The Heiress. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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      Already losing interest in the conversation, Adlai began booting up his computer. “You have to concentrate on the people who actually live here or are visiting the Charleston area. But yes, as long as it’s not actionable, or too editorialish, you can do what you want. Your goal should be to get people so excited about reading ‘Around the City’ that they’ll turn to that section of the newspaper the moment they pick up their papers.”

      Bucky knew that was the same stock advice his father gave to all the journalists on his paper, with the exception of the obits. There, Adlai just cautioned that the items should be the best obits—the most concise, loving and compassionate—anyone had ever read. But Bucky was going to take Adlai’s advice to heart anyway, and use the column to make a name for himself.

      “Who knows,” Adlai continued in an obvious effort to motivate Bucky to do his best, “if it’s good enough, snippets of your column could even get picked up and run in other papers, too.”

      He was right about that, Bucky mused. They did have at least one national celebrity in their midst. Grace Deveraux. Who, rumor had it, was currently seeing some model-type half her age. If he could get something on that, something factual and not actionable, proving the relationship wasn’t just a platonic one, maybe it would get picked up by other newspapers. Or get him noticed by one of the big outfits in New York City.

      Adlai handed Bucky a typewritten sheet of paper. “Here’s a list of society parties and other gala events this week. Make sure you put in an appearance at all of them.”

      “No problem,” Bucky said, his spirits already lifting as he savored the excitement and notoriety ahead. Adlai might think he’d just given Bucky a low-level assignment, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “SO, SHE GOT YOUR SUV, your AMEX card and three hundred in cash from your wallet,” Harlan Decker stated as he sat back in his swivel chair and lit a cigar.

      Jack nodded and looked over at the casually dressed private investigator, feeling damn embarrassed. As always, the burly ex-cop was dressed like a tourist, in a loud shirt, knee-length plaid shorts, wide-brimmed straw hat, knee-high crew socks and well-worn running shoes. He had a camera slung around his neck and a street map sticking out of his shirt pocket. His face and neck were sunburned, his gray hair damp with perspiration from the heat and humidity outside. Jack knew Harlan’s disguise worked like a charm—Harlan could wander in practically anywhere, look a little lost and distracted, and not be paid any mind. He was also an ace at both uncovering and keeping secrets.

      Too tense to stay seated for any length of time, Jack got up to pace the P.I.’s office. Knowing he could trust Harlan to guard the Deveraux family and shipping company’s reputation the way he always had, Jack warned, “Tom doesn’t want any publicity. This is a private family matter. He wants it to stay that way.”

      Harlan’s glance cut to the bruise on Jack’s face. Too discreet to inquire how that might have occurred, Harlan picked up his pen and asked, “How much money did Miss Templeton have on her own, do you know?”

      “Probably not much,” Jack predicted, worrying a little about that. The lack of ready cash, combined with her need to stay hidden, could lead Daisy to some dives that were not necessarily safe. Jack didn’t want to think about anything happening to her, especially when he was the one who had prompted her to take off the way she had. If only he had been able to walk away from temptation and contain his lust for her…. The situation might be very different now. Jack let out a long, self-effacing breath, aware Harlan was waiting for him to continue. “As you probably already know, since you just got finished doing a job for Daisy yourself, the Templetons cut Daisy off weeks ago and she just returned from several weeks in Switzerland that, according to Amy, had Daisy down to her last couple of bucks.”

      Harlan made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’ll start checking the airports and train stations, but my guess is she’s still driving your SUV.”

      That was Jack’s theory, too.

      “Less chance of her movements being traced.”

      And more of a chance of being arrested and creating a situation embarrassing to both families. If there was one thing Daisy Templeton was interested in, it was payback. And Jack had the feeling she wouldn’t rest until she’d gotten it. Knowing how upset she still was and, Jack admitted reluctantly, probably had every right to be, he slid his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at the parking lot below. In retrospect, he knew he should have expected Daisy would pull something after they made love. He should have talked to her, tried to work things out verbally. Or at least try to discuss what had just happened between them. But like an infatuated fool, he had figured conversation could wait until morning and wrapped her in his arms and held her until she—they both—fell asleep.

      Now, thanks to his lack of foresight, Daisy was out there somewhere, feeling the way he had for as long as he could remember—like no one had ever really loved her, or ever would. Like she was a source of shame, existing only to sully the family honor. And that was a miserable way to live, Jack knew.

      “Eventually, though,” Harlan continued pragmatically, “she’ll start working somewhere and have to use her social security number, or she’ll have to start charging on your credit card.”

      And that was how they would locate her. “I’ll check my American Express account daily for any transactions,” Jack promised, his customary confidence beginning to return.

      “And I’ll start looking for her right away,” Harlan retorted with a narrow glance. “How fast I find her will depend on just how badly she doesn’t want to be found.”

      PAULO LIFTED HIS LIPS from Grace’s breast, the frustration he felt evident on his face. “Why are you pretending?”

      Grace’s skin warmed self-consciously. She shifted away from Paulo and tugged the sheet upward to cover her nakedness. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in the cool polite voice she used to keep people at bay.

      “Last night. This morning.” Like a scientist in the midst of a perplexing experiment, Paulo stroked his hand across her belly. “You merely pretended to feel pleasure. Why?”

      A shiver of revulsion ghosted over her insides. “What makes you think that’s the case?” Grace tried hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. And how was it this man knew what Tom had never once guessed in all their years of marriage?

      “You moan, you sigh, you go through the motions, but you’re not wet here unless I wet you with my tongue.” Paulo gently caressed her between the thighs, and Grace felt…nothing. Except the wish he would stop touching her. “Your nipples bead when I touch them but you don’t tremble with arousal. Instead, you fake it. And I want to know why,” Paulo insisted. “I want to know if it’s me, if it’s something I’m not doing or should be doing to excite you, or if it’s just that you can’t relax the way you want to right now.”

      Her body taut with equal parts frustration and embarrassment, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I think you should leave.” She didn’t talk about this. Never had. Never would. Her mother had been right. Sex was dirty. Meant for bringing children into the world and little else, except maybe a man’s gratification.

      “Grace—”

      “I mean it, Paulo.” Grace reached for her satin robe and shrugged the sensual fabric over her shoulders, СКАЧАТЬ