Make You Mine (13 page)

Allie wished she could help, but any communication from him would only make matters worse. “I’m sorry, baby. That would be a bad idea.”

Beau nodded and rolled up his window. With a wave, he was gone.

“After you.” Marc’s touch returned Allie’s attention to present company. He held open the door for her and settled his hand at her lower back while leading the way to their table. Once there, he pulled out her chair like a gentleman and ordered a bottle of chilled white wine.

“This is nice,” Allie said, taking in the cozy dining area of a dozen round white-draped tables, each anchored by a duo of candle tapers. The tangy scent of marinara and baking bread set her mouth watering. Marc had chosen well.

He opened his menu and began perusing its offerings. “Only the best for my gal.”

The offhanded statement set Allie’s heart fluttering. She raised her own menu so he couldn’t see her smiling. When the waitress returned, they both ordered the chicken parmesan, and Marc poured their wine.

Lifting his glass in a toast, he began, “To . . .” and trailed off in deliberation.

“To old friends and taking chances,” she suggested.

“Agreed.”

He clinked her glass and took a long sip, locking eyes with her from above the rim. She detected something new in his gaze, more than the wicked desire she’d seen burning there for the past week. This seemed tender, like he wanted to pause time and live in this moment for a while longer. Was it her hopeful imagination, or had Marc actually fallen as hard and as fast as she had?

“You’re the prettiest girl in here,” he said, instantly bringing a blush to her cheeks.

Allie stared into her lap. “Don’t be silly.”

She’d never felt shy around him before, but now her palms were starting to sweat. She blotted them on her linen napkin and took a few gulps of wine. The alcohol helped loosen her tongue, and by her second glass, she felt like herself again.

They talked about their hobbies, and when the topic of favorite movies came up, Marc’s response was, “
Unforgiven
, with Clint Eastwood. It’s about a—”

“A retired gunman who gets revenge for a mutilated prostitute,” Allie finished. “Yeah, I liked that one, but not as much as
A Fistful of Dollars
. That was Clint’s best work, if you ask me.”

Marc’s eyes widened. “You like Westerns?”

“No,” Allie said, leaning forward for emphasis, “I
love
Westerns.”

“Oh, my God.” He looked ready to marry her on the spot. “You might be the world’s most perfect woman. Do you know that?”

“Real funny.”

Allie had her flaws, and so did Marc. But as the hour passed, she couldn’t help wondering if they were perfect for each other. The longer they talked, the more they discovered how much they had in common. They both hated collard greens and the Chicago Cubs, they felt equal pressure to keep their businesses afloat, and they each pictured themselves moving back to Cedar Bayou one day.

“I like the city,” Marc said. “But sometimes the bayou’s the only place I can hear myself think.”

Allie nodded. “I miss the way the air back home smells in the summer—like lavender and honeysuckle. Outside my shop it mostly smells like car exhaust.”

They spent a few minutes gossiping about old friends, and when they’d finished lunch, Marc hailed another taxi and told the driver to take them to the Missouri Botanical Garden.

“You’re going to like this,” Marc promised during the ride. “Especially if you miss the flowers.”

And he was right. She loved it.

Marc led her on an easy stroll through the Japanese garden—fourteen acres of lush green lawns and winding paths leading to an expansive lake with four tiny islands of stone jutting proudly from its depths. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches of blossoming trees, and the air was heavy with floral warmth.

Marc held her hand the whole time, releasing her only to wrap an arm around her waist. They crossed an arched wooden bridge and paused in the middle to gaze into the water. Allie thought she spotted a turtle, but she couldn’t be sure. When she glanced up to ask Marc if he’d seen it, she found him watching her. He had that soft look in his eyes again, but before she could ask what he was thinking, he cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a gentle kiss.

His lips moved in perfect sync with hers while his fingers traced the contours of her face. This kiss was different from the hundreds of others they’d shared, so full of tenderness that Allie’s throat grew thick with emotion.

There was love in this kiss—she felt it.

She locked both arms around his neck and melted into him without a care for the passersby on the bridge. She let herself get lost in Marc’s embrace until his cell phone vibrated against her thigh.

With a reluctant moan, Marc pulled away and reached into his pocket for his phone. His brow furrowed as he read the message on his screen. “Uh-oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Allie asked, leaning to peer at his phone.

The text was from Nicky.
Hurry back to the
Belle
. 911!

“Sorry, hon,” Marc said. “We’ve got to go.”

