managed better with a little more time.”
“You look perfect.” He straightened and held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“I’m having a crew move you while we’re away.”
“M-move me?” Her heart and mouth stuttered. “Where?”
“To the estate. I’m giving you the old foreman’s house. It’s newly renovated. You’ll be quite comfortable.”
Her mind whirled. He wanted her to move to Maison Plaisir? Impossible! The thought of living so close, of never escaping his attention or having time away to fortify her resistance, left her shaking. She shivered, trying to think of a reasonable argument. “But I have six months on this lease.”
He waved a hand. “My man will settle with Mrs. Nolan. I’ll need you close at hand. Your keys…”
Feeling a little shell-shocked, she went to the key holder beside the door and began to slip off the house key.
A large hand closed around hers and took the entire ring. “Don’t worry about a thing. Your car will be moved too.” Then he reached around her and turned the doorknob.
A hand settled against the small of her back and guided her out the door and down the steps. She went as docile as a lamb.
Tilly angled her head toward her landlady’s window to see Mrs. Nolan with her nose pressed against the window. The whole town would know she’d left with Boone Benoit. Blood pounded in her ears. And, good Lord, she hadn’t yet informed Mae she was quitting the restaurant. She drew away from his hand. “I can’t go. I have things I have to do. Mae doesn’t know I’m quitting.”
“Jonesy’s already informing Mae Baillio you’ve left her employ.”
Anger flickered inside, warming her. “You had no right—”
Boone stepped closer, sucking away her air. “Don’t fight me, Tilly. You were going to say yes. I’m making this easy.”
This was happening too fast. She blinked at him—trying to read his expression, the stillness of his features, the rigidness of his posture. It would be easier not to have to face Mae or Leon or anyone else in the town. They’d try to dissuade her. Remind her about family loyalty. To them, she’d be working for the man who murdered her cousin. She was the only one who believed he hadn’t—she’d never believed it. She’d remembered his kindness with Denny, his patience over her cousin’s mercurial mood changes. Instinctively, she’d known Boone Benoit was no cold-blooded murderer. And now she possessed a clue, something that pointed at another suspect. Although the direction it pointed was one she couldn’t think about without being sick.
Boone stayed quiet as she composed herself, and then stepped back and bent his arm, offering it.
Aware Mrs. Nolan watched, she slowly curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, sucking in a breath at the contact. His skin was warm, the muscle beneath her fingertips hard as steel. Her heart raced; her cheeks flamed. But she lifted her chin and allowed him to lead her to the Bentley parked so absurdly in her driveway.
During the ride to the estate, their seats faced each other, knees nearly touching. Her back was to the driver, who was separated from them by a thick panel of glass to ensure their privacy. The smell of rich leather and masculine cologne reinforced how foreign this felt. How out of her element she was with this man.
She wanted to ask him again, why her? She didn’t buy the quick answer he’d given her the day before. Boone didn’t act impulsively. He couldn’t while running a successful multinational corporation. He’d planned this. So why her? Because she was Celeste’s cousin? Was he using her presence at the estate to thumb the noses of the workers, who’d carry word of her every move straight back to Bayou Vert? She hated to think that was the only reason. But she couldn’t imagine what else could be motivating him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“We’ll be in a helicopter in a few minutes,” she
“You look perfect.” He straightened and held out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“I’m having a crew move you while we’re away.”
“M-move me?” Her heart and mouth stuttered. “Where?”
“To the estate. I’m giving you the old foreman’s house. It’s newly renovated. You’ll be quite comfortable.”
Her mind whirled. He wanted her to move to Maison Plaisir? Impossible! The thought of living so close, of never escaping his attention or having time away to fortify her resistance, left her shaking. She shivered, trying to think of a reasonable argument. “But I have six months on this lease.”
He waved a hand. “My man will settle with Mrs. Nolan. I’ll need you close at hand. Your keys…”
Feeling a little shell-shocked, she went to the key holder beside the door and began to slip off the house key.
A large hand closed around hers and took the entire ring. “Don’t worry about a thing. Your car will be moved too.” Then he reached around her and turned the doorknob.
A hand settled against the small of her back and guided her out the door and down the steps. She went as docile as a lamb.
Tilly angled her head toward her landlady’s window to see Mrs. Nolan with her nose pressed against the window. The whole town would know she’d left with Boone Benoit. Blood pounded in her ears. And, good Lord, she hadn’t yet informed Mae she was quitting the restaurant. She drew away from his hand. “I can’t go. I have things I have to do. Mae doesn’t know I’m quitting.”
“Jonesy’s already informing Mae Baillio you’ve left her employ.”
Anger flickered inside, warming her. “You had no right—”
Boone stepped closer, sucking away her air. “Don’t fight me, Tilly. You were going to say yes. I’m making this easy.”
This was happening too fast. She blinked at him—trying to read his expression, the stillness of his features, the rigidness of his posture. It would be easier not to have to face Mae or Leon or anyone else in the town. They’d try to dissuade her. Remind her about family loyalty. To them, she’d be working for the man who murdered her cousin. She was the only one who believed he hadn’t—she’d never believed it. She’d remembered his kindness with Denny, his patience over her cousin’s mercurial mood changes. Instinctively, she’d known Boone Benoit was no cold-blooded murderer. And now she possessed a clue, something that pointed at another suspect. Although the direction it pointed was one she couldn’t think about without being sick.
Boone stayed quiet as she composed herself, and then stepped back and bent his arm, offering it.
Aware Mrs. Nolan watched, she slowly curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, sucking in a breath at the contact. His skin was warm, the muscle beneath her fingertips hard as steel. Her heart raced; her cheeks flamed. But she lifted her chin and allowed him to lead her to the Bentley parked so absurdly in her driveway.
During the ride to the estate, their seats faced each other, knees nearly touching. Her back was to the driver, who was separated from them by a thick panel of glass to ensure their privacy. The smell of rich leather and masculine cologne reinforced how foreign this felt. How out of her element she was with this man.
She wanted to ask him again, why her? She didn’t buy the quick answer he’d given her the day before. Boone didn’t act impulsively. He couldn’t while running a successful multinational corporation. He’d planned this. So why her? Because she was Celeste’s cousin? Was he using her presence at the estate to thumb the noses of the workers, who’d carry word of her every move straight back to Bayou Vert? She hated to think that was the only reason. But she couldn’t imagine what else could be motivating him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“We’ll be in a helicopter in a few minutes,” she
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