Night Moves : Dream Man/After the Night Read online

  “Gray Rouillard,” he was murmuring to Margot. “Faith and I are old acquaintances.”

  At least he hadn’t lied and said they were friends, Faith thought, watching tautly as Margot introduced herself, and, to her horror, asked Gray to join them. Too late, she gave Margot a warning nudge with her foot.

  “Thank you,” Gray said, smiling down at Margot with such charm that she didn’t react at all to Faith’s kick. “But I’m here on business, and I have to get back to my own table. I just wanted to come over and speak to Faith for a moment. Have you known each other long?”

  “Four years,” Margot replied, and proudly added, “I’m her district manager.”

  Faith nudged her ankle again, harder this time, and when Margot gave her a surprised look, she glared a warning.

  “Really,” Gray said, sounding interested. His gaze was sharper. “What business are you in?”

  Finally having gotten the message, Margot gave Faith a swift, questioning glance.

  “Nothing on your scale,” Faith said, smiling at him so coolly that he shrugged, realizing he wasn’t going to gain any more information.

  She exhaled with relief, but tensed again when he squatted by the table, a gracefully masculine action that brought his face more on a level with hers. It was more difficult to hide her expression now than when he had been standing. This close, she could see the bottomless black pupils of his eyes, the glitter in them as he looked at her. “I wish I’d known you were coming to New Orleans, sweetheart. We could have driven down together.”

  If he thought she would dissemble in front of Margot, he had sadly mistaken her. If he thought his charm had turned her brain into mush, he was wrong there, too. How she would like to rub his nose in the fact that she was a successful businesswoman, but the past week had made her wary of giving him any information about herself. Respectability wouldn’t make any difference to either him or the town of Prescott; until—and if—she could prove that her mother hadn’t run away with his father, nothing would change his attitude. Lifting her chin, a sure sign of temper, she said, “I’d rather have walked all the way than get in a car with you.”

  Margot made a choking sound, but Faith didn’t spare a look for her; she kept her gaze locked with Gray’s, the battle visually joined. He grinned with a buccaneer’s reckless enjoyment of a fight.

  “But we could have had a lot of fun, and shared . . . expenses.”

  “I’m sorry you’re having money problems,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps your business associate will put you up if you can’t afford your own hotel room.”

  “I don’t have to worry about hotel expenses.” The grin broadened. “I own the hotel.”

  Damn, she thought. She’d have to find out which one he owned, and make sure she didn’t book any tour groups into it.

  “Why don’t we have dinner together tonight?” he suggested. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “I can’t imagine what. Thank you, but no.” She was driving back to Prescott this afternoon, but she would much rather he think she was refusing the invitation purely because she didn’t want his company.

  “It would be to your advantage,” he said, and the dangerous look was back in his eyes.

  “I doubt that anything a Rouillard suggested would be to my advantage.”

  “You haven’t listened to my . . . suggestions yet.”

  “I don’t intend to, either. Go back to your table and leave me alone.”

  “I’d planned on doing the first.” He stood and trailed a long forefinger down her cheek. “There’s no way in hell I’ll do the last.” He nodded to Margot and strolled back to his own table.

  Margot blinked, her eyes owlish. “Shouldn’t I check him for wounds? You really had the knife out for him. What on earth has that dark-eyed piece of work done to make you so mad at him?”

  Faith took refuge in her water glass again, sipping from it until she had her expression under control. When she lowered it, she said, “It goes back a long way. He’s a Hatfield and I’m a McCoy.”

  “A family feud? C’mon.”

  “He’s trying to run me out of Prescott,” Faith said baldly. “If he found out about the travel agency, it’s possible he could cause trouble by ruining some of the tours we arrange. That would hurt our reputation, and we’d lose money. You heard him: He owns a hotel here. Not only is he filthy rich, so he has the money to bribe people to do what he wants, but he has contacts in the business. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “Wow. This sounds serious. What started this feud, and has there ever been actual bloodshed?”

  “I don’t know.” Faith fiddled with her silverware, not wanting to mention her suspicion that Guy had been killed. “My mother used to be his father’s mistress. Needless to say, his family hates anyone with the name of Devlin.” That would do for an explanation; she couldn’t go into the full tale, couldn’t trot out her memories of that night even for a sympathetic audience.

  “What did you say is the name of this town?” Margot demanded. “Prescott? Are you sure it isn’t Peyton Place?”

  They both laughed, and the waiter approached then to ask their preference for lunch. They both chose the buffet, and went inside to make their selections. Faith was acutely aware of a dark gaze following her every move, and wished Margot hadn’t been so set on eating in the courtyard. She would much rather have been shielded from his view. Who could have guessed that he would be in New Orleans today, though, or that in a city of this size they would immediately run into each other? True, the Court of Two Sisters was a popular restaurant, but New Orleans was larded with popular restaurants.

  Gray and his business associate left the restaurant not long after Faith and Margot returned to the table with their loaded plates. He paused beside Faith. “I do want to talk to you,” he said. “Come to my suite tonight at six. I’m at the Beauville Courtyard.”

  She hid her dismay. The Beauville was a lovely, mid-size hotel with a great atmosphere, built around an open courtyard. She had booked tour groups and vacationers in there many times. If Gray owned it, she would have to find another lovely, mid-size hotel with a great atmosphere, because she didn’t dare use his again. In answer to his command, for that was what it was, she shook her head. “No. I won’t be there.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Then take your chances,” he said, and walked away.

  “Take your chances?” Margot echoed indignantly, staring at his broad back. “What the hell did he mean by that? Was he threatening you?”

  “Probably,” Faith said, lifting a bite of pasta salad to her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight. “Mmmm, taste this. It’s wonderful.”

  “Are you out of your mind? How can you eat when Mr. Macho just threatened to . . . do something, I guess.” Frustrated, Margot picked up her fork and tasted the pasta salad. She paused. “This is good. You’re right, worrying about him can wait until after we eat.”

  Faith chuckled. “I’m used to his threats.”

  “Does he ever carry through with them?”

  “Always. One thing about Gray, he means what he says, and he isn’t shy about throwing his weight around.”

  Margot’s fork clattered to the table. “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. After all, he didn’t actually threaten anything specific.”

  “That means you have to be on your guard against everything.”

  “I am anyway, where he’s concerned.” Pain pierced her at her own words, and she looked down at her plate to hide it. How wonderful it would be to feel safe and relaxed with Gray, to feel she could trust that all his ruthless determination, his vital intensity, would be used in defense of her rather than against her. Did Noelle and Monica know how lucky they were, to have someone like him standing ready to go to battle on their behalf? She loved him, but he was her enemy. She could never let herself forget that, not let wishful thinking cloud her common sense.

  Deliberately she steered the conversation into safer waters, namely the few pro