The Secret Twin

by Catherine Mann

  Passing the wineglass to Brea, Ward settled back into the leather-backed barstool. The Petru, the most exclusive hotel in town, had been decorated with attention to sophistication. Rustic lights hung, illuminating the pecan-wood shelves and succulents. A live jazz quartet was awash in soft lights on the small stage.

  Brea’s hair swept upward, a deep side part letting her bangs fall into her face. The proximity of her dark hair seemed to make her blue eyes brighter in this dimmed light. She raised her glass to his beer stein. The clink affirmed the electricity between them in spite of the hellish revelation back at Chuck’s RV.

  Ward had told her the suite still needed to be cleaned and had suggested they snag drinks at the hotel bar. That had been the first and only lie he had ever uttered to Brea.

  Instead the hotel staff was busy finishing the romantic surprise he’d planned for her.

  He hoped she would enjoy the gifts he’d ordered. He sensed a shift in her. Something about her body language hinted that she was backing off her no-sex-for-now rule. At least he hoped so. He wanted to tread warily after the emotional afternoon she’d had. Shana had agreed to do more research into Chuck’s aunt and uncle, but no one knew where they lived.

  There were reasons people hid from their family. And usually those reasons were not good.

  Brea grinned. “That RV of Chuck and Shana’s was pretty impressive.”

  Just when he thought he understood her, she found new ways to intrigue him. “I’m surprised.”

  “By what?”

  He reached out to tuck her silken hair behind her right ear. Savored the touch of skin. “That you like that sort of thing.”

  “It was bigger than most of the places in the community where I lived during my teenage years.” Her face took on a faraway look for a moment. No doubt calling ghosts to mind.

  The saxophone crooned, spinning Ward into the past. He pictured his father clutching a jazz cassette tape. Driving music, he’d always claimed.

  The day hadn’t been without memories for Ward either. “My parents had an RV, although it wasn’t anything like the one we rode in today.”

  “What was your favorite trip with them?”

  He turned thoughtful, swirling his drink as the bartender passed by with his hands full of limes and oranges.

  Leaning closer, Ward reached for her palm and then traced the outline of her fingers. “I think it was when we drove to Denali National Park when I was twelve. We piled into the RV.” Ward could picture the deep purple flowers and snow-crested mountaintops. “We didn’t take trips where we couldn’t camp. My parents wanted to keep vacations cheap and cheerful. Besides—” he took a sip of his beer “—if we hadn’t traveled that way, I would never have experienced bears rummaging through our campsite.”

  “You didn’t come from a wealthy background?”

  “I did not,” he said. “I come from down-to-earth, working-class folks.”

  People began to swarm the bar. He squeezed her hand, gesturing toward the plush white sofa in the far left of the jazz lounge. She smiled, nodding her agreement. He’d learned that about her. She liked the quiet corners.

  He folded his fingers around hers as he picked their way past the tables, where couples spoke in hushed tones. Settling into the sofa, she stroked his hair. For a moment he leaned into her touch. Leaned into this moment with this sexy woman.

  “They must be proud of your success.”

  His good mood faded. “My divorce was a disappointment to them.”

  “As I understand it, your ex-wife left you.” She reached for his hand, linking fingers and squeezing. “Surely your parents realize that.”

  Taking a swig of beer, he looked down, feeling the storm grow in his chest. “Well, I’m damn sure not going to let down them or a child ever again.”

  She touched his arm lightly. “You had no control over what happened with Paisley.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” The words were gravel in his throat. “I just don’t want her to think I abandoned her, that she can’t trust people. I’m sorry you have to worry about who to trust.”

  She sketched along his jaw with a gentle hand, a determined fire in her eyes. “What’s really unfair is that I’ve lost my mother. I lost the two people I thought had adopted me. And yes, it sucks that I don’t know who’s to blame for this chaos. But I also know I’m alive, I’m here and I’m determined to take charge of my future.”

  “God, you’re incredible.” He kissed her palm, lingering along the creamy-soft skin and taking pleasure in the pulse speeding in her wrist.

  “I’m not.” She blushed, but didn’t pull her hand away. “Not really. I’m just a survivor.”

  “In my book, that makes you incredible.”

  “Let’s stop with the depressing talk.” Her pupils widened with desire. “I believe the room should be ready now.”

  He hoped his effort would pay off. He definitely needed to lose himself in the bliss of tangling in the sheets with Brea. To indulge a connection more intense than any he’d ever experienced.

  Definitely, the last thing he wanted was to discuss darker subjects. He had his own painful past to contend with, and while he wasn’t interested in the future, he refused to let that past steal from what he shared with Brea in the present.

  * * *

  Brea tapped the key card in her hand as she shifted in her heeled boots. Calf muscles tense as she scanned the key across the card reader. Green lights and a ding sounded, indicating the door was unlocked.

  Normally, even high-end hotels had a sterile smell to her. But as she crossed the threshold, she felt like she had stepped into a spring meadow. Scents of flowers clung to the air, immediately upgrading her expectations for this swanky hotel. Had they burned candles to make it smell this great?

