Dear Love Doctor Page 2

  “How about you charm the moneybags and I spend the night in real men’s clothes?”

  “Not to be,” Aloysius said. “Besides, there’s Tiffany. One look at her and you’ll quit your complaining.”

  They’d neared the front parlor. A cluster of guests stood just inside the door, being offered drinks by one of the waiters. The door opened again, and a blonde with a swingy step made her entrance.

  Hunter stared. The woman claimed the entry-way, paused, and surveyed her surroundings like a queen surveying her subjects.

  She had a long, lean body, but filled out with breasts that the clingy black silk did nothing to minimize. Her blond hair, swinging just beneath her chin, gleamed like the storybook gold woven by Rapunzel, a silly thought that made Hunter realize he’d lost his grip.

  “Who’s that?” he said as casually as possible to Aloysius, wondering if this woman was the much-touted Tiffany Phipps, and deciding he’d forgive his partner for all his romance-meddling if she were.

  Aloysius glanced toward the entry, then back to Hunter. Something of Hunter’s enchantment must have shown in his eyes, because his friend grabbed his arm and said, “Oh, no, Hunter, down, boy. I’m your friend, so listen to me. That is the last woman in the world you want to meet.”

  “You raise my curiosity.” Hunter continued to watch as the woman declined the butler’s attempts to relieve her of a bulky black leather bag. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and glided into the parlor on the other side of the foyer.

  “Just what I didn’t want to do,” his friend muttered. “Think Tiffany.”

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll go ask for myself.” Mrs. Jarrigan was bearing down on them, two well-dressed, silver-haired women in tow. Soon he’d have to charm his audience and deliver the public Hunter James whom people loved to love. “Who is she?”

  “Promise me if I tell you you’ll stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble. I’ve known her for years and years, and never once has she been good news for any guy.”

  Hunter smiled at the approaching ladies and Mrs. Jarrigan and out of the side of his mouth said, “Her name, Aloysius.”

  Aloysius sighed and clutched at his hair. “Daffodil Landry.”

  2

  “Daffy!”

  At the unmistakable sound of her sister’s voice, Daffy turned. Grateful for the interruption—a social-climbing couple Daffy couldn’t abide had been bearing down on her, clearly intent on getting their picture into her society column—she hugged her twin. “I didn’t even know you were back in town.”

  Jonni, a mirror image of her own blue eyes, blond hair, and body type, smiled softly and said, “We came back yesterday.” She sighed. “I missed Erika, but as usual David was right. Jakarta was no place for a three-year-old.”

  Oh, yes, David was always right. “Where is Darwin? Er, wait, I’ve got it—Darren.”

  “Daffy, you know my husband’s name as well as your own.” Born fifteen minutes earlier than Daffy, Jonni had spent much of their lives playing the role of older sister and she knew how to put starch in her normally gentle voice when issuing a reprimand.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. So where is David? Did you leave him behind in Jakarta?” Daffy tried to sound contrite. For her sister’s sake, she struggled to accept Jonni’s choice of mate, but she had a hard time tolerating his superior attitude.

  “He’s getting us drinks.”

  “Ah.” Daffy thought Jonni, despite her underlying beauty, seemed a little dispirited.

  “Anyone new in your life?”

  Daffy shook her head. “You were only gone six weeks.”

  “And it only takes a moment in time to fall in love.”

  Daffy opened the clasp on her camera bag. She’d allotted twenty minutes for this stop and so far, she hadn’t laid eyes on the man of the hour. Besides, Jonni’s matchmaking talk always made her edgy.

  “Well, if it isn’t my lovely sister-in-law.”

  Daffy almost jumped as Jonni’s husband swarmed beside her. He handed a glass of wine to Jonni, delivered a peck on the cheek to Daffy, and took a long pull on his customary bourbon and water. “Writing for CyberScene these days?”

  He referred to the section of the daily paper that covered popular technology. “No, David, I’m still just an Uptown girl who dabbles in journalism as a society columnist,” she said, quoting David’s favorite description of her.

