Children of Destiny Books 1-3 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 9)

by Ann Major

  From behind her came the taunt of Nick’s raspy voice. “It’s safe to look now.”

  “I prefer looking at the hairy black legs of Triple’s tarantula.”

  When he laughed, she tensed. Perhaps if she ignored him, Nick would leave her alone.

  Nick lifted a jar of scrambling spiders. “Our Triple’s certainly all boy,” he said, refusing to be ignored.

  Our. Why did the word make Amy tremble and want to slink away?

  “Like his father,” Nick murmured, his low voice a silken caress. He moved nearer. She caught his clean male scent. His voice grew even softer. “You weren’t always made of ice. Don’t you ever get lonely, Amy?”

  “No!” She spoke sharply, breathlessly. She didn’t dare to turn around.

  “I do.” His tone was oddly warm and gentle.

  Her heartbeats sped crazily. “I’m sure there are many women...” She broke off, finding the thought surprisingly painful.

  “There could be, but I’m not interested.”

  “Maybe you should develop new interests.”

  Her sideways glance sought his carved profile in the dim light. His mouth was set in grim lines.

  “Believe me, I’ve told myself that more than once, but I’m not ready to give up on you and me.”

  “Nick, please, I don’t want to talk about us.”

  “You never do.” He spoke quietly, but with a biting cynicism. “All my life people have shut me out. First my mother did, because I was the bastard that ruined her life. When I was a kid I knew something was wrong with me, but it took the schoolyard bully to spell it out with brutal unforgettable clarity. Mother never told me anything. Then when my father found out, it took his family a long time to accept me. All my life I’ve had to fight for anything I wanted.”

  Nick’s expression had turned dark and bitter as he remembered the pain of his childhood. As always, thinking of him suffering as an innocent child affected Amy, even though she knew the story by heart.

  Nick’s father, Wayne Jackson, was a rancher in south Texas and the king of a million acres scattered around the world. When Wayne had been separated from his wife Mercedes, he’d had a brief affair with Nick’s mother, Ticia Browning. By the time Ticia realized she was pregnant, Wayne was reunited with his wife. Nick felt that he’d had to fight his way into his father’s family and battle for his father’s acceptance.

  Amy turned to face him. “I can’t talk about it. I just can’t,” she said desperately.

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Why can’t you understand that it’s too late for us? Explanations won’t make any difference.”

  He studied her pale, frightened face, and was as puzzled as he always was every time he tried to get to the bottom of what had gone wrong between them. She looked terrified. Of him. Why? That was the question.

  “All right. For now,” he replied gently, not wanting to push her too far, too soon. It was enough for now that he had his foot in the door.

  Although Nick had already studied the hodgepodge collection on Triple’s shelves, he did so again to give Amy a chance to recover. He felt a heady mixture of fatherly pride and love. Every photograph Nick had ever sent Triple was tacked prominently to his bulletin board. The makeshift gallery was overflowing onto the walls.

  There was a jumble of curling yellow articles about Nick’s sailing triumphs and glossy color pictures of Nick and his trophies, all dangling at crazy angles from lemon-yellow tacks. He smiled faintly, suddenly reminded that his younger half brother, Jack, had also kept all the pictures and articles about Nick’s sailing triumphs just as proudly when they’d been kids.

  In many ways Triple reminded Nick of Jack. The boy definitely had Jack’s lust for life, his wildness, and Triple was all the more precious to him now that Jack was gone. Triple would need a strong guiding hand, and Amy, for all her dedication, tended to spoil those she mothered.

  Nick studied Amy for a minute. “Thank you for letting my son keep all these pictures of me out like this.”

  “They mean a lot to him,” Amy admitted.

  “They mean a lot to me,” came that raspy silken tone.

  His sincerity caused a warm, wonderful confusion to envelop her.

  “There’s no reason to thank me,” she said stiffly.

  His dark gaze narrowed. “You could have turned Triple against me, but you didn’t. A lot of women who felt the way you did about her son’s father would have.”

