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Forbidden Passion
Emilie Rose
Sometimes not even the forbidden can be denied…No sooner had his brother been laid to rest when a moment of grief and confusion exploded into passion for Sawyer Riggan and his newly widowed sister-in-law, Lynn. It was an earthshaking encounter neither could forget, but had it left more than memories behind…?Lynn believed empty bank accounts and cruel jibes in her late husband's diary were his only legacy to her, but there may be another growing in her womb. With the father of her child in question, the marriage of convenience Sawyer suggested might be all too convenient given the fires that still burned between them. For when the true paternity was revealed, what future might they share?
He Collapsed Against Her, Sandwiching Her Body Between The Scorching Heat Of His And The Hardness Of The Staircase.
Floating on a haze of satiation, she pressed her lips to his throat and tasted the salty tang of his skin.
She laid a hand over Sawyer’s pounding heart and struggled for comprehension. What had just happened? And why now with Sawyer? Every cell in her body pulsed with life. Her heart thundered, and the numbness she’d known for years had vanished. Her late husband’s lovemaking—if you could call it that—had never moved her the way his brother’s desperate coupling had. Even in the midst of madness, Sawyer had ensured her pleasure, but even before her body cooled, regrets forced themselves forward.
Dear heavens, what had she done?
Forbidden Passion
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
EMILIE ROSE
lives in North Carolina with her college sweetheart husband and four sons. This bestselling author’s love for romance novels developed when she was twelve years old and her mother hid them under sofa cushions each time Emilie entered the room. Emilie grew up riding and showing horses. She’s a devoted baseball mom during the season and can usually be found in the bleachers watching one of her sons play. Her hobbies include quilting, cooking (especially cheesecake) and anything cowboy. Her favorite TV shows include Discovery Channel’s medical programs, ER, CSI and Boston Public. Emilie’s a country music fan because there’s an entire book in nearly every song.
Emilie loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619 or at www.EmilieRose.com.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
One
Her husband. She’d loved him. She’d hated him. And now he was gone. Guilt and pain seeped through Lynn Riggan, chilling her to the bone. She’d wanted to end her marriage, but not this way. Never this way.
Eager to shed her painful four-inch heels and a dress so tight she hadn’t been able to sit down all day, she closed the front door behind the last of the mourners and sagged against it. God, she hated this dress, but it was the only black one she owned that wasn’t cut to reveal more cleavage than she felt comfortable displaying at a funeral, and Brett had liked it. She took comfort in the fact that today was the last time she’d have to dress to impress someone else.
“Are you all right?” Her brother-in-law’s quiet baritone scraped over her raw nerves.
She clenched her teeth, swallowed hard and opened her eyes. Straightening, she folded her hands at her waist and forced a smile she did not feel. Her lips quivered, and she knew she hadn’t fooled Sawyer when his dark brows dipped with concern.
He crossed the cool marble foyer and stopped in front of her. “Lynn?”
“I thought you’d left.” She wished he had because she hated for him to see her this way. Weak. Needy. Her world was falling apart, and she didn’t have the strength to pretend everything would be all right—not even for Sawyer’s sake.
“I stepped out back for a minute.” Losing his beloved baby brother had been hard on him. Grief filled his cobalt-blue eyes and deepened the laugh lines fanning from the corners. A muscle ticked in the tense line of his chiseled jaw. His ruggedly handsome features were drawn and pale, and his shiny dark hair looked as if the late-spring breeze or restless fingers had tumbled it. The rigid set of his broad shoulders beneath his black suit revealed how tightly he held his emotions in check.
“You should go home and rest, Sawyer.” Please leave before I crumble.
“Yeah. Probably. But I feel so damned…empty.” He shoved a hand through his inky hair, mussing it even more. A lock curled over his forehead, making him look more like a college boy than the thirty-two-year-old CEO of a privately owned computer software company. “I keep waiting for Brett to come through that door laughing and shouting, �Gotcha.’”
Yes, Brett had liked cruel jokes. She’d been the butt of several. His worst joke yet was the financial mess he’d left for her to unravel. But even he couldn’t have faked the fiery car accident that had taken his life.
Sawyer’s eyes lasered in on hers. “Will you be all right here alone?”
Alone. Already the walls of this mausoleum of a house closed in on her. Right now she needed a hug more than anything, but she’d learned how to survive without that simple comfort a long time ago. She chewed her lip, wrapped her arms around her middle and avoided his probing gaze. “I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and her muscles ached from pacing the floor all night. She wished she’d never found that key in the plastic bag of personal effects the hospital personnel had given her. If she hadn’t found the key, she wouldn’t have opened the safe. And if she hadn’t opened the safe… She took one shaky breath and then another trying to ward off panic.
What was she going to do?
She’d been searching for a life insurance policy to cover the funeral costs, and instead she’d discovered statements from empty bank accounts and a private journal in which her husband had written that he’d never loved her, that he found her such a dud in bed that he’d turned to another woman for pleasure. He’d catalogued her faults in excruciating detail.
“Lynn?” Sawyer lifted her chin with the warm tip of his finger. “Do you want me to stay tonight? I could bunk in the guest room.”
No, he couldn’t. She’d moved to the guest room months ago, and if he saw her personal belongings in the room he’d know that all wasn’t right in the Riggan household. She didn’t want to tell Sawyer that she and Brett had been having trouble for months, and she’d suspected her husband might be having an affair. She’d even consulted a lawyer about a divorce, but Brett had blamed their problems on his workload and charmed her into giving him one more chance. Against her better judgment, she’d allowed him to convince her that a baby would bring them closer, and they’d slept together one last time—just moments before she’d found proof of his infidelity, lost her temper and kicked him out of the house. Minutes later he’d died in the car crash.
“No, I’m okay.” Her voice cracked over the last word and a tremor worked through her. She had no money, no job, and no way to pay for this extravagant house Brett had insisted they buy. The house and car payments were due, and she had no idea how she’d make them. As if that weren’t enough…
Her nerves stretched to the breaking point. She pressed a hand to her belly and prayed that the intimacy with her husband three nights ago wouldn’t result in a child. She loved children, and she’d always wanted a large family, but she didn’t know how she’d take care of herself right now, let alone a baby.
Sawyer pulled her into his arms, breaking her train of self-pity. After a stiff moment, she laid her head on his shoulder and selfishly allowed herself to savor the comforting warmth of the strong arms enfolding her and the softness of his suit against her cheek. A sob hiccuped past the knot in her throat. She mashed her lips together, clenched her teeth and stiffened her spine. She was not a quitter. She would survive this.
“Shhh,” he murmured against her temple. The whisper of his breath swept her skin, and his hands chafed her spine. The spicy scent of his cologne invaded her senses. A shiver of another kind worked over her. Appalled, she tried to pull free, but his arms held fast. His chest shuddered against hers, and a warm, wet trail burned down her neck. Sawyer’s tears.