  “While waiting to snare a husband,” he finished. “Hunter James is much better material for ‘Money’ or ‘CyberScene’ than the social pages.”

  “Do you know him?” Daffy glanced around the room. Across the parlor and inside the dining room she spotted the very familiar-looking back of a man’s head. The man laughed and his broad ears quivered. Aloysius Carriere. Well, that made sense; after all, this was his aunt’s house.

  But who was the dark-haired Casanova beside him, leaning toward the elderly Mrs. DeLongpre and flirting with her as if she had been Queen of Rex only this year, rather than half a century ago? If he was a friend of Aloysius’s, he had to be from out of town.

  Daffy had grown up with Aloysius. He and Oliver Gotho had been her playmates. Oliver remained her faithful friend, but then, she’d never made the mistake of sleeping with him.

  Aloysius—well, that was another story.

  “I’m telling you what I know about Hunter James and I do believe you’re not even listening.” David’s bossy voice cut into her study of the mystery man.

  “Oh, but I am.” She gave him a bright smile and shifted her position so she could watch both David and the hunk across the way.

  “I was saying,” David said, lifting one hand to the back of Jonni’s neck and stroking her idly, “that I don’t know him personally but I certainly know of him.”

  Jonni sipped her drink and glanced around. She’d turned inward, as she often did at these social events, and Daffy longed to take her hand and reassure her. For all she liked to play the older sister, Jonni needed protection a heck of a lot more than Daffy ever did.

  “James is a self-taught computer guru who made a mint when his Internet technology company went public. He’s from Ponchatoula, of all places, but he spends a lot of time in the city.”

  “Why is he interested in orphans?” Jonni asked the question, then almost looked surprised that she’d done so.

  “Good question,” Daffy said. “Those journalistic instincts are still strong.”

  Jonni shrugged. Jonni, not Daffy, had been the editor in chief of their high school paper and an English major at Newcomb College. But once she’d gotten engaged, she’d dropped all writing pursuits, though she did help out at The Crescent on occasion, serving as receptionist if someone called in sick.

  David finished his drink. A silver-haired gentleman passing by greeted him and the two exchanged handshakes. He smiled at the women and moved on.

  “My banker,” David said. “James probably gives money to the Orphan’s Club because he’s half orphan.”

  “Half?”

  David shrugged. “Trying to be polite. Truth is, he’s a full-fledged bastard.”

  Jonni looked shocked. Daffy felt only indignation at her brother-in-law’s judgmental pronouncement.

  “Well, I say, let him enjoy his moment in the limelight,” David said, hailing a passing waiter for a refill. “The nouveaux riches never hang on to their money long.”

  Daffy lifted her camera. She was well over her twenty minutes, and another second of her brother-in-law’s superiority complex and she just might tell him what she thought of him. She might be rich but she was proud not to be a snob. “Mind pointing him out to me?”

  “No problem.” He studied the room; then his glance moved to the connecting room beyond. “He’s in there, with one of your former beaux.”

  “The dark-haired man next to Aloysius?” Daffy knew she sounded as surprised as she felt. So much for the high-water pants, tennis shoes, and pubescent pimples! “Are you sure that’s Hunter James?”

/>   David simply looked at her. Jonni accepted another glass from the waiter and said, “David’s always sure.”

  “That’s true, dear,” he said, looking very pleased with her.

  “I’ll just take a photo and then I’ve got to run,” Daffy said, wondering whether she should trust David. He might be playing a trick on her.

  But, trick or not, she wanted a closer look at the enigmatic stranger. Now he’d lifted Mrs. DeLongpre’s gloved hand to his lips.

  The elderly woman laughed, and tapped him saucily on the cheek before moving off.

  “Quite the charmer,” Daffy murmured, wishing Aloysius would detach himself from the man’s side. Though they’d never discussed it, she and the sole heir to what was once the Carriere fortune studiously avoided each other.

  Now. Walk over there, as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Flip Aloysius a smile that dares him to interfere and introduce yourself to this guy. If he really is Hunter James, you’re only doing your job.

