Beauty and the Bachelor(26)

     



 

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.