Her Lover's Legacy

by Adrianne Byrd

  “What we’ll do is tighten it up right here,” Jose said. “And let this part out a little bit.”

  “Hmm,” Gloria responded. “I don’t know. Maybe he should try on that Valentino,” she suggested.

  Another suit was thrust toward Malcolm with the instruction to “Try it on.”

  Malcolm drew a deep breath and marched back behind the dressing-room door. However, the twosome repeated their evaluation performance for the next fifteen suits and Malcolm’s patience had neared its end.

  “How does it look?” Gloria asked yet again.

  Malcolm ignored the question like he’d done the last couple of times.

  However, Gloria’s patience must have been nearing its own end because the next thing he knew she’d barged into the dressing room to take a look for herself.

  “Hey!” he barked.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said. “We’ve been here for almost three hours. Is it too much to ask for you to hustle it up a bit?”

  Malcolm just gaped at her as she held up the next jacket and urged him to slide his arms through the sleeves. He did as he was told, and then quickly started buttoning and zipping his pants while she attacked the buttons on his vest and jacket.

  “I think this is going to be the one,” she said.

  Malcolm caught a whiff of her hair’s fragrance and liked how it mingled with the floral scent of her skin. She smelled wonderful—more than wonderful, actually. Leaning forward to get a better whiff, Malcolm ignored her rambling about how the cut of this accentuated this, that and the other. He was too busy being seduced.

  By the time she glanced up at him, their faces were just inches apart—their breaths warming each other’s faces. Malcolm kissed her.

  Chapter 7

  Gloria had never swooned in her life.

  But the moment Malcolm’s lips brushed hers, she was lost. When his tongue swept inside her mouth, her brain emptied of all thought, her breasts perked against their lacy confinements while an ache throbbed at her core. Her body reacted on its own accord. Her hands slid over his shoulders, around his neck, and then pulled him closer.

  Nothing had ever tasted so good.

  She moaned against his lips and opened her mouth wider so he could get a sample of her, too. Gloria loved the feel of his strong hands caressing her back and then settling against her round butt. As he gave it a light squeeze, she moaned again and pressed her body closer.

  It wasn’t until the sound of Jose clearing his throat did reality seep into Malcolm’s and Gloria’s brains. They leaped apart, their shock mirroring each other’s.

  “What in the hell was that about?” she snapped, running her hands through her hair and trying to pull herself together.

  “You tell me,” he said, frowning.

  “How should I know? You kissed me!”

  “And you kissed me back,” he challenged.

  She stammered and sputtered. “Then it was temporary insanity,” she said.

  He laughed. “Temporary, huh?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I can promise you one thing, it will never happen again.” Gloria’s stomach jerked in response at that declaration. She would very much like to kiss him again. At this moment if, in fact, she could somehow render Mr. Hernandez mute and have him disappear for a few more minutes.

  Instead of responding with another rude or sarcastic wisecrack, Malcolm just lowered his eyes to her kiss-bruised lips, as if her words were taken as a challenge of some sort.

  Jose cleared his throat. “Does this mean you’ve decided on the suit?”

  After another ride in Gloria’s flying death trap, Malcolm arrived back at his office and climbed into the safety of his own vehicle. But he could only shake his head as he watched her speed out of the parking lot as if she had the devil himself nipping at her heels. He didn’t blame her, really. That kiss had shaken him up, too.

  What disturbed him the most was that he could still taste her: mint with a hint of citrus. Her tongue had been smooth as silk, while her moans were like the sweetest music he’d ever heard. Malcolm closed his eyes and relived the kiss again inside his head. All too soon, he blinked out of his trance and started the car.

  “Get a grip,” he coached himself, and finally headed out of the parking lot.

  Despite his desire to head home, order pizza and see if there was a game on somewhere in the western hemisphere, Malcolm remembered his promise to his mother and instead headed out to the family estate.

  During the whole drive, Malcolm tried to prepare himself for what he might find. He feared anything that would look or sound as if his mother was falling apart. Once he was within two miles of his old childhood home, the devil sitting on his right shoulder whispered a thousand reasons why he should delay his visit, but what they all boiled down to was guilt and shame.

  How many times had his mother asked him to end the silly feud between him and his father? How many times had he dug in his heels and adamantly refused? A sad chuckle tumbled from his lips while the backs of his eyes burned. His mother and Gloria were right; he and his father were both stubborn.

  The whole trouble started three years ago when thousands of Katrina evacuees poured into the Houston area and immediately caused a strain on Houston government services. Initially the city was more than willing to play the role of the good neighbor and accepted the evacuees with open arms. But then Texas had its own problem with citizens who also became evacuees when Hurricane Rita poached its shores a short time later.

  The scramble for congressional money began and ended with Malcolm and his father on opposite sides of the table on exactly how to help the poor and growing homeless. Everyone promised to help, including Congressman Braddock, but once the media’s cameras turned off, so did the money.

  Then the fighting began. And it had been on ever since.

  Malcolm pulled up to the family estate’s security gate, entered his code and waited for the tall wrought-iron gate to creep open.

