Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (31 page)

Good try,
Dominic thought.
But we both know that it's already gone a whole lot further than the money.

 

C
ATHLIN HAD JUST SHOVED
the last case of wine into the back of her Jeep when Dominic strode down the drive. His long legs ate up the distance, and his casual elegance in an old leather jacket gave him the look of a movie star traveling light. Mirrored aviator sunglasses gleamed silver beneath his wild, dark hair.

Cathlin barely allowed him time to sit down before slamming the car into gear and roaring down the drive.

“Tell me about Severance.”

“There's nothing to tell. He tried something once, but I wasn't interested. Now it's strictly business.”

“Let's hope
he
knows that.”

“Oh, he does. We have an understanding, Richard and I. I understand that he's an irresponsible, arrogant jerk, but I need his business. He understands that if he tries anything out of line, he's going to lose a few teeth.”

Dominic laughed. “Very well, enough about Severance. Tell me about this wine you're taking to him. No doubt it's going to cost him a lot.”

“A shocking amount.” Cathlin smiled faintly. “The case comes from Bordeaux.”

“I believe I've heard of it,” Dominic said dryly. “I've also heard that half the Bordeaux vintages are worth little more than the bottles they're housed in.” It wasn't quite true, but Dominic wanted to hear her talk, even if it was only to refute him.

“Sometimes they're overvalued. In 1972 an exceptionally poor vintage was foisted on the world at record prices. Buying
a name-brand château that year was a major mistake. It's a question of land and continuity, you see.”

Dominic sat back and listened to Cathlin slide into her subject. She thought she was being boring and obnoxious, but Dominic was intrigued by her passionate knowledge of all things related to wine.

“The old houses, or châteaux, usually have the best soil and ideal growing conditions. Because of that, over a long period of time their wines will be consistently better than any others.”

The lady was good, all right. It seemed that anything she didn't know wasn't worth knowing. But her concern spread beyond crop yields and pesticides and harvesting schedules. Clearly Cathlin O'Neill had a heart for wine and a love for the land. Both came through even in this bland description of vintage controversies and vineyard soil conditions.

Dominic sat back and let her deluge him with facts and figures. As she described the fields of Bordeaux, he pictured green vines climbing over a rolling hillside. He saw the low mists that clung to the valleys, shielding the grapes until they reached perfect maturity.

Yes, Cathlin O'Neill was damned good. And she was good because it came from her heart, not her head, which was where too many well-heeled vintners and arrogant wine connoisseurs failed. Dominic had learned all this from his French mother.

Danielle Montserrat had taught him that a very fine wine should not be coddled, worshiped, or bartered as a simple commodity. Wine, she had always insisted, should be treated like a fine old friend. It should be savored and appreciated, enjoyed in the heat of a fine summer afternoon and in the last cool slide of velvet evening.

Dominic had always made that his credo at La Trouvaille. He wanted to create wines that were rich but subtle, with a power and elegance that lingered. And apparently he'd succeeded. Cathlin herself had pronounced La Trouvaille a success. He
didn't suppose it was because of trends either. Cathlin O'Neill would never be a slave to fads. She would judge a Château Lafite with the same honesty that she accorded the most anonymous French
vin de pays.

And a part of Dominic Monsterrat honored her for her cussed independence. That kind of stubbornness had no doubt created any number of problems for her, given the conservatism of the wine world. But she'd survived.

Dominic knew he could learn a great deal from that kind of tenacity.

As they drove on through bars of golden sunlight and a haze of bright spring wildflowers, Dominic found himself wishing he didn't know her name or her past or anything about her. Then he could simply pull her into his arms and kiss her the way his hardening body urged him to do.

But that was impossible.

She was business and nothing else, right up until the will was honored. Somehow he was going to have to remember that.

An hour later they turned up an oak-fringed drive that overlooked the sea. A pink granite palace squatted at the top of the hill, its banks of modern windows ablaze in the setting sun. The beautifully manicured lawns were marred by two tennis courts and a garish black flagstone swimming pool.

Money, Dominic thought. Lots of it. Money that was screaming to be seen. “Remind me not to look up
this
guy's decorator.”

Dominic saw Cathlin frown and run her hand absently over her neck, as if it ached.

A uniformed guard met them just beside the gatehouse. Obviously, Mr. Millionaire didn't like to have his privacy threatened.

“Name?” the guard said, trying to eye Cathlin's legs.

