by Leela Ash
It was a dream. It wasn’t real. None of it.
Hannah curled herself into a ball and pressed a hand to her mouth as the first tears came.
Chapter 4
Morning broke; grey and rainy. Hannah showered and prepared herself for the day, but her heart wasn’t in it. Did it matter how she looked? Her silly dreams of happiness officially died today. No, she corrected herself, they died last night after that awful awakening. As strange as the dream had been, with its dragon and ‘claiming,’ it seemed so real, so vivid. Strong enough to make her believe, for a moment, that she’d truly spent a night joined with Brandon in passion.
Reality didn’t let her fool herself, however, even for a moment. As she stepped into the hallway, her host’s angry voice filtered up from downstairs.
“Nonsense! That doesn’t happen.”
“It did.” Amarie, the housekeeper. Cross and vexed, by the sound of it. “It does.”
“Spare me your fairy tales,” Brandon hissed. Hannah hesitated at the top of the stairs, unwilling to interrupt, yet strangely tempted to eavesdrop.
The elderly woman drew herself up as far as her small frame allowed. “Fairy tales are history for our kind. You ought to heed them.” Then she turned on her heel and stomped off toward the kitchen. Brandon shook his head, muttering something, and stormed into the dining room.
Wonderful. She couldn’t even hope for a pleasant farewell. Hannah waited a few moments, glad no one had seen her, then went to breakfast.
Which was, indeed, as uncomfortable as she’d feared. Brandon brooded silently. Every now and then, she glanced up to find him staring at her, his face dark with some emotion she couldn’t decipher. Anger? Grief? Despair? Twice, he drew a deep breath and she dared to hope for a miracle. That he’d ask her to stay. That he’d offer to come with her. That something, anything, would keep them together a little longer.
Nothing did. Each time, he sighed and went back to poking his meal aimlessly. She couldn’t blame his silence. No words came to her either. There was no way she could tell him how much that empty, false dream had meant to her. It wasn’t as if he’d truly shared that flight of passion.
So, they stayed quiet. Through pancakes and eggs and a petite little quiche. When Amarie cleared away the last of the plates, however, he finally broke the stillness.
“You’ll be leaving, then.” A statement, not a question.
“Yes.” There truly was no other choice.
“Now?”
Was that longing in his voice? Did he want her to say no, she was staying? ‘Now and forever’ as the dream had said. Yet, as much as she wanted a reason, any excuse to linger, what could she say?
Logic offered only one, disappointing answer. “Yes. It’s a long drive. I should get going.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable. Then another of those shuddering breaths shook his powerful body and he rose to his feet. “If you will excuse me, then, I have business that requires my attention.”
“Of course.” She rose too, her heart leaden, and turned toward the door. “Thank you,” she added lamely. “For your generosity.”
“Please.” The warmth in that word drew her back. “Do not forget my offer. I will protect you and your family, no matter what. You have my word. If you need anything – anything – call me.”
Anything? Surely, a conniving little voice in her mind whispered, she could invent some excuse to bring him up to the farm? She had to smile at her own greed.
Brandon smiled back, and the mood shifted to a gentle melancholy.
“I’ll do that,” she promised him. And she meant it.
Amarie trotted down the stairs carrying her small duffle bag in hand.
“I can get that.” Hannah tried to take it, but the old woman neatly ducked around her, oddly spry for all her age. She wouldn’t let go of the bag until they were at the door.
As Hannah stepped into the gloomy drizzle, the housekeeper patted her on the hand. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “Things will work out. When someone’s being foolish, Fate runs them over and squashes them flat.”
Hannah had no idea how that was supposed to be comforting. Brandon was right. His help really was a bit daft. But she smiled at Amarie and then left, disappearing into the cold, grey October rain.
Chapter 5
New York traffic was, as always, miserable. Six long, draining hours later, she finally made it to Beverly’s Corner with a half hour to spare before the bank closed. The sooner she deposited Brandon’s check, the sooner she could dispel the terrible cloud of debt that threatened her family. As she stood in line, she smiled, thinking of how shocked and delighted her parents would be to learn the reason for her trip to the city.
