Once Forbidden, Twice Tempted

by Karen Booth

  Tara sat back and Grant took her hand again. “You’re the one who’s going to have to break it to the staff. And fast. Before the media finds out,” he said.

  He nodded, keeping his fingers wrapped around hers. “And there’s a funeral to plan.”

  It was all so overwhelming. “That’s going to be a lot for Miranda to deal with. I’m happy to help. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Someone’s going to have to call Astrid. I supposed I’d better start making a list.”

  “Of course.” Astrid was Johnathon’s second wife, the Norwegian supermodel, the one Tara didn’t like quite as well. Johnathon had married her mere months after his split from Tara, and Tara had always wondered if there had been some overlap between them. Still, Tara had managed to build some affinity with Astrid. It was part and parcel of being a real estate agent. She found a way to get along with everyone. “I’ll do it. You have enough on your plate. I’m sure she’ll be nothing but distraught.”

  “Thank you, Tara. I really appreciate that. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He gazed at her with his deep brown eyes. They were filled with sincerity and compassion, just as they’d always been. He had a big heart.

  A totally irrational part of Tara’s brain wanted to escape into those eyes—surely nothing could hurt her there. “I will. I’ll be okay. How about you?”

  “I’m always okay. You know me. We’ll get through this. I promise.” He leaned closer and kissed her temple, stirring up an echo of the attraction that had been there between them the night they met.

  Tara’s eyes drifted shut as she soaked up his touch. It had been so long since a man had expressed something so tender toward her. But she could only enjoy it for an instant before the world around her intruded again.

  “Max,” Grant said.

  Tara’s eyes popped back open, confronted with Johnathon’s longtime lawyer, Maxwell Hughes, who’d walked into the waiting area. He was an imposing man, towering and skinny with dark slicked-back hair, like the evil genius in a spy movie.

  “We need to talk,” Max stated coldly. “Is there a private meeting room?” He unsubtly slid Tara the side-eye, as if she was somehow in the way.

  “I should go.” Tara got up from her seat. She was upset enough. She didn’t need time in Max’s presence. He’d been unbelievably cruel to her during her divorce from Johnathon. “I doubt Miranda wants to see me or talk to me right now anyway.”

  “Max, give me one minute.” Grant ushered Tara out of the waiting room and over to the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor. “I’m so sorry about that. The guy clearly has no bedside manner.”

  “Tell me about it. What do you think he wants? Is this really the right time for a meeting?”

  Grant frowned, seeming just as perplexed. “If he wants to talk to me, it must have to do with Sterling Enterprises. Hopefully just a formality with putting me in as CEO.”

  “Oh. Sure. That makes sense.”

  “I know. The timing stinks. But let’s be honest, everything about this is horrible.”

  Two

  The last time Grant had been in the church in sunny Point Loma, California, with its breathtaking view of the rocky coast and deep blue Pacific, it had been to stand up as best man for Johnathon. That day, Johnathon married his third wife, Miranda. Now, little more than a year later, Grant was here to bid farewell to his old friend.

  Grant shifted in his front-row seat and patted Miranda’s hand, although she didn’t seem to warm to it. He’d been doing his best to comfort her for three days, ever since she called to tell him that Johnathon had taken a line drive to the head. Even then, Grant had been so sure that Johnathon would be fine. If Johnathon was anything, he was a survivor. He’d come from nothing and clawed his way to billions. Johnathon always came out on top.

  But that hadn’t been the case this time. Instead, Grant arrived at San Diego Memorial with only seconds to say goodbye. Meanwhile, a frantic Miranda wept at Johnathon’s bedside, begging him to hold on. You can’t leave. I’m pregnant. There was a baby on the way, a child who would never know their father. And a series of events had been triggered, but it wasn’t quite what Grant had banked on. After his meeting with Max, Johnathon’s personal attorney, Grant had learned that running Sterling Enterprises as its new CEO would require him dealing with all three Sterling wives. They still didn’t know it, and Max had suggested they wait until a few days after the funeral to drop the bombshell. Grant was still formulating a plan for managing the aftermath, but for now, all he could do was nod at the poignant things the minister was saying.

