CHAPTER 13

Jake buzzed Spencer again. “Is Troy back yet?”

“He’s still at lunch. I’ll let you know the minute he comes in.”

At lunch this late? Jake settled back in his chair to evaluate yet another report, but his thoughts turned to his father. The old man had been pleasant enough after he’d given in about dumping Rossi Designs, but Jake didn’t quite trust him. That’s why he was anxious to see his assistant, Troy Chevalier.

Jake had been troubled about the acquisition of Duvall Imports from the very beginning, and Troy had agreed. For a family-owned company, Clay Duvall’s importing business was quite complex. They hadn’t been able to thoroughly analyze it before Max had pushed for the deal to close. Then Jake had spotted a glitch in Duvall’s books. He’d sent them out to a forensic accountant.

Now Jake was even more suspicious. What was going on between his father and the Duvalls? Jake knew Max envied their social connections, which was something Jake found difficult to understand. When he was in a room with a hundred people bent on impressing each other, he reached critical mass and got the hell outta Dodge. Not his father.

Why does Max care so much about Phoebe and Clay? fake wondered.

Jake picked up the telephone and pressed for Spencer. “Get me Duvall,” he said the moment his secretary came on the line. Jake cradled the phone between his head and his shoulder and began to read a troubling earnings projection.

“Mr. Duvall’s at lunch,” Spencer told him. “I told his secretary to have him call you when he returns.”

“Thanks.” Jake hung up. What was it with all the late lunches?

A few minutes later, Troy breezed into Jake’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

“Did the report come back yet from the forensic accountants going over Duvall Imports’ books?”

“No, but we should be getting it soon.” His assistant trained his dark eyes directly on Jake while he smoothed back his receding blond hair. It was a familiar gesture, but one he found slightly vain.

“Why’s it taking so long?”

“There aren’t many companies who understand the importing business. Overton and Overton is the best.”

“Okay, I’ll have to wait. Here are the preliminary numbers from the Lasko Division.” Jake slid the document toward Troy. “Quarterly earnings are going to be down—again.”

Troy leaned over and examined the report. Well, I’ll be a dog, Jake thought. Is that lipstick on Troy’s collar?

“Late lunch?” he asked. It was fast approaching four o’clock.

“Yes. I had to wait to make calls to PanPacific before I could grab a bite.” Troy sounded a shade defensive.

“Why don’t you take off early,” Jake suggested. “You work too hard. Get out and meet some people. Southern women are the greatest.”

Troy nodded thoughtfully as if this was new and interesting information. His assistant had been different lately. Maybe Troy was coming around to his wealthy father’s point of view. He wanted his son to return to Paris and run one of the family businesses instead of working for someone else.

“I’ve been thinking. Life’s short. We should enjoy it more.” He couldn’t help smiling, thinking of Alyssa and hoping Troy would get a life. “I don’t want to feel guilty about you working late if I’m taking off.”

“That’s what you pay me the big bucks to do.” Troy picked up the Lasko report. “I’ll make a copy of this and get it back to you.”

Troy walked out of the office, and Jake hoped he hadn’t insulted him or something. Troy seemed a little touchy, which was unusual. Maybe because he was covering up the affair he was having. That was lipstick on his collar.

Boinking some secretary in the middle of the day? It didn’t seem like Troy, but Jake had almost flung Alyssa across her desk. Aw, hell, let Troy do his thing. He made up for it by working as hard as two people. Jake had no idea what he’d do without Troy Chevalier.

Jake had taken night courses and studied business relentlessly. He could hold his own now, and more often than not, he was ahead of everyone in a business meeting. Still, business dealings were complicated and getting more complex all the time. Troy’s degree from the London School of Economics made his advice invaluable.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the space between the Mayfair Club and the adjacent building. Clay shielded his eyes with a raised hand, telling himself he shouldn’t have spent the afternoon in the bar with old friends from the Orion krewe. He should have gone back to TriTech. Well, it was too late now.

