Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  The three of them laughed like old times. Michael was glad. By some trick of fate he'd been given the best family in the world. He knew that, and he never wanted it any other way.

  "How's Catherine?" Michael changed the subject to Bobby's wife.

  "Pregnant," he said. "She should be delivering in the next two weeks. You're going to be an uncle."

  "Congratulations!" Michael said, reaching across to shake his brother's hand. "You will call me when the baby is born?" Michael grabbed a napkin and wrote the address and phone number down. He passed it across the table, but Peter took it.

  "Isn't this where Erika St. James lives?"

  Michael suddenly remembered his brother's uncanny ability to hold details in his head.

  "We share the company and the house. It was a condition of the will."

  Peter's eyebrows went toward the overhead trains.

  "She has her wing, and I have mine," he explained, but Peter didn't seem to understand that, from the smirk on his face.

  For a moment the three of them didn't say anything. Then Peter sobered and commented, "I suppose that mess in California is all behind her now."

  What mess? Michael wanted to know but didn't ask. He knew about her engagement to William A. Castle. The newspaper Gerald Hodges had saved him detailed a little of her association with the entertainment lawyer—that Erika had been in Los Angeles, that she'd worked there before returning to Philadelphia. What had happened that his brother knew about? He didn't want to ask, to reveal he didn't know, and if it was something Erika wanted to forget, he could respect that. Michael knew everyone had secrets. Erika was no different.

  He had the sudden urge to talk to Erika. He'd enjoyed their time last night by the pool. They didn't know each other very well, but maybe they would by the end of the year and she would trust him enough to tell him about California. He might trust her enough to tell her about Abby.

  "Michael, you didn't answer me. Is she really as beautiful as her pictures?" Peter asked.

  Michael couldn't tell him how beautiful she was. A picture of Erika in her blue bathing suit crowded into his mind, and Erika smiling, Erika talking to him in the pool area, Erika at the cabin, her hand raised against the glare of the sun. "Yes, she's beautiful," he finally said.

  Suddenly he wanted to leave. He wanted to see her, wanted to go back and have dinner with her. Michael stood up. "I have to go," he said.

  "Michael," Peter stopped him. "When do we get to meet her?"

  "I'm not sure I want her to ever meet you," Michael teased his youngest brother. He actually felt a tingle of jealousy. He felt more for Erika than he'd realized.

  "How about bringing her to Thanksgiving dinner?" Bobby was saying when he brought his attention back. "It's at our house, but Mom is cooking."

  "I'll let you know," Michael said.

  Michael left them. He didn't spend time thinking about his brothers and what they would discuss after he left. He wanted to know what Erika was doing. Had she missed him? He wanted to stop the car and call her, but he didn't. He drove straight to the house. It was too early for her to be home from the office.

  He went to his rooms and dressed for the pool. Within minutes he was swimming laps in the Olympic-size bathtub. His mind was free and happy, anticipating her coming.

  He was on lap number fifty-seven when he heard something and looked up. Erika stood at the end of the pool where he'd stood the night before. She had on a red business suit and high heeled shoes. It appeared to be the right color—with her hands on her hips, every line of her body said she was angry.

  "How dare you," she said, moving toward him. "You let that story hit the papers and you disappeared into oblivion, leaving me alone to answer the questions."

  "What story?"

  "That's good," Erika grunted. "Really good. You heard my mother last night, and today the story is all over the television. My office has been besieged by calls and reporters and you. . .you swim." She stopped as her voice cracked. "I thought we were supposed to share everything. Wasn't that how you said it, everything?" She imitated him. "Where were you today, while I was sharing your infamy?"

  Chapter 6

  "What are you talking about?" Michael caught up with her halfway down the hall. Grabbing her arm, he turned her to face him. "What's happened?"

  Erika tore her arm from his wet grasp. "What do you think happened? I was assaulted by an army of reporters over your status, and you weren't there to help."

  "I didn't know."

  "Where were you? Why didn't you tell me you weren't going to be in the office today?"

  He couldn't tell her. It would sound trivial. He'd been on the receiving end of battering by the press, and he knew he should have been there. Last night after their swim he had known he needed to see his family. He had to go and tell them the news before they found out from someone else. According to Erika, he'd done that only moments before it became common knowledge. However, he hadn't been there when she needed him. That he regretted.

  He hadn't been there for Abby, either. The thought suddenly popped into his head without warning.

  "Tell me what happened," he said, pushing the thought aside.

  Michael and Erika stood in the hall. The water dripping from his body formed a wet splatter on the light-colored rug, but he refused to postpone the interview to go for a towel.

  Erika took a deep breath and looked at him. "Somehow the complete details of the will were discovered today, and my office filled up with reporters like a war room. I opened the door to find lights flashing in my face. People fired questions at me so fast I couldn't possibly have answered them even if I intended to do so." She turned, pacing back and forth, shouting out questions as if she was the reporter. " 'Where is Mr. Lawrence?' they asked. 'Is it true he owns half this company? Is it true Carlton Lipton-Graves was his grandfather? Is it true the two of you are living together?' "

  She stopped and stared at him as if waiting for him to say something. Before he could, she came to stand in front of him, anger making her vibrate.

