Kristi Gold - Hotel Marchand 04

by Damage Control

  LUC CARTER WALKED two blocks away from the hotel and pulled out his cell phone. With one call, he would set his next plan in motion by notifying the press that an elite party had checked into the hotel. More important, the art director and the up-and-coming actress were obviously an item even though they weren’t married. After seeing the bottle of prenatal vitamins drop out of her bag, he suspected parenthood was on the horizon for the couple, and that was prime fodder for scandal. Although the information would most likely leak out sooner or later, he didn’t see any harm in expediting things a little. And as an added bonus, the high-powered director apparently knew Renee Marchand well. A lot of potential there for serious conjecture, but he’d keep that to himself unless he needed it later.

  As far as Luc was concerned, this idea was near perfect. No one would be physically injured. No one would suffer anything except a blow to their reputations, including the Marchands for their inability to protect the privacy of their patrons. As necessary as that was for Luc to exact his revenge, he was beginning to hate this whole scheme. Truth was, he liked the Marchand sisters—his cousins—as well as their mother. Of course, they still had no idea who he was or why he had taken a position at the hotel. No idea he aimed to destroy their good name, and in turn force them to sell their hotel in order to reclaim the money that was rightfully his, and to avenge his own father, who had been wronged by the family.

  When Luc dialed the tabloid’s number, the bitter taste of betrayal dried his mouth. Revenge didn’t taste quite as sweet as it had when he’d first set his plan in motion, but he was in too deep now, partnered with two ruthless men who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

  He briefly wondered how far he would go before he would be forced to stop it. Before he realized this whole plan wasn’t worth it. Before he completely lost his honor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BE THERE. Pete could tell that the minute Renee took the chair across from him in the private dining room. He could see it in her face, her rigid frame. She refused to look directly at him, something he’d never seen her do before. Not with him, or anyone for that matter. On the surface, she appeared to be genteel, but in reality, beneath that proper-lady exterior, she was as tough as a hard-nosed film critic. She was a straight shooter who didn’t crumple, even in pressure-cooker situations, and that indicated her level of discomfort was off the scale at the moment.

  After she scooted up to the table and he claimed his own seat, she gave him a smile. A polite one, but at least a smile. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’ll be down in a minute. Adam’s watching the end of a cartoon and Evan’s waiting for Ella to get dressed.”

  “Good. That gives us a little more time to decide what to order.”

  And that provided Pete with a little more of her undivided attention. But when Renee studied the menu as if it deserved a Pulitzer, he recognized she didn’t want his attention. She’d probably memorized the entire damn menu by now, and pretending to be absorbed by the content only served to keep her from looking at him. On the other hand, it allowed him the opportunity to steal a good look at her. And as always, he could stare at her all night without being the least bit bored by the scenery.

  She’d changed out of her power suit into a plain black long-sleeved dress, scoop-necked and form-fitting, the above-the-knee skirt allowing him a first-rate view of her legs when she’d crossed the room. She still wore her pale blond hair immediately below her slim shoulders; she was still as willowy as before. Nothing about her had changed a bit, except her attitude toward him, and he deserved every ounce of her derision.

  Maybe if he apologized again, she might relax. But what then? He wasn’t sure he should tell her the reasons behind his actions three years before. That those reasons directly involved the little boy who had come to mean more to him than he’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t begin to explain the constant regret that still lived within him even after all this time, knowing that if things had been different, his relationship with Renee might have gone beyond the connection they’d made through their shared vision for a special movie. Beyond the one night they’d spent making love well into the next morning.

  “What are you in the mood for tonight?” she asked without taking her eyes from the menu.

  He thought of several answers to that question, and one in particular that would probably prompt her to hurl the menu at him like a missile. “Are you referring to dinner?”

  She sent him a semidirty look. “We have a good assortment of seafood.”

  A definite jab, Pete decided. She knew full well that he had an aversion to most seafood. “What do you recommend?”

  “Everything. Our new chef is very skilled. His name is Robert LeSoeur and if you—

  “I’ve met him,” Pete said. “He came out and introduced himself right before you got here and told me about the specials.” A thirtysomething guy who looked more like a bodybuilder than a chef.

  “If you’d prefer to have something prepared differently from what’s indicated on the menu, all you have to do is ask,” she said. “He’s very accommodating.”

  Pete irrationally wondered if the chef had accommodated Renee in ways that had nothing to do with the culinary arts. “So do you know him well?”

  On cue came another sour look directed at him. “He’s an employee of the hotel and our relationship doesn’t go beyond that, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  That was exactly what he’d been asking, and he shouldn’t have bothered for several reasons. Renee wasn’t one to fraternize with the help. She’d been the picture of professionalism during her brief tenure as a producer…until he’d arrived on the scene. But that one hot and heavy lovemaking session had had nothing to do with preplanning and everything to do with the kind of passion not easily ignored. He hadn’t predicted that beneath that sophisticated facade, a creative, sexually uninhibited woman resided. He hadn’t expected the impact of their lovemaking, or his total loss of control. And he sure as hell hadn’t planned on reliving those moments in his mind for years, still wanting more of them. More of her, even now.

