Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's SonThe Brother's WifeThe Long-Lost Heir

by Amanda Stevens

  She turned and went back down the stairs, and Valerie retraced her steps to their room. She placed the smaller of the two robes—a white one—on the bed, and hung the other—the dark blue one with a masculine M monogrammed on the lapel—on the bathroom doorknob.

  After setting the bag of toiletries on the floor just outside the door, where Brant would be sure to find them, Valerie beat another hasty retreat from the room, hoping to allow him ample time to finish his shower and dress.

  When she returned, he was standing at the French doors, staring out at the rain. He turned when she entered the room, and Valerie thought he looked ill-at-ease wearing the robe. He was the type of man who would probably have been more comfortable standing there stark naked, she thought, and shivered.

  “Bathroom’s all yours,” he said, not moving from the window.

  Valerie nodded. “Good. I can’t wait to get out of these wet things.”

  She gathered up the white robe, then went inside the bathroom and started her bath. In addition to the candles, she also found an assortment of bath salts and oils on the ledge above the tub, and choosing one, sprinkled the water liberally before shimmying out of her clothes and kicking them aside.

  Just as a precaution, she decided to light the candles. What if the power went out while she was in the tub? She would be stuck in the dark.

  But the candlelight seemed lost in the harsh, overhead lighting, so Valerie flipped off the switch. A soft glow fell over the room, and by this time, a fragrant cloud of honeysuckle rose from the steaming water. With a sigh of pleasure, she lowered herself into the tub.

  Why had she never pampered herself like this before? she wondered. Why had she always been in such a hurry, always pushing herself to be more, do more, have more?

  Was it because, deep down, she’d never thought she deserved special treatment? Never thought a killer’s daughter should be allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life?

  While she contemplated this sobering thought, a knock sounded on the door. Valerie looked up, startled. “Yes?”

  “Emily’s come for our clothing,” Brant said through the door. “Do you want me to come in and get yours?”

  Why hadn’t she thought to put her clothes outside the door before getting into the tub? Now she would either have to get out of the water, wrap herself in a towel and hand her things out to Brant, or let him come in here, where she was taking a bath. By candlelight.

  She glanced down at the water. The bubbles completely covered her, except for her head and shoulders. Nothing showed. There was no real reason why he couldn’t come in and get the clothes.

  “All right, come in,” Valerie called, sliding deeper into the water.

  * * *

  BRANT OPENED THE bathroom door. And froze. His gaze slipped immediately to the tub, or rather, to the woman inside.

  She looked incredible.

  He’d always appreciated Valerie’s appearance, always thought she was a beautiful woman, but he’d never seen her looking like this. Never seen her look as womanly as she did at that moment.

  She was completely covered. He could see nothing but her head and neck, and here and there, tiny patches of tanned skin where the bubbles had melted. But knowing she was wet and naked beneath those bubbles—and the images that knowledge evoked—was sexier, more arousing than anything he’d ever experienced before.

  Candlelight danced in her eyes, mesmerizing him, and for a long moment, Brant stood in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her, the fragrance of her. The essence of her.

  She put out a slender arm and pointed toward the floor. “There,” she said softly, and for a split second, Brant wondered if she meant for him to kneel beside the tub to worship her beauty.

  Then he shook his head slightly, coming to his senses, and realized she meant for him to pick up her wet clothing from the bathroom floor.

  He did so in a hurry, knowing that if he lingered any longer, he just might make an even bigger fool of himself.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME VALERIE had gotten out of the bath, the lights had begun to flicker intermittently. Emily had delivered a light supper of ham-and-cheese sandwiches and steaming bowls of vegetable soup to their room, and candles had been lit on the table near the French doors.

  Valerie wondered if the touch had been provided because of the failing power, or because of the romantic mood it cast over the room.

  Really, this was all too much, she thought, seating herself across the table from Brant. What was it Naomi Gillum had told her? Your destiny is tied to him.

  Well, destiny was pulling out all the stops. Throwing every cliché in the book at them. Luring them here to this rustic setting, stranding them in a town with only one available room, in an inn run by an incurable romantic. Then taking their clothing, so that they were sitting across from one another with only robes covering their nakedness. Threatening the power, so that candlelight was a necessity. Setting the stage, like something from a Gothic novel.

  All that was needed now, Valerie thought acerbically, was a haunting presence to frighten her into Brant’s strong, waiting arms.

  “You’re very quiet tonight,” he commented.

  Valerie glanced up. The candlelight shifted across his face, making his eyes seem even deeper, more mysterious. Brooding, she thought; in keeping with the atmosphere.

  She shivered in spite of herself. “I was just thinking.”

  “About what happened earlier?”

  She nodded. “That man, Remy Devereaux. He tried to kill us, Brant.”

  If possible, his eyes darkened even more. “I know.”

  “You realize what that means, don’t you? That whoever hired Remy Devereaux—”

  “Was willing to kill me to get to you.” His voice grew hard. “Yes, I’ve thought about that, Valerie. I’ve thought about little else. But I refuse to think my own father would hire someone to kill me.”

