Lucky’s Lady

CHAPTER 12

SERENA CHANGED INTO HER NIGHTGOWN FEELING as if she hadn't slept in a month. Dinner had been an exhausting ordeal, not to mention depressing. And with no progress for the trouble. Burke was still set on acquiring Chanson du Terre; Shelby and Mason were still bent on selling it to him. She was still caught in the middle.

She had been glad to escape to the quiet and comfort of her bedroom. The room hadn't been changed at all in the time she had lived away from Chanson du Terre. Like the rest of the house, it seemed to possess a stubborn agelessness that defied change. The walls were papered in a delicate vine and flower pattern over a background of rich ivory. The rug that covered the floor had been trod upon by generations of Sheridan feet. The cherry bed and its hand-tied net canopy had offered rest to the weary a century before. Serena found the idea comforting. The sense of constancy appealed to her, especially now, when she was feeling tired and uncertain about so many things. She could at least look around her room in the soft light of the bedside lamp and feel welcomed.

Belting her white silk robe around her, she went to stand in the open doorway leading onto the gallery, leaning against the frame as if she hadn't the strength left to support herself. The night beyond was dark and starless, the air heavy with the promise of rain and the scents of wisteria and honeysuckle. How many other Sheridan women had stood in this exact spot and looked out into the night, pondering their futures? How many would do so in years to come? None, if Len Burke got his way. And if Burke didn't get his way…?

A soft knock on the door roused Serena from her tormented musings. She turned as Shelby stuck her head into the room.

«May I come in?»

A shrug was the only answer Serena could muster. She was exhausted. The prospect of yet another conversational wrestling match with her sister was not inviting.

Shelby came in and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, an uncertain look in her dark eyes. She had shed her pumps and let her hair down, making her look young and sweet in her feminine dress. She still wore an array of expensive rings on her dainty hands and demonstrated her hesitancy by twisting her topaz around her finger.

«I'm only trying to be practical, Serena,» she said with a suddenness that made it seem as if she had launched into the middle of the conversation instead of the beginning. «I should think you, of all people, would appreciate that. You've always been practical.»

«Practicality isn't the issue,» Serena said, coming away from the gallery door, sliding her hands into the deep pockets of her robe.

«Well, it should be. For heavens sake, Serena, think about it!» Shelby insisted. She moved around the room with short, brisk strides, compulsively straightening things that didn't need straightening. «The place will have to be sold eventually. Here we have a buyer ready to hand us money on a platter, and I can tell you as a real estate professional, they don't come along every day. There's nothing but good in this for everyone, and Gifford is standing in the way just to be stubborn!»

«He's worked this land all his life,» Serena pointed out calmly, playing the devil's advocate out of habit and necessity. «He doesn't want to see it all wiped away.»

Shelby stopped her fussing and shot her sister a narrow sideways look, her mood flashing from businesslike to petulant to shrewd. «He's manipulating you.»

Serena didn't argue the point; it was true. She was too caught up watching her sister's chameleon qualities, at once fascinated and horrified by the rapid changes. They pointed toward problems Serena found herself wanting to deny.

«He's just that way,» Shelby went on, absently rearranging things on the dresser to suit her own tastes. «He's in his glory now, holding all of us hostage. He's a stubborn old man.»

«Would you give up your children for the sake of someone else's livelihood?» Serena asked.

Shelby turned toward her, offended and incredulous. «Give up my children? Don't be ridiculous! Of course not, but it's hardly the same thing.»

«It is to Giff. This land is as much a part of him as we are. Why should he be expected to give it up?»

Shelby's face flushed and she stamped her foot on the rug. Her hands balled into fists at her side. «Because it's what everyone else wants! Because it's going to happen anyway. For pity's sake, why doesn't he just give in?»

«Because he's Gifford.»

«Well, something has to be done, Serena,» she announced vehemently as she resumed pacing. «He's just being unreasonable and it's hurting us all. I told you I thought he was going senile and I believe it. And I'm not the only one who thinks so.»

