by Metsy Hingle
“No problem,” Emily told her, obviously having difficulty keeping her eyes off Jacques.
Not that Liza could blame her. In his black sweater and dark slacks, his eyes looked like polished amber. His too long hair reminded her of wheat that she had once glimpsed in a field. The added combination of his French accent and lethal charm, made Jacques Gaston a difficult man to ignore.
As though sensing her scrutiny, Jacques shifted his gaze to her. Liza flushed, chastising herself for being caught staring at him. “Emily,” she said, refusing to meet Jacques’s eyes. “How soon before you can get back to me with the new total for the floral decorations?”
With obvious reluctance, Emily dragged her attention back to Liza. “I’ll need to reconfirm with my suppliers on the price of the poinsettias and garland, then tally everything with the other changes we made. Is Monday morning soon enough?”
“Monday morning’s fine.”
“Good. I’ll call you on Monday, then, and if everything’s in order, I’ll drop off the contract for you to sign that afternoon.”
“Great.” Liza nodded. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
“In the meantime, if you have any questions, Mr. Gaston—Jacques,” she corrected at the arch of his brow, “please give me a call.”
“I’ll do that,” Jacques said, a wicked smile curving his lips as he took the card Emily offered him.
Liza slapped her planning folder closed. “Well, I guess that’s it. I’m afraid you’ll both have to excuse me. I have another appointment due here in a few minutes.”
“Of course,” Emily replied, looking like a kitten with a fresh bowl of cream as she smiled back at Jacques, and the two of them started towards the door.
Liza turned her back on the retreating couple. Typical Jacques Gaston behavior. The man could charm a snake out of its skin. But it was more than his charm that had snared her all those years ago, Liza admitted. True, there had always been an aura of the forbidden about Jacques that had excited her and frightened her at the same time. But beneath that rakish charm and quick-as-a-trigger temper, there had been so much more to him than the devilmay-care gigolo he pretended to be. There had been a kindness and sensitivity in him, a genuine joy of life that had drawn her to him. And it had been his fierce determination not to become a victim of commitment or any deeper emotions that had driven her away.
Her chest tightened and Liza pushed the sad memories aside. She had no reason to feel sorry for herself. She had done what she’d had to do. Jacques had made his choice and she had made hers. She certainly had no right to feel jealous, she told herself, as Jacques chatted with Emily at the door. But jealousy was just what she did feel, Liza admitted when she heard Emily laugh at something Jacques said.
Irritated with herself, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand—putting away her notes and samples. When she heard the click of the door moments later and the soft tread of Jacques’s footsteps as he came up behind her, she snatched up the file marked decorations. Retrieving the ribbon samples and pictures of floral arrangements scattered on the table, she began stuffing them into the expanding file.
“It is not going to work, chérie.”
“What isn’t going to work?” she asked. Gathering up the files, she walked across the room to her desk, feigning a nonchalance she was far from feeling.
“Trying to avoid me.”
“And what makes you think I’m trying to avoid you?”
He sat on the edge of her desk and picked up the silverframed photo. Liza’s heart stopped for long seconds as he studied the face of the blond-haired boy with golden eyes. “Probably the fact that the last three meetings on the agenda were rescheduled and yet you did not bother to inform me,” he told her, returning the frame to the desk.
“I did inform you,” she replied as her heart remembered how to beat again. “I left a message for you on the answering machine at Peter and Aimee’s apartment telling you about the changes.”
“Ah, yes. Those messages on the answering machine. All conveniently left at the apartment instead of at the gallery where you knew I would be, insuring that I would not learn of the changes until it was too late. Fortunately, I figured out your little game. Otherwise, I would have missed today’s meeting as well.”
“Are you accusing me of changing the meetings deliberately just so you would miss them?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And why would I do a thing like that?” she demanded, chagrined that her ploy had been so transparent.
He shot her that mischievous grin. “It is obvious, chérie. You do not trust yourself to be with me.”
“Honestly, Jacques. That ego of yours has really gone to your head.” Pulling out the desk file for her next meeting, she shoved the drawer closed. “For your information, I am not afraid to be with you. I’m simply not interested.”
“No?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Believe it or not, those meetings were changed due to scheduling conflicts and had nothing to do with you whatsoever.”
“Then you are saying that you are not afraid of what will happen between us while we are working together on this fund-raiser?”
“No. I am not afraid of what will happen between us, because nothing is going to happen.”
He arched one brow in challenge.
Liza slapped her folder down on the desk and planted her hands beside it. She leaned forward. “Take my word for it, Jacques. Absolutely nothing is going to happen between us.”
“You are sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then it should not be a problem for you to attend a small dinner party I am having.”
Sighing, Liza straightened and picked up her file. “Just because I’m not afraid of being with you, doesn’t mean I’m interested in anything more than a business relationship. I’m not.” She saw no point in reminding him again that there was someone else—especially considering the problem she would incur if she were forced to present that someone.
Jacques shook his head and made a reproving sound. “So suspicious.”
“Can you blame me?” she countered. “Especially after that statement you made about...about...”
