Lovechild

Excerpt Letter to Reader About the Author Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

“The Fire Between Us Is Still There.

“Nothing has changed, Liza.”

“You’re wrong, Jacques. Everything has changed.”

“I don’t think so. Let me prove it to you.”

“No!”

Jacques looked at Liza. She still wanted him, he told himself as he fought the dark storm of emotion her denial had set whirling inside him. Regardless of her protests, the fire between them burned just as hot, just as fiercely, as it had three years ago. And he intended it to burn again.

It had to. He wanted to be free of hoping, of wanting more. And he wanted to be free of her. Liza could give him that freedom and he would give her hers by sating their physical need for one another until the white-hot flame burned itself out.

And when it was over, this time he would be the one to walk away without looking back.

Dear Reader.

Happy Valentine’s Day! This season of love is so exciting for us here at Silhouette Desire that we decided to create a special cover treatment for each of this month’s love stories—just to show how much this very romantic holiday means to us.

And what a fabulous group of books we have for you! Let’s start with Joan Elliott Pickart’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Texas Moon. It’s romantic and wonderful—and has a terrific hero!

The romance continues with Cindy Gerard’s sensuous A Bride for Abel Greene, the next in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, and also with Elizabeth Bevarly’s Roxy and the Rich Man, which launches her new miniseries about siblings who were separated at birth, THE FAMILY McCORMICK.

Christine Pacheco is up next with Lovers Only, an emotional and compelling reunion story. And Metsy Hingle’s dramatic writing style shines through in her latest, Lovechild.

It’s always a special moment when a writer reaches her 25the book milestone—and that’s just what Rita Rainville has done in the humorous and delightful Western, City Girls Need Not Apply.

Silhouette Desire—where you will always find the very best love stories! Enjoy them all....

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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About the Author

METSY HINGLE is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm of her birthplace, and her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes. She loves hearing from readers. Write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433.

Lovechild

Metsy Hingle

For my husband, Jim,

and my sons, Jimmy and Stephen—

the three special heroes in my own life

who dispel the darkness with their love.

One

He had been set up!

The realization held the sobering sting of an open-palmed slap and none of the satisfaction of having earned it. Jacques Gaston rubbed his jaw, feeling the force of the blow just as effectively as if he had been smacked across the face.

Only this time the crack to his cheek hadn’t been delivered by his drunken father or by an angry female who had refused to believe he’d meant it when he had told her he would share his bed but never his heart. No, this time the head-ringing clip had been delivered by Aimee and Peter Gallagher—the two people he had considered his best friends.

And they had delivered the sucker punch in the form of Liza O’Malley.

Liza.

Jacques gave himself a mental kick for his gullibility. He had no doubts whatsoever that his so-called friends had known she would be here. They had played him like a finely tuned Stradivarius, knowing, he would agree to serve in their steads on the Art For Kids’ Sake Committee the moment Aimee had told him her pregnancy precluded them traveling to Chicago. As Aimee had pointed out, his guestartist lecture series would coincide conveniently with the final stages of the fund-raising campaign. Serving on the committee would require. only a few hours of his time at meetings and a handful of fund-raising events, Aimee had told him. And just as conveniently it would throw him and Liza together again.

Ah, Aimee, mon amie, despite my silence, you knew, didn’t you? That the fires had burned between me and Liza And now you think to rekindle them? To save me from what you see as my life of loneliness? But it is too late. It was always too late.

Even with Liza.

Especially with Liza..

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Jacques continued to stare at the woman he had tried so hard to forget. He noted the long swath of golden hair swishing like silk at her shoulders as she moved, the lush green eyes the color of new leaves on a vine in his family’s vineyard. She was even more beautiful now than he remembered.

And he had had three long years to remember her, to think of her exquisite face, to recall the softness of her lithe body. The three years slipped away in the space of a heartbeat, sending him back to that last night of passion when she had professed her love for him. Back to that night when he had found himself teetering on the brink between heaven and bell as he allowed himself to contemplate the danger, to even dare and hope that he might be able to share his life with someone. To share his life with her.

Mon Dieu! Jacques clamped down on the surge of emotions that seeing her had unearthed inside him. Ignoring the hum of voices and the people who meandered about the room, he moved toward the window and concentrated on steadying his breathing. Snow fluttered outside, dancing before the high-rise’s expanse of windows. But the memories clutched at his throat, choking him, sending him back to the oppressive heat of that autumn in New Orleans three years ago. Back to that night when she had quietly slipped from his bed and his life—like a thief in the night—without explanation, without even a goodbye and taken with her a chunk of his heart.

I’m over her, he told himself, turning away from the window. He watched her move about the room with the same inherent grace and sensuality that had captivated him so completely three years ago. Seduction in a copper suede suit, he thought wryly, as desire stirred inside him.

Un fou, Jacques swore silently. He was a fool. Worse, he had lied to himself. Even after all this time he hadn’t forgotten her, nor had his body.

