Fortune's Legacy (10 page)

Frowning, Kyra wondered when she'd taken the turn in her own personal road. The one that had brought her
to this lonely little spot. Success had always been the goal. But she'd never really stopped to analyze the cost.

Yet even as that thought zipped through her brain, she reminded herself that no cost would be too high to repay her oldest brother for the gift he'd given her.

The gift of a childhood.

The gift of innocence.

Silence stretched out for several long minutes. The storm raged and the fire hissed. The shadows in the room lengthened, reaching out to the circle of light where Kyra and Garrett sat, suddenly closer than they had ever been before.

How strange it felt to be here with him and feel this connection to a man she'd thought her enemy. Even stranger to look at him and feel her insides quiver with want.

“I've got another question for you,” Kyra said finally, when she couldn't stand her own treacherous thoughts another second.

He laughed shortly and checked the level in the wine bottle. “If this keeps up, we may need another bottle.”

Kyra cupped her glass between her palms. “I'll risk it.”

“Okay. Then shoot.” He took a sip and waited.

“As long as we're delving into each other's dark, demented pasts, I'd like to know something else. Something I've wondered about.”

“Consider me warned. Ask away.”

She couldn't believe she was going to pose this question. But what better chance would she ever have to get the answer to something that had been niggling at her for years?

“You were engaged….”

“Twice,” he stated.

“Yet you didn't marry either of them. Why?”

His mouth tightened, then as if he'd made a conscious effort, relaxed again. “Lots of questions around the proverbial water cooler, huh?”

She nodded. “There was some speculation.”

“And the consensus was?”

How much honesty could one night take? she wondered. Then she decided to go for it. They were both already in this so deep, what was another inch or two? “That the fiancées in question couldn't break through your wall of ice, and just ended things.”

He smirked, drew up one blanket-covered knee and rested his forearm atop it. Kyra deliberately kept her gaze focused on his face.

“The truth is,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a notch just above a whisper, “fiancée number one was just looking for a fast dive into my bank accounts.”

“Cold,” Kyra muttered.

“Oh yes,” he agreed. “Fiancée number two was a much better actress.” He stared hard into the flames, as if seeing into his own past. And judging by the expression on his face, he didn't much care for the images.

“She convinced me that she wanted to be a wife and mother. That she loved me and wanted the same things I did.”

“And…?”

He shrugged. “She lied. The reality was,” he said, shifting his gaze to Kyra, “she was a convicted felon.
She took a job at Voltage, hoping to embezzle from both the company and me.”

“Whoa.” Stunned, Kyra just looked at him, unsure of what she could possibly say. His jaw muscle twitched as if he was gritting his teeth, and who could blame him? Someone he'd trusted had turned on him in the most awful way possible.

“Thankfully,” he said, reaching for the wine bottle again, “I found out in time.”

“How?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. Instantly, she knew she should have.

He looked at her sharply. “Does it matter?”

“No,” she acknowledged, noting the flash of old hurt in his eyes. She really wanted to be able to step back in time and slap the woman who'd done that to him. “I guess not.”

He blew out a breath. “I didn't find out the truth myself. Carol did.”

“The pit bull?”

Smiling slightly, he said, “Yeah. Apparently, she didn't care for number two and ran a little background check on her. She told me what she'd found.”

Okay, Carol Summerhill just went up another notch or two on the creepy factor. What kind of woman sneaked around behind her boss's back and investigated his fiancée? Even if the woman did turn out to be a thief. Wasn't he a little concerned about Carol?

“Did you know she was doing that?”

“No.” He bit the word off, then softened his reaction by adding, “There were a lot of things about
Carol I didn't pay attention to until you showed me. Carol is…”

“Territorial?” Kyra suggested.

“In a word.”

There were several other words she could use to describe his admin, but Kyra figured now wasn't the time. If he was paying closer attention to the woman now, he'd find out on his own that Carol was not only crazy about him, but probably just plain crazy.

Kyra added quietly, “I'm sorry, Garrett.”

“About what?”

She lifted one hand, let it fall. “About those women. The lemons you picked in the garden of love.”

He laughed shortly. “Don't be. When it was all over, I realized that I hadn't really loved either one of them. I was more in love with the idea of what they represented. My heart wasn't hurt. Just my pride.”

“Sometimes that can be worse.”

“Yeah. I guess it can.”

He refilled his glass and poured more into hers as well, before setting the bottle down onto the hearth again.

“Why'd you want to get married, anyway?” she asked.

“Interesting question,” he said, one dark blond eyebrow lifting. “Don't you?”

A sharp jolt of laughter shot from her throat and she slapped one hand across her mouth. “God, no.”

Curiosity replaced the old pain in his eyes as he watched her. “But isn't a marriage and a family part of the whole American Dream?”

