Love Is Lovelier by Jean Brashear Page A

restaurant.
    “I’m just great,” he responded, hearing his voice husky and low.
    Her pupils darkened in response to the unspoken message he knew she wasn’t ready to hear.
    So he rescued her, understanding that he was in for the negotiation of his life.
    But she was worth the effort.
    And he would win.
    He released her, though he wanted to touch much more of her, and pulled out her chair. “So you think I’m a fraud, do you? Mighty tough word to bandy about, Miss Anne.”
    She visibly relaxed at his light, bantering tone and gifted him with a quick, flirty smile. “But accurate. What else is there that you’ve been hiding from me?”
    He winced, glad for the chance to dodge as he rounded the table. If only he’d known he’d be playing for all the marbles when he’d set his offer on the hotel in motion.
    Too late now.

CHAPTER FIVE
    L UC’S PHONE CHIRPED later that evening. He frowned at the number that flashed on his screen and merely shoved the phone back into its holster.
    “You need to get that?” asked the woman at the hotel bar.
    “Nah. They’ll leave a message.” Not the Corbins, for a change. An international number.
    “Persistent girlfriend?” The blonde dug for information, her own interest evident in her gaze. “You must meet a lot of women in your job. Anyone special?”
    “Only you, sugar.” He grinned and patted his chest. “My poor heart hasn’t recovered since you walked in.”
    She dimpled at the byplay. “Anyone make you register that smile as a dangerous weapon?”
    Leo the bartender snorted, and Luc’s gaze flickered over, saw him roll his eyes. “Leo, you’re tough on a guy’s ego.”
    “Best I can tell,” the bartender replied, “your ego isn’t hurting for attention.”
    The blonde laughed. “You must have to beat the women off with a stick.”
    “Oh, darlin’.” Luc assumed mock sadness. “My tastes run to pleasing women, not hurting them.” The phone at his hip started the irritating beep that indicated a message waiting. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m off-duty, but as long as I’m here, I’m never truly off the clock.” He nodded to Leo. “Would you please give the lady a drink on my tab?” He turned to go, needing privacy before he listened to news he was sure he wouldn’t want to hear.
    “Will you come back?” she asked. “We could go somewhere…else, so you wouldn’t be bothered.”
    “Much as that tempts me, it’s been a long day.” And he was too professional to do more than light flirting with a guest. If he ever figured out a way to stop the freight train barreling toward the Hotel Marchand, he wanted, more than ever, to be able to stay here. He liked this job. This place. The people who were family, even if they didn’t know it.
    The blonde made a moue of disappointment. Leo, bless him, distracted her with discussion of the drinks he could prepare for her.
    Luc headed for a quiet corner and flipped open his phone. Punched in the code for voice mail.
    “Luc,” the voice said. “This is Ram Singh.” A friend with whom he’d worked in Thailand. “I have some news, gossip, really, but you might need to hear it. Please call me.”
    Luc started dialing.

    W HEN THEY LEFT Celia’s, a fine, nearly-full moon hung, melon-ripe, in the sky. Its lure was so potent, its mystery so compelling, that Anne felt the call in a way she hadn’t since her body had turned from the once-inexorable tide of its rhythms.
    How many moons had she ignored since last she’d danced to its tune? How many nights had she been so distracted by the needs of family or business that she’d missed its quiet beauty?
    Now the sensation of William’s palm was tingling at the small of her back, and tendrils crept along her nerve paths, tempting her. Unsettling her. She was a moth circling in starlight, and he brushed at her wings, rending the layers of protection she’d built up, scattering the flakes like showers of moondust.
    She might have resisted the sheer