When she handed the check to the teller, the woman gasped. “Oh, Miss Stiles, that’s a lot of money! Did you win the lottery?”
In a small town like Beverly, a question like that wasn’t uncommon, or rude. There was no one here who didn’t know her family and the tragedy that had struck them. “Believe it or not, we had an antique that was worth a fortune.”
“An antique worth seventy-two thousand dollars?!?” Several heads turned at that outburst and Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm. Even Mr. Overton, the bank manager, peered at her through his thick glasses. She nodded, and the teller gave an incredulous laugh. “Oh, my word! I’m going to go through my attic this weekend! Maybe I’ll get lucky too!”
Hannah’s smile grew forced. Well, she knew what the town would gossip about this week. Not that it really mattered. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Though, as she turned to leave, Mr. Overton drifted to her side. “Miss Stiles? Could I have a word with you, in my office?”
“Sure, sir.” Puzzled, she followed him into the small, sterile room. The little man closed the door carefully and sat down. To Hannah, he seemed weirdly nervous.
“Congratulations on your valuable discovery,” he said. “That must be almost enough to pay off your family’s debts.”
“It is enough,” she corrected him. “We won’t need to sell the farm now.”
He squirmed. “Oh? I, um, I had, uh, understood from Mrs. MacDunnah, over at Northland Realty, that your parents already had a buyer.”
Okay, everyone gossiped, but this… this came close to straight-out bad manners! Primly, she shook her head. “There was an offer, but they haven’t accepted it yet.”
“It was a good offer, yes?” Tiny beads of sweat speckled his forehead. Why on earth was he so upset? “At least that’s what I heard.”
Her eyes narrowed. Who was sharing personal information like that? She’d let her parents know that Mrs. MacDunnah apparently talked way too much! “I wouldn’t know.” Not exactly true, but this was none of his business. “What I do know is that none of us want to lose our home. This farm is my parents’ life. My dad grew up in it, and my grandpa! We’re not selling it, no matter how much some developer offers.”
“Yes, of course, of course.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed frantically at his forehead. “I’m sorry. Could you, um, excuse me for a minute? There’s something I need to speak to you about but, uh, there’s something… a thing… I need to do first. I’ll be just a minute.”
Her instincts growled that she should leave. Something here was not right. Still, she hushed those paranoid feelings. This was Mr. Overton, for heaven’s sake! She’d known him since she brought her first piggy bank here when she was five. If he needed a minute, she could give it to him.
The minute passed. Then one minute turned to two, two to five. At the ten-minute mark, a secretary appeared to offer her coffee and the manager’s apologies. The ‘thing’ (whatever it was) was almost done. Almost. He’d be here in (another) minute.
She had read every community service award on his desk – three times – and was just about to leave when the door behind her opened.
Energy swirled into the room, setting the hairs at the nape of her neck on end. A sense of something powerful, yet vaguely famil
iar, swept over her. Brandon! She startled to her feet, spinning around. How could he be here now?
The man who stood in the doorway wasn’t her patron. There were vague similarities between the two men. They shared high cheekbones, a powerful physique, and the dominant air of men accustomed to being obeyed. And they both were stunningly handsome. That was all they shared, however.
The stranger was light to Brandon’s shadow. Blonde hair, tinged with red highlights, flowed to the shoulders of his tailored suit. His ‘friendly’ smile never reached his brilliant green eyes, which studied her with cool disdain. As Hannah faced him, some ancient instinct woke within her. A tiny voice in the back of her mind that warned, ‘This is a predator. Be very, very careful.’ She had no idea where her crazy fancy – that Brandon had entered the room – had come from. The longer she watched the stranger, the more convinced she became that the two men were total opposites.
“Miss Stiles? Hi.” The man held out a flawlessly manicured hand, which she shook gingerly. “Sorry about the wait.”
