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“Absolutely, Charlotte.”
“My sisters and I are a little short on cash at the moment.”
Hiram disengaged his fingertips and dropped his forearms to his desk. He leaned forward, his expression regretful. “As much as we here at First Unity Bank would like to help you, Charlotte, we can’t give you an extension on the balloon payment.”
She kept the smile plastered on her face with a great deal of effort. She was not going to give up until she got her way. “Why not?” she asked, summoning up the sweetness that came so naturally to her sister Isabella. “You gave us a loan the last time we were in financial trouble.”
“And at that time, we financed the maximum amount available to you and your sisters,” Hiram explained sternly. “Since then, you’ve paid down nothing of the principal. That’s why the balloon payment is due now.”
“What about a second mortgage?” Charlotte asked.
“Against what? You’ve already borrowed against ninety-nine percent of what the property is worth. If I might be so bold,” Hiram said as he picked up a pen and doodled aimlessly on the notepad in front of him, “there is a solution here. There’s an auto plant going in here in the next few months. It’s expected to be operational within a year.”
Charlotte toyed with the strand of fake pearls around her neck. “What does that have to do with us?”
“Six thousand people will be moving to the area, looking for homes. Homes that we don’t currently have.”
“I’m not a home builder, Hiram.”
“I know that. But Heritage Homes is, and they want to purchase Camellia Lane, Charlotte, and turn it into a subdivision of affordable tract homes. Frankly, I think the three of you would be fools to refuse the offer,” he continued. “With the money you and your sisters earned from the sale of Camellia Lane, you could pay off the mortgage on the property and be out of debt completely.”
“Forget it. There’s no way we’re selling Camellia Lane,” Charlotte said firmly. It was their home. It was all they had left of her parents.
“Perhaps you need time to consider,” Hiram suggested kindly.
“I don’t think so.” Charlotte got up and started for the door.
“There’s something you should know, Charlotte,” Hiram said, his voice hardening. “If you don’t pay the fifty-thousand-dollar balloon payment, the bank will have no choice but to foreclose on the property.”
“I bet that would just break your heart, wouldn’t it?” Charlotte said, whirling to face him.
Hiram removed his bifocals and set them ever so slowly on his desk. “I know you’re upset, Charlotte dear. But First Unity didn’t get you and your sisters into this mess. The bank and I are only trying to help.”
Trying to force them into a corner so the bank could make a profit was more like it, Charlotte thought. “Tell me, Hiram, who is representing Heritage Homes?”
He didn’t answer. But then, Charlotte thought bitterly, he didn’t have to.
* * *
BRETT WAITED UNTIL all three Langston sisters were gone, then let himself into the house and headed straight for the library.
He frowned when he saw the top of the desk. Last night it had been covered with Charlotte’s papers and notes. Now it was clean as a whistle. He had been hoping to get some idea how far along she was in her investigation of Sterling.
Brett tried the desk drawers. Locked. Cursing, he picked up the phone and punched in his credit-card number. Seconds later, Franklin came on the line.
“Brett? What have you got?”
Not as much as I’d like so far, he thought. “Charlotte Langston called your secretary last night.”
“Yeah, I know. Marcie told me this morning. She also said she hung up on Charlotte. I suppose it’s too much to hope Miss Langston won’t try again?”
“Way too much,” Brett concurred grimly.
“Have you learned anything else?” Franklin asked.
“Just that Charlotte Langston and her sisters are in desperate need of money.” Briefly, Brett explained what Charlotte had told him. “She’s meeting with the bank this morning to see about a loan,” Brett finished.
“You think that’s why she’s so hell-bent on unmasking Sterling?” Franklin asked.
“That’s part of it,” Brett said.
“And the rest?”
“She sees it as a challenge.” And Charlotte Langston was not a woman to turn away from a challenge, Brett had discovered.
“Any chance she’s onto you?” Franklin asked.
That, Brett thought, remembering the three-way conversation he had eavesdropped on the evening before, was a difficult question. “She doesn’t trust me.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t see me as a farmer, despite the fact I passed her quiz on cotton with flying colors.” Brett hoped the dirt samples he had taken and sent out to the lab this morning would help bolster his image as agriculturalist extraordinaire.