  "And where were you? Out somewhere, completely oblivious to the chaos going on in the office?" She answered her own question. "What do you think this is, some cabin where you can decide not to work if you don't want to? Well, Michael Lawrence, this is not the Maryland mountains. Your word means something here, and when you make a promise I expect it to be kept."

  Michael stared at her. For some reason he had the impression she wasn't talking about something that had happened today, or even when Carlton died. Erika was angry, angry over something that happened far longer ago than this afternoon. He wondered if it had anything to do with what Peter had mentioned. Something that happened in California.

  Michael folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to finish. "What did you do?" he asked quietly.

  "I called security and had my secretary calling the police if they didn't vacate the building."

  Michael hid his smile. He knew she was a gutsy woman, but she was frightened, too. He wanted to find out what was behind the anger, what had caused it, and he knew her day at work was only a catalyst that brought back painful memories.

  "Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

  "Truth!" she exploded. "They're not interested in the truth. They want sensationalism." Her hand flew up in disgust. "They want a few words so they can misquote you and print lies because it makes better copy and sells more newspapers."

  "Is that what they did to you?"

  As if she'd turned to stone, Erika stopped. All motion about her ceased, and she stared at him with ice in her eyes. For a long moment she held his gaze. Then, turning on the balls of her feet, she strutted away from him. Michael watched for a moment, then followed her. He hadn't intended to deliver another blow. Obviously she'd had a bad day and he'd fueled it trying to find out something about her. It was an unfair tactic. How easily he'd done it didn't surprise him. He'd been trained to rout out concealed information, to find the truth wherever it lay, and without think
ing he'd done that to Erika.

  Erika started up the stairs at a trot, but she wanted to run. She wanted to dash up them at full sprint. She wanted all the reporters to leave her alone and she wanted to put distance between her and Michael Lawrence. Going straight to her room she slammed the door closed.

  "Erika!" Michael called.

  Disregarding her privacy Michael charged in after her.

  He'd brought it all back. The memories of Bill Castle and the incessant press. Cameras pointing at her, flashes lightning in her face. The questions, the neverending, embarrassing questions that had her hiding in her own house. Everywhere she went people recognized her, whispered behind her back, until she could no longer stand it. If Carlton hadn't asked her to come home, she would have left Los Angeles, anyway. She'd held herself straight, refusing to let them get the better of her.

  It was happening all over again. She'd thought the initial news of Carlton's death and her inheritance had come and gone, lost behind more sensational news than the passing of a rich old man. She didn't realize there was something about Michael that would have them hounding her again, something having to do with Michael and Frank Mason.

  "Erika," Michael called again.

  She turned to face him, her arms at her sides, her face blank and unreadable.

  "When I left they were in the parking lot, waiting," she began. "They followed me home. I assume they're at the end of the driveway, probably with a full television crew, waiting until we come out and give them what they want."

  Michael glanced through the window over her shoulder as if he could see the reporters from here. They were out there somewhere, on the other side of the beveled glass door, down the winding driveway and outside the wrought iron gate.

  "Where did you go?" Erika asked him. Her voice had softened. She stared at him with hurt in her eyes. Michael felt guilty. He hadn't intended to have her take the full brunt of what he knew would happen. His heart constricted, and he knew he was going to take her in his arms. In a second he'd crossed the room and pulled her against his bare chest. His arms were around her, and with only a minimal amount of resistance she relaxed against him.

  "I went home. I needed to talk to my brothers."

  "Mother!" she pulled back, concluding this awful day had been the results of her mother's threat. "I forgot all about her. I've got words for her that will turn her roots grey." She went to pull out of his arms, but he stopped her.

  "Not now," he whispered, placing his hands on either side of her face. He stared at her. Her eyes were huge and confused, but her gaze was direct. He understood—he was as confused as she. Between them something was happening and he didn't know if he wanted to stop it, or even if he could. Heat swirled around them, drying his skin and cocooning them in a world where only they existed. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers. Her lips were full and soft, yielding. A sound crawled in his throat at the pleasure of her touch. He continued the easy, brushing motion. This could be his undoing. He'd been without a woman for a long time. And Erika wasn't just any woman. He didn't want just any woman. He wanted her. She'd been on his mind since the moment he saw her. Even without the motivation of thwarting Frank Mason, Michael wasn't sure he wouldn't have come to Philadelphia just to see her again.

  It wouldn't take much for him to crush her against him, devour her mouth, peel this red suit from her creamy brown body and take her on the bed only a few feet from where they stood.

  He wouldn't do that. He couldn't do it. There was something about her that told him she was fragile and could easily break into a million pieces. He kissed her tenderly, cradling her head between his hands. She returned his kiss with equal gentleness, opening her mouth to his enticing persuasion, accepting the fullness of his tongue as it swept inside and tasted the sweetness of her being.

