Lie to Me (7 page)

Her life in Galveston was good. Simple. Maybe it wasn’t everything she wanted it to be, but it was wonderfully lacking the complex games of power and emotional maneuvering she’d left behind.

Her sense of happiness increased as Luc stepped to the sidewalk beside her.

“I can’t believe you talked me into plain vanilla,” he grumbled, scowling at his waffle cone.

“Wait until you taste it.”
 

He hesitated, looking doubtful, then brought the cone closer to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, giving the scoop a lick. His brows shot up. “Holy cow.” He pressed a hand to his mouth, staring at the treat. “This tastes homemade. Seriously. Like the hand-churned stuff my great uncle used to make.”

“You had hand-churned ice cream as a kid?”

“Sure,” he said off handedly.

“Tell me about it,” she encouraged, fascinated. “Was it during family parties?”

“Try crawfish boils and pig roasts out on the bayou.”
 

“You’re so lucky to have had that.” She sighed as they started walking down the wide sidewalk, past businesses that had closed for the night. She could almost see a big Cajun family gathered beneath the shade of towering cypress trees, smell the food, and hear the live music being played while it cooked. She would trade every meal she’d ever had in a five-star restaurant for a memory like that.

He, however, looked at her like she was nuts. “Do you have any idea how much work it is to hand crank ice cream?”

“I thought you said your great uncle made it.”
 

“Otis made it. But we kids had to churn it. Some days I thought my arm would fall off before the stuff was ready.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Oh yeah.” He gave his ice cream another lick. “But this is easier.”

They passed another couple who’d stopped to check out the display in an antiques shop. Luc glanced around, noticing the charm of the area for the first time. “Is it always this quiet here?”

Humor stole over her face. “Not exactly New Orleans, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Luc agreed, wondering how people lived here without going crazy from boredom.
 

A murmur of voices drifting from the open door of a gallery emphasized more than broke the stillness. Walking by, he saw casually dressed art enthusiasts enjoying wine as they admired paintings of beach scenes and sailboats. A far cry from the drunken revelers on Bourbon Street shouting for women to show off their attributes.
 

Past the gallery, quiet descended once again. He glanced sideways and saw Chloe eating her ice cream, looking completely at peace.
 

It suddenly struck him: He was walking side by side with Chloe Davis through an idyllic slice of Americana—eating ice cream cones. After a dinner date where she’d hung on everything he’d said.
 

The idea startled a laugh out of him, earning a questioning look from Chloe.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s just…this isn’t exactly how I expected things to go when I got here.”

“Oh?” Her white teeth took a nibble of waffle cone, conjuring a few tantalizing images of her nibbling on him. They continued for several paces before she laughed. “In case you didn’t notice, that ‘oh’ spoken with a questioning inflection is what’s called a conversational gambit. To which you’re supposed to say, ‘Why, yes, Chloe, what I was expecting was…’”

As if he could carry on a coherent conversation while watching her eat a rather suggestive-looking cone. He cleared his throat and managed, “It’s… complicated.”
 

“How so?”

He debated what to tell her. He knew he had to say something, but God, Chloe was looking at him with big hazel-brown eyes while ice cream glistened on her lips, making him want to taste them. Did he really have to bring all this to an end? What if he didn’t tell her tonight? What if he waited until morning? Maybe then he would have a chance to taste those lips before their date ended.

That seemed like a brilliant idea.
 

Searching for a stall tactic, he glanced around. “Is that live blues I hear?”

“Probably,” she said. “There’s a new club up the street that frequently brings in bands. Do you like blues?”

“Are you kidding?” He brightened with thoughts of spending an hour or two in a club listening to music with Chloe. “I grew up in the French Quarter. I’m pretty sure it’s in my DNA.”

He froze the second the words left his mouth. Shit! He’d just tipped his hand. Glancing sideways, he saw the inviting, I-really-like-you sparkle fade from Chloe’s eyes.
 

“I thought you said you grew up on Bayou Lafourche.”

“No,” he sighed. “I said my family lives on the bayou. I didn’t say I grew up there.”

“You grew up in the French Quarter?” Wariness built in her eyes again. He braced himself, wondering if there was any chance in hell she wouldn’t ask…
 

“Where’d you go to school?”

Apparently no chance. His chest deflated in defeat. “Newman,” he admitted. “I went to Newman.”

Her wariness turned to scrutiny as her gaze moved over his face until her eyes widened. “Oh my God. You’re not Lucas. You’re Luc. Luc Renard.”

“Actually, my name really is Lucas. I just go by Luc.”

“I can’t believe this.” Horror flooded her face, way out of proportion to what he’d expected. A death to her interest, yeah. But horror? Had his former nerd self really repelled her that much?

She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. Without a word, she strode off down the sidewalk, then turned and came back. Anger blazed from the eyes that had flirted with him all through dinner. “Why didn’t you tell me that? I didn’t recognize you, but you clearly recognized me. You’ve intentionally hid your identity from me all evening. Why?”

“You react like this, and then you have to ask?” His anger rose as well, driven by disappointment. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to cancel our date the second you recognized me.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I wouldn’t have done that. But at least I wouldn’t have spent the whole evening thinking I was talking to someone who doesn’t know who I am. Who my family is.”

“Okay, so now you know I was the rube whose parents could barely afford to send him to Newman. The geek who didn’t fit in. Does that make you happy?”

“Do you think I care about that?”

“What, that I was the school dork?”

“No. That your family had trouble paying your tuition. And you weren’t a dork. You were… you were… brilliant!”

