Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (21 page)

“But none of it—” she drew another breath “—none of it changed my feelings about you, Rhys.” These last words were barely a whisper. Her shoulders began to shake and she covered her face with her hands.

In the next instant he was at her side, pulling her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her, holding her, soothing her, wanting more than anything to be as close to her as he possibly could.

He felt her relax against him, and he placed soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, her tearstained cheeks and lips. “Ah, Whitney, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll work things out.”

“Oh, Rhys. I want that. I want to work things out so very much.”

He did, too. He didn’t know what he meant about everything being okay, except that he would do whatever he could to ensure it did. Most of all, he couldn’t stand to see her hurting like this. He wanted her to be as she’d always been—happy and excited about life, and desiring him as much as he desired her.

His mouth sought hers and when she returned his kiss, his whole body sprang to alertness. Realizing where they were, he took her by the hand and whispered, “Let’s go for a ride.”

He placed his leather jacket around her shoulders and grabbed one of his father’s for himself. “You okay without a helmet? I forgot mine but we won’t go far. Okay?” She nodded. Outside, he got on the bike, extended a hand to help her on and put both her arms around his waist, holding his hands over hers for a moment before they took off.

***

The wind dried Whitney’s tears as she held on to Rhys, her hands clamped around his hard stomach, her cheek flat against his back, her insides still shaking. He took the curves with ease and in the bright afternoon sun, the fall air seemed almost warm. An Indian-summer day, perfect for a ride.

Except she kept thinking about what Rhys had said.

How would everything be okay? What was the solution? Did he forgive her for being dishonest with him, for lying and sneaking around behind his back?

How could he forgive that? She could hardly forgive herself. And what about his parents? She’d deceived them, too.

But he’d told her everything would be okay and she
needed
to believe him.

They climbed to the top of the crest and another road appeared to the right. She recognized it as the one they’d taken to Rhys’s house. Rumbling into the drive, he pressed a button on the front of the bike, waited till the garage door slid open, then drove inside, underneath the house since the garage was built into the mountainside.

He pressed the button again and she heard the door slide down behind them. After helping her off the bike, he dropped the stand to secure it.

She glanced around. They were surrounded by motorcycles of all kinds, old, new, parts and pieces. But Rhys hustled her up the stairs, shrugging out of his coat along the way.

They stopped in the middle of the stairwell, and he pulled her to him to slowly slide the jacket off her shoulders and then he held her tightly, a captive in his embrace. She felt the raw power in his body, saw the naked desire in his eyes…and everything vanished but her awareness of him.

She was intoxicated—by his scent, his touch, his burning sexuality, and she wanted him. God, how she wanted him.

His breathing deepened and he pressed her closer, his body hot and hard against hers. She shuddered at the contact and a low moan tore from her throat. His mouth touched hers and irrepressible need exploded within her. She moved to put her arms around his neck, and he scooped her up and carried her into his bedroom.

Gently placing her on the king-size bed, he bent over her, his mouth claiming hers, his tongue plunging, sending shivers of desire through her. He drew back, exhaling raggedly, stopping only long enough to remove his boots.

She shrugged off the jacket and reached for him, and he came to her. His hands cupped her face, his mouth sought hers, only this time slowly, tenderly, and she felt as if she were going to fly apart. Never had anyone touched her so deeply. Never had she wanted to give herself so completely.

Her whole world narrowed to this unequivocal moment in time, this supreme moment in Rhys’s arms. Nothing else mattered.

***

After their lovemaking, Rhys held Whitney cradled in his arms, slowly drawing his fingertips up and down her spine. He liked the way she curled into him, her face nestled at the base of his throat. He listened to her breathing grow slow and deep, a hypnotic contented sound that lulled him into slumber.

A short time later, he awoke before her and sat for a long time in the soft leather chair next to the bed, staring at her, wondering where they went from here.

He decided to let her sleep before he took her home and before he picked up SaraJane. They had to talk. But right now he was satisfied just to look at her.

She was so beautiful. So passionate, matching his nearly insatiable passion, move for move, with her own. And he’d loved every second.

But as much as he relished the passion, he’d felt something more. Need.
She needed him.

She needed him as much as he needed her—whether she knew it or not. The thought made his chest expand with something he’d believed long dead.

No, he wasn’t mistaking sex for love. He knew love when he saw it. He’d just been too goddamn bullheaded to admit it before now.

What he didn’t know was what to do about it.

He rubbed the late-afternoon stubble on his chin. She’d never once said she cared about him. And while he
hoped
he was right about her feelings, it wasn’t enough.

