BOUND TO HAPPEN

by Alison Kent

  Wanting her own way. Getting it more often than not. Not taking no for an answer and not liking to swallow when it was forced down her throat. Exactly the same way Lauren reacted. Neither one of them resorting to tricks of the female trade. No pouting or crying or underhanded treachery.

  Nope. These women were the epitome of free spirits, answering to no one but themselves. Recognizing the concept of compromise, but exercising the option as a last resort. Hardheaded, yes. But softhearted. And fair.

  And he'd been a total prick for taking so long to come to the realization. Lauren wouldn't be Lauren if she'd given in to his way of thinking, given up any part of herself because it was what he wanted, what put him at ease. What he thought she should be.

  It had been the sex in the Jeep that had brought him to his senses—right after it had brought him to his knees.

  Her sexuality had always been an issue between them. An issue for him, anyway. Lauren didn't have a single sexual hangup. And that was his problem.

  Yet his problem had soon become theirs, because he'd taken out his frustration on her. He'd made her believe that he thought her physical response less about having him for her lover and more about his body as convenient.

  The very accusation women had leveled at men since the dawn of time.

  He should've realized that, but he couldn't pull his head out of his ass to see. He'd been feeling sorry for himself, instead of getting down on his knees with gratitude for having found a woman other men would kill for. He just hoped he hadn't waited too long to stick his head back where it belonged.

  He and Lauren couldn't be more different in so many ways. Too many to count. And he knew because he'd tried. If he'd been smart, he would've celebrated their differences, instead of trying to mold her into what made him more comfortable.

  Hopefully he could make her understand. She already knew he'd been raised in traditional surroundings. A loving, family-focused environment, with a stay-at-home mother, a father who brought home the bacon in a really big way and a younger brother he'd had to baby-sit more often than he'd wanted.

  What she didn't know was that he hadn't questioned anything. He'd accepted. Because that was the way things were done in the Neville household. What Marcel Neville set down as the letter of the law was not to be challenged, unless the challenger had a really big hard-on for the sting of a leather belt.

  Anton had always assumed he'd be his own law in his own house over his own family, without the leather belt … uh, except in the kinkiest of situations. And for some reason, he'd also assumed that his woman, that Lauren, would be as compliant as his mother had been.

  Yet ever since the day he'd met Lauren, he'd known she was as strong-willed as he was. And that was a big part of the attraction. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted. Even while he wanted to have a say or, at least, constructive input into the decisions she made and the way she lived her life.

  Sitting here now in the gIRL-gEAR parking lot, he had to laugh. He'd been such a narrow-minded prick, expecting to have it both ways. He wasn't his father and he wasn't living his father's life. Or even living in an era with the same social mores. Hopefully, he still had a chance to make amends.

  All he'd been doing was driving her away when the answer was so simple. By letting Lauren be Lauren, by abandoning any attempt to keep her under his thumb, he would end up reaping the rewards of being loved the way he'd always dreamed of being loved.

  He turned off the engine and stepped from the car, his plan to show her what a changed man he was putting a grin on his face.

  A grin that couldn't be mistaken for anything but the low-down and playing-dirty look that it was.

  He'd show Lauren Hollister a thing or two about being a free spirit and getting your way.

  Lauren looked around the conference table, trying to gauge the group's consensus. She really hadn't yet made up her mind about Poe. She hated admitting, after spending so much time in the other woman's company, that she still didn't know whether she counted Annabel Lee as friend or foe.

  If there was a lingering resentment for the time Poe had spent in Anton's company, Lauren wasn't consciously aware of it. But then, she wasn't consciously aware of much lately. She'd been back at work now for at least eight weeks, long enough to have taken the Fourth of July graphics down from the Web site and implemented the new back-to-school theme.

  Deanna Elliott, the firm's first gIRL-gEAR gIRL, was prominently featured in the campaign. She really did have the perfect look, Lauren thought, studying the face in the most recent catalog, the redesign of which the partners had been discussing.