“Ah, so that’s why all the cool kids wanted to hang out with me.”

“I didn’t exactly see you ever trying to hang out with us.”

“Because you snubbed me,” he shot back.

“Who snubbed you?” she demanded, as if ready to do battle for him.

“You!”
 

“I did not!” She drew up straight.
 

“Fine. Rewrite history however you want. But this right here is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“You mean me getting pissed off because you intentionally misled me?”
 

“I mean—” He broke off abruptly. The distrust in her eyes told him he’d blown it. Big time. “Never mind. I’ll take you home.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He stared at her in total confusion.
Because you just proved I was right about my fantasy evening ending the second you remembered me,
he thought
.
“Because it’s getting late,” he growled instead, and tipped his wrist to check his watch. The ice cream he’d forgotten all about dropped from his cone to the sidewalk with a splat. Righting the half-eaten cone made what was left of the ice cream dribble onto his hand.
 

“Perfect,” he mumbled to himself. “Way to look slick.” Well, if he was going to blow the end of the best date he’d ever had, he might as well top it off with a scoop of embarrassment.

To further his mortification, Chloe laughed. Sort of. Actually, it sounded more like breathy incredulity. Looking up, he found her shaking her head, amusement struggling with her anger. He stepped to the nearest trashcan and tossed the remains of the cone in it, then stared at his sticky hand.
 

“Hang on,” Chloe said. Joining him at the trashcan, she tossed what was left of her own cone away as well.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he protested.

Ignoring him, she dug through her purse and came out with some hand wipes.

“You come prepared,” he muttered.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I have a pack of young cousins,” she explained, her voice tight with annoyance. Taking his sticky hand in hers, she wiped it with practiced efficiency.

As she bent to the task, he gazed down on the top of her head, so close to his chin. Her hair smelled of floral scented shampoo. Inhaling the scent made remorse twist through him. He longed to run his hands through the silky, mahogany strands, but he’d lost that chance.

Chloe’s brisk movement stilled suddenly, making him aware that she held his hand in both of hers. Warmth and need spread out from the point of contact. She looked up abruptly. Standing so close, he saw every facet of her hazel eyes, all the flecks of green and gold and brown. Felt the probing questions swimming in their depths. Panic hit him at what she might see in his own eyes. All the desire and longing coursing through him.

To his humiliation, amusement softened her face, tugging at her lips. Apparently she found it funny that Luc Renard from Newman wanted her.
 

He snatched his hand out of hers and struggled to hide his disappointment behind a mask of indifference.

A frown fell over her features and she looked oddly hurt. Why the hell would she be hurt, when he was the one getting rejected?

“Thank you,” he said with a brief glance at his now clean hand. Having no idea what to do with it or his other one, he shoved them both into his pants pockets.

“Luc…” Her searching gaze shifted to confusion, followed slowly by understanding. And then came an indulgent smile.

Oh God,
he thought,
please don’t let her say something kind.
He could hear it coming, though, some gently delivered apology for her rejection followed by an assurance that it really was good to see him again after all these years. She’d probably end the evening with a handshake at her front door while she said they should keep in touch, as old schoolmates and all. A suggestion that would never happen.
 

As far as brush-off speeches went, it-was-good-to-see-you had to rank right up there with let’s-be-friends.

“Come on,” he said brusquely, before she figured out how to start her speech. “I’ll take you home.”
 

Chapter 5

Chloe closed the car door a bit more forcefully than necessary. Disappointment bubbled through her at the way Luc had cut her off before she could tell him she really didn’t care what he had looked like in school. That was a decade ago, for crying out loud. She did care, however, that he had deceived her.

To her relief, Luc turned on the stereo the minute he started the engine, drowning out the need to talk as he drove back toward Pearl Island. Staring out the side window at the lights of the boats bobbing in the inky black harbor, she frantically tried to remember everything she’d told him about her family that evening. She recalled saying that her father hadn’t come to her graduation because he “traveled a lot.” Since Luc had been pretending not to know her, he’d let it slide, instead of laughing in her face. Not that anyone ever had, but she suspected plenty of her schoolmates had laughed behind her back.

Everyone had known her father was too busy jet-setting around the world to be bothered with anything as trivial as coming to see his daughter lead the girls’ soccer team to victory. Or heaven forbid he care enough to join the Newman Dads Club, like other dads did. Normal, caring dads.

Her eyes prickled with stupid tears so she kept her face averted.

God, how humiliating. All evening, she’d been talking away with someone who knew how little she’d mattered to her father. Not that her mother was much better, but at least Diane didn’t ignore her daughter’s existence. Actually, Diane had become overly attentive recently, since Chloe had told her about finding the necklace. Unfortunately, Diane’s sudden interest in Chloe’s life had nothing to do with motherly affection, and everything to do with Diane’s obsession over the necklace belonging in LeRoche family hands, not in a museum.

Normally, Chloe could handle dealing with people who knew who her family was, as long as she was prepared. Tonight, she hadn’t been on guard against ulterior motives, which ranged from social suck-ups wanting entrée to her parents’ party world to ambitious parasites wanting an introduction to her grandfather. Oh yes, her grandfather. The great and powerful John LeRoche, owner of LeRoche Shipping.
 

In New Orleans, when women befriended her or men came on to her, they always had a reason. What was Luc’s reason? He had to have one, otherwise he wouldn’t have pretended not to know her. Had he come to Galveston specifically to use her? She’d asked him what he was doing in town, and he’d dodged the question.