“I wish I believed in the death penalty,” Larkin growled, meaning every word. The thought of a young, defenseless Winnie being sexually assaulted and abused shoved his anger to catatonic levels.
“The point is,” she said quietly, “that because I was reared in a good family, well educated and left with plenty of money, I had the self-confidence to do what I did. And the courage to do so, because I had options. Choices. The women I work with have none of that. So they stay in abusive relationships longer than they should…sometimes far too long. So now you see why I have to help.”
He bowed his head momentarily, feeling something that was far stronger than pity, much deeper than compassion.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly. “We have about a half hour before we land. Why don’t you lie back down and try to sleep.”
When Winnie closed her eyes, he heard her breathing grow deep and steady in moments. He knew that telling him her deepest secret had exhausted her emotionally. And coming on the heels of what had happened to Esteban’s mother, he suspected the recounting of her own experience of violence had drained her to the point of collapse.
His reaction to the truth was a physical pain that permeated every cell of his being. Though it made no sense, he felt guilty that he had been unable to save her. And what about now? Who would be there to keep her from harm in the years ahead? He couldn’t, wouldn’t answer the question. Not if he wanted to survive.
* * *
When Winnie walked into the safe house a couple of hours later, the women encircled her, their faces filled with relief. Despite the elaborate security precautions put in place by Larkin and his team, these vulnerable, terrified wives and girlfriends and mothers found solace in Winnie’s presence.
She had made Larkin promise to stay outside until she summoned him.
The crowd parted and Esteban stepped forward. “Hola, Miss Winnie. I missed you.” He burst into tears as she knelt and gathered him into her arms. Every set of eyes in the room was wet.
Winnie rocked him in a tight embrace as she whispered to him. “Everything will be okay, my sweet boy. Don’t you worry.”
At last he pulled away, wiped his face on his sleeve and looked at her. “Señor Lobo?” he asked hopefully.
Winnie smiled. “Right outside. You want to go with me to see him?”
“Sí, sí…”
In the yard, Winnie stood back, unable to stem more tears, as Larkin swooped up the child and held him in strong arms. The two males carried on a low-voiced conversation she couldn’t hear, but something Larkin said actually coaxed a laugh from Esteban.
Larkin smiled. “I explained to Esteban that you’ve been awake all night and need to sleep. He’s going to play here today with his friends, and I promised you’d be back to see him this evening.”
Winnie nodded, barely able to stand. “Sounds good to me.”
* * *
At the house, she allowed Larkin to pamper her. He carried her up to her bedroom and set her on her feet. “A shower?”
She nodded. “But with you.”
The conflict on his face was unmistakable. “I don’t want to—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “Do this for me. Please. Wash me. Make love to me. Sleep with me.”
But despite her begging, Larkin had his own agenda. He touched her as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure. As he bathed her in the shower, his sex was erect and demanding. Larkin, however, paid no attention to anything but her comfort. When she swayed with exhaustion, he dried her off, sat her on a low stool and combed her hair, blow-drying it as he went, until her unruly tresses lay docile on her shoulders.
He seemed to have a desire to carry her, so for once, she let herself be weak. When he tucked her into bed, she put her hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of him. “I need you,” she said.
He hesitated. In his eyes, for a split second, she saw the truth. He was trying, but it was too much. This was exactly what Larkin didn’t want. A clingy woman. A relationship that demanded he play the protector. Oh, God. “Never mind,” she said hurriedly. “I’m fine.” Somewhere she found the courage to smile. “Really I am. Please turn off the light as you go out.”
* * *
Larkin’s misery and distress and wretched guilt coalesced into a sharp, thrusting pain that stole his breath. “You should rest, Winnie.”
The look on her face hurt him more than anything he had ever faced. Every hint of color remaining in her pale cheeks faded away, leaving her gaze dull with acceptance. “I understand. You can go home. I’ll handle this. I don’t need you. It’s okay.”
Dear God. She was trying to let him off the hook. Acknowledging his total inability to support her emotionally. Words failed him. Everything he had ever believed about himself splintered in a silent roar of agony. All he had to do was climb into that bed and hold her, but if he did, his heart would break. Nothing he could say or do would fix the situation with Esteban. Nothing he had to offer would take away Winnie’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” He turned blindly toward the door and walked out.
* * *
Winnie awoke alone and disoriented. She was actually hungry, and no wonder. She had slept for three hours. Afternoon sun lit the hardwood floor, catching dust motes in the slanted beams.
Reality washed over her. Brutal. Inescapable. It was hard to breathe. Esteban. Larkin. The pain was vast. Endless. Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she stood up and put a hand on the wall when the room spun. How could she live? How could she move? The future gaped before her. Hollow. Terrifyingly empty.
