LITMIR.BIZ

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and truthfulness.

      “I’ll go with you, but on two conditions.”

      “Give it to me straight.”

      “I pay for my own ticket.”

      A hint of a smile softened his mouth. “Okay.”

      “And that you will not treat me as eye candy.”

      Lowering his head, Shiloh shook it slowly. “Now, that’s going to pose a problem because—”

      “Shiloh!” she chided, interrupting him.

      He wagged a finger at her. “Gotcha!”

      Gwen grabbed his finger. “I’d never figure you for a tease.”

      Shiloh sobered, his gaze betraying his thoughts. He wanted to tell Gwen that she was a tease. Everything about her face, body and intelligence teased and tantalized him.

      “Only with you,” he admitted. “Now if this knowledge goes beyond these walls, then my reputation as a tough lawman will be shattered completely.”

      “What goes on at Bon Temps stays at Bon Temps.”

      Shiloh wondered if Gwen had knowledge of the gatherings that took place when her namesake owned the property. And for a quick moment he wondered if history would repeat itself. After all, the present-day Gwendolyn had admitted she wanted to remain anonymous.

      “Promise?” he asked, lowering his head.

      There was a beat of silence before Gwen whispered, “I promise.” She wanted to tell Shiloh that he was too close, his virility too potent, and that she’d been without a man for too long, but the words were locked away in the back of her throat.

      His head dipped and he breathed a kiss on one cheek, then the other. His free arm circled her waist. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. This year’s event will be a masquerade ball.”

      Gwen felt as if she were drowning in his gold-green flecked eyes. “Why a masquerade?”

      Shiloh caught and held her entranced stare. “It depends on which organization hosts the event. Last year the chamber of commerce’s theme was Mardi Gras, and the year before, the fishermen association’s theme was a hoedown.” Releasing her waist, he took a backward step, leaving a modicum of space between them. “If you let go of my finger I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing.”

      Gwen released his finger as heat stole into her face. “I’m sorry.”

      Shiloh winked at her. “I’m not.” He winked at her again. “I’ll see you Friday.”

      “Friday,” she repeated.

      Shiloh hadn’t kissed her, really kissed, yet the feel of his lips so close to hers made her want more—so much more. He was a tease—a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man who made her forgo her promise not to date.

      He pocketed the envelope with her check. “Your donation will be put to good use.”

      “I’m glad I have it to give.”

      Shiloh turned on his heel and strode for the door, Gwen watching his retreat. She stood in the same spot long after he’d gotten into his car and driven away. The soft ring of the telephone on a side table shattered her entrancement with a man who made her pulse race a little too quickly whenever she saw him, a man who was as different from the men she’d known in Boston as night was from day.

      She reached for the cordless instrument. “Hello.”

      “How y’all doing?”

      Gwen smiled. “Very funny, Lauren. Did you get my e-mail?”

      “Yes. I’m sorry about not getting back to you sooner, but Cal and I just got back from New York. He was scheduled to meet with his publisher, so I went along and did some sightseeing and shopping. We ate at a wonderful restaurant in your favorite neighborhood.”

      “How is Harlem?” Gwen asked as she settled down in a large club chair.

      “Incredible. The changes are unbelievable with all of the gentrification. Enough talk about me. What’s happening with you?”

      Gwen gave her cousin a brief overview of her first week in the town, deliberately leaving out her encounters with Shiloh Harper. “The house is something out of Gone With the Wind, but on a smaller scale.”

      “Are you going to renovate it?”

      “No,” she answered truthfully. “I plan to restore it. The kitchen is the only room that doesn’t conform to the original plans. It’s the quintessential gourmet kitchen. As soon as I get the floors done I want you, Cal and the kids to come down for a visit.”

      “It’ll have to be after the children are finished with summer camp and before school begins.”

      Cradling the phone between her chin and shoulder, Gwen ran a hand through her hair. “Good. I hope to have everything completed or near completion by that time, and hopefully will have perfected a few regional dishes by the time you guys get here.”

      “Don’t forget to throw in a little social life along with your cooking and cleaning.”

      “I’m way ahead of you, cuz. I’m going to a masquerade ball Friday.”

      There was a pause on the other end of the wire. “Are you going alone?”

      Gwen wanted to say yes, but had never lied to Lauren. “No.”

      “Who are you going with?”

      “The local sheriff.”

      A soft gasp came through the earpiece. “Don’t tell me you met him when he pulled you over for speeding? I shouldn’t have to tell you that Louisiana isn’t Boston where you were on a first-name basis with every traffic and beat cop.”

      As a reporter Gwen had what most in the newspaper business called a bloodhound’s nose for a story, and early in her career she cultivated friendships with several high-ranking police officials, attending their fund-raisers and causes while reporting their acts of heroism in her column. She’d started at the Gazette as a crime reporter before she was reassigned to write the lifestyle column.

      “No, Lauren.” Gwen told her cousin how she came to meet Shiloh, leaving out the part where she wouldn’t get out of her car and he had to carry her across the road.

      “Does he at least look good in his uniform?” Lauren asked, giggling.

      “Yes, but I think he looks better out of it.” Shiloh wearing a shirt and jeans had the same impact on her as a man in formal attire; he carried himself with a commanding air of self-confidence that she hadn’t encountered in any of the men she knew.

      “You’ve seen him without his clothes?”

      Gwen sucked her teeth while rolling her eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mrs. Samuels. I was talking about civilian clothes, not his birthday suit. And if you say anything else I’m going to hang up on you.”

      “There’s no need to get hos-tile, Gwendolyn. I don’t need to remind you that each sunrise brings you one day closer to thirty-eight.”

      “Hel-lo. Test tube,” she countered in singsong.

      “I’m hanging up,” Lauren threatened.

      “Good night, cuz,” Gwen drawled, unable to stifle a laugh.

      The distinctive sound of a dial tone reverberated in her ear before she pressed a button and placed the receiver in its cradle. She’d teased Lauren about artificial insemination even though she preferred getting pregnant naturally. Gwen doubted whether she would ever choose something so impersonal as going to a sperm bank. Adoption was her first choice, but that was an option that had remained secret.

      Thinking of children reminded her of the upcoming fund-raiser to help needy families.

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