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“They’re out,” he told her. “See? Dad’s Caddy isn’t here. There was some charity thing. Won’t be home for hours. And the kids—Logan and Eden—are spending the night at Uncle Ryan’s.”
“Oh.” Her throat was suddenly dry.
Holden led her across the wide porch, dug for a key under the doormat, and unlocked the massive doors. They were double, with stained-glass insets in a fan pattern, and complemented on either side by rectangular glass windows as tall as the doors themselves.
Opening one of the doors, Holden pulled her inside. “See? I told you.” He looked around the dark foyer, shrugged. “No one’s here. Come on.”
“Wh-where are we going?”
“My room.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said.
Holden smiled in the darkness, and reached for a light switch. “Fine. The living room?”
When he flicked the lights on, things seemed less frightening to her.
“That would be better.” She relaxed and followed Holden along the massive foyer and through a wide, arching doorway into the living room. He promptly collapsed on a huge leather sofa that smelled so rich she couldn’t believe it. She sat down carefully beside him.
“I see you around school a lot,” he said, leaning his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes. “At football practice, or in the cafeteria. In the halls sometimes. Near my locker.”
She shrugged, and felt her face heat.
“You like me, don’t you, Lucy?”
When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes, sat up a little.
“Don’t look so surprised. What, did you think I hadn’t noticed?”
“You never seem to notice me,” she replied, then bit her lip.
“God, you’re so stiff. Sit back, Lucy. Relax a little.”
Taking a deep breath, she leaned back, only to find his arm now encircled her shoulders. “It’s okay, you know. I like you, too. Always have.”
“You…you do?”
He smiled crookedly. And the next thing she knew he was turning her toward him, bending close, and kissing her. His kiss was wet and insistent; his tongue sloppy when he began sliding it in and out of her mouth. Was this the way it was supposed to be? He tasted like whatever sort of liquor he’d been drinking. Smelled like it, too. And within a moment, his hand was under her sweater, inside her bra, closing over her breast.
She pushed him away. “Holden…stop.”
Sitting up, blinking down at her, he stared for a long time. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. I…don’t know what I was thinking. You’re not that kind of girl.” He pressed a hand to his forehead as if trying to squeeze some sense into it. “I know better than to act like that with you.”
It was, she realized, her moment of truth. One of the most defining moments of her life. She was seventeen years old, and a virgin. And here was her chance to change that…with the only boy she would ever want in that way. The one chance she’d dreamed about, waited for. She would be Holden Fortune’s girl. He’d drive her to school, walk her to classes, sit with her at lunch, take her to dances…maybe even give her his class ring, something he hadn’t done with any of his other girlfriends.
She would never treat him the way they had. Never.
“Holden,” she said.
He lifted his head, bleary-eyed and unfocused.
“I could be that kind of girl…for you.”
His smile was slow and slightly crooked. “No, you couldn’t…”
She leaned up and pressed her lips to his again. This time when he put his tongue in her mouth, she touched it with hers. And when his hand slipped under her sweater she pressed herself against its touch.
Lifting his head away, his voice gruff, he whispered, “Let’s…let’s go up to my room.” He held out a hand. She got up, helped him to his feet, and then, with effort, up the stairs.
He started kissing her again before they even stumbled through his bedroom door. She fell backward, Holden still wrapped around her, and landed on the bed. It was fast, brief, messy, and not at all what she had expected. All so clinical. He didn’t hug her or hold her, caress her or kiss her. He shoved her panties down, and pushed up her skirt. Didn’t even take off his jeans. Just lowered them and—did it. It hurt at first, and then the pain eased, and it was all over.
But…it couldn’t be. Surely there was more to sex than…than that.
Holden lay on top of her, very still, breathing deeply and steadily. Lucinda shook him. “Holden?” He didn’t respond and tears welled up in her eyes. “Holden, please…”
He grumbled and rolled off her. A glance at his face made her realize that he was out cold, and no amount of shaking or pleading would wake him up. She dragged the stained sheet out from under him, wrapped herself in it, snatched up her clothes and ran into the bathroom attached to his bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It had been awful. Embarrassing, humiliating, and awful.
