Chase Melancon felt his chest tighten as he pulled to a stop at the wrought iron gate to Belle Vista plantation. Contrary to the name, the view wasn't very impressive. The gate hung crookedly on rusted hinges. And tall stands of cane had encroached on the access road, making it look more like a trail through the swamp than the entrance to a grand estate.
Before climbing out of the van to move the barrier aside, Chase swept his dark gaze over the cypress and oak trees that blocked out most of the light. Then he picked up the automatic pistol that lay on the passenger seat and stuffed it in his belt. No use getting shot before he got a chance to inspect his property.
"My property," he said aloud, as he brushed back the thick dark hair that had fallen over his brow.
The reality of ownership struck him as he closed his strong hands around the rusted metal, and he went very still. Belle Vista plantation was his. Defying convention and his grasping relatives, old man Rousseau had left the house and surrounding land to Chase Melancon.
He shook his head, still hardly able to believe the turn of events. The Melancon family had been servants on this plantation — at the beck and call of the Rousseaus. And now a Melancon was the top dog. If he lived long enough to establish his claim.
After climbing back into the van once more, Chase drove slowly up the rutted drive, holding his breath as he came around the final curve and saw the house. From a distance, in the rays of the late afternoon sun, it looked just the same as he remembered. The wide galleries. The raised porch. The white columns. However, the closer he came to the edifice, the more he took in the state of disrepair. Some of the columns sagged. And mold discolored the corners of the white siding.
Well, he was going to put it all right. Turn the house and grounds into a showplace. And he had the skills to do it. Before he'd left to enlist in the army, his father had taught him everything he knew about repairs and restoration. Some of Chase's tools were in the trunk. He'd bring the rest from Lafayette later.
Again he drew his gun as he stepped onto the circular drive. Again he scanned the underbrush, looking for one of the Rousseau men, Hugo or Wyatt. Either of them would drop him in his tracks as soon as speak to him.
He was cautious, too, of the weathered boards under his feet as he climbed the wide front steps. They needed replacing. So did much of the porch surface.
Mr. Gaylord, the lawyer who had informed him of the legacy, had given him the key. He inserted it in the lock, pushed the door open, and stepped into the front hall.
Instantly he knew that something wasn't right. The scurry of footsteps caught his ears. One of the bastards had gotten here first after all.
"Hold it right there."
The intruder ignored him.
In a rush of movement, Chase pounded down the hall, gun drawn, in time to catch up with a fleeing figure disappearing through the kitchen door. He got a quick impression of a black T-shirt, black sweat pants. A baseball cap.
He grabbed an arm, whipped the intruder around. The baseball cap flew off, and long blond hair cascaded into view.
He drew in a quick, shocked breath as he found himself staring into the wide blue eyes of Julienne Rousseau.…
Chase felt Julienne tremble, saw her sink against the wall, her ivory skin blotched by fear. Then he watched in fascination as she pulled herself together, straightened, lifted her chin as though her family still owned this place and he was the trespasser.
She'd been beautiful as a child, more so as an adolescent. But now...she was stunning. The pale skin, the wide blue eyes, and the wild golden hair creating a vision that called to him with a familiar, forbidden longing. For an instant, he wondered if this was really her or some dream from his subconscious come to life.
Her gaze flicked from his face to the pistol in his hand.
"Are you going to shoot me, Chase?" she asked in the musical voice that he remembered so well — the voice that still had the power to stir his senses.
He pulled himself together. "Why shouldn't I? You're trespassing on my property."
Doubt kindled in her eyes. "I know. But we were...friends. I thought you'd..."
"I'd what?"
She gave a small shrug, but he was still dealing with her previous statement.
"Friends." He threw the word back at her. "I was the hired help. You were the little princess who wound your father — and everybody else — around your fingers."
"My father's dead now." She said it with deep sorrow.
"I'm sorry," he murmured before he remembered that he owed her nothing. They had played together as children. And when they had reached adolescence, he had longed for more than friendship. He'd even been foolish enough to think she returned his feelings — until the night he'd found out she was just toying with him.
He gave a small shake of his head. She'd dashed his hopes in the cruelest way possible, and he had left the next day to enlist in the army.
His eyes must have given him away, because he saw her cringe. Well, she was going to find out that he had a long memory.
"How did you get in here?" he demanded.
"It wasn't difficult. I opened a window."
He made his voice flat and hard. "What — did your brothers send you on ahead to try to persuade me to leave? Or are you supposed to get me to let down my guard so they can kill me?
"My brothers don't know I'm here."
"I'll bet."
"It's the truth."
Julienne stared into his dark eyes, seeing the new anger and the old hurt. A wave of sadness swept over her. She'd come here in desperation. Now she realized her mistake — and she was terrified.
But she wouldn't let him see that, couldn't let him see.
"I knew Grandfather left you the plantation," she whispered. "I was happy for you when I heard."
"Why should I believe that — or any other lie you have to tell me?"
She tried to push past the harsh words, past the rigid way he held his body. Once his good looks had been boyish. Now he was all grown up and truly magnificent with a strong face and well developed muscles. Even the dark hair that was a little too long and a little too shaggy added to the picture of defiant masculinity.
"Why should I believe you?" he said again.
She felt her eyes grow moist and struggled against the sudden surge of pain and fear.
"Because if you don't, then I'm in even worse trouble than I thought," she whispered.
Chase watched Julienne standing there with her breath shallow in her chest. He could throw her out right now. This house where she had grown up was his by the terms of her grandfather's will. But something stopped him. Maybe the ghost of their old friendship.
"This place was a mess," she said softly. "I cleaned it. I can help you fix it up. And I can cook." Before he could comment, she went on quickly, "You only remember the girl I was. I'm a lot different now."
He could see it. In her eyes. In the tight lines of her face.
"What are you really doing here?" he demanded.
"I knew you were coming home, and I needed a place to stay."
"Yeah? Well, let's be logical. You expect me to believe your brothers don't know you're here?"
"My brothers are in New Orleans. I went to them when I needed...help. And they turned me away. I haven't seen them since."
He felt his jaw drop open. "They turned you away? Why?"
She bent her head, spoke in a barely audible voice. "That's between me and them."
He took in her defeated posture and her low tone, and suddenly he didn't have the heart to keep jabbing at her. If she needed a place to crash, well, she could make herself useful around here for a couple of days. Then…she'd better leave, for both their sakes. Because if Hugo or Wyatt found her hanging out with Chase Melancon, they'd kill them both. And that would solve a big problem for the Rousseau brothers — because if the present owner died without heirs, this place reverted to the Rousseau family.
Julienne broke into his thoughts, and he could see she was making an effort to change the subject. "The electricity and the gas aren't turned on. But I have a cooler and a camp stove. I made Creole gumbo yesterday. Are you hungry?"
He realized suddenly that he was.
