by Cherry Adair
“Absolutely not!” Hugh Campbell shouted as he and his brother both shot to their feet. “Our father worked his entire life for that money. We’re not giving it up to his whore!”
The judge banged his gavel. “Control your clients.”
Duncan flicked his finger, causing each man to have chest pains. It wouldn’t kill them, but they didn’t know that. Ashen, they fell back into their seats, identical expressions of terror on their faces. Duncan eased off, and they straightened cautiously in their seats, their faces shiny with nervous sweat.
They were going to be doing a shitload more sweating. He wasn’t finished with them. Not by a long shot.
The judge cleared his voice, then rendered his decision. “Plaintiffs have failed to prove that Mrs. Campbell’s marriage was void. Further, there is no evidence to suggest that she coerced her husband in any way.” He leaned back against his high-backed leather chair and steepled his fingers.
“Further, the claims made by the plaintiffs that Mrs. Campbell manipulated her late husband with sex are both unfounded and bordering on defamation. It is therefore the order of this court that the motion be denied and the plaintiffs are hereby ordered to pay court costs as well as the defendant’s reasonable attorney’s fees.”
Their attorney frowned, buttoning his jacket as he rose. “Motion to reconsider, Judge?”
“Denied,” the judge replied, clearly exasperated. “This is a probate matter and as such, I’m remanding all future issues in this case to probate court.” He turned to look at Serena and her attorney. “Ms. Butler?”
“Yes?”
“File your fees with this court within ten days, and don’t pad the bill. Court dismissed.”
A nanosecond after the judge disappeared into chambers, both sons shoved back their chairs, shooting venomous glares at Serena. Paul, his face red with rage, jabbed a finger at her. “This isn’t over, you opportunistic little bitch.”
Duncan sent a lightning bolt up the guy’s ass.
Serena filled the coffee carafe with water, grateful to have something to do, no matter how mundane the task. She would have preferred to be alone. Feeling battered, angry, and worst of all—embarrassed, she wished Duncan hadn’t insisted on accompanying her home.
Sunlight poured through the ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking Central Park, and the room was filled with the delicate fragrance of the fresh roses that were arranged in half a dozen vases and scattered throughout the apartment. Usually the soothing colors and textures of her home were a balm to her frazzled nerves. But not today. Not with Duncan there.
He had the unexpected effect of making her feel as if all the secret, lonely corners of her life were filled. Which was ridiculous. He was nothing more to her than a minor annoyance.
Right, she thought, frazzled. I’ll just keep telling myself that. Maybe someday I’ll believe it.
She’d removed her suit’s jacket, but still wore the silk blouse and pencil-slim skirt with the high heels and discreet jewelry she’d hastily put on early this morning. She’d be considerably more comfortable in the jeans or shorts she usually wore. But on occasion she could out-chic the best of them. For reasons she didn’t bother analyzing, she didn’t want to go into the bedroom to change while Duncan was there. The fact that he’d seen her naked was immaterial. Naked and Duncan were two words that should not be used in the same sentence.
She hadn’t wanted to hear all that garbage in the courtroom about herself. She most certainly hadn’t wanted Duncan to hear it, she thought, as she spooned coffee into the filter and closed the basket. It didn’t matter that it was all lies and wishful thinking on the part of Ian’s sons. Paul and Hugh, and their thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney, had come to court today locked and loaded, and Serena was afraid that some of the mud might stick despite her attorney’s quick objections and ardent arguments to the court.
“Your attorney seems to know her stuff,” Duncan called from the other room. She could see him through the breezeway between the kitchen and living room as he wandering around like a bull in a china shop for heaven’s sake, looking at her things.
The enormous living room/dining room was tastefully decorated in shades of white and soft apricot, a sophisticated backdrop for Ian’s extensive art collection. Her husband had been a passionate patron of the arts, but what Serena loved most was all the crude artwork made for her personally by people who had nothing else to give in appreciation for the work she’d done through the Foundation.
Mingled with Ian’s million-dollar paintings were the hundreds of framed photographs she’d taken in the field. The men, women, and children who had touched Serena’s heart and enriched her life over the years.
“Rhonda’s terrific,” she agreed, bracing herself for Duncan to start asking if any of the nonsense he’d heard earlier was true. Ian must be rolling in his grave, spinning, Serena thought, trying to see the humor in the situation.
“It’s inconceivable to me that Ian, who was a kind, generous, warmhearted man, produced two sons so unlike himself,” she told him. “And from what he told me about his first wife, whom he was married to for thirty-five years, the sons’ behavior didn’t come from Rita’s side either.”
The brothers, now in their late fifties, had begrudged their father the amount of time and money he’d poured into the Foundation.
“I’m guessing they didn’t hassle Ian like that.”
“No way. They were too subversive to openly challenge their father.” But they’d made life as unpleasant as possible for his new young bride behind his back.
Now with their father gone, Hugh and Paul were determined to void Ian’s will. Ian’s posthumous, generous endowment to the Foundation had given her a life, and his sons fifty million reasons to screw with it.
