Free The Setup by Marie Ferrarella Page B

the question as if she were deferring the decision—all decisions—to him. Part of feminine southern charm, as he recalled. He had no doubt that beneath the soft, melt-in-your-mouth exterior and lilting voice was a woman who had a resolve of steel. That, too, was part of the southern woman’s mystique.
    Her eyes were looking straight into his soul. Jefferson roused himself before it was too late. Before he was completely lost.
    “Yes, we’re all set to go,” he echoed.
    “Good.”
    Adjusting the silvery shawl that her grandmother Celeste had worn when she was her age and equally high spirited, Sylvie once again hooked her arm through Jefferson’s.
    The arm that had been taken hostage was half a breath away from Sylvie’s chest, and Jefferson felt his stomach tighten.
    “Let’s go,” she said cheerfully.
    As they walked through the lobby to the front doors, Paul was there to attend them. He nodded at Jefferson, but it was obvious that his attention was on Sylvie.
    “Will you be wanting another taxi?” he asked, glancing briefly at Jefferson before turning his attention back to Sylvie.
    “Absolutely.” All but batting her lashes, Sylvie gazed up at Jefferson. “Unless you’d rather walk there.”
    Jefferson had absolutely no idea where this place was located. Ordinarily, he would map out destinations, but somehow, he’d had a feeling right from the beginning that this evening was not going to fit under any heading he was familiar with.
    “How far away is this place?” he asked her.
    Sylvie made do with a guesstimate. “About five miles, give or take. In the Warehouse District.”
    There was no way Jefferson intended to walk that far tonight, not in shoes that pinched. Emily had insisted that he buy a new pair before he left, saying that his comfortable, beat-up ones just wouldn’t do.
    “A cab would be good.”
    No more was necessary. Paul’s hand went up. Within seconds, a taxicab was pulling up to the entrance. The valet held the rear passenger door open for them. Sylvie slid in first, and Jefferson followed, trying not to crowd her or make any undue physical contact. His knee still managed to brush against her leg as he sat down.
    Sylvie leaned forward and gave the driver the address of the gallery, then sat back. Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to be sitting even closer to him now than she had been a second ago.
    The interior of the taxi felt oddly intimate. That didn’t exactly help his resolve to keep this evening on a strictly friendly basis. As they drove, the evening shadows intruding within, the taxicab seemed to grow smaller by the block. And that heady scent Sylvie was wearing surrounded him. He hadn’t been able to pin it down yet. All he knew was that it was weaving its way into his senses in less time that it took to begin and end a thought.
    His imagination was working overtime tonight, Jefferson told himself. He was going to have to be careful.
    The silence inside the cab grew, and he searched his chaotic mind for a neutral topic. The sound of her voice took a moment to register. He realized she was asking him a question.
    “So, is it different?” Sylvie repeated.
    He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”
    Sylvie couldn’t help smiling to herself. The manher sisters had set her up with had to be the politest person under the sun. Of late, she’d been teaching Daisy Rose manners, and the little girl was trying very hard to please her. Until this evening, Sylvie would have said that Daisy Rose was the last word in politeness, but this man was a match for her.
    “New Orleans,” Sylvie clarified. “Do you find that the city’s different than you remember it?”
    “A little,” Jefferson managed to reply. He’d gone sightseeing by himself yesterday, after calling Blake to tell him that he’d arrived. He supposed he could have waited until Blake was available, but he didn’t mind doing things by himself. After Donna died, he’d gotten