Lovechild. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ everyone had a price, he would have disliked Robert Carstairs simply for the covetous way he looked at Liza.

      “Think about it.” He pulled a business card out of an engraved gold case and offered it to Jacques. “And let me know if you change your mind.”

      “I won’t.” Ignoring the card, Jacques used the three-inch advantage his own six feet four inches gave him over Carstairs to look down at the other man. “You see, I was quite enamored with the model who posed for it.”

      “I can certainly see how you might have been,” Carstairs told him, giving him another man-to-man look. “By the same token, it would be a shame to let sentiment get in the way of a good business deal.”

      “True. But then, the lady who posed for La Femme had nothing to do with business. She was very special to me.” His gaze shifted to Liza, remembering that humid October afternoon in New Orleans when she had posed for him and he had recreated her body in clay. He allowed his gaze to slide over her, recalling how his hands, covered in damp clay, had moved over her soft curves molding the swell of her breasts, shaping the round curve of her hips, the tender apex at her thighs.

      Suddenly the two of them were back in the tiny loft with the hot sun pouring through the window, bathing Liza in its glow, heating the room and their bodies while desire simmered in their blood. Liza stood naked before him, and he stripped off his own shirt in deference to the relentless heat.

      “Jacques,” his name was a soft gasp on her lips as he stroked the tip of her breast. Her body quivered beneath his touch.

      “Maybe I should create my own sculpture,” she whispered. Reaching down, she slid her hands into the mound of moist clay, warmed the mixture with her fingertips. Her lips parted in a slow smile of invitation and womanly seduction as she held her hands out in front of him. Passion, hot and sweet, gleamed in her eyes as she slowly smoothed her fingers down his throat, along his shoulder, his chest.

      Jacques groaned. Desire shuddered through him as her nails scraped across his nipples, followed the trail of hair down his stomach to the snap of his jeans.

      Jerking his thoughts from the past, Jacques tried to stem the fierce ache they triggered inside him. He met Liza’s gaze. Desire, pure and hot, blazed in their depths, turning her eyes the color of priceless emeralds. She remembered, too, he thought, rocked by the pleasure of that discovery.

      “Like I said, Gaston...”

      Liza swallowed, feeling as though the air in her lungs had suddenly become shallow. Her skin felt hot and cool at the same time. There had been a chill in the room when she had first arrived for the meeting. Now the place felt like a furnace. Her stomach, already a mass of tangled knots at the shock of seeing Jacques again, did another somersault.

      She was aware of the two men talking, but her brain seemed unable to register their words. Unable to stop herself, she took in the sight of Jacques.

      It had been three years since she’d run away from him, fled to the Chicago area and carved out a new life and a home for herself. But for Jacques the clock had stood still.

      His hair was still the color of sun-kissed wheat. Thick and untamed, it was combed away from his forehead. His face was the same slash of angles and high cheekbones, giving him that air of darkness and danger despite his coloring. His mouth, full and sensual, was still the lethal weapon she remembered. With a simple smile he had always charmed without trying, drew women to him like flies to honey and made her own knees go weak.

      But it had always been Jacques’s eyes, brown with flecks of gold, that she had found most fascinating. He had only to look at her to evoke the images of his hands and mouth touching her, making love to her.

      As though sensing her scrutiny, Jacques sliced a glance at her. His eyes shimmered with heat as he moved them over her face, down her body and back to her lips. The impact was just as effective as a bold caress.

      Liza caught her breath, unable to breathe, unable to think as the memories swamped her. Then his lips curved in a knowing smile.

      Damn you, Jacques Gaston. Liza jerked her gaze away. From the smug look on his face, he had known just what she had been thinking, what memories his presence and comments had roused. Irritated with herself, Liza shook off the last vestiges of the memories and focused her attention on Robert.

      “In any case if you should change your mind, give me a call.” Robert pressed his business card into the palm of Jacques’s hand. After glancing at his watch, he turned to Liza. “We probably should get this meeting underway. Don’t you think?”

      “Yes, of course,” Liza said, dismayed at how surprisingly weak her voice sounded. She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you go ahead and take your seat at the table, Robert. I’ll be there in a moment I’d like to have a word with Jacques.”

      “Fine,” Carstairs replied. “Nice to have you aboard, Gaston.”

      When the other man was gone, a fresh bout of nerves attacked her system. Annoyed with herself for her response to Jacques’s presence, Liza took a deep, calming breath and released it, then turned to face him again. Marshaling her most businesslike voice, she said, “I’ll get right to the point, Jacques. There’s really no need for you to stay for this meeting. I’m sure you would find it to be a waste of your time. So, I—”

      “A waste of my time?” he repeated. “Peter and Aimee tell me the work your committee does is very important.”

      “It is, but—”

      “Then, it would not be a waste of my time to help.”

      “You would find it boring,” she insisted.

      He smiled, the movement caused the dimple in his cheek to wink in a rakish way that had always made Liza’s pulse scatter. It did so again. “I doubt that I would find anything where you are concerned boring, ma chérie.”

      “Please stop calling me that!”

      “Ma chérie?”

      “Yes,” Liza hissed, her nerves growing more frayed by the second.

      “It means my darling—”

      “I know what it means. Just please stop calling me that.” He had explained the endearment the first time they had made love. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, striving to regain her composure despite the pounding in her head. Opening her eyes, Liza stemmed the urge to massage her temples. “I’m sorry,” she said more calmly. “Seeing you today has been a bit of a shock.”

      “For me as well,” he told her, his expression growing serious for the first time: “Those first few weeks after you had left and I could not find you, I was frantic. I was afraid I would never see you again. Later, once I realized you did not wish for me to find you,” he continued, his voice growing hard, void of the carefree and seductive charm, “I simply hoped I would not.”

      Liza fought the urge to wince. She didn’t want his comment to hurt. She had prayed that if fate ever caused their paths to cross again, seeing him wouldn’t hurt.

      The prayers hadn’t worked. She tucked the pain away, vowing to deal with it later—when she was alone. “I’ll give Aimee and Peter a call this evening and explain that everything is under control where the committee is concerned and have them release you from your promise to serve on the board.” She forced СКАЧАТЬ