One-Night Man

Miss Q passed her glass to Olaf and clapped delightedly. “You’re absolutely right, Josh Three. We couldn’t have that. The whole point of this weekend is to educate the public about erotic antiquities and convince the tight fists around here to contribute to the gallery, either with art from their own collections—if I deem the pieces worthy, of course—or by donating monetarily.”

“With the lineup of risqué fund-raising events you’ve got scheduled, I’m sure you’ll meet your goals,” he said.

Miss Q’s eyes glowed with amusement. “There’s something to appeal to everyone—the art exhibition, the masque, the scavenger hunt. I hope you’ll find something that appeals to you.”

Glancing at Lennon, Josh remembered pressing against her in the cab. He’d find something to amuse him, no doubt.

“When you’re done in the garden, dears, I want you to go talk to Louis Garceau and his cronies. See what they think about our first edition of Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis. What a coup. Your grandfather and I tracked down that book right before he died. There was thought to be only one surviving copy and Louis has been trying to corner me to ask about it.”

She scowled. “You tell him it has been authenticated and any true literati would know the difference between a 1593 first edition and a facsimile reprint. That literary set always annoys me.” She lifted her gaze to Josh, blue eyes twinkling. “They get so academic about an orgasm. I always thought the whole point was not to think while I was having one.”

“It’s more fun that way,” Josh agreed.

Lennon said, “Auntie Q!” in a singsong exhalation that clearly conveyed her exasperation, but Josh found the old woman’s humor refreshing. He’d spent too many years at functions that were exercises in patience because his grandmother didn’t know the meaning of the word fun.

Plucking two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, he handed one to Lennon. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Q, Olaf. We’ve got to interrogate your guests.”

“You shouldn’t encourage her,” Lennon cautioned, once out of earshot.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t care who’s around, and she’s worse than a sailor when she gets going. When Great-uncle Joshua was alive, they could get me blushing so hard I thought my cheeks would melt.”

“Sounds like you went to the fun parties.”

“You think?” She eyed him as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her before.

Josh didn’t want her thinking he’d resented sharing his grandfather. Lennon had been dealt her cards just as he had. Neither of them had been given much choice.

“Come on. Let’s go talk to your guests.” Taking her hand, he led her onto a cobbled path that led around the garden.

A live band played on the piazza in front of the fountain, filling the garden with mellow strains of jazz. Twilight glazed everything in a starry haze, making it damned hard to differentiate between the walkway and shadowed recesses in the foliage. Josh could only follow the jagged slices of artificial light cast by strategically placed lamps.

“This place is so spread out,” Lennon observed, mirroring his thoughts as he tried to map the layout mentally. “Another grenade could come from just about anywhere, couldn’t it?”

“Not unless the assailant wants to be hauled off to jail.” At her look of confusion, Josh explained, “A twelve-foot security wall surrounds the perimeter. The only entrance to the garden is from inside the gallery, and museum security has it covered.”

“Oh.” Looking relieved, she cast her gaze around. “And Olaf promised Great-uncle Joshua he’d care for Auntie Q, so I know he will.”

“He will. I’m not surprised he transferred his attention to Miss Q rather than stay on at Eastman Antiquities. He picked the better of the jobs.”

Given his choice of staying on as part of the Eastman empire or tending a flighty, but sweetheart of an old lady and her gorgeous niece, Josh would have found himself part of the McDarby household, too.

“That’s very nice of you to say.” Drawing to a halt in a bower, Lennon lifted her gaze, the amber glow in her eyes deeper than ever in the lamplight. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, either. You’ve come to the rescue like a knight in shining armor.”

Her voice was light, teasing, but there was no question in it, only a solid assurance that she trusted him to do what he’d promised. That she felt so safe with him came as something of a surprise. He wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t had anyone who meant anything rely on him in a very long time. Apparently Lennon meant something. Why? Because of her connection to Miss Q and his grandfather? Or because he was attracted to her?

And he was attracted to her in a big way. Just being with her heightened all his senses. A breeze kicked up, preventing him from sweating in his tux, but not enough to raise the hairs along Lennon’s bare arms. The guests’ chatter crackled above the music like the buzz of an electrical wire.

Lennon made him aware in a way he couldn’t remember ever having been aware of a woman before, on some emotional level he’d always managed to ignore. Ignoring Lennon was impossible, so he resorted to evasive maneuvers.

“Who’s this?” He motioned to a nearby sculpture.

Lennon followed his gaze to the marble sculpture that occupied the bower. “Calliope.”

“The muse of epic poetry?”

“Careful, black sheep, your classical education is showing.” Lennon’s whiskey-smooth eyes glinted with amusement and she cocked her head sexily to survey the sculpture.

Josh surveyed her, not nearly as enthralled with the sculpture as he was by the way the delicate gold-link chain she wore around her neck dipped into the shadows of her cleavage.

When an accented male voice rang out, “Lennon, love” he dragged his gaze from the lovely lady to see a man with a pencil-thin mustache and a goatee hurrying toward them.

A suspect.

“Get ready.” Lennon passed Josh her champagne glass and extended her hands to the newcomer in a gesture of fond welcome. “Louis, I was looking for you. Auntie Q said you wanted to hear about Venus and Adonis.” She dutifully lifted her face as the man brushed kisses on both cheeks.

“She wouldn’t tell me a thing, the devil, except to say I could find you in the bushes with a man.” Swinging a narrowed gaze to Josh, he extended a hand. “Louis Garceau.”

“Josh Eastman.”

One look at Louis’s open mouth confirmed the type of reaction Josh could expect from Miss Q’s guests this weekend. In polite New Orleans society, his grandfather’s relationship with Quinevere McDarby had been accepted, even respected for its endurance. But his grandfather’s life with Miss Q had not crossed over into his life with the Eastman family.