Tainted Hearts

by Cyndi Friberg

  His hair. He hadn’t changed his hair. And that crooked smile. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner? “Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Edward Marcus Sinclair,” he confirmed. “My friends really do call me Marc.”

  Speechless, she visually searched his enhanced features for any sign of the man she knew. He looked at least ten years younger. The subtle sophistication was gone, glitzed over with trendy flair and vivid color.

  She much preferred his natural appearance.

  “Was there a reason for the change?”

  He shrugged. “Midlife crisis.”

  Annoyed by his nonchalance, she crossed her arms under her breasts and glared. “You looked ten years younger than you actually are before this change. Now you look twenty-five.”

  “Well, you look good enough to eat with your breasts all propped up like that.” His heated gaze added credence to his words. “Do you want to talk or shall we play?”

  With a little yelp, she uncrossed her arms. Marcus Sinclair. She’d been kidnapped by Marcus Sinclair. A convoluted mixture of excitement and dread muddled her emotions. His father was technically CEO, but everyone knew who ran Sinclair-Dietrich. The eldest son—Marcus. He wasn’t just rich, and politically connected, he could buy CPT with petty cash.

  Worse, completely unbeknownst to Mr. Sinclair, she’d been indulging in a bizarre love/hate relationship with him for years. She’d been using the age-old strategy of picturing someone who intimidated her in their underwear during a conference call one afternoon when her fertile imagination went a step or two further than she’d anticipated.

  The unexpected interlude had been so cathartic it launched an ongoing series of progressively more graphic fantasies. She’d made love to Mr. Sinclair in so many places, in so many positions, it would probably make him blush! But they’d been just that—fantasies. Safe, distant, fantasies.

  He rested his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. “You’ve got mischief sparkling in your eyes, Tuesday. You’re not thinking about my daughter anymore.”

  Banishing her erotic thoughts through sheer force of will, she tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted her gaze to his mouth. Big mistake! Her nipples hardened, tingled. Liquid heat spiraled deep into her core. She raised her hands in front of her, elbows on the table. It was only slightly less obvious than crossing her arms. He smiled, his gaze knowing.

  She cleared her throat once, then began. “I’ll tell Vonne you’re someone within Sinclair-Dietrich who doesn’t want the publicity and doesn’t want your connection to the pharmaceutical company to be construed as a conflict of interest. If she pushes for a name, may I tell her who you are?”

  “You make a valid point. Protecting Elise’s identity may be in your best interest until after the performance of the SP-65 is proven. My company does, after all, have a vested interest in the continuation of the program.”

  “Yep. Each patient only pays for their heart once, but they pay for their immunosuppressant cocktail for the rest of their lives.”

  His smile quirked familiarly and her stomach fluttered. Damn, that smile was sexy on any face. She had to stop thinking about this. He didn’t know all the nights she’d spent imagining they were lovers, picturing in minute detail all the ways they’d pleasure each other.

  Of course, in her fantasies she was perfect too.

  “I thought knowing who I am would make this easier for you. Why do you seem even more uncomfortable?”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. I’ve never been kidnapped before. I’ll work on my deportment.”

  Grinning at her, he nodded approvingly. “That’s better. Except for the Mr. Sinclair part. This isn’t exactly a boardroom.”

  She didn’t comment. No, this wasn’t a boardroom it was a cage. Did he still intend to keep her here?

  Did he still intend to seduce her? Her traitorous body throbbed in anticipation.

  “Can Ms. Lucero start the ball rolling or do I need to fly you back to the mediplex?”

  There it was. Her opportunity. All she had to do was claim she had to be present for the preparations and he would have no choice but to end her captivity. Say it! Say you need to go back. End this now, before he—

  “My shuttle is solar, so we’d really be pushing it. If you don’t have any major objections, we’ll head back first thing in the morning.”

  “How far from Baltimore are we? I guess the real question is, where are we?”

  “Rocky Mountain Gaming Reserve.”

  “Such a clever use for cloning,” she muttered. “Clone animals just to kill them. What a waste.”

  He laughed, apparently not offended by her opinion. “It’s kept the real thing from extinction, hasn’t it? Besides, I’m in it for the scenery.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” She glanced out the window. “It’s absolutely beautiful up here.”

  “Okay, let’s rewind. Can your boss get things started for Elise? What do you need from me?”

  “Yes, Vonne can schedule the procedure and…can we get a medical history from Elise’s nurse? Can you trust her?”

  Scooting back from the table, he stood. “Telling Laura I’ve finally found a way to get Elise a heart may be the only way of redeeming myself after my galactic faux pas. She’s been with Elise since her birth. I trust Laura implicitly.” He proffered his hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To make sure Ms. Lucero is alone when you call her.” Tuesday wasn’t sure what he meant but she followed him up the stairs to the loft. Behind a seemingly unimportant door ascended a second staircase. “Stay here while I open the booth.”

  Booth? What in blazes was a booth? She heard him speak a muffled sequence of numbers and then he pressed his thumb to a small scanner. Damn. There must be something important inside this “booth”.

