twenty-seven

The weatherman had predicted rain for New Orleans and the thick, gray clouds overhead showed every indication that they were going to prove him right. The overcast day matched Kristen’s mood exactly as she made her way from the parking lot to St. Clair’s. She had made a complete and utter mess of everything. Rafe’s father had a much stronger hold on him than she ever could. How had she been so naïve as to think all it would take to heal Rafe was for him to let go and admit he cared about her?

The blast of a car horn pulled her up short and she stepped back on the sidewalk. When the car passed, she continued down Royal Street, busy even at nine-thirty. Passing a coffee shop, the aroma of freshly baked beignets and strong chicory coffee filled her nostrils. Her lips pursed. She hadn’t eaten and she wasn’t hungry. There had been no appointment with Angelique for breakfast. It had been a pitiful excuse that a child could have seen through.

Her hand clenched on the shoulder strap of her handbag. Obviously, Rafe hadn’t wanted her to stay. She’d been afraid that if she had, she’d start crying again and that time she wouldn’t have been able to stop.

We won’t make love again until we’re sure.

She walked around a slow-moving couple and continued down the street. She’d lied about her menstrual cycle. It was due in two weeks, not three, and she was like clockwork. The thought of pregnancy hadn’t entered her mind when she’d decided to go to Rafe. She hadn’t thought it would go so far so fast. But when she’d kissed him, her body had spiraled out of control.

Now they both might have to pay the consequences. What if she was pregnant? Her stomach did a back flip. She wasn’t sure if it was from dread or excitement.

Arriving at St. Clair’s, she saw that Jacques was already there and had opened the shop a few minutes early. She hated to admit it, but she hoped that meant he might close a bit early. She wasn’t sure she could cope with an endless stream of people today.

Entering, she immediately saw Jacques hanging a new picture in place of the Arthello Beck painting he’d sold the day before. “Good morning, Jacques.”

“Good morning,” he greeted, glancing over his shoulder. He frowned.

Kristen turned her head. She should have taken the time to find her shades. Make-up was no help for red, puffy eyes.

“You feel all right?” Jacques asked, coming to stand by her desk.

She busied herself putting away her purse. “I’m fine.”

“Kristen, I was married for twenty-seven years. I know when a woman’s been crying.”

She blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She reached for her purse and pulled out a tissue.

“I’d send you home if I thought you’d go.” He put his hand gently on her trembling shoulder. “Let’s change desks today. You can work on the inventory that just came in. You’ll be closer to the storage area.”

She had to swallow before she could say, “Thank you.”

“Rafe impressed me as an intelligent young man,” Jacques said as she rose to her feet. “Give it time.”

“That’s the one thing we don’t have,” Kristen said as she walked away.

*   *   *

Damien knew when he was being given the runaround. He’d handed it out enough, but this was the first time he was on the receiving end. Angelique was acquiring the annoying habit of becoming the first in a long list of unpleasant firsts.

And he was the one supposed to give her things first. What a joke!

Standing in front of her door, he jabbed her bell, and then paced. There was little assurance that she’d answer it quickly. For the past three days, she had been putting him off when he called. She was always about to see a client or go into a meeting. If he called her at home, she was busy on her dissertation.

He whirled back to the door and jabbed the bell repeatedly. “I know you’re in there, Angelique.”

Unfortunately, an elderly woman happened to be passing with her silky terrier. Eyeing him warily, she picked up the little dog and hugged the wall until she was well past him. Damien shoved his hand over his hair.

Another first. Scaring old ladies.

“This isn’t over, Angelique.” Spinning on his heels, he stalked to the elevator.

Inside, Angelique leaned her head against the door. There was a lump in her throat, a pain in her heart. This was for the best.

Damien was just angry because she’d thwarted him. A self-assured man like him wouldn’t easily accept a woman gaining the upper hand or dumping him. Probably a first. That was the reason he was so persistent. There was nothing special about his interest in her. He only wanted her for sex.

He’d get tired and move on to someone else. And just the thought of it made the pain in her chest deepen.

Scrubbing her hand over her face, Angelique went back to the papers scattered on the floor and picked up the laptop. Damien was her past. This was her future.