  “Johnathon was larger than life, instantly memorable and completely unforgettable. He had a heart as big as the Pacific Ocean he so loved to surf in. He was blessed in his life with three beautiful wives, all of whom are with us today. Our condolences to them as they come to terms with Johnathon’s untimely death.”

  A deep sob came from the pew across the aisle. Grant didn’t need to look to know that it was Astrid, wife number two, who’d arrived from Oslo, Norway, with absolutely no idea who Miranda was or that Johnathon had ever remarried. Grant had been left to smooth that over, just as he’d done on countless occasions during his friendship with Johnathon. He could only guess what was going to happen when Astrid discovered that Miranda was pregnant with Johnathon’s baby.

  Grant felt a pang of guilt, realizing how much it angered him that Johnathon had never told Astrid the truth. Johnathon may have loved all three of his wives deeply, but he’d created plenty of trouble for them, too. Grant had witnessed both the good and the bad. He hated the things that Miranda and Astrid had gone through, but in Grant’s eyes, the wife who’d been truly unappreciated was the first—Tara. Beautiful, stunning, tough-as-nails Tara.

  She was seated only two people away from him. It was impossible to not steal the occasional glance at her, just like he’d been unable to keep his eyes off her the other day at the hospital. She was a singular beauty, with glossy blond hair, flawless and glowing skin, deep blue eyes and full lips colored a soft pink. He’d wanted to kiss them countless times, but Johnathon had always been clear, even after their divorce: Tara was off-limits.

  Still, Grant would need to pull her into his orbit now. She was highly skilled at persuasion, which meant she could be a strong ally in helping him deal with Miranda and Astrid. But would she stay on his side? That was a big question. Certainly Tara had loved Johnathon immensely and would want Sterling Enterprises to continue on in his name. But no one could have guessed that the succession plan Johnathon had put in place came with a caveat—one that stripped Grant of control. And now he had to get it back.

  The congregants stood as the service came to an end, and Grant excused himself to step out into the aisle as one of six pallbearers. The other five were all employees of Sterling Enterprises, including Clay, Miranda’s brother. Separating Johnathon and the business was impossible. They were coiled tightly around each other. Noticeable in his absence was Johnathon’s only living family, his younger brother Andrew. Grant had hoped that Johnathon’s death would be enough to make Andrew show up. But some rifts ran too deep.

  As Grant lifted the casket with the other men, it was impossible to ignore the great weight that now sat on his shoulders. He had to be there for Miranda and the child who would never know their father. He had to care for Sterling Enterprises and keep the company flourishing. He must also be certain that Astrid had the support she needed to get through this difficult time. And he would have been lying if he said he didn’t want the chance to be Tara’s shoulder to cry on.

  The other day at the hospital had only served as a strong reminder that his attraction to her had never gone away. Anything romantic between himself and Tara never would have happened when Johnathon was still walking the earth, but things were different now. Everything had changed. And it was time for Grant to be one of the rare few to move beyond the specter of Joh
nathon Sterling. Certainly in business. And quite possibly in the personal realm, as well.

  * * *

  Tara dutifully filed behind the other wives as Johnathon was carried from the church. Miranda was first to follow the casket, trailed by Astrid. Each was racked with sorrow, Miranda quietly weeping and Astrid so overcome she struggled to walk. The four-inch heels certainly weren’t helping. Tara’s place in the processional was last, the farthest removed from her ex. In that moment, she felt it was her job to keep it together. She would speak for all three wives by offering polite nods for the throng of guests wishing to share their condolences. The sea of acquaintances, close friends and perfect strangers said over and over again that they were sorry for her loss. It didn’t make it any more real. Tara could hardly believe that Johnathon was dead. She kept expecting him to step out from behind a pillar and declare that it was all a joke.

