Imminent Conquest

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  "Wow,” Brad exclaimed. “Imagine being driven around in something like that."

  "Why? I'm happy the way I am."

  "What? You don't want diamonds, fancy clothes and a house with servants?"

  Nicole sucked in a breath. Thanks to the lessons her experience with James had indirectly taught, she was a liberated woman and had no need to depend on a man. “You should know me better than that by now."

  "I thought that was every woman's dream."

  "To be rich?"

  "No, to hang out with a rich guy who can give them everything they ever wanted."

  "Not mine."

  "I wouldn't mind getting a car like that. Chauffeur, bar and all that stuff inside included.” He pulled into the parking space vacated by the limousine and stopped next to the kerb.

  "You'd have more money than you knew what to do with. Headaches about what to do with it included.” Would he be happy if a rich woman came along and scooped him up for her playboy? The image of Brad shagging a rich woman didn't jibe with the shy man she knew.

  "Some men handle it quite well."

  Her hand was already on the door handle but she paused to glance over her shoulder. His rounded face with its plump nose was in stark profile as he gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “What do you mean?"

  Someone honked a horn behind them. Brad's eyes flicked towards the rear-view mirror. “It's what I've heard."

  His answer didn't satisfy her. “Why are you so preoccupied with being rich? Unless either one of us wins the lottery, spending our days in luxury isn't on the agenda. A mechanics foreman and an executive secretary, even with our incomes combined, don't make the kind of money to lead us into the halls of the wealthy."

  "Don't fall on the ice,” he warned her.

  She mimicked his words as she set her feet on the shovelled sidewalk leading to the hotel's entrance. A thin sheen of ice made standing up a hazard in her high heels, but she managed. “Or else what?"

  "I'll never hear the end of it."

  "Then you could have got out to help me,” she grumbled under her breath. She had been on her own for so long, she couldn't see the need to ask for help.

  "You think it's slippery in those?” he asked, indicating her shoes with a quick nod. “You haven't tried walking in these.” He waved a hand at the brake pedal and his loafers.

  "I'll remember that."

  The driver behind them honked again. She closed the door and watched Brad tug on his tie before he accelerated carefully and went in search of a parking spot.

  A valet walked out of the well-lit hotel lobby. She walked past him, hoping she didn't look as if she was mincing about in high heels to which she was unaccustomed.

  The lobby was in chaos, with people hurrying in every direction and calling out greetings to each other. In the background of the dark green interior with its elegant wood panels, muzak played softly. It was much too warm and the comfortable-looking lounge seats next to potted ferns were all occupied with singles and couples, some of whom were smoking. Nicole didn't recognise anyone and mourned the loss of friendly faces. In Eastwynd, she knew very few people outside of Brad and the people she associated with at the law firm. Except for Brad, she was alone in the world. Her parents had died shortly after James’ murder trial. Pushing back old memories, she refused to think about the past and its repercussions for the future. Brad and Eastwynd were her new life now. She had to make do with that.

  She surveyed the lobby with its massive Christmas tree glittering with hundreds of shimmering Victorian lace decorations and blinking lights. Most of the people weren't dressed as fancy as she was. She stood motionless by a potted fern, deciding whether she should check her coat or wait for Brad.

  Christmas wouldn't be easy for him this year either. After paying the monthly mortgage on the house, there wouldn't be much left for presents. She decided a small turkey with all the trimmings would make the holiday special. Somehow, she would manage to scrape enough money together to buy the camera Brad had his eyes on. She exhaled heavily. Maybe next year their finances would be more in order.

  She glanced around the lobby and the constant in and out traffic through the two sets of double glass doors. A tall, heavy-set man with close-shaven blond hair caught her eye. He leaned against a wall with one heel pressed behind him, holding a cigarette nonchalantly against his thigh. His bulk looked wrong in the double-breasted, dark grey suit. Memories from years gone by crashed around her. Bile rose in her throat. She struggled to regain her equilibrium. It couldn't be him. Not after all these years.

