by Janet Dailey
“Wonderful.” Tara immediately returned her nearly empty coffee cup to its saucer and stood.
“You can count me out,” Max stated. “I’ll go up to my room instead. I’ve got some papers to go over. Touring houses is women’s stuff, anyway.” He pivoted his wheelchair around and pointed it toward the doorway. It started forward, then stopped as he fired a look at Tara. “If it isn’t late when you come up, stop by my room. There’s something of mutual interest I’d like to talk to you about.”
The request caught Tara off guard, which showed in her failure to immediately respond. “Of course, I will,” she said, recovering her aplomb. “And I doubt I’ll stay up very late.”
“Good,” Max said with an emphatic nod, and the motorized wheelchair carried him out of the room.
With eyebrows raised, Tara glanced at Laura. “It obviously must be business. I doubt if it’s anything serious.” She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug of unconcern and looked to Sebastian. “Shall we begin our tour?”
“By all means,” Sebastian agreed. “The small sitting room is just across the hall. We might as well begin there.”
After the somewhat stiff formality of the main sitting room, the smaller one had a definitely cozy and more casual air. With its eclectic mix of furniture styles, patterns, and colors, and an artful scattering of unrelated objects, it was a room that made no pretense about its purpose: to be a comfortable spot for the family to gather.
From there it was on to the music room, with its collection of instruments that had all been played by one member of the family or another. Tara took a turn at the grand piano and pronounced it in need of a tuning.
A ballroom took up much of the west wing’s first floor. It was essentially bare of furnishing except for a few chairs hugging the wall, and its air had that stale, musty smell of a room that had been unused for years. Sebastian explained that he had been a lad of nine the last time the family had entertained on such a grand scale.
In addition to the library, there was a gentleman’s study for conducting the estate business and an east-facing morning room for breakfast. Sebastian showed them another room that he said his mother had used as her office. Then he opened a double set of doors that admitted them to a game room, complete with card table, dartboard on the wall, and billiard table. Boone gravitated immediately toward the latter.
“This is a beautiful table.” He ran a hand over the smooth slate top, then stepped back to give it an overall look and glanced at Sebastian. “Do you play pool?”
Helen laughed at his question. “Billiards is a passion with the whole Dunshill family.”
“Do you play, too?” Boone frowned, not entirely certain what she meant.
“I do,” she said with a proud and smiling lift of her head. “In fact, I even won one of our family tournaments a few years ago.”
“Quite a few years ago,” Sebastian inserted dryly.
“How about we have a game?” Boone suggested, a challenge in his eyes.
Not immediately answering, Sebastian turned to Laura. “Do you play billiards?”
“I have played, but my skill is strictly that of an amateur,” she admitted without apology.
Helen promptly spoke. “We could play partners, Sebastian, and she can be on your team.”
The implication that Sebastian was that good was not lost on Boone. Laura caught it, too. “I’m game if you are,” she told Sebastian
“Why not?” He seemed amused at the prospect of the two of them against the world.
Laura sensed Boone’s displeasure with the arrangement. But she also knew his combative nature wouldn’t allow him to pass up the opportunity to compete head to head with Sebastian.
“I’ll rack ’em up,” he said and laid the triangle on the table, then set about collecting the billiard balls.
“As interesting as the outcome of this game might be,” Tara said, “I think I’ll leave you all here and go see what Max wants to talk to me about. Have fun.” She lifted a hand in farewell and exited the room.
“You’ll need a cue stick.” Sebastian guided Laura to the rack, surveyed the selection, then cast an assessing eye over her and picked one. “This should do.” He passed it to her, a slightly conspiratorial air to his smile. “With any luck, you won’t have to use it.”
“Don’t count on it,” Boone stated with the easy confidence of a man certain of his skill at the game.
With the first scattering strike of the billiard balls, there was an electric feel to the air. It tingled through Laura, quickening all her senses and making her aware of the sizzling undercurrents.
She eyed the two combatants, each a contrast to the other in his approach. Boone was focused and intense, while Sebastian was calm and unconcerned. She was a little surprised that she could be attracted to two such different men. Sebastian was not only sexually attractive, but he also made her laugh. Boone, on the other hand, excited her in a different way, bringing a rush of some powerful, primitive emotion she hadn’t been able to identify. As far as she was concerned, it was too soon to say which one would come out on top, regardless of this pool game.
Just then Sebastian made a particularly difficult shot, and Helen groaned. “He’s going to beat us.” Her low murmur was laced with defeat.
“No, he isn’t,” Boone stated, a determined set to his jaw. “We’ll win. One way or another.”
Helen glanced at him, slightly aghast. “You wouldn’t cheat, would you?”
Boone flicked a glance her way. “I thought you said you had your own business.”
“I do.” She gave him a startled look that said more loudly than words that she didn’t understand what one had to do with the other.
“Then you shouldn’t have to ask.” Boone picked up the chalk cube and rubbed it on the end of his cue stick as Laura bit back a smile. There wasn’t any doubt that Boone was the son of Max Rutledge by more than just blood.