***

The scent of pine carried by the wind through the open window. Whitney hiked up the masculine sheets to cover her naked body. Outside, dark clouds scudded above the pines. It felt as though she’d only slept for a few minutes, but the encroaching darkness made her wonder.

Rhys had disappeared from the bed the way he had that night in Phoenix, but he couldn’t leave, he had to drive her back to the inn. Satisfied, she plumped the pillows behind her head, noticing her clothes neatly folded across the cedar chest in front of the footboard.

She happily remembered their urgency in removing those clothes only a short time ago.

Feeling a rush of warmth, she hugged herself, pulled the blankets close, wanting to savor the pleasure they’d shared.

Glancing around Rhys’s bedroom, she smiled. The heavy oak furniture with clean straight lines was strong, straightforward and solid. Just like Rhys. And like the rest of his home, warm and inviting, and she believed she could get very used to being here.

Her gaze fell to a photo on the dresser. She could tell even from a distance that it was like the one she’d seen earlier in his desk drawer. The one of Rhys and his son.

She couldn’t imagine what Rhys must’ve gone through having a son whose mind had been poisoned against him. But the very thought of R.J. made her stomach lurch.

R.J. was SaraJane’s father, and he was in jail for murder.

And Rhys believed in his son. He’d never give up on him—even if it resulted in his losing the business. Knowing what his business meant to him, she had to admire the strength of his love.

Yet the possibility of R.J.’s being acquitted sent an icy shiver up her spine. What would happen to SaraJane then? Even if she and Rhys worked things out between them, that didn’t solve the bigger problem.

Rhys had said everything would be okay, and she needed to believe him.

“Hi.” Rhys appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in his hands. He was barefoot and wore faded jeans and a plaid flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned in the front and just looking at him started her pulse racing.

“I made some cocoa,” he said, ambling over. He set the mug on the night table beside the empty foil packet, reminding her that in spite of their heated passion, they had indeed practiced safe sex. Rhys brushed the packet into the wastebasket.

“Marshmallow?” He drew out a tiny zip baggie from the pocket of his flannel shirt.

“Only if they’re miniatures.” She held out her hand and he emptied the bag into it.

“SaraJane likes them, too,” he said. “Guess I’ll need to replenish the supply.”

The mention of routine things brought a somber expression to Rhys’s face. Had that small thought triggered another host of questions? Such as,
Where do we go from here?

She didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want any intrusions on their happiness, even if that happiness was fleeting.

Which, she knew, all happiness was.

Maintaining the spell he had on her, Rhys sat on the bed, his hip touching hers. He leaned an arm on either side of her and brushed her lips with a velvety kiss.

Her pulse quickened at his touch, and she knew it wouldn’t take more than two seconds of that to send her into another frenzy of passion. She brought her arms up to circle his neck and the sheet slipped down.

Rhys pulled back, swept her with a languid gaze, his pupils dilated. He ran a fingertip over one nipple, then the other. She shivered.

“You’re cold,” he whispered, his voice low, sexy.

“I know a good way to warm us both up,” she said, pressing her body against his, startled by the contact of her taut nipples and his bare chest.

His eyes sparkled as he bent forward to nibble on her lower lip and then her earlobe. “I never cooled down,” he murmured.

RHYS STOOD FOR A MOMENT at SaraJane’s bedroom door, watching her sleep. So pure, so sweet, and innocent.

So vulnerable.

The first time he’d seen her, she was little more than a year old, all pink and pretty and smelling of wet diapers, and he’d been struck by an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. He had the same feeling right now, and it had never been more intense.

Man, what a day.
He left the door ajar and went to the kitchen, where he chucked a couple of ice cubes into a glass and splashed some vodka on top. Drink in hand, he moved out onto the deck and leaned against the redwood railing.

The sky was pitch-black, with only a few stars winking above the treetops. The wind roared through the pines like a freight train, and he gave an involuntary shiver. A storm was brewing.

Damn, his muscles ached. He rolled his shoulders, easing the stiffness. Rhys had put off thinking about Whitney’s revelation, but now that he’d taken her back to the inn and he was alone, he could no longer avoid it.

On one hand, he was relieved to know the reason for her recent withdrawal; on the other hand, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget the lies. Realistically, he understood she’d had no other choice. She’d believed her niece was living with a drug dealer, someone who’d abused her. Considering that, how could she tell him who she was?

But he should’ve recognized something wasn’t right from the beginning, and now that he knew, it was as obvious as the resemblance between SaraJane and Whitney.

What wasn’t obvious was whether the things Whitney had learned about his son and her sister were true. That R.J. was a drug dealer, that he’d treated her sister badly and kidnapped SaraJane. But regardless of everything he’d heard, he had to give his son the benefit of the doubt.