  Turning the corner into the heart of the modern-looking suite, her pulse skipped a beat. Candles weren’t the source of the meadow-like scent.

  Instead multiple floral arrangements—tulips, roses, lilies—spiked from large vases on the end tables flanking a crisp beige couch with soft gold throw pillows.

  On the coffee table, a huge sunflower arrangement waited in welcome. Her favorite flowers. Next to the clear glass vase sat a silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Chocolate-covered strawberries drizzled with what looked like caramel sauce were arranged in a heart shape on a silver platter. But the most surprising feature of all?

  A gift wrapped in soft pink paper with an elaborate bow on top.

  She was thoroughly stunned—and enchanted.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, helping her out of her coat.

  “But it’s not the fourteenth yet.” She was touched by his thoughtfulness, at the way he listened to her passing mention of her favorite flower.

  “It will be by midnight, and I wanted to make sure your celebration started spot-on the minute.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you were a romantic.” She walked toward the rose arrangement, breathing deeply of the perfume.

  “Well, it’s not my forte,” he admitted. “But I’m trying. We may not know what the future holds for us, but I’m sure as hell not ready for things to end.”

  She arched up to kiss him. “Thank you. It’s all perfect.”

  He looped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer. “When we get back to Alaska, what would be your dream date?”

  She blinked fast, her shoulders rising. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

  His hands rested just over her bottom, caressing lightly, anticipating more. Much more. “Then pick a type of memory you’ve been eager to replay since you got back but haven’t wanted to visit alone—or with your family members.”

  “That’s what you want to do with your romantic date?”

  He kissed her neck, just below her ear, a spot where he’d learned a kiss could turn h
er knees week. But he still had his arms around her. He had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

  “We’ll be together and that’ll help people believe we’re really going out—in the interest of cementing my place at the company, of course. Trust me, since we don’t want anyone to be suspicious that I’m not a real boyfriend.”

  “Well, we can’t risk that.” She laughed softly, the lilt caressing along his senses and stirring a flame deep in his gut. “What do you say we take some of these flowers and sprinkle petals all over the bed?”

  His hands roved lower to cup the sweet curves of her bottom. “I think that is a great idea.”

  She appreciated that he didn’t question her turnaround in wanting him back in her bed. Right now, she just wanted to lose herself in sensation. Kissing him. Savoring the hard, muscled wall of his chest against her while their mouths fused, tongues tangling on their way into the bedroom.

  As they passed a vase of roses, he plucked out a couple of stems to carry with them, never breaking his connection to her. His hands roaming all over her body made her blood sizzle in her veins. His lips wandered down her neck and back up again, stirring desire to a fever pitch. Once in the bedroom, he tossed the roses onto the comforter. Longing made her impatient, eager. She peeled off her clothes, watching his every move as he did the same until they were standing—naked and wanting—in front of each other.

  When he didn’t close the distance between them right away, she retrieved one of the roses from the bed and trailed it over her face. Down her neck. Dipping it between her breasts in a seductive move that made his pupils widen with desire.

  He picked up the other roses and began plucking the petals off, tossing them onto the comforter until nothing was left but the stems. He tossed them aside and strode toward her, his gaze intent. Heated. He wrapped his arms around her and lowered her to the bed. The scent of him mingled with the perfume of the crushed petals.

  Her body was so in tune with his; no words were needed. They met in a blend of taste and touches that set her senses on fire. The crackle of the condom package registered dimly a moment before he nudged apart her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist and welcomed him into her body.

  Their hips synched up, the rolling of hers in time with his powerful thrusts that sent shimmers of sensation tingling all over. The petals were satin against her back, and Ward’s bristly chest a sweet abrasion against her breasts.

  She knew from their other lovemaking that they would take their time with the next coupling. For now, it was about a frenzied need charging through both of them.

  All too soon her release crashed through her, without warning. There was no staving off the wave of bliss. It consumed her and she let it, wanting the all-encompassing sensation to drown out everything but this powerful connection. His thrusts quickened, and she could feel his muscles tighten in anticipation of his own orgasm as he joined her in completion.

  His elbows gave way and he blanketed her body with his, her legs still locked around him. His face buried in her neck, his breath fanned over her shoulder. She held tightly to him, unwilling to let go of this moment.

  Because as much as she’d worked to convince herself this was just a passing fling, that sex with Ward was a release for all the other emotional turmoil in her life, she couldn’t ignore the deepening bond between them.

  A fake relationship turning real.

  Which might not be an issue if it hadn’t been for his ties to her family. If she found the answers to her past that would allow her to fully reunite with the Steeles, she and Ward would be circulating in close proximity. When their relationship crashed, there would be no escaping the painful fallout of him staying in her life.

  She would have found the truth, and her family, only to lose the man she was coming to care about.

  * * *

  Ward fluffed a plush pillow and set it behind Brea’s still-damp hair. The scent of rose petals permeated the air. Scattered petals on the floor and on the bed. From the spa tub, where they’d made love later. Framing this moment in the kind of romantic hue he’d hoped to execute but wasn’t sure someone like him could pull off.