  “All right. Come on up.”

  He held the door open while she brushed past him and into the small room. Numerous electronic components had been set into the walls and a control console sat adjacent to the only unadorned wall. Nothing too impressive until the puppet master pulled the strings.

  Marc slipped in behind the console and activated the video screen. Glancing at Tuesday, he smiled as her eyes grew progressively wider. The screen divided into three rows of three, allowing him to monitor nine separate images simultaneously.

  “Okay. Here’s Ms. Lucero’s office, but where is Ms. Lucero?” He flipped through several feeds before he found her in one of the smaller conference rooms. “Damn. She’s got company.”

  “Ring that station. Audio only,” Tuesday suggested. “No one else in the room knows me but Vonne should recognize my voice. I’ll ask her to take the call in her office.”

  “She won’t go ballistic when she hears you?”

  Leaning her hip against the console very near his arm, she gave a derisive little snort. “Please. She’s a professional.”

  “Do you know the number for that extension?”

  “I think it’s eight-two-nine.”

  Sure enough, the communications station in the center of the conference table buzzed. Vonne reached forward to activate the speaker. “Ms. Lucero.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lucero, but I have an emergency call holding for you on your personal line. Shall I put it through or would you like to take it in your office?”

  Marc smiled. Well done.

  “I’ll take it in my office,” she said predictably.

  They watched as she excused herself from the meeting. A few seconds later she entered her office and picked up her phone. “Tuesday, are you still there?”

  “Right here, boss. Everything’s fine.”

  “Fine? I had Bettencourt in here earlier claiming you’d been nabbed by PURE. He just about had me convinced. Oh, Tuesday, you are never going to believe what the ultimatum is really about.”

  Marc looked at Vonne’s earnest face and took a deep breath. It would all be so much less complicated if he just dispensed with the subterfug
e. “Do you trust her?” he whispered.

  “Implicitly.”

  She’d repeated his word for Laura Finn. “Ms. Lucero, Marc Sinclair here. I sort of borrowed Tuesday this morning to help me brainstorm a problem near and dear to my heart.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Vonne said.

  “His daughter needs a heart and the bureaucrats won’t let her near one because he…well, his company developed Methuselah,” Tuesday supplied. “I explained that we’re about to test the SP-65 and he’s graciously volunteered his daughter as our first human host.”

  Vonne smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Sinclair. The committee controlling the Priority Matrix has no jurisdiction in our test cases but I’m sure Ms. Fitzpatrick already explained this to you.”

  “There is one condition, Vonne. To protect both the integrity of the test case and Mr. Sinclair’s privacy, I’ve promised that he and his daughter will never be mentioned by name. Do you foresee any problem with that?”

  “Not at all. We’ll need a medical history of little Subject A. The procedure can be done here at the mediplex. There would be less chance of any accidental release of information if only handpicked staff interacts with her. I’ll assemble our top team. When can I expect her? For that matter, when can I expect you?”

  “We’ll be there about 10:00 tomorrow morning, so don’t schedule the procedure before then,” Marc answered.

  “Of course, Mr.—Jones. I’m so glad we could help each other in this.” She paused. “Tuesday, about this morning.”

  “Ms. Lucero,” Marc cut in. “Tuesday has a recording of the conversation you had with General Bettencourt. President Rawsen will not be bullying her into doing anything she doesn’t want to do. If she chooses to help, it will be because she wants to.”

  Vonne’s dark brows knitted together in a confused frown. “How did she get…do you have my office bugged?”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  They stood side by side on the deck of the hunting lodge and watched the mountains claim the sun. The distant snowcaps turned pink, signaling the sun’s impending defeat, then the horizon exploded in colors so vivid the rugged slopes seemed to glow.

  Tuesday shivered, so enthralled by the glory of the sunset that she didn’t register the corresponding drop in temperature.

  Marc’s arm slipped around her shoulders and his hand connected with her bare upper arm. He gasped. “You’re ice cold. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Instead of hurrying her back inside as she feared, he retrieved a blanket from somewhere inside the lodge and returned to the rail. She expected him to hand it to her or put it over her shoulders but instead he surprised her again. He shook it out, draped it around his shoulders and wrapped himself around her.

  She stood directly in front of him, her head tucked neatly under his chin. His arms encircled her waist and his body molded to every curvy contour of her backside. Embarrassed, she squirmed. It only made the hard leanness of his body more apparent.

  “Be still,” he cautioned. “Or I’ll find out if your legs are cold.”

  She stilled against him, accepted his embrace. Twilight deepened. The air turned chill.

  “Listen. The mountains have a music all of their own, a rhythm you won’t hear anywhere else.” His voice was hushed, almost reverent.

  “That’s true of anywhere. The city has a rhythm, the ocean has a rhythm.”

  “Yeah, they speak, but the mountains sing.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, listening to the night wind and distant scurry of small woodland creatures. Inhaling deeply, she savored the scent of pine and rain-washed earth until she felt Marc’s face rubbing against her hair. “What are you doing?”

  “Smelling your hair.”