  An impish innocence that fit the firm's ideal. Lauren sighed, leaned her chin into her palm and slumped against the conference table. She'd been an innocent imp once. Now she felt like a gullible dupe.

  She was going to have to find some way out of this funky mood and soon. She had no concentration, no enthusiasm and, worst of all, no excuses that would cut the mustard with the boss. It was time to straighten up and fly right. Time to get on with her life.

  She had a career to die for, a loft worthy of a feature in any interior-design magazine. She had the best friends money could buy, though they all came free. And money for clothes. Closets and closets of clothes. Oh, and the new car she was shopping for. Not a bad life at all for a twenty-six-year-old single female. Even the single part she could get used to. It wasn't as though it was a death sentence.

  In fact, she thought, straightening in her chair, crossing her legs, lacing her hands together and propping her elbows on the armrests, it was an emancipation proclamation. She was free to do anything she wanted to do, be anyone she wanted to be. And that was exactly the outlook on life she would have from this day forward.

  Her determination renewed, her attitude adjusted, she pulled her attention back to the meeting, hoping she could infer from the partners' comments what it was that Sydney had just said. Something about gUIDANCE gIRL. And Chloe leaving gRAFFITI and gADGET gIRL. And that the floor was now open for discussion about promoting Poe to vice president of cosmetics and accessories. A seventh partner. Lauren had to make up her mind on this. And now…

  There was a brisk knock on the conference-room door at the same time it swung open behind her, drawing everyone's attention away from the subject on the table. The talking stopped. Eyes widened. Macy covered her mouth with her fist and lightly coughed. Frowning, Lauren shifted in her chair and turned around.

  "Excuse me, ladies."

  Anton Neville strode into the room, not bothering to wait for the excusing he'd asked for. And Lauren was so glad she'd just had her talk with herself, because if not, she might have thrown herself in offering at his feet.

  He looked like the sun god she'd thought him the first time he'd walked up and said hello. Today he wore linen pants that were the white-gold of a wheat field and a dress shirt the color of aged tobacco. His shoes were an Italian-leather, tasseled, slip-on design and his tie was wildly patterned in dark greens and browns.

  His hair and his complexion spoke of his devotion to summer. Lauren didn't think she'd ever seen his hair so long or so blond, his curls so unruly or falling so seductively down the back of his neck. Even though she'd just convinced herself she didn't need him in her life, he was a sight for her very sore eyes and sore heart.

  And then he was across the room and his long fingers were wrapped around her wrist and he was urging her to her feet. His eyes glittered as he captured her with his gaze. She couldn't summon the willpower to pull free from his urgent hold.

  "Sydney?" Lauren quickly glanced toward the head of the table. "Do you mind if I step out for a moment?"

  "Go, go." Sydney made a shooing motion, which everyone else at the table mimicked, until the entire room was awash in "Get out of here," "Go on," "Get, get, get," and "Don't come back until you finish this thing one way or the other."

  The chorus of voices sending her on her way could be heard the length of the executive hallway. The final directive from Macy was the
loudest of all. Lauren wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered by the group's fixation on her love life. But she didn't have time to dwell on the subject. She was too caught up by what Anton was making her feel.

  What she felt like was a piece of property being dragged along behind her master. No will of her own. Subject to his whims. Powerless to voice an objection for fear of reprisal. The strangely sensual submissive role sent thrilling jolts to every one of her body's nerve endings. She couldn't believe what was happening or the way her heart wildly raced.

  Under more than one curious gaze, they reached the door to her office. The applause she heard from the hallway before Anton closed the door added shivers to the tingles firing along her nerves.

  By the time Anton pushed the door closed and stalked her across the office, backed her up against the edge of her desk and trapped her with both hands planted on either side of her hips, her stomach was churning, her knees were ready to buckle, and her panties were way beyond damp.

