Mad About The Man (8 page)

"I'm not
…
"
No.
She had no way of knowing how sick he was that for most people he was a product rather than a man. "Yeah. Before I became a candy
king. Just call me luscious Ledan and I'll know you're
not talking to anyone but me."

Regarding him speculatively, she sipped her drink.
"What's it like to be filthy, stinking rich?"

That was a novel approach. "Past a certain point,
money doesn't have much actual meaning."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I think I have."

"Mmm." S
he rolled her frosty wineglass
against her jaw.
"So, you're so used to being weal
thy it doesn't mean anything anymore. And you think hav
ing the corner on chocolate-covered truffles gives you
the right to have whatever you want—even if you only want it for a short while and even if you might do damage by having it at all."

Jacques narrowed his eyes. "What are we talking about here?"

Gaby lowered her gaze. "Nothing, I guess. I was just thinking aloud and not making much sense."

Sure. Only he didn't believe her. And neither was
he confused about her meaning. "I don't ever set out to hurt people, Gaby." The local populace wasn't the
issue here. She assumed he used women as diversions
and that he intended her to become his temporary antiboredom device. "We interest each other."

"Do we?" Almost absently, she set her glass on a
tiled counter and turned to look through the window
at well-tended plantings in a courtyard enclosed by a
white stone wall.

Jacques went to stand behind her. "We're very attracted to each other." Her hat had been discarded. A hint of red gleamed in her black hair. "We are, Gaby. Admit it."

She glanced back at him. "The kind of attraction
you're talking about can be dangerous to the health."

"Sometimes." He smoothed her hair carefully, from the crown of her head, to within inches of her waist. "But you aren't denying you feel it."
At this first hint of victory his muscles tensed. "Good." Cautious not to make any sudden moves, Jacques slipped his hand beneath her hair to settle loosely on her nape. "This kind of attraction doesn't happen often, Gaby. We've got to make the best of
it." He rubbed his thumb up and down the side of
her neck.

Gaby sighed and smiled up at him. "This is some line."

"You and I are two magnets on a collision course.
We— What did you say?"

"I said, this is some line. You must have had a lot
of practice."

He smothered a laugh. "This is no line, sweetheart." This lady would never be dull. "I know what I feel and you feel it, too. We're going to have to do something about it."

"You're a dreamer."

"I certainly am." Jacques closed his eyes. "You should see what I'm dreaming. We're just going to have to make my dreams come true
…
and yours."

"I'm not dreaming. My eyes are wide open."

She was going to make this very difficult. Jacques
didn't entirely dislike that idea. "Don't tell me you
haven't thought, at least briefly, about how we would
be together."

"No!
…
Yes." The last was said as if it cost her dearly.

Jacques grinned and turned her toward him.
"Good. Now we've settled the preliminary stuff. Why
don't we go up to my place?"

"Go up to your place?"

"We could have a nice, intimate little dinner. Swim
some, maybe
…
or maybe not." What did he see in
her eyes? "If you'd rather, we'll just light a fire,
and…
"

"And?"

Her face was turned up to his. Jacques looked at her moist, slightly parted lips and almost forgot her
question. "And we could get to know each other bet
ter." Slowly he brought his mouth closer to Gaby's.

"Better than what?" She settled her hands on his chest.

The shadow between her breasts showed at the open neck of her shirt. A breath raised that full, soft
flesh. Jacques felt his body harden. Her nipples stiff
ened against the thin, white cotton.

Jacques brought his lips even nearer to Gaby's.
"Better and better. Just better and better." He cupped
her breasts, closed his eyes and drew her bottom lip gently between his teeth. "So much better." His thumbs found the rigid centers of her nipples. He
stroked back and forth until she gasped, and then he
trapped her hips between the counter and the part of him that was too hard and heavy to ignore.

"Gaby, maybe we should just stay here." One
empty house was as good as another if the company
was perfect.

"Maybe—" she tried to turn her head aside "—maybe
we
shouldn't stay anywhere."

The uncertainty in her voice brought him satisfaction. "I don't think you mean that."

"There are one or two things
…
one thing you don't
know about me."

"Only one?" he murmured. If she thought he
hadn't guessed that she was one passionate woman, she was wrong. "Kiss me, Gaby."

The sound of the front door slamming reverberated
through the house. "Didn't you close that?" He
brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

"Yes." Before he could react, she ducked from his
grasp.

Footsteps clattered in the hall leading to the
kitchen. "Mom! Where are you?"

"In here," Gaby called.

6

"
M
om, there's a truck out front." The small girl
who burst into the room needed little introduction.
Jacques wiped any sign of surprise from his face and
put on his best benevolent expression for Gaby McGregor's daughter.

"Jacques," Gaby said, glowing with obvious pa
rental pride. "This is Mae."

