Mr. Hyde’s Assets

by Sheridon Smythe

  She went wild, trying to buck her pinned body against him, attempting to force him to move and give her what she wanted. But he continued to tease, much to his own torture, anticipating what she would want next without knowing or understanding how he knew.

  Incredibly, it was even better than the first time.

  Unfortunately, Austin thought with a rueful smile that felt tight on his face, he wouldn’t last much longer because of it.

  In a vain attempt to draw the lovemaking out to its fullest, Austin tried to move slowly, tried to pull away, then slide cautiously back in.

  Candice wouldn’t let him. She smoothed her palms over his back and wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself from the floor.

  He smiled at her determined expression and felt on top of the world at the eager anticipation in her eyes. He was loving her, stroking her, touching the deepest part of her. And she, well, she was climbing into his heart and making herself at home.

  As he began to quicken the pace, he watched her eyes widen and knew the exact moment when she let go, marveling at how quickly she came. Good thing, too, because he joined her in a hot spasm of release that jarred his teeth and made him mutter the warning, “Candice, hold on.”

  She bit her bottom lip and moaned his name, holding him tightly against her.

  Holding him incredibly inside her.

  Austin listened to the crashing of his heart against her chest—or was it hers?—as the most intense sensations continued to wash over him in knee-weakening waves until, finally, the last wave echoed gently away.

  He didn’t feel empty or restless as he often did in the aftermath of sex. What he felt, curiously, was contentment.

  Of course, Austin decided as he buried his face in her neck and inhaled her essence, what they’d had wasn’t just good sex but a combination of fantastic sex and old-fashioned lovemaking.

  At that precise moment, with their hearts thundering as one, Austin realized that he loved this woman who still quivered and convulsed against him and around him. He loved her fiercely, and it had nothing to do with the baby.

  Damn Jack.

  Austin rolled to his side, taking her with him and keeping her close. They lay together, their raspy breathing the only sound other than the distant chirping of birds outside the window.

  Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d lose her fortune.

  It might be his only chance.

  “Why were you crying? Do you hate what I’ve done to the nursery?”

  Candice had feared he would ask the question. She’d also been hoping he had forgotten in the heat of the moment, because she really didn’t want to think about her silly outburst.

  She couldn’t possibly tell him the real reason. She didn’t understand this absurd jealousy over the baby, so how could she expect Austin to understand?

  Snuggled in the crook of his strong arms and feeling more secure and contented than she had ever felt in her life, she sighed quietly and said, “It’s wonderful, what you’ve done with the nursery. I wasn’t crying because I didn’t like it. I love it, really.”

  When she hesitated, Austin kissed the top of her head. It was a gentle encouragement to continue, and so vastly different from Howard’s cruel taunting that for a moment Candice simply basked in the disparity.

  She finally settled for a half-truth. “You’ve been—you’ve been so distant lately that I thought—I thought you blamed me for what happened at the pool.”

  Austin tensed. “Our lovemaking?”

  “No! The photographer. The… lovemaking was a mutual thing, but the photographer—why are you laughing?” And he was. A low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through her and sent her pulse dancing.

  “Because I thought you were blaming me.”

  “Oh.” Candice digested this, then chuckled. “I guess we’re not very good at communicating, are we?”

  He pressed against her lower body and drew in a ragged breath. “I’d say we communicate pretty well.”

  Laughing softly, Candice agreed. “Yes, but I’m referring to talking. We hardly know each other. I don’t even know your middle name, or if your parents are dead or alive.”

  “You know more than you think.”

  “Well, I know that you hate cucumbers, and that you’re a wonderful artist, and that you’d make a—” Candice bit the words off, heat washing her face as she realized she’d almost said a wonderful daddy. How bold could she be? He’d think she was hinting and probably set out at first light, leaving a Dear John note on the kitchen table.

  And a gaping hole in her heart.

  Thankfully, he didn’t press her to finish the sentence.

