A Vengeful Affair by Carmen Falcone Page A

what she had hoped for, wasn’t it? To tell Edouard her story…so why didn’t it feel like a victory?
    “If this goes to the media, it won’t be good for my foundation.” Edouard sighed. “I will have this investigated. I have to be ready, in case anyone uses the press. I must find out the truth.”
    Vivian nodded.
    “I must ask you, though…do you really believe Javier would kill someone and make it look like a suicide?”
    Edouard’s question hit her with the force of a thousand bricks. Not because it was unexpected, but because it was the question that had been nagging at her conscience. The question she’d been ignoring all day.
    Did she really think Javier was a killer?
    Did she really believe she was doing the right thing?
    “I’ve brought it up to him, and he denied any wrongdoing. During the time I’ve spent with him, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me.” Vivian’s voice wavered. She had to be fair to Javier, but she had to be fair to Molly, too. “But I knew Molly for fourteen years, and I swear she didn’t kill herself. Maybe the man Javier hired to investigate Molly would have some more information. His name is Matt Smith.” Vivian glanced at Edouard. His face showed concern, but she couldn’t read anything else.
    “This may sound crazy,” she said, “but in the beginning I wanted to make Javier pay.”
    “And take away his merger?” Edouard concluded.
    “I’m a horrible person, I know.” She closed her eyes tightly.
    “You are either a horrible person or a great friend.” He smiled with compassion. “And I will find out soon.”
    “How?”
    “I have my ways. I might have to delay my business transactions with him, though.” He took a business card out of his pocket. “Call me if you need anything.”
    When Vivian rejoined the others a couple of minutes later, she could tell by Dominique’s unpleasant expression that the Frenchwoman hadn’t liked her chat with Javier at all.
    Vivian sympathized. She hadn’t enjoyed her chat with Edouard, either.
    …
     
    “Let’s go for a walk,” Javier said as the car cut through the streets of Paris.
    It was the first time he’d spoken since leaving Edouard’s mansion. He gave a quick order in French, and the driver stopped the limousine. Javier got out first, then helped her out. Her hand tingled where his fingers brushed against hers.
    “Why do you want to walk?”
    Vivian’s high heels clicked on the concrete of the sidewalk along the Seine. It was dark, and the streets had emptied. She glanced at the river and thought of how many couples had shared kisses, declarations of love, or lover’s tiffs on its bridges, on the sidewalks surrounding it, and on the cruise boats that navigated its waters.
    “I’d rather do something else, but walking is safer,” he said quietly.
    Safer for whom?
    Javier slowed down his pace and came to a full stop, prompting her to do the same. He leaned down just enough for her to hear him if he were to speak, but not enough so that his breath would whisper over her skin. Vivian held her own breath for as long as she could before inhaling in small gasps.
    “Whatever else you had in mind,” she said, “I’m sure Dominique would love to oblige.”
    He shook his head. “But I don’t want Dominique.”
    His gaze slid over her, dropping to her lips and breasts. Vivian’s nipples hardened, reacting to the command he silently gave. If he had said he wanted her, her reaction would be no less instantaneous.
    “You slept with her, so she’s no longer a novelty?”
    The idea incensed her. Did he do that to all the women who crossed his path—seduce them relentlessly and then downgrade them to second-class citizenship when he was done with them?
    She remembered Molly and had her answer.
    “Dominique is not a victim. We had an arrangement. I hadn’t seen her for months before tonight.”
    “You don’t understand women, do you?”
    “I understand women better than you think. It’s you who I don’t