Touch of Heaven (19 page)

Until she'd given him a reason to be.

“Anyway,” she said, her gaze returning to the window, “that's ancient history.”

“Yeah,” Warrick murmured, thinking about Yolanda, wondering how his sister would feel if she could see him and Raina now, on their way to Philadelphia to spend the next four days together. What would Yolanda say if she knew that Warrick had allowed his powerful attraction to Raina to override his hatred of her? What would Yolanda think if she knew that whenever Warrick was around Raina, his libido enabled him to forget what she had done to his sister, to his entire family?

But he didn't have to wonder. He already knew that Yolanda would feel angry and betrayed, and her feelings would be perfectly justified. Yet, knowing this had not lessened Warrick's desire for Raina. He wanted her with an intensity, a ferocity that would have shocked her senseless if she'd had even the slightest inkling. He wanted her hot and wet for him, quivering and panting beneath him, begging him to make love to her. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, as deep as she could take him, and he wanted to hear her scream his name as she lost control.

And then maybe, once he'd had her, he would be able to purge her from his system, like a craving that had been satisfied. That was the way it had always worked for him. Once he slept with a woman, the mystery was gone, the thrill of the chase was over. Few women, no matter how beautiful or alluring, sustained his interest long enough to entice him into an actual relationship.

But if by chance Raina proved to be the exception to the rule, God help him.

W
arrick lived on the outskirts of Philadelphia in an exclusive suburb of Cherry Hill, New Jersey. As the Rolls Royce limousine transporting Warrick and Raina traveled along a secluded road flanked by towering pine trees, Raina found herself gazing out the window with a mounting sense of anxiety mingled with anticipation. She hadn't wanted to accompany Warrick on this trip, but now that she was here, she couldn't deny an overwhelming curiosity to see his home.

As the road gradually steepened in elevation she unconsciously leaned forward, pressing closer to the window. Warrick, on the phone with a client, was too preoccupied to notice how riveted she was.

The limousine rolled through a decorative metal gate and continued on a winding road that gently sloped uphill. They passed a lush expanse of manicured green lawn, then suddenly the trees broke, and Raina's eyes widened as a sprawling stone and stucco mansion came into view.

She must have gasped or made some other strangled noise, because suddenly Warrick's dark gaze was upon her, the shadow of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

The Rolls followed the curving path of the stone driveway before gliding to a stop in front of the main house. The driver, a red-haired man in his late twenties with a heavy South Jersey accent and an infectious smile, came around to open the door for Raina.

“Welcome to Casa Mayne, Miss St. James,” he said with a gallant bow. “My name is Lanny. Pleased to be at your service.”

“Thank you, Lanny,” Raina murmured distractedly as she stepped from the limo, never taking her eyes off the imposing house.

Nestled by tall shade trees and meticulously pruned shrubbery, the mansion boasted an Italianate architecture, with sweeping windows, balconied terraces, stone columns and double stairways that ascended to the main entrance under a baroque covered porch. A vibrant profusion of summer foliage bloomed everywhere Raina looked, softly perfuming the air. She felt as if she were arriving at a picturesque country villa somewhere in Italy.

“Oh, Warrick,” she breathed, unable to help herself as he appeared beside her. “This is…
magnificent.
”

Warrick tipped his head modestly. “Thank you, Raina.”

As Lanny retrieved their luggage, an older black gentleman in a neatly pressed dark suit emerged from the mansion and descended the stairs with an air of dignified elegance. The butler, Raina presumed. A place this size had to have a butler, as well as an entire fleet of household servants.

“Mr. Mayne,” the man greeted Warrick as he and Raina reached the bottom of the stairway. “Good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Mr. Gibbons. It's good to be back.” Warrick turned to Raina at his side. “Mr. Gibbons, I'd like you to meet Raina St. James, from Houston. Raina, this is Cyrus Gibbons, who keeps this place running like a well-oiled machine.”

Raina smiled warmly. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gibbons.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss St. James,” he said with an elegant bow. “I trust you had a restful trip?”

“Very,” Raina answered.

Warrick chuckled dryly, his amused gaze meeting hers. “She worked the entire time so she wouldn't have to talk to me.”

