Their time together was the most satisfying he'd ever spent with a woman. The sex had been fantastic, but the entire encounter—the quiet conversation, the shared meals, the playful teasing, the easy relaxation—was beyond his prior experience.
He genuinely liked her and definitely lusted after her, and there was no reason why they couldn't date for awhile. She wasn't his type, but hey, he could turn over a new leaf. He could actually involve himself with a female whose company he enjoyed.
He was vain enough to suppose that she could benefit from a liaison with him. He could take her places and introduce her to people she'd never have the chance to meet on her own. Hell, he'd have taken her to the Caribbean if she'd exhibited the least bit of interest.
But no. She was too busy or too stubborn or too fickle. He'd never been able to read a woman's mind, so he couldn't imagine what was going on in her head.
Still, he hated to be ignored. Blasted woman! Until he talked to her, he'd never get anything accomplished. Was that her strategy? Was she trying to drive him crazy?
Well, he was halfway there.
In a temper, he snatched up his phone and punched redial. When he heard her voice recording, he snapped, "I'd like to see you.
Call
me!"
It was obvious she didn't care to speak with him, so why was he pestering her? He never chased after women—he didn't have to—and he was starting to feel like a stalker. Her silence was telling, her opinion very clear. Why didn't he move on?
The pathetic fact was that their romantic interlude had unsettled him in ways he hadn't expected. It hadn't been 'just sex'. It hadn't been a casual roll under the blankets. It had been fun and fulfilling and spectacular. He couldn't wait to do it again. How could she not want to?
He sat at the kitchen table, a pitiful figure out of ideas. They had a maid who lived in the rambling mansion, and he considered summoning her to make him lunch, but he was too irritable to dawdle in the house.
He'd risen, having decided to grab a jacket and go for a drive—he would
not
race to Boulder; he would
not
humiliate himself by showing up on her stoop like some spurned swain—but his brother prevented an escape.
Dustin entered the room, and he was holding a large envelope. He smacked it down on the table and pulled up a chair.
"I haven't seen you in a few days," he said.
"So?"
"I thought maybe you'd taken off for St. Barts without a good-bye."
"I didn't go."
"How come?"
Lucas shrugged, not about to admit that he was pining away over Faith Benjamin.
Dustin glared, a familiar expression of exasperation on his face. Even as boys, they'd never gotten along, and since they were both lazy and spoiled, they were constantly at odds. They sparred incessantly, each feeling the other wasn't assuming his
share of the responsibilities that had burgeoned since their father's death.
"I was wondering," Dustin said, "what's happening with the Faith Benjamin investigation."
"I have it under control."
"Really? What's in the works? We've been sitting here in Denver for two weeks, but you haven't done what you told us you'd do."
"Meaning?"
"You had planned to hire that attorney, Carolyn Stone."
"Stone was an idiot."
"Okay, so retain someone else."
"I don't know if we should."
"Why not?"
"It's complicated."
"No, it's not."
Dustin opened the envelope and withdrew a stack of photos. They were pictures of Lucas with Faith: Lucas picking her up at her house, the two of them getting out of the Porsche at the B & B, eating in the restaurant. There was even a shot of them walking up the stairs to their room.
The final one was of them leaving the hotel, so Dustin had had a detective lurking, watching until Lucas's tryst was over.
Lucas's blood boiled.
"You had somebody spying on me?" he hissed.
"Yes," Dustin replied, unabashed.
"What were you trying to prove?"
"That you're fucking her," Dustin crudely spat, "rather than dealing with her."
"Whatever I'm doing—or not doing—it's none of your damn business."
"Are you kidding me? The little thief has millions of dollars that belong to us, and you claim it's not my
business
if you're sleeping with her instead of having her arrested?"
"She's not who we thought she was."
"I can't believe you said that to me." Dustin shook his head in disgust. "She's got you wrapped around her finger."
"I merely spent some time with her so I could learn what she's really like."
"And what is she
like?
" Dustin sneered.
"She's a very normal, very pleasant person."
"Pleasant!" Dustin reached into the envelope again and pulled out some papers. "I started my own investigation. She and that foster mother of hers, that Grace Green, are a couple of Vegas con artists."
"You're wrong," Lucas loyally insisted.
"Am I? Read the report. When Grace Green was younger, she worked as a stripper and high-end escort. She had a gambling problem, and she wasted all her money on black jack. She took in foster kids so she could pay her rent."
"That's not true."
"You don't think a pair with that sort of background couldn't dupe an elderly old man? You don't think they couldn't see a mark like him from a mile away?"
"You're wrong," Lucas repeated, though he wasn't quite as confident as he had been.
From the moment he'd met Faith, she'd played him like a violin. She'd flirted and tantalized and intrigued, while pretending to be shy and restrained. She'd come on hot, then cold, then hot, and Lucas hadn't been able to resist the challenge she presented.
Was it all an act? Had she been toying with him for some purpose he didn't understand? He'd assumed she possessed some genuine affection for him. Had he imagined it?
"She must be a great piece of ass," Dustin said, "because you screwed her a few times, and she's turned you into a complete idiot."
"I know what I'm doing."