Dominic had to restrain the urge to give him a savage right uppercut.

“Cathlin O'Neill to see Mr. Severance.”

“I'll have to phone up to the house.” The man frowned, scanning Dominic. “Who's he?”

“My assistant,” Cathlin said silkily. “He'll help me with the wine cases.”

The guard shrugged, then turned away to his radio. A moment later he gestured over the trees. “Drive to the top of the hill. Park at the servants' entrance,” he added maliciously.

As the ornate wrought-iron gates slid open, Cathlin pulled in and started up the drive. “You stay in the Jeep. You'd never pass for a workman, not in that jacket and those glasses. Definitely not with that attitude.”

“What's wrong with my attitude?”

“You're too arrogant.”

Dominic shrugged. “We bodyguards have an image to keep up after all.” Cathlin pulled into the parking area, but made no move to get out. “We're here, O'Neill. Or hadn't you noticed?”

“I noticed.”

“Then you'd better get going. Mr. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous isn't going to like that pricey Bordeaux throwing phosphates from the heat.”

Cathlin muttered and reached for the door.

“Damn it, O'Neill.” Cursing softly, Dominic caught her cheeks in his hands and pulled her against him.

God, but she fit his arms perfectly. And her scent…

Slowly, he ran his hand through her silky cap of black hair. It danced against his fingers, warm and electric. Then he reached beneath and slid something around her neck.

Cathlin didn't speak. She seemed to be struggling with a wave of conflicting emotions. Hell, Dominic knew that
he
was.

“I found your cameo. I thought you should wear it, as a reminder of that old house you love—and of the way you can save it.” It was playing dirty, but Dominic didn't care. He was going to get through to her any way he could.

“Dominic, I don't—”

He didn't give her time to be angry. He just pulled her head back and then crushed his mouth over hers in one hard motion.

This had to be what summer tasted like, he thought dimly. Hot and endlessly sweet. His fingers tightened. He wanted and wanted and wanted.

But Dominic knew he couldn't have what he wanted. This was as far as it was going to go. When he pulled away, her face was flushed and her hands were fists.

“What was
that
for?”

It took Dominic a few heartbeats to recover enough control to answer. “It's for the man who's staring at us through those windows. I want him to know exactly what we were doing out here.”

C
ATHLIN TRIED TO FORCE
her heart back between her ribs.

Who was she kidding? She wasn't even
close
to normalcy. Her mouth was still tingling from the burn of Dominic's lips, and the cameo hung cold and heavy at her neck.

Cathlin shoved open the door of the Jeep and tugged her satchel over her arm. Once again the man had outflanked her and left her speechless.

Forget him, O'Neill. You've got work to do.

She tugged her satchel higher and ran a hand over her hair, but she needn't have bothered. She did not look like the cool professional as she hoped, nor the level-headed wine expert.

At that moment Cathlin O'Neill looked like a dewy-eyed beauty, like a woman lost in love after being kissed by the man she adored. The fragile cameo at her neck above her soft blouse subtly complemented that image.

Dominic had planned it that way, of course.

 

R
ICHARD
S
EVERANCE WAS A
picture of casual elegance in raw silk trousers and an Armani jacket carefully selected to exaggerate the width of his unimpressive shoulders. He received Cathlin warmly, all smiles and curiosity to see this case of Bordeaux she wanted to sell him. But as Cathlin cradled the sample bottle, Severance's hard eyes settled on the smooth curves beneath her blouse. From there, they ran to the long, slim thighs and rounded calves beneath her blue jeans.

His lips curved in a smile.

His cordiality lasted ten minutes. By the time Cathlin began tendering bills of sale and import documents, the London merchant banker and socialite prince had waited long enough. He cornered her by the Louis XIV writing desk as she was working a cork out of her first sample bottle.

“I thought you'd like a taste before you made your decision.”

“How true. I always sample anything I consider buying.” His eyes narrowed as he moved toward her. “You really do have the most beautiful mouth, Cathlin. I wonder if it tastes the same as last time.” He caught her waist and pulled her into his arms.

“This is not amusing, Richard!”

“Simply part of the sampling.” His tongue thrust between her lips. His hand flattened over her breast.

Cathlin shoved at his hands. “Stop this, Richard. I told you last time, it was strictly business and you agreed.”

