Книга - Picture Perfect Christmas

Picture Perfect Christmas
Melanie Schuster


Chastain Thibodaux is no longer the awkward, naive girl who had her heart smashed to pieces by Philippe Devereaux. Now the successful artist has included three oil paintings of Philippe in her prestigious gallery show–sensuous nudes painted entirely from her memory of their smoldering affair.But then her subject turns up at her opening night, in the flesh–every hard-muscled, smooth-skinned, delicious inch of him–demanding to know why she's put him on display.Philippe hasn't been in love with Chastain since she dumped him to study art in Paris. Or so he's been telling himself. But his anger over her erotic portraits is mixed with the kind of desire that heats even the coldest New York night. And he vows that by New Year's Eve he'll have the answers to all his questions and have Chastain back where she belongs–in his arms….









“Philippe, what makes you think I haven’t already moved on mentally and emotionally? You’re wading into some seriously unknown territory here.”


He didn’t answer right away. Instead he extended his index finger and put it behind her ear. He was barely touching her as he ran his finger down her neck. Her breathing changed almost imperceptibly; only someone who knew her as well as he did could have heard the tiny sigh that escaped her lips. She leaned toward him and put her hand on his waist while he slowly drew her into his arms. When she was so close that they could feel each other’s heartbeat, he bent his head to hers until their lips touched.

Philippe’s mouth touched hers gently at first, but their mutual consent to the embrace signaled more. Chastain opened her mouth slightly, enough to run her tongue along his lower lip and gently pull it into her mouth, while he did the same to her upper lip. The tentative tasting turned into a long, sensual exploration that showed no sign of ending. They kissed until they were devouring each other, trying to satisfy the hungry desire that had been aroused.

“This is how I know we aren’t finished, Chastain. Will you stay with me for Christmas?”

A voice she barely recognized answered him. “Yes.”




MELANIE SCHUSTER


started reading when she was four and believes that’s why she’s a writer today. She was always fascinated with books, loved telling stories and always wanted to be a writer. She fell in love with romance novels when she began reading the ones her mother would bring home. She would go to any store that sold paperbacks and load up! Whenever Melanie had a spare moment she was reading. She loves romance fiction because it’s always so hopeful. Despite the harsh realities of life, romance stories always remind readers of the wonderful, exciting adventure of falling in love and meeting your soul mate. Melanie finds fulfillment in writing stories about compelling couples who find true, lasting love in the face of all obstacles. She hopes all of her readers find true love. And if they’ve already been lucky enough to find love, she hopes that they never forget what it felt like to fall in love.




Picture Perfect Christmas

Melanie Schuster





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


To Malachi Jabari McCray, a true warrior and a fighter.

Never give up.

And to my very creative and supportive editor,

Evette Porter. Thanks for your patience!


Dear Reader,

So many of you have been asking for another Deveraux story, so this is my holiday gift to you all! I love stories about couples who get back together after a long separation and that’s the case with Chastain and Philippe.

Thanks for going with me on another journey with the Deveraux, and look for another story in the not-too-distant future. Wade Deveraux is still single but he’s going to get knocked for a loop by love!

Happy holidays with love,

Melanie

I Chronicles 4:10




Acknowledgments


My heartfelt and sincere thanks go out to Dr. Mark Adams and his wonderful staff for getting me back on my feet again. And thanks to all my family, friends, and readers who have supported me and encouraged me and put up with me, especially my online family.

To my sister in Christ, Betty, no words can express my gratitude for our friendship.

And to Jamil, my play brother and my friend, thanks for always believing in me.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23




Chapter 1


New York City

Pale sunlight streamed through the huge windows of the gallery. Chastain Thibodaux looked at the winter sky and frowned. “I don’t know why the sun bothers to shine when it’s this cold,” she said grumpily. Her assistant, Mona Morgan, was checking the order of the paintings that were waiting to be hung. She looked up from her clipboard and laughed.

“You act like it’s never cold in France. We had lots of cold weather there as you well know. Snow and all.”

Chastain sat down on a stool that was near the entrance. “Yes, but it was French snow. Very chic, chérie. Lulu looked fabulous in her little red coat, didn’t you?” she said, directing her remark to her West Highland white terrier that was busily sniffing every corner of the gallery.

“And she’ll look just as cute right here in Harlem,” Mona replied. “You’re not sorry that you left Paris, are you?”

Chastain looked away pensively before she answered. “No. Three years was enough. I loved living in Europe, but I was ready to come home. I missed my family and I missed the States. I had an absentee ballot. But imagine what it would have been like being here for the presidential election,” she said. “We missed so much being in Europe while the election was taking place. Seeing it on TV wasn’t the same. I must admit that President Obama’s election is one of the reasons I was so glad to come back. And I loved living in New York when I was here before. It’s one of my favorite places in the world besides N’awlins.” She looked out the window at the pale sun again. “I just wish it was spring already.”

“Are you crazy? Christmas in New York is like a fantasy! This is the best time of year to be here,” Mona protested.

“If you say so. Just wait until you’re trying to get home during rush hour and your feet are soaking wet and freezing and you can’t get a cab to save your life. Then see how swell it is.” Chastain stood up and stretched her body like a cat. “But I’m not going to lie. I do love this city.”

“Then I’ll have to make you want to stay forever.”

David Llewellyn’s voice interrupted their conversation from the back of the gallery. The owner of the art gallery, he was tall, dark and very handsome. He had been one of Chastain’s professors in graduate school and they’d been close friends ever since. When her three-year fellowship ended, he’d urged her to come to New York and have her first big showing at Studio L, his highly regarded gallery in Harlem.

Chastain gave him a sweet smile. “Make me want to stay forever? How do you plan to do that?”

He was standing in front of her and returned her smile with one of his own that made him even more handsome. With his dimples showing, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I can’t tell you. But I can show you if you give me a chance.”

Whatever flirtatious answer she was about to give vanished as Lulu lunged at David. She stood up and barked to get his attention, which made him laugh. “First thing on my list is to make friends with your dog. Isn’t that the way to get to your mistress, little girl?”

Chastain and Mona rolled their eyes. “You don’t have to charm her, David. Lulu’s a sucker for men, all men. She’s been following your manager around all morning. Just a regular little trollop, if you ask me,” Mona said. “Get your leash and I’ll take you for a walk, Lulu.”

Lulu dashed off and brought back the leash, but she dropped it on David’s feet and looked up at him with love in her eyes.

“See? A total trollop,” Mona said fondly.

“Well, how can I resist such a delightful invitation? I’ll take her for a stroll and then I’ll take you to lunch. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Chastain answered. “As long as we can go to that chicken and waffles place.”

Mona watched David and Lulu leave, and then she turned to Chastain. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she said in a low voice. Veronica, the gallery’s receptionist, was within earshot and Mona was trying to be discreet.

