Inevitable Inheritance

by Kade Charest

  “Tay—” but Derrick was cut off as he glanced in the rearview and caught sight of a car behind them, following much too close. He knew the car was a photog; he could just feel it. He needed to get Taylor home.

  A quick glance over confirmed that Taylor was buckled in. Derrick used his Bluetooth to call into his father’s mansion.

  “Smith.”

  “It’s Derrick. I am being followed, and I need to get Ms. Preston in. I have to use the main gate, and I need it cleared.”

  A few seconds of silence and clicking, and then, “Okay, sir, we have you on the GPS. Your ETA is approximately fifty-three seconds. We will have gates opened and the way cleared. Don’t slow, or use your direction—”

  “Right. I got it,” Derrick said and hung up.

  “Are we going on a high-speed chase?” Taylor asked, perking up and spinning around in her seat. “Who is following us?”

  “Goddamn it, Taylor. Sit back and stay put,” Derrick said, grabbing her arm and spinning her back.

  “I told you, you can’t be mad. I love you.”

  Oh God, she was so drunk, and he hoped she remembered all this. “Yeah I bet. Just sit there,” he instructed and then gunned it. He saw the photographers and media in the distance, clustered in front of the main gates. Suddenly the gates swung open, and ten black-suited linebackers were pushing them back. Derrick spun in, tires squealing, and sped down the driveway to the Fletcher mansion, slowing only when he saw the gates close.

  “That was fun! This night has been so much fun!” Taylor squealed in her seat, clapping and bouncing as much as the seat belt would allow.

  In spite of himself, Derrick smiled. She was having fun, and she was with him. God, he thought, be careful what you wish for. Derrick looked over and saw she was frowning at the mansion. She turned to him. “We goin’ inside?” she asked somberly.

  “Oh, yes. You are done for tonight.”

  Taylor nodded and continued to it in the mansion, then angled her gaze to him. “Going to bed with me?”

  Derrick gritted his teeth. That was an offer he would love to take her up on, especially after sleeping without her for a week. “I think I better go back to my place tonight, Taylor.” Her inhibitions were way too low, and he was not that strong.

  Taylor furrowed her brow and frowned at him. “Come in with me?”

  Derrick took a deep breath. “Taylor, we need to talk, but not tonight. I am really mad, and you are really drunk—”

  “Please, Derrick. Pleeeeaaaase.”

  Derrick’s body melted and stiffened in the appropriate locations at her begging. “Fine.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice sugary-sweet.

  Derrick pulled under the carport to the mansion, got out, and opened the door to Taylor’s side. She promptly tumbled against him. “I can walk,” she announced, probably trying to convince herself more than him, and tried to weave out of his arms, falling into them again, and laughing.

  Rotors spinning above indicating a helicopter, which forced Derrick to pick Taylor up and carry her up the steps. The door was open, and Henry, security extraordinaire, was waiting.

  “I can take her, sir,” he told Derrick and then flattened himself against a wall as Derrick pinned him back with a look.

  “I can carry my fiancé to her room. Thank you, Henry,” he said to the ginormous Irishman. He may have proved himself tonight, but he was dangerously close to overstepping his boundaries now.

  “Sir,” Henry acknowledged with a small nod.

  “Good night, Hanky! Sorry I yelled at you,” Taylor called as Derrick carried her up the back staircase. She yawned and sighed, leaning her head into Derrick’s chest.

  Taylor stayed quiet as they moved. Derrick looked down to see her sleeping. Just plop her in bed and go, Derrick told himself. He was so mad, and not just at her. He was pissed at himself. Her drunk words were most likely her subconscious coming through, and she was still mad, as he had suspected about that night eight years ago. Well, that made sense because he was still mad about it too. He should have stood his ground, known that he could do it; but he had been weak. Only two people had ever given him the confidence to believe he could do anything—one was dead and the other was drunk in his arms.

  He was just getting to his old bedroom door when he heard footsteps and turned to find Nan. “Good Lord, is she okay?” Nan asked, wearing a robe and curlers, clutching the robe together in fright rather than modesty.

