She shook her head. "I have to."
"No," he insisted, removing his hand and replacing it with his mouth, kissing her lightly, then intensifying the connection into a long, delicious affair. "Ah, honey," he sighed into her mouth, exchanging breaths. "I don't know what the hell I've gotten myself into, but I'm in so deep I can't see the light. You are perfect, Gracie. You've always been so perfect, and I'm … I'm not."
Perfect? He might change that opinion as soon as he heard about her father's backstage puppeteering. She put her hand over his wet shirt, widening her palm against his chest to feel the slow, steady drumming of his heart. She took a deep breath of musky, damp air mixed with rainwater and that singular scent of Colin.
How could she say this?
"I have to tell you something," she said.
"No, no." He silenced her with a kiss that burned the words back into her throat, where they stayed to strangle her. Instead, their tongues came together in a heated, hungry exchange, punctuated by Colin pressing his whole, hard, male body against Grace. "I'm first on this one."
On what one?
"Listen to me, Colin."
"Listen to me," he countered by rocking against her stomach. The familiar weakness in her legs threatened as the fire started to burn at her core. The flames licked between her pelvic bones as he pressed and moved, moaning softly as he gently lifted her to her tiptoes to increase the coverage of their bodies.
"Colin—"
"Shh." He quieted her with another kiss, his tongue teasing her mouth open, then exploring her teeth, her lips. "Not yet, honey. Wait."
He slid his hand under her sweater and peeled the tank top away like a second skin he had to get under. He hungrily explored her dampened flesh with both hands, covering her breasts and torturing her nipples into aching, bursting buds. Fire and heat seared through her, and for one timeless moment, she forgot everything but the maddening pleasure of his hands and his body grinding against her.
"Here, Gracie. Now. Make love to me." The emphasis in his gravelly voice was unmistakable.
Love. Beautiful, dangerous, elusive love.
Burying her face in his neck, she sucked on his wildly beating pulse, tasting salt and rain and sweat as he reached down and pulled her skirt up, bunching the denim at her waist. The sudden rush of air on her exposed body made her shiver, just as he slid his hand down the front of her panties. With a murmur of ecstasy reverberating from his chest, he curled his fingers into the wetness between her legs.
Words were lost in the rush of arousal and need, and Grace snuffed out the thought that once again they were talking with their bodies. He wanted to say something and, damn, she wanted to hear it. Even if it was body to body.
"Make love to me."
He said it again as he pushed her panties down to her knees, and she shimmied out of them completely. Their mouths merged in another heated kiss as he unfastened his pants and freed himself in one quick movement. Grace moved her hand automatically to stroke him, unable to stop herself, unwilling to think about where they were, exposed to the elements and the possibility of discovery.
Nothing mattered but this need. This moment. This man she loved.
Scooping her bottom with two strong hands, he lifted her off the ground, until his throbbing, stiff erection slid right between her legs. There was no condom; there were no sheets, no bed, nothing to make this traditional. She shook with the fury of her own excitement, not caring about anything but having Colin inside her.
He said her name and swore softly as she wrapped her legs around his hips and lowered herself onto him. A rush of pain and pleasure collided as they came together, making her buck against him. She tensed her leg muscles to raise and lower herself over his erection, watching the rain mix with sweat to create a sheen on his face. He squeezed his eyes closed and thrust furiously into her.
The familiar twist coiled inside her as she ignored all the discomfort of the wall and let the thrill ride start. She clamped her legs around him as he plunged deeper and harder and faster, his powerful arms holding her up and carrying her over a now-familiar precipice.
Only this was anything but familiar. This exchange was fueled by emotion and the impossible promise of love. She could read it in his eyes, feel it in the passion of every stroke, taste it in each desperate kiss.
She tightened around him, the fury and friction building to one white-hot spot inside her.
"Come with me," he urged, burying himself so far in her she could feel him touch her womb. "Come with me, Gracie. Now."
