Children of Dynasty (21 page)

It felt good to get out of the city. Somehow safer, though she continued to keep an eye out for the press following her, or, God forbid, someone who meant her harm as Tom Barrett had suggested. She had not forgotten the scruffy-looking man in the Taurus whom she believed had shadowed her into Chinatown. So, every few miles she checked behind Lyle’s Mercedes convertible.

Now, he guided the sports car under McMillan’s arched stone porte-cochere, cut the engine and looked around. “Gargoyles, for God’s sake.” Sure enough, carved figures of dogs, dragons, and monsters decorated the eaves and downspouts.

An elderly man in a white jacket ushered them in through a glass-walled solarium. “Cocktails are at six, there.” He pointed to the outside terrace, decorated with potted evergreens and bougainvillea climbing on trellised arbors. “We dress.”

Mariah smiled at the reception that hadn’t changed since her father had been here nearly thirty years ago. The servant led her and Lyle up marble stairs, down a long hallway hung with museum-worthy masterpieces, and showed them to doors on opposite sides.

After admiring the spacious room with marble bath, Oriental rugs, and porcelains trimmed in gold, Mariah went onto the private balcony. No, not private; a matching set of double French doors opened onto the stone expanse fronted by a limestone railing. This pristine retreat overlooked a long green fairway, the beach, and the sun gold of the Pacific. Heady floral scents wafted from climbing roses.

Stretching her arms over her head, she tried to relax and forget her troubles. She was here to help save Grant Development, but the evening reception wasn’t for an hour yet. Surely, for a little while she could enjoy this lovely place.

Looking down at the terrace, she inhaled a long slow breath. There was the carved stone balustrade where her mother had been standing when John had first seen her. As Catharine had gazed at the same sea Mariah now watched, what had she been thinking before she turned to John and found her life forever changed?

Mariah had believed in that kind of magic when she’d come upon a lithe, dark youth on the deck of his father’s yacht. Now, she knew dreams didn’t last, not for her parents, or for her and Rory.

Would he be here? After his swift exit from the hospital cafeteria, she could imagine him revving up his Porsche, pulling out his cell and dialing Sylvia Chatsworth’s preprogrammed number. Pain stabbed at the thought of the black-haired siren’s manicured nails sliding over Rory’s muscled back.

Offshore, the sun silhouetted a sailboat beating to windward over the shining sea. As she watched the prow cutting through the waves, she heard the sound of a door opening from the room next to hers. She remained at the rail with her back turned, to preserve her neighbor’s privacy and because she didn’t feel like meeting anyone right now. After a shower, she’d put on her company face.

Out on the horizon, the boat changed course, coming up on the wind to tack. She remembered Rory at his boat’s helm with the wheel in competent hands, his face intent on their heading.

Footsteps approached her from behind.

The sails flapped as the helmsman turned the wheel.

“Hard alee,” said Rory’s voice.

She turned to find him smiling, his tousled hair lending a rakish air. Faded jeans sheathed his thighs below a black golf shirt.

The DCI logo over his chest drove her back to reality. “Are you next door with Sylvia?”

“I’m next door,” he said with faint emphasis on the first word.

She knew she should stop, but only a moment ago she’d been tormented thinking of them together. “Did you bring her?”

His expression betrayed nothing. “I believe I saw you drive up with Lyle Thomas.”

“Eyes of an eagle.” Okay, let him think she was with Lyle if he was truly sharing a room with the Senator’s daughter.

“Now that we have the table cards arranged, what shall we do?” Rory slid a hip onto the balustrade and cocked a dark brow. “Fight about our fathers?”

His dry tone infuriated her. “It always seems to boil down to that.”

“How is your Dad?” he asked in a softer tone.

“Much better.” That was relative, but she had to assume the information would go to Davis Campbell. “Back to work part time in a few more weeks.” She hoped.

“That’s good.” His lips curved into a smile, and he sounded genuinely pleased.

She turned her head away so he wouldn’t see her disquiet at thinking of her father’s health.

“Hey.” Rory’s voice lowered to a more intimate range. When she did not turn back to him, he took her arm. “Still feeling guilty?”

How quickly he cut to the heart of what kept them apart. Not Sylvia or Lyle, but the sense of being pawns in their fathers’ chess game.

Rory’s hand was warm on her. “Look at me.”

Wondering if she were playing the fool, she did … and the compassion in his dark eyes made her answer. “I suppose I will always feel guilty.”

The corner of his mouth went down. “Have you asked his doctors if what you did could have caused his attack?”

The memory of the hurtful things she’d said to him at the hospital hung between them. She stared out over the long emerald slope toward the sailing vessel in the restless sea.

“For God’s sake, Mariah.” Rory shook her arm, his fingers digging in. “Does John blame us?”

Her gaze was drawn to his wounded look, and she relented. “The doctors made it clear his clogged arteries were a time bomb. It could have happened any time.”

His hand relaxed and slid down to hers. “What has John said about it?”

The caring in his tone made her go on, “He told me to stop blaming myself.” Then, because Rory seemed to be holding his breath as he awaited her next words, she admitted, “He said people can’t always choose the one they love.”

Rory exhaled a long breath. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, lifting her left hand. She saw the question in his eyes when he saw it was bare of his ring.

She could tell him it was some place safe, but realized she was falling into the old trap. All Rory had to do was touch her, and she turned into a marshmallow.

As he lowered his lips and touched them to her hand the way he had at the Italian café in Sausalito, she fought the familiar melting warmth. He probably had come with Sylvia. She was no doubt inside taking a shower or something without knowing Rory was playing both ends against the middle on the balcony.

