"Well, it's a good thing they didn't marry," Sean stated, watching her with a warmth that was absurdly arousing. "We'd be related."

"Well, there was another occasion when a Canady nearly married a Montgomery.

During the war. Apparently, our family hero-he with the statue in the Quarter-was deeply in love with the Montgomery heiress. And she adored him, so the story went."

"What happened there?" Angie asked.

"Well, now, Angie, surely, you know the answer to that one! That's why there's a statue to the man-he was a valiant soldier who supplied his own company with arms and horses, helped supply the city, defended his men at great risk to his own life-and was finally killed trying to defend the city."

"How sad. How tragic," Cissy said.

"How strange. How did the family name continue? Ugh. Are you two related?" Angie asked Maggie.

"No!" Maggie protested.

"Sean had been married several years before he'd met Miss Montgomery. His wife died of smallpox, but left him with a son."

The room seemed very silent. Then the breeze knocked one of Daniel's books off the desk. The thud caused everyone in the room to jump. Except Sean. Maggie felt his fingers squeeze around hers and rest on her knee as the others laughed, suddenly aware that they'd been sitting and listening like children around a campfire while a counselor told ghost stories.

"Maggie, honey, I just never knew how interesting your family was!" Cissy informed her.

"I imagine all families are just as interesting," Maggie said. "The Montgomerys kept coming back to New Orleans, so it's easy to find all the skeletons in our closets."

"Now, Miss Cissy Spillane, you had an ancestress who was extremely close to the old voodoo queen, Marie Laveau," Daniel said.

"I know!" Cissy said, wincing.

"Was she a good voodoo?" Angie asked.

"I think she was a spy for Marie Laveau. Marie's power was in what she knew about people-she knew things about them because she kept their servants busy listening and watching what was going on! Supposedly, though, my great-great- I don't know how many greats!-grandmother was a power in herself. She danced wickedly with the great Zombi, the snake, and she could threaten and cajole a great deal of money from her own followers. Supposedly, she cursed a man to death. And she nearly hanged for it, except that the magistrate didn't believe in voodoo, so she was set free. Thank G.o.d. Or else I wouldn't be here. The man she married was one of the witnesses who testified on her behalf."

"Now, that's a good story," Maggie stated. "Wonderfully romantic."

"The Montgomery women sound nicely romantic," Sean teased.

"Kind of h.e.l.l on the Canadys, though," Jack observed dryly.

Sean smiled at Maggie. "I'm willing to take my chances."

She smiled back.

Uneasily.

She asked him in for a drink once they reached her house.

Sean wasn't sure she really wanted him to come in. She seemed uncomfortable.

Inside the plantation house, she led him through one of the right side doors, through a large formal dining room to what had become a huge kitchen in contemporary times.

There was a window seat half the length of one wall with a patterned yellow seat cushion that matched the cheerful draperies. Copper utensils hung from wooden rafters above an island work station. It was an attractive, warm, friendly room that would have done any cook proud. The kitchen table was a butcher-block affair, as unostentatious as the rest of the room. Maggie bid him draw a chair at the table while she searched through her refrigerator and cabinets.

"I should offer you something to eat, despite the fact that your father served a feast!

Let's see, cookies ... grapes? And what can I get you? Coffee? Or a drink? Maybe spiked coffee would be in order ... I can make a great cafe au lait."

She was ducked down with her head in the refrigerator. Sean eschewed the chair she had offered, and came around to stand behind her. He set his hands on her hips. She froze, straightening. For a moment, he felt the pulse of her blood, felt as if he touched the fire racing through her. Then she slipped from his arms.

"Sombreros," she stated, taking gla.s.ses from a cabinet. She reached to the rear of a counter where there were several bottles of liquor, and she dashed a splash of Kahlua into each gla.s.s. "Sean, could you get the milk, please?"

He obliged, handing her the carton. She topped off their drinks, handing him one.

He remained close by her, watching her. She swallowed down her drink in a gulp. He set his on the counter, reached for her determinedly, and kissed her.

