Once in Paris. Diana Palmer
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the painting in the Louvre. He was beautifully made, a work of art in himself, with not a white streak or a bulge or a hint of fat anywhere. Fine hair shaded the most intimate part of him, and she hesitated with the slacks around his knees, with her heart beating her to death as she stared helplessly at where he was most a man.
It was a good thing, he thought dimly, that he was drunk, because her rapt expression would have triggered a raging arousal any other time. As it happened, he was too relaxed to feel desire at all, and for her sake, he was glad. She found him intimidating even in relaxation. He permitted himself a small upturn of the lips as he considered her expression if she saw him in full arousal.
That, of course, would never happen. Margo was dead. He was dead, inside and out. The brief amused light in his eyes went out. He lay back on the pillows with a long sigh.
“Why do people have to die?” he asked wearily. “Why can’t they go on forever?”
She broke out of her trance and finished stripping him, before she tugged the coverlet over his hips to spare herself any more embarrassment.
“I wish I knew,” she confided. She sat down beside him on the bed. Her hand went to rest on his where it spread over his chest. “Try to get some sleep now. It’s the best thing for you.”
His eyes opened, searching, haunted. “She was only thirty-five,” he said. “That’s no age at all these days.”
“I know.”
His hand turned and caught hers, smoothing it palm down into the thick hair that covered him. “White knights come in both sexes, it seems,” he mused drowsily. “Where’s your armor and lance, fair Joan?”
“In my pocket. Want to see?”
He smiled. “You’re good for me. You chase the clouds away.” He studied her. “But I’m bad for you. A very bad influence.”
“It was only a sip of whiskey,” she reminded him.
“And a striptease,” he added blithely. “I’m sorry about that. If I’d been more sober, I wouldn’t have put you in such an embarrassing situation.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I’d seen that painting in the Louvre, among others, after all.” She cleared her throat. “He really was, uh, stunted, wasn’t he?”
He chuckled with pure delight.
“Sorry.” She pulled her hand away and got to her feet. “Can I bring you anything before I go?”
He shook his head. It was already beginning to hurt, despite the stupor. “I’ll be all right now. You’d better get back to school. Did you get in trouble for cutting that class?”
She chuckled. “Not a bit. I’ll finish next month.”
“Then where do you go?”
She looked forlorn for an instant before she disguised it. “Oh, back to Nassau, I guess, for the summer. But next fall, it’s university, whatever they say, even if I have to pay for it myself. I’m already a year behind the class I should be in. I’m not waiting any longer.”
“I’ll pay for it if they won’t,” he said, surprisingly. “You can pay me back when you have your degree.”
“You would…do that for a total stranger?”
He frowned slightly. “Total stranger?” he asked pointedly. “When you’ve seen me totally nude?”
She couldn’t manage a response.
“Which is something of an accomplishment, let me tell you. Until now, Margo was the only woman who ever saw me like that.” His eyes became dull again. He winced.
She put her fingers against his cheek in a comforting gesture. “I envy her,” she said genuinely. “It must have meant everything to her, to be loved like that.”
“It was mutual,” he managed to say through his teeth.
“Yes, I know.” She drew her hand away with a little sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t stop it from hurting so much.”
“You can’t imagine how much you’ve helped,” he replied solemnly. “The day I was in the Louvre I was looking for a way to get to her, did you know?”
She shook her head. “I only knew that you seemed totally alone and despondent.”
“I was. You eased the pain. Today, it came back, and you were there.” He searched her pale eyes. “I won’t forget that you pulled me back from the edge. Whatever you need, I’ll be around. I have a house of my own in Nassau, not too far from Brauer’s. When things get too hot, you can always come visiting.”
“It would be nice to have a friend in Nassau,” she confessed.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t have a friend. At least, I didn’t.” He laughed coolly. “You’re a damned funny friend for a man my age.”
She smiled. “I was going to say the same thing.”
“So people will talk. Let them.” He caught her hand and brought the palm to his mouth. It was firm and cool against the faint moisture under her fingers. “I’ll see you again, Brianne.”
“I know.” She got to her feet, and her eyes lingered on his broad, dark face. “You have to look ahead, you know,” she said gently. “One day, it won’t be so hard. You must have things you haven’t done that you’ve always wanted to, designs that you haven’t tried yet, projects to complete.”
He stretched a little sorely. “For the past two years, I took care of Margo while the cancer ate her alive. It’s not easy, learning to live for myself. I don’t have anyone to take care of.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Don’t look at me. I’m independent, I am.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re a miracle,” he said unexpectedly. “Maybe guardian angels really do exist and you’re mine. But it’s reciprocal. I get to be yours. Pick the college you want. I’ll get you in, even if it’s Oxford. I have connections everywhere.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You don’t look like anyone’s fairy godfather.”
“Appearances can be deceptive. I’ve never seen a father confessor with long blond hair, either.”
She chuckled. “I’m going.”
“Go on, then. Thank you,” he added.
“It was no trouble. You’re worth saving from yourself.” She paused at the bedroom door and looked back, a little less bubbly now. “You…will be all right, won’t you?” she asked. “I mean, you won’t do anything…”
He leaned up on an elbow. “I won’t do anything,” he promised solemnly.
She made an awkward movement, a little unsure of herself. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” he replied.
She opened the door, hesitated.
“I know you don’t want to go,” he said, his voice deep and a little curt. “But you have to.”
She looked at him over her shoulder with huge, curious eyes. “I don’t understand,” she murmured worriedly.
“We’ve learned more about each other in a lot less time than people usually do,” he explained. “It’s a kind of bonding that I haven’t experienced, either.” He smiled dryly. “Don’t worry about trying to understand it. Friendship is a rare thing. Just accept it.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“Wait a minute. Hand me my slacks.”
“You’re going with me?” she mused, handing them to him.
“Funny girl,” he muttered darkly. “I’d fall down the elevator shaft in my present condition. No. I want