by Meryl Sawyer
“Seem’s like everyone is comparing you to Phoebe,” said Max. “They’re all looking this way.”
Alyssa knew that wasn’t what was happening. People couldn’t believe she had the nerve to come home let alone brazenly appear at a high society party.
“Let’s get a drink,” suggested Jake as he nudged her forward.
“Good idea.” Max moved with them. “I haven’t had a chance to get anything myself.”
Ahead, Alyssa saw Ravelle frantically waving to her camera crew, signaling for them to come to her side. Alyssa tried to pretend she didn’t notice Phoebe and Clay, but it was impossible. They were directly in front of them only several paces ahead now. She mustered a smile and looked directly at Phoebe.
It was almost like having her own face staring at her except Phoebe’s hairstyle was different. She was wearing more makeup than necessary, considering her flawless skin and naturally long eyelashes. Her dress was too low-cut, revealing more cleavage than appropriate. All in all, Phoebe seemed to be waving a red flag that said “Notice me!”
“Phoebe, did you see who’s here?” Max said as if he’d discovered a long-lost friend of Phoebe’s.
Before Phoebe could respond, Gustavus “Bubba” Pettibone, Mayor of New Orleans, rushed up. Never one to miss a photo opportunity, the veteran politician extended his hand to Max, but his eyes were on Ravelle and her camera crew. They had pulled off to the side where Ravelle was being filmed in what had to be the introductory segment of her nightly report. They were too far away to hear what was being said, but Alyssa could well imagine the gossip monger reminding New Orleans about the kidnapping of the Duvalls’ baby.
“Max,” said Bubba. “You’ve done wonders for this community. What a great party.”
“Thanks, Bubba. There’s no other city like New Orleans.”
They were directly in front of the Duvalls, and Alyssa forced herself to say, “Hello, Phoebe.”
Phoebe was a true steel magnolia, too well-bred to be rude in front of so many people. “Hello.” The single word could have frozen lava.
Alyssa turned her head slightly and met Clay’s blue eyes. “Hello, Clay.”
“It’s been a long time, Alyssa. You’re looking well.”
“‘Well’ doesn’t cover it,” Max effused, obviously missing Phoebe’s frosty response and the inquisitive stares of those around them. “Alyssa’s a knockout just like Phoebe. They could be twins. Right, Bubba?”
Bubba’s florid complexion darkened to the color of an eggplant. The smarmy politician had been around long enough to remember the scandal and had the smarts to spot political quicksand before he stepped into it.
“Prettiest da—darn women around,” Max added. “Don’t you agree, Bubba?”
Alyssa forced herself to pry her gaze away from Clay and smile at Jake. His expression was impossible to read but the warmth of his hand on the back of her waist helped Alyssa play along. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clay studying her.
Clay was an extraordinarily handsome man, she thought, a certified heartbreaker. Suddenly the years she’d been away disappeared, and Alyssa was an awkward teenager again sitting beside Clay in the prep class for Tulane. She’d remembered Clay from family parties, but now he was right next to her, talking to her, his smile for her alone. She’d told herself not to fall for him, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
She kept her thoughts locked inside, realizing Jake had said something about New Orleans being full of beautiful women. Obviously, he was trying to cover the uncomfortable moment.
“You’ve got that right,” Clay agreed.
Ravelle Renault barged up to them, a microphone in her hand. It was hard to see her face for the glare of the klieg light the crewman held. Another man stood beside him, a bulky video camera balanced on his shoulder.
“We’re live,” Ravelle warned everyone as she shoved the mike in Alyssa’s face. “Alyssa Rossi, what brings you back to New Orleans—after all this time?”
She tried to appear excited, enthusiastic. “I’ve come home to live. I’ve sold my company, Rossi Designs, to TriTech.”
“R-really?” Ravelle was unprepared for this revelation as was Phoebe. Despite the blinding lights, Alyssa noticed the hostile expression on her cousin’s face. She didn’t dare look at Clay, but she could feel his eyes on her.
“Yes, TriTech wants to broaden its holdings,” Jake interjected. “Alyssa is one of the foremost jewelry designers in the world.” He pointed to her necklace. “This is one of her creations.”