With three vicious pumps, he expanded, filling her, burning her flesh as he halted and then exploded into her with one, long, soulful groan of wild, uninhibited pleasure. The sound, the sight, the intensity of his orgasm pushed her over the edge, and, helpless, she fell into the same sweet, spiraling ride.
Her head dropped against his chest, her legs trembling and quaking around his waist. Barely able to breathe or think about what they'd just done, she finally looked up to meet his gaze, prepared for his smile, prepared for him to ease her to the ground, but utterly unprepared for what she saw.
That wasn't sweat. That wasn't rain. Not this time.
"I love you, Gracie."
His voice cracked and she started to cry, too.
* * *
Colin eased himself out of Gracie, satisfied and spent, but taken aback by the tears that filled her green eyes.
"What's the matter, honey?"
She just shook her head and stared at him. "You're crying."
He put his hand to his face, stunned. "I am?" With a little laugh, he wiped his cheek and looked at his fingertips as though they were covered in contaminated waste. "Jeez. You're good."
Oh, man. He was totally unglued.
She still clung to his neck, their exposed flesh glued together from sweat and rain and sex. The only sound in the cave was their breathing. The rain had stopped.
All he wanted to do was tumble to the ground and hold her and tell her he loved her a thousand more times. The admission of love felt as good as … the act of love.
Instead, he gently eased her down to the ground, then adjusted himself and zipped up his jeans. Still holding her gaze, he bent down to retrieve her underpants.
They hadn't used a condom. A sickening sensation grabbed his gut. But that was the least of his problems. She'd yet to respond to his confession. Did she love him?
Maybe she thought it was a moment-of-passion thing. "I meant it," he said, watching every nuance of her expression for some form of communication.
But she looked away, studying her feet as she eased her skirt back over her hips and thighs. Well, now. That wasn't exactly the I love you, too, he'd been hoping for. Wasn't this the girl who was looking for lifelong love from her sex partner?
"I—I'm glad," she said weakly.
He clenched his solar plexus as though it had been punched, but managed a half smile. "That's funny. You don't look glad."
"Well … I…" She almost lost her balance trying to pull her underwear on and he grabbed both arms to steady her. She laughed self-consciously. "They come off easier than they go on."
This was great. She was making jokes. Avoiding eye contact. Changing the subject. He didn't say anything as she righted herself and finished dressing.
"Colin. I have to tell you something."
Yeah, you do. Pulling her closer, he tipped her chin towards his face with one hand, his heart up to a full-blown hammer now. "What is it?"
"I have some … news."
He leaned back to look at her, seeing the trepidation in her expression. "Why do I think I'm not going to like this?"
"'Cause you're not," she said flatly.
She didn't love him. "Hit me, honey."
"My father and Adrian Gilmore organized this … this three-week trial … over a month ago."
For a second, he reveled in relief. She hadn't said "I don't love you." But … what had she said? "What do you mean? I don't get it."
"Neither do I," sh
e said. "But for some reason, my father and Gilmore arranged this … this showdown between us."
"How do you know?"
"I overheard Leonard talking to my dad about a week ago and I realized that this whole thing was prearranged—"
"A week ago?" His voice echoed in the chamber of the tunnel. "You've known this for a week?"
A week. The entire time they'd been … sleeping together.
She nodded, worrying her bottom lip with her front teeth. "I didn't know how to tell you."
He took a step back, breaking their contact. "How about, 'Oh, Colin, you'll never believe what I just found out?' That would have worked."
He heard the sarcasm in his voice, but pushed aside any inclination to remove it. How could she do this? How could she know something like that and not share it with him?
She'd lied. Concealing the truth was the moral equivalent of a lie in his book.
"Have you confronted your father?"
She shook her head. "No. I wanted Leonard to report back that we were working together—"
"What?"
She startled at the bellow of his voice. "Not—not for—"
"You mean you're just working on this project with me as a sham—a deception for your father?" More lies.
