Книга - Lovechild

Lovechild
Metsy Hingle


AN UNFINISHED LOVE AFFAIR… Jacques Gaston had loved all women, until he'd found one woman he wanted with an urgent hunger. But the blond beauty had disappeared from his bed and his life. Now, reunited three years later, Jacques was determined to seduce her again. Only this time, when the affair ended, he planned to be the one to walk away… .A SECRET BABY When Liza O'Malley had discovered her pregnancy, she had fled Jacques's erotic embrace. She knew he feared the darkness within himself, and he had always vowed never to be a father. Leaving had been difficult, and Liza wasn't sure she could resist his tantalizing touch a second time around. This time she had to convince him what they had was much more than an affair… .







Excerpt (#u72cac421-d308-5754-81fe-7dd775fd1c1c)Letter to Reader (#u30e13192-bc21-5b24-93b6-2a15996cb156)About the Author (#ufa59d7a2-dc38-5503-a1de-80253d45b8bc)Title Page (#u33d301f7-d01c-57ee-b6b1-55e03b168bf2)Dedication (#u64034015-d54c-5cdf-b1d1-0860880b8f5d)Chapter One (#u6666a331-60be-5c63-88e1-fdca42d40c25)Chapter Two (#u99279696-2667-59a1-a665-fef9dc4adec8)Chapter Three (#u223130d2-8f46-5e41-bb7c-3648bf528162)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“The Fire Between Us Is Still There.

“Nothing has changed, Liza.”

“You’re wrong, Jacques. Everything has changed.”

“I don’t think so. Let me prove it to you.”

“No!”

Jacques looked at Liza. She still wanted him, he told himself as he fought the dark storm of emotion her denial had set whirling inside him. Regardless of her protests, the fire between them burned just as hot, just as fiercely, as it had three years ago. And he intended it to burn again.

It had to. He wanted to be free of hoping, of wanting more. And he wanted to be free of her. Liza could give him that freedom and he would give her hers by sating their physical need for one another until the white-hot flame burned itself out.

And when it was over, this time he would be the one to walk away without looking back.


Dear Reader.

Happy Valentine’s Day! This season of love is so exciting for us here at Silhouette Desire that we decided to create a special cover treatment for each of this month’s love stories—just to show how much this very romantic holiday means to us.

And what a fabulous group of books we have for you! Let’s start with Joan Elliott Pickart’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Texas Moon. It’s romantic and wonderful—and has a terrific hero!

The romance continues with Cindy Gerard’s sensuous A Bride for Abel Greene, the next in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, and also with Elizabeth Bevarly’s Roxy and the Rich Man, which launches her new miniseries about siblings who were separated at birth, THE FAMILY McCORMICK.

Christine Pacheco is up next with Lovers Only, an emotional and compelling reunion story. And Metsy Hingle’s dramatic writing style shines through in her latest, Lovechild.

It’s always a special moment when a writer reaches her 25the book milestone—and that’s just what Rita Rainville has done in the humorous and delightful Western, City Girls Need Not Apply.

Silhouette Desire—where you will always find the very best love stories! Enjoy them all....






Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3


About the Author

METSY HINGLE is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm of her birthplace, and her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes. She loves hearing from readers. Write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433.


Lovechild

Metsy Hingle












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my husband, Jim,

and my sons, Jimmy and Stephen—

the three special heroes in my own life

who dispel the darkness with their love.


One

He had been set up!

The realization held the sobering sting of an open-palmed slap and none of the satisfaction of having earned it. Jacques Gaston rubbed his jaw, feeling the force of the blow just as effectively as if he had been smacked across the face.

Only this time the crack to his cheek hadn’t been delivered by his drunken father or by an angry female who had refused to believe he’d meant it when he had told her he would share his bed but never his heart. No, this time the head-ringing clip had been delivered by Aimee and Peter Gallagher—the two people he had considered his best friends.

And they had delivered the sucker punch in the form of Liza O’Malley.

Liza.

Jacques gave himself a mental kick for his gullibility. He had no doubts whatsoever that his so-called friends had known she would be here. They had played him like a finely tuned Stradivarius, knowing, he would agree to serve in their steads on the Art For Kids’ Sake Committee the moment Aimee had told him her pregnancy precluded them traveling to Chicago. As Aimee had pointed out, his guestartist lecture series would coincide conveniently with the final stages of the fund-raising campaign. Serving on the committee would require. only a few hours of his time at meetings and a handful of fund-raising events, Aimee had told him. And just as conveniently it would throw him and Liza together again.

Ah, Aimee, mon amie, despite my silence, you knew, didn’t you? That the fires had burned between me and Liza And now you think to rekindle them? To save me from what you see as my life of loneliness? But it is too late. It was always too late.

Even with Liza.

Especially with Liza..

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Jacques continued to stare at the woman he had tried so hard to forget. He noted the long swath of golden hair swishing like silk at her shoulders as she moved, the lush green eyes the color of new leaves on a vine in his family’s vineyard. She was even more beautiful now than he remembered.

And he had had three long years to remember her, to think of her exquisite face, to recall the softness of her lithe body. The three years slipped away in the space of a heartbeat, sending him back to that last night of passion when she had professed her love for him. Back to that night when he had found himself teetering on the brink between heaven and bell as he allowed himself to contemplate the danger, to even dare and hope that he might be able to share his life with someone. To share his life with her.

Mon Dieu! Jacques clamped down on the surge of emotions that seeing her had unearthed inside him. Ignoring the hum of voices and the people who meandered about the room, he moved toward the window and concentrated on steadying his breathing. Snow fluttered outside, dancing before the high-rise’s expanse of windows. But the memories clutched at his throat, choking him, sending him back to the oppressive heat of that autumn in New Orleans three years ago. Back to that night when she had quietly slipped from his bed and his life—like a thief in the night—without explanation, without even a goodbye and taken with her a chunk of his heart.

I’m over her, he told himself, turning away from the window. He watched her move about the room with the same inherent grace and sensuality that had captivated him so completely three years ago. Seduction in a copper suede suit, he thought wryly, as desire stirred inside him.

Un fou, Jacques swore silently. He was a fool. Worse, he had lied to himself. Even after all this time he hadn’t forgotten her, nor had his body.

As though sensing his gaze, Liza turned. The smile on her lips wavered. Her fair skin lost even more color. Judging by the stunned look on her face, Liza O’Malley had not forgotten him, either.

Play it smart, Gaston. Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here now, the voice inside him whispered.

But he knew he wasn’t going to play it smart. Because playing it smart would mean walking away from those captivating green eyes and that soft, pouty mouth. Desire flickered inside him once more, heating his blood. But this time he didn’t fight it as he recalled how those eyes had darkened when he’d kissed the sensitive spot inside her thigh, how those lips felt on his skin.

When she had first met him, Liza had called him a rogue, a gigolo. He saw no reason now not to live up to her opinion. Smiling to himself, he closed the space between them. “Hello, Liza.”

“Jacques,” she said his name in a breathless whisper that triggered other memories and sent him tumbling back into the past. Back to those frantic weeks after she had first disappeared and his desperation as he’d tried to find her. Anger, old yet surprisingly raw, bubbled inside him as he remembered coming to the inevitable conclusion: she didn’t want to be found. She didn’t want him.

