Touch of Heaven

by Maureen Smith

  The woman is driving me crazy.

  There was no other way to describe what was happening to Warrick, what had been happening to him ever since he laid eyes on Raina for the first time in twelve years. No matter how hard he tried—and he’d tried his damnedest—he just couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  Case in point: last night at the club, where he and his brothers were attending the glitzy birthday party of a hip-hop mogul they’d known since childhood. There he was in the posh VIP lounge, surrounded by beautiful, scantily-clad women more than willing to warm his bed that night, and all Warrick could think about was the way Raina had looked getting into her car. He’d received lap dances that didn’t turn him on the way watching Raina climb behind the wheel of that car—one long, shapely leg at a time—had done. For the rest of the evening he’d been tortured by that tantalizing image, along with images of her in the arms of Bradley, or Brandon, or whatever the hell his name was.

  Warrick didn’t know what irritated him more: the fact that Raina could kiss him so passionately one minute and rush off to meet another man the very next, or the fact that she seemed genuinely enamored of her new boyfriend. None of that should have bothered Warrick. As Raina had already told him more than once, what she did in her private life was none of his damned business. Yet he couldn’t help wondering whether she had spent the night with the doctor, touching and kissing him, giving herself to him as hungrily as she had kissed Warrick.

  By the time he’d woken up that morning—alone, despite the many propositions he’d received the night before—Warrick had devised a plan for getting Raina away from her boyfriend, and alone to himself, for a few days. And the beauty of his plan was that it required very little deception on his part. It made perfect sense for Raina to accompany him to Philadelphia to take a tour of Mayne Industries and to see firsthand what his engineers were working on. Who better to make his case than the hardworking men and women who were the backbone of his company? Not even Raina had been able to refute his logic, though not for lack of trying. She was the feistiest, most stubborn woman Warrick had ever known. He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with headstrong females who opposed him at every turn. Without an ounce of conceit, he could honestly say he had yet to meet a woman who hadn’t given him what he wanted, when he wanted it. Even the shrewdest, most formidable female executives he’d encountered in the business world couldn’t resist him when he decided to lay on the charm.

  But Raina St. James was the exception.

  Even now, seated across from him in the spacious interior of his private jet, she defiantly ignored him. She’d spoken very little since they’d boarded the plane more than two hours ago. Amused, Warrick had watched as she glanced around the luxurious cabin, with its custom leather seating and rich mahogany paneling, and tried very hard not to look impressed.

  Once the plane had taken off, and they were served cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, Raina had pulled out her laptop and gone to work. Warrick knew she was ticked off at him for the way he’d manipulated her into traveling with him, and she was now punishing him with her silence.

  Chuckling to himself, he’d left her alone and retreated to the back of the cabin to make some business calls. At one point he’d heard Raina’s cell phone ring. From her end of the conversation, he’d gleaned that Reese St. James was giving her sister an earful about leaving town with Warrick. He’d shamelessly eavesdropped on the brief exchange, which ended with Raina snapping, “I know what I’m doing.”

  Is that so? Warrick had wondered, intrigued.

  When he’d returned to his seat, Raina had put away her laptop and was gazing out the window. Although she gave no indication that she was aware of his presence, Warrick knew better.

  Deciding he’d endured the silent treatment long enough, he sprawled in the chair opposite hers and deliberately stretched out his long, denim-clad legs, his posture one of supreme relaxation.

  Because he knew it bothered Raina, he slowly and deliberately allowed his gaze to travel the length of her. She had twisted her long, dark mane atop her head and secured it with Chinese hair sticks, a simple style that made her look even more exotic than usual. The V of her pink summer sweater drew his eye to the enticing valley between those soft, full breasts he longed to taste and explore. She wore a pair of low-rise jeans—dark this time—that clung to the ripe curves of her body. Toenails painted a soft shade of pink peeked from wedge sandals.