Franklin harrumphed his displeasure. “You want me to put someone else on the job?” he asked gruffly.
“Nope,” Brett said quickly. This wasn’t a job he would trust to anyone else. Charlotte Langston needed special handling. “I’m staying.”
Brett heard a car pull up in front of the house. None of the sisters was due back for hours! “Gotta go,” Brett whispered into the phone, as he heard a car door slam. He dove for cover behind the long leather sofa, stretching out along the cushions just as a key turned in the lock. Because the sofa faced the fireplace, with its back to double doors leading into the library, he wouldn’t be seen by whoever had arrived unless she actually came into the library.
Someone slammed into the house. Brett inhaled the faint scent of lilacs. Charlotte, he thought. Her high heels clicking on the parquet floor, she bypassed the library and headed straight for the kitchen.
Brett breathed a sigh of relief. He was about to get up from the sofa when another car pulled up out front. Cursing his ill fortune, he stayed where he was and continued to feign sleep in case anyone spotted him. In the meantime, he thought, he was in a pretty good position to listen to all that went on, at least at the front of the house.
* * *
“I GOT HERE AS SOON as I could,” Jared Fontaine said, his straight blond hair gleaming in the sunshine as he took the steps leading up to the house.
“You must’ve left your office the moment I telephoned,” Charlotte said, ushering Jared into the parlor. With its Georgian paneling, milled moldings and soaring white ceiling complete with two crystal chandeliers, the room was the most elegant in the entire mansion. Moving soundlessly across the oriental rugs, Charlotte opened the blue velvet drapes that covered the double French doors, letting sunlight spill into the long, rectangular room. She glanced around quickly, checking to see if everything was in order. “I barely had time to put water on for tea.”
“I didn’t come for tea, Charlotte. I came to see you.” Jared took both her hands in his and held them away from her body. “Honey, you look as if you haven’t changed a bit.”
That was true, she thought uncomfortably, but at the moment it was correct for all the wrong reasons. Normally, she wore slacks and blazers and clipped her long hair back at the nape of her neck. But that wouldn’t work in the conservative Poplar Springs business community, so she had rummaged through the back of her closet for something appropriate to court a hopelessly old-fashioned banker in, and come up with a demure pink business suit. She’d added a strand of costume pearls and clip- on earrings, and combed the heavy waves of her shoulder-length hair in the loose, girlish style of her youth.
Unfortunately, the Southern-belle ensemble that was charming Jared Fontaine now hadn’t made a dent in Hiram’s stony resolve, Charlotte thought. But that was where Jared came in. An attorney and old family friend, he could advise her on what to do.
Jared dropped his grip on her, thrust his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stepped back. In a white double-breasted suit, he looked dapper and successful.
They exchanged smiles. “Please make yourself at home in the parlor, Jared, while I run back to the kitchen and get our tea,” Charlotte said.
When she returned, Jared was seated in one of the two wing chairs in the alcove in front of the French windows. It was the coziest, most intimate spot in the room.
Trying not to attach any special significance to that, Charlotte set the silver tea service down on the table between them as Jared’s sherry-colored eyes lasered into hers.
“So what has you so upset?” he asked gently.
“First Unity Bank is trying to force us to sell Camellia Lane because we can’t pay the balloon note on the first mortgage.”
Jared’s expression remained impassive. “How much do you owe?” he asked.
“Fifty thousand,” Charlotte replied, as she poured steaming tea into two bone-china cups.
He whistled, his eyes focused on the movements of her hands. “That’s not exactly penny change.”
“No, it isn’t,” Charlotte agreed, sitting back in her chair. “Which is why we need your help. I’ve already talked to Hiram, to no avail. But I thought perhaps if you intervened—”
Jared held up a hand. “I’ll be honest with you, Charlotte. The likelihood of you and your sisters getting an extension from the bank is slim. You owe the money. The bank has every right to collect.”
Charlotte’s expression fell. Jared and his family were very well connected; she had been counting on him to help her. “Couldn’t we even get a couple more weeks?” Enough time for her to find Sterling?
