Honourable Intentions. Catherine Mann

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      Which he rarely did. But he needed something private. A place for Max to recover from his surgery, a place where Gabrielle would have help before she collapsed from trying to tackle everything on her own.

      “Jonah, I seem to recall you were starting a renovation down here in New Orleans right before I deployed.”

      “Right, a historic mansion in the garden district that got whacked by a hurricane. It’s an Italianate cast-iron galleried-style—”

      “Right. I just need to know if it’s finished and if it has a security system.”

      “Finished, security system installed last week, up for sale with bare bones furniture to help prospective buyers envision themselves living there.”

      Sounded perfect. “Think you can pull it off the market for a couple of weeks?”

      “Any reason you’re looking for a house rather than a hotel?”

      “Hotels are noisy and nosey.”

      “Fair enough. What’s mine is yours.”

      “I mean this as a business transaction. I insist on paying.”

      “Really, bro, we’re good.” Jonah paused for a second, the sound of sheets rustling and him speaking with his wife about going to the other room. “Seriously, though, why call me? Any of mom’s or the general’s people could have taken care of a low-profile place to stay.”

      Truth was easy this time. “Ginger would have heard about it, whether from her people or the general. She would have questions… .”

      “There’s a woman involved.” Jonah laughed softly.

      No need denying that. And heaven forbid, he mention the baby and Grandma Ginger—his stepmom—would come running straight to New Orleans. “I want this to stay quiet for a while. The last thing I need is the press or our family breathing down my neck, not now.”

      “Understood.” Of course he did. Jonah Landis’s wife had royal ties as the illegitimate daughter of a deposed king. Privacy was a valuable commodity in short supply for them. “I can have the Realtor bring you the keys now.”

      “No need to disrupt anyone’s Mardi Gras. I’ll swing by tomorrow and get them myself.”

      “Party on, then.”

      “Thank you. I appreciate this.”

      “We’re family, even if you hide out from the rest of us. Good to hear from you, bro.”

      And they were. Even if by marriage. His dad and his second wife, Ginger, had built something together after both of their spouses died. Hank looked up the iron stairs at the closed door leading to Gabrielle’s apartment. She needed his help, just the way Ginger and Hank, Sr., had needed help with their kids. They’d turned to each other rather than go it alone. That’s what friends did for each other.

      Whether Gabrielle wanted his help or not, he was all in.

      Gabrielle yanked her clothes off fast and tossed them all in the bathroom laundry hamper. Her knee bumped the sink. She bit back a curse, hopping around on one foot and trying not to fall into the tub in the closet-size bathroom. Any minute now, Hank could walk back up with supper and she needed to clean up after feeding Max. No bachelor was going to want to hear about—or smell—baby puke.

      She didn’t have time for a shower but at least she could splash some water on her face and change clothes. Not that she cared what she looked like around him. She was just excited over her first real meal with another adult since Max was born. Silly, selfish and she had to remember this wasn’t a real dinner date.

      Just supper with an old, uh, friend?

      Oh, God, she was a mess. She sagged back against the sink. No amount of face washing or hair brushing was going to change the fact that she was a single mom, who wore nursing bras and eau de baby. Nothing was going to change that. She didn’t want to change that, damn it.

      Even if Kevin had somehow given her permission to fall for his best friend. The realization that he’d somehow known clawed at her already guilty conscience and made her feel like a huge fraud.

      Frustrated and running out of time, she yanked on a pair of black stretch pants and tugged a long tank tee over her head. She grabbed a bottle of lavender spray she’d bought because it was supposed to be calming, soothing and she’d been searching for any help to relax her son.

      Tonight, she needed some of that peace for herself. She spritzed her body fast, spraying an extra pump over her head and spinning to capture the drift. She scrubbed her hair back into a high ponytail just as she heard the front door open.

      Time’s up.

      Her stomach knotted.

      There was no more dodging Hank, that long-ago kiss and the fact that somehow Kevin had found out. She’d hurt the man she’d promised to love for the rest of her life. She rammed the lavender bottle into the medicine cabinet and padded back out into the living room barefoot.

      And the breath left her body. Hank stood in the doorway, shadows across his face. In his flight jacket and khakis, he could have been any military guy coming home with supper for his family. Yet even with the anonymity of the shadowy light, she would never for a moment mistake him for anyone but himself.

      The light clink of silverware across the room broke the spell, and she looked over to find a private waiter setting up things for them. Hank held out a chair for her at her little table that had been transformed with silver, china and a single rose. This was a world away from the sandwich and milk she’d planned for herself.

      Their waiter popped a wine bottle—the label touting a Bordeaux from St. Emilion.

      She covered her glass, even though her mouth watered. “No, thank you. I’m a nursing mom.”

      The waiter nodded and promptly switched to an exclusive bottled water as Hank took his seat across from her.

      “Whatever that is smells amazing.” She plastered on a smile as the waiter served their meal, then quietly left. “I concede you’re the king of late-night takeout food. If that tastes even half as good as it smells, it’ll be heavenly.”

      “So the little guy’s down for the count?” His eyes heated over her, briefly but unmistakably lingering on her legs.

      Was his head tipping to catch her scent? She had to be mistaken, sleep deprived and hallucinating. And if she wasn’t, she needed to get her priorities in order. Max came first, and for him, she needed to eat and keep her strength up.

      “Sorry about the wine but Max is nursing as well as bottle feeding.” With his digestive problems, he fed more often than she could keep up with, even expressing. But that was far more detail than she wanted to share with him. “He will sleep for another hour and a half.”

      “You’ve got to be flat-out exhausted.” He tipped back his water goblet.

      “I’m not the only single mom on the planet.” She set out silverware and napkins. “I’ll survive.”

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