by Francis Ray
* * *
Wednesday night at the Club Royal, as Angelique danced with Damien, her head on his chest listening to the comfortable beat of his heart, she had to admit to herself that the possibility of going off the cliff was no longer an issue. She’d already careened off. She, who never thought cell phones were necessary, was seriously considering getting one because she’d missed a couple of his calls.
That in itself made her admit the truth. She loved him. The thought was as frightening as it was exhilarating. She didn’t want to be hurt again. They were having a blazing affair, but was that all it was or would it develop into something lasting?
Deep in thought, she lifted her head. She only had to look at Kristen trying to get through to Rafe and Jacques loving a married woman to realize that love wasn’t always enough to ensure happiness. Was that what had happened to her parents? Was that the reason her father had dumped her in the bus station like unwanted garbage?
“What is it?” Damien asked, staring down at her.
“Just thinking,” she said, placing her head on his shoulder.
In typical Damien fashion, he stopped dancing and led her to their secluded table in the back of the posh restaurant. He seated her, then took his own seat. “So what’s bothering you?”
The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his strong face. He was a man who went after what he wanted. But what happened when he didn’t want it anymore?
Reaching across the small, white-linen-draped table, he placed his hand on hers. “You know I’ll just keep asking.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s what I get for dating a lawyer. I’m not some witness on the stand to badger.”
“I never thought you were.” He twisted his head to one side. “Are we about to have a fight? If we are, I need to get the check first. No cabs this time. I’m taking you home.”
She didn’t want his sensible words to make her feel childish or his gaze to draw hers. “I was just thinking about my biological parents.” Her hand clenched into a fist beneath his.
“You’d like to know the circumstances surrounding them abandoning you?” he asked gently.
“No, I was wondering why love lasts for some and not for others.” she answered and watched panic leap into his dark eyes. Too soon, she thought. She should have kept her mouth shut.
Damien worked to get his nerves settled. It had been his experience, when a woman introduced love into the conversation, it was time to make a fast exit. He saw the waiter and signaled him. By the time the man reached their table, Damien had his wallet out and was avoiding looking at Angelique.
His collar felt tight and he tugged. He never tugged.
Well aware that he hadn’t looked at Angelique since she dropped her bomb, he rose to get her chair when he spotted an acquaintance coming toward them. He didn’t look at it as a reprieve; at least he tried not to. “Hello, Judge Randolph.”
“Damien, I thought that was you,” the middle-aged man said jovially, his arm around a perfectly coiffured woman about the same age in a smart raspberry suit. “I believe you know my wife, Helen.”
“Yes. Good evening, Mrs. Randolph.”
Helen extended her soft, manicured hand. “Damien.”
Releasing her hand, Damien turned to Angelique and saw that she was tight-lipped and stared straight ahead. He’d really done it this time. Nothing like making a woman angry. He’d just have to muddle through it. “I’d like you to meet Angelique Fleming. Angelique, Judge Henry Randolph and his wife, Helen. The judge helped me get my first job as a law clerk.”
Damien watched in stunned amazement as Angelique sent the judge a look of pure contempt. The older man gasped. In an instant, Damien realized why.
Angelique picked up her purse and came to her feet. “Mrs. Randolph.” She tipped her head curtly to the older woman, then stiffly faced him. “Good-bye, Mr. Broussard.” Radiating anger, she stalked away.
“A relative or friend of hers must have come before me in court,” the judge said nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Happens all the time.”
From the knowing look on his wife’s face, she wasn’t buying it. Damien knew he wasn’t. “Excuse me. I think my date just left without me.”
He hurried out of the restaurant and saw Angelique walking as quickly as possible down the crowded street. He caught up with her a block away. “You’re going to give me a complex if you keep walking out on me, and what’s with the Mr. Broussard?”
“You’re not stupid, Damien. Please don’t act like it.” They reached Canal Street. She lifted her arm for a cab.
His fingers closed around her arm. He cursed under his breath when he felt her tremble. “I’m taking you home.”
“If you have questions abut the judge, you can ask them now.”
“Your hating his guts about covers it, I think. Let’s go.” Not releasing her arm, he headed back for his car.
* * *
Angelique didn’t say one word during the drive to her apartment. Damien hadn’t expected her to. He just hoped when she did she wouldn’t lump him with the judge, but he wasn’t counting on it. She needed an outlet for her anger and, unfortunately, he was the nearest target.
She stalked across the room as soon as she opened the door to her place, then tossed her bag on the sofa and faced him, her arms folded defensively across her chest. She wasn’t going to speak first.
“You denigrated my character tonight.”
She swallowed convulsively. “I’m well aware of that.”
“I don’t think you are.” He crossed to her until they were mere inches apart. “How do you think it made me feel to find out that you believe I wouldn’t want my friends or associates to know we were dating?”
Her mouth gapped. Her arms fell to her sides. Obviously that wasn’t what she had expected.
“I admit to being uncomfortable with your past as a dancer, but that’s where it should remain … in the past. As my father pointed out, mine isn’t the best.” He started toward the door. “Get some rest, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You aren’t going to ask about Judge Randolph?”
