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fashion and sighed breathlessly.
    â€œWoe is me, I’ve forgotten how to write a hero and now my publishing house will stop buying my books. My agent will have to hit the streets, scrambling for new offers—”
    â€œAt least you’ll get offers.” Tracy shot her a dubious look. “You’re a New York Times bestselling author. Publishing houses will be fighting over you. Even with all my promotional efforts, I’m still only in the mid-list with seven books.”
    â€œBut at least you’ve got numbers.” Then Stephanie met Ellen’s gaze with a look of entreaty. “My third book isn’t even out yet. I’m completely at your mercy.”
    Folding her arms across her chest, Ellen tried to smile at their theatrics, but not so surprisingly, the smile that had seemed etched on her face had done a disappearing act, because a terrible, terrible thought had just occurred to her.
    If these ladies were right about her lack of objectivity—and Ellen had the sinking suspicion they might be—there could only be one explanation….
    He was interfering with her work, too.
    Félicie Allée—three days later
    T HOUGH THE PLANTATION wasn’t quite an hour south of New Orleans, Félicie Allée might have been on a deserted island. The shady oak-lined alley leading to the circle drive and majestic front entrance transported Ellen from the reality of well-traveled highways baking beneath the sun to a shadowy fantasy place cooled by the bayou breeze.
    Sunlight streamed through the leaves overhead to play shadow-and-lace games along the columns and metalwork enclosing the double-tiered balconies around the plantation.
    She’d first visited Félicie Allée after Lennon’s wedding.Perhaps her second visit was even more breathtaking, because this time Ellen knew what to expect. Her awe was tempered with simple appreciation for the way the plantation had been built to bring a touch of elegance and civilization to the wildly lush setting. Crepe myrtles, azaleas and camellias all burst in bright bloom on the grounds, and to a woman like Ellen, reared beneath the often leaden skies of Manhattan and Long Island, the scene resembled a living oil painting.
    â€œLeave it to your great-aunt to turn boring old corporate training into a game,” Ellen said, as Lennon steered her sport utility vehicle down the oak-lined drive leading to the plantation. “Corporate training and murder-mystery events. Who’d ever have thought of combining the two?”
    Lennon shot her a sidelong glance. “No one has ever accused Auntie Q of lacking imagination.”
    Ellen couldn’t help but smile. Lennon’s great-aunt believed in having a good time and didn’t make apologies, an odd attitude to Ellen, whose family operated in such a different manner. Chatting with Miss Q always proved refreshing, very different from the in-depth business strategy sessions she had with various relations during family functions.
    â€œSo who’s my partner?” she asked Lennon, who slowed her SUV in front of the entrance. “Did you put a bug in your great-aunt’s ear to give me Susanna? Nothing against Tracy but she doesn’t travel light. I won’t stand a chance if I have to room with her. And you know how weird I am about sharing my space.”
    â€œI know, but Auntie Q had already made the arrangements. She promised you’d be comfortable, though.” Lennon paused with her hand above the door handle. “You okay?”
    Okay? No, she wouldn’t go straight to okay. Not whenthe first few days of her vacation had gone bust because all she could think about was him. The man had a power over her that was nothing short of scary. Whether involved with him or not, he consumed her thoughts, influenced her actions, sneaked right past the barriers she worked so hard to maintain in her life.
    But all was not lost yet. She still had almost a week of