The Legacy Read Online Free PDF

shoulders and narrow waist that were mandatory requirements for any hero.
    A man who was determined to upset her best plans shouldn’t look that good. He should be Quasimodo’s twin, so that she wouldn’t feel her heart skip a beat whenever she looked at him.
    Her gaze caught his, and for a second she forgot the purpose for this meeting. How long had it been since she’d gone out on a date? Been attracted to someone to the point where she had trouble remembering her own name?
    As he approached, a charge detonated inside her gut. Mon Dieu, her own body was staging a mutiny. The trouble was, her mind wasn’t sending out any complaints.
    She’d never met a man quite like him. Most of the men around Indigo had been worn down by the hard work that living in the bayou demanded—theshrimping, the fishing, the constant worrying about keeping up with the bills and keeping ahead of the water, which seemed to slip in and erode more of the land along the bayou every year.
    Marjo wanted to preserve every inch of Indigo, cast it in bronze and show the world this special, incredible place.
    For that, she needed Paul Clermont’s cooperation. She silenced her hormones and crossed her hands on the table in her getting-down-to-business position.
    “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, stopping beside the table. He had one hand behind his back, and when he brought it forward, she saw he was holding a bright bouquet of camellias. “And I’m sorry for being disagreeable earlier.”
    A flush of surprise filled her as she accepted the bouquet, marveling over the rich color of a pair of Kramer’s Supreme variety, the pale hues of a Pink Perfection, as well as a couple High Fragrance varieties, which added a sweet scent to the bunched flowers. She inhaled, a grin spreading across her face, even as she tried to ignore how the flowers had made her anger at him melt away. “You’re forgiven.”
    “Good.” He smiled, too, and slid into the seat across from her.
    She fingered one of the silky blooms. “Did someone tell you these are my favorites?”
    “No, it was a wild guess. Apparently a few things do stay secret in the bayou.”
    She laughed, then breathed in a second whiff ofthe blooms. “My mother planted these all around our house,” Marjo said softly. “I love camellias because they remind me of her.” Unexpected tears rushed to her eyes. She blinked them away. Why was she getting so emotional now?
    “Did she die?” Paul asked, his voice quiet and gentle.
    Marjo nodded, still touching the velvety petals of the flower. “In a car accident, with my father, when I was nineteen.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, and she had no doubt he was being sincere.
    “Thank you.” She cleared her throat, ridding it of a sudden sentimental lump. “Anyway, let’s get down to business.”
    “I do have an excuse for being late, by the way,” Paul said. “I started taking pictures of La Petite Maison, because the light at this time of day was too good to pass up, and I lost track of time. And again, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
    “Is that an occupational hazard?” she teased, the flowers having lightened her mood considerably.
    “It is. And a real problem when the last ferry has already left or you missed your plane out of Zimbabwe.” The smile on his face was far too attractive. It was the kind of smile that asked a woman to open up, to trust him, to take this beyond a simple conversation. For a moment she considered doing just that, forgetting her reason for being here and just talking to him as a woman talked to a man.
    A little selfish indulgence.
    The waitress came over and deposited a menu in front of him, but he didn’t open it.
    Marjo suppressed the attraction building inside her. “Aren’t you going to order?”
    “Are you sure you won’t have them poison my food? A little salmonella for the enemy?”
    “I hadn’t thought of that.” She laughed. “Maybe next time.”
    He arched a brow. “Remind me never to let