by Francis Ray
Claudette paused as she reached for her apricot-colored cloth napkin, then picked it up. “I see.”
Jacques decided a quick change of subject was in order. He said grace, then picked up his fork and speared an opalescent pink shrimp dressed with spicy, sweet-and-tart vinaigrette. “Damien tells me the company is thriving under your leadership. Claude would be proud.”
Her dark eyes lost some of the unhappiness. Her stiff shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot.”
“No one ever doubted your capability, and you’ve proven they were right,” he said truthfully. She needed bolstering more than he needed to raise the possibility in her mind that her husband was a liar and philanderer. “What’s next for the company?”
“We’re after Hughes, an accounting firm with ten thousand employees across the country,” she told him, finally beginning to eat.
“Interesting. Tell me more.” Jacques listened as she did just that. He was determined to keep their conservation on safe topics.
As their dinner progressed, he took satisfaction from noticing that she relaxed more and more as the sun slipped below the horizon. If he couldn’t offer his love openly, at least he could help her find peace for a short space of time.
When they’d finished their meal, Sarah cleared the table, replaced the bouquet with a hurricane lamp, then served chilled Cointreau. The yard lights and those meandering on a path bordered with begonias and caladiums winked on. “Would you like to go inside or stay out here?”
Claudette sipped her wine contentedly. “Here, if you don’t mind.” She glanced around the well-tended yard. “You’ve kept the grounds as beautiful as when Jeanne was alive.”
“I try.” He nodded toward a five-foot lemon tree with its branches loaded with glistening yellow fruit. “She brought that home in a three-inch pot. Nothing she loved more than her garden.”
“Except you and Damien,” Claudette said quietly.
Jacques brought his attention back to Claudette. “We loved her, too. She was a wonderful woman.”
Claudette absently twirled the stem between her thumb and forefinger. “I used to envy her ability to have a family and a career working with you in the gallery, but everyone always knew her family came first.”
“With Claude, the family business came first,” Jacques reminded her unnecessarily. “You were raised with totally different family concepts.”
“I suppose, but I often find myself wishing family and business could have had a better balance.” Claudette stared into the distance. “It has to be wonderful knowing there is someone who will drop everything and rush to your aid, as Damien did today.”
Jacques took a chance and placed his hand over Claudette’s, then waited until her startled eyes turned to his. “If you ever need me, you only have to ask. I’ll be there.”
“Take your hand off my wife.”
twenty-one
Jacques and Claudette jerked toward the sound of the strident voice and saw Maurice stride angrily down the stone steps toward them. Jacques’s housekeeper remained on the terrace. Obviously, she had been escorting him to Claudette and Jacques.
Undaunted, Jacques came to his feet. If Claudette hadn’t moved her hand he wouldn’t have. They had nothing to be ashamed of. “Maurice,” he greeted curtly.
Maurice’s hard gaze drilled into Jacques: then he focused the full force of his displeasure on Claudette. “So this is what happens when I’m out of town on business?”
“Claudette and I had just finished dinner and were relaxing,” Jacques said, not about to back down or see Claudette maligned, especially by her philanderer of a husband. “Anyone who knows Claudette would never think otherwise. You owe her an apology.”
“Apology!” Maurice spluttered, glaring at Jacques. “I know what I saw.”
Claudette finally spoke. “You saw a friend offering another friend comfort.” Her head lifted regally. “Jacques and I have been friends for years and to question his integrity is unthinkable, as is questioning mine. How dare you come into his home with such an accusation!”
Maurice blinked, obviously taken aback by his wife’s defense of Jacques as much as by her annoyance with him. She had always sought to placate him, no matter the situation. His mouth tightened into a thin line of annoyance at being reprimanded in front of a man he intensely disliked.
“Did you come in the car?” Claudette asked, picking up her purse from the table.
“Yes,” he said curtly.
She turned to Jacques, her face softening. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.” Leaning over, she brushed her cheek against his. “I’ll remember. Good night.” Not looking at Maurice, she started toward the terrace, stopping only long enough to thank the housekeeper.
Jacques smiled and picked up his wine. Now that was the Claudette he knew, admired, and, yes, loved. “If you don’t want to take a taxi home, you’d better run after Claudette.” His smile broadening, he took a casual sip of the Cointreau. “I don’t think she’s going to wait for you.”
Maurice said a foul word, then turned and ran. Jacques’s laughter was like a prod to his back.
As Maurice came out of the house, it didn’t help that Simon, their driver, hopped out of the Rolls to open the door for Claudette, then got back inside and pulled off. The bastard had seen him. Hell, even if he hadn’t, Claudette could have said something.
Maurice had to lower himself to run after the car and bang on the back fender for Simon to stop. As it was, the car traveled several feet before pulling up to the curb. He wanted to take his time, but didn’t dare. With each step his anger at Claudette and the situation that left him dependent on another woman for his livelihood grew.
He jerked the door open and got in. Simon certainly wasn’t going to open it. He had been surly and disrespectful when Maurice told him to get the car and drive him to Jacques’s house. Maurice had intended to discuss the man’s impertinence with Claudette. Now he had bigger fish to fry. He slammed the door shut.