  Warrick gazed at her, marveling that no matter how she was dressed, she always managed to look unbelievably sexy. Seeing her in this casual ensemble did more for him than being surrounded by an entourage of gorgeous women wearing scraps of clothing that left little to the imagination.

  His gaze traveled back up to Raina’s face, admiring the lovely, sensual contours of her profile, lingering on those lush, dewy lips. Man, she was beautiful. How had he never noticed before?

  But you must have, at some point, his conscience prodded. Somewhere along the way you noticed that she looks amazing in the color green. When did that happen?

  Warrick frowned, thinking of how surprising the revelation had been to him that morning. The moment he’d seen the Carolina Herrera dress, he’d instinctively known that it would look stunning on Raina. And that was when he’d realized that on some profound, subconscious level, he must have always known that she would one day blossom into a breathtaking beauty.

  As Warrick stared at her, she drew a shaky breath that let him know she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she wanted him to believe.

  Hiding a knowing smile, Warrick crossed his booted feet at the ankles and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

  No reaction.

  Undeterred, Warrick began whistling the theme song to the show Good Times, which, for some inexplicable reason, used to send Raina and his sister into a fit of hysterical giggles.

  The corners of Raina’s mouth twitched, as if she wanted desperately to smile but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Chuckling softly and shaking his head, Warrick drawled, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  Finally she looked at him, those dark, bewitching eyes glimmering with suppressed mirth. “What do you mean?”

  “What does this scenario remind you of?” At her blank look, Warrick explained, “When I used to drive you home, you wouldn’t speak to me, remember? You’d stare out the window and answer me in monosyllables until I finally gave up trying to make conversation with you and turned on the radio.” He smiled, adding wryly, “I couldn’t decide whether you were painfully shy, you hated my guts or you thought I had really bad breath.”

  Raina laughed softly. “None of the above.”

  “Really? Then why was it like pulling teeth just to get you to talk to me?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, an unnamed emotion flickering across her face and disappearing so swiftly he could have imagined it. “That was years ago. Who knows what was going through my mind at the time?”

  But Warrick didn’t believe her. Cocking his head to one side, he studied her through narrowed eyes. Assiduously avoiding his speculative gaze, Raina turned back to the window. But she couldn’t hide from him entirely, and with a mixture of curiosity and fascination, Warrick realized that she was blushing.

  More intrigued than ever, he probed, “You honestly don’t remember?”

  “No,” she said quickly. A little too quickly.

  Glancing at him, she added offhandedly, “Besides, what difference does it make? You can’t possibly expect me to believe you cared whether or not your little sister’s best friend spoke to you.”

  Warrick held her gaze. “Maybe I did.”

  Raina snorted out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, right!”

  “Why would that be so hard to believe?”

  She gave him a look. “Warrick, you hardly ever spoke to me. Half the time you didn’t even know I was there. The only time you acknowledged my presence was when you were taking me home, and that was only because you were b
eing polite, and you knew you couldn’t very well ignore the only passenger in your car.”

  Warrick stared at her. She had spoken matter-of-factly, but there was something in her voice, something indefinable that tugged at him and made him want to apologize, to somehow make amends. Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to apologize for. He’d never been unkind to Raina.

  Until she’d given him a reason to be.

  “Anyway,” she said, her gaze returning to the window, “that’s ancient history.”

  “Yeah,” Warrick murmured, thinking about Yolanda, wondering how his sister would feel if she could see him and Raina now, on their way to Philadelphia to spend the next four days together. What would Yolanda say if she knew that Warrick had allowed his powerful attraction to Raina to override his hatred of her? What would Yolanda think if she knew that whenever Warrick was around Raina, his libido enabled him to forget what she had done to his sister, to his entire family?

  But he didn’t have to wonder. He already knew that Yolanda would feel angry and betrayed, and her feelings would be perfectly justified. Yet, knowing this had not lessened Warrick’s desire for Raina. He wanted her with an intensity, a ferocity that would have shocked her senseless if she’d had even the slightest inkling. He wanted her hot and wet for him, quivering and panting beneath him, begging him to make love to her. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, as deep as she could take him, and he wanted to hear her scream his name as she lost control.