Serena thought back to Burke's threats of a competency hearing and frowned at her twin. She refrained from pointing out that a man who had the ability to manipulate so many people so neatly couldn't possibly be senile. Instead, she simply said, «I will not see Gifford declared incompetent, Shelby. Don't even think about suggesting it.»

«It would serve him right,» Shelby said sourly, her lower lip jutting forward in a pout.

Serena was appalled by the suggestion and the attitude that accompanied it. She may not have been especially close to or fond of her sister, but still she didn't want to believe her own flesh and blood, her own twin, capable of such callous selfishness. She stared at Shelby now, disgust and disbelief stark on her face. «I can't believe your greed would push you to something so ugly.»

Shelby's eyes flashed wildly. Serena thought she could almost hear her sister's control crack. «Greed? Greed!» Shelby shouted, stepping toward Serena. Her lovely ivory complexion turned a mottled red. Every muscle in her body seemed to go rigid. «How dare you accuse me of greed! You're the greedy one! You and Gifford. Greedy and selfish! I want only what's best for everybody!»

Right, Serena thought. Businesswoman of the Year. Mason in the legislature. A healthy bank account and the unending gratitude of those who would profit from the deal. She didn't say any of those things, however. She stood silent, staring at her sister, a sick churning in her stomach.

Shelby paced back and forth along the length of the bed, huffing and puffing like a toy train. «Isn't this just like you?» she said bitterly. «You waltz in from Charleston and take Gifford's side just to please him and then you'll waltz back out and not give a damn that you've ruined everything for everyone else. You won't have to deal with it. You don't live here. You don't care. The rest of us have responsibilities here.»

«You don't seem to feel any responsibility toward Gifford or your family home or the environment,» Serena pointed out, knowing she would have been better off saying nothing. But she couldn't seem to find the cool restraint she used when confronted by an overwrought patient. She couldn't maintain objectivity with her own family, and the only way she could distance herself from them was in the physical sense. The minute she came back here she felt sucked into an emotional maelstrom, a thick familial quicksand that pulled her down from her safe perch above it all. It was a humbling experience and an exhausting one. She gave in to it now as her temper rose and her control slipped away.

«You know what the petrochemical industry has done down here already,» she argued. «Fouling land and water-«

«Feeding people, providing jobs, keeping towns alive-«

«-elevating the cancer rate, destroying animal habitat-«

«Oh, for the love of Mike!» Shelby threw her hands up in exasperation. «You sound like those lunatics up in Oregon, or wherever they are, harping on the loggers for scaring off a bunch of owls that don't have sense enough to go live someplace else. And all for a place you hate to begin with!»

Serena pulled herself back from the ragged edge of anger and sighed, crossing her arms defensively. «Just because it's not a place I like to be doesn't mean I want it wiped off the face of the earth. There are people who still make their living out there, you know.»

Shelby sniffed indignantly. «Poachers and white trash. If you ask me, Tristar would be doing us all a favor getting rid of them.»

Serena rolled her eyes. «A very charitable attitude.»

«Practical. Practical,» Shelby reiterated with a decisive nod. She calmed visibly as she put on her businesslike persona again, folding her hands primly in front of her. «It's the practical thing, Serena. And if you have no interest in staying here anyway, I don't see why you don't just side with us and get it over with. It's best for everyone. It's best for Gifford, if you come right down to it.

«He's seventy-eight years old and he's got a heart condition, for heaven's sake,» she said, warming to this new angle of showing concern for someone else. «He shouldn't be out in the cane fields. He shouldn't have to worry himself sick over the weather and the insects and the price of diesel fuel and whether or not that old John Deere is going to make it another season. He should be taking it easy. He shouldn't have to think about anything but going fishing with Pepper and swapping stories with the men down at Gauthier's.

«He almost went bankrupt last year, you know,» she added, looking genuinely saddened. «Many more things go wrong this year and he will. What good will all his stubborn pride do him then? It would kill him to go under. He can avoid it now, go out with dignity.»