Even knowing that, it had taken him months before her face, the sound of her voice, the feel of her body had stopped haunting him. Jacques curled his hands into fists as he remembered that dark period after she’d left him.

But he had gotten over her, Jacques reminded himself. He had rid himself of her betrayal just as he had rid himself of those dark, early years in France. Time had allowed him to relegate their affair to a sweet memory to be savored in his old age.

Until today.

“What a surprise,” she said, her voice growing cooler as she regained her composure.

“A pleasant one I hope.”

“Of course.” Her tone dropped several degrees to match the snow falling outside. Her expression still wary, she extended her hand.

Her cool-as-ice manner set off other memories of how she had tried to discourage him the first time they had met by employing that “duchess to serf” technique. It was just as ineffective now as it had been then. Smiling, Jacques brushed his lips across her knuckles and enjoyed a small measure of satisfaction at the slight tremor in her fingers.

When she would have pulled her hand free, Jacques tugged her closer. Ignoring the stiffening of her spine, he leaned closer and kissed one cheek, then moved to the other. Slowly he pressed his lips against her sweet-smelling skin.

He had wanted to unnerve her, to shatter that icy calm she wore like a shield. Instead, he found himself cursing the new flickers of heat in his gut that her scent evoked.

Refusing to back off, even if it meant his getting singed in the process, Jacques tucked a strand of hair behind Liza’s ear. He drew his fingertip along her neck. Her pulse quickened at his touch and Jacques smiled, pleased by her reaction. “It has been a long time, ma chérie.”

“Yes, it has,” she said, her voice a shade less steady as she pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to meet with the board members of the Art For Kids’ Sake Committee.”

“But you can’t. I mean, this is a closed meeting for board members only.”

“Then I am in the right place.”

“But you’re not on the board.”

“Ah, but I am,” Jacques insisted. “As of last night.”

“That’s impossible. The committee’s board was formed almost a year ago, and we’re already in the final stages of our fund-raising campaign,” she explained. “While I appreciate your offer to serve, as will the rest of the committee, it’s really too late to take on any new members, Jacques. Even you. Obviously there’s been a mistake.”

“It is no mistake, ma chérie.” Jacques grinned as her lips thinned at the familiar endearment.

“Then a misunderstanding,” she countered. “There are no openings on the board. But if you’re interested in serving as a volunteer for some of the fund-raising activities, I’ll be happy to put you in touch with the right person. In fact, I’ll introduce you to Jane Burke right now. She’s the one who’s in charge of—”

Jacques caught her arm as she started to turn away. “Liza, there is no mistake. I am on the committee’s board. I am filling in for Peter.”

“But—”

“He and Aimee could not be here. And you know what a stickler Peter is about fulfilling his responsibilities. He asked me to take his place. And I agreed.” No point in telling her that he now suspected it had all been a con job to get Liza and him together again.

Alarm clouded her eyes. “Is something wrong with Aimee? Is there a problem with the baby?”

“Aimee is fine. And so is the baby,” he assured her, giving her arm a light squeeze. “But according to our friends, this pregnancy has been more difficult than the last one, and Aimee’s doctor thinks it is better for her not to travel right now.”

“I see.”

Jacques wanted to laugh as he watched her school her expression and don what he considered her “duchess” persona again. “Well, it was thoughtful of Peter to ask you to come,” she continued, her tone becoming all business. “But it’s really not necessary. Everything’s under control on this end. I’ll let Peter know that it’s not necessary for you to take his place on the board.”

Jacques tossed back his head and laughed. “I see you have not lost your touch, ma chérie. In fact, you have gotten even better at it.”

Liza frowned. “Gotten better at what?”

“At cutting a man off at his knees, letting him know what little need you have for him.”

“I do no such thing,” she tossed back.

“Of course you do. You push that pretty little. nose of yours up in the air and make your eyes go all frosty with that regal expression....”

“Really, Jacques, I—”

“Yes. That is it. That is the look I am talking about,” he told her grinning. “It always amazed me the way you could tell a man to ‘get lost’ without even opening your pretty mouth.”

Liza’s lips thinned. The look she shot him would have melted a glacier. “Then perhaps you would be wise to heed the message.”

“Ah, that too has not changed.”

She arched her brow imperiously.

“When the look does not work, you use that sharp tongue of yours to finish the job.”

“Honestly, Jacques. You’ve quite an imagination. Perhaps you should consider writing fantasies instead of sculpting.”

Jacques allowed the smile to spread across his face as he moved his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “If you will recall, sweet Liza, sometimes my sculpting has led to the creation of fantasies. You, yourself, helped me with one of my most memorable ones.”

A rush of color raced up her cheeks at the reminder of the afternoon when he’d given Liza her first sculpting lesson and how that lesson had ended—in a maelstrom of frenzied lovemaking that had left them both exhausted and wanting more of each other.

“I see you do remember,” he said, pleased by her reaction.

“And I see you haven’t changed. A gentleman wouldn’t deliberately attempt to embarrass someone this way.”

“But, ma chérie, have you forgotten? I am no gentleman. I am a Frenchman.”

The look she shot him could have turned flames to ice. Jacques chuckled, only making her expression grow even more chilly. “You would do better to save your wintry glares for someone else, Liza. They did not work on me three years ago, and they certainly will not work on me now. I have grown—how do you Americans say—? ‘a thicker skin.’”

“And evidently an even bigger ego.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

Jacques took her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her fingers and enjoyed seeing the cool facade slip a notch. Suddenly the need to bait her, to force a reaction from her, withered at the feel of her soft skin. Desire took its place. It swirled around him, covering him like mist. “Then I guess I will have to try to change your opinion of me. Perhaps by working with you on this fund-raiser, you will discover something in me that is worthy of your praise.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Pain? Regret? Longing? Or was it his own feelings he saw reflected there?

“Jacques, I—”

“There you are, Liza. I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

Jacques stiffened at the sound of the man’s voice.

Liza pulled her hand free and turned toward the approaching man. “Oh, Robert. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I forgot all about asking for coffee to be sent in.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s been taken care of. I suspected you got sidetracked when you didn’t come back.” He turned to Jacques and flashed him a smile of perfect white teeth. “Robert Carstairs. I’m the Art For Kids’ Sake committee’s co-director,” he said, extending his hand.

“Jacques Gaston, your new co-director.”

At Carstairs’s lifted brow, Liza explained, “Jacques is filling in for Peter. The Gallaghers aren’t going to be able to take part in the fund-raising activities this year, after all. Peter has asked Jacques to take his place on the committee. Jacques is an old friend of the Gallaghers’.”

“And of Liza’s,” Jacques amended, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Always happy to meet a friend of the Gallaghers’ and Liza’s.”

Custom-made suit, soft hands, old money, Jacques sized up the other man. And given the warmth in the other man’s expression when his gaze lingered on Liza, his interest in her went beyond the committee’s fund-raising endeavors. For some reason the realization irritated Jacques, and he found himself biting back the urge to put a proprietary arm around Liza and draw her closer to him.