They rushed to the parking lot and hailed a cab. During the ride to the dock, Marc’s body was so stiff, he could have posed as one of the sculptures in the Japanese garden they’d just fled. He spoke on the phone with Nick, and though Allie was only privy to one end of the conversation, she could tell something major had happened to the boat’s engine.

“How bad is it?” she asked when he’d disconnected.

Marc drew a deep breath and let it go in a loud puff. “Bad enough that we’ll be stuck in St. Louis another day.” He leaned forward and cradled his head in both hands. “Maybe two. And that’s assuming I can find someone to fix the train linkage.”

Allie didn’t know what a train linkage was, but it sounded complicated. She scooted nearer to Marc and rubbed his back. “I’ll work with Ella-Claire to keep the guests happy during the layover. Maybe we can throw together a quick gala—everyone loves a party.” When he didn’t reply, she promised, “It’s going to be okay.”

He took one of her hands and held it tightly. “Thank you.” He didn’t say anything more until they reached the
Belle
.

When they stepped out of the cab and approached the boat ramp, Marc’s pawpaw greeted them with folded arms and a scowl. He stood at the head of the ramp, blocking their entry as Marc’s brothers loitered behind, looking uneasy.

Allie’s internal alarm blared when she realized nobody would make eye contact with her. Then she recognized her luggage heaped into a pile at Pawpaw’s feet, including her backpack of gris-gris supplies.

Allie’s ribs tightened around her sinking heart. They were kicking her off the boat.

Marc noticed, too. He pointed at her suitcase. “What’s all this?”

“It’s your wakeup call, boy,” his granddaddy spat. He nodded toward Allie without giving her the courtesy of a glance. “We’ve had nothin’ but trouble since you brought her on board. Now the engine’s half-busted, and we’re about to get shut down. She’s a blight on this family.” He jabbed a finger at the ground. “It’s gonna end right here.”

Allie’s face burned. She was no stranger to rumors and scrutiny, but this was different. This was personal. But she wouldn’t fight back—she knew how important Marc’s family was to him. Blinking away tears, she took a step toward her bags, but Marc reached out an arm to stop her.

“Miss Mauvais isn’t going anywhere,” he said in a low firm voice that dared anyone to disagree. He locked eyes with Beau. “You all go on and take Allie’s things back to her room.”

Nobody said a word.

Beau scratched his neck and studied the tips of his shoes. “Listen, little brother, I get where you’re coming from. Allie’s a damn fine pastry chef, but folks are starting to talk. I’m not saying this is right, but maybe—”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.” Marc’s voice cut like steel, causing his younger brothers to glance nervously at each other. “I said, take Allie’s things back to her room. So either do it, or pack up your own shit and go.” When nobody moved, he added, “Now.”

Slowly, Beau grabbed her suitcase and gave his brothers an encouraging nod. The twins took the rest of her luggage and Worm slung her backpack over one shoulder. They made their way toward the stairs while watching the storm brewing between Marc and his grandfather.

“She’s entranced you, son,” Pawpaw said. “You can’t see it, but I can.”

“Save it. I’ve got enough to deal with.” Marc stepped forward until he was toe-to-toe with the man. “Move aside.”

Pawpaw raised his jaw. “I won’t let you bring her on board my ship.”

“Last time I checked,” Marc ground out, “it was my name on the deed, not yours.”

“If your daddy knew what you were up to, he’d tell you to get your priorities straight.”

Marc didn’t back down. “And I’d tell him to mind his own damn business. Allie’s saved my ass more times than I can count. She stays. I’m your captain—whether you like it or not—and I’m going to give you one last chance to move before I haul you out of the way.”

Pain flashed in his granddaddy’s dark eyes, so much like Marc’s they could pass for father and son. “We’re kin, boy. I spent my whole life building this legacy for you and your brothers. You gonna turn your back on me for a
woman
?”

Marc clenched his teeth and fell silent, scrubbing a hand over his face and clearly beginning to waver.

“It’s time to choose,” Pawpaw said. “It’s her, or it’s me.”

•   •   •

Shit.

As if Marc didn’t have enough trouble on his hands with the train linkage, now he was facing a full-on mutiny from his own family—the people who were supposed to have his back.

So much for blood being thicker than water.

They could learn a lesson from Allie. She didn’t owe him a damn thing, and yet she’d worked harder than anyone to make this trip a success. The curse wasn’t her fault, and he had no intention of abandoning her in St. Louis.