  Six feet tall, he stood next to the open gift shop and tamped out his cigarette in the bottom of a fake fern before folding burly arms across his chest. His shoulders and waist were wide, like a wrestler's. The expensive suit and black polished wingtip shoes spelled big money. She averted her eyes, but panic made her glance at him again. It just couldn't be him. It just couldn't be. She wanted to run and hide as the memories she had fought so hard to stuff into the dark recesses of her mind resurfaced. Blood everywhere.

  To her horror, he angled his neck to survey her with an affected detachment. A look from head to toe and back up again. Broad lips turned up in a lopsided grin before he looked away. The colour drained from her face as she clenched her hands into tight fists. Terror seized her. Colin, James Carmichael's brother, had re-emerged to haunt her life.

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  Chapter Two

  * * * *

  Nicole backed away, heading for the lobby doors. She wouldn't spend time with Colin in the same building. His irate words, shouted years earlier, rang in her ears. “I'll get you, bitch. I'll get you.” He had said those terrifying words as James was led out of the courtroom after being convicted of murder. She bumped into a plump body and whirled around, gasping.

  "What's wrong?” Small flecks of snow spotted Brad's hair and his jacket. “Why are you so pale?"

  How could she explain the monster she had been trying to lock away for the last ten years? Swallowing hard, she cast a glance over her shoulder. The man was gone, making her think she had dreamt up the whole thing. Relief flooded through her. It couldn't have been Colin, who had threatened revenge on her over and over again for testifying against his younger brother. “I thought I saw someone."

  "Who?"

  "Someone from Ashcroft,” she said, placing her hand on his arm to comfort herself by making physical contact with someone. She couldn't believe she had conjured Colin up. She didn't fabricate demons from the past. The man looked like Colin, but it hadn't been him. That was all.

  "Anyone I would know?” Brad asked, ambling forward.

  She didn't reply. Nervous, she slowly surveyed the lobby but the man had disappeared.

  They checked her coat in. “I think the party is in Ballroom Three.” Brad studied the board and nodded. “That's it."

  Side by side, they walked down a long corridor. Some of the double doors leading into the ballrooms were open, showing men and women boozing, merrymaking and settling down at their tables.

  Nicole held on to her secret. This was the third major move she had made in just less than ten years. First, her parents, fearful for their nineteen-year-old daughter's physical and mental safety, had moved her to Vancouver. A continent separated James and Colin Carmichael from Nicole Harris. Assured that James and Colin no longer lived in Ashcroft, she had moved back to take up a position at the law firm there. Six months ago, she had moved to Eastwynd. The nightmares of seeing an elderly man's throat cut from ear to ear had stopped since the move, giving her a sense of security from the trauma of her past. With the dark dreams gone, she had begun to feel Colin had forgotten her and his vow of vengeance.

  Brad turned into a ballroom filled with partygoers milling about and chatting. The rectangular tables were set with white lace tablecloths and each had a poinsettia centrepiece.

  "Hey, buddy, how's it going?” he asked, greeting a co-worker dressed in clean blue jeans and a white, cut-o
ff T-shirt.

  They shook hands. “Who's the pretty chick?"

  "My fiancee, Nicole Harris."

  She nodded, trying to be friendly to a man who'd already had too much liquor.

  "Wayne Terrill.” The man examined her face, his eyes travelling lower and resting on her breasts before he grinned. “Lucky dog, you."

  "Sure am,” Brad supplied.

  As they turned away, she swore she heard Wayne say to a guy standing beside him, “Michael's made the right choice. Good ass on her."

  The other man replied curtly, “Won't last long in her condition."

  She frowned. The comment obviously had not been made about her but she had no time to ponder the remarks as Brad ploughed through more co-workers, shaking hands and calling out greetings above the din. He found a table against the far wall with six empty chairs. A dark blue card with scrolled letters, ‘Management', sat in the middle of the table beside a poinsettia with a plaid and gold ribbon wrapped around shiny pine green foil. The three seats against the wall left just enough room to edge in. She squeezed into a seat so she would be able to keep an eye on the people in the room, and not have her back facing the partygoers. The man who had looked like Colin had left her feeling queasy, restless and insecure.