  Valerie could understand his denial. It was difficult to believe your own father could be guilty of murder. She knew that better than anyone. “Your father wasn’t the only one involved in the Kingsley investigation,” she reminded him. “He isn’t the only one who has a vested interest in keeping Cletus Brown behind bars.”

  “No, you’re right,” Brant said grimly. “My uncle was also part of the investigation, and though I’ve never been that close to him, he is still family, and the idea that he might be willing to kill me isn’t a particularly comforting one. And as for Hugh Rawlins, he got me into the academy. Did I ever tell you that? He took me under his wing when I first joined the department. He’s been more than a mentor to me. He’s been a good friend, someone I’ve always looked up to and admired. If those are my three choices, I have to tell you, Valerie, they all stink.”

  He got up abruptly from the table and strode to the window, staring out into the darkness. After a moment, Valerie followed him, though, for a while, she didn’t say anything. She stared up at his bleak profile, wishing, suddenly, that things could be different between them. Wishing that rebuilding her world didn’t include tearing his down.

  “Remember that first day I met you,” Brant murmured, still staring out at the darkness. “When you were in the hospital and I came to interview you. You said the Kingsley kidnapping had changed a lot of lives. You were right.” He turned to face her, his eyes fathomless. “The publicity surrounding the case changed my father. He became obsessed with being a hero, with living up to an image the media created. But nothing in his life ever measured up to that one moment, that one instant when the admiring eyes of an entire country were upon him.”

  Brant scrubbed his face with his hands, then turned back to the window. “I’ve sometimes wondered if the reason he was opposed to my becoming a cop wasn’t so much that he was afraid I couldn’t follow in his footsteps, but because he thought I might somehow overtake them.”

  Yes, Valerie reflected. She could see how that might happen. She could see how a man like Judd Colter might look into the eyes of his son an
d see a younger, stronger, better version of himself. And how he might have a hard time accepting it.

  A man like Judd Colter might turn against that son, might try to tear down his self-confidence, might be willing to do just about anything to prevent the inevitable comparisons.

  But would he be willing to murder his son just to protect his image? His legend?

  “Sometimes I’ve wondered,” Brant said slowly, “if the reason I’ve been so anxious to help you find out the truth is because a secret part of me wants to get back at him. Wants to put a chink in his armor.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Valerie said. “You’re not that kind of person.”

  He turned to face her. The look in his eyes sent a chill up Valerie’s spine. “A few nights ago you were willing to believe I was capable of murder.”

  Had it really only been a few nights ago? Had she really once believed him capable of murder?

  It seemed impossible now, though Valerie wasn’t sure why. Nothing had changed between them, and yet everything had. Somehow, in the last few days, her trust in Brant had begun to grow. She didn’t know when or why or how, only that it was so.

  And it frightened her. It frightened her badly.

  * * *

  SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT, the haunting presence made its appearance. Though it didn’t exactly drive Valerie into Brant’s arms, she did wake up with a start and bolt upright in bed at the unexpected noise in the darkness.

  The rain had stopped and the moon was out, filling the room with dark, ominous shadows. Valerie could just make out Brant’s silhouette at the window.

  “What is it?” she asked softly. “What was that noise?”

  “Sounded like a motorcycle,” he said. “I’m going down to check it out.”

  He crossed the room to the sofa to draw on the blue robe, and it was only then that Valerie realized he’d been standing at the window naked. She shivered under the covers, pulling the blanket up to her neck as she watched him move toward the door. When he’d disappeared into the hallway, Valerie got out of bed and pulled on her own robe. She followed him into the corridor.

  He stood on the landing, staring over the railing into the large living room/lobby below. Valerie joined him. She started to say something, but he motioned her to silence. Together they watched as the front door opened, and a tall, shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.

  Valerie could feel Brant tense beside her, and knew he was getting ready to confront the intruder, but just then, another figure appeared from the hallway beneath the stairs. A woman dressed in a white, flowing nightgown.

  Valerie recognized Emily, the owner of the inn, and the intruder appeared to be a welcome one. When Emily drew near him, the man took her in his arms and kissed her. Valerie could hear them whispering in the darkness, a low intimate sound that stirred a yearning inside her.

  The man swept Emily up into his arms and disappeared with her down the hallway. A door closed softly below, and there was little doubt about the couple’s intentions. Little doubt about what they would be doing in a few moments.

  The longing grew inside Valerie. She thought she had never felt more lonely than she did just then. She turned to walk back to the room, and Brant followed.

  “I would assume,” he said dryly, when they’d closed the door behind them, “that was Emily’s husband.”

  “No doubt,” Valerie replied, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers over her. She didn’t take off her robe, but she saw that Brant did. The fabric slid to the floor with a soft thud, then she heard the springs in the sofa creak ever so slightly as he lay down.

  The springs creaked again as he turned over. Then creaked again, as he turned back over. He kicked off the covers, and Valerie heard him curse softly in frustration.

