He slid his feet to the floor, closed an ancient-looking leather album he’d had propped in his lap, and set it aside. “I’m not too sure about that.”
“The flowered shorts make their own statement,” she added, noting the shadows in his eyes, despite the smile on his face. “A little light reading?” she asked, unabashedly curious despite knowing she had no right to pry. He’d smiled easily when she’d poked her head in, but she’d heard the distracted note in his voice when he’d thought she was household staff. And now that she was closer, she saw the lines of tension around his eyes, the corners of his mouth. Funny how quickly she’d learned his face, how easily she spotted even the tiniest difference.
She took the seat opposite from him. It was the first time she’d been alone with him since this afternoon, and just like that, the pressures and stresses of her day faded to the background. Replaced by a tangle of other emotions. She’d remembered the things he’d said to her, how it had felt to have him touching her, holding her, kissing her, thrusting inside her. And wondered if he’d called her here so they could do all that again.
Shane’s attention had drifted back to the album. “Heavy reading, actually. The weight of centuries in fact.” His smile was almost . . . sad.
Concern immediately replaced lust. All thoughts of yanking him to the floor and having her way with him fled. Well, most of them, anyway. “What’s wrong? Is it something about your inheritance?”
“In a manner of speaking.” When he lifted his gaze back to hers, the only word she could come up with to describe his expression was . . . lost.
“What is it about? Can you tell me?” She reached over, took his hand between hers. “I’ve wanted to see you all day, but I couldn’t break free. Vivian dragged Stefan off to the roulette tables after I made my excuses that I needed to freshen up—which I intended to do with you, by the way—when one of your staff told me you wanted to see me. Great minds think alike, huh?” Her smile dimmed a little as she stroked her fingertips over the back of his hand, surprised at how deeply she felt the need to touch him, reach him. “But it looks like you’ve found something else you need to tend to first. You know, I’ll understand if you’d rather be alone. You can come up to my room later.”
“No, I want you to stay. I’ve been thinking about you all day, too.” He smiled then, and relaxed a little. “I was reading about my ancestors.”
“Oh.” She sat back. “And?”
He tugged her forward again, then kept on tugging until she stumbled to her feet and fell into his lap. “Shane, I’m too heavy—”
“You’re just right,” he insisted, easily arranging her sideways in his lap. He lifted her arms around his neck and settled her against him. “Now, this is the life of luxury.”
She ran her fingers along the side of his face and he turned into her touch, pressed his lips into the palm of her hand, then cupped her face and pulled her into a kiss.
Considering his mood, she’d expected something needy, slow, exploratory. Instead it was fierce, hard, consuming. It took her breath away, and the rest of her conscious thoughts followed. And when she thought he couldn’t take any more, he plundered deeper, demanded more. And she gave without question. His hands moved over her body. Her hands did some exploring of their own.
When he finally tore his mouth from hers, her shirt was half-undone and his hair was a tousled mess. He said nothing, just pressed his forehead to her cheek as he held her close while their breath steadied. She stroked his hair, his neck, his back, collected herself as well, even as her thoughts raced ahead.
Even in the short time they’d been together, she felt like she’d come to know him. Understand him. And yet this was a part of him she hadn’t expected. Something deeper, more emotional, more . . . complicated. “You don’t have to tell me,” she finally said into the stillness. “But I’m here to listen if you want to. Not sure how much help I’ll be, but sometimes it feels better just to—”
“Holding you, kissing you, that’s what feels better,” he said with surprising emotion.
When she would have leaned back to look in his eyes, he held her in place, kept her tucked against him. He turned his face so he could nuzzle her hair. “I’ve always felt I only belonged to myself, to my own path, my own destiny,” he said quietly.
She trailed her fingers up and down the back of his neck, teased the edges of his hair, letting him talk.
“I don’t feel like I belong here, Darby. And I don’t think time is going to change that.” He pulled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “But maybe it doesn’t matter how I feel. Obligations are obligations, right? You can’t choose what family you get born into.”
“Definitely not,” she murmured, thinking of her father, his lifestyle, the things that were important to him. She would never have the same priorities he did. “I don’t belong in my father’s home, either. When my mother was alive, she and I kind of carved out a space that was ours, where I felt comfortable. She understood that I felt more at home in the stables than in my huge, perfectly decorated bedroom. I think she did, too. Only she adapted to the rest better than I did. Once she was gone . . .” Darby lifted a shoulder. “That little space disappeared. Probably because what my father values most doesn’t have anything to do with me or what I value. I don’t expect that will ever change.”
“You have obligations elsewhere now, though.”
“Obligations I took on willingly,” she said. “Important distinction. My grandfather would never have left me the ranch if he thought I didn’t want it. But I was lucky. I found my space there.” She did lean back now. “You know, Shane, you don’t have to do anything here you don’t want to. I know it’s more complicated than that, but in the end, you can only do what you can do, what you can live with.”
