At first, the explanation stumbled past her lips. But as they gained traction, the words rushed over her tongue, as if anxious to escape. In an instant, she was transported to that hot summer afternoon fifteen years ago.
"The summer I was ten, Dad often traveled, and in those days, Mom sometimes went with him. This particular day, they were both away, and since I couldn't go to my friend's house, I asked the nanny if I could go swimming. She'd said no, because Jay, who adored the water, had a cold and couldn't go with me. Mad, I waited until she became busy with Jay before pulling on my swimsuit-a black-and-white suit with pink ruffles around the leg. I'll never forget it," she whispered. Inhaling, she halted in the telling, the fierce pounding of her heart like an anvil against her sternum.
"I snuck out the back French doors and headed for the pool. Just as I went in, I realized I'd forgotten a towel and rushed back inside and up to my bathroom. Then I remembered I didn't have goggles, either, so I stopped to search for those, too. About ten minutes later, with my goggles and towel under my arm, I headed back to the pool. That's when I heard it. The scream. I'll never forget it," she breathed. Even now, all these years later, she could hear it, the terror and pain branded into her sensory memory. "I ran down the stairs, toward the rear of the house. Through the French doors I'd left open, I saw the nanny kneeling beside the pool, Jay's still body beside her. My parents were devastated. They returned home minutes after the ambulance arrived. I can remember Mother falling to her knees screaming, and Dad cradling his body, roaring. He looked at me and yelled, ‘Your fault' … "
Her voice faded along with the bustling noise in the marketplace. The only sound she heard was the steady beat of Lucas's heart beneath her ear. His hand eased up her neck, burrowed through her hair, and cradled her head. The other palm stroked a path up and down her spine, his touch soothing, anchoring her in the present.
"You've blamed yourself for a mistake all these years? Tragic and horrible, God, yes. But still a mistake. For God's sake, Sydney … " His grip tightened in her hair, and he drew her head back to meet his gaze, bright with sympathy and anger. "You were ten. Who in the hell would blame a child?" When she didn't reply, he swore under his breath. "That's fucking crazy."
"He apologized later. Both he and Mom were devastated, in shock, and grieving. I understood. Still … " She studied the grim line of his mouth, his strong chin. "I've learned the brutal lesson of placing myself and my desires above others. My mistake cost them their son. And no sacrifice is too big, not when it will never restore what they lost." Conforming to their wishes, marrying a man they approved of but whom she didn't love, submitting to blackmail to save her father's company-none of those sacrifices seemed too big.
"Listen to me, Sydney," he growled, giving her head a small shake. "No one is to blame. Not you, who was being an average ten-year-old kid. Not the nanny, who mistakenly let your brother get away from her. Not your parents, who weren't home. Not your brother, who ran away and jumped into the pool. Sweetheart," he murmured, caressing her back one last time before cupping her jaw. "His death is not your burden. It's a tragedy, not a weight you're responsible for bearing." He hesitated, and a muscle in his lean cheek jumped. "And your father has sins he has to answer for, but not loving you isn't one of them." He ground out the admission as if it pained him to grant her father any concession. "He loves you. The day we married, he pulled me into my study to warn me not to hurt you. While I can't excuse him for blaming you, even as a knee-jerk reaction to his pain, he knows you've suffered, and he said you didn't deserve to endure any more pain. It might be the one thing he and I agree on. Let it go, sweetheart."
Knows you've suffered … didn't deserve any more pain … he loves you … The information whirled in her head like a mini twister, the revelations like madly dancing leaves she tried hard to grasp but couldn't.
"You said he has sins to answer for. Meaning what you believe he's done to you," she said. "But you've never told me what that is. Will you tell me now?"
Tension invaded his body. Though his touch remained gentle as he dropped his hand from her face and untangled his fingers from her hair, a wall of ice had dropped over his eyes. For the first time since they'd arrived in Washington, the pitiless, enigmatic mogul returned, the cold in his taut features and implacable gaze freezing her from the inside out.
"Are you ready?" He nodded toward her cup of coffee.
"Yes," she said, the lukewarm contents no longer comforting or appetizing. Silently, they headed toward the market's exit.
Though his abrupt withdrawal stung, and he remained as secretive as ever, one thing loomed crystal clear.
Whatever offense her father had committed, Lucas had appointed himself judge and jury. An unsettling thought wormed its way into her mind, and she couldn't rid herself of the taint. Unease twisted in her stomach, pushing the coffee she'd drunk toward her throat.
While trying to save her father, had she unwittingly contributed to his execution?
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas stared at the closed door of Sydney's room, his hand hovering above the knob. At the last moment, he rapped his fist against the door and waited. It'd been several hours since they'd returned to the house from the Pike Place Market and, claiming tiredness, she had closed herself in her bedroom.
Common sense had argued for granting her space and respecting her privacy. After the emotional outpour about losing her brother and the battle of guilt she'd waged all these years, she deserved some alone time to decompress. But the primal, possessive side of him snarled and snapped, demanded he push until she lowered both her emotional and physical barriers. It was hypocritical to want that from her when he wouldn't-couldn't-offer her the same. But the need that plagued him day and night didn't give a damn.
He'd capitulated to his common sense, but it'd been touch and go for a minute there.
But after hours without her company when he'd so easily become accustomed to her warmth and quiet wit, he was headed into withdrawal. And if it unnerved him how quickly he'd adapted to her presence, he didn't dissect it. Later. He'd conduct the analysis and study the results later.
The door swung open, and instantly, the persistent gnawing eased. Reserve and an aloofness smoothed Sydney's features into the beautiful, distant mask he detested. But this time, it didn't put him off. After the patience he'd exerted this afternoon, the cold, distant reception goaded him, challenged him. The hunger he'd throttled and reined in for the sake of his promise yanked at its leash, breaking it with an audible snap that reverberated inside his head.
Lunging, he thrust his fingers into her curls, snagged them in his fist, and pulled her head back. Her eyes widened, her hand slapping against his chest. Her lips parted, but he crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp. Her taste exploded across his tongue, and he groaned, diving deeper, taking more. After the smallest delay, she met him, greedy stroke for greedy stroke. Her palm slid up his chest, and both arms looped around his neck, holding onto him. Perched on her tiptoes, she opened wider for him, allowing him to claim more even as she conducted her own sensual advance, sucking on his tongue, licking the roof of his mouth. His grip on her tightened. The fingers in her hair angling her head for a deeper penetration. The hand on her hip steadying her as he ground his throbbing cock against the softness of her stomach. All afternoon, this gaping pit had yawned wide in his gut, and now with her tongue dancing with his, her curves pressed to him, desire rushed in, a roaring flood filling the aching emptiness.
Deliberately, slowly, he moved forward, guiding her backward, never lifting his mouth from hers. When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and she sank to the bed, he followed her down. Settling between her spread thighs, covering her. The softness of her breasts pillowed beneath his chest, the firmness of her thighs cradling his hips, the heat of her pussy that burned his cock even though her black lounging pants and his jeans … Damn it.
He slammed his palms to the bed on either side of her head and surged off her.
"I didn't come up here for this," he growled. "Dinner is ready, and I picked up Grease for you. I promised to give you time, and I'll keep it. So if you want to walk away from this, now is the time to do it. Because if you don't, I'm not stopping until I'm buried deep inside you."
Her lashes lifted, and his heart fucking stopped as her hands flattened over his shoulders. And pushed.