A Noble Pursuit

“Don’t stop,” Juliette whispered fiercely

Stop? It would have been easier to stop a freight train, Shay thought. Desperation and desire—a volatile combination. It made the ordinary extraordinary. The act of making love took on a whole new dimension.

Greedy, she devoured his mouth. “More. I want more,” she demanded.

“Everything I’ve got…promise,” he told her, and then moments later, he was as good as his word as he tightened his hold on her and she on him and their tension built to release.

Slowly, reality returned—bodies cooled, vision cleared, the night once again took on form and dimension. Shay still held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go, positive that if he did, he’d wake up and discover it had all been a dream.

“All right, princess?” he breathed into her ear.

Her answer came, still dreamy with passion as she tightened her legs, reluctant to let him go. “Perfect. But you don’t need to call me Princess. I don’t use the title.”

“What title?”

Her eyes popped open. Oh, damn!

Dear Reader,

Haven’t you ever wished you could run away from your everyday life and have an adventure? Haven’t you ever wished you would be swept off your feet by a bold, handsome man who whisks you away to a life of passion and laughter…with no laundry to do? I sure have.

And this is exactly how Princess Juliette Fortier feels as she sits on a park bench in New Orleans and wishes for a man to sweep her away, temporarily, from the future stretching before her. The only problem is she gets more than she’d bargained for when her adventure begins for real. She gets Detective Shay O’Malley, a hot-blooded cop hot on the trail of a criminal.

I hope you’ll love this story as much as I’ve loved writing about Juliette and Shay. Please let me know. I’d really enjoy hearing from you. You can e-mail me: MEGLACEY@aol.com, visit me at www.eclectics.com or through www.eHarlequin.com or send a letter to: Meg Lacey, P.O. Box 112010, Cincinnati, OH 45211.

Happy reading!

Meg Lacey

Books by Meg Lacey

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

734—SEXY AS SIN

A Noble Pursuit

Meg Lacey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To dear friend, Robin Graff Reed, who dropped everything and jumped in when I needed her.

To my terrific editor, Susan Sheppard, who hung in there and taught me more than I can say. Thank you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

1

SHE SAT ON THE PARK BENCH, naked and alone.

Or at least that’s the way she looked to Shay O’Malley as his gaze skimmed over her. She was actually dressed in navy-blue silk and dainty heels, but the expression on her face told him she was stripped to the bone emotionally and isolated from the lively activity around her.

Shay sighed. Damn, she looked so young. Or was that because he was studying her with his jaded cop’s eyes? He took another look. On second thought, not that young. Early to mid-twenties, at least. He glanced toward the street. In any case, she seemed too innocent and lovely to be sitting by herself on the fringes of the rowdy, wicked Mardi Gras crowd.

He knew immediately that he couldn’t walk away. He’d have to make sure she was all right. His damn hero-to-the-rescue complex came out at the most inconvenient times.

Swearing under his breath, Shay shrugged his shoulders, feeling the weight of his old, brown leather bomber jacket as it shrugged with him. Slowly, he walked over to the park bench. “Miss? You look like you got a problem. Can I help?”

The woman gasped, then glanced up at him with an air of surprise that made her seem ill-prepared to face the world. Her ocean-blue eyes were as wide as a child’s. Shay wanted to groan as he compared her with the sultry hooker who was flaunting herself by a lamppost near the street.

“You’re kind of young to be out here with this type of crowd, aren’t you?” Regardless of her actual age, Shay knew firsthand there were too many predators waiting to prey on those who looked like innocents.

Her gaze raced over him from the top of his head to his toes, but still she said nothing. She only gripped her fingers more tightly together and stared at him, as if he were the devil sent to tempt her to hell.

Shay frowned. “Don’t be scared, okay? I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

The tip of her tongue moistened her naked mouth, running slowly over her full bottom lip. Shay felt a jolt that was purely sexual. It singed his gut and quickened his breath. “I said, what’s your name?” Uncomfortable at his reaction, he spoke more harshly than he’d intended.

