Winning Wyatt (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 1)

by Floyd, Jacie

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wyatt Enterprises would like you to be a trustee or sit on the board of directors.”

  “Wyatt Enterprises would like it? In this case, Wyatt Enterprises is you, isn’t it?”

  “As a member of the board, I have the authority to make this offer.”

  She tilted her head to study him as the full weight of the news sank in. “Was this your idea?”

  “Which part?”

  “Naming it for Adam.” She bit her lip and tucked her hair behind her ear. “And involving me.”

  Wyatt sat beside her and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “When you wouldn’t continue seeing me, it was primarily because of my connection to the company. And one thing that stood out in my mind was something you said about their deaths being so pointless. Adam’s especially. So much promise in his young life wiped out in a single moment, and for what?”

  He ran his free hand through his hair, and Kara suddenly longed to touch him in the same way. “Nothing will ever make up for the loss. But it might help if something good and positive, even this late, could come from his death. What do you think? If you don’t want to be involved, or you don’t want Adam’s name attached to the foundation, tell me now before the plan is released to the press.”

  She had wasted years of her life wallowing in pointless isolation and self-destructive grief because she felt the best part of her life had been taken from her. And someone who didn’t even know her son, someone she had blamed for his death, someone who had never experienced the joy of his hug or witnessed the pleasure of his smile, that thoughtful caring someone had now created a living legacy dedicated to his sweet life and spirit.

  Kara put her arm around Wyatt’s shoulders. Overwhelmed by her emotions and fighting back the tears in her eyes, she pressed her face into his neck.

  It felt so natural being close to him again. A long moment passed before she could break away. “Wyatt, this is wonderful. Thank you, yes, I’d love to be involved, and I want to be the first person to make a donation. I’ve always felt guilty about the money NPD settled on me. I’ve touched very little of it, so now I’ll put it to good use. Helping other children. Thank you.”

  It would be safer for her and Sean if she could keep her distance from Wyatt. But with this magnanimous gesture, he slipped inside her defenses. Something she’d have to guard against in the future.

  The next morning Kara invited Regina to the house for lunch during Sean’s naptime. Her friend was not that comfortable with children, and Kara had a confession to make.

  “Three years ago, I lied to you about Wyatt Maitland,” she began over Cobb salad.

  “No kidding! I figured that one out all by myself.” Regina tipped her wineglass in Kara’s direction before taking a sip. “Or should I say, with a little help from Wyatt Maitland.”

  “He said he didn’t tell you anything about us.”

  “He didn’t, but that’s what made me suspicious. He shows up out of nowhere, and you’re very suddenly too sick to hang around. He’s asking questions. I’m not an idiot. There had to be more to the story than either one of you admitted before. Why didn’t you tell me when you came back from California?”

  “I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  Regina held up a hand with lime green fingernail polish. “Don’t be, unless Wyatt’s completely lost his touch. He’s a fabulous lover, isn’t he?”

  Kara choked on her tea. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about him at the time. I won’t engage in personal comparisons with you or anyone.”

  “All right, then,” Regina agreed. “I’ll settle for hearing about the rest of it. You’ve maintained all this time that you and he shared a lackluster meal, and he dropped you off at your hotel after. What really happened?”

  Kara shrank into herself, remembering not enough or maybe too much about that time.

  How can I explain? Where do I begin? “I not only left the museum with him on my first day in California, I stayed with him for the next three months.”

  Chapter Five

  Los Angeles, three years earlier

  Kara had wanted Regina to mind her own damn business, but that was the trouble with best friends. Regina had insisted instead that Kara go to L.A. for a job interview.

  So what if Kara had been down? So what if she’d been uncommunicative and anti-social? Why was it anyone’s business but her own? Despite Kara’s protests, Regina had stepped in. As Kara’s best friend and literary agent, she claimed Kara needed something dramatic to pull her out of her world-class depression.

  So Kara went to L.A. to interview for an absolutely perfect temporary position—according to Regina. She also insisted she didn’t care whether Kara accepted the assignment to chronicle the museum’s one hundred and fifty year history or not. Her goal was merely to get Kara out of her apartment, provide her with a change of scenery, and remove her from the dreary March weather in New York.

  But the blasted director was tied up when Kara arrived for her three o’clock appointment, so she went off to while away the time, examining some of the museum’s displays. A Helen Thayer exhibit particularly piqued Kara’s interest more than anything else had done in quite a while.

  In three years and ten days to be precise.

  On the third floor, she stepped out of the elevator and stopped abruptly on the threshold of a sun-drenched chamber. A cathedral ceiling soared above the large and airy gallery. At the far end of the room, a panoramic wall of glass pulled the sun, the sky, and the ocean into a natural backdrop for the Thayer paintings. She stared, unprepared for a spectacle of such beauty and dimension.

  The color of the walls deepened near the window, blending from the delicate shade of a robin’s egg into the deeper blue of the Pacific. The sun’s reflection on the ocean shifted and repeated the golds, reds, and oranges that dominated Thayer’s work.

