“How did you know I haven’t put it back in the safe?” Harry asked, putting down his pizza and going over to retrieve the necklace, putting it down on the coffee table, where it sat, glaring at her. She moved the pizza box, so that the lid fell back over the case, hiding it from view. “But you’re right. I’ll put it there after dinner, okay?”
“And after you tell me the story about your relatives. I’ve read about Joe Colton, his businesses^ his charities, but I really don’t know much about him. Is that who this story is about? Joe Colton?”
“Yes, Uncle Joe, although I haven’t called him that in years on his orders, now that, as he told me, I’m all grown-up and everything,” Harry said, grinning as he picked up his pizza once more. “Plus, he’s always been more of a friend to me, rather than just an uncle. He’s really a great guy, Savannah. A great guy.”
Savannah looked at the pizza box lid, knowing what was under it, her attention still not completely on Joe Colton. “You said your brother has a matching necklace because your father had the original necklace cut up and reset. Does Joe Colton have one, too?”
“No, just me and Jason. Lucky us. Anyway, the reason Gran keeps phoning is because Meredith, Joe’s wife, is supposedly planning a real all-out bash for Joe’s sixtieth birthday. Black tie, huge orchestra, the whole nine yards.”
“What’s so suspicious about that?”
“Nothing, if you’re not Gran. I think she shares my assistant’s love of mystery novels. That, and she probably has too much time on her hands. I suggested she take a lover, and she told me to mind my own business—and who said she doesn’t have a lover.”
“That’s hysterical! I’d love to meet your grandmother. And I already like Lorraine.”
“Don’t ever tell her,” Harry said, grinning. “She likes to believe she has the power to strike fear into the hearts of all us lesser mortals. Fairly often, she does. Anyway...”
“Yes, anyway,” Savannah said, polishing off her wine and holding out the glass for a refill. She needed Harry to keep talking, and felt that he needed to keep talking. They were both, obviously, afraid of something. She only wondered if he was afraid of the same thing she was afraid of—that this would be their last night together.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I don’t go out to the Colton ranch all that often anymore. First it was college, then work. And, frankly, they’re such a huge bunch—Joe and Meredith’s own kids, the ones they’ve adopted, the foster children who live with them—that, well, I guess that was just a bit more noise and happiness than I was interested in there for a while.”
“They asked you why you and Annette had broken your engagement?” Savannah said, pretty sure she was right.
“They did, yes. And then I found myself being set up every time I went there, another smiling young woman sitting next to me at almost every meal. So I call, but I don’t often visit. That’s probably why I don’t notice whatever it is Gran is so sure she notices. That, and the fact that Gran is a conspiracy freak. She’s got every book ever published on both Kennedy assassinations, on the Lincoln conspiracy, the Martin Luther King conspiracy—even who killed Cock Robin. Not that I don’t agree with her, on some of it, but there’s nothing suspicious going on at the Colton Ranch. It’s impossible.”
Savannah put down her plate, wiped her fingers on a napkin. “You do know that you’ve lost me, don’t you? Right about at the Cock Robin part, I think.”
Harry smiled. “Gran’s nearly ninety years old. She smokes, she drinks, she isn’t above cussing, and she’s got a mind as sharp as a tack. I can’t wait till you meet her, Savannah.”
“Except for when it comes to her suspicions about something going on at the Colton ranch?”
Meet her? Harry expected her to meet his grandmother? Savannah felt the small hope, already inside her, begin to grow.
Harry’s smile faded, and he looked at Savannah for some moments, his eyelids narrowed. “That doesn’t compute, does it? But her reasoning on this is just too off the wall, Savannah. Something about one of Joe’s adopted kids, Emily, waking from the car crash she was in with Meredith about ten years ago and saying she saw two Merediths. One sweet and smiling, one—get ready for this one, Savannahs—one mean and evil.”
