Legacy (38 page)

'I want you, Steven.' The words came to my lips as I breathed. Had I said them? The swirl of feelings enveloped all my senses and swept all thoughts away just as a strong wind tosses a single leaf. My petticoats fell, then my corset, and he was cupping my breasts in his palms, his lips pressing on mine, his tongue probing, exploring, touching me in a thousand different ways. I clung to him as he set me down on the warm, smooth softness of the quilt, arching my back to help as he slid away my garter belt, trembling at his touch as he eased off each of my stockings and let them fall softly to rest themselves atop the rest of my clothes.

I knelt before him on the bed, clad only in the thin silk drawers I had put on this morning, when my thoughts had been so far from the power that now held us both. I felt the warm tingle of moisture grow within me as I looked him straight in the eye and began to unfasten his collar. In a moment or two his shirt was unbuttoned and he stood up, taking off his coat and shirt. The muscles played across his torso and his back as he draped the garments across the top of the oak chest and then bent over to remove his shoes and trousers. The scar across his back, the curve of his thighs, the smooth ridges of muscle at his abdomen as he turned, naked, to face me - they were all familiar, yet my breath still caught in my throat and my heart raced faster. There was no turning back. I knew what I wanted, had wanted, would always . . .

He stood before me, locking my gaze with his, then savoring his prize as I slid the silk down over my legs and then stretched back, luxuriously naked, reclining on the bed as though I were an artist's model.

'Beautiful.'

'For you, Steven.'

'From the first.'

'Yes, darling, from the first.'

I reached out for him and he came to me, our bodies touching in a delicious cool pressure that grew stronger, warmer. We embraced, his tongue finding mine, his arms tight and hard and his hands, smooth and powerful, drawing mine to him. Then he entered me in a slow, sensuous thrust that awoke every dormant nerve and sent currents of sweet fire racing through my veins. I clung, rising, moving with him, every motion more exquisite than the last, wanting only him, the feel of him, the scent of his maleness, the hard roundness of his back, his buttocks under my hands. The tides of passion rose as he quickened, his thrusts driving away all restraint. Soon I moved beneath him, open, abandoned to a pulsating magic that grew ever more forceful, possessing us, bearing us high up to an infinite dark summit where time and sense hung suspended, motionless. Then as Steven cried out, shuddering, a mighty rush of feeling seemed to burst forth from within me, and the two of us plunged headlong down the slope of a great, curling wave that came crashing over us, throbbing, surging, and then slowly, slowly ebbed away.

I felt his muscles soften as the peace enveloped us. The calm, soft emptiness held us together while I pressed him close to me, sighing a little, savoring the warm glow that he had awakened once again. I closed my eyes. It was so lovely here in the quiet protection of his strength. From somewhere halfway between deep sleep and wakefulness, I drifted for what must have been several minutes. Before he stood up, he kissed me lightly on the mouth.

Sometime later, after I had dressed, I came downstairs to find him in the library. Beside his green leather chair on the polished ebony table was a decanter of bourbon. The glass in his hand was half empty.

The dark eyes flickered over me as I entered, then glanced at the mantel clock. 'Not a hair out of place,' he murmured almost as though to himself. Then he lifted his glass to me and drank.

'Rather early, isn't it?' I crossed over to him, touching his hair lightly with my fingertips.

'Never too early. Want some?'

Something in his manner made me wary, distant. Why was he drinking? After what we had shared, what could . . . and then I remembered that Brad Graybar was coming.

'I think I can face your father without that,' I said. Then something made me say, 'Why can't you?'

The remark stung him. I could see he was making an effort to control his temper. He set the glass down on the table, then stood up and walked me over to another leather-upholstered chair. Speaking evenly, he said, 'There are things you don't know yet, Catherine. I have an idea what Brad is going to say this afternoon; you don't.'

Now it was my turn. My temper began to flare up at his aloofness, his sudden making of himself into some sort of stranger from me so soon after what we two had just shared. 'Oh, I don't? Why don't I? Whose fault is that? Or don't you think you need to be considerate, now that you . .. '

'Stop it, Catherine. This has to do with business. It has nothing to do with the two of us.'

'Except for the fact that you know that I'll be glad to hear about it. Isn't that what you told me earlier? Or was that the truth?'

I looked at him, searchingly, while his face remained impassive. But I could read the answer in his eyes.

'You lied to me, didn't you? What is it that Brad wants? Tell me!'

He gave a sardonic smile, then a momentary silent breath of bitter laughter. 'Brad's going to speak for himself. Maybe he's changed his mind, though I doubt it. In any case, you'll hear him soon enough.'

There was the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside.

'What makes you so certain that I won't be pleased with what he says?'

'Because I know you, Catherine. I know your temper, I know the way you react, I know the way you feel about your father.'

'My father? What does this have to do with . . .'

'I told you that Brad would speak for himself. But before he says anything, I want you to know that the only reason I had anything to do with it was because I think it could be worth a great deal of money to both of us.'

'Is money so . . . important?'

'You seem to think it is. Aren't you the one who's trying to run the Rawlings properties and pay off his debts?'

