Then Sylvie thought about his other words. “So, you rescue buildings, as well as damsels, huh?”
He blushed. He actually blushed. And Sylvie once again felt that odd tugging in the region of her heart. And a sense of guilt that she might have misjudged him these many years.
His street-front law office was on the first floor with a “Closed for Vacation” placard in the many-paned, leaded glass window. A low, black wrought-iron fence in the form of twining acanthus leaves encircled the small yard in front. He lived in an apartment on the second floor.
“Well, at least your office seems to be intact. No sign of forced entry,” she remarked as they entered the door to the left and then the corridor, off of which was another door to his office and up ahead a staircase leading to the second-floor apartment.
Luc nodded in agreement. “Perps wouldn’t dare break in through the window, fronting on a busy street as it is. It’s patrolled heavily by police. Not that burglars don’t try to break in on occasion, coming through the back entrance,” he noted, pointing to pry marks on the heavy oak double door to the right, with the brass nameplate “Lucien LeDeux, Attorney at Law.” “But this door has enough dead-bolt locks to secure the federal mint. Doesn’t stop the everyday criminal from tryin’, though. They seem to think we lawyers have a bundle of cash stashed in our desks. Too much Court TV and gold-chained Johnny Cochrans are ruining our image.”
Luc steered her with a hand on her elbow up the narrow stairway with its wonderfully carved cypress wainscoting and handrail. The upper walls were papered in a reproduction antique stripe of beige and burgundy offset with green acanthus leaves. Here and there were framed etchings of famous bayou settings. Astonishingly tasteful.
But Sylvie had something else on her mind. She hesitated at the top of the steps and turned to Luc. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. You should not have been subjected to my embarrassing… ”
“Sylvie Fontaine, don’t you dare apologize for behaving like a normal human being. You’re upset and scared, with good cause. Hell, I’m sure-God scared, too.”
She blinked at him with disbelief. “You don’t act scared.”
“Dieu, why do you think I was holding on to you so tightly back in the Jeep?” He winked at her then, causing her heart to skip a beat.
Even though she recognized that he was just being kind, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Oh, darlin’, you should not do things like that to me.” He was shaking his head at her.
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t rub the lamp if you don’t want the Genie to come out. Because it tempts me to kiss you back, chère, and not on the cheek either. Because, if you knew the impure thoughts I’ve been having about you, you’d put a Mississippi mile between us, not a kiss.”
She still clutched her Happy Meal carton in one hand, and her other hand was still twined with his, but Luc leaned down, ever so slowly, and pressed his lips against hers. They were a perfect fit.
Sylvie closed her eyes, the lids of which suddenly felt heavy. It was amazing that, in the midst of all the danger, they stood in a hallway smelling of old wood and a century of beeswax polish, kissing. And it felt so very right.
He moved his lips back and forth across hers—a restrained, non-threatening whisper of a kiss. And yet it was all the more powerful because of its restraint and, for a certainty, it threatened everything that Sylvie had ever been or ever dreamed. He moaned deep in his throat, and that was her undoing.
She pulled back abruptly. Breathing heavily, she struggled to find some explanation for this strange chemistry whirling about them, connecting them in a most compelling way. She could see by the stunned expression on Luc’s face that he was equally touched.
“You have no idea how good your chances are with me right now,” he whispered huskily.
“Is it the love potion?” she asked.