Nicole stared at Max, her breath quickening in her throat. How could he make such a simple sentence seem to have so much hidden meaning, and how could the sound of his voice, deep and resonant, send tremors down her spine?

  “Paul, I'll get you settled and then you can go to town with your father,” she said, stepping away from Max, yet her gaze remained locked with his. His eyes left her feeling naked, vulnerable, and raw with unmentionable need.

  She watched Max smile, the intensity of his upturned lips leaving a trail of heat down her spine. How could she live with him until November and refrain from exploring his kiss one more time?

  Chapter Ten

  Later that day, Consuelo found Nicole in the plantation office going over the accounting books.

  “You don't need to let yourself get too tired,” the older woman said as she tidied up the small room that sat off the kitchen.

  “I'm fine, Consuelo, but thank you,” Nicole said, her head still bent over the books. “I let these books get behind and now I'm trying to get caught up.” She glanced up. “Did you need me for something?”

  “No, Max and Paul have returned. They stopped at the post office and picked up the mail. You have a letter,” she said, taking a small white envelope out of the pocket of her apron and handing it to Nicole.

  A coughing spell suddenly came upon Consuelo, leaving her breathless.

  “That cough sounds terrible. How long have you had it?” Nicole asked, taking the letter from Consuelo.

  “Most of my life. Now, I have chores to do,” Consuelo said, picking up her cleaning materials.

  Nicole glanced at the seal. Marian Cuvier.

  Trepidation filled Nicole as she held the letter in her hand and stared at the handwriting on the envelope. What kind of news could she receive from Jean's first wife?

  “Thanks, Consuelo,” Nicole said, not opening the letter but merely holding it in her hand, fearing the information inside. She couldn't deal with any more bad gossip regarding Jean, and lately all the new knowledge she'd learned about her dead husband had been negative. Deliberately, she'd refrained from buying a newspaper or even having Max bring one back from town. She didn't want to know the status of the investigation of Jean's death or anything about the murder suspect, Layla. She wanted to be as far removed from the scandal as possible and try to put Jean's deception and death behind her.

  “You're welcome,” the older woman said, walking out the door, leaving Nicole alone with the letter from Jean's wife.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the news inside, ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the long sheet of crisp, white paper.

  Dear Nicole,

  I hope this letter finds you feeling better than the last time I saw you. There are several reasons for my writing, one of which is to tell you, you have been in my thoughts and prayers. I also received your package of Jean's things and wanted to thank you for sending them. My children were delighted to see some of their father's childhood things.

  I have moved on with my life and tried to put the terrible circumstances surrounding Jean's death behind me by marrying a man I truly love. I married Jean's partner, Louis Fournet, and the two of us are trying to restore Cuvier Shipping and also build a new business together near his family's plantation. We're very happy, and with Louis's help, even my children are doing better dealing with their father's death.

  As for Layla, I can only tell you that the trial is due to start any day now. I don't know if she's guilty or innocent, and I pray that we will not be called to testify. According to the papers, the prosecution has enough evidence to hang her.

  How is your pregnancy coming along? I hope you're feeling better and preparing for your new arrival. Tiny babies are so innocent, so sweet, and though I know this is a difficult time, I hope you will enjoy your new arrival.

  Godspeed, and may your life be much happier in the future.

  Mrs. Marian Fournet

  Tears welled up in Nicole's eyes as she thought of her poor babe. Never would she see its tiny face and hands, or hear her baby's cry. She laid her head down on her desk, and for the first time in the weeks since the miscarriage, she wept.

  She stayed that way for several minutes, sobs from deep inside her welling up, the pain she'd pushed aside at her loss suddenly as fresh as the morning of the miscarriage.

  “Nicole?” Max's deep, resonant voice questioned. She glanced up to see him standing in the door of the office looking at her, a concerned expression on his face.

  “What's wrong?” he asked, bending down beside her.

  “It's nothing,” she said, wiping a tear from her face. “I just received this letter from Mrs. Cuvier, or rather, Mrs. Fournet, now.”

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, staring at her, his dark eyes concerned.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Nicole shrugged and her bottom lip began to tremble. “I'm sorry; in the letter she asked me about the baby. I thought I was over losing it, but her letter once again made me realize everything I've lost.”

  Her eyes filled with fresh tears and all her grief seemed to swell inside her heart. She ached with pain. “I know losing the baby was for the best but I wanted that child so badly.”

  He took her in his arms and pulled her up out of her chair. Standing in the room, he held her and rubbed her back while she cried.

  “I'm sorry, all I seem to do lately is cry,” she said softly against his shirt.

  “It's all right,” he said, his arms firm around her, protecting her, cradling her. Whenever she needed a gentle touch he seemed to be there.

  His hands stroked her back in a comforting gesture; she felt so cosseted, so secure in his arms. She looked up from his shoulder, turned her head to find his lips just inches from her own, his breath whisper-soft on her cheek. Her gaze locked with his and her breath caught in her throat. The pupils of his green eyes darkened and enlarged. His look was not one of friendly compassion. It was more like a sizzling fire shining from his eyes, leaving her wrapped in warmth that had nothing to do with soothing.