No holds barred. He slipped his hands down around her b.u.t.tocks, pressing her against his growing arousal. He moved his hand up her back to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair and cupping her head while he pressed his tongue deeper and deeper into her mouth. She tasted sweetly of Kahlua. The subtle aroma of her perfumed flesh was intoxicating. Her nipples seemed to burn through all the fabric between them and press into his chest. He felt her soften, weaken, melt against him. Felt her fingers in his hair, down the length of his back. Her mouth met his hungry kiss. Tongue plundered along with his. Hot, wet, sweet. She trembled. He slid his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, drawing them around the front, where he loosed the b.u.t.ton and tugged on her zipper.

She pulled back, her head lowered. "I... I think you should go now."

He didn't force her. "Why?" he asked.

She looked up at him. Her beautiful eyes were strangely glistening with a hint of tears.

"Jack warned you," she said flippantly. "Montgomery women are h.e.l.l on the Canadys."

"Though I pity my poor ancestors, I thank G.o.d."

"Really, Sean-"

"I've stated that I'm willing to take my chances."

"You just can't expect too much!" she whispered. "You can't want too much!"

She spun away from him, walking through the house. He followed her. She was already headed up the stairway. "You can see yourself out," she called to him.

He watched her for a moment, then swore. "No!" he told her angrily, striding up the stairs as well. He caught her on the center landing, gripping her by the shoulders. "d.a.m.n you, no! There's something here between us, something different, something special, and I'm not going to let you throw it away- because I'm a cop!"

Her eyes lowered. She tried to wrench free from him, but he held her tightly. She looked up at him again, eyes now a gold fire of both anger and pain. "That's not-" He didn't let her finish. He kissed her again. Kissed her so that she couldn't speak.

Cupped her jaw, stroked her cheek, her throat. Forced her against him. Once more, she seemed to melt against his body. Grow weak. He pressed his advantage. The few b.u.t.tons on her tailored shirt gave easily. He was good at bra hooks. Her breast spilled into his hands and he worked her nipple until she was whimpering against the force of his kiss.

Once again, he thrust his hand into her pants, forcing her jeans down, rubbing, probing. He stroked through pubic hair, finding the warm center of her with his fingers.

He thought that it might have been a long, long time since she'd had s.e.x. She seemed on fire, despite her protest. Hot, a million degrees hot, wet, falling against him. His lips broke from hers at last as he eased her down upon the stairway landing, fleetingly glad of the rich Persian runner as he hastily slid off her sandals and pulled down her jeans and exotic lace panties. He rose over her, seeing her eyes again, listening to her feeble protest.

"Sean, really ..."

He touched her lips again, licking, nibbling, tasting, teasing as he briefly struggled to discard her already opened blouse and bra. When she was naked on the exotic carpet, he paused, looking at her. G.o.d, she was stunning. Tiny waist, flaring hips, flat belly, deep, fire-red pubis, long, long legs. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full, her nipples large and deep rouge, hardened now to little peaks. Again he lowered himself over her, tasting each nipple, tugging with his lips, grating with his teeth. Her arms came around him. He found her lips again, but then lowered himself against her body. He spread her legs, settling between them. He licked, kissed and caressed her sweetness while she writhed and gasped out unintelligible words... then shrieked, trembling with a wild force as she climaxed.

He hastily ripped open his b.u.t.ton-fly jeans, and settled on top of her, thrusting into her wet warmth, so aroused by then that he moved with blind hunger and the speed of a jackrabbit. Yet her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands fell against him, and she arched and twisted with abandon to meet him, her pa.s.sion rising again to meet his. G.o.d.

Oh, G.o.d. Friction was ecstasy. Her heat spilled all around him. He came with a violent force, jerking spasmodically into her again and again. Empty, as sated as a drunk, he fell to her side, somewhat stunned by the sheer, volatile force of the pa.s.sion they'd shared.

She lay at his side, trembling slightly. He thought that she might be cold. Then he realized that he'd rather forced the issue on her stairway. He turned to her. She seemed somewhat stunned herself, almost like an innocent who had just discovered the secret so many grown-ups shared-that s.e.x could be a sensation like no other. Her eyes were still so shimmering, liquid gold. Her body was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. d.a.m.n, so perfect. Even after everything, he looked at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her waist, the sleek ivory perfection of her belly, the fire red triangle at her thighs, and felt arousal beginning all over again.