  The hard wood of the desk bit into the backs of her thighs. The heat of Anton's body raised the temperature of her skin, even through the denim jumper she wore over an orange tube top. She tried a calming breathing routine to settle her anxiety, but with Anton so close, she accomplished nothing but ensuring his scent filled her nostrils.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, even though his expression made the answer obvious. His eyes were on fire, his nostrils flared, his skin flushed with arousal. Lauren crossed her arms over her middle and tightened both hands into fists.

  Anton smiled. His lips parted as he stepped in close and lowered his head. He nuzzled his mouth along her hairline, making his way to her ear, blowing a soft stream of breath and whispering, "I'm here for you."

  Her breasts swelled, her nipples puckered, and heat pooled between her legs. It was so incredibly unfair that her body ruled her mind when it came to her relationship with this man. But then, they didn't have a relationship, did they?

  Which meant it was time for her mind to take charge.

  She lifted her chin. "What part of me, exactly, are you here for? Because I'm not sure I have anything left to give you."

  His hands moved from the desk to her hips and he slid his palms up her body. When he reached her rib cage, he moved on to her elbows, skimming his way over the gooseflesh pebbling her bare arms and shoulders.

  Then he caressed her throat and cupped her face in his hands. "All of you, Lauren. I want all of you. I want your body. I want your love. I want your incredibly sexy, creative, intelligent mind. I want you forever." He lowered his mouth to hers and whispered against her lips, "I want you now. I want you to marry me."

  To say she was speechless was an understatement. Lauren couldn't even breathe. She pulled back, giving herself the room she needed to look into Anton's eyes. What she saw soothed her every raw feeling, answered her every prayer, filled her heart with a perfect peace, her soul with absolute joy.

  "I love you, Lauren. Forever."

  She closed her eyes, opened them, blinked back the tears emotion demanded she shed. "Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I want me to marry you, too."

  And when her office door burst open and the room filled with five eavesdropping partners and a dozen other cheering gIRL-gEAR staff members, Lauren buried her face in the shoulder of the man she loved.

  * * *

  12

  « ^

  Sydney sat behind the wheel of her Lexus while the car idled at the stop sign. The Memorial-area neighborhood was suffering from the drought of the hot Houston summer. Lawn sprinklers fizzed and hissed, spraying the dying grass with the moisture it needed to limp through the rest of the season.

  She needed to make a left turn. She could see Ray's two-story colonial from here. Four from the corner, gunmetal-gray brick, columns and shutters both painted a pale dove-gray. His shiny black pickup was parked in the circular front drive.

  He had to have close to three thousand square feet. It was a hell of a big house for one single man.

  Sydney wondered how he'd feel about sharing it with a woman.

  With her.

  She had no idea what sort of reception she'd receive, showing up unannounced the way she was. She'd only seen him once since their return from Coconut Caye and before her departure for Paris. He'd shown up late at Eric and Chloe's Fourth of July barbecue and pool-christening party. But he had shown up.

  Sydney had been sitting with Melanie on the concrete skirt at the deep end of the pool. Legs dangling in the water, she'd been filling in Mel on the details of the cruise gone bad and Jess's island behavior, leaving out his playtime with Poe.

  Poe had admitted to having sex, but sex based on Sydney's loose definition, which could mean just about anything from sharing hot, open-mouth kisses to an under-the-covers, snug-and-tickle session.

  And Sydney hadn't wanted Melanie looking for trouble where none existed. Especially since Jess hadn't been at the party to defend himself. But then, neither had Poe. Kinsey and Doug had been there, splashing in the pool like two kids. But they were the only couple to have survived the vacation.

  Sydney herself had barely survived the twenty-four-hour period after Ray had left the island. It had been wonderful spending that time with Nolan, even as short as those hours had been. He'd shared a lot of his past, things Sydney had never known—or had never taken the time to ask him. She'd been busy establishing her own career, absorbing his advice and expertise, bringing his experience to bear on the company she'd conceived one winter's night in an Austin coffee shop.

