But she was also glad for the way Jean-Pierre seemed to understand she needed some time and space to make her own decision about their future together. She was grateful for that right now when she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by this life of privilege.
"Dinner sounds nice." Maybe after a shower and a change of clothes she'd feel less vulnerable, more ready to stake her claim for a future independent of Reynaud influence. "I look forward to it."
She said it as a polite social nicety. But something flared in his eyes at the words, a heated interest she didn't miss. That he could feel attracted to her now-when she was bone-weary and still recovering from pregnancy-caught her by surprise. It amazed her even more to realize his interest stirred her own.
Where would he be sleeping? And what a crazy thought that was on more than one level. The doctor hadn't even cleared her for sex yet. If she was even planning on having sex with Jean-Pierre again. Which she wasn't.
"As do I." His gaze roamed over her, warming every place it rested. "Until then, you should feel safe to walk the grounds if you wish. Between the extra security on staff for the wedding and the usual precautions around the property, you won't have to worry about any unwelcome interruptions from the media. Just be careful near the lake or on the decks overlooking the water. Telephoto lenses from boats or nearby properties would be able to capture images at that distance."
"I'll keep that in mind." She would keep her blinds closed as well, as much as she'd prefer the water view. "The longer we can protect César's privacy, the better. Although some photos of you and me here together might help quiet the rumors I created back in New York."
"If you feel up for a boat ride tomorrow, I'll take you out on the lake." His gaze held hers. "Just like old times."
A half smile teased his mouth as he reached for the door. A shared memory flashed between them. He used to take her out on the boat to be alone with her-away from his family. They would anchor near a quiet cove and steal belowdecks. She would try to tempt him enough to forget the restraints he'd always put on their relationship, always knowing she was safe with him. But there were times that they'd pushed the boundaries...
Just thinking about those trips warmed her skin. The urge to kiss him flared hot even though they stood on opposite sides of the room. She licked her lips instead, suddenly nervous.
"I'm sorry you have to spend your time staging photo opportunities for the press to cover up my mistake with that reporter." She had never understood how he could rattle her so easily when she felt sure of herself with the rest of the world.
His hand fell away from the door but he didn't advance toward her.
"Even if it hadn't been for that comment to the reporter, we would need to be together this week anyway." The hint of a smile had vanished, his expression serious. "You and César are my highest priorities now."
Jean-Pierre would bear his responsibilities because he had to, not because he wanted to. She nodded, understanding better than he realized.
As he left her alone to rest and unpack, Tatiana knew it would be a stretch to appear in photos with him as if they were still old friends. The truth was that they were so much more than that. Enemies, lovers, parents. A combustible combination with attraction simmering just below the surface.
It would take a whole lot of focus just to keep it from boiling over.
Four
"Tatiana?"
A man's voice awoke her later that night, the sultry drawl of a Cajun accent lingering in her ear. Confused about the time and her whereabouts, she struggled to orient herself. A strange coverlet pressed into her cheek, the pale piping making a ridge along her jaw. Moonlight streamed in through a door near her bed where she'd forgotten to close the blinds. She lay atop the duvet, still fully clothed.
"Jean-Pierre?" The voice sounded so close to her, but she didn't see him in the moonlit room.
Had she been dreaming of him?
"I'm in César's room," the voice returned softly, the sound coming through the nursery monitor, which rested on the bed nearby. "I wasn't sure if you heard him cry, but I think he's hungry if you still want to feed him."
Waking faster now, she realized it must be late. Her breasts were swollen to aching.
"Yes. I'm coming." She scrambled off the bed, wishing she'd changed into something more comfortable. She was a wrinkled mess in her traveling clothes. She must have slept right through dinner.
"Don't hurry. We're fine." The gentleness in Jean-Pierre's tone slipped right past her boundaries, making her smile. Of course, the warmth and kindness were intended for his son. He was speaking as much to César as to her. "It's a nice night if you want to sit outside. I've got a fire going."
"I'd like that." Her eye went to the door; she could see a blaze in one of the fire pits. She hurried anyway, thinking maybe she had time to slide into fresh clothes after all.
"I'll stop by the kitchen to grab you something to eat. You must be hungry," he said as she slid out of her dress and into a pair of knit pajama pants and a matching button-up top that made nursing easier.
Hearing him while she was mostly naked roused a whole host of feelings she wasn't ready to deal with.
"I'm on my way." She grabbed a throw blanket off the end of the bed for good measure. The more barriers between her and Jean-Pierre, the better.
She had to remind herself that he only saw her as a responsibility. A duty to be handled, the way he competently managed every other task and obstacle life had thrown his way.
Steeling herself with that chilling reminder, she ventured out onto the second-floor veranda.
The cool breeze carried the scent of wood smoke and ginger. The gardens here were heavy with flowers even though it was November. Camellias bloomed all around, along with a golden flower on nearby trees she didn't recognize. But the fragrant ginger came from dense plantings of white flowers lining the paths around the pool. She'd noticed it earlier as she was falling asleep, the Louisiana breezes taking her back to childhood and happier times when her father had worked with Leon Reynaud and the families had spring holidays here after the football season ended.
"Someone misses you," Jean-Pierre called to her from a spot by the fire.
Rounding a hedgerow on the far side of the pool, she spotted the Adirondack chairs pulled up to a round fire pit surrounded by a low wall of flat rocks. A glider swing with a seat as big as a full-size bed anchored the space, draped in breezy white gauze threaded with a few fairy lights overhead. The cushion in the swing was draped in colorful blankets, as if someone had dragged half the contents of the linen closet outdoors.
"I think I see my seat." She hugged the blanket she was carrying like a shawl, tightening it around her as she stepped into the firelight.
Jean-Pierre rose from one of the chairs. César was wide-eyed in his arms, their son's tiny face only half visible behind his father's shoulder. Even in his casual clothes, Jean-Pierre looked crisp and pressed while she felt rumpled and tired from the long nap she hadn't meant to take.
The stress of the last weeks must have caught up to her.
"I didn't know how cold it might be when I first came out here, so I loaded up on the blankets." He followed her as she made herself comfortable in the glider swing, the cushion so thick a small child could use it as a trampoline.
"You were trying to lure me outside?" She covered her legs with one of the extrasoft wooly throws even though the fire warmed the area just fine.
The blaze crackled as a log shifted.
"I thought the view out here would be nicer than in the nursery." He dragged another pillow over from the other end of the swing and tucked it between her hip and the arm of the swing. "The whole reason Leon bought this property was for the view. If not for the lake, we'd be in the Garden District."
"It would be tougher to create a Reynaud compound in a city where families hold on to their houses for centuries." She loved the Garden District, but she guessed it would be difficult to find homes close together up for sale at the same time.
Here, the Reynauds had three homes and plenty of lake frontage.
"Leon was smart to think about privacy." Jean-Pierre didn't hand her the baby yet, instead gesturing toward a server holding a small tray that Tatiana hadn't noticed. "It's easier to keep the media at bay here."