A Forbidden Passion: No Longer Forbidden? / The Man She Loves To Hate / A Wicked Persuasion

“Not that I hated her for forcing me into it,” Rowan mumbled, trying to recant. “I understood. She was my age when she had me. All she knew was performing, and that sort of career doesn’t wait around while you raise a child. She didn’t have any support. Her family disowned her when she left to become—gasp!—an actress. You have to be an opportunist to survive in that business, and that’s what she was trying to do. Survive.”

She risked a glance upward and saw that Nic didn’t exactly look sympathetic. He was closing off completely to what she was saying, his lip curling in cynical understanding of words like “opportunist” and “survivor.”

Rowan clenched her teeth, thinking she would be calling on all the skills Cassandra O’Brien had ever taught her when it came to surviving. That had been the real source of animosity between mother and daughter: the things Cassandra had done to keep them both fed and clothed. The men she’d brought into their home—the homes she’d brought Rowan into. The pressure for Rowan to ‘make it’ so they had a fallback position if things went south. The fact that when it came right down to it Cassandra had been most concerned about her own survival at the expense of her daughter’s happiness, and had alternately been threatened by and quick to exploit her daughter’s youth and beauty.

The tenderness of pressure on a cut pulled Rowan back to Nic pressing a bandage into place on the bottom of her foot.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’m not exactly brimming with marketable skills.”

“Perhaps you should have addressed that as soon as you left school, rather than making a spectacle of yourself with the rest of the Euro-trash.”

Ouch. Although a tiny bit justified. She hadn’t seen how truly shallow most of her friends were until she’d tried to rely on them as she dealt with everything—not least of which was this utterly directionless feeling of not knowing who she was or where she was going. Her friends had coaxed her to drink her way out of her funk. Something she’d briefly been led into before realizing how quickly she could turn into her father. That had scared her back onto the straight and narrow, but she couldn’t believe Nic’s attitude toward her bad turn after all she’d told him.

“I had to go somewhere when I was kicked out of residence. I wasn’t ready to face this empty house so I stayed with friends. Where else was I supposed to go? To you, big brother?”

The warning that flashed in his icy blue eyes spoke of retribution for that label. She took notice, clamping her teeth together and leaning back an inch, not willing to get into a kissing contest again.

His nod was barely perceptible, but it was there, approving of her smart and hasty retreat. That irritated her. She didn’t want to be afraid of him and she wasn’t. She was afraid of herself and how weak he made her feel.

Sitting straighter, she said defensively, “Perhaps it wasn’t the best coping strategy, but I had a lot to deal with.”

“It’s always about you, isn’t it, Rowan?” Nic stood and took his time turning over the end on the surgical tape before setting it aside.

Rowan clamped shut the mouth that had dropped open. Had he not just seen with his own eyes how thoroughly she’d been living her mother’s life? Fueled by righteousness, she rose hastily—then lost some of her dignity as she had to grapple for her towel. Every point on her body twinged, making her wince.

She braced herself on the wall and demanded, “You really see me as nothing more than a total narcissist, don’t you?” It was so unfair.

His eyelids came down to a circumspect half-mast as he pointed out flatly, “Well, you just had to have a week in St. Moritz for your birthday last year, didn’t you?”

Because she hadn’t had the courage to come home and risk facing him after the fiasco the year before—which only added to the colossal self-blame eating her alive.

“And my broken leg put my mother and your father on the plane. Is the storm my fault too?” she asked through lips that were going numb. “Should I have checked the weather on the Med before I let that drunken snowboarder mow me down?”

Nic heard the tortured regret in her tone and recognized it as sincere, but the shriveled, underfed raisin where his heart was supposed to be didn’t want to soften toward her. He couldn’t afford to let it soften at all. That way led to madness and pain.

He turned away from her, and the tumult she was inciting inside him. His version of Rowan as an immature egocentric needed to stand firm against this more complex vision that was emerging, otherwise he’d be forced to reexamine himself, her, and everything that had transpired between them since day one.

“You think I don’t hate myself every day?” Rowan said with a rasp that made him flinch. “Why do you think I refuse to accept they’re gone? Maybe you’re right, and I do need to show responsibility, but I don’t want to be responsible for their being dead, Nic!”