She cried for a few minutes. Then told herself to stop it. She’d wanted this. And…and it was worth it. Maybe. After all, being Holden Fortune’s girlfriend was all she’d dreamed about for a long time now. Well, almost all. She dreamed about being a doctor, too, ever since her mom died five years ago. Now, one of those dreams…had come true. Taking a breath, sighing deeply, she dried her tears, and turned on the water. By the time she got herself cleaned up and dressed, she was feeling a little bit better about what had happened between her and Holden tonight. There had been no tenderness…but that was only because he’d been drinking. Tomorrow, everything would be different. Tomorrow…
She crept back into the bedroom and bent over him to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Holden Fortune,” she whispered. “I’ll love you forever.” Then she hurried through the huge house, back to the front door, all without meeting anyone, and drove home floating on a cloud. So what if it was a rather dark, ominous-looking cloud? It would look brighter tomorrow.
Holden didn’t call in the morning to offer her a ride to school. She’d expected him to, but she battled the disappointment by telling herself he might be sick from all that liquor and was maybe just sleeping it off.
But when she got off the bus at school, she looked up to see Holden’s shiny red Corvette pulling in. Both doors opened at once. Holden hopped out of one door, smiling. Tiffany Lambert came out the other door. They met in the front, and Holden put his arm around her.
Lucinda just stood there on the sidewalk, staring until there was too much moisture in her eyes to see through as the two of them walked toward her, arm in arm. She couldn’t move. The pain in her chest was too big, choking her. She could barely even breathe.
“Hey, Lucy,” Holden said.
Lucinda blinked the stinging tears from her eyes. She wanted to run. But instead she just stood there and said, “Hi.”
“Thanks for the ride home last night. You really pulled my fat out of the fire.”
“No problem,” she managed to choke out.
“I hope I wasn’t an idiot.”
She only frowned at him, not sure what to say, how to act.
“I mean, I was pretty wasted. I don’t remember a damn thing after getting into the car.”
She blinked, and rasped, “You…you don’t?”
“Total blackout,” he said. “Anyway, thanks. If you ever need a favor, you know who to ask, okay?”
She lowered her head as fresh tears came flooding from nowhere. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Come on, Holden. You promised me a doughnut in the cafeteria before homeroom,” Tiffany teased in that voice of hers that could make even the most mundane statement sound like a come-on. And then the two walked away.
Just walked away.
Lucinda ran for the nearest girls’ room, where she threw up. Then she just sank down onto the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and cried.
She was still there when the school nurse came looking an hour later. She spent the rest of that day at home in bed, wondering if she would ever recover from the mess Holden Fortune had made of her heart.
It was several weeks later when she realized the damage Holden had done had not been to her heart alone. When she collapsed in agonizing pain and was rushed to the hospital, bleeding uncontrollably. When she awoke from emergency surgery, sore and groggy and confused. When the doctor told her the pregnancy had been ectopic—that the fetus had been growing in her fallopian tube, and the tube had ruptured. That one of her ovaries had had to be removed to save her life. That her chances of conceiving a child in the future were cut in half.
She lay there in the hospital bed, in pain, afraid, and for the most part, alone. Oh, her father was there, but he’d been distant since her mother had died. He asked no questions, demanded no explanations. Just stayed by her side, looking heartbroken.
And all the while, Lucinda thought, Holden was out there somewhere, driving around in his expensive car with his pretty girlfriend, spending his father’s money as if there were no tomorrow. That night with him had changed her life forever. But he was so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t even know it. He didn’t even remember….
She would hate Holden Fortune for as long as she lived.
One
The Fortune Family’s Double Crown Ranch, June 1999
Everyone was here for the party. Holden, looking angry about something—and without a woman on his arm for once. He must really be out of sorts. Matthew and Claudia, beaming with pride over their child. And why not? Bryan Fortune was lucky, born into billions, with half the county here to celebrate his christening. Even that snooty OB-GYN who’d delivered him was here. Lucinda whatever her name was.
Maria Cassidy used the back door. “The servants’ entrance,” though the phony Fortune family would never be heard referring to it that way. It was how they thought of it, though. Oh, they put on a good show. But that’s all it was. A show. The way the Fortune men had used Maria’s mother, Lily, and then tossed her aside was proof of that. The way Ryan Fortune was still using her. But Ryan’s guise as the kindly patriarch didn’t fool Maria. Nor did his claim to be madly in love with her mother. If he’d loved her, he would never have dumped her thirty years ago, leaving her alone and pregnant.
He’d fathered Maria’s brother, Cole. Him, or that philandering brother of his, Cameron. Maria couldn’t be certain. Her mother refused to say exactly what had happened when she’d worked in the Fortunes’ household as a girl. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Ryan, whom she’d “found again” after thirty years. None of the Fortunes knew about the crown-shaped birthmark Maria’s brother bore, identifying him clearly as one of their own. And Cole said he didn’t care.