“Gaston,” Carstairs repeated. He narrowed his eyes as he continued to study Jacques. “Gaston. Gaston. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Perhaps Liza has mentioned our friendship,” Jacques offered, earning a scowl from Liza.

“Jacques is an artist,” Liza explained. “Some of his work has been on display at Gallagher’s Gallery in the past. You’ve probably seen it there.”

“Of course. Now I remember,” Carstairs smiled again as recognition dawned. “You’re the sculptor.”

“One and the same,” Jacques acknowledged with a flourish.

“Liza’s right, of course. I have seen your work. Very impressive.”

“I like to think so,” Jacques replied, seeing no need for false modesty.

“As you can see,” Liza said, her voice tinged with sarcasm, “Jacques doesn’t suffer from any lack of self-confidence.”

Carstairs chuckled. “Don’t be too rough on him, Liza. Confidence is not such a bad thing to have. In your case, Gaston, I expect it’s probably warranted. I caught your exhibit at Gallagher’s Gallery last spring. As I said, it was most impressive. There was one piece in particular, a nude of a woman. It was stunning. I must admit I was quite taken with it.”

“Thank you,” Jacques said, inclining his head. “I know the piece you mean. La Femme. Woman,” he said, translating. “It is one of my favorites.”

A grin tugged at Carstairs’s lips that said, as a man he could certainly understand why. “I guess that explains why my offer to buy it was turned down.”

“Yours is not the first offer I have refused for her. The piece is part of my personal collection and not for sale. Usually I do not even allow it to be shown. But Peter caught me in a weak moment and I agreed.”

“Perhaps I can catch you in another one and convince you to sell it to me. As I said, I was truly captivated by the piece. And I’d still like to add it to my collection. I can promise you my offer would be most generous.”

Even if Jacques hadn’t had an abhorrence for rich fools who thought everything and everyone had a price, he would have disliked Robert Carstairs simply for the covetous way he looked at Liza.

“Think about it.” He pulled a business card out of an engraved gold case and offered it to Jacques. “And let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Ignoring the card, Jacques used the three-inch advantage his own six feet four inches gave him over Carstairs to look down at the other man. “You see, I was quite enamored with the model who posed for it.”

“I can certainly see how you might have been,” Carstairs told him, giving him another man-to-man look. “By the same token, it would be a shame to let sentiment get in the way of a good business deal.”

“True. But then, the lady who posed for La Femme had nothing to do with business. She was very special to me.” His gaze shifted to Liza, remembering that humid October afternoon in New Orleans when she had posed for him and he had recreated her body in clay. He allowed his gaze to slide over her, recalling how his hands, covered in damp clay, had moved over her soft curves molding the swell of her breasts, shaping the round curve of her hips, the tender apex at her thighs.

Suddenly the two of them were back in the tiny loft with the hot sun pouring through the window, bathing Liza in its glow, heating the room and their bodies while desire simmered in their blood. Liza stood naked before him, and he stripped off his own shirt in deference to the relentless heat.

“Jacques,” his name was a soft gasp on her lips as he stroked the tip of her breast. Her body quivered beneath his touch.

“Maybe I should create my own sculpture,” she whispered. Reaching down, she slid her hands into the mound of moist clay, warmed the mixture with her fingertips. Her lips parted in a slow smile of invitation and womanly seduction as she held her hands out in front of him. Passion, hot and sweet, gleamed in her eyes as she slowly smoothed her fingers down his throat, along his shoulder, his chest.

Jacques groaned. Desire shuddered through him as her nails scraped across his nipples, followed the trail of hair down his stomach to the snap of his jeans.

Jerking his thoughts from the past, Jacques tried to stem the fierce ache they triggered inside him. He met Liza’s gaze. Desire, pure and hot, blazed in their depths, turning her eyes the color of priceless emeralds. She remembered, too, he thought, rocked by the pleasure of that discovery.

“Like I said, Gaston...”

Liza swallowed, feeling as though the air in her lungs had suddenly become shallow. Her skin felt hot and cool at the same time. There had been a chill in the room when she had first arrived for the meeting. Now the place felt like a furnace. Her stomach, already a mass of tangled knots at the shock of seeing Jacques again, did another somersault.

She was aware of the two men talking, but her brain seemed unable to register their words. Unable to stop herself, she took in the sight of Jacques.

It had been three years since she’d run away from him, fled to the Chicago area and carved out a new life and a home for herself. But for Jacques the clock had stood still.

His hair was still the color of sun-kissed wheat. Thick and untamed, it was combed away from his forehead. His face was the same slash of angles and high cheekbones, giving him that air of darkness and danger despite his coloring. His mouth, full and sensual, was still the lethal weapon she remembered. With a simple smile he had always charmed without trying, drew women to him like flies to honey and made her own knees go weak.

But it had always been Jacques’s eyes, brown with flecks of gold, that she had found most fascinating. He had only to look at her to evoke the images of his hands and mouth touching her, making love to her.

As though sensing her scrutiny, Jacques sliced a glance at her. His eyes shimmered with heat as he moved them over her face, down her body and back to her lips. The impact was just as effective as a bold caress.

Liza caught her breath, unable to breathe, unable to think as the memories swamped her. Then his lips curved in a knowing smile.

Damn you, Jacques Gaston. Liza jerked her gaze away. From the smug look on his face, he had known just what she had been thinking, what memories his presence and comments had roused. Irritated with herself, Liza shook off the last vestiges of the memories and focused her attention on Robert.

“In any case if you should change your mind, give me a call.” Robert pressed his business card into the palm of Jacques’s hand. After glancing at his watch, he turned to Liza. “We probably should get this meeting underway. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course,” Liza said, dismayed at how surprisingly weak her voice sounded. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you go ahead and take your seat at the table, Robert. I’ll be there in a moment I’d like to have a word with Jacques.”

“Fine,” Carstairs replied. “Nice to have you aboard, Gaston.”

When the other man was gone, a fresh bout of nerves attacked her system. Annoyed with herself for her response to Jacques’s presence, Liza took a deep, calming breath and released it, then turned to face him again. Marshaling her most businesslike voice, she said, “I’ll get right to the point, Jacques. There’s really no need for you to stay for this meeting. I’m sure you would find it to be a waste of your time. So, I—”

“A waste of my time?” he repeated. “Peter and Aimee tell me the work your committee does is very important.”

“It is, but—”

“Then, it would not be a waste of my time to help.”

“You would find it boring,” she insisted.

He smiled, the movement caused the dimple in his cheek to wink in a rakish way that had always made Liza’s pulse scatter. It did so again. “I doubt that I would find anything where you are concerned boring, ma chérie.”

“Please stop calling me that!”

“Ma chérie?”

“Yes,” Liza hissed, her nerves growing more frayed by the second.

“It means my darling—”

“I know what it means. Just please stop calling me that.” He had explained the endearment the first time they had made love. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, striving to regain her composure despite the pounding in her head. Opening her eyes, Liza stemmed the urge to massage her temples. “I’m sorry,” she said more calmly. “Seeing you today has been a bit of a shock.”

