Chances Are (11 page)

Veronique took a sip of the hot, sweet liquid, then pulled out the society section.
Mrs. Sidney Barlow donated a lesser known Monet to the New Orleans Museum of Art.
Veronique could smell the bacon Jack was frying in the kitchen and her mouth began to water.

Sarah and Candace Dupree are dating titled twins they met while vacationing in the Riviera. Titled twins? Tacky. Veronique took another sip of coffee. Rumor has it that Lily St. Germaine is getting a five-point-six carat diamond solitaire for her thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. I wonder who started that rumor, Veronique thought dryly. She skimmed the next two listings. Where was the good stuff? Ah-hah, here we go. A little bird told me that our very own Bachelor of the Year, Brandon Rhodes, spent a wild—dare I say even bawdy—night with none other than the notorious Veronique Delacroix. Moreover, my informant hinted that the couple never said good-night. Veronique's mouth dropped in surprise. Could there be more than fun and games going on between this unlikely couple? Or is our handsome bachelor merely proving his prowess?

"Here you go, little gal." Jack set the overloaded plate in front of her. "Hey, is something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Veronique's eyes met his. "No, Jack, I'm fine. Just hungry."

"Well, dig in. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

"Thanks." As soon as he was out of sight, she pushed her plate away. Her eyes returned to the paper, and she reread the blurb. There was only one "little bird" who could have given Sissy this information. Brandon. No one else knew about their night together. Her eyes narrowed. That rat. That no good son of a...

One corner of her mouth lifted. She had to give it to him, it was one hell of a move. He'd outmaneuvered her again, and very neatly at that. He'd gotten back at her for the prank she'd played on him, plus he became notorious by association. And he didn't even have to spend more time with her.

She couldn't let him get away with it. She drummed her fingers on the counter. What could she... publicly call his bluff. She almost laughed out loud when the thought came to her. The perfect comeback. Brandon would backpedal as fast as possible. She could picture his expression—surprised, disbelieving, shocked. Oh, yes, turning the tables on Mr. Brandon Rhodes would be interesting. Now all she needed was a plan.

Suddenly starved, she dug into the cooling waffles.

* * *

Fifteen minutes away, Brandon sat in the courtyard of Commanders Palace Restaurant, reading the Sunday paper and having brunch. He'd started with an appetizer of shrimp sauteed in butter and garlic, followed by Eggs Sardou. The French bread, with its crunchy crust and light-as-air center, was not only authentic, but was still warm from the oven. The coffee was as black as night and as thick as cream; it was served in a small silver pot that was left at the table.

Brandon didn't look up as the waiter deposited his chocolate mousse, then refilled his coffee cup. His eyebrows drew together. He didn't like what the Dow Jones had been doing lately. Erratic at best, he thought with a small shake of his head. At this rate...

"Brandon, what a lovely surprise."

He lifted his eyes and silently groaned—Lily St. Germaine. She could stir up more trouble than any three people he knew. And she was obviously excited about something. She had the look of a bloodhound on the trail of tenderloin, and he had the uneasy feeling that he was it. "Hello, Lily."

"How's your mother? Holding up, I hope." The woman's gaze sharpened. "And how are.yow?"

The question was ripe with anticipation. Brandon ignored it. "Fine," he answered shortly. "We're both fine."

"You must be very busy. We rarely see you these days. In fact, I didn't even run into you at the Sovereigns' Ball... or did I?"

This time Brandon's gaze sharpened. "What are you getting at, Lily?"

"Nothing, nothing at all." She gestured gaily with one hand. "Just catching up. Claude and I have always been fond of you."

Right. And cats love water.
Brandon arched one, dark eyebrow to acknowledge the lie. "Look, Lily, if there's—"

"So, are you seeing anyone special?" she gushed. "Anyone
different?"

Brandon's eyes narrowed. The stress she'd placed on "different" couldn't go unnoticed. Lily was a notorious gossip, and this was leading to something. "No, Lily, no one special. Why do you ask?"

The woman clucked her tongue. "Now, Brandon, you know I don't like repeating gossip. Claude's waiting, I must go. Enjoy your mousse."

Brandon watched her leave, his expression thoughtful. Gossip? About him? She couldn't be referring to the Bachelor of The Year thing—that was old news.
News...
of course. The Sunday society section was the biggest, and juiciest, of the week. He pulled out the Vivant section of the paper, then opened it to the gossip column. It took him a moment to find it; he read it twice, then burst out laughing.
Where in the world had Sissy gotten this story?

Veronique. It had to be. He shook his head, not at all annoyed over the blurb. Veronique was miffed over his criticism of her proposal, so she'd decided to play another trick on him. He was surprised she hadn't told Sissy they were engaged. Now
that
would have caused a stir.

He folded the paper and sat back in the chair. It was a shame there wasn't something going on between them. Besides the obvious reasons, it would give him a chance to get to know her better. Maybe then he could accurately gauge her reaction to the information about her father and his connection to Rhodes.

He could ask her out. Dinner, dancing, the whole bit. Brandon shook his head. She would refuse. He didn't have to ask to know that. The only thing that little hellion never turned down was a challenge.

That was it. His lips curved into a smile. He would turn the tables on Ms. Veronique Delacroix, call her bluff and start courting her. It would serve her right and give him the time he needed. He drained his coffee cup, then replaced it on its saucer. This could be fun.

Pleased with the turn of events, he motioned for the waiter to bring his check.

