Fortune's Legacy (5 page)

God knew, pretense was more comforting than truth. But there were a few things he needed to say to her, while he still could.

“Lily, honey…”

As if she could read his mind, she shook her head. “No, don't you start telling me goodbye, Ryan Fortune. Because I don't want to hear it. You're not going anywhere. You're not going to leave me. I won't allow it. You'll stay right here until
I
say different. You understand me?”

He chuckled, and the sensation rippled through his aching body like a fever. “You always were a bossy woman.”

She sniffed, surreptitiously wiped her eyes with her fingertips, then smiled. “And you always were a smooth talker.”

God, he'd loved her most of his life. Those dark, exotic eyes of hers. That smooth, caramel-colored skin, the thick, heavy black hair. The smile that lit up something inside him as if it were New Year's Eve in Times Square.

How hard it was to let her go.

“I want you to remember, always,” he said, keeping his gaze locked with hers, “how much I love you.”

She sucked in a gulp of air. “I know.”

He nodded briefly. “Emmett's going to keep an eye on Linda, so don't you worry there.”

“Yes, Ryan.”

He smiled again. “I must really be sick for you to agree with me so easily.”

“Damn you, Ryan, you're making me cry again.”

He paid no attention. “And you make sure you get the children to help you out around here when I'm gone.”

“You're not going any—”

“Lily, it's time to stop lying.”

“I like the lies better,” she admitted.

He gave her a half smile. “Hell, girl, so do I. But even I can't hold off death.”

“You could if you tried. Damn it, Ryan, you're the most stubborn, hardheaded, just plain cussedly determined man I've ever known,” she said, leaning down until her mouth was just a breath away from his. “Fight this. For me. For us.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, no more than a touch of his flesh to hers. “I'm tired, Lily. I don't want to leave you, but I'm tired.”

Her dark eyes filled with the tears she'd been holding back for so many days. And this time she let them fall. Leaning her forehead against his, she said softly, “You are the love of my life, Ryan Fortune. Always and forever you will be with me.”

“Always and forever,” he repeated, then pressed this moment, this sun-washed moment of time with Lily, into his mind so that when he got wherever he was going she would be there with him.

Then his wife lay down beside him, curling into him, and Ryan Fortune counted his blessings again.

 

“He's waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Kyra walked into Garrett's office without even looking at Carol. It took a heck of a lot of nerve, since the woman had a stare that always made her feel like a bug being pinned to a board.

Kyra opened the door and paused, since the great man himself was on the phone. He glanced up, waved her in, but continued his conversation.

Kyra closed the door behind her and stood uncertainly where she was. Moving closer would look as though she were trying to listen in on his phone call.

Weird, she thought. Yes, they'd agreed to forget all about the whole dancing thing. But being here in the office with him, while the memory of his arms around her was still so clear, was harder than she'd thought it would be.

Of course, she admitted silently, she'd proposed the whole “ignore the situation” thing
before
she'd spent the
night tossing and turning. Her dreams had been filled with Garrett Wolff.

And in those dreams they hadn't been dancing.

Heat rushed up to fill her cheeks, and she quickly turned her face away, making a big production out of studying a terribly silly still life, framed and hanging on his wall. Funny, she'd never noticed it before. Now that she had, she couldn't imagine why a man like Garrett would have hung a painting of a sick-looking pear beside a half-eaten apple and called it art.

Whatever the reason, the painting had at least distracted her from revisiting last night's dreams, where a very naked, very talented Garrett had made her body buzz and her mind explode.

Dangerous territory, she warned herself, and turned back around to look at him again. Seated behind his desk, Garrett looked every inch the polished executive. His dark blue pin-striped suit was cut to perfection. He also wore a stark white shirt and a silk tie the same pale blue as his eyes.

Oh, boy.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Garrett was saying as he made notes on a yellow legal pad. “I'm sure we can handle it within a couple of days. Yes.”

He glanced at her and Kyra straightened up.

“Ms. Fortune is here right now. Yes, I'll take care of it.”

Oh, God.

Sexual fantasies flew out the window as a sense of dread curled in the pit of her stomach.

Was this it?

Was the boom about to be lowered?

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Man. One dance with him and he fires her. What would he have done if they'd actually slept together?

