Groom 0f Fortune (Fortune's Children: The Grooms Book 5)

by Peggy Moreland

  Link didn’t have to drive her all the way to Texas. Just across two counties before he located a small fair in a rural area. They arrived just after dusk, with Isabelle wearing an old flannel shirt he’d found in the closet and her face shadowed by a ball cap he’d insisted she wear to further disguise her identity.

  Her fingers tightened around his as they walked hand in hand past booth after booth with carnies calling to them to try their luck at the games of chance.

  “This is wonderful,” she murmured, awed by the sights and sounds that whirled around her.

  He glanced down at her and smiled. “You haven’t even ridden the first ride, or had the first bite of cotton candy.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, giving his hand a grateful squeeze. “Just to be here, to experience all this. It’s…awesome. Oh!” she cried, stumbling to a stop and staring. “A roller coaster. Can we ride it?” she asked, whipping her head around to look up at him, her eyes filled with hope.

  He tossed back his head and laughed, then released her hand to sling his arm around her shoulders. “How ’bout we start with something milder, like the Ferris wheel,” he suggested, pointing, and turned her in that direction. She stumbled along at his side, her head angled back over her shoulder, watching longingly as the roller coaster chugged to the top of the first rise, then pitched forward, its passengers screaming, some even waving their arms bravely above their heads. “Later,” she said, turning to peer up at him. “We can ride it later, can’t we?”

  He chuckled and hugged her against his side. “Yes, and any other ride that strikes your fancy.”

  He stood in line and purchased two tickets for the Ferris wheel, then caught her hand again and tugged her to the gate, where the attendant swung a bar open for them and waved them into the swaying bucket that waited. Once they were seated, the attendant snapped the safety bar across their laps, then gave the bucket a push, sending them bouncing on their way.

  Wide-eyed, Isabelle tipped back her head, staring up at the star-studded sky as the Ferris wheel ground to a stop to take on another group of passengers. Once loaded, it jerked into motion again, spinning them higher. She leaned forward to look out over the carnival grounds. “Oh, this is marvelous,” she cried. “We’re up so high!”

  “Careful,” Link warned when she leaned too far forward, making the bucket tilt precariously. He locked an arm firmly around her waist and drew her back.

  She settled against his side on a sigh, then looked up at him. “When we reach the top, will you kiss me?”

  He choked on a laugh. “What?”

  “I want you to kiss me at the top,” she insisted. “Imagine the thrill. Sitting on top of the world and being kissed senseless.” She dropped her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “You will, won’t you? Please?”

  Completely taken with her childlike excitement, the rosy flush of her cheeks, Link lowered his face over hers. “How about we start now and build?” he suggested. He brushed his lips over hers. Once. Twice. Then wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. The Ferris wheel jerked to a stop again, making their mouths bump hard, their teeth scrape. They laughed, then found each other’s mouths again as the bucket churned higher still. When they reached the top, Isabelle was clinging to him, her heart pounding like a kettledrum against his chest, her lips welded to his.

  He slowly tore his mouth from hers as the bucket jerked to a stop, then leaned to peer over the side and down at the ground below. He glanced over at Isabelle and bit back a grin when he found her eyes still closed. “Open your eyes, Isabelle.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then forced her lids slowly open. Blinked. Blinked again, as if waking from a sweet dream, to peer at him.

  “You’re on top of the world now,” he said softly.

  She turned her head slowly, her eyes growing wide with wonder as she took in the sights. The stars twinkling above them, the colorful lights flashing below. People milling around on the ground, some running to catch the next ride, the next thrill. Others simply strolling along, content just to watch. The smells drifting up to them. Spun sugar on paper cones, buttery corn on the cob, the greasy, mouth-watering scent of meat grilling. The sounds. A cacophony of voices, blending with the engines that powered the rides, music blaring scratchily from hidden speakers.

  She breathed deeply, absorbing it all, then turned to him. “Kiss me again.”

  Link lay on his side with Isabelle curled against him, her head nestled in the crook of his arm. He could feel the rhythm and warmth of each breath she drew. In. Out. In. Out. Measured each one in the slow rise and fall of the breast crushed against his chest. His own breathing slowed to match hers as he stared down at her sleeping face, stroking his palm down her cheek, his fingers along her jaw, letting his fingertips drift slowly off her chin. He could feel the soft beat of her heart, thrumming against his. He stilled, listening, as their individual rhythms blended and beat as one.

  Smiling tenderly, he laid a hand over her cheek again and smoothed the ball of his thumb across her lips. To say he felt protective of her would be an understatement. To deny he’d fallen in love with her, a lie.

  He’d never tire of watching her. Of touching her. Yet, he knew he had no right to do either of those things. She was a Fortune. A young woman of means, refinement beyond anything he’d ever known or experienced in his thirty-five years. He was an old man compared to her twenty-two years. Older still if he counted experience. And though he suspected she thought herself in love with him, too, he was wise enough to know a relationship with her would end in disaster. She’d been protected most of her life. Guarded. Cushioned. All but smothered.

