Back to the Beginning: A Duet (12 page)

“That’s what you asked for,” the brunette said. “He was pretty out of it from the drink. I did the best I could.”

Melina frowned. “The best you could better be enough to convince his wife he’s been unfaithful…Was he actually unfaithful?”

The curvy brunette rolled her eyes. “He was given a high enough dose of rohypnol to fell an elephant. A, I’m not into rape. B, I’m definitely not fucking a limp dick.”

Melina’s mouth firmed at the woman’s coarse speech. “Of course. But the pictures are convincing?”

“Yes. With a little help and some creative camera angles, it looked as if he was an active and eager participant… What the hell did this guy do to you? Cause this kind of revenge scheme is primetime worthy.”

“He ruined my reputation… and he left me poor.”

The brunette’s eyes raked over Melina, taking in the designer dress and shoes, the handbag that cost as much as a car. “I think we have different definitions of poor,” she said evenly. She hated rich bitches like this one, but the money had been too good to pass up.

Melina laughed, a cold sound. “Oh, I’m sure we do.” An elegantly manicured hand disappeared into her handbag only to reemerge with an envelope. No wire transfers ever. They’d nearly cost her everything the last time. The scheme to put Justin in jail and effectively end any hope of the DuChamps siblings maintaining control of the hotel empire had blown up in epic fashion and she’d left far too clear a trail. Had Claude not been willing to take the fall for her, and had she not been in possession of some very incriminating photos of the DA, she’d be sitting in prison instead of plotting her revenge over brunch. “And speaking of the very crass subject of money… your payment.”

“Maybe I can treat us to breakfast?” the brunette offered. She didn’t want to, but it seemed the polite thing to do.

Melina smiled coolly again. “Oh, no. No, dear. I’ve already eaten… and you—well, you’re hardly dressed for your surroundings, are you?”

Suddenly conscious of the short skirt she wore, the fact that her top was clearly rumpled from the previous evening and her makeup was long since gone, the brunette lowered her gaze to the table. “It wouldn’t do to be seen fraternizing with the help, right?”

Melina rose to her feet, her elegant heels clicking on the tile. “I’m so glad you understand… but thank you for your excellent work. I’m sure there will be photos here that show just what I need Ophelia to see.”

Melina walked out of the restaurant then, ignoring the curious stares behind her and crossed the street to her rental car. She was eager to leave Kentucky and get back to her beloved New Orleans. She was even more eager to put her plan in motion. Ophelia Broulliard, the upstart, social climbing bitch who should still be little more than a kitchen maid, would regret the day she married into the DuChamps clan. And Vincent, she thought with a cool smile, would be on his knees.

He’d wrecked her family’s business with his refusal to comply, he’d forced her to let that ham-fisted ogre, Claude, touch her. His worthless junkie of a brother had nearly sent her to prison, but she laid the blame for that at Vincent’s door, as well. If he hadn’t been so difficult, she and Claude would never have had to set their sights on Justin anyway. No, it was all Vincent. He would pay. Ophelia was his only weakness and she meant to exploit it to the fullest.

‡
Chapter One

V
incent DuChamps climbed
into the back of the waiting limo that would take him from the hotel in Lexington to the airport so he could finally fly home. Exhaustion plagued him—mentally and physically. He could have stayed with his sister, Kaitlyn, but being on a horse farm far from the construction site just hadn’t set well with him. Of course, if he’d stayed with Kaitlyn and Grant, his life wouldn’t be on the verge of going straight to hell.

It had been his idea to create a boutique, luxury hotel in downtown Lexington. The city was small, but with the horse industry, it frequently drew large and moneyed crowds. It was only natural to take advantage of that. Yet the project had been one problem after another. So much so that he’d felt his only option was to oversee it personally. It had pulled him away from Ophelia and their daughter, Isabella.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he answered it immediately. “DuChamps.”

“I know who you are… we have the same last name.”

The tension drained from him instantly. All it took was the sound of Ophelia’s voice. Soft, sultry, the lilt of amusement—like the rest of her, it was sexy as hell. And she was his. They’d been married for almost two years. Their daughter was a thirteen month old terror. It was the one part of his life that was perfect. He was going to hold on to that no matter what.

He grinned, “So what are you wearing?”

“Pervert.”

“Pot and kettle,” he said. His wife, despite her sometimes prim demeanor, had a healthy streak of kink running through her, for which he was eternally grateful.

“The truth isn’t sexy.”

“Lie,” he commanded gruffly.