"No!" She put her hands on his chest, but he backed away. "Absolutely not, Colin. I want to present the ideas to him and see if he'll go for it. You told me you didn't care if Hazelwood and Harrington got the business, as long as Pineapple House is built. It was your idea that I present it to Gilmore."
He just shook his head, still unable to comprehend what she was telling him. It was fixed. The whole deal was fixed. Eugene Harrington had made a total fool out of him. There was no chance that McGrath, Inc., would get the work. This was a setup.
"Why would they put you … or me through this? What's the point?" He posed the question more to himself than Gracie.
"I have no idea," she assured him. "I really don't. But I won't let him win at this game, Colin. I'm going in with Pineapple House. Honestly. I promise."
He took a few steps away from her, toward the opening of the tunnel and much-needed air. Why had Harrington done this? And, why, good God, why hadn't Gracie told him?
She was right, he thought as he dug the toe of his hiking boot into the muddy opening. It didn't matter who got the business, as long as Pineapple House was the result.
But, damn it, it mattered now. Because he'd been used. And without a doubt, H&H had sewn up this deal a long time before Gilmore went through the charade of presentations.
And wasn't that the way things ran in this world? The rich in control, the powerful pulling strings. The very injustice that Marguerite had been fighting her whole life.
He felt her tentative grasp on his elbow and he resisted the urge to shake her off. Instead, he turned, this time unmoved by the streaks of tears on her cheeks.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.
"Because I didn't want this … this thing between us to end."
This thing between them. It was a thing to her.
"And because what we're doing with Pineapple House—it's brilliant. I'm so proud of it."
The sound of his I love you echoed in his head as if he'd just screamed it out in the tunnel. What a jerk. What a stupid, lovesick jerk.
No wonder she hadn't said she loved him. She was as much a user as her father. She'd go waltzing into H&H with killer ideas and emerge the darling of the firm. And have a little good thing on the side from the chump they'd brought in as a shill.
Puzzle pieces snapped into place in his head with the sound of each crashing wave far below the cliffs. "When, exactly, did you learn this, Gracie?"
She looked at the ground, then up at him. "The morning after … we … when I went downstairs to get coffee."
He felt his jaw go slack. "The very first day?"
She nodded.
"Great. That's just great, Gracie."
"Colin, listen to me. My father's done this to me his whole life." Her eyes filled with tears again. "He's always manipulating me. This time, I wasn't going to let him win."
He let out a disgusted laugh. "Oh, yeah. So you jumped right on the deception bandwagon and took me along for the ride."
"No!" Her voice tightened with frustration. "It wasn't anything like that."
Turning away from her, he leaned against the edge of the tunnel opening and stared out at the silver caps of froth churning on the Atlantic Ocean.
If he backed away now, just on foolish principle, Pineapple House would probably never get built. If he didn't back away, it was a moot point, because Eugene Harrington had won the bid and would put whatever the hell he wanted on the property.
What a crock. H&H had won the bid. That was a given.
So he'd have to fight this a different way. He'd have to fight it the way Marguerite and the Restoration Rebels would. With brains and creativity.
He turned to Gracie and suddenly the losses mounted as quickly as the ironies. When they'd arrived here, she'd wanted love, he'd wanted sex. Now, she'd got all the sex she could possibly handle, and he'd gone and fallen in love.
Pineapple House was the least of his problems. He loved her. And she'd betrayed him.
Good to know some things were still predictable.
"I'm leaving. I'll call Gilmore and tell him I'm out."
He heard her little intake of breath. "How can you do that? How can you give up your dreams?"
"I'm not giving up anything." He started out to the path, without waiting for her.
"What about Pineapple House, Colin?" Her voice faded as he walked into the wind, but he heard her add, "What about us?"
He turned and looked at her. "Us?" The cold Atlantic air stung his eyes. At least, he hoped it was the air. "There's no us. It was just a game and you … broke the rules." He let out a rueful laugh that got caught in the wind. "Who knew you'd turn into such a master rule-breaker, Gracie?"