  “That wouldn’t have been the fair thing to do.”

  “And I’m grateful.”

  She fought to avoid the blue infinity of his eyes. Instead of looking at him, she kept studying the writhing legs in the spiders’ jar. “I did it for Triple,” she whispered brokenly, “not you. Boys need to be proud of their fathers.”

  “Perhaps you should amend that to boys need their fathers,” he said, his voice dry and sardonic.

  “You never miss a chance, do you?”

  “I try not to,” he said.

  Their eyes met and held for an instant, until she looked away.

  Nick broke the awkward silence, changing the subject. “Who’s been feeding all of Triple’s...er...pets while he’s been sick?”

  “Probably no one.”

  “Then I’ll take over that responsibility,” Nick said. “What do they eat?”

  She turned and looked at the beasts scrambling in their jars. She grimaced. “Each other.”

  Amy had spoken with loathing and disgust, but behind her, Nick burst into laughter. Even as the pleasant sound shivered down her spine, she turned in surprise, intensely conscious of how attractive he was. She couldn’t resist a giggle of her own.

  Soon the deep rich sounds of their mingled joy filled the room. It was the first time in years that they’d laughed together.

  Amy giggled until tears sparkled in her eyes. In his delight, Nick reached out and took her arms, instinctively drawing her close and hugging her. She felt the brush of his jaw and chin against her hair, and an electric current shot through her.

  Too late she realized what she had done. She stopped laughing, and so did he, but they continued to cling to each other a little breathlessly. Treacherous sensations of intimacy flowed through Amy. She pressed her hands against his shoulders and arched away from his chest. He let her go, and she backed away clumsily. But the spontaneous moment of shared humor had touched her more than she’d wanted it to. She felt shy and embarrassed. She couldn’t stop herself from recalling how delicious it was to be folded against the warmth of Nick’s body. It was all too easy to remember how charming and fun loving he could be—too easy to remember how deeply she’d once loved him.

  “I’m serious, Nick,” she said, trying to be. “They do eat each other, but you’ll have to ask Triple who eats who.”

  Nick lifted a wire-screened box from a shelf to examine it more closely. “What’s in here?”

  “Careful,” Amy said with a shiver. “That’s Geronimo.”

  “Geronimo?”

  “Triple’s snake,” she whispered.

  “His cage is practically falling apart,” Nick said. “If Geronimo doesn’t get a square meal before long, he’s going to slip out one of these cracks where the lid’s warped.”

  “At the moment Geronimo is the least of my worries.”

  “I know what you mean,” Nick said gently. “Why don’t we call the hospital and check on Triple? If he’s okay, we’ll eat and rest a bit and then go back.”

  She didn’t resist when he touched her waist possessively, guiding her out of their son’s bedroom. It never occurred to her to marvel at how quickly and ruthlessly he was zeroing in on his targets—her heart and soul.

  Five

  Triple was doing well at the hospital, so Amy and Nick enjoyed a late dinner with Sam. They spread out plates of cold cuts and fruit in the informal dining room that overlooked the Pacific. Lights from the boats offshore flickered against the darkness.

  Lorrie had not come home. Amy wondered guiltily if
she had sensed Nick would be there and was avoiding him. Ever since Amy had married Nick, Lorrie had been terrified he’d find some way to move in with them. She’d begged Amy not to tell Nick Triple was sick and in the hospital.

  Sitting across the table from Amy, Nick was stunning. The lapis color of his dress shirt turned his eyes a most dazzling shade of blue. Amy tried not to look at him because every time she did, she felt the warmth of his intense gaze skimming over her, caressing her, and she would quiver in response. Pleasantly disturbed, she would glance down quickly at her plate, but not so quickly that Nick didn’t realize how he had affected her. She knew if she glanced up at such a time, she would catch the knowing flash of one of his frequent white smiles.

  “I am always delighted by the view in this room,” Sam said.

  Nick smiled lazily. “So am I.”