  And now she was spreading her wings a bit. Probably for the first time in her life. And he was simply a part of that rebellion, that heady race to see, touch and experience everything she’d once been shielded from. Not that he’d minded being a part of her rebellion. He’d received more pleasure from their time together, their mating, than she, he was sure.

  But it would end soon. It had to. It was his job to see that it did. And when he returned her to her family, when he watched her walk away from him, he knew his heart would break a little. No, he thought, swallowing hard as looked down at her. His heart would split wide open, weep like a festered wound for the rest of his sorry days.

  But he wouldn’t regret their time together, he promised himself. Given the chance, he wouldn’t step back three days and change a single decision he’d made. He still would have made love with her when she’d offered herself to him, and every time since. With her, he’d known joy for the first time in his life. Discovered it first when she’d come apart around him in a climax that had rocked his soul, but no less intense than when he’d watched her eyes light up as she’d stepped from his Blazer and spotted the bright and noisy carnival across the field from where they’d parked.

  She was undoubtedly the sexiest, most loving and giving woman he’d ever known.

  But he’d take her home, he promised himself. Back to her family, the world she was familiar with, comfortable in. To do anything less would be worse than what his stepbrother had tried to do to her. Steal her away from her family, strip her of her pride, her innocence, and leave her with nothing but haunting memories and regrets.

  Isabelle glanced up from the stove and smiled as Link stepped from the bedroom the next morning. “Are you going into Pueblo today?”

  He shook his head as he pulled out a chair, then dropped down on it, tossing the guest list onto the table. “No. I figured I could do more good here, helping you go over the list again.”

  She picked up a cloth, wrapped it around the handle of the coffeepot and crossed to the table. Peering over his shoulder at the pages he flipped through, she smoothed a hand over his hair in an unconscious gesture of affection as she poured him a cup of coffee.

  He glanced up at her, then quickly down, and snatched up the cup. “Thanks,” he murmured, and gulped a drink. The coffee burned his tongue, seared the roof of his mouth and scorche
d a path all the way down his throat. But he used the pain to focus his attention back on the task at hand and off Isabelle.

  “I’ve gone over the names at least a hundred times, Link,” she complained wearily. “I just can’t place the voices with any of the people listed there.”

  “I thought we’d try something different,” he suggested, and picked up a page. “I’ll say the names out loud, quiz you about them, and see if that doesn’t spark some memory.”

  She sighed and shoved the coffeepot onto the table, then pressed a hip against his side. He glanced up at her as she squirmed until she’d created enough space for her to slide onto his lap. She wiggled around until she was comfortable—and Link was anything but—then picked up a page and sank back against his chest. “Okay,” she said in resignation, and held up a page for him to read. “Quiz away.”

  It took Link a minute to find his voice. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the other chair? Or maybe the sofa?”

  She angled her head to peer at him, a slight frown puckered between her brows. “No. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

  He couldn’t look at her. Didn’t dare. Not when he’d decided it was time to start reestablishing the boundaries of their relationship again. Place them back where they belonged. That of criminal investigator of a murder case protecting a key witness. But it was hard to think along those terms with her sitting on his lap, that firm rear end of hers planted firmly against his sex.

  He dragged in a breath. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Good,” she said with a satisfied nod, and turned her gaze back to the page. “Dr. and Mrs. Stuart Addison.”

  He shifted her on his lap, giving himself some room. “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Friends of my parents. They live in Boston.”

  “Can you picture him?”

  “Yes. Short, fat and bald. And Mrs. Addison looks just like him.”

  In spite of his discomfort, Link found himself laughing. “You’re making that up.”

  “I’m not! Though she does wear a wig when she’s in public,” she added prudently.

  He shook his head and slapped the back of his hand against the page. “Who’s next?”

  “Arthur Ashworth.”

  “And?” he prodded.

  She pursed her lips, puzzling over the name. “I think he’s an author. Writes legal thrillers.” She shook her head and glanced down at the list again, frowning. “But I could be wrong.”

  “Arthur Ashworth the Author. Triple A.” Link shook his head again. “This could get comical.”

  “If you think that’s bad,” she said, flipping pages, “wait until you hear this one.” She found the name she wanted and read, “Welton Presley Peters. How’s that for a name?”

  “Sounds like one of those tongue-twisters we used to say when we were kids.”

  “He’s a college fraternity brother of my father’s. One my mother detested,” she added, then sputtered a laugh. “If you think his name is bad, you should hear his nickname.”

  Unable to resist, Link asked, “What is it?”

  “Well-Pressed. He was fastidious about his appearance, or so I’m told. But I heard my mother once refer to him by a different nickname. Prissy Prick. Prick being another name for—”

  “I get the picture,” he said dryly, then nodded toward the list. “What’s the next name on the list?”

  Disappointed that she hadn’t been able to distract him from the list, she shifted on his lap and flipped back to the first page. “Richard Anton. He’s the comptroller for Dad’s company.”

  “What does his voice sound like?”

  She dipped her chin and pushed out her lips, dropping her voice low. “Like this,” she croaked.

  Link rolled his eyes. “Come on, Issie. Get serious. We’ve got a lot of names to cover.”