He continued down the path, stabbing his hands deep into his jeans pockets and shaking a strand of hair out of his face. After a few minutes, he spun around to see where she was.
Gone. She'd disappeared out the other side of the tunnel and was probably halfway across the grass of the adjacent property. She'd be back on Bellevue Avenue
before he was.
Every instinct told him to go after her. Yeah, and every instinct had told him to bare his soul about twenty minutes ago.
Forget that. This time, he ignored his instincts, swallowed the unfamiliar lump in his throat, and he walked back alone, mentally outlining a bleak future that would never include … the woman he loved.
* * *
Eleven
« ^ »
"Mr. Harrington's on the line with London, Grace, and he does not want to be disturbed."
Grace clenched her jaw and looked hard at Evelyn Ginsberg, her father's secretary for as long as she could remember. They'd always shared a friendly, if distant, relationship.
"I'm going in there," Grace announced, pausing long enough to give Evelyn a withering look. "He can't put me off for one more minute."
Evelyn pointed to the guest chair next to her desk. "Wait here. I'll see what I can do."
When Evelyn disappeared behind the massive mahogany door to her father's office, Grace dropped into the chair. For two days, she'd been calling her father. She'd tried home, cell, office, golf course and e-mail. He'd never returned a single message.
So returning to Boston was her only option.
Not that leaving Newport had been difficult. The house was horribly quiet and empty, and she'd done nothing but mope from the moment she'd returned from her two-hour hike around the streets of the city after Colin had walked away from her. Leonard had emerged from the kitchen, looking stricken.
"Mr. Colin has departed," he'd announced quietly.
She hadn't had the heart or energy to question Leonard further. Of course he'd leave. She'd known where this affair was headed from the day she'd crossed the hall an
d climbed into his bed. He needed an excuse, and she'd handed him one.
I love you, Gracie.
She dug her nail into the leather armrest of the guest chair. No man can be held accountable for what he says at that intimate moment. She'd called Allie and had that confirmed by an expert. They say anything at that particular instant, her roommate had proclaimed.
The night he'd left, she'd wandered around the house in a fog as thick as the one that hung over Rhode Island Sound. She curled up in his chair in the studio and cried. She wandered to the veranda and sobbed on the glider under a harvest moon. Unable to sleep in her own bed, she'd finally crossed the hall and climbed into Colin's bed, hugging his pillow and inhaling all that was left of him … his wonderful scent.
Foolish and childish, but comforting.
After two days of trying to concentrate on her assignment instead of her broken heart, she'd packed, said goodbye to Leonard and driven home. She hadn't called Gilmore. She'd let her father handle that. All she wanted to know was … why.
The mahogany door opened enough for Evelyn to slip out, shaking her head. "Not now," she announced softly.
Damn it! Grace shot up from the chair and stormed past the secretary. He would not do this. With one quick twist on the knob, she pushed the door open to see the back of her father's head of thick white hair, a cordless telephone pressed to his ear. As always, he stood gazing at the panoramic view of the harbor.
"I want to talk to you," she demanded. "Now."
He spun around at the sound of her voice and glared at her. "Let me call you back. I've got an emergency." His eyes, the same green as her own, locked on her, his black brows raised. Carefully laying the phone down, he indicated a chair with a calm gesture. "Sit down, Grace."
She shook her head, crossing her arms. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of towering over her while she sat docile in a chair. "I've been calling you for two days."
"I've been very busy," he said vaguely, taking his own chair behind his enormous desk. "Why aren't you in Newport?"
She waited for the familiar grip of nervousness that usually seized her in confrontations with her father, but she remained calm. And for the first time in her life, she actually spoke the words she wanted to, instead of just thinking them. "That's not the right question. The question is why was I in Newport?"
THE FIRE STILL BURNS Page 14
