CHAPTER 8

Alyssa stood next to Jake half-listening to him talk to his father. She hated to admit it, but the butterflies in her stomach were as big as bats. She made herself look up at the men, but she’d already spotted Clay Duvall over near the bar. He hadn’t noticed her because he’d been gawking at a drop-dead gorgeous brunette in a black gown.

She would have recognized Clay anywhere, Alyssa thought, her breath catching. He was heavier through the chest and shoulders than she’d remembered, having shed any remnants of the boyish Clay Duvall she’d loved. He was mature now; they both were. Time did that to you, she reflected, knowing she’d changed as well.

Smoothing the midriff of the red silk sheath, Alyssa reminded herself that she was no longer the shy, insecure girl Clay had so easily charmed. Not only was she older, but the years in Italy working in the fashion industry had given her confidence and her own unique style. Every woman here would be wearing a designer gown while she’d designed her own gown. True, she’d given the sketch to a dress manufacturer and he’d produced it in exchange for jewelry for his girlfriend, but the idea had been hers and hers alone.

Phoebe appeared only slightly older than when Alyssa had last seen her, but the air of sophistication she’d worn like her own skin had taken on a hard edge. She was glamorous and poised and sure of herself, the way she’d been since Alyssa could remember.

Blond and blue-eyed and statuesque, Phoebe and Clay were a striking couple, she decided. Like a pair of matched Thoroughbreds, they belonged together. They always had. Their backgrounds, their breeding, their view of the world had been preordained long before they had been conceived.

Alyssa had been shackled with an appearance that was disarmingly similar to Phoebe’s, but they’d shared little else. Hattie had always pitted them against each other, telling Alyssa she wasn’t pretty enough, then taunting Phoebe, saying she wasn’t smart enough. Alyssa was positive that time and distance hadn’t changed this fact. Was confronting them a good idea? she asked herself yet again.

It had seemed like it when Jake suggested attending his father’s party and taking everyone by surprise. “The best defense is a good offense,” he’d told her. Now she wasn’t so certain.

The fine hair across the back of her neck prickled as she recognized the woman standing next to Phoebe. Ravelle Renault had crucified Alyssa when little Patrick Duvall had been kidnapped, insinuating she was responsible. Her vicious columns had led to Alyssa’s arrest.

At the far end of the gardens, Alyssa noticed a gazebo where a band was playing. A camera crew was filming the dancers who were gyrating on the parquet dance floor that had been brought in for the party. She recalled what Jake had told her about Ravelle’s television program and realized this must be Ravelle’s camera crew. Inwardly, she braced herself.

“I can’t get over it,” Max Williams was saying to her, and she forced herself to pay attention to him. “You look exactly like Phoebe. Almost twins.”

“We’ve often been mistaken for twins, but we’re only second cousins.”

“Phoebe’s a fine-lookin’ gal. Mighty fine. I see my son has great taste in women, too. You’re just as beautiful.”

Alyssa kept her eyes trained on Max and Jake, aware that conversation on the terrace had become hushed whispers. Jake smiled reassuringly, his hand now on the back of her waist.

“Alyssa’s a very talented designer, Max. That’s why we acquired her company.”

“What do you design?”

Alyssa gazed at Max, thinking this was exactly what Jake would look like when he was older. He’d be athletic and good-looking in a rugged way—not that he wasn’t attractive now.

“I design costume jewelry, specializing in beads. Some are semi-precious stones but most are crystal. Like this.” She touched the frothy collar of aquamarine briolette beads encircling her neck. “I like to think of it as wearable art.”

Max nodded, approval in his dark eyes. “Do you have a shop here?”

“She has representatives in New York the way most jewelry designers do,” explained Jake, his hand pressing hard on her back. “Her stores are in Italy, but she’s opening a shop here in the Warehouse District.”

This was news to Alyssa. They hadn’t discussed it, but she assumed the pressure of his hand meant he wanted her to agree. She nodded, thinking it was a good idea. “The French Quarter’s too touristy. The Warehouse District with all the art galleries and boutiques would be perfect.”

“Isn’t there a vacancy on the ground floor of your building?” asked Max.

“Yes. It’s a small shop but all she needs is display space. The business division already has relocated its headquarters to TriTech.”

“That so?”

Alyssa could tell Max knew nothing about this. From what Jake had told her, his father had retired, but still kept abreast of the inner workings at TriTech. She tried to concentrate on the idea of opening a new shop, but it was difficult with people staring at them. And with Clay so close after so many years apart.

She’d imagined this moment, dreamed about it more than she cared to admit even to herself. But nothing prepared her for the reality of seeing Clay with Phoebe at his side, and with Ravelle Renault coiled like a venomous snake ready to strike. She tamped down her misgivings, reminding herself that she had done nothing wrong. She had every right to be here.

“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 flickering 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.