Читать книгу Just One Taste - Victoria Dahl - Страница 6

SHE WAS A CONTRADICTION.

Manners, but flaunted tradition. Elegant, but proudly sported a tattoo. Vanessa had cued in on his Rolex, but didn’t seem moved by the moneyed crowd.

A puzzle Lucas would like to solve. Later, much later.

Even though he stepped outside into the blast of a humid summer night, the heat couldn’t match the fire coursing through him. He could still feel the brush of her hand against his chest. Instead of the sweet scent of the magnolia trees dotting the country-club lawn, he smelled her alluring Asian-spice perfume.

As much as he valued the control he’d gained over his life and his actions, he’d only narrowly resisted yanking her against himself and kissing her until neither of them could breathe. Forget networking. Reputations and decorum be damned.

For the first time in a long, great while, the thrill of the hunt had taken over but had nothing to do with his career.

When his senses seized him, so did the memories. He longed for the cigarettes he’d given up, since trips into the past didn’t come without ghosts. Wandering past manicured flower beds behind a posh Atlanta country club, he instead remembered the scent of chicory, fish fresh from the stream, Spanish moss dripping like tattered lacy curtains over the swamp. He recalled friends he’d partied with in New Orleans, the small knot of family he’d left behind and crawfish boils shared with both—the potatoes, onions and dark red crustaceans spilling out across a newspaper-lined folding table, while the music heated up and whiskey cooled the fire.

Louisiana would always be in his blood, he supposed, even if sometimes he wanted to exorcise it from his mind.

And here, on the outside, beyond the windows where the thoroughbreds looked out into the mundane, with his past shimmering in his blood, seemed the perfect place to wait for Vanessa. When the party was over, they would continue what they’d started.

He justified his exit from party networking by reminding himself he was mostly a mystery to the people inside, and it wouldn’t be wise to push himself too firmly just yet. His change of heart and legal specialty wouldn’t be welcomed by some, wouldn’t be believed by others. Keeping his distance, allowing them to learn about him in pieces, and, of course, letting the rumors fester and grow more elaborate could only help.

For years he’d deliberately kept the details of his past sketchy. Having a shady cousin who specialized in security matters worked in his favor at times. Some of his history they would never learn—or understand—but that also had its advantages. In his new life he wanted to walk in the light. He was tired of wading through muck, even though he always managed to find the gold in places nobody else wanted to go.

A talent or a curse?

He wasn’t sure he cared anymore. At least the money he’d earned had its uses. It provided comfort and security where once he’d suffered misery and chaos.

He heard the stumbling shuffle behind him before he turned and saw the heavyset man coming down the path. He guessed his age at under twenty-five, possibly a former athlete who’d stopped intense training and taken up late-night steak dinners and bourbon.

“Hallooo!” the guy said as he waved—and weaved—drunkenly toward Lucas.

Damn it to hell. I don’t have time for this.

“Bea-u-ti-ful night, ya think?” the drunk guy mumbled, gesturing with the crystal tumbler in his right hand.

“Ou—” Lucas had to physically stop the Cajun French from leaking out. “Yes.”

“I tell ya.” The man clapped a friendly hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen a night like this ’un since our big hunt of oh-two. We were stalking these turkeys…”

Please, dear God, not another hunting story.

“Fascinating,” Lucas cut in. “Are you a professional?” From experience, he knew hunters loved this mistaken assumption.

Sure enough, the guy’s chest puffed out. “Nah. Just do it on trips with the firm.”

“What firm?” Lucas asked casually.

If possible, his chest expanded more. “Douglas and Alderman.”

“Ah. Top drawer.”

“You bet yer ass.”

For a moment, Lucas wondered if the guy talked with that heavy slang at the office. He couldn’t imagine so. Douglas and Alderman were reportedly both a couple of old-moneyed curmudgeons, who brandished traditionalism, dignity and family pedigrees like swords.

“’Course he’s gone and done it now.”

“Who?”

“Broke the code.”

Lucas angled his head as the guy took another long swallow from his glass. “Who broke what code?”

“Douglas. Joseph freakin’ Douglas.”