Kyra swallowed back the panic scratching at her throat. Her stomach spun and her hands went damp.

He hung up the phone, stood up behind his desk and looked at her through pale, disinterested eyes. It was as if the man from the night before—the one who'd danced with her, held her, then starred in an X-rated dream sequence—had never existed.

It was for the best, she told herself firmly, though a huge part of her wasn't buying it.

“You sent for me?” she asked, prepared to take whatever he had to dish out.

“Yes.” Garrett tossed his pen onto his desktop, swept back the edges of his suit coat and shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Go home and pack a bag, Ms. Fortune. You and I leave for a conference in Colorado in two hours.”

“Conference?”

“Yes.”

“You and I?”

“Is there an echo in here I'm unaware of?”

“No.” She spoke up quickly and felt the knot of unease in her stomach slowly unwind. But in its place was a thread of curiosity. Why her? Why now? She wasn't usually assigned to out of town meetings. “I was just—”

“I'll fill you in on the way,” he said, cutting her off neatly and taking his seat behind his desk again. He
didn't look up at her as he added, “The company jet will be at the airport. See that you're there, ready to go, by three o'clock.”

K
yra had one more meeting to handle before she could leave for home to get ready for this unexpected trip to Colorado. While her brain buzzed over the implications of just what this trip might mean, she told herself to let it go. To not think about it until she absolutely had to. Otherwise, she'd start gibbering to herself, and wouldn't that be a pretty picture?

Her assistant, Tracy, buzzed through. “Ms. Fortune, Mr. Hartsfield is here to see you.”

Standing up, Kyra walked around her desk to greet the older man as he strode into her office.

George Hartsfield was at least eighty, but no one would know it from the way he moved. For a big man,
he was light on his feet, and his sharp eyes never missed a trick. He wore a dark blue T-shirt over worn jeans held up by bright red suspenders. His work boots were scuffed and worn, and the overall impression he gave was that of a senior citizen down on his luck.

That impression couldn't have been more wrong.

As the head of the Hartsfield family, he ran an independent oil company that had been founded back in the days when Texas was a wide-open, wild-living place where fortunes were made and lost overnight. He'd staked his claims, drilled for oil and hit the big time, back when Kingston Fortune was just starting out.

“Ms. Fortune,” George called out now, as if she were on the other side of the building. His booming voice matched his barrel chest, and his bald head gleamed in the overhead lights as he hurried toward Kyra, hand outstretched.

His massive hand swallowed hers in a firm grasp. “Good to see you again.”

Kyra grinned up at him. She liked him. Had from the first. He was open, friendly and a living link to the days of Texas wildcatting. George himself would tell you he'd been around since the beginning of time. Self-educated, he liked to brag he'd never gotten past the eighth grade, and there wasn't a single thing about an oil field he didn't know.

“Mr. Hartsfield—”

“George,” he said, releasing her hand and wagging an index finger at her.

“George,” she repeated, smiling. “I'm hoping you've
come here to tell me you've decided to join Voltage Energy.”

Actually, she was more than hoping. She was praying. And counting on this deal being made. It would go a long way toward convincing the powers that be here at Voltage that she was too valuable an employee to lose.

George Hartsfield II was a fiercely independent man. More companies than Voltage had been trying for years to bring him and his fields into the fold. If Kyra could pull it off, she'd have the coup of the century.

He tucked one hand into his jeans pocket and jingled the coins and keys inside. “Truth to tell,” he said, his voice nearly rattling the windows, “a few years ago, missy, I would've said no, flat out. And did. You're not the first to come sniffin' around my outfit. But I like to run my own show.”

“That won't really change, George,” Kyra said, feeling that lovely little glow sliding away from her even as she tried to grab it back. “You'll still make most of the decisions. Voltage only wants to help you expand. We can promise to increase your yield and—”

He held up one hand and shook his head. “Already heard the speech, little lady,” he said, not unkindly. “And the thing of it is, I ain't as young as I used to be.”

Kyra smiled and perched on the edge of her desk, enjoying this man immensely. Maybe it was still all right. Maybe he was going to sign up with Voltage and put the stamp of success on her career.

“I don't believe that for a minute,” she said.