“For me as well,” he told her, his expression growing serious for the first time: “Those first few weeks after you had left and I could not find you, I was frantic. I was afraid I would never see you again. Later, once I realized you did not wish for me to find you,” he continued, his voice growing hard, void of the carefree and seductive charm, “I simply hoped I would not.”

Liza fought the urge to wince. She didn’t want his comment to hurt. She had prayed that if fate ever caused their paths to cross again, seeing him wouldn’t hurt.

The prayers hadn’t worked. She tucked the pain away, vowing to deal with it later—when she was alone. “I’ll give Aimee and Peter a call this evening and explain that everything is under control where the committee is concerned and have them release you from your promise to serve on the board.” She forced a smile that she knew was overbright and probably looked just as phony. It was the best she could manage at the moment. “Goodbye, Jacques,” she said. “And good luck.”

“At least this time you have managed to say goodbye.”

Liza sucked in her breath, feeling the slash of his words like a knife. “I guess I deserved that. Whether you believe me or not, I never meant to hurt you. In truth, I didn’t think my leaving could hurt you.”

“Well, you were wrong.”

At the hardness in his voice, Liza wondered not for the first time if she had made a mistake by following her instincts to flee as she had. But what else could she have done? The truth hadn’t been an option. It still wasn’t. Besides, it was far too late for second-guessing herself.

“No comment, Liza? You have always been quite good with words. Surely you have something more to say. Some explanation.”

She tipped up her chin, refusing to allow him to goad her like this. “What would be the point? I could tell you I’m sorry, but somehow I don’t think that would be enough.”

“You are right. Pretty words would not be enough. Especially not now. Not when I have discovered that despite the way you used me, the way you lied to me,” he said, his voice even more dangerous because it had dropped to a whisper. “Despite everything you have done, I still want you. I want you every bit as much now as I did three years ago. Perhaps more. Because this time I know what it will be like between us.”

A shiver of pleasure skittered down Liza’s spine, despite the fear his words evoked. It was a pleasure she couldn’t risk. “You don’t want me, Jacques. You want revenge because I bruised that oversized ego of yours by being the one to end things between us before you did. Well, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I’m not going to give you a chance for revenge. What we had was over a long time ago. It’s better if we forget it and just leave it in the past where it belongs.”

“But it is not in the past. We both know that.” He stepped a fraction closer. “The passion is still there between us, ma chérie, like the embers of a fire that have been fanned back to a hot blaze.”

“You’re wrong,” Liza said, swallowing.

“Am I?”

Her heart thudded in her chest as he moved another step closer. Liza had to fight the urge to step back. To do so would be a sign of weakness, would give credence to what he was saying. Instead she tipped up her chin and met his gaze. “Yes. You’re wrong.”

“I do not think so.” He smiled, causing the dimple in his cheek to wink at her again. “And despite your generous offer to free me from my promise to Aimee and Peter, I think I will decline. I will be here in your city for the next six weeks for my lecture series anyway, so I will work with you and your committee.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, grateful to hear the tap on the microphone and Robert calling the meeting to order.

“As you may remember, I generally do.” Smiling, Jacques reached out and traced his finger along the lapel of her jacket. “And it suits me that you and I will be seeing a lot of each other while I am working on your committee.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said, her voice flat as she stepped away from his touch.

“Ah, but I am counting on it, ma chérie. In fact, I am looking forward to it.”


Two

“Don’t forget, we’ll be sending out the invitations for the auction and dinner dance the first week of December,” Liza reminded the board members, while she carefully avoided looking at Jacques. But it didn’t stop her from being aware of him. How could she not be? Even without their past history, he would have been difficult to ignore. He had asked intelligent questions, offered good suggestions and had charmed the socks off the other board members. Or perhaps stockings was more appropriate, given the flurry of feminine interest that had buzzed through the room after Jacques had introduced himself.

“That means I’ll need each of you to get your lists of potential ticket buyers to me as soon as possible. Of course, no one here has to wait for an official invitation. We’ll be happy to take your order for tickets and your checks tonight. Remember, the more tickets we sell, the more money we raise for the summer camp for the kids.” Liza smiled despite the hammerlike pounding in her head. “Once again, I want to personally thank each of you for coming this evening and for all of your help and support. I’m looking forward to seeing each of you at the patron party next month.”

Chairs scraped across the tiled floor as the meeting disbanded. For the next ten minutes, Liza smiled and gratefully accepted ticket orders and checks.

“Great job, Liza,” Robert said fifteen minutes later as he handed her his own check for tickets. “Looks like we’re off to a good start. Just about everyone has committed to purchase a full table for the dinner. I’ve never seen this group so eager to part with their money before.”

“Let’s hope the rest of Chicago responds the same way.”

“They will,” he assured her. “With you in charge, I have no doubt about that.”

“Thank you.”

“What about my offer to buy you dinner? We could celebrate tonight’s advance sales with a good bottle of wine and a nice Chateaubriand.”

Guilt lanced through Liza as she realized she had been so distracted by Jacques’s presence that she’d forgotten all about Robert and his invitation to have dinner. “Would you mind terribly if I took a rain check? I was hoping to go over my notes for the patron party tonight. I’m meeting with the caterers tomorrow.”

“Of course not,” he said, but Liza could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Everything okay? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”

“Everything’s fine. I just have a monster headache and I’m afraid I’d be lousy company.”

“You couldn’t be lousy company even if you tried,” he said, his voice filled with affection and warmth. Lines of concern etched his handsome face. “But I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. Stop worrying about the patron party and the gala. It’s going to be a great success. What you need is a good night’s rest.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I know I am. Would you like me to drive you home? I can have your car sent to you in the morning.”

“No. I’ll be okay. But thanks anyway.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He gave her hand a light squeeze. “All right. Just let me have a quick word with Harvey Adams and then I’ll walk you to your car.”

What was wrong with her? Liza demanded silently as she watched him walk away. Robert Carstairs was everything she could want in a man—kind, patient and generous to a fault. Only a week ago she had convinced herself she was ready to take their friendship to the next level. After all, it had been more than three years since her affair with Jacques had ended—more than enough time to get over him. And she had thought she was over him.

Until he had walked through the door tonight. A shiver skipped down Liza’s spine as she recalled the heat in his eyes when he had told her he stilt wanted her. Then suddenly it was as though it was only yesterday that she’d been in his arms, wild with a hunger and need that only he seemed able to fill.

No! Liza screamed silently. Drawing a deep breath, she reached for the meeting files and began packing them away. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall into Jacques’s sensual trap again. She couldn’t. She had too much to lose—even more than she had when she’d run away three years ago.

The hum of voices grew around her, but Liza ignored them. Ordinarily she would have joined in the after-meeting chatter. She enjoyed these people, and a number of them were potential clients. In fact, she had even planned to follow up on several inquiries about her services as a fund-raiser. But not tonight, she told herself, as she retrieved another handful of folders from the table and stored them in her briefcase. Not when the shock of seeing Jacques again was still so fresh. Not when she was so keenly aware of his presence in the room. She’d have to face him again. Of that much she was sure. But not yet, not before she had figured out what to do.

“I think I’m in love.”