Her throat clogged and her heart squeezed in sympathy. Sawyer had stood beside her through identifying Brett’s body and every step of the funeral arrangements. The fact that he’d hidden his grief and been strong for her up to this point made his loss of control more heart-wrenching. She focused on his pain rather than her own. It was safer that way, because hers was tied up with so many other emotions. Disappointment. Failure. Anger. Betrayal. Guilt.
“It’ll be okay.” She parroted the meaningless words she’d heard a dozen times in the past three days. “We’ll get through this, Sawyer, one day at a time.”
Wanting to offer him the comfort she sorely needed herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle, held him close and patted his back. She whispered soothing nonsense into his ear, but nothing she could say or do would change the past. She couldn’t bring Brett back.
Sawyer’s arms tightened around her and his chest pressed against her breasts in a warm, solid wall. He lowered his head and tucked his face into the side of her neck. His breath heated her skin. A spark flared in her midsection. She tried to ignore it, but it had been years since she’d been held tenderly, and she’d been frozen inside for so long by her husband’s callous treatment. It wasn’t Sawyer’s fault that her needy body misinterpreted his consoling gesture.
His breath shuddered in and out as if he struggled for control. He loosened his arms, straightened and drew back an inch. Swiping a hand over his face, he grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“It’s okay.” Seeing this strong man break nearly undid her. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head unexpectedly. Their cheeks and noses brushed and her pulse skittered. Drawing a sharp breath, she eased back on her heels. The lapels of his suit coat scraped across the thin fabric of her snug dress, and the resulting tingle in her breasts and belly alarmed her. Shamed her. How could her body respond to Sawyer’s, but not to her own husband’s?
Brett’s last damning words, Frigid bitch, echoed in her ears. She hadn’t been frigid until he’d hurt her, selfishly taking what he wanted without concern for her pleasure. After that something had curled up inside her each time he’d touched her. She’d dreaded the intimate side of their marriage because it represented her failure as wife and a woman.
“I want to forget.” Sawyer’s anguished whisper shredded her heart and weakened the emotional dam she’d built around her fragile emotions.
“I know. Me, too.” She traced the deep groove grief had etched in his cheek with an unsteady hand. His afternoon beard stubble abraded her fingertips. The raspy sensation traveled up her arm like a mild electric current. She yanked her hand away and wiped her tingling palm against her hip.
Scant inches separated their lips, and their breaths mingled. The pain in Sawyer’s eyes slowly changed into surprise and then into something else—something that warmed her, scared her, made her heart race and her muscles tense, but she couldn’t look away. She wet her lips and searched in vain for the words to end this awkward, forbidden moment.
Sawyer’s dark lashes swept down to conceal his expression. Before she could step back, his hands cupped her elbows and his mouth crushed hers in a desperate kiss. Shock held her rigid, but what stunned her more than the unexpected kiss was her reaction to it. A heady rush of desire transported her back to the night of her last date with Sawyer when she’d thought he might be “the one.” Back to the time before her heart had been broken and Brett had come into her life, when she’d felt beautiful and desirable instead of ugly and unresponsive, and she’d still held hope for her future instead of despair.
Sawyer withdrew and their gazes locked for one paralyzing moment. He lifted an unsteady hand to gently stroke her face and cup her jaw in the warmth of his palm. His thumb skated over her damp bottom lip and her breath hitched. Moving slowly, as if giving her the option to object, he bent over her again, peppering kisses over her forehead and cheeks.
Stop this insanity, she thought. But her body had been numb for so long, and Sawyer’s touch awakened her as if he’d pushed the stone away from the entrance to the cave where her soul had been entombed for the past four years. Heat seeped through her, thawing the parts of her that her husband had numbed with his caustic comments.
Sawyer’s lips touched hers again, this time gentling and clinging before withdrawing a scant inch. His breath hissed in and out, once, twice, sweeping over her skin like a dense seductive fog, before he took her mouth hungrily.
Lynn’s blood swept through her veins like a hot desert wind, warming her, stirring her, and her lips parted in a stunned gasp. His tongue found hers. During her marriage she’d become accustomed to Brett’s gagging, conquering kisses, but she had no clue how to handle Sawyer’s gentle persuasion. Her skin grew damp and tingly instead of crawling with revulsion. She tentatively touched her tongue to the slick heat of his, and his grip on her arms tightened, though his embrace wasn’t painful. She wouldn’t bear bruises once this lunacy ended. And it should end. Now. But she didn’t have the will or the strength to break away.
His hands skimmed gently over the sides of her breasts and the curve of her waist before settling on her hips. Her senses rioted and her head spun.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her lips, but even though his words urged her away, the hands splaying over her bottom pulled her closer.
The heat of his body permeated the fabric of her dress from her knees to her shoulders. His hard planes fused to her soft curves, and the thick ridge of his arousal pressed against her belly, shocking her. Arousing her. She couldn’t have pushed him away if her life depended on it, and without his supporting arms, her weak knees would have folded. Curling her fingers into the lapels of his jacket, she held fast and tipped her head back to gasp for air.
She barely had time to draw a breath before Sawyer devoured her mouth with an unleashed hunger that should have frightened her. Instead it made her yearn for more. His hands kindled a fire within her, stroking her waist and then the sensitive skin beneath her breasts. A moan bubbled in her throat when he gently cupped her flesh and teased her taut nipples with his thumbs. His thigh nudged hers apart as much as her snug dress would allow, and hard, hot muscle pressed against her core.
Her belly ached with need—a need she hadn’t felt in years. Her knees shook. What was she doing? Was she crazy? She couldn’t bring herself to answer the questions. Brushing aside his jacket, she flattened her hands over the thin cotton of his shirt. His heart pounded against her palm, and hers raced just as fast.
He shrugged out of his suit coat with abrupt, jerky movements, tossed it aside and reached for her again. His cobalt gaze locked with hers. She couldn’t look away. The fiery passion in his eyes made her tremble. Inside. Outside. All over.
His fingers tunneled through her upswept hair, sending pins pinging onto the marble floor seconds before the long, cool strands of her hair tumbled against her neck and shoulders. Sawyer took one audible breath and then another.
“Lynn.” His rough voice pleaded, but for what she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter because her voice—along with her sanity, evidently—had left her. She couldn’t think beyond the fact that Sawyer wanted her.
She touched a finger to the muscle ticking in his jaw. He angled his head, pressing his lips to her wrist, and then his lips parted and his tongue swirled an intoxicating pattern over her skin. Liquid fire surged through her.
His hands skated over her hips and then tunneled beneath the hem of her dress. Her breath lodged in her throat. His fingers burned against the back of her thighs and then through the thin silk of her panties. He kneaded her bottom once, twice. Cool air swept her thighs and then her buttocks as he hiked up her skirt and eased her panties down. His hot, long-fingered hands cupped and caressed bare skin with a gentleness that made her melt. Her entire body flushed and her head fell back. A hollow ache formed in her belly and a moan rose from her chest.