An embarrassed flush heated Raina's face. “I did not!” she protested, though she knew it was partially true. Was she
that
transparent, or did Warrick just know her that well?

Cyrus Gibbons smiled indulgently. “You must be losing your touch, Mr. Mayne.”

“Apparently so,” Warrick murmured, gesturing for Raina to precede him up the stairs.

The inside of the house was just as breathtaking as the outside. A soaring vaulted ceiling and double curving stairways punctuated the sheer magnificence of the massive skylighted foyer, which was decorated with glossy mahogany tables, gilded mirrors and towering topiaries. Gleaming wood floors contrasted beautifully with marble and stone, and intricately carved crown moldings arrested the eye.

As Raina took in her surroundings, she had to remember to keep her jaw off the floor.

“You know Ms. Evamay isn't going to be happy with you,” the butler was saying to Warrick. “If she'd known you were coming home today, she would have wanted to be here to greet you and fuss over you.”

Warrick grinned, a dazzlingly boyish grin. “That's why I didn't tell her. She needs to spend as much time as possible with her grandchildren.”

Gibbons looked dubious. “Yes, but if she finds out you were here a day earlier than expected and you didn't let her know,
I'll
never hear the end of it.”

Warrick chuckled, sifting through a stack of mail the butler had handed him. “I'll call her tomorrow. I need to make sure she's bringing her grandchildren to the Fourth of July party on Saturday, anyway.”

At the mention of a party, Raina turned from admiring a gilt-framed oil-on-canvas painting to arch an inquisitive brow at Warrick. He hadn't mentioned anything to her about a party.

“We always throw a big Fourth of July celebration here at the house,” he explained. “My employees and their families look forward to it every year. And in case you're wondering, Evamay Watts is the lady of the manor, so to speak. Nothing happens around here without her permission or input. Ain't that right, Mr. Gibbons?”

The butler heaved a resigned sigh. “Unfortunately.”

Warrick laughed, clapping him warmly on the shoulder. “You know you miss her whenever she's gone.”

The man smiled, taking the teasing in stride.

As Lanny returned from carrying the luggage upstairs, Mr. Gibbons said to Raina, “Your room is all ready for you, Miss St.
James. Maybe after you've had a chance to unpack and get settled in, you'd like a tour of the mansion.”

Raina smiled. “I'd like that very much.”

“I have to return an important call,” Warrick told her, briefly touching her arm. “Mr. Gibbons will show you to your room.”

Raina nodded, ignoring the way her skin tingled from his simple touch.

Forcing herself not to watch him go, she followed the butler up the wide, curving staircase and down an endless expanse of corridor. They passed one enormous room after another, each one sumptuously appointed with a collection of Italian and American art and antiques, plush Oriental carpets, custom drapery and rich fabrics in neutral tones with splashes of bold color throughout. Although the lavish furnishings had clearly cost a fortune, there was nothing gaudy or ostentatious about them. Everything was tasteful and artfully arranged, no doubt courtesy of a very expensive interior designer.

“How many bedrooms are there?” Raina asked, her voice filled with fascinated curiosity.

“There are twelve bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms—” Mr. Gibbons smiled at her audible intake of breath before continuing, “Every bedroom has its own private bath and balcony. In addition to the living room and family room, there's a solarium, a library, a gourmet kitchen, a formal dining room, a music room, an exercise room, a billiard room, a home theater and a ballroom that has seen its fair share of soirees. We also have a few gazebos on the property, an indoor and outdoor pool, a tennis court, a courtyard with a fountain, a wine cellar, a ten-car garage and an indoor basketball court where Mr. Mayne can usually be found if he's not sequestered in his study, or tinkering with one of his cars. He collects them, like his uncle, you know.”

Raina smiled. She might have guessed. Warrick and Randall Mayne were two peas in a pod; they couldn't be more alike than if they were father and son.

“The master suite is on the west wing,” Mr. Gibbons continued his proud recitation of the mansion's impressive features. “It has its own private elevator and—”

“Which wing are we on?” Raina interrupted.

“The east.”

Raina breathed a sigh of relief that she would not be sleeping anywhere near Warrick. Although, even in a house this size, the mere knowledge that they were under the same roof would probably keep her awake and on edge for hours.

