Lead Me On (20 page)

"Hey, Uncle Scott." Chloe brightened at the sight of him. "How's it going?"

Allison's heart jumped as she glanced toward him. He stood in the doorway, wearing a black polo shirt, black shorts, and the sort of befuddled expression she imagined a bear would have emerging from hibernation.

"Okay." He nodded. "I take it from all the noise it's Saturday again."

"It does tend to come once a week," Allison said. She almost laughed when she saw him stiffen.

His head turned slowly toward her, the muddled look giving way to wariness. "I thought you'd be in the gift shop."

"Rory and I are trading places until the baby comes."

"Oh." He glanced back toward the door, as if he wanted to bolt.
Poor frightened bear
, she thought, even as she let her gaze flow over him.
Big sexy black bear.

"I hope we didn't 'disturb' you in any way," she said as her gaze took a leisurely journey back up to his face.

"No." He cleared his throat. "Not at all."

She watched color rise up his neck, and marveled that she could affect him so easily. She didn't even have to be overtly suggestive. The simplest words, with just a hint of sexual connotation, were enough to raise his blood pressure.

"I, uh, just thought I'd grab one of the Cokes I left in the fridge, then do some research on the Internet about salvage ships."

"Actually, I'll do you one better," Alli said. "This is our friend Paige, who has an absolute passion for all things nautical. If you have a question about boats, she's the one to ask."

"Really?" Scott eyed the former debutante with only a hint of skepticism showing.

"You must be Scott Lawrence." Paige smiled back. "Chance and Rory told me you were staying here. You know, I've always wondered where writers come up with their ideas."

He gave Allison a deadpan look. "We get them from sadistic muses, who find inventive ways of making us pay."

Allison bit her lip to stop a grin.

Scott turned back to Paige. "I don't suppose you'd have time to answer a few questions?"

Paige looked at her slim gold Rolex. "Bobby's probably about ready to shove off."

"Maybe later, then?" Scott said.

"Actually ..." Paige hesitated, then smiled. "I don't see any reason he can't take the boat back by himself. I've already done my tour-guide bit, and he can certainly dock by himself."

"That would be great." Scott glanced at the table by the window, then back toward Alli. "Maybe we should go sit in the music room, where we'll be out of the way."

Amusement tickled Allison's cheeks as she watched them leave. Oh, he wanted her, all right—but he was fighting it. Why she had no idea, she just knew he was.

She dried her hands on a dish towel." Hey, Chloe, I'm done with these dishes. You want to keep me company while I clean rooms?"

"As long as you don't ask me to pitch in and scrub toilets."

"Deal." Alli pulled on the bill of the girl's ball cap, then headed for the closet in the back hall to get the bucket of cleaning supplies.

As she moved through the rooms making beds for guests who were staying, changing sheets if they were checking out, Chloe kept up a running monologue about the baseball game she'd watched the night before with Adrian over at Chance and Rory's house. This was news to Allison, since she'd spent the evening downstairs rereading one of her favorite Scott Lawrence books. He really was an amazing storyteller, drawing the reader into an adventure where spine-tingling danger built with every page. Where
did
he come up with all those twists and turns, and characters that seemed so real?

When they reached Scott's room, they found the usual organized clutter: neatly stacked piles of papers on the desk, reference books on the coffee table in front of the settee. Wherever his ideas came from, he wrestled them onto the page in a very methodical manner.

Reaching the bathroom, she had to shake her head. The toiletries sat on the counter in the same regimented order she found them every day.

"Is your uncle always this neat?" Allison called to Chloe, who had flopped down on her uncle's bed.

"Pretty much," Chloe called back. "If the writing is going really, really well, he'll slide a tiny bit on the neat- freak routine, but otherwise, clutter bugs the heck out of him. He says it's distracting."

Shaking her head, Allison opened the shower door to clean in there, but stopped at what she saw. Several pairs of boxer shorts hung on the retractable clothesline. They were the lightweight silk variety preferred by people who did a lot of world traveling because they packed small and could be washed in a sink and dried overnight. They came in two colors, solid white and solid black. Naturally Scott's were black. She couldn't help but laugh. "Look at this. He even wears black boxers."

"Black is his favorite color for clothes." Chloe appeared in the doorway. "So he doesn't have to make decisions when he's getting dressed."

"Yes, I know." She realized how personal that sounded. "I mean—I noticed. I just didn't realize he carried it through to his underwear."

"Sad, isn't it?" Chloe clucked her tongue. "Poor Uncle Scott. Heaven forbid he should get up in the morning and have to decide what color boxers to put on. He'd probably have a coronary."

An idea flickered to life in Alli's mind. A wicked, devious ... tempting idea. "Oh no, I couldn't."

"Couldn't what?" Chloe asked.

"Nothing. I just had a silly thought. But no, it's too childish. I couldn't possibly ..."

"Couldn't possibly what?"

She looked at Chloe, trying to suppress a smile. "Play a practical joke on Scott."

"What? Tell me."

"Okay. I'm not saying we should do it, but here's my idea ..."