"You don't have a clue," Dustin scoffed, "so I'll give you till Monday to have this resolved. I want her signature on an agreement to give us the money with no litigation and no press."
"If I can't finish it by then?"
"Then
I
will deal with her. Trust me, neither of you will like my methods."
* * *
"Bryce," Faith called, "we're late. Let's go."
"I can't find my baseball cap."
"It's on the hook behind your door."
She was at the bottom of the stairs, with Gracie and Peanut, waiting for him to come down. His game began in an hour, and he couldn't miss the warm-ups.
Ever since her glorious weekend with Lucas, her world had been too chaotic. It seemed as if, by running off and enjoying herself, she'd smashed her tranquil existence to pieces. She couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't see straight.
Well, she'd learned her lesson. She'd developed an itch for him, and she'd scratched it. Then she'd arrived home, overwhelmed and madly in love—
stupid, stupid
,
stupid to fall for him!
—and she was paying the price.
She was sad and miserable and ached for him so desperately that she'd scared herself. She hadn't realized that she could grow so attached so quickly.
He'd been calling and calling, but she hadn't answered and she didn't plan to answer. He'd be irked by her ignoring him, and he'd get tired of chasing after her. Hopefully, he'd already left town.
A knock sounded on the front door, and she groaned. "Whoever it is, we don't have time to fuss with them."
"We can't sneak out the garage," Gracie said. "They'll see us."
"Let them. Bryce, come on!"
His footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Faith smiled, liking how terrific he looked in his uniform, so she was distracted and didn't notice that Peanut had walked over and opened the door.
"Hi mister," Peanut said.
Faith spun, and Lucas's gaze locked on hers so forcefully that she felt as if she'd been punched. She had to grab the banister to keep her balance.
"Hello, Faith"—he had a ferocious gleam in his eye—"long time, no see. How have you been?"
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"I thought we should talk."
"If I'd wanted to
talk,
I'd have returned one of your phone calls."
He strolled into the living room, instantly taking up all the
space, and she nearly ran over and pushed him outside.
She didn't want him in her home, didn't want him in her life. He had no honorable intentions toward her, and she wouldn't pretend that they could carry on with no consequences.
"I'm Lucas." He nodded to Gracie, Peanut, and Bryce. "Faith refuses to introduce us, but I don't know why. We're such good
friends
."
Her small family all said
hello
, and Gracie was all aflutter. She sidled over, her hips swaying, and put an arm on his waist.
"Lucas, honey," she drawled, "how nice of you to drop by."
Faith glared at Lucas. "We were just leaving. If you'll excuse us?"
He grinned at Bryce. "You have a game?"
"Yes."
"Is anybody going to invite me to tag along?"
"No!" Faith declared, as Gracie replied, "Absolutely."
Faith fumed at Gracie, "Would you take the kids out to the car? I'll be out in a minute."
"Sure, darling."
Gracie ushered Peanut and Bryce out to the porch.
Lucas stood where he was until the door closed behind them, then he stomped over. He towered over her, and he was so furious and commanding that she could barely keep from falling to her knees and begging forgiveness, even though she had no idea what she should be forgiven for.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't want to."
"We had nonstop sex—for two straight days and nights."
"Yes, we did."
He appeared bewildered. "And that's supposed to be it? We screw like rabbits, then we never see each other again?"
"Yes."
"I don't think so."
"Why are you angry? You sleep with women—once—all the time. I'd like to do the same with you. Why can't you let me?"
"There's something going on between us."
"In that fantasy inside your head maybe, but not in real life."
He frowned, as if debating whether to kiss her or shake her.
"I get to decide"—he poked a finger at his chest—"when we're through. Not you.
Me.
I decide."
"Oh, I see what this is about. I'm not interested, and you can't stand it."
He was ready to throttle her, and he might have, but Bryce poked his nose in.
"Faith, we gotta go."
Lucas could have been an actor. His enraged expression vanished, and instantly, he was all smiles.
"Sorry, Bryce," he said, "I didn't mean to make you wait."
"It's okay."
"I don't know where the field is," Lucas told Faith. "You drive, and I'll follow you."
She leaned in and heatedly whispered, "You are not coming with us."
"Yes, I am," he whispered back.
He whipped away and went over to Bryce.
"Hey, Bryce, have you ever been in a Porsche?"
"No."
"You can ride with me."
"Cool!"
They left—new buddies—with Lucas flashing a snide grin of triumph as they strutted out to his macho car.
Faith hurried out onto the porch and called, "Bryce, I don't want you to go with him."
Either they didn't hear her, or they were ignoring her. Bryce got in, then Lucas. He revved the motor and squealed the tires as they raced down to the corner.
Gracie sauntered over, staring down the street to where they were idling, waiting for Faith to pass them and lead the way to the park. Concern marred her brow.
"Should we let them head off together?"
"I don't see how we can stop them."
Gracie studied them, then mused, "It's all right. He'll never figure it out."
"Let's hope not."
Faith muttered several unrepeatable words, then stomped to her car.
* * *
Lucas had purchased snacks at the concession stand, and he stood by the third base fence, sipping a soda as Bryce's team took the field. The second inning was about to begin. Faith, Gracie, and Peanut were in the bleachers behind home plate.