  Brad sat opposite her, tugging on his black tie again. Inexplicably, he suddenly became glum and withdrawn.

  A waiter in a spotless black and white uniform paused at the table. “Would you like anything to drink, sir?” he asked Brad.

  "A draught for me."

  When the waiter turned to her, Nicole replied, “Rum and coke."

  The waiter nodded and vanished in the thickening crowd.

  "Wayne's divorced,” Brad said out of the blue. “I suppose he's looking."

  "That's too bad,” she commented, wishing she was anywhere but here. The feeling was stronger since she had seen the Colin look-alike.

  One of the men in a black leather jacket and pants ogled her. She quickly looked away. Why couldn't he look somewhere else? But wasn't there truth to the saying that people went to parties not only to socialise but also to see and be seen? She made brief eye contact with a woman in a slimming blue dress. The woman covered her mouth with her hand and whispered something to the man who sat beside her. They both surveyed her and shook their heads in unison disapprovingly. If Nicole hadn't known better, she would have thought she was the subject of their conversation. The drinks arrived in pretty glasses.

  "Tom was really unlucky today. He fell into the expeller,” Brad began, leaning forward so he could make his voice heard. “It's the first accident since Anessa opened. It was horrible, with blood and gore spewing every which way. And I couldn't tell which of it was human and which of it was animal. And poor Tom screaming, although I couldn't hear him. I could only see his mouth wide open and his eyes shut tight. Bryan, he's the assistant supervisor, and me, we went running, both of us trying to cut the expeller off from the electrical outlet.” He made a slicing motion across his throat with his palm turned down. “Thank goodness we shut it off when we did. If we hadn't, Tom would be dead."

  Maybe that was why Brad was morose this evening, Nicole speculated. She wasn't too interested in the gory details, but was sorry for the guy. “How did it happen?"

  He readjusted the knot in his tie as if he was having trouble breathing. “No one knew he was boozing on the job."

  "At least you got to him in time and no one else was injured."

  Brad shook his head in denial. “Bryan was hurt. Had to get checked out at the hospital after he fell in the muck. Turned out he sprained his ankle."

  She nodded, wishing he would change the subject, but willing to listen so he could get the day's tragic event off his chest.

  "Michael was like a madman after the ambulances left."

  Couldn't Brad talk about anyone else? What was so special about this guy?

  "He ordered the plant shut down and a full inspection made. When Bryan told him Tom had been drunk, he went ballistic, yelling no one would drink or smoke dope on the job. He was really, really mad. He warned if another incident like this happened, he'd start checking for drug use."

  "Can he do that? Legally?” she asked idly.

  "Sure. Random drug testing."

  "Is Tom okay?"

  "He lost an arm and a leg. Lucky he didn't die from loss of blood. Pretty messy.” Brad fingered the tablecloth.

  "Is something other than that wrong?"

  "Bryan seems to like his booze too. Sometimes his breath is, let's say, powerful."

  "Michael would have to let him go, wouldn't he? Set an example to the company?"

  "Everybody at the plant likes him and he also happens to be Michael's cousin. I don't think he'd let him go that easy."

  Nicole sighed. Every company indulged in some form of nepotism. “But if he drinks, he could be putting the life of the other employees in danger."

  Brad shrugged and focused on something to the side of her. She turned to find out what had drawn his attention. Silver and gold tinsel streamers fluttered in the air conditioning. Musky cologne hung heavy in the air. He had risen to his feet, greeting a newcomer and shaking his hand.

  Enthralled, she watched the stranger's long fingers. A gold Rolex peeked out from under a pure white sleeve cuff sporting diamond cufflinks. Immediately, unwanted vivid memories of a happier time and place intruded.

  "Michael, may I introduce my friend, Nicole Harris?"