“I’ve thought about that a lot. And there are some things I want to see happen, specific things, mostly related to the business. But in looking through these books, reading about my ancestors, my family’s history, I realize it’s not the corporate entity that I feel burdened by. Not really. Morgan Industries is just an amalgamation of smaller corporations and groups and divisions that aren’t really a family, or even about family. They’re just about business. Life will go on for them, and they can continue to be successful and achieve whatever they decide is important to them. Not having a Morgan name on the masthead won’t change that.”
“That’s a start, then. A step.”
He sighed. “It’s the rest of it that’s kicking my butt. And I don’t mean the other properties, or the boats, the cars, the hockey team—”
“You own a hockey team?”
His mouth kicked up a little. “You a fan? I’ll make you a good deal.”
She kissed him on the line of his jaw. “Thanks, but I only like sports where the guys wear tight pants.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She just grinned. “You know, I never really thought about all that other stuff. That’s a lot to deal with.”
“That other stuff doesn’t really concern me. Those are just things. I can find loving homes for all of them.” He smiled. “Even the forty or so odd guys missing a few front teeth.” Then the smile faded, and she felt the tension return to his body. “It’s the part we’re sitting in that’s giving me a hard time. Four Stones has been in this family since the seventeen-hundreds. Since Silas Morgan stepped off the boat onto Virginia soil. He came here to find a new life, to build a dynasty. He believed so strongly in that notion that he fought in the Revolutionary War, survived, and went on to build that empire. And begin a family who, even centuries later, still share his strength of conviction.”
Darby didn’t know what to say to that. For all she’d made the decision to walk away from a life of comfort and wealth, she’d never faced anything like what he was up against. Her father knew better than to leave anything to her. And the Landon holdings and interests had all been earned by her father. Hardly a dynasty in any shape or form.
“I think I’ve m
ade peace with working toward dismantling the corporate empire. It’s never going to be my calling. And if I do it right, the severed limbs won’t die. They’ll still go on to flourish or falter on their own merit. And the history books will still show that the foundation upon which they were built was initially constructed by a Morgan. And if a future Morgan comes along who wants to build another empire, let him.”
“So, let the rest go, and hold on to the tangible part of your history. Hold on to the house.”
He smiled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “With what? My good looks?”
“You don’t have to sell everything off. Hire a manager and a good investment counselor—”
“I’m getting ulcers just hearing the words investment counselor.” He shook his head. “And that’s not really what I was getting at. After reading about how one Morgan built on what the Morgan before him started, in both personal and industrial growth, and so on and so on . . . the question eating me is, how come I’m the only one who doesn’t feel that burning desire to add on even more, make it bigger?”
She stroked his face, then lifted his chin until their eyes met. “Do you really think that every Morgan before you believed so strongly in capitalism and corporate growth? First off, every generation probably had a couple offspring from which to pick their successor. And I’m sure there were one or two in there who simply accepted the job because it was the path more easily taken. Alexandra wasn’t even a Morgan by birth and she dragged Morgan Industries into the new millennium with an iron fist and a swelling bank account. You say strength of conviction; I say strength of greed. That, or merely bullied by a mountain of ancestral peer pressure. Or both.” She leaned down and dropped a hard, fast kiss on his mouth. “But this go-around, there is only you,” she said, pinching his chin. “The strong one, the first one with enough personal conviction to strike out on his own, to seek out and conquer his own world. Sort of like your great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather Silas did.”
“And have what to show for it?”
“Something that can’t be measured on a profit and loss statement. A concept admittedly forgotten somewhere up your family tree.” She smiled. “You have happiness. The fulfillment of a life lived by your own terms. A life that’s provided you with a wealth of experiences and the knowledge that you can do anything you want to do. I’d say that’s not bad, and that latter part is, by your ancestor’s definition, all Morgan.”
He smiled then, only it was wistful, tender. He stroked her face, traced his fingers over her lips. “You’re an amazing woman, Darmilla Landon.”
She made a face. “Heard about that, did you? Well, that’s the only amazing thing about me. The rest of it’s just the same rationalization I’ve used for my own choices. Except for the world experiences, anyway. Mine are a tad more narrow in scope.”
“I could change all that.”
She grinned now. “Oh, honey, believe me, you already have.”
He laughed and she decided it was time for a topic change. Partly to keep him from sliding back into the ancestral ennui he’d succumbed to, and partly to keep from begging him to take her with him whenever he’d finally had enough and struck out once again for parts unknown. Because, despite the sudden resurrection of his family consciousness, Shane Morgan was never going to let himself get turned into another tailored-suited, nine a.m.-tee-time, blue-bond-invested industry mogul.
“Besides, every family needs its wandering rogue,” she teased him. “Keeps the family albums from becoming dry and boring. Gives the grandkids something to whisper and fantasize about. Maybe build their own dreams on.” She framed his face, turned serious. “You’ll figure out the business part. And because it’s important to you, you’ll find some way to preserve the family part. Then you’ll get the hell out of Dodge and get on with the business of living your own life.” She kissed him soundly on the lips. “And don’t forget,” she told him, grinning, “being last in the line does have its advantages. You can’t do it wrong, because there’s no one left to answer to.”
