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She broke off, and Rakin knew she was fighting back tears.
“But I keep thinking I should’ve have had some kind premonition—noticed something,” she said huskily. “I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Several of the staff were still there when I left—Brooke, RJ’s assistant at the time, was the last to leave.”
The memory was clearly upsetting Laurel. Rakin could make out the gooseflesh rippling across the fine, smooth skin of her arms.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked back to the end of the balustrade. “I can’t believe I never noticed anything.”
“You weren’t expecting anything to happen.”
She fell silent. Finally she turned her head and a band of moonlight fell across her face giving her skin the sheen of silvered silk. “Out of all of us, Brooke blames herself most. In her statement to the police she mentioned while she was finishing up the filing backlog, Mom brought dinner to Dad that night. The police arrested Mom—she was the last person to see him alive and, until recently, she had no alibi. What makes Brooke feel even worse is the fact that she didn’t even think to mention that earlier in the afternoon it was pouring rain and she had her arms full of blueprints when she ran for the office to avoid being drenched. A man in a hat and raincoat held the door open for her. No one has any idea who he was. Security didn’t record his entry—they thought he was with Brooke. And, of course, she has no idea who he could’ve been. Detective McDonough thinks it’s possible he hid in the building until after everyone—including Mom—left.”
“And there’s still no clue about who it was?”
Laurel shook her head, causing her hair to ripple over her shoulders. “Video security footage from an adjacent lot puts Jack Sinclair’s vintage Aston Martin in the parking lot from late afternoon until around the time my father was shot—but he swears he was at his own office. Yet he never reported his car missing—or stolen.”
The odd note in her voice made Rakin probe further, “But you think Sinclair might have murdered your father?”
“I keep hoping not. Dad obviously loved Angela—he wanted to marry her, but his parents wouldn’t countenance it. Jack’s clearly bitter about the situation. Fact is, he may be the firstborn son, but he’s not a legitimate Kincaid. Dad tried to make it up to him—and to Angela. Yet despite the inheritance and power Dad gave him, he’s behaving like he has a major grudge against the family—which makes it hard to view Jack in any kind of positive way.”
“And you like to see the best in people?”
“I try.” The eyes that met his held the kind of honesty he’d given up hoping to find. “But I don’t always get it right. Let’s talk about something else—I promised myself I wouldn’t let Jack Sinclair ruin tonight. It’s a celebration.”
“I want to talk about you.” With a sense of satisfaction, Rakin watched her do a double take. “Eli said you possess the kindest heart of anyone he knows.”
It had crossed Rakin’s mind in the past few minutes to throw himself at her mercy and ask her to help him out of a tight spot with his grandfather, but it went against the grain. Rakin never asked for favors. His pride would not allow it. All his decisions were based on considerations of mutual benefit—and hard profit.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “That makes me sound boring.”
“Kindness isn’t boring.”
“Well, it’s not very exciting either.”
Rakin’s eyebrows jerked up at that. “You want to be considered exciting?”
“I want a life.” It burst from her. She looked taken aback at her own ferocity. “Goodness, that sounded much more melodramatic than I intended.”
Maybe Laurel Kincaid didn’t express her own wants often enough, mused Rakin. Taking two steps toward her, he asked carefully, “How do you intend to achieve the life you want?”
Her gaze shifted out to the night. For a long moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer.
Then she turned her head, and her eyes glistened in the dappled shadows. “I’m going to do all the things I’ve never done. Things no one would expect of Laurel Kincaid, director of public relations of TKG, friend of the Library, patron of the Art Gallery—first person to join a committee for the next good cause.”
Rakin couldn’t suppress a smile at the self-deprecatory comment. “Like gamble in Vegas?”
“Exactly like gambling in Vegas.” She lifted her chin a touch defensively. “It may not be meaningful, but it will be one brick broken out of the boundaries that are imprisoning me.”
What was it about this woman that caused his heart to lighten and amusement to fill him? Leading him to feel as if he’d shed the burden accumulated over years?
Then it came to him. Under that ladylike exterior, Laurel Kincaid was a rebel. A real, genteel Southern rebel. Rakin had a feeling that she was about to throw off the constraints of a lifetime. The fates help them all. “You want to experience risk and adventure?”
“Oh, yes!”
Staring into her sparkling eyes, Rakin discovered he wanted to get to know this intriguing woman better.
Much better.
He desired her. More importantly, he liked her. It would be so easy to explain his predicament to her—he suspected she would listen. He could already visualize her head tilting to one side, her eyes fixed on his as he told her about his grandfather’s threats to disenfranchise him from the company he’d worked so hard to expand. His predicament would arouse her sympathy—how could it not, given the parallels to Jack Sinclair’s efforts to destroy The Kincaid Group?
