by Lisa Jackson
“What?”
“You heard me. Seems the old man has a thing against women, some archaic bent and even though Marla’s son isn’t able to carry on the Amhurst name, the guy is giving most of his wealth, estimated to be over a hundred million, to the kid. In trust, of course.”
“Of course.” Nick leaned back on the bed, scratched at the stubble on his chin. “What about Marla, or her brother or her daughter Cissy?”
“Oh, they each get some of the pie, but a pittance. Rory, he’ll be taken care of for life, Cissy gets her share when she’s twenty-five if she finishes college and Marla will get something, but seventy-five percent of the estate goes to that newborn. How about that, just a few weeks old and a multimillionaire?”
“How do you know this?” Nick asked.
“I know it, okay?” Walt said with a laugh. “You pay me to. You know, Marla’s old man has always been an ornery bastard. Never played by the rules. Hard drinker. Big womanizer. It’s a wonder Marla’s mother stayed with him, but probably did for the money.”
“Who else knows the terms of Conrad’s will?”
“Probably everyone. When there’s that much money involved, heirs go to great lengths to make sure they’re not getting the shaft and being cut out.” He laughed long enough to cough. “It’s just human nature.”
“If you say so.”
Walt snorted. “Look, you may have turned your back on a fortune a few years back, but most people don’t. In fact they’ll do anything for the kind of money we’re talking about. Lie, cheat, steal. Even kill.”
Nick considered the list of dead and dying: Pam Delacroix, Charles Biggs, and tonight Marla could have lost her life. Just as she could have in the accident.
“I haven’t figured out what’s going on down there,” Walt continued, his voice muffled as he drew on his smoke. “But I expect whatever it is, it might just get worse. Watch your ass.”
“Always do.”
“Good.”
He didn’t like the turn of his thoughts. Marla was in danger. He could feel it. “Look, Walt, I know this is a helluva imposition, but I wonder if you could come down here for a few days, do some of the legwork. I’ve got a room at the hotel, you could take it over. I’m gonna move up to the house.”
“I’d have to tie up a few things here, but I could be down within the week.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep the room until you show up, so you can leave messages here for the time being. Like I said, I’ll be moving up to the house, so if you want to send me any more information, why don’t you leave me a message on my cell phone or here. If you want to fax, you can do it to a little copy center—CopyWrite—I found not far from this hotel. Put it to my attention.”
“Why not the hotel?”
“Just a precaution. Everyone in my family knows I’ve been staying here.”
“Don’t trust them much, do you?”
Nick stared past the curtains that fluttered at the windows to the city lights beyond. “Nope,” he admitted, thinking it a sad comment on his life. “Not at all.” He hung up and started throwing his few belongings into his duffel bag. For over fifteen years he’d avoided the house on the hill like the plague, now he was eager to return.
Because of Marla.
That much was the truth. He wanted to see her again. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted his damned brother’s wife. But more than that, he wanted to make certain she was safe. In the past few weeks she’d had two brushes with death. Accidents? Or was someone trying to kill her?
Chapter Twelve
The room had changed. Nick eyed the matching drapes, bedspread and throw rugs and decided it didn’t matter a helluva lot. The memories he had here weren’t all that great to begin with. It hadn’t felt like home then, and it sure as hell didn’t now. He dropped his duffel onto the brass bed. His stay here was temporary. Just until he figured out what was going on. He could live with the fluff and ruffles, but he didn’t know if he could stand the thought of Marla only two doors down. Christ, that woman had a way of getting under his skin. Like no other. Even now, after all these years, while she was still recovering, she got to him.
“Hell.” He felt claustrophobic and tossed his jacket over a bedpost. When that didn’t help he walked to the window and opened it, letting in the cold November wind and staring over the lights of the city to the black sky where not a star was visible. How would he stand it, being this close to her?
When could he leave?
What the hell was going on?