  Sam was looking at the glistening ocean. Nick was watching Amy eat strawberries with her fingers. He seemed to take great pleasure as her white teeth nipped the red skin of the berries and sank delicately into the luscious pink fruit. He smiled every time she licked a pearly droplet of sweet juice from her fingers.

  Amy’s gaze lifted to his during this sticky process. Nick was regarding her with a gaze of sheer aesthetic appreciation, as if he considered her an opulent masterpiece of female flesh. She had finished licking her fingertips. Her tongue was flicking tidily over her lips, leaving them moist and luminously soft. His eyes grew hot, and his hungry look made her creamy skin glow as pinkly as that of the lush strawberries she’d been nibbling. Embarrassed, she brought her napkin to her lips, hiding the lower part of her face from his view as seductively as a beautiful houri in a Muslim harem. She lowered her long-lashed eyes and ate no more.

  His gaze lingered.

  After dinner Apolonia served mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cups of steaming black coffee.

  “Tomorrow morning I go to grocery store and do the shopping, Mr. Nick,” Apolonia apologized. “Tomorrow night I serve you hot meal.”

  Nick beamed at her. “This was wonderful. Especially the strawberries.”

  Amy blushed, but no one other than Nick saw it. He noticed everything.

  Apolonia, who seemed younger and prettier than usual, was chattering gaily. She was wearing a frilly, girlish apron that Amy had never seen before. She had even put on lipstick, and she smiled almost as often as Nick did.

  When Apolonia had returned to the kitchen, Sam said to Amy, “It always amazes me how different Apolonia is around Nick. She can be so difficult.”

  “That’s a talent I need to hone in the near future,” Nick said carefully, looking at his wife. “There’s a certain difficult woman I’m set on charming.” Nick’s slow tone was laced with sardonic amusement.

  A chill settled over Amy. Although she made no comment, she couldn’t keep her heart from fluttering, or her senses from stirring.

  Time passed uneventfully as they finished dinner. Lorrie did not come home. Nick was unusually quiet. He seemed content to lean back and listen to father and daughter tease one another affectionately. From time to time Amy wondered uneasily what Nick was thinking.

  As he watched Sam and Amy, a warmth invaded Nick’s soul. Amy’s life had always been filled with people, and he’d enjoyed being part of the hubbub when they’d dated. She still lived with her child, her father, and her sister. His own life was empty by comparison. For years he’d let himself believe all she’d wanted was money. Now he could no longer justify that shallow assumption he’d made as a sop to his own wounded ego when she’d rejected him as a man. For all her hardness as a businesswoman, Amy had always known how to fill her life with love and people, and although Nick was an extrovert, he didn’t.

  He’d built himself a beautiful house that overlooked San Francisco Bay, but it was so vast and lonely, he rarely spent time there. He was always flying from city to city alone to check on the far-flung branches of South Sails. He’d been able to throw himself into the America’s Cup campaign with a vengeance because it was no sacrifice for him to give himself completely to the effort that cost most men their families. No one cared if Nick Browning sailed fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, month after month, for two to three years.

  As Nick watched Amy and Sam, he realized how sick he was of no one caring. Why should he live alone when he had a wife and child? He’d lost a lot of time being angry at Amy for the way she’d used him, but that was over. Maybe she’d wanted his money, but he’d always hungered for the love that permeated her life. Suddenly he was determined to have it again or figure out what in the hell had gone wrong.

  After dinner Nick drove Amy to the hospital, and they looked in on their child and found him sleeping peacefully. His progress was so favorable and the private duty nurse so responsible that Nick found it easy to persuade Amy to return home and get a full night’s sleep in her own bed.

  It was almost midnight when they returned. Nick seemed to realize how tired she was and let her go to her own room at once.

  Alone, Amy quickly took her hair down and changed into an old-fashioned flannel nightgown, buttoning it to her throat. When she heard the jaunty sounds of Nick singing to himself in his own, tuneless, raucous way, she turned on her radio to shut him out. She didn’t like dwelling on the unpleasant fact that he’d be sleeping next to her in Triple’s bedroom.