“I…” She blinked, her mouth trembling for a moment, and then she said, “I can’t…” She stared up at him, her breath coming a bit faster as her gaze roamed his face, touching on each feature.

He cocked his head, considering her. “You can’t tell me your name?”

“I…” Still she stared, then gave a little shrug. “I can’t remember.”

“You forgot your name.”

She looked confused for a moment. “Uh-huh.”

“So. Memory’s completely gone?” He tried to say it lightly, even though he knew cynicism was sneaking into his tone. His inclination to trust her was at war with his experience as a cop.

She was silent for another moment, then she squared her shoulders. “Exactly.”

Shay frowned and tried another approach. “What are you doing out here by yourself? Aren’t you with someone—friends, parents…?”

Her head snapped up. “I’m not a child!”

Shay’s gaze dropped and he took in the curves beneath the silk of her dress. She was no child, for sure. His gut tightened. Full-grown or not, there was something about her that made him want to shine up his armor and sharpen his lance.

“And I’m not with friends,” she continued less vehemently. “I’m alone.”

“Okay, you’re an adult. Still, isn’t there somebody…a boyfriend? Maybe you had a fight or something?” He glanced around the park, then his gaze swept over her again. “It could get rough out here later. If you were my woman you wouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“Your woman?”

“That’s right.”

She gave him a hint of a smile. “Do you need a woman?”

He was shocked. He’d have bet his badge she wasn’t a hooker. “Are you offering?”

“That depends.” Her eyes gleamed with an unexpected excitement.

Shay tilted his head. Now that was familiar, that seductive, teasing tone. His eyes narrowed as his gaze came to rest on her mouth. Her lips trembled again, but whether from fear or excitement he didn’t know. Maybe he’d misunderstood her tone. From force of habit, he called her bluff. “Depends on what?”

“On if you feel like being a hero.”

“You need a hero?”

“Every woman needs a hero.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Not today they don’t. Most women would rather be the hero than depend on one.”

“I’m not most women.”

“I’ll say.” The words rushed out before he had a chance to think about them. He could feel his neck flush at the sly glance she gave him from under her long dark lashes. “What I meant was, most women wouldn’t be sitting here alone on a night like this. Or if so, they wouldn’t be alone long.” As if to underscore his remark, a group of revelers, dressed to the hilt in colored satin, frothing lace and elaborate headdresses wove past them. Their laughter was accentuated by the rumble that had been growing steadily louder throughout the evening.

She shrugged and touched the wooden slats of the bench. “I came here because I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

“Where’s there?”

The woman scowled, avoiding his gaze. “Where I was.”

Shay rubbed the spot between his eyebrows where tension was starting to build. Talking to this woman was like being caught in a never-ending loop. “Let’s get this straight. You don’t know who you are, where you’re from or why you’re here. That about cover it?”

She shrugged. “That’s the story of my life.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Life has a beginning, a middle and an end. You’re still working on the first couple chapters.”

“I think my middle and end are already written.”

“You’re too young to be a cynic. Trust me, I know.” Did he ever. No one lost his ideals faster than a cop.

“Aren’t cynics merely the flip side of idealists?”

He lifted a brow, studying her in closer detail, now more intrigued than ever by her aristocratic Southern accent and the aura of class she wore. What the hell was she doing out here? “That’s pretty heavy thinking for a woman who can’t remember her name.”

She frowned. “Maybe I read that somewhere.”

“Do you remember reading your address?”

She squeezed her eyes shut before saying in a fierce whisper, “No, I don’t.” She opened her eyes and stared into his, her gaze intense and gleaming with purpose. “Do you believe in fairy tales? In legends coming to life?”

“Fairy tales?” The intoxicating scent of jasmine brought on images of sultry nights under the stars, crushed flowers and soft moans, and Shay shook his head to clear it. They’d warned him in Cincinnati that New Orleans was more seductive than a high-priced whore, but he’d shrugged it off. Now here he was, lurking in a park near the Renard Restaurant on a half-baked tip from an iffy informant and what was he thinking about? “Nah, I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

“How about fate? Do you believe in fate?”

