by Francis Ray
“Dammit, get off that door,” Kane snapped as he stopped at a signal light. “I know you don’t want me to touch you.”
“If only that was true,” Victoria whispered, but not softly enough.
“What did you say?” Kane demanded, ignoring a honking horn behind him.
“I want to go home,” Victoria said, her voice raw.
“You want! Do you ever think of what someone else wants? Other people get hurt. Other people have dreams. Other people—” He broke off as other motorists made their displeasure known by blasting their car horns. The Jaguar sped through the light on yellow. “I thought you were a woman, not a selfish child who runs when she can’t have her way. Maybe it’s best you leave.”
Victoria shuddered.
“In the morning, I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers for a legal separation. I know you don’t want any problems getting a divorce when the year is up. I’ll take full responsibility for the marriage failing.” He pulled under the covered concrete canopy of her apartment.
She studied the taut lines of his face. “You aren’t going to tell my grandmother?”
“What do you think?” he asked impatiently as he got out of the car and opened her door. As soon as she straightened, he held out her keys. When she didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and slapped them into her open palm. Without another word, he walked into the driving rain.
Shoulders hunched, head bent, he continued down the street as if impervious to everything. Victoria knew he wasn’t. He hurt. So did she. They had hurt each other. All she had to do was go up to her apartment and her life would be as it was before. All her things—Her thoughts came to a shuddering halt.
Even after they started sleeping together, she hadn’t taken one household item from her apartment to indicate she wanted to make a life with Kane. How was he supposed to know she wanted to stay with him?
She ran after him. He had given her everything she thought she wanted, but it didn’t mean anything if she lost him. She realized that, just as she realized she loved him enough to swallow her pride and make a fool of herself if necessary. She had enough love for both of them. She gasped as the cold, driving ran hit, soaking her within seconds. She ran faster.
“Kane!”
He turned, his voice as thunderous as the skies. “Are you crazy?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just picked her up and sprinted back under the protection of the overhang.
Victoria clutched his neck when he started to put her down. “Don’t go. I don’t care if you are in love with that woman you’re keeping the cradle for. I’m not giving you a divorce.”
“You think I—” Kane broke off abruptly as he noticed that several people who were entering the building had stopped and turned to watch them. He headed inside. Neither appeared concerned with the questioning looks and whispers as they crossed the lobby, rode in the elevator, went down the hallway.
Nor were they concerned that they were soaking wet and dripping water everywhere. As soon as Kane closed her apartment door, he sat her on her feet and barked. “Talk.”
Misery welling up inside Victoria, she brushed away the wetness on her face, unsure if it was tears or rain. “The antique dealer told me you showed him a picture of the woman you planned to marry.”
“You didn’t think to ask me about it,” Kane said. “You just assumed and ran.”
She sniffed and brushed her hand across her face again. “I couldn’t stand to hear about your wanting another woman. But it’s better than losing you. You hadn’t promised me anything.”
“Hadn’t I? I remember promising to love, honor and cherish. I remember promising in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
His voice still had a rough edge to it, but the words curled through Victoria like wisps of sunshine lighting all the dark places in her soul, in her heart. “But it was because of the business arrangement.”
“Was it? Did you ever think it might not be? Did you ever think that what we had in bed and out of bed was something special?” Hands on his hips, he glared down at her. “I’m tired of you running to me, then away from me. Make up your mind now if you’re going to stick with me in good times and in bad.”
Tears, this time she was sure, started flowing. “You mean for the next thirteen days?”
“Damn the thirteen days,” he shouted. “I’m talking about a lifetime. But you better be sure, because I’m not taking any more of this foolishness from you if you decide to stay. If there’s a problem, we talk it out and we always sleep in the same bed. No sulking and no running away.” He glanced around her apartment. “And you get rid of this place.”
Anger worked its way past her misery. “You expect me to do all the giving. What about all the talk about us being a team? I may be in love with you, but you’re not going to dictate to me.”
Kane looked stunned. “You love me?”
“Of course I love you. What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? What woman in her right mind wouldn’t love someone as handsome and kind and tender as you?”
“Then you have to trust me, Tory. Trust me enough to know I wouldn’t sleep with you, make you care about me, if I loved another woman. Listen to your heart. Take this one last step. For me. For you. I promise I won’t let you down.”
She heard the love in his voice, saw it in his beautiful black eyes, and launched herself into his arms. The one place she had always known solace and comfort. “I love you, Kane. I love you,” she repeated through her tears.
He hugged her so hard her ribs hurt. She didn’t care, she just held on. “Tory—” His voice broke with emotion. “You did it.” He reached for his wallet. “I want to show you something.”
Victoria leaned against Kane and waited. Not a shred of apprehension touched her. Love meant trusting and she trusted Kane. He held up a worn and creased black and white newspaper photograph. Her eyes widened. It was a picture of her taken four years earlier, when she had been interviewed about the success of Lavender and Lace. Her confused gaze flew up to his.