“About seducing you?” He laughed. “Oh, I still fully intend to seduce you, chérie. Make no mistake about that.”
Liza’s traitorous pulse leapt at the promise in his voice, the flicker of heat in his eyes.
“But the dinner party is not part of that plan. It is actually business.”
Liza narrowed her eyes.
“It is true. I am holding a small party to announce the donation of one of my works for the gala’s silent auction. You can check with Peter if you do not believe me.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his statement to register. Then shock set in. She knew from Peter that Jacques’s paintings and sculptures had skyrocketed in value during the past few years. Several of his works were now commanding sums in the high five-figure range.
“Nothing to say? Do not tell me you are speechless. I have never known Liza O’Malley to be at a loss for words. That sharp tongue of yours was always one of the things I enjoyed most about you.” There was laughter in his voice and the smile he gave her was pure sin. “But I have several very pleasant memories of finding ways to silence it.”
Liza flushed, recalling vividly the many times he had silenced her with his own mouth.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think it’s incredibly generous of you. You would really be willing to donate one of your pieces for the auction?”
“Not only will I donate it, I will allow you to select the piece,” he told her. “Choose from anything in Peter’s gallery. That is, anything except La Femme,” he said, his eyes darkening with desire. He reached out and drew his fingertip down her cheek. “It is the one piece I will never part with.”
Liza’s heart stammered. The familiar flutter of excitement began in her stomach and worked its way lower. Suddenly nervous, she drew back from his
touch. “Thank you,” she managed to say, only to be appalled by the husky tone of her voice. She swallowed. “Everyone will be thrilled, Jacques. This is really most generous of you. Just the money we raise from your gift alone will be enough to ensure the art camp for the kids will be a reality this summer.”
“So you will come to my dinner party?”
“Yes. Of course. Just tell me when and where.”
“Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. At the Gallaghers’ apartment.”
“Tomorrow night?” she repeated, frowning.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Uh, no. No problem.” Liza hesitated, disliking the thought of being away from home in the evening, but realizing she would have to do so this time. It also meant she would have to make arrangements quickly and pray that Mrs. Murphy would be available on such short notice.
“I thought it would be best to make the announcement as soon as possible so that you will be able to advertise it before the gala itself. But I will delay the party if you wish.”
“No. Tomorrow night will be fine.”
He eased off the edge of the desk and moved around the desk to stand in front of her. “You are sure?”
“Yes,” Liza assured him. Under his questioning gaze, she felt more of an explanation for her hesitation was needed. “It’s just that I live outside the city as I mentioned before and I...well, I try to avoid driving at night whenever I can.”
“You are welcome to spend the night at the apartment,” Jacques said with that devilish grin on his face.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
He moved a step closer, his body mere inches from her own. “Are you sure I cannot change your mind?”
“Quite sure,” she told him, her heart thudding in her chest.
At the knock on her door, Jacques hesitated and then stepped back. “Tomorrow night, then.”
“Tomorrow night,” she promised. As she watched him leave and her next appointment entered the office, Liza prayed that the next four weeks would go by quickly because she was finding it more and more difficult to say no to Jacques Gaston.
“I’m looking forward to that auction, Jacques, and you can count on me being the lady who’s going to walk away with that sculpture.”
“It will give me great pleasure to see you do just that, Madame Davis.” Jacques kissed the woman’s hand and reminded himself to send Peter’s assistant roses for suggesting that the monied art patron be included on his VIP guest list for tonight’s dinner party.
After shaking several more hands, he closed the door on the last of the dinner guests. Finally everyone was gone except Liza. Anticipation raced through him like a champion stallion out of the starting gate. He forced himself to take a deep breath. From the moment she had walked into the apartment tonight, looking both cool and sexy in her winter white cocktail suit, his body had gone on full alert. He had wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her until she was all ruffled and that polite look on her face had been replaced by one of desire. It had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to tell everyone to leave at once, that the party was over before it even began. Never in his life had he ever wanted a woman so badly as he wanted Liza O’Malley—not even three years ago when she had been the woman he had wanted.
Three weeks ago he had told himself it was part vengeance, part desire that had made him pursue her. Now he was no longer so sure. One thing he did know was that he would never experience peace again until Liza was his once more. He still wanted her with a passion that bordered on obsession. And despite her denials and silly fabrication of another lover, he knew that she still wanted him.
Pushing away from the door, Jacques went in search of Liza. He found her in the kitchen, stacking the last of the wineglasses into the dishwasher.
A makeshift apron was wrapped around her waist, pulling up the edge of her hem slightly on one side. Jacques smiled. His gaze skimmed the length of those legs appreciatively and then moved up and across the ivory skirt that covered that sweet little bottom of hers.
He was still contemplating her bottom and the fact that her hips were slightly fuller now than they had been three years ago, when Liza turned to place another glass in the dishwasher. Spotting him, she jumped. The glass slipped from her fingers and she shrieked as it fell to the floor and shattered. “Oh God, Jacques, I’m sorry,” she said, stooping down to pick up the broken glass. “I didn’t hear you come in over the music and when I turned around and saw you—”
“Forget about it. It is only a glass.” He stooped down beside her.
