Ruined by the Seal(17)

"Wouldn't dream of it." He bent his legs and tugged on her hips, lining them up a bit better. And he sank in another bit.

"Oh, yes." Yes! She swallowed her next moan and closed her eyes as he  worked himself in and out, in and out, until he was all the way in.

Blissfully, achingly, solidly inside her.

Mother of …

His mouth touched her back again, her shoulder, as he folded over her  and started moving. His hands crept up her front, stroking her belly,  then settled on her breasts, cupping and squeezing the hot, achy flesh.

He had her trapped, pinned for his pleasure, and he was giving just as  much as he was taking. His thrusts were steady and strong, making her  cry out as he heated her up, making her stretch for him. It felt like he  was tunnelling deeper and deeper into her body, discovering erogenous  zones she'd never experienced before.

The G-Spot? Check.

The magical, mysterious sweet spot a bit further back? Oh, yes. In both directions.

The blindingly good rub against her cervix? More, more, more of that.

"Your accent gets stronger the closer you are to coming," he said in her ear, his own voice thick with lust.

"Oh, does it?" Shit. It did. She tried to laugh but he was pounding into  her now, nearly lifting her off the ground, and all she could do was  wrap her arm back around his neck and close her eyes as the fireworks  started low in her belly.

"Cara," he growled. "Come for me."

And she did, spectacularly, as he pistoned himself two, three, four more  times into her, then froze. His grip tightened as they were both  wracked by tremors, their orgasms continuing as they found their breath  again.

She blinked her eyes open.

It really was an incredible view. "Wow," she said.

"So gorgeous."

"I know."

He kissed her shoulder, and she turned, slowly, as he slipped out of her body.

She'd been looking out at the ocean.

But Mick only had eyes for her.

Oh. "Wow," she repeated, barely a whisper.





TWELVE





THE NEXT DAY, CARA WAS TAKING PICTURES OF THE MESS OF FLOWERS AND WEEDS  IN THE FRONT GARDEN, trying to document everything so she could upload  the photos to her heirloom plant expert and find out what could safely  go, when a limo pulled up to the gate, then slowly crawled toward the  house.

There weren't many limos on the island. Like everything that fancy  people brought in with them, she had the knee-jerk, not the island way  reaction to the shiny black car. But the license plate was Miralandian,  so that was just her bias showing.

Go away, fancy people.

But it wasn't a Parry that stepped out of the limo, at least not one she  recognized from her internet snooping. The man approaching her was  older, with a full head of silver hair. There were only two men left in  the Parry family of this age, and neither looked like a bulldog who ate  caviar for breakfast.         

     



 

She straightened up and marched straight toward the visitor. A good  offense, and all that. "Hello," she called out. "I'm the temporary  caretaker of the estate. Can I help you?"

"Ms. Cara Levasseur?"

"Yes." She smiled with a polite welcome that she didn't feel beneath the surface.

"Frank Dewiller." The name rang a bell, and she placed it at the same  moment he smiled broadly and blinded her with his brilliant white teeth.  "I'm a senior partner in the law firm handling the estate of Mrs.  Gwendolyn Parry."

The firm who handed Mrs. Parry's will. Oh, shit.

Her first instinct, crazy as it was, was to turn and call for Mick.

But whatever this was about … one of them would be happy, and the other would not.

That's what they'd been circling around for days now. Down-right  fighting about at times. Ignoring when they were making love, but that  didn't mean that it had stopped existing as a problem that would need to  be dealt with.

And now the help they'd both sent furious emails and placed  international phone calls to demand, seemingly to no avail, was standing  in front of her.

Help had shown up, and in the form of a senior partner no less … and Cara  just wanted him to go away. Don't tell me, she thought, ridiculously. Go  away and let me stay here, locked in endless combat with the blockhead.  I like his secret handyman skills and his curiously laid-back way. I  love the way he looks at me and how he brings me endless pleasure. Go  away and leave us to our fantasy.

But there wouldn't be any relief. Dewiller turned on the charm and moved them toward the building like he owned the place.