And he had to get some distance from Whitney. He should have done that immediately, but somehow she’d penetrated his barrier. Even though they’d planned to talk, to work things out, they’d made love instead. He’d allowed himself to get emotionally involved, and it had influenced his thinking.

He let out a snort.

After all these years, Gannon, you haven’t changed.
He was still trying for the goddamn brass ring—only this time it was platinum.

But what he should be thinking about was what exactly was Whitney after? What was her plan now that she no longer saw him as the ultimate villain? He grinned, thinking about the afternoon, coming back into his bedroom and seeing Whitney stretched out on his bed as if that was where she’d always belonged.

The image was stamped indelibly in his mind—how she’d looked waiting for him, anticipating. And such fire inside. Who knew?

He would have.

He’d known it every time his gaze caught hers and she looked back at him with those transparent blue eyes—eyes that told him there was more than lust in her heart. And he felt the same.

He loved her. Admitted it, for whatever good it might do.

He brought the glass to his lips, refusing to think about the obstacles. Problem was, he
had
to think about them if he wanted solutions.

SaraJane was safe. They both only wanted the best for the child. So, that aside, the biggest difficulty, as he saw it, was that Whitney had another life, a life that she intended to return to when she was finished with her research.

And he’d be the village idiot to think she’d want to give up that life to settle in a place like Estrade. If for some bizarre reason she’d even consider it, how long would it take before she was bored to death? How long before she’d try to get
him
to do something different?

Five years with Stephanie had pushed him to his limit. Wouldn’t the same thing happen with Whitney?

A cold gust of wind forced him inside, where he tossed some logs into the fireplace. Whitney had said she liked his house, but he doubted she liked it enough to move in. He crouched in front of the hearth, poking newspapers under the logs to get the fire going.

You’re dreaming, Gannon.
Being compatible in bed didn’t translate into a life together, and it was unrealistic to even entertain the thought.

After a couple of hours, the fire had died out and Rhys was still sitting on the couch thinking about the situation, testing various scenarios. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no more insight than before. In fact, the more he contemplated, the more useless he felt.

He reached for the phone and punched in the area code for Chicago followed by Luth’s number. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” Rhys asked, attempting to jack up his enthusiasm.

“Got my bike ready?”

“No, it’ll be a month or two. Got a part on order.”

Luth laughed. “Guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t be calling me after midnight to tell me my bike’s ready.”

“Right. You got a minute?”

“Hey, you got it, man. What’s happening?”

Rhys held back, but after a little small talk, Luth asked about Whitney, and the whole damn thing came out.

Luth didn’t see the problem.

“Do what you’re always telling me to do,” he said.

“Which is?”

“Meet in the middle. Way I see it, the two of you need to get together and talk. I mean, all ya gotta do is decide where you want to live, her place or yours, or maybe both. Man, I’d love an arrangement like that. Why does anyone have to give up anything?”

The muscles in Rhys’s shoulders bunched. He had no interest in being a kept man. And with the state of his finances at the moment, that was virtually what he’d be.

“Oversimplification, old pal.”

“Only if you want to make things difficult,” Luth said. “But then, you always do.”

What the hell did that mean? He had problems. The least of which was that he’d fallen in love with a woman he had no business even thinking about.

“Look at it this way,” Luth added. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Rhys filled his lungs. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe that’s true…but…”

When they finally ended the conversation, they’d decided Luth would come out in a few weeks to see the progress Rhys had made on his bike.

When Rhys’s head finally hit the pillow somewhere around 4 a.m., he’d made a decision. Luth was right; he had nothing to lose. He doubted there was much he could do to change things, but he sure as hell was going to try.

***

Tanya’s phone call came on the heels of Rhys’s early-morning call asking if she’d be interested in a Sunday picnic with him and SaraJane. And she was still feeling euphoric; his understanding had taken her by surprise. She’d learned early on that if you screw up, you don’t get a second chance. Why was fortune smiling on her now?

“So, Tanya—” she fluffed the pillows behind her head and brought her knees to her chest, tucking the down-filled quilt around her legs “—what are you doing up so early?” Whitney set her watch back on the table next to the bed.

“What do you mean? There’s only an hour’s difference between Mountain and Pacific Time. It’s seven already.”

Whitney chuckled. She’d never known Tanya to rise that early in her life. “And why are you still in California?”

After college Tanya had become a workaholic. She’d never taken a vacation, never done much of anything other than work. In New York, they’d go to the occasional play, a movie or dinner, but that was the extent of Tanya’s social life. The fact that she’d stayed in California for more than a week astonished Whitney.

“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about. I’ve decided to take a couple of extra days. You mind if I stay here? I need a little vacation.”