Chastain looked at her with amusement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Come on upstairs with me.”

Once they were safely out of earshot of Veronica, the sales staff and the manager of the gallery, James Steffney, Mona chided her boss.

“You’ve been holding out on me. I just got a really good look at Mr. David Llewellyn and he’s much better looking than any professor I ever met, so drop the act. He’s your new man, isn’t he?”

Chastain had to laugh. She almost hated to disappoint Mona, but the truth was just not that interesting.

“Girl, you are obsessed! You’re worse than my BFF Paris Deveraux who’s the biggest matchmaker I know. I told you, he was my professor and mentor when I was working on my master’s. We became good friends, nothing else. When he came to France last year he invited me to have a showing here in New York when I finished my project. So don’t go reading more into the situation than there is,” Chastain said pointedly.

Mona pushed her long, curly hair behind one ear. “I hear what you’re saying, but I also see how he looks at you. I also hear how he talks to you. And trust me, none of my friends react to me like that. He gave us this upstairs apartment to live in while we’re here, and as far as I know that’s very unusual. That place could rent for a few thou a month, easy. Doesn’t that seem a little more than friendly to you?”

“I’m going to ignore you,” Chastain replied. “Give your overactive imagination a rest,” she added as she headed toward the bedroom.

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Mona shouted after her. “I won’t be denied vital information. Inquiring minds have to know.”

Chastain shook her head. She would admit that lending her the apartment was extra nice of David. It was a beautiful space that was furnished like a design show house. The furniture was mid-century modern and the colors were soft neutrals with pops of bright color. It was extremely generous of David to suggest that she and Mona stay there while her work was being shown, especially since it would go from December 1 through the end of February.

She went into the large bathroom and surveyed herself in the mirror on the wall behind the counter. Turning on the faucet above the clear glass bowl pedestal sink, she quickly brushed her teeth and washed her hands, then patted her face with a damp washcloth. After working all morning, she should have been at least slightly disheveled, but she was immaculate, as always. She was wearing black wool Capri pants, black ballet slippers and a bronze cashmere cardigan trimmed with little copper beads. She had the sweater on backward so the V-neck showed off an enticing but modest glimpse of her back. She changed into long pants and ankle boots because of the cold weather. Growing up in New Orleans, she enjoyed the chilly temperatures but she never quite adjusted to them.

She heard the sound of the elevator descending to the first floor. David was coming upstairs to deliver Lulu and collect Chastain.

Mona waved at her and said, “Bring me a doggie bag, please.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re coming, too.”

“Chastain, here’s your baby safe and sound,” David said. “She was a perfect lady on our walk.”

“Were you a good girl? Then you get a treat.” Lulu ran to her crate and was waiting for her when she came in with Pup-peronis in hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” Chastain promised. She got her coat and joined David and Mona in the living room. “Okay, David, I think we’re ready to go. I’m famished.”

In a short while they were seated in Sylvia’s Restaurant, one of New York’s soul food landmarks. Chastain knew she wouldn’t have any complaints about the food at Sylvia’s. She had eaten there many times in the past. Mona was sipping sweet tea and looking around appreciatively. Chastain was sticking to hot coffee, insisting that she needed the warmth.

David looked at Mona appraisingly. “So are you related to Chastain?” he asked.

Both women shook their heads. “I have about nine thousand cousins, but Monie isn’t one of them. And I’m an only child, remember?”

“Of course I do. Believe it or not, I remember everything you’ve ever shared with me,” he said smoothly. “But I don’t think you told me how you two met.”

Chastain winced as she felt a little kick from Mona under the table. She ignored it and began speaking. “We met at a Biedermeier exhibit at the Louvre. Then we kept bumping into each other at different galleries and she took a class that I was teaching and that’s how we became friends. So when you made the generous offer to show my paintings, I needed an assistant and she volunteered to help,” Chastain added.

“Volunteered? Stalked is more like it. I followed her around, brought her coffee and croissants, and made a pest of myself until she said she would hire me. I had just finished my studies at Sorbonne and I needed a break. So I’m working for a while until I decide whether to get a doctorate or a job,” Mona said cheerfully. “And the only other alternative was to go back to D.C. and be my father’s hostess until I could prove I could support myself, so I am totally happy. I love my dad, but a woman’s got to be on her own sometime,” she added.

The subject changed when the food arrived. “Are you ready for your interview tomorrow?” David asked.

Chastain made a little face. “Yes, I am. I’m still not sure why anybody wants to interview me, but I’m game.”

David had contacts everywhere and Chastain was booked for radio, newspaper and magazine interviews. She’d been interviewed before, when she won the fellowship that sent her to Paris, and in fact had very favorable press coverage while she was there. It was David’s opinion that she was a natural in front of the camera and the microphone, and he told her so.

“You’re beautiful, brilliant, elegant and thoroughly charming, and anyone who meets you is enriched by the experience. Besides, you’re about to blow up in a major way. It’s called taking the art world by storm. Just relax and get used to it, Chastain.”

When she was younger, Chastain would have turned purple with embarrassment and used her self-deprecating humor to deflect his words. Now she just thanked him in a low, sultry voice that brought another kick from Mona.

They finished their meals with pleasant chitchat and Mona and David watched in amazement while Chastain consumed a large serving of peach cobbler. “Where do you put all that food?” Mona said in consternation. “I’m about a dumpling away from Lane Bryant and you pack it in like a sumo wrestler but you weigh less than a runway model. I could hate you, really I could.”

Chastain gave her spoon a sexy little lick. “Genes, honey. All the Thibodauxes are on the skinny side. We have the metabolisms of a hummingbird. Wait until you meet my family, then you’ll see what I mean. They’re coming up here in a couple of weeks. I hope New York is ready for them because they bring the party with them wherever they go,” she said with a wicked grin.

“Laissez les bon temps rouler, huh?” David said, chuckling.

“Oh, we let the good times roll like you’ve never seen in this life,” she assured him.

She regaled the table with some of the exploits of her uncles and cousins in the French Quarter where she’d grown up and they were all laughing uproariously when the check came for their meal. “I had an unorthodox childhood, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything,” she said.

As she and Mona put their coats on while David took care of the check, she realized that she meant every word. There was a time when she wasn’t comfortable with certain aspects of her upbringing, but those days were long past. There was nothing in the world she couldn’t handle now. She could hold her head high and meet anyone in the world on an equal footing. Somewhere along the line, she had grown into her own skin and she liked it. No, she deserved it and she was loving every minute of it.




Chapter 2


Chastain stood in the middle of the gallery and looked around in amazement. It was humbling and exhilarating at the same time. All of her works were hung and lit to show every detail of her talent. Everything was ready for the opening and so was she. She was feeling more serene than nervous. She had worked hard for this and she was ready for the next level. David had pulled out all the stops for her showing and she was grateful for his efforts.

