Free Bourbon Street Blues by Maureen Child Page A

toes to give his cheek a quick kiss. “Not happy to see me?”
    She sailed past him, through the open door, crossed the foyer and stepped into the living room. Dragging the tip of one finger across a long, low table, she idly checked for dust, didn’t find any and still smoothed her fingertips together as if rubbing away grime.
    “Love what you’ve done here,” she said, though her tone clearly indicated she didn’t mean it.
    A stab of irritation jolted Parker as he followed his soon-to-be ex-wife into the main room. She wore a pale blue silk dress that clung to her generous curvesand stopped about three inches above her knees. He watched her as she did a slow turn, taking in everything.
    When he’d moved out of their shared home, he’d done up his new place just the way he wanted it, with oversize, dark brown leather couches and waist-high bookcases all around the circumference of the room. Sunlight glanced in through the wide windows and lay like gold on the pine floorboards.
    This was his home. Frannie had no place here.
    “What do you want?”
    “Is that any way to talk to your wife?” She dropped to the edge of one of the sofas and slid one leg over the other.
    “ Ex -wife.”
    “Not yet, honey.” Leaning back into the sofa, she ran the flat of her hand across the soft-as-butter leather. “I don’t much care for leather. It can be so uncomfortable in the summer.”
    He walked into the room and glared at her. “Thankfully, that’s not one of your worries.”
    “Oh, Parker.” She gave him a small smile then eased herself off the sofa and walked toward him. “No reason to be hateful, darling. Not when we’ve shared so much.”
    Parker laughed. “Who the hell are you playing here, Frannie? The only thing we shared was a name.”
    She pouted a little and looked up at him from under half-closed eyelids. “Parker, honey, every marriage goes through a little trouble now and then.”
    Her perfume floated around him, grabbed at his throat, thick, cloying—a lot like Frannie herself. He was immune to her scent. Immune to her lies. But damned if he could figure out what her game was.
    “A little trouble?” he repeated. “Frannie, we’ve been separated for years.”
    “But still married, darlin’,” she purred, holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers so that the sunlight caught the three-carat diamond and sent sparks of light shooting around the room like balls on a billiard table.
    She had always been a fiend for jewelry. The bigger and gaudier, the better.
    “I still want to know what you’re doing here,” he said, stepping away to drag in a breath that wasn’t doused in her scent. “We’re supposed to meet at the lawyers’ office in an hour.”
    She waved one hand at him and walked to a sideboard that held crystal decanters of vodka, brandy and Irish whiskey. Picking up the vodka, she splashed a small amount into a tumbler and took a quick sip. “I canceled the appointment.”
    “Why the hell would you do that?”
    She smiled. “Parker, honey, we don’t need to meet in front of a bunch of lawyers. We can handle this on our own.”
    “Since when?” He folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she carried her drink back to the sofa and slipped down onto a cushion.
    She was up to something. He could damn near see the wheels turning.
    “Oh, now, you know as well as I there’s not that much to be settled.”
    True. They had been damn close to signing off on this marriage from hell—until Frannie had decided that her financial settlement wasn’t nearly as generous as it should be.
    “Only the fact that you want to dip your greedy little hand deeper into my family’s company.”
    Her full lips rounded in a moue that she probably thought of as seductive. Lord knew he’d fallen for that act himself ten years ago. Now he knew better. Now he could recognize the barracuda behind the practiced smile and cooing voice.
    “Now, Parker, darlin’, I’m sure you’ll agree