Instructing an Heiress (15 page)

You're entitled to happiness. As much as anyone.

Assuming love and marriage was his version of happiness, he thought. It was for his parents and he suspected for CK. But was that true for him?
 

For the first time, Ryan questioned the lifestyle he'd chosen. What would it be like to come home to the same woman for the rest of his life? To know that she loved him more than any other man, was loyal to him, was there for him no matter what?
 

A sting of emotion agitated the middle of his chest. Was he capable of that kind of loyalty himself? Could he be there for someone? Love a woman like CK for the rest of his life? Care for her? Cherish her? What if he couldn't? What if he ended up hurting her? Terror swept through him like a cold, icy wave.
 

How could he live with himself after that?
 

CK started around the side of the property. She paused and looked back at him. "You okay? You look like you're going to be sick."

Ryan grunted and mentally shook off his morbid introspection. Nothing good ever came from questioning your motives, he concluded. A lifelong policy he would do well to remember. Go with your gut and never question, that's what had made him millions from investments and that's what would keep his social life in the prudent world of casual sex. Women like CK were not meant for men like him.
 

"Keep a sharp lookout for an open window," she said when he caught up with her.

"No key, huh?"

"Lost my temper and gave it back right before I got the apartment."

"Doors always secure?"

"Except when Winston left the kitchen unlocked for me when I took off after a fi...." She stopped and her expression sharpened. "That sly old fox. It would be just like him—"

CK wheeled around and sprinted toward the back of the mansion. Intrigued, Ryan jogged after her.

A few minutes later, he arrived on the other side of the house. CK stood in front of a narrow wooden door set back in a small, shadowed alcove. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
 

"Have you tried it?" he asked.

"Afraid to."

Stepping around her, he grabbed the door knob, the aged brass cool against his palm. He gave the knob an experimental twist and was pleased when it turned easily in his grip. With a soft creak, the solid wood swung inward, revealing a spotless white and chrome kitchen that seemed to stretch forever.

Ryan gave a low whistle. "Half my apartment could fit in here." He glanced back at her. She hadn't moved and her eyes had gone wide, an edge of panic flickering in the violet-blue depths.
 

"Well?" he asked.

She looked incredibly vulnerable, reminding him of the nerdy red-headed girl he'd impulsively befriended that first day of college. That annoying prickle of awareness stirred up, again.

"I'm still afraid. I hate that I am, but there it is," she said.
 

"I'm probably going to regret this, but I can't seem to help myself." Gathering her into his arms, Ryan folded her against his chest. She felt soft and warm against him. She felt right.
 

He released a long breath that ruffled the hair on the top of her head. He was such an idiot.

Her arms snugged up around his waist. "You're confusing me," she mumbled, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"Nothing wrong with a comforting hug among friends." He breathed in, savoring the flowery, sweet scent of her and struggled to ignore the hunger stirring to life in his pants.

"Are you smelling my hair?"

"No." He massaged her back and found his hands wandering toward her waist. His palms itched to caress her bottom and press her into his aching erection.

"I think we should stop," she said a little breathlessly. "You're getting a little too into this." She slipped out of his arms and his body screamed in protest.

"I'm going in now," she said without looking at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath came in quick, fluttering pants which did spectacular things for her cleavage.

"I'll be right behind you," he said, not too thrilled that sounded rough with need.

CK gave him a quick, uncertain glance and then darted into the kitchen like a scared rabbit.

Closing his eyes, Ryan tried to force the vision of her firm, round ass out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. Might as well ask a starving man to ignore a steak dinner.

He winced and adjusted himself, though it didn't help much. His body was out of control where CK was concerned and he was helpless to stop it. He felt annoyed, turned on, and disgusted with himself all at the same time.

What the hell was wrong with him?

*
 
*
 
*

CK snuck through the immaculate kitchen, painfully aware of Ryan following closely behind her. Her reflection flickered over the polished metal surfaces of over-sized refrigerators, confection ovens and stoves followed by his towering presence.
 

Her nerves buzzed like she'd stuck her finger in a light socket. She could still feel the heat of his erection where he'd pressed himself tightly against her.
 

A thrill of triumph chased around the desire tightening in her belly. She couldn't help but feel a little light-headed at the thought of Ryan wanting her even when he thought he didn't. On the other hand, he had no right torturing her like this.
 

What the heck? He made love to her, then treated her like the enemy, then said they would always be friends, and now this. She didn't know what was up with him, with the exception of Mr. Happy.

She grit her teeth. Being in love with a guy who couldn't make up his mind pretty much stunk.
 

Unfortunately, she had bigger problems to deal with at the moment. Ryan and his schizophrenic libido would have to wait.
 

Stopping in the doorway at the other end of the kitchen, CK peered cautiously into the hall. "Everything looks clear," she whispered behind her. Taking a deep breath, she crept from the relative safety of the kitchen.

Sliding along the edge of the wall, she headed toward the smaller staircase, feeling like she was fifteen, again. Creeping around pictures and other potential noise disasters was just as nerve-wracking now as it had been then. Her stomach felt like it was in her throat and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Despite her simmering anger at Ryan, she was glad he had her back.

"The Captain's probably in his study on the second floor," she said, quietly. "That's where we'll head."

"Sunroom, actually," Winston whispered behind her.

CK yelped and slammed her back against the wall. The vase of flowers on the table next to her wobbled precariously, sloshing water onto the polished mahogany surface. Winston reached out and steadied the heavy cut crystal. A clean, white cloth appeared in his other hand as if by magic.
 

"By all the saints, Winston! You nearly gave me a heart attack," CK panted. "How long have you been skulking behind me? Where's Ryan?" She peered down the empty hall.