Shane’s gaze wandered to the stack of albums on the side table and floor. “I’m not so sure about that,” he murmured, then turned back to her with a smile. “But enough whining from the poor little rich boy.” He tugged her down, his kiss slow this time, and exploratory, but not at all moody. She relaxed against him, and wondered if she’d ever get tired of this, of him. She didn’t think so. A shame they were so suited for each other this way, and not in any other way. If only they’d met under other circumstances . . .
That way lies insanity, Darby. And she couldn’t deny that, given half a chance, she’d start trying to figure out some way to mesh his nomadic lifestyle with her deeply rooted one. Neither one of them fit here, in this world, but their real lives didn’t fit with each other, either. She knew Shane wasn’t her Mr. Right. Better for her if she embraced that reality right now. Shane was Mr. Right For The Weekend. In a lot of really wonderful ways that only began with the best sex she was ever likely to have. Better for her sanity to just shut up, and enjoy it while it lasted. Beats the hell out of never having it in the first place, right?
Shane ended the kiss on a sigh. “All this ancestral baggage got me sidetracked from the reason I called you up here in the first place.”
“Judging from your expression, I’m guessing it didn’t have anything to do with me ripping your clothes off.”
His lips quirked. “No, but feel free to improvise.”
Darby shifted in Shane’s lap. “What happened?”
“Remember when Stefan got that call earlier?”
“Oh, that. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to follow him, I—”
“I did.”
She stilled. “And? Did you hear anything?”
He nodded. “He’s in some kind of trouble. With who, I have no idea. But he’s under a great deal of pressure to deliver something to someone, and soon. My guess is that that something is money.”
“What, exactly, did he say?”
“He said The buyout doesn’t look good.”
Her eyes widened. “So he is involved in this Celentrex thing.”
“Looks that way.”
“But . . . how?”
Shane shook his head. “Not sure yet. Whoever he was talking to wanted something from him, something big, and Stefan was all but begging for more time to get it done.”
Darby quirked one brow. “Stefan—begging? That I’d have paid to see.”
Shane gave her a look. “Is there something I should know?”
“Don’t worry,” she shot back, her grin saucy. “It wasn’t a sexual fantasy. Although . . .” She laughed at the look on his face. “Did he say anything else?”
Shane stroked the tips of her hair. “One of the first things he said, was something like From what I’ve observed, he knows nothing about it.”
Darby put it together right off. “Meaning, he was telling whoever it was, that you don’t know about your grandmother’s little side deal? If they were partners, I guess when Alexandra died, the natural thing would have been to approach you and pick up where they left off.”
“I think his phone pal was expecting him to do just that, but he knew if I said no, he’d be up shit’s creek. I could also blow the whistle on the whole shebang.”
“Which brings up another point. What is there to blow the whistle on? I mean, I know Alexandra didn’t want to share her little prize with the company or the world at large. But, moral ambiguity notwithstanding, being greedy isn’t illegal. Nor is emerald-mining.”
“I have no idea, but there’s something. The tension during that call today was palpable. He told the guy not to do anything rash.”
Alarmed, Darby said, “Like?”
“Who knows what he’s got invested in all this, or who he owes what to. He said he had it under control, and that it didn’t matter if the Celentrex buyout didn’t go through, that he had funding.”
Darby swore. “Enter my fabulous father, I take it.” She frowne
d. “But funding for what?”
He shrugged. “Maybe he’s developing some connection directly to Celentrex, going direct to the source. And maybe that’s going to cost big bucks. I don’t know.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know here.”
“Exactly.” Shane sighed, tugged her closer. “This is the way I see the whole thing so far: Alexandra is all set to buy out Celentrex, getting their new fossil-fuel technology in the deal. She’s seen partial schematics for the technology, and somehow stumbles across the idea that there must be a way to adapt that equipment to enable it to extract an entirely different kind of fossil. She hooks up with Stefan, who has the expertise she needs, and on the sly, they work on developing that adaptation. They begin to set up mining operations in South America. All that needs to happen now is the buyout. Then Alexandra will own the original technology and will have the plans, schematics, whatever, to build the whole thing. And voilà, they’re in the emerald-mining business.”
“Except Alexandra dies before the buyout goes through.”
“Leaving Stefan holding the bag. A very expensive, useless bag.”
“Unless . . .” Darby held his gaze. “Do you think Alexandra has the schematics, or whatever you called it, for the whole thing? Could he be here, trying to steal them back, maybe?”
“If he is, he’s going to be shit out of luck. I’ve dug through every last file, pillaged her personal computer. Nada. All we have is that partial schematic from her private office files. Besides, if he thought he could get his hands on the plans for the whole thing, then what does he need the money for?”
“To build it? I don’t know.”
“Other than that phone call, he didn’t wander off on his own today, did he?”
She shook her head. She thought over the conversations they’d had after his phone call. He was definitely more intense. She recalled thinking there was something more there than the sexual zing she’d felt before. Had he come on to her, hoping she might have some inside information? “No, he was with me all afternoon. I tried to get him to talk. I pressed him about his gemstone connection, asked him if he was a jeweler. He did say that he liked to be on the dirty end of things.”
The Cinderella Rules Page 24