But Maria cared. Part of the Fortunes’ wealth rightfully belonged to her family. To her mother for years of suffering and silence. To her brother who’d been denied his share. Cameron and Ryan Fortune were to blame, she was certain, for her family being cut out. But Cameron was already dead, and burning in hell if there was any justice in the world. And Ryan…he would soon be in a hell of his own, a hell of Maria’s creation. And his whole rich family would be there with him.
Maria clutched the tiny bundle in her arms closer, jiggling him gently as she slipped past the kitchen unnoticed. Little James was blessedly quiet. Good. She didn’t want to spoil her surprise by giving it away too soon. In the kitchen, that witch housekeeper, Rosita Perez, made enough noise to cover any James might make anyway. Barking orders to the staff as if she were one of the Fortunes. She’d never liked Maria. Always acted superior, even though she was just a glorified maid. Chief cook and bottle washer to the great Fortune clan. Had been forever, even thirty years ago when Maria’s mother had worked in this very house, in that very kitchen. And one year ago, when Maria had done the same.
Just like her mother, Maria had managed to sleep with a couple of Fortune males. Unlike her mother, she’d had a motive…to bear a Fortune child of her own and claim what her entire family should have claimed long ago. A fair share. And though Maria’s attempts had been unsuccessful at first, she’d found a way. Unorthodox, perhaps, but a way all the same. Just like her mother, Maria Cassidy had given birth to a Fortune child. Little James bore the distinctive, hereditary crown-shaped birthmark on the small of his back. Just like Maria’s brother, Cole.
That part of her plan was complete. This was the next step. Maria intended to tell the whole world who had fathered her child, and claim what was rightfully hers. A piece of the Fortune pie. A big piece.
She slipped through the old pantry to the back stairs and went up them, knowing every inch of this estate by heart. The nursery was at the end of the hall, and that was where Maria headed, on tiptoe, careful not to be seen.
When she stepped into the lavish nursery, she grimaced. ¡Dios! That Ryan’s grandchild Bryan should have all this while her own son had nothing! While her own brother had worked his tail off for everything he’d ever achieved. While her own mother had gone without all these years….
The crib at the farthest end of the nursery was hand-tooled light oak, and probably worth a bundle. The walls had been elaborately decorated with bright colors, and building blocks and teddy bears. The rocking chair was an antique. And the bassinet… God, the bassinet…
Maria went to it and ran her hands over the gleaming wood. It wasn’t a piece of furniture. It was a work of art. “This is where you belong, James,” she whispered to her son as she laid him gently inside it. “That’s right, darling. Sleep. Just sleep. Mamma will be back for you when the moment is right.” Bending closer, she kissed her son’s silken cheek, then straightened, and stepped back into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.
She paused there, took a breath, and wondered briefly if she were making a mistake. But no. This was right. She had to do something. She couldn’t let her mother go on sleeping with Ryan Fortune, believing that he loved her, believing that he would divorce that barracuda wife of his and marry Lily. He wouldn’t. He’d leave her high and dry…just like before. He still hadn’t acknowledged Cole as a Fortune. If he loved Lily, he would at least have owned up to having fathered her firstborn. Because even though Lily had never told him, he must at least suspect the truth. The man could add, couldn’t he? Lily had given birth to Cole only eight months after running away from the Double Crown Ranch—only seven months after marrying Maria’s father, big, gentle Chester Cassidy.
Well, Ryan Fortune would acknowledge James as his grandson. Maria would force him to.
It was the perfect setting for her revelation. A lavish, no-holds-barred christening party for Matthew’s child, Ryan’s grandchild, Bryan Fortune. But this whole clan would soon find out that they had another child to celebrate. Maria’s child. James.
And he was here to take his rightful place in the world. Her son was a Fortune. And he would not be denied!
Holden Fortune was not amused. His uncle Ryan had paraded no less than a dozen “nice young ladies” past him tonight in a thinly veiled effort at match-making that was doomed to failure. He’d just introduced yet another; a petite little thing that reminded Holden of a mouse. Holden’s brisk greeting had sent her skittering off in search of someone friendlier. Uncle Ryan was scowling at him in a fairly good impersonation of Heston’s scowling at Brynner in The Ten Commandments.
“I don’t understand you, Holden. We all know you like women—”
“Ever the king of understatement,” Holden remarked dryly, taking another sip of bourbon and branch.
“So, what’s the problem? Every girl I’ve brought over here has been attractive, and nice and—”
“I don’t want attractive and nice, Uncle Ryan. I want drop-dead gorgeous and very, very naughty. Especially tonight. ‘Nice’ just isn’t gonna cut it tonight.”
