He had turned towards the mountains again, his eyes unseeing as they stared at the purple shadows falling on the distant peaks. Rachel looked at his hands as they lay beside hers on the wall, picturing the blunt, well-manicured nails cracked and blackened.
'That's why you came for Jamie, isn't it?' she asked softly. 'To give him a real parent.'
David nodded. 'And to share all this with him,' he said, motioning to the rolling lawn and the mountains beyond. 'You were right when you said that, Rachel. I want him to have the childhood I never had.' His voice hoarsened with suppressed emotion. 'I was so damned determined to do something with my life, to live in a place where you could see the sun and hear laughter... And there I was, trapped in a hole in the ground eight hours a day!'
Her eyes were drawn to the slight crook in His nose and the scar at the corner of his mouth.
'Is that how you got those?' she asked.
He ran his hand along the bridge of his once-broken nose. 'In a mining accident, you mean?' He grinned and shook his head. 'No, not quite. We worked hard and we played hard—hell, it wasn't a bad life when I was eighteen.' Something quickened in his eyes. 'But by the time I was twenty-one, I wanted more.'
'How... what did you do?'
He laughed self-consciously. 'It was what I didn't do that made the difference. I didn't spend my money the way the other men did. Some of them had families to support—I had only myself. Some of them drank or had women...'
Nervous laughter bubbled in Rachel's throat. 'Don't tell me you saved money by becoming celibate!'
He looked down at her and smiled, and she sensed that his mood was lightening.
'I've been pretty fortunate,' he told her. 'I've never had to pay for my women.'
She gave him a quick smile in return. No, she thought, no, I'll bet you haven't. When she spoke, her teasing tone of voice matched his.
'So you saved your money and you bought yourself a corporation. Sounds simple.'
He laughed softly. 'I saved my money, and one night, when I couldn't face that damned boarding house again, I let myself get talked into an all-night poker game.
His arm brushed hers. Rachel looked down at the top of the wall in surprise. He was wearing a jacket and she was wearing the cashmere dress, yet it had felt as if they were skin to skin, the heat from his body almost burning into hers. She moved her arm away from his. The effort for the simple movement seemed enormous. 'I couldn't resist him,' Cassie had said. 'I just couldn't...'
'I see,' she said, forcing a lightness £he didn't feel into her voice. 'You won your first corporation.'
'I won five hundred dollars,' he corrected. 'It was more money than I'd ever seen at one time in my life. 1 was afraid to keep it in my room or in my wallet, so the next day I decided to open a bank account. But on my way to the bank I passed a broker's office. There was a sign out front—I don't even remember what it said. Something about doubling your money through investments. I went in and plunked my five hundred bucks down on some guy's desk. "Put that in something that's gonna make me rich," I said.' He laughed and shook his head at the memory. 'He wrote down five or six suggestions and I closed my eyes and stuck my finger on one. "That's it," I said. "Put it all on that.'"
David's voice stilled. In the distance a nightbird called, its cry high and lonely. Rachel shivered involuntarily. 'And? What happened?'
She heard his sudden intake of breath. When he spoke again, his voice was cool and controlled.
'Within a few years, I had a better feel for the market than the broker. And I had a knack for sensing when a company was in trouble and capitalising on it. I learned how to move in and take control,, get rid of bad managers and arrange a merger or redistribute the assets.'
Rachel looked up at him. 'You make it sound so... so benevolent,' she said softly.
'I'm not the one who makes them fail, Rachel. I just come on the scene when...'
'... when it's time for the kill,' she said before she could stop herself. 'That's why they call you the Hawk.'
In the gathering dark she could see the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. 'Hawks are like most predators. They kill those things that are simplest to catch—the old, the infirm, the foolish.' He shifted his weight so that his arm lay against hers again. 'I'll have to take you out with me when I fly Isis some time so I can improve your image of hawks, Rachel.'
His hand closed lightly on hers, his fingers curling around hers as they lay on the stone ledge. A tremor ran through her like the almost-heard notes of a finger trailing along the keys of a faraway piano.