He followed her into the kitchen, silently acknowledging that she had told the truth about one thing at least. The room sparkled. She'd cleaned the countertops, the old appliances, the floor.
"I've got some of the old hurricane lamps out of the cellar. For when it gets dark," she said.
"Okay. Tomorrow I can check the electrical system, see if it's safe to turn it on."
"You know how to do that?"
"Yeah." Pulling out a chair, he sat down, stretching out his legs as he watched her efficiently prepare a meal on her makeshift equipment.
As the gumbo warmed, it filled the room with a wonderful aroma. She set a plate in front of him. And a cup of strong, chicory-laced coffee.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I had lunch a little while ago." She propped her hips against the counter, keeping several yards of space between them.
He forked up a bite of the seafood stew. It was rich and flavorful — the way he liked it.
She'd gone to a lot of trouble to please him, it seemed. Yet he found it was impossible to stifle the kernel of resentment that he'd carried inside himself all these years. Tipping his head to one side, he peered at her. "This is good. My compliments to the chef — and to your housekeeping."
Her cheeks colored, but her eyes turned suddenly wary. "Thank you," she said in a thin voice.
His eyes traveled over her. She was wearing a shapeless man's shirt and baggy chino pants, clothing that almost but not quite hid her feminine curves. "What if cooking and cleaning aren't enough to earn your keep?"
He saw her swallow before asking carefully, "What do you mean, exactly?"
"I think you know what I mean. I might require a little more of you than just household help."
Her skin color changed from pink to white. "No."
"So even though I own this place now, I'm still not good enough for you?" he pressed.
She knitted her hands together in front of her. "I...can't."
The broken way she said it sent a ripple of cold skimming over his skin. Instinctively he knew that his words had cut her more deeply than he'd believed possible. "Julienne?"
He started to rise, started to go to her. But she was already darting out of his reach. She fled from the kitchen and he stared at the door flapping back and forth behind her long after she'd disappeared.
Julienne fled from Chase — fled up the wide front stairs, then along the upper hall to the small room she'd taken for herself. Without thinking, she rushed across the room and threw herself into the closet, pulling the door closed behind her. In the dark, she huddled against the wall, her knees drawn up against her chest and her head bent.
She'd been a fool to think that this could work, a fool to assume that Julienne Rousseau could just walk back into Chase Melancon's life — and everything would be all right between them. Not after the way it had all ended seven years ago.
Her cheeks were wet, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand, struggling to get control of her roiling emotions, angry with herself and with him.
She might as well pack up and leave, she thought, wondering where she was going to go.
When she heard footsteps in the hall, she went rigid.
"Julienne?" It was Chase, his voice soft but urgent.
She didn't answer.
"Julienne, that was a dumb thing for me to say. I'm sorry. Really sorry. You can trust me to act like a gentleman."
There was a long pause, during which her heart started to pound wildly in her chest. Did he mean that? Or was he just saying it because it was what he thought she wanted to hear?
"Don't do anything as stupid as I did. Don't run away from me. Please," he added, and she heard his contrite, strained tone.
He sounded almost as upset as she felt, but her throat was too clogged for her to answer. And even if she could have spoken, she wasn't sure what she would have said.
"I'm going to bring some stuff in from the van. Then I'm going down to the den. I'd…like it if you came down, too."
Chase stood in the hall, his breath shallow in his chest. It took all his formidable will to stop himself from tearing down the hall, tearing through the rooms to find her.
The wounded, vulnerable look on her face when she'd fled the kitchen haunted him.
Something had happened to her. Something bad. He knew that from the violence of her reaction — knew it as surely as he knew the pain he felt inside himself now. And he was deathly afraid that he might know what it was.
He wanted to call out to her again. Chère, trust me. Just trust me enough to tell me what happened to you.
Trust him!
After the insult he'd flung at her? Cursing himself, he turned and stalked down the stairs, forcing himself to tread lightly in his heavy boots.
Shadows gathered like ghosts around him in the darkened hallway. Outside, he stood for a moment in the waning sunlight, dragging in air and expelling it in great gusts. Then he slammed open the door of the van and began pulling out heavy equipment, straining his muscles, the exertion calming him a little.
But only a little. Because he knew he had screwed up badly. And the worst part was that he didn't know if she would give him a second chance.
Julienne stepped quietly out of her room. There was no electricity or running water in the house, but she'd used some of the water she'd hauled from the cistern to wash her face and hands.
Although the sun had almost set, there was a glow at the end of the hall, and she saw that Chase had left a lighted hurricane lamp for her. Picking it up, she found her hand was trembling.
By the time she reached the den, she felt like her heart was going to pound its way through the wall of her chest.
Chase was slumped in one of the armchairs. Hardly making a sound, she glided into the room and took an identical chair a few feet away.
"Thank you for coming back," he said.
"I guess I had to."
"Why?"
"I've waited seven years to tell you what happened the night you left."
He made a low, strangled sound in his throat. "You don't owe me any explanations. We were just kids back then."
Ignoring him, she swallowed hard and went on. "I know you thought I chickened out. Or decided you weren't good enough for me, and I changed my mind about...about making love with you." She said it in a rush, glad that the darkness hid her suddenly hot cheeks. "I was coming to meet you, like we planned. Then I realized my brother, Wyatt, was following me. I knew if he caught us together, he'd...hurt you."
"I could take care of myself."
"Chase, he had a gun. I saw it."
He cursed softly.
She had more to say, but now it was impossible for her to speak above a whisper. "I was coming to find you the next morning. But you...you'd cleared out."
Her hands twisted together in her lap, as she said, "I know you were never sure of what I felt for you. Is that why you didn't stick around?"
She thought he wasn't going to answer. Then his voice cut across the darkness. "That was part of it. Back then, I wasn't all that sure of myself."
Silence stretched between them until she said, "I heard later that you'd joined the army. How was it?"
"Okay. I did my hitch. Then I moved to Lafayette and put the skills I learned from my dad to work. Doing remodeling jobs and restorations of old houses. Like this one."
She was eager to hear more. It sounded as though he'd made a success of his life, and she was so happy for him.
But when he spoke again, it was to change the subject abruptly. "What happened to you after I left?"
"I got a job with an accounting firm."
"And then?"
A simple question. She gave him as simple an answer. "I quit. Then I came back here."
She knew he was waiting for her to elaborate, but she sat with her head bowed.
"Someone...hurt you," he finally said, and she felt a shiver cross her skin.
"Yes," she whispered, wishing her previous behavior hadn't given her away. But then Chase had always been perceptive.
"Can you tell me about it?" he asked softly.
She sucked in a couple of ragged breaths and let them out. Before she could change her mind, she blurted. "I was working late. This guy...this guy...broke into the building. I guess he came to steal stuff. And I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had a gun. He… Uh...he dragged me into the boss's office. Pulled me down on the rug...and he..." Her voice hitched and she stopped speaking.
