Lead Me On (39 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.

~ ~ ~

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Continue the heartwarming journey with

Adrian and Jackie

in the following excerpt from

Don't Tempt Me
, book three of the Pearl Island trilogy

or

skip to an excerpt from
Almost Perfect
, book one in the Perfect trilogy

~ ~ ~

Learn more about Julie Ortolon and her other novels at
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by Julie Ortolon

Chapter One

Jackie Taylor had little use for fairy tales and even less for charming princes, which was why it really irritated her when
he
came striding back into her life. One minute she was straddling a workbench as she repaired a sail for her charter ship, the next she looked up to find Adrian St. Claire filling the doorway of her dockside shed. The brilliant sun of the Texas coast silhouetted his six-foot-plus frame as he came toward her with cocksure grace.

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath. Didn't she have enough problems on her mind without Mr. Gorgeous coming around to scramble her brain cells?

"What's that?" Tiberius, her first mate, glanced up from his end of the workbench. A wide smile split his face, his teeth a startling white against his mocha-colored skin. "Weeell, Adrian," he said in his distinctive Caribbean accent. "What you doin' in Corpus Christi, mon?"

Jackie knew exactly why the man had come, but tried to not let it rattle her. The fact that his trip had nothing to do with her personally helped calm her nerves, even as it deflated the ego.

"It was a nice day for a motorcycle ride," Adrian said. "So I thought I'd head down the coast from Galveston and see what's shaking on your stretch of beach."

As he moved out of the glare of the light, she couldn't stop her gaze from sliding over his lean body. She might have little use for men who collected female admirers just by walking down the street, but that didn't keep her from enjoying the view. And he did provide a nice one dressed in a red T-shirt and faded blue jeans that fit his muscles just right. He'd pulled his long black hair into a ponytail, and a small gold hoop earring glinted in the shed's dim light. As the two men shook hands, she marveled at the contrast between them. Ti, with his shaved head and hard body, reminded her of a massive, steady frigate while Adrian made her think of a clipper, sleek and beautiful and rigged for racing.

Adrian nodded toward the slice of bustling dock visible through the door. "From all the tourists snapping pictures of the
Pirate's Pleasure
, I trust business is going well."

"It would if da harbor stop chargin' a fortune for our slip," Ti said with good humor, as if her business wasn't teetering on the brink.

Adrian turned toward her and his smile softened with lazy sensuality. "Jackie. Long time no see."

For a moment, she lost herself in clear blue eyes surrounded by sinfully long black lashes. His features were so flawless, they'd be "pretty" if he weren't so ... breath-takingly
male
. That masculinity stirred up longings best ignored, not just to be touched, but to be cherish and protected. As if she could ever count on a man for that when things got tough.

Irritated, she ran a hand through her hair, uncomfortably aware that she'd cut her hair boyishly short since the last time she'd seen him. "I gave your family my answer on the phone. And the answer was no."

His brows shot up. "Well, now, that's cutting right to the chase, isn't it?"

Ti flashed her a questioning look, since she hadn't confided in him about the St. Claires' request.

"I find a direct approach saves time." Securing the large needle in the canvas, she thrust the sail aside and rose. "Now, unless there's something else you want"—
besides my great-grandfather's letter
—"I'll let you be on your way."

His gaze moved over her face with such intensity, her stomach fluttered. "What if the 'something else' I wanted was to take you to dinner?'

"Right." She snorted, squelching the instant leap in her pulse. Conscious of her first mate hanging on every word, she crossed to a water cooler by the door. Beyond the shadows of the shed, tourists wandered the pier, buying fresh shrimp off the boats. Their voices mingled with the rhythmic rush of waves underfoot and the incessant cries of seagulls. Unseasonable heat for early November hung heavy in the air, and the denim shirt she'd tied at the waist over a sports bra and shorts felt heavy against her skin.

After filling a paper cup with chilled water, she glanced at Adrian as he came up behind her. Her nerves tingled alarmingly with awareness, a reaction that irritated her. "I have no desire to waste an evening listening to you try to talk me out of something I have no intention of giving you."