“I’ve thought about you off and on since the night of the storm at Bonnie’s house. I agreed to help you because I wanted a second chance, to see what might have happened between us. It wasn’t until you turned me down at the coliseum that I realized I loved you.” His lips brushed against her damp forehead. “I cut your picture out of the newspaper on the pretense of giving it to Bonnie. Instead I tucked it in my wallet. Mr. Hinson saw it when I was paying for a washstand.
“What I told him was more wishful thinking than anything. I had held you once, on a night during a storm like this, and went down for the count. You touched me with your determination to be brave for Bonnie, your love for your grandparents, your innocence. You were beautiful and rich, yet down to earth and strangely insecure. When I picked you up to put you in Bonnie’s bed, I didn’t want to let you go.” He shook his dark head.
“I felt ashamed for wanting you, and you were Bonnie’s friend. I tried to forget you, but you’d pop into my head at the strangest times. After your divorce, Bonnie told me you were down on men, so I let it go. At her wedding, I saw you give more than one guy the cold shoulder, so I didn’t think I’d do any better. I dated, but it never seemed the right combination. After we kissed that day in the truck, I had to find out if you were the one woman for me.”
“What is the right combination?” Victoria asked breathlessly.
Only after his mouth took hers in a deep, searing kiss did he answer her. “Love. Commitment. Trust. Fire.”
Her trembling hand touched his lips. “Love. Commitment. Trust. Fire,” she repeated solemnly. Tears pricked her eyes again. This time they were tears of joy. “It may sound selfish, but I’m glad another woman wasn’t smart enough to make you love her.”
“That couldn’t happen. I’m yours for a lifetime. I was so scared I couldn’t get you to care.” His lips grazed against her palm. She shivered. “Your loving me was something I didn’t dare let myself dream of.”
“I love you w
ith all my heart. Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?” she asked as she looked up through a dark sweep of lashes.
He smiled devilishly. “First, we’re getting you out of these wet clothes.” Scooping her up in his powerful arms, he headed for the bedroom.
“What about you?” she asked as he put her down. “I don’t have anything for you to put on.”
“Neither one of us will be needing clothes for a long time.” He began unbuttoning her dress. He paused on seeing the black lace merrywidow. His questioning gaze met hers.
“I had planned on taking you up the hill for a picnic, then making you an offer you couldn’t refuse,” she said, her hands busy undoing the buttons on his shirt.
With impatience, Kane finished first. The soggy dress plopped around her feet. She stood before him with the garter straps of the merrywidow taut over a black G-string bikini and the lace hem of black stockings. Kane sucked in his breath. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her lips grazed his chest. “You make me feel beautiful.”
“You make me feel beautiful too,” he said without thought.
Victoria raised her head. Her eyes shone with love and wonder. “I’ll never doubt you again. I love you, Kane Taggart.”
“I love you, Victoria Taggart.”
“Then give me something I want.”
“Anything.”
The zipper rasped on his jeans. “Give me your baby.”
Epilogue
“Kane, come to bed.”
“In a minute.”
Since over the last two months Victoria had learned that Kane’s “minute” could easily turn into an hour, she walked farther into the connecting bedroom.
“I still can’t believe they’re ours,” Kane whispered in awe, his gaze switching back and forth between the two black-haired babies asleep in the spindle cribs.
Victoria smiled and leaned into Kane’s hard body, felt his arm curve around her waist. “They’re so sweet, the hospital staff probably can’t either. I shudder to think what my grandparents and your parents put them through.”
“I probably wasn’t much better. I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”
“Except when we repeated our vows at church,” she reminded him. “You weren’t much better at the private reception we had at my grandparents’ house.”
“That’s because you waited until that morning to tell me you were pregnant. I didn’t know whether to shout for joy or put you to bed and forbid you to move,” he said, defending himself.
Victoria’s smile broadened. Kane was still bossy. His fraternity brothers at his college reunion had teased her about being married to such an opinionated man. “If I didn’t know how much you love me, I might be jealous of Chandler and Kane junior. The moment the sonogram confirmed twins, you and Mr. Hinson started searching for another cradle. Not that they ever get to be in them, except downstairs, because you think it’s too drafty for them.”
“A man’s got to take care of his family.” He pulled her closer.
“We couldn’t ask for better.” She turned in his arms. “Thank you for not giving up on me. Most of all, thank you for awakening me to love.”
“You’re my own Sleeping Beauty. I told you I wasn’t afraid of a few thorns.”
“So you did.” Victoria smiled. “But unlike the fairy tale, the thorns around me didn’t turn into beautiful flowers.”
“No, like you, they turned into something much better, hidden treasures.” His compelling black eyes blazed, his voice dropped to a velvet drawl. “How about we go to bed and thank each other?”
“All right. And this time I’ll pretend I don’t hear you scream,” Victoria said, her eyes alight with amusement as she turned and ran for the bed. Grinning, Kane was right behind her.
Read on for an excerpt from the upcoming book by
Francis Ray
IT HAD TO BE YOU
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
She haunted him.
There were times when he could think of nothing else. She was passionate one moment, spurning him the next. She drew him, excited him.
