by Metsy Hingle
“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 mee
ting 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.”