"Did he rape you?"
The ugly word hung between them like a razor-sharp sword.
She couldn't speak, only nod as she slid lower in her chair.
"And I was dumb enough to come on to you in the kitchen."
"You didn't know," she managed.
"That doesn't matter. I should have treated you better."
"Chase, it's not you. It's me. I ran away from you because I don't know if I can let a man touch me."
Chase felt his heart twist inside his chest as he heard Julienne's broken voice. She had said that she didn't know if she could let a man touch her. But her next words humbled him.
"I came here because I wanted to be near you. Maybe that's not fair of me. But here I am."
She looked so fragile. So lovely. He wanted to go to her then, take her in his arms. "Chère, I want to be closer to you," he said. "If I come over there, will I frighten you?"
"No," she answered, but he heard the quaver in her voice.
Carefully, he eased himself up, then moved to the floor beside her chair. He touched the back of her hand and felt her jump. Then she seemed to relax as he folded his fingers around hers. He held her hand for long moments, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her.
"Chère," he murmured, his lips moving against her flesh, "I give you my word, anything you and I do together, it will be because it's what we both want. Okay?"
"Okay," she answered, her voice still uneven, her eyes telling him she couldn't believe how much he was offering her. She looked quickly away, and took her lower lip between her teeth, but he sensed that there was still something she wanted to say.
"What?" he asked softly, stroking his thumb across her knuckles.
She swallowed, then whispered, "You mean you still might want…me, after what I told you?"
His chest felt so tight that he could hardly breathe. "How can you even ask that question?"
"Because Hugo and Wyatt..." she gulped. "They said I was looking for trouble. That I never should have been at the office that late." Again she came to a halt.
He felt a surge of anger at the two men who couldn't even stand up for their sister in a time of trouble. But then, Hugo and Wyatt had never impressed him as being interested in helping anyone besides themselves. "You mean those no good bastards blamed you?"
"People were talking about me. My brothers didn't like it. I can understand why."
He swore under his breath. "You get attacked and those jerks feel as if their honor's been tarnished. I'd like to kill them."
"That won't do either one of us any good."
He nodded tightly.
"I had to get away. Then I knew you were coming back, and I was hoping you'd let me stay here. Until I get on my feet."
"That's all you want? To stay here for a little while?"
"I...want more than that," she said in a small voice. "But I don't dare let myself think about how much I want."
"You can dare anything! You always had guts. You got together with me when we were teenagers — when you knew your grandfather would whip your hide if he found us together."
"It didn't work out, did it?"
"It will," he said with conviction.
"How can it? I told you I can't stand being touched."
"I'm touching you now."
He saw her eyes widen. "You are. I guess because it's you, and I didn't even think about it."
He squeezed her hand, but he didn't ask for anything more. Not yet. "So what about your brothers?" he asked. "What are their plans?"
"They didn't confide in me. I think they'll try to take this place away from you."
"I'll be ready for them."
"I hope so. But they're...dangerous."
"I know. I'm not going to get careless." Before she could continue with the subject, he said, "You should get some sleep." His hand moved to stroke her beautiful golden hair, but he thought better of it and pulled back at the last minute. "Things will look better in the morning."
"They already look better."
"Good."
He left the oil lamp where it was and switched on the nine-volt flashlight he'd brought. It wasn't as charming as the lamplight, but it was more practical for moving around in the dark. He'd come back later and put out the lamps.
Stepping into the hall, he followed Julienne toward the stairs. He was only a few paces behind her when he heard her scream….
Julienne's scream sent Chase pounding after her. In the darkened hallway ahead of him, he saw her arms flail, her body teeter, then drop several feet as her legs disappeared through the floor. Tossing the flashlight aside with a clatter, he sprang forward and grabbed her under the arms before she could fall to the basement below.
The flashlight had landed with its beam pointing in the wrong direction. But he could just make out what had happened. A section of the old flooring had given way beneath her. And he could feel the damaged boards bowing under his own weight. If he wasn't careful, they were both going to crash through and land on the cellar floor.
"Chère, don't move," he cautioned. "Hold perfectly still."
She gulped. "Okay."
The boards under him groaned. Praying he could get to her in time, he lay down on his stomach and stretched out his legs to distribute his weight over as wide an area as possible.
Still, the surface made a cracking noise. Then some of the wood fell away, crashing onto the cement floor below them.
Julienne made a strangled sound.
"It's going to be fine. You're doing great," he said as he gently pulled her up, moving backward as he eased her legs through the broken area.
She cried out as a board tore across her pants leg, and he stopped abruptly. Then the floor shifted under him, and he knew he had to move quickly. Jerking backward, he took Julienne with him. She choked out a sob as they tumbled together onto a section of the floor where the surface felt stable.
He felt her shoulders shaking, heard her gasp of relief as he clasped her in his arms.
He lay on his back. She was sprawled across him, both of them breathing hard.
"Are you all right?" he asked, between gulps of air.
"Yes. Oh God, Chase, the floor…"
"You're safe now. I've got you."
He squeezed his eyes shut, relief flooding through him like morning sunlight. He clung to her, stroking his hands across her shoulders, over her hair, feeling her trembling subside as her body relaxed against his.
At first all he could think about was what might have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. He pressed her close, feeling the way her slender body molded itself to his.
His hand stroked up and down her back, comforting her, as well as himself. It had been an eternity since he had held her in his arms. Yet the time they'd been apart suddenly seemed of no importance.
She'd been a teenager back then. Now her body was more mature, more feminine. He could feel the soft mounds of her breasts, which had flattened themselves against his chest, her hips pressing against his middle. The narrow indentation of her waist, where his free hand curved to steady her.
Without conscious thought, the stroking of his hands changed, becoming more sensual as long-buried needs rose to the surface of his mind. His body hardened, and he made a low sound in his throat as he gathered her closer. For a moment ripe with promise, she seemed to melt against him.
Then, in an instant, the sensual spell shattered.
One moment Chase was holding a warm and pliant woman in his arms. In the next, she was gasping in fear, pushing herself away from him. Frantically she levered her body off of his and scooted across the floor, putting the width of the hall between them.
When he saw the wild, panicked look in her eyes, he called out gently, "Don't run away from me." At the same time, he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position.
Julienne stayed where she was, her back pressed to the wall.
Slowly he turned to face her but made no move to come any closer. As he stared at her, he felt a wave of tender emotions surge through him. He had been afraid to admit his vulnerability, even to himself. But he had never stopped loving this woman. Never — no matter how hard he had tried to put her out of his mind.
And now here they were, facing each other across four feet of charged space that might as well have been at opposite ends of the earth.
"Chère, it's all right. I won't hurt you."
"You...you got hard," she whispered. "I could feel it — pressing against my leg."
