In answer she took his head in her hands, tilted her own and kissed him deeply. Lance bent a knee and they tumbled to the bed. When her panties finally went the way of their other clothes, they lay there, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
Viv stared down into his eyes, reveling in the feel of his strong hands at her waist, his eyes devouring her. “Love me, Lance.”
He made quick, efficient work of sheathing his erection in a condom and then he slid into the tight warmth of Viv’s body. Her eyes closed and her head thrown back, Viv rode him hard and wild, setting the rhythm for their frantic coupling.
She clutched her vaginal muscles around him and Lance cried out. When completion came, her world shattered in a million pieces, fragments of light and shadow cascading around her. She felt him shudder once, twice. And then it was over.
Their gazes met. Lance smiled up at her and Viv burst into tears.
3
In Federal Correctional Institution Fairton, Dean Khan counted the days until he’d be free. Prison had given him plenty of time to contemplate the so-called error of his ways.
Idiots.
Just because a man hadn’t pulled a life term and didn’t run around with tattoos and prison gangs didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Dean Khan had never killed anyone. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty. Besides, there were other ways to bring somebody down. Violence was the means of communication used by people who didn’t know how to express themselves.
A model prisoner, he’d served his time without major incident and had accomplished his two primary objectives while a guest at Fairton: he’d completed a master’s degree via correspondence and closed-circuit television courses, and he’d figured out how to make that bitch Rachel pay for setting him up.
If she’d thought he’d forgive and forget she had another think coming. Because of her he’d lost a lot of years of his life, and by his estimate, that meant a helluva lot of money and potential.
Dean was no fool though. He’d gotten his ducks in a row before the trial. The bulk of his money was securely earning lots of interest in several off-shore banks that didn’t ask questions and in numbered accounts that couldn’t be directly linked to him. Dean Khan may have been cooling his heels in prison, but by no means had his time been wasted. He’d even formed a couple of alliances in Fairton that might prove useful later on. It wouldn’t take him long to be back in the mix. But first he had some unfinished business to which to attend.
The score he had to settle with Rachel had nothing to do with the eight grand with which she’d skipped off. That pocket change meant nothing to him. What mattered to Dean, what pissed him off about that little cunt was the way she’d turned on the tears on the witness stand, then laughed in his face as he’d walked by after the verdict. She thought she was safe. She thought he’d forgotten. But Dean didn’t forget and he definitely didn’t forgive.
It was the principle of the thing that hacked him off. And if nothing else, Dean Khan was a man of principles.
“Something has to be done about Lance,” Virginia Heart said.
“Done? He’s a grown man, Ginny.”
The Heart family matriarch sat in her parlor with her brother-in-law, trying to make sense out of the latest problem besetting the family name. When her husband died, Virginia had inherited this house, as well as vacation homes in North Carolina and Florida, an apartment building in Detroit, more than enough money to keep her content, and interest just short of controlling in Heart Federated Department Stores.
But it was this room that she loved the most, this room where she felt more at ease than anywhere else in her homes. It was her sanctuary. All of Virginia’s favorite things were here: the paintings, the rugs and the antique furnishings she’d earned during a loveless marriage.
“Lance is a loose cannon. He’s dangerous.”
Jimmy Heart chuckled as he chomped on an unlit cigar. He sat in the chair he’d claimed as his own. The seat of power, he called it. And because it amused her and the chair didn’t clash with the elegant Victorian decor, she’d let it stay.
“You’re just mad because you can’t control him.”
She cut him a withering glance, but Jimmy just laughed louder. “That evil eye might work on some people but I’ve known you for fifty years, Ginny.”
“Go to hell.”
Jimmy shrugged and lit the cigar. “Probably will. But you’ve gotten off topic.”
“The topic is Lance. He needs a job. Something to occupy him. And don’t stink up my house with that thing.”
As he’d been doing for years, Jimmy ignored her complaint about his cigar. He took a deep puff. “He’s twenty-eight years old and a millionaire. Shoot, I envy him. When I was his age I was busting my butt trying to feed my family.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Must be Alzheimer’s settling in,” she said on a dry tone. “That’s revisionist history if I’ve ever heard it. You never worked an honest day in your life.”
“I resent that,” he said. “Even though I resemble it.”
That got a smile from her. “Lance still needs to do some work.”
“What does he need with a job?”
“The same thing everybody needs,” she snapped as she stood to pace the area in front of the sofa. “Something to occupy his time. Whoring, partying and picking up hoochie mamas in nightclubs does not qualify as an occupation.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jimmy mumbled with a grin.
“I heard that.”
“You’re being unnecessarily harsh on the boy, Ginny. And unfair. You don’t give him credit. He works hard in his own way.”
Virginia snorted, the sound quite unladylike. “Don’t you lecture me about harshness or life being unfair. I’m the one who has had to stand by and watch . . .”
Jimmy held up a hand, staving off the tirade. “Save it, Ginny. I’ve heard it all before and the facts still remain the facts. You can put any picture you want on it and underneath it all, the truth is still the truth.”
