A Precious Inheritance

by Paula Roe

  As Jacx shut and locked the door, Aimee took a step backward, then another, and another.

  When she forced herself to speak, her voice shook. “What have you done? Jacx, why?”

  “Duty,” he answered simply, no expression on his face, no inflection in his tone.

  “Duty?” she rasped. “You’re stuck with me.”

  And she with him. She had to get out of this, get away from him somehow.

  She glanced to the open window. If she threw herself out, it would all be over. Problem solved. Troubles behind her.

  She could hear the waves crashing on the rocks below. Would it hurt? Would death be instantaneous?

  “What would you have had me do?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she all but wailed, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to kill herself. That meant she’d have to confess to Jacx. Maybe he’d kill her, take the decision out of her hands. Nobody would blame him.

  “The king would have been embarrassed in front of his guests, royalty and businessmen from the entire region.”

  “You did this for the king?”

  He moved closer still. “I did this for my country.”

  “Will you get a promotion?” She struggled for some logic in his decision. “A medal?”

  “Likely.” He came to a halt less than an arm’s length away. “The king will never forget, and Prince Raif will never forget. Marrying you is my ticket to success.”

  It was dark humor. They both knew the statement was ridiculous. Jacx was a legendary soldier and sailor. He was already in command of one of the military’s most important vessels. He’d risen far in the ranks for his age, and there seemed no end to his military career.

  “There is one other thing.” He reached out to touch the shoulder of her purple gown.

  He moved so fast, she didn’t have time to flinch.

  “I get you,” he said, fingering the thick satin.

  Her mouth went dry.

  “Seven layers?” he asked, a meaningful glint in his eyes.

  Aimee’s heart rate redoubled.

  He slipped the open gown easily off her shoulders. It slithered to the floor, revealing the mauve dress beneath. Then he pulled back her scarf, releasing her long, dark hair, tossing the scarf in a blur of white and gold onto the nearest armchair. She fought a bubble of hysterical laughter. Even in these bizarre circumstances, Jacx did not let the royal colors touch the floor.

  The front of the mauve dress was fastened with ties, delicate, white ribbons, for the groom to savor as he pulled them apart, one by one. It should have been Daud, not Jacx. She felt tears burn her eyes.

  “Don’t bother,” Jacx told her harshly as the mauve gown fell to the floor.

  Next came ivory satin. Beneath that was fine silk, each layer thinner and more revealing than the last.

  She sniffed.

  “Crocodile tears will gain you nothing.”

  “I’m not—” she started to protest.

  She wouldn’t try to manipulate him with tears. She didn’t think there was a single thing she could say or do that would sway such a harsh man. She was his wife, and he would treat her like the property he considered her to be.

  The ivory satin dress was short, only to her knees, revealing her calves, the satin wedding slippers, and the ribbons that crisscrossed their way up her thighs. The dress was also sleeveless, ties at the shoulders, to be undone so it dropped away.

  Jacx stared into her eyes, one hand untying each delicate bow, easily, swiftly. The little dress fell away. There was nothing but thin silk between them now. Her knees were bare, and he glanced down at the length of her legs.

  “Jacx, please,” she begged. Though she wasn’t sure what she wanted. If not tonight, it would be tomorrow, or the day after. It did her little good to buy time in increments of hours.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. The backs of his fingers ran the length of the silk, along the side of her breast, her rib cage, her narrow waist, the curve of her hip. His touch left a trail of warmth, sensitizing her skin, increasing her pulse, tightening her chest to a band of uncertainty. She needed him to stop, wanted him to stop, wished he would stop. Didn’t she?

  “Beautiful,” he breathed.

  It wasn’t clear if he meant the fabric or her. And she wasn’t going to ask. If she asked, it would mean she cared. And she didn’t care if Jacx thought her beautiful. She didn’t care at all. The tip of her tongue found her bottom lip, and she bit down against the unaccustomed heat.

  He flicked the garment over her head, tossing it.

  When he reached for her again, she grasped his hand. His nostrils flared, lips flattening. “You would fight me?”

  “I…” She stumbled, tears forming once more. “I…”

  He cupped his palm around her shoulder. His tone was guttural. “I did not do this to get another promotion. Not to win another medal. I do not want the king’s or the crown prince’s favor.”

  She swallowed, trying desperately to find her voice, to force herself to blurt out the words that would seal her fate. “Jacx,” she managed to say.

  His eyes flared with desire.

  “I am…” She closed her eyes. But that was even more frightening than watching his expression. She opened them again. “I am not…” She clenched her fists, gathering her strength and her courage. “I am not a virgin.”

  A full minute passed in excruciating silence.

  His hand dropped from her shoulder, and she flinched, trembling, steeling herself for his action. At best, he’d throw her out, humiliating her family, turning her into a pariah. At worst, he’d kill her, a defiled bride, one not worthy of keeping.