At length Mr. Gibbons led her into a huge but cozy bedroom suite decorated to look like something out of a classic French chateau, featuring sumptuous drapery, cherry antiques, a four-poster Louis XVI bed and a gorgeous marble fireplace. The luxurious adjoining bathroom was done in travertine marble, and beyond the tall French doors, a private balcony boasted a stunning view of the beautifully manicured gardens below.

Raina took a slow turn around the room, admiring everything in sight.

Watching her, Mr. Gibbons smiled quietly. “I trust you've found the accommodations to your satisfaction?”

Raina laughed. “Oh, yes, most definitely.”

“Excellent.” As he began bowing gracefully out of the room, he said, “Dinner will be served at eight. Make yourself at home, and please let me know if there's anything you need.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gibbons.”

Once the door had closed behind him, Raina wandered over to the huge, inviting bed. It was drowned in silk sheets in the richest hues of cream, burgundy and chocolate. Unable to resist, she dove onto the bed and rolled around, luxuriating in the heavenly texture of silk against her skin.

So this is how the other half lives,
she mused.
The superwealthy. Must be nice!

Raina liked to think she didn't have a materialistic bone in her body, but even
she
could appreciate the breathtaking grandeur of Warrick's secluded estate. She'd read articles, of course, about the “architectural masterpiece” he'd purchased and refurbished five years ago, but nothing could have prepared her for the real deal. Warrick had definitely come a long way from the dilapidated, drug-infested projects of the Third Ward, a thought that caused her chest to swell with pride and satisfaction. Because no matter what he and his family thought of her, Raina had never begrudged Warrick his success. She knew he'd worked hard to get where he was, never taking a single thing for granted. He deserved to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

Just not at the expense of mine,
Raina mused, suddenly reminded of the reason for her presence in his home.

Over the next several days, Warrick was going to do everything in his power to try to convince her to sell her property to him. She had to be on guard, prepared to withstand any tactic he employed to weaken her resistance.

Because if she allowed him to successfully break down her defenses, her spa was not the only thing she stood to lose.

 

Two hours later, freshly showered and dressed in a leopard-print silk halter and pale linen slacks, Raina sat down to dinner with Warrick in the formal dining room. Accentuated with beautiful crown molding, Roman columns, a soaring marble fireplace and an elaborate crystal chandelier, the room was every bit as grand as the rest of the mansion.

But for the first time that evening, Raina was not riveted by the opulence of her surroundings. Something else had ensnared her attention. Or, rather,
someone
else.

Sitting across from her at the long mahogany table that seated thirty, Warrick was stunningly, brutally handsome in dark gabardine trousers and a black dress shirt open to the strong column of his throat. With little or no effort he exuded raw animal magnetism, a potent masculinity that Raina found utterly irresistible.

The chandelier was dimmed low and a pair of candles were lit on the table, lending an intimate quality to the cavernous dining room. Raina watched, transfixed, as candlelight danced across the hard angles and planes of Warrick's face, the ruggedness of his features softened only by the lush sensuality of his lips. As he raised his wineglass and took a languid sip of Merlot, Raina stared at his long, lean fingers, imagining those hands roaming over her body and stroking her fevered flesh as she shuddered through an orgasm.

When his dark, glittering gaze met hers across the table, she quickly glanced away, half-afraid he would read her mind. She stared up at the domed tray ceiling, studying the fancy trim work and molding with exaggerated absorption.

“This is quite a house you have,” she remarked, striving for a normal tone. “The detailing in every room is exquisite.”

“Thanks,” Warrick murmured, sounding distinctly amused, “but you've already said that three times since we sat down.”

Raina blushed. “Have I?”

“Yes. You have.” He set down his glass, those midnight eyes probing hers. “Are you nervous, Raina?”

The husky timbre of his voice made her think of their naked, sweaty limbs tangled together as they thrashed around on the silk sheets in her bedroom.

She forced out a breathless laugh. “Of course I'm not nervous! I just get, uh, chatty when I'm hungry.”

“Are you hungry?”

You have no idea!

Aloud she said, “It's been a few hours since we had those hors d'oeuvres on the plane. And I didn't get a chance to eat lunch before we left because
someone
was rushing me.”