Ginny Heart didn’t deign to go down that road so she ignored her brother-in-law. “I can cut him off.”
“Won’t do much good. He’s earned his own money.”
“Earned! Ha! If you call traipsing after Cole earning a living.”
“What do you want me to do, Ginny? He’s grown. It’s not like I can take away his allowance or his keys to the family car.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Actually, that’s just what I had in mind.”
“What do you mean?”
She just smiled. “You’ll see.”
Jimmy had grown weary of the discussion. He put down his drink and walked to the mantel filled with photographs of the many Heart relatives—at least the ones with whom Virginia got along. Conspicuously missing was any image of Ginny’s son Cole. She’d thrown them all in the trash more than a year ago. She didn’t know that her maid had retrieved them and given them to Jimmy. One day the photos—and the knowledge that she’d tossed them out—might come in handy.
Virginia and her son could eventually have a reconciliation and she’d regret all that she’d done to Coleman. Of course, the chances of that ever happening were about as likely as Lucifer getting a reprieve from the Lord. But Jimmy liked to hedge his bets. And he believed in backup insurance. Cole was pretty much out of the picture now, and with him gone and Ginny with too much time on her hands, Lance was her next best and obvious target.
Jimmy had a soft spot for Lance, even though he’d never let the boy, or Ginny, know. Some things were better left unsaid.
Virginia had doted on Lance for years, but that was all about to come to an end. Lance didn’t know it, but he’d brought her wrath on himself. One dalliance after the other had finally set his grandmother off.
Jimmy fingered the photographs, one of Lance and Ginny in particular. It had been taken when he’d graduated from Brown. Ginny looked happy then, younger and both beautiful and proud.
The woman now sitting on the sofa behind him bore no
resemblance to the one in the picture.
He pointed to it. “Why don’t you concentrate on the good times?”
Her eyes narrowed. Then, in one swallow she downed the rest of her gin and tonic. “Probably because I can’t remember any of them.”
“Are you sure you won’t come with me?”
Sonja Pride glanced up at her husband. She enjoyed the quiet times they shared together in the evenings. In the year since they’d married, she’d taught Cole how to relax a little. While she ostensibly did work on her laptop, Cole was supposed to be unwinding with a book. The library with its rich cherry woods and warm hearth was one of her favorite rooms in the house. But Cole didn’t seem to notice either her preference for the cozy room or any of the books that filled three walls of it.
His intensity about this Brazilian project reminded her of the days when they’d first met. At that time, Cole had been a harried CEO who downed antacids the way people ate M&M’s. One of the things that still grated on her about their relationship was that Cole, with his own ambitions, sometimes forgot that she, too, had goals and dreams, as well as responsibilities to her own people.
Their problem wasn’t communication. They did that very well. The problem was that their personal goals still conflicted in ways that sabotaged their marriage.
She pushed her computer glasses to the top of her head. “Cole, I have a business to run. I can’t just drop everything and run away with you to Rio.”
About to reshelve a novel, he paused. “You don’t take this seriously either.”
Sonja sighed. “Now you’re just trying to pick a fight.”
She wondered if that, indeed, was his aim.
Their battles were legendary, the stuff his mother loved. But long ago Cole and Sonja had come to terms with their rocky beginning, and the fact that there was no love lost between either of them and his mother. When Cole and Sonja met, Sonja had been out to destroy the company that he’d fought to keep afloat. In the end, neither of them won, but together they’d discovered that foolish hearts sometimes made the best partners.
Cole shoved the book on a shelf then ran a hand over his face. “I’m not picking a fight. I am, however, pointing out that neither you nor Lance seems to be with me on this.”
With a snap Sonja closed the computer and stood. “What do you mean ‘with you,’ Cole? I gave you money. I sent one of my employees to Salvador to set up the groundwork for you. And, I might add, that that employee, a linguistics specialist, was someone I really needed stateside at the time. If that’s not support, Cole, tell me what is.”
“You by my side, Sonja. My wife. That’s the support I’m talking about.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re always talking about us being equals, partners in this marriage, yet I know that if you were still running Heart Federated and I were the one,” she said, poking herself in the chest, “about to go skipping off to Brazil, you wouldn’t leave your job to accompany me. What am I supposed to do while you’re off doing deals?”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion, Sonja.”
She shook her head. “No, Cole. You started this.”
This was a fight that had been brewing for a while. Sonja hadn’t planned to get into it tonight, but maybe it was time, past time that they actually dealt with the issue head-on. Maybe they shouldn’t have married. Maybe they should have allowed the happily-ever-after end when things were going well. Neither of them backed down from challenges though. And this was a big one.
Much like hungry lions stalking territory moments before a kill, they circled the facing love seats in front of the fireplace, Sonja in one direction and Cole moving in the other.
“You know what I think,” she said, her voice a taunt. “I think you’re angry and jealous that I have a company to run. The Pride Group is mine. All mine. I built it up from nothing and you can’t stand that.”