His heart was thudding inside his chest, but he kept his gaze steady, kept his voice even. "That's right. I couldn't keep myself from wanting you. Not when you were lying on top of me."
Her next words shook him to the core. "You think I was trying to turn you on?"
"Of course not!"
He saw her swallow and knew that what she had been through — with the rapist and then with her damn fool brothers — had affected her thinking on every level. He knew, too, that he could lose her if he wasn't careful. "Chère, I'm not blaming you for anything," he said softly.
"Why not?" she pressed.
"You were frightened, and you were clinging to me because I'd just pulled you out of that hole in the floor. And I was frightened, too. At first all I thought about was holding on to you — making sure you were safe. Then...when I knew you were all right, I started feeling how soft and feminine you were in my arms. There's nothing wrong with any of that."
He watched her moisten her lips, give a small nod.
He could see she was hanging on to every word as he added, "Please, don't be afraid of me. I would never do anything to you that you didn't want me to do. Do you understand that?"
"I want to believe you."
"Chère, I would never lie to you."
Julienne looked into his eyes, longing with every fiber of her being to believe him — to believe that the two of them could win back everything they'd both lost. She had come here with that hope blazing in her mind — in her soul.
With a small nod, she pushed herself up straighter. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy," she murmured.
"But you came here. You came to me."
"Yes."
"Can you talk about why?"
I came here because I love you. Because I knew you were the only man in the world who could help me. The words trembled inside her, but they were still too dangerous to speak. Instead, she gave him a quick shake of her head.
She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't press her. Suddenly aware that they were still sitting on the floor in the hall, she started to push herself up and gave a small gasp....
"What? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Chase asked urgently.
Julienne pulled up her pants leg, inspected her ankle. Where her foot had plunged through the floorboards, the skin was raw and scraped.
"You're bleeding," he said, and she realized that he had instinctively moved closer to her.
"I'll be fine."
"You can get a nasty infection — unless we clean that up."
She might have protested, but she knew he was right. So she let him lead her back down the hall to the den.
Sinking into the chair where she'd been sitting previously, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to hold herself together.
Out in the hallway, she heard stamping noises and thought Chase was probably testing the floor to make sure there wouldn't be any other nasty surprises.
When she heard his footsteps returning, her eyes snapped open. He was carrying the camp flashlight, a bowl of water, paper towels, and a first aid kit.
He set the light on the floor where it could shine on her leg. Then he hunkered down beside her chair.
"Chère, I'm going to wash the wound, then put on antiseptic. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, struggling to keep her voice steady.
She watched as he dipped the towel into the water.
When his fingers touched her ankle, she sucked in a small breath, held herself rigid.
His ministrations were gentle as he cleaned her injured flesh, then brought the flashlight closer so he could inspect the wound.
"I don't see any splinters. Do you feel any?"
"I don't think so."
"Good."
He swabbed on the antiseptic, and she couldn't hold back a small sound as she felt the sting.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
She watched him retrieve a roll of gauze, watched him slip off her shoe so he could wind the bandage under her heel and around her ankle. As his fingers moved against her skin, she shivered, but she didn't draw away. After he'd tied the end of the gauze, he kept hold of her.
"I'd forgotten how small your feet are," he murmured, stroking his finger under her arch.
She remembered long ago when he'd held her foot like this. "You used to tease me about them. You told me they looked like they belonged to a little kid."
"You remember that?" he asked with a laugh.
"Um-hum."
"Now I think they're very feminine," he said, clasping her flesh more tightly.
He stared up at her, simply stroking her foot, his fingers playing with her heel, her instep. His touch felt good, so good that she ached to forget her fears. But they were still there, in the background, ready to overwhelm her if she thought he were going to make demands she couldn't meet.
He must have sensed her uncertainty, because he gently slid her slipper back on and stood, wiping his hands across the knees of his pants.
She pushed herself out of the chair, tested the injured ankle.
"All right?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then we should go to bed," he said. "And in the morning, I'm going to take a good look at that floor."
The suddenly sharp tone of his voice made her heartbeat quicken.
"What are you saying?" she asked.
"The boards didn't break by themselves. Someone cut through them."
Julienne looked stunned. "Someone cut the floorboards?" she asked. "But who?"
"Three guesses. Or rather two," Chase answered, his voice coming out more sharply than he intended.
"You think my brothers were here?" She gulped. "Doing things?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I think."
Her head jerked up. "I didn't see them."
"Maybe they came for a visit before you arrived."
"Maybe? You think I saw them here, and I didn't say anything about it?"
"No. Of course not," he answered quickly, wondering exactly what he had been thinking.
Picking up the flashlight, she started for the hall.
When he grabbed her arm, she went rigid.
He let his own hand drop back to his side. "Wait. I don't want you getting hurt again. Stay on the left side of the hall, away from the hole."
"I was planning to do that," she clipped out.
As he watched her walk rapidly up the stairs, he cursed softly under his breath. He hadn't meant to accuse her of anything. But it seemed she'd taken it that way.
He squeezed his hands into fists, wishing he could close them around the neck of the man who had raped her — and then do the same with her damn brothers. The Julienne he remembered had been so confident, so sure of herself. The rapist had made her afraid of men. It seemed her brothers had done their best to pound her self-esteem into the ground.
With a sigh, he waited until he heard her door close. Then he went back for the oil lamp and started up the stairs to the room where he'd put his luggage.
Chase kicked off his shoes and socks and lay down on the bed in his jeans and T-shirt. It seemed to take eons for him to fall asleep. Then it felt like only moments later when suddenly a sound jerked him awake. Grabbing the gun he'd shoved under his pillow, he leaped out of bed and stood listening intently.
The sound came again. A moan. From Julienne's room.
The gun at the ready, he ran down the hall and threw open her door.
He had expected to find someone in the room with her, but she was alone, her head thrashing on the pillow.
"No," she whimpered in her sleep.
She was dressed in a long T-shirt that would have skimmed her thighs, if it hadn't ridden up, revealing the silky fabric of the panties she wore underneath, and her long, lovely legs.
The gun was still in his hand as he crossed the room.
Then her eyes snapped open and focused on him — focused on the weapon. The scream that tore from her throat made his whole body go rigid. She sprang back, her shoulders hitting the wall.
"Chère, no! It's all right. I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought someone was attacking you. But you were having a bad dream." As he spoke, he set the gun down on the dresser.
She stared at him, her back still wedged against the wall as though she needed the support to hold herself upright.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he repeated. "I'll leave if you want," he added, waiting for her answer with his breath frozen in his lungs.
Julienne wet her parched lips. "What if I wanted you to stay here? What if I wanted you to hold me...but I was pretty sure I couldn't give you any more than that?"
Her whole body tensed as she waited to hear his answer to that. It came swiftly.
"You don't have to give me anything, chère. You only have to let me shield you from your nightmares."
His eyes were fixed on her as he took a step toward her and then another. Each step closed a little more of the space between them until he was standing beside the bed.
