by Metsy Hingle
“Some of my things?” she repeated, feeling as though she were in a daze.
“Yes. Since I will only be here for another week, I had hoped you would want to spend it with me.”
The fragile dreams she’d begun to spin in her head crumbled like dust. “I take it when you said we had wasted too much time, you meant that we had wasted time by not resuming our affair when you first came to Chicago.”
“Yes, of course.” He sighed. “But we still have this next week. I will be here until Christmas.”
Suddenly cold, Liza pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. “And then?”
“And then we can try to make sure that our paths will cross often. I am in Chicago at least once a year.” Jacques narrowed his eyes. “What is wrong, Liza? You have said you love me, that you do not love this Jack. And yet—”
“I never said I didn’t love Jack.”
Jacques’s lips tightened into a thin line. An angry muscle ticked in his cheek. “Do you love him?” he spat out the question.
“Yes. I do.”
“You expect me to believe you are in love with both of us?”
“It’s true.”
Jacques turned from her. He gripped the steering wheel and swore. “Then you will have to choose. I will not share you, Liza. Not even for a little while. Either you love me or you love him.”
Liza’s heart pounded. Say you love me. Tell me you want us to be together always—not just for a quick fling, she prayed. But he didn’t say any of those things. Finally she said, “If I have to choose, then it’s Jack that I choose.”
Jacques swore. “Why?” he demanded. “You do not wear his ring. You were even dating Carstairs, so it cannot be because he is offering marriage and I am not.”
“No. That’s not the reason.”
“Then why? Why him and not me?”
Her heart twisted at the anguish in his voice. She swallowed. “Because he gives me the one thing that you either can’t or aren’t willing to give me, Jacques. He gives me his love.”
“I care for you, Liza.”
Liza shook her head. “Caring and wanting aren’t enough. I want you to love me, Jacques. Enough to trust that we can build a life together.” When she saw his shuttered expression, Liza realized she had lost even before he said the words.
“Then go to your Jack, chérie, because I have no love inside me to give to you or to anyone.”
Jacques groaned and pulled a pillow over his aching head at the sound of the ringing telephone. The person who had come up with the expression “Drowning ones sorrows” obviously had never tried following his own advice. Because after forty-eight hours of becoming intimate friends with a bottle of Jack Daniels, he didn’t feel a lick better now than when he had started. If anything, he felt worse.
“Thank God,” he muttered, when the phone finally stopped ringing. He tossed the pillow aside, then tried to sit up, only to wince as the movement sent another jolt of pain shooting to his head. And whatever American, because he was sure it had to have been an American, had coined the term “Out of sight, out of mind” didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, either. Because despite the fact that he hadn’t seen Liza for four days, not once had he been able to close his eyes without seeing her face.
And he couldn’t stop wondering if she was with her Jack.
Dammit. He’d known dozens of women, made love to more than a few. One woman should not be able to haunt him this way. Not him. Not Jacques Gaston. He loved women. Loved everything about them. The way their minds worked, the way their bodies differed from his. The way they looked, smelled, felt. And he loved making love to them. Only now, somehow, everything had gotten all screwed up. The only woman he wanted was Liza. And the thought of making love to anyone but her held absolutely no appeal. Zilch. Zip. Zero.
Not even the unexpected dinner invitation from Melanie Stevens had helped. He’d known he was in deep trouble when he’d heard himself turning down her generous offer after the meal. That’s when he decided to drown himself with the help of his pal Jack Daniels.
But it hadn’t helped, either. Nothing had helped, dammit. Not his work, not another women, not even a sea of liquor. He still had that sick, tight feeling in his chest. It simply wouldn’t go away. How in the hell was he supposed to get through the gala this weekend without breaking Liza’s boyfriend in two and begging her to stay with him by offering her more than he should?
The phone started to ring again and Jacques snatched it up. The sudden motion sent another jackhammer blow to his head. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Gaston, this is Mary Ellen from Ms. O’Malley’s office,” the bubbly voice said. God, how he hated those cheery people like her right now. “I just wanted to remind you about the interview scheduled at Gallagher Foundation this afternoon for three-thirty.”
Jacques looked toward the windows and squinted at the bright sunshine dancing along the glass panes. No. He couldn’t see Liza again. Not yet, not until he got himself and his emotions under control. “Thank you for reminding me, Mary Ellen, but tell Ms. O’Malley I will not be able to come. I am sure she will do just fine without me.”
“But, Mr. Gaston. You have to be there.”
“Why?” he asked, frowning at the alarm in the other woman’s voice.
“Because this is the interview for the community news publication. They’re supposed to interview you and Ms. O’Malley together. They’re planning on taking photos of the two of you working with the children.”
Jacques sighed as he recalled being told about the photo shoot and accompanying piece several weeks ago. At the time, he had thought it great exposure for Aimee and Peter’s charitable foundation, as well as for the fund-raising gala. When the suggestion came up that he participate by giving an art lesson to the children, he had agreed. But his motives had been more selfish than altruistic. He had known it would give him another opportunity to be with Liza.