  “Daud?” he demanded, tone flat.

  She gave a shaky nod.

  “When?”

  She didn’t understand the question.

  “When?” Jacx barked.

  “Two weeks ago,” she blurted out. “The wedding was so close. We were practically married. There was no reason…” Her voice trailed away.

  “That son of a bitch,” Jacx spat.

  Two tears of terror escaped from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. “Will you kill me?” she sobbed.

  He popped the buttons on his uniform tunic, stripped it from his body and tossed it aside. In his shirtsleeves, he confronted her.

  “No,” he said.

  “You will throw me out.” She accepted his decision with resignation. In some ways, she thought death would be easier.

  Jacx moved closer, voice going lower. “No,” he said.

  She blinked, not understanding.

  “I will have you.” He reached out to tug off the next layer of silk and lace. “You are mine, and I will have you.”

  She was thoroughly confused. “And then discard me?” She told herself it didn’t matter. What did it matter? Her virginity was gone. She was ruined anyway.

  Jacx grasped her upper arms. “I will keep you.”

  “As your mistress?” There was a fate worse than death.

  “As my wife.”

  “But I am not fit.”

  He tilted his head to one side, his expression and tone going unexpectedly soft. “And who will know that, Aimee? Who will there ever be to say?”

  “You will know.” She searched his expression. Was he toying with her? Was this a cruel joke?

  “I’ll tell no one. You’ll tell no one. And Daud will tell no one. I guarantee that.”

  She was utterly confused. Jacx wasn’t going to ruin her or kill her? He was going to protect her secret, accept a bride who had lain with another man? How could Jacx, of all people, display such compassion?

  Unexpectedly, he drew her into his arms. He held her there.

  “Would it help to know,” he whispered into her hair, smoothing it back, “that when Daud backed out on you, it was the happiest moment of my life?” His voice went hollow. “I grabbed onto you in that second, and no force on earth was going to take you away. If he’d recanted, begged the king, I would not have let you go.”

 
Aimee struggled to decipher Jacx’s words. They weren’t making sense, but there was a sense of security in his arms that she didn’t want to give up. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging tight, imagining for a moment that everything was going to be all right.

  “Prince Raif saw it,” Jacx continued. “He knew enough to give you to me.”

  Aimee tipped her head back, gazing at Jacx’s rugged, handsome face, looking, really looking at him for the first time in her life. “But you don’t like me.”

  “I don’t like you with Daud.”

  “I make you angry.”

  “Because you were with Daud. Every time he whispered to you, touched you, made you smile, I wanted to rip him apart.”

  Comprehension shaped Aimee’s lips in a silent oh. “I have misjudged you?”

  “I made you misjudge me. I’m not what you think, Aimee. I am not a monster. Will you trust me? To make you happy?”

  A lump formed in Aimee’s throat. “It’s you who cannot trust me. I slept with Daud,” she felt honor bound to remind him.

  “It does not matter.”

  “How can it not matter?”

  “He deceived you. He coerced you.” Jacx smoothed her hair again. “You will forget him. I am going to make love to you so long and so hard and so thoroughly that you won’t even remember his name. We’re leaving Rayas. We leave tomorrow on a three-month voyage.”

  Aimee took her first full breath in hours. “I can come on your ship?”

  “I am not leaving you here.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, supple, the pressure perfect, her body’s reaction electric. Arousal she’d never felt before zinged from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She parted her lips, and the delicious sensation increased. Her arms wound around Jacx’s neck, her silk-covered body molding naturally against his.

  His palm slipped to her bottom, pressing her against him. He was steel and strength, determination and honor. And he’d been there for her when her life was about to end.

  She drew back, gazing up at him, open, honest and grateful. “I will learn to love you, Jacx,” she vowed.

  “I will love you,” he returned. “And I will show you the world.”

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Up Close and Personal by Maureen Child!

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  One

  “Laura, I know you’re in there!”

  Ronan Connolly pounded on the brightly painted blue front door a few more times, then paused to listen. Not a sound from inside the house, though he knew too well that Laura was in there. Hell, he could practically feel her, standing just on the other side of the damned door.

  Bloody hardheaded woman. How had he ever thought that quality attractive? Now that attractive hardheadedness had come back to bite him in the ass.

  Seconds ticked past and there was no sound from within, which only irritated him further. He glanced at the sunshine-yellow Volkswagen parked alongside the house—her car—then glared again at the still-closed front door.

  “You won’t convince me you’re not at home. Your bloody car is parked in the street, Laura.”

  Her voice came then, muffled but clear. “It’s a driveway in America, Ronan. You’re not in Ireland, remember?”

  “More’s the pity.” He scrubbed one hand across his face and rolled his eyes in frustration. If they were in Ireland right now, he’d have half the village of Dunley on his side and he’d bloody well get her to open the damned door.

