French Silk(96)

The storm had passed, but it continued to rain. The distant thunder reminded her of the night Cassidy had first kissed her, the night they had gone to the Ponchartrain Hotel to pick up Mary Catherine.

With a shudder, Claire pushed away the thought. She didn't want to remember who they were and the opposing roles they were playing in a real-life drama.

Feeling her shudder, he tenderly kissed her temple. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Something."

She sighed, a smile playing about her lips. "That was the dirtiest sex I've ever had."

A chuckle started deep inside his chest, just below her ear. "Good."

She strummed his ribs, excited by the sensations conducted through her fingertips. "Cassidy?"

"Hmm?"

"What will happen tomorrow?"

He rolled her onto her back and leaned above her, laying his finger lengthwise against her lips. "If we talk about that, I'll have to leave. Is that what you want?" He stroked her lips, then kissed her, deeply, wetly, intimately, giving her his tongue. He nudged apart her thighs and moved against her suggestively. He was already hard again.

She sighed. "No. Don't leave."





* * *



Chapter 19

? ^ ?

Andre Philippi was beside himself with excitement. Yasmine was in his hotel again. Yasmine! The most exquisite creature in the world.

He was taking a routine stroll through the lobby when he saw her come in. Even though the sun had already set, she was wearing opaque, wrap-around sunglasses. Obviously she didn't want to be recognized. If he weren't so familiar with her face, she might have escaped even his notice. But he spent more time staring into close-up photographs of her than he spent looking at himself in the mirror. Her face was better known to him than his own.

Her gait was purposeful as she strode toward the bank of elevators. One was standing open. Andre rushed to join her inside it before it began its ascent. "Yasmine. Welcome." He executed a quick bow.

"Hello, Andre." She smiled and removed her sunglasses, slipping them into her large shoulder bag. "How are you? It's been ages since I've seen you."

Claire had introduced them several years ago at a small dinner party she had hosted. They had since been together on numerous occasions. However, it never failed to thrill and flatter Andre that she regarded him as a friend.

"I've been well. And you?"

"Can't complain." Her smile seemed to congeal around her words, as though they might not be wholly sincere.

"Are you in town to work on the catalog?"

"We're shooting pictures for the spring issue over in Mississippi. I just came back for the evening."

He never questioned a guest's reason for being in his hotel. That would have been a breach of his policy, which guaranteed absolute privacy above all else. "How is Claire?"

"Frankly, she was in a snit when I left her this afternoon," Yasmine replied.

"Oh, dear. Did Mary Catherine—"

"No, it had nothing to do with her mother."

He waited politely, hoping that Yasmine would expound upon their mutual friend's distress without his having to ask.

Yasmine rewarded his discretion. "I guess the pressure of the job got to her today. You know Claire. She never blows her top, which is the healthy way to get mad. She just simmers quietly and makes everybody around her feel like shit."

Sensing that there had been conflict between the two women he liked and admired so well, Andre responded diplomatically. "I'm confident that the catalog will be well worth the effort you've put into it."

"Yeah, I guess." Her lack of enthusiasm was evident. "Isn't the creative aspect of the catalog always anxiety producing?" he inquired politely.

"This time more than usual."

"Why so?"

"Cassidy."

Andre blanched. "You mean he's there?"

"Yep. He followed Claire to Rosesharon and has practically become a permanent fixture on the sets."

He nervously wet his lips. "Why in heaven's name is he hounding her like that?"

The elevator had reached the designated floor. Andre stepped out with Yasmine, and they began walking together down the hotel corridor.

"He still suspects her of Wilde's murder."

"But that's preposterous!" Andre stumbled, as though his heart had dropped all the way to the floor and tripped him. "Oh dear. This is terrible. And it's all my fault." Perspiration broke out across his forehead. From his breast pocket he removed an immaculate linen handkerchief and blotted at the beads of sweat. "If I hadn't fallen for his trick and identified Claire as the caller on that recording—"

"Whoa!" Yasmine laid a commiserating hand on his shoulder. "Claire told me how upset you were when that happened. Listen, Cassidy is one smart cookie. One way or another, he would have found out that Claire was here at the Fairmont the night Jackson Wilde was shot. You didn't reveal anything that he wouldn't have discovered sooner or later."

She lowered her voice to a confidential pitch. "If you want to know what I think, I think Cassidy's more interested in proving Claire innocent than guilty."

"Which, of course, she is," Andre hastened to say. "Claire was here that night to pick up Mary Catherine, nothing more. I would swear to that in court. I would do anything to protect a friend."