by C. B. Clark
She grimaced at the sudden squeal of brakes and irritated honking. Shooting an apologetic smile at the red-faced, glowering driver of a large silver SUV, she pulled over to the side of the road and allowed him to pass.
Another quick glance at the directions on her phone, and she pulled back into the flow of traffic heading out of the city. She passed the turnoff before she spotted the small, faded sign hidden by the leafy branches of a towering arbutus tree. Continuing down the road another two kilometers, she found a spot to turn around and headed back.
She swung off the highway onto the narrow lane. After a few kilometers, she rounded a curve in the road and was met with a beautiful vista of sparkling ocean gleaming like a sapphire under the afternoon sun. She rolled her window down and breathed in the fresh, salty air.
She pulled into a parking lot, empty except for a gleaming red sports car. Parking her car in a slot marked Visitor, she switched off the motor and reached in the back seat for her purse. Hauling the heavy bag onto her lap, she opened the zipper and fished for the clothes she’d packed in case she wanted to go for a run while she was in Vancouver. What she was about to do wasn’t exercise, but she wanted to be comfortable for the upcoming confrontation.
She slipped off her heels and tossed them on the floor. Twisting and turning in the cramped space, her elbows and knees bumping the steering wheel and dash, she squeezed into the tight black leggings and tugged them up her legs and over her hips, then she shimmied out of her skirt and stuffed it in the bag.
Next, she unbuttoned her silk blouse, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the purse. Shrugging into a pink T-shirt, she smoothed the soft cotton over her stomach and hips and tugged on socks. She slid her feet into a pair of sneakers. Now she was ready to face anything Russell Crawford threw at her.
Opening the door, she climbed out of the rental sedan. A brilliant sun shone out of a clear, azure sky, cloaking her in welcome warmth.
Sea gulls swooped and dove in the surf, squawking as they searched for food amongst the clumps of seaweed snagged on the barnacle-encrusted rocks.
Memories of other shores and other times threatened to engulf her, but she shoved away the disturbing images. Inhaling a deep breath, she thrust her shoulders back and marched along the crushed seashell path to the wharf.
Confronting Russell Crawford was a frightening prospect. When he’d learned her true identity, his fury radiated off him in visible waves. Now that she knew the facts behind Angus Crawford’s last will and testament, she couldn’t blame him. Russ had pretty much been left out of his father’s will. Of course, he was upset. Who wouldn’t be?
Instead of following him to the marina, she should have called him and arranged to meet at a neutral location like a restaurant or a coffee shop. But when Jennifer Smythe informed her Russ was leaving for several days of sailing, she was left with little choice. She refused to wait until he returned from his trip. The sooner this matter was settled, the better. Besides, once he learned why she’d followed him, he’d be thrilled. She’d be his new best friend. Except he was a Crawford, so that wasn’t about to happen.
Luxurious yachts, gleaming sailboats, and ritzy motorboats were moored along the old wharf. The boats were different sizes and designs, but they had one thing in common—they cost more than most people made in a decade. Their owners were probably wealthy businessmen from the nearby city, the boats their weekend toys.
Jennifer Smythe had told her Crawford’s boat was called the Minerva. Huh. He’d named his boat after a Roman goddess. Her lip curled. And he thought her name was pretentious.
Passing a huge, motorized luxury yacht that had to be at least sixty feet in length, she paused and admired its sleek lines. A low whistle escaped her lips. With a teak cockpit, stainless steel bow protector, striped canvas main-deck sun awnings, and a row of below-deck portholes, the boat must have cost an easy million. Russell Crawford hung with the rich folk. Not a surprise.
Almost hidden in the shadow of the larger vessel, fiberglass hull gleaming, was the boat she sought. The Minerva wasn’t in the same class as the other luxury watercraft in the small marina, but it was nice.
Very nice.
