A Crazy Kind of Love

by Maureen Child

  “Is a long time since I’ve seen you three,” she said, propping one hand on her hip. “What? I have to have you come work on my house to make you stop by for a hello?”

  Mike glanced at her sisters, then shrugged and provided an excuse for all of them. “Sorry, Mama. It’s been a busy summer.”

  “Oh yes. A happy summer, too, eh? New babies—a boy and a girl”—she hugged Tasha again—“now my Carla’s going to make me a nana again. Sam’s little girl has come home, and Jackson is the new mayor.” She frowned. “But Mayor Vickers wants a—” She turned to Tasha. “What did Jackson say it was?”

  “A recount, Mama,” Tasha provided.

  “You’re kidding,” Jo said.

  “No. He says chads work in Florida, they should work here.” She shook her head grimly. “I think is Rachel, his wife, who is the problem.”

  “Not surprising,” Sam muttered. “Rachel really likes being the mayor’s wife. Not surprising she wouldn’t want to give it up.”

  “Jackson won, that should be it,” Jo snapped.

  Mike agreed. Jackson Wyatt, Carla Candellano’s husband and the father of the little girl Carla had adopted as her own, had run for mayor and won in a damn landslide. Everyone in town had been ready for a change. And maybe, she considered, the fact that Rachel Vickers was always foisting her poisonous attempts at cooking on everyone was one of the reasons.

  “He’ll win in the recount, too,” Tasha said loyally.

  “Of course he will,” Mama agreed, nodding hard enough to loosen a few strands of hair from her topknot. “And this Christmas, my Tony’s brother’s son Alex is coming from Omaha for a visit. His wife died and he should get away for a while. Is not good to be alone.”

  “Another Candellano coming to town?” Mike asked.

  Mama smiled benevolently. “We’ll try to make him stay here. With family.” Then she inhaled sharply and said, “Molly is going to fix my hair, so I have to hurry. You girls say hello to your papa for me, all right? And Grace, too.”

  “Grace?” Mike blurted. Hell. Had everyone but his daughters known about Grace and Papa?

  Mama bent down and patted Mike’s hand. “He missed your mother so much, God rest her soul.” She paused to quickly cross herself and bob her head. “It’s good Hank and Grace found each other. Is not good to be alone.”

  As Mama and Tasha said goodbye and wandered off together, Mike thought about what she’d said. No, it wasn’t good to be alone. But sometimes, it was much easier.

  Lucas snatched the phone up, eager for a distraction. He’d been working on his book for the last three hours and had managed to type one whole page. Nanotechnology research was a hell of a lot easier than writing.

  “Hello?”

  “Lucas.”

  His hand tightened on the receiver and his features went hard and stiff. Lucas actually felt ice move through his veins, despite the unexpectedly sharp burst of fury that slammed through him.

  “How the hell did you get this number?” he demanded.

  “I called the lab,” Justin said, “your secretary gave it to me.” His voice sounded faint, far away.

  Not far enough.

  “I’ll fire her tomorrow.” Not really, but damn if he didn’t want to. Sharon shouldn’t be giving out personal information to anyone. Least of all to brothers who should have stayed the hell away.

  “Damn it, Lucas, I have to talk to you and you won’t even read my e-mails.”

  Lucas fixed his gaze on the lake. Keep staring at the cool, clear surface of the water, he told himself. Feel the calm settle. Feel the tension drain away.

  Fuck that.

  “In case you didn’t get it,” Lucas said, and every word had to be pushed past the knot of anger nearly strangling him. “I don’t want to talk to you, Justin. It’s been four years. Nothing you can say to me now will mean a damn thing.”

  “Damn it, Lucas—”

  “Get the hell out of my life, Justin.” His fingers tightened around the phone. His breath labored in his lungs. His vision suddenly clouded with a red haze of pure rage and he whipped his glasses off, tossing them onto his desktop.

  “I’m about to.”

  “Don’t wait,” he snarled. “Do it now.”