Ah. The premier curmudgeon. Who certainly wouldn’t want to be gossiped about by a junior executive. Which this guy had to be.

Lucas fought against curiosity and ethics. The latter he’d given up some time ago, and now wanted back. He should excuse himself. Hell, he should run the other way.

He didn’t move.

Though he’d never had the pleasure of a face-to-face introduction with Douglas, earlier that evening he’d not-so-subtly steered his elegant wife in the opposite direction from Lucas and the circle of people he had been talking to. They were undoubtedly part of the crowd who would likely never accept Lucas’s change of specialty. Of course, his lineage didn’t include Civil War generals whose wife and children had held their ground against Union troops in front of the family’s plantation home, then served them fried chicken, turnip greens and biscuits until peace was declared, thereby saving one of the few seventeenth-century homes still standing in Atlanta.

By contrast, Lucas’s ancestors had probably been too busy helping Blackbeard and Jean Lafitte pirate and profit in the Big Easy to bother with turnip greens.

He wondered if Douglas’s dissing could be an effort at intimidation. It likely wasn’t personal; he probably just didn’t like competition. Douglas’s firm had a division that specialized in helping companies and hospitals protect themselves against frivolous lawsuits—exactly the job Lucas had just been hired to do by Geegan, Duluth and Patterson.

“I couldn’t believe it,” the drunk guy muttered, hanging his head. “Ya can’t have two wills. Ya just can’t.”

Despite his effort not to listen, Lucas’s legal antenna shot up. “No. You certainly can’t.”

“Mrs. Switzer, she’s so nice. She’s so broke. It’s not right. We have to help her.”

“Of course you do.”

“But it’s still not right. The other will, you know.”

“The other will?”

“The one Mr. Switzer had Mr. Douglas draw up last month, just before he died. Why did he have to even talk to that stripper? And in Daytona Beach?”

“His client drew up another will?”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically, then laid his finger against his lips. “It’s a secret. Mrs. Switzer’s so nice. Did I tell you she always calls me by name? She always says, ‘Good morning, Anthony, how are you today?’ in that soft voice.”

“How gracious of her.”

“Mr. Switzer shouldn’t have had that affair. Mrs. Switzer’s so nice.”

He definitely should have run, Lucas reflected. There was a time when he would have relished having this kind of information about a competitor or opposing attorney. Other people’s bad habits—and subsequent carelessness—had fueled more than one victory in his past.

A stripper, an affair, illegally ignoring a client’s wishes? Two wills? It was an orgy of scandal.

He eyed the drunk junior executive next to him. Maybe the guy was full of crap. He could have gotten Douglas mixed up with an episode of Law & Order for all he knew.

He clapped the guy on the shoulder, then walked by him. “Sorry to hear about your troubles, mon ami, but I’ve got a hot date.”

“Hey, ya never tol’ me your name, buddy!”

Even if he had, the guy likely wouldn’t remember it. But Lucas couldn’t take the chance regardless. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

He inclined his head, then headed inside through the kitchen door.

“HOW HOT?” MIA ASKED, her eyes blazing with excitement.

“Smokin’,” Vanessa assured her as she stacked dirty dishes in a storage box.

“Ooh, you get all the good ones!”

Vanessa cut her gaze to her friend. “I do not. You do.”

Mia grinned. “Oh, right.”

“You get all the good ones, play with them awhile, then toss them away like old socks.”

“Somebody has to try them out and warn the rest of you away.”

“Half those guys want to marry you.”

Mia wrinkled her nose. “Exactly my point. Yuck.”

Vanessa shook her head and finished loading the box. Mia’s mother had been married and divorced four—or was it five?—times, so, not surprisingly, Mia considered matrimony as the black hole of relationships. She’s happy until that “I do, you do, we do” business, Mia always said, then dullsville becomes splitsville. No thank you.

Vanessa just hoped her friend wasn’t playing the breakup game because she was afraid she’d follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Oh, like you aren’t afraid of following in your mother’s footsteps? Red bra, tattoo and attitude—you’re a walking case of fear of debutante-itis.

Vanessa mentally waved away her bothersome conscience. “Still, Mia, you need to find a boyfriend. Somebody you love. Or can at least date for more than a month.”