A barbed hook seemed to catch at the flesh surrounding his heart.

“Olief made the decision to fly despite the weather,” he muttered, unable to stand the weight of guilt she was carrying. “It’s not your fault.”

“No?” Her thready need for reassurance pulled at him, along with the misery searching for forgiveness in her gaze as he caught her reflection in the mirror.

“No,” he affirmed, caving briefly to her palpable anguish. “You’ll need your things,” he added, seizing the excuse to escape the close atmosphere of the humid room. He needed to get away from her before his barriers against her crumbled any more.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that he remembered he’d had every intention of forcing Rowan to get out as soon as possible, not help her settle in.

Rowan pulled on leggings and a loose T-shirt from her closet, trying to process the consoling remark Nic had made about Olief choosing to fly. Before she could make sense of it Nic was pushing back into her room and setting her bags on the floor. He straightened and gave her a cursory, masculine once over that made her tingle.

“Let’s be clear. This isn’t your all-inclusive. I’ll give you a few days to gather your belongings, but then you’ll move on. While you’re here you’ll pull your weight with cooking, cleaning and laundry.”

She turned her back on him to hide the sting of his sudden return to Lord of the Manor disdain. Without saying anything, she took her time twisting her wet hair into a coil and fixing it with a pair of chopsticks off her dresser-top.

“I came for the anniversary,” she informed him stiffly, her insides fluttering with sexual awareness as she considered sharing this house with him. Alone. It could be unpleasant, but she wouldn’t be scared off. “Don’t even try to pry me out of here before then. I’ll shred you to pieces.”

His brows lifted and she almost heard his unspoken, I’d like to see you try.

Her bravado teetered as she realized he was more than big enough to physically throw her out, and had financial strength on his side, as well. For all her show of defiance, she was fragile as hell at her core. That was why she’d come back to the one constant in her life: Rosedale. She needed a sense of security while she figured out what to do.

“This is the only real home I’ve ever had, Nic. Maybe you and I aren’t related, but this is where we gathered as a family. I need that right now.” She kept her tone as steady as possible, refusing to descend into begging. “You can give me that much.”

Nic braced an arm against the doorjamb, shaking his head at his bare feet before he lifted his derisive gaze. “I have to question that kind of sentimentality. What do you gain by being here for a day that has no more meaning than any other? They’re gone.” He wasn’t being unkind, just honest—which was more difficult to face. “They’re not any more or less gone whether you’re here or in London or Antarctica.”

Rowan gripped her elbows as she turned, shoulders hunching protectively as she absorbed what a truly unfeeling man he was. “I find it comforting to be here,” she excused, hearing the creak in her voice at admitting to what he obviously saw as weakness. “But you can go back to Athens, or wherever you’re living these days.”

A slow smile crept across his features, completely without amusement. “You wish. No, I’ll stay. And I’ll even let you stay until the anniversary if you promise to sign your name on the dotted line once you’ve finished lighting candles in the windows.”

“Why do you have to be so disparaging about it?”

“I’m being magnanimous,” he defended, straightening into cool civility. “Would you rather I make your stay conditional on your signing right now?”

“Oh, very nice,” she said, instantly spitting venom over that sleight of hand. “I knew you were tough, Nic. I didn’t know you were ruthless.”

“Now you do,” he said without acrimony.

“And you expect me to housemaid while I’m here?” Her fists dug into her ribs beneath the pressure of her elbows. “You know it was the evil stepmother who had Cinderella scrubbing floors and sorting ballgowns all day.”

“What would you rather do to earn your keep?” he shot back, swift and lethal. “Demonstrate more of your mother’s survival skills?”

“Sleep with you, you mean? Not in this lifetime. Get over yourself!”

His brows shot up and his stance altered subtly to a predatory one full of challenge. Their kiss and her undeniable response was suddenly right here in the room with them. Sexual awareness gathered and sparked. The sheer magnitude of what was being acknowledged, her inability to ignore it, made Rowan’s heart race in frightened anticipation. All she could think was, Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

“It wasn’t like that with Mum and Olief,” she stammered. “She loved him.”

