Cara Summers - Led into Temptation

He’d even given her one at their final meeting, a souvenir of Boston he’d picked up in the hotel gift shop. How many times had she gone over that last meeting, not only in her own mind, but also for the police and the FBI? Hundreds of times. Michael had been kind, telling her that he had to go away for a while on business. He’d lifted her hand, kissed her fingers and said he’d be in touch. All she’d read was sincerity in his eyes. And she’d believed him, just as she’d believed everything else he’d told her.

Naomi Brightman, girl super-chump.

And she wasn’t sure she’d let go of him yet. In her hurry to leave her apartment without being tailed, she hadn’t dared to pack a suitcase. But she’d put all of the Michael gifts in the big tote she always carried.

That made her a super-super chump.

“Is there something wrong, miss?”

Jerking around, Naomi found she had to glance up, way up, to see the face of the man who’d joined her at the railing. An instant tingle of familiarity moved through her. Why? He was tall, broad-shouldered and he wore aviator-style sunglasses that reflected back her own image. So it wasn’t the eyes that made her think she might have met him before.

She quickly catalogued the dark hair escaping from beneath the hood of the sweatshirt, the strong line of his cheekbone and chin. But it was only as her gaze dropped to his mouth that the memory finally clicked.

Father Pierre Bouchard.

He reminded her of the young French priest who’d been her confidant at the boarding school where she’d been raised. No, more than her confidant, she admitted as a guilty thrill moved through her. When she’d been fourteen, she’d had a major crush on the young and handsome Father Bouchard. He’d dominated her fantasy life for over a year. And this man bore an uncanny resemblance to him.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

The lips curved a little. And Naomi felt the tingle of recognition grow even stronger. She also felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“No. We’ve never met. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She tilted her head to one side, not quite ready or willing to let it go. “You weren’t ever a priest at Our Lady of Solace boarding school near Lyons?”

“Never.”

It was relief she was feeling, not disappointment. He wasn’t Father Bouchard. How could he be? The voice was wrong. No accent. And what were the chances of Father Bouchard ending up at Belle Island? And why in the world would she want him to? She hadn’t thought of the young priest in ages. But he’d slipped into her mind frequently during the past year—ever since she and her sisters had opened up Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box.

Naomi could still picture the words on the parchment paper she’d pulled out: Your secret fantasy has always been to make love with a priest. Now you will experience all those forbidden pleasures.

Firmly, Naomi ignored the guilty thrill that moved through her again and pushed that memory aside. She had bigger problems to solve. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Sorry. You reminded me of someone.”

“No problem.”

But the feeling of familiarity lingered even as she turned and followed the last of the passengers off the ferry. Once on the pier, she couldn’t prevent herself from glancing back. For a moment, their gazes locked and held. It wasn’t merely familiarity she felt this time. There was also a tug deep inside of her. For an instant, she wanted to go back and talk to the stranger again.

“Hey, sugar! Over here.”

Naomi snapped her head in the direction of the sound and spotted Avery Cooper, Jillian’s college roommate and the man they’d hired to run Haworth House. With his megawatt smile, he was a sight for sore eyes. She’d had a pretty smileless two weeks.

Tall and broad-shouldered with skin the color of milk chocolate, Avery was his usual impeccably dressed self in a pale gray shirt and black slacks. Gold glinted in the chain around his neck and the hoop on his left ear.

Blinking back a fresh sting of tears, Naomi broke into a run. The moment she reached him, he grabbed her off her feet and swung her around in a huge hug. “This one’s from me.”

Naomi blinked faster as he set her on her feet and then pulled her close again.

“This one’s from your sisters.” When he drew back the second time, he studied her more closely. “Love the Jackie O sunglasses and the scarf.”

“I used them to sneak out the back door of my apartment.” She raised her tote. “I didn’t even pack a suitcase. Good thing Jillian insists that we keep some clothes at the hotel. I was so afraid someone would notice and follow me. Not that I don’t have a perfect right to leave town. The FBI never told me that I had to stay in Boston. Besides, I just came here to Belle Island. I didn’t try to leave the country or anything.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t feel so guilty about this.”

“It’s your good-girl syndrome taking over.” Avery glanced over her shoulder. “Did anyone follow you?”

“I don’t think so. For the first time in two weeks, I don’t have that prickly feeling at the back of my neck.”

“Good.” Throwing an arm around her, Avery led her off the dock and along the boardwalk lining the beach area. “Reese and Jillian are bummed that they can’t be here.”

Truth told, Naomi was a bit relieved about that. After the hubbub of the past two weeks, she was looking forward to some alone time. Jillian was in Europe on a buying trip, and Reese was on a book tour for a cookbook she’d just authored.

“My job is to provide all the TLC they can’t shower on you in person. And we’re going to start with a late lunch.”

“I’m not—”

“Hungry. I know. I know.” His tone of voice all sympathy, Avery nevertheless propelled her into a small café on the pier that offered patio seating. “Humor me. Once we get to the hotel, I figure you’ll lay low in the tower, and I’ll be working.”

He pulled a chair out for her at a table that offered a view of the water. At the far end of the island, on a jut of land, she could just see the tower of Haworth House. The tightness inside of her eased.

Avery sat down across from her. “I figure you lost your appetite just about two weeks ago when the BFJ gave you your walking papers.”

“BFJ?”

“Big Fat Jerk. When I was getting over Lowell Bidderman, I didn’t eat much of anything for nearly a month.” He flexed his right arm. “Lost some good muscle tone.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes. As far as she knew, Avery had been in a relationship with his current partner, Matt Trudell, since his college days. “Lowell Bidderman?”

“Junior high. I must have been fourteen. Lowell was my first love, and the reason I discovered I was gay at an early age. But I was afraid to say anything, even to Lowell. In junior high I felt I had to at least pass as a heterosexual. Do you remember your first crush?”

She did, and for a second, Naomi felt heat rise in her face again.

“You’re blushing,” Avery said. “That good, huh?”

She waved a hand. “It was a crush. All fantasy and no substance.”

“The best kind.” Avery grinned. “Tell me.”

She’d never told anyone.

“Confession is good for the soul,” Avery urged.

“It’s silly. Not even Reese and Jillian know. But when I was fourteen, I had this super crush on a young priest who’d been assigned to our boarding school.”

“Really?” Avery’s eyes lit up. “Shades of The Thorn-birds. The young innocent girl, the handsome caring priest, forbidden love … all set against the rugged landscape of Australia. Adored the novel. And Richard Chamberlain in the movie—be still my heart.”