Power Play (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) (2 page)

“Raphael.” She managed to keep her voice pleasant and even, a feat considering how she trembled inside. Smoothing her skirt, she searched for calm. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but that’s not how I usually greet old friends. You’re looking well.”

Looking well? He looked freakin’ hot—scorching! It was monumentally unfair for a man to be so beautiful, but that was the easiest word to describe Raphael. He’d grown into his gorgeousness in college when he’d taken to martial arts with a vengeance, but she’d always thought him the best-looking boy in town even when they were twelve. Golden blond, Mediterranean blue eyes framed by thick, golden brown lashes, a generous smile, and a honed six-foot-four frame that was the epitome of a finely tuned engine.

“Thanks,” he said offhandedly, as if his gorgeousness was no big deal. Since he had women throwing themselves at him no matter where he went, Macy supposed it wasn’t that big a deal to him. “Though I think we’re more than old friends, Macy.”

He was right. He’d been her best friend for years, building a level of trust she’d never had with anyone else. They’d turned to each other for everything—painful confidences, losing their virginity, other sexual exploration. They’d shared a level of friendship and trust that she’d treasured until one tragic summer when he’d truly become her lover, the best she’d ever had. Then he’d broken her heart and a short time later nearly broke her will as well.

“That was a long time ago,” she said, edging away. “It was nice seeing you again, Raphael. Take care of yourself.”

“That’s it?” he wondered. “After eight years, that’s all you can say?”

Oh, she had a truckload of things she wanted to say to him, but she wasn’t about to ruin Renata’s big night. Still, the words bubbled up her throat like acid, corroding her ability to hold them back. “After eight years, what in the world do you think needs to be said?” she asked, her voice bitter. “You were the one who dropped off the face of the earth.”

Blond brows lowered as he frowned. “You’re saying our lost time is my fault? You’re the one who pulled a disappearing act. You dropped out of school and the next thing anyone hears about you is that you’re about to marry Prince Charming of Goldavia or something.”

She drew back, shocked. He knew about that? Surely that meant he’d known where she was, how to reach her. Did it also mean that he’d deliberately avoided her? The thought sent a bolt of pain shooting through her, giving her the emotional distance she needed to raise her chin defiantly. “If you must know, Karl is Belgian and a baron.”

“Of course he is. Where’s Baron Charming now? For that matter, what are you doing here in New Orleans when you’re supposed to be living the royal life in Europe?”

She settled her hands on her hips as she jutted her chin out. “You forfeited the right to know anything about me when you sent me off to Paris and disappeared.”

“Macy.” There was a wealth of conflicting emotion in the way he said her name. Surprise still, with healthy doses of hurt and anger. What the hell right did he have being angry, when she was the one who’d ended up all but broken?

He shoved a hand through his hair, and even frustration looked good on him. “Look, we have a lot of catching up to do, but I sure as hell don’t want to do it here. Let’s get out of here.”

Eight years ago she would have immediately agreed, would have followed him anywhere blindly and willingly. She’d loved him enough back then, though she hadn’t told him. Too much
had happened since then. She’d suffered heartache and loss. She’d experienced more success and more pleasure. Changed so much. Too much to easily pick up with Raphael Jerroult again.

“No.”

“No?” His eyebrows knitted together. “Come on, Macy. We obviously have a lot of questions for each other, so let’s ditch this party and leave together. We’ll catch up.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Raphael.”

He towered over her, enveloping her in his spicy scent as he braced himself against the wall with one hand, caging her in with his large body. His bright blue eyes sparkled with equal parts curiosity, frustration, and need as he stared down at her, his lips curved in a soft, kissable, enticing smile. “You seem angry with me, and I want to know why. Why not take off and hash it all out? You know you want to.”

She rallied herself with an effort, refusing to be dragged back under his spell. “I have a thousand reasons why not, beginning with the fact that this is Renata and Sebastian’s engagement party and I’m the hostess, and ending with the fact that I’m not going anywhere with the Crescent City Casanova.”