He said nothing at first, but she could feel him watching her. "I think the question here is, what am I prepared to give you?"

She turned and found him leaning against a worktable, his scuffed motorcycle boots crossed at the ankle. "Oh?"

He wiggled his brows playfully. "I'm here to make you a proposition."

Her heart pounded even as she forced a laugh. "Don't even try to sweet-talk me. We both know I'm not your type."

His infectious chuckle teased her senses. "And what would 'my type' be?"

"Tall blond beach bunnies with Barbie doll figures," she tossed back.

"That's just packaging. But if it comes with a personality and some brains, absolutely."

The man was impossible to rile. Something she should have remembered from dealing with him a year ago. He and his two sisters had hired her ship, a two-hundred-year-old Baltimore schooner, as part of the entertainment for the annual Buccaneer's Ball. The event had been held at the Pearl Island Inn, a bed-and-breakfast owned by Adrian and his sisters, located on its own private island near Galveston. During the few days the
Pirate's Pleasure
had been anchored in their cove, Adrian had flirted with her shamelessly. Not that she took any of it seriously. Like all charming men, he simply enjoyed flirting.

"Now, about dinner ..." he said.

"In case you misunderstood, that was a no." She downed the cold water and crumpled the paper cup.

"I was thinking somewhere quiet—"

"I'm not going out with you."

"—where we can discuss what my sisters and I are willing to offer in exchange for your help."

"No."

"Or ... I can proposition you right here." He leaned closer and she caught a whiff of him. Oh, God, he even smelled good: like soap and sunshine and a fresh sea breeze. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted back to her eyes. "I think we'd both be more comfortable talking over seafood and a nice bottle of wine."

She shook her head, amused despite herself. "Do you ever take no for an answer?"

"Honestly?" He cocked a brow. "I'm not sure. It's not a word I hear too often."

"I just bet you don't." She entertained the idea of hefting him over her shoulder, walking out onto the pier, and tossing him into Corpus Christi Bay. Considering his size, she didn't think she'd get too far with that plan. "Okay, what the heck. I'll have dinner with you as long as you pick up the tad."

"Of course." He looked comically offended.

"Fine, then. It's your money and your time to waste."

"Great." His eyes lit. "How about the Wharf? Early enough to enjoy the sunset. Unless you'd rather go somewhere else."

"No, the Wharf is fine." Perfect, in fact, since it was right at the end of her pier. She'd be close enough to home to ditch him if he became too annoying.

"I'll pick you up around six, then," he said. "I assume you still live on board your ship."

"I do."

"Then I'll see you this evening." With a wave to her first mate, he strode past her, back into the sunshine. She watched as he wound his way past tourists and fishermen to the black Harley he'd left parked at the end of the pier. He donned a black leather jacket but left it unzipped in deference to the warm weather. With a move that made her pulse hum, he swung a leg over the seat, kicked the engine to life, and had it roaring with a few twists of his wrist. Then he zoomed off down the busy four-lane road that skirted the beach.

She couldn't help but shake her head in amusement. He was persistent, she'd give him that. And more gorgeous

than any man had a right to be. The gene fairies must have been in a wicked mood the day they made Adrian St Claire or they never would have unleashed all that sex appeal on womankind.

"Care to tell me what dat about?" Ti asked from the workbench.

She glanced at him. "Adrian and his sisters have been bitten by the treasure-hunting bug."

"Ah ..." Ti stretched the word out. "De allure of Lafitte's missing treasure. I guess we lucky you not cursed with more requests to help find it, since it supposedly go down with your great-great-granddaddy's ship."

"Well, at least this is a new spin on an old tale." She crossed back to the bench and swung a leg to straddle it. Taking up her needle, she resumed mending the sail. "The St. Claires want to go after the real 'treasure' rather than chase some fool's dream of sunken chests of gold."

"Dat hardly a fool's dream." H swept the air dramatically with his big, callused hand. "Many riches litter da sea floor. Spanish doubloons, precious jewels, and artifacts worth a king's ransom. Or do you forget da thrill of findin' lost booty?"

