Rexanne Becnel (26 page)

She looked up quickly, but she knew even before she met his gaze that it was him. Dillon stood in the wide arched entrance to the dining room looking straight at her. He was dressed in a magnificently cut suit of charcoal black botany, relieved by a silver brocade waistcoat and a snowy linen shirt. He was hatless and his ebony hair was neatly combed.

It was longer, she noted obliquely as she drank in the sight of him. His hair was longer on his collar, and he was more handsome than she’d remembered. He didn’t smile at her or acknowledge her in any other way. But his gaze seemed to devour her.

Lacie forgot her nervousness. She forgot the anger that had brought her here and the hurt that seemed always to haunt her. Her eyes and her mind—her entire being—filled with his presence so that nothing else mattered. How could she feel this way? she tried to reason with her traitorous heart.

She just did, the answer came. She just did.

For a moment she imagined that they might be able to find some peace between them. But then his attention was drawn by a woman who approached him from the foyer.

The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, with a cloud of silver-blond hair and skin so pale as to be almost ghostly. Her dress was a creamy peach, nipped in at an impossibly tiny waist and pulled snug across a well-displayed bosom. As Lacie watched with growing misgivings, the woman slid her hand most intimately into the crook of Dillon’s arm. Although he pulled slightly away, she only leaned nearer him, crushing her generous bosom against his arm as she whispered something to him.

On the surface it appeared that Dillon had been alone and that the woman had come over to him of her own volition. But this stark reminder that her fascination with him was no less than what innumerable other women might also feel sent a shock through Lacie. She lowered her eyes in complete dismay.

Lacie had imagined her confrontation with Dillon many times on her long journey. Sometimes she had imagined it as cool yet cordial, sometimes as angry. In some versions she trounced him; in others, he won. Her favorite had been their reconciliation, although her rational self had always dismissed that foolish possibility.

But somehow she’d not considered this. Somehow she’d not thought that there might be other women in his life.

You’re a fool, she berated herself as she reached shakily for the wineglass. She gulped the tart wine without tasting it, then only nodded as the hovering waiter refilled her glass.

He was so smooth, so greedy and devious and self-serving! How could she have overlooked this possibility? What he’d taken from her he’d obviously had from any number of women. She’d known all along she was nothing special to him. She was just that obstacle that he’d had to surmount.

And he had.

But that logic brought her no comfort. He was here, and it was obvious he could be with that blonde if he wanted to. Even if he hadn’t done so intentionally, he’d hurt her in the most cruel fashion imaginable.

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. Her heart ached within her chest and she felt drained of every emotion she had ever felt. She was empty. Hollow. There was nothing left inside her to feel.

Yet still she hurt.

Lacie lifted the glass again and drank too quickly. Her empty stomach roiled at such abuse, but she was past caring about that. Dillon Lockwood would not see her defeated. He would not see her hurt, she vowed as she drained the glass. He was who he was, who he had always been: Frederick’s grasping bastard brother.

She was the same too. She was Frederick’s friend who was going to keep his school safe. Nothing had changed.

Yet when Dillon crossed alone to her table, she knew that was not true.

“Welcome to Denver, Lacie.”

Each low, rumbling word seemed to pierce her heart. “Thank you for arranging for the lovely suite,” she managed to say in a voice that hardly shook at all. She raised her eyes to him. “It’s far more than I need.”

She trailed off under his steady stare, so dark and unfathomable. So perceptive. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass as she fought an urge to hide from his astute gaze.

“What do you think of my—” He stopped and his eyes glinted like hard emerald chips. “Of
our
hotel?”

On the pretext of looking around, Lacie tore her gaze away from his mesmerizing one. Unfortunately it was the departing blonde that her eyes fastened on, and she swallowed convulsively. “I’m impressed. Is that what you want to hear?” She glared back at him. “Now, may I please enjoy my dinner in peace?”

“I thought perhaps we could have a quiet little talk.”