Sawyer nibbled her neck, her jaw, her earlobe. He nudged her backward until the first stair riser pressed her heels. When he urged her to sit she let her weak knees fold. The roughness of carpeted stair runner abraded her tender skin. Sawyer whisked her panties over her ankles, knelt between her knees and reached for his belt buckle. Her insides combusted and her heart jumped to her throat. She dug her nails into the carpet and struggled for sanity.
A fragment of her mind acknowledged what was going to happen if she didn’t put an end to this madness. She should stop him, but her body tingled with awareness, and her pulse and the juncture of her thighs throbbed with life for the first time in years. She felt like a woman instead of a block of wood. She remained mute.
Rather than shove Sawyer away, she reached for him, helping him push his trousers over his lean hips, and then she burrowed her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and clasped the supple skin at his waist. His body heat scorched her palms. Her pulse raced faster, and she gulped one lungful of air after another.
His breath whistled through clenched teeth, and his hands tightened on her thighs, easing them farther apart. He urged her back against the carpeted stairs and consumed her mouth with hot, intoxicating, sanity-robbing thoroughness. The thick head of his erection parted her folds, finding her wetness, and then he thrust deep. Air gushed from her lungs at the feeling of fullness.
It didn’t hurt, a surprised voice echoed in her head before the brush of his thumb at the juncture of their bodies chased all rational thought from her mind. He thrust deep and stroked her, suckled her neck and caressed her bottom, pushing and chasing her on an uphill climb until she reached the top and tumbled over in a freefall of unfamiliar sensation.
Surprised, she dug her nails into the firm muscles of his buttocks as her body clenched around his in involuntary spasms. His teeth scraped against her collarbone, and then he groaned her name against her pounding pulse point.
Sawyer lunged and withdrew again and again. Twining her arms around him, Lynn held him tight and let the tide of sensation sweep her away. Her loosened muscles gave way and her thighs spread wider, allowing Sawyer to rock deeper inside her—deep enough to reach the portions of her soul that she’d hidden away. Cradling her face in his hands, he slammed his lips against hers, devouring her mouth and tangling tongues like a starving man. A responding hunger rekindled within her. He shifted the angle of his hips, creating a new friction against the sensitive flesh he’d plied so skillfully, and Lynn found herself climbing again. She arched to meet his thrusts. Sawyer shuddered and shivered, pulsing deep inside her core, and she tumbled over the precipice again.
He collapsed against her, sandwiching her body between the scorching heat of his and the hardness of the staircase. Their labored breaths echoed in the two-story foyer. Floating on a haze of satiation, she pressed her lips to his throat and tasted the salty tang of his skin. His chest hair tickled her lips, tantalized her cheek.
She laid a hand over Sawyer’s pounding heart and struggled for comprehension. What had just happened? And why now with Sawyer? Every cell in her body pulsed with life. Her heart thundered, and the numbness she’d known for years had vanished. Brett’s lovemaking—if you could call it that—had never moved her the way Sawyer’s desperate coupling had. Even in the midst of madness, Sawyer had ensured her pleasure, but even before her body cooled, regrets forced themselves forward.
Dear heavens, what had she done?
Sweat dampened Sawyer’s skin, adhering his shirt to his back. His heart hammered and he panted for breath.
Lynn shoved at his chest. The combination of panic and regret in her sky-blue eyes knotted his stomach, and then she looked at her wedding band, tightly closed her eyes and tucked her softly rounded chin to her chest.
What had he done? Regret hit him like a dagger in the heart. How could he have taken advantage of his brother’s grieving widow? Stone-cold sober, he staggered to his feet, but his legs quivered beneath him as unsteady as a newborn colt’s. Ashamed of his loss of control, he yanked up his pants and shoved in his shirt-tails. In his haste he nearly maimed himself with his zipper. He swore, and she flinched, biting her plump bottom lip until he expected to see blood. Her posture grew tenser by the second.
“I’m sorry, Lynn. That shouldn’t have happened.” He sounded as if he’d swallowed a bucket of rocks, but it was a miracle he got any words past the knot in his throat.
Looking everywhere but at him, she struggled to her feet and batted the hem of her dress over her long legs. She finger combed the tangles from her mussed golden hair with trembling hands.
He fisted his hands on the urge to help tame her silky tresses, and followed her horrified gaze to the black panties on the white marble floor by the front door. Self-disgust crawled over his skin. He’d lost control, yanked her skirt above her waist and taken her like some damned frat boy. Hell, they were both fully dressed except for her panties.
Ass. Idiot. What were you thinking?
“It’s okay, Sawyer. We were both hurting and wanted—needed—to forget for a moment. It won’t happen again.” The tightness of her voice and the pallor of her creamy skin belied her casual words.
“You want to forget what just happened?” Impossible. How could he forget the silkiness of her skin beneath his palms, the sweet taste of her mouth or the satiny, wet folds that had surrounded him?
“Yes, please.” Her whispered plea destroyed him.
“Unless you’re on the pill, forgetting might not be an option. I didn’t use protection. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never been careless before.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed visibly. Her thin black dress molded every tantalizing curve of her body, making the rise and fall of her breasts on shaky breaths hard to miss.
Get with the program, Riggan. She’s your brother’s wife. “Lynn, are you taking contraceptives?”
She mashed the bow of her lips into a flat line. Her chin quivered. “I’m tired. Would you excuse me?”
His gut knotted, and sweat beaded on his upper lip. “Lynn?”
Her finely arched brows dipped, and her eyes clouded. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I’m not taking contraceptives and the timing…the timing isn’t the best.”
Hell. He caught her by her upper arms. “What are you saying? You could get pregnant now? How can you be sure?”
Every vestige of color faded from her delicate features, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes. A fine tremor worked its way through her body. The urge to pull her closer made him tighten his fingers before common sense rallied. Comforting her, taking comfort in her, had already gotten him into a world of trouble. He’d crossed the line. Releasing her, he shoved his fists into his pockets and stepped back.
She lifted a trembling hand to cover the pulse leaping at the base of her throat. Her other hand spread over her flat belly, where even now their cells could be merging to create a new life. He couldn’t even begin to put a name to the emotions the knowledge stirred inside him, and fighting the need to lay his hand over hers took everything he had.
“Brett and I were trying to start a family and we…” She ducked her chin. A rush of pink swept her high cheekbones before the curtain of her hair swept forward to conceal her features. “The day he died was the beginning of my fertile cycle.”
His belly bottomed out. Could this day get any worse? He’d buried his baby brother, made love to his brother’s wife and may have impregnated a woman he should be protecting, not hurting. And then her words sank in. She and Brett had been trying to make a baby. Brett had been the only family he had left, and his brother’s seed might already be growing inside Lynn’s womb. Sawyer clutched the link to Brett like a lifeline.
He might be an uncle.
