Falling for You (15 page)

Rory let out a sigh of relief as she watched them go. Thank goodness Chance and his friends hadn’t been the last passengers off the boat. She wasn’t sure she could have handled walking right behind them all the way to the house. Her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since she’d turned around and found him standing on the pier.

Now that they’d landed, she didn’t have the microphone to hide behind. The jittery current in her gut climbed into her chest, making every breath a struggle. She tried to ignore it as she and Bobby followed the passengers up the trail.

“Welcome to Pearl Island!” Adrian greeted the visitors from the top of the stairs. He presented a dashing sight in the big-sleeved shirt and wide leather belt that Allison had talked him into wearing. Rory wished Alli could have been there to see him, but the antique shop had refused to let her off on a Saturday.

“Come. Have a seat,” Adrian invited with a sweep of his arm. The actor in him couldn’t help but play the part of pirate host. “Let us serve you our sumptuous island delights.”

The female guests either sighed or giggled as they made their way to the tables. Rory was glad to see Adrian had managed to get everything set up in time, from the white tablecloths to the candles and fresh flowers. The hanging baskets they’d found on sale added just the right finishing touch to the setting. More than one guest remarked on the beautiful view of the cove as they took their seats. The breeze couldn’t have been more perfect, soft on the skin and scented with salt water, the kind of breeze that invited people to sit back and enjoy the day.

When everyone was settled, she joined Adrian by the ice chests to load small bowls of fresh fruit onto the serving trays.

“Good grief,” Adrian whispered. “How many tickets did you sell?”

“A bunch,” she answered, sharing his excitement in spite of her nerves.

“Although I’m surprised to see Chance here,” Adrian said. “I figured he’d lose interest in us since his bank turned us down.”

Rory managed a casual shrug. “Maybe he’s just curious.”

“Maybe so.” Adrian lifted a tray to his shoulder. “Well, let’s get these people fed.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her own tray, planning to ignore Chance and his friends the best she could.

Adrian’s laugh boomed forth as he played his role to the hilt. She envied him his ease. She enjoyed people as much as he did, and was just as good at making them feel welcome, so why did she have to be cursed with this horrible, irrational anxiety at times?

Except it wasn’t really people that made her panic. It was the fear of making a mistake, of appearing stupid, that caused her nerves to go haywire.

She was down to a handful of bowls on her tray when she realized Chance’s table hadn’t been served. And that Adrian’s tray was empty. She tried to send her brother a pleading look, but he was headed for the iced-tea pitchers to make a round of refills.

Okay, I can handle this,
she told herself as she neared Chance’s table. She approached them quietly from Chance’s back, hoping she could set their fruit bowls down and slip away without him realizing she was the one serving them.

“I hate to bring up a bad subject on such a pretty day,” Paige was saying to her friend, “but do you know if we’re any closer to finding a location for the Buccaneer’s Ball?”

“Unfortunately, no,” the brunette said. “Ashton Villa and the Menard Home are both taken that weekend.”

“Wait a second,” the brunette’s boyfriend said. “I thought you were using the ballroom at the Hotel Galvez this year.”

“We were,” the brunette explained as Rory lifted a fruit bowl and bent her knees to slip it between Chance and Paige. “But they had some pipes break and it caused water damage throughout the whole lower floor. So now we have to find a new location, and on such short notice.”

As Rory’s hand moved past Chance’s shoulder, he started and jerked around, bumping her arm. The bowl tipped sideways, and the fruit headed straight for Paige’s lap.

In agonizing slow motion, Rory tried to stop it, only to lose her balance on the tray. It slipped and fell in the other direction. Fruit bowls and the serving tray hit the stone floor of the veranda with a resounding crash that went on and on as the objects spun slowly to a halt.

When the noise finally ended, Rory looked up to see everyone staring at her. Except Paige, who stared at the glop of fruit in the lap of her yellow silk shorts. Chance’s horrified gaze bounced between Paige and Rory. Someone at a far table whistled, and then others began to applaud. It was the expected response when a waiter dropped a tray. She should have laughed it off, taken a bow, then cleaned up the mess.

Instead, her chest constricted like a vise around her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t... breathe.

With the heel of one hand pressed to her breastbone, she ran blindly toward the front door. It banged behind her as she dashed inside, needing somewhere to hide.

“Aurora!” Chance called and ran after her, past a startled Adrian. Adrian started to follow, but Chance waved him back. Once inside, he closed the door, then came to a halt. Rather than the dark musty hall he’d seen before, sunlight filtered in through the doors to the outer rooms. The stained-glass windows across from him bathed the hall and stairs in colored light. The place had a long way to go, but at least the cobwebs and dust were gone. “Aurora?”

Her name echoed into silence. He stood, listening. The thick stone walls blocked the sounds from outside. He strained to hear any noise that would tell him which way she’d gone.

From somewhere overhead came the faint sound of weeping. The eerie echo of it prickled the hair on his arms. Following the sound, he climbed the stairs toward the second floor. The step next to the top creaked—and the weeping stopped. The prickly feeling moved to the back of his neck.

“Aurora?” he called, listening. He heard her then. Not crying at all, but sucking in huge gulps of air. He found her in Marguerite’s sitting room in the tower. She sat on the fainting couch, her head between her knees, her hands shielding her face. Her whole body heaved in the rhythm of her heavy gasps.

Alarmed, he rushed forward and dropped to his knees. “Aurora!” A shaft of sunlight came through the windows, nearly blinding him with its stark light. He touched her hair, her shoulder, needing to see her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She gasped. “I just... can’t breathe.”

“Can I help you? Tell me what to do. Should I call an ambulance?”