Forcing herself to go through the motions, she freshened up and dressed. Her life was in ruins, but she wasn’t the only one. Her responsibilities had not disappeared. Esteban needed her. Life had to go on. But first, something called out to her. The one place where she could funnel her heartbreak and perhaps find a measure of peace.
* * *
Larkin found her in the salon where they’d first met. Sitting at the beautiful piano. Her head was bent, her hands never slowing down. From what he remembered of his music-appreciation class, she was playing an incredibly difficult Chopin étude.
Her fingers flew over the keys. The notes rose and fell, filling the room, rich with beauty and sorrow and hope. He closed his eyes and let the music roll over him. How could a woman who had known so much tragedy in her life play with such joyous abandon?
He leaned against the wall, out of sight, eyes damp as he listened to what she couldn’t or wouldn’t say to him. When it was over, she closed the folio of sheet music and began to sob.
He couldn’t bear it. “Don’t, my love,” he said. “Don’t cry.”
Her head snapped up, shock in every muscle as she wiped her face and composed herself. “You left.”
“No,” he said simply. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I’ve been walking the perimeter of the property, waiting for you to wake up.”
Quietly, he sat down on the bench, facing the opposite direction. Not touching her.
She lifted her shoulders, her lips trembling, her spine straight. Wariness and disbelief filled her gaze. “Now I’ve played for you.” She was wearing faded jeans and a gold Vanderbilt T-shirt that matched the amber in her eyes. On Wolff Mountain she had dressed the part of wealthy heiress. Today she was simply…Winnie. He liked both personas. But this was the woman who’d first caught his eye.
He put his arms around her, groaning when hers came around his waist and she rested her head on his shoulder. Sighing, he felt his world click into place. “How come you never told me you were a concert pianist?”
“Thirteen years of private lessons and a music minor in college. I hated every minute of it. Then when my parents died, I played out of guilt for months. One day I suddenly realized I loved the music. I had to get past all my childish rebellion to see what they had given me. A legacy of all the magnificent composers in the world. I’m a very lucky woman.”
He nibbled her neck. “You
’re a very amazing woman. And I’m in love with you. Marry me, Winnie.”
She jerked backward so fast they both nearly toppled off the bench. Hands clenched on his shoulders, she stared at him, eyes raw with grief. “That’s not funny.”
He kissed her nose. “No. It’s damned serious. And while I’m at it, if Esteban has no other family members who can take him in, you and I might think about adopting him.”
Tears leaked from her beautiful eyes, each one scoring him with regret for what he had done to her. His sins astounded him, but no more than his arrogance and insistence that he needed no one.
She put a hand on his forehead. “You didn’t get any sleep last night. You’re delirious.”
“Never been saner.”
“You loathe responsibility. You like a life that’s footloose and fancy-free. You deserve that, Larkin. Really you do.”
“I can’t believe you ever slept with me. I was such an as—”
The hand moved from his forehead to cover his mouth. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. That’s not why I told you my story on the plane.”
“Do you feel sorry for me?”
“Well, I…” Her mouth opened and closed. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”
“We’ve both lived through some horrific stuff. But I think we turned out pretty damned well.”
She kept studying his eyes, as if expecting to read the truth there. He cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, Winifred Bellamy. I love your passion for life and your unflinching courage. I love the way your body welcomes mine. I love how you met my family and fit right in and saw past the craziness to the bond we all share. You’re part of that now. Wolff Mountain claimed you. I’m claiming you. Say you’ll marry me. We can wait six months or a year. If it will make you feel better about things. But I won’t change my mind.”
“What if I just say yes because I want to be part of your big, wonderful wolf pack?”
“Are you saying yes?” A grin spilled over his face.
“Perhaps.”
“Then I think I could live with it. But I’d like to know, Winnie. For the record. Do you love me?”
Their gazes locked. Her pause bothered him more than it should.
Finally, she smiled through her tears. “You know I do, you wretch. Why else would I agree to have tree-house sex with you?”
“Is that anything like wild monkey sex?”
She laughed, her eyes wet and her cheeks flushed. “You tell me.”
He kissed her long and slow, showing her what he was too clumsy to express with words. Winnie was soft and warm, and when her breasts nestled up against his chest, he felt his control slipping. “It’s dinnertime. We can’t do this.”
She laughed, a wicked, knowing sound that made his breath catch. “Since when are you so worried about propriety?”
He gave in without much of a fight, following Winnie up the stairs to her unmade bed. “My family is never going to let me live this down.”
She locked the door, stripped her shirt over her head and shoved him backward onto the bed. “I’ll make it up to you, my love. I swear.”
They wrestled like children, laughing and panting, ripping at buttons and zippers until they were both naked. He paused, his forehead pressed to hers. “Do you forgive me?” he asked, his throat tight. Surely she knew what he meant. Every stupid word he had ever uttered.
“Yes. Yes, I do. It’s okay, Larkin. We’re okay.”