Studio L was huge. The walls were covered in oyster-white wool flannel and the floors were covered in taupe Berber carpet. The walls were moveable and could be arranged in any manner to better display artwork and there were stainless steel pillars for sculptures and other kinds of work. There were seating areas here and there but not too many; David wanted to encourage the flow of foot traffic. Tall potted trees graced the corners and added a jolt of natural color to the neutral palette of the room. In the high ceiling, there was a combination of pinpoint halogen lights and some hand-sculpted fixtures in stainless steel that were a perfect counterpoint to the carefully arranged display lights.

For the special invitation-only showing, there was a wine bar and a buffet, catered by Melba’s. Any sales from the first week of the showing would go to the continuing restoration of New Orleans, a project that was a passion of Chastain’s. The soft music of a live jazz trio and the quiet hum of David’s highly efficient staff made it all look like a scene in a movie.

She had to stifle a giggle at the thought. David arrived unobtrusively at her side with a flute of sparkling wine. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“I was picturing a scene in an Audrey Hepburn movie, only I was the star,” she admitted. “Thanks, but I don’t drink, David. Alcohol has had its way with one too many members of the Thibodaux family, so I leave it alone.”

“And that’s why this is a passionfruit spumante without a drop of alcohol. I told you I pay attention to everything about you,” he said as she took the flute.

“You’re too good to be true, David. Everything looks beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I think you look beautiful,” he replied, caressing her face with his dark eyes. “That ensemble is amazing,” he added.

Chastain smoothed the supple silk fabric over her hip. She was wearing a lustrous gold knee-length dress with a layered drape that began at the right side of the waist. The dress’s strapless bodice fit her perfectly, showing off her tiny waist and the straight skirt had a slit up the back that allowed her to walk easily in her three-inch slingback gold heels. Her necklace was made of amber, citrines and topaz set in gold wire arranged in an abstract pattern, and her matching earrings were twisted wires with citrine and goldstone beads.

“Who’s the designer?” he asked. “There’ll be a lot of reporters here tonight and someone is bound to ask.”

“The dress is vintage Dior. I got it at this fabulous flea market in Paris. And the jewelry is my design,” she said, fingering the smooth stones. “I made it.”

“I told you we should have put some jewelry in the show,” David said. “Women will go wild for that.”

Chastain shrugged. “I don’t have enough pieces yet. I only started making jewelry recently and I’m still experimenting. Besides, I think there’s enough on display, don’t you?”

“I’d say there’s just the right amount. I have a feeling those nudes are going to get a lot of attention,” he said, and they both turned to the centerpiece of the exhibit. Three life-size oil paintings were displayed in the center of the room. They were amazingly lifelike. In fact, the viewer had to get very close to see that they weren’t photographs. All three were of the same model, a man with well-defined muscles who exuded raw sexuality. In one portrait he was bathing, in one he was standing on a balcony and in the third, he was making love to a very lucky woman. The mystery of the pictures was the absence of a clear view of his full face. There was just enough to mesmerize the viewer into a private fantasy about the subject.

“I don’t remember you ever painting nudes before,” David remarked.

“I did quite a few when I was an undergrad,” Chastain said. “You know that drawing figures and painting are required in most art programs. All we did was draw nudes in those classes. There were always a few pervs who tried to audit the class to see the naked models, but they were for art majors only.”

David persisted, “That’s true, of course. But when I saw your work in Paris I don’t remember those. They’re not easy to forget.”

“No one has ever seen them but me. I painted them after I got to Paris and they weren’t for exhibit, they were just for me,” she said demurely.

“After tonight that’s all going to change, sweetheart. Everybody who sees them is going to love them.”

They touched their glasses in a toast and exchanged a brief kiss.



The invitation-only crowd was thoroughly enjoying Chastain’s work. She’d met so many new people and received so many compliments that she couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. The champagne was flowing and the excellent jazz made the perfect backdrop for conversation. Mona was at her most sociable, meeting and greeting everyone and handing out Chastain’s brochures and business cards. People had approached her with questions about commissioned work and she’d also had many inquiries about her jewelry, once Mona informed several fashionable women that she’d created it. David never strayed too far from her. But he didn’t smother her with attention. He was just there if she needed anything. It was truly the most spectacular night she could remember.

She was about to look for a quiet corner to sit and catch her breath when a large hand clasped her upper arm, firmly but gently. A shivery sensation went down her spine and she heard the last voice she expected to hear that night or any other.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Chastain? Is this your idea of a joke?”

It was Philippe Deveraux, speaking in a tone that she’d never heard before. Philippe had been many things to her in the past, but he’d never been angry and he’d never embarrassed her in public. She was shocked, jerking away from him while she turned to face him.

“How dare you…” Her voice trailed away as she looked up into a face that didn’t belong to the Philippe she’d last known. His long ponytail was gone, replaced by a short, close-cropped haircut. His full beard was now a well-groomed goatee with a mustache and he was wearing a designer suit and expensive leather shoes. She was stunned by the change in him and her face showed it. But she quickly rallied and went right back to telling him off.

“How dare you show up here and get up in my face? What’s wrong with you? How did you get in, anyway? This showing is by invitation only,” she added haughtily.

James Steffney was the gallery’s manager. He looked more like an NFL linebacker than someone who was interested in the pursuit of fine art. He was discreet and professional, but he didn’t play. As soon as he saw the look on Philippe’s face he started toward the couple, ready to protect Chastain at all costs.

“Is everything okay, Chastain?” he asked.

“Just fine, James. This is an old friend from my hometown,” she answered with a smile as she gently tried to get her arm back from Philippe.

James nodded and strolled away, but he didn’t take his eyes off them. Veronica Lewis, the pretty, plump receptionist, went over to James and asked him what was going on. “I have no idea. She says he’s an old friend, but he’s not looking too friendly to me.”

Veronica wrapped one of her natural twists around her finger and looked speculatively at Chastain and Philippe.

“I think you’re right,” she said in a low voice. “And I think I know why. Look at him and look at those paintings. That’s the model in those nudes, James.”

His eyes automatically went from the pictures to Philippe and back again. “You may be on to something,” he said. “I’d be mad, too, if somebody put me on display like a hunk of meat.”

Veronica was too busy looking at Philippe with new eyes to answer him.

Philippe’s anger hadn’t abated. He wasn’t the only one with a temper, though. Chastain was as hot as he was. “I asked you why you were here. Only select invitations were given for tonight’s showing,” she said nastily.

He hadn’t released her arm completely, but instead of clutching her upper arm he’d moved his hand until he was holding hers. With his free hand he reached into his suit coat and pulled out his invitation.