  Later, sinking into her bed, Amy was so exhausted she expected to fall asleep at once. But she lay awake for hours. It was strange that the night before, in Nick’s arms on a narrow couch in a hospital waiting room, sleep had come so easily.

  Tonight her thoughts tumbled restlessly over each other. She kept thinking of Nick, recalling how his blue shirt had hugged his lithe body, how his eyes had sparkled every time he’d looked at her from across the table. She remembered his kiss, how his mouth had covered hers in the hospital and how wantonly she’d welcomed his passion. She remembered as well how tenderly they’d laughed together later in their son’s room. It was suddenly difficult to remember the terrible reasons why she had to resist him.

  She envisioned him standing resplendently naked in Triple’s bedroom. She recalled as well their last night together two years before. Nick had been so devastated in his grief, so alone, with none of his family there. Her heart had gone out to him. She’d been so afraid for him. She’d wanted only to ease his pain when she’d welcomed him into her arms, never dreaming she would respond to his touch again. To her amazement she’d found an ecstasy and a thrilling completeness in his lovemaking beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Afterward, she’d come frighteningly close to forgiving him. The hardest thing she’d ever done was to leave the next morning and face the loneliness and sorrow of knowing she could never have him.

  Never... The word seemed to repeat itself in her weary mind.

  Long ago she’d made a promise to Lorrie. Because of it she was now doomed to lead her life separately from Nick’s. She had to protect not only herself, but the two people she loved most.

  There was no way to go back, to rethink whether what she had done was right or wrong. There were no second chances. The one thing she knew was that she had to get Nick out of her life as soon as possible.

  But how? He seemed so determined to stay.

  At last Amy threw off her sheets and got up. She pulled on her thick terry robe and stepped out onto her balcony, into the shining darkness.

  The night was crisp and cold. A sliver of moon hung in a black and starless sky. She went to the railing and gazed out upon the glistening ocean and the mansions that hugged its edge.

  “Guilty conscience?” The low, raspy voice came from behind her, following her train of thought much too closely for comfort.

  She started. “I couldn’t sleep; that’s all.”

  Nick was lounging against the railing in front of Triple’s door. Moonlight outlined his body and she strained to look at him. “Neither could I,” he said.

  She wanted to rush back into her room, to try to make some sense of her
troubled thoughts, but that was out of the question. Nick read her mind, approaching her lazily, cutting off her avenue of escape.

  “Beautiful night,” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Beautiful woman.”

  A warm flush ran through Amy, terrifying in its pleasure; a driving physical need, astonishing in its intensity.

  “There’s something so peaceful about the aftermath of a storm,” he said.

  She nodded in silent agreement, glad that he didn’t seem to expect her to speak.

  “Or the aftermath of a lovers’ quarrel.” The conversation had shifted to a more dangerous topic. “I guess it’s a natural pattern—violence followed by a peaceful interlude. Do you remember the way we used to fight?”

  Amy remembered all too well. Shifting uneasily, she tried to concentrate on the moon that was blazing in its glory.

  “We’d make up, and there would be a beautiful closeness between us,” he said softly, dangerously.

  She told herself not to listen, but she was drawn by the sound of his voice. His words wove a spell and time seemed to slide backward.

  “I remember another night like this one, after a storm, when the ocean was washed with moonlight,” he said.

  Oh, Amy thought, so did she. Her fingernails dug into the soft wood of the railing as she fought to deny the poignant memory. It was no use. The feelings he’d aroused were overwhelming.

  “We were young and in love.”

  “Don’t...” she whispered desperately.

  “We were sailing Sebastian’s Marauder offshore when a storm blew up, and we had to seek shelter behind the leeward side of an uninhabited island.”

  He said no more, but he didn’t have to. What had happened had been wonderful, unforgettable. She’d been a virgin, and she’d never meant to let him make love to her. But he had, and it had been too natural, too beautiful and too perfect to regret. That night had been their beginning. It was only later, after he’d betrayed her and she’d learned how little she’d really meant to him, that she was sorry.