Private Passions

by Rochelle Alers

  She had come to him untouched, a virgin, yet he found more delight in her body than he had in any of the other women he had slept with. When she crawled atop him and whispered in his ear what she wanted him to do to her, his whole being was flooded with a desire that made him forget who he was. Emily was the only woman who took him to heaven and back.

  Another man stood at the end of the driveway, motioning for Chris to stop. He applied the brake and put the rental car in park. His gaze shifted beyond the valet, lingering on the tall, white-haired man he recognized as Martin Cole.

  The valet moved forward and leaned into the open window. “I’ll take it from here, sir.” He opened the door, and Chris stepped out of the car.

  Martin met him as he made his way toward the entrance. He extended his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  Ignoring the proffered hand, Chris embraced Emily’s uncle. “Think nothing of it. After all, we’re family.”

  Martin laid his head on Chris’s shoulder. “You’re right about that.”

  We are family, Chris wanted to tell him. He’d married the man’s niece. Arm in arm, they entered the house, where other members of the family had gathered soon after word that Samuel Cole had died was announced.

  “How’s your mother holding up?”

  Martin shook his head. “Not well. I had to have a doctor sedate her. At ninety-six, she’s quite frail.”

  Chris stared at Martin Diaz Cole. He would celebrate his seventy-fifth birthday on January 31 and had aged like fine wine. Tiny lines were clearly visible around his dark eyes, and deep slashes in his cheeks and along his nose were a testament to his aging. There wasn’t a trace of black in his gleaming silver hair, yet his large body hadn’t gone soft like so many men his age.

  Martin led Chris into the library. Four generations of Coles crowded chairs, love seats and sofas, and many of the younger generation sat on the priceless Aubusson rug covering the inlaid parquet floor.

  Martin’s eldest daughter, Regina Spencer, crossed the room and hugged him. “Thank you for coming, Chris.”

  He kissed both her cheeks. “I’m sorry about your granddad.”

  She nodded. “He died in his sleep early yesterday morning. Aaron convinced Daddy and Uncle Josh to have him transferred to a hospital because he was having trouble breathing. They put him on a ventilator, but it was too late.”

  Chris offered Regina a comforting smile. “He’s resting now.”

  “It’s my grandmother I’m worried about. She was so distraught that she had to be sedated. Aaron’s with her now.”

  Regina and her husband, Dr. Aaron Spencer, lived in Bahia, Brazil, with their teenage son and daughter but traveled to North America several times each year to spend time with the Coles, and to visit their retreat south of Mexico City.

  Regina, an Oscar-nominated actress, had given up her career to marry a man much older than she out of deep gratitude. After his death, fate brought her late husband’s son into her life, and everyone teased her because when the young widow married Aaron Spencer she didn’t have to change her name.

  Regina was as stunningly beautiful at forty-five as she had been the day she married Aaron. And despite being ten years her junior, Chris had more gray hair than she.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s on the loggia with Daddy’s sisters. They’ve been inconsolable. Uncle Josh and Uncle David are at the funeral home, finalizing arrangements. They want to eulogize and bury Grandpa tomorrow.”

  “Will that give everyone time to get here? I don’t see Michael Kirkland.”

  “He’s on his way. And we expect Uncle David’s Gabriel by six tonight.”

  Regina wound her arm through Chris’s. “Come, let me introduce you to the latest Cole.”

  “Who does this one belong to?”

  “He’s Aunt Nancy’s great-grandchild. At least Grandpa lived long enough to see his first great-great-grandchild.”

  Not only were the Coles very wealthy, they were also very prolific. He had argued with Emily about their children being Delgados and Sterlings, but after seeing all the Coles gathered together under one roof to mourn the passing of the patriarch, he realized 2,000 miles was hardly enough distance to keep his children from connecting with their East Coast relatives.

  * * *

  Emily did not see Chris when she walked into her grandparents’ home. She consoled and was consoled by her many grieving relatives before she made her way upstairs to her grandmother’s bedside. Aaron Spencer excused himself, leaving her to sit and hold the frail hand as she listened to the elderly woman’s reminiscence about her seventy-fifth wedding anniversary celebration. Marguerite-Josefina Diaz Cole’s soft voice was barely audible as she struggled to surface from the lingering effects of the tranquilizer she had been given.

  Leaning over, Emily kissed the woman’s cool forehead. “Why don’t you rest, Grandma? I’ll stay here with you.”

  A satisfied smile parted M.J.’s pale lips. “Gracias, nieta.”

  Emily gazed fondly at the woman whose exquisite beauty had not faded despite the fact that she was nearing the century mark. Her enchanting dimpled smile had been inherited by several of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, filling every space in the twenty-four-room structure.

  Emily felt a presence. Turning, she saw her brother’s broad shoulders filling the doorway. Raising his hand, he beckoned to her.

  Her eyes fused with his as she approached him. She suspected he had come directly to the house without stopping to change his clothes, because he was still in uniform.

  “Hi,” she whispered, reaching for his hand.

  “Hi,” he crooned, leaning down and kissing her gently.

  “How’s Washington?”