“Why?”

Good question. She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was this longing to reconnect with her family that had her wishing for a lasting relationship in her life. In the past, when things hadn’t worked out with a guy, she’d shrugged and moved on, but lately she found herself wondering if she should consider her choices more carefully, if she should slow down and look for a more serious relationship.

Mia grinned. “Remember that great line by Madeline Kahn in Clue? Something about how men should be like tissues—”

“Soft, strong and disposable. I remember, but she didn’t have Colin—”

“Out.” Mia waggled her hands in a shooing motion. “Go find Mr. Hot. I’ll finish up.”

The reminder of Lucas brought a wave of longing and heat sizzled through her body. She was being brazen and rebellious again, flitting off into the night with a man she’d met just an hour ago. A man whose last name she didn’t even know. A man who would no doubt turn out to be mistake number 423.

She’d slow down tomorrow.

All but vibrating on the spot, she asked Mia, “Are you sure there’s not too much to clean up alone?”

“I’ll get Colin to help.”

“Good idea. I’ll call you later.”

“I’m jealous.”

“I know.”

“And he’s even safe. That ridiculous brandishing your invitation and a picture ID business your mother insisted on actually worked out in your favor.”

Her mother was the overprotective type, which is exactly why neither she, nor Vanessa, could classify what she was doing as safe. “He could be a closet fetishist. Maybe he likes to wear women’s underwear.”

“Or he could be bad in bed.”

Vanessa laid the back of her hand across her forehead. “Perish the thought.”

“Seriously, drive your own car, keep your purse, your Mace and your cell phone nearby.” Mia bit her lip. “Maybe I should meet him…. You know, just to be sure I get good vibes, too.”

No woman in their right mind would want a potential lover to meet gorgeous, darkly sultry Mia. Vanessa blew her a kiss as she backed toward the door. “I’m fine, and you’re too good to me.”

“It’s a big sacrifice, all right.”

“Be nice to Colin.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Vanessa could do more than smile, the door at her back swung open. She spun and found herself face-to-face with Lucas.

His broad shoulders almost completely filled the doorway. In the bright light of the kitchen, she could see the custom-made details of his dark blue suit and perfectly pressed white shirt. His hair was windblown into sexy disarray. His eyes, seeming even more intensely green than she remembered them, focused on her face. When a hint of his spicy cologne floated toward her, her knees wobbled.

As she grappled for stability in a world suddenly wavering, she tried to focus on what it was about him that riveted her attention.

His amazing looks, certainly. His elegance, intelligence and confidence, too.

But there was more. A kindred, tattooed spirit? A risk-taking nature? A sense that he, too, felt alone in the world much of the time? Hadn’t she just been wondering why she always had to be the pursuer in her relationships? Hadn’t she just told herself she’d give away a prized cheesecake recipe to have a man look at her the way Colin did Mia?

Well, here certainly was a man pursuing her and looking at her with more than a casual interest….

That look was it. Or part of it.

He focused on her. Only her. As if no one else existed for miles. The desire to continue to be the center of his attention was overwhelming her, drawing her closer to him as if he had a magnet buried inside his chest.

One side of his mouth turned up in an enigmatic smile. “Just the woman I was looking for.” His gaze slid to Mia, then back to Vanessa. “Ready to go?”

As her heart fluttered, she somehow managed to keep her voice from trembling. “Lucas, this is my roommate and business partner, Mia Medini. Mia, Lucas…”

“Broussard,” he filled in, giving Vanessa a wink that told her he wasn’t afraid of his last name.

Unlike her.

Lucas approached Mia with his hand outstretched.

Mia’s eyes widened briefly before she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You ladies did a wonderful job with the party.” His gaze met Vanessa’s. “I especially liked the strawberries…and chocolate.”

Vanessa’s stomach trembled.

And it happened again. He looked at her as if nobody else were there. His eyes glittered with the promise of delight and pleasure.

And, except for that light stroke against my tattoo, he hasn’t even touched me.

“You should try her double-chocolate cheesecake,” Mia inserted into the charged silence.

Lucas raised his eyebrows, the way Vanessa remembered him doing when they’d talked about his tattoo. “I’ll be sure to have a taste.”

