by Ann Major
The traffic was heavy. But he didn’t pay much attention to the steady stream of red taillights in front of him.
His mind was on Chandra.
It was Friday. Chandra had given Lucas till midnight to level with her. Even though he’d sworn he’d tell her everything, the week had gotten no better as it had worn on. If anything, the tension between Chandra and him had worsened. She had grown stronger and more restless by the day. She never napped now, and had more time to fret. She said she felt like a prisoner, that the suspense of not knowing her identity was killing her. Lucas had repeated Pete’s advice so many times it had become a refrain. “Baby, Pete says it’ll be better if you recover your memory on your own.”
“I just keep thinking you’d tell me unless I—I’m some terrible sort of person—”
“It’s complicated. You’re not a terrible person.”
“Then why are you so afraid to tell me?”
He always changed the subject at that point.
Lucas felt worried as he drove up to his house. Neither he nor Robard was a damn bit closer to solving the mystery of Miguel Santos’s murder or to proving Chandra’s innocence. And Lucas, who had built and won so many cases, Lucas who had written so many closing arguments to convince juries, couldn’t seem to figure out the right words or the right way to tell Chandra something as straightforward as the simple truth.
Your family hired me to break the Moran will and defame you. I was tempted. God, how I was tempted. Until I found out who you were. Oh, and, by the way, you’re wanted for murder, and the media are roasting you alive. They’re saying you’re a liar and a thief and that you’ve been taking bribes down in Mexico. They say you’ve run drugs. And, oh, I gave the lying bastard who’s spreading this garbage the idea to slander you.
Lucas hadn’t lived like a saint. Making her believe in his innocence and his love for her wouldn’t be easy.
He had been boxed into tougher corners than this one.
But he had to win this one.
She’d been in his home less than three weeks, but already he depended on her quiet efficiency around the house. Already he delighted in the wonderful meals she took such pains to prepare for him. Already he admired her wonderful rapport with his sons and loved the way she made it possible for him to enjoy them, too. Peppin had even been bringing home a few As on his report card.
Most of all, of course, Lucas simply wanted Chandra for himself. In his bed. By his side. All the time. He wanted to bask in the loving glow he felt whenever he was around her. Forever. She made him happy. She made even the duller moments in his life meaningful and joyful. Just knowing she was in his house made the darkness lift from his soul.
Romantic gestures were alien to him.
But he’d bought flowers for this occasion. And a good sparkling California wine from a chateau he’d once visited in Sonoma.
Before he told her the truth, he wanted to set the mood.
The boys were scheduled to go on a beach camp out at a neighbor’s house with several friends. He and Chandra would have the house to themselves.
Lucas had bought a steak for himself as well as roses. And lots of vegetables, everything from zucchini to spinach.
After dinner he planned to woo her and make love to her.
Afterward he would tell her. Maybe she’d even let him put it off until the morning.
And just in case she understood and forgave him, he had bought an engagement ring.
He would broach the shocking truth with infinite gentleness and patience. He would go down on his knees when he confessed he had been hired to steal her inheritance and defame her. He would tell her about the incident in the foyer, when he hadn’t even seen her but had been so shaken by her presence. About all the dreams he’d had before he’d met her, especially the nightmare he’d had the night she’d been injured.
Somehow he had to make her believe what he himself did not understand—that the two of them had a special bond that went far beyond the ordinary.
He had to make her see that even though he had considered the Moran case and worked for the Morans briefly, he had never deliberately done anything to hurt her.
Except to show some slimy bastard how to slur her good name and thereby ruin her reputation.
He only hoped that the truth would change things for the better between Chandra and himself, instead of for the worse.
Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. No matter what, he would tell her the whole, unvarnished truth. Who she was. Who he was. And then he’d show her the newspapers that he’d been keeping in his trunk and beg her to forgive him.
They would face this thing together.
As he got out of the Lincoln he noted the bodyguard in a baggy uniform, slouching against a palm at the far edge of his property.
A new man. That was odd. Lucas thought he knew all Robard’s men.
The guard sensed his interest, and when Lucas waved to him, the guy’s hand went to his gun for a second before he lifted his hand and waved back. Then he skulked behind the palm tree.
Damned odd fellow. Gave off negative vibes. Worth investigating.
Lucas was about to go over and introduce himself when Chandra came running out of the house to greet him.
She hesitated on the last step, and he saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes as well as the radiance of her love.
She was just as afraid of tonight as he was.
Concerned only for her, he forgot the bodyguard. This thing was hard on her. She’d been through a lot.
But maybe not the worst of it.
She was wearing the aqua dress with tiny pearl buttons down the front he had bought for her the first day. Strands of fine gold hair were blowing in the faint breeze. There was a private smile, just for him, on her lips.
He grinned and held up the roses. And felt a little foolish. Four dozen red, pink, white and yellow blossoms spilled from his arms.
When she flashed him an even brighter smile and began to blush, walking shyly toward him, his chest swelled with the passionate emotion he felt for her, which was growing more incredibly potent with the passing of every day.
