Children of Destiny Books 1-3 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 9)

by Ann Major

  Her own jaw squared. “No. I don’t want to go home with you,” she said.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m too tired to argue.”

  Amy felt a mild pang of unwanted sympathy for him. It wasn’t only exhaustion that had etched those lines beneath his eyes and beside his lips.

  “I can’t leave Triple,” she insisted. “I have to be here when he wakes up again.”

  “If you don’t look after yourself, you’re not going to be much use to Triple when he does get better. I’ve already hired a private duty nurse and left your telephone number at the nurse’s station in case there’s an emergency while we’re gone.”

  “Nick!”

  “There’s no use arguing.” He snapped the miniblinds shut. His hand wrapped around her elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh as he propelled her across the room to the chair where they’d left their things. He picked up her jacket and purse and shoved them into her reluctant arms.

  “You always win, don’t you?” she murmured angrily as he pulled on his raincoat and then helped her into her jacket.

  She felt his touch graze the nape of her neck as he pressed the collar of her jacket flat. Abruptly her body stiffened.

  A dark flush colored his cheeks. “With you it’s never easy.”

  *

  “Sunday driver!” Nick muttered, jamming his right heel down hard on the accelerator.

  Amy’s heart lurched as the tires screamed around a curve and her ancient Chevy shot forward on a fresh burst of speed. She clutched the handles of her briefcase so tightly her fingers ached as Nick caught up to a pickup and zoomed past it.

  “Pretty sunset,” Nick said, impervious to her fear as he glanced over his left shoulder at the scarlet dazzle that splashed ocean and sky. At the same time, he noted the pickup in his rearview mirror with male satisfaction.

  “If you’re going to drive my car like a maniac, you could at least keep your eyes on the road,” Amy sputtered nervously. Up to this point, they had driven in tense silence ever since he’d taken her keys and roared out of the hospital parking lot twenty minutes ago.

  A faint smile played at the edges of his mouth, and for a minute she thought he was going to make a sarcastic retort. To her surprise, Nick lazily turned his attention back to the road. His gaze slid to her, brief and sweeping. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Her mouth was tautly compressed, her nerves more on edge than before.

  The daylight was fading. Mudslides had carved new fissures in the Santa Monica Mountains, and several homes dangled precariously from the edge of a cliff. In places the road was blocked. Rinsed by the storm’s deluge to a pale, clear lavender, the sky over the Pacific was very high. Little tufts of cloud drifted on a wet, cold wind, nestling into the pockets between the hills. A red sun hung low against the horizon, gilding the ocean’s placid surface with streamers of blood-red fire.

  All Amy saw was the wet asphalt whipping beneath the blue hood of her Chevy, and it was too much for her. “You’re not racing a high-performance yacht in the Indian Ocean, you know,” she said.

  “I know.” After a deliberate pause he continued. “But, honey, I’ve got a hell of a lot more at stake in this contest.”

  He braked slightly, probably only because her driveway was in sight. Tires spun gravel as he skidded to a stop a fraction of an inch from her Wedgwood-blue garage door.

  “Home at last,” he murmured. A corner of his mouth lifted cynically as he eyed the charming redwood establishment nestled against a low dune.

  Home. Never before had the word struck such an ominous note of doom in her heart. Just for a second, her eyes darted toward him.

  His chiseled profile was backlighted by golden-red light, its lines as hard and unyielding as those of a tyrannical emperor stamped on some ancient coin. Nick looked indomitable.

  He was her husband. She found this fact distinctly chilling.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Home. At last. I never thought I’d reach it alive.”

  Low, harsh laughter came from his throat. “You’re very much alive.” His hand reached across the distance between them and traced the soft flesh of her upper arm before she jerked it away. His voice became low and sexy. “Believe me, honey, that’s exactly how I want you.”

  She wasn’t ready for the sudden softening of his tone, like a caress of velvet sliding against sensitive skin. “I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you touching me,” she said.