He’d spent hours reviewing the company’s books. Alex was right, Cahill Limited was sinking deeper by the day into an ocean of red ink. Bad investments, expenses outrunning income, an employee who had been caught embezzling, an incredible amount of money spent on philanthropic causes such as Cahill House and Bayside Hospital’s new pediatric wing, an excellent employee benefit package and an extravagant lifestyle of the CEO, all contributed to the problem. But these were simple, extremely basic facts that any snot-nosed kid with a two-year accounting degree could have figured out. Yet Alex had been insistent to draw Nick back into the fold. Was it to appease his aging mother who had, for years, pleaded with Nick to return? Was it because of Marla and her accident? Or was there another reason, something that escaped him, something, he sensed, was far deeper and darker.
For some reason Alex wanted Nick around Marla. And yet they had been rivals for her affection before.
He plowed stiff, impatient fingers through his hair.
Whatever Alex’s motivation, Nick was trapped. Not because of the diminishing bottom line of Cahill Limited, nor because of his mother’s needs to have both her children near her. No, he was bound here in this huge, soulless house, in a city he despised, because of Marla. Because he was scared shitless for her life and because, damn it, he’d never been able to use his head whenever he was around that woman.
He walked into the deserted hallway where the reflection of dimmed lights gleamed on the railing, and oil paintings of longdead relatives peered from gilt frames, and where moments before his mother had told him how happy she’d been that he’d finally “come to his senses” and moved home. She’d even gone so far as to touch him on the sleeve, a major show of emotion for Eugenia.
“It’s good to have you back, Nicholas,” she’d whispered. “I know we’ve always been at loggerheads with each other, and, perhaps while raising you I made some mistakes, expected you to be more like Alex, but . . . in my own way . . . I’ve always loved you and missed you.” Her lower lip had wobbled a bit and she’d quickly tightened her jaw.
Nick had been stunned, looking down at her. Without a trace of makeup, a red-and-black Japanese robe tied at her waist, the lines of her face so much more visible than ever before, she’d seemed, for the first time in his thirty-nine years, vulnerable. Real. That she cared.
He’d found it hard to believe. “I won’t be staying long.”
“I know. You never do.” She’d sighed. “I suppose I failed you. If I had it to do over, if I had the wisdom then that I do now . . . oh, bother.” She managed a frail, pale-lipped smile meant to disguise the pang of despair that shadowed her eyes.
He’d felt like a heel.
“Well, we’ll just make the best of things, won’t we? But . . .” she’d hesitated and fiddled with the tie of her robe. “I just feel that there are things going on here that . . . well, I don’t understand. Alexander, he’s been so withdrawn and Marla . . . oh, the problems with that girl . . .” Eugenia had worried her lip with her teeth as she’d thought. “I suppose all marriages have trouble, their ups and downs. I certainly know that from my own experience. Your father, he . . . oh, well, I loved him. Far more than I should have, I suppose.” For a second she was lost in her memories, then her eyes focused on Nick again. “You’re a lot like him in many ways, Nicholas. Self-righteous. Smart. And yet you’re very different in other ways.” She’d squared her shoulders. “I just wanted to say thanks for coming.”
“I’ll be staying until my job’s d
one. Then I’m out of here,” he’d reminded her.
She’d smiled as if she knew her second-born far better than he knew himself.
“We’ll see,” she’d said, starting for the elevator.
“I have a life in Oregon.”
“Do you?” she’d asked, lifting a disbelieving eyebrow and leaving the question hovering in the air before disappearing into the elevator and returning to her room.
“Yes,” he said to himself as he considered Alex’s stash of liquor two floors below.
Nick figured he owed himself a drink. He took the time to place a call to Ole to find out that Tough Guy was doing all right, then with thoughts of the simple life at Devil’s Cove at odds with the complicated mess here in San Francisco, he headed downstairs.
