Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "I think we're safe enough now."

  "What brings this on? We have dinner together every night that you're not teaching or visiting Malick. This sounds like a. . .date." She had to swallow to get the word out.

  Michael dropped the pencil he'd been playing with and lounged back in the chair. "It is a date."

  "Why?" she whispered.

  "There's too much going on. We both need a break. I thought going out would give us time to relax and forget about our problems for a few hours. How about it?"

  Erika nodded.

  "Is that a yes?"

  "Yes," she said.

  ***

  Erika's bedroom looked like an explosion in a clothing factory. She'd changed clothes five times and still she wasn't satisfied about her looks. It was just a date, she told herself. It wasn't like it was her first. Why couldn't she decide what to wear? She and Michael saw each other every day. They dined together every night. Why couldn't she put something on and be done with it?

  Picking up a green velvet dress, she slipped into it and pulled the zipper up. Barefoot, she stepped in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection. Frowning, she dragged the zipper to its base and let the dress slither to the floor.

  Erika kicked it away in frustration. She was no further toward being ready than when she'd entered the house over an hour before. Going back to the closet she pushed dresses aside one by one, rejecting everything until she came to a grey lace. She stopped, remembering the last time she wore it—the last time she and Bill had gone out together. The day before he flew to Las Vegas and married Jennifer Ahrends. Why hadn't she thrown that out? Maybe she shouldn't go out with Michael. How did she know he wouldn't turn out to be another Bill? She knew she was already falling for him. If she went out with him, socialized, got to know him, then the year would end and he'd go off and leave her, too.

  "This is the wrong decision," Erika told the dress. She couldn't go out with Michael. Hadn't she learned anything in the last thirty-four years? Didn't she realize these things never worked out for her? The best thing she could do was to run the company and forget about personal relationships. In that, her mother had been right. She'd never find a man who'd want her. Erika proved that time and time again, and Michael Lawrence was no different.

  Erika swatted the dress as if hitting out at a person. Grabbing a bathrobe, she pulled it over her underwear and left her room. She'd decided and found no need to put off telling Michael. Marching to the steps that junctioned the house into wings, she took purposeful steps down and then up the other side. Michael's room was at the end. Going straight there she stopped outside the dark wood panel door and took a deep breath. Then, not giving herself time to think, she knocked.

  Michael whirled toward the door at the knock. In the months he'd been there no one had ever knocked on that door when he was in the house. Tonight it could be no one other than Erika. He'd assumed they'd meet in the library. And she was early. Why? he wondered.

  Quickly checking his clothes he pulled the door inward. She stood there looking beautiful but a little frightened, and she wasn't dressed.

  "Has something happened?" he asked.

  Erika's hand went to her throat as if she'd only just realized she was wearing a bathrobe. "No, it's just that . . ." she stopped, staring at him. He looked down. His clothes were fine. He looked back at her.

  "Come in," he said, taking her arm and drawing her inside. He left the door open as he guided her to a chair near the massive unlit fireplace. "What's wrong?" he asked when she was seated. "Why aren't you dressed?"

  Michael took the facing chair. He was physically separated from her, and knew he needed to be. He could smell the clean scent of the soap she'd used in her shower. Her hair wasn't perfect, the way he'd seen it in the past, and she wore no makeup, but she looked better than he could remember—except for that morning in the cabin when she'd come out to look at the mountain in the early light.

  Erika looked at him and nearly lost her nerve. He had on jeans and a blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. His short cropped hair lay neatly in place, and he smelled good enough to taste. She had mingled with some of the most beautiful people in the world, at least those in Hollywood. Women trying to be the next soaring star. Men with looks, physiques and drive, but never had a combination affected her more than that housed in the rich, brandy-skinned body of Michael Lawrence.

  "Erika?"

  "I—" she stammered. Looking at him made her tongue-tied. "I can't go out with you."

  "Why not?"

  "I thought about it and . . ." Lying wasn't her usual way of getting out of things, but this time she had no choice. She couldn't start something with Michael when she was sure from the beginning that she would be the one hurt in the end. This time the publicity would be more than she could handle, since she knew her heart would be involved. "We're partners, and I think it's best if we kept our relationship a business one.

  “When our year is over we can go our separate ways with no entanglements."

  "Tonight you believe we—" he pointed from her to himself, "we will become an entanglement?"

  Erika was boxed in. She didn't want to answer that question. She was already tangled up with him and she didn't trust herself to keep the secret inside her heart. "Maybe not after one time, but there's no reason for us to begin something that can only lead—"

  "Lead where?" he asked.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that," she said. She should have thought about what she'd tell him before she got here, but she hadn't and now she had to escape. She knew Michael would see through her. It was his profession to get the truth out of people, and she'd put herself in his path. Erika stood up. "I'll get something to eat from the kitchen." She moved toward the door. Michael stood up. "And I have some work that needs looking at." Erika moved away from him. She was nearly at the door when Michael stopped her.