“I believe in making my own fate.”

A self-satisfied smile touched her lips. “I thought you’d say that.”

Shay straightened. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” He shoved a hand through his hair. He had a job to do and he couldn’t do it with this type of distraction. He’d already decided that this stakeout was a waste of time and he’d been about to cut bait when he saw her.

“What would you like to do?”

Her voice, soft and provocative, whispered on the breeze as Shay glanced at his watch, then at his companion. Despite the temptation, he made the instinctive decision to protect his undercover status. “I’d better find a cop.”

“A cop?” A hint of alarm crept into her question. “Why do you want a cop?”

A gust of wind stirred the branches above them. “Get real. Why do you think? You don’t know who the hell you are. I can’t leave you here. You’d end up a crime statistic.”

“I can’t involve the police.” Her voice started to rise, which set Shay’s warning lights flashing. Why was she so afraid of the police?

“I’ve got to get you somewhere safe.” Shay slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Damn, what kind of…did you hit your head? Is that why you can’t remember anything? I didn’t even check. Maybe we ought to find a hospital or a clinic.” His fingers probed gently in her hair—searching for an injury, he told himself, not because he wanted to touch her. “Let me know if anything hurts.”

She slapped his hand away and stood up. “Nothing hurts. Nothing you can see, anyway.”

Shay straightened and reached for her arm. “Wait a minute. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to go now.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere.”

Shay grabbed both of her arms and swung her around to face him. “Hold it. You’re not—”

“I’ll be fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

“The hell you will. Look, I’ll take you down to the precinct myself.”

She tugged her arm away, surprising him with her strength. “No. I can’t let you do that.”

A jagged flash of lightning split the sky. Shay glanced up, then back at her before grabbing her wrists. “You don’t have a choice.”

Her eyes abruptly filled with tears and her voice tightened. “No, no, let go. I can’t go to the police. I can’t have that kind of—please let me go.”

He pulled her close, stroking her tense back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” What in the hell was this woman mixed up in? he wondered. Should he tell her he was a cop, after all? Not that he had anything but temporary jurisdiction on one specific case, but still—

She struggled, attempting to pull away from him. “I have to go. Please, I’ll be okay.”

Another crack of lightning split the sky, followed immediately by a roar of thunder. “I’m supposed to let you run away into a storm, without knowing who you are? Forget it, lady. I can’t do that. What kind of hero would I be?” The rain started to fall lightly but steadily. All around the area people were running for cover. For a moment, Shay was at a loss. Even if tonight’s tip was proving a waste of time, he was still on the job, and he took his duty seriously. But, like every good cop, he knew when to cut his losses. He glanced toward the street and, with no sign of his quarry in the vicinity, decided to bail out. Then Shay pulled his attention back to the woman in his arms. Staring down at her, he cradled her closer. “I have to take you somewhere.”

The woman hesitated, then blurted, “Then take me home with you.”

“Home with me?”

“Yes. I can stay until the rain stops, and then I’ll go anywhere you want me to go.”

“That’s not the greatest—”

She shivered as the breeze whirled around them. “I’m getting cold.”

“Ah, hell.” Shay looked down at her, trying not to be distracted by the way the wet silk was clinging to her body, outlining every curve. He stripped off his jacket and threw it over her as the rain started falling harder. “Come on, we’ll have to run for it. My car’s on the other side of the park.”

Shay wrapped his arm around her, tucking her close to his side as they started running. They cut across the grass as the path was now crowded with fleeing people, some laughing, some swearing and some so drunk they were stumbling into each other. A man attempted to grab hold of them to steady himself.

Shay shoved him away. “Go sleep it off, jerk.”

“Looks like you’ll be doing the same,” he slurred with a leering glance at Shay’s feminine armful.

Sudden protective instincts leaped to the fore and Shay had to stop himself from punching the guy. “Get out of here before I arrest you.” The man moved away and only then did Shay realize what he’d said. He glanced down at the woman next to him, only to see a quick smile cross her lips.