“I think you’re way out of line.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave a short sniff of derision. “Whatever you’re running from, Cole, it’s still going to find you in Brazil. You say you want to tap into the resources of emerging markets in Latin America. That’s worthy and all. But what about the need right here at home? There are communities not forty minutes from here that would thrive on a third of the resources you’re putting into this Brazilian project. You could set up a small business incubator providing venture capital for companies right here in Virginia. You don’t have to go to another continent to make a difference.”
“This has nothing to do with where my money is best spent.”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Your money,” she said. “But you know what Cole? It’s not about the money. This is all about you running away to a place where you can start over as the big man in town.”
For a long time they glared at each other across the expanse of the sofas, the angry words hanging in the air of the still room. The silence lengthened, much like the gulf that grew between them each day.
It was Cole who finally broke the impasse. “I’m going out.”
“Go ahead, Cole. Run away. It’s what you do best these days.”
His back straight, he paused mid-stride on the way to the door. But after a moment, he continued without looking back, slamming the portal on his way out. Sonja snatched up a book from the sofa and sent it winging toward the door. The hearty thwack of the impact didn’t make her feel any better.
“You’re right,” he said, more than an hour later. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom. “Can we talk about this?”
Sonja sat propped up in bed reading a novel. He used to tease her about the romances with which she liked to relax, until she read a few aloud to him. In turn, not only had Cole developed a new appreciation for the genre and its writers, he’d encouraged Sonja to act out some of the steamy love scenes they’d discovered together between the pages of those love stories.
Tonight, however, wouldn’t be a night for sultry passion. The tension between them had little to do with sex and everything to do with whether they’d continue as a couple. She’d hurled some ugly things his way. She wasn’t sorry though. What she’d said needed saying.
In the last few months, the little stress fractures in their relationship had turned into a major fault line. Being honest with herself, Sonja acknowledged that the first fissure started before they’d even said “I do.” She’d insisted on keeping her name after they were married. Old-fashioned Cole still had problems with that as well as her need for independence and autonomy.
“Where have you been?” she asked him. She bookmarked the page in the novel and set it aside.
He walked into the bedroom, sidestepping a large pyramid-shaped rock sculpture fountain that trickled water down three sides. They’d had it installed as another means to aid rest and harmony in the bedroom.
“I just went for a walk around the property.”
“Hmm,” was all Sonja said.
Cole liked to drive when he needed to release tension. That he hadn’t taken one of the cars and headed up the interstate was a positive sign. She remembered once when they’d had an argument, he’d eventually called from Baltimore, more than three hours away, but a straight shot up Interstate 95. Something about the open road calmed the people in his family. It was almost as if the lanes stretching before them represented all the possibilities of the uncertain future. Cole’s cousin Mallory did the same thing when she needed to get away, but while Mallory generally hit extreme speeds, Cole drove almost on automatic pilot, using the motion of the vehicle over the road to lull his senses and free his mind. If he hadn’t been out for a drive, Sonja didn’t know what to expect of his mood.
He loosened his tie. Wearily, he sat on the edge of their king-size platform bed, his back to her as he pulled off first one Bruno Magli and then the other shoe.
“You were right,” he said again, this time turning to face her. “I have been running away from something. But it’s not what you think.”
At the Marriott in downtown Norf
olk, Lance turned, shifting their bodies so Viv lay next to him in the bed. He propped an elbow on a pillow and looked at her, concern clouding his gaze.
“Viv, honey, what’s wrong?”
He’d never, to his knowledge, made a woman cry. And to see tears spilling from this beautiful creature’s eyes made him want to do anything to bring back her smile.
Lance stroked away her tears, but at the touch of his hand, Viv flinched.
He groaned. “Did I hurt you?”
Lance knew he was a big man, solid muscle and sinew, and everything on his tall frame was in proportion. The size of his erect penis sometimes intimidated women. But Viv, hardly the petite fragile type, didn’t at all seem fazed by either that or his overall physique. As a matter of fact, she’d reveled in it, turning him on and out in ways that rocked his world. Yet now she cowered as if he’d beaten her.
“Nothing. And no,” she said a moment before rolling away from his light embrace and escaping the bed.
He watched her wipe at her eyes. Not only did she not want to talk to him, she apparently didn’t even want to look at him.
“This was a mistake, Lance. I shouldn’t have . . .” She darted around collecting various pieces of clothing scattered on the floor.
Vivienne la Fontaine was the last person he’d expect to run from his bed. Their sexy play at her shop told him she was well versed in the art of seduction. Tonight had been no seduction though, but more of an appetizer, a quick little something to whet the taste buds before the slowly savored main course.
She’d also been the last person he’d have thought he’d run into tonight.
“Oh, hell.”
Viv, clutching one shoe and searching for the other, turned at the sound of his voice. “What?”
“Nothing,” he told her. But it was something. He’d just remembered who he’d left back at that restaurant. Rochelle was going to be furious. He’d have to think of something to tell her. Making it up to her was gonna cost him big time.
Enchanted Heart Page 4