“Hang on a minute.” He pushed back on the couch. “And you thought I’d ask for money? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Is that what you think of me?”
“No. No, I don’t think that, but I didn’t want you to change! Everybody changed, Oliver.” The horror in his eyes cut her to the core. “Money changes people, especially this kind of money.”
He shook his head and she knew she’d hurt him.
“Oliver, please understand what I’ve been through. When I came out of the coma I had no family left. I only had my three best friends, women I’d known since we were kids, and all three of them changed. It was like the money possessed them somehow. I couldn’t trust anyone.”
“I’d never do that to you, Amber—Holly—whatever your name is.” He threw up his hands in frustration and the fire in his eyes was unmistakable.
She fell to her knees at his feet and wriggled up to face him. “Please, Oliver. Don’t be mad at me. When I changed my name I was instructed never to tell anyone. No one was to know, and the secret has been eating away at me since the moment we met.”
He lowered his eyes to her. “Your secrets have been eating me too.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know. Please forgive me.”
He pulled her up to her knees, and when he wrapped his arms around her she did the same. They squeezed each other like their lives depended on it. After a long moment, she pulled back to look into his eyes. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“There’s more?”
“Just one more.” Her heart galloped in her chest and she fell into the mercy of his questioning eyes. The electric sparks that danced between them convinced her to say the words that’d been on her tongue for weeks. “I think I love you.”
His eyes sparkled and his body seemed to melt. “I love you too.”
Amber tilted her face -up to him, closed her eyes, and silently begged him to kiss her. Barely a breath later, their lips met. She glided her hands around his back, exploring his warm flesh beneath her fingertips. Their tongues danced in a delicate tango, moving together as if they’d been kissing forever. His hand curled beneath her nightshirt and he pulled her closer, uniting them in a wild passion to explore each other.
When he tugged the fabric of her shirt upward, their kiss released. “May I?” His voice was a throaty whisper, loaded with lust.
Amber paused. She hadn’t been with a man since Milton’s death. And other than her doctors, nobody had seen the hideous scars that marred her body. But for the first time in years, that no longer mattered.
The only thing that mattered was Oliver.
She raised her arms and he wasted no time drawing the fabric up and over her head. His chest rose and fell as he looked at her, really truly looked at her, her nipples peaked and hardened beneath his gaze. If he saw the hideous scar that zigzagged over her breast, he didn’t indicate.
Oliver placed his hands on her waist and raised her to standing. She stood topless before him and he didn’t miss a beat. He curled his hand beneath her breast and cupped it to roll his tongue around her nipple. When he sucked her hardened bud into his mouth, she gasped at the wonderful sensations flooding through her.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and savored Oliver’s hot tongue on her flesh. Electric pulses flashed through her, and she glided her fingers up his back and through his wavy hair. When he released her nipple and looked up at her, she studied his face, taking in every exquisite detail. She knew she was looking at the most stunning man in the world.
“May I make love to you, Amber?” The way he said her name was the perfect mix of love and lust, potent enough to make her glow from the inside out.
She nodded, and a couple of heartbeats later, he guided her onto the sheepskin rug nestled between the couch and the fire. Oliver hovered over her. His bulging biceps held him in place, and she flitted her gaze from his lust-fueled eyes to his cinnamon-colored lips and back again.
He lowered his mouth to hers and their kissing intensified, eager to taste, eager to explore. Their hands did the same, and as she discovered the muscles in his chest and back, he caressed and fondled her breasts.
Oliver pulled back and rested on one elbow, and she watched his eyes scan her body. According to the doctors, it’d taken one hundred and fifty-seven stitches to put her back together. If that wasn’t enough damage to her flesh, keloid scarring raised the jagged purple lines, making them look like ropes had been threaded beneath her skin.
The blazing fire, whilst wonderfully warm and romantic, emitted too much light for her liking, and she was torn between hiding her body from him and getting this first reveal over with. As if he’d heard her tumultuous thoughts, he leaned forward and trailed kisses from the jagged scar over her breast to the tip of her nipple and down her torso. Each touch of his lips to her old wounds ignited something warm and wonderful inside her.
Taking the lead, she wriggled out of her pajama bottoms and watched in anticipation as Oliver whipped his track pants off too. His penis stood to attention, hard and proud.
Oliver lowered to his knees between her legs and leaned forward to position himself above her again. A dark vein pulsed at his temple, and when his lips parted his tongue lashed out to wet them. Her heart fluttered as he placed a hand on her scarred cheek and leaned in to kiss her again. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, eager to taste him. As their breaths mingled, a delicious pulse quivered from deep inside her.
She raised her knees, letting him know she was ready, and Oliver angled his erection to nudge her opening. He held himself there, teasing, and the sizzle of anticipation was as exquisite as it was agony. Slowly, he pushed forward, entering her, until he touched a wonderful spot inside her that begged to be pleased.
He felt so right, so complete, like he was a piece of her that she’d been missing for a very long time. His eyes flickered open, unseeing, and the raw passion in his glistening pools made her feel treasured.