*   *   *

Claudette took the phone call in her father’s study. She sat in his favorite chair, where he’d wielded so much power and authority and taught her to do the same … no matter how distasteful. She felt closer to him here than any other place. After a rough day at work or on Sunday afternoon they’d spent long hours here, planning or just sharing the quiet comfort of the elegantly appointed, high-ceilinged room.

She’d never felt intimidated by the massive furniture or her father’s sharp mind. On rare occasions they’d sit and read for pleasure while a fire roared in the hearth or rain beat steadily against the lead glass windows, as it did today. It was fitting, she thought, that she be here when she talked to the man who held the key to her future and that of Thibodeaux International.

She listened closely to everything he said, each word indelibly seared into her mind. She had been right to take this course of action. It was bold and would cost heavily, both professionally and personally, but the alternative was too dire to even think about.

Honor above all else.

*   *   *

Jacques glanced up when the door opened. They hadn’t seen a real customer in two hours. The people who came in were trying to get out of the rain. He didn’t mind. There was always the possibility that they’d see an item they liked and decide to buy.

“Damien.”

Damien closed the umbrella and stuck it in the antique brass umbrella stand his mother had gotten for the gallery years ago. It came in handy on rainy days like this. “Hi, Dad. Is Kristen here?”

Jacques studied his son’s tight jaw, the glint in his eyes. It looked like Damien and Angelique had taken another wrong turn. “She’s in the back, but I don’t think you should bother her.”

“Why?” Damien snapped out.

Since his son was usually well-mannered and respectful, Jacques overlooked his brusque tone. Unrequited affection tended to put a man in a bad mood. “I think she and Rafe are having problems. She doesn’t need you harassing her about Angelique.”

Damien stuck his hands in his pockets. “Angelique won’t see me.”

Jacques’s eyebrow rose. “What did you do?”

His hands whipped out. “I—” He shoved his hand over his head. “I may have become a bit concerned when she started talking about the meaning of love or something.…”

“Something? You weren’t listening to her?” Jacques asked in disbelief.

Damien almost rolled his eyes. “Come on, Dad. I wasn’t expecting it and I might have gotten a little gun-shy—then Judge Randolph showed up and things went downhill fast.” Damien told his father what had happened at the restaurant. “I thought things were fine until the next day when she began avoiding me.”

“Randolph gives new meaning to the words dirty old man,” Jacques said with disgust.

Damien’s eyes were like chips of black ice. “He came to see me the next day with a lot of bull about wanting to save me. I set the self-righteous bastard straight. If he ever sees Angelique again, he’d better be on his best behavior or he’ll answer to me. But the way she’s avoiding me, I may not see her, either.”

“You think Kristen will tell you what’s going on?” Jacques asked.

“I’m hoping,” Damien said.

“Go on back—just be sensitive,” Jacques said, taking a seat behind Kristen’s desk. “There’s no sense in all of us being miserable.”

Damien planted his hands on the desk. “Claudette told us in an executive meeting that he’s out of town on a fact-finding mission. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s been different all week.”

Jacques stopped stacking papers. “You don’t usually discuss company business.”

“Like you said, there’s no sense in all of us being miserable.”

“It could mean nothing,” Jacques said, hoping in spite of himself, in spite of it being wrong to want another man’s wife.

“Or it could mean she’s finally taking a hard look at the situation.” Damien straightened.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jacques nodded his head toward the back of the shop. “Go.”

Knowing that his father didn’t want to discuss it anymore, Damien walked to the back. Seeing Kristen with her forehead in her palms, he knew his father was right. “Kristen.”

She looked up. Her facial muscles flexed as if she were trying to smile and couldn’t quite get them to cooperate.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She bit her lip, then shook her head once.

Damien would be the worst kind of bastard if he tried to get information from her when she was so upset and barely holding it together. “I just dropped in to see Dad and I thought I’d say hello. I didn’t mean to disturb you. ’Bye.”

“Damien.”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“Do you really care about Angelique or is it just sex?”

He started, then jerked his head toward the front of the shop. He’d never had his sexuality discussed so openly in his life. His father had been bad enough. Damien stared back at her. Kristen had always impressed him as the shy, naïve type.

She stared right back, red, puffy eyes and all. “Well?”

“I’m not sure how I feel, but I do know it’s not just about sex,” he said. If she asked anything else, he was out of there.

