Fortune's Heirs: Reunion

by Marie Ferrarella

  “To be honest,” she said, “I’m sorely tempted. God knows I am, but carrying on with my boss would be like holding my hand over a flame to see how long I could take the heat before I got burned.”

  Ouch. “I’m sure there’s not that much pain involved.”

  He added a killer grin, just to be that much more convincing.

  “Stop, Derek.” She laughed gently, no stranger to his technique. “You can’t win me over this time. Last week’s gossip was a close call, and I’d be stupid not to pay attention to the warning. Loose talk is a mighty corporate weapon.”

  Hell, he’d given it the old college try. But he wasn’t done questioning her about that other matter. “I heard you were also scorched by some fellow employees during the harassment suit.”

  “Yes, Rebecca Waters. I have no proof, but I know she spread the word that I was the one who came on to Dugan.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  Clearly miffed, Christina shrugged. “Long story. Let’s just say Rebecca took great pleasure in bringing other women down for some psychologically tweaked reason. In the beginning, Gloria and I were friends with Rebecca. We did everything together at work, after work…But Rebecca did drugs, and she got my sister started down the wrong path. When I tried to talk some sense into Gloria, Rebecca took offense.”

  “So she weakened your case against Dugan out of revenge.” Women could be so damned toxic.

  “You got it. And last week, with Twyla’s rumors, all this came back to haunt me. It was almost like I’d never left Macrizon.”

  Derek’s sight went red. “Dammit, I wish I’d been Rebecca’s boss. There’d have been hell to pay.”

  Immediately, he wanted to take the comment back. Not because Christina’s eyes had widened in grateful wonder. He kind of liked that. But because getting this defensive about a woman wasn’t in his playbook.

  Clearing his throat, he tried to seem less emotional. Christina could definitely handle herself. She didn’t need him around to fight battles for her. He didn’t even need to be doing it, period.

  She must have sensed his backtracking, because she continued, talking around his outburst, letting him off the hook.

  “You know the worst part about Macrizon?” she asked. “Gloria didn’t believe me. That’s when I quit the firm and left my family. I was angry at the injustice of it all, the shame of accusing someone and coming out looking the fool. Facing them was impossible.”

  Touched by her vulnerability once again—it’d take a man of stone not to be—Derek rested a hand on her bare knee. It wasn’t an overture, and she seemed to understand this, hesitating, reaching out to touch her fingertips to his.

  “You could never be a failure,” he said. “You’re brilliant, Christina Mendoza. And the amount of courage it took to step up and seek justice from a powerful man who’d wronged you…” He turned his hand over, clasping her fingers. “Your bravery blows my mind.”

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything, only watched him with a shine to her eyes.

  “Coming from you, that means a lot,” she said.

  Now it was his turn to blush. Yeah, blush. Or maybe the late afternoon sun had gotten to him.

  That had to be it. First, he’d chattered out too much information about his family life. Then there was that knight-to-the-rescue declaration. Now, this.

  Could Christina mess up his existence any more? Derek was scaring the living soul out of himself with all these damned self-discoveries.

  During the ensuing pause, they both held on to their water glasses, sipped at them, watched the river. The weakening sun flashed off the surface while canoes and boats coasted by.

  “So how’s the rowing coming?” she asked.

  Derek almost fell off his chair in relief. Thank God for a change of subject. Not that he was sorry he’d brought up the whole Dugan conversation—it needed to be addressed—but…

  He was sorry she’d ended up scrambling his brain so much.

  “I’m still working out every morning,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of months until the Water Safari.”

  “Sounds fun.” A breeze picked up, fluttering her dark ponytail. “I’ve never rowed, canoed, kay-aked…anything like that.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to take you sometime.”

  Bam! He’d said it before thinking. Water time was Derek time, a groove of peace he kept all to himself during the quiet of morning or dusk.

  But, somehow, sharing his passion for the sport with Christina didn’t seem all that out of line.