“I believe your friend is more interested in speaking to you than I am.”

He did not move his eyes from her at all. “That was just a chance meeting. Besides, she knows not to expect too much from me.”

“Yes, and so do I.” She stood up abruptly and flung her twisted napkin onto the table. Then before he could detect any pain behind her words, she swiftly exited the room.

He was the most hateful man alive! Cruel to her. Probably cruel to that other woman as well. Poor thing, Lacie seethed. She probably had no inkling what a cad he was.

Still, Lacie’s consuming anger did not lessen the terrible pain she felt. She was nothing to him. She never had been, she mourned as she hurried up the broad carpeted stairs. Yet that realization could not relieve her grieving heart.

She was trembling like a leaf in a wind when she reached the entrance to her suite. She fumbled for the key in her drawstring purse, half blinded by unwelcome tears. Then she heard footsteps approaching, and her haste turned to panic.

“Lacie, we have to talk,” Dillon said from right behind her.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she muttered.

“Then why are you here?”

“To get my power of attorney back and have my say at the board meeting. Not to talk to you.” She struggled to fit the key into the lock, but it slipped from her nerveless fingers.

“You won’t be able to avoid me forever.”

“I can try.” She stooped down for the key, but just as she grasped it, so did he. At once she jumped, as if she had suddenly been burned. Only a few inches separated their faces, and for an electrifying moment their eyes met in silent combat. Then Lacie stood up and looked away.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he reiterated as he unlocked her door.

“We can settle our business before the board,” she insisted, but quietly now.

“Not all of it.”

Alarmed at what he might be implying, Lacie took a step back. “Everything I have to say to you can be said in front of the board. Everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She tried to step past him but his arm shot out to block her way.

“Still playing the high-and-mighty Mrs. Kimbell, I see.” He leaned a little nearer, forcing her back against the doorframe. “Perhaps I should warn you, Lacie. We’re on my home ground now. We’ll be playing by my rules.” He traced the length of her jaw with one finger as he stared into her dark-lashed eyes. “You can’t win, so why not compromise now?”

Lacie looked up into his handsome face as she struggled to contain her warring emotions. “Another of your infamous compromises?” she whispered. “Another of your disgusting plots?” She shook her head faintly and tried to catch her breath. “I’m not so stupid as to still trust you.”

A shadow passed over his face, and he straightened up. “I may be guilty of many things. But what happened—I didn’t expect it to turn out the way it did.”

“No? Then you mean it was just your good fortune that I turned out to be a—” She blushed violently and looked away. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“My good luck. Your bad luck.” He paused. “There’s still the question of a child.”

A knife could not have pierced her heart more cruelly than his words.

“There is no child!” she cried. “There is no child, and even if there were, I’d never want him to know what a horrible father he had!” Then in uncontrollable despair, she rushed past him and slammed the door behind her.

This time she could not hold back the tears. In a torrent they came, hot and salty, wetting the beautiful silk comforter and draining her completely. She was emotionally exhausted by the time they came to a painful sobbing end.

There was no child—thank God. But if there were, she would never let him know. Better to be raised not knowing your father than to be the bastard child of a heartless man.

After all, look how Dillon had turned out.

D
ILLON DRUMMED HIS FINGERS
on the wide mahogany table top. In the empty conference room it was a sharp, angry sound, frustrated and unrelieved.

Was she lying?

All night he’d lain awake debating that question. Was she lying about a child? His child? For some reason the thought bothered him very much.

He had always been careful in his dalliances, for a bastard was the last thing he wanted. No child of his would ever wonder about his father. No child of his would ever live with that hollow spot inside, that void of need that only a caring father could fill. No, he’d been very careful—except with her.