She sent him a warning glare. "Are you forgetting the pact we made? No more treasure-hunting. Ever."

"Just rememberin' past glory." His dark eyes twinkled. "And a little girl who love to dive for old coins and gold rings."

Bittersweet memories stirred at his words. How exciting the world had seemed back then, with one adventure after another. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"No. But when it come to findin' lost treasure, you better dan your father—and people say he was da best."

"For all the good it did us, since he always spent

every dime we made on those dives going after bigger prizes." She stabbed the needle through the canvas. "I'm through chasing legends and dreams."

"Chasing legends, yes. But it never hurt to dream."

"Reality works just fine for me."

"If you say so." He resumed sewing, but under his breath, he started singing an old sailing ditty about the treasures of the deep blue sea.

Jackie rolled her eyes, but joined him on the chorus, the song building in volume as their needles kept time to the music.

~ ~ ~

At six that evening, Adrian rang the old-fashioned bell mounted on a wooden sign with the name of Jackie's ship emblazoned in gold script. He assumed the bell was the appropriate way to announce his presence since a tall, chain-link gate prevented people from walking up the gangway.

As the clanging sound faded, he let his gaze glide over the wooden vessel. Even at rest, the Baltimore schooner whispered of adventure on the high seas with her three masts rising toward the sky. A beautifully detailed mermaid arched beneath the jib boom while red and gold railing trimmed the forecastle and quarterdeck.

Jackie appeared on the main deck, bringing his body to attention. Something about the woman, her spunky eyes and stubborn chin, stirred him up every time he saw her. Too bad the proposal he'd come to make was strictly business. If she accepted, she'd be a partner of sorts and off-limits for the kind of things he'd like to propose.

She stopped at the top of the gangway and glanced at her black diving watch. "You're punctual."

"And you're ready." He smiled.

"You sound surprised."

"I have two sisters. I'm astounded."

She came down the ramp wearing a yellow chambray shirt and khaki trousers. The soft, buttery color brought out the gold tones of her tanned skin and hazel eyes. He studied her hair as she came through the gate and turned to lock it. A year ago, her hair had hung in a thick, mahogany-colored braid down her back. Since then, she'd cut it short—very short—except for a few wispy fringes around the face and nape.

"Nice hair," he said.

Reaching up in a self-conscious gesture, she finger- combed the fringes by her ear. "Yeah, well, this is what you get when you tell some scissor-happy hairdresser you're sick of messing with long hair.
Whack!
All gone."

"I meant I like it." He cocked his head. "It sets off your eyes." And the rest of her exotic features. The word "subtle" would never describe Jackie Taylor, with her thick black brows over cat's eyes, slender nose, high cheekbones, a square jaw, and a lush mouth he'd fantasized about for months. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Ravenous."

"Me, too. Always." He added the last in a playfully seductive tone, hoping for one of those saucy comebacks that cracked him up. Most men would probably call him crazy, but he liked the way she verbally sparred with him rather than fell at his feet, sighing in surrender. He'd never had a woman turn him down before. The experience was ... intriguing. And liberating. It gave him the freedom to flirt as outrageously as he wanted without the fear of setting off wedding bells in some hopeful woman's head.

"So," she said as they started toward the restaurant at the end of the pier, "is that why you became a cook? Your appetite?"

"Chef," he corrected. "But yeah, my appetite may have had something to do with it. The aunt who raised us worked nights, so if we were going to eat something besides TV dinners, we had to fix it ourselves."

"Was she a waitress or something?"

"Not hardly." He grinned, trying not to laugh at the image of his aunt waiting on anyone. "Actor. The Incomparable Vivian. She's been a star on Broadway for the past several years, but back then she limited her work to Houston—a sacrifice she made for us. In return, I helped take care of my elderly grandmother and two younger sisters by learning my way around the kitchen. And since I've always enjoyed indulging my senses, I figured if I was going to cook, I might as well go 'all the way.'" He put enough sexual connotation in the words to make that stubborn chin of hers go up. "What about you?"