Chapter 6

It was Friday before Veronique had a chance to initiate her plan. Brandon had been out of town all week—he'd flown to Miami on Monday, then to Atlanta on Wednesday. His secretary had turned out to be an extremely chatty woman and, therefore, a wealth of information. She'd even said what time Brandon would be getting in Friday morning.

Veronique had considered meeting him at the airport in a limousine with champagne on ice, but had decided that that wouldn't be a public enough gesture. Besides, it would have been too early in the morning for champagne, and without it the prank's effect was greatly reduced.

So, today was the day. Veronique made one final check in the mirror before she headed up the escalator. She'd dressed with care, wanting to look flirty, provocative without being too obvious, just outrageous enough to raise a few eyebrows. She decided on a short, gauzy skirt, with white capri leggings underneath, a tight, white scoop neck tank and a peek-a-boo over-shirt. Her platform sandals brought attention to her already long legs. She smiled. If this outfit didn't knock him off balance, nothing would.

The ride up the escalator took only moments; she saw Brandon the moment she reached the top. He was talking to the buyer of better dresses and the store manager. Veronique took a deep breath. She suddenly felt as if she'd run up the flight of stairs. Just nerves, she told herself. Nerves and anticipation of the game.

She walked determinedly toward Brandon. It looked as if his discussion was breaking up, and she increased her pace. It wouldn't do if there were no witnesses. "Hello, everybody," she said as she reached the trio.

"Hi, Veronique." The buyer, Margo Vincent, looked appraisingly at Veronique's outfit, then as if Veronique had passed muster, she smiled. "I like what you've done with window number two. Very imaginative."

"Thanks, Margo." Veronique sidled up to Brandon and slipped an arm through his. It was a possessive gesture, a gesture that spoke of past intimacy. She felt Brandon's arm stiffen under hers, and from the corner of her eye, saw the surprised glance that followed. She swallowed a laugh. "So, how was your buying trip? Anything extraordinary?"

The other woman jerked her gaze from Veronique's hand on Brandon's arm to her eyes. She flushed, and Veronique could almost hear the speculations dancing through her head. "Why, yes. I was just telling Brandon and Tom about the unusual..." While the woman talked, Veronique sneaked repeated and adoring glances up at Brandon. One time, when his eyes met hers, she mouthed the words "I missed you." As she did, Margo stumbled over her sentence. But even better was the stunned look on Brandon's face. Perfect.

Veronique turned her attention back to Margo. "Sounds like it was a profitable trip. I especially look forward to seeing the new Kamalis. They sound like window one material." Veronique slipped her hand out of the crook of Brandon's arm. As she did, she lovingly stroked the sleeve of his jacket. "Chip's waiting for me up front..." Her words trailed off, and she met Brandon's eyes once again. "Don't forget," she whispered, her voice husky, "Mimi at Uptown Finery is expecting us at three-thirty." Uptown Finery was New Orleans's most exclusive—and famous—bridal and couture shop.

Tom cleared his throat; Margo stifled a gasp; Veronique turned to walk away.

Before she could, Brandon caught her elbow, swung her around and pulled her against his chest. He glanced over at the wide-eyed couple. "Excuse us for a moment, will you?" His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as he gazed down at her. It was her turn to look stunned, he thought with satisfaction. She'd given him the perfect opening, and he was going to use it. "How could I forget?" he asked, his voice low and caressing. His fingers drew slow, sensual circles against the small of her back.

Awareness raced up her spine at the same moment her mouth dropped open in surprise. She ignored the first and remedied the last. It took only seconds to regain her composure; when she did her eyes narrowed. "Darling, if you'll—"

"When will you learn," he continued, still stroking her back, "that I never forget anything... not about you... or about us."

Veronique's mouth was suddenly dry; her heart hammered against her chest. She frantically searched for something to say, willed herself to look away. He didn't give her the chance. He tipped his head and his mouth captured hers. She flattened her hands against his chest and emitted a small squeak of surprise. What was he—she couldn't believe he—in the middle of the store?

With the speed of a flash fire, surprise was replaced by need. Her mouth softened, then parted. He tasted faintly of mouthwash; Veronique found the minty flavor addictive and dove deeper. The scents of his morning shower clung to him; Veronique wondered if she would ever again be able to bathe and not think of him. She curled her fingers possessively into the lapels of his jacket.

Brandon smiled against her lips, lingering for a moment over the sweetness of her response, then regretfully drew away. "I warned you once about starting games you weren't prepared to finish," he whispered so only she could hear. Then louder, "I missed you, too."

Veronique took a deep, steadying breath, then glared at him. She wanted to hit him—he'd done it again. He was insufferable. She smiled sweetly. "I'm glad."

Her smile couldn't hide the temper in her eyes, and Brandon laughed softly. He slipped his hands down her back and gave her fanny a quick familiar pat. He heard her intake of breath, felt the fury ripple through her. "Run along, darling. I'll see you at three."

Veronique bit back an angry retort. He was treating her like a brainless twit. Like a groupie or a... a bimbo. Well, she wouldn't let him get away with it. Retaliation now was impossible, but she could wait. And the winning would be sweeter for it. Her smile was saccharine. "All right, darling," she said, before blowing him a kiss and walking off.

* * *

Late that afternoon Veronique stood at the sink in the display department washing paint brushes. Mardi Gras's gaudy colors—purple, green and gold—ran down the drain. She was still steaming over the outcome of this morning's skirmish. How did he continually manage to surprise her? Veronique shook her head as she worked the soap through the brush's bristles. She wouldn't let him catch her off guard again.