Collision Point--A Brute Force Novel

by Lora Leigh

  “Doesn’t sound like Ivan,” Noah agreed as he paced to the window and watched the trail of dust as the vehicles neared the main road.

  “No. It doesn’t.” Riordan grimaced, then sighed heavily. “She’s forgotten the year I was with her, Noah. Doesn’t remember a damned thing.”

  Telling his brother that one was hard, he admitted silently. The dent to his ego was ignored but there were other implications.

  “Yet she still found you,” Noah murmured, still watching the scenery. “How did that happen?”

  Reaching back to rub at the back of his neck, he bit off a curse before glaring at his brother.

  “She has nightmares. Dreams…”

  “Have you found your way, Riordan?” Noah asked softly. “That’s what Grandpops claimed when you came back from the hospital. That you’d found your way, and you were fighting it.”

  Found his way. Found the woman that he’d let into his soul.

  Son of a bitch, how had it happened? There was no doubt it had, he just hadn’t quite figured out how.

  “Maybe,” he murmured, not quite ready to discuss something he hadn’t really believed in until now.

  “Hmmm,” Noah murmured in response. “There are no maybes, baby brother, not with a Malone. Remember that. It is, or it isn’t. We don’t do in-betweens. None at all.”

  Clapping him on the shoulder, Noah turned and made his way to the kitchen and the stew Grandpops had made that morning. Yet Riordan couldn’t take his eyes from the rapidly dwindling dust trail and the knowledge that once again, he’d let Amara go.

  And he swore to himself, he’d let her go for the last time.

  chapter three

  Five days later

  There was a storm coming.

  Even if the weather channel hadn’t predicted a coming snowstorm, Amara would have known. She could feel it in the air, that crisp, icy bite that assured her the land was preparing itself for winter’s fury.

  There were only a few clouds on the horizon, the sky still held that chilly blue that marked the spring season in the mountains of Colorado. A week at the most, she thought, then it would hit.

  She rubbed at the chill in her arms despite her warm, soft, cream-colored cashmere sweater and black slacks. A fire blazed in the fireplace, crackling merrily over the heavy logs the butler had added minutes before. Warmth spilled into the room, even washed over her, though she couldn’t stop the shiver that worked over her.

  She couldn’t seem to get warm. Even before winter had hit the mountains, this chill had held her in its grip. And now that winter was fully bearing down, she felt that chill deeper than ever.

  “Miss Amara, Mr. Ivan asked to see you in his office,” the butler, Alexi, informed her politely as he stepped into the room.

  Mr. Ivan “asked” to see her.

  She sighed at the careful phrasing. Her father “demanded her presence” was more like it. And she had a feeling she knew why.

  “How loud is Poppa screaming, Alexi?” She forced a grin to her lips as he grimaced ever so slightly.

  “He was actually quite calm,” the butler warned her as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks and shrugged his shoulders beneath the white shirt he wore. “Deliberately so, I believe.”

  Uh-oh. That definitely didn’t sound good. Poppa was rarely deliberately calm.

  “Guess that rules out lunch first,” she teased, feeling little of the amusement she tried to show.

  “Perhaps afterwards as well, miss,” he guessed with a quirk of his lips.

  He was well used to her and her father’s fierce arguments by now.

  “I doubt afterwards,” she told him, striding to the doorway where he stood. “The good women of the Easter Committee are due in about twenty minutes. Cook should have a small buffet set up in the meeting room. See that they’re shown there if I haven’t returned.”

  The last thing she needed was to have something go wrong with this damn luncheon. She’d worked her ass off to make certain everything was perfect.

  He nodded sharply. “I’ll check and ensure all is ready for them as well.”

  Passing him, she wondered why the hell her father had called her to his office. They’d barely spoken for days. After years of bitching over the fact she had gone to law school rather than marrying some big strong goon he approved of, he was bitching now because she hadn’t returned to classes. As though he gave a damn about that degree. And after her little disappearance the week before, he was really going ballistic on her.

