The Seducer

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“Thanks,” she said distractedly, her eyes on Castle O’Lannaise. Rex sighed again, cursing the moment he’d worn clothes intentionally calculated to undercut his male prowess. Pansy hadn’t even registered Rex was a man, not a mistake she’d make if he was shirtless, wigless and wearing jeans. “So, what happened?”

“Years passed. And then a mysterious Frenchman arrived and built Castle O’Lannaise. He meant to open it as a resort, catering to the wealthy. Just a month before he did, he tried to claim Iris. Her father correctly suspected this was the pirate who’d kissed her aboard the Destiny, a man made rich by the ill-gotten spoils of war, and so Iris was forbidden to see Jacques, despite the fact that her marriage prospects were dim.”

“Dim?”

“By this time, she was twenty-seven.”

“Ancient,” Rex commiserated. The rapture on Pansy’s face was warming his blood, as was the naked desire in her eyes. No doubt about it, Pansy dreamed of being kissed with a passion capable of ruining her for all other men. In fact, if the hunger in those sea-green eyes was any indication, she craved more than a mere kiss. Rex found himself wondering just how many lovers she’d had. “Surely people so…so aroused by each other had to meet eventually, didn’t they, Pansy?”

“In the dunes,” she returned, her eyes glazed. “They wrote to each other, too. We still have their letters.”

“They survived all these years?”

She shrugged. “We Hanleys preserve our heritage.”

Intrigued, Rex visualized heavy cream paper and calligraphic letters written with a quilled pen. What would two people so in love say to each other? “Do Hanleys let outsiders read them?”

Looking as if she’d just come back to earth, Pansy laughed softly, her eyes glinting flirtatiously. “Sometimes.”

“What’s the price of admission?”

When she paused, he wondered if she was thinking of that kiss like fire again. “I’ll be happy to let you see them.”

He figured there wasn’t much hope in arranging a tryst of their own, not while he was in this getup. She was obviously interested in him, but only as a friend. “So, how does the story end?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” Pansy’s lips pursed grimly. “That summer, just as a storm hit, Jacques O’Lannaise was waiting for an answer to his marriage proposal. You have to understand that he was a man out of his element. He was far from New Orleans, farther still from his native France. He’d never really wanted to be a pirate anyway, but he’d done whatever was necessary to survive. Until the day he saw Iris.”

“Ah. Love changed him?”

“Completely. For hours, he stood in the watchtower, a wild wind blowing around him, hoping to see Iris riding her mare through the dunes. He didn’t know her father had evacuated the family, hoping to reach the mainland. The letter of explanation she wrote never reached him. We still have it today.”

“But when the family got back…”

Pansy shook her head, sadness coming into her eyes. “They were swept out to sea.”

Hardly the happy ending Rex expected. “She died?”

“Jacques never opened the resort. From the watchtower, he cursed this island, and ever since, we’ve been hit by the worst storms in this part of the Atlantic. It’s so bad we rarely get many tourists.”

“So, Jacques O’Lannaise still haunts the dunes, hoping Iris will return?”

“Yep.” Tucking her chin, she surveyed him from under half-lidded eyes, and Rex reminded himself she’d been feeding him standard tourist fare. This was probably what she said, verbatim, on Saturday tours. No doubt, she mesmerized guests. She said, “I guess every town in America has a resident ghost.”

But not every ghost was loved by a woman as tantalizing as Pansy. She’d caught Rex in her spell, weaving a story of love, loss and mysticism he was powerless to resist.

Her throaty voice sounded ripe for seduction. “So, if you meet a dark, swarthy man in the dunes, or see shadows in the windows of Castle O’Lannaise, you’ll know who it is.”

Rex lowered his voice and asked in the same seductive tone, “Have you seen him, personally?”

“I’ll never tell.” Her smile deepened. “You’ll have to join one of our tours. Vi books guests, Lily drives the bus and I give the spiel about the island’s history.”

“You do a good job.” Before this moment, hardened cop Rex Steele had never imagined he could be jealous of a ghost.

“We depart from the south dock every two hours on Saturdays, beginning at eight a.m.”

“It’s not a full-time business?”

She shook her head regretfully. “I wish. But there are too many storms here. Not enough tourists.”

In a flash fantasy, he imagined himself taking the tour twice—once as innocuous Ned Nelson and then as dark, swarthy Rex Steele, who he suspected might bear a passing resemblance to Jacques O’Lannaise. Rex was raven-haired, anyway. “I’ll be sure to sign up at some point.”

“It’s so hot,” she apologized once more, changing the subject. “I’m really sorry I forgot to turn on the AC.”

He pressed his ice-chilled glass to her bare arm. Offering an enticing shiver, she said, “Thanks.”

