When She Was Bad...

She was still debating what to do when H sat down next to her.

“You look worried,” he said.

“Yeah.” Pepper glanced back at the closed study door. “My aunt has a lot riding on this.”

“If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on her.”

“Me, too—if it weren’t for the fact that Aunt Irene and I come from a long line of star-crossed lovers.” She waved a hand. “This plantation house isn’t exactly the best setting for happy endings. There’s got to be a lot of bad vibes here because of the way things ended up for Adam and Elena.” She glanced toward Cole again.

“You know about their story then?” H asked.

“Not all of it. I couldn’t read the ending. I figured it would be too depressing. A slave and a plantation owner—I mean you can’t get much more star-crossed than that.”

“They were married in the gardens at the back of this house. There’s a gazebo on the spot.”

Pepper turned to stare at him. “They got married?”

H nodded. “His parents tried to stop it. They even tried to send Elena away, but Adam prevented them and told them if they sent her away, he’d go with her. According to the stories, they had several children, and the plantation flourished for several generations. In fact, Butch bought this island from a woman who swears she’s a great-great-great-granddaughter of Adam and Elena.”

The story ended happily. They got married, Pepper thought, and the queasiness in her stomach eased.

BUTCH MOVED BEHIND his desk and waved at one of the chairs. “Sit down.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”

Butch grunted and did the same. For a moment the silence stretched between them. Butch found for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say, where to begin. Worse, he wasn’t even sure who this woman was. H had been right. She wasn’t his sweet little Renie. She was the woman on the tapes he’d seen rappelling down from rooftops in front of a viewing audience that comprised more than half of San Francisco.

He lifted the hand that still held the cigar, intending to light it and gain a few minutes to think. His hand was shaking. That fact stunned him. No one had ever made his hand shake.

Irene planted her hands on her hips and though he couldn’t see it, he was pretty sure her foot was tapping.

“Well?” she asked.

He stared at her. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d not only made his hand shake, she’d made his heart stutter. He didn’t want to think yet about those endless minutes when he’d stood on that balcony—waiting.

Her eyes narrowed and flashed as she moved toward the desk. She wasn’t the old Renie, but she was magnificent.

“I stole that damn Monet twice for you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t get away with it the second time.”

She planted her hands flat on his desk and leaned toward him. “It was in my hands when you and Cole busted in. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Therefore, I stole it twice. Plus, Pepper and I took out the amateur you sent up. You did send that guy, didn’t you?”

Butch shrugged. “H had just figured out who LeBlanc really was. I thought the painting would be safer in my hands until we sorted everything out. So I sent in my man Tony.”

Irene gave him a curt nod. “You gave me a few bad moments. When I first figured out that you must have sent him, I wondered if your taste for French Impressionists had overcome your resolve to stay straight.”

“No. I’m still resolved to do that.” He planted his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “And if we’re going to talk about handing out bad moments, you’re winning. Thanks to Cole, I witnessed your descent from the roof to Atwell’s balcony. And I never want to relive those moments I spent waiting on the balcony outside that room.”

IRENE DIDN’T BLINK, but her heart was not steady. It never had been when she was in Butch Castellano’s presence. This was a man she hadn’t seen for almost forty years. She knew she loved him, but she hadn’t been sure that the chemistry would still be there. The fact that it was—at least for her—had her heart beating faster and her body heating.

She pushed the realization away so that it wouldn’t distract her. He was going to try to send her away again. She felt it in her bones. Otherwise, why the big invite back to his house for the group party? He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t made a move to talk to her until she’d called him stupid in front of his guests and his staff.

Even now he wasn’t making any move to get close to her. He’d even put his desk between them. Nor had he tried to bring up the topic that they’d come in here to discuss.

Men. Irene mentally shook her head. They always had so much damn trouble talking about their feelings. Why couldn’t a man be more like a woman?

Well, she knew quite a bit about unlocking doors and safes. She would just unlock him too.

“Renie…” he began.

She slammed a hand down on the desk. “That’s just the way you started out forty years ago. Whatever else happens here, history is not going to repeat itself, Butch Castellano. I am not going to listen to you tell me again that you are going to send me away for my own good.” When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand to stop him. “Let me finish. I’m sixty years old. I know what’s good for me. And I’ve decided that it’s you. I still love you. I’ve never stopped. Oh, I’ve dated. I’ve even taken some lovers. But none of them ever compared to you. And I never loved them. The one thing I have to know before I go any further is how you feel about me. Do you still love me?”

There, she thought. Let him wiggle out of that one. And then she held her breath.

He said nothing, and as the silence stretched, Irene felt her heart sink.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I was going to tell you tonight. In the moonlight. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you might like some romance.”

“To hell with romance,” Irene said. “I’ve waited too long for you.” But as Butch circled the desk, she held up a hand. “One more thing. Do I still turn you on? I mean, my heart has been doing little tap dances and my nerve endings have been zinging ever since you crashed into Evan’s suite.”

Butch took her hand, raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss into the palm.

Irene felt pleasure streak right down to her toes. It took her a moment to get her breath and then she managed, “Well?”

“I’m not sure,” Butch said as he drew her into his arms. “Let’s try this.”

Irene looked into his eyes, and she saw what she’d dreamed about seeing.

Then Butch lowered his mouth to hers.

Irene had one moment of coherent thought before her mind went blank and filled with Butch. Here were all the sensations that she’d dreamed of—the heat, the incredible melting sensation—and more. Could it be that passion bottled up for forty years could improve with age?

Butch drew away and as if he’d read her thoughts said, “It’s like a fine wine.”

She smiled at him. “Or a French Impressionist painting?”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “I’d say the zing is definitely still there.”

PEPPER SAT DOWN next to Evan. “Did my aunt give you some good advice?”

Evan glanced at her, then back at his untouched champagne before he placed the glass on the table. “She thinks I should tell my mother.”

Pepper covered his hand with hers. “I think you should, too.”

Evan shook his head. “She’ll be so hurt. She has these expectations.”

Pepper nodded. “I know. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what others have expected of me. We’re a lot alike, Evan. I think that’s why our relationship lasted as long as it did.”

“You’re not gay. How can you know what it’s like?” Evan asked.

“You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be gay in a world that’s still afraid of and uncomfortable with the idea of same-sex couples. I have no idea what that’s like. But I do know about trying to change what you are to win your family’s approval. I tried with the Pendletons in Philadelphia. No matter how hard I tried, I never quite measured up to what they wanted. And I’ve been trying to do the same thing with the Rossis. But I made a mistake.”

“What?” Evan asked.

“I always imagined myself to be someone else.” Her lips curved. “With my grandmother, I always tried to be my mother. With my father, I tried to be the perfect daughter. I thought dating you would please him, so I did. With my brothers, I’ve tried to be a super sleuth like the ones on TV and in movies.” She glanced over to where Cole was still standing on the porch. “But a good friend told me that I’d have more luck fitting in if I was myself, and I think he’s right. I didn’t give my grandmother the opportunity to really know me for myself. I’m not sure it would have done any good. She still might not have liked me. But I would have liked myself better, I think.”