Maybe he did.

Maybe that's why he'd shown up. Joke was on both of them, and there was yet another will, breaking both their hearts.

She'd almost rather that, really.

They could rebuild their lives together.

She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She cleared her throat, too,  because talking was proving a challenge. "Right. Yes. I'm sorry. Of  course. Would you like something to drink?"

"Water would be great." He nodded toward the building.

"Yes. This way, please."

She set her camera down on the kitchen table, then fetched him a bottle of water from the fridge.

She glanced out the back window. Mick was nowhere in sight. "Would you like to see Mr. Parry's agent as well?"

"Is he here? I expected to find him in town."

She tried not to blush. "He's staying in the out building. There are beds and a bathroom there … "

"And the tent in the ballroom we passed … is anyone staying there?"

"Ummm … " She busied herself finding another bottle of water. "Not at the moment, no."

The last two nights she'd slept on top of Mick.

Beneath him, at least once in the middle of the night. Although that wasn't strictly speaking sleeping.

"Perhaps we should wait for Mr … " The lawyer trailed off.

"Mr. Frasier," she offered.

"I apologize for the confusion, Ms. Levasseur." He kept going, ever so  formal, and she nodded, pretending to listen. But he was saying nothing,  really. Just niceties and empty almost-excuses. "But it hasn't been too  difficult with the … dispute. Between the two of you?"

Difficult. No, it hadn't been difficult. Not really. Not even at first.

Frustrating, fiery, and more than a little distracting. But not difficult.

"It's been fine. He speaks highly of Mrs. Parry's grandson. And I've had  an opportunity to impress on him the historical value of the property,"  she added, because there was being kind and there was committing  professional suicide, and she wouldn't do the latter.

One way or another, she'd have to stand in front of her board of  directors and explain how this conversation went down, and she would be  able to honestly say she defended their position.

If it even mattered.

"Hmmm," the lawyer said.

Go away, screamed her primal self.

"What's going on here?" Mick asked from the doorway, and she practically  sagged with relief. He glanced warily between her and the lawyer, who  introduced himself, and Mick's gaze swung immediately back to her. "You  okay?" he asked, more quietly, as he moved to her side.

She nodded. "Mr. Dewiller has just arrived. He hasn't said anything about the estate yet."

Mick rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms. He'd gotten a lot of  sun while he was here, she noticed inanely, like that was the most  important thing going on at the moment. He looked like he belonged,  though, and maybe that was an important realization for her to be  making.         

     



 

It all depended on what the lawyer said.

"Right, about that," Dewiller said, opening his briefcase. He pulled out two sheets of paper.

A letter, it looked like, the same one printed twice.

He hesitated. "A situation has arisen, and once again, we really are  quite sorry for any inconvenience that either of you have faced because  of this."

"What situation?"

Cara glanced sideways at Mick. He'd asked the question that was on the tip of her tongue.

Dewiller gave them a pained look. "It seems Gwendolyn Parry may have  signed two wills on the exact same day. Unfortunately, none of the  witnesses are available."

None of them? Cara could feel her eyebrows hitting the roof.

"It's quite unusual. More to the point, we believe that … well, we cannot  proceed in good faith under such conditions. It is our belief neither  will would stand up to a legal challenge."

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

They were talking over each other now, both firing questions at  Dewiller, but he raised his hand, and like errant school children they  sullenly quieted.

"As the executors of Mrs. Parry's estate, it is our legal obligation to  assess her intent, and provide a well-documented probate plan to the  court in New York City."

That didn't sound good. It sounded messy. It sounded like it would take a long time.

"And in the mean time?" Cara's heart pounded in her chest.

He shrugged. "That's up to you. The plantation property isn't such a  significant part of the entire Parry estate, and we won't be assigning a  property manager to it. On the other hand, I must unfortunately make it  clear that neither Will Parry nor the Miralinda Historical Society  rightfully owns this property. I'd advise both of you to cease any and  all renovation plans until this matter is resolved."