Savannah rubbed her hands on her arms. “Spooky. How old was this Emily at the time?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe ten, twelve. Something like that. And she’d been pretty badly injured. She still has nightmares about the accident, Gran says. Anyway, also according to Gran, Meredith hasn’t been quite the same since the accident, and she’s using this huge party to point out one of the ways Meredith is supposed to have changed.”
“Why?”
“Because Meredith and Joe, for all their money, for all the lifestyle they could have, have always been very down-home. Very natural. Meredith’s idea of a great party, as I remember it, is a barbecue, nine million kids underfoot, and maybe even a sing-along. Anyway, Gran phoned me again today, realizing I hadn’t bought into her suspicions, to give me new evidence.”
“What was it?” Savannah asked, pulling her legs up under her as she listened.
“She phoned Meredith to personally reply to the invitation, and Meredith didn’t ask about Gran’s arthritis.”
Savannah raised one eyebrow as she looked at him for a few moments, then said, “Well, damn, Harry, that just about nails it, doesn’t it? Meredith must have hit her head in the crash—a crash obviously caused by alien body snatchers, because we have more than our share of those here in California—and then morphed from nice down-home lady to evil party-throwing monster, right in front of Emily’s eyes. It’s the only explanation. I’m surprised neither you nor your grandmother has considered it.”
Harry made a face at her. “I can see I’m not going to be able to let you and Gran alone together. Except that it is strange that Meredith wouldn’t ask Gran about her arthritis. The fact that she’s nearly ninety and still spry as a teenager—with no arthri-tis—is sort of a running gag in our family. The only one who doesn’t start off each conversation with a question about Gran’s arthritis is Jason, but that’s because he’s a doctor, and Gran said she made it a policy years ago never to answer health questions from a doctor.”
Savannah laughed, shook her head and finished her wine, realizing that she might have finished it too quickly, because her head felt sort of light, and her limbs had loosened. “You’ll be going out to the ranch for the party, won’t you?”
“I will if you’ll go with me,” Harry said, using his foot to push the coffee table farther away from the couch. “You already said you want to meet Gran. My parents will be there, and Jason—if we can all tear him away from his hospital.”
Savannah realized that she was twisting her hands together in her lap and immediately stopped. “Do you...do you really want to show up at the ranch with another Hamilton? I wouldn’t think so.”
Harry’s grin answered her question, most of her questions. His next statement answered the rest. “I really hadn’t thought about that, Savannah. However, now that you mention it, I’d much rather show up with Savannah Colton than Savannah Hamilton. But not for any other reason than that I happen to love you very much and want you to marry me.”
“You love me?” Savannah asked, beginning to tremble, as if a cold wind had somehow invaded the room. “Are you sure about that, Harry?”
He moved even closer to her, and she was warmed by his heat, could feel her tremors easing as she looked into his emerald eyes, saw a softness in them that, wonderfully, was directed straight at her. “Savannah, I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you walked into my office, and back into my life. And if I wasn’t completely convinced in that first moment, I was completely convinced when you walked toward me at the pizza place, your face all clean and shiny as it is now. Savannah, you’re the most honest, most unaffected and natural, the most completely wonderful and unselfish woman I’ve ever known. And that ponytail of yours is sexy as all hell.”
&nb
sp; “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, feeling more than slightly dizzy.
“Don’t interrupt, because now I’m going to talk about me.” He cupped his hand around the back of her neck as he slowly drew her toward him. “I think I’ve earned some sort of award these past two weeks, because I wanted to give you some time. Time to get past what Sam said to you, time to realize that I wanted one whole hell of a lot more from you than any ridiculous chance for revenge—before I told you how I feel, possibly scared you away. Have I waited long enough, Savannah? Do you believe me? Believe that I love you?”
“Oh, yes, Harry,” Savannah said. “I have to believe you, because I love you so much. I think I must have loved you forever.”