Kristen seemed to consider his words as she clutched a crumpled tissue in her hand. “Angelique didn’t ask me not to tell you, but I can’t betray a confidence.”

Damien eased closer to the desk. He’d known something was going on. “Can you give me a hint?”

“You already know the answer. All you have to do is figure out what you’re going to do about it.”

“What?” He frowned. “This isn’t some Oriental mysticism we’re discussing.”

“I can’t say more.”

He reached for her. “Kris—”

“Leave her alone!”

His hand still reaching for Kristen, Damien turned toward the harsh-sounding voice and saw the broad-shouldered man who had been with her at his father’s house the night of the party. Damien looked into the other man’s cold, black eyes and saw his life pass before him. He didn’t need Kristen’s soft exclamation to know that this man was the cause of her tears. Slowly he lowered his hand.

“I’m sorry, Kristen,” Damien said, not because he was afraid but because he had been wrong to become upset when she had tried to help him. “I hope you’ll both accept my apology.”

“It’s all right, Rafe.” Kristen came unsteadily to her feet. “Rafe Crawford, Damien Broussard, Jacques’s son. He’s a friend of Angelique’s.”

Damien was the first to extend his hand. Rafe slowly lifted his. “Again, I’m sorry. Angelique won’t see me, and I was trying to find out why.”

“I told you. You have the answer,” Kristen said, but her gaze kept straying to Rafe. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hope so.” He nodded. “Rafe. Kristen.”

Rafe didn’t pay any attention to Damien leaving. Kristen held his complete attention. He’d seen the good-looking man talking to her and jealousy had shot through him: then the man had shouted at her. Rafe had wanted to hit him. The only reason he didn’t was fear of causing her to lose another job. Considering he was Jacques’s son, that’s exactly what would have happened.

“What brings you here?”

You, he wanted to say. He hadn’t been able to work all day and when the rain started a little after two, he’d given up and driven to the gallery. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, but at least he could show her he valued the precious gift she’d given him. He just wished he’d come sooner. She looked miserable and she hadn’t stopped crying.

“I thought I’d walk around the Quarter for inspiration.”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Then you won’t be staying?”

“I might. You mind if I stick around for a while?”

“No,” she quickly said. “There’s some mahogany and teak statues that you may find interesting. Let me show you.” She took him to the glass-encased collection. “Take your time. They’re really beautiful—quite spectacular.”

“But they can’t match you,” he said, then clamped his mouth shut.

She blinked rapidly as if she were fighting tears. “Thank you.”

Embarrassed by his outburst, he turned back to the carvings.

*   *   *

Damien returned to the front of the gallery, deep in thought. It appeared that Kristen and Rafe might work out whatever problems they were having. At least they were talking. He wished he could say the same about him and Angelique.

“She tell you?” Jacques asked.

“Not unless you consider her cryptic message that I already had the answer, telling me.” He picked up the umbrella. “All I have to do is figure it out.”

“You will.”

“Yeah. Good-bye, Dad.” Stepping outside. Damien unfolded the umbrella and started down the street, his mind going over his last conversation with Angelique. He turned on St. Peter’s and headed toward the Mississippi River.

He dismissed the first thought that came to him because they had talked that through. Yet, somehow his mind always circled back to the same thing.

Letting down the umbrella, he went inside Jackson Brewery and up to Pat O’Brien’s on the third floor. The combination of rain and Saturday had the famous restaurant and bar crowded, so he was pleased to be shown a small table near the window looking out over the Mississippi.

The sky was a dull gray. The kind of day he’d like to be in bed curled up with Angelique or pulling sweet cries from her body. His fingers drummed on the table. Until he figured out why she was avoiding him, he wasn’t going to be able to do either.

Ordering a glass of mineral water with a twist of lime, he folded his arms and continued to stare out the window. You have the answer. That could mean he had already discussed it with Angelique.

He jerked upright in his chair, startling the waitress, who was about to place his drink on the table. Once again, if he had listened to his mother it would have saved him a lot of time and misery. She’d always tried to instill in his hard head that he should follow his first mind when he had tough choices in life or on an exam. “That’s it.”

He tossed a ten on the table and strode from the restaurant. He was going to wring Angelique’s beautiful neck.