The Seducer. Jule McBride
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about kisses with Pansy was more unsettling than it should have been, and Rex tried to look less curious than he was. “This pirate, this stranger—he kissed Iris?”
Pansy’s cheeks flushed with such deep color that she, not Iris, could have been the recipient of the man’s bold move. “He stepped right up to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, hauled her to him and kissed her soundly.”
Clearly, Pansy had imagined all this in great detail. If Iris had looked anything like Pansy, Rex thought, he thoroughly understood the piratical impulse. “Go on.”
“Later,” she continued, her tone conspiratorial, “it was rumored that the pirate was a brother of Jean and Pierre Lafitte, and that he came North in eighteen twenty when his brothers fled to Mexico.”
“The plot thickens.”
“Well, keep in mind,” Pansy warned, “that the people who witnessed that kiss said it went on forever. It was so unusual that it ruined Iris for the suitors she was supposed to meet in New Orleans, and the cousins had to send her back to Storm Island unmarried. After that—” Pansy shook her head in censure. “Iris,” she clarified, “wouldn’t even go on any more dates.”
“And Storm Island was renamed Seduction Island?”
“Correct.”
Rex had become thoroughly mesmerized by the way Pansy’s mouth moved. Up, down. Back, forth. Puckered, slack. Any way he looked at it, he wanted to feel it on his. “Must have been some kiss.”
“Even after Iris returned home,” emphasized Pansy, “she continued turning men down.”
“Given that they kept trying, she must have been beautiful.”
“She was.”
“Runs in the family.”
“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