Lovechild

by Metsy Hingle

  An icy chill ran through Liza’s veins at the thought of Jacques discovering the truth. She remembered how cold his eyes had grown, how unfeeling his voice had been when she had posed the hypothetical question of an unplanned pregnancy years before. Even now she could still remember the hardness in his expression when he insisted he would have the pregnancy terminated before bringing any child fathered by him into the world.

  “What surprises me is that he didn’t figure it out himself the minute he saw Jack.”

  “He’s never met Jack. In fact, he doesn’t even know I have a son.”

  Robert let out a low whistle. “You’ve got to be kidding? You can’t keep something like that a secret, Liza. I’m surprised you’ve managed it this long. Anyone who knows you knows about your son. I can’t believe someone hasn’t already said something about him in front of Gaston.”

  “I’ve been very careful and made sure I spent as little time in Jacques’s company as possible.”

  Robert frowned. “I don’t know, Liza. Seems to me it’s a dangerous game you’re playing. What are you going to do if he finds out?”

  “He won’t find out,” she said with more conviction than she was feeling. “Besides, in another week the gala will be over and he’ll be gone. Until then, I’ll just go on being careful.” And hope she could continue to manage resisting Jacques. Panic began to bubble inside her again at the thought of Jacques discovering the truth. She couldn’t risk Jacques’s rejection of their child. “Please, Robert. Promise me you won’t say anything to him.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake, Liza. If I were Gaston, I’d want to know that I had a son. I’d be plenty angry that you hadn’t told me a long time ago.” He paused. “It might make a difference.”

  “What might make a difference?” Jacques asked, moving to stand beside Liza.

  Liza tensed. Her stomach churned mercilessly, fearful of how much he had heard. She tried to think of something to say, but her tongue was like lead in her mouth, unable to move.

  Prying the wineglass from her fingers, Jacques gave her a quizzical look as he handed her a fresh glass. “Ginger ale,” he informed her, obviously thinking she meant to refuse.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to say despite the thickness in her throat.

  “What is this thing that you think will make some difference?”

  Robert’s gaze shifted from Jacques to her and back again. “I was suggesting that we announce tonight that I’ve made a preliminary bid on that sculpture you donated for the silent auction. In all likelihood, most of the people here will be the ones bidding on it the night of the gala. A little early competition might be good. It might drive up the interest and the price.”

  Liza sent a grateful look in Robert’s direction, and when he gave her an encouraging smile she made an effort to relax. Thank heavens, she thought, Jacques hadn’t heard them. What would she have done if he had? What would she do if he did find out he had a son? Would he hate her? Would he look at Jack and see the darkness in their son that he believed he saw in himself? Liza fought back a shudder at the thought.

  “It makes sense to me. What do you think, Liza?” Jacques asked.

  She jerked her attention back to him. “I...I guess it would be okay.”

  “Good, then it’s settled,” Robert said, making her almost believe that they had actually been discussing something as simple as the silent auction.

  “Then let’s go make the announcement and get the ball rolling,” Robert suggested, favoring her with another approving look before moving to her side. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you Gaston?” Without waiting for an answer, he guided Liza to the front of the room and called for everyone’s attention.

  Thirty minutes later, Liza slipped out of the living room of the Carstairs mansion and into the study. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, grateful to shut out the hum of voices, the tinkling of glasses and china, her awareness of Jacques. Making her way silently across the cream-colored carpet of the impeccably decorated room, Liza breathed a sigh of relief.

  Dear Robert, she mused. He had been right. The im- promptu announcement that he intended to add Jacques’s piece to his extensive art collection had served to heighten the interest of the other collectors present. And no doubt the bidding at the auction for the work on the night of the gala would be fierce. Liza smiled as she considered what that would mean to the summer camp for the kids.

  And of course Jacques’s presence, his encouragement that the people be generous and think of the children hadn’t hurt, either. In truth, it was Jacques’s own generosity that had made it all possible. Gratitude and pride rushed through her as she thought of the children who would benefit from his selflessness. Though he had claimed to have done it for her, Liza knew better. She had heard too many stories from Peter and Aimee over the years of Jacques’s generosity. Besides, hadn’t she herself witnessed firsthand his impassioned plea to the media for support of the fund-raiser?

  Why then, Liza asked herself as she had so often in the past, would a man who was so giving and who brought so much light to people’s lives, consider himself incapable of loving anyone because of a darkness inside him?

  The answer was the same one she had reached three years ago. Because it wasn’t a matter of Jacques not being able to love, but simply a case of his not loving her. The realization, though not new, sent a fresh shaft of pain through her just the same.

  Moving to the window, Liza gazed out into the beauty of the winter night. Stars dusted the sky, twinkling against the canvas of black. The moon glowed like a huge glass ball suspended in space, glistening on the freshly fallen snow. In just over a week it would be Christmas.

  And by then Jacques would be gone. The speed and sharpness of the ache that came with the thought surprised her, making her feel lonelier than she had in a long time. Liza hugged her arms around herself. Had she been fooling herself these past few weeks? Deep down inside had she secretly been hoping that he would stay?

  “A lovely picture, isn’t it?”