  In swirling brushstrokes, each canvas celebrated the theme of timeless awakenings, bold and hopeful. The masterpieces depicted moods that ranged from freshly innocent to darkly erotic. A sun peeking over a meadow at dawn. A rose on the brink of bursting into bloom. A man and a woman locked in passion. A mother nursing an infant.

  Each one spoke forcefully to Kara of glories she had once known, but which had long since been buried with her husband and child.

  For three years, Kara’s all-encompassing grief had hardened her heart to the beauty that existed in art, life, and nature. But in this room, on this day, she felt the hard shell of grief encasing her heart begin to soften like a piece of clay massaged into a malleable consistency by an artist’s nurturing hands.

  Her nerve endings twitched and vibrated inside her skin. Circling around, she rushed desperately to absorb the unexpected visual and emotional feast before the miracle of her newly recovered awareness could vanish once again.

  After such a long absence of positive emotions, the rapid rush of impressions overwhelmed her. Dizzy from the onslaught, Kara closed her eyes to block out the room around her. She turned to feel the sun on her face and center her thoughts beyond the crystalline window.

  Like a child blowing out her birthday candles, she wished with all her heart she could start her life over in the simplicity and clarity of the moment.

  “It’s like a religious experience, isn’t it?”

  The words, which so closely aligned with Kara’s thoughts, startled her from her reverie. She turned in the direction of the honeyed voice that carried the hint of moonlight and magnolias.

  “What?” She stared at the man whose stunning good looks and coloring made his presence seem like an extension of the magic surrounding her. With her newly resurrected powers of observation, she soaked up the details of his appearance.

  Standing motionless, he held himself with the grace of Michelangelo’s David stepped down from his pedestal. Only a small crescent-shaped scar on his chin saved his classical features from other-worldly flawlessness.

  He had the long-fingered hands of a
n artist or musician. Even in repose, they looked as if they could express his thoughts with the eloquence of spoken words. He lifted them now in a gesture that encompassed the gallery. “The combination of art and nature always has a spiritual effect on me.”

  The sun haloed his dark auburn curls. Brushed away from his high forehead, it fell forward at the temples and tapered in smooth layers down the nape of his neck. Even his soft tangerine sweater and sand-colored khakis blended with their surroundings. Most compelling of all were flecks of amber in his deep-set brown eyes.

  The intensity of his gaze made it difficult for her to process his comment and form a response. But after several dumbfounded moments, a quotation from an Art Appreciation class popped into mind. “‘Art for the sake of the good and the beautiful, that is the faith I am looking for.’”

  “George Sand?” A gleam of surprise sparked within his entrancing eyes. He cocked his head to the side and focused his attention on her as if nothing else on earth interested him more than she did.

  His voice alone was sensual enough to hypnotize the unwilling, but the effect his unusual eyes had on her was worthy of Merlin. Only a magician of legendary skill could penetrate the crack in her protective shield so effortlessly.

  “I don’t know how I remembered that,” she said in a whisper, “but it seems appropriate.”

  He leaned forward, increasing the level of intimacy between them. “I make weekly visits here the way some people attend Sunday morning church services.”

  She rubbed her hands along her forearms to ward off the tingling sensation his words—or his unsettling presence—produced. “My fingers are itching to take up a brush and capture this precise mix of light, color, and texture.”

  “Are you a painter?”

  “No, just a dabbler. I have the interest, but not the talent. It’s a shame memory alone can’t imprint a scene this stunning. Or that I can’t stay here forever.” The idea of leaving such beauty behind made her heart ache. That emotion, at least, was a familiar one.

  Issuing the words with reluctance, he suggested, “Would you consider extending the moment in a different setting?”

  The provocative timbre of his voice sent shivers down her back, but she felt more feverish than chilled. “How?”

  “I know another place, just as beautiful, where I could share the sunset with you.”

  His comment aroused her curiosity.“Why would you want to?”

  Again, she saw his hesitation. “Very few people take the time to observe the quiet beauty surrounding them. It would be a pleasure to share another example of it with someone who appreciates it as I do.”

  If his words were the truth, Kara didn’t believe they were the whole truth. Against her better judgment, she asked, “Where?”

  “I have a cabin up in the hills,” he said easily, as if she would find his answer reassuring, “with a spectacular view.”

  Talking to a gorgeous stranger within the relative safety of a public museum while undergoing an almost mystical resurrection was one thing, but Kara couldn’t picture herself leaving the premises with him under any circumstances.

  “I don’t think I can,” she answered, dragging her eyes away from his and forcing her attention back to the rhythmic, calming movements of the ocean.

  He reached out one of his finely shaped hands and turned her to face him. The gentle touch of his fingers on her elbow sent prickles of warmth down to her toes. For three years, she had avoided the touch of others. But now, in the room where her senses had been restored, she craved the comfort and awareness the contact provided.

  “Think again,” he suggested, extending his right hand to her. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

  Safe. The tricky word hung suspended in front of her like a holograph. She hadn’t put much stock in safety since fate, the weather, and National Package Delivery had destroyed her family and turned the concept of safety into an illusion.