Would her kind heart allow her to agree to a marriage of convenience?
Rakin suspected she just might even consider it. Eli had been right: Laurel would make him the perfect wife.
But he needed time to persuade her. Before he could check the impulse he found himself saying, “So come away with me to Vegas.”
Three
“Come away with you to Las Vegas? Are you serious?”
Astonishment caused Laurel’s mouth to drop open. So much for the certainty that her instilled equilibrium was unshakeable. Rakin’s invitation had floored her. And, what’s more, the rogue knew he’d surprised her—his eyes were twinkling.
“Absolutely serious.” He’d closed the gap between them, and his broad shoulders blocked her view of the house. “You could have try your luck at the slot machines.”
“I intend to do more than try my luck at the machines,” she informed him. “My plan is to gamble all night—in the casino.”
“That’s a serious rebellion.” His eyes crinkled as his grin broadened. “And I’m sure I can accommodate such a plan.”
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked suspiciously, flicking her hair back over her shoulder.
“Why should I laugh at you?”
Because he considered her too staid, too much of a Goody Two-shoes to take him up on his offer? She took in his stance. His weight was perfectly balanced on both feet. In the shadows, his white shirtfront was a startling contrast to his dark, hawkish features. The rash urge to surprise him rose before she could check it. Why shouldn’t she take him up on his invitation to go gamble in Vegas?
Laurel drew a deep breath and said in a rush, “My mother was a Winthrop.”
She paused expectantly.
When Rakin didn’t react, she said, “I forget. To people not from the South, the name is meaningless. But in South Carolina the Winthrops have always been a force to be reckoned with.” She gave him a quick smile. “Sounds terribly snobbish, I know. But in Charleston they’re an old, well-established family who fell on hard times. A result of bad business decisions—although the decline had started way back. My Winthrop great-great uncle was infamous for his ability to gamble huge sums on property and poker—he lost at both.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It got worse. By the 1970s the family fortune had been exhausted, but the Winthrops were still determined to hang on to a lifestyle they could no longer afford. That meant a new injection of cash to maintain their social standing—cash that came from the Kincaid shipping and—ironically—real estate profits.” Laurel gave him a wry smile. “The Kincaids must’ve been better at gambling on property—or, at least, more astute. As luck would have it, at the same time that the Winthrop family fortune was in decline, my Kincaid grandfather was trying to scale the old money bastions of Charleston, which—despite his rapidly growing nouveau riche wealth—had proved impenetrable up till that point. So he pressured my father into marrying my mother.”
He stepped closer. “You sound cynical.”
“Cynicism is not a usual characteristic of mine, believe it or not.” Laurel shifted back until she could feel the hard balustrade against her hip through the delicate fabric of her dress. “But I don’t think the way the older Winthrops or Kincaids behaved was particularly admirable—they brokered a marriage between my parents for their own gain.”
“It is how things used to be done in powerful families.” Rakin shrugged. “But your parents would have to bear part of the responsibility for agreeing to the arrangement.”
“My mother fell in love with Reginald Kincaid.” Laurel gave him sad smile. “He was handsome, witty—what woman can resist a man with a sense of humor?—and he had the means to restore the family fortune. A veritable knight in shining armor. She never stood a chance.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Why am I telling you this? We’re here to celebrate Kara’s wedding, not cry over the past.”
“Don’t let your parents’ choices in the past color your future,” he said softly. “Come to Vegas—I’ll take you gambling if that’s what you want. Or we could just enjoy ourselves for a weekend.”
Two … maybe three … days. What harm could come from a few days of pure pleasure? There was something quite wildly wicked in doing a deed that had always been frowned upon in her family—her great uncle had a lot to answer for.
“You make it sound very tempting.”
“But?”
So he’d detected her hesitation. “I don’t know….”
“You are getting cold feet.”
He was one hundred percent correct. Despite the warmth of the balmy evening, she was most definitely getting cold feet. She drew in a deep breath, conscious of the pungent scent of jasmine on the night air. The sweet familiarity of the fragrance made the conversation she was having with Rakin seem even more surreal. “I shouldn’t even be considering such a crazy invitation.”
“Of course you should. It’s what you want to do.”
Right again.
Could he see inside her head?
Instantly all the reasons why she shouldn’t go rolled through her mind. Who would follow up with Detective McDonough? With Nikki Thomas? Who would look after her mother? Her sisters? For a moment she considered that her mother had Cutter now, her sisters were both married. It would be liberating to break free of everything for a couple of days.