Russell Crawford wasn’t hurting for cash. She frowned. So why was he so determined to possess Angus Crawford’s money? The old saw must be true—a person could never be too rich. He was Angus Crawford’s son. A simple case of nature versus nurture. Even though he was adopted, Angus’s personality and values had rubbed off on Russ. On the deck, hunched over an open hatch, tools in hand, was the man she’d come to confront.
He worked shirtless in the unseasonably warm afternoon. The muscles on his back flexed under his smooth, bronzed skin. His cap of dark curls gleamed like a raven’s wing in the sunlight. He stood and stretched, his long, powerful arms reaching high over his head.
Sweet Jesus!
The moisture in her mouth dried. She must have made a sound, probably a moan, because he lowered his arms and spun around.
His eyes widened, and their rich mahogany depths darkened. A furrow carved deep between his dark brows. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She stood rooted to the spot, pinned like a butterfly to a board, by his glare. Her vocal cords were frozen, and she couldn’t speak. The screech of seabirds and the gentle lap of water against the boat’s hull punctured the strained silence.
His gaze left her face, and he conducted a slow, lazy perusal of her from the tips of her sneakers to the top of her head, lingering on her breasts.
Her nipples puckered as if his hands caressed her rather than his gaze. She parted her mouth as her breathing quickened. A seagull swooped low, and its raucous call broke the spell holding her in its thrall. From his perch on the vessel’s deck, Russ towered over her, and she craned her neck back. The setting sun was behind him and surrounded his body in an aura of dazzling light, making it impossible to see his expression. She finally found her voice. “We have to talk.”
The silence thickened.
Why didn’t he say something? Her nervousness vanished, and anger boiled to the surface. She’d driven through congested city traffic and over rough country roads to offer him everything he wanted, and the imperious, arrogant ass kept her standing beneath him like a peon awaiting the king’s pleasure. “You have ten seconds to invite me aboard, or I’m leaving. And believe me, you will regret that.”
One second, two seconds, three, four… The silent count continued. Five seconds…
Except for the tightening of his hands and the stiff set of his body, he didn’t acknowledge her.
Six…Seven… Fury raged through her like molten lava. “Eight…” She continued the count aloud. She about-faced and stepped away from the sailboat. “Nine—”
“Welcome aboard the Minerva, Ms. O’Flynn.”
She stopped and slowly turned. She still couldn’t see his face, but the tone of his voice indicated he found the situation humorous. Let him laugh. She’d tell him what she’d come to say, and then she was leaving. She never had to see him again. Grabbing onto the ladder, she climbed aboard. The second her feet landed on the deck, she swung to face him, a slew of furious words on the tip of her tongue. The insults fizzled.
The play of muscles across the broad expanse of his bare chest beneath the smooth, tanned skin, lightly sprinkled with whorls of dark hair, was mesmerizing. She had the improbable urge to touch him, to feel his taut pecs, to run her hands over his washboard abs… She pressed her hand to her chest to still the fluttering. He was taller than even she remembered. In her sneakers, the top of her head reached his shoulders, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
A smile transformed his handsome face from attractive to the visage of a Greek god.
She stumbled back.
A smug look of knowing amusement shone in his hazel eyes, making it more than evident he was aware of his effect on her. On all women, probably.
She cursed under her breath. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come. Instead o
f changing her flight to a later one, she should have returned to Calgary like she’d planned and let the lawyers deal with the situation. But she’d wanted to see his face when she told him, wanted to make sure this chapter of her life was over once and for all.
She hadn’t counted on his effect on her—he was too damn good-looking, and there was something about him that impacted her at a visceral level. Every instinct she possessed screamed warnings, but she stayed where she was, refusing to let his size or good looks intimidate her. She’d been around handsome men before, and she hadn’t made a fool of herself. This time wouldn’t be the exception.
He made no effort to hide his amusement. “How nice to see you again so soon, Ms. O’Flynn.” His smile widened, though the light didn’t reach his eyes. “Or do you prefer Reynolds? It’s hard to keep up.” He chuckled, the sound harsh. “Are you stalking me?”