“That was a clever way to get rid of him. I’ll have to use that.”

Shay chuckled as they continued to cross the wet grass toward the sidewalk. “No one in their right mind would take you for a cop, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Just then the heavens opened, spilling rain in great drenching sheets. Shay grabbed the woman’s hand and tugged her along, running down the concrete walk to the side of an old white Porsche that had seen better days. He dug into his pocket for his keys, swearing when his hand stuck in his wet jeans. Meanwhile the rain was plastering his shirt to his chest.

Shay glanced at the woman next to him to see how she was doing under his leather jacket. Marginally better, but not much. He managed to grasp his keys and remove his hand without turning his entire pocket inside out, then leaned down to unlock the door.

Pulling it wide, he began tucking her inside. “In you go, Red.”

She stopped halfway into her seat. “What did you call me?”

“Red. I have to call you something.”

“Why Red? Why not—”

He ducked his head as a particularly unpleasant gust of rainwater pelted his back. “We’ll talk about it when I get in, okay?”

She looked up at him, seeming only then to notice how wet he was. “Oh, of course…”

Shay scarcely heard her “Sorry” as he dashed around the car and slid behind the wheel. He shook his thick hair like a dog coming in from a dunking, and laughed. “Damn, it’s kinda wet out there.”

The woman stared back at him, looking slightly amazed at his good humor. “Yes, it is.”

“I’d offer you a towel, Red, but at the moment I don’t have one handy.”

“I don’t have red hair. So I don’t see—”

“I thought you liked fairy tales.”

“I do.”

“You remind me of Red Riding Hood.”

“And you’re…?”

“The hero, what else?”

She snorted as she lifted her brow to consider him. “You look more like the Big Bad Wolf.”

Shay grinned. “Hey, you’re starting to remember already.”

She glanced away. “I…suppose so.”

“Who knows what you’ll come up with by the time the rain stops?” He glanced through his windshield. “If it stops. This looks ready to settle in for the night.” He reached for the key and started the car, turning on the wipers and the heat. “We’ll have it warm in no time.”

True to his word, after a moment the car’s heater spat out a blast of warm air that quickly made the small interior feel even more cozy, more intimate. Their shoulders practically touched as they sat in the sports car. They were so close that Shay was aware of everything about her—the rain-sweet smell of her damp hair, the subtle jasmine perfume she wore, the small, perfect pearl drops that decorated her earlobes, revealed when she tucked her hair behind her shell-like ears. He could hear the soft slide of wet silk as she shifted in her seat, looking for her seat belt, and immediately wondered what it would be like to have that silk shifting against him. He stared at the rain rolling down the window glass, which was fogged by their breathing. They were enclosed in a cocoon of sensuality, and Shay had no idea how to break the spell. He didn’t particularly want to, either. To him, the atmosphere seemed thick, laden with unvoiced desires.

She smiled a bit nervously and held her hands, palms out, toward the heater vents on the dashboard. “That feels good. Hot even.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was hot.

Luckily, he kept his mouth closed, so the thought didn’t spill out and make him more uncomfortable than he already was. He was a cop, for God’s sake. He wasn’t exactly on the job tonight, but even so, he couldn’t run around with his zipper at half mast just because he was getting a hard-on the size of California. Not and still call himself a professional. Hell, he couldn’t understand it. He’d resisted some of the most gorgeous call girls in the business during his undercover career. It made no sense to jeopardize his integrity with some sexy little waif. Not that this woman was related to his case; she wasn’t. Regardless, he’d placed her under his protection whether she knew it or not. Which made this entire situation and his response to it as unethical as hell.

“Whew.” Taking his jacket off her shoulders, she folded it on her lap. “It’s getting a bit steamy in here.”

I’ll say. He scowled as he registered her creamy shoulders, which were barely covered by her damp silk wrap. “Keep that on—you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” She indicated her clothing. “I don’t want to get your coat any wetter and ruin it.”

“You can’t hurt that jacket. I’ve had it practically since I was a kid. Lots of good memories in that jacket.”