  But they'd never talked about his early years. About the facts surrounding his falling in love and becoming a father at age seventeen. And she now saw her father through very different eyes after learning of the driving fire behind his success.

  She saw her mother differently as well, though Sydney doubted the two of them would ever be more than casual friends. Their lives and their priorities were too disparate. And that was okay. They'd made their peace and that was what mattered. They didn't have to make up for the years they'd lost. They only had to go forward from here.

  But here, and now, nothing mattered more than Ray.

  The Fourth of July celebration hadn't even given them a chance to make small talk. The crowd had been overwhelming and every time she'd tried to get him alone, another of his many friends beat her to the punch. Sydney had finally sat back and enjoyed watching him interact with others, haunted by his parting words from that last night on the island.

  He was right. They had only scratched the surface of one another's deeper selves. And she hoped to spend the years from now to the twilight of her life learning everything he wanted her to know. That was one of the truths she'd come to accept during these past eight weeks.

  At the very least, she owed him an apology for being so cold and unfeeling that last night when he'd bared so much of his soul. She'd brought along a six-pack of Corona as a peace offering. She was hoping, however, to find him open to accepting more. Because she'd also come to offer herself.

  The truth of the matter was, the seed of love she'd nurtured for years had blossomed into the real thing. Sydney Ford in love with Ray Coffey. The coldest fish in love with the king of five or six different things.

  Who would've figured? Wouldn't their combined graduating classes have enough gossip to last through more than a few reunions … if anyone ever found out … if there was ever anything to find out.

  There wasn't yet, but Sydney had everything that could be crossed crossed. Her hopes were up, even though she'd told herself there was a good chance she'd waited too long to make up her mind. And her eyes were open wide. She wasn't going to him wearing blinders or rose-tinted glasses.

  And yes. She had something more to give him. A surprise propped up against the six-pack in her passenger seat. A surprise several years, an exorbitant expense and extraordinary expertise in the making. A surprise she wanted to deliver, whether he welcomed her or not.

  She found him in his backyard, wearing
nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans and high tops without socks or laces. His dark hair was sweat-soaked. His chest gleamed with perspiration even now in the late afternoon sun, and the scar stood out like a bright reminder of the news she'd come to share.

  He'd been mowing and raking, cleaning the gutters along the eaves. Suburban home owner chores. And she wanted to help. To work at his side. To sleep in his bed. To give him the babies he wouldn't let himself want. And she wanted to do it all for the rest of her life.

  All Ms. CEO Career Woman had to do now was convince Ray that he couldn't live without her. Sydney drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She was about to give the most important sales pitch of her life.

  Holding both the six-pack and the envelope she'd come to deliver in one hand, she reached for a bottle and had the offering in the other hand when he looked up and caught sight of her. His face broke into an immediate grin, before he had the chance to pull down his emotional shades.

  The grin gave Sydney hope.

  She handed him the beer. He took it and twisted off the cap. She didn't even try to hide her appreciation for the workings of his throat as he swallowed. She remembered the taste of his skin, the feel of his resilient flesh beneath her lips.

  He'd already downed a good third of the bottle when she came to her senses. "I was going to tell you that it's only free if you drink it. But I see I would've been wasting my breath."

  "It's good to see you, too, Sydney." Ray swiped the back of one hand over his mouth. "What brings you to suburbia?"

  Suburbia. She had to laugh at that. Though she'd originally considered the casual side of her closet, she'd ended up in a pair of sling-back Manolo Blahnik's and a simple boat-neck sheath dress in butter-yellow linen and pearls. Her visit wasn't about fitting in, but about being herself. Accepting herself. Giving herself permission to try, and to fail.

  "A couple of things actually."

  Her heels clicking against the pebbled walk, she carried the rest of the six-pack to the patio, setting it on the glass top of the shiny black wrought-iron table. Her fingers held tight to the letter.