The Legacy

by Fayrene Preston

  “I’m glad.”

  He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do, he thought. She was distracted. He wouldn’t have to kiss her again. He straightened, reached for a lock of her cinnamon hair, and wove it through his fingers. “How about you, Caitlin? Are you good at self-preservation?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “I suppose I’m adequate. I couldn’t have reached twenty-six if I wasn't.”

  “You’re just a baby.”

  Her tongue moistened her bottom lip. “How old are you?”

  His gaze followed the action. “Thirty-four.” He released her hair and skimmed the pad of a finger across her moistened bottom lip. “But most of the time I feel eighty-four.”

  Any minute now, she was going to lose track of their conversation, she reflected. All she could think of was how close he was standing to her and how much he seemed to be touching her. “Why would you feel that old?”

  “Life, Caitlin,” he said roughly. “Life. Take my advice and stay the same age as you are biologically, for as long as you can.”

  “H—how would you recommend I do that?”

  His jaw clenched until he felt pain shoot up the side of his face. “Stay away from me.”

  “Stay ...” To her mortification, tears filled her eyes. “What?”

  “Damn. ” He jerked her to him and crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue found the hot velvet of her mouth, and need exploded in him, nearly undoing him. Thoughts crowded into his brain, thoughts of taking her down to the floor with him, undressing both of them, locking their bodies together, and learning her from the inside out. It was a bad, bad idea. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong person. . . . But Lord, how he wanted her.

  Lightly he grated his teeth along the length of her tongue, eliciting a moan from her. Caitlin had no thought of holding back. He’d jerked her to him as if wanting her had gotten the better of him. The idea thrilled her, and at the same time she understood. Maybe there was a reason why she should fight against him and the way he made her feel, but if there was, she couldn’t think of it.

  He thrust both hands upward beneath the wide legs of her shorts and the lace trim of her panties and took hold of the rounded contours of her bottom. The sensation of kneading the firm flesh satisfied him for only a moment. Everything in him was clamoring for him to bury himself inside her and seek relief for this fever that was driving him crazy. Without relinquishing his hold on her, he lifted her against his pelvis, then pulled her into him hard, so that she could feel the strength of his desire. When Caitlin wrapped her legs around his hips and tightened her hold on him, he nearly came undone.

  The fresh smell of rain came through the window and mingled with the scent of their need. They strained together as a dark fire blazed in and around them.

  Caitlin felt as if she were balancing on a precipice and the uncertainty made her feel helpless.

  Nico had an intense driving need for her, and the certainty made her feel strong.

  Uncertainty. Certainty. Helplessness. Strength.

  Whatever . . . She couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go until the hunger growing inside her was assuaged.

  The muscles in his back shifted and moved beneath her hands as he began lowering them to the floor.

  “Caitlin. Caitlin, are you up there?” Ramona called.

  Nico stilled and muttered a curse. Then, before she could protest, he set her on her feet and almost ripped her arms from around his neck.

  “Caitlin?”

  “Yes?” she said, but her voice was too weak to reach Ramona who she knew was standing at the bottom of the attic stairs.

  "Caitlin!"

  “Answer her, dammit,” he ordered in a harsh whisper.

  Nico’s eyes were burning with an anger that bore right through her. She cleared her throat and called, “What is it, Ramona?”

  “Conrad Gilbert is here.”

  “Tell him to make himself comfortable, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  "All right.” There was a brief silence, then, “Are you okay? You sound—funny.”

  She bent her head and rubbed her temple. “I’m fine. Ill be down shortly. ”

  The rasping of their heavy breathing sounded loud in the quiet attic room as Ramona’s footsteps receded. Caitlin could feel the heat from Nico’s body on her skin, but the continued silence between them stretched out until she couldn’t take it anymore. Uncaring that her eyes revealed all the hunger she was feeling, she said, “I'll tell Conrad I can’t see him today, Nico. I’ll— ”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  His teeth ground together as he reflected how close all his fine resolutions had come to being blown straight to hell. “I said it before, and I'll say it again. Stay away from me.”

  “What are you talking about? Something just happened between us—”

  “Something that damn well shouldn’t have.” A hard dark mask descended over his face. "Stay away from me, Caitlin, and I’ll stay away from you!” He wheeled and stalked from the room.

  Caitlin bit her lip and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Devastated, she stood very still, knowing it would hurt to move, to think, to recall what had just happened. Long minutes passed, but no relief came.

  Finally, slowly, with heavy automatic movements, she began her search for the chair. The sight of the trunk gave her momentary pause. The lock hooked in the hasp wasn’t completely closed.

  “That’s odd,” she murmured aloud. “I thought all the trunks were locked.”

  The next few days blurred for Caitlin. She dealt efficiently with crises as they arose. The morning after the scene in the attic, she discovered that the wrong wallpaper pattern had been put up in one bedroom. Much to the consternation of the workmen, she ordered the paper stripped. The next day, she caught a painter about to use too bold a shade of peach in the main drawing room and had to explain to him that the Art Nouveau period was one of rich but muted colors and that she wanted a softer color. She knew she was being a perfectionist, but where SwanSea was concerned, everything had to be just right.