  A frown twisted his handsome face. With the exception of his coal-black hair, he was an exact replica of his father. Newly promoted Captain Michael Kirkland’s perfect symmetrical features were almost as delicate as a woman’s—high cheekbones blending into a lean jaw and a strong chin, a firm mouth that was neither too full nor thin and clear green eyes framed by long black lashes that were captivating and hypnotic.

  “Don’t ask,” he muttered angrily. “You’re wanted downstairs,” he continued, smoothly shifting the topic. “Dad and Uncle David are back. They want to let everyone know about the final arrangements.”

  Emily was aware of her brother’s silent undeclared war with his employer—the U.S. Army. Less than four months earlier he’d been ordered back to the States from a post in Japan and reassigned as a special assistant to the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington, D.C. His superior officer’s rationale had been that a high-ranking general had taken a special interest in him. First Lieutenant Michael Kirkland was now Captain Kirkland, but the promotion failed to elicit a modicum of excitement for the young career officer. He much preferred the shadowy world of intelligence to the mundane predictability of Washington’s military machinations.

  Hand in hand, they walked the length of the hallway and down the curving staircase. Emily’s gaze swept over the throng that had gathered in the living room, searching for Chris. She found him standing off in a corner, watching her descent. Lowering her lids in acknowledgment, she greeted Ana Cole, David’s nineteen-year-old daughter, with a comforting smile.

  Then, her luminous gaze searched and found her father, who also had followed her progress as she descended the curving staircase. Her mother sat next to Eve Sterling, talking softly.

  There was a hushed silence before Martin Cole began speaking, his soft drawl carrying easily in the large room.

  “As many of you know, my father was very controlling—even to the very end.” There were nods and smothered smiles. “And I’d like to adhere to his last wishes. To spare my mother additional grief, there will be no wake. I’d like to r
equest everyone’s presence at St. Michael’s Cemetery tomorrow morning at seven o’clock for a graveside ceremony. Then we’ll return to the house for breakfast.

  “At eleven forty-five tomorrow morning John Edge will conduct a formal reading of Samuel Claridge Cole’s last will and testament. Once Mr. Edge was informed of Samuel Cole’s death, he instructed me to contact everyone who is currently in this room. I ask that you delay your departure until after the reading of the will. I’ve just been told that the caterers have arrived and will be setting up tables in the rear of the house. My mother’s home is available to anyone who wishes to stay, and my sisters and brothers have also opened their homes for our out-of-town family. Thank you.”

  Emily hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she felt a tightness in her chest. Her gaze swept around the living room, lingering briefly on Salem and Sara Lassiter, Matthew and Eve Sterling, then her husband. When her mother had called her and told her that Samuel Cole had passed away, she had specifically asked to speak to Matt. Only Samuel Cole’s personal accountant had been privy to his personal wealth; however, it was apparent that the former founder and president of ColeDiz International Ltd. intended to share his vast wealth with those outside his immediate family.

  The room was filled with the babble of voices as adults discussed lodging arrangements. Samuel Cole’s two daughters, Nancy Cole-Thomas and Josephine Cole-Wilson, conferred with their husbands, deciding who would stay with them and who would be put up in nearby West Palm and Palm Beach hotels.

  Emily wove her way through the crowd toward Chris. “Meet me in the garden in five minutes,” she said quietly as she moved past him.

  Bright Florida sunshine greeted her as she made her way out of the house toward the gardens. Blinking furiously, she wished she had stopped to retrieve her sunglasses. It was half past noon and the temperature was a balmy sixty-five degrees.

  The Cole property encompassed twelve acres of land, nearly a quarter of which was made up of gardens: tropical, exotic Japanese and boxwood. Emily entered the boxwood, meticulously cut hedges rising upward to more than fifteen feet around her. Turning to her right, she stopped and waited.

  Within minutes she came face-to-face with Christopher. She found herself in his arms, her face pressed against his warm brown throat.

  He buried his face in her fragrant hair. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Pulling back, she stared at the anguish in his obsidian gaze. “About what?”

  “The pretense, Emily. The subterfuge. I don’t intend to live a lie where…”

  Placing her fingertips over his lips, she stopped his words. She knew what he was going to say. “It’s not a lie, darling.”

  He pulled her hand away from his mouth, struggling to control his temper. “What the hell else is it? We’re legally married, Emily. Why can’t I tell my family that you’re my wife.”

  “Because we can’t. You know my situation.”

  “What situation?”

  “My job at KCNS.”

  “Your job is more important than our marriage? Is it?” he taunted when she averted her gaze.

  Her temper flared when she realized he wanted her to choose between him and everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.

  Straightening her shoulders under the jacket of her black wool gabardine suit, she glared up at him. “Don’t ask me to choose right now, because you may not like my answer. Let me go. I should get back to the house.”

  He released her, watching as she disappeared around the hedge. Pressing his back against the unyielding foliage, he closed his eyes. He’d thought it would be easy—he and Emily could return to New Mexico and live out their separate lives until after the election. But Salem Lassiter’s warning had changed everything. How could he protect her from unforeseen danger if they were separated by hundreds of miles?