He’d rather sever his own arm.

“I’m not choosing anything,” Marc said to his pawpaw. “If you can’t support my decisions as captain, then you’re the one turning your back on me, not the other way around.”

Pawpaw’s glare shifted to Allie. “You don’t know what she’s done.”

“Yeah, I do,” Marc said. “Let me tell you what she’s done.” He looked the old man in the eyes while he recounted the story of the Gibsons’ wedding cake and how Allie had stepped aside to keep Chef Regale on board. “She didn’t complain once while she was in the casino, because Allie’s a team player. When she heard about the problems in the engine room, she started planning a party for the guests. I didn’t have to ask—she took the ball and ran with it.” Then Marc said, “What have
you
done, aside from criticize Allie and call her a witch?”

Pawpaw didn’t have an answer for that question.

“That’s what I thought.” Marc hitched a thumb toward the dock. “Either apologize to Miss Mauvais and get back to work, or fetch your things and call a cab. I’ve got to see to the train linkage.” He pushed around Pawpaw and strode onto the bow ramp, leaving his grandfather to make his decision.

Allie gripped the deck rail, watching Marc’s pawpaw fade into the distance as the
Belle
’s massive paddle wheel turned a lazy rotation and left the old man behind. A faded yellow taxi pulled into view near the dock, and Pawpaw loaded his duffel bags into the trunk. He shook his head one last time, then climbed into the backseat. Moments later, he was gone.

She couldn’t believe it. Marc had chosen
her
over his grandfather.

Allie didn’t know what to think about that.

Most women would feel flattered, but she wasn’t most women. Allie cared for Marc, and she hated causing a rift in his family. He’d stormed off to the boiler room an hour ago, but she could sense his pain from a distance—a steady ache beneath her breast that likely wouldn’t let up until she’d helped set things right with his grandpa. And if the ugly words the men had hurled at each other were any indication, peace wouldn’t come easily.

At least the boat’s engine had given them a reprieve, humming to life thirty minutes ago as unexpectedly as it had quit. Releasing a breath, Allie faced the setting sun, a smudge of tangerine glowing through bubble gum clouds. It was a beautiful evening, but there wasn’t time to find a rocking chair and explore her thoughts.

The guests were waiting for dessert.

She returned to the galley and helped serve the eight-layer Peach Decadence cake she’d spent the afternoon baking, then added cookies and bread pudding to the buffet. She cleaned her station and prepared tomorrow’s breakfast menu. When her work was done, she lingered in the kitchen, unsure of where to go next. Should she visit Marc or give him some space?

Deciding to follow her instincts, Allie climbed four flights of stairs to the pilothouse door. After knocking twice, she peeked inside and found him sitting at the helm in his tall captain’s chair.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Just seeing if you need anything before I turn in.”

He swiveled to face her, a pout tugging the corners of his mouth. “My shift’s done in an hour. Can you wait up for me?”

“If that’s what you need.” She stepped inside and slung an arm over his shoulder. With her free hand, she tugged off his hat and brushed her fingers through his loose hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone? I’ll understand.”

Marc pulled her onto his lap. “Sugar, nothing relaxes me like you do.” A shadow seemed to pass over his stunning features, his hands tightening around her hips. “I don’t want to waste one minute of the time we have left by sleeping apart.”

Allie lowered her brows. The time they had left? What was that supposed to mean? “I’m not going to turn into a pumpkin when we dock in New Orleans, you know.”

The irritation must have shown on her face because Marc started backpedaling. “Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not saying this is just a vacation fling.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Then what’s with the ticking clock?”

“Come on, Allie,” he said, turning toward the front window. “You know me.” His tone was thick with self-loathing in a way she didn’t like. “Not just me. My whole family—we have a way of ruining everything we touch. Even one another. Today proved that.”

Allie cupped his cheek until he met her gaze. “And you think you’ll ruin me?”

“Not you,” he told her. “You’re too strong for that. But
us
?” His dark eyes said the rest.
I’ll ruin what we have together
. “I don’t want to screw up, but I have to admit I don’t have the best history.”

“Baby, you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Marc needed to see that he wasn’t doomed to follow the same path as every Dumont man who came before him. “You’re not your daddy. You won’t make the same mistakes he did.”

“That’s why I always use protection.”

