champagne.
Popping one last shrimp into his mouth, he strained to hear what was going on in the living room. The conversation had waned. The front door opened and closed a few times. Except for the undertone of quiet music, there were no other sounds. He pushed through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room just in time to see Senegal grab Adrienne’s arm and whisper something in her ear. Her face drained of color and her back went stiff as a board. She pulled against Senegal’s grip, but he held on tight.
He was hurting her.
Every muscle in Seth’s body screamed for immediate and deadly action. He clenched his fists. He had the expertise to kill Senegal in seconds with his bare hands if he so desired. What he wasn’t sure he had was restraint.
Chapter Two
Seth controlled himself with an effort, drawing on the stony control of his military training. He wanted to flip Senegal and smash his face against the wall, but rushing to Adrienne DeBlanc’s aid would blow not only Confidential’s case, but also his own cover. There was too much at stake.
So he forced himself to remain still, clamping his jaw so tightly that pain reverberated through his head.
Adrienne nodded jerkily at whatever Senegal had said, and he let her go. The mob boss left without even noticing Seth, and then it was only Seth and Adrienne, and about a dozen servants.
Seth watched her curiously. When the front door closed behind Senegal, Adrienne’s back curved in relief. She rubbed her wrist and let out a weary sigh.
Approaching her quietly, Seth worked to keep his voice soft as he spoke. “Rough evening?” he asked.
She jerked, then quickly recovered. Up came the stiff back and the pleasant expression. She stopped massaging her wrist, but Seth could see the red marks left by Senegal’s cruel grip. The bastard.
Controlling his anger with an effort, he touched her wrist gently. “Any man who lays his hand on a lady doesn’t deserve to be called a man.”
He watched closely for her reaction. It wasn’t impossible that the interaction was a lovers’ quarrel. Sadness clouded her eyes for an instant, then she blinked and looked down. “I didn’t see you as the guests were leaving. I assumed you’d already gone.”
So she’d looked for him. The thought gave him a deep satisfaction that had nothing to do with Confidential’s case. He let his fingertips slide softly over the satiny skin of her inner wrist. “I couldn’t leave until I had a chance to speak to you. I have an important question.”
She glanced up at him, her expression guarded.
He held her gaze. “Is there a Mr. DeBlanc?”
Her eyes widened, the only sign that he’d surprised her. “You could have asked anyone that question.”
“I wanted to ask you.”
She shook her head. “My husband died over a year ago. I’m a widow.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Seth murmured, stepping closer. She smelled like gardenias. The scent was fitting. She had all the attributes of those delicate pale flowers, beautiful but fragile, the petals bruising from the slightest touch.
“However, I can’t help hoping that means you’re free for lunch tomorrow.”
She stared at him for a couple of beats. “Lunch?”
“What’s the matter, princess? Is your social calendar full?”
She swallowed. “My social calendar,” she repeated, a mocking tone in her voice.
Seth touched her cheek, sliding his fingertips down over her jaw and along the side of her neck, finally proving to himself that the skin he’d craved to touch ever since she’d opened her door to him was as soft and velvety as it looked.
In a way, the betrayed child inside him had looked forward to this part of his assignment, the satisfaction of performing a calculated seduction of the wealthy widow. A bit of revenge on the type of woman who had seduced his father.
But he was having trouble equating Adrienne De-Blanc with that woman.
Still, the softness of her lips, the drifting down of her long-lashed eyelids, told him she hungered for the touch of a man. And given Senegal’s treatment of her, Seth figured if he showed her a bit of gentle respect, she would be putty in his hands.
Every protective instinct in him had risen at Senegal’s treatment of her, but he couldn’t deny the question that remained.
Was she a willing participant in the mob? Was she an excellent actress who underneath her delicate mask was cut from the same hard calculating mold as the woman who had lured his father into her web of seduction? He pushed aside the doubts as he wrapped his fingers around her nape and bent his head to kiss her.
When his lips touched hers, she gasped and pushed at him. “No.”
Startled, he withdrew.
Her perfectly manicured hand flew to her mouth, and for an instant sheer panic shone in her eyes.
Adrienne took a long breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Seth studied her and she could almost hear his thoughts. They echoed through her, too. What was the big deal? They’d flirted, and he’d tried to kiss her. There was no reason to panic.
But he didn’t know that it had been years since a man had kissed her. A few had tried, but after Marc, Adrienne had thought she’d never again be tempted by a man’s kiss. She’d panicked not because Seth had tried to kiss her, but because she’d wanted him to. The idea that she was vulnerable to a man’s attentions frightened her.
“You should be going, Mr. Lewis.” She pulled herself to her full five feet three inches and lifted her chin, pasting on her best serene, perfect-hostess smile.
He cocked a brow. “I’m free for dinner if you’re busy for lunch. Or lunch the next day, or dinner, or—”
She smiled reluctantly and shook her head at his tenacity. Why not? From what he’d said he would only be in New Orleans a few weeks at the most. She longed to be in the company of a young handsome man, even if just for lunch. The last time a man had looked at her with such open admiration in his eyes had been her senior year at Loyola University. He was the brother of one of her sorority sisters, and she’d come very close to falling in love with him. But her dreams of happily ever after had been harshly cut short when her father had announced that she would marry Marc DeBlanc.
Now, older and wiser, she knew she’d been naive. She’d watched her sorority sisters planning their own weddings and had fallen in love with the idea of love.
Still, the way her pulse sped up at Seth’s charming flirtation reminded her of those carefree days, and she actually found herself thinking about what she should wear. “Lunch tomorrow will be nice, Mr. Lewis,” she said, edging away from him.
“Good. Say noon?”
She blushed. “Make it one. I have a commitment in the morning. We could meet—”
“I’ll pick you up. Wear something a little more casual than that.”
Adrienne was still smiling as she closed the door. She leaned her forehead against it for a second. Had she really agreed to have lunch with Seth Lewis, a man she didn’t even know?
“Adrienne? Is everything all right?”
Adrienne turned and nodded at the owner of the pleasant New Orleans accent. Jolie Sheffield was one of Adrienne’s few trusted friends. The daughter of the sous chef at The Caldwell, her father’s flagship hotel, Jolie had been Adrienne’s childhood companion, playing with her in the kitchens and hiding in the laundry chutes of the hotel when they were children.
Now, thanks to Adrienne, Jolie owned her own catering business.
“The food was perfect, as usual,” Adrienne said,