  Lucas stabbed the TALK button, hanging up and ending the conversation before Justin could manage to say another word. “Does he think I want an apology?” Shaking his head, he threw the phone onto the chair and glared at it when it rang again. “Does he think that there’s anything he can say to make this all right?”

  The phone rang again and Lucas took two steps back and away from the chair where the phone lay, its red light blinking frantically with each ring. Gritting his teeth, he reached up with both hands and scraped his hair back from his head. He dragged one uneven breath into his lungs, then another, then another. His heartbeat slowed down, the inferno of rage faded into a few hotly smoldering coals, and the haze around the edges of his vision slowly cleared.

  “You’re not doing this again, damn it,” he said, as the answering machine kicked on, inviting Justin to leave a message. He took two long strides to the desk, and punched the OFF button on the black and chrome machine. “You’re not leaving me any damn messages, and you’re not sneaking back into my life just so you can screw with it some more. Stay the hell away, damn it.”

  Wherever Justin went, destruction wasn’t far behind. The Golden Boy, Justin had skated through life on charm and a winning smile. He built skyscrapers of cards, and when they eventually tumbled down, Justin was never around to get crushed. It was the people surrounding him who were left battered and bleeding and wondering what the hell had happened.

  But it wasn’t going to happen to Lucas.

  Not again, anyway.

  As the phone started ringing again, Lucas turned his back on his office and headed out into the hall. The shrill sound of the phone chased him as he went, but he kept moving, determined to put at least emotional distance between him and his twin.

  He took the cold tile steps at a dead run and kept right on going when he hit the foyer. Ignoring the phone in the living room, as well, he opened the front door, stepped outside into the cool afternoon, and slammed the door behind him.

  An icy wind off the ocean slapped at him, and wrapped itself around him as he stalked down the front steps, marched across the yard, and rounded the corner of the house, headed for the lake.

  At the water’s edge, he dropped to the sun-warmed grass, yanked up a fistful of the stuff and shredded it between his fingers. Then he tossed the remnants into the wind and watched as they floated out to the lake and rippled away, carried on currents created by the wind.

  A pair of ducks swept in from somewhere and settled on the water, oblivious to the man sitting on shore watching them.

  Lucas took a deep, cleansing breath and told himself that fury wasn’t the answer. He’d tried that once, and had lost a year of his life, buried in pain and regrets and an anger that had kept him from seeing the truth.

  Well, he’d finally accepted reality.

  He had his home.

  His work.

  Hell, he even had Mike Marconi to think about now.

  Mike.

  A part of him wondered . . . again . . . if she wasn’t the reason his emotions were all churned up and too damn near the surface. He’d kept everything bottled up for so long—and now, he was feeling again. She tapped into something inside him that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

  And worse—he was starting to enjoy it.

  Not the rage part, of course.

  But the fact that he was starting to feel something for Mike pleased him almost as much as it terrified him.

  He wiped one hand across his face and blew out a breath. Whatever the hell was going on between him and Mike, his brother had no part in this world.

  He’d be damned if he’d let Justin get anywhere near the new life he’d built. And damned if he’d allow himself to get sucked back into the funnel cloud that was Justin Gallag
her.

  8

  The Barrington Estate was a splashy blend of old Hollywood and old Italy. The perfect place for Lucas’s fund-raiser.

  Perched on a hill overlooking the ocean, the grounds raced to the edge of a cliff in manicured splendor. Cypress trees stood like crippled soldiers, twisted and bent from the wind but still holding their guard positions around the vast, manicured gardens.

  The stately mansion’s cream-colored walls had been aged by sun and sea until it looked as if it had stood in that spot for centuries. Wide, thick columns lined the front of the estate and a circular drive adorned by chrysanthemums in bright, jewel colors welcomed guests.