The camera zoomed in on Alyssa’s neck.
“Oh, my. It’s lovely.” Ravelle recovered her wits, asking, “Alyssa, aren’t you concerned about the scandal that forced you to leave New Orleans will hurt your business?”
Bubba jumped in, obviously anxious to get his face on the evening news and stay on the side of Max, one of his biggest campaign contributors. “That was a long time ago. The city is always happy when its talented residents return.”
“That’s right,” Max chimed in. “TriTech is proud to have Rossi Designs.”
“Alyssa was never charged with any crime,” added Jake.
“The kidnapper is still at large,” Alyssa said directly into the camera. “Someone out there must have information that could help. If you do, please contact the police.”
“Alyssa,” Ravelle said, and she knew the woman wasn’t going to let her off this easily. “What about the Duvalls?” She signaled for the camera to spotlight Phoebe and Clay. “You were suspected of kidnapping their baby.”
“Nonsense.” The cameraman swung back to her, and Alyssa had to keep her eyes wide open against the blaring lights. “The Duvalls know I had nothing to do with it. That’s why Clay Duvall handled TriTech’s acquisition of my company.”
“Really?” Ravelle gasped, clearly caught off guard by this revelation.
The camera whirled back to the Duvalls. Phoebe’s expression became a mask of sorrow as if the baby just had been snatched from her arms, but Alyssa had grown up with her and realized her cousin had been blindsided by this news. Clay appeared cool and slightly aloof.
“Is that correct?” Ravelle poked the mike in Clay’s face.
“As you know, TriTech purchased my company, Duvall Imports. I’m on the board of TriTech now. We’re committed to acquiring a variety of successful companies.”
Alyssa noticed Clay had skillfully dodged the question, probably for Phoebe’s benefit, not saying he had actually been the one to seek out and negotiate the purchase of her company.
For a second Ravelle appeared flustered, then she motioned for the camera to focus on her. “There you have it, folks. The latest from ‘Around Town.’ This is Ravelle Renault for Channel Seven News.”
The blinding light clicked off and Ravelle turned toward Phoebe. Before Ravelle could utter a single word, Bubba spotted Governor Culbertson walking through the French doors with an entourage, including more television crews.
“The governor needs me,” announced Bubba and he was gone.
Max followed the mayor, and Ravelle scuttled off, her crew in tow. Jake and Alyssa were left alone with Phoebe and Clay.
“There’s my brother,” announced Phoebe and she marched away.
Wyatt LeCroix was smoking a cigar near the gazebo area, where the band had taken a break. A sexy redhead was at his side. His sister appeared to be the last thing on his mind.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance.”
“It was unintentional,” Alyssa responded to Clay, her voice shakier than normal.
“What would you like to drink?” Jake asked.
She thought she said Merlot but a second later she couldn’t be sure. She felt light-headed now that the worst was over. The harsh, uneven rhythm of her breathing had more to do with Clay than with the television interview. She knew Jake had deliberately left her alone with Clay. Jake was in line at the bar, too far away to hear what they were saying, but he could see them.
In the flicker
ing light of the torchiers illuminating the yard, Clay’s eyes were midnight blue. They caught hers and held.
“Welcome home, Alyssa. It’s been way too long.”
She didn’t respond to the hint of intimacy in his tone. It irritated her for him to think he could charm her with those blue eyes and easy smile. Did he seriously expect her to drop at his feet?
“Why did you deliberately conceal your involvement in purchasing my company?”
Her terse question seemed to amuse him. “Would you have sold to TriTech if you’d known?”
“No way!”
“Then you have your answer. Is there anything else you want to know?” His silky voice held a challenge as well as an annoying touch of humor.
She deliberately looked away and noticed Jake watching them. He gave her a strange smile, one impossible to interpret. It flickered so briefly Alyssa had no chance to return it.
“Why purchase a costume jewelry company? It hardly fits TriTech’s profile.”
“I know a winner when I see one.”
