Your Wish Is My Command (18 page)

But, then, he knew that. Perhaps he'd known since that first night in the attic when she'd wielded the Sword of Hearts like a pirate queen, born with steel in her hand.

He led her to the small town house he'd rented for his current stay. It was at the residential end of Bourbon, only a few blocks away from the bookshop. It didn't look like much from the outside. It wasn't much more exciting on the inside. His demands for creature comforts were minimal. His indulgences had little to do with decor.

“Here?”

“You were perhaps expecting a mystical cave requiring a secret password in order to enter?”

She blushed but laughed. “Not entirely. I just wasn't expecting anything this … ordinary. Guess the open-sesame thing I was practicing won't be necessary.”

Sebastien smiled but forced his gaze away from hers.

He was very attracted to the way the light danced in her eyes when she laughed. Too attracted. He unlocked the gate leading to the courtyard and rear entrance.

Jamie stopped just inside the courtyard and turned slowly. “This is beautiful.”

Several trees along the outer walls provided shade. Gardens filled with portulaca and greenery dotted the edges of the tiled interior. There were ferns and pots of bougainvillea and impatiens spilling from the arched gallery openings on both the first and second floors.

Sebastien glanced over the lush vegetation. “I can't take credit for it; it was here when I rented the place. It rather tends to itself. A bit ungainly.” He turned and grinned at her. “But I've always been one to enjoy abundance.”

“A gross understatement, I'm sure,” she said dryly.

Sebastien laughed, but he didn't miss the fleeting expression of discomfort on her face. She might want him to believe that being here with him wasn't affecting her personally, that she was merely an observer, here to obtain information about him. But he knew different.

He'd changed things last night. He would have to work hard to put that behind them and reassure her that he was quite in control of himself now and that she had no reason to fear he'd make any untoward advances.

Even if he didn't quite believe it himself.

He motioned to the wrought-iron table and chairs arranged by a small water fountain. “Why don't you have a seat and I'll go prepare something to drink as we talk. Are you hungry?”

This time the momentary flash in her eyes discomfitted him. Pleasurably so. He stepped away and turned toward the loggia. “I'll prepare some cheese and crackers.”

“That's not necessary,” she said. “I'm fine, really.”

Sebastien was already retreating. Not running, precisely, just taking the wisest course of action. “I'll return momentarily. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Would you like some help?”

He paused then and looked back. She was clearly disappointed not to be invited in. Her curiosity all but filled the air between them—the air that wasn't already humming with other, more-vibrant sensations.

He was tempted to invite her in. For some reason it was vital to him that she believe fully in him and what he truly was. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit it went deeper than merely advancing his cause with her to fulfill his obligations. It bothered him that she was so resistant to believing in him.

It was an issue of trust. And that disconcerted him most of all. For the last thing he'd ever expected from a woman was trust. And why should she trust him? In his extended life he'd always sampled freely from life's bounty. His loyalty was to the cause, whether it was with the Laffite brothers or his matching of souls. Never to something as fleeting as the pleasures one could find with a woman. Which was why he generally dallied with women who preferred a similar arrangement. Neat, tidy, and mutually satisfying. Trust and loyalty never entered into it.

Until now.

Her charms commanded his attention in ways he'd never anticipated. Which brought up the matter of having her in such close proximity to himself. This courtyard was intimate but not nearly as private as the interior. Given that, it was wise to answer her questions while keeping her at a distance. Perhaps their talk today would enlighten him as well, help him find some logic in the surge of emotions he was feeling.

“I can manage,” he said. “Look around if you'd like.” He forced a smile in the face of her obvious
disappointment. “Why don't you formulate your questions? I'll answer them all as soon as I return.”

“I have them all lined up.” She smiled sweetly. “And yes, you will.”

He left, smiling to himself. She was quite the match. A beguiling sauciness underscored with that thread of uncertainty that always caught him so off guard. This should be interesting. Very interesting.

Jamie nosed around the small burbling fountain while waiting for Sebastien to return. There were several fat koi meandering lazily through the water. Her thoughts weren't on them, however. She was none too happy at being held at bay out here. She was dying to see the inside of the small row house. How would it be decorated? Was he a slob or did he tend toward the compulsive? Did he have any memorabilia of his supposed former life? Tables and mantels cluttered with plundered antiquities?

Or, worse, would the interior only prove that he was a regular guy, with dirty socks strewn about, men's magazines in the bathroom, and some delusional problems he kept swept under the rug?

Maybe it's better to stay out here, after all
. Which meant she wanted answers but only if they were the ones she wanted to hear.

Then he was back, looking incredibly male in his pleated trousers and white linen shirt. The cuffs were rolled up, exposing tanned forearms with crisp curls of black hair sprinkled lightly over them. She wondered briefly if he had hair on his chest, then immediately yanked her thoughts away as she found her eyes drifting speculatively in that direction.

She half-rose to take the tray from his hands, but he shook his head and lowered the platter to the table.

Two icy glasses of lemonade and a small plate of
cheese and crackers, along with a small bowl of sugar and some napkins, filled the tray.

“I wasn't sure if you liked your lemonade tart or sweet,” he said, explaining the sugar bowl.

“No sugar for me, thanks.”

“Tart, then,” he said with a smile. “Like your tongue.”

Now, why did he have to go and say words like
tongue?
Didn't he know what kind of images that would instigate in her way-too-fertile brain?

It was all the jungle flora in this courtyard, she decided. Way too earthy. Perhaps being alone with him like this had been another tactical error on her part.