  Liza spun around and spied Jacques standing a few feet away. She had been so tangled in her thoughts she hadn’t even heard him enter the room. “Yes,” she finally managed to say, making an effort to keep her voice cool despite the frantic beating of her pulse. She turned back to stare out the window. “There’s something beautiful about seeing everything covered with snow at this time of year.”

  “That is because it looks like one of your Christmas cards.”

  Cocking her head to the side, she considered that. “Yes, I guess it does.”

  “And I remember how much you like Christmas.”

  The words were a soft whisper against her neck. Liza could hear the smile in his voice, see it in his eyes as she caught his reflection in the window’s glass when he moved to stand behind her. “Everyone likes Christmas,” she said, steeling herself against the warmth of his nearness and her feelings for him.

  “Not the way you do. I remember the way you smiled when we plugged in the Christmas tree that year, the way your eyes glowed when you saw the wrapped package under the tree. More than anything, I wished that I could have afforded to buy you a dozen gifts that Christmas just for the simple pleasure of watching your face light up when you opened each package.”

  Liza swallowed. Her heart pounded wildly. A buzzing started in her head at the yearning she saw in his eyes and the regret. She tore her gaze away from his image, determined not to be caught in the maelstrom of memories. “I didn’t want a dozen gifts, Jacques.” All she had wanted was him.

  “But I wanted to give them to you just the same. I wish you would let me give them to you now.”

  He turned her around to face him, touched her face with his fingers. The simple movement sent a surge of heat and longing through her.

  “Why did you send back the scarves, Liza?”

  “Because I couldn’t accept them.”

  “You accepted the flowers, the fortune cookies.”

  “Beca
use it would have been too much trouble to try to send them back, and you wouldn’t have been able to get a refund even if I did. But the scarves were a different story. They were too expensive, Jacques. You shouldn’t have sent them. In fact, you shouldn’t have sent any of the gifts. I wish you would stop.”

  “I do not want to stop. I can afford to give you expensive things now, which I could not do three years ago.”

  “But I can’t accept them from you.”

  “Why not?” he asked, disarming her by sliding a strand of hair behind her ear and stroking her lobe in the process. Liza fought the shiver of sensation that rushed through her at his touch. She kept her eyes open, when she wanted to shut them. She kept her back stiff, when she wanted to lean against him. “Because a gift like that, it’s too...too personal.”

  He smiled at her, then smoothed his finger from the tip of her ear, along the line of her jaw. “It was meant to be personal.”

  “But there’s nothing personal between us anymore.”

  “Liar.” To prove his point, he moved a fraction closer. His lips curved when she took a step back and came up against the windowsill.

  She hiked up her chin, determined not to give in to the dizzying sensation that was building inside her. His fingers never stopped, just continued in a lazy journey down her neck, her ribs, the dip in her waist, the curve of her hips. Then he began retracing the path. “We can’t go back, Jacques.”

  “Who wants to go back?” He brushed his mouth against her ear and whispered, “The present suits me just fine.”

  Liza clamped her lips shut to cut off the moan that had risen in her throat. His fingers inched their way upward to the sides of her breasts. She braced herself, determined not to let him know just how badly she wanted to feel his hands close around her, how much she wanted to press her aching nipples into his palms. “You’re wasting your time, Jacques,” she said, surprised she could sound so calm when inside she was splintering. “You’re not going to change my mind. I’m not going to go to bed with you.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she told him firmly, only to realize too late her own mistake. She had challenged him, and Jacques Gaston was not a man to refuse a challenge—especially not one issued by a woman. He was too experienced, too adept at the workings of the feminine mind and body to do otherwise. His pursuit of her three years ago had been proof enough. His relentless attempts to seduce her during these past few weeks had merely confirmed it. Silently Liza cursed her own stupidity.

  Cupping her chin in his hand, he tipped up her face, and Liza caught the mocking gleam in his eyes. “It appears I will have to work harder on changing your mind.”

  And before she could object, he was fitting his mouth to hers, tasting, teasing, tempting. Slowly he traced his tongue along the line of her mouth, the seam of her tightly closed lips. Liza forced herself to remain rigid against the onslaught, willing her fingers not to slide into his hair, not to press her body closer to him.

  “Open for me, sweet Liza.”

  Her stomach quivered, but she held her ground, reciting the words to Jack’s favorite cartoon song in her head to keep from responding. She had to prove to Jacques that she was unaffected by his kiss.

  Then he nipped her bottom lip. Liza gasped in surprise and Jacques took advantage by moving in. He continued to tease her, to tempt her, to try to seduce her with his mouth and his tongue. Desperate, Liza began another series of mental gymnastics to keep herself from responding. She had moved from the names of the seven dwarfs to those of Santa’s reindeer.

  Blitzen. Blitzen. Who comes after Blitzen? Liza struggled, feeling her control begin to slip with each stroke of his clever tongue. Her head swam and she was just about to give up on the reindeer, when Jacques lifted his head.

  Liza drew in a deep breath and as her vision began to clear, she noted Jacques’s stunned expression. Something hot and dangerous flickered in his eyes, and he started to touch her again.