And he couldn’t have her.
In his home office in the hills outside of Los Angeles, Zachary Albright Wilder paced the length of the spacious hickory-paneled room, his anger growing with each agitated step. “What do you mean she won’t work with me?” Zachary snapped. “Deliver me from divas.”
“Now, Rolling Deep,” Oscar Winters, his agent, soothed, using Zach’s professional nickname. “Forget this one and move on. After two weeks of not taking my phone calls, I was finally able to corner Laurel Raineau’s agent and pull from the sharp-tongued woman that it’s your reputation with women and for hard partying that has Raineau backing off. Her agent said that your image isn’t the kind she wants associated with her classical music.”
“What!” Zachary came to a complete stop and shoved his hand through thick, straight black hair that brushed the collar of his shirt. “We’re in the twenty-first century for goodness’ sake! Sure, I go out with a lot of women, but I’d be suicidal if I was intimate with all of them. I couldn’t possibly party as much as the media says or I wouldn’t have a wall full of platinum and gold records I’ve produced.”
“Just what I told her agent,” Oscar agreed.
“It’s not my fault the media chooses to go with what titillates and sells more magazines and newspapers and boosts readership or ratings on the radio or on TV rather than the truth,” he said, moving across the handwoven silk rug in front of his massive cherry desk. “To have them tell it, I’ve slept with every female artist I’ve ever produced, and in my spare time, there are the movie starlets and heiresses.”
“I tried to tell her agent it was all hype, R.D.”
R.D., Rolling Deep, was the moniker given to him by one of the first clients he’d ever worked with, a hard-core hip-hop artist whose hero was Scarface. The name stuck as Zach worked with more and more musicians who came from the street or who wanted people to believe they had.
“Perhaps it’s the name.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought about it much. To him, the nickname simply meant he didn’t have to look to anyone to cover his back. However, he was certain no one feared him. It was the exact opposite. When he went out, he was usually swarmed by autograph seekers or approached by hopeful musicians. He’d changed his cell phone number again just last week because of so many unwanted calls. Twenty-four-hour manned security at the gated entrance of his home wasn’t ego, but necessary to maintain his privacy.
“But your name is known all over the world. You have the golden, or should I say, the platinum touch.” Oscar chuckled.
“It seems Laurel Raineau didn’t get the memo,” he said sarcastically. He’d promised himself long ago that he’d never let his success go to his head. He’d seen it wreak havoc with too many lives. Your star could fall even faster than it rose.
“Forget her,” Oscar said again. “In two months, you go back into the studio with Satin to do her next album. She was at Spargo last night and asked about you.”
Zach grunted. The restaurant in L.A. was one of “the” places to be seen. The very reason Zach seldom went there anymore. Satin had the voice of an angel and the sexual appetite of a succubus. While working with her on her last album, he’d flatly told her that if she didn’t stop coming on to him, he was walking. He had never been intimate with a client and he didn’t intend to be.
He should just move on as Oscar said, but he couldn’t. Despite her snobbish attitude, when Laurel Raineau picked up a violin, it was pure magic. The music drew you, moved you. Passion and fire.
Laurel was five-feet-three and probably weighed one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet with all of her clothes on. Yet, her music was more powerful than any he had ever heard, and he’d listened to and played musical instruments for as long as he could remember.
For personal and professional reasons he wanted to produce her next a
lbum. As a free agent, he was in a position to pick and choose his projects. There was a long list of musical entertainers from every genre who wanted to work with him.
All except Laurel Raineau. That stopped today. “Did you get her address?”
“I did,” Oscar answered, relief in his voice that he had been able to do at least one thing his biggest client had asked. “It’s a couple of miles from you, actually.” He gave him the address.
Zach was moving behind his desk before his agent finished. “Hold.” He pressed the intercom to the garage. “Toby, bring the car around immediately.”
“Be right there, Zach.”
Toby Yates, friend, former drag car racer, and chauffeur was one of the few people who called Zachary by his name. “Talk to you later, Oscar.”
“If you took no for an answer, you wouldn’t be where you are today. Bye.”
Zachary disconnected the call and headed for the front door. Ms. Snob wouldn’t find it so easy to ignore him. She’d have to tell him to his face all the crap she’d said about him—if she had the courage.
Opening the twelve-foot door, Zachary quickly went down the fourteen steps to the waiting black Bentley. Toby was there with the back door open as Zach had known he’d be.
“Thanks.” Zachary practically dove inside. He didn’t need a chauffeur most of the time, but there were occasions when he was working on a song, was too tired after seemingly endless hours in the recording studio, or with a client that he didn’t want to drive. It also gave Toby a reason to stick to his sobriety. He’d been with Zach ever since Zach had come to L.A. against his father’s wishes to make a name for himself in the music industry.
Zach’s fist clenched. He’d done what he’d set out to do, but the rift between him and his father had never mended before his death.
The car pulled off smoothly and started down the long drive. The iron gates swung open. He gave Toby the address, but he wouldn’t need a GPS system. He’d grown up in L.A. and knew the streets well.