As though sensing his gaze, Liza turned. The smile on her lips wavered. Her fair skin lost even more color. Judging by the stunned look on her face, Liza O’Malley had not forgotten him, either.

Play it smart, Gaston. Do yourself a favor and get the hell out of here now, the voice inside him whispered.

But he knew he wasn’t going to play it smart. Because playing it smart would mean walking away from those captivating green eyes and that soft, pouty mouth. Desire flickered inside him once more, heating his blood. But this time he didn’t fight it as he recalled how those eyes had darkened when he’d kissed the sensitive spot inside her thigh, how those lips felt on his skin.

When she had first met him, Liza had called him a rogue, a gigolo. He saw no reason now not to live up to her opinion. Smiling to himself, he closed the space between them. “Hello, Liza.”

“Jacques,” she said his name in a breathless whisper that triggered other memories and sent him tumbling back into the past. Back to those frantic weeks after she had first disappeared and his desperation as he’d tried to find her. Anger, old yet surprisingly raw, bubbled inside him as he remembered coming to the inevitable conclusion: she didn’t want to be found. She didn’t want him.

Even knowing that, it had taken him months before her face, the sound of her voice, the feel of her body had stopped haunting him. Jacques curled his hands into fists as he remembered that dark period after she’d left him.

But he had gotten over her, Jacques reminded himself. He had rid himself of her betrayal just as he had rid himself of those dark, early years in France. Time had allowed him to relegate their affair to a sweet memory to be savored in his old age.

Until today.

“What a surprise,” she said, her voice growing cooler as she regained her composure.

“A pleasant one I hope.”

“Of course.” Her tone dropped several degrees to match the snow falling outside. Her expression still wary, she extended her hand.

Her cool-as-ice manner set off other memories of how she had tried to discourage him the first time they had met by employing that “duchess to serf” technique. It was just as ineffective now as it had been then. Smiling, Jacques brushed his lips across her knuckles and enjoyed a small measure of satisfaction at the slight tremor in her fingers.

When she would have pulled her hand free, Jacques tugged her closer. Ignoring the stiffening of her spine, he leaned closer and kissed one cheek, then moved to the other. Slowly he pressed his lips against her sweet-smelling skin.

He had wanted to unnerve her, to shatter that icy calm she wore like a shield. Instead, he found himself cursing the new flickers of heat in his gut that her scent evoked.

Refusing to back off, even if it meant his getting singed in the process, Jacques tucked a strand of hair behind Liza’s ear. He drew his fingertip along her neck. Her pulse quickened at his touch and Jacques smiled, pleased by her reaction. “It has been a long time, ma chérie.”

“Yes, it has,” she said, her voice a shade less steady as she pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to meet with the board members of the Art For Kids’ Sake Committee.”

“But you can’t. I mean, this is a closed meeting for board members only.”

“Then I am in the right place.”

“But you’re not on the board.”

“Ah, but I am,” Jacques insisted. “As of last night.”

“That’s impossible. The committee’s board was formed almost a year ago, and we’re already in the final stages of our fund-raising campaign,” she explained. “While I appreciate your offer to serve, as will the rest of the committee, it’s really too late to take on any new members, Jacques. Even you. Obviously there’s been a mistake.”

“It is no mistake, ma chérie.” Jacques grinned as her lips thinned at the familiar endearment.

“Then a misunderstanding,” she countered. “There are no openings on the board. But if you’re interested in serving as a volunteer for some of the fund-raising activities, I’ll be happy to put you in touch with the right person. In fact, I’ll introduce you to Jane Burke right now. She’s the one who’s in charge of—”

Jacques caught her arm as she started to turn away. “Liza, there is no mistake. I am on the committee’s board. I am filling in for Peter.”

“But—”

“He and Aimee could not be here. And you know what a stickler Peter is about fulfilling his responsibilities. He asked me to take his place. And I agreed.” No point in telling her that he now suspected it had all been a con job to get Liza and him together again.

Alarm clouded her eyes. “Is something wrong with Aimee? Is there a problem with the baby?”

“Aimee is fine. And so is the baby,” he assured her, giving her arm a light squeeze. “But according to our friends, this pregnancy has been more difficult than the last one, and Aimee’s doctor thinks it is better for her not to travel right now.”

“I see.”

Jacques wanted to laugh as he watched her school her expression and don what he considered her “duchess” persona again. “Well, it was thoughtful of Peter to ask you to come,” she continued, her tone becoming all business. “But it’s really not necessary. Everything’s under control on this end. I’ll let Peter know that it’s not necessary for you to take his place on the board.”

Jacques tossed back his head and laughed. “I see you have not lost your touch, ma chérie. In fact, you have gotten even better at it.”

Liza frowned. “Gotten better at what?”

“At cutting a man off at his knees, letting him know what little need you have for him.”

“I do no such thing,” she tossed back.

“Of course you do. You push that pretty little. nose of yours up in the air and make your eyes go all frosty with that regal expression....”

