Children of Dynasty (30 page)

How was it possible that this was so much better with her than with any other woman? The same mechanics, the same breathy exertion, but with Mariah he felt closeness and comfort. A sense of belonging that threatened all the barriers he had up against letting anyone into his heart.

When she took his sex into her hand, he gasped and nearly lost himself. Perhaps she sensed it, for her fingers danced over him lightly, careful not to go too far.

Yet, despite her care, pressure built in him like a wave streaming toward the shore. It rose steadily, until it towered and curled toward its crest.

Mariah looked down and saw the length of him, more clearly now than in the subdued light on the patio at Big Sur, or in the moonlit bedroom at McMillan’s. Rory’s sex was beautiful, rising powerfully out a thicket of close black curls. In her hand, that flesh felt far hotter than the rest of him, as he fumbled for his wallet condom and rolled it on.

Before she could finish the thought, he arced up between her thighs and filled her. A groan escaped him.

For a long moment, he remained motionless, pushed in to the hilt. “That’s fantastic.”

Daringly, she clenched her inner flesh around him. “Better?”

“Do that again and I’m gone,” he promised.

Cupping her breasts, he lowered his mouth and captured a nipple between his lips. She closed around him again, this time involuntarily.

He began to move, carefully slipping out, then back in. It wasn’t possible, but it was even better than the last time. Clutched tight against him on the counter’s edge, she felt his hands set the rhythm. He thrust in deeply, enhancing her sensation of being stretched to the limit. Yet, when he pulled back, she longed for more.

The mirrored wall in the living room reflected his muscular bare backside, his trousers around his knees. Mariah saw her own face, golden eyes wild, her hair spilling over his shoulders. She’d never seen herself like that before, wanton and wanting with a high flush and her mouth panting open. He turned his head, and their eyes met in the glass, widening with the enhanced pleasure of seeing as well as touching.

He moved faster, she moaning her assent. Her crescendo spiraled, rising.

Hot light leaped, and he was in her more deeply than she’d imagined possible. With a hitch in his breathing, he went still. “Don’t move.”

She obeyed, but with a smile at her power over him, she once more tightened her inner muscles. The feel of him, along with his elemental shout, sent her over the edge. With an answering cry, she watched herself, falling and falling into the eyes of the man in the mirror.

Still sheathed in Mariah, Rory lifted her from the counter and carried her into the ground floor master bedroom. Without breaking their connection, he let her down onto the bed and propped on knees and elbows to avoid crushing her.

The faint flowery scent of her hair mixed erotically with the musky smell of sex. Her eyes looked dark in the light that came in from the living room, misty and soft.

Rory rolled over to lie beside her, one hand propped beneath his head. It had always been this way for them, from the day that had met on Davis’s boat, from their first touch.

The memory of that night on
Privateer,
the exotic feel of a woman’s flesh surrounding him naked for the first time … In the midst of it, Davis had dragged him off Mariah. A scene Rory had kept in a dark corner of his mind, now the disaster came flooding back with all its present implications. He’d told her he was going to leave DCI, but he had yet to actually make it happen.

Soft fingers stroked his cheek. “Don’t think about your father.”

“How horrible that in the midst of something so wonderful, he can still intrude.” Rory had risked a lot going to Grant Development today, and Davis would certainly find out about it through his ubiquitous channels.

No matter. Tomorrow morning Rory would see Takei Takayashi at Golden Builders and get his old job back. Time spent doing architectural design, working with the pure lines that transformed space, would set him back on the road he’d once chosen.

With a plan in place, he smiled. “I don’t know about you, but sex makes me hungry.”

She arched a brow. “I don’t think the plastic grapes and Brie are going to hold us.”

They got up from bed and Mariah went into the bathroom. He used some Kleenex from a decorative box, got his pants up, then brought her clothes from the other room and straightened the covers for model home viewings.

Back at the kitchen counter where the storm had struck, he finished tucking in his shirt and tossed off the rest of the wine in his glass. In a few minutes, Mariah came into the living room with her soft-looking black dress askew, her hair scrabbled into a hasty knot at the back of her head. With an apologetic glance, she asked to borrow his cell phone.

Rory poured more wine and watched her pace the tile barefoot. She looked so delicious, with one shoulder bare and whisker burned, that he wanted to drag her back to bed.

“Hello, Dad?” She stopped pacing. “Mr. Pappas?” As she listened, Rory didn’t like the grim look that came over her face. “I’ll go right to him.”

She punched the button to end the call. “That was our neighbor, waiting for me at our house. Dad’s back in the hospital.”

F
ear gripped Mariah’s chest as Rory’s Porsche streaked up 101. He drove with both hands tight on the wheel, his eyes alert for openings in the stream of traffic. On the southbound side of the freeway, it was gridlock, a river of oncoming headlights. Rory switched lanes a dozen times, but so smoothly she never felt he was reckless.

She’d had to think twice about leaving her car at Bayview, but if she needed wheels, she could have Rory drop her by the house and use her dad’s. He hadn’t driven since his heart attack.

“You holding up okay?” Rory pulled off the freeway and sped toward the hospital at Cal State.

“I’ll be all right if you stay with me.” She waited for the familiar guilt at being with Rory to resurface, but it did not come.