“Not a stitch,” she answered, but spoiled it by laughing. “Give me five minutes and that will be the truth. Justin and Rosalee are in town and they took Isabella for the evening. Addie is enamored of babies right now. So I’m going to take a bath and remind myself what it was like to not share my bath with a dozen toys and a splashing baby.”

A vivid image was burned in his mind forever of Ophelia reclining in the tub, her hands moving seductively over her body, pleasuring herself without any idea he was watching her. The memory never failed to stir him.

“You should call me while you’re in the tub,” he suggested. As frequently as he traveled, phone sex and sexting weren’t new to either of them. They were a poor substitute, but he was a desperate man.

“I can’t. I’m meeting Brenna for drinks,” she said. “But when you get home, I’ll make it up to you.”

“That will be later tonight. If you want to eat late, we could even have dinner together—in the garden, by the pool… clothing optional.”

He heard the slight hitch to her breathing, that little note in his voice that told him just what she wanted. What they both wanted. “What time?” she finally asked.

“I’ll be there by nine,” he said. “I want you naked when I get there.”

“That might be a little difficult—.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a warm expression. It was carnal, primal even. “It wasn’t a request, Ophelia.”

She stopped. “Are you going to spank me if I disobey?”

“I plan to spank you regardless.” It was uttered like a promise.

Her breath caught again, and when she replied, there was no disguising the lust in her trembling voice. “Just naked or do you have any other requests?”

“I’ll take care of everything else,” he replied. “Just be naked and waiting for me in our bed. We’ll have dinner after. It’s been too goddamn long.”

“I’ll see you at nine.”

Vincent ended the call and sat there for a moment before making another call, one that he dreaded. He didn’t bother to call Stanley’s office number, but dialed his personal cell phone instead. When the other man he answered, he didn’t bother with a greeting. “Any info yet?”

Stanley cursed under his breath. “It’s only been eight hours, Vincent. No. There’s no word yet. Do you remember anything else about the woman, any identifying features?”

“Other than the fact that she was naked and in my bed? No, Stanley… I don’t remember a thing. I got up, went to the bathroom, puked my guts out, and when I came back she was gone.” That was his only memory. He didn’t remember meeting her, sure as hell didn’t remember inviting her back to his hotel room or any of the things that might have happened in between.

“Vincent… we all get drunk and to stupid things. If you talk to Ophelia, tell her the truth, yes, it will suck. Eventually she would forgive you.”

Somehow, he controlled his temper. Somehow, he didn’t throw the phone with enough force to smash it into pieces. “I did not cheat on my wife, Stanley. There was nothing… I would know. I would have smelled her, I would have felt it. I haven’t laid eyes on another woman that even tempted me, much less that I actually wanted. I don’t know what happened last night, but I’m damn sure of what
didn’t
happen.”

Stanley sighed again. “Fine. I’m working on getting someone in hotel security to get me copies of the closed circuit feed. Maybe we can get a decent look at her on some of the footage. And I’m working on credit card receipts from the hotel bar… Who would do this, Vincent? Who would try to ruin your life this way? Claude’s in jail. Marvin Tate is bankrupt and doesn’t have two pennies to rub together to even think about bribing someone… and Melina Tate has moved on to bigger and better things. I hear she’s angling for a politician now.”

He had thought about it. Hell, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else. “My money’s on Melina. She might have set lofty new goals, but she’s still a vindictive fucking bitch.”

Another sigh from Stanley. For the last two years he’d been more than earning his hefty retainer. “Okay. I’ll work it from that angle too. I’ve got a PI buddy looking into some things… You should still tell Ophelia. If it comes out and you didn’t, there will be hell to pay.”

Vincent’s gut clenched at the thought. No. It was an immediate and visceral response. He wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t hurt her that way unless he had no other choice. “Just find this woman, Stanley. And whoever paid her. I’ll handle the rest of it.”

The remainder of the drive to the airport was silent. Climbing onto the small private jet owned by DuChamps Hotels, Vincent wanted nothing more than to get home to his wife. Nothing would come between them, whatever had happened, whatever nightmare he’d fallen into, she was his life. Ophelia was his and he was holding on.

‡
Chapter Two

T
he lights set
on low, Ophelia lay down on the bed on her side in a classic pin up pose that accentuated her curves. Wearing nothing but a scrap of black lace and a smile, she listened to the sound of Vincent’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs.

It had been more than a week since she’d seen him, more than twice that since he’d touched her. Between his work and Isabella, their schedules rarely seemed to mesh. When they’d first married, it had been nothing to slip away in the afternoon and have hot, drugging sex. Now, even in the dark of night, they were both so exhausted it was a rare occurrence to do more than blink when Vincent fell into the bed beside her each night.