Or a father. He swallowed the lump in his throat and struggled to breathe despite the constriction of his chest muscles. The first would be a blessing, the second a curse on his soul for taking what wasn’t his and yet, he liked the idea of Lynn having his baby. The possibility tied his insides into knots—knots he couldn’t unravel when his thoughts were as convoluted as this. He shoved the issue aside to deal with later, when he’d recovered a shred of reason.
He should leave, get the hell out of here before he made things worse, but he couldn’t until he knew Brett had provided for Lynn. “I stayed behind because I need to know if Brett’s life insurance will be enough to support you—” he swallowed again, but the tightness in his throat persisted “—and a child.”
The silence stretched so long that he didn’t think she’d answer, and then her gaze met his. She looked so damned fragile. He sucked a sharp breath at the worry in her eyes and battled the urge to pull her close.
“Brett let the policy lapse.”
Great. His brother had never been one for what he considered trivial details. “What will you do?”
She shifted on her feet, reminding him that she was bare and wet beneath the skirt of her dress. Hell. He yanked his thoughts back on track.
Her jaw set. “I’d rather not discuss this now, Sawyer.”
He fisted his hands in frustration. “I’m not trying to be callous. I know you’re tired and it’s been a rough day, and I’ve added to that, but I won’t leave until I know you have enough money to cover immediate expenses.”
“That’s not your problem. If I have to I’ll get a job.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. I can always go back to waitressing.”
Lynn had been a waitress in a downtown Chapel Hill coffee shop when he’d met her four and a half years ago. She’d lured him with her sunny smile, sky-blue eyes and sun-streaked blond hair, and then she’d hooked him with her contradictions. Her work uniform had consisted of a starched white shirt, pure schoolmarm, and a short black skirt, one hundred percent siren when combined with her long, lithe legs and a no-nonsense hip-swinging gait. She’d been shy until he’d gotten to know her, and then her gutsy and ambitious side had peeked through and reeled him in. Lynn dreamed big—something they had in common.
He’d debated for months before asking her out because she was too young for him, but in the end he couldn’t resist. They’d dated a few times, and then he’d made the second biggest mistake of his life. He’d introduced her to his brother. An extended business trip had called him out of town, and he’d returned to find Brett and Lynn married.
Move on, Riggan. You can’t change the past. She chose Brett. “You’d only make minimum wage. You deserve better.”
“Sawyer, I have a high school diploma and one semester of college. I’m not qualified for anything better.”
“You should have finished school.”
Lynn looked away, revealing beard burn on the delicate skin of her neck. He’d marked her in his passion. The unexpected urge to soothe her chafed skin with his mouth hit him hard. “Brett wanted me here.”
That wasn’t the way Brett told the story. “Have you gone over the finances with your accountant yet?”
“Brett kept our books.”
His belly sank even lower. Brett was a marketing genius, but numbers had never been his strong suit. “When will you meet with the lawyer to go over the will? You need to know if you have enough money to hold on to the house and your car.”
She pressed a hand to her temple and bowed her head. He wanted to smooth her tangled hair as badly as he wanted his next breath. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’ll meet with the lawyer in a few days, but I’ve looked over the accounts. Money is going to be tight until I sell the house.”
Her words didn’t make sense. Brett had earned a generous salary as marketing director of Riggan CyberQuest. “You’re selling the house?”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. The wariness and fear in her eyes knotted his gut. “It’s too big for just me.”
He cursed his brother. If Brett had kept up the life insurance policy then Lynn wouldn’t be forced to sell the house where she and Brett had lived—he swallowed hard—and loved. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing, thanks. I’ve already contacted a real estate agent. He’s coming out to give me an appraisal.” She seemed determined to tough it out alone.
He was just as determined to help her. Lynn was his responsibility now—especially if she carried a Riggan baby in her belly. “You can move in with me until you find a new place.”
Her eyes rounded. “I…no, thank you.”
He couldn’t blame her, since he’d violated her trust today. He shoved a hand through his hair. “What happened today… I can’t tell you how much I regret it. I won’t lose control again. You have my word, Lynn.”
Why did the words feel like a lie? And why did Lynn flinch as if he’d slapped her? He wanted to kick himself. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and extracted the cash inside. “This is all I have with me, but I can get more—as much as you need.”
She recoiled, and her skin flushed. “Are you trying to make me feel like a hooker?”
He winced and his skin heated. “No.” Dammit. “I thought you might need money for food or…whatever.”
She made no move to take the cash. “The neighbors brought enough food to last a week. I don’t need anything else.”
“I want to help—”
“I know you’re used to taking care of Brett, but I’m twenty-three years old, Sawyer. I can take care of myself. Now I’m exhausted, so I hope you’ll excuse me.” She opened the front door. Her invitation to leave couldn’t have been clearer.
“Lynn—”
“Please, Sawyer, I just can’t do this right now. Go home.”
She looked ready to collapse, so he didn’t argue. “We’re not finished.”
Two
“You’re saying the situation is worse than I thought?” Lynn perched on the edge of her chair across from Mr. Allen, the estate lawyer. Her nails dug into her palms, and her stomach clenched into a tight knot. An hour’s worth of legal terminology spun in a confusing mass in her head.
The older gentleman regarded her somberly through his wire-rimmed bifocals from across his wide cherry desk. The richly furnished office smelled like money. Ironically, he’d just told her she had none.
“Your husband’s estate is heavily burdened with debt, Mrs. Riggan. You’ll have to liquidate your assets to cover those debts. As far as I can ascertain the thirty-percent share of Riggan CyberQuest you’ve inherited is your only debt-free asset.”
Lynn gulped her rising panic and stiffened her spine. “So I should sell Brett’s share of the company?”
“Yes, if you hope to have anything to live off, but your brother-in-law has right of first refusal should you choose to sell.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Sawyer will want to buy Brett’s share.”
Mr. Allen shuffled the papers in front of him until she thought her nerves would snap. “You have rights of survivorship on your home which means you can sell it without waiting for the estate to be settled, and I would highly recommend you do so before the bank takes action, since your payments are past due. I’ll have my secretary give you the names of several reputable estate appraisers. You can have your household items assessed and then choose one of the estate men to help you divest yourself of anything of value.”
She clenched her hands to stop their trembling and nodded. The tasks ahead seemed insurmountable, but Brett’s share of the company should give her enough to start over and to get an education so she could support herself.
The attorney continued, “You’ve provided receipts showing you’ve paid for the funeral services, and yet the money wasn’t withdrawn from any of your bank accounts.”
Lynn twisted her plain gold wedding band around her finger. “No, I returned a gift my husband had recently bought…for me and used that money.”
If second thoughts about their reconciliation hadn’t driven her from the bed after their intimate encounter would she have ever known about Brett’s mistress?
She’d picked up her husband’s suit from the floor the way she’d done dozens of times before, but this time a jewelry box had fallen from his coat pocket and sprung open to reveal a huge diamond ring. She’d been touched—not because she’d liked the gaudy ring, but because she’d believed the gift signified a new start to their troubled marriage. The inscription inside the platinum band had crushed her hopes. “To Nina with love, Brett.” At that moment her worst fears had been proven. Her husband had been unfaithful.