  "Erika." He was directly behind her. She could feel the heat of his body and wished she'd put on some clothes. "Tell me the truth," he whispered. "Why won't you go out with me?"

  Erika dropped her shoulders, but she said nothing.

  "I'm not Bill Castle," he murmured as if reading her mind.

  Erika turned around, then backed away. "I never thought you were Bill."

  "Didn't you? Don't you still?" He came toward her. She backed away. "Don't you think every man who tries to get close to you will treat you like Bill Castle? Isn't that the reason you don't have any dates, don't even entertain the idea of having a man around? Isn't that why you run each time I get near you?"

  "I don't run."

  He took another step. She moved away.

  "Don't you?"

  For a long, long moment Michael held her stare. He could detect no fear in her eyes, but he knew he frightened her. Bill Castle had done a first class job of making her afraid of another relationship. Michael had sworn off women, too, yet here he was practically badgering her into going out with him.

  He'd wanted to spend time with her, time alone, without Graves Enterprises between them, without thinking there was anything in the world that prevented them from meeting and talking, sharing a meal. Yet she'd had second thoughts. She'd opened the door to allow him to retract his invitation without complicating conditions. Why wasn't he accepting it?

  You don't want to, a voice inside his head told him. It was all he needed.

  "Don't move this time, Erika," he said. He took another step. She remained still, lifting her chin in defiance. Michael only looked at her. Her hands were at her sides. There was little tension in her features, yet he knew her knees were knocking. He wanted her. He was only a step away from getting what he wanted. If he touched her, she'd be his. Then he knew he couldn't do it. When he touched her, she had to want his touch.

  He stepped back. Erika's breath came out in a slow sigh. He saw her shoulders move slightly, the only outward sign that anything had changed within her.

  He went to the door and pushed it to its widest point. With his hand extend
ed he offered her escape. "Good night," he said.

  Michael closed the door after she'd left. The telltale smell of her soap lingered. He wanted to grasp it somehow, hold it a little longer than the air would allow, but it was as elusive as the depth of mistrust in her eyes.

  She intrigued him more than any woman ever had. He enjoyed talking to her, listening to her. Yet she only wanted a business relationship. Well, he could give her one.

  "One business relationship, Ms. St. James, coming right up."

  ***

  Thirty-seven. Erika banked under the water, pushing off the deep end wall, and began her thirty-eighth lap in the pool. She hadn't been able to forget Michael's comment. The worst part was that he was telling the truth. She did avoid men. She hadn't wanted to trust anyone again. She knew relationships weren't for her but with Bill she had tried one last time, and that had resulted in chaos. She wouldn't try it again, even with Michael. She'd known from the beginning it was headed nowhere.

  Thirty-nine, she counted, swimming harder and faster than she'd ever felt the need to before. She was right, she told herself. They should maintain a business relationship, and only that relationship. It would be the best thing for both of them, for their futures. Then why was she here swimming lap after lap instead of working on the papers she'd brought home or merely reading a book? Why was she battling this water as if it were her enemy?

  Michael wasn't Bill. She knew that. He could hurt her a lot worse than Bill did. Her feelings had been mostly embarrassment when Bill jilted her. If she let herself fall in love with Michael her emotions would be involved, deeply involved, so deeply that when he left she would have no recovery.

  He would leave. He'd told her that when he came. This arrangement was for a year. He wanted to prevent Frank Mason from inheriting Carlton's money. When the year ended Michael would have more money than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, and with it came responsibility.

  Money, Erika, like poverty, is one of life’s true burdens. How often had she heard Carlton say that? When Michael had his half of the estate, he'd have the burden of women, many women. Not that he didn't have that now. He was an attractive man. She was attracted to him. She'd seen the women in the office reacting to him, each one of them trying to get his attention.

  Forty-three. She dipped under and reversed again. If they wanted his attention, she vowed, they could have it. Beginning tomorrow he would be her partner. . .and nothing more.

  Chapter 11

  Rain had drizzled over the city for the past four days. It was raining hard when she woke, and had continued through her shower. Erika had the feeling the heavens were crying for her. For two weeks she'd kept her vow of a business only relationship. Time should have made it easier, but it had become harder each day to maintain her distance where Michael was concerned.

  Today was Saturday. As large as the house was, she was bound to run into Michael. She could go to the office, but there was no reason for her to be there. Going in would make it obvious that she was avoiding him. Maybe she could call a friend and suggest they meet for lunch. Suddenly she couldn't think of a soul she wanted to visit who wouldn't question her about Michael's presence, and in her state of mind she was apt to spill her feelings.

  She could begin her Christmas shopping, but her heart wasn't in it. She never liked to shop before Thanksgiving, anyway.

  She wasn't a coward, she told herself. She could certainly have a conversation with Michael that had nothing to do with business and didn't border on their personal lives. Leaving her bedroom, she headed for the breakfast room. Skipping down the stairs she realized she had on the blue and white sweater and slacks she'd worn in the mountains. At the bottom of the steps she stopped. She'd been wearing this outfit when Michael first kissed her.

