A Vengeful Affair by Carmen Falcone

a moment later he added, “At the risk of sounding odd, I must tell you something.”
    “Go ahead.” Vivian held her breath. There was something about this man that assured her she could trust him.
    “You remind me of my daughter.” His eyes were filled with pain.
    “Do I?” Vivian exhaled slowly. “Is she here today?”
    “She’s right there.” He pointed to the life-size picture above the stage of a beautiful young woman wearing white, her smile broad and her eyes blue. The golden frame was thick, and as Vivian’s gaze drifted over the picture, she saw the birth and death dates.
    Dead. His daughter was dead.
    “I’m sorry.” The idea of asking him for any information about Javier vanished from her mind. She would offer him the only thing she could—her silent sympathy for the remainder of the dance.
    But Edouard spoke again. “Why is it complicated?”
    After a moment’s hesitation, she whispered, “Do you know anything about the Broussard merger?”
    He hesitated, and his brows furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors.”
    Vivian chewed on her lower lip, undecided. Edouard had confided in her, hadn’t he? Why couldn’t she do the same? She couldn’t afford to waste time.
    “I need to talk to Monsieur Broussard. I must tell him he can’t do business with Javier.”
    She felt the old man’s grip on her tighten. “Why not?”
    “I believe he’s responsible for my friend’s death. Her name was Molly Richardson. I don’t think Monsieur Broussard will want to mix up the empire it took him a lifetime to build with someone like Javier.”
    “That’s a very strong accusation.”
    “I have strong reasons to believe it,” she said, thinking of what Molly had told her, and of the voice mail. “I’ll tell him everything I know. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”
    Before Edouard could answer, Javier approached them, shooting Edouard a friendly smile. The song had ended. “Can I steal her back?” As the old man nodded, Javier bowed to her, his smile fading and his black eyes drilling into hers.
    “Vivian, it’s been a pleasure.” Edouard bowed to her, handing her to Javier. “And don’t worry about stepping on my feet. I will take care of it.” Edouard winked. Javier seemed not to notice the hidden message in his last sentence.
    Edouard would help her somehow. She could feel it.
    “I’m done dancing,” she said after Edouard had left. She tried to move away, but Javier wouldn’t have it.
    “I insist.” He splayed his large hand firmly on her bare back, pulling her against him with such strength, she pressed her lips closed to suppress a gasp. “I lead with my right foot, and you follow with your left.” He led with a blend of refinement and virility, leaving no doubt this would be a very different dance from the one she had shared with Edouard.
    “Opposite sides,” she replied sharply. It helped to remind herself out loud where they both stood, just in case the heat coiling low in her stomach tried to trick her. “Got it.”
    The slow rhythm of the music made it impossible for her to create a buffer zone. Her body molded to his without her consent, her blood thickening and her nipples hardening against the silky fabric of her dress.
    Vivian couldn’t speak. She tilted her head to the side, battling her yearning to rest it on Javier’s shoulder and relax, just for one moment…
    If only she could. If only he were anyone else.
    He broke the silence. “The deal was, you were to be by my side at all times.”
    Vivian she stepped back to meet the darkness of his eyes. “It was only a dance.” She stopped moving, but he placed his hands on her lower back, gently tapping his fingers.
    “Just a dance?” he murmured sarcastically. “With one of the most powerful men in France?”
    “How would I know? Maybe in your world he’s some kind of hotshot. To me, he was just Edouard, a kind old man who asked me to dance.”
    “So what did you and the kind old man talk