A floorboard squeaked beneath the carpeted runner as Tara made her way along the second-floor hall. Her mind ran through a half dozen business events that might have prompted Max to feel he should alert her to them. Considering Max was the type who usually kept any such knowledge to himself, especially if it gave him an advantage over the competition—and Dy-Corp’s many fossil-fuel interests certainly put her in that category—none of the possibilities seemed logical.
Pausing outside the door to his room, she lightly rapped twice. “It’s Tara, Max.” The only response was a muffled sound of footsteps from inside. Seconds later the door swung open, and Max’s valet stepped back to admit her.
“Mr. Rutledge is expecting you.”
“Come in, Tara,” Max called and rolled into view. “Have a seat.” He waved a hand to the grouping of chairs in the room’s sitting area, then glanced pointedly at the burly Barnett. “That’ll be all for now.”
As the man withdrew to an adjoining room and closed the connecting door, Tara crossed to one of the chairs and gracefully sank into it. But Max didn’t immediately join her. Instead he wheeled his chair over to a centuries-old secretariat, sifted through some folders in his opened briefcase on its top, and removed one.
“What is this mysterious business you wanted to discuss with me?” Tara asked, all smiles and bright-eyed southern charm.
“There really isn’t anything mysterious about it.” With a soft whirr, the wheelchair glided over to her chair. Max handed her the folder from his lap. “See for yourself.”
“What’s this?” Tara searched his face, seeking some hint about its contents, as she flipped it open.
“I did some checking on our host before we came. It makes for some interesting reading.”
“That wasn’t very polite,” she said in mild rebuke.
“But it’s smart. Read it.”
Tara ran another glance over his closed expression, then made a quick scan of the contents and went back to the first sheet to make a more thorough study. When she finished, she closed the folder and handed it back to him, her own
expression as bland as his.
“You’re right. It was interesting reading,” she confirmed.
“You need to talk to Laura. I’d do it myself, but it’s better if it comes from you. After all, she wouldn’t be the first woman to be taken in by someone with a title.”
“We don’t know whether Laura is even thinking along those lines,” Tara pointed out.
“You’ll never convince me that he invited her here this weekend just so she could see that portrait. And if you believe it, you’re not as smart as I think you are.”
Tara made no comment to that. “I’ll speak to her,” she said and stood up. “Like you, I would rather play it safe than be sorry.”
Chapter Six
Boone’s arm was hooked around her waist, keeping her firmly against his side as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. Conscious of her hip rubbing against his thigh with each step, Laura stole a glance at his face, noting the faintly smug curve to his mouth.
“You certainly seem rather pleased with yourself,” she observed.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” He smiled down on her. “After all, I did win.”
“So you did,” Laura agreed easily. “Although having me for a partner meant that Sebastian was obliged to play with something of a handicap.” It was a mischievous perversity that prompted her to argue Sebastian’s side.
But Boone seemed to sense that and didn’t rise to the bait. “Did you expect me to play with one hand tied behind my back to make up for it?”
She released a breathy laugh and shook her head. “Not you. You’ll make use of every advantage you can.”
“Wouldn’t you?” he countered.
“Probably,” Laura admitted as they reached the top of the steps.
“Damn right you would,” Boone stated. “Like me, you play to win or you don’t play.”
“Is that right?” she challenged playfully as they continued along the hall toward her room.
“You know it is,” he replied. “But I don’t expect you to admit it.”
Inwardly Laura acknowledged that truth about herself. To her thinking, it didn’t make sense to undertake something unless it was with the intention of succeeding.
When they arrived at the door to her room, she turned toward him and leaned back against the jamb, tilting her face up to him. “I suppose as the victor you intend to claim the spoils.” There was an instant darkening of his eyes, desire heating them. When he made that initial move to claim the invitation from her lips, Laura added, “And I warn you, I am spoiled.”
In answer, his mouth came down to claim her lips in a driving kiss that was rough with need. Laura absorbed its bruising force, so stimulated by its pent-up hunger that her own blood suddenly ran sweet and fast. His arm circled her waist to arch her against his length, leaving her in no doubt as to the extent of his arousal.
Unexpectedly, he dragged his mouth from hers and bowed his head for an instant. There was a piercing blackness to his eyes when he finally met her curious gaze.
“Sometimes I think you’re trying to spoil me for anyone else.” The roughness of his voice made it a kind of accusation.
Those were heady words. Laura was careful not to show how welcome they were as she crossed her hands behind his neck and let her fingers idly toy with his close-cropped hair. “Could I do that?”
He looked at her for a long second. “I’m beginning to think you can.”
It was such a grudging admission she had to smile. “Being spoiled can have its own rewards.” Rising up on tiptoes, she pressed a quick, warm kiss on his lips and immediately drew back before he could make more of it, and reached behind her to turn the doorknob. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She left him standing there, stunned by the suddenness of her escape, and slipped inside the room, quickly closing the door behind her and leaning against it, savoring the satisfaction of the moment. After a short pause, she heard the sound of his footsteps moving away. She hadn’t been sure he would leave, and waited a beat to make certain he wasn’t coming back, then pushed away from the door.