Movement to their right distracted them. It was Neville Berringer and the beautiful brunette Clay had been staring at when Alyssa had walked onto the terrace.
“Clay, Alyssa. Hey, it’s good to see you.”
Neville greeted them, and Alyssa couldn’t help smiling. He’d been a classmate at Tulane and one of the few people who’d called to offer her support when she’d been accused of kidnapping the baby. Aunt Thee had hired an attorney in Neville’s father’s law firm.
“This is Maree Winston.” Neville introduced the stunning brunette at his side, then gave Maree a short rundown on Alyssa and Clay, including their time at Tulane together.
“That’s a fabulous necklace,” Maree told Alyssa, but as she spoke, her eyes drifted toward Clay.
Alyssa opened her mouth to say she designed it, but Clay had Maree’s attention. Her luminous eyes reflected raw passion. Alyssa knew that expression, knew she’d looked at Clay with the same heartfelt emotion. She ventured a glance at Clay and instantly realized this wasn’t the first time he’d met Maree. They were lovers.
CHAPTER 9
Jake took both drinks from the bartender and turned. Alyssa was standing at his elbow. A few seconds ago she’d been with Clay. She had a phony smile on her face, and he decided something Clay had said upset her. He handed her the glass of merlot. “Did you ask Clay why he hid his part in buying your company?”
“Yes. He just said it was a good buy, and he knew I wouldn’t sell if I knew he was part of TriTech.”
“You believe him?”
“I don’t know what to think. He seemed sincere.”
“He has a talent for that.”
Jake figured Alyssa would be the first to know why Clay had acquired Rossi Designs. He wasn’t a betting man—never having had a spare cent to wager until recently—but he’d bet everything he had that the reason was personal.
“Who’s the brunette in the—ah—black dress?” Jake had almost slipped and said “killer” dress. The woman was a looker, but Alyssa had them all beat.
“Her name is Maree Winston. She’s involved with Clay.”
“Involved? As in sexually?”
“Is there any other way?”
He moved closer, stealing a peak at her cleavage, unable to resist teasing her. “We’re involved, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She shook her head at him, sending a ripple of blond hair across her bare shoulders. “And stop looking at my breasts.”
“If women don’t want men looking, then why do they make dresses like that?”
“You’re never serious.”
“Wrong. I’m dead serious. Why buy a dress like that—then tell men not to look? Hey, we’re only guys.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. He was pretty sure she wasn’t praying.
“Okay, so what makes you think they’re involved?”
“Women know these things.” She sipped her wine, her gaze casually drifting to where Clay stood talking to Maree and the man with her. “Don’t you see it in her eyes?”
“No, I don’t, but thank you for sharing.”
Her gaze reluctantly swung back to him. “Even if Clay didn’t tell me the truth, coming here was a good idea. Thanks for suggesting it.”
Compliments always made him uncomfortable. “Running into Ravelle was a stroke of luck. I can’t take credit for that.”
“The worst is over, and I feel better. Now I won’t go around dreading seeing the Duvalls.”
She smiled at him again, a tentative smile reflecting how nervous she’d been. He wouldn’t have guessed. She’d seemed cool and had worn a red dress that was bound to call attention to her. He gave her credit for brazening it out. She had more depth to her than he’d first thought.
“Here come Gordon and Hattie LeCroix,” Jake said.
Alyssa looked up and saw the couple walking out of the house. She’d lived with them ten long, miserable years. She hadn’t heard from them since Gordon had called to explain to her that Phoebe would be uncomfortable with Alyssa at her wedding. It was the reason she wasn’t being invited.
If she hadn’t been so hurt, Alyssa would have laughed. Did any of them seriously believe she would have attended? Why torture herself by watching the man she loved marry another woman?
Hattie hadn’t changed much, Alyssa noticed. She still had auburn hair and wore it in a chignon at the nape of her neck. A tall woman who carried herself the way she had when she wore the Mardi Gras queen’s crown, Hattie wrote the book on elitist attitudes.