“If you didn’t want me here, you shouldn’t have sent this,” he said in a low voice that nonetheless resonated with fury. “And I can see why you wouldn’t want me here to witness that.” He didn’t bother to glance at the three nudes because he knew as well as she did that he was the model she’d painted so exquisitely.

“If you make a spectacle out of this evening you’ll live to regret it,” she said, barely moving her lips.

“If you don’t take those down right now, you’ll be the one with regrets. I’ll sue you and this gallery and anything else I can think of and it won’t be pretty,” he vowed.

Anyone else would have cowered under the heated rage and Phillipe’s look of pure venom, but Chastain wasn’t having it, not tonight. She was about to go off on him but David suddenly appeared with a glass of water.

“Here you are, sweetheart. You’ve been chatting so much I thought you might be thirsty.”

Chastain relaxed at once. “Thank you, David. This is an old friend, Philippe Deveraux. He surprised me tonight. I had no idea he’d be in New York,” she said with a slight edge to her voice.

David shook hands with Philippe, which caused him to let go of her hand. “Deveraux? You must be related to Chastain’s friend Paris,” he said with his usual calm demeanor.

“I’m her brother,” Philippe replied. Only Chastain, who knew him way too well, could hear the seething undertone in his voice.

“David, I’m going to chat with Philippe for a few minutes. I haven’t talked to Paris in a while and I want to catch up. We’ll be right back,” she promised as she began to lead Philippe to the elevator. Neither of them spoke until the elevator rose past the gallery, at which point Chastain poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You are a total jackass. I hope you know that.”

“And I hope you know you’re in a world of trouble, baby girl.”

“Arrgh!” Chastain growled as the elevator arrived on the third floor. She walked into the apartment and turned to face him. “You overgrown, arrogant, self-centered jerk! What makes you think I’d invite you to anything, much less my first showing in New York?”

Philippe again took out the invitation and the envelope in which it had come and tossed them at her. “This does.”

A sudden barrage of barks came from her bedroom and Chastain turned abruptly to let Lulu out of her crate. Further argument was forestalled as Lulu followed the sound and scent of Philippe into the living room. When Chastain composed herself enough to return she found Philippe sitting on the sofa while Lulu stood in his lap and licked his face fervently.

“I forgot she loves you best,” Chastain said.

“That’s only because I rescued her,” he said between licks.

Chastain looked away from the sentimental reunion and picked up the discarded invitation and its matching envelope. She took one glance at the handwriting and recognized it as Mona’s. I’ll deal with her later. Right now I have to deal with this.

“Look, Philippe, my assistant sent that invitation to you. I knew nothing about it. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to invite you because I knew you wouldn’t come all the way to New York for me,” she began. He cut her off with a sneer.

“It just so happens that I’ve been in New York for the past two months. I’m working up here.”

“You left the law firm?” Chastain blurted out the question without thinking. There were four Deveraux brothers in New Orleans and they practiced law together. Philippe was in environmental law and he was passionate about it.

“No, I didn’t leave the firm. I’m on a presidential committee working with the U.N. to push an international initiative for environmental programs. I’ll be here another couple of months.”

He patted the sofa cushion next to him and Lulu jumped off his lap and sat obediently. She put one paw on his hand and gave him her happiest smile. Chastain softened when she saw the adorable picture they made, but it didn’t last.

“I’m going back downstairs, Chastain. My date is probably wondering where I am. And make sure those pictures come down tonight or you and your friend will find yourselves in the middle of a nasty lawsuit.”

He rose to his full six feet five inches and gave Lulu a final pat before leaving. Chastain was left with a crumpled invitation in her clenched fist and the beginnings of a colossal headache. But if he thinks I’m taking those pictures down he’s got another think coming. The days when I did anything to please Philippe Deveraux are over, done and gone.




Chapter 3


“Well, that was fun. Thanks for bringing me along, Philippe.”

A deep growl was his response.

“She seemed really glad to see you,” the woman went on. This time her prodding had an effect. Philippe crossed his arms and lowered his thick eyebrows in a fierce glare.

They had left Studio L a few minutes after Philippe returned from talking to Chastain and once they were seated in the limousine that was waiting for them they’d ridden back to her home without a word being spoken. When they’d reached the two-story penthouse she called home, his date finally had enough. She closed the door behind them, locked it and turned to face him with a smile.

“She’s even more gorgeous than you said. Would you like a drink?”

“Frederique, if you say another word I’m going to throttle you.”

“Don’t call me that,” she warned. She hated her full name and would only answer to Ricki.

“Then stay out of my business,” he replied.

Ricki Fontaine covered a smirk with her hand and repeated her offer of a drink. She was a cousin of the Deverauxes from Lafayette. She had gone to Eastern schools and married a chef who was now a millionaire, thanks to his talent and business savvy. Or maybe he was a billionaire now, Philippe wasn’t sure. She was often his favorite cousin but not tonight. Tonight she was a pure pest.

He walked over to the French doors that led out to the terrace and frowned when he couldn’t open them. “How do you get out of here?”

“Thinking of jumping, are you? Loverman had everything in here child-proofed. The boys are absolutely fearless as well as being as curious as heck. And the girls are even worse, if that’s possible. So, unless your thumbprint can access the keypad over there you won’t be flinging yourself off the roof tonight,” she said dryly. “Or me, either, because you look mad enough to try it.”

“Loverman” was one of her many sappy nicknames for her husband, Antoine. And despite still looking like she was in her twenties, Ricki was the devoted mother of five children under the age of ten. Her long, black hair, smooth dark brown skin and her firm, curvy body all belied her mommy status. Normally Philippe considered her to be quite charming, but she was working his last nerve tonight.

“I’m going to bed, Ricki. Thanks for coming with me,” he said in a dead voice.

“Oh, no you’re not! You’re going to sit down and relax and I’ll make you a nice hot drink to loosen your tongue. You have some things to get off your chest. Let me check on my babies and get out of this outfit and I’ll be right back,” she said.

Philippe groaned as he took off his suit jacket. He had taken off his tie and cuff links and was staring balefully at the twelve-foot Christmas tree that graced the room when Antoine entered the room. He was wearing a silk robe and pajama bottoms, despite the fact that it was only nine o’clock. He put in long hours with his restaurants and usually retired early.

“The baby woke up and Ricki couldn’t let her go back to sleep without some mothering.” Antoine still had a strong French accent, even though he’d been in America for years. He and Ricki had met when she was in college and it was love at first sight. “She tells me you have some issues to deal with. Let’s have a cognac and you can tell me what’s putting that look on your face.”

Philippe was about to refuse the offer, but somehow the prospect of Antoine’s excellent cognac sounded like a plan. Antoine’s family owned one of the best vineyards in France and under the management of his brothers they had become one of the biggest importers in the world. Antoine also owned three restaurants in New York and two in New Jersey. His latest project, though, was training homeless and unemployed people in the restaurant business. He said it was his way of giving back to the country that had been so good to him.