They worked together as one, drawing out each other’s pleasure like only lovers could do. He knew how to please her, and by the intense focus on his face, she believed she pleased him too. Every move was perfect, as if they’d been making love forever.
A light sheen glossed his flesh. His deep primal groans grew deeper, yet he clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut, and continued to draw out her pleasure. Every nerve ending in her flesh tingled, begging for the delicious sensations to last a lifetime. She cried out when her body tipped over the glorious precipice, and she savored the exquisite tremors shuddering through her.
The groan that tumbled from Oliver’s throat was music to her ears, and he plunged into her over and over. When he finally flopped onto her chest, his breathing was as ragged as her own pulse. She trailed her fingers up and down his back, and as they lay there, still united as one, her body pulsed with contentment.
When their breathing returned to normal he pushed up onto his hands, and his arms trembled as he held himself above her to look into her eyes. “You’re amazing.”
She smiled and reached up to cup his cheek. “So are you.”
It was an eternity before they were ready to move off the rug, but Amber didn’t want to leave him even for a moment, let alone an entire night. “Would you like to come upstairs?”
His boyish grin made the invitation a thousand times better. “Absolutely.”
After they each visited the bathroom, she held his hand and led him upstairs, and, following his lead, she didn’t redress in her pajamas. Snuggling beneath the covers, they lay naked with her back to his chest and his arm curled over her torso so their hands entwined. It was perfect. He was perfect. Everything about her life right now was absolutely perfect. So perfect, in fact, that she wondered if risking everything to complete her mission was foolish. But then she thought of Dorothy and how imperfect her life was.
If she didn’t do thi
s, she was destined to live the rest of her life on that icy ledge with two frozen bodies.
Chapter 21
It’d been five months since Regi found out who his father was, yet he was no closer to proving it. Whilst it was good to finally know the bastard’s name, he’ll never forgive his mother for keeping his identity a secret. As far as he was concerned, his mother had prioritized Milton’s wish of keeping their ongoing affair a secret over Regi’s continual requests to learn about the “sperm donor.” She’d chosen sides, and Regi had lost. And that hurt deep.
As ludicrous as her story was, everything made sense after he heard it. It explained how she could afford their home and her expensive drug habit. It explained why she often vanished at a moment’s notice, stating she was going on one work trip or another. It also explained why she’d hit rock bottom four years ago.
But in Regi’s eyes, with the truth out, she’d gone from victim to selfish bitch in the space of an afternoon.
After he’d searched her bedroom for evidence of their affair, he’d scoured their already messed up house, combing for anything that proved Milton was his father. But he got nothing. Not a damn thing. So he’d sat and waited for his mother to emerge from her drug-induced stupor.
Not that it’d helped. The bitch was a thousand percent adamant that not one single photo of the two of them together existed. In addition to that, nobody—and she was adamant about that too, nobody—knew of their affair, even though it’d lasted for twenty-three years.
Twenty-three years. How in the hell someone could do that was beyond his grasp. It just proved how calculating his mother could be. It was another side of her that he never knew existed, and it hurt nearly as much as finding out his wealthy father didn’t want anything to do with him. The asshole had plenty of opportunities too. Regi thought he’d hated him before—now he despised the fucking bastard, and was determined to get his hands on what was owed to him.
Since that afternoon, Regi had spent every available minute scouring the internet, researching Milton Ashcroft. Fortunately for him, the boring office job he’d snagged eighteen months ago gave him unlimited access to a computer. And his tiny cubicle meant he could do whatever he wanted without anyone seeing over his shoulder.
He’d taken up a routine. Mornings were for work, and damn if he didn’t work his butt off to get everything done as quickly as possible. Afternoons were dedicated to research. Every photo of the smiling prick made him want to punch the monitor. But of course that was a pointless waste of energy. He needed to be smart.
Surely it wasn’t possible to have an affair for two decades and not leave a single trace of it? He’d scoured news reports of the helicopter crash and the aftermath. He’d read everything he could find on Kane, the half brother he’d never meet. And there was loads of information on Milton’s successful animal apparel empire, Creature Comforts.
Dog clothing! Regi couldn’t believe his father’s rise to success was on the back of a dog, literally.
He opened a report from Google that he’d saved, and as usual his eyes snagged on the estimated value of Milton’s estate at the time of his death: twelve billion dollars. Twelve billion fucking dollars.
Reginald Tate, twelve-billion-dollar man. In his mind it sounded like he was being introduced for a world wrestling match.
Each day, he continued reading, devouring every article he could find. It seemed Milton’s ex-wife had made a career out of playing the distraught widow. He googled Victoria Ashcroft again… She was everywhere. Society dinners. Talk shows. Facebook. She’d even survived six episodes on I’m a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!
Pausing on a photo of her with a blond reporter, he noticed the NBC Chicago insignia on the microphone and suddenly it hit him.
She knew of the affair. His mom had said Milton’s wife had caught her and Milton in a hotel in Chicago. She was his proof. He went back to her Facebook profile and tapped on the message button. But then he paused. What the hell was he going to say? Hi, I’m your dead ex-husband’s bastard son and I want my fucking money.