“I'm afraid I lied,” Severance said coolly. “Dear, sweet Cathlin, why else would you have come back? I knew that little scene last time was just to get me crazy. And it worked, love. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind.”

“I came for the wine, Richard. Nothing else.”

“For Christ's sake, I saw how you came on to your young stud out there in the car. You two looked like you were going to make it in the front seat. So don't tell me you're not interested.”

“What you saw was—a mistake.”

“Good. I'll please you more than he did. Besides, it always pays to keep your clients happy.”

Cathlin's face paled. So it had all been a game. She was part of the package—otherwise, no deal. “I don't have time for these antics.”

“Of course you do, Cathlin. You know you want it. Judging by the way you kissed your friend in the car, you were primed,
loaded, and ready to fire.” His fingers pushed under her blouse, working at the delicate layers of lace beneath.

Cathlin felt a memory stir deep in her mind, an image of hard hands shoving her into a dark room. She closed her eyes, fighting to stay calm, fighting to remember. But there was nothing more.

She shook her head as Severance pulled her closer. “Let me go, Richard.”

“Damn it, Cathlin, I haven't been able to think straight since I met you. It's long past time that we—”

Cathlin sent her fist into his stomach. Severance bent over, gasping in pain. “You'll be sorry for that. I've got friends, damn it.”

Suddenly Dominic charged through the doorway. “Cathlin, are you—” He stopped when he saw Severance doubled over, his suit awry.

Cathlin put a restraining hand on his arm. “Go away, Dominic. Things are fine here.”

“Fine? Your blouse is up to your chin and your cheeks are bright red and you say you're
fine?
What in the hell was he doing?”

“Nothing that matters. Now if you will please leave, I'd like to finish here.”

“Finish what?” Dominic glared at Severance. “The man was muscling you over. He wasn't interested in any bloody wine.”

“I know that,” Cathlin said calmly.

Dominic crossed his arms at his chest. “Go ahead and finish. I'm not leaving without you.”

“This is my fight, Dominic.”

“Not anymore, it isn't. The second that bastard laid a finger on you all bets were off.”

Severance tugged his coat straight and scowled at Cathlin. “Get this person out of here so we can talk, Cathlin. Otherwise I—”

“Otherwise what, Richard? You'll warn off all your friends? Serita and I will survive, I assure you.” Smiling grimly, Cathlin ripped her bill of sale into tiny pieces and tossed them over Sev
erance's head. Then she very carefully overturned the vintage Bordeaux across Severance's beautiful carpet. “There's your wine sample, Richard. It was an excellent year, by the way, fruity and quite intense. I hope you enjoy it, because that's the last one you'll be getting from us.”

“You bloody little—”

Severance never finished. Dominic's hand smashed into his jaw, and sent him staggering backward onto the floor.

 

C
ATHLIN SLID BEHIND THE
wheel, her hands trembling. “I told you not to interfere.”

“Too bad,” Dominic said tightly.

“I don't want anything from Richard Severance. Nor do I want anything from
you.
I can manage by myself.”

“Sure you can.” Dominic's fingers tightened on her door. He took in her stiff shoulders and pale face. She was prickly and stubborn and grade-A impossible.

And he still wanted to pull her against his chest and kiss her breathless.

No mistake about it, Montserrat,
he thought grimly.
You've really blown it this time.
So much for all that impartial bodyguard routine.

He glared down at Cathlin, angry at the desire still battering his body. “Slide over,” he ordered. “I'm driving.”

Cathlin's hands tightened. “I told you, I'm fine.”

“Like hell you are.”

Cathlin couldn't ignore him, no matter how hard she tried. His eyes were smoky and his body was rigid. He looked angry and frustrated and determined to protect her—even from herself. And his strength was seductive, tempting her to give in, tempting her to let him take charge and smooth her way, like the professional he was.

Only Cathlin knew one other thing. This was all just tempo
rary. She'd let down her defenses and learn to rely on him, and then one day she'd wake up and find him gone, off to Tashkent or Bogotà or Timbuktu, just like her father had gone.

And she'd be the one left behind, drying her tears and fighting her pain, trying to pick up the thousand shattered pieces of her life.

No. Not ever again. “Forget it, Macho Man. I'm just fine.”

“Fine? Your hands are shaking and you can barely see straight, O'Neill. I don't intend to die from your reckless driving. Now move over.”

Cathlin thought about arguing with him, but the cold light of reason told her he was right. Her hands were shaking so hard that she'd probably have them wrapped around a tree inside of two minutes.