Liza looked up from the stacks of papers to Jane Burke, her friend and co-worker on the committee. At just over five feet, with jet black hair and dark eyes, Jane was her direct opposite in appearance and philosophy. The other woman was as reckless and romantic as Liza was cautious and pragmatic. Yet the two had become fast friends. “Again?” Liza asked casually, used to her friend falling in and out of love at the drop of a hat.

“Don’t be snide, Liza.”

“Who is it this time?”

“The committee’s new co-director, Jacques Gaston.” At the arch of Liza’s brow, she insisted, “This time it’s the real thing.”

“Need I remind you that’s what you said three weeks ago when you met that Bobby What’s-his-name from Texas?”

“I know.”

“And let’s not forget about Beauregard Jefferson Davis from Mississippi.”

Jane laughed, the sound light and carefree. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a fellow with an accent.” As if on cue, the deep rumble of Jacques’s voice carried across the room to them. “Who could blame me? Can you imagine what it would be like to hear him whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”

She didn’t have to imagine, Liza thought at the sound of the deep voice, heavily accented by his native French. Memories came rushing back to her of those nights she’d spent wrapped in his arms, listening to his stories about the vineyard in France where he’d lived as a boy. She had envisioned him easily, a handsome boy with a devilish twinkle in his eyes, racing through the vineyard, laughing as he swiped grapes from the vines and popped them into his mouth. For a short time during their brief affair, she had even been foolish enough to fantasize that the two of them would travel there together one day. She had so wanted to see the valleys he had described to her, the place he had painted for her so vividly with his words.

But that had been before she had realized that Jacques didn’t love her. That he would never permit himself to love her or any woman. And even worse that there was no place in his life or his heart for her love.

“I wonder if it’s true what they say about Frenchmen,” Jane murmured. “You know, about them being better lovers.”

Unbidden, Liza’s gaze followed her friend’s to where Jacques stood flanked by three of the female board members. One of the trio murmured something to him and Jacques tossed back his head and laughed. A swift pang shot through Liza and she jerked her gaze away. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be too anxious to find out—not if you still want marriage, motherhood and that white picket fence.”

“Why not?”

“Because unless he’s changed a great deal, you’ll never have any of those things with Jacques. He’s allergic to even the thought of marriage or commitment.” After all, she should know, Liza added silently.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you know that no man ever wants to settle down? They fight it tooth and nail until the right woman comes along and changes their mind for them.”

“You make marriage sound like ... like taming a pet. Trust me, Jane. Jacques Gaston is no domestic house cat. And I wouldn’t count on changing his mind on the subject, either. There certainly have been enough women who’ve tried.” Not that she had been one of them. She had only wanted to love him and be loved by him. But even that had proved too much for Jacques.

“I didn’t realize you knew him so well,” Jane said, a curious gleam in her dark eyes.

“I don’t.” Despite the fact that they had been lovers, she had never really known Jacques. She had been too caught up in their passion to discover the sad, lonely man that had lain beneath the happy-go-lucky facade he presented to the world. Until it had been too late. “We met a few years ago in New Orleans while I was working for Aimee Gallagher. Jacques was one of her tenants.”

“So, then you two are old friends?”

“More like adversaries. We didn’t get along very well.” Except for that short time when they had been lovers. But even then, their relationship had remained volatile. And despite the fact that she had fallen in love with him, she and Jacques had never quite managed to become friends. If they had, perhaps things would not have ended as they did. “We still don’t.”

“Adversaries, huh? I guess that explains why he’s looking at you like a hungry cat eyeing a tasty little mouse.”

Liza looked up. Her eyes tangled with the tawny-colored ones staring back at her. For a moment she forgot to breathe. When Jacques winked, she jerked her gaze away. “Don’t read anything into it. Jacques takes his role as a Frenchman seriously. He thinks it’s his duty to flirt with any female from eight to eighty.”

Her friend gave her a speculative look, then went back to sorting papers. She handed Liza a pile of the agendas that had been scattered on the table. “Still, it sure would be interesting to find out if what they say about Frenchmen is true.”

“And just what is it they say about Frenchmen?” Jacques asked.

Liza whipped around. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Jane’s face split into a welcoming smile. “Why that they’re—”

“That they’re very...French,” Liza offered quickly, while struggling to keep the color from crawling up her cheeks. Noting the amused look in his eyes, Liza tipped up her chin. “Jacques, I’d like you to meet Jane Burke. Jane, Jacques Gaston.”

“Mademoiselle Burke.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. The other woman practically swooned.

“Jane is the person responsible for organizing the committee’s volunteers,” Liza continued, unsure which irritated her more, the dazzled expression on her friend’s face or Jacques’s easy charm. “I was explaining to Jacques earlier that it really wasn’t necessary for him to take Peter’s place on the board and suggested he might want to work with your group of volunteers.”

“Why, of course, we would love to have you work with our group, Mr. Gaston.”

“Jacques,” he corrected.

“Jacques,” she repeated, her face beaming. “And please, you must call me Jane.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Jacques said smoothly. “And I am sure you will understand, Jane, that as much as I would enjoy working with you, I believe my time would be better served working with Liza to ensure the success of the fund-raiser.”

“Why, of course I understand,” Jane agreed, her cheeks flushed. “And you’re right. Despite what Liza says, I know she can use your help—especially with Peter and Aimee both out of the picture.”

“Is that right?” Jacques shifted his gaze to Liza.

“Oh, yes,” Jane assured him and then launched into a list of the many details for which Liza was responsible all of which would certainly benefit from any help that Jacques would offer.

Resisting the urge to strangle both her friend and Jacques, Liza crammed the remaining meeting paraphernalia into her briefcase. She snapped it shut and removed it from the table. “If you’ll both excuse me, need to speak with Robert about the patron party before I leave.”

Ten minutes later, after declining Robert’s offer to see her to her car, Liza slipped out of the meeting room. At least she had managed to avoid another encounter with Jacques, she told herself as she walked down the hallway toward the exit. Judging by the way Ashley Hartmann had been clinging to his arm when she had seen him last, he would be fully occupied for the rest of the evening.

Not that it made any difference to her, Liza decided. After all, she and Jacques were history. What he did and who he did it with were of no concern to her.

Then why did the image of the redheaded divorcée laughing up at him and clutching at his sleeve leave such a foul taste in her mouth and an achy feeling in her chest?

Because you’re an idiot, Liza O’Malley. You always were, where Jacques was concerned. Frowning, Liza turned the corner and headed toward the elevators.

“Such a long face. Problem, ma chérie?”

Liza stopped. Her gaze shot over to where Jacques stood lounging against the wall next to the elevators. “Not at all,” she finally managed to say despite the rush of nerves that tightened like a knot in her stomach. Shifting her briefcase from one hand to the other, she continued over to the bank of elevators and pushed the button for the lobby. “I’m just surprised to see you leaving so early.” Or alone, she added silently.

“Why is that?”

“Well, since you’re so eager to serve on the committee’s board, I thought you would take advantage of this opportunity to become better acquainted with the other board members.” And Ashley Hartmann in particular.

“I would much prefer reacquainting myself with the committee’s fund-raising coordinator.”

