Millionaires' Destinies

by Sherryl Woods

  It was a type she knew all too well. It was the type she’d married, fought with and divorced. And while that had made her eminently qualified to run an art gallery and cope with artistic temperament, it had also strengthened her resolve never, ever, to be swept off her feet by another artist.

  Tim Radnor had been kind and sensitive when they’d first met. He’d adored Kathleen, claiming she was his muse. But when his work faltered, she’d discovered that he had a cruel streak. There had been flashes of temper and stormy torrents of hurtful words. He’d never laid a hand on her, but his verbal abuse had been just as intolerable. Her marriage had been over within months. Healing had taken much longer.

  As a result of that tumultuous marriage, she could deal with the craziness when it came to business, but not when it affected her heart.

  If romance was on Destiny’s mind, she was doomed to disappointment, Kathleen thought, already steeling her resolve. Ben Carlton could be the sexiest, most charming and most talented artist on the planet and it wouldn’t matter. She would remain immune, because she knew all too well the dark side of an artistic temperament.

  Firm words. Powerful resolve. She had ’em both. But just in case, Kathleen gazed skyward. “Help me out here, okay?”

  “Is trouble?” a deep male voice asked quizzically.

  Kathleen jumped. She’d forgotten all about Boris. Turning, she faced him and forced a smile. “No trouble, Boris. None at all.” She would see to it.

  Only a faint, pale hint of sunlight streamed across the canvas, but Ben Carlton was hardly aware that night was falling. It was like this when a painting was nearing completion. All he could see was what was in front of his eyes, the layers of color, the image slowly unfolding, capturing a moment in time, an impression he was terrified would be lost if he let it go before the last stroke was done. When natural light faded, he automatically adjusted the artificial light without really thinking about it.

  “I should have known,” a faintly exasperated female voice said, cutting through the silence.

  He blinked at the interruption. No one came to his studio when he was working, not without risking his wrath. It was the one rule in a family that tended to defy rules.

  “Go away,” he muttered, his own impatience as evident as the annoyance in his aunt’s voice.

  “I most certainly will not go away,” Destiny said. “Have you forgotten what day this is? What time it is?”

  He struggled to hold on to the image in his head, but it fluttered like a snapshot caught by a breeze, then vanished. He sighed, then slowly turned to face his aunt.

  “It’s Thursday,” he said to prove that he was not as oblivious as she’d assumed.

  Destiny Carlton gave him a look filled with tolerant amusement. “Any particular Thursday?”

  Ben dragged a hand through his hair and tried to remember what might be the least bit special about this particular Thursday. He was not the kind of man who paid attention to details, unless they were the sort of details going into one of his paintings. Then he could remember every nuance of light and texture.

  “A holiday,” she hinted. “One when the entire family gathers together to give thanks, a family that is currently waiting for their host while the turkey gets cold and the rolls burn.”

  “Aw, hell,” he muttered. “I forgot all about Thanksgiving. Everyone’s here already?”

  “They have been for some time. Your brothers threatened to eat every bite of the holiday feast and leave you nothing, but I convinced them to let me try to drag you away from your painting.” She stepped closer and eyed the canvas with a critical eye. “It’s amazing, Ben. No one captures the beauty of this part of the world the way you do.”

  He grinned at the high praise. “Not even you? You taught me everything I know.”

  “When you were eight, I put a brush in your hand and taught you technique. You have the natural talent. It’s extraordinary. I dabbled. You’re a genius.”

  “Oh, please,” he said, waving off the praise.

  Painting had always given him peace of mind, a sense of control over the chaotic world around him. When his parents had died in a plane crash, he’d needed to find something that made sense, something that wouldn’t abandon him. Destiny had bought him his first set of paints, taken him with her to a sidewalk near the family home on a charming, shaded street in Old Town Alexandria and told him to paint what he saw.