“I don’t have the right.” He reached for the knob.
“Wait.” She went to him. “I’ve seen him in The Inferno while I was interviewing the girls working there. He’s the worst kind of hypocrite. Enjoys lap dances at three hundred dollars a pop, but if one of the girls appears before him in court and even hints she might know him, he throws the book at them.” Her hands fisted. “He won’t like the possibility of it getting out in his circle on how he gets his kicks.”
“And you thought I’d care about his opinion of me?” his voice was dangerously soft.
She tried again. “You said it yourself. He helped you get your first job. You now work for a very old, very established, highly prestigious firm. He still has a great deal of power. Your reputation can’t be blemished.”
His eyes hardened. “I think you’d better stop or you’re going to make me angry.”
Why did everything with him have to be so difficult? “Damien, maybe we shouldn’t see each other again.”
He grabbed her by the arms, his gaze locked with hers. “No one dictates the way I live my life or who I see.”
She shook her head, sending her hair streaming over her shoulders. “Randolph is vindictive. If he thinks your association with me might somehow tarnish him, he’d think nothing of ruining you professionally.”
“I’m not worried about him and neither should you. Is that clear?”
He’d fight her on this unless she gave him no choice. She was certain Randolph would come after Damien. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Her arms went around his neck, her smile tremulous. “Take me to bed.”
“Ang—”
She sank against him, her mouth closing on his, taking the decision from him. She gave herself over to him, holding nothing back, committing each touch, each moment to memory, well aware that for his sake it would be their last.
* * *
The next morning on the top floor in his corner office, Damien steadily worked through the pile of documents on his desk. He’d always liked morning best and had gotten a head start by arriving at his office at eight instead of nine. It hadn’t been difficult. After he’d left Angelique last night, he hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind that nothing was really settled between them. He would have discussed it with her, but she’d gone to sleep after they made love. Or had she?
Just before he left her bedroom, he would have sworn he felt her watching him. But when he glanced over his shoulder she lay in bed on her stomach, exactly as she was when he had eased from her. He had wanted to undress and climb back in bed, gather her in his arms, and go back to sleep.
His pen paused. It wasn’t lost on him that at the restaurant before Randolph showed up he had been considering a strategic retreat. She had caught him totally off guard by pretending they weren’t dating. He hadn’t given a damn then or now about what Randolph thought. All he had wanted to do was get to her and show her she mattered to him. He hoped to hell he had, but there was this nagging doubt in the back of his mind that maybe he hadn’t succeeded.
The phone on his desk rang, interrupting his thoughts. He pushed the speaker button. “Yes, Celine.”
“Judge Randolph to see you, Mr. Broussard.”
Speak of the devil. “Send him in.” Disconnecting the call, Damien placed the pen on top of his papers and leaned back in his chair.
Judge Randolph came in with his friendly smile that had helped him remain popular among his peers in the courthouse for over thirty years as a judge. “Good morning, Damien. Thanks for seeing me.”
Damien nodded.
If Randolph thought it rude of Damien not to speak or offer him a seat, he didn’t appear bothered. He looked around the beautifully appointed office with built-in bookshelves, an entertainment center, wet bar, and small conference table. “This is the first time I’ve been in your office since I helped you get a job as a law clerk when you were a senior in high school.” He turned to Damien. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“With Thibodeaux, you’re bound to go further. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want you to make a misstep.”
Damien rocked forward in his chair. “In what way?”
Randolph took a seat in one of the comfortable burgundy leather chairs in front of Damien’s desk. “You’re like a son to me. I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking of how you might have ruined your career by going out with a woman like that.”
“I hardly see why my dating a woman working on her doctorate in psychology could ruin my career,” Damien said, deciding to give the bastard enough rope to hang himself.
“Is that what she told you?” Randolph said with a derisive laugh. “It seems our meeting was fortuitous. She’s nothing but a stripper at The Inferno.”
It was becoming harder for Damien to remain seated. The judge’s smirking face begged for his fist. “And how would you know that?”
The judge appeared taken aback, then the easy smile came again. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you. I’m sure you understand. Just don’t see her anymore.” He winked. “I’m sure you can find another woman to give you what she was giving you.”
Damien came out of his chair as if catapulted and rounded the desk. He had Randolph by the two-hundred-dollar, printed-silk tie before the other man could blink. “Listen and listen good, because I’m only going to say this once. I know all about your visits to The Inferno, the lap dances.” Damien watched the judge’s eyes go wide. Perspiration beaded on his broad forehead. “Try to discredit Angelique or mention her name except in glowing terms and it will be your career, not mine, that will be in jeopardy. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes,” the judge managed to squeak out.
Releasing him, Damien stepped back. “Good-bye, Judge, and remember, if we have to have this conversation again, you’ll like it even less.”
His hand at his throat, Randolph hurried from the room.
Damien wanted to kick something. Angelique had been right about the pious hypocrite. But what really steamed Damien was that he hadn’t been very much better. He’d judged her because of where she worked and not for who she was. Others would do the same.