  He had taken an oath before God to love, honor and protect her. But the words were false, empty, because he couldn’t claim her openly.

  Chapter 21

  A canopy protected chairs lined up in precise rows like soldiers at a dress parade. Another canopy shielded the freshly dug grave that would be Samuel Claridge Cole’s.

  The smell of wet soil hung in the air as the mourners filled the seats in the softly falling rain.

  Martin and David supported their mother’s limp body. Martin’s wife, Parris Cole, stepped into the first row, along with her daughter, Arianna, and her son, Dr. Tyler Cole. Regina, Aaron, Clayborne and Eden Spencer followed.

  Serena, David’s wife, and their children were next. Ana clung to her twin brother Jason, while Alexandra Cole sobbed quietly against her older brother’s broad shoulder. Gabriel’s recent joy in receiving five Grammy nominations and an Oscar nomination for a movie soundtrack was tempered by his grandfather’s death.

  Nancy, her husband, children, grandchildren and great-grandchild filled three rows, while Joshua, Vanessa and Michael Kirkland sat behind them. Emily saw her parents glance around for her, but she did not move from Chris’s side.

  Josephine Cole-Wilson and her family members were next, followed by Matthew and Eve Sterling. Chris sat beside Emily, while Salem held Isaiah until Sara was seated, then handed her the sleeping child.

  Emily heard the words, the prayers, but they were drowned out by her husband’s query of the day before: Your job is more important than our marriage?

  His words had taunted her when she returned to the house after their encounter in the garden. They lingered as she tried falling asleep in a bedroom at her parents’ Palm Beach condominium and resounded in her head when she rose to prepare herself for her grandfather’s funeral.

  She wanted to blame Chris for her uneasiness, but she couldn’t, even when she attempted to rationalize that she had been forced into marrying him. She had to be honest with herself; no one could force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. It had not mattered what Alejandro Delgado-Quintero wanted. And it had not mattered whether Chris wanted to give in to a manipulative man’s dying plea to see his son married. She’d married Christopher Blackwell Delgado because she loved him. Had loved him for so long that she couldn’t remember when she did not love him.

  She knew she had defied protocol when she elected to sit with him and his family; not only were Matt, Eve, Sara, Salem and Isaiah his family, but also hers. She hadn’t missed her parents’ questioning look when she hadn’t joined them, but that no longer mattered. All her life she had challenged her parents for complete independence, and the red-hot streak of rebellion had surfaced again today.

  Her father had taken a pledge that he would always protect her. What Joshua Kirkland didn’t know was that she did not need his protection any longer. That responsibility was now her husband’s.

  * * *

  Joshua Kirkland couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper. Those who knew him well said that he showed as much emotion as a robot—none.

  His stride was determined as he walked into the Cole living room and waited for Christopher Delgado. Pale green eyes caught a pair black as pitch as Chris strolled into the room, his arm around Emily’s waist.

  Motioning with his head, he turned, expecting Chris to follow him. He was not disappointed when, a moment later, the young politician stepped into the cloistered seclusion of the library.

  Even though Joshua was sixty-eight, it was nearly impossible to pinpoint his age. He had the same lines around his pale, penetrating eyes that he’d had at forty, and had managed to retain a slim, hard body, while his hair had silvered until it was a startling white against his golden-brown flesh.

  Crossing his arms over a crisp white shirt, he glared at Chris. “What the hell are you doing with my daughter?” Though spoken softly, his words sliced the air like a knife.

  Assuming a similar pose, Chris supported his back against a
wall. Lowering his chin slightly, he met his father-in-law’s lethal gaze with one of his own. “Do you actually expect me to tell you?”

  Joshua’s arms dropped to his sides. “You bet your ass I do.”

  Chris pushed off the wall and headed for the door. “Not today. Not ever.”

  “Christopher!”

  He went completely still when his name exploded off the walls. Within seconds his face became a glowering mask of rage. “If you have something worthwhile to say to me, Joshua, then you’d better say it. Otherwise, stay the hell out of my face.”

  “What’s going on in here?” A familiar Texas drawl captured the attention of the two men as Matthew Sterling walked into the library.

  “That’s what I want to know,” Joshua snarled between compressed lips.

  Matt’s gaze shifted from his best friend to his stepson. “Am I missing something?”

  Chris pointed a finger at Joshua. “Ask him. It appears as if he’s a little perverted when it comes to Emily.”

  Joshua moved toward Chris, but Matt stepped between them. “No, Josh,” he warned softly. “Not my son.”

  Tension shimmered in the room. Loyalty and a lifelong friendship hung in the balance as the three men faced off in what they knew could become a duel to the finish.

  “What are you guys doing in here?” The three turned to find Eve and Vanessa in the doorway. There was complete silence. “I’m certain you all understand English,” Eve continued, hands cradled on her hips. “If not, then I’ll repeat it in Spanish.”

  “Nothing,” Matt mumbled, not taking his gaze off Joshua.

  Vanessa Kirkland pushed into the room. She looked at her husband, then at Chris, knowing instinctively that something wasn’t right between them. And knowing it had something to do with her daughter.