  She tossed the papers to the table in frustration. “It’s a waste of time. I’ve gone over this list again and again, and not one of the names hits a nerve.” She dragged a finger beneath her nose and sniffed, making him glance her way.

  He brushed her hair back from her cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, when he saw that tears swam in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not you,” she said, sniffing again. “It’s that,” she said, gesturing angrily at the list. “I’m just sick of thinking about it all.”

  “Then don’t,” he soothed, turning her across his lap and drawing her against his chest. “You’re probably just trying too hard.”

  She buried her face in the curve of his neck. “I want it to be over,” she said tearfully.

  Which was exactly what Link wanted, too, but when it was, when Brad was behind bars, and he and Isabelle no longer had a reason to remain at the cabin…

  Link stopped the thought before it could fully form. He wouldn’t think about what would happen then, he told himself. He’d just think about now.

  He pressed his lips against her hair and inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent. A scent that drew memories of a bubble bath shared together, a long ride on a Ferris wheel. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

  “But I—”

  Hearing a sound, he tightened his arms around her, shushing her, and lifted his head, listening.

  “What?” she asked, raising her head. “Did you hear something?”

  He pressed a finger against her lips and stood, shifting her onto the chair as he rose. Keeping out of sight of the front window, he eased to its side. He lifted a corner of the drape and peered cautiously out.

  “What is it?” she whispered anxiously. “Is someone coming?”

  He nodded but kept his gaze on the dirt road that led to the cabin, listening as the sound of the engine grew louder. He saw the front bumper appear first, bouncing into view over the rise, then the rest of the vehicle appeared.

  “What the hell,” he muttered in surprise, and stepped boldly in front of the window to stare.

  Isabelle popped up from the chair and hurried to his side, leaning to peer around him. “Who is it?”

  “Hank,” he said, unable to believe what he was seeing. “My partner.” Then he swore and headed for the door. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, “if he’s blown our cover.”

  Isabelle hurried after him, stepping out onto the porch behind him just as the battered Jeep screeched to a stop in front of the cabin.

  Hank was climbing out of the driver’s side, his hands up in the air as if in surrender, as he looked up at Link. “I swear this isn’t my fault,” he was saying as the passenger door opened on the opposite side of the Jeep and a man in a suit stepped out.

  Isabelle’s eyes widened in dismay. “Daddy?” she whispered in disbelief as she stepped around Link to stare.

  Hunter Fortune rounded the front of the Jeep, his face mottled, his finger leveled accusingly at Link. “I’ll have your badge for this,” he growled. “You’ll be damn lucky if I don’t have your life for kidnapping my daughter.”

  Isabelle stepped quickly in front of Link as if to protect him. “No, Daddy,” she said, shaking her head wildly. “Link didn’t kidnap me. He rescued me, then brought me here to keep me safe.”

  “Safe from whom?” her father shouted. “From your family who loves you? From the man who loves you, the one you were supposed to marry?” He swiped an arm through the air in front of his chest. “Get away from him, Isabelle.”

  She took a step back, her hips bumping against Link’s groin, and reached behind her, placing her hands on the sides of his thighs. “No. You don’t understand. Link is—”

  “Nothing but a lowlife who let the power behind the badge go to his head. A badge he’d never have received if I’d known his history. Now, get away from him. And you,” he said, spinning to level a finger at Hank, “do your job. Arrest him.”

  Hank turned a pitying look on Link. “Sorry, buddy,” he said regretfully. “I swear I didn’t tell him anything. He came to me and demanded that I bring him here. Gri
lled me the entire trip. I swear I didn’t tell him anything about your past. Seems he’s done some detective work of his own. I thought it best to do as he asked and bring him here and let you explain it all to him.”

  Frustrated by the confusing conversation that was going on around her, Isabelle stamped her foot. “Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it right this instant! No one is going to arrest Link. He hasn’t done anything but protect me from a murderer.”

  “Isabelle,” Link warned in a low voice.

  “Well, it’s true,” she cried, whirling to face him. “You rescued me from my car and brought me here to keep me safe from Brad.”

  “Brad!” her father roared behind her. “You don’t need protecting from Brad! You need protecting from him!” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Link again.

  “Maybe if we all just went inside and talked this over calmly,” Hank suggested mildly.

  “Oh, we’re going to talk, all right,” Hunter Fortune grated as he marched for the porch. “And this man,” he said with a nod of his head toward Link as he passed him, “had better have some damn good answers for the questions I have for him.”

  He jerked open the door, then stepped back, lifting his chin imperiously as he waited for the others to file inside before him. Hank passed by first, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. He lifted a shoulder as if to say “don’t ask me” as he brushed past Isabelle and Link.

  When Isabelle hesitated, her father narrowed an eye at her. “Isabelle,” he said, his voice sharp with warning.

  Shooting her father a furious look, Isabelle snatched Link’s hand and, with a stubborn lift of her chin, strode past her father, tugging Link behind her.

  Snarling under his breath at her open defiance, her father followed, letting the door slam behind him.

  “Sit,” Hunter ordered.

  Isabelle folded her arms beneath her breasts and tipped her chin higher. “You’re forgetting your manners, Dad. This isn’t your home.”