Your Wish Is My Command (6 page)

And exactly what would she say if she did?

Hello, kind officer,
I have a gorgeous guy in my attic, dressed in mmaculate designer clothes, who claims to be some sort of cupid genie
.

Who would look like the nutjob? Yep, that was the kind of publicity the new shop needed, yessirree Bob.

And there was still the little matter of the sudden appearing and disappearing act he'd pulled that first night. Speaking of which … “How did you get up here today? We keep the door between the residence and the store locked during business hours.”

“Your cousin, Monsieur Jack Sullivan, directed me. An interesting fellow, quite personable. I'm not certain why you think he would have hired me to play a joke on you.”

Jamie rolled her eyes. “You don't know Jack.” She'd been given the luxury of a full day off when Jack had popped in that morning and begged to play the
part of shopkeeper. He was wonderful with the customers—young, old, male, female … and all the variations in between—so she'd let him have his way and headed up here instead.

She almost wished she'd been downstairs when Sebastien had come into the shop. She could well imagine Jack's likely reaction to such a specimen entering his temporary domain. She had to stifle a smile. She also had to stifle Jack. “He shouldn't have let you up here without asking me first.”

“He was about to turn me away, but Mademoiselle Broussard, wonderful woman that she is, waved away his concerns.”

“Wonderful woman. Of course. Thanks, Ree.”

“Oui
, you are fortunate to have such friends to care about you.”

“Care about me by letting strange men into my home?”

“I am no longer such a stranger, am I?” He paused, then said, “You did not tell them about me. About my … mission, as you called it. Why?”

“I didn't think that was really wise. In fact, this whole thing is really—”

“Inevitable,” he broke in. “You cannot undo the summons. But I agree with your decision to leave my true purpose unheralded. I should have mentioned that the first night. Things tend to go much more smoothly when only my master—or mistress, in this case—knows who I really am.”

“And just who are you?” He was very convincing, and yet she knew it was utterly ridiculous to allow, for even one second, that he was truly what he said he was. Ridiculous and dangerous.

He walked over to the stool where she sat. Her every muscle steeled itself for … whatever it was he planned to do.

You are in no danger from me, mon amie,” he said quietly.

Had he read her thoughts too? Did he know she was remembering their kiss? The feel of his lips on hers, so confident, so certain. So damnably brief.

“That all depends on how you define danger,” she answered. She scooted back and slid off the stool, slowly sidling away from him until she stood looking out the side dormer window. She needed distance.

“What questions did you want to ask?”

“I want to hear more about these lessons you spoke of.”

“Lessons?” She turned back to face him. Tactical error number … hell, she'd lost count. The sun seemed to track him, always bathing him in that golden, ethereal light. In that moment she could almost believe he was exactly what he claimed to be. If he vanished right then and there, she doubted she'd be surprised. Maybe she just wanted to believe.

Not a good sign at all.

“The lessons you spoke of that first night, when you summoned me. You and your friends have learned from them not to trust love. Who taught you this?”

Now she really wished he would disappear. He had this intent way of looking not just at her but … into her. But she didn't turn away. Another thought had occurred to her: Maybe this was a good way of testing herself. He was the one she could judge her recent life-altering decisions by. And Lord only knew he was a good measuring stick. She was absolutely attracted to him. He was totally and completely unsuitable for her. Perfect.

More than perfect, really. Her first husband, Chad—good-looking, three-timing, jerkface slimeball that he was—had admitted he was a good-looking,
three-timing, jerkface slimeball. Well, only after she'd caught him in bed with not one but two of the most unnaturally built race-circuit bunnies she'd ever had the displeasure to see. And she'd seen way too much. Even he, Chad of the Golden Tongue, hadn't been able to sweet-talk his way out of that one. Of course, he'd tried. There was a lot of money riding on her swallowing that Golden Tongue of his. He'd been pretty inventive too.

But never once had he claimed to be a genie. If she dealt with her attraction to Sebastien and controlled herself, she would know for sure she'd really matured and finally gotten a grip on her biggest character flaw. And, at age thirty, it was about damn time.