He was missing the point. “I’m not talking about birth control. I’m talking about mastery over your life. You’re not destined to fail, and you’re not cursed.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, hon. Sorry. I’m just in a weird mood tonight. Forget I said anything.” He scooted her off his lap. “Why don’t you head back to my suite and get the bed warmed up, okay? I’ll be there in a jiff.”

Reluctantly, she left him with a kiss. She hoped she’d gotten through to Marc, but when he came to bed later that night, he made love to her like a soldier headed for war . . . with one exception. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. His lips scarcely strayed from hers, his hands brushing her face as if to memorize each freckle and eyelash, but no matter how many times she tried to hold his gaze, he refused the emotional connection.

She understood what he was doing—avoiding intimacy and preparing for the inevitable breakup, because that was all he’d ever known. A chill settled in Allie’s soul when she realized she’d lose Marc unless she changed his way of thinking.

And fast.

•   •   •

The next morning, she served her breakfast pastries and set off in search of Ella-Claire, hoping an estrogen-enhanced brainstorm session would yield some ideas. She found Ella standing behind the purser’s desk with Alex, the two of them engaged in an intense thumb war that rendered them oblivious to her approaching footsteps.

“Hey, back off, cheater,” Ella said, pushing Alex’s chest to put another inch between them. With her other hand, she gripped his fingers and hooked a thumb around his. She had him pinned for an instant, but he wriggled free. In clear desperation to win, she crowded him and launched a new attack.

Alex chuckled. “Who’s cheating now?”

“All’s fair in love and thumb war. I’m taking you down, buddy.”

She used her free hand to tickle his ribs, and Alex retaliated in an assault on her tummy. Seconds later, the thumb war gave way to a full-on tickle fight, the echo of their laughter reverberating through the lobby. It didn’t take long for Alex to overpower his opponent.

Securing both of Ella’s wrists behind her back, he pinned her against the counter and smiled in victory. Alex moved forward until nothing but a sliver of air separated them. He swallowed hard, the mood shifting as his gaze dropped to Ella-Claire’s mouth and held there.

Gracious, these two had it bad.

Just when Alex leaned down for a kiss, Allie cleared her throat.

Alex glanced up, his eyes flying wide. “Allie!” He released his
buddy
and jumped back as if she’d caught him doing something wrong. Which she had. Marc would pummel Alex six feet under if he discovered his brother putting the moves on Ella-Claire.

“Hey, there,” Allie said, folding her arms on the countertop. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing!” Alex glanced around the desk until he found a clipboard, then snatched it with a shaky fist. “Uh, I should run. I’ve got . . . uh . . .
stuff
to do.”

“Mmm,” Allie said with a knowing look. “Sounds important.”

Ella-Claire casually handed him a sealed envelope. “While you’re out, will you drop this by room 215?”

All too happy to comply, Alex grabbed the letter, skirted the counter, and took off down the side hallway like a felon on the run.
There goes a man with a guilty conscience,
Allie thought. His partner in crime straightened her sleek brown ponytail and pretended nothing had happened.

“What’s going on with you two?” Allie asked.

Ella made doe eyes and blinked in ignorance. “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Liar,” Allie scoffed. “What if it’d been Marc instead of me who walked in here and broke up your little tickle fight?”

Ella dropped the innocent act. “You’re not going to say anything to him, are you? Because I swear nothing would’ve happened.”

“He was about to kiss you.”

Ella dismissed the argument with a flick of her wrist. “I wouldn’t have let him.” She leaned in and rested both arms on the counter, mirroring Allie’s pose. “Look, I like Alex. He’s my bestie. But he’s a player—always has been. No matter how much we flirt, I keep him in the friend zone. I’m not stupid enough to fall for a Dumont.”

Allie’s face went slack. Even Marc’s sister knew it was lunacy to try to tame his wild heart. That didn’t bode well.

Ella-Claire realized her mistake, instantly stammering to correct herself. “I don’t mean Marc—he’s different from his brothers. I’ve seen the way he watches you, Allie. He’s totally smitten.”

Allie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Really?”

“I swear,” Ella said, holding up one hand in an oath. “I’ve never seen him like this. You’ve given me hope.”

Allie raised a brow in question.

“That he might actually slow down and let himself be happy,” Ella said. “I think you’re good for Marc—and that he can be good for you, too.”

“I want that to be true,” Allie said. “But there’s a lot of baggage in the way.”

Ella-Claire gestured to the extra chair behind the purser’s desk. “I need to finish the billing. Want to help me stuff envelopes while we chat?”