Dillon flung himself back in the chair and stared up at the dark coffered ceiling, shadowed now in the early morning light. What a fool he’d been where one Lacie Montgomery—Kimbell—was concerned. He should have just given her that infernal school and let her keep Frederick’s name in exchange for the balance of his brother’s properties. As one-sided a deal as it would have been, he realized now that she probably would have agreed. The school was all she had wanted, after all. She could have given management of the school her best effort. Then, when Sparrow Hill folded, as it inevitably would have, he could have bought it back from her for a reasonable sum, and they would have both been content.

But now it was unlikely that either of them would ever be satisfied. His only consolation was that he could easily determine if she was pregnant. Neal could keep him posted on that.

And if she were pregnant?

He ran his hand over his forehead, then closed his eyes and sighed. If she were pregnant it would make an already complicated situation even more unwieldy. There would be no reasoning with her whatsoever.

Yet even that knowledge could not stifle the strange quiver of emotion that stirred in him. He’d never thought about being a father before, at least not in other than preventive measures. But seeing Lacie last night had made the possibility seem much more alive. She had been so beautiful. So vulnerable.

So infuriating.

His jaw tightened in concern. It would be just like her to lie about it, when all the while that baby would be his heir!

Dillon’s eyes widened as he considered the implications. If she kept it, she would have to claim it was Frederick’s. No doubt she would love to torture him with that lie. But the child would still be his, heir to everything he’d built.

His resolve jelled at once. There was no way he would allow Lacie to fob off a child of his as Frederick’s. He would claim it as his no matter what she said. A child of theirs would possess the rights to both properties—hers and his. Everything would come together quite naturally through a baby, just as it should.

At that unexpected realization he slowly straightened up. If they were to marry…

If they were to marry, it would solve everything. It wouldn’t matter who owned what if there was a baby and they were married.

He frowned as he imagined the absolute delight she would take in turning down a marriage proposal from him. How she would love to taunt him with a refusal! But if she were pregnant—if!—she might feel a little differently.

And if he had to, he’d force her. No child of his would be born a bastard.

He smiled then and marveled at his immediate light-heartedness. The thought of Lacie growing big with his child held a perverse appeal that he could not begin to comprehend. The very thought made him want to hold her in his arms and press her close to him. He rose from the chair and stretched the stiff muscles of his back before leaving the dim boardroom. To his surprise, he actually hoped she had been lying when she had denied the existence of a child. Maybe it was too soon for her to even know. If she were pregnant he would be content, for to his amazement, he suddenly found that he wanted an heir. Very much.

Lacie was as ready as she ever would be, girded for battle behind the self-possessed facade of an elegant young widow. The gray suit was the perfect choice, for she looked tall and slender in it. Mature, she decided. Yet it still allowed her to be attractive. It was just the right touch. Still, no amount of chambray, linen, and ribbon could quite prepare her for the roomful of curious gazes that turned her way when she entered the imposing boardroom.

She should have known, she realized as she hesitated in the doorway, staring back at all the strange faces. After all, everyone in the Lockwood Office Building had cast her furtive looks as she’d passed: the doorman, the receptionist, the room of young clerks and secretaries. Even though they had all been quite polite, she had not had to identify herself to any of them. They already knew exactly who she was.

So, obviously, did the staring board members. She had to will herself to step farther into the room so that the young man at the door could close it behind her. But then what? How was she to act? What was she to do? Everyone else was milling around, chatting among themselves like old acquaintances. She was clearly the only outsider.

Then she saw Dillon, and the others were no longer important. He was leaning on a tall leather chair, his elbows propped on the high back, his hands loosely clasped. He appeared to be listening to an older gentleman’s words, but his eyes were on her. Like sun shining through emeralds, his eyes glinted darkly as they swept over her. But he did not acknowledge her in any other way.

Why should he? she asked herself logically. Yet she could not ignore the pang in her heart. No matter how often she recounted his many sins against her, no matter how unyielding and cruel he continued to be, she nevertheless longed for nothing more than his smile and the sign of his approval. Oh, what was wrong with her that she could be so perverse?