  Whatever dread and melancholy Malcolm feared was quickly forgotten the moment he crossed the threshold of his family’s sprawling Tudor mansion. Instead, a smile curved his face at the smell of homemade apple pie, made by their housekeeper, Sarona. His favorite.

  Since he hadn’t called ahead, there was no one in the foyer to greet him, so he decided to let his nose lead him toward the kitchen, where he found two pies cooling on the counter and pot roast on the stove. His stomach let loose a ferocious growl and he nearly hurt himself scrambling to find a plate and silverware.

  “What on earth is—”

  Malcolm, sitting on a stool in front of one of the long kitchen counters, froze with his fork poised above his plate of stolen food when Sarona strolled into the kitchen.

  For a brief moment her warm brown eyes lit up at the sight of him; however, in the next second, they narrowed into thin slits while her finger jutted forward and began to wag. “I should have known you’d sneak into my pots when my back was turned.”

  Malcolm smiled and gave his most woeful puppy-dog eyes at the petite older woman. “You know I can’t resist your cooking, Sarona.”

  “You better not have touched my pies,” she warned, turning and finding them unharmed on the counter. She sighed in relief.

  “Those are next on my hit list,” he promised, shoveling in his first bite of pot roast.

  “Sarona, where—” Shondra stopped and allowed the kitchen door to swing closed when her gaze landed on her older brother. Instead of lighting up like their lovable housekeeper, she crossed her arms and speared him with a dirty look. “Well, look who’s finally found his way home.”

  Malcolm drew a deep breath. “Evening, Shawnie.”

  “Evening? Is that all you have to say?”

  “I meant to call you back.” His set his fork down.

  She grunted. “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you lately, but—”

  “Shondra?” Their mother’s voice floated into the kitchen and cut off Shondra’s stream of obscenities before they rea
lly got started. “Who are you talking to in there?” Evelyn glided into the kitchen and gasped happily when she spotted Malcolm. “You made it,” she exclaimed, rushing to wrap her arms around her frequently absent son. “I told your sister you wouldn’t break a promise.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” he said, accepting her quick pecks on his cheeks. He took a good look at his mother to see how she was holding up. Her smile was luminous, but the uncharacteristic bags under her eyes and the round hunch of her shoulders told another story. She seemed smaller to him, weaker. He wished like hell there was something he could do to take away the pain she was feeling.

  His selfishness in the past week really hit him and he realized right then and there that he needed to step up and be the man his father had always taught him to be. “I’m sorry, Mama. I should have been here for you this week.”

  From the corner of his eyes, Malcolm saw his sister’s defensive stance slacken as if she was weighing whether to accept his apology as well.

  His mother smiled and shook her head. “There’s no need for you to apologize. I know you’ve been dealing with a lot. Regret is a very heavy burden, baby.” She patted his cheek. “But it’s time to lay it down,” she said. “We’re all going to have to try to find the strength to move on.” Her arms wrapped back around his shoulders. “Together.”

  The love that radiated from his mother overwhelmed him and annihilated the weak wall he’d constructed around his heart. He couldn’t carry the guilt anymore. He should have made up with his father when he’d had the chance. He should have never stopped telling the man who’d been his childhood idol how much he loved him—and loved him still.

  Malcolm wrapped his arms around his mother, and for the first time since the news of his father’s death, he wept.

  Chapter 8

  Malcolm hated ties.

  Since he wore them so infrequently now he could never remember how the damn things were put on. Inevitably they were always crooked, too loose or too tight. After the hundredth time wrangling with the damn thing, he was ready to toss in the towel. Hell, maybe it wasn’t too late to cancel this evening.

  Malcolm plopped down on the edge of his bed and glowered at his image in the mirror. “How did you let her talk you into attending this damn thing?”

  The phone rang, forcing him back onto his feet so he could pick up before the call was transferred to his crowded answering machine.

  “Is this Mr. Braddock?” the caller asked.

  Malcolm frowned at the phone. “It is. Who’s calling?”

  “Mr. Braddock, this is Arnold Norton with Royal Limousine Service. I’m just calling to inform you that your driver should be arriving within fifteen minutes.”

  “Driver?” he asked, perplexed.

  “Yes. A Ms. Kingsley ordered our services for this evening. She instructed us to pick you up at precisely 7:30 p.m.”

  “Then I’ll be ready,” he promised, and disconnected the call. Still, he didn’t understand why Gloria would hire a service when Joe Dennis was still in his family employ. At least he was fairly certain he was.

  Of course, he had never gotten around to asking his father’s private driver why he wasn’t driving the night of his father’s accident, but he did make a mental note to ask Joe about that in the coming week.

  The black, sleek limo arrived promptly at 7:30 p.m., and to his surprise, Gloria was already inside, nestled in one of the seats and smiling up at him.

  “Good evening,” she said in a sweet, honeyed voice.

  Gloria may have been a beauty in black, but she was a seductive siren in red.

  Malcolm was speechless.

  “Here. Let me fix your tie,” she said, scooting her way toward him. “It’s crooked.”

