French Silk(21)

"Hmm. Your mother still lives with you?"

"That's right."

"No one else?"

"Yasmine, when she's in town."

"Who's Harry?"

"Miss Harriett York, our housekeeper and mother's nurse. She doesn't sleep over unless I go out of town."

"How often is that?"

"Twice a year I travel to Europe and the Orient to buy fabrics. I'm also required to make several trips a year to New York."

"How often does Yasmine come to New Orleans?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Several things."

"Like?"

"Like where we are on the next catalog." There was no need to inform him that Yasmine's trips to New Orleans had recently become more frequent or why. Volunteering information to him would be foolhardy. As a child Claire had learned not to trust authority figures. They could turn information against you whenever it better served the bureaucracy. For all his manly hands and vertical dimple, Mr. Cassidy was a bureaucrat.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Cassidy?"

"Lots. What's Yasmine doing in New Orleans this time?" Claire released a sigh of resignation. "We're consulting on the next catalog. She's developed the concept and has already picked a location for the shoot. Together we're deciding which items to feature and which models to use."

"What about the rest of the time? When she's not in New Orleans."

"She lives in New York."

"Modeling?"

"Until last year, she bad an exclusive contract with a cosmetics company. She was bored with it, so now the only modeling she does is for the French Silk catalog. Between her responsibilities here and keeping track of her investments, she stays very busy."

Claire was relieved when they reached the first floor. The ride had never seemed so lengthy, the elevator so small and confining. His penetrating gaze made her want to pull a protective cloak around herself.

He slid open the heavy doors. She muttered a hasty thank-you and stepped into the cavernous warehouse. It was silent, still, and dark now. The fans in the windows stood motionless. The warehouse had acted as a combustion chamber, storing the oppressive heat all afternoon until it now seemed to have texture. It not only settled against the skin but seeped into it and stifled the lungs.

Only strategically placed security lights had been left on. They formed pools of light on the smooth, shiny concrete floor. Claire didn't pause in those circular islands of light. They reminded her of prison movies, of sinister searchlights seeking out doomed escapees.

She unbolted the main door and held it open for her unwelcome visitor. "Goodbye, Mr. Cassidy."

"Are you eager to get rid of me, Ms. Laurent?"

Claire could have kicked herself for being so transparent. She groped for a logical explanation. "Mama's on medication. She has to eat at certain times. I don't want dinner to be delayed on my account."

"Very neat."

"What?"

"That excuse. I'd have to be a real bastard to challenge it, wouldn't I?"

"It's the truth."

His sly grin said he knew she was lying but that he chose to let it drop. "One more question and I'll go. Promise."

"Well?"

"Have you ever been in trouble with the police?"

"No!"

"Ever been arrested?"

"You said one question, Mr. Cassidy. That's two."

"Are you refusing to answer?"

Damn him. She hated giving anyone in authority the upper hand, but refusing to answer would only complicate matters. "I've never been arrested, but I take umbrage at your asking."

"Exception noted," he said unrepentantly. "Good night, Ms. Laurent. We'll be seeing each other again soon."

She was glad she was standing in shadow so he couldn't see her alarmed expression. "I've already told you everything I know."

He subjected her to another deception-flaying stare. "I don't think so." He had rolled the catalog into a tube, which he now used to tip his forehead in a mock salute. "Thanks again for the drink. You stock very good whiskey."

Claire slammed the door in his face, hurriedly clicked the bolts into place, and leaned against the cool metal. She gasped for each breath as though she'd been running for miles. Her heart was beating so wildly that it ached. Her skin was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, which she attributed to the heat … even though she knew better.





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Chapter 5

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His tongue flicked over and around her stiff nipples. The caress elicited sounds from her that had pagan origins. "You're killing me, baby," she gasped.

"Oh, God, don't stop. Don't stop." She caught his earlobe between her strong, white teeth and bit it hard. He grunted in pain, but her untamed responsiveness increased his excitement. His fingers made deep impressions in her firm ass as he clamped her to his hips and thrust himself deep inside her. His mouth captured one taut nipple and sucked it hard.

She screamed and clutched handfuls of his hair, bucking against him wildly, lost in the throes of her climax. Seconds later, he came in long, ecstatic bursts, panting and straining and grimacing.