They went into the study, which was also a wine cellar. The rich wood that lined the walls held specially made racks that were cleverly disguised behind the paneling and kept each bottle at the perfect temperature. Soon they were each sitting in sinfully comfortable club chairs with a snifter of a hundred-year-old imported cognac that warmed the throat and loosened the tongue.

“So what happened at the showing? Your friend, was she not pleased that you had come?”

Philippe snorted. “I wasn’t pleased that I had come. I haven’t seen Chastain since she dumped me three years ago to take off for France. Chastain and I have been in and out of love since we were kids. I thought at one point that we’d be getting married, but instead she got some genius grant and decided to leave me, leave her family and everything else and work on her painting in Paris,” he said with obvious bitterness.

“She’d already been away long enough. She went to college in D.C. and instead of coming home to New Orleans she pranced her little ass off to New York to get an MFA and just stayed here. After Katrina she moved back home and said she was back to stay. But after about four months she got the news that she’d been awarded this big fellowship. That was cool. It really was, because she’s extremely talented. She’s really gifted, Antoine, I’m not kidding. But the grant didn’t have any restrictions on it. She could have done anything she wanted with the money and she chose to just get up and go. She didn’t seem to give a damn about what she was leaving behind. She just left.” He drained the rest of his snifter and nodded in the affirmative when Antoine offered him a refill.

“I think you mean ‘who’ she left behind,” he said wisely. “You said ‘what’, but I think you meant to say ‘who’.”

Philippe shot him a searing look, but gave up and shrugged. “Who meaning me. Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant to say. Whatever.” Taking another sip, he looked longingly at the expensive humidor on the table.

Antoine understood the look at once and offered Philippe a cigar, which he assured him was excellent. “Better than a Cuban, I promise you. Normally Ricki makes me go out on the terrace, but as long as we air out this room she may let me live.”

After lighting the cigars the two men smoked in silence for a moment. Antoine went back to the subject at hand. “So you haven’t seen her in three years, you go to her opening and then what? She wasn’t glad to see you? She didn’t welcome you?”

“She made a fool out of me, that’s what she did. She’s there looking like she just left a photo shoot and she’s got some chump hanging all over her like he owns her. Before I could say anything to her, I happened to look up and see these three huge paintings of a nude man and then I realized they were paintings of me. There I am, big as life, hanging on a wall naked,” he snarled. The anger began building again until he felt it might erupt until Antoine interrupted him.

“So? They weren’t good pictures, you looked bad, what?”

“Hey, man, come on now. If you walked into an art gallery and saw three nudes, life-size nudes hanging in the middle of the room and you realized it was you, you’d be as mad as I am. That’s a total lack of respect. It’s like a slap in the face. It’s like letting the whole world know that I was just a lay for her. I don’t know how she could do something so low-down. But I told her that they’re coming down or I’m going to sue her and that gallery for…”

“For what? If someone painted me in the nude I’d be quite flattered, that is if they were beautiful art. Were they caricatures or cartoons? Did you look like an idiot or something?”

“Not really,” Philippe admitted. He roughed up his hair with one hand while he thought about the portraits. “It wasn’t like my full face was visible.”

“And she’s very talented, you said? Did she make you look good?”

Philippe was about to answer in the affirmative when he caught himself. “That’s really not the point, Antoine. The point is that she painted those pictures without my knowledge or permission and she has them on public display. My privacy has been invaded and she’d going to remove them from that exhibit or face the consequences.”

Ricki sailed into the study wearing pink silk pajamas and a cashmere robe in the same color. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. Thanks for the talk, Antoine. I’ll see you tomorrow, this time I’m really going to bed.”

He left the room, leaving the couple alone.

“Loverman, what did we say about cigars?” Ricki waved her hand in front of her face with a grimace.

“Sorry, darling. Philippe looked like he could use one. I’ve never seen him this upset about anything before.”

Ricki got comfortable on her husband’s lap, snuggling next to his heart with a contented sigh. “Philippe is actually one of my more mild-mannered cousins. They all have hot tempers, but Philippe was always the most laid-back of the bunch. He must have really been crazy in love to react like that.”

Antoine stroked her silky hair and inhaled the fragrance that always clung to it. “How bad were the portraits? He seems to think they were a source of humiliation.”

Ricki turned her head so she could kiss his neck. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t really get to see them that well. I noticed them, but I was busy looking at these exquisite renderings of Bricktop and Richard Wright. This lady has an amazing gift, Antoine. I was staring at the paintings and the next thing I knew Philippe was dragging me out of there like the place was about to explode.

“But I want some of her work,” she said thoughtfully. “As soon as I take the children to school tomorrow the baby and I are going to have a little field trip. And I’m going to find out what’s going on with Philippe. I think I should call his sister to get the real scoop.” She was reaching for the phone when he stopped her.

“Call her tomorrow. Your husband is also crazy in love and he wants to show you how much.”

Ricki dissolved in sexy giggles, which were quickly drowned by her Loverman’s lips.



Philippe stood in the shower and let the hot water beat down over his body as though it could wash away the strange feelings that were roiling around inside. He’d always prided himself on being the man in control, the calm in the storm. Hell, he’d had to be the mediator in so many of his brother’s fights that he’d learned to control his emotions and keep a clear head. And all it took was one look at Chastain for all of his mature powers of reason to desert him. He’d done much worse than dive off the deep end, so to speak. He’d plunged into the shallow end of the pool of stupid and hit his head.

He finally turned off the water and stepped out of the huge circular shower enclosed in glass. He used one of Ricki’s thick towels to dry off and went into the bedroom to find something to sleep in. He normally slept nude, but he tried to exercise some modesty since he was in a home with small children. He’d already found out that they would occasionally burst into the room to say hello without an invitation. He put on a pair of boxers and an old T-shirt and sat on the side of the bed.

Chastain had always been a pretty girl, but during the time she’d been in France she had turned into a beauty. It wasn’t just the fact that he hadn’t seen her in three years. There was something remarkable in her transformation. When he’d spotted her across the room at Studio L, it was like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The dress she was wearing looked like it was made for her alone. It fit her like a second skin. It looked like a second skin, too, because it was so close to the honey color of her perfect complexion. Her hair was still short and ultra-stylish, showing off her beautiful eyes, deep dimples and the perfect lips that could kiss like no one else in the world, as he well knew.