A pained expression crossed his angelic features, quickly there and gone before confusion blossomed again. “Wait. You’re hosting Sebastian’s party? Why would you do that?”

“Because Renata asked me to,” she answered, trying to step far enough away from him so that he’d have no choice but to release his hold on her. “We’re friends.”

More surprise. “You’re friends with Renata? Why didn’t I see you in Vegas?”

“Because I didn’t go to Vegas. I’ve only known her about three months.” She took a cleansing breath, trying not to inhale his sexy scent. The more they talked, the easier it was to separate herself from the intoxicating haze he’d wrapped her in. Better talking than kissing. “We
met when she agreed to do some work for a charity organization that I founded here.”

“Here?” He pushed off from the wall, looking as if she’d delivered a cheap shot to the gut. “You live here? In New Orleans?”

“Yes.”

“How long?” When she hesitated, he leaned closer. “How long, Macy?”

“I opened Choux four years ago. Lovelace is my second restaurant, and I opened it last year.”

The beginnings of anger colored the tips of his ears bright red. “You’ve been in New Orleans for four years?”

She shrugged, forcing a casualness she didn’t feel. “More or less.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anger flared inside her at the accusation in his voice. “How the hell was I supposed to do that, Raphael? Call the cell phone you disconnected? Send a letter to the old family house that you sold in Baton Rouge? Beg your administrative assistant at JerTech for your contact information?”

She curled her hands into fists to hold back the urge to hit him, then sucked in a steadying breath. “It’s been eight years since our relationship ended for all intents and purposes. We’ve both moved on and lived successful lives, so I don’t think we owe each other anything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the party.” She ducked under his arm.

“Wait.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “That’s it? We don’t see or talk to each other for almost a decade and you can just walk away like we were nothing?”

Another surge of anger swept her. How dare he make it seem like she was at fault? “We were friends, Raffie,” she told him, clenching her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
“We were friends when you needed a friend, then we were more when you needed more. You needed me, and I was glad to be there for you. But you didn’t need me anymore.”

It hurt her to say it, and it appeared that it hurt him to hear it. He released her. “And what if I need you now, Macy?”

“You don’t need me, Raphael,” she said as gently as she could. “I’ve seen the women you date, and I know how you plow through them like the Mississippi during a flood. Besides, even if I wanted to go there, rumor has it that you never have the same woman twice. That means I’m automatically disqualified. I have no desire to be a fling or a notch in your bedpost. No desire to go there again for old time’s sake or anything else.”

A member of the wait staff emerged from the serving corridor. “Macy, there’s a problem in the back; we need you.”

“Be right there.” She turned to Raphael. “I’ve got to go.”

The look he gave her ignited her insides again. “This isn’t over, Macy.”

She lifted her chin. “As far as I’m concerned, it is.”

Spinning on her heel, she strode away. From the weight of Raphael’s gaze on her back, she knew their reunion was far from done.

Two days later, Raphael stood at the window of his sumptuously decorated offices on the thirty-ninth floor of Place St. Charles. The view of the skyline and the bend of the Mississippi went unnoticed, consumed as he was by thoughts of Macy Lovelace.

Macy was in New Orleans. Had been for four years. How had he not known that? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know. So many times over the years he’d forced himself to not think about her, what she was doing, whom she was doing it to. It had been the only way he could stay sane.

Turning away from the killer view, he resumed his pacing, a maelstrom of emotions still churning uneasily inside him. He’d put her on a plane to Paris eight years ago because her dream had always been to go to culinary school in France and to open her own restaurant someday—a dream backed by him and her family. His dream had been derailed thanks to his father’s death and while he’d been tempted to let the company crash and burn, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Macy’s father had taught him better than that.

So he’d stayed, at least for a little while. He’d sent her away even though he knew she’d have stayed if he’d asked her. He’d been on the verge of doing just that, of dropping to his knees and begging her not to leave him, of confessing just how much he needed her, of how his life wouldn’t be the same without her, how she was his life. Just as his father had been with his mother. But at twenty-two, with fresh wounds from the aftermath of his father’s incapacity to live without his mother, the enormity of his feelings for Macy had scared the shit out of him. That more than anything else had been the reason why he’d let her go and closed himself off.