Leaning back against the counter, she absently kept an eye on Duncan as he moved around the living room. It was strange to have a young, handsome, virile man in her home. She’d loved Ian in a quiet, peaceful way. She supposed loving a man so much older than herself had been a way to avoid the pain of losing someone else she loved without warning. She’d known going in that she’d outlive him. Foolishly she’d thought his loss would be bearable because she’d anticipated it.
She’d been wrong.
She’d loved Ian dearly, and still missed him, but she was a healthy, sexual woman. Duncan’s presence here made her realize how much she missed the closeness of human contact. Hell, she missed sex.
Serena shook her head at the direction her healthy libido was taking her. Duncan was nothing like Ian. The only thing the two men shared was their gender.
She’d better drag her healthy libido away from the one man she couldn’t have.
Cowardly as it was, Serena took her time getting out mugs, sugar, and a tray to delay going into the other room and hearing Duncan’s opinion of the morning’s events. Her cheeks stung with embarrassment.
She’d sensed him the second he’d teleported inside that courtroom. Preternaturally aware of exactly how close he stood by the sudden racing of her heart, and her ultra awareness of his presence, she hadn’t been happy knowing he was hearing every vitriolic word and accusation. Even though all of it was lies.
She still wasn’t sure why Duncan had suddenly shown up in New York, and at the courthouse of all places. Although she was happy to note he hadn’t been burnt to a crisp and seemed to be whole and hearty, not to mention disgustingly cheerful after surviving the first Test.
Having won made her want to do the very undignified Snoopy dance. Serena refrained. Standing in her kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish dripping, she watched him prowl around her apartment, much as she’d watched Lark walk around his this morning. He was like a caged tiger as he stalked about, picking up various objects before putting them down again. What was it with him and touching her things? she thought crossly. He’d done the same thing in her room in Schpotistan.
She jerked her attention off his elegant hands as he ran his fingers lightly over the curve of the soapsto
ne woman’s hip. She’d recently bought the statue in Namibia because she, too, liked the subtle curves. It took a second for Serena to realize that her breasts ached in response to his sensual touch on a piece of stone. She had to stop this. She really did.
His footsteps were silent on the plush carpeting as he strolled to the Oriental display cabinet and looked inside. Without permission her gaze wandered over his body. He wore beautifully tailored dark slacks and a pink—pink!—dress shirt, open at the throat. Only Duncan could get away with wearing pastel pink and still look achingly masculine.
There was a tightly leashed strength beneath the sophisticated, civilized clothing he wore so well. And a faint sense that he wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he appeared. Eventually she was going to have to go out there. But in the meantime Duncan was too busy checking out her possessions to demand to know what the hell she was doing hiding in the kitchen.
No, not hiding, Serena thought, annoyed by a conversation that was taking place solely in her head. She wasn’t hiding, she was making the damned coffee he’d asked for. She watched him with decidedly mixed feelings. She couldn’t help her physical reaction to him, it was some pheromone thing she was helpless to prevent and which she found annoying as hell. But the high lust factor was tempered by regret. Because wanting wasn’t getting. And Duncan wasn’t available.
“Remember that.”
He turned his head, a faint smile curving his sexy mouth as his eyes met hers. “Remember what?” he asked, as if he could read her mind. Which he couldn’t, because she always blocked him.
“Just thinking aloud.”
“Hmm,” he stared at her for another moment, his blue eyes almost black, the smile leaving his face. “What’s taking so long? Waiting for Juan Valdez to deliver the coffee beans?”
“If you’re in such a hurry, materialize your own damn coffee, or go down to the Starbucks on the corner.” Serena put a bite in the words because if she didn’t, she’d tell him flat out how appealing he was to her. How badly she wanted to rip off that pink shirt to check out his chest to see if it was smooth or covered with black hair. How hungry she was for him to kiss her again. How badly she wanted to touch him and learn his body.
Ack! Blast the man. He made her crazy.
“Get up on the wrong side of my bed this morning, Fury?”
Serena put a hand on top of a teetering canister as her temper spiked. This response to him was more normal, and so much better. “I couldn’t find a comment card,” she told him sweetly. “The mattress was too hard, and all that black is depressingly like waking up in a vampire’s coffin.”
“Lark likes it.”
So he had slept with her, the bastard. “Goodie for her. I changed the color of your chichi bedspread. I hope she likes orange.”
“She likes the black. Not the feel of the bed,” he finished, not bothering to acknowledge her comment.
It was almost worse imagining Duncan doing it on the floor. Or, God help her, on that black granite kitchen counter.
“I’ve never slept with Lark. And no, I’ve never made love to her either,” he added.
Could he read her mind? Damn it. What was taking the coffee so damned long? “Tell someone who cares about your serial love life, Hot Edge.” She had forgotten to press the “on” button. Oh, for—She stabbed it so hard she almost broke the coffee pot.
He grinned and she wanted to hit him instead of kiss him, which made her feel considerably better.
“How’s your love life lately, Fury?”