“For some, probably,” Kyra said flatly, feeling a rush
of carefully banked temper begin to flare inside. “For me, no. The real American Dream is living your life the way you want to. Making your own choices.”

He laughed. “Hey, don't hold back, Kyra. Tell me how you really feel.”

“You asked,” she reminded him, but smiled because now his blue eyes were clear again, free of remembered pain and disappointment.

“I did. So tell me why marriage is not for you.”

“It's a trap,” she said, before she could think of a way to say it just a little more gently. “I mean, maybe it works for some people, but for me getting married only means that I'd be taking on someone else's expectations. Their problems. Their dreams. Their demands.”

“You can't judge all marriages by your parents'.”

“It's really the only model I have to go by.” She lifted her glass in salute and took a sip.

“No one else you know? No other family members who've had good marriages?”

Instantly, she thought of Lily and Ryan, and a warmth scuttled through her. Those two really did have the kind of marriage that most people dreamed of. But how many people ever found what
they
had?

“My brothers and my sister have all recently taken that step, so I'll hope for their sakes that they get the kind of marriages they deserve.”

“They're willing to risk it, but you're not?” he asked quietly. “Even though you said yourself that you never really had to go through the mess they did with your parents?”

“I watched it,” she said, remembering snatches of ugliness, raised voices, swinging fists, crashing vases. Shaking her head, she said again, “No. Not for me. I'm not going to give a man that much power over me.”

“It shouldn't be about power.”

“You're right,” she said, tipping her head to one side to study him. “It shouldn't be. But all too often, it is.”

“So, because you don't want to get married, you live your life at the office,” he said, leaning toward her until he was close enough that Kyra shivered, hoping he'd come even closer. “Isn't that a little lonely?”

Firelight danced on his face, making his eyes sparkle and shine with hidden promises. Kyra's stomach flipped weirdly and her heart did a strange little two-step before settling down again.

She licked her lips and let her gaze drift to his mouth, then back up to his eyes again. Something was happening. She felt the change. The shift in conversation. In tone. In his body language.

And oh, she really liked the language it was speaking.

“I didn't say I was against sex. Just marriage.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Glad to hear it.”

He reached out and took her wineglass from her, then set both glasses on the hearth.

Kyra's heart pounded hard in her chest, slamming against her rib cage until she thought it just might fight its way free of her body altogether. Her mouth suddenly bone dry, she watched in anticipation as he turned back to her.

Cupping her face between his palms, he stroked her
cheeks with the pads of his thumbs and said, “I'm very glad to hear that.”

His mouth brushed hers once, twice, a gentle testing, tasting. Then he pulled his head back and stared into her eyes as if giving her a chance to back out. To call this off.

Nothing could have been further from her mind.

“Mr. Wolff,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him once, then twice, as he had her, “if you don't kiss me in the next ten seconds, things are going to get ugly.”

He smiled. “Wouldn't want that.”

Grabbing her, he yanked her tightly against him, tipped her head back and took her mouth in a kiss that set the ends of her hair on fire.

F
lash fire.

Those two words erupted in Garrett's mind the moment his mouth touched Kyra's.

The world stopped.

His brain shut down.

Instinct took over.

He laid her back on the braided rug and pulled the blanket from around her body with the eagerness of a kid diving into a long-awaited Christmas present.

She pulled him down, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, pressing his mouth to hers. Tongues danced, breath mingled, desire flared.

Again and again he tasted her, swallowing her sighs,
taking her breath, giving her his. She met him stroke for stroke, her desire more than a match for his own.

Better than wine, the taste of her filled him and effectively closed out everything else. There were no thoughts but to have her, no wants that weren't centered on her.

He broke the kiss, leaving them both gasping for more. But kissing wasn't enough. Pulling back, he reached for the front closure of that red lace bra he'd been thinking about for hours, and quickly unhooked it.

She sighed again as her breasts spilled free, and Garrett's heart jittered to a stop in his chest. “You're gorgeous.”

Kyra laughed, and her whole body shook with it as she reached up to touch his face lightly. “Don't sound so surprised.”

He grinned at her, feeling a rush of something that was more than desire. More than anything he'd ever experienced before. “Not surprised,” he finally managed to say, “just pleased.”

“Now, that's nice,” she said, and let her hand drop to her side again.

“Oh,” he assured her, “I'm just getting started.”

Her skin felt like silk—smooth, creamy silk. Firelight shifted across her, light and shadow defining every curve, and he couldn't look at her enough. His hands swept up and down her body, needing to touch, to feel, to explore her flesh, learn its texture.

For years they'd worked together, he mused, his mind racing. The tension between them had always been
there, alive, active. They'd buried it in work. Ignored it by keeping their distance.

Now, though, it wouldn't be denied.

Now it was exploding.