That sounded perfect. Talking always came easier for Allie when she busied her hands. She sat side by side with Ella, working while she explained the recent change she’d noticed in Marc.

“He’s already pulling away,” Allie said. “I can feel it.”

Ella licked an envelope, making a
yuck
face at the glue. “Are you sure? Because it seems like he can’t get enough of you.”

“Positive. Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“I think so,” Ella told her. “Is that where you believe in something so much that you make it happen?”

“Sort of,” Allie said. “But on a subconscious level. Like if a person is convinced he’s going to lose his job, he might pull back from his coworkers, then start slacking off and showing up late.”

“Which results in him getting fired.”

“Exactly.” Allie folded another room service bill, creasing it with her fingernail. “On the surface, Marc says he doesn’t believe in the curse. But I think he buys into it just enough to set low expectations for himself. Last night he basically told me our days are numbered. Now I can barely get him to look at me.”

“You think he’s going to break it off?”

“No, not yet,” Allie said. “But I think over time he’ll sabotage his happiness. Just like his daddy and his pawpaw. People learn what they live. The curse isn’t real, but it might as well be, because the Dumonts keep perpetuating the cycle.”

Ella went silent for a while, gazing at the lobby ceiling as if the answer might appear up there among the chandelier crystals. “So how do we undo a lifetime of superstition, bad habits, and even worse examples?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

And Allie didn’t have one red cent toward the answer. She scowled at the framed photo of Marc’s great-great-grandfather that hung on the wall inside the purser’s office. Edward Dumont bore a slight resemblance to Marc, but his chin was weak and his eyes were cold. He looked like the kind of man who hadn’t taken many risks, despite the fact that he’d made a thriving business of the
Belle
.

Ella-Claire followed Allie’s gaze to the portrait. “He’s the one who started this mess. I heard he had a fiancée but left her at the altar. He never got married after that, not that it stopped him from having a gaggle of kids with three different women.”

Something compelled Allie to study the portrait more closely. She stood and approached it, not sure what she was looking for, and gripped the frame to pull the picture down from the wall. It was bolted in place, but the backing budged just enough to dislodge a piece of paper that had been wedged behind it. Onion-thin and yellowed with age, the page drifted to the floor. When she picked it up, she saw a letter to Edward dated 1915. It was signed by someone named Silas Dumont.

“Check this out,” she said, returning to the desk to show Ella-Claire. “There was an old note stuck behind the picture.”

Ella scooted her chair closer, and together they read the letter in silence. It was brief, but impactful, shedding light on the origins of the Dumont
curse
.

“Wow,” Ella said. “That explains a lot.”

“Edward and Memère.” Allie shook her head. “I had no idea they were lovers.”

“Not just lovers.
Engaged
.”

Allie glanced down to find her forearm covered in goose bumps. Carefully, she folded the note and tucked it inside a book for safekeeping. “Do you mind if I hold on to this? I want to show my sister.” Devyn was going to eat this up.

“Be my guest,” Ella said. “But you might not want to let Marc see it. Nothing will convince him the curse is fake if he reads that.”

•   •   •

Marc’s right arm tingled, the blood flow interrupted by Allie’s sleeping head resting on his shoulder. But he made no move to wriggle free. He lived for these quiet moments alone with her when they lay so close, he felt the thump of her heartbeat against his chest. If he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could slow his pulse to match hers. Then they were like one person, connected on the most basic levels—body to body, heart to heart.

Cheesy, but true.

Carefully as possible, he stretched to turn off the alarm before it woke her, then pulled the sheet over her breasts so she’d stay warm. He didn’t care if he made her late. Today they’d dock in New Orleans and the trip would end. They’d resume their separate lives, connecting just as much as the curse would allow. Instinctively, he knew his time with her was finite.

Work could wait. Allie couldn’t.

Until recently he hadn’t understood guys who lost their shit over a woman. Years ago, he’d taken a date to see
Jerry Maguire
, that sappy-ass movie starring Tom Cruise. When the actor had uttered his famous line “You complete me” to his onscreen girlfriend, Marc had laughed out loud and suggested that Tom surrender his Man Card.

But Marc wasn’t laughing now.

The joke was on him. He never imagined a person could complete him the way Allie did. She understood his twisted family dynamic and held her own around each of his brothers—even Beau. She supported the
Belle
and earned the respect of guests and crew alike. She was more than just a lover, and Marc finally knew what he’d been missing all these years.