  That first crude attempt still hung in the old town house where she continued to live alone now that he and his brothers had moved on with their lives. She insisted it was her most prized possession because it showed the promise of what he could become. She’d squirreled away some of Richard’s early business plans and Mack’s football trophies for the same reason. Destiny could be cool and calculating when necessary, but for the most part she was ruled by sentiment.

  Richard had been clever with money and business. Mack was athletic. Ben had felt neither an interest in the family company nor in sports. Even when his parents were alive, he’d felt desperately alone, a sensitive misfit in a family of achievers. The day Destiny had handed him those paints, his aunt had given him a sense of pride and purpose. She’d told him that, like her, he brought another dimension to the well-respected family name and that he was never to dismiss the importance of what he could do that the others couldn’t. After that, it had been easier to take his brothers’ teasing and to dish out a fair amount of his own. He imagined he was going to be in for a ton of it this evening for missing his own party.

  Having the holiday dinner at his place in the country had been Destiny’s idea. Ben didn’t entertain. He knew his way around a kitchen well enough to keep from starving, but certainly not well enough to foist what he cooked on to unsuspecting company. Destiny had dismissed every objection and arrived three days ago to take charge, bringing along the family’s longtime housekeeper to clean and to prepare the meal.

  If anyone else had tried taking over his life that way, Ben would have rebelled, but he owed his aunt too much. Besides, she understood his need for solitude better than anyone. Ever since Graciela’s death, Ben had immersed himself in his art. The canvas and paints didn’t make judgments. They didn’t place blame. He could control them, as he couldn’t control his own thoughts or his own sense of guilt over Graciela’s accident on that awful night three years ago.

  But if Destiny understood all that, she also seemed to know instinctively when he’d buried himself in his work for too long. That’s when she’d dream up some excuse to take him away from his studio and draw him back into the real world. Tonight’s holiday celebration was meant to be one of those occasions. Her one slipup had been not reminding him this morning that today was the day company was coming.

  “Give me ten minutes,” he told her now. “I’ll clean up.”

  “Too late for that. Melanie is pregnant and starving. She’ll eat the flower arrangement if we don’t offer an alternative soon. Besides, the company is beginning to wonder if we’ve just taken over some stranger’s house. They need to meet you. You’ll make up in charm what you lack in sartorial splendor.”

  “I have paint on my clothes,” he protested, then gave her a hard look as what she’d said finally sank in. “Company? You mean besides Richard and Mack and their wives? Did you say anything about company when you badgered me into having Thanksgiving here?”

  “I’m sure I did,” she said blithely.

  She hadn’t, and they both knew it, which meant she was scheming about something more than relieving his solitude. When they reached the house, Ben immediately understood what she was up to.

  “And, darling, this is Kathleen Dugan,” Destiny said, after introducing several other strangers who were part of the rag-tag group of people Destiny had collected because she knew they had no place else to spend the holiday. There was little question, judging from her tone, that this Kathleen was the pièce de résistance.

  He gave his aunt a sharp look. Kathleen was young, beautiful and here alone, which suggested
she was available. He’d known for some time now—since Mack’s recent wedding, in fact—that Destiny had targeted him for her next matchmaking scheme. Here was his proof—a woman with a fringe of black hair in a pixie cut that emphasized her cheekbones and her amazing violet eyes. There wasn’t an artist on earth who wouldn’t want to capture that interesting, angular face on canvas. Not that Ben ever did portraits, but even he was tempted to break his hard-and-fast rule. She was stunning in a red silk tunic that skimmed over a slender figure. She wore it over black pants and accented it with a necklace of chunky beads in gold and red. The look was elegant and just a touch avant-garde.

  “Lovely to meet you,” Kathleen said with a soft smile that showed no hint of the awkwardness Ben was feeling. Clearly she hadn’t caught on to the scheme yet.

  Ben nodded. He politely shook her hand, felt a startling jolt of awareness, then took another look into her eyes to see if she’d felt the same little zing. She showed no evidence of it, thank heavens.

