Heart's Reward (3 page)

“And Senator Lawson wants us to find someone for his son,” Veronica added.

“Rafe?” Alan asked, clearly surprised.

Melanie nodded her head. “That's what he told me.”

“And Rafe agreed?”

“He told me in no uncertain terms that I would
be hearing from him,” Melanie said. “It was almost a challenge.”

Alan chuckled and leaned back against the plush leather seats. “Trust me, it will be.”

 

“Rafe, are you ready to leave? I'm tired.”

Rafe turned his gaze away from the entourage as they said their good-nights. He focused on the lovely woman in front of him. For a moment he couldn't recall her name. It didn't matter really. They all loved being called sweetheart or baby. He set down his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and turned his hundred-watt smile on his date.

“Not too tired,” he teased, trailing his finger along the curve of her exposed back.

She purred with pleasure and moved closer to him. “Never too tired for you. You should know that by now.”

He probably should, he thought while he absently nuzzled her neck, imagining Melanie's warm caramel skin beneath his lips. The truth was this woman who was ready to do whatever he asked was one of so many like her. Beautiful, nameless women that saw the Lawson name, heard whispers about his skills in the bedroom and put themselves in his path. He loved women. All types of women. Tall, thin, thick, short, black, white, Latina, Asian. They were all wonderful, willing and desirable in their own way.
And the southern gentleman in him compelled him to please as many of them as he could.

His trio of sisters—Lee Ann and the twins Dominique and Desiree—steered all of their friends clear of their playboy brother and admonished the youngest Lawson, their brother Justin, not to follow in their big brother's footsteps.

Rafe grinned to himself as he helped his date with her wrap. He loved his family dearly, even though he constantly remained on the receiving end of their reprimands. But no amount of scolding, threats of being cut out of the family fortune or hints of scandal stopped him in his relentless pursuit of women.

It was in his nature. It was in his blood as sure as the champagne that flowed through it now. He accepted that. He knew that deep inside he was looking for something. He simply didn't know what that something was and he would not stop until he found it.

Rafe slid into the back seat of the chauffeured limo. He tossed his tuxedo jacket across to the other side of the horseshoe-shaped leather seat. He leaned toward the mini bar and uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for himself and his date, confident that before the night was over her name would come back to him.

“Rafe,” she cooed, leaning forward to expose her
heavenly depths. “I was hoping you'd like to join me and some close friends for a weekend in Cancun.”

He looked at her over the rim of the flute. Her makeup was a little too heavy and he concluded it was to mask her acne. Her body was lovely but he could tell from experience that it didn't come naturally. She did have interesting eyes and a lovely mouth. Kissable. That much he did remember. “Sounds appealing.”

“Say yes.” She all but batted her eyelashes.

It was as if the action lifted the veil that had covered his eyes and he wondered why he was with her. What was he doing? “I'll check my schedule and get back to you.” He smiled to soften the disappointment. “Where do you live again, cher? Forgive me.” He held up his glass. “One too many.”

“Park and 62nd Street.”

“Of course.” He winked at her and tapped on the partition that separated them from the driver.

The Plexiglas whirred downward.

“Park and 62nd,” Rafe instructed. He reclined against the thick leather back seat. He ignored her pout.

“I thought we were going to your place,” she whined.

“I'm sorry, cher. Not tonight. Maybe another time.”

She flopped back against the seat and folded her
arms tightly to her body, elevating the expensive enhancements. Rafe turned his attention to the traffic outside the window, lighting up the night sky with the gleam from streetlights that danced off their hoods, their headlights illuminating onto the blacktop. It seemed to create a magical lightshow, much like his life. It was all smoke and mirrors. He'd mastered the art of illusion. The ability to charm and woo, to talk his way into and out of anything he wanted.

He draped his arm along the back of the seat and drummed his long fingers against the firm surface. He hated these introspective moments, those times when all of the scolding, threats and warnings from his family stirred his conscience. In those moments he came face to face with the pointlessness of the life that he led.

His father was a powerful senator, his sister Lee Ann had the education, skills and family lineage to move into politics. The twins, when they weren't trying to spend the family fortune, were both involved in philanthropy. His brother Justin was being primed for the political arena. Rafe's unambitious lifestyle went against everything that the Lawson family stood for.

“Much as I loved your mother, God rest her soul, she spoiled you rotten, boy. Doted on you like you were the king of damned England and enabled all of your philandering ways,” Bradford Lawson had said,
glaring at his son with the same vehemence that he reserved for his opponents on the senate floor.

Rafe endured the periodic tongue-lashing from his father with practiced chagrin. There was probably some truth to what his father said, although he would never admit it to him. His beloved mother had been his rock, the only one in the family who understood him. She knew how to rein him in without holding him in place.