He remembered the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Chastain, the day she’d come home with his sister, Paris. The family had recently moved to New Orleans and Paris was going to a Catholic school for girls. She hadn’t been looking forward to a new school but meeting her new friend Chastain had made her day. She’d promptly brought her home to meet the family and Philippe could remember it as if it was yesterday. She was a little thing with bony legs, a bandage on her knee and long, brown braids. One of her kneesocks was up and the other one was down around her ankle and her blouse was halfway tucked into her plaid uniform skirt. Instead of having her navy blue blazer on as it should have been, hers was tied around her waist and she was wearing big round eyeglasses with a piece of tape on the frame front. For some reason she was the cutest thing he’d ever seen and his opinion had never changed.

Even now, after she’d stepped on his heart twice and exposed his naked body to the world, he still couldn’t bring himself to despise her. After all they’d been through, all she’d put him through, something about her still called to him like a siren. But that didn’t mean he was going to let her off the hook. If those pictures stayed up, they were going to court.




Chapter 4


At Studio L, Chastain’s mood was no better than Philippe’s. After all the guests had left, she went up to the loft, accompanied by David. Mona wisely decided to stay downstairs for a moment, ostensibly to see to the guest book that all the attendees had signed, but she didn’t escape a dark look from Chastain that meant a conversation was inevitable at a later time. David asked if she wanted something to drink and she nodded.

“Just let me get Lulu out of her crate. She likes to be in there while I’m away, but she insists on being out the instant I return.” In a few minutes, she was back, taking a seat at the bar that separated the well-appointed kitchen from the dining area. Lulu was seeking David’s attention while he poured two cups of steaming tea that smelled delicious.

While Chastain sipped hers, he played with Lulu and fondled her ears. “So what happened tonight? I could see that Philippe upset you in some way. What was he saying to you?”

“Nothing much. He just said that if I didn’t take down the nudes he would sue you and me. He seemed to think that he was the model and that I was invading his privacy,” she said. She didn’t look at him while she was speaking. She was busy running her index finger around the top of the cup.

“He said what?” David looked incredulous before reaching over to take her free hand. “He can’t sue us. He doesn’t have any basis for a lawsuit, regardless of the subject of the paintings. It wouldn’t even get to court.”

Chastain allowed him to rub her hand and wrist and enjoyed the comforting sensation. “I don’t know about that. The law is something he knows very well. He’s a lawyer, his three brothers are lawyers, his late mother was a lawyer and his father is a state Supreme Court justice. He doesn’t play when it comes to the law.”

“Maybe not, but I think tonight was more about love than law. He did model for those paintings, didn’t he?”

Chastain jumped and pulled her hand away. “No! Well, not exactly. We did have a relationship a long time ago. And yes, when I painted the pictures I was thinking about Philippe, but it wasn’t like he was sitting in the room. I painted them from memory,” she said with a slight defensive edge to her voice.

“He must have meant a great deal to you,” David said quietly.

Chastain met his eyes for the first time and flushed under his steady gaze. His beautiful eyes were warm with concern and locked on hers. She had to answer him honestly; there was no point in lying. “At one time, he meant more to me than anything else. But that was a long time ago.”

“Before graduate school?” he probed gently.

“Before I started college, actually,” she told him. “He broke my little teenage heart a few days before Christmas when I was a senior in high school.”

David leaned over and kissed her forehead. “It was his loss,” he said.

“And then he broke it again before I went to Europe,” she said slowly, watching David’s face for his reaction.

“I see. So he blew two opportunities to be with you,” he said. “He’s a bigger fool than I would have imagined. Come walk me to the door. You need to get some sleep because you’re going to be hella busy for the next few weeks. The showing is going to be the talk of the town, Chastain.”

“You’re right. If we get sued by the Deveraux family, everybody on the East Coast is going to know about it,” she said wryly.

“He’s not stupid, Chastain. He might be jealous and cranky because he can see that he threw away two chances of a lifetime with you, but he’s not crazy enough to try to pursue a frivolous lawsuit like that. It’ll all blow over, believe me.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can.”

He held out his hands and she took them, rising from the tall stool. She and Lulu walked him to the door and she wasn’t surprised when he kissed her. He did it slowly and gently and it was warm and reassuring, like everything about David.

“See you tomorrow, Chastain. I’ll send Mona up. I have a feeling she’s hiding from you.”

“And you know this. Tell her I’m up here with a blunt instrument just for her head.”

“You’re crazy. Sleep well.”



“Mona, I’m not going to kill you, at least not in front of Lulu. She’s much too delicate to witness murder, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Lulu was making growling noises as she burrowed under the many pillows at the head of Chastain’s bed. Her head popped up as Chastain spoke and both women laughed at her disheveled look. “Shake it out, Lulu, you got crazy face,” Chastain said. The little dog shook her head vigorously, restoring her usual appearance. “Now as for you, Miss Mona, I don’t know what to say to you. When had you planned on telling me you sent that invitation?”

Both women were wearing pajamas and Chastain was applying cream to her face as she spoke. Chastain was in the middle of the bed and Mona was perched on a broad hardwood bench with a thick upholstered cushion.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything, I really wasn’t. It’s just that I was trying to invite everyone who was close to you. I just went down your address book.” Her face was pink from embarrassment. “Besides, I know how close you are to his sister and the rest of the family, so I thought it would be strange if you didn’t invite him, too. And, I um, I um…”

Chastain stopped smoothing the cream onto her neck. “Um, what? Go ahead and spit it out, the worst has already happened. You um what?”

Mona bit her lip in an effort to look innocent. “Okay, well, you talked about Philippe so much and I could tell, well, I always felt like he was your true soul mate and I thought if you two got together in New York at Christmastime anything could happen,” she said hurriedly.

Chastain didn’t lash out at her, although she did try to sic Lulu on her. “Go bite her, little girl. Bite her big toe,” she urged.

“I’m not going to say you were wrong in what you did, but your reasoning was way off base. The Philippe Deveraux ship has sailed, as you could see for yourself tonight. Did you happen to notice the woman he was with? His date? That’s the kind of woman he really goes for, tall, dark, curvy and delicious. He and his brothers all have a thing for a woman they can hang on to. But she’s got to be beautiful and brilliant, too. All of their women are the business, honey.”

“So? You’re the business, too, Chastain. Nobody can say you’re not,” Mona said indignantly.

Chastain finished applying the moisturizing cream and rubbed the rest of it into her hands, which Lulu tried to lick. “Stop it! This is some expensive stuff,” she chided her. “It’s not just that, Mona. New Orleans is very class-conscious. If you’re not from the right family and you don’t belong to the right circles, you just don’t fit in.”

Mona made a face. “Excuse me, I’m from D.C. and my father’s a diplomat, remember? I know more about snobs than you ever care to hear, trust me. Please tell me that’s not what broke you up. You’re a successful artist, Chastain. How could you not fit in anywhere you choose?”

“You’re talking about Chastain version 2009. You didn’t know me when I was a scrawny little tomboy running the streets of the Quarter like a foster child,” Chastain said. “There’s a lifetime of difference from then to now.”