Gordon, with his blond hair now feathered with silver, and periwinkle blue eyes looked more like Phoebe and Wyatt than Hattie did. A weak man, Gordon allowed Hattie to bully him. Alyssa knew Hattie had forced Gordon into telling her that she wasn’t being invited to Phoebe’s wedding. When Alyssa had been living with them, Gordon had tried to be friendly to her, but when Hattie caught him, Gordon would give up.
“I think she’s spotted you,” Jake murmured.
Hattie stared at Alyssa with hooded, hawk-like eyes that flashed with outrage. She jerked on her husband’s arm and said something to him. Alyssa refused to allow them to intimidate her.
Gordon looked at her as if he’d seen the proverbial ghost. He blinked, then smiled, and Alyssa couldn’t help returning his smile. He actually appeared to be happy to see her.
“One out of two ain’t bad,” Jake said.
“Gordon’s all right,” she said. “But Hattie’s …”
“A bitch. I had dinner with them a couple of times while we were negotiating to purchase Clay’s company. I think my father wanted to impress them. Why, I’ll never understand.”
“It’s a New Orleans society thing.”
Gordon walked toward them, Hattie at his side, her eyes cast downward. A few people turned to watch but most were enthralled with the governor.
“Hello, Alyssa,” Gordon said. “It’s been a long time. Are you here for a visit or—”
“Jake Williams, remember?” Jake extended his hand. “Mrs. LeCroix you look stunning in that dress.”
Hattie was forced to look up. “Thank you.”
“I’m back to stay,” Alyssa informed them.
“Good. Glad to hear it,” Gordon said.
Hattie’s lips parted in surprise, and Alyssa had to admit she was stunned as well. Some things had changed around here if Gordon dared to cross Hattie.
“Gordon,” Hattie barked his name. “Have you forgotten this slut is the reason we don’t have our grandson?” Hattie towed him away.
Jake said, “Now, that was fun.”
He had no idea how much “fun” it had been living under the same roof with Hattie. Could pain be transformed into a positive experience, preparing you for the other tragedies in store for you? Perhaps. Confronting all these hostile people hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she would have thought.
“Just when we thought we’d had all the fun we could have,” Jake remarked wryly and she saw Phoeb
e and her brother, Wyatt, approaching.
“How’d you get along with Wyatt?”
“Better than I did with Phoebe. Hattie insisted on sending him off to military school, not because he was troublesome, but because he was a normal boy who made noise and got into things. At least he’d talk to me when he was around.”
Phoebe and Wyatt walked closer. “Uh-oh. Looks like they’re on the war path. Hold your ground.”
Alyssa looked right at them, and he put his hand on the back of her waist for moral support, not just because he liked having an excuse to touch her.
He saw Wyatt whisper something to his sister. He’d met Wyatt a few times when they’d been negotiating for Duvall Imports. Wyatt LeCroix owned the accounting firm that handled the books for several local businesses including Duvall Imports. He’d seemed to be an okay guy, but then, Jake hadn’t really paid too much attention to him.
“Hello, Alyssa, it’s been a long time,” Wyatt greeted her.
Alyssa replied politely, and Jake couldn’t help stepping in, “You three look so much alike. It’s amazing. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall.”
“Her eyes aren’t blue.” Phoebe hissed out the words. “They’re—”
“You’re right,” Jake cut her off. “They’re an unusual shade that’s hard to describe, not ordinary blue.”
“I’m taller.” Wyatt’s eyes were on Alyssa, and at his side, Phoebe’s mouth was crimped into a tight line.
“All three of you are tall,” Jake pointed out, attempting to infuse a note of humor into what had the potential of becoming an ugly confrontation. “Wyatt, if we put makeup and a blond wig on you, then—hell—you’d look like Phoebe in drag.”
Wyatt chuckled, but Phoebe appeared to be sucking on a lemon. Alyssa laughed but he wouldn’t bet the farm she was laughing at his joke.
Phoebe stabbed the air in front of Alyssa with her finger. “I know what you’re trying to do, but you’re not getting away with it.”
“Just what am I trying to do?”
“You came home because you’re in love with Clay. You think you can get him back. You won’t—”
“Hold it.” Jake pulled Alyssa flush against his side. “She’s in love with me.”