The Legacy

by Fayrene Preston

  And then he was pulling away.

  “The record.”

  She blinked as if she’d suddenly come from complete darkness into a brilliantly lighted room. “What?”

  “The record’s over,” he said gruffly.

  Confused, she stared at his dark expression, trying to decipher what was wrong, and it was a moment before she became aware of the insistent scratching of the needle as it tracked against the record. Her limbs quivering with weakness, she walked into the drawing room, turned the Victrola off, then leaned against the tall mahogany cabinet for support.

  She’d never in her life experienced anything like what had just happened between her and Nico. A touch of his lips had sent her out of control—an experience he obviously hadn’t shared. Okay, she thought, rubbing her forehead, what now?

  She was tom. She was beginning to wish desperately for something more to develop between her and Nico than a brief brush with passion, although she sensed it would be foolish of her to try to pierce the mystery that surrounded him. But in the final analysis, like the tides and the seasons, some things were inevitable, and she felt she had no choice.

  When she came back to the veranda, she found Nico leaning against the balustrade, his shirt buttoned, his arms crossed over his chest. He appeared very hard, very closed.

  She halted beside him, facing in the opposite direction, and folded her hands on top of the ornamental barrier. “Did I touch a tender spot?”

  “No.”

  “Were you afraid I would?”

  He glanced at her. She was gazing out at the night-shrouded ocean, and the confusion he saw on her face filled him with anger—an anger directed solely at himself. “No.”

  She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “I was just wondering. . . . When you were kissing me, you seemed so guarded. ”

  No woman had ever sensed that he was holding part of himself back during any phase of his love-making. He wasn’t sure he’d been aware of it himself. Not until now. Caitlin was too perceptive for her own good. “You’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He ground his teeth together in frustration. Why didn’t she just leave it alone? "Maybe I feel it wouldn’t be a good idea to become involved with you. ”

  “Is that because you’re involved with someone else?” Her heart beat very fast as she waited for his answer, and it seemed a long time coming.

  “No.”

  “Then why, Nico?”

  He shot out his arm, clasped the side of her throat, and pulled her in front of him. Each word he spoke carried a biting emphasis. “It could be I’m afraid to lose control with you, because if I did, I wouldn’t know where it would end.”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you really believe that?” He stared broodingly at her, his thumb stroking up and down the sensitive cord at the side of her neck. “Maybe.”

  “You’re a difficult man to get to know, Nico DiFrenza.”

  “And you, Caitlin Deverell, are too damn easy to want.” Like a junkie needing a fix, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. It seemed a long time before he released her. But once he did, it seemed too short a time.

  He waited for her to say something and cursed the continued silence. This kind of tension couldn't continue. Something had to give between them, or there would be an explosion. “You didn’t put on another record. ”

  She folded her shaking hands on top of the balustrade. “No. That’s the kind of music 1 love, but I wasn’t sure if you liked It or not. ”

  “When I listen to music, it’s usually classical or opera, but I liked what you were playing.”

  She shifted slightly, so that she could see him better. His answer had been curt, but at least he was talking to her, telling her something about himself. “You don’t seem the type of man who would like opera. ”

  The slight upward curve of his mouth surprised her. “Your grandfather raised you with Gershwin and Porter. My great-grandmother raised me with Puccini and Verdi. She’s from Italy, and to her, music is opera.” His smile slowly faded. “My mother died when I was twelve, but even before then, Elena was a strong force in my life. Now she’s ill. Her nurses call me whenever she’s having a particularly bad day. It makes her furious when I show up, because she doesn’t want me to worry about her. She fusses at me, calling me by my full name, Niccolo, and telling me all the reasons why I shouldn’t have come.”

  An expression of incredible tenderness came over his face, causing Caitlin's breath to catch in her throat.

  “I put on Madame Butterfly or La Boheme, then I sit with her and hold her hand. It never takes long for her to settle down, and soon she begins to talk to me In her native tongue of the times in Italy during the First World War. It was the hardest time in her life, but also the happiest. When she was seventeen, she met and married a young man who was working in the Italian Underground. A year later, he was killed, and she was left widowed and pregnant.” He paused. “She goes on and on about those times. Sometimes I wonder if she knows what she’s saying. But her mind seems very clear, and somehow talking of those times seems to soothe her.”

  "I’m sure a lot of it has to do with your being there.”

  Caitlin’s soft voice drew his gaze to her, and he remembered. She was an innocent in all this, a pawn. She had trusted him . . . opened up her home to him. And he was a first-class bastard, a bastard who could easily fall in love with her if he wasn’t careful. “We’ve always been close.”

  She misinterpreted his flat tone and raised her hand to his face. “I know how you feel. My grandfather’s illness was very hard for me to watch. He’d always been such a vital man, but he didn’t mind his going as much as I did. He was eager to see Arabella again. ”

  He closed his fingers around her wrist, but he didn’t pull her hand away. “His wife?”