'Why are we quarreling now, Steven? We were so close . . .'

He shook his head slightly, the eyes half shut even as he interrupted. 'Can't be helped. That is the way we are. This is the way things are. Maybe when you think about it we'll be together again.'

'What are you talking about? What do you mean with this?'

But he simply closed his eyes. Voices came from the hallway outside. In a moment the library doors opened wider and there stood Brad Graybar. A tall, exceedingly attractive woman stood just behind him, eyeing me nonchalantly.

'Well, Miss Rawlings, glad you're here.' Brad turned to the dark-haired woman. 'You want to go upstairs now,' he said. She shrugged, her painted features seemingly indifferent, though she continued to look at me for a moment before she turned to go. A glance from Brad made her move a bit less slowly, though it was plain that she resented his not having introduced her. I remembered the closed room on the fourth floor the night of the ball, the room where Steven had said she had secluded herself. How painful to have to endure that kind of disrespect from a man! Her life before Brad must have been dreadful, indeed, for her to continue subjecting herself to such indignities - although Steven had said that Brad had taken her shopping in town . . .

Brad had come expansively into the room, taking off his black wool coat and flinging it over a chair. His close-fitting white shirt brought to mind the first time I had seen him, that Saturday afternoon when he had directed the tormenting of Shaw. I would have to remember that side of his character, whatever his offer was, I thought.

He nodded briefly at Steven as he took the chair behind the polished ebony table. His gaze took in the decanter and Steven's near-empty glass. The teeth showed white as his leathery face creased into a smile. Would Steven look that hardened someday?

'Well, now, Miss Rawlings' - he took a long, thick cigar from a leather box on the table - 'mighty sad business about your father. Wanted to come to the funeral and all, but I didn't. I knew folks'd start talkin', and I didn't think you'd.want that.'

I kept my voice neutral. 'Yes. I understand from Steven that you have some business you want to discuss.'

He lit his cigar and then blew a slow cloud of grey smoke towards the ceiling, as though he were making up his mind about something. 'Well, fact is,' he said, still looking up into the air, 'I wanted to get somethin' else out of the way first.

You see, I know that the fella who shot your father used to work for me.' He brought his eyes down level with mine and looked straight at me now as he spoke. 'But he wasn't workin' for me then. I fired him right after I learned he'd shot up that night watchman at your father's mill.'

Was he telling the truth? Instinctively, I glanced over to where Steven was sitting. Arms folded, he gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement. But would Steven be capable of lying to protect his father? I considered the idea, then dropped it. It was unlikely; there was little love lost between the two of them. And even if I could somehow prove it, what good would that do? Brad was not fool enough to have left any evidence that he had ordered Red Campbell to kill my father.

'Instead of just firing him,' I replied, 'you should have had him arrested. But that doesn't help matters any to say it now. What's your proposition?'

He grimaced, though I could see he was still not about to lose his temper. Whatever he was going to propose, it was clear that Brad wanted it badly enough to stay on my good side.

'I'm trying to make you see the background, Miss Rawlings. If you want to remember that I was fightin' your father up to the end, fine. I was. Just don't take it too far. I wanted to beat him; he wanted to beat me. No gettin' around it. But I didn't want him dead.'

'I should imagine he felt the same,' I said dryly. 'The two of you certainly had enough opportunities to kill each other before now. But I don't see why you put so much weight on it.'

The tip of his cigar glowed red. 'You will. What I'm proposin', Miss Rawlings, is a . . . let's call it a workin' alliance between our two families. Now that your . . . that the argument between your father and me is past, I think that's possible. And I also think that you'll agree with me when I say that the Rawlings and the Graybar properties together would make the largest single power in the region's industry.'

'What sort of alliance are you talking about?'

'Well, for one thing, I understand that you're now in need of help to stave off a few hungry banks that'd like a piece of your holdin's. I could provide some political pressure' - he looked over at an impassive Steven - 'and possibly some capital. Steven may have mentioned that we expect to be sellin' our shares in the Boom Company in a short while, and that will generate, as you probably know, considerable revenue.'

I nodded, but I said nothing. Brad would have a surprise coming to him when he learned that I no longer needed help with the bankers. There was no point in lying to him, but there was no point in volunteering the information, either.

He raised his large grey eyebrows. 'What's your reaction? Would you like that kind of help?'

'Mr. Graybar, my father told me never to comment on part of a proposition without hearing the rest of it first. I've always thought that was good advice, and I intend to follow it.'

He nodded. 'Most commendable. Well, then, I would also give you the benefit of my experience and guidance in matters concerning the . . . management of what are now the Rawlings properties.'

'Oh? Are you trying to say that you'd want to run our holdings? Because if you are ... '

He held up his hand, interrupting. 'No, I'm talkin' about somethin' different from that. I want you to keep an open mind now. I'm talkin' about a different kind of relationship between our families, and I'll need your help if it's ever to come about.'

'What sort of help?'

'Miss Rawlings, let me ask you somethin'. You know that your father and I were enemies.' He rubbed under one eye with his forefinger. 'But do you know the cause of the quarrel? Do you know what started it all?'