  “Yeah, she’s just drunk,” Derrick said. “She needs to sleep it off. She should never have been this way in the first place. When I get my hands on my sister…”

  “You brought our girl home safe yet again, Derrick,” Nan remarked.

  Derrick snorted. “Oh, she is safe, but she’ll hate herself in the morning.”

  “Everyone is entitled to get snookered at their bachelorette party,” Nan replied.

  “What?” Derrick asked, completely taken aback. Bachelorette party?

  “That’s what she said. She said she was celebrating her engagement and having her last night of fun tonight. That’s why the champagne,” Nan said with a shrug. “Get your fiancé to bed, Derrick. The longer you hold her, the more you risk she’ll throw up on you.”

  Derrick stared at the disappearing figure and then shook his head. He scooted into his old room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. The dress Taylor was in looked uncomfortable. Maybe he should … No way, his subconscious yelled. Danger zone! Remember how she reacted last time, he reminded himself. Besides, that would be like cutting a piece of cake and then not eating it—damn near impossible to resist.

  Derrick laid Taylor on the bed like she was glass and pulled the covers up. He stood back and then leaned down and kissed her forehead. He just couldn’t help himself.

  Taylor’s eyes fluttered open at the kiss, and her gaze locked with Derrick’s. God, those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. He could get lost in them, and she was looking at him, just looking, and he was paralyzed by them. “Kiss me,” she demanded softly and smiled that sweet smile.

  “No, Taylor,” Derrick said quickly as he straightened away from her. They needed to talk, like a lot, before they did that again. As he went to step back from her, Taylor grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to her. Damn. For a drunk girl her reflexes were crazy good.

  “Come on, Derrick. You know you want to,” she said, pulling herself up and bringing herself millimeters from his face. “Just kiss me.”

  “Why?” Derrick asked. “You always seem mad after, so why should I kiss you?” He knew he was being childish, but he just couldn’t help himself.

  “That’s just cause I like it so much, and I still want to be mad at you,” Taylor admitted. Derrick made a mental note to get her drunk whenever he needed answers from her. This night had been irritating but highly informative. “You make me forget,” Taylor whispered. “You kiss so good, Derrick. It makes me forget it all. And I like that, and then it makes me feel hot and bothered, and I can’t get enough of it, and it freaks my shit out. But I like it and I want it and I want you. Bad.”

  Oh fuck, I should never have asked, Derrick thought. His breath hitched, his cock throbbed, and his hands itched to touch her. You should have just dropped her and run, his inner angel told him, but it was too late now. “No, Taylor, you’re drunk. This is wrong …” Geez, was he trying to convince her or himself? He really wasn’t sure.

  Taylor propped herself up on one arm and, using her free arm, unzipped a hidden zipper on the side of her dress and let the fabric fall. She was gloriously naked except for a miniscule scrap of material at her hips.

  Derrick scanned her body. He just drank it all in. He couldn’t stop himself even though he realized he was being an asshole. When he brought his eyes up to her face, Taylor’s lips were practically on his. “Tay—” he whispered, his voice strangled, hoarse.

  “Ssshhhh …” she said and kissed him softly.

  Derrick returned the kiss hesitantly and then dove in full fo
rce, grinding into her mouth, his tongue seeking hers. It was urgent, and they were crushing each other. Taylor had her hands in his hair and was pulling him down to her, pulling his chest against her exposed breasts. And they felt like Heaven crushed against him. Her nipples were hard and ready.

  Taylor groaned and tried to tug him down.

  Derrick pulled back. She’s drunk, she’s drunk, she’s drunk, he chanted to himself.

  “Come on, Derrick, please,” Taylor whispered to him. She lay still against the bed and had her hands in his hair, but her eyes were closed.

  His internal struggle was quelled when there was a knock at her door. “Sir, do you want your car in the garage for the night?” It was Harry. Derrick had left his car parked in the middle of the carport. He didn’t know if he wanted to thank God or punch the wall for the interruption.

  “No,” Derrick said, but it was croaked or hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I’ll be right there.”

