Just One Taste...(31)

Yes! "No, I just-" There goes the temporary truce. But then it probably  wouldn't have lasted anyway. "You definitely shouldn't go to that party  Friday night."

"I'm not running from him, Vanessa."

"He'll be mean."

"Not to brag, chère, but I can be mean myself."

"You're deliberately going somewhere you know you'll be insulted. Is  this some kind of masochistic thing because you aren't proud of your  past?"

"I need to find out what he wants."

"So you agree he's up to something and not just curious to meet you."

"I do."

"But earlier you said-"

"Leave your father to me."

Her eyes narrowed as she sipped her wine. "Go along and cook something, dear. Leave the conflicts to the big, strong men."

He drank the rest of his whiskey. "That's not what I meant. This conflict is a professional thing between the two of us."

"A conflict I'm in the middle of."

"I won't put you there," he said coolly, as if insinuating her father  wouldn't hesitate. Which he probably wouldn't if it gave him an  advantage. "The sooner I face him and let him know I won't be  intimidated, the sooner it will pass."

Watching him, the way the teasing lover retreated and the forceful  lawyer appeared, another aspect of their encounter with Brett occurred  to her. "How did you know Brett was with my father's firm?"

"I told you I researched him."

"You memorized the names of all twenty associates?"

"I believe there are twenty-two, and, no, I didn't. His trying-to-be-fierce Ken-doll face was memorable, though."                       
       
           



       

Despite her and Lucas's identical assessment of Brett, Vanessa's stomach  cramped. She didn't like the way this party standoff was shaping up.  She didn't like the suspicion that she'd have to choose between her  father and her lover. And despite her fierce defense of him earlier, a  small nibble of doubt wormed its way inside. Did Lucas have some secret  grudge against her father? Or was it the other way around? Was it  possible one or the other was using her as a strategic move on the  battlefield?

Could she really fall head over heels for a man who intended to use her? Would she let that happen?

No and no. If Lucas had lied, if he was playing her, she'd know.

But why couldn't she give herself fully to him? Were childhood's fears  of rejection and a longing for acceptance still that strong?

"Not even a laugh for the Ken-doll thing?" Lucas asked.

Smiling, she toasted him with her glass. "We're in agreement there."

"But not about your father?"

"I don't like the way he's confronting you. He'll be surrounded by his supporters. You'll be alone."

"You and Mia will be there."

She shook her head. "Just me." And how she needed her partner on this  one. "We'd already committed to another party that night, so I'm going  solo."

"I'm sorry this will be awkward for you."

"It's not your fault."

"But it would help if I didn't go to the party."

"Maybe, but-"

"I won't go if it's going to hurt you."

Startled, she stared at him. Kind, strong and noble. She wasn't wrong  about him. Of all the fake, arrogant, brownnosing people she'd been  around most of her life, he was the purest. And wouldn't he laugh at  that? "No, you're right. You have to face him sometime. You don't want  that hanging over you. Or us."

"Isn't this cozy?"

Vanessa smiled at the sound of her friend's voice and jumped up to hug him. "Peter, you guys are terrific!"

"Thanks, doll. It's a blast."

"Peter, Lucas. Lucas, Peter."

As the two men shook hands, Vanessa noticed the sparkle of appreciation  in Peter's eyes. "You always did have premier taste in men," he said.

"And friends," Lucas added.

With Peter beaming, they invited him to join them, which he agreed he  could do for a couple of minutes before the next set began. After  catching up on mutual friends-and enemies-Peter commented, "I saw Brett  and Tracy stop by."

Vanessa's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Yeah."

"You don't have to tell me about them, doll," Peter said, waving his  hand in dismissal. Then, he leaned forward. "But I wish you would."

Laughing, Vanessa exchanged a glance with Lucas, as she told her friend about their less-than-pleasant encounter.

"If you're going to have a controversial relationship, you're going to have problems."

"Controversial?"

"Everybody's no doubt heard the rumors about Lucas-his mysterious  beginnings, his rise to rich and privileged." He crinkled his nose. "All  that new money. You know these people, Vanessa. Start thinking like  them. Anybody from the outside, anybody different is automatically  suspect. And shunning him professionally isn't enough. They want a  personal angle. Why do you think Brett Riverside just happened to be  here tonight?"

The full extent of the rivalry her father obviously felt toward Lucas washed over her. "He knows we're friends."

"If he recruited one spy, he'll recruit ten." He smiled with an  understanding few who hadn't walked their path could appreciate. "You  made a stand once. You may be asked to make another."

And it might not be a showdown at the OK Corral, but Vanessa bet it would be close.



AS LUCAS HANDED HIS KEYS to the valet in front of the Douglas mansion  two days later, an emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time gripped  him.

Fear.

Rolling his shoulders, he dismissed the weakness just as quickly as it  had appeared. He would focus on his anger and take control of the  situation no matter that he was on enemy turf. He held the cards, after  all. The information, the power … and Vanessa.                       
       
           



       

The idea that she could be caught in the middle of this mess between him  and her father enraged him. Joseph Douglas had no idea how remarkable  his child was, or what she'd become. In the short time Lucas had known  Vanessa, he'd witnessed her bailing out her parents at least twice.  This, despite the fact that they'd not only shunned her, but discouraged  others from patronizing her bakery and using her catering services.

Sabotage. For her own good, naturally.

The absolute control her father demanded was absurd. Though Lucas had  grown up pretty much without parents, he preferred making his life his  own to having it directed by someone else. Vanessa had tried to do the  same, of course, but her parents were blind-or petty-enough not to care.

If Lucas let his rage slip out of control, Douglas could find himself in  a precarious position. Lucas had to constantly remind himself to keep  Vanessa's well-being foremost in his mind. But he couldn't seem to  forget her father didn't treat her the way he should. He certainly  didn't respect her or appreciate her.

But he would.

Turning his attention to the house, Lucas couldn't help a small, ironic  shake of his head. The red brick, three-story, white-columned mansion  stood on a slight hill, surrounded by stately oaks and magnolias, an  immaculate lawn and rows of azalea bushes and hydrangeas. What the hell  he was doing in such a setting, he couldn't imagine. He'd probably never  get used to the sensation that he didn't belong.

But then that kept him humble, kept him grounded. Without the memory of  stale cheese and hardened bread in a rickety trailer, he might have  become Joseph Douglas. And that was unacceptable.

He tried not to dwell on the idea that not only didn't he belong in Vanessa's world, he also didn't belong with her.

An older woman dressed in a black-and-white uniform held open the front  door of the house. Her face was respectfully blank; she simply nodded as  he passed. Lucas fought to ignore his racing heart and concentrate on  his hard-won arrogance.

The two-story foyer featured a magnificent, curved white-carpeted  stairway, along with numerous works of art and opulent furnishings.  Hallways extended straight ahead, then to the right and the left,  leading probably to a maze of more moneyed rooms. The maid extended her  hand toward the arched doorway in front of him, which undoubtedly led to  the party. Before he could walk through, however, Vanessa appeared in  front of him.

"Good evening, Mr. Broussard," she said, then gave him an impish grin.

At least this weird night hadn't robbed her of her sense of humor. "Good  evening, Ms … .?" He gave her a distracted smile. "I'm afraid I've  forgotten your name."

Clearly annoyed, she planted her hands on her hips. "Not that professional."

They'd agreed to strict professionalism for the night, which, naturally,  only made him want to violate the agreement. He was glad to hear she  had the same instincts. He stepped close. "Mmm, now that I've gotten a  closer look, it's all coming back to me. I'm getting a picture.  Lime-green satin-and-lace camisole, tiny panties … "