The elevator arrived, saving her from the need to respond. Liza stepped inside the half-filled car, and Jacques followed. The doors slid shut, enclosing them in the small space. The short ride to the lobby suddenly seemed to stretch endlessly. Even with a half dozen other people inside the car, Liza couldn’t help being keenly aware of Jacques standing beside her. She could smell the scents of summer sunshine and damp clay, of pine woods and man—a unique mingling of scents that she had always associated with Jacques. And with the scents came back the memories—the feel of his hands shaping her, his mouth tasting and teasing.

Liza’s breath snagged in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory.

“Liza?”

At the sound of his voice, Liza opened her eyes immediately. Her body tense, she tightened her fingers around the handle of her briefcase.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly.

Moments later when the elevator doors opened, she raced through them and out into the lobby.

“Liza, wait.”

She kept moving down the polished corridor, eager to reach the parking garage elevator and escape Jacques and the rush of memories plaguing her.

He gripped her arm, bringing her to a halt. Gently, too gently, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “What is wrong? Why do you run from me?”

“I’m not running from you,” she lied. “I have a headache, and I’m just anxious to get home.”

He hesitated, and Liza grew uncomfortable under his probing gaze. “Then I will take you home.” Still holding on to her arm, he took her briefcase from her and continued toward the parking garage elevators.

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”

“You are ill.”

“I have a headache,” she said, and tugged her arm free. “I promise you I can manage. Besides, I don’t live in the city. ‘Home’ is more than an hour’s drive outside of Chicago.”

“I do not mind the drive.”

“But I do.”

“I will see you to your car,” he insisted, following her into the garage elevator despite her protests.

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“I said I will see you to your car. Which floor?”

Under the harsh lighting of the elevator, his roughly hewed features and dark gold hair reminded her of a Viking warrior. The fact that he towered over her own considerable height only added to the image. But it was the determination in his leonine gaze that made her decide it was pointless to argue further. She punched the number three for her parking level.

Moments later when the doors opened, Liza stepped out into the cold, shadowed garage. Jacques walked beside her, his silence making her even more anxious. Finally she reached the dark blue sedan. “Well, this is it,” she said with more cheerfulness than she was feeling. After unlocking her car and allowing him to store her briefcase on the back seat, she turned to him. “Well, thanks again.”

“Aren’t you at least going to offer me a ride?”

“But I thought... What about your car?”

His mouth kicked up at the corners in what she had always considered his lady-killer grin. “I do not have one. Peter had someone meet me at the airport when I arrived this morning, and I took a taxi to the meeting. I have not yet called the rental agency.”

Liza narrowed her eyes. “And I suppose there’s a reason you can’t take another taxi now?”

“Perhaps I am still the struggling artist with big dreams and little money.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

The smile in his eyes died. So did the one on his lips. “No. It is not. I have done well since our time together in New Orleans. Perhaps if my fortunes had come sooner, you would not have chosen to leave me as you did.”

The words hurt, as did the bitterness she detected behind them, but Liza didn’t bother to deny his accusations. It was better he thought she had deserted him because of his lack of money than for him to know the truth.

“Now it seems fate has brought us together again. I am looking forward to working with you on this fund-raiser.”

Panic shot through her at his words. Liza’s gaze shot up to meet his. “Why are you doing this, Jacques? What are you up to?”

“Ah. I see you are still a suspicious soul.” Instead of the underlying bitterness she had detected moments earlier, she glimpsed an intensity in him that she found far more disturbing. “Surely two old friends such as you and I can work together.”

“We were lovers, Jacques. Not friends.”

“Yes. And you were a spectacular lover, ma chérie.” He moved a step closer, caging her between the car door and his body. He skimmed his thumb along the line of her cheek, across her bottom lip. “So responsive.”

Liza shivered, unable to quell her reaction to his touch, unable to look away.

“Did you think I had forgotten?” he asked, his voice rough with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “I wanted to. God knows I tried to forget you. But I could not. Just as I cannot stop myself from wanting you now.” Heat flared in his eyes, turning them to molten gold.

And then he was lowering his head, his mouth was brushing hers, testing, tasting, tempting. His tongue traced the lines of her lips. “Open for me, Liza.”

She obeyed his command, parting her lips.

Jacques groaned. The deep husky sound sent a shudder through her. When his tongue slid inside her mouth and began an erotic mating ritual with her own, Liza heard the moan of pleasure escape from her own lips.

And then she was beyond hearing, beyond thinking. All she could do was feel. She clung to his shoulders, her head spinning as wave after wave of need lapped at her greedily, demanding more.

“Ah, Liza,” he murmured as his mouth forged its way to her ear and then retraced the path back to reclaim her lips. Despite the cold temperature and threat of new snow, she was burning up inside, her body suffused with heat.

Jacques captured her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. She could see the desire burning in his eyes and feared he would see it in hers as well.

“It is still there. The fire between us. Nothing has changed, Liza. Nothing.”

Reality came back to her in a rush as the impact of his words registered. When he started to kiss her again, Liza turned her head away. “You’re wrong, Jacques. Everything has changed.”

“Has it?”

“Yes.”

“I do not think so, ma chérie. Let me prove it to you.”

“No!”

Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. For a moment she thought he would ignore her. Then he dropped his arms and stepped back.

Still shaky, Liza turned her back to him and opened the car door. “If you still want a ride to your hotel, get in.” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Once he was strapped in the seat beside her, she asked, “Where are you staying?”

“At Peter and Aimee’s apartment. It is on—”

“I know where it is,” Liza told him. After all, she had often used the place herself during the past three years. In fact, she had already accepted Aimee’s offer to use the guest room on the evening of the patron party and the black-tie gala next month. Of course that would no longer be an option, Liza realized as she maneuvered her car along the snow-lined streets. She would just have to make other arrangements. But having a convenient place to stay while she was in Chicago was the least of her worries now.

Jacques glanced over at Liza, noting how tightly her gloved fingers gripped the steering wheel. She still wanted him, he told himself as he fought the dark storm of emotion her denial had set whirling inside him. Regardless of her protests, the fire between them burned just as hot, just as fiercely as it had three years ago.

He intended for it to burn again.

It had to. Otherwise he would spend the rest of his life haunted by her and the foolish notion that they could have had a future together. They couldn’t. It was impossible. He had to prove it to himself or he would never know peace again.

She had been right when she had accused him of wanting revenge. He did. But more than revenge he wanted to be free of hoping, of wanting more. And he wanted to be free of her. Liza could give him that freedom, and he would give her hers by sating their need for each other until the white-hot flame burned itself out.

Then there would be no more sleepless nights spent yearning for her. No more foolishly wanting to hear her words of love. No more cursing the darkness in his soul that prevented him from ever saying those same words to her or to any woman. And when it was over, he would be the one to walk away without looking back.

“This is it,” Liza said, pulling up in front of the apartment building that housed the elegant penthouse suite the Gallaghers had insisted he use.

“Would you like to come upstairs for a drink?”

“No, thanks. I need to get home.”

“Perhaps dinner tomorrow night, then? We can discuss the fund-raiser and old times.”

She looked away from him and stared out of the window. “I’m busy.”

“What about the day after tomorrow?”

“I already have plans.”