Claudette, her legs crossed demurely at the ankle, was reading Money magazine. In deference to the night, she had flipped on the special reading light. She’d told him that her father had taught her never to waste time simply riding in the car. He tried to remember if she had continued the practice while they were dating or married, and couldn’t.
Unease slithered though him. After all the drama he’d gone through today, trying to pacify Ann and get her off his back, he didn’t need any more woman problems. He certainly didn’t want to end up where she was. He shivered and forced his mind to concentrate on Claudette, his way out.
That prick Jacques had the hots for her. Maurice had noticed the way he looked at her. Maurice had privately hooted about it. Jacques probably couldn’t get it up with the help of a forklift and a shipload of Viagra.
Maurice had also picked up on what Jacques thought of him. The bastard hated Maurice’s guts. Like he’d give a good goddamn. His only concern was Claudette.
He was her husband and he was going to make sure nothing and no one came between them. Ann’s ranting had made that imperative. The moment he’d arrived home tonight and found that Claudette had been gone most of the day, and learned where she was, he’d ordered the car brought around. He’d planned to show Jacques how much control he had over his wife. It had blown up in his face. For the first time, Claudette hadn’t rushed to reassure him.
He took a few calming breaths, then several more. Although it galled him to apologize, he couldn’t see his way around it. Nothing could interfere with him becoming a full partner.
“Claudette, I’m sorry. It’s just that when I arrived home tonight and didn’t find you, I was extremely disappointed.” His voice dropped to a soft croon as she turned another page in the magazine. “I wanted to be with you. Then, to find another man’s hand on you … You can’t blame me for being jealous of my beautiful wife.”
She finally turned toward him. Even in the dim light, he could see the bland expression on her face.
Something like fear went though him. “Strange. You knew I had cleared my calendar to be with you and yet all I found was a note when I awoke. That doesn’t sound as if you wanted to be with me.”
He’d had to go to Atlanta and deal with Ann. He wasn’t going to end up like her. “I had a chance to clench a deal. I thought you’d understand and be proud.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“No. Not yet.” He didn’t even flinch at the bold lie.
“Whom did you meet?” she asked.
“A company on the East Coast.” Another lie rolled easily off his tongue. “They don’t want their name mentioned just yet.”
Her perfectly arched brow lifted. “Surely that restriction doesn’t apply to the owner and CEO of the firm?”
“I’m afraid it does, darling.” He tried to put just the right amount of teasing banter in his voice. “But it’s a large, well-established firm, and should generate millions for Thibodeaux.”
“I assume you put your expenses on your business account?” she asked, once again returning her attention to the magazine.
Maurice frowned, trying to figure out if the question was an idle one. “No. Since it’s just speculation, I put it on my personal account.”
Claudette glanced back up at him. Her black eyes narrowed.
Maurice remembered a moment too late that he didn’t have an account outside of hers. He’d transferred the high balance of his two credit cards to her. She hadn’t appeared to mind. She was the primary cardholder of the platinum American Express card in his wallet. One call from her and he couldn’t charge a dime.
“Next time, please use the business account,” she said. “It will make it easier when it’s time to do the taxes.”
He sighed inwardly in relief. “No problem.” Smiling, he reached for her hand.
At that moment the car came to a stop. She leaned forward to put the magazine back, then picked up her purse and turned expectantly toward the door, leaving Maurice’s hand in midair. His empty hand fisted.
Her door opened and she got out, thanking Simon as she did so. The door shut with a soft thud.
His mouth tight, Maurice opened his own door. Simon wasn’t going to. The bastard would probably take the car to the garage and leave him sitting there all night.
He was barely on the curved driveway before the Rolls took off toward the garage in the back. Maurice turned to see Claudette enter the house without a backward glance.
So she was mad. She wouldn’t be that way for long. He knew exactly how to put a smile on her face.
Sure of his sexual prowess, Maurice leisurely strolled up the walkway toward the mansion and the riches he deserved.
* * *
Angelique felt deliciously boneless. The sun had long since gone down. The only light in the room came from the grouping of three pillar candles on the triple dresser in front of the bed. The others had spluttered out. She felt contentment all the way from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She was sprawled atop the reason: Damien’s hard body. Her leg was sandwiched between his muscular thighs, her head on his wide chest.
“You haven’t gone to sleep on me, have you?” he asked, his hand gently stroking her hair.
“Ummm,” she murmured, too languid to speak.
“You hungry?”
She had just enough energy to angle her head up toward his handsome face and inventive mouth. “Starving. Since you owe me lunch and it’s way past dinner, you should be the one to get up and go get the food.”
“If I thought my legs would support me, I would.” Smiling, he grasped her just below her breasts and pulled her up to eye level. The friction of their bodies caused both of them to moan.
“That’s what got us into trouble last time,” she reminded him, running her tongue over the seam of his mouth.
“I’m all for that kind of trouble.” His hands closed over her hips, pressing her gently against his burgeoning arousal.
“If one of us doesn’t show some restraint, all they’ll find is skeletons.” Angelique whimpered as Damien rocked against her. Her nipples hardened. Unable to resist, she moved the aching peaks against his hair-roughened chest in sweet agony.
