pushed it away from her face and laughed. "I borrowed Grandfather's Jag once. I'd just gotten my license; Jerome had stopped by to see mother. The keys were in the ignition. I couldn't resist."
Brandon turned toward her. His gaze softened. She looked completely content, utterly relaxed. He'd been teasing when he'd said he worried about her driving. She handled the car skillfully and with absolute control. And her fondness for speed hadn't surprised him. She was a woman who embraced experience, who enjoyed living on the edge. It seemed right that she should be behind the wheel of a fast car, laughing and breaking the law with the wind flying through her hair. Brandon smiled to himself; he was getting sentimental. "What happened?"
"Grandfather reported the car stolen. They picked me up as I was cruising Lakeshore Drive." She swerved to avoid a pothole. "He was furious, but when I explained that he should be grateful that I took the car instead of a real thief and that he should be more careful in the future, he went wild." Her laughter mixed with the sounds of the street, the hum of the engine and the rush of the wind. It was a sound filled with life. "He didn't press charges, but only because Maman begged. Although, he did try to convince her to send me away to a girls' school. From that time on, when he came to visit he made sure his keys were in his pocket."
"I'll bet he did," Brandon murmured, chuckling. "Jerome Delacroix isn't the most magnanimous man I've ever met."
"Especially about his possessions," Veronique inserted. "You should have heard him the time he found me playing in the Rolls—"
"That's it!" Brandon snapped his fingers. "I thought all this sounded familiar; years ago I heard a story about you and Jerome's Rolls—"
"Fabricated," Veronique said with a wave of her hand. "The gossip mill changed the Jag to a Rolls, added boys, liquor and a crumpled fender to the story." She turned onto Magazine Street, then almost immediately onto St. Charles Avenue. "It was the first time I had an exclusive in Sissy's column."
"From humble beginnings..."
Veronique's eyes met his, and they laughed in unison. The next few minutes passed in silence. From the corners of her eyes, Veronique watched Brandon. He fiddled with the radio, then leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, totally relaxed. He was an unusual man, she decided. A man not what he seemed, a man of contradictions. She shook her head slightly. She'd thought he would be society stiff and big-business tough, but he was warm and funny and likable. It was too bad she was just along for the ride, she thought with more than a twinge of regret.
Veronique pushed the unwanted sentiment away as she turned into Uptown Finery's parking lot. Located on St. Charles Avenue in an old Victorian mansion, the shop boasted a client list as old-line and blue-blooded as Uptown itself. In fact, this store had become such a New Orleans tradition with the wealthy that Rhodes had been forced to discontinue its bridal department.
Veronique parked the car and turned toward Brandon. She didn't conceal the humor lurking in her eyes. The ball was in his court. "What do you propose we do now?"
He knew what she was doing, and he wasn't about to fold. "Go in," he answered simply.
Veronique lifted her brows in surprise. "You know, it's going to look pretty silly if we go in there and don't buy something. Uptown Finery is not an 'I've just come to browse' sort of place."
"So we'll buy something."
Veronique shook her head. Follow the leader had not been one of her favorite childhood games, but if he insisted on digging his own grave, what could she do? Laughter bubbled to her lips. "I'm not going to make it easy for you."
"I'd be disappointed if you did."
"All right. It's your money and your reputation. Just let me brush my hair," she said, not bothering to look in the mirror but knowing it was wild from the wind.
Brandon leaned over and tangled his fingers in the silky mass. He rubbed the
Brandon turned toward her. His gaze softened. She looked completely content, utterly relaxed. He'd been teasing when he'd said he worried about her driving. She handled the car skillfully and with absolute control. And her fondness for speed hadn't surprised him. She was a woman who embraced experience, who enjoyed living on the edge. It seemed right that she should be behind the wheel of a fast car, laughing and breaking the law with the wind flying through her hair. Brandon smiled to himself; he was getting sentimental. "What happened?"
"Grandfather reported the car stolen. They picked me up as I was cruising Lakeshore Drive." She swerved to avoid a pothole. "He was furious, but when I explained that he should be grateful that I took the car instead of a real thief and that he should be more careful in the future, he went wild." Her laughter mixed with the sounds of the street, the hum of the engine and the rush of the wind. It was a sound filled with life. "He didn't press charges, but only because Maman begged. Although, he did try to convince her to send me away to a girls' school. From that time on, when he came to visit he made sure his keys were in his pocket."
"I'll bet he did," Brandon murmured, chuckling. "Jerome Delacroix isn't the most magnanimous man I've ever met."
"Especially about his possessions," Veronique inserted. "You should have heard him the time he found me playing in the Rolls—"
"That's it!" Brandon snapped his fingers. "I thought all this sounded familiar; years ago I heard a story about you and Jerome's Rolls—"
"Fabricated," Veronique said with a wave of her hand. "The gossip mill changed the Jag to a Rolls, added boys, liquor and a crumpled fender to the story." She turned onto Magazine Street, then almost immediately onto St. Charles Avenue. "It was the first time I had an exclusive in Sissy's column."
"From humble beginnings..."
Veronique's eyes met his, and they laughed in unison. The next few minutes passed in silence. From the corners of her eyes, Veronique watched Brandon. He fiddled with the radio, then leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, totally relaxed. He was an unusual man, she decided. A man not what he seemed, a man of contradictions. She shook her head slightly. She'd thought he would be society stiff and big-business tough, but he was warm and funny and likable. It was too bad she was just along for the ride, she thought with more than a twinge of regret.
Veronique pushed the unwanted sentiment away as she turned into Uptown Finery's parking lot. Located on St. Charles Avenue in an old Victorian mansion, the shop boasted a client list as old-line and blue-blooded as Uptown itself. In fact, this store had become such a New Orleans tradition with the wealthy that Rhodes had been forced to discontinue its bridal department.
Veronique parked the car and turned toward Brandon. She didn't conceal the humor lurking in her eyes. The ball was in his court. "What do you propose we do now?"
He knew what she was doing, and he wasn't about to fold. "Go in," he answered simply.
Veronique lifted her brows in surprise. "You know, it's going to look pretty silly if we go in there and don't buy something. Uptown Finery is not an 'I've just come to browse' sort of place."
"So we'll buy something."
Veronique shook her head. Follow the leader had not been one of her favorite childhood games, but if he insisted on digging his own grave, what could she do? Laughter bubbled to her lips. "I'm not going to make it easy for you."
"I'd be disappointed if you did."
"All right. It's your money and your reputation. Just let me brush my hair," she said, not bothering to look in the mirror but knowing it was wild from the wind.
Brandon leaned over and tangled his fingers in the silky mass. He rubbed the
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