Jealousy reached out, gripped him by the throat and refused to let go as he considered the possibility of those plans including Robert Carstairs. No, he told himself. She couldn’t be involved with Carstairs or anyone else—not if she responded to his kiss as she did. “Then I guess I will just have to be satisfied with seeing you again on Tuesday.”

Her head whipped around at his remark. Her green eyes stared at him warily. “What do you mean?”

“According to the schedule you passed out at the meeting, Tuesday is when you will be doing a tasting at the restaurant where the gala is being held and selecting items for the dinner menu.” He pulled the sheet from his coat pocket on which he had circled each item on her checklist from the food tasting down to the balloon delivery the night of the big event. He handed it to Liza to inspect.

“You can’t possibly plan to go to all of these meetings.”

“Why not? You said anyone on the board was welcome to participate.”

“I was being polite. You’re not expected to attend detail meetings like these. No one on the board ever goes to those things. Only me.”

“And now me,” he said, smiling. Leaning across the seat, he kissed her protesting lips. “I will see you on Tuesday.”


Three

Jacques looked up from the glass of Bordeaux he had ordered, sensing Liza’s arrival even before she entered the room. Mon Dieu, but she was beautiful, he thought as she came into sight. Her pale hair gleamed like spun gold, swinging loosely about her shoulders. Dressed in a red sweater dress and matching high heels, she made him think of sweetness and sin. As the hostess directed her to the table, Jacques watched her start toward him on those long slender legs. Suddenly images flashed before him—of those legs wrapped around him, of her silken hair brushing against his bare skin.

Desire, hot and swift, shot through him. Jacques tightened his fingers around the stem of the wineglass, feeling the all-too-familiar ache in his groin. It had always been like this with Liza. From the first moment he had seen her three years before, he had been like a raw schoolboy who had just discovered the mystery of sex and the beauty of a woman’s body. Their affair, her desertion and even the years without her had done nothing to diminish his response to her.

When she reached the table, Jacques stood and prayed no one noticed his obvious condition.

“Thank you,” Liza told the hostess.

Nodding, the hostess said, “Mr. Newberry will be with you in a moment, Ms. O’Malley. Can I offer you something to drink while you wait?”

“I can recommend the Bordeaux,” Jacques offered. “It is almost as good as the wine from my family’s vineyard.”

“Iced tea will be fine,” Liza said, giving the other woman a smile.

“You Americans, you have no appreciation for the art of fine dining.” Jacques pulled out her chair. “Hello, ma chérie,” he said, noting the way her eyes narrowed at the endearment. Leaning over, he brushed his mouth against her cheek before he resumed his seat.

“I’m not here for a dining experience, Jacques. I’m here for a food tasting so that a decision can be made on the menu for next month’s gala. It really wasn’t necessary for you to be here for this.”

“Ah, but it was,” he told her. He took a sip of his wine and allowed himself the pleasure of simply looking at her. She looked so damn cool and neat, he had an urge to grab her and kiss her just to muss up that perfection. “Since you have refused my invitations, I am forced to use whatever opportunities are available so that the two of us can be together.”

“There’s no reason for us to be together.” She reached for her napkin and smoothed it across her lap as the waitress served her iced tea.

“Of course, there is,” he insisted. When she refused his offer of bread, he broke off a piece and began to butter it. “Otherwise, how will I be able to change your mind?”

“And exactly what is it you’re trying to change my mind about?”

“Why, about resuming our affair, of course.”

Liza dropped the spoon she’d picked up to stir her iced tea. She leaned forward, her gem-colored eyes stormy. “I promise you, Jacques, you and I are not going to resume our affair.”

“As I said, I intend to change your mind.”

“You’re wasting your time. I am not going to change my mind. I’m not interested.”

“That is what you said three years ago, too,” he reminded her, looking up from the piece of buttered bread. “But this time you do not have to worry about being the one to seduce me.”

Tracks of color climbed her cheeks and Jacques smiled, sure she remembered as he did that first time when she had asked him to make love to her.

“I assure you, I have no intention of worrying about something that isn’t going to happen.”

“Ah, but it will, my sweet Liza. Because I have every intention of seducing you.”

Fire flickered in her eyes, but before she could respond, the catering manager arrived with a waiter in tow carrying a tray with salads.

Thirty minutes later as they made their way through the main course, Jacques listened to the catering director extoll the virtues of presentation and preparation of each dish, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the past. Back to a sultry, wet October night in New Orleans, racing through the dark French Quarter streets with Liza beside him....

“Come, ma chérie,” he had said, pulling Liza out of the rain and into the stairwell of the old building that had led to their apartments. “You need to get out of those wet things before you catch a cold.”

Her laughter teased and tempted him as they hurried up the stairs to her apartment. What a fool you are, Gaston, he thought, realizing how just the simple sound of her laughter could make him break out in a sweat of need and want. For a man who liked women and had enjoyed more than a casual friendship with many, never had he found himself so completely captivated by any one woman.

Until Liza.

With Liza everything was new, different. She made him feel alive, made him forget about the darkness.

She unlocked the door, then turned to face him. The smile that curved her mouth and had tempted him all through dinner faded. So did the laughter in her eyes.

“What is it, chérie?”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered.

His gut tightened at the unmistakable invitation in her voice, the sound having the same effect as a woman’s nails gently scoring his naked flesh. Fighting the urge to act on her invitation, Jacques eyed her curiously and wondered not for the first time what had gotten into Liza tonight. Despite the chemistry between them, she had turned him down repeatedly. Then tonight, after months of verbal sparring and dismissing his advances, she had agreed to have dinner with him. And now, judging from the look in her eyes, she was offering him even more.

“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

“About what?”

“About wanting me.”

She started to turn away, but he caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You are wrong, Liza. I want you.” Unable to resist, he traced his fingers along one incredibly soft cheek. The artist in him couldn’t help but note the play of light and shadow that made her wet skin look translucent, her green eyes shine like emeralds. But the man in him saw the too-pale tone of her fair skin, the doubts and vulnerability in her eyes. “Wanting you is like breathing for me. It is something I do without thought or reason.”

“Then come inside. Stay with me. Make me feel like a woman tonight.”

The blood rushed to his head and then to his loins, but still he hesitated. Despite the number of women who had passed through his life and his bed, none of them had been casual. Each had been special to him, but none had asked for more than he could give. Friendship and good sex had been enough for both parties. Something inside told him that with Liza it would not be so simple for either of them.

She moved a step closer, bringing her body next to his. She touched him. He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his damp shirt as they inched their way up his chest, over his shoulders, to slip around his neck. “Please, Jacques,” she murmured before pressing her mouth to his.

Jacques groaned. Wrapping his arms around her, he gave in to the sweet temptation of Liza’s kiss. He had envisioned this moment for months, lusted for it, dreamed of it.

Reality was a thousand times better than the dream.

She moved her hips against him, cradling the ache in his lower body with her womanly softness. For a moment Jacques thought he would go mad. He wanted to strip her bare and bury himself in her sweet warmth. When she repeated the motion, Jacques pulled his mouth free. “Sacre bleu!” Curling his fists in her hair, he squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to breathe.

“Come inside,” she whispered.