Just one? she longed to ask and no doubt would have if her roommie hadn’t been standing so close. “We should probably get going. Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked Mia.

“I’m fine.” She waggled her finger at Lucas. “You take care of my buddy.”

“I promise, chère.”

Chère? He spoke French? With a name like Broussard, he could be French. But then there was that Southern accent. Maybe he was from New Orleans. Growing up, she’d been to several charity balls down there. Her father loved the tradition and genteel manners of the Creoles.

What if my parents could actually like this one as much as I do?

But she immediately dismissed the idea. She’d known the man an hour and she was considering introducing him to her parents? No. Forget it.

This night was about desire. Chemistry. Carnal exploration. There wasn’t a future for a party pickup.

A group of servers strode into the kitchen carrying dirty dishes and glasses. Still feeling a bit guilty about leaving Mia, but not about to lose her opportunity with Mr. Beautiful, Vanessa grabbed her purse and keys, then slipped out the back door with Lucas.

“Your friend Mia is worried about you,” he said as they walked toward the parking lot.

Distracted by the deep timbre of his voice and the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers, Vanessa nodded, then shook her head. “She’s just jealous.”

“That you get to leave without cleaning up?”

“That I get to leave with you.”

“We could invite her along.”

Great. He’s into orgies. You can really pick ’em, Vanessa. “One woman’s not enough for you?”

“You’re definitely enough. But if you need a chaperone…”

She glanced at him and wished she hadn’t. His smile made her hot and light-headed. Thankfully, though the day’s humidity hadn’t dissipated much, a breeze chose that moment to gather enough strength to graze her skin. “I’ll pass.”

“If you insist.”

Was he kidding or was that part of his sharp humor? She wanted to get to know his brain almost as much as his body. Pausing at the back of her car, she commented, “Mia’s very beautiful, don’t you think?”

He stepped close, brushing a strand of her hair off her cheek. “Is she?”

Though all the air left her body at his proximity and her stomach quivered at his touch, she said coolly, “You’re trying to flatter me.”

“Of course. Is it working?”

“Of course. Is it because you want to get me into bed?”

He smiled. “Certainly.”

Dear heaven, he was temptation incarnate. And he was taking control of her senses with simple words and bare brushes against her skin. “I’m driving my car,” she said, needing to find some sense of practicality with the wild step she was taking.

“Okay.”

“I don’t doubt your driving skills or anything. I just want to have my own car. I mean I hardly know you, and—”

“I might turn out to be a guy who likes to wear women’s underwear.”

“Exactly.”

Staring up at him, the lure of attraction dragged her closer—not that she was fighting too hard anyway. A fog of need and curiosity had wrapped itself around her the moment she’d seen him. If she turned on a bright light, she might dispel the aura of mystery surrounding him. But she had no intention of doing so.

She’d fallen into a fantasy. And she liked it there.

“Can I have your cell-phone number in case we get separated?” he asked, all polite manners, even as she was igniting from the inside.

She gave it to him as he opened her door. “Where are we going?”

“My place.” Then he stepped forward, his face hovering less than an inch from hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, see the hunger in his eyes as his gaze dropped to her lips.

She wanted him to crush her against his chest. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body vibrating with the same need as hers.

But he just lightly pressed his lips to hers. The simple touch reverberated all the way to her toes. She inhaled the spicy scent of him, braced her hands against his waist.

He cupped her face as he pulled back. “You’ll follow me?”

Anywhere you want to go, baby. She cleared her throat and resisted yanking him against her lips. “Yes. I—Sure.”

“You’re nervous?”

She was a lot of things, but nervous wasn’t one of them. “No.”

“I am.” With that, he drew his fingertip along her jaw, then retreated. “I’ll pull my car around.”

Shaking from the inside out, Vanessa could do little more than nod. The man had amazing…presence.

By the time they’d driven away from the country club, she’d managed to rein in her hormones enough that she no longer feared spontaneous combustion. No doubt temporarily, but still that was something.

He wanted her. She could all but see the attraction shimmering between them. Yet he remained smooth. Composed. In control. Maybe he’d give her lessons.