Stunned, she’d looked at Brett, and he’d concocted a story—he always had a story—about buying the ring for her and then deciding it wasn’t her style. He’d claimed he planned to return it the next day and had even produced the receipt to prove his point. The worst part was that she probably would have swallowed his lies again if she hadn’t read the inscription. He claimed the jeweler had made a mistake, but she knew better. Finally, the rose-colored glasses had shattered, and she could see the lie in his eyes.
If she hadn’t been so angered by her own gullibility and lashed out at him verbally, egged on by years of broken dreams, would he still be alive? She’d screamed at him to get out of the house, vowing to file the divorce papers the next day. He’d stormed out, and less than an hour later the police had knocked on her door to tell her Brett was dead.
When it had become clear that there wasn’t any money to pay for the funeral, she’d returned the ring to the jeweler’s. His mistress’s ring had cost more than ten thousand dollars. Her own ring, a plain gold band, had cost one hundred, which only went to show how much he valued her.
How had she been so blind? So stupid?
“Mrs. Riggan?” Mr. Allen’s quiet voice interrupted her self-castigation.
She jerked to attention. “Yes?”
“I have one more suggestion. Seek employment as soon as possible.”
Lynn had ducked him for the last time. He would see her today, dammit.
Sawyer ground his teeth and navigated through the congestion in Lynn and Brett’s normally quiet neighborhood on Saturday morning. During the past week he’d left enough messages on Lynn’s answering machine to fill a book. Sure, she’d returned his calls, but she’d left brief messages on his home answering machine when she knew he’d be at work, rather than call him at the office and speak to him directly.
How could he take care of her if he couldn’t even talk to her and find out what she needed?
He’d given her time because the memory of her taste, of the slick heat of her body clenching his and her gasps of passion still haunted his dreams, but he wasn’t going to let her get away with avoiding him any longer.
He turned onto her street, and traffic slowed to a crawl. The For Sale sign by the curb jolted him, but the Yard Sale sign sent his heart slamming against his ribs.
His brother’s belongings lay scattered across the lawn and driveway. Scavengers hunted through the entrails of Brett’s life. Rage boiled in Sawyer’s chest. Brett had only been gone ten days, and Lynn seemed determined to erase his existence.
Pulling into a spot by the curb, Sawyer threw open his car door and stalked toward Lynn. Her pale-yellow shorts and sleeveless sweater skimmed her curves in a way guaranteed to make any red-blooded male stand up and take notice. Her bare arms and legs were sleek, tanned and toned, and the V-neck of her sweater revealed a mouthwatering hint of cleavage. Her hair cascaded down her back like polished gold, and she’d outlined her mouth in deep pink—the same shade he’d kissed off her lips. His libido stirred, but right now his anger edged out his primeval response by a slim margin.
She glanced up from her cash box and their gazes met. Wariness filled her eyes.
“What are you doing?” He managed not to shout, but fury vibrated in his voice.
Her white teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I’m selling items I won’t have room for when I move to a smaller place.”
“Those are Brett’s books, his golf clubs, his clothes.”
“Sawyer, I’m sorry. I should have warned you about the yard sale.”
“Hell, you have everything he owned out here.” He fought the urge to sweep it all up and carry it back into the house.
Lynn winced and glanced over her shoulder, making him aware that several shoppers had stopped to eavesdrop shamelessly. Catching her elbow, he ushered her to the side of the lawn.
She focused soft, sympathetic eyes on him. “I separated out the items I thought you might want, but if you see anything out here that you’d like, then please, take it.”
“That’s not the point. It’s as if you’re trying to erase Brett from your memory.” He wasn’t ready to let go yet, and she shouldn’t be, either. She pulled her arm free, and her silky skin slid against his fingertips, marginally deflating his anger. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and clenched his teeth on the persistent bite of desire.
“My memories are here, Sawyer.” She tapped her temple and then gestured toward the bounty in her yard. “These are just things.”
He paced to the hedge and back. Was Lynn trying to purge Brett from her life? And what if there were a child? He might have a legal hold on his child, but not on Brett’s. The big aching void where his heart used to be threatened to suck him into a black hole. “Why are you trying so hard to forget him?”
“I’m not,” she fired back defensively and then chewed her lip. She glanced away and then back at him. Resignation settled over her features. “We have a few debts I need to pay.”
He zeroed in on the tension in her voice. “What kinds of debts?”
She stepped from one foot to the other and fingered the lock on the cash box. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Lynn, I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m up against.”
“And I told you I don’t need your help.” She fidgeted when he stared her down and then sighed. “Credit cards, mostly, but as administrator of the estate, I can settle our debts by selling a few items.”
Hadn’t Brett learned anything from the tightly budgeted years after their parents’ deaths? Or was Lynn the one who’d insisted on flashy cars and a luxurious house? Since marrying his brother she’d certainly developed a high-maintenance lifestyle with her flirty body-hugging dresses, long, manicured nails and hair color that changed as frequently as the seasons.
His gut knotted and a sour taste filled his mouth. Brett had bragged that every time Lynn dyed her hair it had been like making love with a different woman, a sexy redhead, a sultry brunette, a tawny-headed temptress. Cheating, but not cheating, he’d said with a wink and a smirk that lit a firestorm in Sawyer every time. He’d once thought he and Lynn had a future together, but that was before she’d ignored his letter and chosen his brother.
Sawyer preferred Lynn’s hair blond—which he now knew was her natural shade, dammit—and he’d liked her back when she’d been a waitress who traded her contradictory uniform for jeans after work. Sure, he appreciated the curvy shape her clothes revealed—what man wouldn’t?—but he preferred a woman to leave a little to the imagination.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a long fuchsia fingernail, and in the blink of an eye his mind shifted gears again and his blood ignited. The crescent marks on his butt where she’d clutched him and pulled him deeper had barely faded. He cleared his throat and shifted, trying to ease the discomfort behind his zipper. “How much do you owe?”
Her pink lips pressed in a determined line, and she lifted her chin. “I’m busy now. Can we have this discussion later?”
Several couples hovered as if waiting to make purchases, and Lynn’s closed expression made it clear she wasn’t going to talk now. He didn’t have the right to stop the yard sale, but he couldn’t stand around and watch the vultures cart off his brother’s possessions without acid eating a hole through his stomach. “What time will you finish here?”
“The neighbors’ teenage sons will come back at three to help me pack up what I don’t sell.”
“I’ll be back this evening.”
Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend the man striding up your driveway didn’t give you more physical pleasure in five desperate minutes than your husband did in four years.
Lynn hovered on her side porch with her cheeks on fire and her insides a jumble. Coward that she was, she’d anxiously watched for Sawyer through the windows and then raced out the kitchen door before he could head up the brick walk to her front entrance. She couldn’t face him in the foyer.