“Mr. Gaston? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Mary Ellen. I am here.”
“What should I tell Ms. O’Malley?” she asked.
“Tell her I will see her at three-thirty.”
Hanging up the phone, Jacques gingerly made his way to the shower. If there were any justice in the world, he told himself, Liza was feeling just as miserable as he was.
She didn’t look the least bit miserable, Jacques decided, as he watched Liza from the table where he had been working with one of the children in the group of five-year-olds. Feeling restless, he had decided to come early for the interview and help out with the younger group of would-be Picassos. Except for a quick hello that was followed by a tight smile, she had barely looked his way.
He, on the other hand, had difficulty keeping his eyes off her. Dressed in that red suede and leather suit and matching suede boots, she had him thinking of Christmas wishes and fantasies that didn’t have a prayer of coming true.
She laughed at something a dark-haired boy said, then stooped down beside him. The suede fabric tightened across her bottom. Jacques took a deep breath and closed his eyes to shut off the erotic thoughts he was having of stripping off that suit and discovering red lace beneath it.
“Mr. Jacques, are you okay?” the blond pixie he had been working with asked.
“I am fine, ma petite. Why do you ask?”
“Because you had a funny look on your face.”
He tweaked the girl’s nose. “That is because I have a funny face.”
The child laughed and went back to work on her picture. And Jacques went back to watching and wanting Liza.
“Ms. Liza, look what I drawed,” the tow-haired girl at the next table called out. “It’s a Christmas tree.”
“And what a lovely tree it is,” Liza declared.
“Look at mine,” the little girl under Jacques’s direction piped in.
Liza turned, and her gaze collided with his for long seconds, before she looked away and came to stand next to the child. “What ha
ve you got there, Tori?”
“I’ve got a Christmas tree, too. And a family. See, there’s the mommy, the daddy and the little girl. My mommy says Christmas is a time for families.”
Liza’s smile withered on her lips. A pained expression crossed her face. Jacques frowned, wondering what had made her so sad.
“Do you like it?” the child asked.
“It’s beautiful,” Liza said in a voice that sounded husky and thick. A strained smile spread across her lips. “I’m sure your mommy and daddy. will love it, too.”
He wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms. He settled for touching her arm. “Liza, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thanks,” she said coolly, stepping away from his touch.
Her rebuff smarted; still he pushed. “I think we should talk.”
“I don’t think so, Jacques. I believe we covered everything the other night. Now if you’ll excuse me, I just saw the reporter come in, and I’d like to get this interview over with. I still have a lot of things to take care of before the gala this weekend.”
Un, deux, trois...
Jacques gritted his teeth and began counting to ten. Impulsive, volatile, quick-tempered by nature, for the next fifty minutes he exercised a patience that he was proud of. He answered questions, posed with children for photographs, gave a quick lesson on watercolors. He listened as Liza detailed the merits of the Gallagher Foundation and the purpose and goals behind the fund-raising gala that weekend. He added his own spin on the importance of the fund-raiser and his support of its efforts.
By the time the infernal session had come to an end, Jacques had decided to take his best shot. Evidently what Liza was looking for was a commitment. Whatever she felt for this Jack fellow, it obviously wasn’t strong or she wouldn’t still love him. Given a choice, Liza might be willing to settle for what he could offer her. He couldn’t offer her love—even if he were capable of such an emotion, and he was quite sure he wasn’t, he’d vowed long ago never to risk the repercussions. Not even for Liza.
No. He couldn’t offer her love, but he could offer her his desire and his fidelity. For a man who’d always taken great care in selecting partners who wanted the same “no strings attached” relationship as he did, it was a big step. It was a commitment. He hoped for Liza it would be enough.
The photographer began to repack his equipment and Jacques moved next to her. “Do you think we might go somewhere for a cup of coffee?”
She hesitated, and Jacques suddenly found himself nervous. He shoved his hands into his pockets. What an odd position for him to be in, Jacques mused. He’d never had any problem when it came to speaking to women. But then, there had never been anyone else like Liza. Shaking off the bout of nerves, he pressed, “Please, Liza. I would really like to talk to you.”
“All right. Let me get my things first.”
“Ms. O’Malley,” the teacher who supervised the children’s class came over to her. “There’s a gentleman here to see you. The good-looking fellow over there by the door.”
Jacques looked at the man and then at Liza. Her face lit up. Her eyes glowed. A wide smile spread across her lips. He felt a flash of jealousy and anger, but worse, he felt pain. She hadn’t been lying, he realized. She really did love this other man. Something inside him died.
“Jacques, I... Do you mind? That’s—”
“No need to explain. Go ahead. It is not important.”
She paused. “But I thought—”
“Liza,” the man called over to her and waved.
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Do not keep your friend waiting.”
Jacques stayed, however. Long enough to watch her rush over to the other man, to see her go into his arms, to have him lift her and spin her around. Then he had seen the little boy rush over and the three of them hugging and laughing with one another.
Then he couldn’t watch any longer, couldn’t bear to see the love shining in their eyes for one another. The picture perfect family they made.