  And then maybe, once he’d had her, he would be able to purge her from his system, like a craving that had been satisfied. That was the way it had always worked for him. Once he slept with a woman, the mystery was gone, the thrill of the chase was over. Few women, no matter how beautiful or alluring, sustained his interest long enough to entice him into an actual relationship.

  But if by chance Raina proved to be the exception to the rule, God help him.

  Chapter 12

  Warrick lived on the outskirts of Philadelphia in an exclusive suburb of Cherry Hill, New Jersey. As the Rolls Royce limousine transporting Warrick and Raina traveled along a secluded road flanked by towering pine trees, Raina found herself gazing out the window with a mounting sense of anxiety mingled with anticipation. She hadn’t wanted to accompany Warrick on this trip, but now that she was here, she couldn’t deny an overwhelming curiosity to see his home.

  As the road gradually steepened in elevation she unconsciously leaned forward, pressing closer to the window. Warrick, on the phone with a client, was too preoccupied to notice how riveted she was.

  The limousine rolled through a decorative metal gate and continued on a winding road that gently sloped uphill. They passed a lush expanse of manicured green lawn, then suddenly the trees broke, and Raina’s eyes widened as a sprawling stone and stucco mansion came into view.

  She must have gasped or made some other strangled noise, because suddenly Warrick’s dark gaze was upon her, the shadow of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

  The Rolls followed the curving path of the stone driveway before gliding to a stop in front of the main house. The driver, a red-haired man in his late twenties with a heavy South Jersey accent and an infectious smile, came around to open the door for Raina.

  “Welcome to Casa Mayne, Miss St. James,” he said with a gallant bow. “My name is Lanny. Pleased to be at your service.”

  “Thank you, Lanny,” Raina murmured distractedly as she stepped from the limo, never taking her eyes off the imposing house.

  Nestled by tall shade trees and meticulously pruned shrubbery, the mansion boasted an Italianate architecture, with sweeping windows, balconied terraces, stone columns and double stairways that ascended to the main entrance under a baroque covered porch. A vibrant profusion of summer foliage bloomed everywhere Raina looked, softly perfuming the air. She felt as if she were arriving at a picturesque country villa somewhere in Italy.

  “Oh, Warrick,” she breathed, unable to help herself as he appeared beside her. “This is…magnificent.”

  Warrick tipped his head modestly. “Thank you, Raina.”

  As Lanny retrieved their luggage, an older black gentleman in a neatly pressed dark suit emerged from the mansion and descended the stairs with an air of dignified elegance. The butler, Raina presumed. A place this size had to have a butler, as well as an entire fleet of household servants.

  “Mr. Mayne,” the man greeted Warrick as he and Raina reached the bottom of the stairway. “Good to have you back.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Gibbons. It’s good to be back.” Warrick turned to Raina at his side. “Mr. Gibbons, I’d like you to meet Raina St. James, from Houston. Raina, this is Cyrus Gibbons, who keeps this place running like a well-oiled machine.”

  Raina smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gibbons.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Miss St. James,” he said with an elegant bow. “I trust you had a restful trip?”

  “Very,” Raina answered.

  Warrick chuckled dryly, his amused gaze meeting hers. “She worked the entire time so she wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

  An embarrassed flush heated Raina’s face. “I did not!” she protested, though she knew it was partially true. Was she that transparent, or did Warrick just know her that well?

  Cyrus Gibbons smiled indulgently. “You must be losing your touch, Mr. Mayne.”

  “Apparently so,” Warrick murmured, gesturing for Raina to precede him up the stairs.

  The inside of the house was just as breathtaking as the outside. A soaring vaulted ceiling and double curving stairways punctuated the sheer magnificence of the massive skylighted foyer, which was decorated with glossy mahogany tables, gilded mirrors and towering topiaries. Gleaming wood floors contrasted beautifully with marble and stone, and intricately carved crown moldings arrested the eye.