Thank you, he thought, noticing how her nipples beaded against the white top. She didn’t even register the effect on him. He grimaced. Why would a woman worry about how effeminate, sensitive Ned Nelson would react to her arousal? Hell, Pansy probably figured she could strut around Casa Eldora stark naked without bringing out the animal in Ned.

She was wrong. Rex was far too aware of her. And of the couch not two feet away. He imagined stripping off her clothes, setting her on the cushions, thrusting inside her. Her scent, stirred by stifling summer heat, stole his breath and filled the room. His groin suddenly ached, pulling with pangs of want.

All the while, Rex didn’t register on her radar. By wearing the costume calculated to throw Judith Hunt off the scent, he’d become the exact opposite of Pansy’s dream lover. While she stared into the distance, oblivious, he was imagining making love to her again, this time hard and fast on the sand of the dunes. Maybe he’d drag her into the wild surf, letting the hot waves drench her.

He wondered what she’d look like in a bikini.

Then a wet white bikini.

Then naked.

Somehow, he already knew how the slow slide of his hands on her thighs would feel, how touches of her breath would stir hairs at his nape, how he’d burn with need for her.

She glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Ned, but I’d really better go. Oh,” she added in afterthought, “speaking of summer storms. Tomorrow night there’s a town meeting. My sister Lily’s on the council with a man named Lou Fairchild. Once a week, they go over safety precautions for guests. You know…how to stay out of the undertow. Evacuation procedures in case of storms. We suggest that everyone come.”

“Storms, evacuations,” he teased. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”

“You’d be surprised,” she quipped.

“I like surprises.”

She merely smiled, not nearly as affected by the flirtation as he would have liked. “We’ve found a damaged letter from the New York lottery board, and since we can’t make out who it’s addressed to, we’ll be asking someone to claim it. Someone on the island won fifteen million dollars, so it’ll be interesting to see who.”

Rex tried not to react, knowing it was for him. “The letter was damaged?”

Her eyes sparkled with humor as she sized up Rex, then decided to share. “The truth is, my sister Vi’s a mail carrier, and she spilled a soda into the mailbag. She can be a bit of a klutz, and we’re afraid if she ruins anymore mail, she’ll be fired. So we’re going to pretend I found the letter.”

Looking at her, Rex found himself thinking of her fantasy life again, one in which he suspected she allowed herself to be plundered by a pirate. Then he wondered how he was going to claim the letter without alerting Judith Hunt to the fact he’d remained on the island. If he claimed the letter as Ned Nelson, that would also bring unwanted attention his way. He’d prefer to retrieve the letter anonymously.

Pansy was frowning. “There were forms from the lottery board for the winner to fill out.”

“What if no one claims it?”

“We’ll post it.”

That was a relief. “Where?”

“The grocery store or the post office. We’ll announce the location at the meeting. Can you imagine that much money?”

Unfortunately, yes. When he thought of what his father had supposedly stolen, Rex hardly wanted to. And when he thought of the lottery, unexpected anger burrowed under his skin, especially when Pansy’s eyes returned to Castle O’Lannaise. He hated to think money could buy a woman’s happiness, but there was no doubt Pansy was in love with the castle and Jacques O’Lannaise. For a brief second, he felt jealous. But that was crazy! Was he really threatened by a man who didn’t even exist? A ghost who haunted an old equestrian estate? “Ah,” he suddenly guessed. “You’re hoping to find a buyer for your castle, aren’t you?”

Color rose on her cheeks. “Am I so transparent?”

“Maybe,” he admitted. With one look, Rex felt he’d known her for years. Even more, she’d unwittingly challenged him to give her what she most craved—a castle. Or better yet, a kiss of fire. She was so…original. So unlike city women. Her island paradise was completely different from Manhattan, the only home he’d ever known. He thought of summers there, the baking heat on the sidewalks, the short tempers, the power outages. He was always glad to escape. Could Pansy be the woman he’d fantasized meeting year after year?

Coming back to the issue at hand, he decided Judith Hunt probably wouldn’t attend the council meeting. He’d go and at least find out where the Hanleys meant to post the letter. Preoccupied, he barely noticed Pansy had left his side and set her glass down. She was leafing through some sketches in a portfolio beside the couch.

“These are beautiful,” she murmured.

Something fierce and protective kicked in when Rex realized what she was doing, and he braced himself for criticism, but Pansy only continued going through the landscape drawings from his last vacation. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he could hear his father saying, “Punch me again. You’ve got to prove you’re a man. You keep drawing pictures and the boys downtown are gonna call you a sissy.”

She said, “You’re good.”

Easy laughter masked his watchfulness. “Tour guide, Realtor, art critic…what next?”

