by Cheryl Holt
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."
"You better mean it."
"Where you're concerned," he replied, "I'm always going to mean it."
She didn't know what he was confiding and wouldn't speculate. She'd initiated an affair and had gotten what she wanted from him: hot, sweaty, terrific sex.
He'd been as thorough as she'd predicted he would be. No matter what happened between them in the future, no matter how short their liaison—and she was sure it would be very, very short—she would always be grateful to have had this time with him.
"You'll be the death of me," he claimed. "I'm still hard for you."
"You're an animal, Merriweather. An animal."
He was laughing. "I've already come twice, and I'm still hard."
"I guess you're not all talk."
He flexed his hips, letting her feel his erection. "I'm all action."
"As a woman, I'm very, very excited to hear you say that."
"I told you: When we're through, you won't be able to walk for a week."
"Silly me. I didn't believe you."
He took a slow, deep stroke. "Do you believe me now?"
She smiled, loving the way he was looking at her, as if she was his, as if he'd never wanted anyone else.
"Oh, yes, Lucas, I definitely believe you."
CHAPTER SIX
"Pick up the phone, dammit!"
Lucas listened to Faith's voice—I'm not available right now—and hit the off button.
He was in the kitchen at the family's Denver mansion and wondering why he was still in Colorado. He should have been sailing in the Caribbean. Instead, he was twiddling his thumbs, trying to connect with Faith, trying to schedule another weekend getaway, but apparently, she couldn't be bothered.
Five days had passed since their sojourn at the bed and breakfast. He'd left a half-dozen messages, but she hadn't responded to a single one.
Their time together was the most satisfying he'd ever spent with a woman. The sex had been fantastic, but the entire encounter—the quiet conversation, the shared meals, the playful teasing, the easy relaxation—was beyond his prior experience.
He genuinely liked her and definitely lusted after her, and there was no reason why they couldn't date for awhile. She wasn't his type, but hey, he could turn over a new leaf. He could actually involve himself with a female whose company he enjoyed.
He was vain enough to suppose that she could benefit from a liaison with him. He could take her places and introduce her to people she'd never have the chance to meet on her own. Hell, he'd have taken her to the Caribbean if she'd exhibited the least bit of interest.
But no. She was too busy or too stubborn or too fickle. He'd never been able to read a woman's mind, so he couldn't imagine what was going on in her head.
Still, he hated to be ignored. Blasted woman! Until he talked to her, he'd never get anything accomplished. Was that her strategy? Was she trying to drive him crazy?
Well, he was halfway there.
In a temper, he snatched up his phone and punched redial. When he heard her voice recording, he snapped, "I'd like to see you. Call me!"
It was obvious she didn't care to speak with him, so why was he pestering her? He never chased after women—he didn't have to—and he was starting to feel like a stalker. Her silence was telling, her opinion very clear. Why didn't he move on?
The pathetic fact was that their romantic interlude had unsettled him in ways he hadn't expected. It hadn't been 'just sex'. It hadn't been a casual roll under the blankets. It had been fun and fulfilling and spectacular. He couldn't wait to do it again. How could she not want to?
He sat at the kitchen table, a pitiful figure out of ideas. They had a maid who lived in the rambling mansion, and he considered summoning her to make him lunch, but he was too irritable to dawdle in the house.
He'd risen, having decided to grab a jacket and go for a drive—he would not race to Boulder; he would not humiliate himself by showing up on her stoop like some spurned swain—but his brother prevented an escape.
Dustin entered the room, and he was holding a large envelope. He smacked it down on the table and pulled up a chair.
"I haven't seen you in a few days," he said.
"So?"
"I thought maybe you'd taken off for St. Barts without a good-bye."
"I didn't go."
"How come?"
Lucas shrugged, not about to admit that he was pining away over Faith Benjamin.
Dustin glared, a familiar expression of exasperation on his face. Even as boys, they'd never gotten along, and since they were both lazy and spoiled, they were constantly at odds. They sparred incessantly, each feeling the other wasn't assuming his share of the responsibilities that had burgeoned since their father's death.
"I was wondering," Dustin said, "what's happening with the Faith Benjamin investigation."
"I have it under control."
"Really? What's in the works? We've been sitting here in Denver for two weeks, but you haven't done what you told us you'd do."
"Meaning?"
"You had planned to hire that attorney, Carolyn Stone."
"Stone was an idiot."
"Okay, so retain someone else."
"I don't know if we should."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated."
"No, it's not."
Dustin opened the envelope and withdrew a stack of photos. They were pictures of Lucas with Faith: Lucas picking her up at her house, the two of them getting out of the Porsche at the B & B, eating in the restaurant. There was even a shot of them walking up the stairs to their room.
The final one was of them leaving the hotel, so Dustin had had a detective lurking, watching until Lucas's tryst was over.
Lucas's blood boiled.
"You had somebody spying on me?" he hissed.
"Yes," Dustin replied, unabashed.
"What were you trying to prove?"
"That you're fucking her," Dustin crudely spat, "rather than dealing with her."
"Whatever I'm doing—or not doing—it's none of your damn business."