Where was he going to go? He had a room upstairs at the club, but he didn’t want to sit there by himself. Going home was out of the question.

“Clay, Clay.”

He recognized Maree Winston’s voice. He’d done right by her, hadn’t he? What did she want from him now? He wished he hadn’t ordered that third Johnny Walker. It had made him a little foggy and not up to dealing with Maree.

“Maree, what are you doing here?”

“Dante and I need to speak to you.”

Clay tried not to groan. He’d met Maree’s psychic before, a six foot plus Bahamian with a television evangelist’s gift for gab and thirst for money. If the South had won the war of Northern Aggression, Clay wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of Dante.

Dante stepped forward, blocking Clay’s path. “You’ve had a reversal of fortune, mon.”

Clay couldn’t believe Dante could master such big words. Clearly, he’d come a long way. “What do you mean?”

“Your wife, mon, she be making big-time trouble for you.”

He had no doubt Dante was right, and it didn’t take psychic power to know Phoebe was furious with him. She had a sneaky, mean streak that often turned vicious, but she loved him—obsessively—and wouldn’t do anything serious to him. She’d content herself with making his life miserable.

“We can help you.” Maree grabbed his arm and led him toward a sleek black limousine waiting at the curb.

Clay allowed her to guide him into the limo. “I don’t need help. Take me to the office.”

“Clay, darling.” Maree slid in beside him while Dante sat at the far end of the limo. “I know what you need.”

She gazed into his eyes, and all he could think about was Alyssa. What the fuck was she doing with Jake Williams? She belonged to him, and she always had from the moment he’d first seen her at Phoebe’s sixteenth birthday party. Alyssa had been living with the LeCroixs before then, but she’d never appeared at family gatherings. That evening she’d been in the kitchen helping fill hors d’ ouvre platters.

Clay had been on his way out to the pool house with Wyatt to smoke a joint where their parents wouldn’t catch them. Wyatt had introduced him to Alyssa, and they’d spoken briefly before the housekeeper had yelled for her to get to work. He’d called to ask Alyssa out, but Hattie LeCroix had emphatically told him Alyssa wasn’t allowed to date because she had to study full-time to be able to stay in school.

Hattie had given Clay the impression that Alyssa had some sort of learning disability. Since Alyssa didn’t attend the private school where he and Phoebe went, Clay believed Hattie. Phoebe insisted her cousin was “a bit off” and that was why she wasn’t included in family gatherings.

To his surprise, Alyssa had been among the scholarship students at Tulane when he’d enrolled. She wasn’t anything like the debutantes he’d dated, girls whose sole aspiration in life was to be Mardi Gras queen. Alyssa had been ambitious, but her goal was to become a jewelry designer, and she’d been putting herself through school.

The only thing “off” about Alyssa was how different she was from the rest of the LeCroix family. The more he saw of her, the more he liked her until he realized he’d fallen in love. Time hadn’t changed how he felt about Alyssa Rossi—not a bit.

“I need to go back to work,” Clay said to Maree even though he had no intention of staying there. He just wanted to get rid of Maree.

The sultry brunette gazed into his eyes, but her hands were on his belt buckle. “L-let—” he started to say, “Let me out of here,” but the idea dissolved as she unzipped his pants.

“It’s too, too late to go to work,” crooned Maree, stroking the fly of his underwear.

His sex responded shamelessly, surging upward into the experienced palm of her hand. She cradled it, the cotton fabric a barrier to what he really craved. Maree obliged him and slipped her hand inside his briefs. Caressing his bare skin, she teased him, still not giving him what he needed.

“Come on, come on,” he coaxed.

She gripped his cock and gave a little tug. He’d been partially erect, and the motion of her hand brought him to a full erection. He sucked in his breath and waited, barely noticing the movement of the limousine or the reggae music coming from the stereo.

Clay sank back against the limo’s cushioned leather while Maree positioned herself at his feet. He let her explore the tip of his penis with her deft tongue as if she were eating an ice cream cone.