Serena said nothing. Her sisters arguments were valid. They made perfect sense. They were neat and tidy and left no loose ends-except Gifford's hearts desire and the fate of Lucky's swamp. And how did one compare those things to the fate of a town? Was two hundred years of heritage more important than two hundred fifty jobs? Were a few jobs worth ruining a delicate wilderness that could never be replaced?

«I don't know,» she murmured half to herself.

She sat down on the foot of the bed and leaned against a slender post, twining her arm around it like a vine. She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, looking for answers that weren't forthcoming. She felt as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and all she wanted to do was shrug it off and walk away, but she couldn't. She couldn't walk away from Chanson du Terre or her need to please Gifford or her complicated relationship with her sister.

«I don't know what to do,» she whispered, a feeling of bleak desolation yawning inside her like a cavern.

The image in the mirror was duplicated as Shelby sat down beside her. They looked less like twins now, Serena thought, because she herself looked like hell. There were dark crescents beneath her eyes and she was pale and drawn. The emotional war was taking a toll on her. Shelby was bearing up better under the strain with the aid of a full complement of expensive cosmetics. She looked less troubled by the burden of it all, perhaps because she shouldered none of the load. Shelby had always possessed the convenient ability to shift blame elsewhere, so while she may have been frustrated with the current situation, she felt it was all someone else's fault. Serena had no doubt her sister slept like a baby. For all her talk of accepting responsibility, responsibility rolled off Shelby like water off a duck's back.

«My, you look all done in,» Shelby said softly, and her brows knitted in one of her rare shows of genuine concern.

She didn't look directly at Serena but assessed her appearance via the mirror, as if she were obsessed with their likenesses. It was a disturbing thing, and Serena forced herself to stand up and move to avoid it. She went to the French doors again and stood with her back against the frame.

«You didn't tell me you knew Lucky Doucet,» she said mildly, watching out the corner of her eye for a reaction.

Shelby jerked around in surprise, a multitude of emotions sweeping over her face like clouds scudding across the night sky. «What did he tell you?» she asked guardedly.

«Nothing much,» Serena conceded.

Apparently feeling safe, Shelby rose to her feet and moved in a leisurely manner, smoothing the bedspread, straightening the skirt of her dress. «I went out with him a few times back when I was dating Mason to make Mason jealous,» she admitted without remorse. «It was a long time ago. I never think about it. I mean, for heaven's sake, look at what became of him. I'm embarrassed to admit I ever knew him. Why did you want to know?»

«No reason.»

«Good Lord, Serena,» she said with genuine alarm. «You're not involved with him, are you? He's dangerous. Why, you can't imagine the things people say about him!»

Serena expected she could imagine quite vividly what the average person would have to say about Lucky. They would look at him and see exactly what he wanted them to see, and «dangerous» would only just begin to cover it. She had wondered if he had let Shelby see some other side of him. Obviously he hadn't.

It frightened her to think how happy that made her. This was dangerous territory-thinking she might be the one woman to reach beyond his barriers and touch his heart, taking joy in the knowledge that her sister had not been there before her. It was foolish. She had enough trouble without trying to take on a project like the reformation of Lucky Doucet. All he wanted from her was sex.

«He mentioned that he knew you,» she said. «I was just curious, that's all.»

«Oh.» Shelby shrugged and headed for the door. «Well, it was nothing,» she said, reducing the affair down to the level of importance it held for her. Lucky Doucet had served his purpose. She had gotten what she wanted. Nothing else mattered. «Good night.»

«Good night.»

Serena watched her sister go. Nothing had been resolved. They had gone another circuit on the merry-go-round of their relationship once more, suffering through emotional ups and downs only to return to the place they had started.

She sighed as the door clicked shut and gasped in the next breath as someone grabbed her from behind. One brawny arm went around her waist and hauled her back into what seemed like a rock wall, and a hand clamped over her mouth, effectively snuffing out the scream that tore its way up the back of her throat.

«All dressed up for me, sugar?» Lucky said, his lips brushing her ear, his left hand moving restlessly over the silk that covered her belly. «You shouldn't have.»