  “I’d really love that,” she said.

  She smiled, blindsiding him.

  Enchanted, he lowered his voice, revved up by her interest. “How about tonight, Christina? Late. After Richie goes home. A midnight row.”

  His body primed itself with heat, just at the thought of the possibilities. Moonlight, water…absolute seduction material.

  But he shouldn’t be thinking like that. What a letch.

  She took so long to answer, Derek thought that maybe he hadn’t asked at all.

  Finally, she spoke. “If we go, it would be on a friendly basis. There can’t be anything…you know. Beyond.”

  Though his instinct was to pursue the matter, to convince her into saying yes, Derek restrained himself.

  He knew why she was saying no, and he couldn’t disrespect how she felt. But it’d been worth a try.

  A knock on the sliding glass door captured his attention. Richie, standing there with his Opie-red hair and thick glasses.

  Poor guy. If Derek ever had a child—unlikely as it was—he’d never relegate the kid to a spot on the calendar that appeared only once a month. He knew too well how it felt to be alienated by your dad, deserted by your mom.

  Without hesitation, Derek got to his feet, opened the door and mussed Richie’s hair, bringing a smile to the boy’s face.

  “I’m hungry,” the kid said.

  Derek checked his watch. Almost dinnertime, all right. Sandra, Richie’s mom, had said she’d be back late tonight, and Derek had just planned on asking the boy what kind of pizza he wanted. Simple.

  But he doubted the kid ate anything but fast food for a regular diet. Based on what Richie said, Sandra wasn’t exactly what you’d call a cook.

  “You want to go over to La Villita for some grub?” Derek asked Richie.

  Grinning, Christina crossed one tanned leg over the other as she watched him deal with a miniperson. It was a much more subtle process than corporate wheeling-and-dealing, and she looked real entertained by that fact, bobbing her tennis shoe up and down.

  Derek was so caught up in her that he almost didn’t hear Richie’s answer.

  “La Villita.” Richie seemed interested. “We studied that in school. It’s San Antonio’s first neighborhood.”

  “You told me,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Christina. “I remember you said something about getting an A on your project for it. We can have steak or seafood…Whatever you want.”

  “I like hamburgers.”

  “All right, then.” Hell, Derek was striking out all over the place. “Get your jacket. It’s on the chair by the door.”

  After Derek let the child go, he noticed Christina’s amused lift of the brow.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Score for you. You’re good with him.”

  He hoped she wasn’t thinking like other women: how baby-sitting would translate into a nursery in a suburban house with topiaries and swing sets.

  But so what if she was? Christina didn’t even want a short, hot fling with him.

  Richie, clad in a green windbreaker, scooted right back, ducking his head out the door to address Christina. “You hungry, too?”

  “I don’t…”

  Stubborn lady. Even so, Derek didn’t want her to go home yet.

  “Yeah,” he said, goading her. “Why don’t you come with us? A friendly outing, of course.”

  “Well…It’s a chaperoned field trip?” she asked, a sparkle in h
er eyes.

  “Safe as can be.”

  Christina put on a mock show of really turning this over in her mind, and that’s when Derek knew she’d be coming with them.

  Friend: 1. Fling: 0.

  He’d just have to live with it.

  For tonight, at least.

  The south bank of the San Antonio River was home to La Villita, with its historically preserved buildings, which housed art studios, crafts stores, shops and restaurants. Originally, Spanish soldiers from the Alamo—or what was then known as Mission San Antonio Valero—had settled here in primitive huts until a flood washed the structures away.

  Nature’s wrath had then made way for German and French immigrants, then a decline into a slum until the city fathers decided to preserve the village.

  Christina had learned all this and more during dinner with Richie and Derek at the Guadalajara Grill. Over Tex-Mex and Richie’s favorite meal—a burger—they’d laughed together, talked about Richie’s school, compared different video games and how they rated.