After they’d driven a few miles away from the quiet elegance of moneyed homes, past the tall towers of office buildings and heading toward midtown, her cell phone rang.

“I haven’t thought about, looked at or considered any other woman since the moment I saw you.”

“We just met an hour ago.”

He laughed. “I really do like you, Vanessa.”

“Which brings up a good point. I know your last name. You don’t know mine.”

“Do you want to tell me?” he asked, his voice echoing intimately in her ear.

“Not particularly.”

“Then don’t.”

“How much farther?”

“We’re nearly there.”

“You live in midtown?”

“My office is nearby. It’s convenient.”

She wanted to ask about his office but didn’t. Her father’s office was also nearby, but he certainly would have mentioned hiring an old-moneyed Louisiana lawyer, which Lucas had to be, so he must work for a rival firm. In her father’s eyes, every firm was a rival, after all.

For a moment—a really brief moment—she considered turning off. He was part of the world she’d left a long time ago, a world she’d honestly never felt comfortable living in. Did she really want to get involved with a man who did? Despite the few times she’d given in to her sister’s setups, she’d been careful not to fish from her old pond.

Involved? You’re not getting involved. Carnal exploration, heat, falling into a fantasy. That’s it, remember?

Her pulse skipped a beat as she pictured the heated look in Lucas’s eyes.

Oh, I remember.

They pulled into the parking lot of a luxury high-rise apartment building. Vanessa’s hands trembled as she shut off her car. They barely spoke as they rode in the elevator to the sixteenth floor.

Lucas rested his hand at the small of her back, and they watched the numbers light in amber sequence. Sometime during the drive he’d ditched his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Vanessa fought the urge to slide her hand in the opening and see if his chest was as warm and hard as she’d imagined. By the time sixteen dinged, her palms were sweating.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, tossed his keys on a mahogany table in the foyer, and before she could do more than glimpse at the sunken living room decorated in neutral shades, he’d pinned her to the wall.

“Wanna throw down right here?”

Instinctively, she arched into her body against his. Finally was all she could think. Finally his composure had snapped. She wasn’t alone. He, too, felt this clawing, aching need. This desire that throbbed through her like a second pulse.

She had the sense that grabbing him—or, hell, just nodding at him—would be enough to have him ripping off their clothes and driving himself deep inside her. She wanted that immediate gratification. It would keep her from questioning her decision. It would keep things simple. She wanted him. She was drawn to him and intrigued by him. Did she really need to know him?

Before she could form an answer, he slid his hand gently across her cheek, then stepped back. “Relax, chère, I have some manners.”

Still trying to catch her breath, she stared after him for a stunned and confused—and needy—minute before curiosity forced her to follow him down the hall and into the kitchen, which was as sophisticated and sleek as he was. Black marble countertops, gleaming appliances, ceramic-tile floor and iron stools lined up along a curved bar.

What was with the manners thing? Some manners? He was impeccable. She’d spent a lifetime trying and failing to be that smooth.

He was a bit forward, she supposed, but for some reason, she doubted he came on to every woman the way he had her. Something about her had set him off. Just as the same had happened to her. She felt a connection to him she didn’t even feel in the presence of her own family. But when he wasn’t touching her, or looking at her in that intimate way he had, he seemed like a stranger.

He is.

He opened a below-the-counter wine fridge and pulled out a bottle. “I’m having whiskey, but I imagine you’d like something a bit softer.”

Was she predictable now? And soft? In her mind, soft was just another word for gentle, quiet or—worse—demure.

Oh, hell no.

She could admit to herself she was questioning her impulse to leave with him. She could silently acknowledge she was uncertain and off balance. But she wasn’t about to let him in on those weaknesses.

She was strong. Self-possessed. Bold. Confident.

She’d worked her ass off to make sure.

Leaning one hip against the counter, she said, “I’ll have whiskey.”

In the process of retrieving a wineglass from the cabinet, he turned. “One finger or two?”

Oh, God, she was pretty sure that meant straight. No ice, no mixer. She swallowed bravely, then smiled at the challenge in his eyes. “Whatever you’re having.”

