her now. Couldn’t understand why he would be fantasizing about her, a woman he’d just met. More disturbing, she couldn’t comprehend why that excited her.
“I’m referring to how you would like the restoration handled,” she said once the images dissolved.
He shifted slightly in the chair. “I prefer not to be involved at all. Unless you have no idea what you’re doing.”
That made her bristle, her defenses on high alert. “Any reason why you believe I wouldn’t know what I’m doing?”
“You’ve given me no evidence to believe that you do.”
How was she going to answer? Easy. By telling only a partial truth. “I have an interior-design degree. I’ve also supervised staffs and redecorated my own house in the past. I’ve even refinished furniture with my own two hands.”
“Was that before or after your tennis game with the ladies down at the club?”
She resented his condescending tone. Resented even more that he was right about her former life. “Actually, I believe that was the day I had tea with the Daughters of the Confederacy,” she said in her sweetest drawl. “Right before I went to my lessons on how to be genteel and polite even when confronted by ill-mannered jackasses. Those lessons seem to be escaping me now.”
He looked as if he might actually smile, but it didn’t quite form. “Are you calling me a jackass, Ms. Winston?”
If the moniker fits. She laid a dramatic hand above her breast. “Why, no, Mr. Morrell. That would be totally improper.”
Again he raked his gaze down her body and back up again. Slowly. “Nothing wrong with impropriety now and then, Selene.”
And no doubt he had that impropriety market cornered. He’d been brazen enough to call her by her given name. Bold enough to fantasize about her. And he hadn’t even bothered to stand…until that moment.
He came to his feet slowly and, as she’d guessed, he was an inch or two over six feet. His chest was lean, well defined and dusted with a layer of dark hair, his flat abdomen sporting a sequence of ridges above the waistband of his black slacks. His proximity alone jumbled her mind, hindered her breathing, as did his scent. A subtle clean scent that seemed perfectly in sync with the summer night, as if he were an integral part of the atmosphere. Mystifying, intoxicating, forbidden.
If he’d meant to intimidate her, it was working. But Selene wasn’t going to let that happen. Not anymore. Not by any man. Especially not a man like him, even if he was absolutely awe-inspiring—in a threatening kind of way.
But instead of backing up, she turned her attention to a pair of dark vines circling his solid bicep, a grouping of letters centered in the middle that spelled out the word Imperium. “Interesting tattoo. My Latin’s a little rusty. What does it mean?”
She lifted her eyes to find his gaze boring into her. “Absolute power.”
Both his declaration and his overwhelming presence paralyzed her, even though she knew what he was about to do. The way he studied her mouth again gave her the first indication. His musings that broke through her mental haze served as confirmation. If she didn’t leave now, he was going to kiss her. And she might actually let him.
Forcing herself back into reality, Selene folded her arms tightly around herself, as if that might offer some protection, and stepped back to regain her resolve. “I don’t believe power is absolute, Mr. Morrell.”
With the last of her shredding strength, Selene turned away from him and headed back to the safety of the bedroom. But she’d only managed a few steps before he said, “Some power is absolute, Selene. And you know it.”
She didn’t dare face him again, or respond at all. Doing so would only prove to him that he did possess a certain power—over her.
She returned to the room, closing the doors behind her. Closing him out. But she couldn’t drive him from her thoughts, nor could she rid herself of the persistent heat that had little to do with the elements.
She climbed into bed and tried to clear her mind. Tried to sleep. Tried to think about anything but him. But as she drifted off, Adrien Morrell was the last thing she thought about. The last thing she saw.
* * *
The minute Selene stepped from the bathroom into the hallway the following morning, she knew he had been nearby. She’d immediately caught the scent of his cologne, but more importantly, she sensed his presence. An intangible feeling that totally consumed her. She wondered if he’d been standing at the door or if he’d simply just passed through the corridor. Whatever the case might be, he wasn’t anywhere in sight now. That should please her, but in a way, she was disappointed—only because she wanted to get a look at him in the daylight. A good, long look.
Glancing to her right, she intended to check to see if his bedroom door was open. Instead, she made contact with the devilish statue, its vicious features causing her to physically jump. Demon Giles would definitely have to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. If she thought she could actually haul him up and carry him out, she would deposit him in the nearby swamp.
Selene returned to her bedroom, slipped out of her robe and into a pair of white linen slacks and a coral knit sleeveless top. At least her summer apparel provided a respite from the heat that had already begun to creep into the house.
Selene headed down the spiral staircase at a fast clip, relieved to be out of the dark corridor and into the light, surrounded by cherubs. As she made her way across the rotunda toward the kitchen, she paused at a painting hanging on the wall of a young woman with bright green eyes and raven-black hair swept up from her slender, pale neck, her hands folded primly in her lap. Considering the lady’s clothing—a soft white, long lace dress with a full skirt—Selene would guess that she’d probably resided at the plantation many years before. But when she studied the inscription on the brass plate anchored to the bottom of the frame, a series of chills raced up her spine as well as a sense of foreboding.
Grace—She sleeps with the angels.
Maybe this was a key to one of the tragedies Ella had spoken about the previous day. Maybe this beautiful young woman had died before her youth was spent, and perhaps even in this house. As disconcerting as that thought was, Selene wanted to know more about the plantation’s past, if for no other reason than to satisfy her own curiosity. Who better to ask than the owner’s right-hand woman?
As she entered the kitchen, Selene found Ella at the ancient white stove scrambling eggs and humming a cheerful song.
“Good morning,” Selene said as she pulled back a chair and took a seat at the weathered pine table.
Ella regarded her over one shoulder while she continued to cook. “Good morning to you, too. Did you sleep well?”
“Fairly well. It’s going to take me a while to get used to the surroundings.” To get used to the idea that Adrien Morrell resided right next door. She’d intermittently heard the sounds of his footsteps throughout the night, as if he’d been restless. But then so had she. She still was.
Ella turned from the stove, balancing a full plate in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She crossed the small space and slid the fare in front of Selene. “Enjoy.”
Selene resisted wrinkling her nose. She didn’t care for eggs or bacon.
