Southern Comforts by Joann Ross Page A

which, I might add, she’s very well paid to do.”
    â€œI need to see Jeb about some work he wanted done to his gazebo, anyway,” Cash said. “No point in Dorothy having to go out of her way.” Somehow, without using any outward force, he was deftly herding them all toward the front door.
    â€œRoxanne, I can’t remember ever having a better meal. It was a true masterpiece of culinary achievement.” He took hold of her hand and in a gesture that left Chelsea open-mouthed, lifted it to his lips. “Though spending time with you is downright hazardous to a man’s waistline.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Cash.” Her voice was a sultry purr. “Withall the work you’ll be doing at Belle Terre, you’ll burn off any extra calories.”
    Chelsea was uncomfortable watching Roxanne’s avid, greedy eyes moving over Cash’s face, eating him up as if he were a piece of rich, whiskey-soaked pudding. She cleared her throat, drawing Roxanne’s attention back to her.
    â€œDinner was wonderful,” she seconded Cash’s review of the meal. “What time would you like to get together tomorrow to discuss the book?”
    â€œFirst you need to see Belle Terre. Why don’t I have Dorothy pick you up at ten? We can drive out to look at the house, then discuss our little project after that.”
    She was, of course, being steamrollered again. But as exhausted as she was, Chelsea decided not to argue. “I’d like to see the house.” She turned to Jo. “But I have to ask that you don’t videotape me at the site. Unless I agree to the collaboration.”
    â€œUntil,” Roxanne said coyly.
    She may be tired. But she wasn’t a fool. Chelsea tilted her chin. “Unless,” she repeated.
    A significant little silence settled over the foyer as the war of wills was waged.
    Roxanne was the first to back down. “Unless,” she agreed with a smile that didn’t begin to reach her eyes. Chelsea knew the woman was not surrendering. Rather, she’d wisely chosen to retreat from the battlefield and fight another day.
    Roxanne Scarbrough was outrageously egotistical. And, Chelsea suspected, ruthless. But she was also talented, intelligent and fast becoming an American phenomenon. Chelsea knew she’d never like the woman. But then again, when you earned your living as a celebrity journalist, it was probably best not to write about people you admired.
    Once, when profiling Diane Keaton, Dominick Dunne hadrevealed missing the actress the moment he’d dropped her off at her hotel. Chelsea could not imagine ever feeling that way about Roxanne.
    â€œWell,” Cash said, seemingly determined to move things along, “we’d better get going.”
    Chelsea said polite goodbyes to Roxanne, Dorothy and Jo. She did not say anything to Cash. Not on the way down the long brick sidewalk to the driveway, although she couldn’t resist arching a brow at the black Ferrari.
    As soon as she settled into the black leather seat, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

Chapter Six
    T he unseasonably warm spring night was drenched with the sultry scent of sun-ripened flowers. The fact that he was too tall to drive the Ferrari with the top up had never proven that much of a problem for Cash. He simply kept an eye on the barometer, avoided getting caught in rainstorms if possible, and enjoyed the feel of the wind as he raced through the dark and nearly deserted streets of Raintree.
    Achieving success in California had allowed him to return to Georgia in style. He’d come a helluva long way from that kid who’d been born in a sharecropper’s shack and had spent his teenage years sneaking peeks through keyholes in the whorehouse. He was no longer the rough, angry young man who’d seduced a passionate, old-money WASP princess at Yale.
    He’d come to terms with his past. Was pleased with his