  “You’re right, we need to talk about us.”

  This time it was Candice who tensed, because there was something in his voice… Reluctance? Fear? Why would he be afraid to talk to her? Had he done something terrible that he was ashamed to tell her about? Spent time in prison? Robbed a bank? Killed someone?

  Or was he about to tell her that he wasn’t the marrying kind, and that he could never raise another man’s child? Yet that didn’t quite jell, because if he didn’t care about her baby, why would he go to such extremes to make her think he did?

  Candice shifted restlessly, chilled by her thoughts. She didn’t want to know, not now, not while she felt this vulnerable and weak from their lovemaking. Slowly breaking free of his hold, she placed a kiss on his mouth and began to gather her clothes. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  He seemed to sense her sudden agitation, for he remained quiet as they dressed. When they were both ready she took his hand and led him upstairs to her workroom, pushing open the door and standing aside for him to enter.

  When he caught sight of the dollhouse taking up a good portion of the table, he moved closer, then bent forward to peer inside.

  Candice gripped the door facing until her fingers hurt. She chewed her bottom lip until it stung as she waited for his reaction.

  He took his time, running a finger along the shingles, the chimney. Then he reached inside and removed the rocking chair she’d finished last week.

  “This is incredible! Where did you get this stuff? It’s handmade, isn’t it? I know people who would pay a fortune for quality work like this.” There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice.

  Candice forced herself to breathe before she passed out. Was he only making fun of her?

  “In fact, this rocking chair alone must have cost you—” He broke off, his azure eyes alight with excitement as he brought the chair to her and pointed to the rose pattern on its back. “Look at this design. Do you have any idea how long it probably took the guy to do this single carving?”

  “Two weeks,” Candice managed to whisper, staring at the chair so she wouldn’t have to look at his face. Any moment now, she would hear his mocking laughter. She told herself that it wouldn’t matter, that it was just a rocking chair, just a dollhouse filled with silly little furniture. Austin didn’t have to like her work; it wasn’t a requirement for being her friend.

  Or her lover.

  After a brief, confused silence, Austin repeated, “Two weeks. How do you… ?”

  Candice couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. She braced herself and looked at him, mentally cursing the silly tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks in a warm flow. For Heaven’s sake, she’d just finished crying a bucketful!

  When she was certain she could speak without sobbing, she said, “It’s mine. I made it.” She reached out and ran the rough pads of her fingers over his knuckles, reminding him. “All of it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  For a moment, Austin stared at her face, wet with tears and shining with the most poignant gratitude he’d ever witnessed. Such naked emotion humbled him and made him feel ashamed for ever thinking this brilliant, wonderful woman was anything like his mother.

  With a lump the size of an egg in his throat—though he wasn’t on the verge of doing anything so unmanly as to cry, he told himself—he replaced
the rocking chair, then returned to Candice. He gathered her in his arms and kissed the tears away.

  Okay, so he wasn’t crying, but damned if his eyes weren’t watering.

  “You were afraid to show me, weren’t you?” he asked softly, stroking her hair as she cried quietly on his shoulder. She nodded and sniffed.

  “Can you tell me why?” He suspected he knew, but he hoped he was wrong. She lifted her head, and Austin framed her face with his hands, his touch gentle, his gaze coaxing. Tears spiked her lashes and shimmered in her gorgeous eyes. He kissed them away with tender care, his lips finally moving down to press softly, briefly, against hers. Finally, he drew back and waited. Loving Candice had turned him into a sap, he decided wryly.

  “Howard—Howard was difficult sometimes,” she began in a halting voice.

  “Difficult?” Austins gaze narrowed. “How difficult?”

  Her smile was a sad, fleeting thing that tore at his heart.

  “You really don’t read the papers, do you?”

  “No. I’m not following you. What does the newspaper have to do with Howard’s being difficult?”

  “There were several maids that Howard decided didn’t quite suit him. After he fired them, they didn’t see any reason to remain loyal.”

