light that hadn’t been upgraded. He was in the gloom but the glint in his eyes, the sexual intensity, was clear. So was the downward tilt of his lips and the tight movement of the small muscles in his jaw.
“That’s abrupt,” she said.
He pulled on her arm so she had to go up another step, and another. “It wasn’t abrupt. You’ve been taking up most of my mind for months. How about you, Eileen? Have I been on your mind?”
Without taking her eyes from his, she nodded.
His expression turned predatory, possessive—and determined.
If she wanted out of this, there wasn’t much time. There wasn’t any time.
Angel spread a hand behind her head and lowered his face over hers. He kissed her and she felt instantly weak, and wet, and wanted to get closer to him.
Eileen wanted to be naked with him.
She started hard enough for Angel to raise his face. A new element had appeared, a feverishness. “What?” he said. “You jumped.”
Parting her lips, Eileen stood on tiptoe and delivered her own kiss. She worked their mouths until he groaned and dragged her hard against him. She swayed a little and grabbed for him to steady herself.
Angel put an arm around her waist and walked her up to the gallery, kissing her repeatedly as they went. Without warning, he unzipped her sweat suit jacket and slid a hand inside. She hadn’t put on another top underneath. There was no mistaking his satisfaction when he weighed a breast, hooked a thumb inside her bra.
She pulled out his hand and moved away a little. “You believe in moving right along.”
“And you aren’t ready for that?” Angel said.
“You’re going to show me what else you’ve done to the house, remember?” That anxiety, that conviction that somehow she must be wanting when it came to being with men, returned. Chuck had always said she was boring in bed.
Angel took her from the gallery into a passageway. He reached through an open door and flipped a light switch. The room they entered wasn’t large. The walls were paneled with warm cherry; a deep window seat had yet to be finished, but the floor matched the paneling and, almost in the center of the room, stood a piece of furniture that made Eileen frown. “What’s that? Are you starting an ottoman collection?”
Walking around it, he put his fists on his hips and looked pleased with himself. “I could be. It’s a tête-à-tête.”
“So you say. It looks like a big, square ottoman to me, with a fat post in the middle. It’s really old, isn’t it?”
“It’s something else I salvaged from all the stuff that was here. I was told it would have been in a public room of some kind and people liked them, particularly the young and lovelorn, because it was easy to accidentally brush shoulders and arms while sitting side by side. Their legs might even have touched. Imagine that. All that pent-up desire in the heat of a Louisiana night and in a room much bigger than this one but packed with dashing young men, and girls with trembling white breasts spilling from their bodices.”
Eileen stared at him. She swallowed. “I can imagine it. I wouldn’t have expected you to.”
“I’m interested in the history of the area. Particularly the social history. I’ve had enough of war.”
“You and Finn fought together, didn’t you?”
“We met in a field hospital. We kept in touch.”
He wasn’t inviting her to probe further.
“I’m seeing a new side of you,” she said. “You’ll make this a fantastic house.”
“I’ll try. But I’m only showing you and talking about it to keep you with me.” He offered her a hand and she held it. “This is going to be part of the master suite. I’ll show you the best bit to date.”
Double doors, which he closed behind them, took her into an amazing bathroom. Tiled from floor to ceiling with large, unglazed white stone, a shower large enough for an intimate party sloped down from all sides, and had no doors. Stone benches lined the sides and several showerheads jutted from each wall.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Eileen said.
It was too intimate, too personal—but he knew that and had brought her here deliberately.
Angel turned a knob on the wall and she expected lights to brighten. Instead, a fan of white fabric finished like parchment swung open to reveal a skylight. Tonight she saw raindrops on the glass and heard more falling, but on a clear night it would be filled with stars.
She lost the battle to keep her attention away from a bathtub made of heavy glass. It stood on pewter feet in the center of the room and since vertical strips of mirror were incorporated into each wall there would be no way to bathe without seeing yourself from every angle.
And the tub was huge, curved, almost an oversize Victorian shape.
Eileen would not keep looking at that bath. “You must have brought in a designer,” she said. “What an imagination!”
“A guy over in Toussaint,” Angel said, “Marc Girard. Finn’s cousin Annie recommended him and he’s responsible for all the plans. He’s my architect, but someone in his firm consults on design.”
“I know Annie. She used to live in Pointe Judah.”
Small talk.
Another set of double doors, also closed, stood on the other side of the bathroom. Angel caught her looking at them. “That will be the bedroom but it’s pretty basic at this point. Okay to sleep in, though. I haven’t tried out the bath yet. I’m always in a hurry so I shower—not that the bath would be much fun on my own.”
The glow Eileen felt had to be visible. She must be luminous.
“Don’t you think there’s something sensual about water, Eileen?”
She drew in a breath through parted lips. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
He turned on the bathwater and almost at once, steam rose.
“What are you doing?” Eileen said.
“Showing you how it looks with water in it. We could put in some soapy stuff, if you like.”
How was she supposed to answer a comment like that? She didn’t.
Angel stopped smiling. He pulled his dark T-shirt over his head and Eileen took a step backward. His body shouldn’t be covered, ever. Muscle and sinew, every line defined. Not a millimeter of spare flesh. His jeans settled low on his hips and she couldn’t look away from his hard belly, the bands of muscle; the start of dark hair she didn’t have to see to know how the rest of it would look.
He walked straight at her, unsnapping his waistband as he came. When he reached her, Eileen backed up and kept backing up all the way to the wall where steam had dampened the tile. Her back hit solidly and she raised bent arms, palms out.
“We