“What type of memories? Tell me. Maybe they’ll help me remember.”

Shay laughed, grateful for a chance to get his mind off his groin and back on safer topics. “I doubt it, Red. My favorite memory is wearing that jacket to my first college football game and trying to put the make on Heather Johnson under the bleachers.”

“Oh.” Then she grinned back at him. “I can sort of relate. Except for the leather jacket, the football game and Heather, of course.”

“And you’re relating to what?”

“To wearing something that made you feel special.”

Shay’s gaze sharpened. Pretty astute young woman. It only reinforced his growing unease. Something about this entire situation was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He didn’t know much about amnesia, except it was traumatic for the sufferer. Of course, she had gotten upset when he wanted to call the police, but he wasn’t sure that reaction was symptomatic of losing your memory. Or was it? What the hell. He’d spent his entire career adapting the game to meet his rules, so he’d play this situation until it was over, too. It could be worse, he thought, smiling to himself. She could be eighty-eight and weigh three hundred pounds. He checked his mirrors and pulled out into traffic, before glancing over to answer her. “You’re right. I did feel special in that jacket.”

She smiled, sending him an admiring look. “Still do, I’ll bet.”

“Now it’s like a second skin. I’ve got it broken in just the way I like it.”

Shay saw her absentmindedly stroke the leather on her lap. Desire started gnawing at him again. He set his jaw in a tight line, imposing the control that was supposed to tamp down the fire. As long as he didn’t look at her, he figured, he might have a chance of coming out of this with his pants still on.

They drove in silence, each aware of the other. At least Shay could swear she was as aware of him as he was of her. This feeling couldn’t be one-sided. It was too strong and she was too close—way too close. For the first time, he wished he drove a full-size van.

She cleared her throat before asking, “Do you live far?”

He shook his head. “Just uptown a ways, in the Garden District. How about you?”

“I live—” She seemed to swallow her words. “I…” She stared at him, her eyes suddenly huge in her pale face.

“Sorry, just thought I’d give it a try. Take you by surprise and see what happened, you know?”

“Well, it almost worked until I thought about it.”

THAT’S THE TRUTH, Juliette thought. She’d almost blurted out her address the minute he asked her, just because she was so conscious of him that he sent her mind reeling. Not once could she ever remember being this aware of a man, being so drawn to someone that she wished he’d absorb her into his bone marrow. It’s what she’d have liked to feel about the man her brother wanted her to marry. But she didn’t. Of course, her intended fiancé was part of a practical arrangement, one that would unite their family fortunes—a normal occurrence in her social circle, especially since her father was a bit old-fashioned.

Juliette understood the business reasons behind her family’s wishes, but she resented—no make that hated—being used as a pawn in some game she didn’t want to play. She wanted romance, passion. She wanted a soul mate, a man who could touch her in ways she’d never dreamed of and could make her keep on wanting. What was the matter with a bit of fantasy? Was being swept off your feet by a bold, dashing figure astride a spirited stallion too much to ask? Just then Juliette caught sight of her rescuer’s reflection in the glass. A little smile caressed her lips. Or in this case, being swept off by a man wearing a brown leather jacket, beige T-shirt, blue jeans and boots, and driving a beat-up Porsche?

He indicated the window. “What do you think? Anything around here look familiar?”

She carefully avoided looking at the ornate building near the park that had belonged to her family for almost a hundred years and was now headquarters for the family business. “No, nothing.”

For a moment Juliette felt guilty for lying to her dark-haired stranger, then she pushed the feeling aside. She hadn’t asked for him to come to her rescue, she rationalized, but there he’d been, offering to help her. When a man like this one offered anything how could a woman say no? She’d have to be blind, deaf, dumb and 133 years old to resist his appeal. That certainly didn’t apply to Juliette, who was 24. Her upbringing might have been grounded in old-fashioned rituals, but her libido was a product of today’s world. She stared at his muscular thigh, which looked long and lean through his tight jeans. This man put all of those suave society men she’d always known to shame. Too bad he was temporary. She sighed.