  Even as her plan of action formed in her mind, Daffy was aware of the man’s probing gaze. He might be standing halfway across the room, but she knew he was watching her, sensed he wanted her to know it, too. She had the strangest sensation of being catalogued from the pink polish of her toenails to the curling tendril of hair that teased her cheek.

  He sensed her interest, too.

  Daffy’s heart beat faster.

  He saw through her dress to the black satin bra and panties beneath.

  He read the curiosity in her mind.

  And sized her 36-C bra accurately.

  The pulse in her throat fluttered.

  As for himself, he gave nothing away. Oh, that he was observing her the way a man does when he spies a woman he may want to pursue was clear. But whether he would act, whether he would do more than simply study his prey, Daffy couldn’t predict.

  Which bugged the heck out of her.

  What lay behind those dark eyes and that ready smile that he flashed just as easily at old Mrs. DeLongpre as he did at Aloysius?

  She had to find out.

  Her right foot moved forward. She waved off a waiter proffering a tray of salmon en croute.

  Aloysius had turned the full force of a scowl on her. She moved her left foot forward, meeting his challenge. He might despise her, but he couldn’t keep her from speaking to his companion.

  The dark-eyed man matched her move, saying something to Aloysius as he took one step in her direction.

  Daffy smiled.

  The man halted, his elbow captured by Aloysius as a tiny tornado of a woman swept up from the opposite direction and launched herself at both of the men.

  Not just any woman, but Tiffany Phipps. Daffy groaned inwardly, or maybe she even made a noise aloud. The man offered Tiffany a polite handshake. That wouldn’t do for Tiffany. She kissed him on the cheek and Daffy could hear her gush, in a voice as loud as it always was, “I feel as if we’re already the closest of friends.”

  Daffy stopped a waiter and snatched a crab cake canapé. Aloysius she could face down, but taking him on in tandem with Tiffany was beyond her. Not since Daffy’s twelfth birthday party, when Tiffany had taken some personal sanitary items from Daffy’s purse and passed them around to the giggling guests, had Daffy been able to keep her temper around Tiffany. That day she’d busted the girl’s lip and both sets of parents had punished Daffy, not Tiffany. Only Daffy’s best friend, Beth, hadn’t laughed at her humiliation.

  Dabbing her fingertips on a napkin, Daffy consoled herself. If Hunter kept company with women like Tiffany, he wasn’t her type anyway. She lifted her camera, considering the irony of her thoughts. She lived in a society where many people probably saw more to condemn in Daffy than in Tiffany.

  After all, what were Tiffany’s faults? Selfish, spoiled, and extravagant as she was, she still performed admirable volunteer service. She was also an accomplished attorney. The same age as Daffy, she’d been divorced once and was rumored to have taken the guy, a senator wannabe from Kentucky, for quite a fortune.

  But her faults, according to the standards of Daffy’s world, were nothing compared to those of Daffodil Landry.

  Shaking off the shadow that threatened to weigh her down, Daffy poised her shot. She edged closer. At least her editor would be pleased. Two socialites clinging to the city’s latest—and sexiest—philanthropist.

  Flash!

  Tiffany must have sensed the camera. She snuggled up to adjust the man’s bow tie.

  Flash!

  Flash!

  Three quick snaps and Daffy turned. She walked rapidly through the crowd. She had two more events to cover.

  As she descended the front stairs of the mansion, she realized with a twinge of surprise that neither of the other social galas held any interest for her. And Daffy knew the reason—the stranger with the eyes as dark as his hair would not be there.

  Damn, but she was beautiful.

  And more than classically so. Sure, she had the package—the sculpted body with regal bearing, flawless skin, silky blond hair, and simple clothes that whispered rather than shouted their worth. But to top it all off, the woman possessed a presence Hunter had rarely, if ever, seen.

  Even while charming Mrs. DeLongpre and collecting a substantial pledge for the Orphan’s Club, Hunter had checked out Daffodil Landry, the one woman in the house Aloysius begged him to avoid at all costs.

