house.
Walking out of the sun-filled room she’d set up as her office, she went to answer the door. It was probably the head of the landscaping crew who’d come earlier that morning to cut and weed the grass, and prune the fruit trees and flower beds. The aroma of freshly turned earth, cut grass and flowering blooms wafted through the many screened-in windows.
Peering through the security eye, she saw the face of a young man in a tan uniform. He wore the same hat she’d seen on Shiloh the night he’d answered her nine-one-one call.
She opened the door. The star on the man’s shirt identified him as a deputy. “Good afternoon. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” she asked, reading his name badge.
Frank Lincoln removed his hat, cradling it to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his thick orange-red hair. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. I just came by to give you something from Sheriff Harper.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed her an envelope. “He said he’ll come by later to talk to you about it.”
Gwen took the envelope. She smiled at the deputy. “Please let Sheriff Harper I know I’ll be expecting him.”
Frank put back on his hat, grinning broadly. He’d recognized Gwendolyn Taylor as the woman who’d sat in the unmarked SUV with his boss. “You have a good day, Miss Taylor.”
She returned his friendly smile. “Same to you, Deputy.”
Gwen waited until he slipped behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove away before tapping the envelope against her palm and ripping off a corner. Opening the envelope she shook out two tickets. PAID, stamped in red, covered the face of the tickets for a fund-raiser given by the Bayou Policemen’s Benevolent Association for Needy Families.
She closed the door to keep out the sultry heat, smiling. She’d been so engrossed with cleaning Bon Temps that she’d forgotten her commitment to purchase two tickets for the fund-raiser.
Sitting on a formal high-back chair in the entryway, Gwen placed the envelope and tickets on a mahogany table. Fatigue washed over her and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t until she sat down that she became aware of how hard she’d worked, pushing herself to the point of exhaustion.
A knowing smile softened her mouth. She’d told Shiloh she was disciplined, focused, but he had countered, saying she was anal. He was right, but that was something she wouldn’t readily admit.
What she did not want to acknowledge was that she was an overachiever. From the first time she won a school-wide spelling bee, made the high school honor roll and finally the college’s dean’s list, Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor was motivated to come out on top at all costs. And she hadn’t needed a psychologist to tell her she was overcompensating and silently crying out for attention from her parents, who obsessed about their terminally ill son. Langston was gone, yet her drive for acceptance and approval continued until she turned thirty.
With her New Year’s resolution to streamline her life and her decision to relocate to Louisiana, she’d finally accepted that she hadn’t needed anyone’s approval except her own.
* * *
Shiloh slowed down as he maneuvered his sports car under a live oak allée, coming to a stop at the end of a circular driveway. He parked and turned off the engine. He’d called himself king of fools for chasing after Gwen Taylor, but there was something about her that wouldn’t let him stay away.
He’d lost count of the number of times he’d driven past the road leading to her house and hadn’t stopped to find out how she was settling in. What excuse would he use to explain his unannounced visit? He was certain Gwen would’ve recognized his deception if he told her that he was checking on residents in the area.
Shiloh reached for a decorative shopping bag on the passenger seat, opened the door to his Mustang convertible, stepped out, and glanced around him. The smell of grass and flowers hung in the air. It was a smell that had become an aphrodisiac, pulling him back to Teche even when he hadn’t wanted to stay.
Soft gold light spilled from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first story of the understated house with a full-height columned porch wrapping around the front and sides. He stepped onto the porch, rang the bell, waiting to come face-to-face with Gwen again. Less than a minute later he was met with the image of his ongoing musings bathed in light from an overhead fixture, and the sound of classical music.
His gaze moved over her features with the gentleness of an artist wielding a sable brush over a silk canvas. The unruly curls framed her face in sensual disarray, making her appear utterly wanton. The fitted halter dress displayed the fullness of her breasts and narrowness of her waist before flaring out around her hips and legs. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the color on her toes in a pair of black patent leather sandals was an exact match for her dress: vermilion red.
He smiled at Gwen as he handed her the shopping bag. “Good evening. Here’s a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Gwen stared up at the tall man in her doorway wearing an off-white, raw silk shirt, tailored black slacks, and Italian-made slip-ons, unable to ignore the tingling in the pit of her stomach. Despite her belief that she didn’t have the time or inclination to indulge in a romantic entanglement, she knew she’d been waiting to see Shiloh again, even before his deputy came by to inform her that his boss would be stopping by. He’d come not as Sheriff Harper, but as Shiloh.
“Why, thank you. But you didn’t have to. Besides, you’ve done enough.” Her hand brushed his as she reached for the bag. A shiver raced up her arm with the slight contact. She knew Shiloh felt it, too, because he jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned.
He angled his head and smiled, wanting to tell Gwen that there were other things he’d wanted to do with her that he hadn’t done with a woman in a long time. He wanted to take her to a place where they could eat, dance, and talk about any and everything.
“I don’t know if you drink, but it’s a bottle of French cognac.”
“Thank you.” Gwen grimaced. “I’ve forgotten my home training. Please come in.”
He stepped into the entryway, noticing the obvious changes immediately. The scent of roses came from a burning pillar anchored in pink sand in a large glass chimney on the handkerchief table flanked by two hall chairs.
“Your place looks very nice. How long did it take the cleaning people to finish?”
Gwen left the shopping bag on the table, then felt the heat from Shiloh’s gaze on her back as she led him into the living room. “I decided not to hire a cleaning company.”
Reaching out, he caught her upper arm and turned her around to face him. “You cleaned this place by yourself?”
Tilting her chin, she gave him a direct stare. “Yes, I did. It’s taken me a while, but I pretty much have everything under control. Right now I’m negotiating with the architectural firm that authenticated the furnishings to have them restore the moldings, ceilings, floors and walls.”
Shiloh shook his head, unable to believe she’d taken on the Herculean project by herself. “What were you trying to do, kill yourself?”
Gwen stared at the fingers gripping her bare arm. “Please let me go, Shiloh.” He complied and his hand fell to his side. “I’m sorry, sugah, but I’m not one of your hothouse Southern belles who wouldn’t think of cleaning her