“Damn!” There was nothing he could do to prevent it except be there for her. Leaving her didn’t enter his mind.
twenty-six
“I swear, Rafe must have eyes in the back of his head,” Kristen complained, prowling in front of Angelique who was sitting on her living room sofa. “Tonight I never managed to get closer than ten feet.”
In her usual sweatshirt and jeans, Angelique sat sipping bottled water. “You’ll just have to blindside him.”
Kristen tsked. “Easier said than done. If it’s not the boys, it’s Jim trying to help me.”
“Then that’s your answer. Go see him when they’re not around.”
Kristen stopped pacing. Her eyes lit up. “Angelique, you’re a genius.”
“Ain’t I, though,” she said, and took another swig of water.
Kristen finally stopped worrying about her and Rafe long enough to see the misery in her best friend’s face. “Oh, no.” She went to sit beside her. “I’m sorry, I thought you and Damien were doing so well together.”
Angelique began peeling the label off the bottle. “We were until I got carried away and mentioned the L word. Damien almost had a stroke.”
“That’s understandable,” Kristen reasoned. She didn’t know much about love, but in college she’d heard mentioning love was the kiss of death. “Most men react to love the same way if you bring it up.”
Angelique stuffed the paper into the neck of the empty bottle. “We might have gotten past that if my past hadn’t showed up in the form of the obnoxious judge you saw the night I took you to The Inferno.”
“What happened?”
“Reality.” Sighing, Angelique sat forward and put the bottle on the cluttered cocktail table. “Damien is the chief counsel with a prestigious, conservative insurance brokerage firm and I’m a former exotic dancer. Seeing the judge made me realize what is bound to happen if this goes any further.”
Kristen frowned. She didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “You make it sound as if people in positions of authority or people with wealth are narrowed-minded and can’t accept a person for who they are and not what they were.”
Her face set, Angelique turned to Kristen. “Can you honestly say that people you know wouldn’t look askance at me if they knew how I put myself through my last two years of college—or think that maybe dancing was not all I did?”
Kristen tried to think of a way around the damning answer to her question. “They might, but only until they got to know you.”
“What about those who won’t even try?” Angelique questioned, although each word hurt more than the last. “In the meantime, what about Damien’s career? His family and friends?”
“Jacques likes you,” Kristen quickly told her.
“That’s just one more reason why I can’t see Damien again.” Needing to do something with her hands, she picked up the bottle again. “I won’t hurt him or his father.”
“Have you told him yet?” Kristen asked.
“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen.” Angelique ripped a strip of paper away with savage force. “He’ll have to eventually.”
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, Kristen thought. Love was meant to be forever. “How can you walk away from him when you care about him so much?”
Tears glistened in Angelique’s eyes. “It’s because I care. He shouldn’t be put in a position to defend me or be whispered about because of me.”
“Don’t you think Damien has the right to make that decision?”
“Whose side are you on?” Angelique sniffed. She brushed her sleeve across her damp eyes. “Rational thinking is not what I need to hear right now.”
Kristen hugged her.
It was all she could think to do. “All right for tonight, but I can’t promise I won’t bring it up again.”
“This is for the best,” Angelique said, clutching the bottle in her trembling hand.
Kristen didn’t say anything, just continued to offer the comfort of her presence. Love didn’t always have a happy ending. Hers might end in tears and heartache as well but, as Jacques said, at least she would have tried.
* * *
This is it, Kristen thought as she balanced the two sacks of food atop the pizza box. She took a deep breath, then knocked on Rafe’s office door. She’d already peeked through the window and seen him sitting at his desk. He seemed to be just staring at the ledger in front of him. It was time for her to make her next move.
She shifted nervously in the four-inch black sandals with a thin strap across the toe and around her ankle and hoped her clinging, v-necked white knit top was sexy without being obvious. The black miniskirt that stopped six inches above her shaking knees was a new purchase. She resisted the urge to tug it down. Trying to entice a man was new to her … and scary. If Rafe didn’t open the door soon, she might just run back to her car.
The door jerked open. His hard expression would have made most men run. Kristen thought about it until she looked past the anger to the longing in his dark eyes.
“Hi, Rafe,” she greeted cheerfully, entering as if she had every right to do so. “Since we haven’t had a chance to talk much, I thought you’d like to know that Jacques and the boys’ parents are very happy about their progress.”
“Where’re you going?” he asked. His voice held about as much warmth as an icicle.
“To the kitchen. We can’t eat standing up,” she said, hoping her trembling legs wouldn’t give out on her as she started up the mahogany stairwell to his apartment.
“I’m not hungry.”
Her hands gripped the pizza box and she kept going. “You will be once you see what I have.” Opening the door, she went to his kitchen. It was as neat and colorless and spartan as the first time she’d seen it. Placing the food on the table, she went to the cabinet, wondering if he was just a good housekeeper or if he seldom bothered to cook for himself. Looking at the mismatched plates and glasses, she thought it was probably the latter.