Tell Me Something Good (8 page)

“My French ancestor brought it here when he
came over from Paris in 1735 I believe.” Mrs. St. Denis paused for
a moment. “You still haven’t told me much about yourself. Where did
you go to grade school?” Mrs. St. Denis looked at her hard.

“St. Mary’s.”

“Maybe you know my godchild Jeanine Bienville
and my great-niece Monique Lacour.”

The muscles in Lyrissa’s neck tightened. She
definitely knew them. They were members of the elite clique that
had made her life miserable in high school.

“I’m not sure. It’s been a long time,”
Lyrissa lied. She couldn’t trust herself to talk about that group
calmly.

“Possibly not. What about your family?” Mrs.
St. Denis asked.

Lyrissa blinked for a second, and then
regained her balance. “My parents died when I was young.”

“That must have been hard on you,” Mrs. St
Denis commented. There was no pity in her voice.

“Not too much,” Lyrissa said quickly.

Too quickly, she knew by the way Mrs. St.
Denis looked at her. Was the old lady testing her again? She could
well have hired a private detective to check out her new employee.
Lyrissa would not have put it past her.

“I find that hard to believe.” The older
woman lifted her head and continued to gaze at her.

“My mother ran off and left me with my dad.”
Lyrissa spoke quietly. “She died young from living too wild— drugs,
I think, but my family still hides the truth from me. My dad drank
too much and ran his car into a concrete piling on Interstate 10 on
the way to Baton Rouge one night.”

She decided it was best to stick to the truth
so she wouldn’t have to remember a lie. Still, a tight knot of
sadness formed in her stomach.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mrs. St. Denis
sounded sincere in a prim, socially-acceptable-thing-to-say
fashion. .

“Actually, I think my parents did the best
they could. They both had lots of problems.” Lyrissa shrugged.

“You don’t blame them, then?” Mrs. St. Denis
seemed intensely interested in Lyrissa’s answer.

“No, in a way I don’t. Mama tried, but she
had it rough growing up. She used to play games with me.” Lyrissa
cleared her throat to stave off tears. “And Daddy was funny. They
both made sure I didn’t go hungry and got to school. Mama would
show up on the playground with some toy every now and then.”

“You’re an unusual young woman. Not many
children would be so forgiving,” Mrs. St. Denis said.

Lyrissa saw an opportunity. “Can I ask you
something personal? My dissertation will include at least a chapter
on Creole culture. So I’m not just being nosy.”

“Fair enough.” Mrs. St. Denis sat back in her
chair and put her clasped hands into her lap. “Fire away.”

“Do you think of yourself as
African-American?” Lyrissa chided herself that she’d not chosen her
words better. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Mrs. St. Denis waved
a hand at her. “You must understand something, my dear. Creoles
consider themselves a distinct group, for the most part. Not white
or black, but better.” She wore a half-smile.

“Some prefer to be considered white, though,”
Lyrissa said.

“True. And why not? Take the Fouché family,
for example. Their female ancestor was a fair-skinned mulatto, and
her ‘husband’ a wealthy French planter. Their children were raised
in the French culture and educated in Paris. They consider
themselves more French than anything else. Shouldn’t they be able
to say who they are? They had little in common with the slaves or
even most free blacks of the eighteenth century. Edgar DuMasse
spoke six languages, wrote poetry, and composed music.”

“But they did have African ancestry traced
back to a slave brought over by Spanish explorers in 1698. To deny
him is a kind of racism,” Lyrissa said.

“I’ve never heard them deny it,” Mrs. St.
Denis said promptly.

“They don’t go around claiming him, either,”
Lyrissa shot back.

“You really want to ask me about our
ancestry.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Well... I have to admit to being
interested.”

Mrs. St. Denis rose slowly. “You have a lot
of work to do. I’ll let you get to it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lyrissa struggled not to
laugh.

“Ring for Rosalie if you need anything,” Mrs.
St. Denis said in a clipped tone.

Noel came in and pecked his grandmother on
the cheek. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He gazed at Lyrissa with
smoldering eyes. “Good morning, Lyrissa.”

“Hello.” Lyrissa looked away from him in
self-defense. “Your father is already here.” His grandmother
started for the door, clearly expecting him to follow.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Nod said.

