In Dreams. Patricia Rosemoor

steeled herself against giving into the emotion of what she’d envisioned. Instead she focused on how she’d ended up in Justin’s bed again.

      She remembered following Justin downstairs to face his mother and aunt. They’d had to tell the women everything, after all. Marie Guidry had listened with an open mind, had wrapped her arms around Lucy in sympathy afterward, and declared her too warm. She’d demanded Justin take Lucy to a doctor for proper care.

      Lucy had refused.

      Justin had somehow gotten her to agree that she would come back to the houseboat with him to rest first before going back to New Orleans. He’d tended to her wound with an antibiotic salve and had threatened her with a visit to the emergency room if her fever spiked.

      And then she had slept.

      But though she was wet now—as if she’d really been rained on as in the dream—her body felt cooler than it had earlier. The fever seemed to have dissipated while she was sleeping.

      “Feeling better?”

      She gazed toward the doorway where Justin stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her. Her heart began to thud with a distinct warning. Had he been standing there while she’d been trying to escape danger? While she’d seen him shot in front of her eyes?

      “How long have you been there?” she demanded.

      “Long enough to know you’re awake, is all. You’ve slept half the day away.”

      Shaking away the remnants of the dream, she pushed herself up out of the bed and told herself it was up to her to change the future. “I need to get back to New Orleans.”

      “Not today.”

      With images of him shot in that courtyard haunting her, she said, “Yes, today.”

      “You need watching.”

      “I need to get into town as soon as possible!” she snapped. “So I can tell the authorities about the murder.”

      So she could get away from LeBaux before she put Justin’s life in danger, before he could become another victim because of her.

      “No, not yet.”

      She heard the steel in his voice and wondered at the contrast between this Justin and the one who cajoled smiles from her. His expression brooked no argument. There was something dark and determined and a little scary about him when he was like this.

      “Y-you’re keeping me prisoner?”

      “I’m keeping you safe. Just until morning,” Justin said. “You’re in no shape to take care of yourself yet, chère. If you want to get out of here now, you’ll have to swim to your car.”

      “A challenge?”

      “No.” He sighed. “I just hoped you could be reasonable is all.”

      Reasonable?

      What was reasonable about being stranded with a man who invaded her dreams? Who threatened her peace of mind? Who was going to become even further embroiled in her mess and maybe die for it if she didn’t do something to stop what was already set in motion?

      But one look at Justin told her his mind was made up. And it wasn’t like she could just leave on her own.

      Surely she could resist him for another twelve hours. She’d never actually managed to change fate before—she certainly hadn’t with the murder of that poor woman—still, how did she know she couldn’t manage it?

      Besides, the sun had already set and she wasn’t about to go wandering around the bayou alone at night. Obviously Justin wasn’t going to take her back to her car until he was good and ready. Until morning broke.

      Twelve hours was a piece of cake, she told herself, even knowing it was a lie. Twelve minutes near him was enough to make her weak-kneed and all soft inside.

      In the midst of her distress, she was distracted by a wonderful smell wafting into the room, making her stomach rumble. “What is that?”

      “Mama’s crawfish étouffée. Remember, she gave me enough for supper. You must be hungry.”

      “Starving,” she admitted.

      “Come and eat then.”

      He moved away from the door and she followed. Maybe food would give her the fuel to resist the man who occupied her dreams.

      Maybe…

      Once more she sat at his table, while he fetched the food. No matter that he hadn’t cooked it himself, he seemed to wield pots and utensils like an expert, the same way he had that morning when he’d made her breakfast.

      If she concentrated on the details, on the now, she didn’t have to deal with the future yet. She didn’t have to worry about psychic dreams that she maybe could or couldn’t change.

      “I’m not used to a man feeding me,” she murmured as he filled her plate.

      “What are you used to?”

      “Having my dates take me to restaurants.”

      “You must eat in lots of restaurants.”

      “Only on occasion. Not serious eating, though,” she assured him. “Just experimenting to see what’s to my taste.”

      She’d never met a man she’d wanted to date more than a few times. And there hadn’t been all that many of those, either. But she didn’t mind. She liked having men as friends. Better than their trying to hook up with her when she didn’t feel the vibe. She felt the vibe with Justin, all right.

      A surreptitious look at him made her wonder what hooking up with him would be like.

      Would reality have anything on her dreams? she wondered.

      Or was Justin too good to be true?

      She waited until they were both halfway through with their étouffée before she asked, “So what is it you do when you’re not fishing?”

      He arched his eyebrows and asked, “How do you know that’s not the way I support myself?”

      “Haven’t seen any fish around here.”

      “Maybe I’m taking a few days off. It has been raining, in case you didn’t notice.”

      “I noticed.” She poked her fork into a piece of crawfish. “So, you’re telling me you fish when you’re in New Orleans, too? And don’t try to deny you live there. Stephen told me you’re just visiting LeBaux.”

      Justin’s smile drifted off. “Stephen ought to keep his mouth shut about what doesn’t concern him. At the moment, I haven’t decided if I’m going back to New Orleans or not. My time there didn’t prove to be all I had hoped for.”

      Frustrated that he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, Lucy nevertheless decided to be satisfied with that. She didn’t want to keep probing if it would hit another nerve as she’d so obviously done. She was never going to see Justin again once she left here, after all. The dreams were still in the realm of fantasy. They couldn’t come true if she refused to have anything to do with Justin…the only way she could keep him safe.

      Still, she was curious about just what Justin was doing out here alone in the bayou.

      Hiding?

      He certainly was complex.

      He behaved as if taking care of a wounded woman was an everyday occurrence for him. He was gorgeous and entertaining, but beneath the charming facade, she sensed something different…something deeper and darker…something to which she responded to despite herself. Not that she liked being pushed around, even if it was for her own good. But that thread of steel in his veins when he wanted things his way had certainly surprised her.

      Lucy remembered Justin saying something about the bayou hiding secrets. What secrets was the bayou hiding for him?