  She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, her tears all erased. “I...”

  His mouth came closer and she knew without a doubt he meant to kiss her, and she wanted him to, though she felt as if an eternity passed before he finally moved toward her. She lifted her mouth to meet his, her conscience screaming no, while her heart urged her on.

  His lips covered hers, his mouth storming her defenses, crushing her lips beneath his, demanding and fierce one moment, gentle and tender the next. She moaned, the sound coming from deep within her as he sampled her mouth, tasting her as he locked them in a primal kiss that sent the blood roaring through her ears.

  God, this man, her husband, a drifter from nowhere, awakened her sleeping body, making every sense aware of him as a man. A man with little ambition and a big heart who cushioned her fall every time he could.

  His hands reached for her hair, tangling in her blonde curls, holding her head captive as desire spiraled through her. The slide of his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, awakening the sensitive pleasure spots of her lips, lighting a smoldering curl of hunger deep within her.

  A harsh, spontaneous sound erupted from deep in his throat as he intensified and lengthened the kiss until her senses staggered in a frenzy of need. Never had her body been so alive, so awakened to the longing he incited.

  He positioned her hips between his legs, his hands gripping her buttocks firmly until she could feel him hard and ready between her legs. And her spirit and soul longed to join him in the most primitive way, but her mind revolted, warning her of dangers to her heart that she tried to ignore.

  She broke the kiss, gasping for air as his lips followed a searing trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck to the tops of her breasts. With a strangled cry, she tangled her hands in his hair, bringing his mouth back to her lips, wanting his kiss to sear the concerns from her mind. She didn't want to think about the consequences; she only wanted the feelings that Max was giving her to continue.

  He placed his hands on her breasts, the pad of his thumb brushing the hard nub of a nipple. Even through her clothes she could feel his long fingers tracing erotic circles over the pebbled kernel that begged for his touch. With one arm around her waist and one hand on her breast, he broke the kiss, his mouth planting hot kisses across her chest, down until he placed his mouth upon her nipple. Through her dress, he suckled her sweet nub until she longed to pull down her dress and give him access to her naked breast A burning sensation began to throb between her legs and grow more potent with each stimulating touch. Her breathing came short and fast as her heart pounded in her ears, her nostrils filled with the scent of him.

  Nicole put her hands in his hair and pressed his face to her breast. She wanted to tear the clothes from his body and finish what they'd started.

  A door slammed in the kitchen and Paul called out, “Papa, are you in here?”

  Nicole froze as Max cursed, “Damn.”

  He rose from his position at Nicole's breast and slowly stood, his eyes never leaving hers, the intensity in his gaze a blaze that did not dim. Only moments more and they would have been caught in complete dishevel.

  My God, what was she doing? She had just let her foreman, her temporary husband, kiss her until she felt near senseless. But the passion she could feel between them still shimmered in the air like a scent, sweet and intoxicating and rare.

  Quickly, she straightened her clothes, her hands shaking as she tried to recover. How could she feel so wanton with Max? How could this man make her forget her heartache with a kiss?

  “In here, Paul,” Max said, his eyes still watching her as he stared.

  The boy walked into the small room. “Hi, what are you doing?”

  Silence filled the room and he looked from one to the other, the tense atmosphere choking.

  “We were just discussing the plantation, Son,” Max said, his gaze still on Nicole.

  She gazed at her husband and took a deep calming breath. “If the two of you will excuse me, I think I need to go to my room and rest for a while. I'll see you both at dinner tonight.”

  Nicole stepped around Max and Paul, and walked toward the main house, her legs shaking. What had just happened between the two of them? Max seemed to know how to attract her, how to mold her like a potter works with clay. But she'd already been scarred once at love and she wasn't willing to risk her heart a second time on a man who would never settle down. Jean had wounded her enough to last a lifetime.

  Max Viel needed to leave before the wild hunger he ignited within her overcame them both and led them down a foolish path indeed.

  Nicole hurried through the main parlor to her room, eager to put as much distance as possible between her and Max. She desperately needed time to cool her heated body and remind herself of all the reasons she could not become involved with Max.

  Never before had any man turned her blood to molten lava, never had her lips seemingly melted beneath the onslaught of such a kiss, and never had she wanted to give herself to a man more than during the space of those few moments. And that frightened her. For to feel such passionate emotions for a man could only lead to heartache.

  Max Viel seemed to touch her heart in ways she'd never experienced before. His kind, gentle nature had kept her head whirling and her emotions yearning for him in a passionate sense.

  When she reached her room, she lay down on her reclining couch and gazed out the window at a steamer as it rolled down the river, its big wheel pushing the boat toward New Orleans. The vessel had a definite destination, whereas Nicole felt like a steamer out of control, spinning around in circles, unable to determine her destiny or her place in life.

  Each course she plotted seemed fraught with sandbars and bad currents. Yet Max appeared like a lifeline thrown to her in a desperate moment, and now their courses seemed plotted in the same direction. Still, she needed to remember that a wanderer's course never stayed in one direction for long.

