuckled. "I'm afraid planning to 'succeed' isn't a business plan. It's a goal ---and a good one ---but if you want someone to loan you money, you need an in-depth, written plan with demographics, cost analysis, projected growth and income."

Panic welled at the thought of putting her dream down on paper for other people to scrutinize, but she let the sight of the house give her courage. "If I get one of those, a business plan, your father's bank will loan me the money?"

"I didn't say that." He gave her an odd smile, partly amused, partly intrigued.

"Rory!" Bobby shouted from the boat. "Move your tail! We have a schedule to keep here."

"I'm coming!" She gave Chance a pleading look. "I gotta go. I'll come see you tomorrow. At the bank." She grabbed his hand and gave it a good businesslike handshake. "We'll talk more then." Her voice floated behind her as she jogged down the path. "Oh, I can't wait to get home and tell Adrian and Allison. They're just gonna flip!"

"But ---" Chance held out a hand as she dashed to the pier on long tanned legs, the wind plastering the white shirt to her tall, curvy body. He felt as if a whirlwind had just knocked him over as he watched her climb into the boat beside the muscle-bound driver. With a cheerful smile, she waved at him while the boat pulled away from the dock.

Chance returned the wave numbly as he willed his pulse to slow. Aurora St. Claire. Heaven help him and all mortal men, but didn't the woman have a clue what that body, that face, and all that flame-bright hair could do to a man!

He shook his head hoping to clear it. It didn't work. There was no shaking off the effect of Aurora. Once she bowled a guy over, he was down for life. Chance should know. He'd been in lust with the girl since he was a boy. Only, he wasn't a boy any longer. And God have mercy, she definitely wasn't a mere girl.

The ringing of the phone clipped to his belt brought him slowly out of his haze. "Yes, Chance speaking."

"Oliver, where are you?" His father's deep voice pricked a hole in Chance's euphoria. "I expected you back at the bank an hour ago."

"I know, I'm sorry, sir." He glanced uneasily at the sign, wondering if his father had seen the paperwork on the foreclosure yet. Since his father sounded more curious than angry, he guessed not. "Brian had an ... um ... errand he wanted me to do."

"Since when does the vice president of operations run errands for the loan department?" his father asked.

Since the bank was taken over by a bunch of out-of-town wimps who don't have the guts to get between you and the new owners back East,
Chance thought bitterly. Although he couldn't blame Brian Jeffries, the senior vice president of loans, for asking him to put up the For Sale sign. If anyone else did it, Chance's father would fire the person on the spot for embarrassing the LeRoche family in so public a manner.

"Never mind," his father sighed. "I was about to leave for the day and wanted to remind you about Paige's welcome-home dinner tonight."

"No need to remind me. I'm looking forward to it." Chance smiled, thinking of Paige Baxter, the girl he intended to marry. Now that she had graduated from college and returned to the island, they could finally start dating in a more official manner. When summer was over, he'd ask her to marry him, they'd have a respectable engagement of six months or so, and marry next spring. He imagined his mother and Mrs. Baxter were already planning the wedding.

"We'll expect you at the house by six-thirty, then?" his father said.

"Yes, sir. I'll be there." Hanging up, Chance felt his smile fade as the tension of the day settled back over his shoulders. He glanced at the cove and saw the tour boat had disappeared. Odd how the wind seemed calmer now. While Aurora had been there, the air had been charged with electricity as if lightning were about to strike.

He picked up his hammer and returned to pounding the sign into the ground. In the back of his mind he wondered if Aurora was serious about coming to see him at the bank. A smile tugged at his lips. Now wouldn't that be a sight ---Aurora St. Claire sweeping through the bank in a swirl of energy and light? He could almost see the portraits of the bank's founders crashing to the marble floor of the lobby in her wake.

~ ~ ~

Continue the heartwarming journey with

Allison and Scott

in the following excerpt from

Lead Me On
, book two of the Pearl Island trilogy

or skip to an excerpt of

Almost Perfect

book one in the award-winning Perfect trilogy

~ ~ ~

Learn more about Julie Ortolon and her other novels at
JulieOrtolon.com

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Lead Me On

by Julie Ortolon

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As she lowered her arms, she spotted him and smiled. "Hello" she called. "Are you Mr. Scott?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Later."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So" ---her gaze flickered to the case for his lap top ---"are you going to write a book while you're staying here?"

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