Around him were more people than he’d seen at the last cattlemen’s convention. Two-thirds of them family. All the colorful Mexican rugs had been rolled back and the double patio doors thrown wide. The crowd spilled out into the courtyard where Rosita had piled food on tables and Matthew manned the barbecue pit. The smells were damned mouthwatering. Yet Holden had no appetite.
“You’re going to have to stop this,” Ryan ordered in his head-honcho tone.
“Stop what?”
“You know damned well what. Holden you are not your father. You don’t need to go through life trying to live up to his reputation as a playboy. You can settle down, find a good woman, make a life—”
“Yeah, dear ol’ Daddy made sure I would, didn’t he? Went so far as to write it into an ironclad will that I can’t inherit my fair share until I do.”
Ryan nodded solemnly. “And just why do you think my brother did that, Holden?”
Holden shrugged. “Because he was a bastard?”
Ryan lowered his head quickly, probably to hide a hint of amusement. “I like to think my brother realized the error of his ways, in the end. I like to think he wrote those conditions into his will so his firstborn son wouldn’t make the same mistakes he did.”
Holden sighed deeply and shook his head. “Therein lies the problem, Uncle Ryan. If I marry some decent woman, I will be doing just that. Repeating my father’s mistakes. Ruining a good woman’s life by tying her to me. For God’s sake, look at my mother.”
Ryan did. He glanced up, scanned the crowd. Holden followed his gaze and found Mary Ellen Fortune standing alone, a drink in her hand, staring up at the portrait of her dead husband. Fifty-six, and still a knockout. She’d kept her figure. Her red hair didn’t have a streak of gray in it, and since Cameron’s death, she’d even had it cut into a more modern style that bobbed just above her shoulders and moved when she did.
“She was wasted on him,” Holden said. “He made her miserable. And I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps by making some other good woman equally unhappy. Unfortunately, unless I do, I don’t inherit a dime.”
Ryan looked back at Holden again. “Your lawyers…”
“I spoke to them an hour ago. It’s over. The judge upheld the will as is. No more appeals, no more contesting it. It’s over.”
Ryan sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Holden.”
“Yeah. So am I.” Holden took a long pull from his glass.
“But just because your father was a womanizing louse, doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“Too late, Uncle Ryan. I already am.” He glanced up at his father’s portrait. The golden boy looked down at him. His smile seemed to Holden almost mocking. Blond hair, blue eyes, clean-cut, all-American, rich SOB. It was like looking into a mirror. Holden lifted his glass in mock salute. “You win, Dad.” Then he downed the contents. As he did, he spotted exactly what he’d been looking for. Someone he could take home, take to bed, and ravage in every possible way until he got this will stuff out of his system.
She was standing near the barbecue pit, talking to Matthew and his wife Claudia. Her back was to Holden, but he could see enough. She was…exquisite. Jet hair, so black it seemed almost blue in the slanting afternoon sun. So smooth…like satin. He’d bet her eyes were dark, too. Ebon, and slanted. Native American eyes, to go with that bronze skin. Slender, yeah, with just the right curves to her. She was hot. Dressed to hide it, sure. Forest-green silk suit. But that skirt was short, and tight, and her legs looked as if they never ended. She’d be a wild woman in bed.
“Now there’s someone I’d like to meet,” he muttered to Ryan, and when his uncle didn’t answer, Holden turned to see he’d lost Ryan’s attention. It had been stolen the second Lily Cassidy had entered the room. As usual, Uncle Ryan only had eyes for the dark beauty who’d captured his heart thirty years ago, and only recently come back into his life. Lily’s heart was in her eyes as she crossed the room and Ryan took her hands. If anyone in the world deserved to be happy, it was those two. Holden wished for the millionth time that Sophia would just agree to the divorce and set his uncle free. Everyone knew it was the money she’d been after all along.
With a sigh, he returned his attention to the other dark beauty, the one out in the courtyard with his cousin the doctor. He supposed he ought to be grateful for at least one of his father’s traits—he’d never yet met a woman who would tell him no. And from the looks of her, he didn’t expect this one to be the first. Holden exchanged his empty glass for a full one at the portable bar set up in the great room, and sauntered out through the wide-open patio doors to the pit where Matthew tended the ribs. He pretended great interest in the cooking process, all the while keeping one eye on the lucky woman he’d chosen to ease his misery tonight. “Anything I can do, cousin?”
“Hand me that platter. This batch is done.”