Her eyes were ablaze when he gently gave her the flowers.
Their fingertips brushed, and as always there was magic and warmth even in her lightest touch.
Then she buried her nose in the fragrant petals and said softly, “I love roses. Why do you suppose I love them so much?” She looked at him. “But not nearly as much as I love you. Now why do I feel—” Her blue eyes flashed and she broke off shyly.
Her face was flushed. Her entire being seemed aglow. And her warmth filled him.
Nobody had ever cared about him as she did. Not when he was a child. Not when he was a man. He had been lonely all his life.
Till her.
He had had success—wealth, fame. Everything and nothing—till her.
He hadn’t believed in love.
Because he hadn’t had the slightest idea what love was.
Till he’d stepped into his shower and her dazzling blue eyes had seared his soul the same way they were doing now.
For far too long he had wanted all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons—to make up for the emptiness inside him.
But they never had.
She alone could make him happy.
He was too old not to know that this sort of feeling wouldn’t come twice in his lifetime.
He had to make her stay with him forever.
Lucas had wanted the evening to be perfect, and it was. She seemed to understand the ephemeral quality of everything they did together, that when she knew the truth, everything they had come to count on and cherish might be.lost.
So for this brief shimmering space of time, they both wanted nothing except each other.
The sky darkened to opalescent purples and lavenders and indigos. Lucas and Chandra were easier with each other than they had been all week, their words and glances accompanied by frequent quiet laughter.
He warmed dinner and th
en they swam while the food was heating up. She lay in a lounge chair, content to admire his long brown body sliding through the water. The blue heron she sometimes fed on the patio flew up from the beach and joined her.
“Beggar,” she whispered when he cocked his long beak and shyly regarded her. Laughing, she held out her empty hands to the tall bird that seemed to be so awkwardly perched on his stiltlike legs.
She laughed as a flock of brown pelicans soared and dove into the bay. When Lucas climbed out of the pool, he told her that pesticides in the fifties had almost obliterated brown pelicans in south Texas, but that they were making a comeback. She forgot her joy in the birds and came up to him and wrapped a towel around his broad shoulders. With another towel she dried his hair.
When she was done, she ran her hands through the damp strands and then blushed. “Thank you for tonight. For this week.”
He put a fingertip under her chin and guided her sweet face to his and gave her a long kiss, which held both fire and ice. Instantly he felt that intense hunger for her that ran so very deeply in him.
What he felt for her was both spiritual and physical. It was timeless. She was everything.
With her mouth she began to explore the sensitive hollow at the base of his throat. He kissed her, and as always the delicate taste of her acted upon him like an aphrodisiac.
“Let’s forget supper and go inside,” he said hoarsely.
Slowly she slid her hands across his wide bare chest, down the length of each of his scars.
“How did this happen?” she asked, thinking the jagged marks were scars, as everyone did.
“They are nothing. I was born with them.”
“Birthmarks?” she said in a low voice. “How odd. They look more like scars.”
Her gaze grew very bright, very serious when he laughed and told her about the Indian nurse who had infuriated his Christian father when she’d said his baby son had acquired the strange marks in another life, that they were marks left from scars—probably when he had died. “She said I was slashed to death by something big and heavy—maybe a machine.” He paused. “My father ranted that what she said was a ridiculous, idiotic, stupid, superstitious lie. She told him that sometimes when the air is too heavy for a dying soul to rise, it enters the body of a newborn.”
“Oh.” Tenderly her fingers traced the white lines and came to rest instinctively upon his heart. When he tried to circle her with his arms again, she smiled and broke away.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I. But for—”
“No. Please, Lucas. Let’s wait.”
They had supper by the pool, and afterward they pitched horseshoes, but they gave the game up quickly, deciding it wasn’t the same without the boys.
The moon rose, brightening the sky. The strange bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. But Lucas had forgotten all about him when he seized Chandra and led her inside.
He threw open the glass doors to the balcony of his bedroom so they could hear the surf and smell the tangy salt air. A faint breeze stirred the sheers, causing them to fan out in eerie silver swirls. Moonlight streamed across the bed.
For a time the lovers stayed in the shadows. She edged closer, smiling, but when he reached for her, she whispered so faintly he almost didn’t hear her, “No. Wait.”
Raising both her hands, she began unbuttoning each tiny pearl button of her dress. She had beautiful hands, and in the moonlight, they were the color of ivory as they gracefully skimmed up and down those glimmering buttons on her bodice.
The aqua fabric parted gradually, and she eased the silky stuff over the graceful waves of her shoulders, letting it fall slowly away into a shadowy pool at her feet. She undid her black bra, and it slid to the floor with her dress.
He tried to say more but a vast silence enveloped them, and as always they spoke without words. Then her mouth was seeking his again, no longer teasing but in deadly earnest. Every muscle in his strong arms and legs flexed. Their sexes met. Teased. And clung. Suddenly he thrust, and as she launched her hips upward to meet him halfway, he knew a wild thrill that was more powerful than any he’d ever known as he sank inside her deeply.