«Damn you,» Serena told him as he pulled his hand away from her mouth. She tried to twist around in his arms so she could hit him, but he held her in place with ridiculous ease. «You scared the hell out of me.»

«Yeah, you oughta be scared of me,» he muttered, nuzzling the side of her throat.

He made that land of comment again and again to convince her of the blackness of his character, but Serena was no longer willing to buy it. Now that she had caught glimpses of the real man, she was no longer willing to believe the myth. Her heart had, with a will of its own, set itself on that man beneath the dangerous facade. However futile it might have seemed, she wanted to latch on to the goodness she knew was inside him and draw it out.

That he still wanted to keep her away from who he really was made her angry-angry with him and angry with herself. Of all the men in the world, why did this one have to be the one to capture her heart? Two days earlier she hadn't even liked him. She wasn't sure she liked him now, but she couldn't escape the fact that she had fallen in love with him. It seemed impossible and foolishly romantic and very unlike the Serena Sheridan who lived a sane and orderly life in Charleston. But they weren't in Charleston and she wasn't the same person who had left there, she reminded herself with weary resignation.

«Stop it,» she said, her exhaustion with the whole situation showing in her voice.

«Stop what? This?» He rubbed his beard-roughened cheek against her skin again, breathing in the scent of her. «Or this?» he asked, sliding his dark hand down over her belly to the juncture of her thighs where he stroked her boldly through her clothes.

Serena moaned at the sensations that burst and flowed inside her like floodwaters from a dam. In the span of one night Lucky had conditioned her body to respond to his without reserve. She wanted him instantly, wanted nothing more than to lie down and welcome him into her, to love him with every part of herself. But she forced herself to pull away from him, fighting to retain some small scrap of control, some tiny piece of sanity.

He let her go, chuckling wickedly, and sauntered over to her dresser, where he idly picked up and examined a perfume bottle as he watched her in the mirror from beneath his lashes.

Serena tightened the belt of her robe, staring hard at his reflection. «Stop trying to scare me away from you,» she said.

«Was that what I was doing?» He made a face of surprise. «Me, I thought I was on my way to gettin' you in bed.»

«You know what I mean.»

He shrugged and refused to comment, devoting more attention to her toiletries than to her argument. Frustration swelled inside her, but she refused to vent it, knowing that goading her was one of his favorite methods of keeping her at bay.

«What are you doing here? No poachers to thwart tonight?»

He gave her a black look by way of the mirror and picked up a tube of moisturizer. «How was dinner?»

«Enlightening. Burke says Tristar has never been convicted of anything regarding pollution.»

«Oh, no,» he drawled. «Just like they've never been convicted of bribing government officials or transporting illegal substances to unlicensed dumping sites. But if he said they've never done it, he's a liar.»

«He doesn't seem ready to give up on the idea of building here.»

«I'm sure he's not. They'd get a perfect site on the edge of nowhere, acres of dumping grounds in their backyard, and an eager young politician to boot.» He shook his head as he fingered the carved back of a rosewood hairbrush. «Mais non, he's not gonna give up.»

Serena moved to stand beside him, her gaze on his long artist's fingers as they touched her things. «What else can he do?» she asked. «Gifford says he won't sell and he means it. There's nothing Burke can do. Gifford can't be forced into selling.»

The instant she said it she remembered the look in the big Texan's eyes as he'd sat at their dinner table and told them Gifford would have to be persuaded. He struck her as a man who got what he wanted by whatever means were necessary, and her grandfather stood between him and his goal. How hard might he push? To what lengths might he be willing to go?

She pushed the disturbing questions from her mind and went to stand at the open door again, looking out into the night as if she might see an answer shining like a star in the darkness. «He says the plant would employ two hundred fifty locals to start.»

«That's bullshit,» Lucky said. «A hundred, mebbe. Seventy-five, probably. The rest would be company men. There aren't a lotta chemists and engineers standin' around on street corners here lookin' for jobs.»

«Still, that's more jobs than Gifford can provide. The boost to the local economy would be tremendous.»

