The Delacourt Scandal

Maddie swallowed hard, but she didn’t look away. “Sounds…” Her voice trailed off.

“Tempting?” he inquired, amused by her sudden breathlessness, relieved that he hadn’t lost his touch, after all.

She blinked away the hint of yearning in her eyes, seemed to struggle to regain her composure. “Disgustingly sweaty,” she said tartly. She turned away, then stopped, looking relieved. “Here’s my car.”

“Well, good night, then. Drive carefully.”

“I always do.”

For some reason he didn’t entirely understand, he impulsively captured her chin in his hand and brushed a light kiss across her lush mouth. Maybe it was just so he could catch one more glimpse of that startled flaring of heat in her eyes. He was amply rewarded for his efforts. She stared at him in openmouthed astonishment, but unfortunately that quick taste and her surprise didn’t seem to be quite enough to satisfy him. Besides, her lips were soft as silk and sweet as sugar. What man could resist?

But even as he lowered his head to claim another kiss, she ducked away and slid into her car. The rejection might have stung if he hadn’t noted the way her hands trembled ever so slightly before she clutched the steering wheel tightly.

“Good night,” he said again, but the words were lost as she started the engine.

He watched her drive away. Then, instead of turning toward home, he headed for O’Reilly’s, his throat suddenly parched. Rather than simplifying his life as he’d planned to tonight, he had a feeling he’d just made it a whole lot more complicated.

Chapter Three

This was going to be much more difficult than she’d anticipated, Maddie concluded as she drove slowly away, trying to calm her jittery nerves after that unexpected kiss. She should have seen it coming, should have steeled herself against it. After all, wasn’t Tyler’s easygoing flirtatiousness one of the very reasons she’d chosen him as the best Delacourt to approach?

However, her instantaneous reaction was a warning. She had to get a grip, find some way to avoid being alone with him on hot, sultry nights that held the promise of romance in the air. Otherwise this investigation of hers was going to get very dicey.

And, unfortunately, that wasn’t the only potential problem she’d discovered tonight. She’d also realized that the man didn’t trust her. Apparently she wasn’t nearly as good at deception as she’d hoped to be. He’d watched her suspiciously from the instant she’d arrived on his doorstep, then deftly skirted many of her questions. Obviously, she was going to have to work harder to gain his trust.

Of course, the worst glitch of all, the most unexpected was the fact that she instinctively liked him. Hormones were one thing, but actually relating to the man was something else entirely—and in some ways even more seductive and dangerous. Tyler was a funny, low-key kind of guy, surprisingly unpretentious for a man with the Delacourt wealth and standing in the community. Under other circumstances…

She caught herself before that particular thought could take shape. The circumstances were what they were. She couldn’t let herself like Tyler, or any other Delacourt. If that meant reminding herself that they were the enemy a hundred times a day, then that was exactly what she had to do. She was up to her fiftieth reminder so far tonight, and the message apparently wasn’t getting through.

Unfortunately, she was as certain as ever that Tyler was the key to getting what she needed. All of her preliminary research indicated that his brothers and his sister were leading exemplary lives. And since Tyler was the only remaining bachelor, he was the only one who was readily accessible to her. It had been easy enough to discover his usual routine, the places he tended to haunt. O’Reilly’s was one, but there were more locations where she was certain she could bump into him “accidentally” to keep the contact alive.

After all, if there were skeletons in anyone’s closet, Tyler would know. Whether she could get him to reveal the information was something else entirely. Although he’d given a cursory sketch of the various family members willingly enough, he had definitely balked whenever she’d pressed for details. Was that natural reticence, protectiveness of their privacy…or something more? Were there secrets he was trying to guard?

During her first couple of years in journalism, Maddie had gotten used to being in an adversarial position with some of the people she interviewed. She was putting them on the spot, asking them about things they might not want their neighbors to read about over their morning coffee. She’d developed a technique for disarming them, straightforward honesty tinged with sympathy. She told them up-front that, like it or not, the story was going to appear in the paper, but she was giving them a chance to shape it in their favor by telling their side. It almost always worked.

She could hardly do that with Tyler. Unlike the everyday assignments she’d had for her first small daily newspaper, she had to work undercover on this one, get as much information as she could before approaching Bryce Delacourt armed with the facts that would bring him down or, at the very least, publicly humiliate him.

But as she’d learned tonight, the deception was definitely going to be trickier than she’d anticipated. It went against her natural penchant for the truth, which was what had brought her into journalism in the first place. But in this case she was convinced that the end justified the means. She tried not to dwell on the fact that the saying originated with Machiavelli, the princely advisor renowned for his duplicity.

Remember the goal, she reminded herself sternly. Retribution, revenge…whatever it was called, it was going to make a few uncomfortable weeks of staying in Tyler Delacourt’s face—a few weeks of lying to him—worthwhile.

When she reached the small but well-furnished apartment that Griffin Carpenter had arranged for her, she opened her purse and took out the tiny, voice-activated recorder. Flipping on the tape, she listened again to Tyler’s description of his family. Despite herself, she was filled with an inexplicable envy. He had grown up surrounded by the kind of love, the kind of security, she and her brothers should have had, the kind Bryce Delacourt’s arrogant, hard-hearted actions had cost them.