  Tara knew that coming to terms with this loss would not be easy. She must finally face the mix of good and bad feelings about Johnathon, everything she’d avoided reckoning with when they’d divorced. She was deeply saddened by this realization; it left a hole in her psyche, but she couldn’t bring herself to shed more than a few tears right now. It didn’t matter that this was the time to let it all out. She’d first learned it wasn’t in her best interest to show her emotions when kids at school teased her for still crying months after her mother had died. Johnathon had taught her to be tough, as well. Not in words, so much as his actions. He could be sweet when she was down, but he adored strong, upbeat Tara, showering her with affection. Being strong got her what she wanted.

  A ribbon of relief zipped through her when she finally stepped out into the blazing sun of the July day. It was a gorgeous summer day, in the midseventies with a light breeze. She was dying to get back to her house across the bay in Coronado, take off her heels and maybe go for a walk on the beach. Clear her head. Begin the process of moving on. But she couldn’t leave without speaking to the other two wives.

  “Miranda,” Tara said, catching up with Johnathon’s widow. “How are you doing? Is there anything I can help you with? Anything I can do?”

  Miranda turned, hiding behind a dark pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Her ebony hair was back in an elegant twist, but the streaks of mascara on her cheeks showed the evidence of her grief. “How am I doing? My husband is dead.” She hugged her Louis Vuitton handbag to her side like a life preserver.

  Tara was a little taken aback by the response. She and Miranda had a friendship outside the fact that they’d fallen for the same man. “No. I know. Today is incredibly hard. I shouldn’t have asked. It was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

  Miranda’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “No. I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” She shot a quick glance over each shoulder, then pulled Tara closer. “I’m a big ball of hormones. I can’t even begin to process the idea of raising this child on my own,” she whispered.

  “I take it you haven’t told anyone.”

  “My brother Clay knows. You. Grant. A few of my close girlfriends. That’s it. I don’t want anyone else to know. Not yet. It’s too much to deal with. And I really don’t want Astrid to find out before she’s back in Norway. Johnathon told me how hard they tried to have a baby. Plus, apparently, Johnathon didn’t have the guts to tell her that I even existed, so there’s that to deal with. I’m sure she hates me.”

  “Don’t say that.” It was the polite thing to say, but Tara could only imagine what Astrid might be feeling. She was the sort of woman who put her emotions front and center.

  Miranda shook her head in dismay. “Right now, I just want to curl into a ball in my bed, go to sleep and wake up to a different reality.”

  Tara pulled her into a hug. Normally full of life, Miranda was frail right now. Her pain and emptiness radiated off her. “I’m sorry, Miranda. I’m so sorry.”

  She stiffened in Tara’s arms. “Oh, crap. Astrid is coming this way. I can’t deal with her. Nobody wants to see a cat fight at a funeral. Sorry.” Miranda tore herself from Tara’s embrace, turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

  Before Tara had a moment to prepare, Astrid was tugging on her arm.

  “I don’t know what he saw in her.” Astrid’s Norwegian accent was thicker now than the last time she and Tara had spoken. Astrid had moved back to Norway right after her divorce from Johnathon two years ago. Perhaps the time in her home country speaking her native language had erased the Southern California edge her voice had once had.

  “Miranda’s lovely,” Tara said. “But you’re the most beautiful woman at this funeral, so I don’t see any reason to be jealous.”

  Indeed, Astrid was a true beauty, the sort of woman who wore no makeup and always looked like she was ready for the cover of a magazine. She had lustrous honey gold hair, and was tall and willowy; all clothes looked good on her. It would be easy to envy Astrid, but Tara didn’t have it in her. She knew that Astrid had suffered great emotional scars from her marriage to Johnathon.

  “I can’t believe he married again. He never told me.” Astrid’s perfect lower lip was quivering.