«And the damage to the local environment would be devastating.»

Serena sighed and brought her hands up to rub the tension from her forehead. «It's not as simple as I thought it would be.»

«It is simple,» Lucky argued adamantly. «It's stupid simple. Black and white. Good guys and bad guys.»

Serena turned and faced him. «Which are you, Lucky? I thought you didn't care about anyone or anything. You tell me you're a bad guy, then I find out you're out playing Lone Ranger in the night. You let me think you're some bad-ass poacher, then turn around and spout environmentalist propaganda at me. Who are you really?»

«Trust me, sugar,» he said. «You don't wanna know.»

She met his scowl without flinching. «I do want to know.»

«I told you before, Doc,» he said darkly, raising a finger in warning. «Don' go lookin' inside my head. You won't like what you find.»

Serena stared at him, taking in the fierce set of his jaw, the intimidation in his stance… the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes-a wariness of her or of himself?

She could feel the dangerous desire to reach out to him shifting through her, a need to know that went beyond curiosity. A smart woman would have taken heed of his warning. A smart woman would have kept her distance. He had drawn the boundary line between them, and like a fool she stepped across it again, figuratively and literally, moving toward him, needing to know, needing to touch him.

«And what would I find in your heart?» she asked softly as she closed the distance between them.

«That I haven't got one,» he said, his face carefully blank.

Serena shook her head. «I don't believe that. You go out of your way to help people. My God,» she said, gesturing to the bandanna still tied around his injured arm, «you risk your life to help people.»

«Don' make me out to be some hero,» Lucky snapped, just barely resisting the urge to back away from her. «I get paid back for what I do.»

«In French bread and cookies?»

«In privacy. People wander into my life and I get them out. That's all I do. That's all I care about,» he insisted, his inner tension crackling in his low, rough voice.

«Is that what you tell yourself, Lucky? You're a liar.»

«It's the truth.» He brought his hands up to take Serena by the shoulders, his fingers pressing on silk and tender flesh as if he might be able to physically force his opinion on her. His heart pounded with the necessity of it, the urgency of it. He leaned over her, his eyes as bright as a zealots. «I'm a devil, not a saint, and whatever heart I might have had once got ripped out by the roots a long time ago, sugar. Don' go lookin' for things that aren't there.»

Serena said nothing, but lifted a hand and splayed it across his chest, her fingers small and white against the black of his T-shirt. Her eyes locked on his as they both felt the frantic pounding behind his ribs, the evidence that shattered his lie more than any words could have.

Lucky gave a snarl of frustration and rage and battled within himself as fear swelled like a balloon inside him. He kicked it down, checked it ruthlessly, hardening himself against it with an effort that trembled through him like an earthquake. He gave Serena a shake.

«I don' give a rat's ass if you don' believe it,» he said in a voice like smoke. «You wanna go diggin' through your psych books for explanations, do it on your own time. I didn't come here to get analyzed; I came here to get laid.»

His mouth swept down on hers, hard, seeking to punish, but he was met with no resistance, no fear. She was soft and sweet, melting against him, and that undid his anger as nothing else could have. He softened the kiss, making a sound of surrender in his throat as her lips parted beneath his in invitation. The kiss deepened and he felt himself going under, losing himself. His heart pounded and he clutched Serena to him, his mind swirling with the question of whether she was the stone that would sink him or the branch that would save him from drowning.

Neither, he told himself. She could be neither because this was desire and nothing more. She couldn't hurt him; she couldn't heal him. She could give him pleasure and he could help her forget her problems for a few hours. It was simple. Stupid simple. Black and white.

«I want you,» he whispered against her mouth.

He brushed his lips against her temple and turned her in his arms so she faced the mirror above the dresser. Serena stared at their reflections-Lucky, big and masculine behind her, his arms around her, his head bent down, his eyes on hers in the glass; and herself, dainty and feminine in his shadow, golden and white beside his darkness. She watched as his fingers untied the belt of her robe and stood motionless as he drew the garment back off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The gown she wore beneath it was silk and lace, a sheer white mist clinging to the curves of her body and hanging past her knees.