Yeah, but what if you screw up and fall in love again?
her annoyingly whiny inner voice demanded. Even more annoying, her inner voice was right. She should listen to it more often. Chad had been bad and Steve hadn't been much better. Which made Sebastien a risk that simply wasn't worth contemplating.

“Jamie?”

Okay. She loved the way he said her first name. And why not? So she nixed the experiment idea. It didn't mean she couldn't fantasize about the man, right? She could only imagine what he'd be like in bed, whispering naughty nothings in that French accent. She felt her skin grow even warmer.

“These lessons of love. Who taught them to you?”

She sighed. Fantasyland was much more fun than Harsh Reality Land. “What difference does it make?”

“Knowing where things went wrong before will help me with the matches I will make for your friends. And then for you.”

“You seem rather confident about this.”

He simply nodded, then waited with an expectant smile.

She blew out another, deeper sigh. He really was totally charming. For a delusional person. “And I should help you why?”

“That eternal-happiness thing?”

She laughed at his awkward, French-accented attempt at modern lingo. It occurred to her then just how un-modern he generally sounded. She'd chalked it up to his accent, but now her curiosity was piqued. “How long have you been here? In the U.S., I mean.”

He smiled at the question. “I am from Corsica originally. I was pressed into service with our navy against the Ottomans by Napoleon when I was eleven years old. Over the next dozen years events transpired that resulted in my being taken on, not altogether willingly, by a privateer named Dominique You, who worked out of the Gulf. I ended up here when they began … trading out of Barataria Bay and the bayous of New Orleans.” That mischievous twinkle surfaced. “As it happened, I took to their way of life rather quickly.”

Their way of life was the pirate life. Jamie knew who Dominique You was. He had worked very closely with another famous “privateer”—Jean Laffite and his brother, Pierre. Which would have been in, oh, around 1810. Give or take a year or two.

“Napoleon,” she repeated, still processing the rest.

“
Oui
." His expression hardened somewhat. “I was never to see my family again. But he was not a man one said no to.”

No, of course not. Especially at age eleven. Which meant, according to him, he'd been born—she did a little mental calculation—roughly two hundred ten years ago.

Right. “So. Okay.” Jamie painted a bright smile on her face as she took a careful step backward. She'd purposely given up her high-speed, globe-trotting life for this run-of-the-mill, “normal” existence.
Her biggest fear was supposed to be potential boredom burnout, not being pursued by a guy claiming to have run around with his buddies Napoleon and Jean Laffite. She took another step, edging toward the doorway.

Sebastien didn't come after her, but the knowing smile on his face told her he was perfectly aware of what she was doing. “I will convince you,
ma maîtresse
. I always do.”

She stopped, less than a yard from the door and safety. Well, she hoped safety. Lately, things never seemed to work out like she planned. “I'm convinced, okay? You are who you say you are.”
Yeah, right
. “But, you know, maybe it's better if we just forget this whole bet thing right now. I don't want to make you angry or anything, it's just that this isn't something I'm interested in being involved with. I shouldn't have agreed to it. It's my fault, really, so don't take offense. But maybe you should go find someone else to do your matching-up-soulmate stuff with. No hard feelings. Deal?”

“Our deal has already been sealed,
mon ami
."

That kiss again. She'd known that was going to be trouble. “Really, I—”

“Our destiny was fated the moment you drew the Sword of Hearts, Jamie Sullivan. I am sorry that my appearance in your life has caused you concern. It is not my intention to bring distress.” He walked closer, not stopping until he was just outside the line of personal space.

It didn't feel like he was outside the line, though. He consumed her space, even from across the room. And her air. There was a distinct tightness in her lungs. Probably that was why she couldn't move. “It's just that—”

“Shhh.” He held up a finger.

She froze, half-praying he'd touch her, just one
more time, and half-praying he wouldn't. Just so when this was over she could claim her dignity for not having fallen at his feet in a puddle of aching hormones.

“It will be done,
ma chérie
.” he said quietly. “There is nothing either of us can do.”

