The Legacy Collection Box Set

by Ruth Cardello

  “Stand up, turn around, and strip,” Marc said roughly.

  She stood, narrowed her eyes, and wagged a finger at him. “Shouldn’t you turn around?”

  He shook his head and said, “I have to make sure you don’t fall on your face.”

  Just how drunk does he think I am? In an act of defiance, she faced him and reached for the zipper of her dress. I’m not ashamed of how I look. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper and it snagged a few inches down.

  He watched her with a combination of desire and amusement. “Let me help you.”

  She smacked his hand away. “I can do it myself.” She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, forgetting how snug the material was. She gave it an angry yank upward and found her arms wedged tightly over her head while the cool air teased her exposed breasts and midriff.

  With a growl he said, “Why are you so stubborn? There is no shame in needing help now and then.”

  She tried to pull away from him and almost fell forward, still trapped in the dress that was half up over her head. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  With one strong move, he hauled her back against him, held her struggling body with an arm around her waist, and pulled the dress over her head and off. In a flash, he replaced it with the nightgown and turned her to face him. “Everyone needs someone.” He pulled back the covers, eased her beneath them, and said, “Don’t go to sleep yet. I’ll be right back with some water.”

  During his short absence, a deep sadness settled over her, as the alcohol brought out the truth she usually withheld even from herself. You’re right. I don’t want to be alone. I want to be the friend Lil can invite to all of those family events she now throws. I do care what they think of me.

  I just don’t know if I can be the person they want me to be.

  She sat up when he returned and obediently took the pills he held out. Then she flopped back into her bed. The sweet oblivion she’d sought earlier arrived and she sank into a deep sleep.

  Marc pulled a chair closer to her bed and settled himself into it. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  In sleep, she looked peaceful and delicate. It was difficult to reconcile her sweet features with the persona she projected to the world. He’d always assumed that her over-the-top behavior was driven by an addiction to adrenaline rushes and the need to be right.

  That wasn’t the woman who lay before him.

  This woman had endured some trauma she couldn’t face. In his years in the Marines he’d seen frontline action. He’d seen how the horrors of war affected people differently. Some became numb to it. Some left tormented by nightmares. War shaped a person, and never all for the good. No matter how they dealt with what they’d seen, with what they’d done—a part of them was forever changed.

  Alethea’s pain called out to his own, reminding him of his darker side that he kept boxed up and hidden.

  He knew exactly what Alethea had been looking for at the bottom of those shot glasses, because he’d sought the same his first few months after leaving the Veterans Hospital. Drinking hadn’t solved his problems; in fact, it was the reason he hadn’t gotten that famed department store job. His bloodshot eyes had belied how he’d spent the night before his interview.

  Which made the second chance Dominic Corisi gave him, after he saw Marc on the news, so undeserved. Dominic’s computer empire was quickly growing, and he knew he needed security, but he was also one who didn’t trust many people. Marc still shook his head when he remembered how Dominic had put him in charge.

  Of course, Marc had needed the job, but he’d been brutally honest with the cocky businessman about his experience. “I don’t know shit about corporate security.”

  Dominic had calmly informed him that he didn’t care what was on his résumé. “The business side of security can be learned,” he’d said. “But the kind of loyalty you showed your platoon when you went back to get more of them, even though you’d been shot—that’s either in a man or it’s not.”

  There wasn’t a day that went by that Marc wasn’t grateful for the faith Dominic had shown him, and his loyalty had never wavered. He’d found his confidence again and enjoyed a lifestyle most envied. Money bred money. Although he wasn’t in the same financial league as his boss, he was wealthy beyond what he’d ever expected. He would have said that nothing was more important than his job.

  Until now.

  With a sigh, Marc looked back at Alethea. He should have squeezed out every bit of information he could while she was vulnerable. It would have been easy enough to manipulate her and she likely wouldn’t have even remembered it the next day.

  But he couldn’t.

  Not even for Dominic.

  Beneath her tough talk and confident smile, Alethea was hurting, and he couldn’t ignore that any more than he could have left his men behind on the battlefield. In the past, they may have been adversaries, but they were more alike than different when it came to what he considered most important.

  He wanted her.

  Needed her.

  Would find a way to have her.

  He’d dated many women—even come close to loving a couple of them before things fell apart for one reason or another. But none had ever gotten under his skin the way Alethea had. None sent his blood pounding at the mere thought of touching her.

  But it was more than that.

  He respected her.

  Wanted to hold her to him and comfort her.

  Or shake some sense into her.

  The temptation to crawl into bed beside her, hold her in his arms, and kiss away the pain he’d seen in her eyes was strong, but, however much he wanted to protect her, it was his job to outsmart her. He hoped to God she had nothing to do with the trouble at Corisi Enterprises.

  Tomorrow. He’d figure out what to do tomorrow. For now, all he could do was watch over her.

  A few hours later, she stirred in her sleep and moaned. Her eyes flew open and she asked into the darkness, “Marc?”

  He fought and won against the urge to go to her. Instead he answered quietly, “Yes?”