'I don't think you can,' she said softly.
David turned towards her, his hand still grasping hers. In the gathering darkness he was only a ghostly figure, but she could see the glint of his feral eyes, Smell his scent, hear his breathing.
'It's getting dark,' she said quickly. 'Shouldn't we go inside? Dinner must be ready.'
'Hawks aren't one-dimensional creatures, Rachel,' he said in a soft whisper. 'And most people know very little about them.'
'That's true,' she said nervously.
His other hand touched her shoulder, the lean fingers spreading over the soft cashmere.
'Does that mean you'd like to learn more about hawks?'
'No,' she said quickly, wishing the moon would rise so she could see his face, 'no, not really.'
'Ah, but you should.' He moved closer to her. 'After all, my hawks will be part of Jamie's existence. Suppose he asks you questions about them?'
Sweet relief flooded through her. 'Will I be here that long?'
David said nothing. His hand moved from her shoulder to her throat, and his thumb pressed lightly in the shadowed hollow where her pulse beat. Could he feel the leap of her blood beneath his fingers? she wondered.
'Rachel...'
His voice was thick. She swallowed with difficulty and tried to step back from him, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor.
'David,' she began, 'listen...'
'I love the way you say my name,' he whispered as his hand threaded through the hair at the nape of her neck. 'Say it again, Rachel.'
Panic danced along her spine. 'David, please...'
His head lowered towards hers. 'Please what?' he murmured, his breath warm and fresh against her face. 'Tell me, Rachel... tell me what you want me to do.' He brought her hand up between them, flattening her palm against his chest. The rapid thud of his heart hammered beneath her fingers. 'Do you feel that? That's what you do to me.'
She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember who he was, who she was. Help me, Cassie...
'Stop!' she begged. 'David…'
'You don't mean that,' he said. 'I know you don't.'
'Yes,' she said desperately, 'yes, I do, I...'
She gasped as his hand covered her breast, lying lightly against the soft wool and the softer flesh beneath.
'No, you don't,' he said huskily. 'Your heart is racing, Rachel. You want me as much as I want you.' His hand swept behind her, to the small of her back, and he brought her body against his. 'Tell me,' he demanded. 'Say it!'
His body, hard and aroused, pressed against her. Rachel's lashes fell, her eyelids closed. She felt she was on fire. Every nerve ending, every inch of skin was burning, hungering...
Light blazed suddenly in the dining-room. The terrace door slammed and Rachel pushed free of David's encircling arms. In the darkness, Emma's voice was a bodiless reminder of reality.
'Mr Griffin? Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but Jamie's crying. It's not serious; I think he's just cutting a tooth. But it would calm him if Miss Cooper went up to see him.'
David nodded. 'We'll both go.'
Rachel closed her eyes as he pushed past her. Thank you, Jamie, she thought. He had given her a reprieve— although something told her it would be brief.
CHAPTER SIX
RACHEL stepped slowly down the curving staircase, moving quietly in the early morning silence. The sun, streaming through the skylight in the entry foyer, touched the green pla
nts and glass tables with gold. It was just past seven. Jamie was sound asleep in his crib, exhausted after a long night of tears and tooth-cutting. Rachel was exhausted, too, but she'd spent enough nights like this one to know that climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head now would only make her sluggish and irritable. A couple of hours' sleep and a cool shower had made her feel almost human. A pot of strong coffee and some eggs would probably do the rest.
Emma had got to the kitchen first, she thought, sniffing appreciatively. Coffee...and bacon. Toast, too. Her stomach growled in anticipation as she pushed against the swinging door.
'Good morning, Emma. I'd have thought you'd still be asleep...'
She broke off in confusion as David grinned at her from across the room. 'She is,' he said. 'So should you be. It was a long night.' He was standing at the stove barefoot, dressed in running shorts and a white tee-shirt that clung to him like a second skin. His dark hair was as damp as hers and he ran a self-conscious hand through it as she looked at him. 'I ran a couple of miles to wake myself up, and when I got back, I was ravenous!'