Relief was as sweet as spring rain. Settling his hips between her legs, he braced himself on his hands and looked down at her. “I didn’t know,” he said, shivering inwardly at how close he came to missing out.
“Didn’t know what?” Her slow, quiet smile bathed him in peace, despite the fact that his body was taut with longing.
“I didn’t know what it was that Devlyn and Annalise and my cousins had found. I thought I was different. More broken. That I couldn’t have what they have.”
She guided him into her center. The feel of her fingers on his rock-hard sex was heaven and hell. When he was all the way in, with their bodies locked breath to breath, he sighed.
Winnie’s eyes were closed, a small smile curving her lips. “And what do they have, my wonderful Wolff?”
He flexed his hips, drawing a groan from her, a hiss of amazement from his own throat. “Love, Winnie. The Wolffs have love….”
Epilogue
Vincent Wolff lingered in the shadows, half-hidden behind a marble column as he surveyed the large room filled with people. Colors swirled in the form of handsome men and beautiful women dancing past his hiding place. The crowd included a few outsiders, close friends, but mostly family. Always family.
In the preceding eighteen months, he and his brother, Victor, had completed a massive addition to Wolff Castle, a wing off the back of the house that would help accommodate their burgeoning family. The new square footage included a small chapel, among other things.
Tonight, this magnificent ballroom in which he stood was being christened, filled and blessed with candlelight, laughter, music and dozens of white roses and calla lilies. Today was his son’s wedding day. Larkin. And his bride, Winnie. Because their courtship and romance had happened so quickly, they had opted to postpone a formal wedding and in the meantime had enjoyed an extended engagement.
Though Victor had sensed from the beginning that Winnie could be a perfect match for his quiet, intense son, he had wondered sometimes if this day would ever come. Seeing the unguarded emotion on Larkin’s face as his bride-to-be walked down the aisle soothed Vincent’s fears. His boy had found love.
Devlyn had served as his brother’s best man. Vincent had not been included in the wedding party. He had failed his children years ago, and the pain they had suffered left permanent scars.
After Devlyn’s birth, Vincent’s beloved wife had morphed into someone he barely recognized. Vincent had an idea why, but he had never spoken of it to anyone. And with God as his witness, he had never known the extent of her terrible, unspeakable break with reality until it was too late.
As it was now, the truth that caused her breakdown would never come to light. There was no reason. Life moved on. He was still paying for his mistakes. Telling what he knew would not exonerate him.
Some secrets were better off buried with the dead….
* * * * *
The saga of the MEN OF WOLFF MOUNTAIN continues! Don’t miss the finale that reveals all of the Wolff clan’s secrets…. Available October 2013. Only from Janice Maynard and Harlequin Desire!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Conflict of Interest by Barbara Dunlop
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One
It was inauguration night in Washington, D.C., and Cara Cranshaw had to choose between her president and her lover. One strode triumphantly though the arches of the Worthington Hotel ballroom to the uplifting strains of “Hail to the Chief” and the cheers of eight hundred well-wishers. The other stared boldly at her from across the ballroom, a shock of unruly, dark hair curling across his forehead, his bow tie slightly askew and his eyes telegraphing the message that he wanted her naked.
For the moment, it was investigative reporter Max Gray who held her attention. Despite her resolve to turn the page on their relationship,
she couldn’t tear her gaze from his, nor could she stop her hand from reflexively moving to her abdomen. But Max was off-limits now that Ted Morrow had been sworn in as president.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried the master of ceremonies above the music and enthusiastic clapping that was spreading like a wave across the hall. “The President of the United States.” His voice rang out from the microphone onstage at the opposite end of the massive, high-ceilinged room.
The cheers grew to a roar. The band’s volume increased. And the crowd shifted, separating to form a pathway in front of President Morrow. Cara automatically moved with them, but she still couldn’t tear her gaze from Max as he took a few steps backward on the other side of the divide.
She schooled her features, struggling to transmit her resolve. She couldn’t let him see the confusion and alarm she’d been feeling since her doctor’s visit that afternoon. Resolve, she ruthlessly reminded herself, not hesitation and definitely not fear.
“He’s running late.” Sandy Haniford’s shout sounded shrill in Cara’s ear.
Sandy was a junior staffer in the White House press office, where Cara worked as a public relations specialist. While Cara was moving from ball to ball tonight with the president’s entourage, Sandy was stationed here as liaison to the American News Service event.
“Only by a few minutes,” Cara shouted back, her eyes still on Max.
Resolve, she repeated to herself. The unexpected pregnancy might have tipped her world on its axis, but it didn’t change her job tonight. And it didn’t alter her responsibility to the president.
“I was hoping the president would get here a little early,” Sandy continued, her voice still raised. “We have a last-minute addition to the speaker lineup.”
Cara twisted her head; Sandy’s words had instantly broken Max’s psychological hold on her. “Come again?”
Taming the Lone Wolff Page 17