“I’m still in mourning.”
He raised his bisected eyebrow. “After thirteen months?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have sex with Trey?”
She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you sleep with Trey when you were dating him?”
“I heard you, for God’s sake! That’s absolutely none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business.”
Her heart leapt. “Why is it that you’re suddenly all over my life? Who the hell opened the door and let you in?”
He paused. “Henry.”
Uh-ha. “Well, when I see him, I’ll tell him to tell you that I’m none of your damn business.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.
Behind her the coffee pot spluttered and hissed in its final throes. If he didn’t watch out he’d be wearing the boiling liquid instead of drinking it.
“Congratulations on winning the first Test.” He raised his voice as he wandered to the far side of the room. “Smart of you to cut to the chase like that.”
She wasn’t going to let him know how close she’d been to chickening out. “Thanks. I’m sure you enjoyed challenging those fire creatures to a boxing match almost as much as I enjoyed beating your butt,” Serena taunted, because it was what they did. But her heart really wasn’t in it today.
“It was certainly…interesting,” he said dryly. “No ill effects?” He went to the window, turning his back to gaze down at the park. Serena couldn’t help taking in the sheer size of him when his back was turned. He looked deceptively urbane. Dark, slightly curling hair brushed his collar, and the width of his broad shoulders straining at the pink Egyptian cotton of his shirt hinted at something not quite civilized, despite the color.
“No. You?”
“How’s the arm?”
Which didn’t answer her question. Typical Duncan. She flexed her arm. With everything else that had been going on she’d almost forgotten the bullet graze. “Okay.” That seemed to be the extent of their small talk. She moved the coffee carafe off the burner and put it on the tray. She couldn’t stay in the kitchen all day.
“Would you like to come with me to see Henry this afternoon?” She didn’t particularly want to share Henry with Duncan, especially today, but she needed the connection of seeing her godfather. Now. She missed his counsel desperately. Even with Henry in a coma, he was a wizard. There was a chance he’d find an alternate way to communicate with her as he had with Duncan. Serena hoped so. She wanted to tell him about Hugh and Paul.
And that Duncan was blaming him for suddenly butting into her personal life.
And, she had to tell him that she was running for Head of Council. He’d be so proud that she’d won the first Test.
The Council stuff and the progress of the suit filed by Ian’s sons were easy. But it would be nearly impossible to verbalize her concerns about Duncan with him standing in the room. Better to leave any Duncan discussion for another day, she decided. A day when she had a modicum of sense about him and a little distance from that last kiss.
“Yeah. I want to see him. We’ll go in an hour or so when you’ve had a little time to regain your equilibrium.” He picked up a framed photograph of Ian and herself taken on their honeymoon in Switzerland three years ago. Instead of responding to his autocratic pronouncement, she wondered what he saw in the picture. A couple in love? A laughing old man and too young woman on a skilift? Did he believe the things Ian’s sons had told the court?
“My equilibrium is fine and dandy, thank you.” She felt as though fire ants were crawling through her veins, eating her from the inside out. Producing a cool waterfall to immerse herself in, followed by a couple of hours spent quietly with Henry, would do a lot to restore her peace of mind. Even though Henry couldn’t speak, she had to believe that he could hear her. That he was just waiting for the right moment to wake up.
And while she trusted Joanna implicitly to keep the team on track in Schpotistan, she wished Henry was back overseeing the project now that they were so close to having the thermal blanket work. It had originally been his brain child, and he should be there to see it come to fruition.
Emotions bubbled far too close to the surface, causing Serena’s eyes to sting. “The coffee at the hospital isn’t bad. Let’s go now.” She had a list of Foundation-related things that needed doing, but until her internal gyroscope was back to normal she’d be better off
in Germany. The business calls and faxes could wait until tomorrow.
Duncan turned away from the window, his eyes meeting hers through the open pass-through between living room and kitchen. “I could convince those two assholes to drop their case.”
Now that would be worth the price of a front row seat. Not that she’d take him up on such an inappropriate way of resolving her personal issues. Or any issues for that matter. Which just showed how differently they each approached conflict resolution.
But, pacifist that she was, given the way Paul and Hugh had humiliated her in court that morning, she allowed herself a few seconds fantasizing about Duncan drawing them into a game of dodgeball. Played with blazing fireballs.
Oddly, Duncan’s defense of her also gave Serena a ridiculous sense of pleasure—she was touched by the idea that he would even offer to protect her. Not many people considered her the type of woman who might need it. Running a multimillion-dollar Foundation, she was considered self-sufficient and competent, and few people tried to take on the task of coming to her defense when they knew she could do it herself.
She swallowed a lump in her throat. She was losing her mind if the idea of Duncan making a threat of physical harm sounded like a romantic overture. “By doing what?” she asked, trying to get a grip on reality. “Beating them up? No thanks.”
He put the frame back on the table exactly where he’d found it. “By talking to them.”
Her laugh felt raw. “You’re half their age. Leave them alone. My lawyer promises me we’ll prevail no matter what they try to do.”