Racing for the side exit, he barely made it into the men’s room before doubling over and throwing up. He could blame it on the booze, Jacques told himself, as he rinsed his mouth out at the basin.
But it wasn’t the liquor, he admitted to his pasty reflection in the mirror. He splashed cold water on his face. It was Liza and the realization that even if he hadn’t completely lost her, he had to let her go.
It had been one thing to pursue her, to try to seduce her into having an affair with him when he had thought she hadn’t wanted more. Even after seeing her with those children today he had still convinced himself an affair with him would be enough. But after watching her with the other man and his son, he knew he could never ask her to settle for what little he could give.
He pressed his fist to his chest, feeling as though someone had just ripped out his heart. Someone had. Liza O’Malley. And he’d helped her to do it.
Staggered by the realization, he gripped the edge of the sink. He’d thought he’d been so smart, so clever, engaging in the game of love but never engaging his heart. Even with Liza he had told himself there was no risk. He had taken such care, such pains, to let her know he couldn’t offer anything more than passion. To make sure he felt nothing more than passion.
But passion had never felt like this. Passion, even when it ended, had never hurt like this. Nothing in his life had ever hurt like this.
He wouldn’t give a name to this feeling he had for Liza. Was afraid to study it too closely. But one thing he did know, he cared for her too much, and feared for himself just as much, to stay.
He had no choice. For both their sakes he would have to walk away.
Eight
“Edward.” Liza hugged the handsome, blond Adonis. “What are you doing here?”
“Now is that any way for a little sister to greet her big brother?”
Liza swatted her brother’s arm. “In case you haven’t noticed, you idiot, I’m not so little anymore.”
“Mommy says calling people names isn’t nice.”
“And your mother’s right,” she told her nephew, trying to look properly chastened. “And speaking of your mommy, where is she?”
“Elise is in the ladies’ room changing Mandy’s diaper. We caught the end of your speech. It was good, Sis. Real good. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Liza said, flushing under his praise.
“Didn’t mean to scare off your friend.”
“My friend?”
He inclined his head behind her. “The big guy you were talking to. Looked real intense. Don’t tell me that was Robert Carstairs. He doesn’t quite fit my image of the finemannered aristocrat that Mom described.”
Remembering Jacques, Liza whipped around. But he was no longer there. “No. No, that wasn’t Robert. In fact, he and I aren’t seeing each other anymore. So tell me,” she said, changing the subject before he could question her further. “What are you guys doing here?”
Edward hesitated. His brow furrowed a moment. “Hoping to have an early Christmas with you and Jack. Mom said you decided not to come home for the holidays this year.”
“It’s a really busy time for me. With the gala this weekend and all. Besides, this is our first Christmas in our new home. Last year we were still in an apartment. I want Jack to wake up in his own bed Christmas morning and be able to run out and see what Santa Claus brought him. I want to make some special memories for him to look back on, like the ones you and I had as kids.” And deep down, she admitted, a part of her had hoped that maybe Jacques could have been a part of those memories. Shaking off the sad thoughts, she gave her brother a smile. “Anyway, we’ll be coming out after Christmas.”
Her brother squeezed her hand. “I know. But Elise and I will be gone before you get there. That’s why we’re here. We decided to leave a few days early and stop here first. We thought we’d visit with you and Jack and let you visit with your niece and nephew before we head on to Mom and Dad’s for Christmas. Do you mind?”
>
“Mind? I’m thrilled.” And she was. She loved her family and was close to them. Even though they hadn’t understood or agreed with her decision not to tell Jacques she was pregnant three years earlier, they had stood by her.
“Then having us around for a day or two won’t, you know, cramp your style?”
“Cramp my style?” Liza repeated.
Her brother shrugged and busied himself retying his son’s shoe. “Yeah. You know, get in the way of your social life.”
Liza wrinkled her brow. She had a sneaking suspicion there was more behind her brother’s visit than he was saying. She was just about to call him on it, when Eddie, Jr., made a dash for the door.
“Mommy! Here we are!”
Liza shifted her gaze to her sister-in-law, who was approaching and holding a tiny dark-haired version of herself with one hand and little Eddie’s hand in the other. “Liza, you look fabulous,” she said, turning over the children to her husband. “Not that I can remember you looking any other way.”
Liza gave the other woman a warm hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” Elise’s brown eyes sparkled as she stepped back from Liza’s embrace. “So now, tell me. Is it true what Mother O’Malley says? Have you really taken back up with that scoundrel Jacques Gaston again?”
Edward groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“What’s a scoundrel, Aunt Liza?” four-year-old Eddie asked.
“He’s a sneaky older brother who, if he values his life, had better mind his own business.”
But her brother hadn’t minded his business. Back at her home that evening and the next one, after dinner was finished and all the children had been put to bed, Edward ranted and raved, cajoled and pleaded with her. When even his threats didn’t work, he threw up his hands.
“I don’t understand you, Liza. How could you take up with the man again and not tell him he’s the father of your son!”
“I told you it’s business between me and Jacques,” Liza argued.
“Bull sh—”