  “Very good,” Harry said, and Derrick heard retreating footsteps.

  Derrick looked back. Taylor was asleep, her hands now lax at his shoulders. He drank her body in again and laid her across the bed, pulled the sheets up, and turned away. He should get her some clothes, he thought, but decided the less he put his hands on her nearly naked body right now, the better. Stepping back, and making certain she was sufficiently covered, Derrick backed out of the room. Out in the hallway, he closed the door and then pressed his forehead against it while he took a deep breath. He apologized to his balls for the millionth time in the last week because they were as blue as a Smurfs.

  Home, he told himself, go home.

  But with every step he took, he felt like he had just left his home naked in bed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Taylor woke with a groan. Who the hell put the fucking vise on her head, and why was the wall clock ticking so frigging loud?

  She flung an arm to protect her eyes from the bright light in the room, and the pumping in her head subsided minimally. Slowly images of the night before filtered in. Taylor mentally cracked the bottle on the bow and congratulated herself for her first sail on the S.S. Hangover.

  One bottle, then another of champagne, cocktails with Marty, then dancing, and—oh shit, Derrick, and he was pissed, something about a chase scene and then …

  Taylor sat bolt upright and found her naked breast coming out under the comforter. She furrowed her brow, held her breath, and checked to make sure her thong was still intact. She let the air rush out of her and fell back against the pillow. All the movement made nausea a passenger on her voyage.

  She didn’t remember it all, but she had most definitely thrown herself at Derrick. “Oh God,” she muttered and threw her arm back over her head. She hesitantly peeked at the clock and saw it was 11 a.m.

  It had seemed like such a good plan. And everything, that she could remember, had gone according to her plan.

  Yeah, right up until you tried to get Derrick to have drunken sex with you, her conscience reminded her.

  Groaning again, Taylor reached for the remote and turned on the Today Show. There they were Kathie Lee and Hoda, and they were talking about … drum roll … “So, the big story is long-lost Taylor Preston, the heir and new CEO of Preston Enterprises, was out partying last night,” Hoda commented.

  “Yeah, I don’t think even I could have kept up with her last night,” Kathie Lee quipped. Images of Taylor dancing and video of the salsa number flashed on the screen. Next came pictures of Derrick’s arrival, and then—oh God, it did really happen—there was video evidence of Derrick throwing Taylor over his shoulder.

  “It looks like there is a crazy role reversal here,” Hoda commented. “But the question is, is he a bad influence, or is trying to tame this poor young thing when she is just getting a chance to enjoy herself?”

  “Fuck!” Taylor shouted at the TV.

  No, he is not a bad influence! Both of the hosts’ questions implied Derrick was the bad guy: according to the media, he was either pushing her into the club or making her stay out of them. Hello, he freaking saved me! Taylor wanted to shout at the TV, but her head hurt too much. Taylor flipped to other stations only to find more of the same. She grabbed her phone and checked headlines, same insinuations. Derrick was the bad boy.

  Well that was definitely not her plan.

  Now what?

  She heard Todd’s words from the night before haunting her: “You are not just hurting the company putting this off.”

  Taylor’s phone went off, and she was glad it was on vibrate. Groaning, she reached for it. It was a text from Derrick, Up yet?

  Thank God he didn’t call. She couldn’t deal with speech at the moment. Yup, she texted back.

  We need to talk.

  Taylor shook her head against the pillow. Great.

  Yeah.

  How about dinner?

  Okay.

  I will pick u up.

  I can come to you.

  NOT SAFE.

  Oh, screw this, she thought. She could barely see the buttons; she couldn’t have a sufficient argument via text right now. She pushed the call button and let it ring.

  “I wasn’t sure you could talk,” Derrick said, laughter clear in his voice.

  “Har dee har har, Fletcher,” Taylor replied dryly. “Look, I just want to hang. I am not exactly feeling like dodging paparazzi today.”

  “All right, well we can eat there—”

  “Derrick, I am not in prison. Don’t you keep telling me I am in charge? I want to start living, and I want to eat at your place. Henry just upgraded all the security and felt sure that I would be safe there.”