  “Honey, if you meant to send that message,” came his treacherously raspy voice, “it’s not the message I got.” With sickening accuracy, he continued, “You wanted a lot more than I could give you in a hospital waiting room. Maybe now that we’re home...”

  “Not if I can help it!” she whispered.

  His eyes bored into hers. “But you can’t,” he said. “What I can’t figure out is why you’re so determined to fight it.”

  His veiled gaze glided over her face and figure in silent admiration, and he grinned broadly as if he were contemplating some delightful prospect.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Wait and see.” The smug half smile lingered on his lips.

  Scorching waves of shame splashed her cheeks with spots of fire. She longed to think of some stinging retort that would set him properly in his place.

  Instead she snatched her keys from the ignition and threw open her door. Then she sprang out of her car and rushed up the brick path to her front door. The hushed sound of his laughter followed her. Then his car door slammed.

  She was sifting through her purse for her house key, when his hand closed around her wrist.

  “I’ll find it,” he said.

  A shiver of apprehension raced icily over her flesh at his touch. Swiftly he located the key. As he was pulling it out, she tried to jump away, but he caught her by the shoulders and held her against his body.

  “We wouldn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t welcome in my own home,” he murmured silkily.

  “Why not, if it’s the truth?”

  Even though he said nothing, she noted the barest tightening of Nick’s square jaw as he inserted the key in the door. Before he could unlock it, the lock rattled from the inside, and the door was suddenly thrown open by a dark middle-aged woman, with a thick coil of iron-gray hair perched precariously on top of her head. A pair of grubby gardening gloves protruded from the pockets of the woman’s worn apron.

  At first Apolonia registered shock at the sight of her blushing mistress in the arms of her estranged husband. Then her stoic Indian face burst into the radiant smile that was normally reserved solely for Triple.

  “Mr. Neecholas,” she cried with uncustomary exuberance, her black eyes growing brilliant as she ignored her mistress’s scowl and concentrated on the golden giant looming in the doorway. “I’m so glad you here! She-e need you now because of Triple. Is he okay?”

  “He’s better.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  Nick released Amy and swept the short woman into his arms, giving her a hearty bear hug that lifted her off her feet. “And of course, I’m here,” he said, gently mocking Apo-lonia’s accent. “The prodigal husband has come home— where he belongs.”

  “Mr. Nick, we missed you so much. I go to the kitchen now, and make you something good to eat.”

  Although he seemed to be smiling down at Apolonia broadly, he was watching Amy too. “Now, that’s the way to welcome a man home.”

  Amy paled at the sharp thrust of Nick’s double-edged barb. Did he never miss an opportunity to bait her?

  “I been using the gloves you give me for Christmas,” Apolonia said proudly, patting the pocket at her thick waist as he set her down once more.

  “So I see. But I hope you’ve been rattling those pots and pans in the kitchen.”

  Apolonia never liked thinking about cooking and cleaning, the job she’d been hired to do. “So Triple better, Mr. Nick,” she said quickly, craftily changing the subject to the little boy they both loved.


  “Yes, he’s much better.”

  “Mr. Nick, Mr. Sebastian, he send some clothes over for you.”

  “Great.”

  “I put them in Triple’s room.”

  “Apolonia, I do believe you’ve lost weight.”

  “I been sick with the flu, but I feel better now. And, Mr. Nick, Mr. Sebastian, he wants you to call him about business.”

  “Thanks. I should have called him. He left me a message on my cell earlier.”

  “It is natural that you concentrate only on your little boy.”

  Amy sneaked past the effusive pair and left them babbling in the doorway as she moved on into her house, down the long hall toward her bedroom, grateful for once that the cement-headed Apolonia, who had rarely shown more than the mildest feelings of warmth toward her, the woman who had faithfully employed her for nearly five years, adored Nick.

  Amy was about to open her door when she heard her father’s voice behind her.

  Turning, she saw a frail, hump-shouldered figure step from the den into the dim hallway. Behind him she heard the blare of the television.

  “Is that Nick I hear?” Sam asked, his eager voice suddenly choked with emotion.

