what?”
“I don’t know your name.”
The man threw her a startled glance. “I didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“It’s Shay.”
“Shay?” The name fit him—short, to the point and intensely masculine.
“Shay—”
She stopped him before he could continue. “Shay’s enough. It doesn’t seem right for you to have two names when I can’t even remember one.” Besides, she thought, a complete name would make this episode too concrete to live forever in her memory, as it must. “Shay is what nationality, originally?”
“My family’s as Irish as they come—shanty Irish, you know, the kind that kept the saloons in business? They came down the Ohio River during the potato famine and ran out of money in Cincinnati, so they stayed. At least that’s how the family legend has it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with starting at the bottom of the ladder.”
“And you’d know about that how, sweetheart?”
“What do you mean?”
He slid her a probing look. “You’ve never seen the bottom of a ladder in your life. You’ve got that high-class look that comes from centuries of good breeding—like some kind of royalty. Maybe I’ll just call you Princess instead of Red. I kind of like that.”
Princess. He was very observant, but she hated to be called that. Her father had always called her his little princess right before he issued some directive sure to choke her independent spirit. “You are a Yankee, then. I wondered about your accent.”
He chuckled. “I’m not the one with the accent. Not when it takes you three times as long to say a sentence as it does me.”
Juliette arched her brow, giving him her sauciest look. “We don’t see much need to rush in New Orleans. We like to take it slow and easy.”
“Yeah, N’awlins—the Big Easy. They told me.”
“Who did?”
His face tightened. “Just some people I work with, is all.”
“What type of—”
“We’re here.” Shay pulled up to the curb in front of a charming, four-story house, an old family home that had obviously been converted into a series of apartments. An elaborate wrought-iron fence surrounded the gardens that embraced an aged brick facade. Window boxes spilling vines and flowers hugged the side of the building in the cool rain. He turned off the engine, but didn’t move. “This is where I live.”
Juliette peered through the side window. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s a sublet. Just temporary.”
“You aren’t planning on staying in New Orleans, then?” She held her breath. It would be better for her peace of mind if he wasn’t around to tempt her after tonight.
“I’m only here to wrap up some business and then I head back north.”
“I see.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, each was reluctant to make a move. Finally Shay said, “The rain looks as if it’s letting up a bit. We’d better get inside before it changes its mind.”
Juliette smiled. “Good idea.” Before I do, too, she thought.
Shay slipped out the side door and came around to open hers, reaching down a hand to draw her from the car. “Careful, there’s a big pud—” Juliette landed with both feet in a puddle that flooded over her shoes “—too late.” Shay reached for her. “Ah damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t see that when I pulled up.”
Juliette laughed as his arms encircled her waist. “It could be worse. I could be drowning.”
Shay grinned back. “Atta girl, that’s the spirit.”
At his words, Juliette felt as if she’d just been awarded the medal of honor. She could feel herself blushing, even though the rain was cool. “Thank—oohh!” He startled her as he yanked her from the puddle, swept her up into his arms without further conversation and headed for the iron gate. As if on cue, the skies opened, drenching them anew as Shay carried her up the sidewalk.
“Much more of this and we’re both gonna drown,” he muttered as he stepped onto the porch. He shouldered his way through the front door, then stopped in the vestibule, shifting Juliette in his arms and muttering under his breath.
Her arm went around his neck—for balance, she told herself, not because she wanted to get closer to him or anything. “Am I too heavy?” She’d said it automatically, praying he wouldn’t release her yet. She could feel his strength, the hard muscles of his arms and chest tense against her body. All she had to do was turn slightly to touch his lips with hers. It was tempting, very tempting.
“Heavy?” Shay grinned down at her. “Since when are sprites heavy?”
“A sprite?” She was sure her eyes were starting to twinkle as she stared into his. His green eyes were glowing, and he tightened his arms as if he didn’t want to let her go any more than she wanted him. “That’s rather fanciful, isn’t it? For a man who doesn’t believe in fairy tales?” she teased, just to see what he would do.
Shay scowled as a stain of red slashed across his cheekbones. “I need my key to get in the other door,” he said gruffly.
“Where is it? Did you leave it in the car?”
“No. It’s in my pocket, but I can’t reach it while I’m holding you.”
“Then you’d better put me down.” She hoped he didn’t hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Yeah, maybe I should.” Despite his statement he held her a bit tighter. “But it’s not a heroic thing to do, not to a damsel in distress. Forget it—can’t do it. Not when you’re dripping from the knees down.”
“I’m still wet, whether you’re holding me or not,” Juliette said in a reasonable tone.
“True. We could be stuck here till your shoes dry. Unless…” His brows lifted in a hopeful expression.
“Unless?”
His expression changed. A glint sparked in his eyes. “You wanna get it for me?”
“Get what? Your key?” Juliette gave him a suspicious look, warned by the challenging light in his eye. “That depends on where it is.”
“Back pocket, right side.”
“Back—” He was definitely up to something—something more than taking her mind off the “sprite” compliment that had embarrassed him. At least, she’d taken it as a compliment. Sprites were lovely, magical beings to her. She caught his lips twitching and glanced up quickly to see a teasing glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you put me down?