Scott walked Paige down the path to the dock when they spotted the tour boat returning. "Thanks again for all your help."

"It was my pleasure," she assured him as they reached the pier. Shading her eyes, she waved at her husband as he steered the large pontoon toward them. "Not many people are willing to listen to me talk about boats for hours on end. I just wish I could have helped you more with underwater salvage techniques."

"Well, there's always the library."

"Hey, I have an idea. Bobby has a friend, Jackie Taylor, in Corpus Christi whose father was a treasure hunter. The father spent years going after Lafitte's treasure and even named her Jackie, after Jack Kingsley."

"Oh really?" Scott raised a brow in interest

"Jackie has sworn off treasure hunting and runs a charter boat now, a fabulous old Baltimore schooner, but I bet she could answer your questions."

"Hey, sweetheart!" the boat driver called as he cut the engine. The pontoon bumped gently against the pier, sending waves to slosh against the pilings.

"Hey, yourself." Paige's whole face lit up as the driver tossed her a mooring line. For a moment the two of them beamed at each other, while Scott did a bit of staring himself. After spending the afternoon with Paige, he'd expected her husband to be cultured and refined. The man smiling at her from the platform of the pontoon looked like he could wrestle alligators with one arm, while swilling beer with the other. Thick black hair curled around the edges of his battered captain's cap and the sleeves of his white shirt stretched taut around massive biceps, while the front hung open to reveal a hairy chest.

"Bobby, this is Scott Lawrence," Paige said, holding the boat in place with the ease of someone familiar with the task.

"Pleased to meet ya." The man leaned over the rail and offered a massive paw. Suppressing a writer's instinct to protect his hands at all costs, Scott surrendered to the crushing handshake, then flexed his fingers in a subtle check for broken bones. Everything still worked.

"Honey, do you have a phone number for Jackie Taylor?" Paige asked.

"I have it somewhere, why?" After Paige explained, he ducked into the cabin at the back of the boat and came out with a wrinkled and stained brochure. "Here you go." He handed it to Scott. "I'm not sure how willing she'll be to talk to you about her father's treasure hunts, though. It's kind of a sore subject with her."

"Well, it never hurts to ask." Scott glanced at the brochure—which pictured a majestic old ship with billowing white sails on the front—before he slipped the pamphlet into his pocket.

"You ready to shove off?" Bobby asked his wife. When she said yes, he took a seat behind the wheel and the engine came to life with a puff of blue exhaust.

"Let me know if you have any more questions," Paige said as she stepped nimbly onboard.

"I will." He waved as the pontoon boat pulled away from the pier and headed across the sparkling water to the mouth of the cove. Only then did he realize how far the sun had dipped in the sky. He and Paige had literally talked the afternoon away. She'd fascinated him, though, with her knowledge of boats, from old sailing ships to the stealth boats used by modern-day pirates and drug smugglers. Amazing information.

With his mind still sorting through what he could use, he started back for the inn. As he reached the end of the pier, he saw the jeep that belonged to the St. Claires heading up the drive with Allison at the wheel. She'd breezed downstairs earlier with Chloe and said the two of them were heading into town on an errand. The mischief in her eyes had made him wonder what sort of errand, but he hadn't asked. After the last few days, he didn't dare ask her anything for fear of what might come out of her mouth. Whoever would have guessed someone who looked as shy as Allison could have such a wicked way with words?

God, she was killing him. And she knew it. Just that morning at breakfast, she'd leaned over his shoulder to heat up his coffee by topping off the cup. With her lips close to his ear, she'd dropped her voice to a seductive purr and asked if there was anything else she could heat up for him. He'd let a groan slip, which had made her laugh.

Not up to facing her right then, he turned and started walking along the beach toward the trail that circled the island. Maybe a walk would give him the time he needed to decide how to handle Allison.

He'd never been so drawn to a woman before, or so intrigued, which made it imperative that he keep the situation under firm control. Unfortunately, he needed a better plan than simply avoiding her. Even when she wasn't physically in the room driving him nuts, she lingered in his mind in a most unsettling way. Just thinking about her made butterflies dance about his stomach—something he'd never experienced before.

Reaching the start of the trail, he stepped gratefully out of the sun into the cool shade of sprawling live oaks. Palm trees rustled overhead while a tangle of yaupon and scrub oak protected him from the steady gulf breeze. The crushed granite trail crunched beneath his Top-Siders as he turned the problem over in his mind.

The way he saw it, he had three options. One, he could tell her who he was, which would promptly put an end to her efforts to seduce him. Of course she'd likely kick him off the island as well.

He shook his head, rejecting that idea, since nothing about it appealed to him. Not only would he lose his connection to Marguerite, Allison would be hurt, and he couldn't bear that.

Two, he could keep resisting her. He snorted at that idea since it stretched the bounds of believability a bit too far—even for someone with a vivid imagination.

Three, he could give in to temptation and keep his mouth shut.

He stopped abruptly and stared straight ahead, down the winding path through light and shadow. What would happen if he spent time with Allison the way he wanted, both in and out of bed, without telling her he was John LeRoche's son? His body cheered enthusiastically at the idea, but how long could he keep her in the dark?