He towered over her, and for a moment she felt her chest tighten.
"Can I sit down?"
"Yes," she managed.
She was vividly conscious of his weight making the mattress shift. Then he scooted across the bed and joined her, sitting with his back against the wall.
Lazily he stretched out his legs and leaned comfortably back.
She stayed where she was for long moments — watching him — wondering if she could really handle this. Then, before she could change her mind, she closed the distance between them, pressing her shoulder against his.
Slowly, giving her time to escape, he turned toward her. When she stayed where she was, he opened his arms, and she moved into them, moved so that she was pressed against the solid wall of his chest. With a small sigh, she let her eyes drift closed and her head fall to his shoulder. She breathed in his scent, snuggled into the warmth of his body. The strong arms that circled her shoulders were like a refuge.
"Oh, Chase," she murmured. "I missed you so much."
His hand stroked over her hair. "Did you?"
"Yes." She paused. "I wouldn't lie to you about that. Or anything else."
"I know."
She dragged in a breath and let it out in a rush. "But downstairs, when you asked if I'd seen my brothers here —"
He cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was just frustrated, and I guess I was taking it out on you. I'm sorry. I won't do that again."
She nodded against his shoulder.
"And you won't run away from me. Deal?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"Because I've missed you, too."
"Did you? Why?"
"Are you fishing for compliments?"
"Maybe."
"You don't need to fish. I'll give them freely. You're more beautiful than the last time I saw you, and you're so brave."
"I'm a coward."
"If you were a coward, you wouldn't be here in my arms." He turned his head, stroked his lips against her cheek, her hair. "I'll hold you as long as you want me," he whispered.
Forever, she thought dreamily. If she could just stay in his arms forever, she would be content.
He made no demands on her, only held her and stroked her, and after a time she realized she wanted more.
"Chase?"
"Umm?"
"I want to kiss you."
"You don't have to ask permission."
"I know. But I want...you to understand…." She stopped, swallowed. "I mean...I don't think I can go any further than that. But I want to try. So much."
They were sitting sideways across the bed, Chase's back pressed against the wall and Julienne in his arms.
Now he shifted her slightly so that his eyes could meet hers.
"I told you I wasn't going to push you into anything you're not ready for."
She could hear her own uneven breath rushing in and out of her lungs. "I want to kiss you," she repeated. "But what if... what if...you're not satisfied with that?"
"A kiss isn't going to turn me into a savage beast, if that's what you're worried about."
Despite herself, she laughed, and the laughter broke some of the tension. Without giving herself time to draw back, she slid her hand possessively across his broad shoulders.
"Oh, Chase," she sighed, "I dreamed of seeing you again. And now I don't know what I can give you."
"Chère, I'm here to give you anything you want. As little or as much."
Anything she wanted. With hands that trembled slightly, she reached up, tunneling her fingers through his dark hair so that she could bring his face within reach.
The first touch of his lips on hers was sweet and warm, like a familiar memory wafting on a spring breeze.
Chase. This was Chase, and she knew her instincts had been right all along. Coming to him was the right thing to do. His mouth melted against hers, and she made a little exclamation of pleasure. There was so much she wanted to say to him. So much locked inside her.
She was still afraid to speak the words, but she could show him what she was feeling. Eyes closed, she shut out everything but him, the taste of him, the feel of him. He sent her senses on overload as memories melded with present reality. She was aware of so many details. The silky texture of his hair slipping against her fingers, the hard muscles of his shoulders, the scent of soap and water and man.
"Julienne." Her name sighed out of him like a prayer of thanks.
Craving more, she eased his lips apart so that she could taste him more fully, drink him in.
And though his mouth moved hungrily over hers, she knew he was holding back — clamping down on the strength of his response.
When she finally lifted her head, they were both breathing hard. Her whole body felt hot and tingly. Her breasts ached. And her brain felt as if it were on fire.
She knew what she had always known. She wanted this man — needed him. Yet there were other remembered sensations, too. The panic that came from a man's heavy weight pressing her down into the carpet. The terror of helplessness. The fear of having all control taken away.
Chase must have seen the sudden panic racing through her because he drew back so that his chest was no longer pressed against her breasts.
"Chère?"
"I...can't. Not yet."
"I understand."
"But you want me," she answered, her gaze falling to his lap. There was no way to hide the truth of what they both knew.
"And you want me. I know that as surely as you can see the state I'm in."
She gulped. "Yes."
"Then everything's going to be okay."
She wanted that to be true. More than anything she'd ever wanted in her life. Yet fear still kept her from reaching for her heart's desire.
Chase gazed into the troubled eyes of the woman he loved. "We can work things out, chère, because I'm willing to wait for you. For as long as it takes."
"And what if I...never can...give myself to you?"
"I think you will, because what we both want is stronger than your fear. But I'm not going to make demands. I told you that."
She gave him a tiny nod.
"If I leave you, will you be all right? Will the nightmares come back?"
"I don't know," she answered. "But we'd both better try to get some sleep."
"Okay."
In fact he lay awake long into the night — aroused and angry with the bastards who had torn Julienne's life to shreds.
Downstairs the next morning, he assessed the extent of the damage to the hall floor. Someone had made tiny cuts in the old wood — cuts that had allowed the boards to give way under Julienne's weight. He was pretty sure her lowlife brothers had been in the house.
Last night she'd been worried that he'd think she was involved. No way! At least he could thank the Lord it hadn't happened when she was here alone, he thought as he got out a hammer, chisel, and crowbar and began removing rotten wood.
He had pulled up most of the damaged boards when he heard her footsteps above him — moving around the upper part of the house.
His breath stilled as he silently acknowledged that he'd been listening for her all along.
It seemed to take forever for her to reach the hall. Then, looking up he saw her coming down the stairs. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a golden cloud. And she'd changed from jeans and a shirt into a soft pink and green shift that flowed around her legs, accenting her slender beauty. In the morning light she looked different. More relaxed. Younger. Freer.
As he stared at her, he saw color come into her cheeks.
"Hi," she said, her voice low and throaty. Then, "The nightmare didn't come back, and this morning...I woke up feeling...better."
"I'm glad."
"I mean better than I have in weeks. You make me feel strong," she added. "Strong enough to fight for what I want."
He thought he understood what she was telling him, and joy leaped inside him. He might have gone to her then and folded her into his arms, but he didn't want her to think he was pushing to satisfy his own needs.
Before he could respond, she gestured toward the pile of boards and went on quickly, "You must have been up early."
"I wanted to get this fixed as soon as possible."
"Have you eaten breakfast?"
"Just coffee." He picked up some wood and loaded it into the wheelbarrow that he'd brought into the hall. "It's pretty dark in here. I should put a barrier up so nobody falls into this hole."
"Not on my account. I'm not going to forget it's there."
"I guess not."