Yet, his lips persuaded, and the warm tip of his tongue flickered over her skin. She wondered if he could feel the pounding of her blood.

“Rory, I …”

From the terrace below, “Really, Davis, I haven’t had a drink since lunch.”

“You’re practically staggering.”

Rory gripped Mariah’s hand and yanked her away from the rail. His quick movement shocked her.

The fracas below continued with Kiki’s strained voice. “I’m entitled to a little fun now and then. God knows you’ve been a barrel of it this past month.”

“Pipe down, will you?” Davis said cruelly.

Rory stopped in the shade of the trellis outside her room, out of sight from below. His face looked flushed.

Her cheeks heated as well. “You still don’t want your parents to see us?”

He stared at her without answering, and she challenged him with her own gaze.

“Why, hello.” Lyle Thomas stepped out from her bedroom. He cut an elegant figure in his dinner clothes.

Rory dropped her hand. She whirled, thinking she must have left her hall door off the latch. Lyle’s eyes flicked from Rory to her.

“You’ve met Rory Campbell?” she offered. Lame, but it was the best she could do.

Lyle put out his hand. “Sylvia make it?”

Rory shook. “She’s probably putting on her face for this evening.”

Mariah gasped. He’d been playing word games, sweettalking her while he never actually said he wasn’t with Sylvia.

She tried to control her voice. “I need to dress as well.”

Shoulders square, she put a light hand on Lyle’s arm and guided him toward her room. When she turned back to close the door behind them, she did not miss the hard look Rory shot her.

“Did I interrupt something?” Lyle asked.

She went to the closet and opened it blindly. While she’d been outside, McMillan’s house staff had unpacked her clothes and set out her toilet articles.

“Mariah,” Lyle insisted. “You and Campbell looked upset.”

She talked to the clothes rack. “I need to dress.”

Lyle’s heavy tread came closer and stopped a few feet behind her. “After the little scene between you two at the Marriott, I was tipped to curiosity. Now, I guess I know.” On his way to the door, he patted her shoulder. “Fair lady, your secret is safe with me.”

As he went out Mariah figured she should not be surprised. Lyle, with his incisive courtroom eye, knew raw emotion when he saw it.

With fumbling fingers, Rory shoved a ruby cufflink into his sleeve. The mirror reflected his flared nostrils and the cords in his neck standing out. That Mariah had gone so quickly to another man wouldn’t seem possible if he hadn’t seen the evidence with his eyes. For God’s sake, if Lyle had shown up ten seconds later, Rory would have made a fool of himself trying to kiss her.

He began to insert matching ruby studs in his tuxedo shirt. The stones weren’t as large or as fine as the one he’d bought Mariah, but they had sentimental value. He’d inherited them from his grandmother Mainwearing.

Thinking back to when he was a small boy, he sensed that his mother’s parents had been happy in their marriage. It tore him up inside that in public this afternoon Kiki and Davis had been unable to keep from airing their differences. To leap back from the sound of their stridence had been instinctive, both for him and to keep Mariah from being exposed to the unpleasantness.

Now he told himself it didn’t matter what she thought about his parents, not with Lyle sharing her bedroom.

Rory brushed back his shower-damp hair and went down onto the main terrace where an array of animated guests gathered. The first person he greeted was the distinguished senator from the state of California.

With a sweeping glance, Chatsworth appraised Rory’s tuxedo studs. They must have passed, for the older man offered a firm handshake, “Call me Larry.”

Sylvia materialized at Rory’s side. As always, she looked stunning. Her shining fall of black hair set off a trademark red dress that hugged her curves. In contrast to the extravagant display of her assets, her face was set in innocence; as though the last time she’d seen Rory, they’d been close as lovebirds. She took his hand, her long red nails garish compared to Mariah’s pale pink crescents.

Rory did not immediately pull away to avoid offending the Senator Chatsworth … that is, Larry.

“You will take me in to dinner?” Sylvia asked archly, placing her other hand firmly on his chest over his heart.

“Aren’t you with someone?” he hoped aloud, trying to take a subtle step back.

“Just Daddy and Mama,” she pouted, staying with him and stroking the satin lapel of his tux. Larry smiled beatifically at the two of them.

Thinking how to escape gracefully, Rory suddenly saw Mariah framed in the archway leading into the house. She sparkled in a gold dress he remembered too well, her lips and cheeks pink from rouge or having just-been-kissed. Lyle’s arm rested around her shoulders.

Was it Rory’s imagination, or was there a subtle clouding of her smile when she saw Sylvia caressing him? He couldn’t be sure, but what she did next sent his temper soaring.

Mariah met his eyes for a beat, enough for him to be certain she was looking directly at him. Then she turned into the crook of Lyle’s arm, stood on tiptoe and whispered something that made the big blond laugh loud enough to project all over the terrace.

Rory had been a fool on the balcony upstairs. He wasn’t about to be again.

Forcing a smile, he bent to accept Sylvia’s dinner offer. “Since we’re both alone, we must definitely go in together.”

She smiled almost shyly. His daughter placed, Chatsworth excused himself to press the flesh.

As if a switch had been thrown, she dropped the little girl act. “So my father says, Sylvia, you could do a lot worse than Rory Campbell.” Her laugh sounded victorious.

     “He did, did he?”

Thoroughly miserable now, Rory stood beside the wrong woman, while Mariah smiled up at Lyle Thomas.