About Last Night

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re stalling,” he corrected, and turned away from her, walking toward the wide carpeted stairway that led to the second story. “I’d think twice about getting a dog if I were you. This newel post looks like a giant, hand-carved fireplug.”

Exasperated, Mercy gave a small huff, and not just because he’d insulted her post. “How am I supposed to think with you talking all the time?”

“You shouldn’t have to think. Any woman who’s had her heart broken knows every little detail. She knows who, and where, and when. The lady can even tell you the moment it happened. But not you.” Nick ran his hand along the highly polished banister. He missed her widened eyes, and the way she followed the motion of his hand. Nick paused for a heartbeat and then added, “Now, why is that?”

The sharp ring of the telephone caught them both by surprise, breaking the spell of intimacy that had been weaving itself around the two of them. When Mercy didn’t move, Nick said, “I believe someone is callin’ you.”

“I can hear,” she replied, and walked past him to the phone table. Snatching up the black bone-shaped receiver, she answered more sharply than she intended and silently swore she’d wipe that self-satisfied look off Devereaux’s face if it was the last thing she did on this earth. “Oh … Sophie, hi. No, nothing’s wrong.”

Nick chuckled and wandered toward the opening into the living room, which looked comfortable but still reflected the century-old character of the house. Without sacrificing any of the architectural flavor, Mercy had managed to make an inviting home—something he hadn’t been able to do with his apartment even though he’d hired an interior-design firm.

“No, he’s not the plumber,” Mercy patiently explained to her elderly neighbor as she eyed her guest. “He’s a doctor. No, I’m not sick. Devereaux. Dr. Devereaux. No, not France. He’s from New Orleans. Yes, the one in Louisiana.”

When he heard his name, eavesdropping became too great a temptation for Nick, but he salved his conscience by facing her so she’d know he was shamelessly snooping. Fleetingly, Nick wondered if she’d forgotten her plumbing problems as completely as he’d forgotten about being tired.

“No!” Mercy’s answer to the unheard question was sharp. Suddenly she clenched her teeth as though trying to hold out against pressure. She shot him a furtive glance, then turned away and lowered her voice. “No, I’m fine. Really. Now is not a good time, Sophie. Sophie … Sophie!”

Gingerly, Mercy replaced the receiver. She turned and announced, “We’re about to have company. Sophie would like to meet you. She’s never met anyone from New Orleans.”

Something in Mercy’s tone of voice straightened Nick’s spine. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Should I be worried?”

Mercy’s sense of humor began to surface and her mouth twitched. “I would. She’s afraid you’re ravishing me.”

“She’s afraid I’m what?”

“Ravishing me,” Mercy said pleasantly as she passed him on her way to the screen door to wait for Sophie.

“You can’t be serious,” Nick declared.

“Oh, I’m perfectly serious. Sophie says she saw you drive up and you’re just the sort of man who might, and I quote, try something.”

“And Midnight Mercy is just the sort of woman who could handle it if I did,” Nick replied sharply.

A shiver raced up her spine. He had used her nickname. “Why did you call me that? I mean—Midnight Mercy. Why’d you call me that?”

“Chère, I look at you and see two incredibly sexy women who excite the hell out of this poor Cajun.” He joined her by the door and leaned against the jamb. Mercy Malone was a complicated woman; not what he had expected, and she fascinated him. He gently lifted her chin and forced her to look at him as he explained. “One woman breaks hearts so easily while the other seems to be very careful with her own.”

This time the shiver raced through her entire body, and a flush of heat quickly followed. The new intensity in his eyes belied the shadows beneath them. Nick no longer looked like he needed sleep; he looked dangerously intent on getting what he wanted.

“Mercy dear!” Sophie called out as she started up the porch steps. As usual in the summer, Mercy’s neighbor wore a comfortable and brightly embroidered Mexican sundress. “I just needed to borrow a little brown sugar. You don’t mind, do you?” Sophie crossed the wooden porch and affected surprise, “Oh, dear me! I see you’re busy at the moment.”

Startled, Mercy realized that Nick’s thumb was slowly but surely tracing her collarbone as he slid her soft, white cotton shirt off the shoulder. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Mercy ground out, and shrugged off Nick’s hand. “Come on in, Sophie.”

This time when she opened the screen door, it screeched its usual banshee protest. Once the sprightly octogenarian scooted inside, Mercy made the introductions. “Sophie Jensen, Dr. Nick Devereaux. There. All introduced.”

Without rushing, Sophie tapped the plastic measuring cup against her thigh, sized Nick up, and said, “So how long have you known our Mercy?”

Nick laughed, crossed his arms, and gave her an equally careful once-over. “Not quite long enough to ravish her, but don’t you worry. I’m wearing her down.”

Mercy choked and muttered hopelessly, “Oh God, what else can happen today?”

“My!” Sophie exclaimed as though nothing embarrassing had transpired. “Don’t the floors look nice. This entrance hall seems enormous now that you’ve gotten all that nasty old green carpeting out of here. Mary Jane Hiller, rest her soul, did so like shag carpeting. But this is much better, dear. More spacious.”

“You think so?” Mercy took the cup from Sophie and looked pointedly at the two of them. “I was just thinking how crowded it felt. You two get acquainted while I swim through the kitchen and get some sugar.”