The Tempting: Seducing the Nephilim. D. M. Pratt

her and cheering her every victory. In between the medical tests and the mental and physical therapy, he courted her, winning her trust, getting to know her and she him. They shared stories like two teenagers dating. In the afternoon he’d pushed her around the hospital grounds in her wheelchair and they had as many meals together as he could. He was dealing with “family matters,” the details of which he wouldn’t discuss with her until she was better. More often than not he had the finest chefs in New Orleans prepare and deliver gourmet meals featuring Louisiana’s most decadent cuisine: etouffé or gumbo or crawdads boiled in Cajun spices, creamy rice and sautéed mustard greens with sweet iced fruit, bread pudding with whisky sauce. Beau had fine French cheeses flown in from Paris. Her favorite was accented with figs and laced with apricot jam. Linen table cloths, flowers and candles were the finishing touches for these unforgettable evenings that made her fall more and more deeply in love with him every day.

      Once, even though he got into trouble with the hospital that night, Beau filled her room with sterling silver roses of the palest most delicate lavender color she’d ever seen. Their scent caught the night breeze and made her pleasantly light-headed. He hired a mariachi band to entertain everyone on Eve’s hospital floor. The patients and staff enjoyed the show before the harsh reprimand from the squinty and slightly cock-eyed senior medical advisor ended the performance. When the medical advisor finished fussing at them like naughty school children and left, Eve and Beau turned to each other and burst out laughing so hard they thought they would never be able to stop. Beau was funny and charming, wonderfully loving and romantic, smart and amazingly down to earth. Eve loved him and in turn, Beau seemed totally captivated by her and told her he was happier than he could ever remember.

      When he finally kissed her for the first time since her re-awakening, it reminded Eve of an innocent and gentle kiss between two twelve-year-olds and the night she lifted her bedcovers and invited Beau into her tiny hospital bed, the chemistry that had drawn them to each other the night of the party, came flooding back. The sensual rush of discovery reminded Eve why she’d let this stranger seduce her in a garden during a party without even first asking his name. He was both strong and gentle. When his lips found hers, he took her breath away. Beau explored her entire body with leisurely, meaningful kisses; his lips brushing every inch of her face, her mouth, her neck. When his hands found her breasts, her nipples were already erect, anxious for his touch … his mouth and kiss. Every caress, turn of his tongue, each kiss and delicate bite woke her body from another kind of sleep: the kind that shuts down when a body is left unloved. Still, a strange little voice in the back of her head kept whispering to her, “None of this makes sense.” How could she have fallen so easily for him? She was Eve, the original wall flower when it came to men. Okay, yes, the physical attraction was off the charts, but from what she could remember of her past, she was beyond cautious when it came to men. She had meticulously placed so many walls around her heart, letting anyone, especially a man inside was akin to cracking the fire wall into the CIA. Yet, from the moment she woke and looked into Beau’s eyes, he seemed to have an instant place so deep inside her heart it had to be true love. He belonged there, as comfortable and right as if they had been together in another life and found their way back in this one. There was no question her body wanted him to make love to her again no matter how many times the little voice said, “What’s wrong with this picture?”

      Dr. Honoré insisted they could not have intercourse until Eve regained her strength, which inspired Beau’s creativity. Each night he slipped into her bed and found new ways to bring her to the brink of orgasm, only to stop and whisper that they would have to wait until the doctor said it was safe. He promised her delights and bliss beyond her wildest imagination.

      “My imagination is pretty wild,” she said with a lascivious smile.

      “Good,” he replied. “I’m counting on it.”

      ‘Once they were allowed to return home’ was the mantra from hell from the senior doctor, the one she hated most. Frustrated and sure Beau was as well, Eve tried to give Beau the same exquisite pleasure with her hands and mouth. He gently refused with a smile, kissing her sweetly.

      “I’ll have my turn when we can climax together.”

      When Beau was gone, her time was spent cooing and talking and playing with her beautiful little boy. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with him. Like his father he was perfect. Now and then the little voice whispered that he was “too perfect,” but Eve brushed it away like a few strands of loose hair.

      Upon her release from Thibodaux Hospital, Eve and their amazing son Philip were piled into a limo. They rode, wrapped in each other’s arms, through the vast expanse of Louisiana countryside, and after what felt like a thousand hours arrived at the family estate. Upon seeing the main house again, its commanding beauty and expansive, architectural grace almost took her breath away. Beau handed Philip to the nanny so he could lift Eve into his arms and carry her through the massive double entrance doors of the Gregoire Estate mansion. On that day her husband-to-be, Beauregard Gregoire Le Masters, gave her a six carat, D, flawless white, pear-shaped diamond set in platinum and asked for her hand in marriage. Eve felt the rush of warm salt tears swell in her eyes as she whispered, “Yes.” She had never felt such complete joy.

      From that day forward she, Beau and Philip began the quiet process of settling into the life of a too perfect, happy family. Eve was doing her best to ignore the little voice that kept getting incrementally bigger, bringing with it the relentless, gnawing feeling of terror that pulled at her when she was alone or drifting in and out of sleep. Despite her haunting fears, all of which she kept secret from Beau, the little family moved into the guest house just off the west wing of Gregoire Manor. From there they were close enough to keep involved in the daily progress of the restoration, but far enough away to avoid breathing the clouds of plaster dust and paint fumes, which was a Godsend.

      Ten months passed in the blink of an eye. Beau insisted on waiting for the title to the Gregoire Estate to be transferred out of the trust and back into his name before they officially tied the knot. The legal transfer process was finally nearing completion. Because of his parents’ complicated will and his grandfather’s relentless attempts to override the legal provisions when he thought his grandson was dead, Beau found himself buried in a quagmire of legal details that needed to be addressed by an army of attorneys. His legal problems and the day-to-day responsibilities of the estate created a layer of tension in the house. She could see Beau did his best to leave his problems at the front door so she did her best to make their home a respite from the troubling reality. Eve had met Beau’s grandfather, Millard Le Masters, the very day she woke from her coma. From the moment she laid eyes on her grandfather-in-law-to-be, she didn’t like him. More importantly, she didn’t trust him. Yes, Beau had left right after college. He did run away and disappear for twelve years. Because no one had heard from Beau for eight years, as Millard explained, in the pain and grief of losing his only grandson, he declared him dead and went on with life and the responsibilities Beau had apparently walked away from.

      Occasionally, the hint of a deeper, uglier truth reared its head and triggered horrible fights between grandfather and grandson. The clashes left Eve feeling trapped in the middle. One part of her wanted no part of the sordid details behind the Gregoire family secrets, but the ever curious journalist inside her wanted to know everything. Why did Beau’s parents block Millard’s access to Beau and the estate in the first place? Why had Beau run away and disappeared? Both subjects were taboo when Eve asked questions. In good old Southern tradition, no one would speak about what had happened all those years ago and what legacy Beau needed so desperately to escape from living. Clearly Eve would not be getting any answers, at least not until she was officially a member of the family. The wedding was still months away so Eve channeled her attention to the needs of Beau, baby Philip and the mansion. So much still needed to be done to redecorate the main house in time for the ceremony, so Eve set to work sweeping away the thick layers of dust, sadness, real and historical cobwebs that clung to the paint, wood and stone that was the Gregoire Manor. Most of all Eve wanted to eradicate the past memories that clung to the tattered silk wall fabric, Persian carpets and brocade curtains. Even after they’d all been pulled down and carried away, the aromas lingered to taunt her olfactory senses each time she stepped through the front door. There were days when she felt like an unwelcome intruder as the house fought