French Silk(100)

"Something's wrong." Claire reached for her chemise, which was draped over the footboard of the bed.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with what? What time is it?" Cassidy propped himself on his elbows and shook his head groggily.

"Something's wrong with Yasmine."

"Claire?"

She had pulled on a housecoat over her chemise. As she swept past the bed on her way to the door, his hand shot out and caught her arm. He gazed up at her from hooded eyes. She knew what the look meant, and it created flurries of delight in her tummy. "I can't," she whispered soulfully. "Yasmine needs me."

"I need you."

"You had me," she reminded him with a shy smile.

"Not nearly enough."

Torn between loyalty and desire, she glanced toward the door, then looked back at him. "I've got to check on her, Cassidy."

"Okay," he growled. "But I'm a sore loser." He raised her hand to his mouth and provocatively kissed the palm. "Hurry back."

"I promise."

The hallway was shrouded in the gray-violet light of dawn. She moved quickly to the staircase and tiptoed down, not wanting to rouse anyone. She gave the double parlors a swift glance but didn't see Yasmine. She was about to bypass the dining room when she noted movement near the wet bar. Reversing her direction, she joined Yasmine there.

The former model held up a decanter. "Want a drink?"

"Yasmine, what's the matter?"

"What do you care? By the looks of you, I'd say you had one hell of a night in your little twin bed. All cozied up nekkid with the detective, weren't you? Hmm-mmm. Imagine that."

"He's not a detective, and you're not being fair. Why should it matter to you if I sleep with Cassidy?"

She came around, holding a highball glass filled with vodka. "It doesn't. In fact, I don't give a fat rat's fart who you f*ck."

"Whom I f*ck," Claire corrected. "If you're going to insult me, at least be grammatically correct."

Yasmine set her drink on the bar with a hard thump. She tried to sustain her anger but couldn't. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Claire Louise Laurent. Always so bloody prim and proper." She grinned at Claire fleetingly, then her face crumpled like a soufflé. Lowering her head, she covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

Claire placed an arm around her and guided her down to one of the padded barstools. "What's wrong, Yasmine?" she asked, smoothing back her hair. "For you to be so nasty, something dreadful must have happened."

"The * dumped me."

Claire had been afraid of this. The inevitable had finally happened. She had believed all along that it was only a matter of time before Yasmine was jilted by her married lover, and she had dreaded this day. She drew her friend's head to her shoulder and let her use it as a cushion while she cried.

"The son of a bitch has been lying to me from the start," Yasmine said, her voice congested with tears. "He never intended to leave his wife. He never planned to marry me, or for us to have a life together. I've been so stupid, Claire. So goddamn stupid." She pounded the edge of the bar with her fists. "How could I have been played for such a fool?"

"Love distorts our judgment. It makes us do things we know are bad for us. We do them anyway."

Yasmine sat up and wiped her nose on the hem of her blouse. "He even made love to me last night before he broke the news. Can you believe the gall? When I got there, he practically fell on me. He told me that I was beautiful, that the days he spent without me were pure hell. We screwed like rabbits, hard and quick." Twin tears spilled over her lower eyelids and trickled down her flawless cheeks. "I loved him, Claire."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Looking back, I can't believe lever fell for his lies. Even though I fantasized about it, I can't see him actually flaunting me in Washington."

"Washington?"

Yasmine snorted a laugh. "This might cost him a vote, but what the hell. Why shouldn't you know now? My mystery man was Congressman Alister Petrie."

Claire exhaled slowly. "Alister Petrie."

"Do you know him?"

"No, I never met him. But I know his wife, Belle. I made some things for her trousseau when they got married. I was doing commission work then. One of her friends recommended me to her."

"What's she like?"

"Oh, Yasmine, forget—"

"For God's sake, Claire, indulge me. What's she like?"

"Pretty. Blond. Slen—"

"That's not what I meant. I know what she looks like."

"You've met her?"

"I've seen her." Claire's brows arched inquisitively. "Yes, I spied on them a couple of times," Yasmine admitted impatiently. "I did everything a nice little mistress isn't supposed to do. I whined. I made demands. I issued ultimatums. I pleaded. I threw tantrums. I called their house in the middle of the night just to hear his voice when he answered the phone. All that crap.

"Since he began campaigning for reelection, he's had less time to spend with me. The less time we had together, the more I hounded him. That's one reason Alister got pissed, I think. I was taking chances with us getting caught. He was afraid Belle would find out. Or maybe she did find out. Who knows? Now I wouldn't believe a word the lying prick says."