Chances Are (9 page)

Brandon's eyes lowered to her hands. "No, unfortunately I don't see. Perhaps if you got rid of the towel?"

My God, he was serious. "No," she said firmly, tightening her grip on the lavender terry cloth.

"Considering what you intimated we shared—" he reached out and hooked two fingers around the top of the towel "—don't you think it's a little late for modesty?" He tugged, and she inched forward. It was either move or lose the towel. "In fact, after last night, isn't it a little silly that I'm not taking a shower with you?"

Veronique held fast to the towel. "Yes... no..." His fingers brushed against her breast; her flesh turned to fire under his touch. "You'll be late for your appointment," she improvised in a last-ditch effort to get him out of her bathroom. As she uttered the words, she felt like a fraud; the last thing she wanted him to do was leave.

"To hell with the appointment." His eyes lingered on her breasts.

Veronique squirmed as she realized her nipples were hard. She wondered if he could tell. "I think..." Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. "I think..."

"What, Veronique?" He pulled her closer. "Do you think we should make love again?" His voice deepened; their eyes locked. "Here?" The length of her was pressed against him now. He could feel the hard points of her breasts through the terry cloth, could feel the way her body trembled. And he saw the arousal in her darkened eyes, on her heated cheeks.

Veronique searched for something to say. She couldn't think, couldn't seem to focus on anything but Brandon. Her senses swam with his words and his warmth.

"Well, Veronique?" His lips grazed her eyebrows, her cheeks.

"Well what?" Her level stare was ludicrous in light of the husky timbre of her voice.

"We could make love in the shower—" he paused; his voice deepened "—on the floor."

The blood rushed to her head until she was dizzy with it. His words raced along her nerve endings; they tingled with expectation. He'd mesmerized her. She told herself to pull away, she told herself to resist; the message never reached her brain. Her head was filled only with wanting Brandon, his touch, his taste, the pleasure she knew he would give her. Towel forgotten, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair.

He lowered his head, but stopped a fraction of an inch from her lips. "You shouldn't start games you aren't prepared to finish," he whispered, laughter in his voice. He caught her sultry bottom lip between his teeth as he wrapped the towel around her, tucking it in at the side of her breast, then pulled away.

Her eyes fluttered open; they were glazed with passion. He resisted the urge to catch that inviting mouth again. "Better take your shower before the hot water runs out." He picked up the shirt and crossed to the door. His smile was wicked as he said, "Thanks for last night, even though nothing happened." He softly shut the door behind him.

Veronique's legs were suddenly weak, and she sat on the edge of the tub. She took a deep, steadying breath. That rat. That double-crossing, dirty-playing son of a... Her lips curved. He was good; she had to hand it to him. He'd startled her, then knocked her so firmly off balance she'd never even seen him move in for the kill. She shook her head. She'd underestimated him.

Veronique checked the water, then made a sound of disgust. It was cool; he
had
had the final word after all. She twisted off the faucets, stood and walked back to the bedroom. Flopping down onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling. She still couldn't believe she'd fallen for his ploy. Like a novice or an ingénue. It'd been a long time since anyone had gotten the best of her. A corner of her lips lifted. Oh, she'd deserved it. Every manipulative word and gesture, plus some.

The amusement faded from her lips and eyes. She would have to do something about this ridiculous attraction she felt for Brandon Rhodes. They were all wrong for each other; they had nothing in common. She rolled onto her side. The bedding still smelled of him. She breathed deeply, and her pulse quickened. She'd have to wash all the bedclothes today, she thought, trailing her finger over the crisp percale, feeling surrounded by him.

This attraction was just a silly trick her hormones were playing on her, Veronique decided, her lips tilting. That, or the work of some malevolent spirit. It would pass, and her life would be back to normal. Sure. She was almost over it already.

Her smile vanished as she wondered what Brandon was doing at that very moment.

* * *

"Sebastian." Brandon held out his hand in greeting. "Thanks for meeting me on such short notice."

"No problem," the older man said, gesturing toward his cluttered desk. "I work every Saturday morning; this hasn't inconvenienced me in the least. Have a seat."

Brandon would have preferred to stand, but he sat anyway. Despite his raging headache, his queasy stomach and foul mood, he had a surplus of energy. He felt antsy and on edge, and he wasn't sure why.

"You look like hell. Something wrong?"

Brandon's eyes snapped back to the attorney. He was a small, slim man with thinning silver hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. Brandon didn't dislike the man, but he'd never really liked him, either. "Hangover," he said shortly.

The attorney nodded sympathetically. "I've had a few of those myself." He folded his hands in front of him, becoming all business. "When you called you mentioned a safety deposit box and some documents?"

"Yes." Brandon opened his briefcase and took out an envelope. He opened it and handed the bundle of papers inside to Sebastian, then sat back and watched. The older man slipped on his glasses and slowly began flipping through the papers. He paused every now and then for a second glance, drawing his eyebrows together momentarily.

After several minutes he took off his glasses, tapped them on the stack, then looked up at Brandon. He cleared his throat. "I don't know where to begin."

"So, you
did
know about this?" Brandon's expression was tight.

