Midnight Bayou

on her neck chain as she spoke. A habit, he thought, she was probably unaware of.
    “I like your company, I like your looks. And I like making love with you. That’s all I have right now.”
    He took her into his arms. “I’ll take it.”

14
    L ena rolled over, slid along one pillow to the other. She heard singing—a deep, male voice in a dreamy refrain. And sighing, she ran her hand over the sheets.
    He wasn’t beside her in bed, but his warmth was.
    Opening her eyes, she blinked against the misty sunlight. She hadn’t meant to stay the night. But with Declan, her intentions often twisted around to meet his wishes. More, somehow his wishes circled until they ended up being hers as well.
    Clever man, she mused, yawning as she burrowed into the pillow. He rarely seemed to push, never appeared to be unreasonable. And always got his way.
    Damned if she didn’t admire him for it.
    Even now, though she’d have preferred waking in her own bed, she was glad she’d stayed. Her mood had been heavy, and a bit prickly, when she’d arrived. Seeing her mother usually had that effect on her. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about it, and had just enjoyed being with him.
    That was enough—and would have to be enough for both of them for as long as it lasted. Seeing Lilibeth was a stark reminder of the promises Lena had made to herself.
    To succeed, on her own terms. To live, precisely how she chose to live. And never, never to place her hopes, her needs, her wants in the hands of another.
    Declan would move along sooner or later. Everyone did. But she cared more this time, and would make a genuine effort to be and to remain friends.
    So, she’d would be very, very careful not to fall in love with him. Very careful not to hurt him while he believed he loved her.
    Her brow creased. She did hear singing. In the shower, she realized, Declan’s voice over the drum of water.
    “Long years have passed, child—I’ve never wed, true to my lost love, though she is dead.”
    An odd tune for a man to belt out in the shower, she thought, and found herself singing the refrain with him in her mind. After the ball is over, after the break of morn.
    Puzzled—where had those lyrics come from?—she rose and went to the bathroom door. She knew the tune, but more, she knew the words. The sad story of lack of faith, of death, melded to the romantic melody.
    And her heart was pounding. She felt the pulse of it jump in her throat.
    Dancing in the moonlight with the house a white beacon against the night. A girl in faded muslin, and the young man in elegant black tie. The smell of lilacs. Heavy and sweet.
    The air’s thick with flowers. So thick it’s hard to breathe. So thick it makes you dizzy as you spin around and around through the garden, along the bricks with the music playing.
    Dizzy, dizzy from the dance. Dizzy, dizzy from the fall into love.
    She swayed, reaching out to brace a hand against the door. But it opened, and steam poured out as she fell forward.
    “Whoa!” Declan caught her, scooped her off her feet. Still wet from the shower, his hair dripping onto her face, he carried her back to bed.
    “I’m okay. I just . . . lost my balance.”
    “Baby, you’re white as a sheet.” He brushed her hair back, rubbed her chilled hand between both of his. “What happened?”
    “Nothing.” Torn between confusion and embarrassment, she nudged him back to sit up. “I got up too fast, is all. Then I lost my balance when I reached for the door and you opened it. I’m fine, cher. Ça va. It’s just a little early for me to be up and around.”
    “I’ll get you some water.”
    “Sweetheart, don’t fuss. Simones aren’t swooning sorts.” She ran a finger over his chin. It was all fading away now, the song, the scent of lilacs, the giddy sense of reeling. “Though that handsome face of yours does take my breath away. You leave any hot water for me?”
    “Probably not.” He eased down to sit beside her. “I’ve got to replace that water heater. If you give it a half hour, it should come through for another shower.”
    “Mmm. Now what could I do with a half hour?” Laughing, she pulled him into bed.
    N ow that, Lena decided, was a much better way to start the day. She lingered over her first cup of coffee at the little table Declan had set up on the gallery outside his bedroom. As his breakfast pickings were slim at best, she’d settled on a bowl of Frosted Flakes and had watched him load his down with