  His fingers gradually splayed against her midriff, easing ever closer to her breast. Well, at least she knew the answer now. He still intended to seduce her. The new question was, would she let him?

  Just before his hand closed over her breast, she twisted in his arms and leaned back against the railing.

  “Your butt’s going to get cold like that.” His gaze smoldered. He didn’t offer her the blanket.

  “I’ve never slept with a married man and I never will.”

  “I’m not married.”

  She sighed.

  Keeping hold of the blanket, he put his hands on the rail on either side of her. “Go ahead. You’re obviously dying to know. Ask me about Emma. But I lose interest in this particular subject incredibly fast, so make your questions count.”

  “Emma is Elise’s mother?”

  “Isn’t that what you were going to ask me about?”

  He sounded so relieved that she almost lied. “Were you married or did you just have a child together?”

  “We were married.”

  “You told me before that she’s not in the picture any longer. Is that by choice or…what happened?”

  “Emma committed suicide, so I guess that would be by choice. You get one more question then I’m done.”

  She should just leave it alone. The subject was obviously painful for him and they would likely never see each other again after tonight. “Did you love her?”

  He laughed, a harsh scornful sound. “I would have laid odds that would be your question. Guess you’re not so unique after all.”

  He made it to the door before she stopped him. Intentionally stepping on the trailing end of the blanket, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Of course you loved her. Why would you have a child with a woman you didn’t love? I shouldn’t have brought it up. I didn’t mean—”

  He whipped around and smiled when she yelped and jumped back. “See, now I thought you’d let me storm off, but you came after me. The longer I’m with you, the more fascinating I find you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t changed your face.”

  “What did you say?” he asked. “What’s wrong with my face?”

  “Nothing!” She pushed past him and went into the lodge, mumbling, “I just liked it better before.”

  For some irrational reason that pleased him immeasurably. “I had no idea you had any opinion about me. You were all business whenever—”

  “Mr. Sinclair, without your company’s support, I never would have gotten the SP-64 out of the laboratory. I always tried to be respectful but mostly you intimidated the hell out of me.”

  “Why wouldn’t you dance with me?”

  Their gazes collided and pain flared within her before she could suppress it completely. Who had hurt her? Left such a passionate woman wary and unsure? He knew she was passionate, even if Tuesday hadn’t realized it herself. He could sense desire smoldering in her. Determination surged through his entire body. She’d dance with him tonight. He’d hold her in his arms and feel her body sway.

  “I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. I just knew I’d trip over my dress or step on your toes. I’ve always been a little afraid of you.”

  “Until I kidnapped you.” He balled up the blanket and tossed it aside. “Then I was treated to a glimpse of the real Tuesday Fitzpatrick.”

  “Treated?” She laughed. “There aren’t too many people that would consider me a treat. And I think you’ve stolen more than just a glimpse.”

  “I intend to steal a whole lot more before this night is through.”

  Chapter Six

  Images swirled through Tuesday’s mind, a sensual blending of memory and fantasy. She knew this man, had spent endless hours escaping reality in his arms, and yet he was a stranger. His enhanced features masked her lover, separated her from the man of her dreams.

  But his voice remained the same.

  “Say my name,” she whispered.

  “Tuesday.”

  She watched his lips, focused on the deep rumble of his voice.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Warmth shone in his vivid teal gaze, but she longed for the common chocolate brown she’d seen so often in her fantasies. �
�I don’t think I can do this.”

  Expecting him to reach for her, to initiate the intimacies promised by his expression, her heart leapt in protest when he turned and walked away. She closed her eyes and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, damning her hesitation, the fear that kept her from reaching out…for what? What did she hope to find in the arms of a man like Marc Sinclair?

  The moody wail of a muted trumpet floated over an electric guitar’s bluesy chords. Her eyelids fluttered open and she found Marc standing next to a row of electronic components neatly recessed in the wall.

  His mouth bowed, his bright eyes watched her from behind partially lowered lashes. “No one’s here to see if you tromp all over my feet.” His teasing smile broadened. “Dance with me.”

  That night came back as he crossed the floor. It was the first time she’d been in the same room with him. Debonair and devastating in his black tuxedo, he’d partnered one beautiful woman after another. She’d never dreamed he’d work his way around to her.

  His warm hand closed around hers. She felt the light pressure of his palm against the small of her back. The music swirled and swayed, providing the perfect rhythm for the slow, sliding steps through which he led her. Heat emanated from his body, drawing her nearer, making her long for more intimate touches, more significant contact.

  “Wrap your arms around my neck.” His soft tone whispered across her nerve endings, making her insides quiver.

  She hesitated. Did she want to sleep with him? That was where all this led. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him. He’d fascinated her for years. She respected his brilliance and envied his boldness. She had to work so hard at being tough. Could she really bare herself to this man and do the things Leo had expected her to do? Required her to do?

  Tension wrapped around her, coiled through her. She looked away, searching for a way to make him understand.

  He placed her hand on his shoulder then drew her into a light embrace, his arms encircling her waist. “Tell me about him.”