One-Night Man. Jeanie London

and mom.

      Auntie Q must have recognized her resolve, because she said, “Your mind’s made up.” It was a statement.

      “It is. I’ve given my future a great deal of thought. Mr. Right for a marriage is what’s right for me. I don’t want a husband I’m head-over-heels in lust with. I want a husband I like, love and respect. I want a life companion.”

      “A life companion?” Auntie Q rolled her gaze heavenward. “Old people have companions. I’m not even old enough for one and I’m eighty-two.”

      Lennon didn’t point out that her assistant, Olaf, who cared for her in myriad capacities, could be considered a companion. She gently squeezed her great-aunt’s hands instead. “Trust me, Auntie. I know what I want. And with the bachelor auction, you’ve provided me the perfect place to find him.”

      “You need grand passion.”

      Lennon peered back into the entrance hall at her great-uncle’s portrait. Maybe it was the night lighting or staying up long past her bedtime, but Lennon recognized the underlying excitement in his green eyes, the zest for living that had been so much a part of the man she’d known. And admired.

      Great-uncle Joshua had been the only steady male presence in her life while Lennon was growing up. A kind, fun and very noble man, he’d had the ability to make her great-aunt feel like the most important person in his world. And Lennon, too.

      He’d been a part of every important step in her life, from dance recitals and graduations to helping her cope with her flighty mother. She’d always considered her great-uncle family-by-love. He may not have been officially related, but he’d always encouraged and supported her, and she still thought of him as her ideal, a man she modeled her romance heroes after.

      “You had grand passion, Auntie,” she said, guessing that if Great-uncle Joshua had been free to marry, Auntie Q would probably have considered life perfect. “Maybe if there was another man as wonderful I might consider a different sort of marriage. But Great-uncle Joshua was one of a kind.”

      Auntie Q regarded her from beneath a wrinkled brow. “I really wish you’d reconsider.”

      “I know what I want, and it’s not a life full of emotional upheaval. I want to marry a man who’ll help me create a stable, normal family. I wouldn’t change a moment of my life with you, but we’re not exactly normal, are we?” She smiled lightly, hoping to ease her great-aunt’s concern. “Besides, I’ve had my share of affairs and romances. I’ll settle down with a man I can love, and keep passion for my romance novels.”

      She kissed her great-aunt’s cheek. “Now will you go to your office and try to catch a few hours of sleep? The museum directors will be here at the crack of dawn and we won’t have a chance to slow down before the reception. I still don’t know when we’ll find time to check into the hotel.”

      “We’ll manage, dear.” Auntie Q squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you come, too? A few hours wouldn’t hurt you, either. You’ll want to look fresh for the bachelors.”

      Lennon couldn’t tell if this remark meant Auntie Q had accepted the game plan or not. Her bright eyes and easy smile didn’t reveal a thing. Too late and too tired for more debate when she still had so much to do, Lennon let the matter drop and focused on settling Auntie Q in her office, before she herself returned to the entrance hall to tackle The Promise.

      Smoothing the black velvet drape over the display, she maneuvered the pieces around like men on a chessboard. The penis at a forty-five degree angle from the mouth. No. Too far apart, the pieces didn’t appear like part of any yin-yang whole. She moved them closer and thought the penis looked as if it stood sentinel over the mouth.

      The Promise was the first piece of artwork the guests would see after Great-uncle Joshua’s portrait. Possibly the first, if their gazes didn’t follow the lines of the room to the portrait. The arrangement had to be right.

      One hundred eighty degrees southeast? Ninety degrees northwest? The penis lying on its side, its huge marble head touching the open mouth?

      No, no, no. With a disgusted groan, Lennon snatched the penis off the base and dropped it into her lap. There, no penis at all. Worked for her. And displayed alone, the mouth looked sort of like a huge white rose. Rather attractive, really.

      Laying an arm on the display base, she wearily rested her head on the crook of her elbow and decided Auntie Q was probably right. She just didn’t like the sculpture because she hadn’t seen the real thing in a while.

      2

      IF JOSH EASTMAN HADN’T known better, he’d have thought he’d walked into a storybook illustration of Sleeping Beauty. Security lights washed the new gallery’s entrance hall with a pale gleam, illuminating the beauty asleep at the foot of his grandfather’s portrait. This woman was a late-night fantasy, all long, long legs and sleek blond hair.

      Her filmy skirt and clingy sweater drew his gaze to willowy curves curled around a low display case, and to smooth golden skin where her bare arm draped over the black velvet.

      But Josh knew better. She might be a sleeping beauty, all right, but not from any child’s version of the tale. Not with a huge marble erection propped upright on her lap.

      Sleeping Beauty could only be Lennon McDarby, all grown up.

      Moving silently into the new gallery, he drank the espresso he’d picked up in the museum’s security office and surveyed the woman before him. She’d been, what?—ten, maybe eleven the last time Josh had seen her, right before he’d headed off to college. A skinny girl, all arms and legs and conversation about things he couldn’t have cared less about.

      He hadn’t thought much about her since, though he’d heard of her from his grandfather and Miss Q. But who’d have guessed that gangly kid would have grown into this golden vision? Not him.

      Even if Josh had guessed, he’d never have pictured the erection—which wasn’t, incidentally, the only erection around. A watercolor nearby showed a man servicing his own needs.

      “Don’t blame you a bit, pal.” He rested his gaze on a sleeping Lennon. “She’s definitely something to look at.”

      Definitely.

      She was the best sight he’d seen in a long time. More sexy than all the art in the room combined. With her long slender curves, silky blond hair and gold-dusted lashes fanned out in half circles on her cheeks, Lennon couldn’t look more delicious if she’d been spread out on a bed.

      Unless she’d been naked.

      Now there was an image to inspire more than a few late-night fantasies. Lennon, all gleaming gold skin and sleek curves, with her eyes closed and her lips parted as if awaiting his kisses.

      An image that made Josh long to kneel down beside her, peel away her clothes and wake this sleeping beauty with a kiss right now, because the very idea of tasting those pouty lips and touching all that smooth golden skin clouded his thoughts and inspired an upsurge in his pulse rate.

      Josh shook his head to erase the image. How in hell was he supposed to help Miss Q by protecting Lennon this weekend, when he’d spend his time protecting her from himself, instead of the bad guys?

      A damned good question. This woman was passion personified. The closest he’d ever come to his perfect fantasy. And except for the unusual piece of art resting strategically on her lap, the only thing to mar the view was the portrait of his grandfather, which loomed above her head to remind Josh why he’d come. Guilt. Loads of guilt. Otherwise he’d never be in this new gallery wing at the crack of dawn. In the French Quarter during Mardi Gras, no less.

      Josh didn’t celebrate Mardi Gras, hadn’t for years, anyway. When he’d been a kid, his grandfather had routinely commandeered him from his parents and grandmother, all of whom had believed the party in New Orleans proper was nothing more than a peasant festival. The real action, as far as they were concerned, took place uptown, in the mansions of the Garden District.