So she'd do it. Just this once. But she didn't have to like it.

Scowling, she slid into the passenger seat, trying not to notice how his shoulders filled the seat, how his strong fingers worked themselves around the steering wheel.

Blasted, competent male. “You didn't need to come barging in. I was managing just fine. And I certainly didn't need you decking one of my best clients.”

“One of your ex-best clients. If that snake gets near you again, he'll spend some serious, quality time getting to know the traction equipment in an intensive care ward.”

“Stay out of my life, Montserrat. If I do decide to go to Draycott and listen to Nicholas Draycott's explanation, you'll be the first to know. But that's all you're entitled to, understand? Everything else is mine, my business, my house, my life. I can take care of myself. I've had a lot of practice, you see, and I don't need any lessons now.” Now that the adrenaline rush was fading, Cathlin felt a wave of numbness begin to climb up her legs. Seconds later a tear inched down her cheek, but she shoved it away.

“Damn it, Cathlin.” Cursing, Dominic pulled the car onto the shoulder and pulled Cathlin against his chest. One tear worked
into two and then more, but she made no sound. He held her anyway, feeling the heat of her tears on his shirt, feeling her soft breasts wedged against his chest, feeling her stiffness and her fury. He fought back the intense desire he felt and only held her, one hand buried beneath the warm shadow of her hair. When she finally pulled away he found a tissue and held it out to her.

She gave a defiant sniff and blew her nose. “Drive. I'll be fine.”

When Dominic saw there would be no more tears and certainly no explanations, he shoved the Jeep into gear and roared away from Richard Severance's monstrous palace.

As he did, he caught the faint scent of lilacs.

Another trick of his imagination? There was a logical explanation, of course, but right then it was beyond him. All he could think of was Cathlin. The way she'd forced her chin up. The way she'd tossed the contents of that bottle over Severance's carpet. The way she left him hungry and hard and crazy to kiss her.

But in doing that, he violated the first and oldest rule of his profession: Never, ever let it get personal.

He moved away from her and closed his hands around the wheel. To his fury he saw they were trembling slightly.

 

T
HEY DIDN'T TALK
. B
OTH OF
them knew they had too much to say and too little hope of ever saying it.

After fifteen minutes, Cathlin insisted on taking the wheel and Dominic finally agreed.

She drove the Jeep along the narrow roads by instinct rather than sight. She drove too fast and she knew it, but the shadows moving down into the valleys left her with a sudden uneasiness and an urgency to be back at Seacliffe—and away from the man beside her. The man Cathlin couldn't seem to stop thinking about.

As they rounded a bend, two sheep lumbered out of the gathering shadows and Cathlin jerked the wheel to avoid them.

“Slow down,” Dominic said harshly.

“Go to hell,” she snapped back.

His hands clenched. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“I'm simply trying to get home. And to get as far away from you as possible.”

Dominic's eyes went hard. “Cathlin, don't. Not like this.” He caught her shoulder.

She shook his hand away, frightened by the hundred wild emotions even that single touch conveyed.

It had all happened, just as she feared. He had gotten too close, and he was making her remember, making her feel things she didn't want to feel. Not ever.

And somewhere deep inside her, Cathlin O'Neill knew that to feel again, real and deeply, she would have to brave the dark gates of her childhood memories. She could feel them there sometimes in her dreams, but nothing ever remained the next morning when she awoke. It was safer that way, she told herself firmly.

So she would keep things just as they were. No strings, no emotions, no attachments. And needing Dominic Montserrat was just not going to happen.

She scowled into the rearview mirror and saw two headlights loom up out of the twilight. She eased to the left of the narrow lane, hoping whoever it was would slow down, in case there were any more sheep wandering past. The ditch at the edge of the road was bordered by a high stone wall which left little room to maneuver. No matter that she was born and raised in England, she'd learned to drive in Philadelphia, and being on the left still made her uncomfortable.

Behind her the lights kept coming, and they were coming faster.

Cathlin frowned.

“I see it, O'Neill. Ease into second and get ready to turn.”

Cathlin swallowed, hearing the iron in Dominic's voice. This couldn't be happening. He was overreacting again, just trying to
frighten her, hoping to find a reason to interfere in her life. “You're joking, right?”

“Eighty percent of all professional kidnappings take place from cars, O'Neill. This is no bloody joke.”