As he offered his hand, the light glinted on the large cufflink that closed his sleeve. An elaborate golden knot, set against a blood-red stone. No, not a knot, Hannah realized. It was a Worm-like dragon, writhing, chewing off its own wings.
He was Mr. Overton’s ‘thing’ that needed to be done? She pulled her hand back after that quick shake, puzzled and uneasy. Why had she thought he was Brandon? The two men weren’t really all that much alike. “I’m sorry, Mr. Overton didn’t tell me your name.”
“Stephen LeMar. Please, sit.” Though, she noticed, he didn’t take a chair himself. He leaned against the doorframe, cutting off the room’s only exit. The thought of him, looming over her in the small room, made her shiver. Like a dove watching a hawk circle overhead.
No, she wouldn’t let him rattle her like that. Instead of taking a seat, she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “I don’t really have time to talk. It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll make this quick, then. I’m the president of C&L Enterprises. The investment company that made the offer on your family’s farm.” When she said nothing, he pressed on. “I understand that your family will – probably – reject our offer. So, I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to sweeten the deal. If there’s a higher price you’re looking for, name it.”
“That’s for my parents to decide. They’re the ones that actually own the farm.”
His smile broadened, the edges curling with a malign amusement. “But that’s not exactly true, is it? Without you, they have no choice. You’re the one who’s bailing them out. You’re the one who sold some silly antique for a small fortune.”
How dare Mr. Overton share personal information like that! Hannah sent a silent profanity in the manager’s direction.
Before she could complain, LeMar stepped closer. “And why should you do that?” His voice dropped to a deep murmur. “You’re the one who figured out what that junk was worth. You’re the one who did all the work. You deserve the rewards. Keep what’s yours,” he hissed.
He had a point… didn’t he? A second later, she started in shock. No, he didn’t. Not at all! How could she even think…?
Green eyes, cold as a lizard’s scales, watched her. Stunned by her own sudden greed, Hannah managed to shake her head. “It belongs to my family. I belong to my family. I love them and…”
“And you want to end your days in this shithole of a town?” One of his thin, plucked eyebrows arched delicately. “Are you so lacking in ambition? In desire? Look at yourself! You’re young. You’re beautiful. Why should you rot away in this hick village, slaving for a family that doesn’t deserve you?”
His words were stupid, foolish. And yet…
And yet, as she struggled to tear her gaze away from his awful, piercing eyes, a petulant greed swelled in her heart. Why should she give this to her parents? Even though she was twenty-three, they treated her like a child. Did they ever ask her how she could help? No!
LeMar slid nearer, close enough she felt the warmth of his body against her shoulder. “That check was made out to you, wasn’t it? It’s yours. Take it. Take the money and leave.” His voice grew rougher, angrier. “Leave these useless fools who seek to saddle you with their debts, their duties! Don’t listen to them when they pretend to know your destiny. Take back your life, your wealth, your future. What do you want most in the world, Miss Stiles?”
Images swirled through her mind, like fragments of a dream. Silk clothes, bright and gauzy. A room full of elegant, jewel-covered dancers – and her at the heart of them, laughing.
“You can have these things.” LeMar leaned close and whispered in her ear.
A tropical beach. Blue sky and pure white sand, stretching as far as the eye could see, and all of it for only her and Brandon.
Brandon.
His name, the thought of him, ripped through those poisonous temptations like a sword. The alluring images vanished, leaving Hannah feeling like she’d woken from a spell.
“With this much money, you can buy whatever your heart desires,” Stephen promised her.
She almost laughed at him. Maybe some men could be bought. Brandon Lorde wasn’t one of them. Nor could she put a price tag on her parents’ love or her brother Danny’s proud smile the first time he moved a leg after the accident. An achievement he owed, in great part, to her, and her tireless support.
Nothing was worth more than that.
She suddenly realized how close LeMar had inched as he spoke. How he leaned over her, touched her. Hannah’s lip wrinkled in disgust and she quickly shied away. “Not interested,” she snapped. “I need to go.”