  “Who else would Apolonia abandon her potted plants for and offer to cook a meal instead?”

  Sam smiled. “Triple must be better or you two wouldn’t be here.”

  Amy nodded. “He’s conscious now, and his fever’s down.”

  “Honey, why didn’t you tell me Nick was coming?” Her father gave her a searching look.

  “Because I was hoping he would leave as soon as Triple was out of danger,” she snapped truthfully.

  “Sam!” Nick’s voice boomed as he headed down the hall to join them. “I can’t tell you how great it is to see you!”

  Nick’s white grin transformed his dark face, and just for a second Amy felt herself softening. Then her blood turned to ice as she realized how susceptible she still was to Nick’s false brand of charm. If she didn’t know better, she might almost have believed he cared something for Sam.

  “Amy, you can go now. I’ll see to Sam.” Nick waved her away, dismissing her imperiously as if she were of no importance.

  She had longed to escape him—until he told her to.

  “Well?” Nick drawled offensively, one of his eyebrows arching in her direction when she remained.

  “I’ll stay, thank you,” she grumbled perversely.

  “Suit yourself,” came his indifferent reply. He turned back to her father.

  Sam’s smile was almost as silly and warm as Apolonia’s had been as Nick shook his father-in-law’s hand affectionately. Sam’s eyes were shone with blissful happiness, and it upset Amy to see her own father thirstily drinking in the sight of the one man who’d shattered all their lives.

  Nick ignored her coldness and switched on the lights in the den. The relaxing, cozy room was decorated with African masks and furnished with Mexican rawhide chairs. A rumpled blue blanket at the foot of the couch and an untidy stack of newspapers on the floor told of Sam’s lonely vigil while Amy had been at the hospital.

  “This place is as dark as a tomb. I bet you haven’t eaten a home-cooked meal in days,” Nick said.

  The answer was all too apparent, and the brief accusing glance Nick gave Amy made her squirm with guilt.

  She met his gaze with a withering scowl that would have daunted a less forceful man. “I’ve been at the hospital, remember.”

  “Well, now that I’m here, all that is going to change. Sam, you’ve endured Apolonia’s bullying too long. And probably Amy’s, too.”

  “Mine?” Amy shot Nick a dark look, but he just grinned boldly back at her, pretending he didn’t see her anger as he marched across the den. He stopped in the middle of the room, eyeing a scarred chessboard tucked beneath a pile of magazines. He went over to the board and picked it up, studying it thoughtfully.

  “Do you still play chess, Sam?”

  “Not since you left.” The wealth of loneliness in his reply pulled at Amy’s heart. Never once had she offered to play with him. But she was busy, working to support them all.

  “Me neither,” Nick said with grave sincerity as he set the board down. “But that’s something I’m going to change, too.”

  Amy drew in a deep, furious breath. Enough was enough! Watching Nick take command of her disloyal household was unendurable. “You won’t be here long enough to change anything.”

  Nick’s eyes met hers, and he smiled, though not as cordially as before. He yanked the proper cords, and the drapes danced open. “I wouldn’t count on that, darling, if I were you.” His voice was very quiet, but it filled the room, grating, like rough stones grinding together.

  The sun had sunk below the horizon, but rich burgundy streaks painted the sky and ocean. The surf was high. The beach was littered with driftwood and other bits of broken flotsam, mute evidence of the waves that had ravaged it only hours before.

  “I always forget how beautiful the view is here,” Nick was saying, speaking more to himself than to them.

  He could never resist the water. He opened a glass door and stepped outside into the briskly cold, salt-scented air.

  He was glad to get out of the house, away from Amy. Her hostility bothered him more than he had any intention of showing her.

  A gull screamed and dived toward the sparkling waves. It flapped away, something caught in its beak.

  Nick shut the door and drew a deep breath to ease his tension. He felt like a knight that had just breached the walls of his enemy’s castle. It didn’t matter that he was exhausted from the battle. He’d fought his way inside, and he intended to stay—for as long as it took him to get what he wanted.