  Afterward, they killed time by strolling the cobblestoned streets past shops constructed of caliche block and limestone. In five minutes, they were scheduled to meet Richie’s mom so she could introduce her son to her date—who seemed to be the next Mr. Right, after all—then take the child home.

  Full of energy at the prospect of seeing “Mommy,” Richie had darted ahead, putting on the brakes only to inspect the display window of a mercantile.

  Alone at last, thought Christina. Oh, no.

  “I didn’t realize you were into video games,” Derek said, a teasing glint in his gaze.

  “What can I say? Grand Theft Auto keeps me coming back for more.” She didn’t mention that, in her entertainment center next to her yoga DVDs, she had a small collection of those stress-relieving games.

  Junk food for the mind.

  They were walking side by side, the light hairs on his arm brushing her skin every few seconds. Even though she could’ve moved away, putting some much-needed space between them, she didn’t.

  Not after their talk today. As she’d unburdened herself about William Dugan, Christina had felt a great weight lift from her body, something permanent she’d been trying to achieve for years with running and exercise.

  But Derek’s understanding had made it so much easier to breathe now.

  As they approached the mercantile, he casually guided her with his fingertips on the small of her back.

  The contact was innocent. Nice. Fit for an old-fashioned starlit walk.

  So why had his touch sent a naughty, very modern zing up her spine?

  Richie didn’t look at them, just kept staring at the bath products displayed in the window.

  “Think he’ll be okay?” the child asked.

  He was talking about his mom’s date. Christina felt so badly for Richie. At dinner, he’d talked about “Mommy” as if she’d hung the moon but, from what Derek had said earlier, it sounded as if the woman had taken up residence there most of the time, too. Without Richie.

  “If he’s not okay,” Derek said, resting a hand on Richie’s small shoulder, “you tell me.”

  There it was again, that protective side of him, overwhelming her with a dizzy warmth.

  So dependable. Trustworthy.

  “Really?” Richie asked. “You’d beat him up for me?”

  “Well, not beat—”

  Richie had turned around, fixing a look of such heartbreaking adoration on his baby-sitter that it made Christina cover her chest with an opened hand.

  Derek shrugged. “I’d do my best to help you out, Richie. Definitely.”

  A huge grin split the boy’s face, and Derek stuck his hands on his hips, concentrating on the mercantile window, the ghost of a smile on his own mouth.

  What had happened to Patrick’s “predatory pride and joy”?

  Was this actually the same business shark?

  Christina’s heart thumped loudly under her palm, tapping out a message: Fall-ing. Fall-ing.

  A female voice shouted out Richie’s name from down the street, near a plaza. They all turned to find his mom, decked out in date finery, with her arms opened for her son.

  With a jump of joy, Richie launched himself at Derek, clamping his arms around his waist. “Thank you for the food. This was lots of fun.”

  “I had a great time, too.” Gingerly, Derek patted the boy’s back. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “I won’t.” Richie disengaged and was immediately on Christina, hugging her, also. She bent down, returning the affection.

  Wishing that someday she could…

  She cut off the surprisingly domestic thought as Richie backed away.

  “You think you’ll come over so we can play?” he asked. “You’d be a real good Jedi.”

  “I could manage a visit.” She smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  As Richie said one last, “Cool,” then took off, Christina stood again. Both she and Derek watched the boy dash toward his mom, who scooped him into her arms and waved. A man, decent-looking and somewhat hesitant, waited in the wings.

  The date.

  “He looks nice,” Christina said, waving back.

  “Bet he’s another loser. If he is, I’m going to have a talk with Sandra. It’s hard enough to keep my mouth shut about her ex-husband, but if she asks my opinion—”

  “How can you have an opinion?” Gently, she tugged on his shirt. “You haven’t met this guy.”

  When he captured her searching gaze with his own, his eyes had darkened to black. “I haven’t met him yet.”