  But first things first. He had to attempt to smooth things over, and that meant not coming on too strong, too fast. He needed to utilize his negotiation skills and work his way back into her good graces. Probably an impossible feat, but he had to try. And if by some miracle he was successful, then the possibilities could be limitless.

  When Pete pulled his glasses from his inside jacket pocket and put them on, Renee looked surprised. “When did you start wearing those?” she asked.

  “When I turned forty and had to start holding scripts a foot away from my face in order to read them.”

  She hinted at a smile. “They look nice. Very scholarly. But you know what they say, the eyesight is the first to go.”

  Touché. “I assure you, the rest of me is still working as well as it always has.”

  “How nice to know you haven’t lost touch with your ego.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I guarantee I haven’t lost my touch, period.”

  She fought a smile, and lost. “I’m sure that’s true, even if your eyesight’s failing and you have to rely on feeling your way in the dark.”

  Another barrage of images, as clear as the crystal goblets set out on the table, ran through his mind. The way she’d responded to his touch. To his mouth. To his body.

  The innuendo was exactly what had gotten them into trouble before. So had the chemistry that had been present from the beginning, before building into an all-out explosion. No denying it, that chemistry was still there, and if Pete didn’t slow down, he risked making a wrong move, and in turn, pushing her away.

  On that thought, he said, “Go ahead and make fun of me now. When you reach that forty mark, you might find yourself wearing glasses, too. That’s what, in about five or six years?”

  “Actually, three, but who’s counting?”

  Certainly not Pete. The past three years h
ad been good to her. Great, even. He had no cause to believe that would change in the next thirty. “And you’ll probably still be as beautiful then as you are now. As you were the first time I met you, glasses or no glasses.” With or without clothes.

  “Why don’t you look at the menu now? It might take you a while to decide.”

  Could be, but it didn’t take Pete long to take the hint. She wasn’t in the mood for his compliments, or any talk of what had happened between them before. That was okay for now. But he had every intention of broaching the subject again before he left. Maybe even before the night ended.

  He closed the menu and leaned back in the chair. “I already know what I want.” Aside from her. “I’ll have the shrimp scampi.”

  She frowned. “I thought you didn’t like shrimp.”

  “Since you forced me to eat it that night we had dinner at Manhattan Beach, I’ve acquired a taste for it.”

  She propped one elbow on the table and braced her cheek on her open palm. “I’m glad you’ve decided to broaden your horizons.”

  “I have you to thank for that. When we were together, I tried several things I’ve never tried before.” Namely, he’d become involved with a producer, regardless of the lack of wisdom and disregard for hard-earned lessons. Fraternizing with the crew had never amounted to anything good. Except with Renee. That experience had been very good. Almost too good.

  Although Renee tried to be subtle, Pete recognized the moment she began to pull back. She’d made raising emotional walls an art form, second only to his ability to do the same. “I wonder what’s keeping your friends,” she said.

  Up to that point, he’d forgotten about them, and that wasn’t like him, particularly where Adam was concerned. “Think I’ll go use the house phone to call the suite and find out.”

  But before he could push his chair back to stand, Pete noticed Evan striding toward them, a paper rolled up in his fist. “Sorry I’m late,” he said when he reached the table.

  Pete found it odd that no one had followed Evan into the room. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”

  “Ella’s about to go to bed,” he said. “She wasn’t feeling well so I had some soup sent up. She told me to apologize to you both and she looks forward to talking to you in the future, Renee.”

  “I look forward to that, too,” Renee said. “And tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

  Pete couldn’t help but be suspicious that this was some kind of setup. “What about Adam?” Pete asked.

  “He’s chowing down on some chicken nuggets. He told me to tell you that he didn’t like the pants you asked him to wear and he’d rather stay in the room and watch the movie I purchased for him.”

  Considering Evan’s tastes in films leaned toward the dark and provocative, that could mean an acceleration in his nephew’s education. “What kind of movie?”

  “Give me some credit, Traynor. It’s G-rated. There’s not a damn thing questionable in it except some naked penguins.” He unrolled the paper and handed it to Pete. “Adam also instructed me to give you this.”

  Pete took the paper from Evan to find a crayon drawing of three people—a brown-haired woman and a yellow-haired man with a little boy positioned between them. He didn’t have to know the identity of the trio to recognize who Adam had depicted. Pete’s sister—Adam’s mother, Trish—Adam and Craig, Adam’s new stepfather. A sudden sadness settled over Pete, knowing he wasn’t in the picture, and he wouldn’t be in any real sense of the word after this trip was over. Granted, he was glad that Trish had finally decided to get on with her life with a decent man. But in turn, that meant Adam would no longer be in Pete’s life, at least not with any frequency. Japan was an entire world away, exactly where Adam would be going in a few days.

  “May I see it, Pete?”

  Pete looked up from the drawing to Renee. “Sure.”

  She took the paper and studied it a moment. “This is very good for a boy his age.”

  “He’s a talented kid, and smart,” Evan said. “Not many four-year-olds know the difference between a gaffer and a best boy. But I guess he comes by that naturally.”

