Lovechild

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.