  She nodded. “I wish I could describe his expression to you—when he drew his last breath.”

  "You were there?”

  “All my life he’d been there for me. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I hadn’t been there for him. And I was glad I was. He seemed so at peace, so happy. I knew without a doubt that he was with Arabella, so I grieved only for myself then.”

  Why, oh why, did she have to be such a special person? Feeling momentarily defeated, he gave in, drew her into his arms, and just held her.

  Caitlin pressed her cheek against his chest. No matter what he’d told her about himself, she was certain there was much, much more to learn. He was a difficult, enigmatic man, but she was beginning to feel just as puzzled about herself. What were these sad-happy, confused-clear feelings she’d been having?

  She’d had what she supposed could be termed a few “relationships” over the years, and along the way she had lost the normal number of illusions. She’d learned that fairy tales weren’t real and that love could be confusing, sometimes even painful. None of her lessons in love had been traumatic, but now she realized that what she’d experienced in the past was milk toast in comparison to what she was going through with Nico. He shook her to the marrow of her bones.

  She lifted her head and brushed a warm soft kiss across his lips. She felt him stiffen, then slowly relax and gather her closer to him. The control was still there, but so was the heat.

  And the taste of Nico lingered on her lips long after he’d abruptly and quickly broken off the kiss and gone upstairs to his room. And still she found she couldn’t sleep.

  In his room, Nico dialed and waited. When the sleepy sound of Amarillo Smith’s gravel voice came on the line, he said, “Rill, it’s me.”

  “ ’Bout damn time you called. Where are you?”

  “SwanSea.”

  “Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get in.” Nico’s mouth firmed. It might have been better if he hadn’t. “I’m here. Anything new?”

  “Not so far. Just lie low and get well. ”

  It sounded so easy, he thought grimly. "Right. ” “Are you in pain, Nico?”

  “No.”


  “I just wondered. Your voice sounded funny there for a minute. ”

  “I’m fine. Have you looked in on Elena?”

  “She’s doing well.”

  “Did you check to make sure she has everything she needs?”

  “Of course.” The acerbic tone of Amarillo’s drawl indicated Nico had been stupid even to ask.

  Nico’s lips quirked. Amarillo had been raised in the oil fields of West Texas, and his frontier mentality made him a law unto himself. No one understood why he was in Boston, but he was as hard and as tough as they came and always got results. And he was the one man Nico trusted with his life.

  “Got a pencil. Rill? Ill give you this number.”

  Three

  Ramona, a big-boned woman with shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense manner, filled Caitlin’s cup with steaming black coffee, then stood back and fixed her with a critical stare. “Why do have shadows under your eyes? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I feel fine.”

  “What about those shadows?”

  “The sun isn’t out today, and the light is probably making every one of us look ghastly.” She smiled. “Except you, of course. You always look wonderful.” “So do you . . . usually. And you can quit trying to butter me up.”

  She sighed. “I’m telling you, the rain Is giving the light a gray cast.”

  “1 don’t believe a word of it. If you don’t start taking care of yourself, young lady, I’m going to have two patients.”

  “Which you’d love. Come on, admit it. The great sorrow of your life is that you don’t have enough people to fuss over.”

  Ramona’s lined face took on a pensive expression. “I always thought Julia would marry and give you brothers and sisters. It would have been the best thing for her.”

  “I agree.” Caitlin’s words were sincere, but today she wasn’t in the mood to listen to a rehash of what she’d heard time and again. She changed the subject to something she did want to hear. “How’s Nico doing? I haven’t seen him today.”

  Since their encounter on the terrace she’d done some serious thinking, and she now realized that Nico was the one who always pulled back when their encounters threatened to become too intimate or, as on the terrace, too passionate. She didn’t know why he was reluctant to become involved with her, but she was coming to understand that with all his mystery and passion, he represented a danger to her well-being. And she was no clearer how she felt about him.

  Except, she was very much afraid that, in spite of her better judgment, she was falling in love with him. The thing was, she’d inherited the Deverell pride. She’d never in her life pursued a man, and there was no reason why Nico DiFrenza should become the first.

  Except she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or aching for him.

  “Nico is getting better every day,” Ramona said. “By the way, do you know what kind of surgery he had?” “No.” Caitlin smiled ruefully. “In fact, he’s never admitted to surgery, just some vague illness. But I’m surprised you haven’t asked him. ”

  “Actually, I did. And he told me about his condition. But you know, I don’t think he ever answered my question.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Like most men, I think he’s just very sensitive about being ill. Anyway, whatever was wrong with him has obviously been taken care of.”

  “I suppose.”

  Caitlin glanced at her watch. “I better get moving. Conrad Gilbert is due soon, but before he gets here, I want to run up to the attic. If I remember right, there’s a chair up there with upholstery I want duplicated for a suite of rooms in the northwest wing. ”

  Nico rested on his heels and rubbed his neck. He’d been in the attic for over two hours, and he’d only managed to search two trunks. He had thought that over the years, a family like the Deverells would have devised a more systematic way of storing their things. Apparently though, they were a family who tended to move forward, rather than spending time reflecting on the past. Admirable, but not at all helpful to him.

