Lovechild. Metsy Hingle

forget, we’ll be sending out the invitations for the auction and dinner dance the first week of December,” Liza reminded the board members, while she carefully avoided looking at Jacques. But it didn’t stop her from being aware of him. How could she not be? Even without their past history, he would have been difficult to ignore. He had asked intelligent questions, offered good suggestions and had charmed the socks off the other board members. Or perhaps stockings was more appropriate, given the flurry of feminine interest that had buzzed through the room after Jacques had introduced himself.

      “That means I’ll need each of you to get your lists of potential ticket buyers to me as soon as possible. Of course, no one here has to wait for an official invitation. We’ll be happy to take your order for tickets and your checks tonight. Remember, the more tickets we sell, the more money we raise for the summer camp for the kids.” Liza smiled despite the hammerlike pounding in her head. “Once again, I want to personally thank each of you for coming this evening and for all of your help and support. I’m looking forward to seeing each of you at the patron party next month.”

      Chairs scraped across the tiled floor as the meeting disbanded. For the next ten minutes, Liza smiled and gratefully accepted ticket orders and checks.

      “Great job, Liza,” Robert said fifteen minutes later as he handed her his own check for tickets. “Looks like we’re off to a good start. Just about everyone has committed to purchase a full table for the dinner. I’ve never seen this group so eager to part with their money before.”

      “Let’s hope the rest of Chicago responds the same way.”

      “They will,” he assured her. “With you in charge, I have no doubt about that.”

      “Thank you.”

      “What about my offer to buy you dinner? We could celebrate tonight’s advance sales with a good bottle of wine and a nice Chateaubriand.”

      Guilt lanced through Liza as she realized she had been so distracted by Jacques’s presence that she’d forgotten all about Robert and his invitation to have dinner. “Would you mind terribly if I took a rain check? I was hoping to go over my notes for the patron party tonight. I’m meeting with the caterers tomorrow.”

      “Of course not,” he said, but Liza could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Everything okay? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”

      “Everything’s fine. I just have a monster headache and I’m afraid I’d be lousy company.”

      “You couldn’t be lousy company even if you tried,” he said, his voice filled with affection and warmth. Lines of concern etched his handsome face. “But I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. Stop worrying about the patron party and the gala. It’s going to be a great success. What you need is a good night’s rest.”

      “You’re probably right.”

      “I know I am. Would you like me to drive you home? I can have your car sent to you in the morning.”

      “No. I’ll be okay. But thanks anyway.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes.”

      He gave her hand a light squeeze. “All right. Just let me have a quick word with Harvey Adams and then I’ll walk you to your car.”

      What was wrong with her? Liza demanded silently as she watched him walk away. Robert Carstairs was everything she could want in a man—kind, patient and generous to a fault. Only a week ago she had convinced herself she was ready to take their friendship to the next level. After all, it had been more than three years since her affair with Jacques had ended—more than enough time to get over him. And she had thought she was over him.

      Until he had walked through the door tonight. A shiver skipped down Liza’s spine as she recalled the heat in his eyes when he had told her he stilt wanted her. Then suddenly it was as though it was only yesterday that she’d been in his arms, wild with a hunger and need that only he seemed able to fill.

      No! Liza screamed silently. Drawing a deep breath, she reached for the meeting files and began packing them away. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall into Jacques’s sensual trap again. She couldn’t. She had too much to lose—even more than she had when she’d run away three years ago.

      The hum of voices grew around her, but Liza ignored them. Ordinarily she would have joined in the after-meeting chatter. She enjoyed these people, and a number of them were potential clients. In fact, she had even planned to follow up on several inquiries about her services as a fund-raiser. But not tonight, she told herself, as she retrieved another handful of folders from the table and stored them in her briefcase. Not when the shock of seeing Jacques again was still so fresh. Not when she was so keenly aware of his presence in the room. She’d have to face him again. Of that much she was sure. But not yet, not before she had figured out what to do.

      “I think I’m in love.”

      Liza looked up from the stacks of papers to Jane Burke, her friend and co-worker on the committee. At just over five feet, with jet black hair and dark eyes, Jane was her direct opposite in appearance and philosophy. The other woman was as reckless and romantic as Liza was cautious and pragmatic. Yet the two had become fast friends. “Again?” Liza asked casually, used to her friend falling in and out of love at the drop of a hat.

      “Don’t be snide, Liza.”

      “Who is it this time?”

      “The committee’s new co-director, Jacques Gaston.” At the arch of Liza’s brow, she insisted, “This time it’s the real thing.”

      “Need I remind you that’s what you said three weeks ago when you met that Bobby What’s-his-name from Texas?”

      “I know.”

      “And let’s not forget about Beauregard Jefferson Davis from Mississippi.”

      Jane laughed, the sound light and carefree. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a fellow with an accent.” As if on cue, the deep rumble of Jacques’s voice carried across the room to them. “Who could blame me? Can you imagine what it would be like to hear him whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”

      She didn’t have to imagine, Liza thought at the sound of the deep voice, heavily accented by his native French. Memories came rushing back to her of those nights she’d spent wrapped in his arms, listening to his stories about the vineyard in France where he’d lived as a boy. She had envisioned him easily, a handsome boy with a devilish twinkle in his eyes, racing through the vineyard, laughing as he swiped grapes from the vines and popped them into his mouth. For a short time during their brief affair, she had even been foolish enough to fantasize that the two of them would travel there together one day. She had so wanted to see the valleys he had described to her, the place he had painted for her so vividly with his words.

      But that had been before she had realized that Jacques didn’t love her. That he would never permit himself to love her or any woman. And even worse that there was no place in his life or his heart for her love.

      “I wonder if it’s true what they say about Frenchmen,” Jane murmured. “You know, about them being better lovers.”

      Unbidden, Liza’s gaze followed her friend’s to where Jacques stood flanked by three of the female board members. One of the trio murmured something to him and Jacques tossed back his head and laughed. A swift pang shot through Liza and she jerked her gaze away. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be too anxious to find out—not if you still want marriage, motherhood and that white picket fence.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because unless he’s changed a great deal, you’ll never have any of those things with Jacques. He’s allergic to even the thought of marriage or commitment.” After all, she should know, Liza added silently.

      Jane wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you know that no man ever wants to settle down? They fight it tooth and nail until the right woman comes along and changes