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. One second of confused disbelief and then anger flooded his elegant face.
No, not anger. Rage. Hannah gulped and fought the urge to flee.
He towered over her, teeth bared in a snarl, a barely controlled fury twisting his handsome features into a hideous, terrifying mask. “You dare? You deny me? You spit upon my offer? I will make you regret this bitterly, you…”
Run. She had to run, to escape. Faced with his vicious, inhuman rage, however, Hannah found herself frozen like a deer in headlights.
Tap tap! A light rap on the door shattered that tension. LeMar spun, fighting to control himself, as Mr. Overton’s secretary opened the door and stepped in. Immediately, the small woman froze. His attempts to reign in his fury weren’t completely successful.
He waved his hand at the papers she held. “Give those to me! Now!” The secretary did – then immediately bolted back out of the room.
Hannah was tempted to do the same – but she was not going to let this man bully her. As he scanned the papers, scowling, she gritted her teeth and marched toward the door.
“Stop!” he yelled. She froze. Silence fell beyond the door as all talk in the bank cut short.
He turned the papers toward her. Outraged, she recognized a copy of the check she’d just deposited.
“How do you know Brandon Lorde?” LeMar demanded. His rage had vanished, replaced by some dark emotion she couldn’t quite name. It looked suspiciously like fear, however. That pleased Hannah, more than she wanted to admit.
“I sold him an antique.”
“How did you meet him? Is he an old family friend?”
He actually edged away from her! Like she was… scary? Dangerous?
Hannah didn’t stick around to find out. As the ominous stranger shifted out of the doorway, she breezed past him and strode through the shocked crowd listening in the bank.
Though she did call back over her shoulder: “That’s none of your business!”
Chapter 6
Back in the safety of her car, Hannah leaned against the steering wheel until the shivering stopped.
What was wrong with her back there? How could she think those awful things? Sure, life was rough right now, between the bills, the worry, and Danny’s rehabilitation. But did she truly dream of abandoning her fami
ly? Of running away from everyone she loved? Was she that selfish, that greedy?
No. Her nerves settled, and she leaned back into the seat. She couldn’t believe that of herself. She didn’t think of herself as a fighter – but she wasn’t a quitter either. Nothing meant more to her than the people she loved. She would never desert them.
Then why the temptation? And why were the scenes of earthly pleasures so vivid, so real? Nothing made sense anymore. It was like she’d been under some kind of spell. Hallucinating. Was she going crazy? She’d never had a dream like last night’s, where Brandon claimed her as his soul mate. Now this. Mad, cowardly urges to waste money on silly whims.
Movement in her rear-view mirror. She caught a glimpse of LeMar walking out of the bank, speaking on his cell phone. Hannah looked away, praying he wouldn’t come over. When she glanced up, he was gone.
What now? Darkness had fallen while she waited in the bank. Back at home, Mom would be putting supper on the table. No doubt, they all worried about her and why she took such a mysterious trip yesterday. She smiled, imagining the look on their faces when they realized that she – their ‘little girl’ still at twenty-three – had saved the day. She’d found a gallant, rich stranger with enough money to redeem their home. Her smile faded a bit, growing sadder, melancholy. How could she explain Brandon to them? His strength. The raw, male power that radiated from him. They’d never understand.
Maybe that was just as well. The thought startled a stifled giggle from her. She certainly wasn’t a child anymore, but she still didn’t want to try to explain to her parents the raw, passionate desire this man made her feel. And something more than pure lust. A bond, a link, like she’d found the second half of her soul.
Perhaps, if they met him, they’d understand. If she could come up with an excuse to summon him to Upstate New York.
Wait. Her eyes brightened. She did have a question for Brandon! That nasty LeMar man seemed to know him. Maybe the two were acquaintances? It was worth asking. Although Hannah doubted the question would drag her mysterious protector all the way up here, she desperately wanted a reason – any excuse – to listen to his deep, rich voice again. To hear him say her name again.