LEAD ME ON by Julie Ortolon (find a book to read TXT) 📕

or social commentary, let me assure you it’s just laziness on my part.”

“How so?”

“Every day I have to make a million decisions, not just about plot twists but character names, physical descriptions, mannerisms, and what the hell they’re wearing. The last thing I want to think about is my own clothes. Plus, when I travel for research, it’s easier to pack if everything is either black or something that goes with black.”

“You forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?”

She grinned at him. “It’s very sexy.”

“You think so, eh?” He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her full on the mouth, sending her senses reeling. The minute she wrapped her arms about his neck, though, he pulled back. “Stop that, woman. Or you’ll wind up taking a very different kind of ride.”

“I could be persuaded.”

He gave her lips a quick smacking kiss. “Enough. We’ll never get out of here if you keep attacking me.”

A few minutes later, they’d checked out of the hotel and tossed their bags in the back of the Jag. Scott headed for the house where Allison had grown up. It was just a few blocks due north from the hotel, but the scenery changed subtly as they crossed the line from the newer development along the gulf side of the island into the historical district on the bay side. The old nineteenth-century buildings that made up downtown and the residential areas immediately surrounding it were all that had survived the Great Storm.

Pulling to a halt before the Bouchard Cottage, Scott admired the quaint one-story white house with its picket fence and green shutters. The flower beds had grown wild with neglect, but the place had charm to spare.

He didn’t need to read the historical marker mounted on a pole in the front yard to know the cottage had been built by Henri LeRoche for his wife’s daughter, Nicole, when he banished her from Pearl Island. He knew enough about Galveston history to know Marguerite’s descendants had lived there ever since. But while the descendants of Marguerite were well known to everyone in Galveston, they were definitely not part of respectable society. Actors were still considered nothing more than “privileged servants” in certain circles.

“This’ll only take a minute,” Allison said as she jumped out of the car. “Why don’t you come inside and have a seat while I change?”

“You got it.” Scott climbed eagerly from the car since he’d always wanted to see the inside of the cottage.

As they made their way to the front porch, she frowned at the overgrown flower beds. “I really need to get over here more often and take care of things.”

“Can’t your aunt hire a lawn service?”

She looked at him. “Why should she do that when she has the three of us living nearby?”

“Because you have an inn to run, for one thing.” He held the screen door open while she fished the key out of her purse.

“True, but Aunt Viv made a lot of sacrifices to raise us after our parents died. A little mowing and weeding is the least we can do in return. Besides, I’ve always loved this place.” Opening the door, she led the way inside. The dark entry held the musty heat of spring on the gulf coast. “Here, let me open a window.”

Scott followed her into a small parlor filled with a hodgepodge of antique furniture. Sunlight flooded the room as she threw back the heavy curtains. Glancing around, he saw a multitude of framed photographs, playbills, and theater props. Generations of family history covered the walls and every flat surface, including the piano that stood near the archway to the dining room.

This one small house, with its untended gardens and cluttered parlor, held more welcoming warmth than any of the mansions he’d lived in growing up. How very different her childhood was from his.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but the kitchen’s completely bare.” She wrestled a window open to let in some fresh air and the sounds of sparrows squabbling in the shrubs.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Well, if you’ll wait here, I’ll go change.”

He hid a smile as she headed through the dining room toward the back of the house. After everything they’d done in the hotel room, it seemed odd to wait for her in the parlor like a high school sweetheart come to pick her up for a date.

To pass the time, he studied the pictures. Mixed with the live-action shots to promote stage productions were studio head shots of her various ancestors. On the mantel, though, he found some candid shots of Allison with her brother and sister at various ages.

What a skinny little thing she’d been, he thought as he picked up a photo of her sitting on the front steps with her sister. He knew Aurora was the younger of the two, but even at this early age she’d been taller and more filled out than Alli. Aurora was flashing the camera a playful smile with her back arched and her bright hair tumbling about her budding figure. Alli, on the other hand, sat beside her, solemn but poised with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She reminded him of a gazelle with her slender limbs and long neck. Her smile was timid, and her eyes held a sort of acceptance that made her seem sad and serene at the same time.

She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and already she’d been a complex blend of layers. Who was Allison St. Claire? And what made her such an intriguing study in contrasts?

“Okay, I’m ready.”

He turned as she walked into the room wearing faded blue jeans tucked into black English riding boots and a white T-shirt. The outfit did a fine job of showing off her slight curves, and the riding boots were enough to inspire a few fantasies.

“How ‘bout you, cowboy?” She gave him a cocky grin. “You ready to ride?”

Oh, honey, am I ever.

Alli laughed as the wind whipped through her hair. Her knees