  Oh, this man, she thought. He’d defended Christina just as tenaciously in the face of adversity, too. But how long would it last with her? Was he offering the boy something he couldn’t offer to women?

  Curious, she touched his elbow. In response, he shot her a halfhearted grin, then took her arm and led her toward the welcoming light of an open antique shop.

  Was it a good idea to remind him that their chaperone was gone and it was time to call it a night?

  She nestled her fingers further into the crook of his muscular arm.

  Nah. She was at ease with him, with no expectations, their rules laid out in front of them like a bricksolid road.

  There’d be no seductive surprises tonight, just a harmless stroll around La Villita, right?

  Even if the moon was out, bathing him in shadow and light, making the night—and him—more mysterious.

  When he walked her into the safety of the store, she relaxed. The shopkeeper acknowledged them, then went back to reading her Entertainment Weekly magazine.

  The scent of musty wood and dried flowers mixed into a heady brew as she sauntered to the back of the place while inspecting the merchandise: rusted lanterns, stained glass windows, pictographs and faded clothing.

  One item in particular caught her attention—a red shawl, worked with an intricate pattern of roses.

  Won over, Christina touched it, felt the silky lace glide over her fingers. Normally, she didn’t wear bold colors. They brought too much attention to a person who usually sought to avoid it.

  But what if she were the kind of woman who felt confident in clothing such as this? A Spanish señorita at a fiesta, flirting with the caballeros. A lady of quality on her balcony, fixing a rose into her dark hair as her man watched from the shadows.

  The romance got to her, made her wonder how the sight of her in something so lovely and free would effect Derek.

  She felt him move up behind her, ease the shawl off its hanger.

  “You like this,” he said. “I could tell, even from across the store.”

  He was so close that she could feel the vibration of his voice through the skin of her back. She shivered, wanting him to say more.

  Instead, he slipped the shawl over her shoulders, then unbound her hair.

  It felt like she’d been submerged in a pool of petals, bathed in smooth, luxurious silk.

  When his hands rested on her shoulders,
stroking the material over her, Christina’s knees melted to oil.

  “Let me buy it for you,” he whispered.

  If they were just two people who didn’t have a care in the world, she could imagine going home with him, stripping off her boring clothes and emerging only with the shawl wrapped around her body. Her skin would peek through the lace, taunting him as he watched her from the bed, desiring her.

  Making her feel as alive as he had only days ago.

  But they weren’t those people. They had their places in the world, and neither of them cared to step away from their jobs long enough to surrender their identities.

  With reluctance, she removed the shawl, then replaced it on the hanger. Even without looking at Derek, she knew he was disappointed.

  Yet so was she.

  “I’m not the type to wear red.” She smiled up at him to ease the tension that suddenly permeated the room.

  His intense, dark gaze reflected his need, echoing that night at the riverside salsa bar. He was ready to pounce, famished for her.

  Would it be like this all the time now? They hadn’t gotten each other out of their systems at all, had they? Their need had only boiled over. Become more dangerous.

  Trying to keep matters in hand, Christina walked away from Derek, stretching that good-idea distance between them. When she spotted some candy, she decided to busy herself with lusting after that instead of her boss.

  He left her alone at the back of the store, but that was fine by her. She’d require a cooling-off period before facing him again anyway.

  A few minutes later, she was ready, a paper sack of lemon drops in hand. After purchasing it, she found him outside, waiting for her.

  Grinning, he jerked his chin toward the candy.

  “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

  Er…the candy? Or him?

  Opening the bag, she offered him first choice. With a, “Why not?” he took one.

  “Sometimes I just can’t help myself,” she said as they walked in the direction of the parking lot. It was as if both of them knew that separating for the night was the best course of action.

  “Any more secrets I should know about you?” he asked. “Besides all the fattening food and the scariness of that hidden video game fetish?”

  Not to mention William Dugan. She was happy he didn’t say it out loud.