Whitney gasped. “A
what?
Uh, pardon me for a minute.” She held the phone out and whacked it a couple times with her hand, like Tanya frequently did to her, then returned it to her ear. “Okay. There was something wrong with the phone. I thought I heard you say ‘vacation.’”

“Okay. I deserved that,” Tanya said. “But yeah, I need a little time. Besides—” she hedged “—I have some things I want to look into. Business things. And, well, I just thought as long as I’m here, I could see a little more of the area. Al said he’d show me around.”

“Al?”

“Yeah, Al. Your cousin.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, really, I’m thinking of investing in something, and he’s going to check it out.”

“Okay. Now I get it. It’s not a vacation at all.” For the last few years, Tanya had talked about doing something different, starting a new career, and maybe this was it. “Fine, stay as long as you want. You know it’s okay with me. Besides, I like having someone there.”

“Good. Listen, Al tried to call you, but something was wrong with the connection. I think he might have some new information for you. And, oh, yeah, your mother’s doctor called, trying to get in touch. She said it was important.”

Whitney’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the receiver. Important to whom? If her mother didn’t care, why should she?

“It really did sound important.”

Whitney heaved a sigh of resignation. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me.” She’d call the doctor later. Right now she didn’t want anything to spoil the picnic with Rhys and SaraJane.

After saying her goodbye to Tanya, Whitney recalled the last meeting with her mother. It had ended in total disaster. In the ten minutes she and her mother were together, they’d had a fight and Whitney had run out, desperate to escape—just as she’d done twelve years ago. Her mother didn’t want her help. She never had.

It was too late, just too damned late. And the only emotion Whitney could feel toward either of her parents was a deep abiding anger.

She threw off the quilt, got up and showered, then went to the closet. Rhys had said to dress in layers. It would be cool when they started out, but since they were going to a lower elevation, it would get warmer, especially later in the day. She pulled out a pair of faded jeans and a white tank top, her blue baggy V-neck sweater and tennis shoes.

When she’d dressed, she stood in front of the mirror to do her hair. As she studied her image, she couldn’t resist a tiny grin. Her mother would be horrified. So would Brock.

The thought satisfied something perverse in her, and she hoped Brock had listened to the message she’d left on his voice mail last night, saying that she wasn’t interested in financing his movie now or in the future and he needn’t worry about talking to Rhys because she’d already done so.

Working on a French braid, she walked to the door and opened it halfway, waiting for her coffee. Wanting to save time, she’d asked that it be brought to her room this morning. She went back to the mirror, wondering if Rhys had told his parents she was SaraJane’s aunt. She hoped not, because she really had to to sort things out with Rhys first.

“I hear you’re going on a picnic,” Johnny said as he wheeled the cart into her room. “Nice day for it. It’s gonna be in the high seventies in Sedona.”

Whitney turned. “That’s where we’re going.” She smiled brightly, covering her discomfort. “Rhys said he knows a perfect spot near some Anasazi ruins.”

Johnny nodded. “Rhys is a pretty good tour guide. He spent a bit of time exploring the area when he first moved here. Kinda surprised me at first, how much he likes small-town life. Guess you never know someone as well as you think you do. Not even your own children.”

Whitney’s stomach plummeted, wondering if the comment was meant for her. But no, she’d noticed before how Johnny’s face lit up every time he talked about Rhys, and she could see he meant what he said. He was truly happy Rhys had chosen to live in Estrade.

“You didn’t think he’d like it here? What’s not to like? It’s beautiful and the people are wonderful.” She stopped braiding her hair long enough to glance at him.

“I felt at home immediately.”

“Well, you know…” Johnny stood next to the cart and poured coffee into a delicate china cup.

She smiled, watching his large hands handle the fragile dishes with ease. Hands that were so much like Rhys’s.

“I had my doubts for a while,” Johnny continued. “Rhys lived in Chicago most of his life, and knowing the success he’d carved out for himself, I guess I figured it’d be kinda hard to go from all that excitement to such a quiet place.”

He smiled. “But like I said, he’s adapted really well. Loves those motorcycles, you know. But I think he had to experience the other things first to figure out what was important to him.”

Johnny was talking about Rhys, yet he could have been talking about her. Finished with her hair, she sat at the small gate-leg table and poured a little cream into her coffee. “Rhys seems happy with the choices he’s made,” she said as Johnny started for the door.
I wish I could say the same.

Johnny turned with a knowing look. “Making the decision is what matters. It’s the decisions that don’t work out that help us recognize the right ones.”

Whitney nodded. She had a decision to make and it had to be the right one. But how would she know—and who would she hurt? She had to be sure of what she was doing. She couldn’t afford for it not to work out. The price of that lesson would be far too high.