Fortunately Alex had left the key in the liquor cabinet. Nick found a bottle of Scotch and searched for a glass. Outside the wind rushed, while inside the only sounds were the tick of the grandfather’s clock in the foyer, the soft drone of the ancient furnace and the creak of hundred-year-old timbers. A far cry from his cottage at the Oregon coast, he thought as he poured himself a stiff shot. Tiny, compact, with a roof he’d shingled himself, furniture that was old or purchased secondhand through the classified ads, and a three-legged dog who was a security system and best friend all rolled into one. Nick had enough money stashed in the bank and stock market set aside and enough income from his investments in apartments and office buildings he’d bought when he’d lived in Seattle to keep him happy. He could afford a more lavish life style. He didn’t want one. It was just too much trouble.
Alex’s life was testament enough to that sorry fact.
Yeah, Nick had a life, a life he wanted, a life that was his, a life of freedom.
So what the hell are you doing here?
He added a couple of ice cubes to his glass, then walked to the fireplace, where embers of a recent fire glowed in the ashes. Yet the room seemed cold. Sterile. Not the least bit warm or inviting. Like the rest of this damned house. Like his family. Like his life before he’d moved away after his affair with Marla. In his mind’s eye he remembered how she’d kissed, as if she’d never stop, soft little moans escaping her throat. When he’d touched her, his fingers running up her bare arms, she’d lowered her eyes to half-mast, so that her seductive green irises were hidden beneath a fringe of dark lashes. She had trembled in his arms, whispered that only he could make her feel so wanton, touched her tongue to his ear and in a throaty voice had whispered, “Please, Nick, give me more . . . I want so much more . . .”
Now, he slammed his eyes shut and took a long gulp of his drink. He’d come full circle, leaving San Francisco because of Marla and returning for the same damned woman. And though she’d changed, he still felt that incredible pull to be near her and he was even considering crossing the line, stepping over the edge of decency and morality to the dark, inviting seduction of the woman. She was different, yes. So very different. She was kinder, gentler, her sense of humor more complete and though he sensed a toughness deep within her, she was vulnerable as well, a woman he couldn’t resist. It was so odd, as if he was falling in love again, more deeply this time, and with a different, deeper woman. Children had made her less self-involved, more playful, more caring about those around her. The things that had bothered him about Marla all those years ago had faded with the years and yet, beneath her beautiful skin, and deep into her psyche and libido, lay the same female animal who had made him lose his mind, his common sense, all reason, for a few stolen moments of sheer, sensual pleasure.
Their trysts, always alone and secretive, had been romantic and wildly erotic. There hadn’t been anything she hadn’t done, nothing she wouldn’t experience, no boundaries. Her arms had been open wide, her mind leaping ahead to the next sensual pleasure, her skin so hot his sanity had melted whenever he was around her, and her shimmering mischievous eyes, oh, such sweet, dangerous invitation. The feel of her wet mouth on his skin as her tongue explored all the indentations of his muscles left him weak and wanting. No woman since had come close to Marla.
He would have walked through hell for five minutes of lovemaking with her. And one day, she’d met him, kissed him chastely upon his cheek, tossed him a bright, I-know-you’ll-forgive-me smile, and told him it was over, that she’d met someone. The someone just happened to be his brother.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled and tossed back his drink in one gulp. What the hell was he doing here, falling for her all over again. He should have his head examined—better yet he should be shot. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself another over the ice cubes that hadn’t yet melted. As he took a sip, he heard the gates hum open and walked to the window. Headlights flashed. Alex’s Jag shot through. Nick’s stomach tightened. He drained half his drink. Within minutes, the elevator rumbled and he started up the stairs. Glass in hand, he met his brother and wife at the landing of the bedroom floor. Marla looked like hell. Pale, her jaw swollen, her eyes sunk deep into their sockets, she tried to call up a smile for Nick, but failed. His heart wrenched, but he clamped his jaw tight.
“So you really moved in,” Alex said as he held the door open to their suite for his wife. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“I considered it, but didn’t want to disappoint,” Nick drawled. Marla sent him a quick look, then made her excuses.