  The intriguing combination of amber-flecked sensitivity, understanding, and enchantment that swam in his eyes seduced Kara away from a more sensible course.

  She looked at him and then at his beckoning hand. Her gaze returned to his face, searching for incentive. Forgotten longings stirred within her. Desire returned in full force to her dormant heart, tempting her to agree.

  Take a chance, desire urged.

  No way, sanity objected.

  “I have an appointment with the museum’s director at four.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name’s Wyatt,” he said. “Regina sent me to meet you, Kara.”

  A while later, Wyatt pulled his vintage Jaguar up the bumpy drive of a rustic mountain cabin. “Good. We’re right on time.”

  “For what?” Terrifying images of sacrificial rituals flashed through Kara’s mind.

  “The sunset, remember?” He removed his seatbelt. When she couldn’t bring herself to follow suit, he reached across the gearshift to unbuckle the straps holding her in place. She shrank from the contact, and he immediately leaned back. “I’m surprised you didn’t get cold feet earlier. Take as long as you want to get out of the car, or tell me now, and I’ll take you straight back to The Hansett or your hotel. Or wherever you’d like to go.”

  Their eyes met again in silent communication. Something in his gaze telegraphed all the reassurance she needed. She surrendered with a quick nod.

  While he came around the front of the car, she opened her door. His palm felt warm and comforting against hers as he helped her out and directed her up a flight of stairs to a wide redwood deck.

  “Have a seat.” He made a broad gesture toward a bench built along the railing. Joining her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward a magnificent view. “Now, watch.”

  The setting sun balanced itself like an orange ball on an aquamarine tabletop. The sea swallowed the brilliant sphere with imperceptible nibbles, scattering shimmering patterns across the undulating water. Enchanted, Kara could almost hear the slide of its descent. All too soon, the parade of colors faded into lavender-tinged twilight.

  As the last remnants of light extinguished, the final suffocating layers of bereavement broke free from Kara’s soul and disappeared into the sea with the sun. Dusk had settled into place around her. But inwardly, she felt the promise of a new day.

  An arm brushed against hers, returning her attention to the benefactor who had presented her with such a precious gift. “My eyes have been closed to sunsets for a long time,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to see one.”

  Slowly, very slowly, as if he tried to prevent himself from doing so, he raised his hand and trailed a finger along her cheek, then down her neck to the vein throbbing at the base of her throat. “Do you need anything else?”

  Kara accepted the question as her cue to retreat. In her head, she planned to. In her heart, she meant to.

  But her desperate body just wouldn’t comply.

  She had more than enough time to reject his advances before he brought her to her feet and enfolded her in his arms.

  His touch inspired a stirring within her, powerful and instinctive. She needed… wanted… to be healed by his fundamental magic for just a little while. A swirling excitement pulled her along in a whirlpool stronger than the pain of her previous existence. Starved for the basic joy of physical union, she focused on their intertwining desires.

  Kara savored the embrace for a long moment, then leaned back and traced the curved scar on his chin with her fingertip.

  “What I need to do is thank you.” She dared to touch her lips to his in a fleeting kiss.

  He took her fingers in his hand and brought them to his mouth for a gentle caress. “That isn’t necessary. You didn’t ask for this. It was my pleasure to give it to you.”

  “Let my appreciation be your pleasure, too.” Kara whispered the suggestion before placing her mouth on the sensitive skin below his ear.

  Strong hands settled on her shoulder
s to hold her at bay, but Kara laced her fingers behind his neck, and eased his head closer to hers. As she feathered random kisses across his cheeks, chin, and mouth, she hoped the urgency of her desire masked her ineptitude as a seductress.

  With a sigh of acceptance, his reluctance gave way. He tugged her against the length of his body.

  She knew to the day, to the hour, to the minute, how long it had been since she had kissed or been kissed with sexual intent. But even so, she was unprepared for the searing pleasure that burned through her when their lips met. She gasped and gave herself over to enjoyment for long drugging moments before resting her forehead against his chest.

  Taking a steadying breath, Wyatt stepped back. “We should stop.”

  “Not yet.” As she stretched on tiptoe, she tugged his sweater over his head. Sliding her hands down to his wrists, she unbuttoned his cuffs. She fingered his hair into place before moving to undo his shirt.

  Pressing a kiss onto his well-contoured chest with each button she unfastened, she created moist circles in the mat of hair. Her tongue and mouth traced a damp trail from the center of his chest downward, halted only by the waistband of his pants. His long fingers plowed through her hair and brought her head up to a level with his own.

  “Two should play this game,” he said into her mouth while he unfastened her jacket.

  “Not yet,” Kara murmured in the second before his hands cupped her breasts.

  He molded her against his palms, and she covered his fingers with her own. Instead of moving them away, as she probably should, she pressed them more firmly against her and closed her eyes. As his hands massaged her, she reacted with rusty intuition, touching her tongue to one of his dark nipples before moving to graze the other with her teeth.

  Overtaken with impatience, Kara pulled his shirt free and tossed it aside. She traced her hands across the corded muscles of his upper body, chest, and back then moved to his belt, determined to remove another obstacle on her path to pleasure.