  Making her way to the opposite wing of the house, she entered the reception area and gave her father’s assistant, Ilya, a questioning look.

  Tall, good-looking in a rough sort of way, and far easier-going than her father, Ilya had been friends with Ivan Resnova since they were boys. He’d also been at her father’s side just as long, taking care of whatever he needed him to do.

  “I hear Poppa’s deliberately calm today, Ilya,” she commented, tucking her cold hands beneath the loose sleeves of her sweater. “What did I do this time?”

  Looking up from the laptop, he grinned back at her, causing the dragon tattoo on the side of his face to shift lazily. Pale green eyes lit with amusement as a smile tugged at his lips. “To my knowledge, nothing since that unscheduled stop you demanded at the coffee shop the other day,” he chuckled. “But I believe the two of you covered that in your last screaming match. He’s still bitching about your jaunt to New Mexico, but not as loudly as before. Unless you’ve done something since those two events that I’m unaware of?”

  Well, anything was possible, wasn’t it?

  “I thought it best to give him a rest. His blood pressure, you know?” Shooting him a rueful look, she nodded at the door. “Should I go in, or do I have to twiddle my thumbs and wait for him to give me permission.”

  Ilya shook his head, his grin widening. “Go on in, he’s waiting for you.”

  Stepping to the double doors, she gave the silent security agent who opened them before stepping back a polite smile then walked into the office.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked as she moved toward her father’s desk.

  Her father stood up from the desk, as did the man sitting in front of it.

  Riordan’s grandfather.

  Grandpops Malone was acting for all the world like the innocent old man she was certain he wanted everyone to believe he was. Unfortunately, that devilish gleam in his eyes hinted otherwise.

  Leaning negligently against the wall, one leather boot crossed over the ankle of the other, was Riordan. Easily as tall as her father, his thick black hair fell straight with a silky, raven’s-wing sheen. In his well-worn denim and a dark gray shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to his elbows, he didn’t even pretend to be anything less than the powerful male animal he was. Darkly tanned flesh and sapphire eyes that held hers, locked her to him. Had she always found them so mesmerizing, so hard to break free of?

  She knew the second she saw him that he was furious. It was there in the gleam of battle in his eyes, the tension that filled his powerfully corded body. And he was possibly angrier now than he had been when she met with him in Texas. A meeting she wasn’t to even let her father know about.

  Keeping secrets from Poppa had never been easy, but she’d learned a few tricks over the years. This time, she had to employ every damn one of them.

  She was unaware she stood still, silent, as she stared back at him, her heart beating sluggishly, arousal and fear kept carefully masked. God how she had prayed she wasn’t making a mistake.

  Since she’d seen him the week before, the erotic dreams had grown more frequent, more erotic. Now, she awoke sweating from arousal rather than fear and that was a bit disconcerting at three in the morning.

  “Amara?” There was an edge of concern her father’s voice.

  She had to force herself to turn to him, to focus on him rather than on Riordan. But even then, she was careful to keep him in her periphery.

  “Gentlemen, my
daughter Amara,” her father introduced her, his gaze holding hers as he watched her worriedly. “Amara, meet Rory Malone Sr. and his grandson Riordan.”

  “Hello,” she directed her greeting to both men, but couldn’t bring herself to meet the Riordans’ gaze again for fear of giving herself away. And he’d been quite specific in the fact that she couldn’t give herself away.

  “It’s a pleasure, lass,” the Irish in the grandfather’s voice was unmistakable. “And I’m certain it is for ma Riordan there as well. I tried to teach the lad manners but he slips a time or two and becomes a bit mute.”

  Riordan’s lips quirked a bit mockingly. They were perfect male lips, the lower curve slightly fuller, sensual. Kissable. The first thing a woman thought about when she saw lips like those was feeling them against hers in hungry demand.

  That fact that she knew that hungry demand wasn’t helping her equilibrium at all.

