Moonlight pierced the cloudy curtain. A man stood near the dock. Ever present fear and worry froze her in place.
Run. Hide. I won’t. No matter how much I want to.
He faced the bayou, so she couldn’t tell if it was Flynn. However, her appraiser’s skills helped. She catalogued his appearance. Loose white shirt, tight pants, tall boots. The exercise helped suppress the debilitating emotions.
Only one man she’d ever met wore such an outfit.
He turned, confirming her analysis.
“Bonswa, chère.” The so-called captain executed a bow more suited to a royal court than a bayou.
The timbre of his deep voice layered anger over every other feeling. She set down the lantern, marching toward him, shouldering the rifle, aiming at his head. “I told you never to come back.”
“I know, chère. However, you are too intriguing to resist.” He smiled. The man had entirely too much confidence.
She snorted drawing nearer. “Stuff and nonsense. Who are you, and what are you doing on my property?Kiyès ou ye e kisa w ap fè sou pwopriyete mwen an?” she repeated in Creole, to be certain he understood.
He was tall, as handsome as she recalled, in an earthy sort of way. In her mind’s eye flashed an image of the Luc from that odd dream. Dark hair, blue eyes—shadowed tonight despite the moon. His white shirt bore numerous ugly stains along with the oval tear she’d caused. Why hasn’t he changed his clothes?
The question was too intimate to ask of a virtual stranger.
The thin lawn fabric fell loose to his waist, revealing a well-muscled chest. His tight pants revealed his waist and hips to be attractively narrow, supported by thighs as deliciously muscled as his abdominals. The trousers disappeared into a pair of tall boots any swashbuckler would envy.
The clouds retreated offering a better look at his face. Sparks lit his blue eyes.He’s laughing at me?
Grace pursed her lips and threw him her hardest glare. A glare that had had any over-reaching client quaking in their patent leathers and spats.
Flynn’s lips parted. Straight white teeth gleamed in a smile he probably thought was charming at best and dis-arming at the least. Perhaps it worked, with other women.
He shrugged. “Would you consider lowering that rifle?”
She shifted her aim to his shoulder.
“Ou pa kreyol?” she asked.
“No, darlin’.You’re right. I’m no Creole.”
“Not Creole but, Irish.” She tilted her chin up.
The black brows rose. “You’ve a good ear, darlin’.”
Since he’d made no aggressive move, Grace pointed the rifle at the ground, but deepened her frown. She really didn’t want to shoot him. She did want to demonstrate she wasn’t happy seeing himagain. “Where you learned to speak hardly matters. Answer my question. What are you doing atSweet Dreams?”
“I stopped to visit a friend,” he said.
He’s lying.
Grace could see through his nonsense. “That’s rich. No one has lived here in more than twenty years.”
“Oh? Did I say she lived here?” Flynn arched an eyebrow, as if to make his innocence more apparent.
“Stop talking in circles. If you have a paramour waiting for you down the road, please go to her and cease trespassing.” The man defined irritating. “Ah, darlin’.” He spread his arms wide. “I’ve a standing invitation from the owner. ’Tis no trespassing I am.” His accent thickened, and the laughter in his eyes became a laser sharp gleam.
“Since I am the owner, and we are not acquainted, you lie.”
His brows rose. “Is that so? You’ve been gone a long time. What brought you back? Are you here now to evict the spirits who haunt this place?”
“Pah, spirits, ghosts and such don’t exist. You aren’t as intelligent as you look, if you imagine I’d be frightened away by such idiocy.” She rolled her eyes.