After what felt like an interminable time, they arrived at the information window in the ER. “John Grant?” Mariah said. “I’m his daughter.”

The woman behind the desk looked motherly enough to bake homemade cookies and her voice was chocolate milk. “Jes’ a second.” She consulted her monitor and lips rouged with red-brown stain curved into a smile. “He’s been taken up to 904.”

Before Mariah could voice her fear, Rory spoke. “Is that the CCU?”

“No, sir. Just a regular private room.”

Mariah leaned into Rory and felt his relief as he hugged her. “Thank you,” he told the receptionist as though she were responsible for their good fortune.

On the upper floor, they found John’s name on a card outside a closed door. Rory’s arm dropped from around her. “I’ll stay out here.”

She pushed open the portal with care. Inside, her father lay propped on the hospital bed. He looked the same as he had when she’d left for work this morning, pale and drawn, but not that sick. Above the bed, a monitor showed his EKG, his heartbeat peaking and falling regularly.

A woman in a loose blue shirt and pants had her back to the door, making an adjustment on an IV. “Now, you ring if your chest pain gets any worse,” she said brightly.

John’s eyes met Mariah’s and her heart clutched at the eager look on his face. “Daughter.”

The nurse turned. “He’s doing fine right now. The doctor will be in to talk with you shortly.” Briskly, she left the room.

“What happened?” Mariah went to the bedside and took his hand.

“My chest felt tight and I had trouble breathing.” He tried a shrug. “Wouldn’t you know, soon as I get here I feel better.”

“That’s good.”

“Since I couldn’t reach your cell I left Pappas at the house to tell you where I was.”

He coughed and grimaced. “I called Arnold and he was here for a while.”

Mariah’s teeth caught her bottom lip. With an effort, she said evenly, “I’m sorry I missed him.” Try as she might, she couldn’t think what to say next. Rory waited in the hall, wondering about his condition.

John squeezed her hand. “Do you remember when I told you about meeting your mother? How I tried to deny my feelings because of Davis?”

She nodded.

“You were with Rory this evening.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” She didn’t even try to blunt the implication of why two people might turn off a telephone.

He gave a faint smile. “After he came by the house yesterday, I thought that was probably where you were.”

The mention of Rory on the stoop in the rain made her wonder when she would get the chance to tell him about “On The Spot.” Or had Arnold beaten her to it?

She didn’t think so, for surely he would have mentioned it by now.

“You and Rory …”

The look of empathy in his eyes made her bold. “There’s someone outside who needs to hear this.” She went to the door.

Rory turned quickly to her from where he stood with feet planted apart as if to ground himself.

“He’s okay,” she told him. “Come in.”

Rory looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Are you?”

He hesitated.

“You don’t have to.” Rory had been okay talking to John on the phone, but maybe he wasn’t ready to face the man.

As she turned to go back into the room, rapid footsteps sounded on the linoleum floor. “Wait for me.” There was time for him to drop a swift kiss on her cheek and then they were inside together.

John didn’t act self-conscious, not even in a gown everybody knew left his behind bare, with a tube running into his arm, and his heart’s behavior on a monitor for everyone to see. “Hello, Campbell,” he said, then amended, “Rory.”

“Sir,” Rory answered. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, but they’re talking more tests.” His apparent attempt to sound casual came out flat.

“Well, I hope they all turn out for the best.”

An awkward silence fell.

Mariah had an idea of something that could ease the men’s discomfort with each other. “Rory is leaving DCI.”

John gave a low whistle. “What did Davis have to say?”

Rory glanced at Mariah. “I thought I’d line something else up before I told him.”

“I’d offer you a position at Grant,” John went on, “but it might not last past the end of the week.”

“I’ll find something.”

John gave him a smile Mariah found fatherly. “Before you came in I was talking about her mother. Catharine will always seem superhuman to all of us who knew her, like everyone who dies young. Davis loved her first, but I won her …” He looked sad. “It destroyed the best friendship I’d ever had in my life. Only Tom Barrett has stepped in to fill that role.” He paused and rubbed his chest.

“Are you in pain?” Mariah looked for the call button.

“Not so much.” His gray eyes settled on Rory. “In the beginning, I nearly turned away from Catharine because I loved your father. Davis and I were going into business together, but of course that never happened.” John sighed. “For a long time, I told Mariah she should avoid you. Now I know you can no more stay away from each other than I could from Catharine.”

The door opened to admit Dr. Patel, the surgeon who performed John’s bypass. With a smile for Mariah and a nod for Rory, he went to the bedside, drew down his patient’s gown and exposed his scar.

Beside her, Mariah felt Rory turn away from the sight of the angry red slash adorned with side stitches. “Looking good,” Patel said, bringing out his stethoscope. “What’s this about chest pain?”

John ducked his head. “Just enough to get me in here. Then it stopped.”

Patel completed his examination, asking more questions. He lifted the phone and made a call.

When he hung up, he said, “Your cardiologist, Dr. Hanover, is not on call this evening. Though your EKG looks fine now, I’d suggest you be our guest for the night and consult her in the morning.”

As the doctor opened the door to leave, he let Arnold Benton in. Mariah almost didn’t recognize Grant’s financial VP in casual khakis and a ball cap. He carried a sack from a fast food restaurant that gave off the unmistakable smell of beef, onions, and French fries.