  “If you’ll excuse my totally inappropriate attire,” Ben said, quickly turning away from her and addressing the others, “I gather dinner is ready to be served.”

  “We’ve time for another drink,” Destiny insisted, apparently no longer worried about the delayed meal. “Richard, bring your brother something. He can spend at least a few minutes socializing before we sit down to eat.”

  Ben frowned at her. “I thought we were in a rush.”

  “Only to drag you in here,” his very pregnant sister-in-law said as she came and linked an arm through his, drawing him out of the spotlight, even as she whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t you know that you’re the main attraction?”

  He gave Melanie a sharp look. They’d formed a bond back when Richard had been fighting his attraction to her. Ben trusted her instincts. He wanted to hear her take on this gathering. “Oh?”

  “You never come out of this lair of yours,” Melanie explained. “When Destiny invited us here, we figured something was up.”

  “Oh?” he said again, waiting to see if she’d drawn the same conclusion about Kathleen’s presence here that he had. “Such as?”

  Melanie studied him intently. “You really don’t know what Destiny is up to? You’re as much in the dark as the rest of us?”

  Ben glanced toward Kathleen, then. “Not as much as you might think,” he said with a faint scowl.

  Melanie gave the newcomer a knowing look. “Ah, so that’s it. I wondered when Kathleen arrived if she was the chosen one. I figured it was going to be your turn soon. Destiny won’t be entirely happy until all of her men are settled.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” Ben said darkly. “I’d hate to disappoint her, but I am settled.”

  Richard overheard him and chuckled. “Oh, bro, if that’s what you think, you’re delusional.” He, too, glanced toward Kathleen, whose head was tilted as she listened intently to something Destiny was saying. “I give you till May.”

  “June,” Mack chimed in. “Destiny’s been moping because none of us had a traditional June wedding. You’re all she’s got left, little brother. She won’t allow you to let her down. I caught her out in the garden earlier. I think she was mentally seating the guests and envisioning the perfect area for the reception.”

  Ben shuddered. Richard and Mack had once been as fiercely adamant about not getting married as he was. Look at the two of them now. Richard even had a baby on the way, and Mack and Beth were talking about adopting one of the sick kids she worked with at the hospital. Maybe more. To his astonishment, those two seemed destined for a houseful. By this time next year, there would be the cries of children filling this house and any other place the Carlton family gathered. No one needed him adding to the clutter. He doubted Destiny saw it that way, though.

  There were very few things that Ben wouldn’t do for his aunt. Getting married was one of them. He liked his solitude. After the chaotic upheaval of his early years, he counted on the predictability of his quiet life in the country. Graciela had given him a reprieve from that, but then she, too, had died, and it had reinforced his commitment to go through life with his heart under the tightest possible wraps. Those who wrote that he was prone to dark moods and eccentricities had gotten it exactly right. There would be no more nicks in his armor, no more devastating pain to endure.

  His resolve steady and sure, he risked another look at Kathleen Dugan, then belatedly saw the smug expression on his aunt’s face when she caught him.

  Ben sighed, then stood a little straighter, stiffening his spine, giving Destiny a daunting look. She didn’t bat so much as an eyelash. That was the trouble with his aunt. She rarely took no for an answer. She was persuasive and sneaky. If he didn’t take a firm stand right here, right now, he was doomed.

  Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t think of a single way to make his position clear over turkey and dressing.

  He could always say, “So glad you could come, Kathleen, but don’t get any ideas.”

  Or, “Delighted to meet you, Ms. Dugan, but ignore every word out of my aunt’s mouth. She’s devious and clever and not to be trusted.”

  Or maybe he should simply say nothing at all, just ignore the woman and avoid his aunt. If he could endure the next couple of hours, they’d all be gone and that would be that. He could bar the gates and go back into seclusion.

  Perfect, he concluded. That was definitely the way to go. No overt rudeness that would come back to haunt him. No throwing down of the gauntlet. Just passive acceptance of Kathleen’s presence here tonight.