He took her fully into his arms then, looking at her, seeming to devour her with his eyes even as he waited, without words. Waited, she felt sure, for her smile, for her to raise her own arms, slide them around him. Waited for her silent “yes” to the question he hadn’t asked. To all the questions he’d yet to ask. Her answer would be yes, to all of them.
So she took the initiative, wrapping both hands behind his neck, and pulling him even closer, close enough for their mouths to meet, for their breaths to mingle. Close enough that there was no longer anything between them; not the past, not Annette, not Sam, not even their future. There was only the now, the moment, and she willingly, eagerly, gave herself up to it.
As he had just two weeks ago, Harry lifted her into his arms, carried her up the stairs. But at the top of the landing, he turned left, heading to his own room. Taking her with him, carrying her, kissing her, mumbling words like love and gentle and always.
The California sun had set, and Harry’s bedroom was in shadow, not that Savannah was in any mood for a tour. She only knew that his bed was wonderfully soft, the sheets on that bed cool and welcoming, his body warm as, their clothing now somehow gone, he held her close to his heat.
He kissed her. He kissed her gently, then with passion. Coaxingly. With his fires burning hot, and then softly, sweetly, until she didn’t know her name, where she was, how she’d gotten there. All she knew was that Harry held her, Harry touched her, Harry loved her.
His hands skimmed her body, made it sing, brought her alive in ways unknown to her, awakening her to what it meant to be a woman, a woman loved by a man.
Her breasts tingled, and he touched them. With his hands, with his mouth. Her body yearned, and he stroked it to the point of bursting with the need growing inside her.
She held him, ran her hands over his back, kissed his neck, his shoulder, tried to get closer. Ever closer. There was no fear, and the pain she felt came and went so quickly that she barely had time to register it.
Because Harry loved her. Because Harry was loving her.
And she was loving him right back. Moving beneath him now, instinctively raising her legs, wrapping herself around him, opening to him, drawing him inside the very heart of her.
“Open your eyes,” Harry whispered near her ear and, with tremendous effort, she did as he said. She saw his face above hers, looking down at her with a wonder in his eyes that gave her the power, the strength, the wholehearted belief to return that look, open her heart and mind to him, give herself to him and yet take from him as well.
“Forever,” she breathed against his mouth. “Forever, Harry.”
“Forever, Savannah,” he promised, and then he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his strong body. Moving with her, moving in her, their bodies saying as much or more than their words. Making a promise. The promise of forever.
* * *
Harrison woke slowly, looked over at the illuminated face of his bedside digital clock, and couldn’t believe it was only eight o’clock. Then, his mind clearing, he realized that light poured in through the draperies, and grinned. Eight o’clock in the morning.
Well, that explained things.
He moved his arm slightly, as it had fallen asleep, just as Savannah had fallen asleep against his shoulder, wrapped close to him.
He bent his head slightly, kissed her fall of ash-blond hair, pressed another kiss against her smooth forehead. But Savannah only sighed, smiled in her sleep and wrapped her arm more tightly across his bare stomach.
How he loved her. They’d talked half the night, made love the rest of it. Yes, they’d be married. Immediately. Not using the “tainted” marriage license they’d gotten, but after flying to Reno. His family would probably insist on a large reception later, possibly even another ceremony, and that was all right with him, all right with Savannah. But they wanted, needed, to be married now.
Harrison rolled his eyes, as something about the thought of “married now” and “Reno” and the printout of his digital clock bothered him.
He’d booked them on the noon flight to Reno! How in hell could he have forgotten that?
Carefully disengaging himself from Savannah, pressing one last kiss on her slightly pouting lips, Harrison gathered clothing from drawers and closet and headed for the shower. He’d already packed last night, so that was no problem, and if Savannah didn’t have time to pack he’d buy her anything she needed in Reno. He’d buy her the world if she wanted it.
The beauty of Savannah was that she didn’t want the world. She just wanted him. Loved him.
His hair still damp from the shower, he bent over the bed, running a fingertip down Savannah’s cheek. “Savannah. Oh, Mrs. Colton, time to wake up.”