Enjoy herself. Have some fun. Abandon the responsibilities that were weighing her down.
Get a life.
Was it already too late? Had she forgotten how to live? Laurel glanced up at the man who was offering her the biggest temptation of her life. His lips were still curved into a smile, the lower one full and passionate. Her gaze lingered there. Kiss a stranger. So much riskier than flirting. But oh so tempting …
She looked quickly away.
The sound of light footsteps on the balcony freed her from making a decision. Susannah, Matt’s fiancée, was bearing down on them. Giving Rakin a curious glance, she said, “Laurel, your presence is required. Kara’s about to throw her bouquet.”
Laurel’s shoulders sagged with relief. Tossing Rakin a small smile, she said, “I must go—duty summons.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
He didn’t need to say that he would expect an answer; that was implicit in his intent regard. Her smile turned sultry. Flirtatious, even. She was finally getting the hang of it. “I’ll hold you to that.”
A swarm of women had taken to the dance floor. Young and old—it appeared that every unmarried woman in Charleston wanted to catch the bouquet tonight.
Laurel’s heart sank as she took in the spectacle. She came to a dead halt. “There are already enough desperate wannabe brides here, you don’t need me to make up numbers.”
“Kara specifically said she wanted you here,” Susannah said sotto voce, shepherding Laurel forward.
As they reached the outskirts of the dance floor, Elizabeth joined them. “Hurry, Laurel. Kara’s been waiting for you.”
Laurel glanced from Susannah to her mother, and her tipsiness evaporated. “Do I detect a conspiracy?”
“Oh, no.” Though both Susannah and her mother denied it, their eyes were stretched too wide.
Reluctantly, Laurel let her mother drag her into the center of the group.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark man in a beautifully tailored tuxedo. Rakin. Her head jerked about. He was standing beside her brother Matt—and she spotted RJ, and Daniel, Lily’s husband, too. As she watched Alan Sinclair joined them. All of them were grinning. But it was Rakin’s dark gaze that brought tremors of excitement to Laurel’s stomach.
I’ll be waiting. The memory of his whispered words caused the excitement to rise another notch.
What answer was she going to give him?
“Laurel!”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, her head whipped around guiltily.
“You need to go forward more—to the front. Kara is about to throw her bouquet.”
Laurel balked. But the crowd around her had no such inhibitions. As Eli gallantly held out an arm to help Kara step elegantly onto the band’s stage, Laurel was jostled forward.
From her vantage point on the stage, Kara scanned the crowd. Her gaze found Laurel, and her eyes lit up. Then she turned around.
Oh, no.
As Kara tossed the bouquet of red roses backward over her head, Laurel quickly ducked. Then she spun around to see who the lucky recipient had been of the bouquet obviously intended for her.
Elizabeth stood behind her clutching an armful of roses and wearing a bewildered expression.
“Well, congratulations, Mom, it looks like you’re set to be the next bride.” Taking pity on her mortified mother, Laurel placed a hand under her elbow and led her from the floor.
“Laurel, what are people going to think? Your father has only been dead for four months. Now I’m standing on a dance floor, a wedding bouquet in my arms. This is catastrophic.”
Her mother needed a Get a Life list of her own, Laurel decided. She’d spent far too many years of doing the Right Thing. “Mom, stop worrying about what other people think. It’s your life…. Live it. Let Kara arrange your wedding, invite your real friends to dance at it—and make Cutter a happy man. Marry him. Be happy.”
“Be happy?” Elizabeth repeated. The lines around her mouth lessened and her eyes brightened. “You’re so right, darling. I will be happy. Thank you.”
Laurel swallowed the lump in her throat. Was it really that easy?
Then Lily was there, too. “Great catch, Mom!”
“Oh, go on.” Elizabeth’s cheeks wore flags of scarlet. Yet she looked more vibrant than she had in years.
Kara arrived in a rustle of fine bridal fabric. She frowned at Laurel, who smiled back angelically.
“It was a mistake.” Elizabeth shrugged apologetically to her middle daughter. “I know you intended for Laurel to catch it.”
Laurel’s smile broadened at the confirmation of the conspiracy she’d already suspected. Triumph at the success of her covert rebellion overtook her.
“Laurel needs a groom before she can have a wedding, so throwing her the bouquet was probably a little premature,” Lily pointed out to Laurel’s increasing amusement. But her relief was short-lived as Lily started scanning the men crowded around the dance floor. “Let me see. There must be someone we can introduce Laurel to. One of RJ’s friends—or maybe Daniel knows someone suitable.”
Again, her family was organizing her life.