He put his hands in his pockets. "Hi, Mae. How
are you?" So much for his assumptions about lack of
impediments and empty houses.

The child accepted a hug from Gaby without taking
her dark brown eyes from Jacques's face. Once re
leased, she wrinkled her nose and asked, "Who's
he?"

"Mae! Don't be rude." Gaby planted her hands on
her hips, but chuckled fondly. "This is Mr. Ledan.
The truck is a Jeep. It belongs to him."

"I remember
him!
He's the one who sat at The Table at Sis's."

"Your mother and I are friends." He deliberately
relaxed his clenched jaw. "You can call me Jacques,
if you like."

"Mommy doesn't like me to call people by their
first names if we don't know them."

Jacques looked at Gaby. "I just told you your
mother and I are friends." Gaby bit her lip and didn't quite suppress a smile. She was enjoying his discom
fort, damn it.

Mae braced her thin legs apart and accomplished a
ferocious frown. "Is he from Los Angles, like Daddy?"

"Um
—
"

"Yes." Jacques cut Gaby off. "At least, I have a
house in Los Angeles. But I've got one here, too."

"No, you don't."

Enough of the kindness-to-little-children bit. Jacques frowned right back. "Yes I do."

"No you don't." Mae McGregor approached, her
familiarly sharp little chin thrust forward. "If you
lived in Goldstrike I'd know where your house is. I
don't. So you don't."

Gaby cleared her throat. "Mae—"

"Have you ever seen the house just outside town?
The one all on its own up in the foothills?"

For an instant Mae's frown grew even darker. Then
her finely drawn eyebrows rose. "The os-osterentious
monster
…
monsterous
…
Does he mean that one,
Mommy? The osterentious
—
"

"Mae, hush," Gaby said.

Jacques gave her a wicked grin. "That's the one,
Mae. Ostentatious monstrosity? Is that what your
mother calls it?"

"Uh-huh. A lot of people do." She shook her head,
whipping a shiny black ponytail back and forth. "I've
never seen it. I know it's big, though. Too big to be
useful—that's what Mommy said. But that's probably
because you aren't from around here, so you don't
know what your house is supposed to be like. Sophie
always says it's nice to try to make excuses for other
people when they do dumb stuff."

This time Jacques didn't trust himself to meet Gaby's eyes. "That's very generous of Sophie. And very nice of you, too. But I do come from around here, really. My grandfather built La—he built the
house you're talking about. That was just before I was
born and I've been spending time there since I was a
boy."

"Jeez." Mae's frown slid back into place. "It's a
real old house, then. I 'spect it's a whole lot older
than ours, huh?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." He'd never had much
to do with children. Until today his excuse would have been lack of opportunity—after this encounter
the explanation was likely to be markedly different.

"How was school, Mae?" Gaby sounded strangled.

"Same as always. Do you have any animals at that
house?"

"Mae, it isn't polite to—"

"Yes," Jacques said.

Mae sighed hugely inside a sleeveless, red and
white cotton dress.
"Everybody
does," she said with
a dramatic flap of spindly arms. "Everybody but
me."

"You like animals?" He saw the possibility of a
crack in the child's apparent dislike of him. There was
nothing like empathy to win over a female.

"I
love
animals."
The
scowl was redirected at
Gaby. "Mom won't let me have any."

"Mae, this isn't the time or place to discuss—"

"When
I
was a boy I had all kinds of
animals
.
What's your favorite?"

Mae clasped her hands and considered. "I love dogs."

"You're allergic to them," Gaby said in a voice
that should have warned Mae to tread carefully.

"I love cats, too."

"You're allergic to cats. That's why we don't have
dogs or cats. That and the fact that I don't think peo
ple should have animals if they aren't around to look
after them."

"Cats can be left alone," Jacques told her, smiling
benignly.

"It doesn't matter. Mae's—"

"Allergic to them," Jacques finished for her. "So you've said." He made sure his eyes said what he
couldn't say aloud, that she should have told him she
had a child. His next thought was about the father of
that child. It came as an unpleasant surprise to discover he could dislike someone he'd never met.

"Many people are allergic to dander," Gaby said. "Mae, Jacques makes candy."

"He does?" Interest flickered in the girl's eyes. "I never knew men made candy. My grandma lives in
Portland—the one in Oregon—and she makes fudge
and salt-water taffy and sends it sometimes. When we
visited one time she let me help. The kitchen got real
hot. I like helping in kitchens. Could I come to your
house and help?"

"Mr. Ledan doesn't exactly—"

"Sure you can come. I'll be sure we get to make
some really unusual stuff." One of the positives about
children was that they were generally uncomplicated—they could be bought.

"Mr. Ledan doesn't actually
make
the candy himself," Gaby said. Her face no longer betrayed any
thing of what she was
thinking
.
"He owns big factories that mass-produce the stuff."

