Midnight Hour Read Free Page B

Mercy drew attention to her bottom lip with one long red fingernail.
    “You’re
so
sure that I’ve never suffered a broken heart,” she mused, infusing her voice with the same teasing sexuality she used on television. “Is that a professional diagnosis, Doctor?”
    “Oh no. I haven’t asked the question.”
    “What question?”
    “A simple one. Who broke your heart?”
    Nonplussed, Mercy floundered for a snappy reply, and then just tried to figure out something he’d believe.
    As the silence stretched, Nick briefly considered letting the subject drop, but only briefly. The sexy, confident Mercy Malone he’d seen on television seemed perfectly capable of telling him to go to hell, and she hadn’t. So he didn’t back off. “What’sa matter,
chère
? Don’t remember the details?”
    “I’m thinking.”
    “You’re stalling,” he corrected, and turned awayfrom her, walking toward the wide carpeted stairway that led to the second story. “I’d think twice about getting a dog if I were you. This newel post looks like a giant, hand-carved fireplug.”
    Exasperated, Mercy gave a small huff, and not just because he’d insulted her post. “How am I supposed to think with you talking all the time?”
    “You shouldn’t have to think. Any woman who’s had her heart broken knows every little detail. She knows who, and where, and when. The lady can even tell you the moment it happened. But not you.” Nick ran his hand along the highly polished banister. He missed her widened eyes, and the way she followed the motion of his hand. Nick paused for a heartbeat and then added, “Now, why is that?”
    The sharp ring of the telephone caught them both by surprise, breaking the spell of intimacy that had been weaving itself around the two of them. When Mercy didn’t move, Nick said, “I believe someone is callin’ you.”
    “I can hear,” she replied, and walked past him to the phone table. Snatching up the black bone-shaped receiver, she answered more sharply than she intended and silently swore she’d wipe that self-satisfied look off Devereaux’s face if it was the last thing she did on this earth. “Oh … Sophie, hi. No, nothing’s wrong.”
    Nick chuckled and wandered toward the opening into the living room, which looked comfortable but still reflected the century-old character of the house. Without sacrificing any of the architectural flavor, Mercy had managed to make an inviting home—something he hadn’t been able to do with his apartment even though he’d hired an interior-design firm.
    “No, he’s not the plumber,” Mercy patiently explained to her elderly neighbor as she eyed her guest. “He’s a doctor. No, I’m not sick. Devereaux. Dr. Devereaux. No, not France. He’s from New Orleans. Yes, the one in Louisiana.”
    When he heard his name, eavesdropping became too great a temptation for Nick, but he salved his conscience by facing her so she’d know he was shamelessly snooping. Fleetingly, Nick wondered if she’d forgotten her plumbing problems as completely as he’d forgotten about being tired.
    “No!” Mercy’s answer to the unheard question was sharp. Suddenly she clenched her teeth as though trying to hold out against pressure. She shot him a furtive glance, then turned away and lowered her voice. “No, I’m fine. Really. Now is not a good time, Sophie. Sophie … Sophie!”
    Gingerly, Mercy replaced the receiver. She turned and announced, “We’re about to have company. Sophie would like to meet you. She’s never met anyone from New Orleans.”
    Something in Mercy’s tone of voice straightened Nick’s spine. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Should I be worried?”
    Mercy’s sense of humor began to surface and her mouth twitched. “I would. She’s afraid you’re ravishing me.”
    “She’s afraid I’m
what
?”
    “Ravishing me,” Mercy said pleasantly as she passed him on her way to the screen door to wait for Sophie.
    “You can’t be serious,” Nick