“It’s Aimee’s good crystal.”
“I will replace it,” he insisted, taking the broken shards from her hand.
Liza left him to retrieve the broom and dustpan. “Jacques, be careful or you’ll cut—”
The jagged stem sliced through his thumb. Reverting to his native French, Jacques cursed at the sudden sting and the sight of blood spilling forth. He dumped the pieces of glass into the trash bin.
“Look what you’ve done,” Liza admonished.
“I assure you it was not deliberate.”
“You should have been more careful.” She pulled him over to the sink and stuck his hand under the faucet. “Stay there,” she commanded and disappeared from the room.
Seconds later she was back with a box of bandages and antiseptic. Turning off the water, she dried the cut and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.
“It is only a scratch,” Jacques informed her. He slid his free arm around her waist to draw her closer and steal a kiss—a kiss he had been wanting all evening. God, but she smelled good.
“Behave yourself.” She shot him that cool duchess look while continuing to minister to his hand. “It’s definitely more than a scratch, but you’re right. It doesn’t look too deep.” She swatted at his arm until he released her, then retrieved the small brown bottle and box of Band-Aids. “I’m going to put some antiseptic and a bandage on it just the same. You don’t want any infection to set in.”
Leaning against the counter, Jacques grinned at Liza. “While I admit to wanting to feel your hands on my body, chérie, this is not what I had in mind.”
Awareness.
He watched it register in Liza’s eyes before she had a chance to bank it. Despite the nasty slice on his thumb, he was keenly aware of her light floral scent, the feel of her soft fingers on him, the nearness of her body. He had waited all evening to be alone with her, to taste that soft mouth again. He could almost feel the hot, sweet tightness wrapping itself around him.
Jacques sucked in his breath, his fantasy bubble bursting at the sudden sting.
“Be still,” Liza ordered, as she painted his thumb with another coat of antiseptic. “There. That should do it.” After quickly slapping on the bandage, she started to move away.
Jacques caught her hand. “Not so fast, Florence Nightingale.” He rubbed his thumb lazily across the inside of her wrist and smiled at the sudden quickening of her pulse. He leaned a fraction closer, bringing his mouth mere inches from hers.
“You should be returning to your other guests,” Liza informed him.
“Everyone. else has already gone.”
Her eyes widened before she replied. “Then I should be going, too.” She unfastened her apron and took a step back.
Jacques smiled as she met the edge of the kitchen counter. With the kitchen sink to her right, the island stove to her left and him in front of her, Liza had little room to escape. “Aren’t you going to kiss me to make sure I do not have a fever?”
“I doubt that a simple little cut like that would cause you to run a fever.”
“But you cannot be certain. Even as we speak, some terrible infection could be racing through my bloodstream. Why not kiss me and find out?”
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “You don’t give up, do you, Gaston?”
“Not when it is something I want. And I very much want you to kiss me, Liza.”
The laughter
faded from her lips. “If I’m checking for temperature, it’s supposed to be your brow that I kiss, not your mouth.”
“As usual, you Americans have it all wrong.” He caught her hand and drew her toward him. Heat spread through him and he bit back a groan as her soft, warm body pressed against him.
He caught the hitch in her breath. Her eyes shot up to meet his as the evidence of his arousal thrust against her. Unable to resist, Jacques lowered his head. Gently he brushed his mouth back and forth, outlined the shape of her lips with his tongue. “Liza,” he whispered her name.
She hesitated, but he continued to brush soft kisses across her mouth, stroking the seam of her lips with his tongue. Finally she sighed and he slipped his tongue inside to find hers. As she touched her tongue to his, Jacques admitted that no other woman had ever felt this right in his arms. Something shifted inside him, prodding that empty place where he knew his heart should have been. Only with Liza had it ever been like this. So hot. So demanding. So free.
And then suddenly he was beyond thinking, beyond reasoning. All he could do was feel as she tempted and teased him with her mouth. She clung to his shoulders, shaped her body to his. When she arched herself against him and deepened the kiss, Jacques thought he would go mad.
He gripped her hips, lifted her to the counter. Pushing up her skirt, he ran his fingers up over her knees, along her stockinged legs, across the lace tops of her hose to the inside of her bare thighs. He devoured her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside to mate with hers while he spread her legs wider. He cupped the heat at her center.
“Jacques,” Liza cried out as he imitated the movement with his finger through the silk of her panties.
Her breath whispered along his neck, sending rivulets of pleasure through him as he felt her grow wet and hot and ready for him, dampening his fingers through the silk of her panties. His breath was coming faster. His shaft strained against the fly of his slacks. Suddenly he didn’t think he could wait for her a moment longer. “Ah, chérie. It has been so long. I have wanted you so much. We will go to the bedroom later. I do not think I can wait that long to be inside you.” He reached for the edge of her panties to slip his fingers into her moist heat and prepare her for him.