“I have to have you,” he murmured, dipping his head to take first one nipple, then the other into his mouth. His lips and tongue and teeth tortured her and she writhed beneath him. Soft groans and sighs buffeted the air, echoing inside him with the ferocity of howling need.

Holding his head against her breast, she arched against him and whispered, “I need you, Garrett. Now.”

“Yes,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her body. “Now.” He couldn't wait. Couldn't torture either of them any longer. If he didn't have his hands on her in the next few seconds, he wasn't sure he'd survive.

He slipped from her grasp, pulling back and away from her, despite her protests. In seconds, he had them both out of what was left of their clothes.

“Now,” he agreed, swooping in for another kiss, another exchange of heat, promise, anticipation.

She smiled up at him, licked her lips and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Now.”

Grinning fiercely, he reached for her wrists. Bracketing them both in one strong hand, he held them tight over her head and used his free hand to skim her body.

“No fair,” she murmured, twisting again, turning into him, straining to pull her hands free, to touch him as he touched her.

He dropped a kiss on her mouth, shook his head and said, “Let me feel you.”

His right palm slid down the length of her body, following her curves, skimming across her abdomen and closer to her core, her center.

Her eyes opened wide and she went still in his arms, her gaze locked with his. She hissed in an expectant breath.

He didn't disappoint her.

His fingertips pushed lower, lower, until he could feel the damp heat of her drawing him in. Smothering a groan, he watched her face. As he stroked her most sensitive spot, her features tightened and her summer-blue eyes glazed over. But it wasn't enough. He wanted her clamoring for release.

Again and again, he caressed her, teasing, taunting, pushing her higher, until her head tipped back while she strained against his hold.

Turning in his grasp, pumping her hips in a frantic rhythm, she raced toward an explosion that shivered just out of reach. Garrett wanted to watch her reach it. Wanted to see her eyes go hazy and soft, feel the whisper of surrender in her body.

He wanted to be the one to take her higher than she'd ever been before.

Still keeping her wrists bound together in his grasp, he dipped his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth.

She groaned his name with a sigh of need, nearly wept, and the soft sounds she made fired his own desires even higher.

He fed the urge within. He suckled her, drawing and pulling on her nipple as she pressed close, losing her
self in the moment. And while he tasted her, he pushed first one finger, then another into her damp heat.

He stroked her, inside and out, and felt the quivering of her bunched muscles. With her body primed, her back bowed, she pushed closer, trying to take his fingers deeper.

“Garrett…” She spoke his name with a heavy sigh. “I want you inside,” she whispered. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He gritted his teeth and still managed to say, “Not yet. First I want to watch you. I want to see you shatter.”

A brief smile appeared and then was gone again in a rush.

“Come on, Kyra,” he murmured. “Fly for me.”

He felt the end draw close, felt her mounting tension.

She planted her feet on the rug beneath her, lifted her hips into his caress and cried, “Garrett…”

His name on her lips sounded like music. He stared down into her eyes and watched the storm clouds gather there. She was so close, so close and still fighting to keep that satisfaction at bay.

“Go over,” he demanded, and kissed her hungrily. Mouth to mouth, breath to breath, soul to soul.

When he pulled his head back to look into her eyes again, he muttered thickly, “Let go, Kyra. Let me take you to the top. Let go.”

She shook her head wildly from side to side. “I don't want it to stop. Don't want it over.”

He laughed, a strained, harsh sound. She was so stubborn, he thought. About everything. This woman af
fected him like no one else ever had. “It's not ending, damn it. It's just beginning. Go, Kyra. Go over now.”

She did.

Her body tightened, her hips rocked and she shrieked his name as he pushed her so high the only choice she had was to fly.

He released her wrists before the last of the tremors coursed through her. She reached for him, pulling him down on top of her, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his mouth to hers. “Amazing,” she whispered between short, hard kisses. “Just amazing.”

He agreed. His own body felt as tight as a bow string, yet satisfaction rippled through him at the same time. Just watching her climax had given him more pleasure than he'd ever expected.

Feeling the connection with her, watching passion glaze her eyes, hearing the hitch in her breath—all of it had touched him more than he'd ever been touched before.

Yet now he wanted more. He wanted to bury himself inside her, feel her heat surround him, take him in.

“Your turn,” she whispered, as if reading his mind.

She cupped his face in her palms, kissed him brainless, then pushed him over onto his back. Garrett stared up at her and saw the dangerous glint in her eyes. It should have made him nervous, he supposed, but he was too busy enjoying himself.

She scraped her bloodred fingernails along his chest, tweaking his flat nipples until darts of sensation shot through him like mini lightning bolts. Sliding one leg
across his body, she straddled him, sitting up straight and staring down at him like some warrior princess.

Firelight touched the strands of her hair, sang along her skin and painted her in shifting patterns of light and shadow. She was mesmerizing. He couldn't stop looking at her. He knew that if his gaze shifted, his heart would stop.