His words held such sincerity that it was almost impossible for her not to believe everything he'd said. It was very clear he believed every word. But that was insane.

“I have never once failed. Can you not be satisfied with the knowledge that you and your friends will find lifelong happiness for putting up with my presence for just a little while?”

“How—” The word came out sounding like a frog croak, and she was forced to clear her throat. “How long is a little while?” Damn her for asking that. She should be politely yet forcefully making him understand that he could not stay and be part of her life or that of her friends. Period.

He lifted his shoulders in that Gallic way European men had. God, he even shrugged sexy.

“Each time I am summoned is different from the last. I cannot say. Only that if you help me, it will go as swiftly as is possible.”

“And if I refuse?”

He did touch her then. His fingertip traced the line of her jaw and came to rest just under her chin. He exerted the least bit of pressure but brought her chin up just enough so that her eyes directly met his.

“I will do my job anyway. I will not go away until your destiny has been found. For that is my destiny. Neither of us can escape it.”

J
amie sat down across from Ree with their second

I cups of coffee and two pieces of biscotti. Thunder rumbled across the sky, causing the windows to vibrate and the deep-brown liquid in their mugs to shake. Heavy rains lashed the tall storefront windows. They'd had one customer since they'd opened.

“This will let up soon,” Ree predicted. “Morning storms always do. But it's going to be a muggy one this afternoon. Thank goodness Fred got his refrigeration units fixed.”

Fred Bartelone, a retired
Picayune
reporter and Quarter favorite, owned Get the Scoop, the ice cream shop located around the corner from Happily Ever After. “Yeah. Maybe we'll get some of his overflow traffic. Preferably
after
they've finished their ice cream,” Jamie added dryly.

“Shoot,” Ree said, “I'm planning on
being
part of that traffic.”

Jamie smiled, then started when a ripping bolt of lightning was followed by an explosive bang of thunder. “I'm not so sure this one is going to let up anytime soon.”

Ree toasted her with her mug. “More time for ice cream, then.”

“Yeah, well, when we've slurped up what infinitesi
mal bit of profit we made today on chocolate chip cookie dough, you get to be the one to tell Marta, deal?”

Ree settled back in her chair. “Just be thankful she is such a good accountant. I still can't believe she went up to the market in this mess.” She shook her head. “Who would have pegged her as a thunderstorm junkie?”

“Yeah, and I thought I was the elemental one.”

Ree nodded, then smiled. “I think this whole thing has been good for her. I'm glad she got away from that job in Baton Rouge working for that misogynist SOB of a boss. I don't know why she put up with that company. They used her.”

“Well, she used them, too, Ree. She needed to be needed after Dan died, and they fit the bill.”

“You mean they took advantage of her grief and worked her like a dog.”

Jamie shrugged but nodded. “I know. I just wish we could pay her better here so she didn't have to take in freelance work on the side. She's doing Fred's books too now, you know.”

“Yeah, she told me. I think she likes it, though. People needing her, being in charge of her own work. She told me just the other day that this is the most independent she's ever felt. I mean, she married Dan when we were all still at Tulane, then gave her whole life to Aaron Associates after he died. So this is exciting for her. It's the first time she's taken real control of her life. She's really enjoying this, Jamie.”

Truth be told, Jamie was enjoying it too. More than she'd expected. “It's been good for all of us.”

Ree laughed. “Amazing what a couple of old college chums can do when they put their minds together.”

“I know. Hard to believe one lunch conversation six months ago could make us change our whole
lives.” When Jamie had turned thirty just before the end of the year, Ree and Marta had insisted she come and visit them for the holidays and a long-overdue celebration. She'd been somewhere else, racing around the globe, on their landmark birthdays. It had been a long time—too long—since she'd made the time to come back and visit. Marta had still been buried at Aaron Associates, and Ree had just buried her longtime companion, Edgar Santini, and come into possession of the piece of real estate in which they currently sat.

“I've said it before. We were all at a crossroads, Jamie. Each of us was ready to make a drastic change. Maybe it was destiny that brought us together at that same point in each of our lives.”