Sawyer’s navy-blue polo shirt delineated his muscles to mouthwatering perfection. The short sleeves revealed thick biceps and tanned forearms lightly sprinkled with dark hair—hair that matched the denser whorls at the base of his throat. Her lips tingled with the memory of tasting him there, and a shiver slipped down her spine. His khaki shorts displayed rock-hard thighs and calves. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. She clenched her fingers as she relived the rasp of his chin against her palm.
She’d just lost her husband, and even if she’d quit loving Brett long ago, she shouldn’t be having womb-tightening thoughts about Sawyer or his athletic body. Ashamed, she ducked her chin, thumbed her wedding band and hoped the warmth beneath her skin wasn’t visible.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated without preamble.
Her heart jumped. Guilty as charged. “I’ve been busy for the past week with the estate paperwork, the real estate agent and appraisers.”
His cobalt gaze raked over her from head to toe, stirring up feelings best left undisturbed and leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, but then concern softened his eyes and the hard planes of his handsome face. “How are you holding up?”
His quiet question put a lump in her throat. “I’m okay. You?”
He shrugged and she nearly rolled her eyes. Typical man, refusing to admit to emotion. Her father, the tough cop, had been the same—especially after her mother died.
“Come in.” She led the way through the garage and into the kitchen. Even though she kept her back to the curved archway leading to the foyer her heart thumped harder, and the sensitive areas of her body tingled with awareness for the man hovering a few feet away.
She concentrated on keeping her hand steady so she wouldn’t scatter the coffee grounds across the granite countertop and then poured water into the coffeemaker and turned it on. Pressing her palm against her nervous stomach, she tried to ignore the tremor running through her. “The coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”
“How much do you owe?” Sawyer’s tone sounded level, almost impersonal, but the way he looked at her wasn’t. His eyes stroked over her, and her skin reacted as if he’d touched her. Intimacy stood between them like a living, breathing being, connecting them in a way they hadn’t been linked before.
Don’t fool yourself, Lynn. The encounter in the foyer ten days ago had nothing to do with making love and everything to do with forgetting. The regret on both sides proved it shouldn’t and wouldn’t be repeated. So why couldn’t she get it out of her mind? And why, when he looked at her in that slow, thorough way did her awakened body hum with the memory of the way he’d caressed her and with the deep-seated need for him to do so again?
My God, what must he think of her? Had she become the clichéd merry widow? Embarrassment scorched her cheeks. She staggered back a step and retreated to the sunny bay window overlooking her tiny backyard in an effort to clear the unsuitable thoughts from her mind. She fussed with her multitude of plants, polishing dust off this one and plucking a dead bud from another, but Sawyer’s spicy scent pursued her relentlessly.
“How much, Lynn?” he repeated.
“Settling the estate really isn’t your problem, Sawyer.”
He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. His biceps bulged and a muscle jerked in the tense line of his jaw. “It’s my problem if you have to sell part of the company to cover your debts.”
“Actually, I want to sell Brett’s share back to you.”
He frowned and shoved a hand through his hair. “I can’t raise the capital to buy Brett’s share right now. The company’s having a few difficulties.”
A chill chased down her spine. Those shares were all she had. If the company folded they’d be worthless. “But I need the money to start over once the house sells.”
“And I need you to be patient. Give me a chance to turn the company around. You’d only get a fraction of the value if you sold now. Where do you plan to move?”
Lynn pressed her fingers against the steady throb building behind her left temple. “My aunt said I could stay with her until I get back on my feet.”
“In Florida? If you’re looking for a rent-free place to stay, then move in with me. I have the space.”
His offer tempted and repelled her simultaneously. She loved this small college town with its steep hills, curvy roads and friendly atmosphere, and Sawyer’s spacious home in the historic section had a character and grace that her newer one lacked. When he finished the renovations his house would be gorgeous. She loved the high-ceilinged rooms and tall windows which overlooked a huge yard.
But Sawyer had made her lose control, and she’d just spent four years of her life in a relationship that rendered her powerless. If she lived with him she ran the risk of repeating her mistakes. “Thanks, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Are you looking for a job?”
“Yes.” She’d been job hunting for the past three days, but the university students had left town for the summer, and the business owners had cut staff to accommodate reduced trade.
“Come to work for me.”
With her stomach churning, she gazed out the window. The last thing she wanted to do was face Sawyer every day and be reminded that she’d thrown herself at him like a woman starved for affection. “I don’t know anything about computer software development.”
Sawyer moved closer until he stood directly behind her, his reflection showing in the glass. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. The heat of his touch permeated her thin sweater, warming her skin. She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to his. In his eyes she saw sympathy, frustration and heat. He hadn’t forgotten what happened any more than she had. There beneath the civilized veneer lay the awareness of what they’d done. Tension spiraled in her belly.
“Lynn, I can give you enough money to cover your immediate expenses, or I can offer you a job. Your choice. But I don’t want you to leave Chapel Hill until I’m certain you’re not carrying Brett’s child…or mine.”
Sawyer’s baby. Her pulse skipped a beat. She took a calming breath. It would be one thing to move to Florida alone or with Brett’s baby. It would be another to take Sawyer’s baby away from him. She could never be responsible for denying a child its father’s love.
Don’t panic about things that haven’t happened yet. You may not be pregnant. The odds for conceiving the first month after getting off the Pill are slim.
“Thank you, but I’d rather earn the money legitimately.” She forced herself to look into his eyes and stretched her lips into a smile that felt more like a grimace, but she couldn’t do any better with the worry building inside her. Stepping away, she put enough distance between them that she couldn’t feel his body heat and wouldn’t be close enough to give in to the temptation to lean on him and draw from his strength. It was time she stood on her own feet again.
“I want to help.” His voice hardened.
She took a deep breath and faced him. “And I want a real job, not one fabricated out of pity.”
“This is a real job. Opal, my administrative assistant, needs help. Brett’s assistant quit months ago, and Opal’s been juggling her workload and Nina’s, too.”
Lynn’s breath caught and nausea rose in her throat. Nina. Brett’s lover. Her husband went through assistants like most men went through socks. Because he’d instructed her not to call him at work unless there was an emergency, she hadn’t even known his latest assistant’s name. Did Sawyer know about the affair? Would he lie to protect his brother?
With her heart and head reeling she tried to come up with a logical response. “I have no training.”
“You’ll learn.” The set of Sawyer’s jaw promised an argument if she refused his offer—an argument she couldn’t contemplate right now.
“I’ll think about it. Now, please have a seat at the table. I have something to show you. I have to get it from the bedroom upstairs.”
His gaze locked with hers and then shifted to the archway beyond her shoulder—the one leading to the foyer and the stairs. Heat flashed in his eyes.
Her breath caught and her heart pounded. Warmth flushed her skin. She turned away, but not before regret tightened Sawyer’s features. “I’ll get the box.”