Mona laughed. “Are you trying to tell me you were a ’hood rat? Because I’m not going to believe you, it’s not possible. You always look like a page out of Vogue, for heaven’s sake.”

“I was more of a ’hood mouse, I guess. I cleaned up well, I’ll grant you that. But back in the day I was a mouthy, mean little brat who sold fake voodoo dolls and bogus love potions in my Uncle Toto’s shop. If I hadn’t gotten a scholarship to a Catholic school I might have ended up behind bars by now,” she said, laughing at the expression on Mona’s face.

“So how did you and Philippe get together? Don’t tell me you didn’t because now that I know who the model is for those nudes, I know there had to something going on between you two.”

“You’re an inquisitive little thing, aren’t you? I got to be friends with Paris, Philippe’s sister. She’s the only girl in a family of five boys and she was quite the tomboy, too. So we kind of latched on to each other. My mother died when I was a baby and hers died when she was really young so we had that in common. We were best friends, still are, as a matter of fact. I was in her wedding and when she had her first baby, a little girl, I was the godmother. She’s pregnant again, this time with twins,” Chastain said with a smile.

“Don’t change the subject. You and Philippe, how, when and where?”

“Paris and I were like sisters and that meant that I was like a member of the family. Her brothers picked on me and I fought back. Philippe finally stopped picking on me the summer before my senior year of high school. Paris was in Atlanta for the summer with her aunt Lillian and her cousins, and I was working in my grandmother’s restaurant, Mama T’s. I was gawky and skinny and I still had a mouth on me. But I’d gotten rid of the braids and the glasses and I was wearing a little makeup. It got me better tips.

“Anyway, Philippe was working that summer and he used to come in for lunch almost every day. He always sat in my section and when he wasn’t with his brothers he would act like a real gentleman. We didn’t snap on each other and play the dozens. We just had nice conversations. Then we started going for walks and going to the movies and stuff and it was really nice. When he kissed me for the first time it felt like he really meant it,” she said softly. “It was my first real kiss. Well, the first one that didn’t end with me punching the daylights out of the guy. I didn’t play back then. Still don’t.”

“And then?”

Chastain closed her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. This is why I’m glad I’m an only child. There was nobody to get all up in my business,” she muttered.

Relenting, she continued the story. “We started seeing each other, but we kept it on the down low because we wanted to keep it private. It seemed much more special that way. And besides, my grandmother Tippy didn’t like him too much. It wasn’t him in particular. It was rich boys in general she had a problem with, I think. She knew I had feelings for Philippe and she did everything in her power to discourage me, which of course made me even more determined. She used to say, ‘He’s all wrong for you, cher. No good gon’ come of this. You from the Quarter and he from the Row and no need to think that you can make a match wid him.’

“So we were like the bayou Romeo and Juliet. It was so romantic and sweet, at least I thought it was. Of course we made love and it was wonderful. I wasn’t expecting that much, but when you’re young and uninhibited, first-time sex can be as good as first love. We kept it up until the Christmas of my senior year. He told me that when I went to college I shouldn’t wait for him, that I should feel free to see anyone I wanted. Well, I wasn’t stupid. I knew that meant that he was tired of me and he was kicking me to the curb.”

“But maybe that wasn’t what he meant,” Mona protested. “He was, what, a year older than you? Teenage boys aren’t that sophisticated, Chastain.”

Chastain shot her a sideward look and asked, “Have you ever told someone that you should see other people?”

“Yes, once or twice.”

“And what did you mean by that?”

“Lose my number, I’m bored with you,” Mona admitted.

“Exactly. I was dying inside but I didn’t shed a tear. I told him sure, fine, and then I made sure I got a full scholarship to someplace far away from Louisiana. I very rarely spoke to him after that. Even after we broke up, we kept it on the down low because I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with Paris. It was all good in the end because after I finished my bachelor’s degree I came to New York and got my master’s and I liked it up here so much I just stayed. If it hadn’t been for what my uncle calls ‘that mean bitch Katrina’, I would’ve continued to live here quite happily.”

“But you had good reasons to go back to New Orleans after the storm. It only made sense,” Mona said.

“Yeah, it did. But what didn’t make sense was me getting involved with Philippe again. As soon as I was back in the same area code as him, I was back in his arms like the big dummy I am.”

Mona’s eyes got huge. “Dare I ask what happened then?”

“This is what I missed by not having a younger sister, isn’t it? Thank you, Jesus, for sparing me,” Chastain said, staring at the ceiling. “He dumped me again, Mona. On Christmas Eve.”

Mona covered her face with her hands and let out a little shriek.

Chastain chuckled grimly. “I’ve been wondering what it would take to shut you up.”




Chapter 5


September 2005

New Orleans, Ninth Ward

Chastain stood on what used to be a sidewalk and choked down her own tears. It was like some prehistoric beast had ravaged the city. Houses were destroyed, trees were turned over and the streets were littered with broken limbs and exposed roots. Debris was still floating everywhere and the sight was horrible. Furniture, shoes, cars, a child’s bicycle and other bits and pieces of people’s lives churned in the filthy water. Chastain tried to take in the enormity of what she was seeing, but she couldn’t. It was just too much to process. She covered her mouth with one hand and the tears rolled faster and harder.

A touch on her shoulder made her turn around, but she wasn’t afraid. As soon as she felt his big hand, she knew it was Philippe. She felt the same soft thrill that always coursed through her body whenever he was near her. He turned her around to face him and wrapped his long arms around her.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“I know you, Cerise,” he said as his arms tightened. Cerise, the French word for cherry, was his special nickname for her.

“It’s so awful, Philippe. It’s worse than I imagined,” she said sobbing.

“I know it is, baby. You can’t keep standing out here in this mess. Come on, let’s go.”

He kissed her forehead, her weeping eyes and her cheeks, and warmth flooded her body. She went with him willingly and in a relatively short time they were at his house. He opened the door and she went in first. Once inside the foyer, they looked into each other’s eyes deeply and intently. In one movement they were in each other’s arms, kissing like this was the only moment they would ever have together.

Philippe’s lips covered Chastain’s and his tongue plundered their sweetness as she opened herself to him. He put his hands under her behind and lifted her so her legs could wrap around his waist. Their mouths were fused together, tongues stroking, temperatures rising as he walked to the stairs that would take them to his bedroom. As soon as they reached the bed they were tearing at each other’s clothes with an urgent need to join their bodies. Philippe’s jeans and briefs were finally discarded in one direction while her blouse went the other way, followed by her bra. He didn’t bother to take off her lace-trimmed thong panties. He moved them aside with a long finger, feeling the moisture that had already pooled between her thighs.