  He’d watched her talking to another daffodil-haired woman, but even though Hunter could see that woman only from the back, he’d known instinctively that she’d never make the impact Daffodil Landry made.

  Not on him, anyway, though the guy who joined the two women, pasting a possessive hand around her neck and shoulders, obviously thought otherwise.

  Daffy moved away from the man and the woman. By this point, Hunter knew she was aware of him observing her. She soaked up the scrutiny, neither blushing, simpering, nor turning away. He had to know this woman.

  “Introduce me,” he said to Aloysius after Mrs. DeLongpre had left them.

  “That’s what I’ve been doing since the first guest arrived,” his partner said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the meaning of Hunter’s request.

  “To her,” Hunter said.

  “Anyone but Daffy.” Aloysius set his jaw.

  “Whatever happened between you two must have been a doozy, but whatever it was, that’s between the two of you,” Hunter said, but did not inquire. He honestly didn’t want to know. Certainly his own past—damn, his present—didn’t bear much scrutiny.

  “It’s one thing when a woman dumps you,” Aloysius said, obviously going to go into details anyway, “but Daffy does more than that. She looks like the spring flower you expect from a woman with a name like that, and then something happens to her and she goes off, crazy for no reason at all.” Aloysius rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off an unwelcome memory. “Go after the straightforward ones.”

  Daffy had taken a step in his direction.

  “Interesting,” Hunter murmured.

  “If you think so, then try getting your foot caught in a trap and chewing it off to escape.”

  She smiled.

  He mirrored the smile and took a step in her direction.

  He ought to stay away, not because of any of Aloysius’s warnings, but because he should straighten out his own muddled life before embarking on a new adventure.

  And Daffodil Landry, he was certain, would prove to be the greatest adventure of his life.

  A hand gripped his elbow. Hunter tensed, then relaxed. Gazing at his tenacious friend, he gave him a smile, yet anyone with half an instinct for survival would have seen the danger lurking there.

  “Here’s Tiffany,” Aloysius said in a low voice, just as a cloud of perfume and a pint-size brunette descended on them.

  “Just the woman we’ve been looking for,” Aloysius said jovially. “Tiffany Phipps, Hunter James.”

  Frustrated, but well schooled in his manners, Hunter extended a hand.

  The green-e
yed brunette ignored his hand and launched herself against him, landing a coquettish kiss on his cheek that Hunter could have done without. “I feel as if we’re already the closest of friends,” she said, stepping back, but not by much.

  Her strong perfume invaded his nostrils just as a flash of camera light filled his vision.

  He looked back toward Daffodil Landry. Tiffany reached up and played with his bow tie just as another flash of light temporarily blinded him.

  He blinked several times, then checked again.

  Daffodil Landry had disappeared.

  3

  “Don’t look now,” Thelma James said, “but you’ve got company.”

  Hunkered beneath the computer workstation in his mother’s framing shop, concentrating on dismantling her outdated system, Hunter did exactly as his mother suggested. His weekend trip to Ponchatoula was a quick one to allow him to set up his mother’s new computer. She had refused to let him buy her a nice new home on the “right” side of town, but at least she accepted his help in her business, a framing shop she’d worked in for years and had finally taken over after the former owner passed away.

  “Well, if it isn’t Emily Godchaux coming to visit.”

  At that annoying news, Hunter lifted his head and banged it on the edge of the desk. “Dam—”

  “No, you don’t, not in my shop.” His mother lived by her rules—as did anyone in her orbit. Growing up, Hunter had heard a million times if he’d heard it once: “People can say anything they like about me for having a baby without benefit of a wedding ring, but they’ll never be able to say one bad word about your behavior, young man.”

  He loved his mom. So he’d tried hard to behave. Tried. Really hard. But behaving just didn’t come naturally to him.

  He rose and grinned at his mother, who was leaning over her work table and holding a sample of teal matting this way and that. “Damp. It’s damp under that table.”

  She grinned back and lifted her eyebrows as the cluster of bells on the door jangled. Eyes on the piece she was framing, Thelma said, “Morning, Emily.”