After bracing himself, Sawyer lifted the lid of the cheap wooden box on the table in front of him. Gold, silver and other precious metals lay jumbled together without regard for the scratches the heirlooms might receive.
“Did you pack these?”
Lynn hovered near the coffeepot. Her gaze danced to his and then away again, never holding for more than a split second. Pink climbed from her neck to spread across her cheeks. Her nipples peaked, proving she remembered what happened on the other side of that archway, the same way he did. His pulse leaped. Her quick glances told him she wanted to ignore the passion between them, and if he were half as smart as the business magazines said he was, he’d let her.
“I didn’t even know Brett had this treasure chest until I searched for the will. I found the box buried in the back of the closet, but I saw your name on a couple of items and thought you might be interested. I’d hate to sell something that holds sentimental value for you.”
She flitted from one side of the blinding-white kitchen to the other and back again—probably afraid he’d jump her if she remained stationary. She fiddled with her plants and straightened the already straight row of canisters. He cursed himself. His loss of control had made her a nervous wreck.
“You never found a will?”
“No. The attorney checked the courthouse, the bank and every other logical place where a will could be stored, just in case Brett had done one of those home kits. He found nothing, and I’ve already searched the house twice.”
Another detail his brother had neglected. It infuriated Sawyer that Brett had been so careless with Lynn. If a man loved a woman, he looked out for her, provided for her…and any children they might have.
Shutting down the disturbing thought, he carefully withdrew a gold watch and chain from the tangled mess in the box and traced his finger over the name engraved in the metal. Warm memories swamped him—memories of looking at this watch with his own father and anticipating the day when he would be entrusted with the heirloom. “This pocket watch belonged to my great-grandfather, the first Sawyer Riggan.”
She set a mug of steaming coffee in front of him and darted back to the other side of the room. “Why did Brett have it?”
“He asked for it.” And God help him, he’d tried to give Brett everything he wanted after their parents’ deaths.
“But why give it to him if it was intended for you?”
“I owed him.” Owed him a debt he could never repay.
“Owed him what?”
Hadn’t Brett told her? “I killed our parents.”
Her brow pleated. “Your parents died in a car accident.”
“With me at the wheel.”
Sympathy softened her eyes. “I thought a drunk driver ran a stop light.”
“He did, but if I hadn’t shot off as soon as the light turned green, if I’d looked twice before accelerating into the intersection instead of being the lead-foot my dad always accused me of being—”
She returned to the table, slid into the chair at a right angle to his and laid her soft hand over his clenched fist. His words dried up. “Sawyer, the accident wasn’t your fault. Brett showed me the newspaper article. The other driver didn’t have on his headlights. You couldn’t possibly have seen him.”
Her touch burned his skin. He sucked in a deep breath. She snatched her hand back and tucked it into her lap as if she regretted the gesture, but the imprint of her fingers lingered.
Since Brett’s death Lynn had quit wearing her heavy perfume, and God help him, he could smell her. Her light honeysuckle scent was ten times more potent than perfume anyday. She’d also quit teasing her hair into that just-out-of-bed, sex-kitten style. Today she’d brushed it in a satiny wave over her shoulders. His hands itched to tumble her hair into the same disarray it had been when he’d made love to her on the stairs. Not made love, he corrected, had sex. Making love implied he had lingering feelings for Lynn from their earlier relationship, and he didn’t.
Clearing his throat, he refocused on the jewelry box, digging around until he uncovered his mother and father’s wedding bands. He closed his fingers around them, feeling the loss of his parents as if it had been yesterday instead of ten years ago, and then his mother’s last words rang in his ears. Take care of Brett. Whatever you do, don’t let them separate our family.
He opened his hand to study the intricately carved bands and traced the pattern on his mother’s ring.
Lynn leaned closer. “They’re lovely. The engraving is quite unusual.”
“Brett said you refused to wear Mom’s wedding band.”
Lynn’s brows arched in surprise. “I never saw the rings before this week.”
He lifted the smaller band. “He didn’t offer this to you?”
Pain clouded her sky-blue eyes and she looked away. “No. Maybe he wanted to keep the set together. You know Brett chose not to wear a wedding band.”
It didn’t make sense. Brett had begged for the pocket watch and the rings, and yet it would seem his brother had never used any of the pieces.
A delicate silver locket caught Sawyer’s attention. He set the rings back in the box and picked up the locket, flicking it open to reveal two tiny pictures, one of him as an infant and the other of Brett as a three-year-old. “This belonged to my mother. She always planned to give it to her granddaughter, if there was one someday.”
His gaze met hers and then traveled slowly over her breasts to her flat belly. His child—his daughter—could be growing inside Lynn. His chest tightened, and he lifted his gaze to hers once more. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her lipstick was long gone. The need to lean across the distance and touch his mouth to the softness of hers blindsided him. He sucked in a slow breath and sat back in his chair.
Neither of them spoke of the baby she might be carrying, but the knowledge and the tension stretched between them. He couldn’t explain the mixture of emotions clogging his throat. Fear? Excitement? Dread? Anticipation?
Lynn’s fingers curled on the edge of the tabletop until her knuckles turned white, and then she stood and carried her cup to the sink. “If you ever have a daughter, I’m sure she’d be proud to wear the locket. It’s lovely.”
The other items in the box held less value, but Sawyer found a favorite pocket knife he thought he’d lost in high school and the ID bracelet his ex-fiancée had given him. Why did Brett have these? And why had he tossed each piece in a cheap box like yard-sale junk?
Lynn paused behind his shoulder. “These are your memories, Sawyer. They should stay in your family.”
“The Riggan family will end with me—unless you’re carrying the next generation. When will you know if you’re pregnant?”
Eyes wide, she stared at him and then her gaze darted away. Her face paled as quickly as it had flushed. “In a week or so, but let’s not borrow trouble.”
“You’ll tell me as soon as you know.” It wasn’t a question.
She hesitated and his heart stuttered. “Yes.”
“Do you want a baby?”
Worry clouded her eyes. She took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted children, but the timing couldn’t be worse. And not knowing who—” She bit her lip and tucked her chin.
“I’ll stand by you, Lynn—no matter whose child it is.”
“Um…thank you.” She didn’t look reassured.
The doorbell rang. She frowned and turned.
“That should be dinner. I called the Chinese place while you were upstairs.” Sawyer rose and strode past her to the front door. She remained in the kitchen while he paid and tipped the delivery man and returned. He set the bag on the counter and opened it. Tantalizing aromas filled the room.
“You didn’t have to buy dinner.” Lynn inhaled deeply and then licked her lips.
Hunger for Lynn replaced his need for food. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself why he’d called the restaurant. “You need to eat. You’ve lost weight.”
Her spine stiffened. “That’s not your concern.”
“I’m making it mine.”
Three
A polished woman in her fifties guarded the closed door with Sawyer Riggan, CEO, engraved on the name-plate.
