Lovechild. Metsy Hingle

      Three

      Jacques looked up from the glass of Bordeaux he had ordered, sensing Liza’s arrival even before she entered the room. Mon Dieu, but she was beautiful, he thought as she came into sight. Her pale hair gleamed like spun gold, swinging loosely about her shoulders. Dressed in a red sweater dress and matching high heels, she made him think of sweetness and sin. As the hostess directed her to the table, Jacques watched her start toward him on those long slender legs. Suddenly images flashed before him—of those legs wrapped around him, of her silken hair brushing against his bare skin.

      Desire, hot and swift, shot through him. Jacques tightened his fingers around the stem of the wineglass, feeling the all-too-familiar ache in his groin. It had always been like this with Liza. From the first moment he had seen her three years before, he had been like a raw schoolboy who had just discovered the mystery of sex and the beauty of a woman’s body. Their affair, her desertion and even the years without her had done nothing to diminish his response to her.

      When she reached the table, Jacques stood and prayed no one noticed his obvious condition.

      “Thank you,” Liza told the hostess.

      Nodding, the hostess said, “Mr. Newberry will be with you in a moment, Ms. O’Malley. Can I offer you something to drink while you wait?”

      “I can recommend the Bordeaux,” Jacques offered. “It is almost as good as the wine from my family’s vineyard.”

      “Iced tea will be fine,” Liza said, giving the other woman a smile.

      “You Americans, you have no appreciation for the art of fine dining.” Jacques pulled out her chair. “Hello, ma chérie,” he said, noting the way her eyes narrowed at the endearment. Leaning over, he brushed his mouth against her cheek before he resumed his seat.

      “I’m not here for a dining experience, Jacques. I’m here for a food tasting so that a decision can be made on the menu for next month’s gala. It really wasn’t necessary for you to be here for this.”

      “Ah, but it was,” he told her. He took a sip of his wine and allowed himself the pleasure of simply looking at her. She looked so damn cool and neat, he had an urge to grab her and kiss her just to muss up that perfection. “Since you have refused my invitations, I am forced to use whatever opportunities are available so that the two of us can be together.”

      “There’s no reason for us to be together.” She reached for her napkin and smoothed it across her lap as the waitress served her iced tea.

      “Of course, there is,” he insisted. When she refused his offer of bread, he broke off a piece and began to butter it. “Otherwise, how will I be able to change your mind?”

      “And exactly what is it you’re trying to change my mind about?”

      “Why, about resuming our affair, of course.”

      Liza dropped the spoon she’d picked up to stir her iced tea. She leaned forward, her gem-colored eyes stormy. “I promise you, Jacques, you and I are not going to resume our affair.”

      “As I said, I intend to change your mind.”

      “You’re wasting your time. I am not going to change my mind. I’m not interested.”

      “That is what you said three years ago, too,” he reminded her, looking up from the piece of buttered bread. “But this time you do not have to worry about being the one to seduce me.”

      Tracks of color climbed her cheeks and Jacques smiled, sure she remembered as he did that first time when she had asked him to make love to her.

      “I assure you, I have no intention of worrying about something that isn’t going to happen.”

      “Ah, but it will, my sweet Liza. Because I have every intention of seducing you.”

      Fire flickered in her eyes, but before she could respond, the catering manager arrived with a waiter in tow carrying a tray with salads.

      Thirty minutes later as they made their way through the main course, Jacques listened to the catering director extoll the virtues of presentation and preparation of each dish, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the past. Back to a sultry, wet October night in New Orleans, racing through the dark French Quarter streets with Liza beside him....

      “Come, ma chérie,” he had said, pulling Liza out of the rain and into the stairwell of the old building that had led to their apartments. “You need to get out of those wet things before you catch a cold.”

      Her laughter teased and tempted him as they hurried up the stairs to her apartment. What a fool you are, Gaston, he thought, realizing how just the simple sound of her laughter could make him break out in a sweat of need and want. For a man who liked women and had enjoyed more than a casual friendship with many, never had he found himself so completely captivated by any one woman.

      Until Liza.

      With Liza everything was new, different. She made him feel alive, made him forget about the darkness.

      She unlocked the door, then turned to face him. The smile that curved her mouth and had tempted him all through dinner faded. So did the laughter in her eyes.

      “What is it, chérie?”

      “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered.

      His gut tightened at the unmistakable invitation in her voice, the sound having the same effect as a woman’s nails gently scoring his naked flesh. Fighting the urge to act on her invitation, Jacques eyed her curiously and wondered not for the first time what had gotten into Liza tonight. Despite the chemistry between them, she had turned him down repeatedly. Then tonight, after months of verbal sparring and dismissing his advances, she had agreed to have dinner with him. And now, judging from the look in her eyes, she was offering him even more.

      “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

      “About what?”

      “About wanting me.”

      She started to turn away, but he caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You are wrong, Liza. I want you.” Unable to resist, he traced his fingers along one incredibly soft cheek. The artist in him couldn’t help but note the play of light and shadow that made her wet skin look translucent, her green eyes shine like emeralds. But the man in him saw the too-pale tone of her fair skin, the doubts and vulnerability in her eyes. “Wanting you is like breathing for me. It is something I do without thought or reason.”

      “Then come inside. Stay with me. Make me feel like a woman tonight.”

      The blood rushed to his head and then to his loins, but still he hesitated. Despite the number of women who had passed through his life and his bed, none of them had been casual. Each had been special to him, but none had asked for more than he could give. Friendship and good sex had been enough for both parties. Something inside told him that with Liza it would not be so simple for either of them.

      She moved a step closer, bringing her body next to his. She touched him. He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his damp shirt as they inched their way up his chest, over his shoulders, to slip around his neck.