Savannah’s deep blue eyes looked up at him a moment later, and she turned onto her back and smiled. “Mrs. Colton. I think I could get used to that.”
“You’d better, because you’re going to be hearing it for the next fifty years, at least. Now, do you want to get showered and dressed, so we can get to the airport and make it official?”
“What—what time is it?” she asked, then turned her head, looking for a clock. “Oh, Lord! Eight-thirty?” She pulled Harrison down on the bed, poked his chest. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier? I have to shower, I have to get dressed. My hair is probably a mess. I have to pack! Harry! How could you have let me oversleep?”
Her bare breasts had nearly come free of the sheets, and Harry nuzzled between them, laughing against her warm skin as she now beat on his shoulders, saying something about not having anything decent to wear to a wedding.
“You won’t have to worry about that in a minute, Savannah,” he told her, “especially if you keep wiggling around like that, because I won’t let you out of this bed until next week.”
He looked at her and laughed at the sudden shock on her face, shock that was quickly followed by a wide grin. “Are you saying I’m irresistible, Harry? I think I like that.”
“Naw,” he teased, slowly pulling down the sheet. “You’re not irresistible. I’m just insatiable. It’s a curse.” He cupped one bare breast in his hand, ran his thumb lightly over her nipple. “But I’m a brave man. I’ll learn to live with it. Unless you mind?”
Her answer was more than satisfactory.
An hour later, Harrison was in the kitchen, washing the dishes from last night’s untouched salads, when the doorbell rang. He walked toward the door, smiling as he heard the shower running upstairs. The sound stopped just as he opened the door.
“Yes?” he said, not looking at whoever was at the door, because his mind, and his heart, were both still upstairs.
“Good morning, Harrison,” Annette Hamilton O’Meara said, stepping inside the foyer before he could react and slam the door in her beautiful, smiling face.
Annette was shorter than Savannah, more rounded, and the sort of woman who almost always wore dresses and always looked great in them. Her thick mass of black hair was done in a casual, upswept style, her makeup was perfect, and her violet eyes danced with mischief. Once, just looking at Annette had turned a younger Harrison’s insides to jelly. Now all he wanted was to throw her out on her rounded rear end and slam the door.
“We have some unfinished business, I believe,�
� she said, walking farther into the foyer, looking around. Appraising the contents, Harrison decided. She spun around on her three-inch heels and looked at him, those violet eyes narrowed. “Or did you really think I believed you yesterday? You hinted that you and my sister were involved. Harrison, really. If you thought that would make me jealous, obviously you don’t know me very well. I mean, Savannah? You couldn’t be attracted to her.”
“Go away, Annette,” he said, pointing toward the open door. “Please. Go far, far away. I don’t want Savannah to see you.”
The moment he’d said the words, Harrison knew he’d made a mistake.
“She’s here? Daddy said it, but I didn’t believe it. Oh, Harrison, that’s so sick! You couldn’t have me, so now you’re sleeping with second best? It’s more than sick. It’s pitiful. Wasn’t it enough to hurt Daddy the way you did? Did you have to rub my nose in it as well, bedding that tomboy? You owe me an apology, Harrison!”
Harrison looked at Annette for some moments, seeing absolutely no resemblance to Savannah. Realizing that Annette might have superficial beauty, but that Savannah—his Savannah—was beautiful inside and out.
“You know, Annette,” he said, walking toward the study, because he still had to clean up the pizza box and the wineglasses, “you’re right. I do owe you something, but it’s not an apology. What I owe you is my thanks, for showing me, six years ago and again now, that I’ve made the right choice. You’re not a nice person, Annette. Sam may have had something to do with that, but you’re also a grown woman now, and not a nice one. That’s your fault. And your loss, because Savannah cared for you at one time. She won’t make that mistake again, believe me.”
Brides Of Privilege (v1.3) Page 8