With her thighs, she gloved him.
When she began to move, he clasped her to him, staring into her eyes for a long moment, telling her with his mind and heart that he loved her. Only when she silently communicated the same emotions did he begin to move inside her, steadily, without stopping, as she clasped him ever tighter. He grew hot, burning hot as she drew him deeper and deeper into that swirling black flame that was soft and yet an allencompassing velvet darkness.
As he brought her to climax after climax, a corresponding firestorm built inside him.
His arms wrapped around her like steel bands.
He was burning up.
And then exploding and soaring on long hot waves of ecstasy.
Dying. And then bursting again and again every time she cried out.
He caught her to him, filling her completely as he held her tightly beneath him. Then he heaved one final time, shuddering against her, finding his own sublime release.
For a moment they were two beings alone in their own time and space, sharing a paradise of the senses. Then he mindlessly buried his lips against her silken throat and whispered her name.
“Chandra.”
Lucas had fallen asleep instantly. Not she.
For a long time Chandra lay beneath Lucas’s heavy body, unmoving, as utterly spent as he, even as the electrifying name he had spoken with such passionate ardor echoed inside her.
Chandra?
Yes, she was Chandra. An entire lifetime had come back to her. She was Chandra Moran, who had been officially christened Bethany Ann Moran.
And Lucas?
Lucas Broderick was that awful lawyer.
Why had he made her love him?
She knew why.
The warmth that had raced through her lush body moments before chilled, and she began to feel strange, not herself, and yet really herself for the first time since the accident, as painful images and traumatic emotions and memories, some of them only halfformed and poorly understood, bombarded her.
She knew the exact moment when Lucas’s heavy breathing grew more regular and he fell asleep. Then, very carefully she wriggled free. Slowly she got up and, moving as soundlessly as a sleepwalker, glided into the bathroom. Numbly she showered and put on a pair of white jeans and a white embroidered blouse.
For a long moment she studied her face in the steamy mirror, as she had so many days and nights before. Only tonight the triangular face with the high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes was no longer that of a stranger.
She was Chandra Moran—heiress.
No wonder Lucas hadn’t told her who she was.
Lucas Broderick was a slick, ambitious lawyer who had a reputation for playing dirty—and winning, if his defendant was rich and able to pay. More than a few of her benefactors had had bad dealings with him. With an eye to her fortune, he had romanced her and played her for a fool.
Exactly as Stinky Brown had so many years before. Gram had wisely had Stinky investigated, and when Gram had confronted Chandra with the unsavory stories about the other rich girls Stinky had courted and then Chandra had caught him in bed with Holly, Chandra had run away from them all.
Lucas Broderick was her enemy. Ugly phrases echoed in the dark places in her mind.
Lucas’s deep husky drawl, heard for the first time, beloved even then as she’d hidden in the foyer closet, had made hideous promises to her family.
Utterly merciless. Destroy your cousin’s name and her claim—
None of them had known she had arrived at the ranch and had been eavesdropping outside the library when Lucas had sworn to her family that he would break the will and destroy her.
More memories deluged her.
She was a child again in India, holding tightly to her stern grandmother’s hand as a dark-skinned man with a white turban wra
pped around his head dug up the floor of a crumbling house.. Again she stared in horror at the gaping eye sockets in that tiny skull, at the dusty bones and rotten fabric in the box under the ancient rotting flooring. She had wept hysterically over that poor murdered girl because she had known, somehow she had known that some physical part of her former self was buried in that shallow grave.
Chandra had lived before, but nobody in her present family had ever believed her—not even Gram. Not even when she’d led them to her grave.
Her family had brought her back to Texas more determined than ever to erase all her memories of that other life.
Next Chandra saw a rose garden and a dark-haired girl snatching the roses Chandra had painstakingly gathered from a basket. The girl was shouting and crushing them under her cowboy boots, and Chandra said, “Don’t, Holly—”
Holly, her beautiful cousin who had been so jealous of her, and the way Gram and she had loved each other. In the end Holly had taken Stinky because she always had to have everything that was Chandra’s.
Next Chandra was in a closet in the Moran foyer. She’d come home after an estrangement of twelve years because Gram had written her a letter, begging her forgiveness and telling her that she was going to leave her in control of the Moran fortune. But when Chandra had called Gram from Mexico, she had been told by Stinky that Gram had died suddenly and that there was no reason for her to return.
Chandra had gone home the day of the memorial service only to discover Holly and the others in the library plotting to break Gram’s will. Chandra had hidden in a closet after she had heard Lucas’s voice and realized he was leaving and would catch her eavesdropping if she didn’t run or hide.
She remembered the dying roses in the foyer, the lonely strangeness of the house that day without Gram. But most of all she remembered the strange way Lucas’s voice had held her spellbound. It had been gravelly and rough-edged and musical as he had promised her family he would break the will and spread rumors that Chandra had used payoffs and bribery in Mexico. Even though he’d been hired to ruin her, his words had lingered and resonated almost hypnotically in some sweet secret place in Chandra’s soul.
