Annoyance made Marley speak without thinking as she strode down steps to the front door. "Inviting her to the party? Or lining up your next conquest for after I'm gone?"
Damien didn't react to her obvious anger. He just put his hand on the small of her back and leaned closer to her. "Green is not your color."
That he'd seen right through her made her irritation that much more annoying. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Renee expressed interest in Rosa de Montana. I offered her a tour."
"How nice." She could have stopped right there. But her mouth opened again. "You've never offered me a tour." Now why the hell did she say that? She sounded like the insecure, jealous woman that she was.
Damien moved in front of her, cutting her off. He slipped his hand lower down her back, to the first hint of the curvature of her backside, while his eyes locked with hers, dark and determined. "Marley. I'll give you whatever you want. Just ask for it."
He wasn't talking about the tour, she knew that. But she wasn't ready for this yet, knew that it was too easy still for him to tip the balance in his favor, that she wasn't in control, didn't own the situation.
"Thanks. I'd love a tour of the plantation." She glanced around his shoulder, striving for casual. "Did you drive or are we walking somewhere?"
"We can walk." His tone matched hers for nonchalance as he opened the front door to the hotel for her, nodding pleasantly to the bellman. "I just thought we'd go down the street and pick a place. Your choice. There's a dozen restaurants within walking distance. The French Quarter is at your service."
"Sounds good." The day was cooling down, but it was still hot. Marley pulled a band out of her purse and yanked her hair back. She twisted it up into a bun, figuring the frizz would only get worse in the humidity. "What kind of food do you like?"
They had passed a rather innocuous looking cafe and an antique shop.
"Anything. I'm easy. If you're up for trying the local cuisine, there's a place on the corner here that's good. Silly name, good food."
She nodded, feeling warm in the fading heat, distracted.
"So why did you choose the Hotel Monteleone?" he asked. "It's a very nice hotel, a bit expensive for a trip such as yours."
"The first three hotels I called didn't have rooms available on such short notice. And I didn't have time to look for any more. I needed a place to stay and I really wanted to stay in the French Quarter." Though she had to admit, the hefty room rate was preying on her. She was going to rack up a couple of grand in bills between the hotel, rental car, and food by the time she got Lizzie home.
"Teachers are notoriously underpaid."
Marley carefully watched where she was walking. The sidewalks had random holes in them that would have her down on her knees in a flash if she weren't careful. "That's true. But I love my job."
Damien pointed to the corner. "That's the place I was talking about. We can sit in the courtyard if you'd like."
"Sure." Though how he could look so fresh when she felt sweaty and wilted was truly a gender injustice. "Have you always lived here, on the plantation? Did you grow up in the big house?" Maybe that would explain his being so unaffected by the heat.
"Actually, my school years were spent in France at boarding school. I lived in the maison principale as a child, but now I mostly stay in the pigeonnier. It's compact and convenient."
"It's small though. I can't imagine living there when you have that whole huge intriguing house you could be in." She could wander for weeks and never get tired of exploring it.
Damien stopped to open the door to the restaurant. He glanced over at her. "It's too big for one person."
There seemed to be a world of information in that sentence if Marley wanted to play shrink.
"Besides, I need Internet access and electricity, and it was difficult enough wiring the pigeonnier. It would cost millions to update the house to modern standards and it doesn't seem worth the expense."
Marley didn't answer because a cheerful hostess was greeting them. A minute later, they were seated outside on the patio and Marley was shaking her head no to wine. Just the thought of drinking any form of alcohol made her stomach lurch. She wasn't completely recovered from her first unplanned foray into drugs the night before.
"I am sorry about last night," Damien said after the waitress left, like he understood where her thoughts had gone. "I hope you're feeling okay."
"I'm fine. Just a little leery of drinking tonight. But don't let that stop you from ordering whatever you want."
But Damien shook his head. "I don't drink much anymore. Not even when I'm entertaining."
Marley snapped open the menu, not sure if there was censure in his voice or not, but definitely not wanting to revisit the sex party and all the confusing feelings it had aroused in her. "So what do you do for a living, Damien? What did they teach you at that French boarding school?"
She meant it to be light, a change of subject. But it sounded a little sharp. Like she thought he was a rich snob. Damien had a hell of a poker face, though, because he didn't react at all. He just smiled.
"I learned the usual. Literature, math, world history, French, how to do as little as humanly possible and maintain average grades, and how to sneak out of my room at night to meet girls. But in the end I must have learned something, because I make my living designing websites. I own a design firm."
"And you enjoy that? It's successful?" Marley was thinking about how many webpages you'd have to design to pay the taxes on the plantation.
"I consider it successful. We don't do individual designs, we only do major corporations who need a multitude of functions and applications on their site. Our designs start at ten grand and quickly go up from there."
"Oh, wow. I'm impressed." She was. He wasn't the lazy playboy sponging off family money the way she had assumed. "And you work at home most of the time?"
"Yes. I am more productive that way, working on my own terms, by myself." Damien eyed her steadily. "I don't play nice with others."
Marley laughed. "You like everything to be your way?"
"Yes. And so do you."
"What?" Marley set down her iced tea, forgoing a sip. "I do not!"
"Of course you do. You want your mother, your sister, your father, to do exactly what you want them to."
Well, that was rude. And totally untrue. Marley's cheeks went hot with anger. "I want to help my family. I want to take care of them, not dictate to them."