The bacon sizzled on the griddle behind him. David turned and forked several crisp strips from the pan, laying them on the counter to drain. Rachel's eyes followed the play of muscle across his shoulders, the flesh moulded and defined by the close-fitting cotton shirt.
'Yes, I know,' she said slowly. 'That's why I came downstairs. I thought I'd make myself some breakfast.' She glanced at the table set for one and then at David again. The large, airy room seemed suddenly too small for them both. 'Look, I can come back later...'
'For God's sake, Rachel, don't be silly. There's more than enough here.' He turned back to the stove and expertly flipped over a row of golden-brown pancakes. 'Go on, get yourself a cup and have some coffee,' he said, motioning her to the table with a sweep of the spatula.
The aroma of the coffee and the bacon flooded her senses. With a sigh of resignation, she set a place for herself and then slipped into a chair. 'I thought I'd have the kitchen to myself,' she said, filling her cup with coffee. 'I mean, Emma must be exhausted. And I never expected to find you here.'
He turned off the stove and smiled at her. 'Do I look that out of place? I admit, I haven't made these in a long time, but I used to be pretty good in the kitchen. How's the coffee? Too strong?'
'No, no, it's fine. It's just what I needed. I think we were up half the night.'
David loaded two plates with pancakes and bacon and set them on the table. 'My son didn't give us much choice,' he said in a voice filled with pride. 'Two teeth at once—I'll bet that's some kind of record!' He grinned and pushed her plate towards her. 'Go on, Rachel, dig in. Emma would never forgive me if I let you starve.' He slipped into a chair opposite her, watching as she poured maple syrup on her pancakes and cut into them. 'Well?' he demanded as she chewed her first mouthful. 'How are they?'
Surprise lit her face. 'They're really good.'
David smiled. 'The Lindy recipe,' he said mysteriously.
Rachel laughed. 'Ah, I see. Handed down in secret over the generations, right?'
He shook his head and smiled. 'Handed down in seven months of watching Mrs Lindy make pancakes on a coal stove in the Monongahela Valley.'
'A coal stove?'
He nodded. 'The twentieth century is still creeping up on some parts of the world, Rachel. The Lindys had a clapboard house with an outdoor privy and a coal stove. Six days a week, Mrs Lindy cooked porridge on that stove for breakfast, the same lumpy porridge I'd been gagging over as far back as I could remember. But on Sundays...' He sighed and the expression on his face became wistful. 'On Sundays, she always made pancakes. Flapjacks, she called them. I can still close my eyes and smell them.'
'And?' Rachel prompted gently. 'Did she teach you to make her flapjacks?'
His teeth flashed whitely. 'Mr Lindy probably would have hung her from the nearest tree! Men didn't cook in the Monongahela Valley, at least not then, they didn't. No, I just watched. There used to be something special about those mornings. She in her robe, he in the oldest slippers I've ever seen...' He cleared his throat and reached for the coffee pot. 'Listen, don't pay any attention to me. I talk too much when I haven't had enough sleep.'
She watched him as he refilled their cups. 'How old were you then?'
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Almost fourteen. Old enough to have known it wouldn't last.'
Rachel sighed and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. 'That's a rough age,' she remarked. 'You're not old enough to be an adult and not young enough to be a child. Cassie was fourteen when our parents...' She looked up at him and then back at the table. 'About the clothes you bought me, David—I'd like to make some arrangements to repay you.'
He shook his head. 'Fringe benefits, remember? What were you saying about Cassie? What happened to your parents?'
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'They died,' she said finally, laying her fork across her plate. 'They were on vacation in Colorado and there was a flash flood. They were driving across a bridge and it washed out.'
David sat back in his chair, his cup raised to his lips. 'That must have been awful,' he said softly.