"I'm not sure whether to say 'wow!' or 'I'm sorry,' Maggie," he told her softly, and he was glad when she smiled. She reached out and stroked his cheek.

"Wow!" she told him in a husky whisper.

"Good!" he murmured, feeling a rich contentment seep into him.

Her smile deepened. "No, that was my wow! You can come up with your own again anytime you want."

He laughed, rising on an elbow, pulling her against him. He kissed her lips, her forehead. "G.o.d," he breathed. "Just touching you, seeing you ..." "I do have a bedroom," she told him.

"Now I am sorry. Rug burn?" he asked her.

"Worth it," she told him solemnly.

He rose, halfway b.u.t.toning his jeans so he wouldn't trip and make an a.s.s of himself on the stairway. Then he reached down for her, glad that police work forced a man to stay in shape. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, keeping his eyes on hers as he started up the rest of the steps.

"Which way?" he asked.

She pointed to the left side of the house, smiling, her arms around him. "Second door, right side of the hallway," she told him.

He pushed open the appropriate door. Red moonlight spilled into her room from the balcony windows. He saw the shadows of furniture against the walls, a small table before the windows, a large four-poster bed against the rear wall. He ripped down the elegant satin spread and laid her upon the sheets in a field of pillows. He shed his own clothing quickly. She watched him.

Then he came to her, and she rose to her knees to meet him. Her kisses bathed his chest, his shoulders. Her fingers feathered over his flesh. He had thought that he'd been aroused before ...

Her hands closed over his s.e.x. Stroked. She pressed him back. She bathed the length of him with the delicate lap of her tongue. Took him deeply into her mouth. He shouted hoa.r.s.ely, grabbed her roughly, dragged her beneath him, surged into her. And while he moved, they kissed. Embraced. Her lips teased his shoulders. Her nails raked his back as she cried out.

Her teeth just grazed his flesh ...

They spent the majority of the night awake, tiring, then awakening, becoming sated, glutted, then aroused again and again.

Then, limbs tangled together, they slept.

When Sean awoke, she was gone.

He rose quickly, stumbled around for his jeans, calling her name.

There was no answer. He looked through the house, noting that she had collected her own clothing from the stairway. Paused up on the landing, he looked up again at the magnificent painting of Magdalena. They'd made love that first time beneath the painting.

On a strange note of whimsey, he hoped that her long-dead ancestress had approved. He saluted the painting.

"Ridiculous, but I am in love, you know?" he said lightly. He hurried on to the kitchen.

Still no sight of her. Coffee had been made. He poured himself a cup.

He looked out the rear window and at last saw her, standing down by the river, wearing an ankle-length, sleeveless dress. The material floated softly around her in the breeze. Her hair was loose, and as she sipped coffee, she stared thoughtfully at the water.

He let himself out, walking quickly along the porch and across the lawn to the water.

"Maggie?"

She turned to him, a smile curving her lips, but a worried expression on her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "It's not that anything is wrong, it's just that ..." "Maggie, please, if you think there is a Montgomery curse on the Canadys or the like, please-quit thinking."

She looked out across the water. "I'm just afraid that we've rushed things. I think I need to step back. I... I'd appreciate if you would leave now."

It was the last thing he'd expected after the night they'd spent together. "Maggie, something is really right here-"

"Sean, I think we've rushed it. And I'd like a little s.p.a.ce. Please."

He nodded, amazed that he could be so hurt-and probably not taking it very well. In fact, his att.i.tude was sadly immature. "Hey, fine. Whatever you say. s.e.x is s.e.x, right?

Well, thanks for a few d.a.m.ned good fu-"

"Sean, don't, this is not easy for me!" she whispered.

"Sorry. I still may have to call on you in the murder investigation. The blood drops did lead to your door. Anyway, thanks for a fun night. And by the way-if you should realize that what we had was really d.a.m.ned good, you call me. If I'm available, we'll do it again."

He turned around, striding angrily away from her.

"Sean ...!"

He thought that she might have called his name. Softly. But his male ego was fiercely wounded.

And he kept walking.

1862.

Captain Sean Canady was perplexed, irate, and sickened.

War was one thing.