She shuddered. A shark’s feral grin wouldn’t have been more intimidating. “You arrogant jerk.” Her face flamed. This conversation wasn’t going the way she’d envisioned. She’d pictured him filled with gratitude at her generous offer, tendering his effusive thanks. But not this. Not this icy disdain.
“Stop. Please. You’ll turn my head with your sweet talk.”
The gleam in his dark eyes made clear he enjoyed taunting her. Using what little control she had left, she struggled to rein in her temper. “You’re just like Angus.”
His face underwent a transformation. All traces of humor vanished, and cold hostility took over. “I hope so. Angus was a good man, one I admired.”
Her lip curled in a sneer. “It wasn’t a compliment.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She didn’t have to sink to his level. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you.”
His eyes were hooded. “No, you don’t.”
“Look—” She swallowed. “—we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start again?”
“You’re really something, lady, you know that?”
His bitterness surprised her. But should it have? He’d probably expected to inherit Angus’s entire estate. The details of the will must have been a brutal shock. No wonder he considered her his enemy. She stood to gain a fortune while he was left with a mere pittance. She cooled her anger and fought to ignore his harsh words. She’d driven to the marina for a reason—closure. The sooner she finished this meeting, the sooner she could escape his unsettling presence and get on with her life. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
His mouth tightened, and the ticking in his jaw ramped up.
Okay. So, he wasn’t going to make this easy. “I convinced Jennifer Smythe to tell me where I could find you.” She paused, but he remained stubbornly silent. “My reaction to meeting you this afternoon was a bit, er…”
“Melodramatic?” he supplied helpfully. “Over the top?”
Heat flooded her face, but she bit back her irritation. She was determined to follow through with her plan no matter how difficult this impossible man made the tense situation. “From what the lawyer told me, I understand that Angus Crawford left me the majority of his estate in his will.”
His dark, intense focus remained on her face. “And you want to know what your inheritance is worth.”
She blinked. “No, that’s not why I’m here.” Unable to remain still a second longer, she paced across the narrow deck, careful to avoid his glowering, half-naked form. “Look, Mr. Crawford…”
“Russell.”
Startled, she looked up. “What?”
“My name’s Russ.”
“Okay, ah…Russ.” She swept her fingers through her curls, turning her carefully styled hair into wild disarray. “The reason I’m here is to inform you I don’t want Angus Crawford’s estate. You can have his money and his company. It’s all yours. Everything.” She held her breath and waited, anticipating his profuse gratitude, maybe even tears of joy. When he remained still and silent, his scowl firmly in place, she did a slow burn. “Don’t you understand? You won’t have to contest the will. I don’t want anything. Nothing. Nada. Zero.”
He about-faced and crossed to the open hatch and slammed the lid closed with a loud bang. He glanced at her over his tanned shoulder. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch? There is no catch.”
He smirked. “Right, lady. Do you honestly expect me to believe you’re willing to give up the rights to a fortune?”
“Yes.” The last thing she wanted was anything from Angus Crawford. Whether he was alive or dead, she hated him. Deep in her gut she knew he was involved in her parents’ disappearance. Accepting money from him, even though he was dead, would be like he was making her complicit in some way and buying her silence.
The creases at the corners of Russ’s mouth deepened, and he laughed, a full-throated chuckle, made even worse because of the obvious phoniness.
She gripped the boat railing, her nails digging into the shiny metal. “Did you hear what I said? I don’t want anything to do with your father’s fortune. Nothing. Not. A. Damn. Penny.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you give away a fortune?”
Frustration washed over her, and she struggled not to throw something. She grasped the railing tighter. “I’ve told you already. I don’t want anything from Angus Crawford. How much clearer can I be?”
“You do know how much Angus was worth, don’t you?” His eyes narrowed, and he studied her intently, as if he were trying to see into her soul.