His rock-hard penis slid into her with fierce precision, a hard thrust that was followed by more. Their hips were rocking back and forth and their mutual need was answered by a shattering climax that shook them both at the same time. Still locked together, they gradually slowed down long enough to remove the rest of their clothing so that there was nothing to separate them. The familiar feel of his silky-rough chest hair against her breasts made her want more of him, as much as he could give her. His mouth was driving her crazy, biting her neck softly between lingering kisses.

When he licked her between her breasts and began sucking her hardened, ultra-sensitized nipples, she tightened her walls on his manhood and pumped until she was on the verge of another climax. Philippe rolled onto his back and held her hips as she pumped harder and faster. His upward thrusts matched hers until a second, more intense orgasm shook their bodies wet with the sweet, steamy sweat of release.

Maybe it was because they were so emotionally charged from the aftermath of the storm, or maybe it was because they’d realized how much they cared about each other, but whatever the reason, they continued to make love until they couldn’t move a single limb. They fell deeply asleep in each other’s arms and stayed that way until morning.

December 2, 2009

New York

Chastain couldn’t believe how much she’d revealed to Mona before going to bed. There were certain things that she left out, like the details of her sex life with Philippe, but she’d given the young woman an earful. On the one hand, talking about her sad little love life was kind of cathartic. It helped put her strange encounter with him into perspective. Mona had to get the last word in, though. When she was getting ready to go to her bedroom she said something that got Chastain thinking.

“I had forgotten about that stupid invitation until Philippe showed up last night. When I saw you and David together I thought that’s the kind of man you need to be with. I’d pay somebody to look at me the way he looks at you. I really would.”

Chastain went to bed with David on her mind, but he didn’t stay there long. All night long she dreamed about Philippe, about that day in New Orleans and how they made love for hours without uttering a word. Their bodies and their souls had done all the communicating. It was much later when Philippe had said, “I love you.” The dream was so vivid that she woke up expecting him to be there with her, but there was only Lulu, curled into a tight ball with one bright eye open.

“You slept just fine, didn’t you? I was the one tossing and turning all night with X-rated memories. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed and then we’ll go for a long walk. How does that sound?”

Lulu’s answered her with a big yawn.

When Mona got up about thirty minutes later, Chastain was dressed and ready to go. She looked fierce in a pair of black trousers, an ivory cowl-necked cashmere sweater topped with a red belt and black boots. Lulu was also dressed in her snappy red coat with black velvet buttons.

“Good morning, sweetie. There’s coffee and I made beignets. I’m taking girlfriend for a walk.”

Mona rubbed her sleepy eyes. “My God, how can you be so perky at this hour? You went to bed the same time I did and I feel like fresh hell,” she moaned.

“It’s because I’m pure of heart,” Chastain said with a laugh. “Pull yourself together and I’ll see you in a half hour or so.”

James and Veronica were already in the gallery when she went downstairs. They chatted for a few minutes and then Chastain and Lulu set off down Lexington Avenue. The cold air was refreshing and for once the barrage of holiday decorations and the constant reminders of Christmas didn’t bother her. She felt really good, as a matter of fact. She felt as if she was better able to deal with whatever Philippe chose to dish out. “If he wants to be a jackass, then I’ve got something for him. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but my grandma didn’t raise a fool. I’ll take his head off and hand it to him, won’t I, little girl?”

Lulu was trotting along beside her drawing all kinds of attention in her little coat. She loved being outside and she especially loved meeting new people. The two of them looked like a Macy’s ad. Chastain’s coat was a black-and-white hound’s-tooth swing coat and she had on a red beret and scarf that picked up the colors in Lulu’s coat. Chastain was used to hearing compliments on her fancy little dog, so when they were returning to Studio L and she heard a little girl in a stroller squeal, “Doggie,” it was par for the course.

She was keeping a careful eye on Lulu because she was very fond of babies and she’d try to kiss them. They stopped for a red light and as luck would have it, so did the stroller. “Doggie!” Lulu reacted at once, going over to the carriage to meet its occupant. Chastain spoke to Lulu in French, telling her to sit down and be a lady. The child’s mother wasn’t alarmed in the least, however.

“Demetria loves dogs,” she confided. “She’s not afraid of them at all. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ricki Fontaine. I was at your showing last night, but I didn’t get to meet you,” she said charmingly.

Chastain’s eyes left Lulu and her hand tightened on the lead. She stared into the sparkling brown eyes of the beautiful woman who’d been Philippe’s date. She felt a little faint, especially after she took a good look at the dimpled little girl in the stroller. That child was a Deveraux—there was no denying it. Was this what Philippe had been up to since she went to Europe?



Philippe awoke with the alacrity of a dead man about to walk. He’d had a rough night. Dreams of Chastain had started almost the moment he closed his eyes. It was as if his subconscious had deliberately picked the most profoundly sensual dream possible, the one about their reunion in New Orleans after Katrina. He’d heard she was back, but he hadn’t seen her. He went out looking for her and knew instinctively where she would be. When he found her forlorn figure he took her in his arms and couldn’t let her go. They had gone back to his house and made love for hours. It was some of the best lovemaking he’d ever had. Nothing had compared to it since and he knew nothing ever would.

He was the one who’d introduced Chastain into the art of making love. She was an apt and eager pupil, surprisingly uninhibited and natural. She had taught him as much as he taught her, not from experience but from her heart. He could never forget that he was her first lover. She understood at once when he started calling her Cerise. It was because he treasured her gift to him above all else. And she would probably never speak to him again after the way he’d behaved last night. A cold shower seemed his just reward for his colossal stupidity.

After he had showered, shaved and dressed, he joined Antoine in the kitchen. The housekeeper was there, but Antoine was doing the cooking. He always made breakfast for his family and he insisted on doing the same for Philippe. “A cup of coffee isn’t going to give you the energy you need for the day. A good meal and a good woman are what you need. I can make you a delicious omelet, but the woman, that’s up to you,” he said with a rakish grin.

Philippe decided to let that one pass. He’d had a long dream about the perfect woman, but he wasn’t about to share that information with Antoine, no matter how much he liked the guy. “It’s quiet in here,” he observed.

Antoine agreed. “Yes, it’s like a tomb here without my little angels. Ricki took them to school. She refuses to leave it to the driver. She says it’s her responsibility and her pleasure.” He took another sip of the espresso he’d prepared and looked over at Philippe, who was checking his BlackBerry.

“You seem to be in a better mood today,” he observed.

“I think I am,” Philippe replied. “I owe you for listening to me vent. You may have prevented me from making a grave mistake.”

Antoine looked pleased. “So you’ve decided to let it go? No lawsuit?”

“I don’t think it’s going to come to that. I have something else in mind. A mutually satisfactory compromise is what I have planned.”

“An excellent idea. I’m sure your friend will agree to it. It’s a good solution.”





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