"Stuff?" Jacques pretended affront. "Factories? Ledan's candies are made in kitchens, madam. And they are referred to as confectionery, not
stuff.
I'll
arrange a special demonstration for you, Mae—in the
kitchen at my house. Would you like that?"

"Boy, yes. Wait till I tell the other kids."

"You'll get to visit my dog, too." He saw Gaby prepare to protest and held up both hands. "Spike's not really long-haired and I'll make sure—"

"No dog is short-haired enough," Gaby said and added, grudgingly, "but thank you, anyway."

"I told Mary-Alice Healy I'm getting a pig."

"You're not supposed to talk to Mary-Alice Healy.
The last time you did the pair of you got into trouble
for pulling hair and— What did you say?"

"I told her I'm getting a pig," Mae told her mother
in a very small voice.

Jacques hid a grin.

"Mae! Why did you tell a fib like that?"

The girl displayed Gaby's talent for brilliant
blushes. "I said it 'cause she's always braggin'.
She's
got a dog
and a
cat and her dad says she can have a
pony when she's ten. So I said I'm gonna get a pig for my seven and a half birthday."

"When's that?" Jacques asked innocently.

"In a week."

"Well, young lady," Gaby said. "We don't cele
brate half-year birthdays around here. And you're just
going to have to admit that you fibbed."

Mae shook her head violently and pressed her lips
together.

"This is all I needed," Gaby muttered, and Jacques
observed her speculatively. "We'll talk about the consequences of lying later, Mae."

"Daddy would buy me a pig."

"Mae," Gaby said warningly.

"Who do you look like most?" Jacques asked
Mae. "Your mom or your dad?"

Mae glowered at Gaby. "My
dad.
He's a lot of
fun, too." She gave Jacques her full attention. "If you
and Mom are friends, why haven't I seen you before?"

"We only met a little while ago." Sometimes hon
esty was the best route.

"So why are you here today?"

"I
came to invite your mother to dinner. I'm wait
ing for her to tell me she'll come."

"Oh." Mae pursed her lips. "When Daddy comes he eats here with Mommy and me."

"Ah-hah." Evidently he'd made an even bigger error than he'd thought in assessing the situation.

"My dad's tall. Much taller than you."

"Really?" He looked at Gaby over Mae's head. Gaby rolled her eyes. "I guess your daddy's much younger and better looking, too."

Mae nodded. "Much. Char says he's the best look
ing man she ever saw. Char works for Mom. Mom
thinks
so, too, don't you, Mom?"

Gaby made a noise that sounded vaguely like an agreement.

"And Daddy's an artist. You aren't, are you?"

"No."

"Daddy's very clever. He's made all kinds of
money
and he likes giving me things…
and Mom."

The kid was challenging him. "I bet he loves you a great deal and that's why he likes giving you
things."
Everything but himself
.
Jacques felt in his
pocket for his keys. "Does your daddy get up here
to see you often?"

"All the time." She puffed up her cheeks and ex
pelled the air upward at wisps of hair. "He'll be com
ing to stay with us again soon, won't he, Mommy?"

Jacques caught the faint shake of Gaby's head—
and the worried shadow in her eyes, but she said, "I expect so. We mustn't keep Jacques any longer."

He pulled out the keys and managed a smile. "I'll
call you tomorrow about that dinner date." Gaby
wasn't the type to lie easily, and she'd said she was single. So the daughter was a complication, but all
bets were still on.

"We've got all kinds of stuff to do, don't we,
Mom?" Mae leaned on the table. "Mom doesn't go out on dates. That's what you're talking about, isn't
it? Taking Mom out on a date?"

"I guess it is," he said, watching the child's edgy wiggling back and forth. "Would that be okay?" It was natural that she felt threatened—particularly if
Gaby hadn't seen many men since she was divorced.
He assumed she was divorced.

Mae ignored him. She knelt on a chair and rested
her chin on a fist.

Jacques touched Gaby's shoulder, stroked to her
elbow and back. "Don't bother to come with me. I
can see myself out." She looked, not at him but at
Mae. "Call you tomorrow," he told her.

"Yes," Gaby agreed distractedly. "Thank you."
In the hall Jacques deliberately pulled the kitchen
door shut behind him.

Before the latch clicked he heard Mae say, "He's
not bad, Mom, but Daddy's nicer."

Gaby responded, "You don't know Jacques yet."

He took his hand from the doorknob and sauntered
from the house. Once in the Jeep, with his arms
spread along the back of the seat, he slid down to rest
his head back and squint at the sparkling, late-
afternoon sky.

You don't know Jacques yet.

In a quiet way, the lady had defended him. "Oh,
yeah," he whispered to the warm air. "Oh,
yeah!"
The day hadn't turned out exactly as expected, but
progress had definitely been made.