was involved with Jerome and his goons, or he soon would be.
It was a shame. He was so attractive. He was much taller than she, probably almost six feet, and younger than most of the people here. Everything about his appearance screamed money and power, and there was an aura of watchfulness about him. She had the feeling that no matter what happened, he would be prepared.
But his hazel eyes shone with honesty and intelligence, and when he focused his attention on her she felt as if she were safe, really safe, for the first time in her life.
“Mrs. DeBlanc?”
She blinked. His eyes threatened to delve beyond the surface down to the heart of her. She smiled quickly—too quickly, and ran a hand down the side of her neck, where muscles were tensing. She didn’t miss the drifting of his gaze as he followed her gesture.
“I apologize. I must be tired. I’m not usually so rude to my guests. Please, have some more champagne.” She motioned to a waiter, who hurried over with a tray and exchanged Seth’s empty glass for a full one.
She thought she caught a brief flicker of contempt in the curve of his lips. The unguarded expression was like a slap to her face. But he smiled as his gaze traced the slim line of her gold-flecked, floor-length gown, then turned to the glass he held up to the light.
“Krug?” he drawled, indicating the delicate crystal flute.
“Ninety-one,” Adrienne agreed. He certainly knew his wines. She met his gaze. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. The contempt remained, along with a touch of amusement and discomfort. His attitude didn’t fit his clothes. But there was something else—something sexual that passed between them in that look. A hunger grew in her, an awareness she’d never expected to feel again.
Seth Lewis wanted her.
The thought sent ripples of sensation over her, like the ruffling of a bird’s feathers when it awakened.
Seth took a sip of wine without taking his eyes off her. He rolled it around on his tongue as he held the glass up to the light.
“This is nice. A lovely representation of the class,” he drawled, his gaze flickering to her face, her mouth. “Not so young as to be undeveloped, but not too old to have fun with.”
Adrienne had the uncomfortable sensation he wasn’t talking about the champagne. Her face flushed. Suddenly, his carefully controlled body exuded sexuality. Was he trying to titillate her with double entendres?
His gaze drifted over her body like fingers of fire licking at her heated skin, as if she were his for the taking. He held up his glass. Watching him, Adrienne knew just how the bubbles floating lazily to the surface would feel fizzing against their entwined tongues.
“I like mine golden, sophisticated, with a subtle fragrance that’s difficult to describe.” He passed the flute briefly under his nose. “Mmm, seductive.”
As his wide, firm mouth curved upward, a deep thrill pooled in her loins, causing a reflexive tightening of her thighs.
Immediately, apprehension constricted her throat. The fact that she was responding with such abandon to this stranger frightened her. She quelled the urge to glance around, to see if Tony was watching her reaction. Was this some kind of test of her loyalty to the mob?
“The flavor,” he paused for an agonizing few seconds as his gaze dropped to her mouth and then farther, to her satin-draped breasts, which ached at his blatant stare.
“The flavor should be full, rich. A mouthful to be savored, to delight the tongue.”
Adrienne gasped softly as she anticipated the touch of his tongue over their distended tips, the slow, gentle suction as he pulled them into his mouth. Heat flushed her cheeks and spread through her. She shivered.
She should slap him. He was describing how she would taste when he kissed her, when he made love to her. Yet strangely, she wanted to smile. He was intriguing, charming and brash, and he was coming on to her.
She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. She should stop this conversation. Shouldn’t she?
He looked her in the eye and Adrienne noticed that his eyes were an interesting mix of green and gold and brown. At this moment, the green glinted like dark jade. She had to hear what he planned to say next.
“Of course, no truly excellent experience is complete without a satisfying finish. Don’t you agree?” He drained his glass, then grinned at her.
She bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him. “Mr. Lewis, you are a rogue,” she said, hardly believing she was actually flirting with him.
“And you, madame—”
His eyes flickered and his attention was gone. His gaze bypassed her and settled across the room. She turned her head and saw Jerome Senegal headed into her dead husband’s study with Sebastion Primeaux entering behind him. So that was why Senegal had wanted her to host this charity event—so he could talk to the D.A. without drawing attention. A shudder of revulsion quivered through her.
The playful mood Seth had evoked was gone. How long was her nightmarish existence going to last? She’d thought that after her husband’s death, she could escape from these crooks and their underhanded schemes. Instead, because of her mother’s illness, she was more deeply entrenched than ever.
When she looked back at Seth, his jaw was tense and his expression hard. But as soon as he realized her eyes were on him, his face relaxed into a charming smile. He met her curious gaze. “Let’s have some more of this fine champagne and you tell me how you came to be so involved with—charity work.”
DISTRICT ATTORNEY Sebastion Primeaux loosened his tie as he stepped into Marc DeBlanc’s study behind Jerome Senegal. “I told you, Jerome, I do not appreciate you dragging me into these dramatic little meetings. Especially now. Do you have any idea how close I came to being caught in that raid on the McDonough Club the other night?” He smoothed his hair back, then took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands and face. It was too close to election time. After the raid, he’d vowed to keep his hands clean for the next few months.
Then, he’d received the invitation to this charity event from Adrienne DeBlanc and almost panicked. An invitation from Mrs. DeBlanc was an invitation from Senegal. What did the mob boss want from him?
Senegal sat down behind DeBlanc’s desk and leaned back, resting his interlaced fingers on his barrel chest. His leathery face was bland, but Primeaux knew the man, once known as “The Bat” for his weapon of choice back in the days before he’d attained his current position, was fully capable of beating a man to death without so much as a grimace. Senegal’s black eyes pinned Primeaux like a butterfly to a display board.
Primeaux swallowed hard, trying to stay calm. He patted his inside jacket pocket for reassurance. The cardboard coffee sleeve was there. One of his favorite girls had given it to him in return for the promise of a Get Out Of Jail Free card.
Primeaux reminded himself that he was the district attorney, one of the most powerful men in the city.
The thought was too quickly followed by the next logical one. He was in the same room as one of the few men in New Orleans more powerful than him.
He wondered if Senegal knew how much he hated him.
“Sit down, Bas. Take a load off. You worry too much. You gonna have a heart attack.”
Primeaux paced, loosening his tie a bit more. “Is there any whiskey in here?” He licked his dry lips.
Senegal pulled a carafe and two glasses out of a desk drawer. “Sure thing, Bas. Marc always kept some sippin’ whiskey for his friends.”
“What do you want, Jerome?” Primeaux took the glass and downed the whiskey in one swallow. It burned going down. It felt good in his stomach.
Senegal sipped his. “I just need a little insurance.”
“Insurance?”