  “I heard that,” she said. “And feel free to hop onto one of your private planes and go back to Connolly-land anytime you feel like it!”

  If only he could, Ronan thought. But he’d come to California to open an American branch of his business and until Cosain was running as it should, he was going nowhere at all.

  At the moment though, he was tired, on edge and in no mood to be dealing with more females. Especially one with a head as hard as Laura’s.

  He had spent the past six weeks traveling across Europe acting as bodyguard to a sixteen-year-old pop star whose singing was only slightly less annoying than her attitude. Between the girl and her grasping mother, Ronan had been more than ready for the job to end so he could get back to his life. Now that he was back, he’d expected peace. Orderliness. Instead…

  Grinding his teeth together, he took a long moment or two and counted to ten. Then did it a second time. “Whatever the hell you want to call it, Laura, your car is here and so’re you.”

  “I might have been out,” she shouted. “Did you ever think of that? I do have friends, you know.”

  The Connolly temper lifted a couple notches inside him and Ronan was forced to fight it back down.

  “But you’re not out, are you?” he asked, entirely reasonably, and he gave himself points for it. “You’re here, driving me to distraction and making me shout at a bloody closed door like I’m the village idiot turned loose on his own for the first time.”

  “You don’t have to shout, I can hear you,” she said, her voice carrying nicely through the door.

  Laura Page lived on a tidy street in Huntington Beach, California, in one of a dozen town houses built to look like a Cape Cod village. When he’d first seen her place, he’d thought it charming. Now he glared at the building as if it were to blame for his current situation.

  A cool ocean breeze shot down the narrow street and rattled the limbs of the nearly naked elm tree in Laura’s front yard. Roiling gray clouds overhead promised a storm soon, and he hoped to hell he wasn’t still standing on this bleeding porch when it hit.

  “Your neighbors can hear me, too,” he pointed out with a brief nod at the man clipping his hedge with enough vigor to whittle it into a toothpick. “Why not open the door and we can talk this out. Together. In private.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  He laughed shortly. That would be a first indeed, he told himself. A more opinionated woman he had never met. In the beginning, he’d liked that about her. Too often, he was surrounded by smiling, vacuous women who agreed with everything he said and laughed at the lamest of jokes just to ingratiate themselves with him.

  But not Laura.

  No, from the first, she had been stubborn and argumentative and unimpressed with his wealth or celebrity. He had to admit, he had enjoyed verbally sparring with her. He admired a quick mind and a sharp tongue. He’d admired her even more once he’d gotten her into his bed.

  He glanced down at the dozen red roses he held clutched in his right hand and called himself a damned fool for thinking this woman would be swayed by pretty flowers and a smooth speech. Hell, she hadn’t even seen the flowers yet. And at this rate, she never would.

  Huffing out an impatient breath, he lowered his voice a bit. “You know why I’m here. Let’s get it done and have it over then.”

  There was a moment’s pause, as if she were thinking about what he’d said. Then she spoke up again. “You can’t have him.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” she called back and Ronan narrowed his gaze fiercely on the door as if he could see through the panel to the woman beyond.

  “Aye, I heard you. Though I don’t believe it. I’ve come for what’s mine, and I’m not leaving until I have it.”

  “Yours? You’ve been gone two months, Ronan. What makes you think anyth
ing is still yours?”

  Tossing the roses to the ground, Ronan set his hands on either side of the door and leaned in. “Laura, I’ve been on a bloody plane for ten hours, listening to a teenage girl list the reasons she is to be adored. I’ve had her mother bitching about everything from the type of bottled water on the jet to the fluffiness of her pillow. I’m a man on the edge, love. All I’ve thought of for these last weeks is getting back to my house on the cliffs and seeing my damned dog. I’m not leaving without him.”

  The door was yanked open suddenly and there she stood. Five feet nine inches of curvy blonde with a pair of blue eyes as clear and lovely as a summer sky. Even in her worn jeans and button-down white shirt, she took his damned breath away, and he resented that fact down to his bones.

  She kept one hand on the door and the other braced against the doorjamb as if she’d be enough to keep him out if he decided he wanted in.

  Ronan glanced down and saw his dog leaning into her with slavish adoration. He scowled at the animal he called Beast, and the dog paid him no attention whatsoever. “A few weeks gone and you’ve dismissed me?” he asked the dog in a withering tone. “What kind of loyalty is that from man’s best friend?”

  The dog whined and leaned even more heavily into Laura’s side until she staggered a little under his weight.

  “A ‘best friend’ wouldn’t have abandoned him,” Laura said.

  “He wasn’t put out into a jungle forced to hunt for his own food,” Ronan countered. “My cousin Sean—”

  “Left him with me when he went back to Ireland. You can see now that Beast is fine. He’s happy here. With me.”

  “That may be,” Ronan told her after sparing his traitorous hound another hard glare. “But he’s not yours, is he?”

  “He’s in my house. That makes him mine.”