“We were lovers, Jacques. Not friends.”
“Yes. And you were a spectacular lover, ma chérie.” He moved a step closer, caging her between the car door and his body. He skimmed his thumb along the line of her cheek, across her bottom lip. “So responsive.”
Liza shivered, unable to quell her reaction to his touch, unable to look away.
“Did you think I had forgotten?” he asked, his voice rough with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. “I wanted to. God knows I tried to forget you. But I could not. Just as I cannot stop myself from wanting you now.” Heat flared in his eyes, turning them to molten gold.
And then he was lowering his head, his mouth was brushing hers, testing, tasting, tempting. His tongue traced the lines of her lips. “Open for me, Liza.”
She obeyed his command, parting her lips.
Jacques groaned. The deep husky sound sent a shudder through her. When his tongue slid inside her mouth and began an erotic mating ritual with her own, Liza heard the moan of pleasure escape from her own lips.
And then she was beyond hearing, beyond thinking. All she could do was feel. She clung to his shoulders, her head spinning as wave after wave of need lapped at her greedily, demanding more.
“Ah, Liza,” he murmured as his mouth forged its way to her ear and then retraced the path back to reclaim her lips. Despite the cold temperature and threat of new snow, she was burning up inside, her body suffused with heat.
Jacques captured her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. She could see the desire burning in his eyes and feared he would see it in hers as well.
“It is still there. The fire between us. Nothing has changed, Liza. Nothing.”
Reality came back to her in a rush as the impact of his words registered. When he started to kiss her again, Liza turned her head away. “You’re wrong, Jacques. Everything has changed.”
“Has it?”
“Yes.”
“I do not think so, ma chérie. Let me prove it to you.”
“No!”
Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes. For a moment she thought he would ignore her. Then he dropped his arms and stepped back.
Still shaky, Liza turned her back to him and opened the car door. “If you still want a ride to your hotel, get in.” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Once he was strapped in the seat beside her, she asked, “Where are you staying?”
“At Peter and Aimee’s apartment. It is on—”
“I know where it is,” Liza told him. After all, she had often used the place herself during the past three years. In fact, she had already accepted Aimee’s offer to use the guest room on the evening of the patron party and the black-tie gala next month. Of course that would no longer be an option, Liza realized as she maneuvered her car along the snow-lined streets. She would just have to make other arrangements. But having a convenient place to stay while she was in Chicago was the least of her worries now.
Jacques glanced over at Liza, noting how tightly her gloved fingers gripped the steering wheel. 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.
He intended for it to burn again.
It had to. Otherwise he would spend the rest of his life haunted by her and the foolish notion that they could have had a future together. They couldn’t. It was impossible. He had to prove it to himself or he would never know peace again.
She had been right when she had accused him of wanting revenge. He did. But more than revenge 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 need for each other until the white-hot flame burned itself out.
Then there would be no more sleepless nights spent yearning for her. No more foolishly wanting to hear her words of love. No more cursing the darkness in his soul that prevented him from ever saying those same words to her or to any woman. And when it was over, he would be the one to walk away without looking back.
“This is it,” Liza said, pulling up in front of the apartment building that housed the elegant penthouse suite the Gallaghers had insisted he use.
“Would you like to come upstairs for a drink?”
“No, thanks. I need to get home.”
“Perhaps dinner tomorrow night, then? We can discuss the fund-raiser and old times.”
She looked away from him and stared out of the window. “I’m busy.”
“What about the day after tomorrow?”
“I already have plans.”
Jealousy reached out, gripped him by the throat and refused to let go as he considered the possibility of those plans including Robert Carstairs. No, he told himself. She couldn’t be involved with Carstairs or anyone else—not if she responded to his kiss as she did. “Then I guess I will just have to be satisfied with seeing you again on Tuesday.”
Her head whipped around at his remark. Her green eyes stared at him warily. “What do you mean?”
“According to the schedule you passed out at the meeting, Tuesday is when you will be doing a tasting at the restaurant where the gala is being held and selecting items for the dinner menu.” He pulled the sheet from his coat pocket on which he had circled each item on her checklist from the food tasting down to the balloon delivery the night of the big event. He handed it to Liza to inspect.
“You can’t possibly plan to go to all of these meetings.”
“Why not? You said anyone on the board was welcome to participate.”
“I was being polite. You’re not expected to attend detail meetings like these. No one on the board ever goes to those things. Only me.”
“And now me,” he said, smiling. Leaning across the seat, he kissed her protesting lips. “I will see you on Tuesday.”
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