  “Hello, Amara,” he said, the roughened sound of his voice stroking over her senses and dragging her gaze back to his, locking it there, holding her.

  “Do I know you?” the question fell from her lips, as it did with most everyone she met these days. But her father couldn’t know the truth. He couldn’t know that she’d met with Riordan less than a week ago.

  The tension seemed to increase in the room, becoming heavier, rife with too much unsaid.

  “Do you think you’ve met him?” her father snapped and his tone of voice was that soft, dangerous pitch that was a warning in and of itself.

  “Who knows these days, Poppa,” she sighed. “He seems familiar.”

  Now, that was a hell of an understatement.

  Dammit. She knew he would be difficult about this. Her gaze slid to Riordan’s once again and the brooding intensity in it only made her heart beat faster.

  His gaze slid over her, from head to toe, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake that had her flushing.

  She felt off balance, uncertain and nervous beneath that particular look with her father present. It was nerve-wracking, staring into those eyes and feeling as though he was touching her.

  Dragging her gaze from his once again, she turned to her father as she swallowed tightly, fighting a sense of unreality that seemed to take hold of her.

  “Alexi said you needed to see me?” She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she should know, or should question of these two men. “The Easter Committee should be arriving soon and I need to be there.”

  Why she needed to be there, she still wasn’t certain. Her father asked her to oversee his commitment to the charity, and now the women that were part of it refused to let her simply sit and watch.

  Her father slid Riordan Malone a dark look at that point. One she followed and watched as Riordan arched one brow mockingly.

  She needed to stay calm, composed. No one, especially her poppa could know just how well she’d become reacquainted with her mostly forgotten former lover.

  “I wanted you to meet Riordan and his grandfather,” her father finally answered. “Riordan will be taking the position as head of your personal security as of today. His grandfather is here in an advisory position. It was merely a formality, sweetheart.”

  There was an air of expectation in the air as he made his little announcement. Amara narrowed her eyes and met his navy blue gaze as this little meeting suddenly made sense. What he was up to she wasn’t certain, but she knew Riordan had no intentions of coming in as her bodyguard.

  “What about Elizaveta and Grisha?” she asked, knowing they had taken over command of her security.

  Elizaveta and her brother Grisha had been with her since they were teenagers. Ivan’s first cousins had come from Russia with them and other than the time they’d spent away training as security agents, had been by her side.

  They’d been away six months ago, when she’d been abducted.

  “Elizaveta and Grisha will stay in place. Your father has obviously misunderstood our previous meeting, Amara. I’m not here as your bodyguard. Now tell me, do you remember me or not?” Riordan asked the question as he shifted and straightened from his position against the wall.

  Standing, feet braced apart, he was taller than she’d first guessed. Six-two at least, leanly muscular, and arrogant as hell.

  That arrogance was going to cause her father to kill him.

  “Elizaveta and Grisha stay with me, no matter their ability to work with anyone else.” The words passed her lips sharply. “And should I know you?”

  Okay, so that wasn’t what she was supposed to say, but it was that damn arrogance where her cousins were concerned.

  His brow arched at the demand.

  “Tsk-tsk. Tell the truth now,” he murmured, a vein of amusement sliding through that dark, roughened tone, as well as one of warning.

  Her eyes narrowed on him, her fingers forming fists beneath the sleeves of her sweater.

  “You look familiar.” She pushed between clenched teeth.

  Still, not exactly what he’d ordered her to say. But he was really starting to piss her off. She’d waited five days for this idiotic farce? He could have just met secretly with her father and informed him of their plans. That would have worked far better than this.

  She turned to her father, her arms crossing beneath her breasts as she suddenly caught a shift in his gaze. Or had they already discussed it.

  “Just familiar?” Riordan asked, mocking her now.

  This was going to be harder than she’d first imagined.

  “Maybe more than a little?” she still hedged.

  “Goddamn it, Amara, he says the two of you were lovers,” her father burst out angrily then. “Is it true?”

