Love Is Lovelier by Jean Brashear Page A

her daughters, she very well might force herself to accept the loss of Remy’s dream. Her dream. At base, he was certain that what she and Remy had wanted, as all good parents did, was to give their children as secure a future as possible. Anne had proven willing to take risks for herself, but he doubted that extended to her girls. If the hotel’s future seemed doomed, she would cast aside those dreams in favor of cashing out for whatever she could recoup.
    She deserved better. If she had another offer in hand, a decent one, with no urgency attached, perhaps she would feel the freedom to hang on for a while, and matters might improve. She and her girls were working hard to steady the hotel’s footing, and he would never bet against Anne Marchand.
    Especially not when it gave him more time to lend his own influence toward that end. If she wouldn’t accept money from him, he could be there to encourage her, yes, and he would. But he also had the ear of suppliers they held in common, and giving them a nudge to offer her more favorable terms or ride with her longer would be easy enough for him to do.
    A delicate balance would be required not to trigger a lot of questions that would make the rounds of the hospitality community in New Orleans. He would never want to embarrass Anne in front of her contemporaries, nor did he have any desire for word of his tinkering with fate to get back to her.
    Damn it, if she’d just accept a simple, businesslike loan, he wouldn’t have to tread such a precarious path.
    Of course, none of what was between them had anything to do with business. And it wasn’t the least bit simple.
    Judith had seen through to the heart of him. If this were any other hotel, he’d be snapping it up with merciless speed. He’d built a thriving chain by having an instinct for timing, efficiency and economy, leveraging himself into putting out the least investment for the greatest return.
    He would never have believed the day would come when he’d be guilty of anything as senseless as making this offer.
    Much less enjoying the prospect so much. Despite the potential for disaster, it had been a long time since he had danced this close to the razor’s edge.
    The woman was making him crazy.
    And he was having a ball.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “C ORBIN ,” THE VOICE RASPED . “Clock is ticking. Your note comes due in ten days.”
    “You’ll get your hotel,” Dan Corbin said. “And our debt will be erased.”
    “Maybe.”
    Maybe? If he were his reckless brother Richard, he’d be blustering threats, scattering shotgun bursts of defiance.
    Thank the fates that crime boss Mike Blount only had Dan’s cell number. This situation called for a clear head. “Our arrangement was clear. In exchange for the funds to pay off the note coming due on our Lafayette property, we deed the Hotel Marchand to you as soon as we close on it. You get your foothold in the Quarter, a respectable front to expand your gambling operation plus some high-class whores operating out of a few of the rooms. Everybody wins.”
    “Your boy inside isn’t getting the job done.”
    Dan had his own reservations about Luc Carter, but he wasn’t sharing them with this man. “He’s had a few setbacks.”
    “He ain’t got jack accomplished.”
    “The hotel’s bookings are not where they should be. This is their biggest season, and they’re losing ground. They know they’re not gonna make it. I just upped the ante. The mother will cave.”
    “Not if Regency Corp. steps in.”
    Regency Corp.? Oh, hell. “They won’t,” he bluffed. “Not their kind of property.”
    “Anne Marchand has been spending a lot of time with William Armstrong.” A pause. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
    Dan silently muttered vile curses. “Of course I did. It’s not what you think. Armstrong and her husband hated each other.” Why hadn’t Carter told him about this?
    “Then what was she doing having dinner with him last night? Or in a lip-lock with him