“Forgive me, but I’ve really got to lie down,” she said and there was a pained, haunted quality to her gaze that got to him. Frail and uncertain, so unlike that bold sexual creature who had wrapped her fingers around his soul.
Despite all else, Marla Cahill had been through hell tonight.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
A tiny spark of humor flickered in her eyes. “That depends on what you consider okay. Compared to being run over by a steamroller, I’m in pretty good shape, but otherwise . . .” she waggled her hand to indicate indecision “. . . I’ve had better days.” She leaned against the door and chuckled without any humor. “I just can’t remember many of them.”
“You will.”
“Let’s hope.” She glanced at the railing and the spot in the carpet where she’d thrown up. Aside from a dark water stain, all traces of her ordeal had been cleaned away. She visibly shuddered. “I owe you a big thanks, Nick. If you hadn’t been here . . .”
“Someone else would have stepped in.”
“No, no, Marla is right,” Alex said stiffly. “Thank God you were here.”
“It worked out.” Nick shrugged.
There was an awkward silence, then Marla said, “I should check on the kids.”
Alex was already crossing the hall to Cissy’s room. “I’ll handle it.”
“Will you? Thanks,” she said, then with a final look over her shoulder, she met Nick’s gaze again. “Good night, Nick.” God, she looked vulnerable. Unsteady. So unlike the Marla he knew, the woman he tried to avoid.
He lifted his near-empty glass in a mock salute. “Night.”
Marla’s heart twisted as she slipped through the door and on the other side, in the suite, she tried to force his image from her mind.
Don’t do this to yourself, her tired brain nagged as she made her way to her room. Yes, he saved your life, but you owe him nothing. Nothing. These conflicted feelings you have for him have got to end. You’re married to Alex.
At that thought her stomach curdled. There was nothing between them, no spark, no love. If she’d ever been in love with her husband it had been years ago, or lost in the fog that was her memory. Give it time. Soon you’ll remember, soon you’ll know why you fell in love with Alex and this sexual attraction to Nick will seem silly.
But she was lying to herself. The feelings Nick aroused in her, the basic female response was something that she knew was unique. “Don’t even think of it,” she told herself. The blue seduction of his eyes was unthinkable. She was married. She had children. She . . . she . . . oh, God, she was falling in love with him. “You don’t really know him,” s
he said aloud, seeing her reflection in the mirror and inwardly cringing, for though her face was still unfamiliar to her, she recognized restless desire in her own gaze. “Oh, you’re an idiot.” Her fingers drummed on the dresser and she stared at the jewelry box. The one without her ring. There were just so many things about her life that didn’t seem right.
Frustrated, she unbuttoned her coat and flung it on the bed. She’d just unzipped the top of her jogging suit when there was a light rap on the door and Alex poked his head inside her room.
“I just wanted to report on the kids,” he said and she resisted the urge to pull the zipper tab to her neck. Her bra was showing, the tops of her breasts and abdomen bare and she felt as naked as if she was wearing nothing. His eyes flicked down her torso, but he didn’t comment. “They’re both sleeping.”
“Good.” Hot embarrassment washed up the back of her neck.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Not that I can think of.” She just wanted him to leave. Now.
“I’ll tell Tom about the medication. He’ll see that you get it on time.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother him, I think I can handle it myself. Just leave the pills and believe me, when the pain hits I’ll take them.”
Alex’s calm disappeared. Irritation tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s not argue any more tonight, okay? Especially about Tom. He’s a professional. He’ll take care of this.” Alex’s voice was firm. Authoritative. Commanding.
Marla nearly snapped back a hot retort, but managed to hold her tongue. She was too tired to argue. For the moment. Tomorrow, she’d set things straight. “Fine.”
“Now,” Alex said, his tone softer and more conciliatory when he realized she wasn’t going to fight. “I’ll see you in the morning—”
“Wait,” she said, a sudden thought striking her. He turned and she held up her right hand and wiggled her ring finger. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my ring?”
