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his.
    “Would I be moving too fast if I asked for the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?”
    Pleasure. Yes, it would definitely be a pleasure to dine with Drew.
    “No. You wouldn’t be moving fast enough. How about a late lunch? Say at around three?”
     
    D REW FELT AS IF HE’D NEVER be able to get rid of the light sheen of sweat that covered his skin. Of course, he acknowledged that the thick heat wasn’t entirely to blame, even though it definitely was getting to him, since he’d been careful to bring only the clothing a businessman attending a professional convention would need. Suits to reflect a first timer’s unfamiliarity with the Crescent City.
    But the clothes and weather weren’t the only reason for his discomfort. Rather his anticipation of promised time alone with Josie Villefranche had him in a constant heated state.
    It had been some time since he’d been with a woman, and he was afraid his body was showing him exactly how long. After his ex had pulled the stunt she had on him, he’d been subconsciously leery of becoming involved with anyone, evenphysically. The laser-like focus he’d put on rebuilding his career also explained the ease with which he’d steered clear of women.
    But Josie…
    While he tried telling himself his interest in her was merely professional and physical, there existed in the pit of his stomach the sensation that there was something more to his attraction to the mysterious hotel owner. He’d listened as she’d shared her story about her mother and grandmother, told of her attachment to the hotel, and he’d felt admiration for her fighting spirit and loyalty to the establishment.
    And guilt that it was his job to take it away from her any way he could.
    He stood outside a small shop nearer the more touristy area of Bourbon Street, not really seeing the T-shirts or the colorful beads. If he knew what was good for him, he would forgo his three o’clock date to meet Josie back at the hotel. Offer up a story about a superior requesting his presence at the convention. He’d told her he’d hoped she didn’t think he was going too fast. In reality, he was beginning to think he was. A concept that had never occurred to him before. He’d always been painfully careful about personal attachments, including with his ex-wife. But no matter howcautious he’d been, he’d still gotten burned by a woman who’d turned out to be far too similar to his mother.
    And while Josie couldn’t have been further away from Carol in looks, temperament and background, and she was obviously fiercely independent, she was in financial trouble. And he’d learned long ago that money, or rather the lack of it, made people do unexpected and hurtful things. It was that very fact that he exploited in his job every day.
    Then why was his gut twisting into knots at the prospect of enjoying Josie’s company at the same time he talked her into selling the hotel?
    Conscience.
    He’d once been accused of not having one. It had been early on in his career and he’d befriended an older man, Bernard Glass, who had built up his shoe factory over a period of fifty years into a moderately viable business he’d hoped to leave to his grandson, who would be graduating college in a year. Then one very successful television show had written the lead character as a Glass shoe fanatic and overnight the old man’s orders had quadrupled.
    And his factory had become prime pickings for an Italian clothes designer who had had his eye onadding a shoe company to his impressive list of businesses.
    “Can I help you find something, sir?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.
    Drew stared at the young saleswoman.
    He found himself fingering a necklace of tiny shells like the ones Josie wore around her slender ankle. He removed his hand. “No. No, thank you.”
    He strolled down the street in the opposite direction of the hotel, not due to meet Josie there for another fifteen minutes, his mind still on Glass and his