The Taming of a Wild Child(28)

She sneaked a peek to her left. Donovan St. James was not in the playbook at all. Pity.

The problem with rebelling was that, while it was liberating and exciting, it painted her as an irresponsible flake who didn’t respect the traditions she’d been taught her entire life. She’d been both an embarrassment and a disappointment to her family, because after failing to live up to Vivi’s example she’d simply quit trying. If she harbored any hope of changing that now she not only had to live by the rules, she needed to embrace them and live them.

Vivi’s honeymoon had handed her the perfect opportunity to show that she wasn’t that girl anymore. This was a crucial time for her; she couldn’t afford a potentially embarrassing affair with Donovan.

Not that it seemed to be an option now, since Julie seemed to have made her claim without a peep of protest from Donovan. She should probably be happy Julie had derailed that train before it could crash spectacularly.

A Lorelei-Donovan coupling—however brief and non-permanent—would probably kill her grandmother. Regardless of anything else he had going for him, nothing—not the St. James family money, not even the respect Donovan had earned in his profession—would ever give Donovan St. James membership to the club as long as the old guard were in power. And he probably still wouldn’t get an invite after they all died off, either. Some lines just couldn’t be crossed.

She might not fully agree with the attitude, but she was so tired of being the family disappointment that she was willing to do practically anything to change that. She’d never be a pillar of that society, but she could at least be a functioning member of it.

Damn. Now she was really depressed.

She signaled for a server and ordered a large glass of wine.

I should not be chasing after Lorelei LaBlanc. It had been an ordeal to get out of Julie Hebert’s clutches—into which Lorelei had delivered him in the first damn place, before swanning off to spend the evening with Jack Morgan—only to find out that Lorelei had left long ago, claiming a headache.

Without saying goodbye. Again. Twice in one day was just too much.

Honestly, he’d been a bit relieved when he’d woken to an empty bed, as he had no idea how this morning would have played out otherwise. Even though he could assume that Lorelei would have been much less huffy and antagonistic this time, there was no such thing as an un-awkward morning after. He was actually grateful that Lorelei had been so accommodating as to leave before the awkwardness set in and ruined the memory of a very pleasant night. Based on how adamant she’d been about leaving immediately last night, he rather assumed she felt the same way.

He had both respect for and experience with the fine art of the pre-dawn exit—so why, then, did he have a nagging irritation about Lorelei’s? He’d done his fair share of bolting, but he’d at least tried not to make it look as if that was exactly what he was doing. And he never left without saying goodbye, even if he had to wake the woman up to do so, because not to would just be disrespectful. He liked to think he had better manners than that.

That was what ticked him off. And as the day had progressed it had only got worse. By the time he’d got to the awards dinner and seen Lorelei up on that stage …

Then, to make matters worse, she’d honed in on Jack Morgan like a heat-seeking missile—as if she hadn’t been naked in his arms less than twelve hours earlier.

He’d known hooking up with Lorelei was insanity.

Yet here he was, navigating his way through the pedestrians that spilled out of the clubs on Frenchman Street on his way to her house. He hadn’t phoned first—even after two nights spent tangled in her arms he still didn’t have her number—but he knew exactly where she lived thanks to Connor and Vivi’s press.

The one thing he didn’t know yet was exactly why he had this need to track her down tonight. It could backfire spectacularly in his face, but even that knowledge didn’t have him turning around. Damn, he was a glutton for punishment.

He found a spot on the street about a block from her house and parked. The streets weren’t well lit, and jazz from one of the clubs floated on the air, broken only by the occasional laugh or shout of party-goers down the street.

Lorelei’s house sat close to the road, with only a small strip of grass separating the sidewalk from a wide, screened-in wraparound porch. Most of the house was dark: only one light inside and one on the porch glowed against the night. He remembered Lorelei saying something about a roommate who was never home, and hoped that would be the case tonight.

As he turned up the walk he wasn’t surprised to see Lorelei reclined lengthwise across a large wooden swing, head back against a cushion. She held a tablet in one hand, the steady movement of one finger scrolling through whatever was on the screen. One bare foot touched the wood planks, keeping the swing gently in motion.