  Her arms circled his waist, her hands spreading about his naked back with a silkiness that made him shiver with need. His body was warm, hot, melting, and hard. His lack of clothing left her in no doubt about his state of arousal. She was aroused, too. He felt it in the boneless wonder of her arms as their mouths left each other's and her head sank to his chest.

  Michael had never experienced a kiss like this before. He'd known plenty of women. He understood passion and sex, uncontrolled and wild, but the tenderness she evoked in him was a new experience. With her in his arms he wanted more than kisses, more than sex. He wanted to be tender. He wanted to know her, understand her hurt and her compassion. She was different from every other woman he'd ever met. He wanted to understand how she could drive him crazy with her look. He wanted to protect her from the reporters outside and from the world that threatened her.

  He'd thought he wanted to escape from the world, not interact with mankind or the entrapments that contact invariably caused, but with Erika he wanted to be her champion. She mattered. Why, he couldn't say. He hadn't known her long, but somehow her good opinion of him meant something.

  He lifted her chin. Her eyes were full of passion and he knew he'd put it there. His body wanted hers. He wanted to bury himself inside her and make love the rest of the night. They could forget the reporters, forget their pasts, however bad they had been, and only live for the next few hours. But Michael wouldn't do that.

  He would kiss her again. That he couldn't stop. Her look pulled his head down, and his mouth took hers. This time the passion he'd held in check fought for release. He kissed her hard, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her body into close contact with him. His mouth devoured hers as his hands rode low on her hips, pulling her into intimate contact with him. He wouldn't make love to her, but he wanted her to know he could.

  He heard the throaty sound of pleasure that escaped from her mouth into his, and he felt her body mold itself around him. He was losing it. In seconds he'd forget his vow and have her naked on the bed. Michael tore his mouth from hers. Her arms tightened around his neck, and he held her for another agonizing moment before pulling free.

  He stared down at her, both of them trembling, both of them breathing raggedly. "Make no mistake about this, Erika," he said in a voice thick with emotion, "I want to make love to you." She started to say something. "Shhh . . ." He put his finger to her lips.

  Her tongue darted out and licked his finger. Michael nearly lost his power of speech. A spiral of emotion fissured through him.

  "Erika, this isn't part of our agreement. We're both rational people and we're awfully close to stepping across a line that hasn't been defined. We might want to think clearly before doing something we could both regret."

  ***

  Erika sat in her office the next morning, one hand holding her head. For two nights straight she'd had little or no sleep. Her other hand gripped the coffee cup as if it were a lifeline. She drank the hot liquid, black. Usually she added sugar and cream, but this morning she needed something to cancel out the men with jackhammers inside her head.

  Michael hadn't been at breakfast today. Erika didn't know whether she should be glad or sad about his absence. He'd only postponed their next meeting. It had to take place sometime. The will pitted them together for the next twelve months. They'd only been together for forty-eight hours, and already they were only a hair away from being intimate.

  They were strangers, she told herself. How could she act like this? She knew better, knew it was disastrous, but in his arms she didn't think. . .that was the problem. If she was to go on with this for the next year, she had to think clearly, and that meant staying away from him.

  Michael was right. The agreement didn't call for them making love, and they certainly would have if he hadn't stopped them. She couldn't believe the way she'd acted. He'd kissed her and the only thing she'd been aware of was the dark heat of his skin, the smell of the dried water, and the contours of his chest. She pictured herself close to him, kissing his male nipples and removing the only barrier he wore between the world and his nakedness.

  Erika shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. What was she doing?
She needed to concentrate on sales levels, on strategy for increasing their market share ratios. But her concentration was gone. Just as it had been last night. One minute she was arguing with Michael over the reporters, and the next she'd been trying to climb inside him.

  This time there was no doubt in her mind about his motive. On the mountain he'd been saying good-bye, and the other night he'd been comforting her, but last night, last night was raw, unleashed, sexual excitement, and she'd wanted him to take her to bed. She wanted him to make love to her. The urge was stronger than she'd ever known it could be. But he'd told her he'd regret it, regret making love to her.

  Rejection! She knew it when she saw it. How many times would she set herself up for this kind of disappointment?

  Hadn't she learned anything? Hadn't the trauma with Bill taught her to tread lightly? Or the years with her mother, a woman who didn’t want her and had never done anything but push her away? Obviously, she hadn't, if it took so little provocation and even a smaller amount of resistance on her part before she was lost in Michael's arms.

  "Erika?"

  She heard her name. Heard Michael's voice. Her head snapped up. He was standing in front of her desk. Erika clenched her teeth. She'd hadn't heard him come in, but a quick glance at the door connecting their offices told her he'd opened it and come inside. How long had he been there?

  "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine," she said, trying for a smile. She looked at him. Unlike her, he appeared fresh and rested this morning. A flash of anger went through her. The kiss they'd shared had to have some effect on him, but he must know how to handle the situation better than she did. She admitted she didn't have much experience. Barring Bill, there had only been three other men in her life, and she'd handled none of those relationships well.

  "I called a press conference for ten o'clock this morning."

  "You what!" She stood up so fast her chair careened backward and hit the wall.