"Can I help you?"
"I'm fine."
"Then I'll fix you something to eat. How does old-fashioned Cajun-style French toast sound?"
"Pan-perdue? Wonderful."
He wheeled the load of refuse down the hall, through the kitchen and out onto the back porch, where he dumped it into a canvas carrier.
From the top of the steps he stood looking out at the overgrown foliage in back of the house — the water oaks draped with Spanish moss. The thicket of cane that had grown to twice the size he remembered. Here in the bayou country, plants grew quickly, and in the time that the property had been neglected, unruly nature had invaded the once manicured garden.
Back beyond the cane thicket was an area that his father had used as a dumping ground. He could stow the wood there — along with the other debris that he hauled out of the house.
The path to the place was almost obliterated, but he could just make it out from his vantage point on the porch. Slinging the carrier over his shoulder, he started into greenery — then froze as he heard the sound of steel jaws snapping shut.…
Julienne hummed an old Cajun dance tune to herself as she cracked eggs into a bowl. Outside, the sultry warmth of another day was building. She had heard people complain about the steamy Louisiana heat. But she loved it. Loved being back at Belle Vista.
Then the morning calm was shattered by a shout.
She knew instantly that it was Chase. And it sounded as though he was in some kind of trouble out in the swampy area beyond the house.
Lord, she'd been feeling so at home. Now she remembered the dangers of this place. What if he'd come upon a gator or a poisonous snake, or even a bear? All of them had been known to venture near the house at one time or another.
Flinging open the kitchen door, she looked wildly around but didn't spot him immediately.
"Chase?"
"I'm fine. Don't come out here."
Ignoring the warning, she crossed the porch, shading her eyes as she followed the sound of his voice. Finally she spotted his head and shoulders through a screen of foliage about 50 feet away. With no thought for her own safety, she pounded across the porch, then sprinted down the back steps. Crossing the yard at a dead run, she made for the tangle of greenery beyond the house.
He shot her a warning look. "Get back."
"No." Plowing ahead she found him hunkered down in the dirt.
As she drew up beside him, he looked down toward the ground. When she followed his gaze, she saw that the toe of his work boot was caught in the massive jaws of a steel animal trap.
On a gasp, she knelt beside him, staring in dumb-eyed horror at the wicked-looking teeth that bit into the leather. "Chase! Are you all right?"
"Yeah. But I'd be better if you went back to the house."
"Not until I know your foot is all right."
He sighed. "It is. But I'm damn lucky I have on these steel-toed shoes — or this thing would be embedded in my foot right now." His features were set in grim lines as he studied the mechanism. Then he sprang the catch and began to ease the saw-toothed jaws open. Once his boot was free, he untied the lace and eased it off, carefully inspecting his foot.
Julienne held her breath until she saw that the sharp points had missed his flesh.
"Let's get out of here," he grated. "There could be other traps like this one out here — and Lord knows what else. I don't want you outside again until I make sure the area is secure."
Despite the heat, she shivered. She'd already walked around the house several times, inspecting the state of the property. It was only by dumb luck that she hadn't come this way.
When he slung his arm around her shoulder as he led her back to the house, she pressed herself tightly to his side.
They climbed the porch together, and he carefully shut the door, then turned to face her.
"Will you promise me you'll stay inside until I check the rest of the property?"
"I can't hide in here."
"Do you know how I'd feel if something happened to you?" He stopped and swallowed. "Like I'd lost a major part of myself."
"Oh. Chase. That's the way I feel. If something happened to you, I'd lose everything."
"I'm here. I'm fine! I'll be here for as long as you want me."
Though the words were uttered with an underlying passion, he stood unmoving.
"Chase." Julienne whispered his name, because he filled her universe. She had been dead inside for months. Scared. Unsure of how she was going to face life. Now she knew. If she had the guts to reach for what she wanted.
And she understood she was the one who must do the reaching. Because he'd said he wasn't going to push her into anything she didn't want. And he meant to keep that promise.
When she couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer, she raised her face toward his. Still, he held himself rigid.
Last night she had told him she wanted to kiss him. What she'd really wanted was to make love with him. But she'd been afraid to act on her desire. She wasn't going to let fear stand in her way again.
With a heady feeling of power, she took a step closer and brushed her lips against his. It was only the barest contact, but all the good things she'd felt the night before came swirling back over her like a shower of stars raining down from a black velvet sky.
Slowly she experimented with the pleasure of it, rubbing her mouth back and forth against his, increasing the pressure, nibbling, taking his lip between her teeth, then easing up.
"Do I have to do all the work?" she asked, her mouth millimeters from his.
"No," he answered in a strangled voice, just before his mouth took command and his arms tightened around her.
The kiss went from warm to white-hot in the space of a heartbeat. He angled his head, his mouth skilled and hungry, so that her knees weakened — she needed to anchor her hands against his shoulders.
When he silently asked her to open her lips, she did his bidding — then shivered with delight as his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking, arousing.
This was what she'd craved from him all along, she thought with the last shreds of coherence her brain possessed, the two of them caught in the eye of a storm, so that the only hope of survival lay in clinging together. At the same time, a tiny grain of fear wavered at the edge of her consciousness.
She had asked for this. She wanted this. But the idea of giving up control was still daunting.
He must have sensed her uncertainty, because he raised his head.
"Chère," he murmured gently, "I asked you to tell me if I was going too fast for you. I mean it."
"You're not."
"I think I am. I think we'd better slow down a little."
He stepped back so that several inches of space separated them. With his body heat gone, a chill swept over her, and she cupped her hands convulsively around her shoulders.
"Chase — don't stop."
He had been looking at her. Now his eyes were fixed on some point outside the window.
As she watched, his expression changed from passionate to angry.
"Chase, what is it?"
Instead of answering her, he swore.…
"Chase, what's wrong?" Julienne repeated.
"I saw somebody outside the house!"
"But..."
"One of your brothers. Hugo or Wyatt. I haven't seen them in a long time, so I don't know which it was. But I recognized the profile — the big beak of a nose. The jutting jaw."
She shook her head in denial. But even as she tried to tell herself it couldn't be true, she was turning toward the window, scanning the foliage behind the house. The scene was just as she had remembered it — the water oaks draped with Spanish moss. The cypress trees beyond them. The cane thicket. Yet now she wondered who might be lurking in the dappled shade.
"I'm going up to get my gun," Chase said. "You stay here — away from the windows."
She didn't want him to leave her, but she didn't protest as he strode toward the hall. Before she could draw in a dozen shallow breaths, he was back beside her, the gun in his hand.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going out there. You stay inside. Promise me that!"
She nodded.
"Promise! Say it."
"Okay. I promise to stay inside." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she closed her fingers around his arm. "You should stay inside, too."
"I'm not going to hide in here — waiting for them to do Lord knows what. Suppose they decide to set the house on fire?"