  “What are you still doing here?” she asked, sounding surprised and confused.

  “Making sure you’re okay.”

  She laid her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes, falling back asleep even as she spoke, “I told you I don’t need you.”

  I know, he thought. But you’re wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  His lips closed over hers and Alethea moaned with pleasure, opening her mouth for him, inviting his invasion. He claimed her mouth with an abandon that spoke of his intense need for her. A need that also rocked her.

  His hot lips moved across her cheek as he whispered, “You’re mine, Alethea.” One of his hands slid beneath the short hem of her nightgown and settled on one of her buttocks, squeezing it possessively. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him so she lay on top of him. With a strong, bold move, he whisked her nightgown over her head, settling her back against him, bare chest to bare chest. “That’s better,” he said huskily, then slid a finger beneath the hem of her silk underwear. “But why are you still wearing these?”

  Alethea rubbed the soaked crotch of her panties back and forth against his arousal. “Because you’re slow tonight?”

  “I’ll show you slow,” he growled, and lifted her so she was straddling him. Then he started a hot, torturously slow worshipping of her breasts. He traced them first with the back of his hand, then circled her excited nipples with his calloused thumbs. He flicked their hardened tips until she was gasping from the pleasure of it. Then he pulled her forward and took one of her small breasts into his mouth, suckling gently. She felt the intensity of that caress shoot through her stomach as she rubbed herself helplessly against him.

  He rolled onto his side and brought her with him. Taking both of her hands in one of his, he held them above her head and plundered her mouth while his tip teased her wet lower lips by sliding back and forth against them. With one strong move, he shift
ed so he was above her and spread her legs wide.

  “You’re mine,” he said roughly. “Say it.”

  When she refused, he inserted just the tip of his penis inside her, rolling his hips in a teasing move that had her thrashing wildly beneath him. “Mine to take as often and any way I want. Submit to me, Alethea. You know you want to.”

  She shook her head in denial, until he plunged so deeply inside her she cried out, a sound that he muffled with his mouth on hers. Then he withdrew and began the tortuous tease of rubbing himself against her swollen clit and folds. His tongue claimed hers. Her hands were held immobile above her while his free hand explored and claimed her.

  She was defenseless to stop his possession of her, and so wet and ready for him that she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to give in to him.

  He plunged his shaft deep within her again, taking advantage of how her mouth opened wider when she gasped by claiming it even more deeply. Her senses were full of him and she was losing the battle with herself. He withdrew from her and began to lick his way down her chest, between her breasts, past her navel until his mouth hovered over her sex.

  “You can’t win with me, Alethea. I’m in control here. Not you. Say it.”

  She’d long since stopped caring what she was saying. She gripped the sheets on either side of her, her head thrashing back and forth as she cried out, “Take me, Marc. Take me.”

  The sound of her own cries woke her and she sat up with a jolt. “Marc?” The room spun. She squinted against the harsh morning sun, then dropped back into her bed, groaning in response to what felt like a sledgehammer crashing against her forehead.

  It was a dream. Just another freaking dream.

  Opening one eye cautiously, Alethea noted the chair that was still pulled up beside her bed.

  And a nightmare.

  I don’t drink.

  What was I thinking?

  I wasn’t.

  As a collage of memories from the night before began to surface, Alethea closed her eyes again. I threw myself at him and he ducked.

  She vaguely remembered him holding her hair back as she hunched over the toilet. Lovely. She didn’t remember exactly how she’d gotten into her nightgown, but she did have a vivid memory of Marc watching over her while she slept.

  Hopefully I don’t talk in my sleep. She half smiled. Maybe I do and that’s why he ran. She groaned again when she realized someone had installed carpeting in her mouth while she’d slept.

  Pushing herself out of bed, Alethea trudged to the bathroom. The hot shower wasn’t washing away the hurt she’d felt when Lil had questioned her motives, nor did it lessen her mortification about turning the hottest man she’d ever met into her nursemaid for the night.

  Some days just suck. She looked at the calendar on the wall. I can’t even blame it on Monday. It’s Tuesday.

  Beneath the spray of the shower, Alethea weighed her options for the day. I can stay angry with Lil for not trusting me, angry with Marc for seeing me at my worst, and angry with myself for not handling either situation well, or I can do something about at least one of the reasons I hate myself today.

  You don’t help someone because you know they’ll thank you for it. You help them because they need you. Because you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t help them.

  Something doesn’t add up.

  Why would someone go to the trouble of uploading glitches that could be fixed easily? Why make it look like Stephan is involved? Or is he? No, it doesn’t make sense for it to be him. He’d hit Dominic with a more deadly corporate blow. Could both be a smoke screen to cover a more sinister plan? If so, what?

  She opened her phone and scrolled down to a number she knew she shouldn’t call. Jeremy. They weren’t a team anymore. Maybe they never had been. He was a good friend to me, but I didn’t appreciate how good, until I screwed it up. I should have respected his relationship with Jeisa. I should have been happy for him, instead of worrying about what it meant for me and my career. Maybe even my ego.