"Yes. And no." He leaned back in his chair. "I wasn't your father's attorney at the time this occurred. He came to me five years later, when Rhodes was a huge success and he was thinking of opening another store. Your father was getting cold feet," the man said simply. "Retailing is a high-profile business, and the business was obviously making a lot of money. He was thinking of expanding and was scared to death that David Goldstein was going to pop up any second and take it all away."

A muscle jumped in Brandon's jaw. "What did you advise him to do?"

"To wait," Sebastian said quietly.

For a moment Brandon sat in stunned silence. "Wait for what, for God's sake? After hearing and seeing the evidence you told him to do nothing? I don't believe this."

Sebastian tossed down the pencil he'd been toying with. "What could he do? Five years had passed. The man had never again approached your father, indeed he wasn't even in town. To track him down and offer him money would have been an admission to guilt." He held up his hands to stop Brandon's reply. "Yes, your father was guilty. But he could have been prosecuted. He could have lost it all. And for what? The deed couldn't be undone."

Let sleeping dogs lie, Brandon thought. He stood and walked to the window; Sebastian's wife was cutting flowers. He looked away. "What happened then?"

"We hired a private detective to find David Goldstein and keep tabs on him. It turned out he'd died the year before in an automobile accident." The attorney idly picked up the newspaper clipping, then as if uncomfortable with the image, set it back down. "He might have eventually approached your father and demanded what was rightfully his... We'll never know."

"So, my father was off the hook," Brandon murmured. It was too clean. And that made him nervous. "What about a wife... children?"

Sebastian coughed and looked away. "He never married."

Brandon's eyes narrowed. The man was being evasive. "What about children, Sebastian?"

The silence crackled between them. After a moment the older man sighed. "David Goldstein was Jewish and from the wrong side of the tracks. He became involved with a girl from a prominent Catholic family. The disparity in their families' social and financial positions was bad enough, but thirty years ago a marriage between a girl of the Catholic faith and a boy who was Jewish was... well... was out of the question."

There was a tightness in Brandon's chest. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what came next. He flexed his fingers as Sebastian started talking again.

"The girl's family found out about the affair and were furious. To make matters worse, she'd become pregnant. Her father was blind with rage and shame. He totally blamed Goldstein and was determined that his daughter would never see him again." The attorney's voice was suddenly tired. "In his mind no husband was better than a Jewish husband. He elicited your father's help in running Goldstein out of town."

"It all worked out rather neatly, didn't it." Brandon's voice was brittle. He'd thought his father many things, but a liar and a cheat had never been among them. "My father was a hell of a guy, wasn't he? He cheated his partner out of his half of their business, his girlfriend and unborn child, then ran him out of town. Great."

Sebastian's expression softened. "I understand how you feel, and believe me, I would rather not have had to tell you. If it makes you feel any better, to this day I'm not sure whether your father had planned to cheat Goldstein out of his part of Rhodes before the girl's father approached him or whether—"

"Don't bother. It won't make me feel better. It's done now." Brandon took a last look out the window then crossed to the desk. His voice was low as he asked, "How did they do it? How did they run him out of town?"

Brandon saw the distaste on the other man's face. "They framed him for a crime he didn't commit. The sheriff was a family friend with daughters of his own and—"

"And he was in on it," Brandon finished. "Paid off?" When Sebastian nodded, Brandon picked up the newspaper clipping and stared down at the yellow, faded image. So tragic. The poor bastard had lost everything. He met the other man's eyes once again. "Who was the girl, Sebastian?"

The lawyer stood up. "Let it rest, Brandon. These events happened thirty years ago. Don't stir up past hurts, past dirt. The way it stands now, Rhodes is secure. No one can take it away from you because no one, not your mother or the girl or her father, knows the whole truth. Just you and I. Let it die here."

Brandon's lips tightened. That was the problem—he didn't know if he could live with the knowledge. "Who was she?"

The determination in Brandon's expression convinced the older man to give up. He sighed. "Marie Delacroix."

Brandon blanched. "Marie Delacroix?" he repeated stupidly. It couldn't be.... It wasn't possible. That would mean that Veronique was David Goldstein's only offspring.

"Yes,"

Brandon sat down. He remembered the expression in Veronique's eyes when she'd said, "I didn't know my father, either." He thought of her voice as she'd asked, "Would you rather I think of my conception as sordid? Everyone else does." He laced his fingers together thoughtfully. He knew who Veronique's father was. He could tell her...

But to tell her about her father, he would have to tell her about his own father and what he'd done. What would she do with the information? Brandon sighed and stood. He had a lot to think about. "I appreciate your time and honesty, Sebastian."

The attorney stood and walked him to the door. When they reached it, he laid a hand on Brandon's shoulder. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm going to say it anyway. Your father built Rhodes from nothing—"

"Nothing but an idea," Brandon interrupted, his voice cold. "An idea he stole."

"That's right. But he built Rhodes into what it is today. He put in all the money, years of hard work and sweat. If Goldstein had remained his partner, who knows if the store would have done as well. Maybe they would have sold out or gone their separate ways. Who knows? Believe this, Brandon, your father deeply regretted the actions of his youth. He would have given anything in later life to have made amends with Goldstein. Consider those things before you take action."

Brandon's eyes met the other man's. Both their expressions were solemn. "Don't bother to show me out, Sebastian, I know the way."

Chapter 5