  A hundred years ago, the estate was a family home, built by one of the lucky few forty-niners who hit a thick vein of gold. That first Barrington had spared nothing in furnishing his home by the sea. Marble tiles from Italy, Tiffany lamps and windows, tables from England. For years, the palace by the sea had sheltered the Barrington family until the last surviving descendant, Selena, decided that penthouses in the city were more fun to live in than a mansion.

  Selena Barrington turned the place into a corporate rental and charged companies small fortunes to experience a lifestyle that had disappeared into the same past that had swallowed the forty-niners.

  Mike stepped out onto her balcony and took a deep breath of the sea-scented air whipping past her and into the huge bedroom behind her. Her view stretched out over the wide expanse of lawn to the sea beyond—out to where sea met sky and both dissolved into each other until eternity was born.

  Turning her back on the ocean, sparkling with silver glints of moonlight, she stared into her room and hugged herself. Oh, she’d seen fabulous places before. Hearst castle, for one. But she’d never been able to sleep over in a damn palace before.

  The room was a dream in soft blues and greens. A king-sized bed covered in a lacy duvet and a mountain of decorative pillows was the main attraction. Original oil paintings of misty lakes and gardens dotted the walls. The pale blue carpet was thick enough to take a nap on and the adjoining bath was damn near decadent. An orgy-sized peach-colored tub dominated the pale white-and-peach-tiled room and boasted a bay window with enough hanging ferns to qualify as a rain forest.

  Chuckling, she stopped in front of an old-fashioned dressing table and stared into the mirror. She pulled two strands of blond hair free of the nest of curls at the back of her head. The long, spiraling curls lay against her cheeks and the small diamond studs in her ears winked in the light. Leaning forward, she applied a layer of deep rose lipstick, then stood back and admired her reflection for a minute or two.

  “I think I can hold my own with the wheelers and dealers.”

  A knock on the door made her smile. Walking across the room, she snagged her black silk bag off the edge of the bed and opened her door to face Lucas.

  “Wow.”

  Mike looked him up and down and said, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

  Tall and lean, he wore a tuxedo as if he were born to it. His dark brown hair was pulled straight back and gathered neatly at the nape of his neck. Behind those wire-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes flashed with something that started a small fire in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her evening bag and squeezed as if she were holding on to a lifeline.

  Lucas couldn’t take his gaze off her. Who would have guessed that a plumber could look like this? His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and every ounce of blood in his system sizzled and popped.

  The black dress was sexy and elegant and displayed just enough honey-colored flesh to tantalize a man into wanting to see more. Not that he needed any urging.

  She stood in the open doorway and smiled at him and Lucas had to remind himself to breathe. The sleek black gown had narrow straps in a halter style and a deep vee neckline that showcased the tops of her full breasts. The fabric clung to her every curve, making her already narrow waist look as though he could span it with his two hands. The skirt of the dress fell straight to the floor in a long, elegant column. Dark rose polish decorated the toes peeking out from beneath her hemline and all Lucas wanted to do was lift that hem and slide it up, up, up, along the length of her legs, until he could see every hidden inch of her.

  “You look,” he said, shaking his head, stalling in an attempt to find just the right word. “Amazing.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned up at him and what was left of his brain dissolved. That smile of hers was as infectious as laughter.

  “Are we ready to go downstairs?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed hard and told himself to get a grip. Hell, he hadn’t been so tongue-tied around a woman since his first date. Justin had coached him on what to say, how to act, because even then, Lucas’s twin had been more at ease with people than Lucas himself would ever be.

  But as soon as thoughts of his brother intruded, Lucas shut them down again. He wasn’t going to waste a minute of this evening thinking about the man who’d made a mess of everything he’d ever touched. “Let’s go,” he said firmly.

  She stepped into the hallway and turned around to pull the door closed behind her.

  “Holy—” Her back was bare. Absolutely, completely bare, right down to the bottom of her spine, just above the sweet curve of her behind.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and her knowing smile rocked him back on his heels. “So, you like the dress.”

  The dress wasn’t bad. But the woman in the dress had him salivating.