Laura hadn’t taken two steps into the room when some inner sense warned her she wasn’t alone. Muscles tensing in vague alarm, she turned and made a visual sweep of the room. The search halted. For a startled instant, she simply stared at Sebastian, stretched out on her bed, reclining against its pillows.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, wavering between shock and amusement.
“You did mention earlier that you wondered whether you would be having a surprise visitor,” Sebastian reminded her and uncrossed his legs to swing them off the bed and stand up. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Amusement reigned as she shook her head and sighed.
“But how did you get in here? I just left you downstairs.”
His expression was one of mock consternation. “I must have neglected to mention on the tour that Crawford Hall, like other old manors, contains secret passageways. How remiss of me.”
“Secret passageways. Where?” Her curiosity aroused, she looked about the room.
Sebastian clucked his tongue in reproach. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be secret anymore, now would it?”
“Stop being so mysterious.” Her smile chided him even as her pulse fluttered at his sauntering approach. “Tell me.”
Pausing in front of her, he released an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, if you insist. You happen to be standing in one of the older sections of Crawford Hall. This room was in fact the master bedroom—”
Laura interrupted, “Which goes back to the days when husbands and wives didn’t sleep together.”
“You remembered,” he said with a nod of approval.
“My retention level is very high.” At the moment, it was their night in Rome she was remembering, especially his unique style of lovemaking. It had her heart beating a little faster.
“That’s good to know.” Something in his look suggested he was remembering, too. “But as I was saying, one of my long-ago ancestors apparently had a dislike for wasted steps. Hence he had the architect include a hidden staircase in his design, linking the master bedroom and the library.”
Laura made another quick scan of the room and guessed, “The bookshelves flanking the fireplace—one of them is the door.”
“The one on the right,” Sebastian confirmed.
“That hidden staircase wouldn’t have anything to do with your reason for selecting this room for me, would it?” She eyed him with the full expectation that his answer would be in the affirmative.
Sebastian chose to neither confirm nor deny that. “It does facilitate privacy for late-night visits. Don’t you agree?” He stood close but made no move to touch her. His failure to touch her only served to make her doubly aware of the scant inches that separated them.
“Do you make a habit of assigning your female guests to this room?” she challenged.
“Only the very attractive ones.” He trailed his fingertips along the shoulder seam of her dress, following its line to the curve of her neck. Her skin tingled under the lightness of the contact. It was as if every inch of her body became sensitized.
“Why does that not surprise me?” Laura murmured, aware that her voice had become breathy.
“Aren’t you going to ask how many women have occupied this room before you?” His fingertips lightly explored the pulsing vein in her neck, following it to the lobe of her ear.
She had a catlike urge to rub her cheek against his palm to encourage the fullness of his caress. “How many?” She all but purred the question.
“As it happens, you’re the first.”
“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?” She showed her skepticism.
“If you’ll recall, I did say I put only the very attractive ones in this room—and you are the first who qualified.”
“Flatterer,” she chided, her eyelids fluttering half-closed as his fingers made a slow track up to her cheekbone and down her cheek to the co
rner of her lips.
“It’s no flattery. You are incredibly beautiful,” Sebastian stated, then added in a musing tone. “Perhaps the portrait is to blame for it, but I have the distinct feeling that you have always been a part of my life. It’s difficult to believe we met only a few nights ago in Rome.”
“But it was a very memorable night.” Laura was conscious of her whole body straining toward him, wanting his touch. When his fingertips lightly brushed over the curve of her lower lip, need trembled through her. “Do you always tantalize a girl like this?” she said in protest.
“Considering you just came from another man’s arms, I thought you might need time to adjust to the idea of going into another’s,” he replied smoothly.
“Were you watching us through some secret peephole?” In truth, she was more amused than outraged at the possibility.
“No.” His mouth crooked. “It’s much more elementary than that. Standing this close, I can smell his cologne on your skin. It has a heavy citrusy scent that’s a bit overpowering.”
A smile grooved little dimples in her cheeks. “Your middle name must be Sherlock. Sebastian Sherlock Dunshill.”
“It definitely has a ring to it.”
“Indeed it does,” Laura agreed and tipped her head in an age-old invitation. “In case you’re wondering, I have adjusted to the idea. Will you kiss me now?”
“With pleasure.” But it was nothing he rushed as his mouth made a slow descent to her lips and moved over them in a sensual delving of their softness.
It was a lazy heat that started low and gradually engulfed her. His arms encircled her, his hands molding her to his shape, demonstrating how perfectly a man and woman could fit together. When his hand cupped the underside of her breast, desire swelled within her.
All the while there was the magic of his drugging kisses—on her lips, her neck, her cheek, and back to her lips again. Laura had a rational moment to marvel that lovemaking could be so beautiful. Beautiful and rapturous, without haste or demand, just an endless giving of pleasure. She only knew she never wanted it to end.