  Obsession with work blocked out thoughts of Nico—sometimes for minutes.

  She went out of her way to avoid him, not because he had told her to but because she felt seeing him again would be like exposing an open wound to more injury.

  But by the time the electricity blew on the third day, she had begun to be annoyed with herself. Since when had she become so fragile? she asked herself. Since Nico came to stay, she answered.

  After discovering that a mistake had been made when the new wiring was installed, she put in a call to the electrical subcontractor. Then she realized Nico needed to be told they would be without electricity for a while, perhaps even a few days. Her first thought was to send Ramona to find him, but she quickly vetoed the idea. Enough oj this, she decided. She had a strong backbone, and it was time she used it.

  Nico came to a sudden stop by the marble fountain in the center of the conservatory and lasered a sharp gaze around the immense iron-and-glass building. He heard nothing now, and he knew that he was alone. But. . . just for a moment there, he had thought he heard laughter, like a haunting echo of long ago.

  He shook his head, puzzled by the intense interest he felt for the great house, its land, and its buildings. SwanSea was built on the detailed and opulent scale nearly unbelievable and almost impossible to achieve in present times. But his interest went deeper than the awe that was natural upon seeing for the first time the wonders of this century-old house.

  But it was as if the house had reached out and taken possession of him, so that slowly he was coming to understand Caitlin and her fierce feelings for her inheritance.

  Procrastination had never been a part of his makeup, but this afternoon he had decided to explore more of the grounds of SwanSea instead of continuing his investigation of the attic as he’d promised himself.

  He’d taken a stroll over to the pool house, large enough to accommodate a couple of families easily. Acco
rding to Caitlin, it had been built in the 1920s after her grandfather had taken ownership of SwanSea. Nico had spent some time wandering through its bowling alleys, squash courts, the gymnasium, the Turkish bath, and the fabulous indoor swimming pool. Then he had made his way here.

  Sinking onto a wrought-iron bench, Nico exhaled heavily. The sun was setting on the west side of the conservatory. Golden light flowed through the big glass panes, filling the inside of the nearly translucent building with currents of sunshine that coiled and curled around the statues and the orange trees growing beneath the crystalline roof.

  His recuperation was coming along nicely, but in a call to Amarillo he had learned it wasn’t safe for him to leave SwanSea—too many people were still looking for him. And in a call to his great-grandmother, he had promised her that he would continue his search.

  How much longer could he stay here without losing his sanity? He’d had many opportunities over the last few days to watch Caitlin from afar. He’d envied every man at whom she’d smiled. He’d been jealous of anyone with whom she’d spoken. And worst of all, as he lay in bed every night, the knowledge that she was in her room just down the hall chafed at him until he felt raw.

  His desire for her had grown daily until he’d almost become used to the pain. That day in the attic had nearly been his undoing. Since then, a lot of his time had been taken up with remembering the way the tantalizing scent of her skin could wind around a man’s body until he thought he’d suffocate if he didn’t have her.

  He had to stay away from her.

  “Nico?”

  His head jerked around as she made her way along a path between flower beds newly readied for planting. At the sight of her, his body tensed and his chest began to hurt.

  Nearing him, she nervously smoothed her damp palms down the full skirt of her sleeveless jade-green sundress. “You’re a hard man to track down,” she said.

  He sensed her unease, but he couldn’t smile easily to reassure her, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her sudden and unexpected presence had heightened and intensified the aching pain he’d felt these last days—and the sensation was the difference between holding his hands toward a fire and feeling its warmth, and thrusting his arms into the fire.

  He came to his feet. “Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?”

  “Yes. We’ve had some trouble up at the house and—”

  “Trouble?" Alarm turned his muscle to steel.

  She eyed him warily. “I’m afraid so. We have no electricity." She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I’m not sure what happened. Something blew something. The electrician will be out first thing in the morning. Tonight, though, and maybe for a few days to come, it will be candlelight. I thought you should know.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Thank you. I appreciate your coming to tell me.”

  “No trouble,” she said shortly and laced her fingers together. “I needed to check out what they’ve done in here anyway, and it looks like they’re making real headway. I see they've carted away the debris, replaced the broken panes, and cleaned the windows. TheyH probably start on the fountain next." She shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I need to get back. I’ve got work waiting for me.”

  An inexplicable panic seized him, and he anxiously searched for something to keep her with him a little longer. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this building. What exactly is it used for, anyway?” She was pleased by the genuine interest in his tone. “Originally, it was built to be an indoor garden for people to stroll through, to rest in, to read in— anything, really. But there have been wonderful parties here, and I can guarantee you, there will be again.”

  His appreciation for the confidence and joy she felt in the great house of SwanSea was newfound. But his pleasure at simply being near her was an ancient, primitive reaction.

  There was a tightrope he’d had to walk for many years. Often he’d had difficulties. But he’d never had to remember to keep his balance as he did now. “You plan to rent it out for private functions?”