Beads of perspiration popped out on her upper lip. “Jennifer Smythe told me.”
He set his hands on his lean hips, and his steely glare lasered in on her. “Let’s say I believe you. What do you want in return?”
She wanted to scream, to vent aloud her frustration at this stubborn, pigheaded man. How could he not comprehend what she was saying? “I told you. I don’t want anything from you, except for you to take the damn inheritance.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?”
Enough. If he refused to accept the gift she offered, that was his problem. She’d donate the money to charity, give it to an animal shelter, or fund a school for girls in Africa, anything but keep the tainted money. “Fine.” She spun toward the granny gate and stepped onto the aluminum ladder.
“Tell me one thing.”
Despite her determination to walk away, she paused and shot him a glance. “What?”
“Why have you been in hiding?”
“Hiding? I wasn’t hiding.” Her mouth dried.
“Why did you change your name?”
She gripped the ladder, fearing her legs would give out. “That’s—” She gulped. “—none of your business.”
His expression was unreadable. “Did Jennifer Smythe tell you she had people looking for you?”
“So?” Where was he going with this third degree? It wasn’t as if she’d committed a crime. She was trying to give him money, for God’s sake. Lots of money.
“Did she also tell you that Angus’s will stipulates that if you were dead, or you couldn’t be found within six months of Angus’s demise, the estate transferred to me?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” She climbed down the ladder. “As you see, I’m very much alive.” Though the way her heart was pounding, she was at high risk for a massive coronary. Her feet landed on the dock. “And here I am. Look at that.” She held her hands out to her sides, palms up. “Your lawyer found me.”
He leaned over the railing. “Why did you change your name? Who are you hiding from?”
Her heart stuttered. She really was going to have a heart attack. “None of your damn business.” She spun and strode down the dock, her sneakers thudding on the worn wooden planks.
Footsteps pounded behind her. “Athena… er…ah…Margaret, wait. Please.”
Every instinct urged her to run to her car and escape his probing questions, bu
t she slowed to a stop and spun around, hands jammed on her hips. “What?”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I apologize. I…I was…I guess I wasn’t…” His throat worked. “I may have been a bit hasty. But you have to admit your offer is unusual, to say the least.”
“I wouldn’t have driven all the way out here if I wasn’t serious.”
“Look. This is a lot to take in.” He smiled at her, and his face underwent a transformation. “Stay and we’ll discuss your offer.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the glow lighting his golden eyes, turning them a warm, taffy color. Her brain function slowed, her mouth hung open, and she gaped. She’d visited Florence and seen the statue of David carved in marble by Michelangelo. The statue, portraying the epitome of male beauty, had nothing on Russell Crawford. “You accept my offer?”
The dimple in his lean right cheek deepened as he grinned. His even white teeth stood out in marked contrast with his tanned skin. “I have to think about that, but in the meantime, why don’t you come sailing?” His smile grew.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Wha…what? With you?”
“Yes, with me.” He pointed at the clear blue sky and soft, puffy clouds. “Come on. It’s a beautiful afternoon. There’s no better place to spend a day like this than sailing on the ocean.” His smile widened. “I’ll have you back in a couple of hours. I promise.”
His boyish enthusiasm caught her off guard. She looked at her watch. Her plane didn’t leave until later that night. She studied the open sea. Frothy, white waves crested in the face of a slight breeze. Seagulls swooped and dove above the azure water. The sun shone warm on her back. She could almost feel the salt spray cooling her face and the wind tangling in her hair.
And just like that, her resistance faded. She loved sailing. As a child, she’d spent countless happy hours on the water with her parents on their small sailboat. Her father had taught her how to weigh anchor, rig the sails, and navigate the challenging waters off their tiny island. A familiar stab of pain rammed her like a punch to the gut. She’d lost so much, and it was all Angus Crawford’s fault. She shoved aside the sad memories. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in grief.