  As Raina took in her surroundings, she had to remember to keep her jaw off the floor.

  “You know Ms. Evamay isn’t going to be happy with you,” the butler was saying to Warrick. “If she’d known you were coming home today, she would have wanted to be here to greet you and fuss over you.”

  Warrick grinned, a dazzlingly boyish grin. “That’s why I didn’t tell her. She needs to spend as much time as possible with her grandchildren.”

  Gibbons looked dubious. “Yes, but if she finds out you were here a day earlier than expected and you didn’t let her know, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Warrick chuckled, sifting through a stack of mail the butler had handed him. “I’ll call her tomorrow. I need to make sure she’s bringing her grandchildren to the Fourth of July party on Saturday, anyway.”

  At the mention of a party, Raina turned from admiring a gilt-framed oil-on-canvas painting to arch an inquisitive brow at Warrick. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her about a party.

  “We always throw a big Fourth of July celebration here at the house,” he explained. “My employees and their families look forward to it every year. And in case you’re wondering, Evamay Watts is the lady of the manor, so to speak. Nothing happens around here without her permission or input. Ain’t that right, Mr. Gibbons?”

  The butler heaved a resigned sigh. “Unfortunately.”

  Warrick laughed, clapping him warmly on the shoulder. “You know you miss her whenever she’s gone.”

  The man smiled, taking the teasing in stride.

  As Lanny returned from carrying the luggage upstairs, Mr. Gibbons said to Raina, “Your room is all ready for you, Miss St. James. Maybe after you’ve had a chance to unpack and get settled in, you’d like a tour of the mansion.”

  Raina smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  “I have to return an important call,” Warrick told her, briefly touching her arm. “Mr. Gibbons will show you to your room.”

  Raina nodded, ignoring the way her skin tingled from his simple touch.

  Forcing herself not to watch him go, she followed the butler up the wide, curving staircase and down an endless expanse of corr
idor. They passed one enormous room after another, each one sumptuously appointed with a collection of Italian and American art and antiques, plush Oriental carpets, custom drapery and rich fabrics in neutral tones with splashes of bold color throughout. Although the lavish furnishings had clearly cost a fortune, there was nothing gaudy or ostentatious about them. Everything was tasteful and artfully arranged, no doubt courtesy of a very expensive interior designer.

  “How many bedrooms are there?” Raina asked, her voice filled with fascinated curiosity.

  “There are twelve bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms—” Mr. Gibbons smiled at her audible intake of breath before continuing, “Every bedroom has its own private bath and balcony. In addition to the living room and family room, there’s a solarium, a library, a gourmet kitchen, a formal dining room, a music room, an exercise room, a billiard room, a home theater and a ballroom that has seen its fair share of soirees. We also have a few gazebos on the property, an indoor and outdoor pool, a tennis court, a courtyard with a fountain, a wine cellar, a ten-car garage and an indoor basketball court where Mr. Mayne can usually be found if he’s not sequestered in his study, or tinkering with one of his cars. He collects them, like his uncle, you know.”

  Raina smiled. She might have guessed. Warrick and Randall Mayne were two peas in a pod; they couldn’t be more alike than if they were father and son.

  “The master suite is on the west wing,” Mr. Gibbons continued his proud recitation of the mansion’s impressive features. “It has its own private elevator and—”

  “Which wing are we on?” Raina interrupted.

  “The east.”

  Raina breathed a sigh of relief that she would not be sleeping anywhere near Warrick. Although, even in a house this size, the mere knowledge that they were under the same roof would probably keep her awake and on edge for hours.

  At length Mr. Gibbons led her into a huge but cozy bedroom suite decorated to look like something out of a classic French chateau, featuring sumptuous drapery, cherry antiques, a four-poster Louis XVI bed and a gorgeous marble fireplace. The luxurious adjoining bathroom was done in travertine marble, and beyond the tall French doors, a private balcony boasted a stunning view of the beautifully manicured gardens below.