  Staring, he remained still while her nimble fingers corrected his sloppy work. Her usual earthy floral fragrance was replaced by a bold heady scent that heated his blood and stirred his body. One part in particular.

  “Now, that’s better,” she said, easing back and admiring her work. “Perfect.”

  His brain told him to say thank you, but the garbled mess that tumbled from his lips didn’t resemble anything in the English language.

  Gloria frowned. “Come again?”

  Malcolm cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out.

  “You’re welcome.” She turned in her seat and reached for her small purse. “I brought a…um, prepared speech for tonight.”

  “A speech?” he said, blinking out of his stupor.

  “Well, yes. Seeing that your father was supposed to give a speech…I thought that maybe you could do it.” She removed a folded piece of paper. “It’s primarily about the advances the center has made in the past year and it urges everyone to continue to pledge their support. Harmon, um, your father had already signed off on the speech, but I’ve made a few changes…given the circumstances.” She handed Malcolm the speech. “Do you mind?”

  Malcolm glanced down at the words scrolled across the page and shook his head. “No. I’m honored.”

  Gloria sighed in obvious relief. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be.”

  “No. No. I don’t mind.” He paused, folded the speech and tucked it inside his suit. “I know I’ve been a little…much lately. I apologize.”

  She blinked, surprised by the apology. “I understand.” Gloria laid her hand against his leg.

  Another bolt of kinetic energy shot through them and both knew that the other had felt it. Both of them stared at her hand before slowly lifting their gazes until they locked onto each other. They remained frozen in that position before Gloria finally slid her hand back into her lap.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “For what?” he asked, and then watched her face darken a few shades.

  She didn’t answer. Or couldn’t.

  Malcolm smiled, relishing a rare moment when Gloria Kingsley had nothing to say. When he continued to stare at her, she glanced back over at him.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s just…I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

  Her face darkened into a rich burgundy. Her lashes lowered. “You didn’t have to say that.”

  “No. I mean it. You’re absolutely stunning.”

  Her golden eyes lifted and studied him for sincerity. She was apparently satisfied, because her face lit up once again. “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you. You’re going to be on my arm. Trust me when I say every man in the place is going to be green with envy.”

  The Texas Children’s Cancer Center fund-raiser was being held at the St. Regis Hotel, and from the moment they glided into the ballroom, surprised and curious men of distinction surrounded them and offered their hands and condolences. After a few minutes, Judge Bruce Hanlon parted the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

  “Ah, Malcolm. So good to see you,” Judge Hanlon said, jutting his hand into Malcolm’s while using his free one to pat him hard on the back. “I see you finally went out and bought a new tux,” he whispered close to his ear.

  Gloria snickered, letting him know that she’d overheard the judge.

  “Well, you know,” he said with a laugh, “I’m really not a dress-up kind of guy.”

  “Maybe it’s time to change all of that. Maybe it’s even time to think of a career change as well?”

  Malcolm cocked his head. “I think you lost me.”

  Hanlon caught the attention of a passing waiter and then graciously handed Gloria and Malcolm flutes of champagne. “Come, now. Surely you’ve given some thought to running for your father’s seat in Congress?”

  Malcolm nearly coughed up his first sip of champagne.

  “No, no. You have the wrong man.” He chuckled.

  Hanlon’s gray brows stretched, his blue eyes danced. “I’m never wrong about such things, son. Frankly, I think you’re the most logical choice. You and your father held most of the same ideals and beliefs. Why wouldn’t you want to c
arry on his legacy?”

  Finding the whole conversation ludicrous, Malcolm chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not a political man.”

  “Politics is just another form of public service,” Ray Cayman assured him, butting into the conversation and taking over. “You’re the poster child for public service.” Cayman looped an arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and began walking him around the room while Gloria kept pace behind them.

  “I’ve been following your career for a while now,” Cayman said.

  Malcolm wasn’t surprised. It was starting to sound like spying on him was everyone’s favorite pastime.

  “What you’ve been able to do with the Arc Foundation is nothing less than amazing. People love you. Trust you. Believe me when I say you’re the right man for the job.”

  They stopped walking and again a crowd formed around them.

  “Now, I’m not going to pressure you,” Cayman said. “But I think this is something you should give serious consideration to. The governor should be announcing a special election soon. You’d get my vote.”

  Malcolm nodded, hoping it was enough to get him off the hook.

  “At the very least, you should think about it.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Gloria chose that moment to place a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and direct his attention across the room. “There’s Mr. Roark. We should go over and say hello.”

  He nodded his appreciation and then flashed Cayman and Hanlon an apologetic smile. “If you’ll excuse us?” Malcolm offered Gloria his arm and then escorted her across the room. “I’d appreciate it if you’d jump in a little sooner next time.”

  “Why?” she asked. “I happen to agree with Senator Cayman and Judge Hanlon.”

  He scoffed. “Me—running for office?”

  She shrugged. “Why not?”

  Malcolm frowned and cast a suspicious look. Was this what she’d been up to all along? He chuckled again. They were all barking up the wrong tree.

  “Evening, Mr. Roark,” Gloria greeted him once when they approached his intimate circle.