An image of the Delacourt family portrait, taken last Christmas, flashed in her head. She had been struck by how happy they’d looked. She’d almost been able to hear the sounds of teasing and laughter as the camera recorded the moment. And in the center of the group sat Bryce Delacourt, the subject of their devotion, the man they all looked up to.

What a contrast to her own holiday season last year. Her mother’s funeral had been held the day after Thanksgiving. Maddie hadn’t even been able to locate her brothers to notify them. She had stood all alone beside the grave, mourning the woman she had really lost years before.

That was the moment she had formulated her precise plans for bringing down the Delacourts. The rest of the holidays had passed in a blur. She had spent the intervening months looking at back issues of newspapers around the state trying to determine which one might be open to such an exposé. Hard Truths, as distasteful as she found its tactics and reporting to be, had clearly been her best shot.

Remember the goal, she had reminded herself a dozen times as she had placed that first, fateful call to Griffin Carpenter to arrange an interview. It appeared she was going to have to repeat that refrain a lot before all was said and done.

When her tape of the conversation with Tyler ended, she began making notes of everything else she could recall about the evening, from the decor of his apartment to his sexily rumpled appearance. She tried not to linger too much over the latter because it kept bringing her back to the kiss, and that was definitely not a memory she wanted to encourage.

“Think, Maddie,” she ordered herself sternly. “Did he say anything, anything at all that could be a lead?”

It was less what he’d said than what he hadn’t said, she finally concluded, thinking of his curt responses to many of her questions. Then there was the fact that he’d clammed up about that baby picture. That was promising.

Who was it? she wondered. Not a niece or nephew. He’d said that much. Then why not just say it was a cousin or a friend’s child or any of the other myriad innocent explanations he could have given? Why had he looked as if he’d wanted to snatch it out of her hands?

Could the child be his? He’d never been married, according to her research, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t fathered a child. An illegitimate Delacourt baby wasn’t the scandal she’d been hoping for, but it would make for some great headlines just the same.

Even as the thought occurred to her, she winced. It wasn’t Tyler Delacourt she wanted to bring down or embarrass. It was his father. The baby picture might be a lead, but if it turned out to be linked to Tyler, would she use it just because he and Bryce shared the same last name? She honestly didn’t know.

And for one tiny moment she wasn’t sure she liked what that said about her or this path she was heading down.

After nursing a single beer for an hour at O’Reilly’s and giving the bar owner a good deal of grief about sending Maddie on her supposed mission of mercy, Tyler eventually went home. To his surprise, the apartment felt a whole lot emptier. Had that brief visit by Maddie counteracted years of solitude here, made him yearn for the female companionship he’d lost after Jen’s death? This apartment had always been a bachelor pad, a retreat. Even before he’d met Jen, he’d rarely brought a woman here, preferring to visit his dates at their homes. This place had been his sanctuary.

So why, suddenly, was he so restless in his own world? Was it because of the woman whose lips had been warm and yielding under his? Or was it simply because of the decision he’d been alternately wrestling with and avoiding for the past few days?

He was still holding the same internal debate in the morning. Because he’d tired of it, he grabbed up the newspaper and headed down the block to a restaurant that specialized in strong coffee and greasy food. Today he needed eggs, bacon and hash browns, not gourmet bran muffins or whole-wheat pancakes. Maybe once he was fortified with a hearty breakfast, he’d be able to handle a meeting with his father. Maybe he’d even produce a compromise they could both live with.

At nine o’clock the place was still bustling with its own form of blue-collar power breakfast. The waitresses were sassy, the service quick. Tyler had a steaming plate of food in front of him before he could scan the front-page headlines. He had company before he could taste the first forkful.

“Looks dangerous,” Maddie observed, staring at the eggs swimming in butter and the strips of crisp bacon.

Tyler thought she looked a whole lot more dangerous in her snug-fitting tank top and thigh-skimming skirt. Her hair looked as if she’d done little more than run her fingers through it. The effect was rumpled and sexy and had an effect on his pulse he didn’t like one bit.

“What brings you to a place like this if you don’t like the menu?” he asked.

“The coffee,” she said at once. “It’s lethal.”

He grinned at that. “It is indeed.” His gaze strayed over her formfitting outfit. “Going job hunting?”

She returned his gaze with an innocent expression. “You disapprove?”

“Darlin’, I could never disapprove of anything that shows your assets to such advantage, but it might just be a tad underdressed for the average office.”

“Maybe I’m not looking for an office job.”

“What, then? Or should I ask? Vice squad maybe?”

She frowned at him. “You do disapprove.”

Tyler wasn’t sure why he was making such an issue of it. What Maddie wore was none of his business. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every man’s mouth had dropped open when she’d walked in. He’d instinctively wanted to wrap her in a blanket and bundle her off to some place out of view.

No, he corrected, what he’d really wanted to do was pummel those men until they thought twice about staring, then take her somewhere private and strip away the scanty attire she was wearing. Bad ideas, both of them.

“Just a little friendly job-hunting advice,” he said mildly. “First impressions count, and this isn’t freewheeling California or trendy New York. We’re in Texas, darlin’.”