"Since the pantry," he said calmly as he efficiently mopped up the mess before it stained the wood. "Mr. Anderson is enjoying the coffee and sandwiches I set out for him and will await you in the kitchen."

"But...how...?" She gaped at him. She'd just been in the kitchen and not a crumb had been in sight. She released a long sigh. "Oh, never mind."

"Very good, miss."

Her gaze slid over him, noting the traditional tuxedo-like butler outfit he now wore. "What happened to your World War one costume?"

"It itches."

"That makes sense," she said, vaguely, still struggling to get her mind around the mysterious production of coffee and sandwiches.
 

"I doubt he will be in the sunroom much longer, miss. You might want to get moving."

"What? Oh, sure. Sunroom." She wiped her sweaty palms against her slacks and with a nervous glance at Winston, skirted carefully around the table and headed off toward the sunroom.
 

Time to face the lion in his den.

CK crossed the parlor, her eyes locked on the bright green abundance of the sunroom beyond. She felt dangerously close to throwing up and wondered if maybe she'd be better off faking her death and running away to Costa Rica.

The ridiculous thought brought her up short and she released a nervous huff of laughter. This is what circumstances had come to, she realized. Like it or not, she had to persuade the Captain to stand down.

If only he didn't scare her half to death.
 

Swallowing against her dry mouth, she squared her shoulders. She could run an entire company but she couldn't face one grumpy old man? What kind of a woman was she?

 
Clutching desperately to her courage, she strode the last few yards to her goal.
 

The Captain sat in his favorite wicker rocking chair reading the paper surrounded by dwarf fruit trees and flowering Kalanchoe. The sun slanted through the wall of glass behind him, cutting through the leaves and cheerful clusters of red, yellow and white flowers to splash mottled patches of light across the floor.

Deep lines of worry framed her grandfather's mouth and lined his forehead. Her heart gave a stuttering thump. She'd always thought of him as so vital and energetic, the years never catching up with him.

He glanced up and his pale green eyes flared with surprise. A second later, the bushy lines of his white eyebrows descended and his expression turned thunderous.

"Winston!" The Captain yelled and CK's sympathy died.

"We need to talk," she said, sternly.

"Winston!" he bellowed louder.

"Now."

The Captain studied her for a moment. "Unless you're here to tell me that you have fulfilled my demands, we have nothing to say. I have a great deal to do to get ready for the ball next Saturday. Good day." He shook out the newspaper he was reading and turned his attention back to it.

CK stalked into the sunroom and stopped in front of his chair. Bracing her legs apart, she planted her fists on her hips and made no effort to hide her annoyance. "Exactly."

"Exactly what, young lady?" he muttered.

"Exactly what we need to talk about. Your demands and the party."

The Captain cut his eyes up and contemplated her over the top of his reading glasses. "You look exactly as you did that summer when you were five. As I recall you had plenty to say then, too, regarding how rude it was of me to shout at your puppy."
 

The long-forgotten memory sprang into her mind of her grandfather roaring about animals having no place in a house meant for people. "I won that argument. I intend to win this one, too."

"Do you, now?" He folded his newspaper and laid it on his lap. "There's a great deal more at stake here than piddle on my nineteenth century Persian rug, Constellation Mayflower Kazner."

CK inwardly winced at the use of her eccentric given name, her father's last attempt to please the old reprobate. The Captain knew she hated it, which was probably why he'd used it. Make your adversary uncomfortable and gain the upper hand in negotiations; definitely his
modus operandi
.
 

She gave him a tight smile, pulled a chair up and sat down. "Enlighten me," she said, cooly.

"I can't." He picked up his paper, again.

CK pulled it out of his hands and leaned back, crossing her arms and legs, the paper securely tucked against her side. "No more secrets, Captain. What's going on? Why do I have to get married all of a sudden?"

His gaze sharpened. "I wondered how long it would take you to ask." His chair creaked under him as he settled himself more comfortably. "I'm not permitted to enlighten you."

CK narrowed her eyes at him. "I won't—"

"However, if you happen to discern the truth for yourself..." His mustache dipped down and he shrugged.

She knew her family had produced its share of kooks, but this odd behavior was moving into a whole new world of strangeness. Had his mind simply degraded into full-on senility, or was he under some kind of bizarre, legal gag order?

"All right, I'll bite," she finally said.

A flicker of relief passed across his face and he nodded.

She ran several scenarios through her mind. "Are you permitted to answer yes or no questions?"
 

He reached down and lazily plucked a yellow flower cluster from one of the Kalanchoe that surrounded the grouping of chairs. "I despise these kind of plants," he said, mildly.

"No you don't, you love..." Her eyes widened. A negative statement that wasn't true, so that meant
no
?
 

So, he couldn't even give her yes or no answers. Interesting. But they could have a conversation, apparently. Of course they could. They'd been having conversations off and on all her life.

"Does all this crazy 'get married' stuff have something to do with Kazners?"

He rolled the stem of the blossom between his thumb and forefinger and studied the flowers. "Although I must confess this is a delightful shade of yellow."

A positive statement and true, so that was a
yes
. She hoped.
 

CK reviewed what she knew or suspected, so far. The Captain under a gag order, plus some kind of bizarre connection between an heir being married and the company. Both were possible, she realized. Great-grandfather, the founder of Kazners, was known to be on the paranoid side and obsessed with family lines. But how did it all fit together?

This level of machination strained her natural preference for honesty, but she mentally hunkered down and tried to get her head around it. What had her great-grandfather done that would drive the Captain to such extreme measures?

That day in the garden, what had the Captain said to her? The beginning of a headache bit into her temples. He'd sputtered around about something to do with the future of the family and of the company. He'd seemed frustrated, now that she thought about it. Frustrated and perhaps a little worried, though it was hard to tell with all the shouting.