Excerpt of Closer than She Thinks by Meryl Sawyer

Prologue The French Quarter, New Orleans

Pale shafts of moonlight filtered through the banana trees
and towering elephant ears in the courtyard concealed
behind tall plank gates that went unnoticed by most people
who passed along Conti Street. The low-slung branches of a
crepe myrtle partially concealed a wrought iron bench
beside a flowerbed profuse with primroses. The soulful
wail of a trumpet drifted in from one of the jazz clubs
around the corner.

A man strode across the ancient bricks, passed the
splashing lion's head fountain built into the wall, and
mounted the sweeping staircase to the second floor.
Upstairs, he inserted his brass key into the door's old-
fashioned lock. The tumbler opened with a click that
echoed across the courtyard of the Creole town house.

“Hello, Clay.”

The low throaty voice greeted Clay Duvall with its usual
sultry allure, but the sensual impact on him was fleeting.
His mind was on a woman. Not this woman, but another woman
living an ocean away from the French Quarter.

“Champagne?” Maree asked even though she knew he would
want Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Expensive Cristal
champagne was her favorite, not his. Offering it was
Maree's way of chastising him for arriving after midnight
and not calling.

“Champagne? You know what I want.”

“You want me, darling?” she asked, her voice even huskier
than normal.

The honeyed syllables revealed a youth spent in a small
bayou town within a shout of New Orleans, but it might as
well have been another planet compared to Clay's
background. Not that it mattered to him. He'd learned to
look beyond New Orleans' inbred society for his
opportunities.

Maree slowly lifted her shapely body from the velvet
chaise and moved toward him. A whisper of silk filled the
candlelit room as the sheer negligee caressed her smooth
skin. She repeated, “You want me?”

“M-m-mm,” he muttered, unable to force a lie. What he
wanted, the woman who obsessed him, was well beyond his
reach.

For now.

He didn't know what to say, but he had to terminate this
relationship. Staying with Maree would hurt her more in
the long run.

“You desire me, no?”

Before he could answer, her slender arms wrapped around
his neck and her full breasts nudged his chest. Pouty lips
met his, then parted as her dainty tongue flicked against
his mouth.

“Maree,” he half-whispered, half-sighed before he could
stop himself.

Maree was good, he had to admit. She was even better now
than the night he'd met her at a political reception at
the Windsor Court Hotel. Maree had stood off to one side,
clothed in a black linen dress that only suggested the
luscious body beneath the dark fabric. There had been a
hint of shyness in her half-smile and gaze partially
concealed by thick alluring lashes.

Across the crowded room he'd detected an undertone of
reserve in Maree's manner, a bashful reticence in her
refusal to fully return his smile. Even though Maree was a
brunette, not a blonde, her attitude had struck a chord,
reminding him of the only woman to have captured his
heart. He hadn't been able to resist walking over and
introducing himself.

It wasn't until after he'd begun his affair with her that
Clay realized Maree was obsessed with money and social
position. She was nothing like his first love. Instead,
Maree was disgustingly similar to his wife—Phoebe LeCroix
Duvall.

Maree guided Clay toward the bedroom, where more candles
trimmed the fireplace mantel and lined the bookshelves
while flickering votives adorned the dressing table. The
soft light cast an amber glow across the black satin
sheets on the bed she had turned back, obviously
anticipating his arrival.

Beep-beep! The chirp of Clay's cell phone reminded him
that he'd come to give Maree a bracelet as a parting gift.
He reached into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled
out the tiny telephone. He had to tilt it toward the
nearest bank of candles to read the digital display.

He shrugged out of Maree's embrace. “I have to take this.
Business.”

Clay walked back into the living room of the apartment
he'd leased for Maree a little over a year ago. Her
perfume hung in the air like a noxious vapor, then he
realized the cloying scent was coming from what Maree
called aromatic sandalwood candles. With a sigh of regret
for the good times, he hardened his resolve to end their
affair.

“Everything is in place,” Burt Anders told him the moment
Clay came on the line. “Just say the word.”

“I want her . . . company,” Clay said. “Make the offer,
and remember what I told you earlier. Be sure to keep my
involvement secret. I don't want Alyssa to know I'm behind
this.”

He snapped the cell phone shut, then tucked it back in his
pocket. Alyssa Rossi. The name alone made him smile as he
anticipated seeing her again after being apart for almost
a dozen years. A lifetime.

“Darling.” Maree had come up behind him and was touching
his shoulder.

He slipped the small box out of his pocket. Knowing how
she adored antique jewelry, he was positive this Edwardian
bracelet encrusted with diamonds and sapphires would ease
their parting. He regretted what he was about to do, but
assured himself that it wouldn't be long before she found
another wealthy man. With luck, the new guy would love and
marry her the way she deserved.

“I went to see Dante this afternoon,” she told him.

Her psychic had moved from the Bahamas to New Orleans to
practice voodoo. He'd given it up when his so-
called “visions” had lured him to the more lucrative realm
of psychic readings. Maree's obsession with having her
future predicted had made her one of Dante's best
customers.

“What did he have to say?” he asked, wanting to let her
down gently and hoping he could manipulate the flaky
psychic's message into a way out of this entanglement.

“Something exciting is about to happen.”

“Dante's right. I have a present for you.”

“For me?”

“I think you'll like it.”