"Would they do something like that?"
"I don't know. If they're crazy enough to set traps, they're crazy enough to do anything."
Unwillingly, she nodded. Then her heart was in her throat as Chase opened the back door. Crouching low, he sprinted across the yard. As he did, she heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot break the morning silence.
One of her brothers was shooting at him!
"Chase! Chase, are you all right?" she called out.
"Stay in there," he shouted.
The gun sounded again, and she knew she had made a terrible mistake. She'd forced him to call out to her, and that meant he'd given away his location.
Cursing herself for a fool, she looked around the kitchen, wondering what she could use for a weapon.
Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat when she thought about attacking one of her brothers with a saucepan or a skillet.
Then she sobered. She and Chase needed help — real help.
But from whom?
This morning, she'd stopped in his room to make his bed, because she'd wanted to touch the sheets where he'd slept.
Now, as she recalled the room, she remembered a cell phone lying on the old dresser.
Which meant that she could call the police. There was no hesitation on her part. The enemy out there might be her own flesh and blood, but her brothers had severed their ties with her weeks ago. She'd come to them in her hour of greatest need — when she'd had nowhere else to go. And they'd turned her away with a coldness that had cut her to the bone.
Quickly she sprinted for the steps, taking them two at a time. Then she was pounding down the hall to Chase's room.
The phone was on the dresser where she'd seen it. Snatching it up, she pressed the on button. The screen came to life, and she started to punch in 911.
Before she could finish dialing, the display flickered and dimmed, and she saw, to her horror, that the battery indicator on the lower right corner of the screen was showing almost no power was left.
With a sick feeling, Julienne put the cell phone where she'd found it on the dresser. It was out of power — probably because the electricity in the house wasn't turned on yet, and there was nowhere for Chase to recharge the battery.
So there was no way she could summon help. Not unless she drove into town. And that would probably be too late to help Chase.
No, the two of them were on their own.
As she stood in the middle of the room trying to decide what to do, she heard two more shots outside.
Chase? One of her brothers?
She pressed the flat of her hand to her lips. She didn't know what to do, but she knew she couldn't stay up here.
Feeling sick and shaky, she started down the stairs. It wasn't until she reached the bottom riser that she saw the figure standing just inside the hall.
It was Hugo, his dark eyes fixed on her and a gun in his hand.
As she stared at him, her heart started to pound so wildly in her chest that she could barely breathe.
Going very still, she tried to calm herself, tried to think. Then as she raised her chin, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Making sure Rousseau property doesn't end up in the wrong hands — Melancon hands."
"It's not Rousseau property. Grandfather left it to Chase."
"Chase Melancon is scum. He's stolen what's rightfully ours."
"He hasn't stolen anything. It was a gift, because Grandfather knew he'd take care of Belle Vista, chèreish it, and you and Wyatt would just sell it to support your dissolute lifestyle."
Hugo made a snorting sound. "Well, aren't you high-and-mighty. Gotten over that incident at the office, have you?"
Her temper flared. "How dare you talk to me like that."
He laughed. "I see Melancon's made you feel a lot better about yourself. It was never any use warning you about him — was it? You were hot for him when you were just a kid. Now you've come back to be his whore. A clever way to get a piece of the pie."
"How can you be so coarse?"
He laughed in her face, and she saw all the bitterness he'd built up over the years. She'd always been her grandfather's favorite. And she'd always known her brothers hated her for it. She'd also known that they were grasping and manipulative. It was only recently that she'd realized how truly rotten they were. But how far would they go? Would Hugo shoot his own sister?
Before she could answer that question, a bloodcurdling scream from outside split the air.
Then men were shouting. It sounded like more than two voices, but she couldn't be sure what was happening or who was out there. Maybe her brothers had brought reinforcements.
Hugo whirled toward the door, and Julienne took that opportunity to escape. Clearing the stairs, she dashed down the hall — keeping to the right side, where the wood was intact. As soon as she passed the hole where Chase had removed the damaged boards, she angled to the left, hugging the wall as she went.
"Come back here!" Hugo shouted, taking off after her.
Praying that the light was too dim for Hugo to see exactly where he was going, she sprinted for the kitchen.
"Stop or I'll shoot," he warned, and she braced for the impact of a bullet in her back.…
The gun never fired. Instead, Julienne heard a terrible scream as Hugo reached the hole in the floor and plunged through.
She heard him scream again. "My leg. It's my leg."
Then he was silent. She found the flashlight that Chase had been using and crept to the hole. Hugo held up his hand to her, then let it drop back.
"I'm hurt bad," he moaned.
"Just lie still," she told him. "We'll get you medical help — then call the police."
"I'm your brother. You can't turn me over to the police," he gasped.
"You're no brother of mine. Not after what you've done. You and Wyatt are a disgrace to the Rousseau name."
She saw a shadow in the hall and looked up to find a man standing in the doorway. It wasn't Chase.
When she cringed away from him, he called her name. "Julienne, it's all right. I'm Chase's friend, Tyler Belton. It looks as though I picked a good time to pay you a visit." He looked inside the hole at the injured Hugo.
"I met up with Chase and some trouble outside. Chase asked me to come inside to tell you he's okay, and to help you. But it looks as if you have the situation in here under control."
She stared at Tyler Belton, remembering his name from long ago. One summer Chase had gotten into some trouble and been sent to a camp for delinquent boys. The experience had toughened him. But he'd also come home talking about the friends he'd made — Tyler Belton and two others boys whom she'd probably remember if she heard their names.
"What — what are you doing here?" she stammered.
"It's a long story. I'm a federal agent, but no one knows I'm here because of an undercover assignment that went bad." Tyler shrugged. "So I can't stick around, but I called the police for you." He moved toward the open door.
"Wait."
Tyler turned to face her. "I can't. I'll be back when I can."
Then he was gone, and she wondered whether she'd only dreamed him.
Hours later Julienne lay on her bed, her mind still trying to cope with the events of the past few hours. The police had carted her no-good brothers away. Chase had told her what had happened outside.
Tyler had shown up, and the two of them had closed in on Wyatt, giving him no choice but to flee into the swamp — where he'd stumbled into one of the traps he'd set. That was the scream she'd heard outside — the trap springing on his foot. Only, his shoes hadn't been sturdy enough to stop the metal teeth from digging into his flesh.
Now everybody was gone, and all she felt was relief that her brothers wouldn't be able to hurt her or Chase.
She looked up and found him standing in the doorway, watching her.
"Are you all right?" he asked, taking a step inside the room. "I mean, after everything that's happened?"
She sat up and held out her arms, and he came to her, clasping her tightly.
"Now I'm fine," she murmured.
"You need to rest."
"I was resting. Now I need to pick up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted." Before he could protest again, she pressed her lips to his. At the first contact of his mouth on hers, she felt time fold back on itself. They were where they'd been before the shooting had started. Back into the eye of the hurricane.