  “Yeah,” he said, exhaling slowly as he tried to get a grip on those runaway emotions she’d stirred up inside him. “You could say that.”

  “Good.” She straightened up, threaded her arm through his, and started walking down the long, carpeted hallway. “That’s just the reaction I was hoping for.”

  She looked like a damn queen, Lucas thought. She lifted her chin and a riot of blond curls danced around her shoulders down to the middle of her bare back. Her steps were slow, measured, as if she was completely aware of the beautiful picture she made and wanted to make sure everyone else was, too. And damned if it wasn’t working.

  As they started down the wide marble staircase, he saw people—men—stop and stare at her in appreciation. And a part of him wanted to hurry ahead of her and punch them all out so they couldn’t see her as he did. For two months, he’d known Mike. Watched her. Listened to her. Hell, wanted to kill her from time to time.

  But under it all, there’d been a sense of attraction.

  A sense of . . . hunger, just pulsing beneath the surface of their “relationship.”

  Tonight, with her hand on his arm, her hip brushing against his, he felt flames leaping to life inside him. And he wanted more than anything to blow off this damn fund-raiser, take her upstairs, get her out of that dress, and spend the rest of the night learning his way around her curves.

  That thought brought him up short as he realized just how close to the ragged edge he really was. Somehow Mike had gotten under his skin. And now she was there so deep, he had to fight to keep thoughts of her at bay. Even though he wasn’t really sure he wanted to.

  A waiter in black slacks, crisp white shirt, and bow tie met them at the foot of the stairs and offered a silver tray crowded with champagne flutes.

  Lucas took two, handed one to Mike, and lifted his own glass in a silent salute.

  In moments, they were swept into the crowd and the hundreds of faces blended into a surreal blur. After a couple of hours, Mike stopped trying to remember names. She just kept a smile on her face and a glass of champagne in her hand.

  The men were in tuxes and the women were draped in diamonds. If they really wanted to raise funds, she thought, they ought to consider just turning the women upside down and shaking them. Heck, just cashing in the necklaces and earrings could keep their research budgets going for years.

  But it wasn’t the fabulousness of the moneyed people surrounding her that was so fascinating. It wasn’t even the place itself, though the Bar
rington estate was breathtaking.

  It was Lucas.

  Though he kept her close beside him all night, she couldn’t help noticing that she might as well have been invisible. The women in the crowd didn’t even spare her a glance as they fluttered and fawned over Lucas. He was like Justin Timberlake in a room full of teenyboppers. During an interminable dinner, Lucas’s speech on the benefits of nanotechnology had even Mike ready to write a check. He made the future sound so close, so immediate, so—magical.

  His passion for his work colored his voice and made his eyes dance with visions only he could see. The crowd went with him willingly, believing him, trusting him. She watched him work the crowd and Mike felt . . . okay, a little intimidated. He was brilliant, damn it. He might not know jack about plumbing, but she was willing to bet he could single-handedly put a man on Mars.

  She smiled to herself.

  Rocket Man.

  “Lucas,” a tall, curvy blonde said as she swept up to greet him with a quick, familiar kiss. She gave Mike an absent smile, then focused on Lucas again. “Wonderful speech.”

  Mike watched the woman as she slipped back into the crowd again, then she shifted her gaze up to Lucas. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

  He shrugged and said, “Long time ago. Big mistake.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mike caught another woman sending him a little finger wave and one more blowing him a discreet kiss, and asked quietly, “And just how many ‘mistakes’ are in this crowd?”

  He snatched another glass of champagne off a passing tray and handed it to her. Smiling, he admitted, “A few.”

  “Rocket Man,” Mike said with a slow shake of her head, “you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  “So then,” he asked, “even scientists aren’t completely boring?”

  “Not completely,” she allowed and slanted a look at him. She looked up into his eyes and felt a curl of something warm and delicious spiral through her insides, rippling and spreading as it went.

  “Then since we’ve decided I’m fascinating, after all,” he said, still smiling, “how about a dance?”