“No!” To his surprise, she laughed as she sat up on an in-drawn breath. “No ambulance. It’s just... a panic... attack.”

“A panic attack?”

“It’ll stop... as soon as... I relax.”

“Okay. All right.” He felt a bit panicked himself as he wondered what to do. “Here, lie down.” He pressed her back onto the fainting couch. Sunlight gleamed off the dust cover, making her skin look nearly white.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, draping an arm over her eyes. “I made... a total... fool of myself.”

“No you didn’t.” He swung her legs onto the cushion then knelt at the foot of the couch and removed her canvas deck shoes. “You dropped a tray. So what? People drop trays all the time. Besides, it was as much my fault as yours, since I bumped your arm.”

“I wanted... today to be... perfect. And I ruined it!”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” With his thumbs on the soles of her feet, he began to massage. “Deep breaths. Relax.” He watched her carefully as her chest rose and fell. Gradually the deep gasps slowed and steadied. “That’s it,” he said softly, concentrating on his task. Her long, slender feet fit perfectly in his hands, soft clean skin over fine bones. The nails were neatly trimmed but free of polish.

He moved his hands to her ankles and continued massaging. As her ankles relaxed, he moved up the calves, feeling the muscles dissolve beneath his fingers. Her breathing settled to match his own. He closed his eyes halfway, attuning himself to her body. He thought if he listened carefully enough, he’d hear the beating of her heart.

His own pulse deepened at the feel of her supple skin against his palms. He tried to ignore the stirring of arousal as he smoothed his hands up her shins, curled his fingers around her calves, and drew his hands slowly back to her ankles.

“That feels good,” she whispered.

Bowing his head, he continued the long sensuous strokes over muscle and bone. Up the shins, down the calves. Blood pooled in his groin, an ache of wanting he knew he couldn’t fulfill. He ran his hands up, then moved his fingers around to press the sensitive pulse points at the backs of her knees. A hum of pleasure reverberated in her throat as he drew his hands downward to massage her ankles. She moaned again and the rush of his desire became harder to ignore.

“I think you need to stop,” she murmured in a husky voice.

His hands stilled on the tops of her feet. Opening his eyes, he let his gaze travel up the length of her bare legs, over her flat stomach and full breasts, to her face. She looked back with eyes that mirrored his need.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He offered a lopsided smile, then kissed the tip of one toe before rising. She sat up, swinging her legs to the side, and he took a seat beside her.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Yes and no.”

Her humorless laugh perfectly expressed his own frustration. He was sitting alone with Aurora, his body aroused, while the woman he intended to marry sat right outside. Not one of his prouder moments, even knowing he wouldn’t give in to temptation.

“I should get back downstairs,” she said. “And clean up the mess I made.”

“Not yet.” He placed his hand over hers. “Give yourself a minute.”

She started to argue, then relaxed and nodded.

“So, um...” He searched for a neutral topic. “How go the renovations?”

“We approved the plans from the contractor yesterday.” Her expression turned sad as she looked about. “I guess next week they’ll start tearing the place up.”

“You knew they would, though. When you decided to convert the house to an inn.”

“I should have, yes. But I guess I saw it more as restoring what once had been.” She shook her head. “You can never recapture the past, though, can you?”

“No, I guess not.” Their eyes met for a moment. “So”—he cleared his throat—“how are you doing with the bookkeeping? Did you get the software I told you about?”

She groaned. “I haven’t even gotten a computer yet.”

“Then how are you keeping track of everything?”

“By sticking all the receipts in a shoe box.” She offered a sheepish grin.

“Aurora...”

“No, don’t even start.” She stood and moved away, to gaze out toward the cove. “We’ll manage on our own. We aren’t helpless, and how we do things is no longer your business.”

“I see.” He frowned over that for a minute. “I wish it were, though.”

“Were what?” Irritation edged into her voice.

“I wish it were my business.” Surprise came first at how much he wanted it, followed by excitement. “I mean that. Literally.”

She gave him a wary look. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Aurora...” He spoke carefully as figures, data, potential, and risks clicked through his brain at lightning speed. In the end, none of the numbers mattered, only the sense of exhilaration singing in his veins. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Would the three of you consider taking on a partner?”

“A partner?” She drew her head back.

“I’m serious. I can put up an amount equal to whatever portion of the business you’re willing to sell. And I’d be an asset. I could handle the books, be involved as much or as little as you want, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my duties at the bank, of course.”

“But... why would you want to?”

The answer came with startling ease. “Remember the day you came by my office and said how nice it must have been to grow up knowing what I’d do with my life?”

“Did I say that?”

“Something to that effect. The point is, I never picked my future. It was just handed to me, and I never questioned it. Banking is what the Chancellor men have done for a hundred and fifty years. I’m a Chancellor, so I became a banker.”

“Are you saying you don’t like being a banker?”

“I—” He hesitated, searching within. “I thought I did. But maybe I should at least try something else before I settle down.”

“Before you settle down,” Rory echoed. As in, before he committed himself to married life with Perfect Paige. Is that what she had been to him? An experiment to see what else was out there before he settled down to marriage? Well, apparently he’d decided his little debutante was the right one, after all. “How do you think Paige will feel about your going into business with me?”

Some of the enthusiasm dimmed from his eyes. “I—I don’t know.” He rose to pace as he thought aloud. “I don’t see how it would matter. I’d be going into business with all three of you—not just you. So there’d be no reason for her to be jealous.”

“Maybe not of me, but what about the inn?” At his look of confusion, she continued. “Do you have any idea how many hours the three of us are putting into this every week? We have no time for personal lives. We have our regular jobs and this. Are you willing to give up all your evenings and weekends?”