It had been difficult. He’d lasted two months as CEO of JerTech before the grief,
pressure, and expectations caught up to him. What the fuck did his twenty-two-year-old self know about running an industrial company like JerTech? The only things that had made sense back then were Macy and Muay Thai. So he’d turned the day-to-day management back over to the trustee, taken a month to cut almost all his ties to Baton Rouge, and had headed to Paris to surprise Macy.

Except Macy hadn’t been there. Not in the walk-up he’d addressed his letters to, not at the culinary school she’d attended. She’d disappeared. Frantic, he’d scoured Paris for two days before it dawned on him to call Macy’s father. Carlton Lovelace had told him that he’d talked to Macy, that she was fine, still in Europe, but was taking a break from school. When Raphael had asked to speak to her, Carlton had told him that Macy didn’t want to see or hear from him for a while.

He rubbed at his chest, remembering the pain like a fresh wound. He’d screwed up, and he’d lost her by waiting too long to go to her. With only Muay Thai left, he’d gone to Thailand and submerged himself into training, his body the only thing he still had control over. When he’d emerged two years later, making a name for himself on the circuit, he’d searched for Macy and discovered that she’d hooked up with that baron. She’d obviously moved on with her life. He’d stopped following up on her then, and thrown himself into one affair after another, one fight after another, determined to put her out of his mind.

Macy. Seeing her again had ripped him open. God, she’d looked …
beautiful
had been the first word that came to mind, but he’d been struck stupid by the sight of her and unable to come up with anything better. Amazing. Breathtaking. Ravishing. Alluring. All of those came closer but still didn’t do justice to the wonder that was Macy Lovelace.

She’d done something to her hair. He remembered how wildly curly it had been. She’d
hated it, but he’d loved it, especially when she rode him. Her hair would fall around them like a fiery curtain, blocking out the rest of the world. He’d called it drowning in sunset, and it had been his favorite way to come.

He shifted his stance, conscious of the heavy erection he sported. It had been an almost constant state since he’d first seen her yesterday. Damned annoying, but Macy had always had that effect on him. Macy, with her warmth and softness that he never tired of exploring.

Just seeing her again had shifted his world. Gone were thoughts of looking for a quick lay. Now all he could think of, all he wanted, was Macy. Too bad she didn’t seem to return the feeling.

Fuck that. He’d felt her response to their kiss. That soft sigh, the way she’d wrapped her arms around his neck before she’d leaned into him. The breathy moan when he’d pulled her closer. That wasn’t the response of someone who disliked him.

Need gripped him, refusing to let go. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, he knew it. He had to have her. He would have her—he just had to get to the bottom of why she was mad at him and apologize for it.

Settled on a course of action, he crossed to his desk and ran a quick Internet search on Carlton George Lovelace, Macy’s father. It surprised him to learn that Macy’s father still lived in the Lovelaces’ Baton Rouge house that had been as much Raphael’s home as a teen. Surprised and saddened him, because Raphael knew he should have visited the man who had been his surrogate father for years. Truth was, once he’d lost Macy he couldn’t bear to go back to his surrogate family. He’d do it, though, if it meant he’d have Macy.

“Hello?”

Raphael tightened his grip on the phone. “Mr. Lovelace?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Raphael. Raphael Jerroult.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you remember me.”

“Well, of course I do—you were an honorary member of the family!” Carlton’s warm voice spread over Raphael like a favorite blanket. “How are you?”

“I’m back in New Orleans, and I-I saw Macy.”

“About time,” The older man sighed. “It was hard being between you two, son. Did you talk to her?”

“I tried. It didn’t go as well as I would have liked. I want to get in touch with her but I don’t have her contact information.”

Carlton hesitated. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Raphael closed his eyes. If Carlton Lovelace didn’t approve, he’d get nowhere. No, he’d just have to try harder. “I’d like to think it is, sir. Even if only so she can tell me to my face why she thinks it’s not a good idea.”