  Quickly Liza stepped out of his reach. “Like I said before, you really are wasting your time trying to seduce me,” she told him coolly, praying her legs wouldn’t prove what a phony she was by buckling beneath her before she could make it out the door.

  “It’s not over, Liza.”

  “Yes, it is. Sorry if that hurts your ego, but that’s the way it is.” Gripping the doorknob for support, she told herself to make it good. Make him believe she was no longer interested in him. She angled her chin up another notch and looked back over her shoulder at him. Feigning a coolness she was far from feeling, she quipped, “You might want to give Melanie Stevens a try. She’s the striking redhead in the black cat suit. She’s had her eye on you all evening.”

  Damn her. She had been right, Jacques admitted silently. She had done a number to his ego. Anger and frustration surged through him as he recalled Liza’s response to his kiss. He had been so drunk on the taste and feel of her in his arms that it had taken several long moments before he realized that while his mind and body were going up like a whiff of smoke, she was as cool and unaffected as a piece of stone.

  Damn her. Jacques snagged the glass of whiskey he had ordered from the bar. He had spent a lot of time in the company of women, known too many females intimately—including Liza—not to expect more than tolerance of something as personal as a kiss. Hell, a slap to his face would have been preferable to that bored and distracted look she had given him.

  Frustrated, he took a swallow of the whiskey and tracked Liza’s movements about the room. Dammit, he had a reputation as a man who loved women—a reputation he had rightfully earned. And while not all of those women had tumbled into his bed, a fair share of them had—including Liza. Not even the cool “touch me not” princess she had been three years ago had been that unaffected. And she certainly hadn’t been so cool and controlled when he had kissed her last week.

  “There’s someone else.”

  Her words ran through his head again and Jacques experienced that quick one-two punch to the gut. Once more he shoved the notion aside. He refused to believe it. She was lying. She had to be. Not once in the five weeks since their paths had crossed again had he seen any evidence of another man save Carstairs. He watched as Carstairs, his hand at Liza’s back, led her to another trio of guests. Jealousy stirred inside him, digging in its claws.

  Scowling, Jacques turned away. He tossed back the last of the whiskey and palmed the glass, debating whether to have another. He thought of his father, of the times he had seen the other man’s mood shift from charming to angry to downright mean with each dip in the bottle. Remembering the ugliness that followed, Jacques set down his glass.

  “Hello again.”

  Jacques shook off the memory and turned to face the owner of the deep, sultry voice—Melanie Stevens, the stunning redhead whose name Liza had tossed out to him. “Mademoiselle Stevens.” Jacques inclined his head.

  She arched one brow. “Robert barely introduced us before he whisked you off to meet someone else. I didn’t think you’d remember my name.”

  “I never forget a beautiful woman’s name.” Jacques flashed her a smile, more because it was expected than because he actually wanted to.

  “You’re a dangerous man, Jacques Gaston.” She smiled at him, her hazel eyes twinkling with pleasure and anticipation. “Fortunately, I’m a woman who likes danger. If you’ve had your fill of rubbing elbows with the monied gentry, I know a place that serves a mean Black Russian and some pretty hot jazz. Interested?”

  As invitations went, it was a good one, and he had no doubts that if he took the sexy redhead up on her offer, he wouldn’t spend another sleepless night tossing and turning alone in his bed.

  Only it wasn’t the sexy redhead he wanted. Or any of the equally sexy blondes or brunettes who had crossed his path during the past month. He wanted Liza. His gaze strayed to the cool, green-eyed blonde across the room. It’s revenge and lust, he told himself, had been telling himself for the past month. But he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach
that he was lying to himself.

  The thought scared the hell out of him.

  He shifted his attention back to the woman before him. He should run like hell, take the luscious Melanie up on her offer and let her help him forget about Liza.

  He couldn’t do it. Jacques raked a hand through his hair with unsteady fingers. Despite what many people thought, what he had encouraged them to believe, he didn’t use women. He couldn’t use this one. “You are a gorgeous woman, Melanie Stevens, and someday when I am an old man, I am sure I will regret this. But I am afraid I am going to pass.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Jacques found himself laughing out loud. He suspected Melanie Stevens had seldom had a man turn her down before. “I am afraid so.”

  Tipping her head slightly she glanced in the direction where his attention had been focused—to where Liza stood with Robert Carstairs and another couple. “Other plans?”

  Jacques thought about that a moment. “If I am lucky, yes.”

  Her lips spread into a mischievous smile. In her tightfitting cat suit with her painted mouth and sultry eyes, she reminded him of a naughty kitten. “Hmm. Well, since your interests lie elsewhere, maybe I can do us both a favor and see if Robert’s in need of some consolation.”

  Jacques watched Melanie saunter off and neatly cut Robert away from the group before deciding to make his own move. They had been here for more than two hours, surely they could leave now, he thought as he started in Liza’s direction. Although she had insisted she was going to drive home, he had no intention of allowing her to do so—at least not alone.

  God, he wanted her. Was it possible to want someone so much and for them not to feel the same? He sincerely hoped not. Because he was about to go insane with the wanting and waiting.

  “Jacques, there you are,” Jane Burke said, spotting him just before he reached Liza. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet....”