“It’s doubtful. Life here is changing. With the new auto plant coming in next year, Poplar Springs will no longer be the sleepy little burg we both grew up in. The price of land in this part of Mississippi is already shooting up.”
“All the more reason why my sisters and I should hold on to Camellia Lane,” Charlotte said stubbornly.
He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. Now is your chance to get out of debt and in on the ground floor of something really big.”
With effort, Charlotte kept her voice Southern-lady-pleasant. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t want to sell, and neither do my sisters.”
Jared settled his broad shoulders more comfortably against the back of the chair and balanced the saucer on the flat of one hand. “It doesn’t work that way, Charlotte. If you don’t sell your land, then someone else here will sell theirs. A year from now, if other subdivisions do pop up in the meantime, then there’ll be no demand for your land.”
“So much the better,” Charlotte said with a shrug.
Jared studied her. “You really want to fight Hiram, don’t you?”
“And the Heritage Homes developers. Camellia Lane is one of the few antebellum mansions left in this part of Mississippi. It should be preserved. The question is, will you help me?”
Jared studied her as if a great deal were at stake for him, too. “If I do…does that mean you’ll stay on?”
“In Mississippi?”
“Yes.” Jared kept his eyes on hers.
Charlotte shrugged, feeling uneasy at the suddenly intimate nature of his gaze. “The magazine I work for is located in New York.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “You couldn’t give it up?”
Charlotte drew a deep, enervating breath. “For what?”
“A life here at Camellia Lane.”
Again, his gaze was a little too intense for comfort. Surely he couldn’t be saying… Charlotte backed off. She raised a hand in a cautionary manner. “I can’t think about that today, Jared.” And she meant it.
He set his cup and saucer aside and leaned toward her. “Then when?”
Charlotte drew another breath. “I’ll think about it tomorrow,” she said.
* * *
CHARLOTTE SHUT THE DOOR after Jared and leaned against it wearily. She had tried to make it clear from the outset that she had called him because he was an old family friend—not a potential love interest. Unfortunately, he was thinking of her amorously.
She was going to have to think up some way to let him down gently. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
In the meantime, she had to think of a way to make the balloon payment if she couldn’t locate Stephen Sterling in time. With that purpose in mind, Charlotte marched across the front hall to the library. She was halfway across the room when she caught a flash of movement on the sofa and let out a startled scream.
“Lady, what is it with you?” Brett drawled as he lazily sat up. “Must you always scream people awake?”
Charlotte resisted the urge to slug him for scaring her half to death. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I thought you wanted me to do more caretaking.”
Charlotte braced her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “What does that have to do with you sleeping on the library sofa?” And why did he have to look so sexy, with his dark hair all rumpled, his blue eyes so vibrant and filled with mischief?
“I came in to see what needed to be done, couldn’t decide and lay down to think about it.” Brett propped his clasped hands beneath his head and made no move to sit up. “Next thing I knew I fell asleep.”
Thank goodness he hadn’t overheard her conversation with Jared, Charlotte thought. It was embarrassing to be on the receiving end of a subtle pass from Jared. “Well, I want you to stop it immediately,” Charlotte said hotly.
“Stop what? Sleeping? Or eavesdropping?” he prodded as he stretched and got lazily to his feet.
Charlotte swore beneath her breath as he towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun, dwarfing her. She gasped as he took a step nearer. “You didn’t—”
Brett flashed her a crocodile grin. Bracing a palm on the sofa back beside her, he leaned close, the tantalizing scent of Old Spice and soap engulfing her. “I did.”
She knew he expected her to back away. Instead, she clamped her arms in front of her and fumed. “You had no right listening in on what was a very private conversation.”
His glance moved over the soft swell of her breasts before roving impertinently back to her face. Again, the wicked grin. “It was either that or interrupt the tête-à-tête,” he admitted roguishly. “Given the rather…um, shall we say delicate nature of your conversation, I figured you’d prefer me to stay put and stay quiet.” He leaned close. His dark blue eyes glittered with laughter as he reached up to finger a lock of her hair. Sifting the silky strands through his fingers, he pinned her to the spot with a knowing look. “Or was I wrong?” he speculated brashly.