Lynn swallowed her nervousness and crossed the threshold of the office. “Excuse me. I’m Lynn Riggan. I’d like to see Sawyer.”
The woman’s frank appraisal made Lynn want to fidget. She clutched her purse tighter when what she really wanted to do was smooth her French twist and straighten the skirt of her fitted emerald-green dress. She shifted her weight in her three-inch heels, hating the clothes Brett had chosen for her, but until she could afford to replace them she was stuck.
The woman rose. “I’m Opal Pugh, Sawyer’s assistant. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Riggan.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Opal.” This was the woman Brett had referred to as Sawyer’s dragon lady.
“I’ll see if Sawyer’s free.” Opal tapped on Sawyer’s door before disappearing inside.
Lynn hated depending on Sawyer for a job, but everywhere she’d gone the answers had been the same. Not hiring. Twisting the strap of her purse, she examined the tastefully decorated office. Thick steel-gray carpeting covered the floor. An oak coffee table gleamed in front of a burgundy-damask-covered loveseat and chairs, and the landscapes on the wall looked like originals.
Before she could step nearer to read the artists’ signatures, the door opened and her stomach dropped. Opal motioned her forward. “He’ll see you now.”
Lynn’s legs trembled as she closed the distance. She wished she could blame her fluttery nerves and agitated stomach solely on her dismal financial situation, but the man rising from behind the wide oak desk in front of her contributed more than a little. Sawyer seemed larger than life here on his own turf—every inch a mastermind who’d taken an idea and turned it into an internationally renowned company. He’d shed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The loosened knot of his tie and opened top two buttons of his shirt revealed a glimpse of his dark chest hair.
“Good morning, Lynn.” His baritone voice sounded deeper than usual. It skipped down her spine like a caress. His intense blue eyes glided over her slowly, thoroughly assessing her.
“Good morning.” Her dry mouth made it difficult to form the words. She cursed the heat flaring in her face and other places she’d rather not acknowledge and tugged at her dress. She’d always tried to ignore her clingy clothing, but after her steamy dreams last night—dreams featuring Sawyer—her skin was hypersensitive to the brush of the fabric against her breasts, hips and thighs.
With a subtle lift of his square chin, he motioned for Opal to leave them. The door closed and the room suddenly seemed smaller, more intimate. Airless. She cleared her throat. “I’ve decided to take you up on the job offer…if it’s still open.”
“Certainly. Welcome aboard.” Leaning across the desk, he offered his hand.
If she could have thought of a polite way to avoid the handshake, she would have. Instead, his long fingers closed around hers. She tried to focus on something besides the memory of how those warm, long-fingered hands had cradled her bottom while he thrust deep inside her, first in her foyer and then again in her dreams last night.
A hint of his spicy aftershave teased her senses, and an image of his passion-glazed eyes flashed in her brain. Her heart jolted into a faster rhythm, and her cheeks weren’t the only parts of her that were growing warm. Brett had accused her of being a prude, but her thoughts certainly weren’t prudish now.
She pulled her hand free and blurted, “I need to make it clear that I’m only looking for a job…not anything else.”
He reared back. The nostrils of his straight nose flared, and she cringed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was—”
“We agreed that what happened was a mistake.” He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.
Feeling utterly foolish, she collapsed into the visitor’s seat. Of course he didn’t want more of her. No man did.
“And your job here will never be based on…fringe benefits, but you’re a co-owner of the business, so we will be working closely together. Will that be a problem for you?”
Would it be a problem to work beside him every single day? Yes. “No.”
Sawyer settled in his chair behind the wide desk and laced his fingers on the polished surface. “When would you like to start?”
She swallowed to ease the dryness in her mouth. “Today? Tomorrow? But first, I’d like a little time in Brett’s office…if that’s okay?”
Sympathy filled his eyes, and she felt like a fraud. She wasn’t a brokenhearted widow. She’d done her share of grieving over her marriage months ago. Now she just felt foolish for having wasted more than four years of her life on what had obviously been a losing proposition.
“You know where it is?”
“I think so.” Brett had rarely brought her to the office and never during regular business hours.
She walked down the short hall on shaky legs and into her husband’s office. She didn’t have to turn to know that Sawyer had followed. Her personal radar was keenly attuned to his presence just one stride behind.
He reached around her to lift a crystal picture frame from the desktop and his shoulder brushed hers. Her breath hitched and her skin prickled at the point of contact. “I’ve asked Opal to bring in some boxes. You’ll want to take Brett’s personal items home—including this.”
She took the picture from him and stared at the blond-haired and blue-eyed couple as if they were strangers instead of Brett and herself. Her eyes glowed and she smiled as if someone had just handed her the world on a platter. How long had it been since she’d felt even a fraction of that hope and happiness? But she’d believed in her marriage vows, and she’d tried to make the relationship work.
Why hadn’t she noticed before that the emotion captured in her husband’s eyes wasn’t love, but possessiveness? How stupid of her not to realize sooner that she’d been nothing but an accessory to Brett. He’d expected her to dress to suit his tastes, to maintain the perfect house and image, to be seen and not heard. But why her? His journal made it clear he hadn’t been motivated by love.
The warmth of Sawyer’s hand on her shoulder jerked her attention back to the concern and sadness in his eyes. Not for the first time she noted the difference between the two men. Brett’s eyes were pale blue and his hair sandy blond. Sawyer’s eyes were intensely deep blue, shades darker than Brett’s, and his hair was raven’s-wing black.
Right now he was frowning at her. “Are you all right? Would you like for me to have someone else handle the packing?”
“I can do it. I’m okay,” she lied, and stepped away, but her skin tingled where he’d touched, and the urge to lean on his broad shoulders nearly overpowered her.
Looking back on it now, she realized she hadn’t been okay since the second year of her marriage when her husband had started systematically eroding her self-confidence. He’d begun with suggesting she dye her hair a more attractive color and then he’d progressed to urging her to get breast implants and collagen in her lips. She’d refused the medical procedures but she’d experimented with hair colors. None had satisfied him, and she’d recently returned to her natural blond.
She’d wanted so desperately to have the family Brett had promised her before they married, wanted so very much to please him and to turn him back into the man who’d charmed her right out of her disappointment over the end of her relationship with Sawyer. She’d failed on all counts.
She shook off her depressing thoughts. “Could I have a few minutes alone?”
“Of course. I’ve spent some time in here myself.” The pain in Sawyer’s voice made her heart ache. She wanted to reach for him but didn’t. With obvious reluctance he backed toward the door. “My extension’s marked on the phone. Ring if you need anything.”
As soon as the door closed, Lynn lay the photo face-down on the desktop and stepped behind the polished surface. She rifled through the drawers, but she didn’t know what she was looking for. Additional bank accounts? Signs of Brett’s infidelity? A tap on the door made her jump guiltily. She closed the drawer. “Yes?”
Opal stepped inside with an armload of boxes, which she set in the visitor’s chair. “Would you like some help packing?”
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