“But we’ll be grinning from ear to ear.”
“You think?”
“Let’s find out.” He sheathed himself, then brought them together. As before, everything but the two of them locked in passion and need ceased to exist.
* * *
“We survived.” An hour later Damien reached for another chicken strudel wrap.
“Barely,” Angelique commented from beside him on the bed. A tray of finger foods was balanced between them. She’d been on target when she had decided to prepare food that didn’t need to be heated. Damien had been a thorough and demanding lover, and she’d relished every exquisite second of it.
He made her feel deliciously wicked, as if she could take on the world. Having him in her bed was proof of that. Damien was in a class by himself. Finding a balance between two strong-willed people was going to be a challenge, but it certainly wouldn’t be boring having him around.
She chose a cube of Brie and popped it into her mouth. She didn’t remember ever being so hungry or enjoying food so much.
He polished off the sandwich and picked up his wineglass. “You about through?”
The husky undertone in his deep voice caused Angelique to glance up. Her breath stalled as she gazed into his dark eyes. Her insides quivered at the sensual promise she saw. “Stay away from me until I’ve finished eating.”
“I’m finding that hard to do.” He frowned at her as if he were surprised by the revelation and was none too happy about it. The grooves in his brow deepening, he set the wineglass down.
Her ravenous appetite vanished. Disappointment bloomed. She tried not to let his reaction hurt, but couldn’t quite manage. He didn’t want an emotional involvement, just sex. So she’d made a mistake. It wouldn’t be her first.
Although she didn’t want it, she took an inordinate amount of time choosing a green grape from the fat cluster on the tray. “You’ll have to. I have to finish my dissertation, remember?”
“So where does that leave us?”
Wishing “us” meant more to him than just his sexual partner, she plucked a plump grape, pleased her hands were steady. “We’ll see each other when time permits, of course.”
“Which would be?”
Her brow lifted at his brusque tone. “Don’t get snippy with me, Damien.”
“I just asked for clarification,” he said, all languidness gone from his body.
“Clarification!” she snapped, setting the tray aside. “You mean you want the specific time and the hour you can come by and we can have a round or two in bed?” She turned to get up, but instead found herself flat on the bed, Damien’s body on top of her, his angry face inches from her.
“What the hell got into you?”
Her eyes shot sparks. “Get off me and get out!”
His eyes narrowed, and then he rolled over and came off the bed. She tried not to look, but couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn to his hard body, the delineation of muscles, the tapering of his narrow waist.
He snatched his pants off the floor, then glanced toward her. She was unable to hide her desire for him or the pain his leaving would bring. “Hell!” He tossed the pants aside and climbed back on the bed and gathered her in his arms, easily overcoming her halfhearted attempts to push him away.
“You mind giving me a hint as to what I did or said wrong so I won’t make that mistake again?” he asked, then tenderly kissed her forehead.
She shook her head. So she was weak where he was concerned. “I’m just tired.”
He stared down at her, trying to see the truth beyond her words. She tucked her head. He wouldn’t be worth spit as a lawyer if he didn’t see through her evasive tactic. “I don’t know where this is going, but if it was just for sex, then neither of us would have to look far to find another partner.”
&nb
sp; His words stabbed her in the heart. Again. She pushed out of his arms and sat up. “What’s stopping you?”
“You are.” His hand gently touched her face. “You are,” he repeated softly, his dark eyes staring intently into hers. “You drive me crazy thinking about you, you drive me crazy worrying about you, you drive me crazy when I’m inside you, hearing you call my name. You’re what’s stopping me.”
A curious warmth curled though her, a need that grew with each passing second. Precipice straight ahead.
“Do you think you could squeeze out time for a luncheon or dinner date on Wednesday. Then maybe I could last until Saturday or maybe Sunday brunch.” He brushed her tumble of hair away from her face. “I have a lot of paperwork these days. Maybe we could do study dates. How about it?”
Angelique stared up at him. No one had to tell her that Damien could have his pick of women. If all he wanted was a fast tumble, many would be only too happy to oblige. If he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the intense sexual attraction between them, he was there with her. “If I get enough work done, maybe we could go out to dinner Wednesday.”
“It’s a deal.” He began kissing her ear, her neck, working his way down as he pulled the robe away from her body.
“D-Damien.”
“I’m right here.” He nuzzled her breast.
She would have giggled at the absurdity of his answer, but he laved, then blew on, her nipple. She almost came off the bed. “W-what are you doing?”
“Fortifying myself for my four-day fast. Any objections?” His mouth closed over her nipple.
She sucked in a sharp breath and clasped his head, holding him closer to her breast. “None at all.”
* * *
Maurice couldn’t understand it. Nothing he said or did worked on Claudette. She remained aloof and so sickeningly polite he wished he could pitch her out their second-floor balcony window.
Gritting his teeth, he got into their bed. Claudette remained at her dressing table, brushing her hair. He snorted. As if that would make a difference at her age. Just wait until he got her into bed. He’d ride her until he had her moaning, like he had on their wedding night. Probably the first orgasm she’d ever had. He’d have her wrapped back around his finger. He had to. The consequences were too horrible to think of.