Charlotte was so aware of him she could barely draw a breath. Gathering her wits, she pointed to the front door. “You, sir, are always wrong! Now get out of my house!”
“Why, I’m hurt, Miss Charlotte.” He plastered both hands against the solid wall of his chest and grinned disarmingly. “You didn’t even give me a chance to help you and your beautiful sisters out of your predicament.”
Charlotte was not amused by his clowning around. She regarded him patiently and uttered a long-suffering sigh. “There’s nothing you can do for us.”
“I could offer you a piece of advice.”
“Which is…?” She offered up a sweet smile, totally ignoring the way he looked in those soft, faded, snug-fitting jeans.
“I think you’d best be advised to find yourself another lawyer—someone who is truly on your side,” Brett counseled solemnly.
Charlotte drew a bolstering breath. “Jared is on my side.”
“Is he now?” Brett said in a put-on Southern drawl. “Funny, I didn’t hear him offer up any options except for you to sell out. Unless of course, you count that veiled proposal to start up something with him. Which leads us to the next question. Just how far would you go, Miss Charlotte, to save your beloved Camellia Lane?”
It was a good question, and one Charlotte really didn’t want to think about. She also knew Brett wasn’t about to leave without an answer. “I’ll do whatever I have to do,” she vowed flatly. She would even get down on her hands and knees and beg, if it came to that. Anything to save Camellia Lane.
“That’s what I thought,” Brett said, his disapproval evident.
Charlotte didn’t need Brett or anyone else acting as her conscience. She had enough to deal with as it was.
She put a hand on his sweatshirt-covered chest, intending to shove him out the door if necessary. Big mistake. Beneath the soft cotton, she could feel the swell of solid male muscle. Lots of it. And it was all braced for… Well, she didn’t want to think about that, Charlotte decided as frissons of desire swept through her in undulating waves.
“Find something you like?” he teased softly. Grinning, he stepped closer, until their legs were touching in one long electric line.
His head was dipping toward hers, and she could feel the closeness of his chest and, lower still, the heat from… No! She was not going to let him do this to her, even if he was the sexiest man she had come across in a very long time.
Deciding the sooner she got rid of him, the better, she gave a push. “Out.”
To her surprise, he merely shrugged and began to move in the direction she’d pointed. He sauntered toward the door. No sooner had he gotten to the front hall, however, than he came back to the portal where she was standing.
This time, when she flattened a palm against his chest he didn’t budge. Instead, he covered her hand with his own and tightened his grasp.
“You’re not going to do it, are you?” he persisted, searching her face. “Fire Jared and hire another attorney?”
Charlotte extricated her hand from his. She shook off his touch, trying without success to get rid of the tingles. “I have no reason to consult another attorney,” she insisted stubbornly.
“If you say so,” Brett muttered darkly.
Charlotte stepped past him, opened the front door as wide as it would go and practically shoved him out the portal. “You’re wrong about Jared. He’s noble.” Unfortunately, he also had a misdirected crush on her.
“I see.” The corners of Brett’s dark mustache quirked up wickedly as he smiled. His blue eyes grew dark and intense. He anchored an arm about her waist and hauled her close. “Too noble to do this, I presume?”
Charlotte had no time to react. One minute she was standing in front of Brett. The next thing she knew she was swept up in his arms, bent backward from the waist. She gasped in astonishment as he slowly…slowly…lowered his mouth to hers. “Brett, don’t!” she gasped, feeling both mesmerized and aroused. And then his lips touched hers and the world fell away as he kissed her like she had never been kissed before.
She felt the tickle of his mustache and the warm, insistent pressure of his mouth. The hardness of his chest, the muscular brace of his legs and the iron command in his arms. Desire raced through her in a heartbeat, warming her outside and in. Her tummy was weightless, her knees made of jelly. And still he kissed her, taking everything she had to give.
Feeling as if every romantic fantasy she’d ever had was about to come true, Charlotte started to surrender to the conquering nature of his embrace, then brought herself up short. What was she thinking? Dear heaven, she didn’t have time for this!
Temper raging, she tore her mouth from his and pushed at his chest. He laughed softly, his hand still tangled in her hair; then, as gallantly as any Southern gentleman, he slowly righted her and, just as deliberately, released her.
