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daughter, had exclaimed that she traveled to Milan at least once a year to shop and always ate at Louis DuLac’s restaurant there.
    They’d all been excited about her trip down here to find him.
    And she’d promised Tarrant.
    She drew in a long breath of sticky, humid air. Why did Louis have to insist on dinner as a condition for taking the test?
    Then again, why not? If he were her stepson, it would no doubt be the first of many family dinners she hoped to enjoy.
    Unless she’d destroyed that possibility forever with her foolish behavior last night.
    Maybe she could get him to promise that they’d never mention their indiscretion to anyone.
    It would be their secret that he’d run his lips over her skin until it tingled with arousal. That he’d kissed her breathless and whispered erotic suggestions in her ear. That he’d licked and sucked her almost to the point of madness, then made love to her until she cried out with joy.
    And that she’d run out on him without a word.
    Her skin heated and her insides roiled with an agonizing jumble of passion and humiliation.
    She marched along Royal Street, not sure where she was going. Adrenaline crackled through her, propelling her feet forward.
    She turned a corner, then edged around a crowd gathered to listen to a sidewalk guitarist.
    The bluesy music combined with the hot air, the sounds of laughter and a spicy food smell wafting from somewhere turned the whole city into an exotic cocktail of temptation.
    What next?
    As she stood waiting to cross the street, a sign in a window opposite her caught her eye.
    Need advice? asked the scrolled letters, painted on a white board. Madame Ayida ~ Palmistry and spiritual consultations.
    Yeah, that’s just what I need, Sam muttered sarcastically under her breath. Yet the sign arrested her gaze. The simple black letters beckoned her to look closer.
    She paused and frowned.
    She did need advice. Should she take Louis up on his offer of dinner in exchange for the DNA test? Or should she run back to New York with her tail between her legs and forget she ever met him?
    She stared at the sign from the opposite sidewalk.
    Could it hurt to ask?
    She checked for traffic and crossed the road, and her legs seemed to march to the door of their own accord. Next she was turning the brass handle.
    If talking to yourself was the first sign of madness, surely asking someone called Madame Ayida for advice was the second.
    Nevertheless, Sam stepped through the door into a small, curtained foyer. “Hello,” she called. “Anyone here?”
    “Madame Ayida is always ready to help you,” came a voice from the far side of the curtain. Black velvet, as clichéd as the name. Probably Madame Ayida was taking a break from the rigors of touring with the circus.
    The curtain lifted and Sam found herself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes. “Please, come in and sit down.”
    Sam obeyed. Instead of the mole-covered crone she’d anticipated, Madame Ayida was young and pretty, with dark brown skin and a wide smile. A yellow silk scarf covered her hair in a strangely reassuring fairground touch.
    “I don’t really know why I’m here.” Sam followed the garbled words with a breathy laugh.
    “That is not unusual,” said Madame Ayida. She had a slight accent, but Sam couldn’t put her finger on it. “Together we will discover the reason for your visit.”
    Sam lowered herself gingerly into the single gold-painted chair opposite Madame Ayida at a small, wood table with a scarred top and scuffed legs. “So, um, do you read my palm, or what?” She glanced around. There was no sign of a crystal ball or tarot cards.
    “If you like.” Madame Ayida smiled enigmatically.
    Sam held out her hand, suddenly embarrassed by her shiny manicure and big gold ring.
    Madame Ayida closed soft fingers around her hand and lifted it for examination. Sam’s heart fluttered in the long silence.
    “A long life, but not without heartache,” murmured Madame Ayida at last, her