Somehow, he figured that wouldn’t work.
He stood and paced between the partitions and back, trying to piece together a message. The insurance office where he worked was open plan, and a dozen or so other claims consultants were hunched over in their own cubicles. It was a solid ten minutes before even one of them seemed to notice him. And that’s when an idea slotted into place. Ms. Ashcroft’s thirst for attention would be his savior. He trotted back to his computer and attacked the keyboard.
Hello, Ms. Ashcroft. My name is Reginald Tate, and I’m a reporter from the New York Times. Can I interview you? He gave her two phone numbers, his direct office line and his cell number. His heart was in his throat when he clicked send.
He jumped when his cell phone rang barely a minute later. The number on the screen was blocked, but he didn’t hesitate to press the green button.
“Hello? Ms. Ashcroft, is that you?”
“It is.” The woman sounded posh, and he could barely contain his excitement.
“Thank you for calling.”
“My pleasure. What exactly would you like to know?”
He cupped the phone, hoping to shield his voice from the prying ears of Telitha in the cubicle adjacent to his. “I’m following up on information I have regarding Milton Ashcroft. Do you have time to talk?”
“I do.”
“Okay, good. I’ve been told Milton Ashcroft may have—” He paused, realizing he hadn’t exactly thought this part through.
“May have what?”
He decided to go for broke. “Well, um, there’s a woman who says she had an affair with him for over twenty years.”
“Pfft. It’s a lie. Milton loved me. We loved each other. Who is she?”
“Fiona Tate.” He felt zero guilt dropping his mother’s name.
There was a moment’s pause. “She already tried years ago, but her case was thrown out. She had no proof. Just like every other bastard still trying to get their hands on his estate.”
“You mean it isn’t settled yet?” That was good news. He’d read a news report from six months ago that’d highlighted the long drawn-out litigation over the estate. Hearing that it still wasn’t settled had his heart racing.
“Young man, I suggest you do your research.”
“My apologies. How awful for you; you’ve already been through so much.” His fake sympathy was vomit-worthy.
“It’s been hideous. My money has been tied up in court for years.”
Your fucking money. He stabbed his pen onto his notepad and the blue plastic shattered to pieces. “Fiona says you found them together in a hotel in Chicago.”
She huffed. “Well, unless she comes up with something solid, like DNA, she’s got nothing.”
The mention of DNA had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“Okay, thanks for calling, gotta go.” Before she could reply, he ended the call and toggled the mouse to wake his computer again. Something was there, tickling the back of his mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. His cell rang with a blocked number several times but, assuming it was Victoria, he ignored it as he read the headlines of report after report, trying to get to the bottom of his burgeoning excitement.
Afternoon rolled into evening and people around him packed up and left. The eternal drone of voices petered out until there was just the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. And suddenly there it was, the headline he’d been looking for.
Multibillionaire Milton Ashcroft to remain in icy grave forever.
Regi stood, cheered, and fist-pumped the air. His manager in the far office stared at him through the slats of his window blinds. Regi waved at him and sat down again.
DNA.
That’s what he needed, and he knew exactly where to find it.
He just had to figure out how.
/> Returning to the computer, he researched where Milton’s helicopter crashed: Whiskey Mountain. He googled it and was surprised to find there were four of them. But it was the one in Canada that he was interested in. Another article captured his eye. It seemed Whiskey Mountain had more than one casualty to its name.
Twenty minutes later, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He picked up his phone again, and as he punched in the number from his Google search he prayed he hadn’t missed them for the day.
“Hello, and welcome to Helirides Canada.”
“Hi, I’m calling about a plane wreck that one of your guides found on top of Whiskey Mountain. Can I speak to the guy who was there?”
“That’d be me. Chancy Holden, how can I help?”
Regi couldn’t believe his luck. “I work for Heathcote Insurance, and I need to take more photos of the plane. There’s a pending claim that needs solving.”
“Well, it must be your lucky day. I had a call from a woman the other day, and she’s hired me to take her to a crevasse near the plane to retrieve a body. So I can take the photos if you want.”
“A body?” Regi’s mind raced.
“Yeah, apparently her fiancé died in a helicopter crash up there a few years ago, and she wants to give him a proper burial.”
Holy fuck. It had to be Holly Parmenter, Milton’s fiancée and the sole survivor of the helicopter crash. Regi could barely breathe, let alone speak. His lucky streak just hit the twelve-billion-dollar jackpot.
“You there, man?”
“Oh, yep.” His mind rocketed a thousand miles an hour. He cleared his throat. “Can I join the group?”
“Depends. You got eight grand in your pocket?”
Regi just about swallowed his tongue.
“You there?” Chancy’s gruff voice cut into his brain.
“Yes, it’s just… Eight thousand?”
“That’s correct. It covers the cost to take the helicopter to the highest point, then it’s about a two-day return hike on the mountain, depending on the weather. Then the chopper’s gotta come back to get us. Costs money. Insurance alone’s a fortune, though I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.” He chuckled.
Out of Mind Page 19