He could pull it off easily for the rest of his stay at Pearl Island, he realized as he resumed walking again. Yes, it could work. It would be wrong to take advantage of her ignorance, but it could work. And if she never found out, she'd never be hurt.

What about afterward, though? He'd never pull off the deception long term, assuming he wanted to keep seeing her. Did he want to keep seeing her?

He stopped as his heart pounded in an uncomfortable blend of desire and dread. Yes, he did. She was funny, sexy, sweet, and surprisingly passionate. She made him laugh, drove him mad with lust, and brightened his mood just by being near. Of course he'd want to keep seeing her ... if things were different.

But things weren't different.

If he continued seeing her long term, she'd find out the truth. The longer it took, the angrier she'd be. Unless ... unless she came to care for him enough to forgive his one lie-by-omission.

Could he make her care for him? Should he even try?

He rejected the idea instantly—along with the whole plan of sleeping with her again. If he gave in to temptation and spent time with her, he'd want to keep seeing her that much more. He did not want to open himself up to that. Every person he'd ever counted on or cared for had let him down sooner or later. Far better to keep her at arm's length. If he did anything else, they'd both wind up hurt, and frankly, he could do without the pain and guilt.

~ ~ ~

Allison and Chloe hurried upstairs. They'd seen Scott down at the dock with the boat leaving. He could walk through the front door any minute.

"Do you think we have time?" Chloe asked in a stage whisper.

"We'll have to be quick." Reaching Scott's room, Allison motioned Chloe toward the window. "Go see if he's still by the pier."

"Okay." Chloe darted to the windows. "I don't see him!"

"Go check the stairs. See if he came in after us. If he's on his way up, stall him." Allison ducked into the bathroom and took down the black boxer shorts. Then she reached into the bag from Savers Mart and started hanging up the boxers she and Chloe had bought, creating a jolly chorus line of chili peppers, happy faces, polka dots, and one pair with bright red lipstick kisses. "Perfect."

"He wasn't downstairs." Chloe appeared in the bathroom doorway, slightly out of breath. "Maybe he went for a walk."

"No matter. I'm done." She gathered up the black boxers and stuffed them into the bag. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, I want to see." Chloe opened the shower door. "I love it!"

"Come on, hurry," Alli coaxed as she closed the shower door.

"This is so funny." Chloe giggled. "What do we do now?"

"Head for the gift shop. And wait."

Together, they clattered down the stairs and were both laughing when they entered the gift shop. Rory, who'd been working in the office, crossed the hall and frowned in confusion. "What's up with you two?"

"Nothing," Allison answered sweetly as she stuffed the bag on the shelf beneath the cash register. Her sister gave her a questioning look as Chloe raced for the window.

"He's coming!" The girl turned to her. "What should we do?"

"Just act natural." Alli started straightening a display of souvenir pens.

"Okay"—Rory put her hands on her hips—"something is obviously going on."

The front door opened and Alli struggled back a laugh.

"Hello, Uncle Scott," Chloe called as he appeared in the hall. "Did you have a nice walk?"

"I suppose," he said. "How was your trip into town?"

"Boring." Chloe faked a yawn. "Very, very boring."

Allison turned away to hide her grin. When she heard Scott head for the stairs, she winked at Chloe.

"How long do you think it'll take him to notice?" Chloe asked.

"I don't know, but when he does, we both act clueless and blame it on ghosts or gremlins, okay?"

"Notice what?" Rory demanded.

"We replaced Uncle Scott's black boxers with the

wildest ones we could find. He is so going to freak." Chloe rolled her eyes.

Rory frowned. "I don't get it."

Chloe explained but Rory still didn't understand the joke.

"I guess you just have to know him to understand," Chloe finally said.

"I suppose so." Rory rubbed the small of her back, making her stomach protrude. "If you two pranksters don't mind, I think I'll head home."

"You okay?" Allison asked in concern. Rory looked so tired, and her stomach had gotten huge.

"I'm fine. I just want to see if Chance is back from talking to the attorney." On the advice of their lawyer, they'd offered to drop the libel suit if John LeRoche would drop his suit against Chance and the bank. They had yet to receive an answer and the waiting was beginning to wear on all their nerves.

"Yes, go," Allison told her. "And put up your feet. You need to rest."

"Don't worry, I will." Rory smiled as she waddled out. After she'd left, Alli and Chloe waited in the gift shop for nearly an hour before Scott finally came back downstairs.

"Hey, Chloe," he said. "You ready for some supper?"

In unison, Allison and Chloe stared at him, looked at each other, then back at him. He didn't show a flicker of reaction to what they'd done. "Uh, sure," Chloe said.

"Well, come on," he said. "We can decide what we want on our way in to town. That is, if you're finished helping Allison."

Chloe looked at her again, but all Allison could do was shrug. "Fine with me."

As Allison watched them go, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. Maybe he hadn't opened the shower door yet. Although surely he would notice when they got back, tomorrow morning at the latest.