  “He wasn’t sure, and the paparazzi are all over this place, especially after your show last night.”

  “I. Am. Coming. There.” She’d had enough. Silence followed, and she knew he was not happy about the idea. “Look, I’ll have Henry bring me—”

  “You mean Hanky?”

  Taylor grimaced, “Oh God, did I really call him that? Yeah, him. Anyway, I’ll use a secret squirrel exit. I’ll go in an unknown car. Please, Derrick, don’t fight me on this.”

  More silence.

  “Come on, Derrick,” she said impatiently. “If I have to keep talking I might throw up.”

  “Fine,” he relented.

  “Hallelujah. What’s the code to get in?”

  “Henry knows it. I told him when he had to update the security,” he answered quickly.

  “Well, why can’t I know it?” Taylor asked in disgust. Was he really going to keep a stupid code from her? She rolled her eyes and told herself she was being lame—it was just some numbers. “Never mind. It’s fine, I will let you buzz me—”

  “No it’s, uh, it’s my birthday and your birthday.”

  Now Taylor was silent. Whoa. I wonder when he—It didn’t matter. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay. Taylor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for what you did last night. I mean, I’m still pissed at you, and I still want to talk, but your intentions were good, so, yeah, thank you.”

  Taylor smiled slightly, “Anything for you Derrick.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, “Bye Tay.”

  Now it was time to make decisions. She had to do something, and she wasn’t sure Derrick was going to like what she had in mind. But he did say she was in charge.

  Derrick had discovered a whole new respect for the weekend since becoming a businessman. When he had been Party Derrick, as he had been dubbed by the tabloids, every day had been a weekend. He was in clubs or at parties every night. Sleeping all day, partying all night, he was the head brother of his own fraternity: Delta Beta Derrick.

  Then his dad had come to him and dropped the bomb. Cancer. And it wasn’t responding to the treatment. Just like Mom. Derrick had taken it in and dealt with it the best way he knew how: by going out. The first week he spent drunk, just totally toasted. It helped him to not
think about it, to ignore what was happening. But when he finally sobered up and the buzz subsided and he woke with his headache, it was still right there. Being drunk and out hadn’t changed it.

  So he spent the next week alone, just thinking, evaluating his life. And when he did go out again, he didn’t drink as much, and it hadn’t been as fun. The goofing off, the flashbulbs, the hooking up with random girls, it all became annoying.

  He hadn’t known what to do with his dad’s diagnosis, didn’t know how to feel. Yeah, he loved his dad, but they weren’t the taking father/son fishing trips or playing catch in the yard types. They had never really been close like he and his mom had, and Derrick wanted to change that. So he sobered up, skipped the club for a night, and then it was a week and then a month, and then the guys wanted to know where he was, and random girls were calling, but he couldn’t even remember their faces let alone their names, and he realized he was pissing in the wind.

  He had gone for the removal then. The tattoo had run from just under his left ear to his hip; it was big, thick, black, and tribal. It represented that he could do it, and that was all. There was no meaning, no feeling, just a way to defy. He had gotten it the night he stood up Taylor, the night his father had told him to leave her alone, that he wasn’t good enough for her. He didn’t even remember getting it, he had been so drunk.

  It had taken months of sessions, but the tattoo was gone. Now there were just a few lingering lines and one tattoo left intact under his arm, but he left those. He left the lines to remind him that defiance only hurt him, and the tattoo was a reminder to keep working for what was important. Once the tattoo was gone he had asked his dad for a chance at the business. Simon had been over the moon to let him have it.

  Then Derrick got his own place. He had lived at home throughout his partying days; his father had refused to grant him the income for a party house. But when he started working, started earning his own money and proving himself, he had decided he needed a place. It was a way to reward himself, to show himself and his father and anyone else watching that he was capable. So he had bought the penthouse. The huge two-story, open floor plan penthouse that was large enough for a family of eight. It was too big for one, but he had never intended to live in it alone. He knew exactly who he wanted living there with him.