"Are you kidding me? The little thief has millions of dollars that belong to us, and you claim it's not my business if you're sleeping with her instead of having her arrested?"
"She's not who we thought she was."
"I can't believe you said that to me." Dustin shook his head in disgust. "She's got you wrapped around her finger."
"I merely spent some time with her so I could learn what she's really like."
"And what is she like?" Dustin sneered.
"She's a very normal, very pleasant person."
"Pleasant!" Dustin reached into the envelope again and pulled out some papers. "I started my own investigation. She and that foster mother of hers, that Grace Green, are a couple of Vegas con artists."
"You're wrong," Lucas loyally insisted.
"Am I? Read the report. When Grace Green was younger, she worked as a stripper and high-end escort. She had a gambling problem, and she wasted all her money on black jack. She took in foster kids so she could pay her rent."
"That's not true."
"You don't think a pair with that sort of background couldn't dupe an elderly old man? You don't think they couldn't see a mark like him from a mile away?"
"You're wrong," Lucas repeated, though he wasn't quite as confident as he had been.
From the moment he'd met Faith, she'd played him like a violin. She'd flirted and tantalized and intrigued, while pretending to be shy and restrained. She'd come on hot, then cold, then hot, and Lucas hadn't been able to resist the challenge she presented.
Was it all an act? Had she been toying with him for some purpose he didn't understand? He'd assumed she possessed some genuine affection for him. Had he imagined it?
"She must be a great piece of ass," Dustin said, "because you screwed her a few times, and she's turned you into a complete idiot."
"I know what I'm doing."
"You
don't have a clue," Dustin scoffed, "so I'll give you till Monday to have this resolved. I want her signature on an agreement to give us the money with no litigation and no press."
"If I can't finish it by then?"
"Then I will deal with her. Trust me, neither of you will like my methods."
* * *
"Bryce," Faith called, "we're late. Let's go."
"I can't find my baseball cap."
"It's on the hook behind your door."
She was at the bottom of the stairs, with Gracie and Peanut, waiting for him to come down. His game began in an hour, and he couldn't miss the warm-ups.
Ever since her glorious weekend with Lucas, her world had been too chaotic. It seemed as if, by running off and enjoying herself, she'd smashed her tranquil existence to pieces. She couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't see straight.
Well, she'd learned her lesson. She'd developed an itch for him, and she'd scratched it. Then she'd arrived home, overwhelmed and madly in love—stupid, stupid, stupid to fall for him!—and she was paying the price.
She was sad and miserable and ached for him so desperately that she'd scared herself. She hadn't realized that she could grow so attached so quickly.
He'd been calling and calling, but she hadn't answered and she didn't plan to answer. He'd be irked by her ignoring him, and he'd get tired of chasing after her. Hopefully, he'd already left town.
A knock sounded on the front door, and she groaned. "Whoever it is, we don't have time to fuss with them."
"We can't sneak out the garage," Gracie said. "They'll see us."
"Let them. Bryce, come on!"
His footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Faith smiled, liking how terrific he looked in his uniform, so she was distracted and didn't notice that Peanut had walked over and opened the door.
"Hi mister," Peanut said.
Faith spun, and Lucas's gaze locked on hers so forcefully that she felt as if she'd been punched. She had to grab the banister to keep her balance.
"Hello, Faith"—he had a ferocious gleam in his eye—"long time, no see. How have you been?"
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"I thought we should talk."
"If I'd wanted to talk, I'd have returned one of your phone calls."
He strolled into the living room, instantly taking up all the space, and she nearly ran over and pushed him outside.
She didn't want him in her home, didn't want him in her life. He had no honorable intentions toward her, and she wouldn't pretend that they could carry on with no consequences.
"I'm Lucas." He nodded to Gracie, Peanut, and Bryce. "Faith refuses to introduce us, but I don't know why. We're such good friends."
Her small family all said hello, and Gracie was all aflutter. She sidled over, her hips swaying, and put an arm on his waist.
"Lucas, honey," she drawled, "how nice of you to drop by."
Faith glared at Lucas. "We were just leaving. If you'll excuse us?"
He grinned at Bryce. "You have a game?"
"Yes."
"Is anybody going to invite me to tag along?"
"No!" Faith declared, as Gracie replied, "Absolutely."
Faith fumed at Gracie, "Would you take the kids out to the car? I'll be out in a minute."
"Sure, darling."
Gracie ushered Peanut and Bryce out to the porch.
Lucas stood where he was until the door closed behind them, then he stomped over. He towered over her, and he was so furious and commanding that she could barely keep from falling to her knees and begging forgiveness, even though she had no idea what she should be forgiven for.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to."
"We had nonstop sex—for two straight days and nights."
"Yes, we did."
He appeared bewildered. "And that's supposed to be it? We screw like rabbits, then we never see each other again?"
"Yes."
"I don't think so."
"Why are you angry? You sleep with women—once—all the time. I'd like to do the same with you. Why can't you let me?"
"There's something going on between us."
"In that fantasy inside your head maybe, but not in real life."
He frowned, as if debating whether to kiss her or shake her.