Charlotte was so disoriented and filled with overwhelming pleasure she could barely stand up, let alone think of anything appropriate to say. Brett knew it. Acting strictly on impulse, she slapped his face.
Brett grinned and rubbed his jaw. “Liked my kiss that much?” he drawled smugly, just as Charlotte’s two sisters drove up.
Chapter Three
“What’s going on here, Charlotte?” Isabella demanded in a shocked tone.
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to seduce the hired help,” Paige drawled, a hand splayed dramatically across her chest.
“Very funny.” Charlotte glared at Paige before turning back to Brett. She gave him her most lethal look.
He smiled back at her, pleased at the unprecedentedly passionate response he had wrung from her, without even half trying. Charlotte’s cheeks grew even warmer, but she continued to regard him stonily.
Finally, Brett got her message. “I think this is my cue to leave, ladies,” he announced to Paige and Isabella. His expression was both rueful and full of mirth.
Paige and Isabella both chuckled, despite Charlotte’s silent admonition not to do so.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Paige called airily after Brett.
Arms crossed defiantly in front of her, Charlotte watched Brett strut down the walk to the caretaker’s cottage. She was still tingling all over. And all because of a stupid little kiss. “Don’t encourage him,” she warned her sisters with a scowl as they retreated to the kitchen.
“Why not?” Paige teased as she flicked on the lights and brought out a pitcher of ice tea. “You apparently were.”
“All right, you two, don’t start!” Isabella ordered, halting the free-for-all. Then she looked at Charlotte, her expression serious. “How did the meeting at the bank go?” she asked as she brought out the glasses.
“Not good.” Charlotte sat down at the table with a sigh and began slicing up the lemons. “Hiram Henderson refused to give us an extension on the balloon payment. It’s pay up, as scheduled, or they’ll foreclose.”
“Well, that doesn’t leave us in a very good position,” Paige said, as she poured ice tea. “Together, we only have four thousand dollars.”
“Which leaves us forty-six thousand short of what we need,” Isabella said with a worried frown. She went to a drawer and brought out a calculator. “Maybe if we talked to a lawyer—”
“I already spoke with Jared Fontaine,” Charlotte said. “He says, legally, there’s nothing we can do. The bank has every right to demand we pay up as scheduled.”
They stared at one another in glum silence. “This is just impossible,” Paige said, looking near tears.
It wouldn’t be, Charlotte thought, if Marcie Shackleford would agree to help her locate Stephen Sterling. But since that wasn’t likely to happen, she would have to employ a back-up plan for saving Camellia Lane. She looked at her sisters. “I have an idea how we can raise money quickly.” It had come to her on the drive home.
“How?” Paige and Isabella asked in unison.
“By holding an antebellum-period costume ball and buffet dinner here.”
“Kind of like a charity thing?” Paige asked, beginning to smile again.
Charlotte nodded. “We can call every historical society and women’s club in the state. We can’t charge admission, of course—that would be illegal. But we can have a party here, because it’s a private residence, and we can suggest gifts of two hundred and fifty dollars a plate to help us save Camellia Lane.”
Charlotte picked up the calculator and did some quick calculations. “As long as we have two hundred and fifty people or so attend, we should be able to carry it off.”
* * *
WHILE PAIGE AND ISABELLA began making phone calls, Charlotte walked into the kitchen to start dinner. To her surprise, Brett was already there. In jeans and the usual sweatshirt, he looked casual and relaxed.
Trying not to notice the way the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the open windows brought out the highlights in his tousled brown hair, Charlotte walked by him and peeked in the skillet on the stove.
“Breast of chicken florentine,” he explained.
It smelled delicious, Charlotte thought. Brett came up behind her. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he reached past her and took the lid off a saucepan. “The spinach is cooking in here. And here—” he closed in on her slightly, the fronts of his thighs brushing the backs of hers as he lifted yet another lid “—we have some rice.”
Warming everywhere they touched, and even places they didn’t, Charlotte said, “It looks wonderful.” Turning slightly, she slipped out from under his hand, so they were no longer touching.