  She lifted her eyes to see cold, blue eyes assessing her. Light stubble on the man's jaw made for what on any other man would have been called debonair. On this man, it was sheer devastation. His golden blond hair was cut short in a military buzz, and he had a face with a cleft chin that women would have considered outstandingly attractive. Power, confidence and subdued sexuality radiated from him.

  "James,” she breathed. The tortured whisper was lost amidst the tinkling of glasses and people speaking in loud tones. Her breath caught in her throat. Goosebumps rose on her arms. She wanted to turn and run, but her feet refused to follow her silent command. Speechless, all she could do was stare into his face.

  His open and friendly smile—but for the coldness in his eyes—warned her he was acting for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, like her fiance. His tailored navy blue three-piece suit showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist, while a white silk handkerchief was immaculately folded in his breast pocket. Once, when she had been in love with him, she had thought he could oust any man as a pin-up for the firemen's calendar. She stared, urging herself to throw her drink in his face, to run, to get away from him. But her limbs refused to move. Heat pooled between her legs.

  "Your friend?” Michael asked, keeping his eyes on her stunned face. “I thought Nicole was your fiancee.” His eyes mocked her. “I would love to attend a wedding soon."

  She remained frozen. The nightmare had returned. This time it was real. The past she had tried so hard to bury rushed over her like never-ending ocean waves.

  Brad slapped his forehead. “Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking,” he apologised, oblivious to Nicole's shocked surprise. How could he forget something so important?

  The prickling sensation of fear crawled up her spine. James Carmichael—or Michael, as he now called himself—wasn't likely to forget the fact that she had testified to put him in prison.

  "It's such a pleasure to meet you,” he said, placing his hand on the back of her chair. “My brother said he'd seen the sun shining in the lobby. He could only have been speaking about you."

  So he was going to keep up the pretence of having just met her. Brad smiled anxiously. Nicole edged away from Michael and the latent sexual power emanating from him. She had found him devastatingly handsome years ago, but now her mind clouded over at his sheer maleness. She stared at her drink, unable to focus. If she looked to her right, she'd get a glimpse of the bulge at the crotch of his pants. She wet her lips, remembering his long, extended cock and his hairy balls. She gulped, knowing why Col
in had been in the lobby. He had been a warning. It was Michael whose long arm would reach out and dispense justice and all this time she had thought it would be Colin.

  "I hate feeling hemmed in,” Michael said as Brad reseated himself across the table. “Why don't you scoot over so I can sit next to the most beautiful woman in Eastwynd?"

  Nicole wondered how to get away from this man who made the blood in her veins hot—and cold. Colin had entered the ballroom. There was no escape now, not unless she wanted to barge by him. Reluctantly, she moved to the next chair. The tight-fitting dress slid higher up her thighs. When she checked to see if Michael had seen, their eyes met. Those mesmerising blue eyes hadn't changed any. A self-confident smile played on his lips, those lips she had kissed and tasted as if they were God's sweet bounty. He sat beside her, every movement fluid and graceful. A moment later, he grasped her upper thigh over the lace she had sewn on. When she moved as if she was going to edge into the next seat, he squeezed his fingers in warning. Her heart hammered against her chest. Her ears rang. But she wanted him. Her body betrayed her with that knowledge.

  To Brad, he said, “Would you mind getting me a gin and tonic? It's been a hectic day. Please."

  She realised now from the way he spoke that he knew Brad a lot better than her fiance had let on. Brad nodded compliantly and ambled off, stopping to talk with a couple of his co-workers. Abruptly, Nicole knew what it was like to be alone and friendless in a crowded room.

  "It's been a long time,” Michael said smoothly, turning to her.

  "Get away from me.” She picked at his warm fingers, which remained relentless against her upper thigh.

  "Now, how is that a way to talk to your future husband?” he asked, his voice bland.

  Horrified that he thought he could just pick up the years where they had left off, Nicole gazed into his face.

  He leant forward, as if whispering an important secret. “I let the rumour out that you were intent on marrying me."