  Nick’s eyes scanned the magnificent house that spilled over its hill. The redwood beach house was mansion-size, modern and bold in design with skylights, trestled ceilings and immense windows that looked out on the ocean. He’d bought it to make Amy happy. She’d hated it and Malibu on sight.

  At the bottom of the hill, a vine-covered pergola curved around an immense, glassed-in swimming pool. The surrounding gardens, Apolonia’s favorite domain, were perfectly groomed. There were jacaranda trees and Lebanese cedars, ivy-clad stone walls, beds of purple and red flowers, their petals battered and limp from the storm.

  Nick’s fingers clenched around the lightly gold-stained railing as he stared beyond the immediate grounds to the flat, rapidly darkening ocean. Amy had certainly come up in the world. Six and a half years ago she’d been a lifeguard at the yacht club, working her way through UCLA. She’d been poor but smart and awesomely ambitious. Then she’d met Nick and through him, his father’s cousin Sebastian. She’d used her pregnancy to worm her way into Sebastian’s heart, and more importantly his wallet. It baffled Nick that Sebastian trusted her so implicitly and wouldn’t listen to a word of criticism concerning her.

  Working for Sebastian, Amy had gone straight to the top. For all her softness toward her family, she could be hard when it came to business, to money. Now she lived in a colony of movie stars and wealthy international celebrities.

  What a fool he’d been not to realize what she’d been after. All he’d seen was her softness, her innocence. He’d even admired her determination and ambition.

  He wondered if the money and success had made Amy happy. Was she ever lonely? Did she ever ache for a man with whom to share her life as he ached for a woman? Or were her governing emotions only greed and ambition?

  No matter what happened, no matter how she fought him, he wasn’t leaving until he had the answers.

  Four

  The hot water ran through Amy’s freshly lathered hair and soaked into her skin. Whorls of steam twined around her. Amy felt she could have stood forever in that tiled compartment with the sweet-scented warmth flowing over her body. If only Nick hadn’t invaded her territory and upset the equilibrium of her life.

  Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the nozzle and tried to forget him as shampoo bubbles rushed do
wn the curve of her back, pooling in a soft mountain of foam at her toes.

  But she couldn’t forget him. Memories from the past swirled in her mind like the mists swirling around her body.

  Amy had been a young and vulnerable twenty-year-old when Nick burst into her life like a tornado. She and Lorrie had had summer jobs at the Riviera Yacht Club at Newport Beach where Nick was a member. At first he was aloof, apparently too far above them to notice them.

  But Amy had noticed him. Although she was proud and ambitious herself, she’d never seen anyone so brash and self-confident, so filled with purpose. She’d been instantly prejudiced against him because he was rich and handsome and because he was the cocky type all the women chased. Nevertheless, she’d watched him with an avid interest, even before he’d asked Lorrie out.

  Nick had wanted to be the best sailor in the world. He wanted to win the America’s Cup someday. He’d been finishing his engineering degree, and had planned to be a great sail maker and work for his older cousin, Sebastian. At first she thought he was only bragging, but then she saw him throw himself into his sailing with an all-consuming, formidable energy. As a member of the handpicked crew, he’d fine-tuned Sebastian’s latest America’s Cup challenger.

  Amy could not help envying Nick that summer. Imagine being the son of one of the richest rancher-oilmen in the nation, even a bastard son who hadn’t always felt loved and wanted as a child. Imagine being the cousin of a multimillionaire like Sebastian Jacobs, a man who thought nothing of sponsoring an America’s Cup campaign.

  Nick’s world seemed glamorous, while hers was hard. He could have anything he wanted. Amy had had to work for everything she had. He never noticed her, but she felt curiously restless and excited whenever he was around. She’d found him dangerously fascinating and had resented him because of it.

  With her own mother dead, Amy had always felt responsible for her younger sister and crippled father. She felt she had to move up in the world so that she could take care of them, but it was a struggle to work, nurture her family and study.