God he missed her. There was an emptiness in his soul since she'd been gone and he filled it with one woman after another, wild parties, good liquor and tabloid-worthy adventures. For a while the space would be filled, but inevitably the emptiness would return.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe he did need a good woman in his life to help him settle down. And his thoughts shifted to Melanie.

She was different from the other women he had known and bedded. She couldn't care less who he was. She was independent and didn't appear to need the arm of a man to make herself look good or feel important. She already was—all qualities that were rare in the women he saw.
Melanie Harte.

“You're smiling again,” his date said, cutting into his thoughts. He turned from the window and realized that she was sitting right by his side. “I thought I'd done something to upset you.”

His smile wavered and held. He stretched a finger toward her chin and gently lifted it. Yes, she had beautiful eyes and kissable lips. He remembered now. Her name was Stephanie. His gaze caressed her slightly over-made-up face. He leaned forward and pressed his lips toward her kissable ones. She sighed ever so softly.

“Should we bring the wine up to your place?” he said against her mouth. He felt her body loosen with delighted relief.

The idea that he was the source of her happiness, real or imagined, only helped to reaffirm his mantra. He couldn't disappoint a woman. After all, he was a southern gentleman.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Stephanie's building on Park Avenue. The driver opened the door. Rafe stepped out first and helped Stephanie to her feet. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

She laughed and it was the music that always made him weak, made him dance—the sound of a woman's laughter.

He walked behind her as the building doorman greeted her. She turned, her smile bright and her eyes inviting.

His dimple appeared. The elevator door closed behind them. He'd let Melanie Harte try to reform him tomorrow.

W
hen Melanie walked into her office the following day, the team had already assembled. No matter how appealing a client might be or how much money they had, it was protocol that the decision to take on a new client was unanimous.

“Hey, Aunt Mel,” the trio said in unison.

“Morning, troops.” She set her cup of coffee on the side table. “Everyone have a good time last night?”

“Absolutely,” they agreed.

Melanie took a sip of her coffee and settled down on the overstuffed couch. Her office was an eclectic blend of functionality and comfort. Her high-tech equipment was housed inside floor-to-ceiling wooden
cabinets that were rolled out for use. The video screen was mounted on the wall for full presentations of clients and their prospects. The bay windows looked out onto the bluffs and ocean beyond. Pale peach walls were adorned with one-of-a-kind pieces of art. Glass and chrome were the focal accessories, with conversational seating throughout. Fresh flowers graced the tables, shipped in weekly from the florist. This was TPS central, where all of the decisions were made.

“I've done some preliminary work on Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Lawson,” Veronica said, “based on observation and what I was able to pull from the Internet. I'll have a full profile of each once we set up the meeting.”

“You certainly didn't waste any time,” Melanie said. “Let's see what you have so far.”

Veronica pressed a button on the console and the screen lit up. The first screen was filled with basic data about Claude and Rafe—date of birth, physicality, where they lived, profession, education and relationship status.

Melanie stared at the near life-sized images of Claude and felt her body come alive in response. She knew she'd have to keep her lusty thoughts to herself if she was going to be effective in finding a suitable match for him.

The sound of male voices coming in their direction
drew everyone's attention. Moments later Alan stuck his head in the door.

“I thought I smelled smoke,” Alan joked. “All this brain power brushing up against each other like kindling.”

“Very funny,” Melanie said.

“I brought company.”

Claude stepped into the frame of the door. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

Melanie's heart banged in her chest and a sudden rush of heat flooded her body. She shifted in her seat, reached for her coffee cup, realized her hands were shaking and changed her mind. She folded her hands in her lap.

“He insisted that I stop by today,” Claude explained. “I told him I should have called first for an appointment.” He was talking to everyone in the room, but his gaze had settled on Melanie.

Her throat was bone dry.

“Not a problem,” Jessica said. “Roni was just going over your preliminaries.”

“Was she?” Claude's brows rose in question. “And what might those be?”

“Basic data,” Veronica said matter of factly. In addition to being the profiler of the business, Veronica was an Internet and computer whiz. If there was a grain of sand to be found, Veronica would find it. She
had search programs and software that Melanie didn't want to know anything about. Google was archaic as far as Veronica was concerned.

“It's all protocol,” Melanie said, finally finding her voice. “We build a profile on all of our clients. It's how we make an appropriate match.”

Claude crossed the room. Melanie caught a subtle whiff of his scent. Her pulse fluttered. He sat down in one of the matching side chairs.

“Sounds very…calculated, for lack of a better word.”

“Part calculation, part chemistry,” Jessica offered.