  The creak of footsteps on the attic stairway took him by surprise. Quickly and quietly he shut the lid of the trunk he’d been searching. By the time Caitlin entered the musty room, he was standing by an arched window.

  “Nico. I didn’t expect to find you up here.”

  And he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to come up here, he thought, eyeing her warily. She was wearing a jade-green tank top with a lacy appliqud on the front and crisscross straps in the back. Her faded denim shorts had a form-fitting waist and full, flirty legs that made it resemble a sexy little skirt. Perfect outfit for mucking about an attic on a rainy day. Perfect outfit for driving him crazy.

  His expression revealed none of what he was feeling but reflected the innocence of a small boy caught in a harmless prank. “It’s the rain,” he said by way of explanation. “It always makes me want to seek out an attic.”

  She smiled somewhat nervously as she noted that being away from him for a time hadn’t changed the way his presence made her heart race. As startled as she’d been to encounter Nico and despite her recent resolution regarding him, she was very glad to see him. “How long have you had this condition?” “Since I was a kid. Didn’t you tell me you used to like to poke around up here?”

  “Yes, and as you can see, I still do.”

  “Are you poking around for anything in particular?” “Yes, a chair. I thought I remembered it being in this room, but I’m not sure.”

  She'd accepted his explanation without question, and he felt as if he were the worst kind of con man. He couldn't leave SwanSea yet, but there was a part of him that half wished she’d throw him out. "Maybe I could help you search for it.”

  “If you like. It’s a pear-wood armchair with curved arms and legs, and cream-and-yellow upholstery.”

  “I haven’t really looked around much, but it could be here. We could each search a different area if you like. ”

  “Okay, but there’s no rush. ” She lifted her tightly linked fingers in an awkward gesture. “What were you doing? I mean, have you been up here long?”

  He shrugged. “No, not really. Did you know there’s a great view from this window, even with the clouds and rain?”

  She weaved her way around trunks, boxes, and an assortment of furniture until she reached Nico’s side. “You’re right,” she said, gazing out the window. “I’d forgotten how much more you can see from up here than down on the bluff."

  Driven by a compulsion stronger than his will, Nico studied the pure line of her profile and discovered that her dark lashes feathered against her cheeks when she blinked. Charming. And her finely pored skin appeared luminous, even without makeup. Beautiful. And her lips parted slightly as she breathed in and out. Tantalizing. As he had all day yesterday, he relived the feel of her in his arms.

  Without his being able to prevent it, she had gotten under his guard the night before last. He’d told her things about himself and his great-grand-mother that no one outside the family knew. The people he could really talk to were so few, he’d been left wanting to tell her more. But that was impossible.

  He’d kissed her and hurt to go further. And of course that too was impossible.

  On impulse, she unlatched the window and pushed outward on the frame. It didn’t budge.

  “Stuck?” His voice was slightly husky.

  She nodded, trying again. “It hasn’t been opened in years.”

  “Let me see if I can do it." He gave the window one good shove, and it swung outward.

  "Thanks. I thought the room could stand a little air.” She turned and looked at him, and the smile on her face slowly faded as she took in the intensity of his eyes. She shouldn’t read anything into the expression, she told herself. He just happened to be a man with intense eyes.

  So he’d kissed her. He wasn’t the first.

  So she’d melted when she'd never melted before. It meant nothing.

  What’s inside you, and why do I care so much? she asked him silently
. There were layers to this man that no one would discover unless he allowed it—she’d learned that much. And she had resolved that if something developed between them, he would have to make the first move.

  But his nearness was sending jittery little thrills skittering along her nerve endings; she stuck her hand out the window and let the gentle rain cool her skin.

  Before the cooling was done, he drew her hand in from the rain and brought the inside of her wrist to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the nearly translucent skin and felt her pulse race. Then his tongue darted out to lick away the rain.

  "I missed seeing you earlier,” he heard himself murmur. What the hell, he thought wearily, he was simply trying to divert her. And licking rain from her wrist was as good a way as any. How could he have known how delectable he would find her flesh?

  “I was busy,” she said with a catch in her voice.

  “That’s what Ramona said.” He brushed his lips back and forth over the sensitive underskin of her wrist and heard her intake of breath. Oh, Cattlin, why do you have to be so damned sweet?

  “She told me you were feeling better this morning.”

  He dropped his arm, taking her hand to his side. “As soon as it stops raining, I thought I’d try to jog a little. ”

  Protest sprang immediately to her lips. “You shouldn’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I said a little." His dark gaze fixed on her lips, and he bent and placed a kiss at the comer of her mouth. It was as much as he would allow himself. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his breath fanning her lips. “I’m very good at taking care of myself.” He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, then again kissed the comer of her mouth. It was enough, he thought. After all, he was just playing. But her shudder tore through him.