“Really, Jacques, I—”

“Yes. That is it. That is the look I am talking about,” he told her grinning. “It always amazed me the way you could tell a man to ‘get lost’ without even opening your pretty mouth.”

Liza’s lips thinned. The look she shot him would have melted a glacier. “Then perhaps you would be wise to heed the message.”

“Ah, that too has not changed.”

She arched her brow imperiously.

“When the look does not work, you use that sharp tongue of yours to finish the job.”

“Honestly, Jacques. You’ve quite an imagination. Perhaps you should consider writing fantasies instead of sculpting.”

Jacques allowed the smile to spread across his face as he moved his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “If you will recall, sweet Liza, sometimes my sculpting has led to the creation of fantasies. You, yourself, helped me with one of my most memorable ones.”

A rush of color raced up her cheeks at the reminder of the afternoon when he’d given Liza her first sculpting lesson and how that lesson had ended—in a maelstrom of frenzied lovemaking that had left them both exhausted and wanting more of each other.

“I see you do remember,” he said, pleased by her reaction.

“And I see you haven’t changed. A gentleman wouldn’t deliberately attempt to embarrass someone this way.”

“But, ma chérie, have you forgotten? I am no gentleman. I am a Frenchman.”

The look she shot him could have turned flames to ice. Jacques chuckled, only making her expression grow even more chilly. “You would do better to save your wintry glares for someone else, Liza. They did not work on me three years ago, and they certainly will not work on me now. I have grown—how do you Americans say—? ‘a thicker skin.’”

“And evidently an even bigger ego.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.”

Jacques took her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her fingers and enjoyed seeing the cool facade slip a notch. Suddenly the need to bait her, to force a reaction from her, withered at the feel of her soft skin. Desire took its place. It swirled around him, covering him like mist. “Then I guess I will have to try to change your opinion of me. Perhaps by working with you on this fund-raiser, you will discover something in me that is worthy of your praise.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Pain? Regret? Longing? Or was it his own feelings he saw reflected there?

“Jacques, I—”

“There you are, Liza. I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

Jacques stiffened at the sound of the man’s voice.

Liza pulled her hand free and turned toward the approaching man. “Oh, Robert. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I forgot all about asking for coffee to be sent in.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s been taken care of. I suspected you got sidetracked when you didn’t come back.” He turned to Jacques and flashed him a smile of perfect white teeth. “Robert Carstairs. I’m the Art For Kids’ Sake committee’s co-director,” he said, extending his hand.

“Jacques Gaston, your new co-director.”

At Carstairs’s lifted brow, Liza explained, “Jacques is filling in for Peter. The Gallaghers aren’t going to be able to take part in the fund-raising activities this year, after all. Peter has asked Jacques to take his place on the committee. Jacques is an old friend of the Gallaghers’.”

“And of Liza’s,” Jacques amended, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Always happy to meet a friend of the Gallaghers’ and Liza’s.”

Custom-made suit, soft hands, old money, Jacques sized up the other man. And given the warmth in the other man’s expression when his gaze lingered on Liza, his interest in her went beyond the committee’s fund-raising endeavors. For some reason the realization irritated Jacques, and he found himself biting back the urge to put a proprietary arm around Liza and draw her closer to him.

“Gaston,” Carstairs repeated. He narrowed his eyes as he continued to study Jacques. “Gaston. Gaston. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Perhaps Liza has mentioned our friendship,” Jacques offered, earning a scowl from Liza.

“Jacques is an artist,” Liza explained. “Some of his work has been on display at Gallagher’s Gallery in the past. You’ve probably seen it there.”

“Of course. Now I remember,” Carstairs smiled again as recognition dawned. “You’re the sculptor.”

“One and the same,” Jacques acknowledged with a flourish.

“Liza’s right, of course. I have seen your work. Very impressive.”

“I like to think so,” Jacques replied, seeing no need for false modesty.

“As you can see,” Liza said, her voice tinged with sarcasm, “Jacques doesn’t suffer from any lack of self-confidence.”

Carstairs chuckled. “Don’t be too rough on him, Liza. Confidence is not such a bad thing to have. In your case, Gaston, I expect it’s probably warranted. I caught your exhibit at Gallagher’s Gallery last spring. As I said, it was most impressive. There was one piece in particular, a nude of a woman. It was stunning. I must admit I was quite taken with it.”

“Thank you,” Jacques said, inclining his head. “I know the piece you mean. La Femme. Woman,” he said, translating. “It is one of my favorites.”

A grin tugged at Carstairs’s lips that said, as a man he could certainly understand why. “I guess that explains why my offer to buy it was turned down.”

“Yours is not the first offer I have refused for her. The piece is part of my personal collection and not for sale. Usually I do not even allow it to be shown. But Peter caught me in a weak moment and I agreed.”

“Perhaps I can catch you in another one and convince you to sell it to me. As I said, I was truly captivated by the piece. And I’d still like to add it to my collection. I can promise you my offer would be most generous.”

Even if Jacques hadn’t had an abhorrence for rich fools who thought everything and 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.”