Mrs. St. Denis turned and glanced from him to
Lyrissa with a tight expression. “Don’t keep us waiting. We have
important business to discuss.”

“I won’t be long. Besides, this gives you
time to talk about me behind my back,” he said with a good-natured
smile.

“Amusing,” Mrs. St. Denis retorted and walked
out.

Noel turned back to Lyrissa. “Have everything
you need?”

“Yes, thanks. I’ve got a lot of ground to
cover today.” She made a great show of opening a large book.

“Well, I won’t get in the way, then. But if
you do need anything—”

“I’ll call Rosalie,” Lyrissa cut in.

“I meant you could call on me.” Noel walked
over to where she sat and stood close to her.

“I’m sure I won’t have to bother you. Mrs.
St. Denis has given me access to quite a few of your family’s old
documents.” Lyrissa tried to put in her tone every ounce of
dismissal she could.

“Excellent. I’ll see you later.” Noel never
lost his cool, confident exterior.

“Goodbye.” Lyrissa maintained her ice maiden
expression.

Noel smiled at her once more and walked away.
His graceful stride only added to the sexiness that seemed to ooze
from every pore. The conservative steel gray suit didn’t disguise
the muscular body beneath it. She watched his broad back until he
disappeared through the double sliding doors. Lyrissa let out a
long, slow breath. She’d have to keep a tight rein on her libido
with him around.

Noel sat between his grandmother and father
at the table in the sunny breakfast room. Richard Phillip St. Denis
was his usual self, careless grace under fire. Miss Georgina chewed
on her scrambled eggs as though they were nails, arched brows drawn
down. If his grandfather had been alive, he’d have said, ‘Georgie’s
jaws are tight. Somebody’s in serious trouble’.” Richard seemed
blithely unaware of any stormy undercurrents. He behaved as though
this was their normal Wednesday morning breakfast.

His grandparents had breakfast with each one
of their three children every week once they’d grown up and left
home. Spouses and grandchildren were included, of course. Noel’s
mother bowed out whenever she could. Noel glanced at his
grandmother and then his father. He wished he’d had the foresight
of his mother.

“So tell me, son, how are things down at the
old salt mines?” Richard picked up a thin crispy slice of bacon and
bit off the end.

“As if you care,” Miss Georgina said in a
quiet yet steely tone.

Noel cleared his throat. He would try to head
off the pitched battle this time. “Actually, things are looking up,
Dad. Carlton and I have had two productive meetings.”

Richard sipped coffee from a china cup with a
red rose pattern. “Hard to believe Carlton listens to anyone but
himself. He’s just like his daddy.”

“Your brother works hard.” Miss Georgina
stared at him in a way that would make most men tremble. Her middle
child merely shrugged.

“Oh yeah? Well that’s nothing to brag on.
Noel says the whole damn place is about to collapse,” he
retorted.

“I didn’t say—” Noel cursed silently.

Miss Georgina set her coffee cup down on the
linen tablecloth with a thump. “And who do we have to thank for
that? You!”

“I don’t follow your logic, Mother,” Richard
said, his voice still mild. “Willie was CEO. The buck stopped with
him.”

Noel groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t he just
said “Fine” and not mentioned his cousin’s name? Uncle Willie had
been forced to give up the high pressure position because of his
health. Diabetes and heart problems kept him ill. The stress of
running a huge business had only made things worse. The sibling
rivalry between his dad and his uncle Willie seemed to have been
passed down to their sons. Things got worse when Noel became
CEO.

“You’re a St. Denis!” Miss Georgina snapped.
“You have a responsibility to protect what your great-grandfathers
built.”

“Here we go. Speech number twenty-five,”
Richard mumbled under his breath. He aimed a mischievous wink at
Noel.

Noel scowled at him in return. He put down
his fork and took one of Miss Georgina’s hands. “Family is taking
care of Tremé Corporation. Calm down, Grand’Mere.”

Miss Georgina huffed for a few seconds more
before her expression relaxed a bit. The French endearment from his
childhood could usually soften the formidable woman’s hard edges.
She patted his Noel’s hand and cast a sharp look of disapproval at
her son.