  Tara didn’t have an explanation for that. She couldn’t begin to imagine why Johnathon wouldn’t have told her. Tara had been duly notified each time Johnathon remarried. He’d always framed it as the polite thing to do, although the perpetually-single Tara had felt as if he was only rubbing it in. Unsure of what she could say that would possibly make Astrid feel better, Tara pulled her into a hug. Apparently her role at this funeral was comforting the other wives. “What’s done is done. He’s gone and we all have to find a way to move on.”

  “I can’t imagine letting it go. Ever.”

  Tara tried to not roll her eyes, releasing Astrid from the hug. “How long are you staying in San Diego?”

  Astrid sniffled. “I still have my penthouse downtown. I plan to stay for a little while. We had a dreary spring at home. Plus, being here reminds me of Johnny. I feel closer to him.”

  A corner of Tara’s mouth quirked up. Astrid was the only person who’d ever referred to Johnathon as Johnny. It did not suit the Johnathon she’d known, but perhaps he’d been different with Astrid. Johnathon was certainly a puzzle of a man. Looking for an exit from her conversation with Astrid, Tara took a quick survey of the crowd, and spotted Grant, his easy smile impossible to miss. She wanted at least a few words with him before she left.

  “Astrid, do you have my cell number?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. Call me if you need anything. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”

  Astrid took Tara’s hand. “I want to make sure you know that I understand why he loved you. You’re wonderful. It’s Miranda who makes me question his sanity.”

  Tara was not about to wade into these waters. “Take care of yourself, Astrid.” She pecked her on the cheek then beelined over to Grant, and gripped his arm. “Can I steal you for a minute?”

  “You can have me for a whole hour, if you want.” The hint of flirtation in his voice was impossible to miss.

  She led him to the shade of a large island oak tree. “You don’t want to know what I could do to you in an hour.”

  Grant smiled and removed his sunglasses, a few tiny crinkles gathering at the corners of his warm brown eyes. He ran his hand through his thick chestnut hair, and pushed it back from his face. He’d neatly groomed his five-o’clock shadow for the service, but it didn’t hide the sexy hints of salt and pepper along his jaw. Grant was the hunky boy next door, twenty years later, the sort of man who was comfortable with his good looks, but didn’t feel the need to flaunt it. He didn’t walk into a room thinking about the way the lines of his suit accented his broad shoulders. But every woman certainly took notice.

  “You know, you threaten me with statements like that, but you never follow through. Why is that?” He punctuated his question with a sexy narrowing of his eyes.

  “
Johnathon would be horrified to know we’re flirting at his funeral.”

  Grant shrugged. “He would’ve done the same thing if the roles had been reversed.”

  “That’s absolutely true.”

  He reached for her hand, gathering her fingers and holding them tight. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t give me the Tara Sterling, real estate agent to the stars answer, okay? I want the Tara Sterling, woman I’ve known since before she married my best friend answer.”

  “I really am fine, but I think I’m still in shock. Ask me again in a week.”

  He drew a deep breath in through his nose, but didn’t let go of her hand. “I hear you. I think I’m in the same boat.”

  “I think Astrid jumped straight to full-blown grief.”

  “I hate that Johnathon never told her that he’d remarried.”

  “It sucks, but had they been in close communication? She was in Norway, after all. It makes sense that Johnathon and I would talk. We were always running into each other at parties or restaurants.”

  “They were talking. For sure. He had his chance.” He gently let go of his grip on her hand and Tara couldn’t escape the tone of his voice. Grant knew all of Johnathon’s secrets.

  “You should probably keep that to yourself. Astrid’s plenty mad as it is. She had some ugly things to say about Miranda.” Tara planned to keep mum on the topic, too. She enjoyed having plausible deniability.

  “Just like we need to keep the pregnancy under wraps.”

  “I need to write all of this down. I can’t keep up.”

  Grant’s eyes went wide. “I have one more for you.”

  “You do? Something bad?”