  He’d carried the small present into the bedroom with him earlier. Now he pulled it off the nightstand, knocking the glass of water ever so slightly. He sat across from her on the bed. They were at ease with each other in a way that tempted him all the more.

  Placing the box into her hands, he smiled. She squinted at him, pulling the ribbon until the bow collapsed. Brea tossed the ribbon at him as she tore the pink wrapping paper. It drifted to the ground in her eagerness.

  Her face lit with surprise as she touched the leather-bound journal and pens. “I’m not sure it’s a romantic gift. Felicity mentioned you’d been journaling and I thought this would...well...”

  She leaned forward to kiss him, briefly but so sweetly. “It’s perfect. I’m touched that you went to so much trouble to find something personal.” Her fingers skimmed along the gold embossing on the journal cover. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

  “You’re not supposed to. Valentine’s Day is about the woman.” Seeing her happy was gift enough for him.

  “You are a charmer, aren’t you?” She held the journal and custom-pen set to her chest.

  “I wasn’t sure you would accept jewelry.” If she wanted jewels, he would gladly shower her with them. But something told him those years in the secluded community had given her grassroots kind of values. For that matter, Jack Steele was one of the most down-to-earth billionaires Ward had ever met. Maybe she’d had those kinds of values all her life.

  “I may have started out my life in a wealthy family, but I spent my teenage years learning about frugality.”

  “Living off-the-grid.”

  “Yes, believe it or not, I can make my own soap,” she said with an impish pride.

  In his mind’s eye, an image of a teenage Brea came to mind. Slaving away at creating lavender-infused soap with a rugged determination.

  “I do believe it. You’re a resourceful survivor.”

  She blushed, then looked away with embarrassment under the guise of thumbing through the journal. “What about your childhood?”

  “I’m an only child. My parents owned a small business in Fairbanks. They ran a barber shop outside the base that catered to military personnel. They worked hard to put me through college.” He stroked her thigh with a gentle touch.

  “Are they still living there?”

  He chuckled. “They retired to a condo on the beach in Florida.”

  Leaning over her, he grappled for his phone to show her photographs of his parents’ newly renovated Venice Beach condo.

  But as he swiped his phone to life, his heart hammered heavily.

  A missed call.

  From Paisley.

  Brea set aside her journal. “Is something wrong? You look worried.”

  He was. Very.

  He thumbed Redial while telling Brea, “It’s my stepdaughter. She called—which her mother hasn’t let her do before...”

  The call went to voice mail. Two more tries later, the same. His worry amplified. The one time his child had reached out to him over this last year, and he’d missed the chance to be there for her.

  Nine

  The next evening, Brea went through the motions of enjoying Valentine’s Day for everyone else’s sake. Shana and Chuck had gone to so much effort to throw a dinner party for their visitors at their temporary home in the converted barn.

  A long, rough-hewn farmer’s table was set with heavy stoneware. Shana declared their meal to be completely composed of foods signature to North Dakota, from the creamy knoephla soup to the grilled walleye. They were just finishing the kuchen—rhubarb cake.

  It should have been a lovely evening, but the strain of the renewed investigation into the Mikkelson relatives definitely circled around
Brea’s mind. And Ward’s tension from yesterday’s missed call from Paisley still hummed just below the surface, too.

  Brea wished she could ease Ward’s ache over the loss of his stepdaughter. He’d finally reached his ex-wife, who’d informed him that she and her new husband had gone on a family vacation and Paisley had gotten homesick. Brea heard the woman insist again that she had nothing against Ward, but Paisley had a new “daddy” now. That it would be easier for all if Ward just faded away.

  Those words still made Brea’s chest go tight. She knew firsthand how much it hurt to have a father fade away inexplicably. But telling Ward as much would serve no purpose.

  Luckily, the others at the table hadn’t seemed to pick up on that tension during the day, when they’d toured the office buildings, or this evening, at dinner. Shana had proudly shared her husband’s gift to her in honor of Valentine’s Day—a donation to the foster-care system. In addition to buying her a “stakeout kit” of chocolates. Apparently the two of them sat on stakeouts together when Shana had to follow an investigative lead.

  Royce had bought his wife a spa day and a pair of stunning diamond earrings. Naomi beamed as she touched them throughout the meal. This gesture elicited a matching, happy grin from the normally poker-faced Royce.

  And as Brea sat listening to everyone, voices drifting up to the high barn ceiling, her mind was filled with a memory of her older brother being dared to hang from the rafters of the boathouse like a bat. She couldn’t remember if she’d dared him or if Naomi had. In those days their actions were so tied to each other.

  Ward repeated his line that Valentine’s Day meant a day of pampering for the women. As such, the men cleared away the stoneware dishes and delicious food.

  While they worked, Brea watched her twin pace in the living room of the converted barn. While Chuck and Shana’s home was being built, they lived in the rustic beauty that had been reborn as a home. The exposed beams kept the smell of wood heavy in the air. She could hear Naomi coo into the phone, wishing her twins a good-night.