Rachel nodded. 'It was,' she said simply. 'I'd just finished high school—they said they'd never had a proper honeymoon and that now I was-old enough to take care of Cassie...' Her eyes darkened with long-forgotten memories. 'That really wasn't anything new, of course. I'd been responsible for Cassie for a long time. Ever since my mother married her father...' She looked across the table at him. 'You know all those stories about wicked step-parents?' she asked. David nodded. 'Well, none of them were true for me. Our parents really loved each other. They never seemed to need anybody else.'
'Nobody?' His eyebrows rose. 'Didn't that make you feel left out?'
Her face flushed and she looked at him in surprise. 'No,' she said quickly, 'of course not. I had Cassie.'
'You had Cassie,' he repeated, sitting back in his chair. 'You were, what, three years older than she?'
'Four,' she said, 'I was four years older than Cassie. And I loved her a lot,' she added with sudden defiance.
His eyes narrowed, the gold-flecked irises seeming to darken. 'Yes, I'm sure you did, Rachel. Did she love you too?'
'What's that supposed to mean? Of course she did. Why wouldn't she?'
He shrugged. 'I was just wondering. You seem so different.'
'Look,' she said, pushing her chair back from the table, 'this has nothing to do with anything. I...'
'Was Cassie as good with Jamie as you are?'
Colour rose to her cheeks. 'She was his mother.'
'That's not what I asked.'
'Of course she was good with him,' she said quickly.
'Funny—I wouldn't have thought so. She struck me as too self-centred, too...'
'You didn't know her very well, then,' Rachel snapped.
David's eyes caught hers. 'That's certainly the truth,' he said softly.
'Cassie was as sweet as she was beautiful. When we were little...'
'What about when you were grown up?'
'Nothing changed,' she said, then her eyes met his. 'She was very busy,' she said quickly. 'But that was to be expected i She had her career.'
'How old were you when your mother married her father?'
'Why all these questions?' she demanded. 'None of this has anything to do with Jamie.'
David pushed his plate aside. 'Does it bother you to talk about your childhood?'
Rachel stared at him. 'Do you always answer a question with a question?'
He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. 'Let's just say I'm trying to learn all I can about Jamie.'
Rachel sighed. It was hard to argue with that. 'I was twelve when they married,' she told him.
'Just beginning to think about boys and dates?'
She shook her head. 'That was Cassie when she got to be twelve. No, I was gawky and shy at that age. Cassie was eight, and she was beautiful. All blonde curls and crea
my skin—everybody loved her. I used to wish my grandmother had lived long enough to have known her.'
He smiled. 'The same grandmother you like to quote?'
Rachel nodded. 'She lived with us when I was a baby, after my real father's death. I missed her terribly when she died.'
'But then Cassie came along.'
She smiled at the memory. 'Yes, then Cassie came along. And I had my very own little sister to love and care for.'
David's voice was gentle. 'And who loved you?'
'My mother, of course, and my stepfather. And Cassie.'
She had a sudden image of her parents seated close together, laughing softly at a private joke while a golden-haired Cassie looked out of the window, waiting for one of her boyfriends to arrive.
Jamie, she thought, that's who I had, that's all I ever really had. To her chagrin, tears stung her eyes. Quickly she shoved her chair towards the table and picked up her dishes.
'Thanks for breakfast. I...'
But he was beside her before she could move, his hand grasping her shoulder. 'Rachel, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry.'
'You didn't,' she said quickly. 'I'm...I'm just overtired.'
'I know how much Jamie means to you. And I'm grateful for ail you've done.'
'Dammit, I don't want your gratitude—I want...'
'I know what you want,' he said slowly. 'You want Jamie. And I understand it—now.'
Of course he did, she thought. The sense of obligation that had driven him to take his son from her had been replaced by love for the child. The realisation didn't surprise her. Despite what the papers said, despite what Cassie had said, there was a side to him that was tender and giving. Sometimes it was hard to realise that the David Griffin who had used her stepsister so carelessly was the David Griffin she'd come to know. But he was. He was...
'Rachel?' He said her name softly, leaning closer to her.
'I... I think I'll go to my room now,' she murmured. 'It's getting late.'
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