She studiously focused her attention on taking her glass and a napkin. She could feel the heat of his smile like a ray of sunshine beating down on the top of her head, but she resolutely refused to look up. She went about choosing her cheese and crackers as if it were a life-and-death decision.

And perhaps it was. She hadn't felt such a moment of consequence since she'd made the decision to leave racing.

He settled across from her. “What would you like to discuss first?”

Jamie decided she'd question him from the stance that he was what he claimed to be. Perhaps he'd slip up. Perhaps not. She wasn't sure which result she'd rather have, but she didn't have to worry about that right now.

“Where do you go when you're not here?” She waved a hand toward the town house.

“It depends on what my goals are for the day. Some days I spend doing research, some days—”

“No, you misunderstood me. I mean when you're not here—as in, on earth. Alive. Living, breathing. Where are you between assignments, as it were?”

“Ah.” He leaned back and rested his icy glass on his
knee, heedless of the trickles of water sliding onto his trousers. “I'm not sure I can explain that to your satisfaction.”

She smiled. “Try.”

“I do not have any real cognizance of when I'm not here. It is as if, when I complete my work, I go to sleep.”

“And you wake up when the next person draws the sword?”

“Oui.”

“So when the final match is made, what do you do? Go poof?”

“Not exactly. I retrieve the sword and present it to my master. Or mistress. Once they take hold of it, I disappear. Much in the manner I appeared before you when you drew the blade out.”

“And if that same person draws the sword again?”

He shook his head. “I will not appear. You can summon me only once.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, I do not know much of how or why the curse works. Only that it does.”

“Wait. You're saying you don't even know the rules?”

“I can only explain my existence. When I am here, I am as human as you are. I do not feel as if any special powers have been bestowed on me.” He smiled and lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps doors always seem unlocked to my touch—” He lifted a hand to stall her question. “I conduct myself as a gentleman always, mademoiselle.”

“A gentleman who takes pleasure in giving me a heart attack by popping up unexpectedly. But at least I can stop locking the bathroom door now when I shower. Why bother, right?”

His eyes glittered with amusement.

Jamie glared back at him, not at all comfortable with the direction in which this was headed. “So that's it?”

“I seem to have a heightened awareness of when two people belong together. Perhaps my powers of persuasion are more highly developed.” He grinned. “My rate of success speaks for that.”

“So you've never failed?”

He held her direct gaze. “Never.”

Jamie took a sip of lemonade but found it difficult to swallow. He was far too confident, and she was well aware that she was next on his list. She shook that off. It wasn't like she believed this. Not really.

“Some matches take longer to make than others,” he conceded. “But every match I have made endured until death claimed one, the other, or both.” He lifted a shoulder. “And who can say of their afterlife together, yes?”

“Do you check up on them? When you come back?”

“Mais oui.
This time it has been somewhat more difficult, in that my time away was much longer than ever before. It is more usual for months to elapse, occasionally a year or so, but this time it was decades. Edgar must have tucked the sword away so safely that no one ever came across it during the remainder of his lifetime.”

“Yes, he did. I suppose at one time he lived in the building he left to Ree, but no one had lived there for some time. I guess none of the people he leased it to ever snooped around.”

Sebastien grinned. “Unlike you.”

He had an uncanny way of making her blush. She couldn't recall ever having that particular problem before. When she was with him it was almost a chronic condition. “Yes, well, I think we've already discussed my love for buried treasure.”

The sudden flash in Sebastien's eyes was far too intimate for her comfort. The sense of connection she felt with him at times bordered on the spooky. She
turned her attention to the cheese and crackers, and back to the conversation as well. “So, how many couples would you say you've matched up?”

“Hundreds.”

She choked on her bite of cracker but forced it down. “Hundreds?”

“That is a fair assessment,
oui.”
He said it matter-of-factly, without false modesty or arrogance.

This whole conversation wasn't doing much to reassure her. Yet. “Is it unusual for a woman to summon you?”

“It is true I have had far more masters, but you are not my first mistress.”

“I imagine you enjoyed those … liaisons.” She'd meant to sound wry, but it had come out a tad more accusing than she'd hoped.

“I have found some pleasure in each of my summons.” He sat forward, looking more closely at her. “Ah, that is not what you meant. I see. Well, perhaps I can set your mind at ease. Just as I do not bed those I am destined to match, I do not dally with those who mistress me.”

Jamie wanted to ask him what in the hell last night had been all about, then. She was both mistress and match. But she wasn't ready to go there. She did realize, however, that this was exactly why she was here today. To make some sense of what he'd said last night. To make sense of her attraction to him, a man who was so completely wrong for her that even she could see it. And to make sense of his attraction to her, a woman he'd made it clear—in more ways than her ego specifically required—he would never normally “dally” with.

Sebastien had apparently taken her rejection rather easily, since he'd had no problems reverting back to a more platonic mode with her. She had only herself to
blame for being so ridiculously disappointed. After all, she'd told him no way, no how.

“Yes, well, I can see where 'dallying' could complicate things.” She hurried on. “So is your mistress or master always one of your matches?”

“Many times, to be certain, but no, not always. In fact, I recall one elderly mistress of mine. Arabella DuPrais. Delightful woman. Very witty. She had me match up her three grandchildren.” He grimaced. “They weren't so delightful.”

Jamie found herself laughing. “So I'm not alone in being less than overjoyed at the prospect of being saddled with someone for life?”