  Erika grabbed the newel post. Maybe she was a coward.

  ***

  Blood. The human body held between four and five quarts. Frank Mason released the leather belts he'd used to secure Judge Raymond Baldwin to the dining room chair. The last blood his heart pumped had squirted through the slits in his wrists twenty minutes ago. Frank had stood behind the judge, watching the arc of blood as it squirted, until it petered into a trickle.

  The judge acted like the lawyer. He pleaded and begged, telling him he could help him. How could he help? He'd had his chance, and what had he done? Confined him to that place. He'd die before going back.

  Look at him. The judge didn't look so tough now. He had no robes, no high chair above the rest of the crowd. He was just a man. Just a dead man.

  And Mrs. Baldwin. She was tougher than her husband—she was still alive—but not for long. Frank pulled her straps free, and her bulk made her body fall out of the chair. Frank wouldn't touch her anymore. He wanted to be careful not to get any of the blood on him. He checked his white coat and shoes. He'd posed as a doctor and they'd trustingly let him in. As white as when he stepped across the threshold. Frank smiled at his handiwork.

  "Good night, Judge Baldwin," he said. The smile left his face, replaced by a look of hatred. "See you in hell."

  ***

  Michael looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He'd slept in this morning, since most of his night had been spent listening to the silence after the dream. This couldn't go on. His eyes were red and the bags under them would soon be as large as those of the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz. He looked as if he'd been on a dead drunk, but he hadn't. He simply couldn't sleep without nightmares of Frank Mason and Erika. She'd totally replaced Abby in his nocturnal mind. The dreams had become so frequent he would soon have to go to a doctor. Malick had noticed his state, but Michael had been able to attribute it to the strain of the office.

  He wasn't far from the truth there. Since he and Erika had established their plan of business only the strain of being close to her intensified. Each time he saw her at meals or during the business day he'd wanted to convince her to change her mind, but he knew better. He knew a relationship between them was out of the question. He couldn't sustain it. Yet his body didn't quite agree with him. He wanted to touch her, hold her, feel her come to life in his arms as they both let the throes of passion lead them to the place that only a man and a woman can understand. Erika, though, was logical and strong enough to keep the conversations structured around Graves Enterprises.

  They'd discussed the pharmaceutical division's product pipeline and new drug applications being filed. There was a lot of excitement about a new AIDS drug awaiting approval. The reports of the stock sales were still being watched, but the buying patterns seemed to have cooled.

  The only thing that hadn't cooled was him. Pushing himself back, he entered the bedroom as the phone rang.

  "So tell me, is she coming or should I find my own date?" His brother, Peter, laughed in his ear.

  "Peter!" He was glad to hear him. "What's going on?"

  "Not much. I was wondering if you were free for lunch and we could meet later."

  Michael sighed with relief. He needed a method of leaving the house and Peter provided it. "Lunch will be fine."

  "Good. If I invite myself there will I get to meet Erika St. James?"

  He wanted to come here. Peter had mentioned Erika before, and he knew his brother. He probably only wanted to come to meet Erika. Suddenly he was jealous of his own brother, jealous of his easygoing manner and his ability to attract the opposite sex. They'd never been rivals before, but with Erika it was different. He remembered watching her sleeping and wanting to climb into bed and hold her, make love to her.

  "Michael, are you still there?"

  Michael cleared his throat. "I'm here."

  "Well, how about it?"

  "I don't know what Erika's plans are, but I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

  "I'll see you in about an hour."

  Peter hung up before Michael could say anything. His brother couldn't have picked a worse time to come. His relationship was strained. His physical appearance showed his lack of sleep. He knew Erika was attracted to him.
Right now, though, they were at a crossroads and he didn't need a handsome TV personality showing up to tilt the scales.

  Michael dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater. He needed to find Erika and let her know about Peter.

  He found her in the library, ensconced in papers. She spent all her time working. What was it that drove her? She had to know she was doing a wonderful job. The stock had stabilized. They no longer thought anyone was trying to gain a hostile seat on the Graves board of directors, yet she scoured relentlessly over reports.

  Even with that, with market share showing a steady climb and a pipeline of products looking good enough to keep them profitable into the next century, Erika drove herself as if her last meal would be served if she didn't supervise everything herself. She let nothing get in the way of her and Graves Enterprises.

  "Good morning," Michael said.

  Her head snapped up. She looked tired, too, tired but beautiful. The light was subdued this morning due to the rain outside, but even without the highlights falling on her hair she was beautiful.

  "Hello," she said. Her voice sounded unusually low and sexy. She put her pen down and sat back. Her body was stiff and businesslike. Michael suddenly wanted to haul her out of the chair and make her melt into the woman he knew her to be. But he did none of the things his mind told him.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Going over some of the reports I never get a chance to read in the office."

  "Anything I can help you with?"

  "You have the same reports. Have you read them all?"

  He had read most of them but he still had a desk full of papers that needed his attention. Something about her eyes disturbed him. "Do you work all the time?"