Summer Heat. A.C. Arthur

way?”

      “Oh, no.” She was already shaking her head. She didn’t want Sam to get the wrong idea about her family. “He’s really not that bad all the time.” Why she felt the need to defend him she didn’t know. “The business is just his life, so he’s very protective of it.”

      “He owns the galleries and the Lakefield Foundation?”

      How did he know about the foundation? Duh, he’s a private investigator. But why investigate the Lakefields? Better to deal with the matter at hand, Karena, stop borrowing trouble. That’s a problem she’d had all her life, according to her mother.

      “The foundation was instituted about five years ago with the goal of entering into philanthropic arenas. My father comes from a colorful background, his ancestors building off the luck of the land, so to speak. So he and his brothers decided it was time to give something back.”

      “And his brothers are a part of the foundation, as well?”

      He was steadily eating and it wasn’t rude; they were at dinner, after all. He forked his food, watched her as he chewed, asked her questions and every now and then glanced at her plate as if telling her she should be doing the same thing.

      With a shrug she picked up a tuna roll, inhaled the fragrant aroma and took a bite. It tasted as good as it smelled and she almost smiled as her stomach churned in appreciation. She hadn’t eaten all day, she was so worried over this painting issue.

      “Yes, my dad has two brothers. They both live here in New York and all of them got their start in the steel business. Now their corporations are basically run by my cousins, so the uncles are just as bored as my father.”

      Sam nodded. “When my father gets bored he cooks. Then he changes the menu at the restaurants. His managers and chefs hate when he does that, especially my brother, Cole.”

      “You’re from a large family, right?” she asked, finishing off one roll then using her fork to sample the spinach salad that came with her entrée.

      “I’m one of four children. My parents are from New Orleans, where the Desdune lineage could probably occupy two or three counties.” He chuckled at that, sipped his wine and used his napkin to wipe his fingers.

      His plate was clear, she noticed with amazement. Well, he’d said he was hungry.

      “Ever heard of Lucien’s, the Creole-and-Cajun restaurant? There’s one in Harlem,” he told her.

      “There sure is,” she said when she’d finished chewing. The dressing was excellent, and Karena found herself enjoying the meal as well as the company. “I’ve been there a few times. The ham with bourbon-pecan sauce is fantastic.”

      He smiled proudly. “One of my father’s favorite dishes. My brother—he’s the next to the oldest—manages the Greenwich restaurant. There’s one in New Orleans and another one in Atlanta.”

      “You said you had a twin. Are you and she the oldest?”

      “No. Bree and I are the youngest children. Lynn’s my oldest sister.”

      “And you and Bree are the only two who didn’t go into the restaurant business?”

      “Lynn’s a family-law attorney. Cole’s the only one who followed my dad’s footsteps.”

      “Really?” That was interesting. “So what does your mother do?”

      “What doesn’t she do?” He chuckled. “She has her hand in everything, from the restaurants to the hundreds of committees in Greenwich where we live, to the charities she likes to work with. I swear I don’t know how she does it. She’s like the Energizer Bunny pumped with adrenaline.”

      Karena laughed, the tiny sound bubbling from her chest, reaching her eyes and stretching across the table, taking Sam’s breath away.

      “What about your mother, what does she do while you and your sisters are working with your father?” he asked suddenly, wanting to know everything he could about her.