"I get to decide"—he poked a finger at his chest—"when we're through. Not you. Me. I decide."
"Oh, I see what this is about. I'm not interested, and you can't stand it."
He was ready to throttle her, and he might have, but Bryce poked his nose in.
"Faith, we gotta go."
Lucas could have been an actor. His enraged expression vanished, and instantly, he was all smiles.
"Sorry, Bryce," he said, "I didn't mean to make you wait."
"It's okay."
"I don't know where the field is," Lucas told Faith. "You drive, and I'll follow you."
She leaned in and heatedly whispered, "You are not coming with us."
"Yes, I am," he whispered back.
He whipped away and went over to Bryce.
"Hey, Bryce, have you ever been in a Porsche?"
"No."
"You can ride with me."
"Cool!"
They left—new buddies—with Lucas flashing a snide grin of triumph as they strutted out to his macho car.
Faith hurried out onto the porch and called, "Bryce, I don't want you to go with him."
Either they didn't hear her, or they were ignoring her. Bryce got in, then Lucas. He revved the motor and squealed the tires as they raced down to the corner.
Gracie sauntered over, staring down the street to where they were idling, waiting for Faith to pass them and lead the way to the park. Concern marred her brow.
"Should we let them head off together?"
"I don't see how we can stop them."
Gracie studied them, then mused, "It's all right. He'll never figure it out."
"Let's hope not."
Faith muttered several unrepeatable words, then stomped to her car.
* * *
Lucas had purchased snacks at the concession stand, and he stood by the third base fence, sipping a soda as Bryce's team took the field. The second inning was about to begin. Faith, Gracie, and Peanut were in the bleachers behind home plate.
He'd join them in a minute, but he was receiving such a huge dose of pleasure from watching the boys throw the ball around.
As a kid, he'd loved baseball, and he'd been so good at it. He'd played all through school, and he probably could have gone pro, but he hadn't tried.
He didn't have the kind of cut-throat ambition that would have propelled him into the big leagues, and he'd convinced himself that if he couldn't be the best, it wasn't worth doing. But now, as he remembered the simple joy of the game, it occurred to him that he'd missed something important by abandoning the sport.
He peered over to where Bryce's family was sitting, cheering him on, and he suffered a virulent wave of envy. In all the years he'd played, his parents had never come to a game. When he was little, he'd asked his father occasionally, but as the seasons had sped by, he'd quit asking.
His grandfather, Harold, had frequently attended, but after the falling out between him and Lucas's father, Lucas had been on his own.
What would it be like to be a child with a family that cared? What would it be like to be at shortstop, to glance over and see your mother—even if it was your adopted mother—smiling and clapping for you?
For the first time ever, it dawned on him that he might have kept on at baseball if he'd ever received the slightest bit of support. The realization was like a slap in the face.
He turned his gaze to Bryce again, as he snagged warm-up balls and tossed them to the first baseman. He was such a good-looking kid, and he had the lanky anatomy of a great ballplayer.
Lucas had been a shortstop too, and a flutter of excitement
curled in his belly. If he continued his relationship with Faith, he could be a mentor to Bryce. The poor guy lived in a house full of females. Lucas could work on his skills, could drive him to practices, could encourage and advise him as his own father had never done.
The pitcher was ready for the batter, and the catcher hollered, "Balls in!"
Bryce had just scooped up a grounder, and he flicked the ball sideways to the dugout. The move ignited a memory for Lucas, and suddenly, he felt he was staring into a telescope, seeing an exact copy of himself at age ten.
He used to make the same sassy move. He'd been a dark-haired, blue-eyed, athletic boy, brimming with talent and attitude. As Bryce was now.
What was he witnessing? What, what, what?
The sodas and snacks slid to the dirt. His heart literally skipped several beats; his ears began to ring. He couldn't breathe.
He glared over at the bleachers, studying Peanut, recognizing how much she resembled his sister Brittney.
Faith noticed him gaping, and she frowned as he pushed away from the fence and staggered toward her.
Very quietly, he said, "Come here, Faith."
"Lucas, what is it?"
"Come." When she didn't budge, he added, "Now!"
His sharp tone unsettled her, and she climbed down to him.
Lucas glanced up at Gracie and told her, "We have to leave for awhile."
"What?" Faith complained. "No, I want to—"
Lucas interrupted her. "We won't be back for the rest of the game, Gracie. Can you take care of the kids?"
"Sure, Lucas, honey," Gracie agreed. "You go on. Don't worry about us."
He grabbed Faith's arm and led her away. There were dozens of parents in the bleachers, so she didn't raise a fuss. He maneuvered her out to his car, opened the door, and shoved her in. She tried to yank away, tried to escape, but he threatened, "Don't say a word, and don't get out."
In two leaps, he was in the driver's seat. He started the motor and stepped on the gas. Without speaking, they raced the few blocks to her house. He parked and rushed to assist her, but she was already scrambling out.
"You are insane," she hissed.
"Yes, I am, so don't tempt me to do things I might regret later."
"What is wrong with you?"
He marched her inside and slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.
"Tell me who he is," he demanded, "and don't you dare lie to me."
