A fatalistic feeling enveloped him as he ran his finger along the blunt edge of the tumbler. How would he know? The woman he had married had been a total enigma he'd thought he could one day solve and never had. The woman he'd removed from Africa another Diana again. Who was the real Diana? He'd be damned if he knew.
The ocean stared back at him, dark, silent. I could do an emotional autopsy on you and I'd still never get to the bottom of you. Had Diana been right? Had he been just as guilty of not showing his true self to her? Had he even known who he was? Taking over Grant had changed him. Had illustrated just how lost he'd been since his father's death. However cutting Diana's appraisal of him had been, she had been right about him not fighting Harrison for control of Grant. About him running. He hadn't wanted any part of a power struggle with his brother. Wasn't sure a legacy that had seen his father blow his brains out was something he wanted.
If there was something he had over his wise older brother, it was the knowledge that life required living. To tie his identity to a role, to a job that was inherently vulnerable to any number of agenda seekers, was not how he wanted to live his life. He wanted that elusive balance no one ever seemed to find.
He finished the brandy on a last smooth, fiery gulp. He knew his future now. He intended on making Grant the most powerful car-parts manufacturer in the world, so indelibly the analysts would stop comparing him with his saintlike brother and recognize his brilliance for what it was.
But that wasn't what he was here to do. He was here to put his marriage back together, and that involved some truth on his part, as well. He had used those women to get Diana out of his head. To satisfy the numbness he craved. And, admittedly, if he was to be honest, to punish her for leaving him.
He had been addicted to distraction. Addicted to never letting himself care because that had been the example set for him by his own parents.
Had it cost him his marriage?
A chime sounded an incoming email. He pushed his focus back to the screen of his computer. And read the email that changed everything.
CHAPTER NINE
"BRING HER AROUND!"
Coburn's shout was eaten up by the roar of the wind and the water. Diana nodded and eased up on the headsail to turn them toward the cove he was pointing to. The thrill of commanding such a big, beautiful boat washed over her like a shot of adrenaline. She tacked sharply again to bring them all the way around so they were headed directly into the mouth of the bay. Her blood pumped in her veins as they sped over the sea like the smoothest of silk. She'd forgotten how much she loved the spray of the water on her face, the freedom of flying across it and how perfectly she and her husband worked together when it was just them, sweating it out in tandem to master the elements.
Riding a strong gust of wind, the sleek sixty-five footer cruised toward the shore. Coburn eased off on the mainsheet and slowed them into an easy, graceful glide. Expertly, effortlessly he brought them within striking distance of the shore, and they dropped anchor.
She helped him secure the boat, then dropped to the sun-soaked deck, her breath coming in shallow, harsh pulls. Her limbs felt weighted down, heavy. She leaned back on her forearms and took in deep, restorative pulls of air while Coburn went downstairs to get their lunch. This pregnancy was not only making her nauseous, it was zapping her of all of her energy.
It was nearly one o'clock, the sun blazing right above them in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. She drank in the idyllic little cove they were moored in. Surrounded by palm trees and bounded by a stretch of pristine white sand beach, it looked as if it had never seen a human trespasser.
They were in the British Virgin Islands, Coburn had revealed this morning, nestled within a cluster of private islands owned by the world's richest men. Inaccessible to anyone but those issued an exclusive invitation to explore such nirvana.
She closed her eyes and drank in the heat. Her husband emerged from below deck with a picnic basket and two glasses, a pair of low-slung navy swim trunks and a Yale T-shirt his only adornment. His innate grace, the way the athlete in him used his strong, muscular thighs to steady himself as he moved across the swaying boat, drew her eye. The sun was already picking up his natural tendency toward a swarthy, dark complexion, emphasizing the magnetic blue of his eyes, no less hypnotizing than the vast sea behind him.
He was still the most physically beautiful male she'd ever encountered. Hands down.
"All yours, sweetheart." He caught her stare, dumping the picnic basket beside her and lowering himself to the deck. "Take what you will."
She closed her eyes to the magnificence of him. She'd lain awake after he'd left her last night thinking about his offer. Thinking about how she shouldn't be thinking about it. He was utterly unselfish when it came to pleasing a woman, wickedly sensual in his methods.
"You can't help it, can you?" She jumped as he purred the words in her ear. "Was my offer last night a little too tempting?"
"Hardly." She shimmied to the side to put some distance between them. "I meant what I said, Coburn."
"You forget I know every variation of you. Every expression. That was lust."
She closed her eyes. "It's the pregnancy hormones talking."
The sound of the waves lapping against the boat filled her ears. His soft laughter joined it. "I had no idea pregnancy increased a woman's sex drive. I would have thought the opposite."
Her cheeks fired with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. This was the last conversation she wanted to be having with him when sex was most certainly off the agenda. When she was still angry at him for assuming she was going to give up her career while he played the golden-hued CEO.
She focused her gaze on him. "I have a question for you."
"You did your homework. Good girl."
She rolled her eyes. "I want to know why you agreed to take the CEO job at Grant when you said you never wanted it."
He cracked open a Perrier bottle and handed it to her. "I decided I wanted it."
"Why? What changed your mind?"
He shrugged. "It was clear the business community was going to back Harrison's run for president. The only question was whether he would take it. I needed to be ready with my answer, and I realized that answer was yes, I did want Grant to be mine. It's in my blood. But I wanted to do it my way, not Harrison's way, not my father's way."
"And now? Do you think it was the right decision?"
He frowned. "I'm only six months in. I am not my brother. There are growing pains... But yes, I think it was the right thing to do. I'm excited about the future."
She could sense it. There had always been a restlessness about her husband, a low-level frustration with anything that had to do with work, because playing second fiddle to his brother had never been easy for him. The intense, focused man beside her now was a very different creature. She had seen it in him instantly that night at Tony and Annabelle's-the ruthless edge that made her all jittery inside.
"Harrison is not an easy act to follow."
He shrugged. "It's like comparing apples and oranges. Harrison was a known quantity-steady, dependable. He rarely worked outside of the box. With me, the board isn't sure what they're getting. I'm doing things differently. I've ruffled some feathers. It's going to take time."
She studied him then, the tension etched into the grooves at the sides of his mouth. His father, Clifford Grant, had been an icon of American business, a success story that was corporate folklore. Harrison was so widely respected he had been chosen to represent the interests of business in a presidential race. It made the pressure her father had put on her seem like child's play.
"What was that phone call this morning? You looked stressed."
He cracked the other bottle of Perrier open and took a long gulp. "Just business."
She scowled. "Is it just me playing this game or have you checked in, too?"
He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "This is about me and you figuring this out, Di, not business. I'm not interested in sidetracking the discussion."
She thought him sharing why he had been distracted all morning was them understanding each other, but she left it for the moment. "Fine. I would like to understand you and Harrison. You would never explain what happened between you two."
Dark lashes swept down over his brilliant eyes. "We've had some major philosophical differences over the years. Although, like I said last night, we've worked a lot of it out."
"Philosophical differences over what?"
"Does it matter?"
She gave him a pointed look. "You don't get to veto every topic I throw out there."
He set the bottle down and crossed one of his long legs over the other. "My father's illness put a strain on all of us for many years. Harrison and I were focused on keeping things running when my father was in a depressive state and out of the picture and attempting to keep the ship upright when his brilliance was running amok. We were a good team. But after my father shot himself, everything changed between Harrison and me."