  Was it true? It was, she knew it was, yet all she had were the dreams, not actual memories of the events that drew them together, that ended with him in her bed.

  “Probably,” she snapped back. “Maybe. You could say I’ve had a flash of a memory here and there about it.”

  Men.

  This was insane. How had she known she should have fought Riordan where this was concerned? She could have just told Poppa she remembered a lover and wanted him to find Riordan. Anything but this.

  “A flash of memory?” That tone could be deadly. “Did you remember he was one of your bodyguards before the abduction as well?”

  Okay, maybe Poppa didn’t know, or didn’t suspect this ruse for what it was. He was furious now. The only rule he had in regards to any relationship she may have formed was that she didn’t form it with one of her bodyguards.

  Rather than answering, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and faced him with silent anger. If he thought he was going to take her to task for ignoring that little demand, then he could reconsider the option.

  “Your point being?” she finally asked him coolly. “Considering bodyguards were all I had a chance to get to know, it perhaps seemed the better option. I’m not exactly a teenager nor am I without the needs other women have. And I’m perfectly capable of choosing my own friends, not to mention my lovers.”

  She could have sworn he paled just the slightest bit and muttered a curse even she rarely allowed past her lips.

  “That was uncalled for Ivan,” Riordan informed him as he stepped from the wall. “You should have known I’d be back eventually. Did you really think I’d allow one little argument with her to keep me away after her recovery?”

  “I don’t recall asking you,” her poppa all but snarled. “You knew the rules as well. You weren’t to touch her.”

  She rolled her eyes at that one. “Poppa, I’m not one of your paintings or expensive statues,” she informed him. “And I like to think any man I cared for would be strong enough not to feel compelled to obey your every whim, but mine.”

  She was certain Riordan obeyed no one’s whims. The mocking grin that threatened to curl his lips assured her he wasn’t in the least bit tempted to do so. Unless it suited his purpose.

  Sitting back in his seat, her father’s gaze went between her and Riordan b
efore his expression hardened. “Fine, he can return when your memory has returned. At least I’ll be reasonably confident that you know what you’re doing. And his grandfather can go with him.” His hand flipped toward the door in a mocking invitation to leave. Amara could feel the anger building and see the potential rising for another screaming match at a time when she needed to remain calm. She would not go into that meeting with those damn women right after another confrontation with him, no matter his anger.

  She looked down at the nails of one hand for long seconds, smoothing the pad of her thumb over her index finger. “Poppa,” she finally murmured gently without looking at him. “Would you please call Mother?”

  A tense silence met her request. Her parents couldn’t exist in the same country comfortably, but her father would never deny her if she wanted her mother there. Lifting her gaze to see his dark look, she glanced at the desk phone then back to him.

  “Why?” he all but growled.

  “Please tell her I’ve changed my mind and I’d enjoy having her here for Easter after all.” She smiled brightly. “The more the merrier. And perhaps while she’s here, she can convince you of all the reasons you don’t want to make this decision for me. Considering the fact that each dream I have of him assures me that we cared for each other, they also assure me that he was very protective of me. All things considered, one would think you wouldn’t fight this near so hard.”

  “There is no proof of a threat, Amara,” he assured her again.

  There was no proof? Since when did her poppa need proof?

  “If Riordan leaves, Mother will be on the next flight out of Russia. I’ll make certain of it,” she informed him. “I may even decide to return with her when she leaves. Think about that. Because I assure you, I’m not joking. Now, I have one of your little pet committee demons to deal with. We can discuss this further, if needed, at a later date.”

  Turning on her heel she stalked from the room, her head held high, very well aware that Riordan didn’t take his eyes off her until she closed the door behind her with a snap.

  She could feel her stomach pitching, panic edging at her mind. Because she knew him, his expressions and his phrases. There was no proof of a threat. He didn’t believe in proof any more than he believed in random acts of violence against her. No, her father knew something. Something he wasn’t telling her, and that was terrifying.