“She’s poison, you know, mon.”

It took a moment for Clay to realize Dante meant Phoebe, not Maree. Clay couldn’t think clearly thanks to the whiskey and Maree. Her mouth had surrounded his sex and was sucking mercilessly. It was all he could do to remain upright.

“I saw the way you looked at me when I walked into the party last night,” Maree whispered, her soft breath swirling across the tip of his turgid erection. “You want me back, don’t you, darling?”

No way, Clay told himself. He wanted Alyssa, and he intended to have her. He hadn’t spent all these years loving her to give up so easily. If only Alyssa was the woman with her head between his legs.

Maree’s mouth closed over him again and the sweet, sweet suction blinded him. A guttural moan escaped his throat. He lifted his hips upward, unable to get enough.

From the back of the limo, Dante began to speak, and Clay opened his eyes. “We’ve got a plan. A surefire winner.”

Clay blinked his eyes. Despite the dim light inside the limo, there was no mistaking the king size erection jutting against Dante’s trousers. The psychic was getting off watching them.

“You’re gonna thank me, mon. And make me big-time rich.”

The Warehouse District had changed since Alyssa had wandered up and down its streets as a freshman at Tulane. Revitalization had transformed the rundown buildings into the go-go center of the art world in New Orleans as well as a trendy residential neighborhood. Art, hip people, interesting upscale shops, she observed.

“The available space is right there.” Jake took her to a small, empty store fronting on the busy sidewalk. He unlocked the door and flicked on the lights.

The shop was about the size of her boutique in Milan, and a little smaller than the shop she had in Florence. It would certainly work, she thought, excited.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She strolled around, inspecting the premises. “The lighting will have to be improved to properly show the jewelry. Other than that, it’s perfect. What are the terms of the lease like?”

“I own the building.”

“You mean TriTech owns it.”

“No, I bought it myself. I live in the loft upstairs.” He winked. “I’ll cut you a special deal.”

“I’m positive Eve said the same thing to Adam when she offered him the apple.”

He chuckled, then asked, “Do you want to meet Benson?”

“Benson?”

“My golden retriever. He’s upstairs.”

“Is this like showing me your etchings?”

“Right, except Benson is a lot more fun.”

She knew better, but she responded, “I want to meet him.”

Jake locked up the shop and led her up the nearby stairs. At the top he slid his key into an industrial door. He unlocked it, then swung it wide.

“Welcome to my place.”

She stepped into a single room the size of a cathedral with a fifteen-foot open ceiling that exposed duct work artistically lighted by incandescent bulbs. To the right was a kitchen partially concealed by a magnificent black and red lacquer Chinese screen. A matching screen divided the living area from the bedroom, where she glimpsed a four-poster bed that appeared to be an antique.

“Hey, Benson, I’m home,” Jake called. “He’s not much of a watchdog. He’s probably out on the roof deck sleeping on guard duty.”

A honey-blond retriever bounded from around the corner at the far end of the loft. He skidded to a halt near the kitchen area and picked up a stuffed rabbit with long fluffy ears. The dog scampered up to Jake, wagging his tail so enthusiastically that his rear end swung from side to side.

“Benson always brings me a present.” Jake accepted the rabbit and gave the dog a pat. “Good boy, good boy. This is my main squeeze, Alyssa.”

She leveled him with a drop-dead-you-creep look while Benson slathered her extended hand with kisses. “Benson, you’re totally cool even if your owner is a bit weird.”

“Trust me, sweet cheeks, you haven’t seen weird yet.”

The retriever shamelessly collapsed in a heap at her toes. Alyssa bent over and scratched his chest. Benson flayed the air with his paws and grunted with delight.

“What a great dog,” she told Jake, thinking how lonely she’d been growing up and how much she’d wanted a dog, but Hattie LeCroix hated pets. She deliberately ignored Jake, who was watching her, a strange smile on his face. Knowing him, Jake could be up to anything.