He wagged one finger at her again. “Don't kid a
kidder, missy. Now, the reason I'm here is I've got one last question for you before I give you my decision. And I needed to see you in person to ask it. Phones are useless. Can't tell a thing about a man—or a woman,” he corrected with a wink, “unless you can look 'em in the eye.”

Just like that, the nerves were back, but she tamped them down and stood up to face him.

“Shoot,” she said, wishing all of her clients were this forthright and easy to deal with.

“You're one of the Fortunes,” he stated.

“Yes.” Kyra flinched instinctively. She wasn't ashamed of her family name, but she'd never wanted to trade on it. And she didn't want to win the Hartsfield account because it, either. She wanted to win because she'd earned it. Because she was good at her job.

“Don't get your hump over the dashboard now,” he soothed.

She blinked, then laughed. She couldn't help it. “My what?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Old sayings from an old man, pay no never mind.” He pulled his hand free of his pocket and scrubbed it across the gray whiskers stubbling his jaw. “My point is this. You being a Fortune don't hold much weight with me one way or the other. A name don't mean a damn thing unless the person carrying it is strong enough to make something of it.”

He narrowed those sharp eyes on her speculatively. “I guess what I'm saying is, Kingston Fortune was a man to be reckoned with. Ryan Fortune is someone to
trust. Someone strong enough to hold up the Fortune name. What I need to know is, are you?”

Kyra lifted her chin and met the big man's gaze squarely. “A fair question, George. I can tell you this. I came to work here instead of Fortune TX, Ltd., because I wanted to make my own way. Because I didn't want to cash in on the Fortune name.” She took a step closer to the older man, who was watching her with an assessing eye. “But that doesn't mean I'm not proud of my name—or that I don't know what that name stands for. I am strong enough to carry it, George. I give you my word. As a Fortune. You can trust Voltage to be your partner, not a usurper.”

He studied her for a full minute, then, apparently satisfied, offered her his hand again. When she shook it firmly, he said, “That's good enough for me, Kyra. I expect my lawyers will want things a little more formal—” he gave her a wink and a grin “—but where I come from, a handshake is enough to seal a deal.”

Kyra smiled back and felt as though she'd just been awarded a medal. This was what she loved. This moment, when two people met and decided the future.

This man was trusting her to keep safe a company he'd spent a lifetime building. And it wasn't just because she'd been born into the Fortune family.

It was because she'd earned the right to be called a Fortune.

 

“If you'd like,” Carol offered, “I'd be more than happy to accompany you on this trip.”

“No, thanks.” Garrett glanced at his assistant as she paused just inside the doorway to his office. He'd already dictated the last of the letters and memos he needed taken care of. And now all he wanted to do was straighten up his desk, go home and grab his bag. The sooner they got started on this trip, the sooner it would be over.

Damn it.

A trip with Kyra wasn't something he'd planned on. In fact, he'd spent the last couple of days trying to keep his distance from her. Cowardly, he knew. But he had little choice. Any kind of a relationship with the woman was out of the question. Yet, ever since that night at Rio's, he'd been spending far too much time thinking about her.

He couldn't seem to forget how she'd felt in his arms. The scent of her. The slow slide of her legs against his.

Which only went to prove that he'd been too long without a woman.

He'd let the company suck up his life.

But then, he had good reason for that, too, didn't he? He'd been engaged—twice. And each time, he'd discovered in the nick of time that he was sadly lacking when it came to being a good judge of character.

Since the last broken engagement, he'd turned his back on any kind of a relationship. He'd refused to trust his own instincts again. Refused to set himself up for another fall. If his life was a little barren at the moment, at least he wasn't being lied to by a woman who wanted nothing more from him but his bank account.

But Kyra could be different, his brain kept taunting him. She was a Fortune, after all. She didn't have to marry for money. Didn't have to lie and cheat her way into a relationship.

The very fact that he was seriously considering becoming involved with a woman who made him crazy showed just how bad a shape he was in.

Shaking his head, he closed a file folder and set it to one side of his desk. Only then did he notice that Carol was still there. In the doorway. Watching him.

Impatience stirred within.

Damn it, this was all Kyra's fault, too. He'd been perfectly happy with his administrative assistant. Carol had been nothing but exceptionally efficient for years. Until Kyra, he hadn't been willing to see that he'd turned over too much of his life into Carol's competent hands.

But that wasn't his admin's fault. “What is it, Carol?”