  She nodded. Without her being aware, the subject of SwanSea had given her pale, stiff features a lovely animation. “Yes. And I think it would be perfect for the hotel’s regular afternoon tea, with a pianist playing Gershwin and Porter. Or for special dinner parties or events . . . The possibilities are endless.” Her excitement over her plans flushed her skin with luminosity, and Nico decided he’d never seen anyone quite so exquisite and desirable. The sun had been lowering In the sky while they talked, so that the golden light appeared silken and tinted with crimson. To lie down in the light and make love with Caitlin would be the ultimate sensual experience.

  “The conservatory has always reminded me of a glass castle,” she was saying. “Doesn’t it you?”

  His mouth twisted with humor. “That wouldn’t have been my first thought, no. ”

  Caitlin’s gaze went to his mouth, and she was forcibly reminded that her attraction for him was as strong as ever. But unfortunately nothing else had changed either, and the fact that they’d managed to talk companionably for a few minutes didn’t alter the fact that she meant nothing to him.

  She swallowed against a dry throat. “It looks like some sort of iron and glass fantasy to me. The weblike ironwork appears so delicate, yet it supports all of that glass. Using structural ironwork as part of the decoration of a building was a trademark of Art Nouveau.”

  Good, he thought—a topic that would take his mind off the desire building inside him. “I guess you're an expert on the period. ”

  “It’s part of my heritage, just like DiFrenza’s must be part of yours, even though you don’t work there.” “I suppose so,” he said, unaware that she’d managed to change the focus. “It’s true I never developed an affinity for the clothing business, but I did work in the store every summer when I was in school.” He grinned slightly. “It made my family happy.”

  “What sort of jobs did you have?”

  “All sorts. I even learned to dress windows.” “Really?”

  “Really,” he said huskily, “and I also learned fabrics. For instance, I could tell you what your dress is made of.” He paused as he realized what he was about to say and do, and then he plunged on. “But I’d have to feel the material.”

  “All right,” she said as a tremor began within her.

  Two of his fingers slid beneath the edge of the scooped-out neckline and touched her skin as he grasped the shimmery material of her sundress. The sudden heat from the contact made her gasp.

  He heard her and experienced a corresponding quickening. The tactile sensation of her skin and the soft material made him linger, rubbing the material back and forth between his thumb and fingers. He was torturing himself, he thought, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s a silk linen blend,” he murmured.

  Caitlin had come to life at his touch. Her pulses were racing, her senses whirling. But no matter what, she knew she couldn't betray what she was feeling. Not this time. She managed to indicate he was right with a slight nod.

  With more care than was warranted, he withdrew his hand. “Very pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Her pounding heart sounded in her ears. She moved a few steps away from him and gave the fountain her complete attention. “You know,” she said casually, “I don’t think you ever told me what type of law practice you have.”

  He gave a brief prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been looking when she asked the question. Otherwise, she would have seen him go rigid. “I’m a criminal lawyer."

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. “That must be interesting."

  “It’s a job. ”

  She contemplated his terse remark, running her hand over the cool marble of the fountain. Nico didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would enter a profession about which he didn’t care passionately. Otherwise, like his father and sister, he would simply have gone into the family business.

  She turned back to him. “But you must enjoy it. You did have other options.”


  “Not really.” He looked away. His fingers still tingled as he remembered the feel of her skin. “Caitlin . . “Yes?”

  He gripped his bottom lip with his teeth until all the color had been squeezed from the flesh. Then and only then did he trust himself to speak. “Did Ramona tell you what time supper would be?” Instinct told her that his Inquiry about supper had been an afterthought, but instinct also told her not to probe. He knew as well as she that Ramona would serve him whenever he showed up. “Around seven. Are you hungry?”

  He returned his gaze to her, and his throat constricted at the sight she made in the gathering dusk, her cinnamon hair a vivid contrast to the jade-green dress. “Yes,” he murmured softly. “Yes.” He cleared his throat, taking a moment to get himself together. “I am hungry, but I can wait. I think I'll go back to the house, though, and wash up.”

  “I have to get back too. I’ll walk with you. ”

  They moved at the same time and bumped against each other. The contact was minimal, but the result was magnified by their charged state.

  Nico pulled a deep lungful of air into his body, attempting to clear his mind. But the air was filled with sweetness—newly turned earth, orange blossoms, and the knee-weakening fragrance of the woman beside him. Nico closed his hand around her arm and pulled her against him. The taste of her mouth brought a growl from the back of his throat. He deepened the kiss, seeking the warmth and the heat that he had craved every minute of every day since he had last kissed her.

  A violent tremor shook Caitlin. The passion of his kiss—the fire skimming along nerve endings, invading the lower part of her body—was heaven, was hell.

  She wanted this man, and it would be sd easy to give in and surrender to where the kiss would lead. But there were too many things she didn’t understand. The memory of his rejection in the attic played like a warped record in the back of her mind.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have the strength to risk his rejection again. She did. But why should she?

  And she could stand the pain she knew love sometimes brought. But only if she had a reason to accept that pain.