“Okay, Benson, go get your leash.”

The retriever rolled to his feet, sprinted across the entire length of the huge room, and skidded to a stop on the oak plank floor. He stood up on his hind legs and grabbed a leash off a hook on the wall. His tail whipping the air, he charged back to Jake.

Jake snapped the black fabric leash with white paw prints onto the matching collar Benson wore. He dropped his end of the leash onto the floor, and the dog gathered it up in his mouth.

“Let’s go,” Jake said. “There’s a sidewalk café down the street. If we take a table outside, Benson can stay with us.”

The dog pranced over to the door, tail wagging, and waited for them. Alyssa followed, asking herself why Jake hadn’t tried anything since picking her up. Men, weren’t they a trip? Who knew what went through their minds.

Downstairs on the sidewalk, Jake made no attempt to take the leash from Benson. The dog lifted his leg on the fire hydrant in front of the shop Alyssa intended to lease.

“Aren’t you going to hold his leash?” she asked.

“Nope. Benson won’t leave my side, but there’s a leash law. Dogs must be on a leash.” He grinned at her and she was instantly reminded of a naughty little boy. “Benson’s on a leash.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “What if a policeman tickets you?”

“I’ve fought one ticket already. The law is very clear. Dogs must be on a leash, but it doesn’t say the owner has to hold the leash.”

“You got away with it?”

“You bet. I’m complying with the letter of the law.”

She shook her head and pretended to be outraged, but she thought he was very clever. There was a lot more to him that she’d imagined. When they’d first met, she hadn’t liked him much and thought he was cold, controlling. When he came on to her, Alyssa decided he was a poster boy for the single life, but now she wondered.

She intended to get to know him better instead of allowing him to seduce her and then find out what kind of a man he was. Still, she couldn’t help being a touch disappointed that he hadn’t at least attempted to kiss her when he had her alone in his loft.

“Why did you choose a loft?” she asked.

He walked beside her, then unexpectedly, he took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. A stab of something she couldn’t quite name hit her. When was the last time a guy had held her hand?

“Benson, cookie, cookie,” called a man from the entrance to Wok on The Wild Side.

The retriever sashayed over, tail in motion. He dropped the leash and took the cookie the waiter offered.

“He’s got fans up and down the street,” Jake told her after he’d greeted the man who was giving Benson a treat.

“Why a loft?” she repeated her question.

He waited until Benson had downed the cookie in a single gulp and had returned to his side. He searched her face for a moment, considering the question for longer than it seemed to merit.

“When I was a kid,” he responded, then stopped.

Alyssa realized something about the question bothered him. She was curious, but she’d just been making conversation.

“In Mobile, right?”

“Yes, I grew up there in a tin trailer the size of a”—he looked around—“a fire hydrant. The outhouse was a few feet away, but in the summer, it might as well have been in the middle of the living room. When I could afford my own place, I wanted something big, spacious.”

She sensed it had been difficult for him to tell her this. She wasn’t sure why, but knew she was right.

“I know what you mean,” she felt obliged to confess. “I spent years in a converted laundry room with a tiny window. I couldn’t get enough air, especially in the summer when it was hot and humid.”

He stopped, released her hand, and gazed down at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Why would they treat you like that?”

She shrugged. “Who cares? I stopped asking myself why years ago. Gordon LeCroix ignored me—when he was around—but Hattie despised me.” And I hated her, she silently admitted.

Br-ring, br-ring. Her brand-new cell phone rang from where she’d dropped it into her purse. Almost no one had the number. She reached into the bag slung from her shoulder and retrieved the phone.

“Hello … hello.”

“Is this Alyssa Rossi?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Mercy General Hospital. Your aunt—” She hardly heard the rest. Tears blurred her vision.

Jake grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Aunt Thee’s been taken to the hospital. I have to go.” She sprinted down the street.

Jake caught up with her. “Wait. I’ll take you. You’re in no condition to drive.”