Only now her feelings were sharper — sweeter. Because in the hours since Chase had held her, she knew she'd almost lost him. "Chase, make love to me," she whispered.
"You're sure that's what you want?"
"Don't you?"
"It doesn't matter what I want."
"Yes, it does."
She found his hand and brought it to her breast.
He sucked in a sharp breath as he cupped his palm around her, then gently stroked his fingers back and forth across her hardened nipple.
She sighed with pleasure. "Oh Lord, that's so good."
"Oh yes."
"Chase, I want everything — everything a man and a woman can give each other."
"I want that, too. Because I love you."
"Oh, Chase. I love you so much!"
He searched her eyes, saw that she spoke the truth. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to make this perfect for you."
It was hard to say the words, but she knew she had to tell him what would work for her when they made love.…
"I want to make love with you so much. But maybe it would be better if we don't lie down. If I don't have to worry about your weight pressing over me, I won't be frightened," Julienne whispered.
Chase nodded, then slipped off his shoes and scooted back, propping his shoulders against the wall as he had the night before, and she came into his arms. He folded her close, then turned to kiss her cheek, her hair, her eyebrows, murmuring loving words.
When she stayed where she was, he locked his eyes with hers and slowly lowered the zipper of her shift. Slipping his hands inside, he splayed them against her flesh.
His hands played with her back, then slid up and down her ribs, touching the sides of her breasts. She sighed with pleasure, then whispered, "I want more."
"All you have to do is tell me how much — and when."
She nodded, knowing that she had to convince him that she was ready for this. So she angled away from him, then boldly pulled her dress over her head and unhooked her bra.
When she'd tossed them both away, she raised her eyes to his again.
His gaze was dark and heated and worshipful. "Lord, I knew you'd be beautiful," he murmured, reaching to gently touch her. "I didn't know you'd be stunning."
He gave her tiny, provocative kisses as he caressed her breasts, then discarded his own shirt and pulled her into his arms — the touch of his naked skin against hers setting off shocks of pleasure along her nerve endings.
He seemed to know what would feel good, what would drive her higher and yet higher, so that there was only the joy of being with him like this.
Nothing with him felt forced or false. It was all so tender, so natural, so thrilling that she wondered why she had ever been afraid of giving herself into his care.
His hands moved over her body, finding what gave her the most pleasure. And as he touched her and whispered words of love, he healed the pain in her heart and in her spirit.
When they were both naked and he had made her ready for him, he urged her onto his lap, facing him, her legs straddling his.
She felt a moment of hesitation then.
He gave her a soft kiss. "chère, we don't have to go any further. Not tonight. There's plenty of time for everything."
"This is the time, Chase. Our time."
She raised her hips, then lowered them, bringing him inside her, a high sound escaping from her throat as his body joined with hers.
He went absolutely still, and she knew he was still offering her the chance to stop. Instead she gave him a tremulous smile, and the smile turned to triumph as she took him more deeply inside her. For a trembling moment she felt overwhelmed. Then she began to move again, slowly at first.
His lips were at her ear, telling her how wonderful she felt, clasping him so tightly. And his hands stroked her breasts, stroked her most sensitive flesh, building her need to heights she had never imagined. The rhythm became fast and frantic. She gasped, clutched his shoulders, feeling her body clench and release in a cascade of ecstasy.
And then her joy was complete as she heard his shout of satisfaction and knew that he had followed her into paradise.
Luxuriously limp, she sagged against him.
"Oh, Chase," she murmured. "That was beautiful."
"Oh yes," he agreed, kissing her lips and then her cheek.
Julienne still floated on a current of pleasure as Chase stretched her out beside him, pulled the sheet over them, and gathered her in his arms.
"How are you?" he whispered as his lips skimmed the tender place where her hair met her cheek.
"Wonderful. Chase, you healed me. You knew how to make me whole again."
His arm tightened around her. "I only did what I've been wanting to do for years."
"You did it very well," she whispered, snuggling against him.
No woman had ever been so chèreished or so loved, she thought as she relaxed in his embrace, relaxed into the most satisfying sleep she'd had in months.
Some time later, she felt his lips graze her cheek. "Want to get up and have breakfast?"
"Breakfast! We never did have it, did we?"
"We can cook it together," he said, climbing out of bed, giving her a view of his magnificent body as he found the jeans he'd discarded and pulled them on.
He probably knew she was feeling a little shy, because he left before she slipped out of bed.
By the time she'd dressed in her shift again and come downstairs to the kitchen, he was already expertly frying the toast.
"I see you didn't need my help."
He grinned. "I can do the easy stuff."
She set the table, then ducked outside and gathered some blue chicory flowers that had rooted at the side of the house, placing them in one of her grandfather's best cut-glass vases.
"Nice," Chase complimented her, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.
"Next time, I'll find something fancy."
"I don't need fancy. I like homey."
A few minutes later, as they sat across the table from each other, he rubbed his bare foot against her leg and said, "I haven't told you my plans for Belle Vista."
"I'd like to hear them," she answered, leaning eagerly toward him.
"I want to fix up the house — and the garden. Then I'm going to turn it into a B and B."
"That sounds like a fine idea."
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. "Do you want to do it with me? Do the decorating — then help me run the place?"
She raised her eyes and stared at him.
She saw a smile flicker on his lips. "I guess I'm really asking if you want to marry me,"
Taken by surprise, she heard her fork clatter to her plate.
His expression turned wary. "You don't like the idea?"
She turned her palm up, gripped his hand more tightly. "I love the idea," she answered. "I've wanted to be with you for so long. But I thought it was just a dream that was never going to come true."
"It was like that for me, too," he agreed. She saw him swallow before continuing. "Then when I came back here and found you waiting for me, I was too shocked to admit what I was really feeling."
She kept her gaze steady on his. "Chase, I didn't come here by accident. Before Grandfather died, he told me about his will. He told me to come back here — to you. He said he'd realized that you and I belonged together. He wanted to give this place to both of us, and that was the only way he could do it. Because he knew if he left it to me, you'd be too proud to come back here and accept 'charity' from a Rousseau."
It was Chase's turn to look stunned. "He said all that?"
She nodded. "I was afraid to trust his judgment. Afraid you wouldn't want me. Then I knew that coming back to you was the only way to…to make myself whole again."
"It took courage to come here."
She gave a little shake of her head. "I was scared. But wanting to be with you was stronger than my fear."
"Thank the Lord," he murmured.
"And now I'm so happy," she whispered around the lump in her throat. "I never thought I'd be happy again. But here we are having this meal together, like it's the most natural thing in the world — and at the same time, the most astonishing, magical thing."
"It is," he answered, his voice thick with emotion. "All of that."
She smiled at him through her tears, clasping him more tightly, their locked hands the link to the past and their present and the rich future that waited for them.