  Adam had come by that knowledge by spending time on a movie set, the majority of it in a small trailer with a nanny. Only a select few had known his real identity, people Pete had trusted with the truth. Most of the crew believed Adam was the son of a family friend. As tough as denying his relationship to his nephew had been, Pete had done so to protect both Adam and Trish.

  Evan hooked a thumb over one shoulder. “I better get back to the room and let the two of you have a nice quiet dinner together, per Ella’s instructions.”

  Yeah, he and Renee had definitely been set-up. “I thought Ella wasn’t feeling well.”

  Sheepish would best describe Evan’s expression. “She thought that maybe you and Renee would like to catch up on old times.”

  As far as Pete was concerned, that sounded like a good plan. From Renee’s expression, he doubted she shared his opinion. “Tell Ella thanks, and I appreciate you both watching Adam. Tell him I’ll see him later, and to behave himself. If he gives you any trouble, call the front desk and tell them to come get me.”

  “He’s not any trouble, Pete. He’s a good kid.”

  The best, as far as Pete was concerned. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” As soon as he took care of a little unfinished business.

  “Take your time,” Evan said as he backed away from the table. “I’ll put him to bed and check on him periodically. I could use the practice.”

  Practice as in fatherhood, Pete realized, something that would be happening to Evan in a matter of months. And that was another fact he didn’t intend to reveal, although he assumed if Renee hadn’t already guessed Ella was pregnant, she would. “Thanks, Evan. I owe you one.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Following a brief wave and good-night, Evan walked out of the room, leaving Pete alone with Renee again. On one hand, he felt somewhat guilty over his friend assuming the role of babysitter. On the other hand, he didn’t mind having Renee all to himself, at least for a while.

  The wiry gray-haired waiter, Anson, who’d shown Pete to the table, suddenly appeared. “Are you and Mr. Traynor ready to order, Miss Marchand?”

  Renee closed the menu and smiled up at him. “Yes, Anson. But first, is my sister busy? If not, I’d like to introduce her to Mr. Traynor.”

  “I’m afraid Miss Melanie is somewhat preoccupied at the moment in a discussion with Chef LeSoeur.”

  “Problems?” Renee asked.

  Anson looked a little self-conscious. “It seems they are having a disagreement over her dessert presentations.”

  “Melanie’s the sous chef,” Renee explained. “She and Robert don’t always see eye-to-eye on things.” She regarded Anson again. “We’ll both have the shrimp scampi. And I’ll have the house salad with—”

  “Vinaigrette dressing,” Pete said. “Nothing that remotely resembles a crouton and extra tomatoes.”

  While the waiter looked to Renee for confirmation, Renee shot a quelling look at Pete. “That’s correct.”

  “And bring us a bottle of your best champagne,” Pete added.

  Anson bowed slightly and took up the menus. “Right away, sir.”

  “Why don’t you just bring us each a glass of champagne, Anson?” Renee said. “We wouldn’t want to waste any.”

  When Anson turned to Pete for his approval, Pete conceded that one glass might be better than consuming an entire bottle. Otherwise he might have trouble keeping his baser urges in line. “Single glasses would be fine.”

  As soon as the waiter disappeared, Renee asked, “Are we celebrating something?”

  “Sure. Having a good meal in good company.” It was an event that Pete had waited a long time to celebrate—being with Renee again.

  “I can’t believe you actually remembered my salad preferences,” she said.

  “I remember a lot of things about you, Renee.” He remembered the smoothness of her skin, every soft c
urve, every sweet crevice. Most of all, he remembered how it felt to be inside her.

  Another substantial silence settled over them until Renee pointed at Adam’s artwork. “Who’s in the picture?”

  “Adam’s mother—my sister, Trish—and Trish’s new husband, Craig. They’re on their honeymoon right now.”

  “Then Craig’s not Adam’s biological father?”

  “Adam’s dad was a stuntman who died before Adam was born, during a shoot.” During one of Pete’s shoots, more fodder for his guilt. “Sean was good at what he did, but he took a helluva lot of risks.”

  “Sean Turnbow,” she said. “I remember when he was killed during your movie. But I had no idea he was married to your sister. In fact, I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

  Very few people knew about Patricia, and Pete had worked hard to keep it that way over the years. “They weren’t married, but they planned to be as soon as the film wrapped.”

  Renee sighed. “I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for her, raising a child alone.”

  She had no idea the extent of Trish’s struggle to recover from Sean’s death. No one did, aside from him. “Yeah, it was tough. I helped out whenever I could.” But not nearly enough in the beginning. If he had, then maybe he could have prevented the events that had led him to break his contract with Renee’s studio, and in turn, forced his break with Renee.

  The waiter appeared with the champagne, providing Pete with the opportunity to leave the subject of his sister behind before he had to answer more questions. After Anson walked away again, Pete held his glass up and said, “To renewing old acquaintances.”

  Renee touched her glass to his. “I suppose I could drink to that.”

  Pete took a quick swallow of champagne and tried not to choke. In reality, he hated the stuff. It always reminded him of after-award parties and requisite ass-kissing. If he consumed alcohol at all, which he didn’t do too often for many reasons, he preferred a good lager.