What The Millionaire Wants.... Brenda Jackson

is,” she assured him as a gust of wind blew down the street. Pulling up the collar of her denim jacket, she brushed the hair away from her eyes. “The gates open at dark every night from now until the end of the year. You should go see it while you’re here.”

      “You still here, Ms. Spencer?” Alphonse said as she reached the front of the taxi line. “Evening, Mr. Hawke.”

      “Alphonse,” Jack said.

      “I thought you were over at City Park looking at the pretty Christmas lights with your—”

      “Something came up and we had to cancel,” she told him. “But I’m going to need a taxi to get home.”

      “No problem,” he said and whistled for the next cab to come forward. “Sorry you didn’t get to go see the Oaks, ma’am. I know how much you loved going to see them with your grandfather.”

      “Thanks, Alphonse. But I’ll just go see them another time.”

      The taxi arrived and Alphonse opened the door. But before Laura got in, Jack caught her arm and said, “Why wait? Why not go now? With me.”

      Laura still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to agree to accompany Jack to view the Celebration in the Oaks. Granted, her moods had been all over the place for nearly a week now—ever since Jackson Hawke had walked into her office and pulled the rug from beneath her high heels. Her emotions had run the gamut—from anger to despair and fear, from hatred to outrage and lust—and every one of those emotions had been ignited by Hawke. But of all of them, it was her attraction to the man that worried her the most. When she’d found herself wanting him to kiss her, she’d realized just how dangerously close she’d come to making a monumental mistake.

      The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. He was a thief out to steal her legacy. And whether she won or lost the foolhardy bet they’d made, she’d be an idiot to risk losing her heart to the man. Yet, when he’d asked her to come with him to the Celebration in the Oaks, there had been something in his eyes, a loneliness, that had touched something deep inside her. She’d remembered the staff telling her that he’d ordered room service and spent Thanksgiving Day alone in his room. It made her realize how fortunate she’d been because she’d never spent any holiday alone. It was one of the advantages, she supposed, of her parents’ multiple marriages. There was always family somewhere and she was always welcome. Last year had been one of the few times she hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving with her own family, opting instead to join Matt and his family.

      She thought of Matt, realized she hadn’t called him back as she had promised. And while she had used her sister, Chloe’s, visit as an excuse for cutting the conversation short, the truth was she hadn’t wanted to go another round with Matt. While she cared deeply for him, she didn’t love him—at least it wasn’t the kind of love that her grandparents had shared, the kind of love that she wanted. And despite his claim, she didn’t believe that Matt really loved her that way, either. If he did, he would have understood why the Contessa meant so much to her. He didn’t. Nor did he understand why she’d left California and returned home to try to salvage the hotel. He certainly wouldn’t understand her desperation now to save it from falling into the hands of Jackson Hawke.

      Shifting her glance, she took advantage of the dimly lit backseat and studied Hawke. In the jeans and bomber jacket, he seemed far less forbidding, she thought. With his black hair mussed from the wind and the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, he was, surprisingly, even more handsome. But even dressed casually, there was an air of alertness, a fearlessness and determination that exuded power. There was also something inherently sensual about him that told her this was a man of passion, a man of strong appetites. The fact that he’d made it clear he wanted to indulge those appetites with her should have appalled her. And it did. But it also ignited a longing inside her that had desire curling in her belly whenever she was near him.

      Embarrassed by the admission, Laura stared out of the taxi window and warned herself what a mistake it would be if she were ever to let Hawke know just how tempting she found him. Her silent warning was still ringing in her head when the taxi swerved to avoid a pothole and sent her body careening sideways, nearly into Hawke’s lap. Pressing her hands against his chest to right herself, Laura looked up and made the mistake of glancing into his eyes. The heat simmering in them set off a tingling sensation inside her. Suddenly aware that his arms were cradling her, she straightened and scooted back to her side of the seat. “Sorry,” she murmured.

      “No problem,” he told her, the husky timbre in his voice only adding to the charged atmosphere.

      “Sorry about the rough ride, folks,” the driver said, his eyes meeting theirs in the rearview mirror. “These here streets took a real beating in Katrina, and being under water for all those weeks didn’t help.”

      “We understand,” Hawke told him, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

      “The streets weren’t in the best of shape even before the storm and now they’re a whole lot worse,” she commented, trying to diffuse the moment. As though to prove her point, the car hit another rut that had her body bumping against his again. He made no comment as she returned to her side of the taxi and this time, she held on to the hand grip above the door.

      “She’s right,” the taxi driver commented, apparently oblivious to the tension. “A lot of the streets are still a mess. But the people are starting to come back. And mark my words, New Orleans is gonna be just fine. It’s just gonna take more time than most folks thought.”

      While the driver answered a call from his dispatcher, Jack said, “He’s right about it taking longer for the city to recover. I imagine leaving a hotel like the Stratton West to take over operation of the Contessa wasn’t an easy decision.”

      “It was for me,” she said, grateful that he was focused on business and not on her.

      “Really? Most people in your position wouldn’t have given up a big paycheck with a growing operation so easily.”

      “I’m not most people,” she informed him.

      “No, you’re not. Maybe that’s why you intrigue me, Laura Spencer.”

      Unsure how to respond, Laura chose to remain silent and spent the final minutes of the drive looking out the window, trying to ignore the man seated beside her. Eager to escape the intimacy of the darkened car, she was already unbuckling her seat belt as the taxi pulled up to the entrance of the park.

      “This is as far as I can take you, folks,” the driver informed them as he parked the car. “No driving tours allowed anymore, not since Katrina.”

      After paying the taxi driver, Jack joined her in line.

      “Since you paid for the taxi, I’ll take care of the entry fees.”

      But before she could even open her wallet, he handed the admission clerk a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “I’ve got it,” he said. “You can buy us coffee later.”

      Too eager to see the display to argue with him, Laura said nothing. Once they had their hands stamped, they walked into the park and she entered a virtual wonderland of lights. She tried to take in everything at once—the towering oak trees dripping with white lights that looked like stars, the Christmas trees and storybook characters fashioned from lights, the delight on the faces of the children as they spied Santa Claus.

      “Is it like you remembered it?”

      Laura glanced to her side and realized Jack was watching her. “Yes. And no. A lot of it’s the same, but it’s different, too. There used to be more trees, more lights,” she explained as the two of them began to walk through the park. “There was a road over there where cars could drive through and see all the lights. On the really cold or rainy nights, that’s what a lot of people did. There were also horse-drawn carriages you could take the tour in. When Chloe and I were younger, we used to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and pretend we were riding in a one-horse open sleigh.”

      “A sleigh, huh?”

      She