“Our responsibility is to match the wants and desires, intelligence and personality of two people, and ask all the questions that two people who are attracted to each other never ask until it's too late.”

Claude stretched his long legs out in front of him. Alan clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “They're really pretty harmless,” he teased.

Claude glanced up at his friend. “You sure? I sorta feel like a science project.”

“Once we match you up with the woman of your dreams, you'll forget all about this technical stuff,” Melanie said with a wave of her hand.

Claude zeroed in on Melanie. “Is that a promise?” His eyes moved across her face, heating everywhere they landed.

Melanie slowly stood. “You're in very good
hands.” She picked up her mug and walked out. Alan followed.

“Thanks for doing this, sis.”

“Sure. Business is business. Claude seems like a good guy. I'm sure we'll find someone for him.”

Melanie caught the serious tone in his voice. She looked across at her brother. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing that you won't find out.”

Melanie stopped walking and folded her arms. “If there's something I need to know, tell me, Alan.”

Alan inhaled deeply. He dug his hands into his pants pockets. “About ten years ago, Claude was engaged. On his wedding day, his fiancé's limo was in an accident on her way to the church.” He looked down.

Melanie's hand went to her chest. “Oh, I…I'm sorry.” Her eyes flew toward her office. She could see Claude in conversation with the team, fully engaged, laughing and nodding. Her spirit ached. She knew all too well about that kind of loss, the emptiness that was left behind. After Steven she had her grandmother and her mother to pull her through and then the business. Who had been there for Claude? Had he ever found closure? Was his job all he had? The questions nagged at her like an itch in the center of your back—difficult to get to.

“He's not like me. He's more than his job,” Alan
said as if reading her thoughts. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I'm going to run into town. Buzz me on my cell when your team has finished picking my man apart.” He winked and strode out, leaving Melanie with thoughts of Claude swirling in her head.

 

Melanie was in her sitting room, putting together the list of potential guests for her annual Summer Jam. Claude left several hours earlier with Alan and was given the assurance that TPS would be in touch with him shortly. Vincent logged in Claude's $25,000 deposit and created a file for him. Jessica and Veronica were busy putting together a complete profile of Claude based on their extensive interview.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep her mind on the task at hand. Her thoughts and unsettled emotions kept getting in the way. Giving into her frustration, she closed the social calendar software program on her computer with the intention of getting a light snack. Just as she got up, her office phone rang. It was nearly five o'clock, the official end of the business day, she thought, mildly annoyed. She started to let it go to voicemail when she thought about the mantra of her business. “It's never too late or too early to deal with a paying or potential client.”

“The Platinum Society, Melanie Harte speaking,” she answered in her cheerful professional voice.

“I would think you would have someone else
doing the mundane task of answering the phone,” the definitively male voice said, the slight Creole accent unmistakably that of Rafe Lawson. “However, I couldn't be happier that it's you.”

“Mr. Lawson.” She sat back down.

He chuckled. “Ah, the lady remembers.”

“I tend not to forget names, faces and voices.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I'm picking up where we left off. My father is insistent that I find myself a suitable woman who can make an honest man out of me. You indicated that you were up for the challenge.”

“My company,” she clarified, not wanting to head off in the wrong direction.

“Of course.” He breathed into the phone. “So…where do we begin?”

“I'll switch you over to Jessica, and she'll set up an appointment.”

“I'm leaving for the West Coast tomorrow afternoon. I hope you can slip me in before then.”

His statement sounded innocent enough, but Melanie didn't miss the sexual innuendo. She chose to ignore it.

“If there is a time slot, I'm sure we will accommodate you.”

“Actually it would only take a little over an hour to drive out there. You're in Sag Harbor?”

“You've done your homework.”

“I like to know who I'm getting in bed with…so to speak.”

Melanie's body flushed. “Hold on a moment.” She placed the call on hold and pressed the button for the main office. Veronica picked up.

“Hey Aunt Mel, what's up?”

“I have Raford Lawson on the line. He wants an appointment as soon as possible. He's leaving to go out of town tomorrow afternoon.”

“Let me check with Jess.”

Melanie tapped her manicured nails against the table while she waited.

“We can see him this evening if he's really insistent or first thing tomorrow at nine.”

“Thanks. I'll get right back to you.”

She took Raford off hold. “Tonight at seven or tomorrow morning at nine. Your choice.”

“The sooner the better. I'll see you shortly.” He hung up without saying goodbye, a testament to his arrogance.

Slowly Melanie hung up the receiver. Her gut told her that Raford Lawson was going to be a handful of trouble. And she was just the one to put him in his place, even if he was a senator's son.