  “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?” she asked.

  “No,” he said tersely. “That’s not what I want.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “I’m smaller than you. The sofa would be more comfortable for me.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous,” Brant said. “It’s ridiculous that someone wants to kill you—and now me, it would seem—because of something that happened thirty-one years ago. It’s ridiculous to think my father—my own father—could be behind it.” He sat up on the sofa and stared at her through the darkness. “It’s ridiculous that you’re over there in that big bed all alone when there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  Valerie’s heart pounded against her chest. “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me.” Then, “Oh, hell, stop looking at me like that.”

  “How do you know how I’m looking,” she asked, hurt by the angry sting in his words. “You can’t even see me.”

  “No, but I know that look well enough. I saw it the other night in New Orleans. And before that, in the garden at the Kingsley mansion. You’re looking as if you think I’ll come over there and force my attentions on you.”

  “Maybe I want you to,” Valerie said softly, surprising herself as much as him.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” she said, using his own words.

  “Valerie—”

  “Don’t say it,” she whispered into the darkness. “Don’t say anything. Just come over here and kiss me.”

  It was a request he seemed more than willing to grant. Valerie watched him cross the room toward the bed, felt his weight on the mattress as he climbed under the covers. Then she felt his hand on her arm, and a delicious shiver raced up her spine. He slid his hand down her skin until his fingers found hers, locking them together, drawing her hand up to his mouth to plant soft kisses on each knuckle.

  With her free hand, Valerie reached up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. When his lips were only inches from hers, he released her hand to wrap her tightly in his arms.

  And then he kissed her.

  And Valerie’s whole world shattered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MORNING BROUGHT SUNSHINE. And reality. Valerie awakened with a desperate sense of having done something she shouldn’t have. Brant was in bed beside her, sprawled on his back, the covers shoved down to his waist. A sprinkling of dark hair on his chest arrowed its way beneath the covers, and Valerie shivered, remembering the way he’d looked last night. Remembering each and every detail of their lovemaking.

  A part of her wanted to wake him up and relive those details, slowly. Over and over again. But another part of her pressed for caution. Yes, they’d made love. Yes, it had been wonderful. Incredible. Earth-moving in every sense of the word.

  But nothing could come of it. Nothing could come of a relationship based on dishonesty. She hadn’t told Brant the truth about herself, and when she did, he would despise her. He would think she had used him to get to his father.

  She got up from the bed and drew on her robe, padding softly across the room to the door to find their clothing in neat stacks outside. Retrieving them, Valerie placed Brant’s on the sofa, then took hers into the bathroom and quickly dressed.

  He was still asleep when she came back out, and taking care not to wake him, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony.

  The sky was a pale, rinsed blue, as clear and fragile as crystal. Water droplets shimmered in the trees, refracting the sunlight into a thousand tiny rainbows. The scent of roses wafted from the garden below, and Valerie stood for a long time, drinking in the heady fragrance, and the cool, cleansing mountain air.

  After a while, the French doors opened behind her and Brant stepped onto the balcony. Valerie glanced around. He was dressed, too, and judging by the moisture still in his hair, he had just taken a shower.

  “How long have you been out here?” He came to stand beside her at the railing, but he didn’t touch her. Valerie wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger—relief or disappointment.

  “For a while,” she admitted. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I
guess I wanted to be alone for a while.”

  “Having regrets?”

  She wished she could look away from his dark gaze, but she couldn’t. She shook her head. “Not the kind you mean.”

  One brow lifted. “Meaning?”

  “You told me some things about yourself last night that made me feel closer to you. Made me understand you better. It meant a lot to me that you opened up that way.”

  “You’re not trying to tell me you felt sorry for me, are you? That’s not the reason you invited me into your bed, I hope.” His tone was teasing, but Valerie sensed there was an edge to his lightness. Almost an urgency.

  She shook her head. “No. That’s not the reason. That’s not the reason at all.”

  For a moment, heat flooded through Valerie as memories of their lovemaking swept over her. Brant had been so tender with her. So passionate. It had been so easy to lose herself in his kisses, to forget reality in his arms.

  His eyes told her that he was remembering, too. And wanting her again.

  Valerie drew a trembling breath. “It’s just that…I haven’t been as open with you. There’re things about myself I haven’t shared with you, things that maybe I should have told you before we…” Her voice trailed off as she tore her gaze away.

  “Made love? You can say it, Valerie. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. At least for me, it isn’t.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” she said quickly. “Please don’t think that.”

  Gently he cupped her chin with one hand and turned her to face him. “What is it, then?”

  At that moment, she wanted to tell him everything, confess who she really was, do her best to make him understand why she had deceived him.

  And if it had just been her life on the line, she would have.

  So help me, I would, she thought desperately.

  But it wasn’t just her life. Her father had spent the last thirty-one years—his youth—in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Valerie was his only hope for freedom. If she blew that chance now, she would never forgive herself. She would never be able to live with the knowledge that she’d let her father down.