  Satisfied with that solution, he turned his attention to the drink Richard had thrust in his hand. A sniff reassured him it was nonalcoholic. He hadn’t touched a drop of anything stronger than beer since the night of Graciela’s accident.

  “Darling,” Destiny said, her gaze on him as she crossed the room, Kathleen at her side. “Did I mention earlier that Kathleen owns an art gallery?”

  Next to him Melanie choked back a laugh. Richard and Mack smirked. Ben wanted nothing more than to pummel his brothers for getting so much enjoyment out of his discomfort at his aunt’s obvious ploy. Kathleen was her handpicked choice for him, all right. There was no longer any question about that.

  “Really?” he said tightly.

  “She has the most amazing work on display there now,” Destiny continued blithely. “You should stop by and take a look.”

  Ben cast a helpless look in Kathleen’s direction. She now looked every bit as uncomfortable as he felt. “Maybe I will one of these days.” When hell freezes over, he thought even as he muttered the polite words.

  “I’d love to have your opinion,” Kathleen said gamely.

  “My opinion’s not worth much,” Ben said. “Destiny’s the family expert.”

  Kathleen held his gaze. “But most artists have an eye for recognizing talent,” she argued.

  Ben barely contained a sigh. Surely Kathleen was smart enough not to fall into his aunt’s trap. He wanted to warn her to run for her life, to skip the turkey, the dressing and the pumpkin pie and head back to Alexandria as quickly as possible and bar the door of her gallery from anyone named Carlton. He was tempted to point to Melanie and Beth and explain how they’d unwittingly fallen in with his aunt’s schemes, but he doubted his sisters-in-law would appreciate the suggestion that their marriages were anything other than heaven-sent. They both seemed to have revised history to their liking after the wedding ceremonies.

  Instead he merely said, “I’m not an artist.”

  “Of course you are,” Destiny declared indignantly. “An exceptionally talented one at that. Why would you say such a thing, Ben?”

  To get out of being drawn any further into this web, he very nearly shouted. He looked his aunt in the eye. “Are you an artist?”

  “Not anymore,” she said at once.

  “Because you no longer paint?” he pressed.

  Destiny frowned at him. “I still dabble.”

  “Then it must be because you don’t show o
r sell your work,” he said. “Is that why you’re no longer an artist?”

  “Yes,” she said at once. “That’s it exactly.”

  He gave Destiny a triumphant look. “Neither do I. No shows. No sales. I dabble.” He found himself winking at Kathleen. “I guess we can forget about me offering a professional opinion on your current show.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of Kathleen’s mouth. “Clever,” she praised.

  “Too clever for his own good,” Destiny muttered.

  “Uh-oh,” Mack murmured, grinning broadly. “You’ve done it now, Ben. Destiny’s on the warpath. You’re doomed.”

  Funny, Ben thought, glancing around the room at the sea of amused expressions, that was the same conclusion he’d reached about an hour ago. He should have quit back then and saved himself the aggravation.

  Chapter Two

  Kathleen felt as if the undercurrents swirling around Ben Carlton’s living room were about to drag her under. Every single suspicion she’d had about the real reason she’d been invited tonight was being confirmed with every subtle dig, every dark look between Ben and his aunt. Even his brothers and sisters-in-law seemed to be in on the game and were enjoying it thoroughly. In fact, she was the only one who didn’t seem to get the rules. If she could have fled without appearing unbearably rude, she might have.

  “Would you like to freshen up before dinner?” Beth Carlton asked, regarding her with sympathy.

  If it meant escaping from this room, Kathleen would have agreed to join a trek across the still-green fields of winter wheat that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “Yes, please,” she said gratefully.

  “I’ll show you where the powder room is,” Beth said.

  The minute they were out of earshot of the others, Beth gave her a warm smile. “Feel as if you’re caught in an intricate web you didn’t even realize was being spun?”

  Kathleen nodded. “Worse, I have no idea how I got there. Am I some sort of sacrificial lamb?”