“Nothing really,” she said, taking a step or two toward him. Her dark curly hair was caught at the back of her head with a silver barrette and her dark green business suit was, of course, impeccable. Folding her hands together at her waist, she said, “It's just that I don't believe Ms. Fortune is the proper person to accompany you to this meeting.”

Curiosity warred now with the impatience nibbling at him. “And why's that?”

She smiled sweetly. “Really, Mr. Wolff. She's a nice enough young woman, but as a member of the Fortune family, she's hardly the right person to represent the best interests of Voltage.”

Garret pushed away from his desk and stood up, riding a suddenly fierce wave of both outrage and a weird sense of protectiveness. He really didn't want to explore the reasons behind his unexpected urge to defend Kyra Fortune, so he shoved that thought to the back of his mind.

Buttoning his suit jacket with one hand, he reached for his oxblood leather briefcase with the other. Then, meeting Carol's wide-eyed stare, he said, “The senior partners have assigned Ms. Fortune to this meeting. I should think that they are in a better position than you to understand what is in this company's best interests.”

“Of course.” She went stiff as a board, and her eyes flickered with something that might have been insult or injury.

He wasn't sure which, and at the moment he didn't really care.

Heading around his desk, he stalked past her to the door. Over his shoulder, he said abruptly, “I should be back in two days.”

When he was gone, Carol didn't move. Standing in the middle of Garrett Wolff's office, she clutched the hurt to her like a worn, tattered blanket.

And she heaped silent curses on Kyra Fortune's head.

 

Kyra was racing around her condo like a crazy person.

She'd already arranged for her neighbor to take care of her cat, Viggo, who was named after one of the sexiest movie stars she'd ever seen. She'd arranged to have her mail held at the post office. Her plants could prob
ably use a few days off from her incessant overwatering, so she wouldn't worry about them. And everything else in the tiny efficiency condo would be just fine without her.

A sobering thought, she realized as she walked across her tidy, almost unlived-in living room. She'd focused so much on building her career over the last several years, she'd forgotten all about building a life.

Oh, she dated, sporadically, though heaven knew her last date had been so long ago, she couldn't even remember who the guy was, let alone when it was. Kyra scooped her hair back from her face and shook her head. A sad state of things, no doubt. But she'd made her decision years ago. To not get involved. To not search for love.

The only reason a woman looked for love was to eventually get married and have children. And that was not in Kyra's game plan. She'd seen up close and personal just what kind of prison marriage could be for a woman. No way was she interested in purposely stepping into a cage.

But it wasn't just dating that had suffered along the way. She'd lost track of most of her friends, since they didn't have a lot of patience for Kyra's habit of breaking engagements or postponing plans. The only close friend she'd been able to keep over the years was Isa. And that was only because Isabella Sanchez refused to cut her loose. Thank heaven.

Heading into the kitchen, Kyra opened the fridge, pulled out a jug of iced tea and poured herself a tall glass. Taking a sip, she looked around the room and re
alized that but for the calendar tacked to the refrigerator with silly flower-shaped magnets, the kitchen was devoid of the slightest personal stamp. It could have been an empty room in a model house.

And that theme stretched through the rest of the condo, too. She'd had some ideas for decorating when she'd bought the place, but they'd gone by the wayside, buried under her determination to build a name for herself at Voltage.

The walls were still beige, the carpet was still boring and the curtains were the same ones that had been hanging there when she'd bought the unit four years ago.

“Not exactly a nester, are you, Kyra?” she murmured. Once upon a time, she recalled, leaning back against the tiled counter, she'd had other plans. Plans to buy an old house and restore it. Plans to paint each room in her house a different, vibrant color. To fill her world with all of the bright, silly “fripperies” that her father had never allowed in the home where she'd grown up.

Her hand clenched tightly around the icy-cold glass as memories flooded her mind. As if it were yesterday, she could see the empty barrenness of her childhood home. She saw her mother slipping through the house like a ghost, afraid to be noticed, afraid to catch her husband's attention.

And she saw her older brother, Vincent, always tall and strong, standing between Kyra and the fury of her father's embittered rage. Leonard Fortune had never been the man he'd always imagined himself to be, and that failure had colored everything in his life. He'd made
his wife miserable, his children terrified and himself unbearable.