“Most people in my family draw,” Pansy explained, glancing through the window at the beach. “It comes with growing up on an island, I guess. People get bored. Iris even sketched Jacques O’Lannaise.”

“Ah. So, you know what your pirate looks like.”

Color stained her cheeks. “He’s not my pirate,” she defended.

Rex grinned. “Are you sure?”

Her chuckle floated into his blood. “I admit,” she countered, “Jacques has captured my imagination for years.”

“Pansy,” Rex returned, “you’re a fascinating woman.”

He wished more than the light of new friendship was sparking in her eyes. She shrugged. “I’ve had a few fantasies about this pirate, okay? Just don’t tell anyone.”

He held out a hand, and they shook on it. Her touch sent tingles up his arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She surveyed him. “Do you have any secrets?”

Innocuous Ned Nelson? He laughed. “Are you kidding?”

She grinned. “I guess you wouldn’t,” she said, reacting to his honest looks and turning back to the drawings. “So I’ll just have to trust you to keep mine. They’re good,” she offered again. “You’re…”

The lie he’d told Judith Hunt rolled easily from his tongue. “An architect.”

“From talking to you on the phone, I should have guessed it was something artistic. That explains the drawing skills. And you like to read, too.” She lifted a book. “Poetry?”

He ignored the urge to defend himself, but she was looking at him as if he was a highly unusual male specimen. Why couldn’t men enjoy poetry without feeling like effete intellectuals? Rex wanted to let her in—more than he ever had anyone at first meeting—but he didn’t like exposing a self he usually kept from prying eyes, except on these month-long summer sojourns. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I like poetry.”

“Me, too.”

Surprisingly, another few moments of conversation passed, during which they traded favorite authors. Then she said, “If you like poetry, you really might appreciate Iris’s letters.” She paused. “Most men don’t. Like poetry, I mean.”

There it was again. Most men. Once more, he was conscious of being in the wig, the oversize clothes, with his damn cheeks puffed out and a ridiculous pair of glasses sliding down his nose. His father’s rough voice ghosted through his mind. Harder, Rex. You’ve got to pound the other guy, let him know you’re a man. “What do most men like?” he taunted softly. “Guzzling beer and belching while rooting for sports teams?”

Looking genuinely delighted, she laughed. “No brothers, so I really couldn’t say.”

His eyes narrowed, and his voice turned husky. “What about lovers?”

Surprised, she quickly recovered. “Only Jacques O’Lannaise,” she quipped, and from the guilty light of pleasure in her eyes, Rex couldn’t help but surmise how satisfying the fantasies had been for her. After a moment, she amended her words, saying she’d had some long-term boyfriends but no one serious. When she glanced at her watch again, Rex had the sudden, primal urge to haul her off her feet and drag her to a bedroom, a place where he damn well knew he excelled. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’d better go.”

Stay. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

His eyes were hot on hers as he placed a hand beneath her elbow, lifted her jacket from a wall peg and guided her to the door. The room had cooled, and as they stepped into a rippling wave of heat, she reacted once more, her shiver making him imagine it coming on a sigh of pleasure.

“Don’t forget to come to the town meeting, Ned,” she said when they reached her black compact car.

She smiled as he opened a door that had absorbed heat like a conductor. As she got in, her hem rose, and his breathing shallowed at the flash of a bare, slender, long-boned thigh. “You could fry eggs on the car,” he said.

“Trying to get a breakfast invitation?”

He laughed. “Am I so transparent?” he asked, echoing her earlier words. Before she could answer, he said, “If I don’t see you at the town meeting, we’ll hook up at the bonfire afterward, Pansy.”

He closed the door, and as she started the car, she powered down the window. “I could show you the inside of Castle O’Lannaise,” she offered. “It’s not on our tour. It’s got a locked gate, but I can let you in.”

“I’ll need you along,” he said, “to protect me from your ghost. If he sees you with another man, he might get jealous.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“And Iris’s letters,” he reminded.

“It’s not just a bonfire,” she returned, a barely noticeable hitch in her voice. “There’s a dance on the beach with music. We have one every week. My sisters and I always go. I’ll know more about my schedule then. We’ll arrange a time for you to read the letters.”

He tried to ignore the friendly warmth of her gaze, a warmth that couldn’t begin to answer the hotter, darker things she’d been inspiring since she walked into Casa Eldora. The edgy eroticism, wrought by her unconscious challenge to his masculinity, was the worst. He was definitely a man, and he’d like nothing more than to apprise Pansy Hanley of that fact. As far as he was concerned, she was lucky to get out of here with her clothes on. He said, “I’ll enjoy seeing you again.” What an understatement.