She smiled, a proud, knowing, female smile that sent more electrical shocks racing through him. Outside the cabin, wind howled and icy cold reigned. Blurring day and night together. The storm blotted out the sun and nature's power was supreme. Here the power was Kyra's.

Here she was the center of the world.

He reached for her, his hands coming down on her hips, his grip tightening as he felt the urge to hold her fiercely enough so that this moment would never end. That he would always be able to keep her here, in this one fraction of time, with the firelight playing on her body.

But she wouldn't be captured.

Shaking her wispy blond hair back from her face, she went up on her knees, rising over him like the morning sun climbing in the sky. His heart hammering in his chest, Garrett locked his gaze on her. He slid his hands higher, higher, until he could cup her breasts with his palms. Then she covered his hands with her own and smiled at him.

“Your turn now,” she whispered, her voice almost lost in the crackling of the fire. “Watch me take you.”

He couldn't have done anything else.

Slowly, so slowly she damn near killed him, she low
ered her body onto his. Inch by tantalizing inch, she took him inside her, drawing out the action until he felt his brain dissolving.

Garrett clenched his jaw and fought for control, though it was a losing battle. His thumbs and forefingers tweaked and pulled at her nipples. Her hands, still covering his, moved with his touch, following every motion, touching herself as he touched her. And every movement she made raised a blistering fury of need that grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.

Still she moved slowly, lazily, as if deliberately trying to push him beyond the edge of sanity. And Garrett suddenly didn't care anymore. Sanity was overrated, anyway. He groaned as she finally completed her task and his body filled hers.

“You're killing me,” he warned in a broken gasp of sound.

“
So
not my intention,” she said, smiling. Then she moved on him, rocking her hips, rubbing herself against him. She swiveled slightly from side to side, creating friction, more tension and more desperation. His hands dropped to her hips as he instinctively tried to set the pace. But she wouldn't be rushed.

“I'm taking you this time,” she whispered and slid her own palms up and down her body with long, sensuous strokes designed to drive a man wild.

“You are,” he managed to say, and kept his gaze focused on her as rivers of sensation coursed through him, carrying him higher, faster than ever before.

Kyra watched him watch her, and felt her insides go
warm and liquid even as her body tightened around him. He filled her completely. Having him locked within eased all the dark, lonely corners inside her. She'd never known anything like this. Hadn't known she could feel so much.

Her heartbeat quickened; her breathing came shallow and fast as her body tightened expectantly. She rocked her hips, taking Garrett as deeply as possible. She looked into his eyes and lost herself in those stormy blue depths.

Moving on him became instinctive, looking at him became all important. Feeling his hands on her was more vital than her next breath.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp of sound that rolled along her spine and settled deep in the pit of her stomach. “Fall with me, Kyra. Together this time.”

How could she not? It was as if their bodies had already become one, linked on more than just the physical level. She felt him touch not just her flesh, but her soul.

He'd looked into her heart tonight. Heard about her family, her childhood, her secret wants and needs, and he'd understood. He'd listened, and really heard her. What greater magic was there?

“Together,” she said softly, keeping her gaze focused on his. Leaning forward, she linked her fingers with his. Bodies locked, they raced toward completion together.

And together they fell into a shower of sparks.

 

In Red Rock, Texas, Lily Fortune stepped out of her bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her. Just for
a moment she leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, wishing she could change things with the power of her love.

But there would be no miracle this time.

No magic.

The life she and Ryan should have had together was ending far too early, and there was nothing she could do about it.

He was slipping away from her. She felt it. Sensed it. With every second that ticked past, Ryan was more and more a part of the world that lay beyond this one. She couldn't hold him here, despite how very much she tried.

Pain pulsed low and deep inside her, reverberating with every beat of her heart, and Lily knew that the slow, solemn music of it would always be with her.

Because when Ryan finally left, he'd be taking her heart with him.

“Mrs. Lily?” Rosita Perez, housekeeper, confessor and friend, approached warily, as if afraid to speak too loudly. Rosita was a little thicker around the middle than she used to be, but her dark eyes, filled with warmth and understanding, were the same as always.

Sighing, Lily forced a smile she didn't feel, and knew that the other woman wasn't fooled by it. “I'm all right, Rosita.”

“Mr. Ryan?” The woman's gaze slipped past Lily to the closed door and back again. Anguish shimmered in her eyes, as if she already knew the answer to her question and dreaded having to hear it spoken aloud.

“It's time,” Lily said, pushing away from the door
and standing up straight. She lifted her chin and brushed away a solitary tear that streaked along her cheek. As hard as this was, she wouldn't let Ryan down by falling apart now. She would make it through the next few miserable hours, and then find a quiet place where she could grieve alone for the love of her life. “Call his children together. Call everyone.”