  With a sigh, she picked up the diary. Anything to get her mind off Max. She hoped the woman's journal would remind her why she never wanted to be involved with a man again.

  The cruelty of Jean Cuvier should convince her that no man could be trusted ever again, but with Max she didn't feel as though he would betray her, only that they both were two lonely souls searching for their paths in life.

  She opened the diary.

  How cruel fate is. Today Jean informed me that our affair has outlasted its usefulness to him. My heart is heavy with sorrow and I can scarce write for the tears that fall from my eyes. In my youthful folly, I followed my heart and eternally alienated myself from the high and noble association of people with whom I could commune. Even my own family disassociated themselves from the embarrassment of my disgrace, some members considering me no better than dirt. Instead, I devoted myself to establishing a sweet haven for Jean to come to, knowing full well that our time would be limited, but well spent, in each other s arms. Yet now his affection has lessened, and I in my estrangement will somehow struggle on to earn a living for our daughter. Our home shall remain in my name until I'm overcome by deaths shadowy presence and lay in my grave.

  Dear Julianne, our daughter, is now three, and Jean in his infinite wisdom has decided that lama bore who drains too much of his time. Is our daughter, the fruit of our love, to be cast away from him also? I count the days we were all together as a family a blessing, and thank God for my daughter, the light of my life. For without her, the path I am destined to follow would surely have put me in the grave before now. How her father cannot miss seeing her beautiful smile and hearing her laughing voice pains me too much to dwell on. For our sweet child knows nothing of her father's fickle heart, and Julianne and I will go on without him, though it shall not be easy and the way will be lonely. I only pray that somehow he '11 have a change of heart and he '11 remember the happiness we shared.

  Nicole shut the diary, unable to read the woman's story anymore for now. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the young woman all alone. Anger so intense at the way Jean had hurt so many lives filled Nicole, and for the first time since his death she knew she no longer loved the bastard. He hadn't loved her—or anyone but himself. Nicole hated him with a fierceness that drove him from her heart.

  Now as she looked back at their life together she saw the incongruities, the times he couldn't account for, the times he didn't show up, and she realized she'd known something wasn't right but had pushed her doubts aside, believing his lies. But never again would a man get away with deceiving her. Never again would she love a man blindly.

  ***

  Two weeks passed and Nicole deliberately avoided Max. She took her breakfast after he'd left for the field. She managed to avoid him even for lunch and dinner. Somehow she didn't want to gaze into his dark green eyes and see the passion she knew lurked beneath the shadows. She feared the responses he awakened in her body and the way his scent caused her blood to rush. He invaded her dreams, leaving her restless and waking her in the middle of the night to feverish imaginings of the two of them together. She knew without a doubt that he was a danger to her senses and she refused to fall in love again.

  Sun streamed in through the windows of her office, making the little room seem stifling. Nevertheless, Nicole had little difficulty bringing up to date the plantation books that she let fall behind during her illness. Soon she would be resting beneath the fan in her room.

  Consuelo appeared at the door, and Nicole glanced up at her to see her dark brown eyes wide with fear. “Come quickly. Mr. Viel is out in the yard speaking with some woman. I think she's Paul's mother.” Consuelo rolled her eyes. “I fear that the woman is nothing but white trash.”

  “Consuelo! You don't normally talk that way,” Nicole said, rising from her chair. “I'm surprised at you.”

  Nicole had confided to Consuelo what she knew of Paul's background.

  “Well you won't be after you see this woman. I can't believe that Mr. Viel would associate with such a tramp. But then again, their affair must have been many years ago. Maybe she looked prettier then.”

  “You're certain this is Paul's mother?” Nicole asked as she followed her servant out the door of the house.

  “I don't know but they're out front arguing. He's done told her to leave, she's not welcome here.”

  Nicole recalled the conversation with Paul regarding his mother, and the details he'd told her of his life came crashing back with a harsh reality. The woman seemed less than the perfect mother, yet Nicole didn't think that Max made a much better parent.

  Once outdoors, she saw Max standing in the drive that led to the house, staring at a woman dressed in gaudy finery that made her appear tawdry. A purple dress clung to the curves of her figure and fell in graceful lines to the ground. A red petticoat peeked from beneath special slits that showed the colored lace when she moved. Tinted red curls spilled out from beneath a wide-brim hat that shaded her face from view, and a folded matching parasol hung from her arm. She looked like she belonged in a saloon, not like a mother coming to retrieve her son.

  The expression on Max's face appeared hostile yet bored as he stared at her.

  “I'm not certain that's her,” Nicole said to Consuelo, gazing at the two of them standing in the drive, the woman's voice loud and animated.

  Max stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face like stone, with no muscles moving. Even a hurricane would have a difficult time forcing Max from his rock-solid foundation.

  Nicole halted on the verandah, gazing down at the two who stood sideways to her, their every expression in view. She stared, uncertain that she should approach them, yet unable to walk away.

  “I think it's best if we leave him to deal with her,” Nicole told Consuelo.

  “If that ain't white trash, then I'm still twenty- three,” Consuelo whispered, nodding her head.

 

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