  I killed that friendship because in my rush to get what I wanted, I didn’t see how I was hurting those around me. I don’t mean to hurt them. Does it matter, though, if the result is the same?

  If I don’t do something, I’m going to lose Lil—the only family I’ve allowed myself to have. She thought of her mother, who had remarried a couple years after the “accident,” and how she’d never been able to forgive her for being able to accept the lies and move on. Like Lil, her mother didn’t want to see anything that might threaten her happiness.

  And I couldn’t let her have that fantasy—even if the truth wouldn’t undo our loss. I needed her to believe me.

  I wouldn’t back down.

  Not even when it destroyed my relationship with my mother. Why couldn’t I let her be happy? Am I the vindictive person Marie thinks I am? Am I wrong to keep digging when I know no one wants me to? Am I destined to repeat this pattern until I’ve driven everyone I care about away from me?

  No, this is different.

  I can’t walk away until I know how serious this is.

  It’s not about coding errors. I know it. What am I missing?

  Is Stephan involved in this or not?

  There is only one person who knows for sure.

  She padded out of the shower, applied a shield of makeup, and shook her hair out in rebellious free curls. Normally she dressed to blend in. She preferred to work under the radar, but the red dress she chose was her war paint.

  An image of Marc surfaced, but she shook it off. This has nothing to do with how my ego took a beating last night. I don’t know what I’m going to face today, and I’m not leaving any advantage behind.

  It has nothing to do with the nearly impossible chance that our paths may cross today.

  She slipped on her Louboutin stilettos, strode out the door and down to the garage. She peeled out as she drove off, not caring about the drivers she angered as she cut them off.

  She was going to find Stephan, and no one—no one—was going to stop her.

  “I found him.” Craig sauntered into Marc’s office, interrupting an otherwise tedious couple of hours of reviewing notes.

  “Who?”

  “Our mole. At least I think so. He fits the bill. He’s in programming. He was living with his parents up until a few months ago. All of a sudden he’s dressing sharp, driving a Bentley Continental, and throwing money around like he won the lottery. The secretaries call him Coding Casanova. They aren’t interested in him, but they love to gossip about him.”

  Marc stood and stretched. “That sounds like exactly what we’re looking for. What’s his name?”

  “Jim Whitman.”

  A quick search on his computer told Marc all needed to know. “He’s relatively new. He was hired last June. June. That would have been when Dominic went to China to sign his big contract.”

  Also when the first serious hacking occurred.

  He dismissed Craig and dialed Jeremy’s cell number. “Jeremy, it’s Marc. I need you to hack into something for me.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jeremy said with a laugh. “First, we never call it hacking. Second, we never talk about it on a phone where anyone could listen in. And third, I have a legitimate business now. I’m done with that lifestyle.”

  “Someone’s on the wrong side of your firewall and I think I found him. I need proof to give Jake. Tell me what this guy is up to.”

  “Are you sure? It should have been airtight. Hang on, I can get remote access.” There was a rustling noise, then a clatter of Jeremy’s cell phone falling and being picked back up. “Who is it?” he growled.

  “Jim Whitman,” Marc said.

  “I don’t know him, but I will in about two minutes. Just using my password generator.” A few seconds later Jeremy said, “And I’m in.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Give me a minute. Getting in is easy. Wading through the crap in most people’s email is the pain. Wait. He has an encrypted folder on his de
sktop. That’s so cute. It’s like putting a tiny safe in your backyard and thinking it’ll protect your jewelry. It screams, ‘Open me.’”

  “So, open it.”

  “Done.”

  Marc paced as Jeremy typed.

  “The good news is this is no Einstein. We’re talking about basic coding and simplistic encryption. Eesh, he doesn’t even have sophisticated taste in porn. You should see what this guy spends his lunch looking at.”

  “Is there anything in that folder that suggests someone is paying him?”

  “No.”

  “Keep looking. Can you see if he’s accessed anyone’s mail or a department he’s not supposed to?”

  “I can try. Most would know to cover their tracks. Oh, look, he didn’t. This little weasel has been all over the server.”

  “We’ve been experiencing coding glitches. Could he be uploading them . . . or whatever you do to get them in a program?”

  “You don’t know much about computers, do you?”

  “No, but I’m a dead shot from a thousand yards with a sniper rifle.”

  “Point taken. Okay, so this guy is definitely gathering information for someone. I don’t think he’s the reason for the computer problem, but I’d say he knows who is. Give me a minute. I miss doing this.”

  After a series of guttural noises, some revealing his displeasure with what he found, Jeremy said, “Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the who-didn’t-see-this-one-coming?”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “I know what Jim was up to, and he’s not a threat to your software. In fact, he’s tracking whoever is.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “He traced some code errors back to Stephan Andrade’s IP address.”

  “Shit.”

  “Seriously, that’s fucked up. I thought that guy was over whatever happened between him and Dominic.”

  “I thought so, too.” This just keeps getting worse. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, Jim sent out an email right after he found a connection to Stephan.”

  “Who? Who did he contact?” He knew the answer, but he hoped he was wrong.