  She pulled away and began pacing the room as she talked. “Reporters called, asking Howard to confirm or deny the rumors, but Howard would never talk to them. The more he refused, the hungrier they became.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Austin strove to keep his voice level.

  “Rumors about Howard’s treatment of me. He picked my friends, my clothes, my food, and if I did something wrong, something against his wishes, he’d ridicule me, loudly enough for anyone and everyone in this house to hear.”

  Austin hated himself for asking, but he had to know. “Why didn’t you leave?” Was it because of the money? The silent question was there, needling him, although he felt in his heart that it wasn’t true.

  Candice stopped at the dollhouse and stared down at it as if in a trance. “Several times I tried, but he… talked me out of it. I think I felt sorry for him, for the way he was. In medical terms, I think it’s called obsessive-compulsive disorder.” She opened a tiny shutter on the house, then gently closed it. “Then there were our marriage vows, which I took seriously, and the promise I made that I would never leave him.”

  Abruptly, she turned to look full at Austin, seeming to read his mind. “I didn’t stay with him because of the money. I stayed because he promised me a child and because I believed—convinced myself—a baby would change him.”

  Austin believed her, could even understand her desperate logic.

  “We tried for a couple of years, and when I didn’t get pregnant, we went to a fertility doctor. He could find no obvious reason I wasn’t conceiving, but Howard got impatient and arranged for the in vitro. That was just before the accident.”

  Just before the accident. Austin thrummed with shock as he silently repeated her words. The file Jack had given him was dated six months before Howard’s death, which meant that Howard had been to the clinic long before the in vitro was to take place. Either Candice was mistaken, or something very fishy was going on.

  Closing his eyes, Austin gave his forehead a mental slap.

  Jack. Of course. Jack had left out a few details as usual. Why would Howard pay Jack a visit before Candice was tested?

  “Austin?”

  He came out of his pondering at the sound of her anxious voice. “Huh?”

  “There’s someone at the door.”

  He hadn’t heard the doorbell ring, but he could hear it now, and somehow Candice had managed to slip past him and head for the front of the house. Catching up with her in the hall, he said, “I’ll get it.”

  “What if it’s a reporter?”

  Austin quirked an eyebrow. “What could they possibly see that they haven’t already seen?” To his relief, her expression relaxed and a smile returned. Much, much better, he decided, reaching for the front doorknob.

  It wasn’t a reporter, or at least, the man didn’t look like any reporter Austin had ever seen. He was an older man, maybe late fifties or early sixties, with a thick crop of iron-gray hair and matching eyebrows. Austin flicked a glance over the man’s expensive suit, then frowned as he met his direct gaze.

  The man thrust out his right hand, shocking Austin speechless as he said, “You must be Mr. Hyde. I’m Luke McVey, Mrs. Vanausdale’s lawyer.”

  This was Luke McVey? Why, he looked old enough to be Candice’s grandfather.

  “How do you know who I am?” Austin demanded, blocking the door to protect Candice. He didn’t care if the man was the President; he’d never met him before.

  “I recognized you from the pictures.”

  “What?” Austin fairly shouted.

  Calmly, Luke McVey held up a manila envelope and withdrew a stack of glossy black-and-white 8xlO’s and handed them to Austin. As Austin automatically closed his fingers around them, Luke McVey turned sideways and stepped around him.

  “You look different with your clothes on, of course, but I recognized your face.” The lawyer didn’t sound amused. In fact, he sounded downright glum.

  Austin shut the door, his gaze transfixed on the glossy of Candice in wet, transparent silk pajamas. It had been the reporters lucky day, for the sunlight had been directly on Candice. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t revealed in sharp detail, from the puckered outline of her nipples to the V of dark gold between her legs.

  Realizing this wasn’t an appropriate time to ogle photos of the woman he loved, he quickly leafed through the rest. There was one of his backside as he climbed from the pool, then several frontal shots in which a lowered hand had managed to cover him to some small degree.