He didn’t resist. He couldn’t resist even if he had wanted to. He didn’t want to.

The moment the door closed she was back in his arms. She pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, sending him into another tailspin of want and need. When she reached for his belt, he battled with the desire clawing at him and captured her hand. “Liza, do you know what you are doing?” he managed, his voice gruff, shaky even to his own ears.

“Yes.”

Jacques looked into her passion-filled eyes, and his body trembled with a new wave of desire. Struggling to hold on to his last ounce of control, he asked, “You are sure?”

“I’m sure,” she told him. “I know all about your rules, Jacques. No promises, no commitments. Passion and friendship only.”

The words had been a creed he’d felt he had to live by. They’d been his only weapon to protect himself and others from the darkness inside him. But hearing those words come from Liza’s lips, he suddenly became aware of the coldness of them...and even more he became aware of his own emptiness. “Yes, but—”

She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “I’m not asking for anything more, Jacques. I just want you to make love to me.”

She released the button on his slacks and eased down the zipper. Her fingers brushed his hardened length and for a moment Jacques feared he would lose control.

She lifted her gaze to his once more. “Make me believe I’m a real woman tonight.”

There was passion in her eyes. And doubt. For a fraction of a second he wondered why. Then her fingertips were touching him again, stroking him, driving all thoughts but making love to her from his mind. “Take my word for it, chérie. You are a real woman. And never in my life have I ever wanted any woman more than I want you right now.”

“Then, show me.”

The heat in her eyes, the plea in her voice, nearly pushed him over the edge. He tangled both fists in her hair and backed her against the door. He took possession of her mouth, covering her soft lips with his own. He wanted to savage her mouth, plunder it and claim her as his. Instead, he kissed her slowly, gliding his tongue along the edges of her mouth as he sought entry. When she opened to him, his tongue invaded, tangled with hers. He kissed her over and over, concentrating solely on her mouth and reveling in her sounds of pleasure. When she nipped his bottom lip, then pulled his mouth back to hers, Jacques crushed her body to him and deepened the kiss.

Moments later Liza jerked her mouth free to look into his eyes. “Show me, Jacques. Please.”

Jacques shuddered at the husky note desire had given her voice. Slipping his arm beneath her knees, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. A small lamp at the bedside table bathed the room in a soft glow, illuminating the raindrops sliding silently down the windowpanes. A thick rose-and-green comforter stretched across the bed. Gardenia blossoms floated in a crystal dish scenting the air with its sweet fragrance. His artist’s eye took in the details and dismissed them all, his every thought, his every breath filled with only Liza.

He stopped at the edge of the bed and tortured himself by releasing her and having her body slide slowly down the length of his as her feet touched the floor. Leaning her against the bed, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. He opened the first button on the excuse for a dress she’d been wearing and kissed the base of her throat. With a patience he hadn’t known he possessed, Jacques forced himself to move slowly. Opening the buttons one by one, he took his time, kissing the skin he had bared. When the last button was free, he eased the dress from her shoulders. It fell in a puddle of shimmering green silk to the floor.

His blood pulsed with desire as he took in the sight of her womanly curves covered only by scraps of black lace. “God, but you are beautiful,” he whispered and proceeded to worship her with his mouth and hands. He unhooked her bra and feasted on the fullness of her breasts—first with his eyes, then with his fingers as he cupped and shaped her. He caught one dark rosy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, while he lowered his head to her other breast.

Liza moaned. She clutched at his shoulders when his mouth closed over the other crest, tugging at the tip with his teeth, then laving it with his tongue.

“Jacques!” Her fingernails bit into his skin as he moved his mouth to pay homage to her other breast, her whimpers of pleasure fueling his own desire.

He lifted her, placed her on the bed and then joined her. He slipped his hand beneath the black lace to thread his fingers through the pale triangle of curls between her legs. Easing first one finger inside her tight channel and then another, he gently stroked her.

Liza gasped. Her body shuddered and she lifted herself against his hand as he increased the rhythm and pressure.

“That is it, chérie,” he encouraged, his own voice ragged with need as he felt the first spasms hit her, sending her honeyed warmth to flow onto his fingers. When her body went limp, he began the slow stroking again.

“Jacques, no. I can’t ... I ... not without you.”

“For me, Liza. Let go for me.” Ignoring her cries,he brought her to the peak, again and again, extending his own pleasure and pain as he watched her come apart for him. When he could wait no longer, he stripped off his clothes and moved between her thighs.

The rain beat fiercely against the window, matching the frantic pace of his pulse. He ripped open the foil packet with his teeth.

“You don’t need that,” Liza told him. She took the packet from his fingers and tossed it to the floor.

“What about protection?” he managed to say, as she closed her fist around him.

“I can’t...” Her voice broke and her eyes shimmered a moment, before she continued. “It’s a safe time for me. I can’t... I won’t get pregnant.”

He started to argue. To tell her he didn’t want to take any chances. But then she was opening herself, guiding him into her heat.

“Just to be safe—”

But then she was drawing him deeper inside her, arching her body, lifting her hips. And he forgot about arguing. He forgot about thinking. All he could do was feel.

He drove himself into her, unable to wait any longer.

“Jacques.”

He slid his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the movements of their bodies with the length and speed of each stroke. Then she was tearing her mouth free, wrapping her legs around him. Lightning flashed outside the window, thunder exploded in the distance, rocking the building.

Jacques watched in wonder as the first storm of pleasure hit Liza. Then she was crying out, convulsing around him and he was racing to join her in the storm—

“What about the chocolate mousse?” Liza was saying. “Do you think it’s a safe choice or should we stick with the fruit compote?”

Jacques jerked his attention back to the present. He gave himself a mental shake to clear his head of the seductive memory, realizing he didn’t have a clue as to what they were discussing.

“If neither of those appeal to you, the chef also does a wonderful strawberry cheesecake,” Mr. Newberry offered.

Jacques looked down at the chocolate mousse and fruit compote before him. Dessert. They had been talking about dessert, Jacques concluded. “Both of these look excellent, but why don’t we try a slice of that cheesecake before we decide,” he said in an effort to buy time.

“Really, Jacques. Do you think that’s necessary?” Liza asked, anxious to end the meal and this meeting with Jacques. She offered the catering manager a smile. “Either one of these would make a wonderful choice. Besides, I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

“Then just make it one slice, Mr. Newberry. Ms. O’Malley and I can share.”

“Of course,” the catering manager replied, and was off to do Jacques’s bidding before Liza could object further.

Liza wasn’t sure which disturbed her more—the intimacy implied by Jacques’s insistence that they share the same dessert or by his unusually quiet mood throughout the meal. After his earlier declaration to seduce her, she had felt like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. While she had been glad that he hadn’t pursued the subject, for some reason his reflective silence made her even more edgy.

Irritated with herself for her reaction to him, Liza focused on her purpose for being with Jacques in the first place—the gala dinner. “For starters, I think the Caesar salad would be the best choice. Don’t you?”

“Yes. The Caesar salad,” Jacques said without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

Liza hesitated a moment and then continued. “And for the entrée, I thought we could offer a choice of fish or the filet mignon. That way anyone who didn’t want meat would have an alternative. What do you think?”





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