He set two crystal tumblers on the counter, then poured a healthy amount into each from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Black Label. He handed one to her, then raised his glass. “To tattoos.”

She tapped her glass against his. “And chocolate.” She sipped and felt heroic when she managed to down a swallow of the burning liquid without choking.

“Good?” he asked, raising one cocky eyebrow.

She actually liked the taste of whiskey; she just didn’t like swallowing it. She’d dated a saxophone player once who’d always sipped whiskey at the end of his set, and he’d tasted fabulous. Drinking the stuff, though—especially without ice—must be an acquired thing.

“Smooth,” she managed to say.

“After the third or fourth glass, you hardly taste it at all.”

Now her chest was burning. “I’m sure.”

Grinning as if he knew the torture she was enduring, he linked hands with her and led her down the steps, through the living room and onto the balcony.

Though the view of the sparkling sky was stunning, and the balcony was nearly as richly decorated as the inside, Vanessa wasn’t sure they could accomplish the night’s goal on the wicker couch and chaise longue. But Lucas leaned against the balcony wall, the lights from the high-rise across the street framing his body, as if he planned to hang out there all night.

“You have a thing about being outside, don’t you?” she asked.

“The fresh air clears my mind—” he toasted her “—which you’ve fogged up quite nicely.”

Bravely, Vanessa took another sip of her whiskey. “And you need a clear head?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t have one?”

“I grab you and drag you back to my bedroom.”

Sounds pretty good to me. “And you don’t want to do that because…”

“I want to too much.”

Is it any wonder I’m fascinated with the man? “What happens to things you want too much?”

“I still get them. I’m just not especially gracious—or gentle—about the process.”

Oh my.

There was certainly more to Lucas than his steaming sensuality and good looks. He wasn’t just a corporate lawyer in a slick suit. Away from the rich and powerful crowd where he’d both blended in and stood out, his allure only grew stronger, the mystery of where he’d come from only deepened.

Vanessa set her glass on the ledge and stepped closer to him. “You’re trying to warn me off.”

“I’m not. At all.”

“But you’re deliberately acting dark and mysterious.”

“I am dark and mysterious.”

“Ha! You’re an open book.”

“No kidding.”

“You’re from Louisiana,” she began, watching his eyes widen as she obviously hit the mark. “I’m thinking New Orleans. The place is steeped in Creole history. The family homestead is probably in the Garden District. Your grandmother would be the matriarch—as is proper in all of New Orleans society. There’s a scandal in your family’s past, probably something to do with a riverboat gambler or pirate. I’m betting the family money started in agriculture—rice or sugarcane probably—but at some point somebody wise invested in manufacturing or real estate. And you, since you have a bit of the rebel in you, decided not to toe the family line completely and studied law. At Tulane, I’m sure. Where you didn’t pledge the proper fraternity, but instead bought a motorcycle and got a tattoo. With your wild days behind you after law school, you went into a well-established practice back home. But after a while you decided you needed a new challenge and came here. Where I found you, being bored to smithereens by the hunting stories and name dropping of the Atlanta Country Club.” She paused and studied his blank expression with interest. “Pretty close, huh?”

Roaring with laughter, he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

His body continued to shake. “Absolutely. One hundred percent. That last observation was dead-on.”

She laid her hands against his chest and glared up at him. “Why do I have the feeling I’m more wrong than right?”

“Mmm.” He smiled broadly. “Well, let’s just say I’m not going to ask you to read a jury anytime soon.”

It was the smile that did it.

Her annoyance fell away. He was even more beautiful when he smiled. All he had to do was touch her, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so interested in her story as she was in the feel of his body against hers. The magic they generated. The warmth emanating from his skin. The spicy scent of his cologne.

His throat, just at eye level, begged for her touch. His lips, no doubt sweet and smoky from the drink, glistened. His erection, pressing against his pants, certainly had its own pleasurable agenda.

He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then set his glass aside and didn’t make a move to get more. She could already taste him on her tongue.

With charm, money and looks like his, he was undoubtedly used to women throwing themselves at him. She was certainly one in a long line. But she didn’t care.

She had a package of condoms in her purse.

“I like the taste of whiskey better like this,” she said, then she cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward her waiting mouth.