  Frozen, he stared down at an image of his angry face and got mad all over again. Muttering an oath, he thrust the pictures at Candice, his furious gaze on the lawyer. “Where did you get these?”

  Candice gasped. “They agreed they wouldn’t print these pictures. I promised them an interview.”

  Luke held up a hand. “I’ll answer all your questions, but first, Candice, I think you’d better sit down.”

  Austin didn’t like the sound of that. And he didn’t like the way the lawyer kept staring at him. But then, Austin supposed, after seeing those pictures, anyone might be curious. Still, the man wasn’t getting paid to be curious about his client’s personal life, right?

  Unless, of course, he worked for the enemy.

  The suspicion lodged in Austins brain and brought his eyebrows together in a frown.

  “This is rather personal, Candice,” McVey said.

  So? And who in hell gave him permission to call her Candice? Austin continued to glare at the lawyer, willing him to back down.

  “It’s okay, I trust Austin. Anything you have to say can be said in front of him.”

  Ha! Austin knew he looked smug and didn’t give a damn. In fact, he was tempted to snag an arm around Candice and pull her in for a lusty kiss.

  Candice led the way to the den. Luke sat in a comfortable recliner near the window while Austin perched on the arm of the sofa beside Candice. When they were all settled, Luke steepled his fingers in front of his face and trained his somber gaze their way.

  “First, the pictures came from Albert Hayes.”

  When Austin glanced at Candice, she explained, “Albert Hayes works for Raymond and Donald, Howards sons. He’s their lawyer.”

  Without thinking, Austin reached for her hand. She was tense and trembling, but he was proud of the way her chin rose a notch. That’s my girl, he silently cheered. Whatever came their way, they would handle together. How bad could it be?

  Luke nodded, and Austin noticed that he studiously avoided looking at their clasped hands.

  “How did he get those pictures?” Candice asked. “I made a deal with the reporter!” She bit her lip, then answered her own question. “But the deal was that he wouldn’t print the pi
ctures in the newspapers. We didn’t discuss other options.”

  Austin gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Did the creeps think to blackmail Candice? Well, it wouldn’t work. “I take it the enterprising reporter made a hefty profit?” he drawled with a sarcastic snarl. If only he had caught the little bastard.

  “I’m sure he did.” Luke sat forward. “The younger Vanausdales were getting desperate, and this was just the ammunition they needed.”

  “I—”

  Austin stood, interrupting Candice. “A few pictures of Candice in her own pool, in her pajamas—you call that ammunition? What can they possibly do about it? She’s a widow, for crying out loud! I don’t think anyone expects her to become a nun.”

  “It’s not that. They needed to sow seeds of doubt, and, thanks to the reporter, it worked.”

  “Speak English, will you? What seeds of doubt, and what worked?” Austin realized he was holding Candice’s hand in a grip that should have brought her to her knees, and he quickly released it. Damned lawyer wasn’t making a lick of sense.

  “Now that the judge has seen these photographs…”

  Candice drew in a sharp breath of dismay and Austin looked from one to the other. He was missing something vital here, and it frustrated him no end.

  “Photographs of Candice with another man,” McVey continued, “he granted their request.” Luke paused significantly. “For a paternity test when the baby is born.”

  The floor rocked beneath Austin’s feet as the full impact of McVey’s announcement hit him. “A paternity test?”

  Candice let out a shaky, relieved breath—and Austin sucked it right into his rattled lungs. She had no idea…

  Because you’re too afraid to tell her.

  “Oh.” Candice laughed, and Austin felt the incredible urge to weep. “Let them have their test. I’ve got nothing to worry about. They’ll look like fools, and so will the judge.”

  Shock waves continued to roll over Austin, making his heart pound with enough force to hurt. When he hadn’t known Candice, it was different; he might have merely winced at the knowledge of her impending humiliation. Now, though, everything had changed. Everything.