He stroked his hands down the front of her, cupping her breasts through the lace cups, kneading her stomach through the silk, sliding down over her hips, tracing every curve and line that expressed her femininity. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, nibbling at her flesh, catching the narrow strap of the gown in his teeth and drawing it down. Serena watched as he feasted on her skin, kissing, nipping, licking, devouring every exposed inch. She bent her head to the side to give him access to her throat and moaned as he took it, his mouth moving fervently along the ivory column. He caught the other strap of her gown with his fingers and drew it down, then peeled the lace bodice away from her, letting it pool in a drift of white at her waist. He captured her breasts in his hands, lifting and squeezing them, plumping them together and flicking his thumbs across her nipples.

Serena's breath caught in her throat. She'd never been a parry to anything so erotic. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with passion, were locked on the image in the mirror. Lucky s big, tanned hands kneading her breasts, her nipples thrusting out swollen and red between his fingers. Arousal seared through her, hot and thick as she watched her own seduction and experienced every sensation at the same time.

He slid one hand down her rib cage and over her belly, pressing the white silk of her gown taut over her feminine mound. Serena leaned back against him, letting her thighs part as he slid his hand between them. He caressed her through the silk, moving the cool slick fabric against her most sensitive heated flesh. Then the gown was gone and through the haze of desire she watched his fingers stroke through the delta of tawny curls as the fever of need intensified inside her. With one arm banded across her ribs, he lifted her up against him and her head lolled back against his shoulder, rolling from side to side as he eased a finger deep into the warm, wet channel of her womanhood.

«Watch,» he whispered. «Watch,» he said, his voice as smooth and smoky as whiskey, as seductive as a siren s song. «This is what I want from you, mon ange.»

His eyes locked on hers in the mirror. He stroked her deeply, rhythmically, in time with her harsh breathing. Serena moaned and moved against his hand, her control gone, her instincts overwhelming her as Lucky took her closer to the edge.

She chanted his name, the words catching in her throat as she struggled for breath. Her breasts rose and fell in the image in the mirror. Her stomach quivered. Lucky's hand moved against her groin. His eyes watched her from beneath the rim of dark lashes, smoldering amber, hot and bright. Her gaze fastened on his mouth, blatantly sensual, carnal, his lips moist and parted slightly as he whispered to her.

«Vien, cherie, vien, vien, vien…»

Her climax hit her like a wave, breaking over her, knocking the breath from her. Her body stiffened in his arms and she would have cried out, but Lucky twisted her around and fastened his mouth over hers. He kissed her hungrily, savagely, bending her back over his arm, his free hand tangling in her hair as it spilled behind her.

In the next instant they were on the bed, Serena lying back on the cool sheets, Lucky with one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor as he tore his T-shirt off and flung it aside. His jeans followed. He came to her magnificently naked, magnificently aroused, lowering himself over her and plunging himself into her in one smooth move that lifted her off the bed.

Serena arched up against him, taking everything he would give her and knowing in her heart it wouldn't be enough. She gave him her body, let him fill her again and again with the essence of what made him male. She welcomed the driving power of his thrusts, delighted in the feel of his muscled back beneath her hands, the hot musky scent of his body, the smoky taste of his kisses, but she longed for something more.

She looked up into his face and saw the torment there, the strain as he gave her his body and fought to withhold his soul. For an instant she could look into his eyes and feel the terrible struggle going on inside him, and it tore at her heart. There was no place here for reason or self-control. All she could give him was her love, no matter how foolish it seemed, no matter that she knew he wouldn't want to take it, no matter that she was certain her heart would get broken in the end.

As he moved powerfully over her and inside of her, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, hanging on for dear life as longing tore through her shield of logic once and for all. She was in love with a man for the first time in her life, helplessly, hopelessly in love. He took her on a breathless climb to passion's very summit and soared with her over the edge, his big body straining against hers, his arms crushing her to him. And she let herself believe in that one brilliant moment that he could love her too.