Hope Reborn Read Online Free PDF Page B

mustached kiss weaken her resolve? Best not chance it.
    The door closed. Her heart fluttered then beat faster. Alone with the man.
    He took her hand. Would he fall to one knee? “Sweet May, these last few days have been so much fun, exhilarating.”
    “I’ve enjoyed most of it.” She tilted her head ever so slightly as she’d had so may heroines do, and offered the hint of a smile. “Especially the winning part.”
    He smiled as if he’d been letting her win, but that would be a lie. “I have a proposition for you. I own a home in New Orleans.”
    Proposition? That was an odd word. Proposition, proposal—same root. Still, a very strange selection. Surely he couldn’t possibly be insinuating a liaison without the benefits of marriage.
    How would he think for one minute that she’d agree to be his kept woman? Steam bubbled up from her gut, but she would afford him the benefit of doubt.
    Be certain of his intentions before she slapped him. “Really?”
    “Yes, and on Bourbon Street. I’ve always loved New Orleans. It’s a rather large home.”
    Why would she think such a thing just because he used one wrong word? After all, he was a gentleman. He’d given her no reason to believe he might suggest such a sortie.
    A tingle danced up her spine, and her pulse quickened even more. “Well, that’s interesting. I love most of New Orleans.”
    “We lay over there for three days, before we sail on to Panama.”
    “I see. It’s very nice that you have a house to stay in.”
    “Yes.” He smiled again, but this grin held a more sinister glean. “I’ve read two of your novels this past week. I can hear your voice.”
    His confession took her back. “You have? Well, what did you think?”
    “That there’s something lacking.”
    “Lacking?” She pulled her hand away. So this was why he wanted to get her alone. Tell her how to fix her books. How could she have been so stupid? “And tell me, in your opinion, exactly what would that be?”
    “There’s a certain passion missing, but that’s what I’m offering. Leave Chester here on the Georgia and come home with me. Call it research for your next book. Put some steam on your pages.”
    She backed away.
    “You are no gentleman. If I wanted to trash my novels, I wouldn’t need the likes of you for my exploring.” She gave him her best you’ll-never-know-what-you’re-missing smile then slipped out of the door—and his life.

Chapter

Four
     
    May didn’t say a word until Chester unlocked her door. “Get us a drink, would you, please.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He spun around and unlocked his door. Before she had the second lamp lit, he returned with a nice-sized bottle.
    “What’s that?”
    “Rum, the sailor’s drink of choice.”
    “Fine, pour me a double.”
    He poured, she drank and motioned for more. He poured again, and she flopped into her writing chair. Either it had conformed to her derriere or vice-versa, but she would miss sitting in it.
    About the only thing she’d miss about the miserable ship. She sipped the hard liquor. It burned a bit, but did have a pleasant aftertaste. “This liquor is pretty good. Rum, you say?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “He wanted me to leave you on board and spend three days with him in his Bourbon Street hideaway.”
    “Did he mention his wife?”
    “No, you knew that he was married and didn’t tell me?”
    “The purser told me while you two were having your little chat.”
    She drained her glass then held it out toward him. “I should have known. The philandering fool.”
    He splashed her only a daub, not nearly enough. “It’s why he didn’t offer to take you ashore in Havana. That’s where she lives and oversees their sugarcane plantation.”
    “The purser told you all that?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “I hate men.”
    He smiled at her. “No you don’t, you love us.”
    She curled her lip. He knew her so well, and she hated that. But he was right, as usual, though she’d never admit it aloud. What a