“Noel understands even if you don’t,
Richard.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Richard said. His
handsome brow wrinkled with irritation for the first time.

Noel sighed. He took a drink of strong
Louisiana coffee to fortify himself. His grandmother and father
argued in their own subdued, upper-crust manner. Noel tried to tune
out the barbs. He searched for an appropriate opening to duck out
on them both. A flash of dark rose fabric drew his attention.

Lyrissa passed by carrying a notepad and
large leather bound book. Her dark hair was pulled back but loose
curls framed her face. She glanced at Noel for a moment, and then
retreated.

“Excuse me,” he said. His grandmother and
father did not seem to hear him.

He went down the hall toward the library just
in time to see her start up the stairs. The knee length skirt clung
to her hips. The silk shirt was prim and provocative at the same
time the way it draped her shoulders and breasts. Soft round hips
and thighs that moved with a hint of sensuality took the simple
outfit to a whole new level. Lyrissa climbed the first four steps,
one hand on the banister. Noel’s throat went dry as he watched the
sway of her bottom. His imagination took over. The seductive rhythm
suggested silky skin hugged tight by satin panties. Every move
seemed an exclusive invitation for him alone. Noel pictured them
headed toward his bedroom. Suddenly his pants were too tight and
the room too warm.

“Ahem!”

“What?” Noel mumbled, reluctant to tear his
gaze away from the arresting vision before him.

Rosalie stood with arms folded in the library
door. “You lost somethin’ up them stairs?”

Noel felt like a schoolboy caught looking up
a girl’s skirt. Luckily he recovered just as Lyrissa glanced back
at them. At least, he prayed he had.

“I was going to ask Miss Rideau a question
before I left for the office, if that’s okay with you. By the way,
breakfast was delicious, as usual.” Noel smiled at her.

“Uh-huh,” Rosalie walked off but looked back
at him over her shoulder. Her expression shouted “You’re
busted!”

“Good morning,” Lyrissa said. She came back
down to-ward him. “What was that about? I didn’t catch what she
said.”

“Nothing. Rosalie is just... Rosalie.” Noel
lifted a shoulder. “So how are you today?”

“Fine. I didn’t mean to intrude on your
breakfast.”

“Trust me, an interruption would have been
nice,” Noel said with a grimace.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. How’s it going so far?”

“I’ve only just begun, Mr. St. Denis.” She
wore a quizzical expression.

“Right.” Noel smiled sheepishly. “Guess it’s
obvious I’m trying to make conversation.”

“Is there something in particular you want to
know?” Her neutral expression unnerved him. Most women warmed to
him quickly. Lyrissa Rideau seemed unaffected by his attempts to be
friendly. His resolve to chip away at this iceberg grew.

“Not really.” Noel smiled at her easily.
“Digging through dusty old books in the library must be tedious.”
“Not at all. I find it fascinating,” Lyrissa said with enthusiasm.
She went on to talk about her methods and the sources she would
use.

He smiled at the first sign of a thaw. Her
eyes were bright with anticipation for the search. Her honey brown
skin seemed to glow and it was catching. Noel moved closer to her
as she spoke.

“There are so many archives I can use. I may
even find documents at the Cabildo,” Lyrissa finished, referring to
the French Quarter museum. “But your grandmother’s house is filled
with historical treasures. I’m delighted every time I turn a
comer.”

“I’m glad you enjoy being here,” he said
softly, and then blinked hard in surprise.

“Th-thank you,” she replied. She gazed back
at him then glanced away quickly.

He cleared his throat. “So tell me the
truth—how hard is it to deal with my grandmother? Has she shared
any of the dark family secrets?”

“She was a bit hesitant.” Lyrissa’s full
mouth lifted at the corners. “But I think she’s okay with it now.
Just how dark are those secrets?”

The mere suggestion of a smile made her even
lovelier Heat seared his skin with force. Just a gentle curve of
her lips could arouse him. Women had done far more to get his
attention and he’d barely noticed. Yet here he was on fire aching
to touch her satin skin with his fingertips. He stood mesmerized by
the way her mouth moved when she talked. “What?”

“I assured Mrs. St. Denis that I’ll be very
discreet. I’m only interested in the history related to the
artwork. Lyrissa stared at him curiously. “Are you okay with
it?”