“Give it a rest, Ro. I’ve had mistresses. I know what it’s like.” His chilly assessment of her figure left a trail of heat over her breasts, down her stomach and up between her thighs. “Quid pro quo,” he said with a curl of his lip. “Not love.”

His words wrenched at a place between her throat and heart. She didn’t examine the source too closely. Part of it had to do with acknowledging all those unknown women who had shared his bed—something she’d never let herself think about too much—but there was a deeper sense of loss in hearing his derision of love.

“Well, I’m not going to have sex with you to stay here,” she said, forcing herself to stand up to him even though she was on very shaky legs. Figuratively and literally. Despite his horrid lecture two years ago, she knew not to get into dicey situations with men and this was one of them. Best to get the no stated clearly. “I’m not going to let you seduce me into signing those papers before I’m good and ready either.”

Her futile training in Paris for once bore fruit, allowing her to walk out gracefully on ravaged feet, her bearing straight and her shoulders proud.

CHAPTER FOUR

SEDUCE her. It was a challenge no red-blooded man could dismiss, even one whose conscience was as tortured by the prospect as his libido.

Even with the memory of Olief’s setdown replaying in his mind, Nic couldn’t stop fantasizing about having Rowan. She had essentially agreed to sign the papers after the anniversary, so he didn’t need to try persuading her that way, but a carnal voice inside still urged him to seduce her for personal vindication. She deserved some payback for that stunt with Olief, the licentious appetite in him rationalized, not to mention a taste of the wanting and not having that he’d been suffering all these years.

Hellfire, he wanted to end this craving, but as much as he dreamed of taking her to the brink and walking away, he knew if he started something he would finish it.

That was where his hard-earned self-protective instincts kicked in and reminded him not to do anything rash. If you played with fire you got burned, and there was definitely a fire in that woman. Their kiss, the way her mouth had opened and crushed into the pressure of his, wouldn’t leave his mind, making him useless behind his desk.

Given that his plans had changed, and he’d now be here a full two weeks, he had spent the afternoon reconfiguring Olief’s office space to his own taste so he could work more productively. It wasn’t happening. Despite Rosedale being big and quiet, he was intensely aware there was another occupant here.

Forget her, he commanded himself. But there were other distractions. The promised thunderstorm had brought darkness early and was rattling the windows. Hunger gnawed at his belly, reminding him he’d skipped lunch. He needed to approve this project and get it back to the VP while the time change window was still open, though.

Another flash of lightning bleached the windows and a huge clap of thunder reverberated above the house. The lights flickered—then everything went black.

Nic swore at the inconvenience. The wiring here was modern and top-notch. All the equipment was protected with surge bars. The vineyard manager would investigate the outage and report it. All he’d lost was his wi-fi connection and the widescreen monitor. A glance at his laptop in its dock showed the battery light gleaming reliably. Nic opened the lid and the screen came alive with a pallid glow. He flicked his mobile into hotspot mode and was able to retrieve his report and continue making comments.

“Nic?” The flickering yellow of a candle entered the room ahead of Rowan, her face sweetly tinted with warm golden light.

The words seduce her tantalized him again. He sat back, thinking, Do it because you want to. Such a bad idea.

“Afraid of the thunder?” he taunted lightly.

She set the squat candle in its round bowl on the corner of his desk. “I thought you might be fumbling around in the dark, but of course you’re perfectly equipped.”

“Thanks for noticing,” he drawled, and wondered if that was a blush climbing into her shadowed cheeks or just the flush of impatience women got when a man made an off-color remark. “I’m fine. Working without interruption, in fact.” He turned his nose back to the screen to steer himself from temptation.

He still tracked Rowan as she took an idle stroll into the dark corners of the office, pausing at the window as rain gusted against the glass before taking herself to the bookshelf of worn style-guides, atlases, and other reference tomes.

“Use my tablet if you want a novel,” he offered. “There are hundreds on it.”

“If I have time to read, I have time to practice.” She said it like something she’d memorized by rote. “Same goes for television—not that that’s an option right now.” She came away from the bookshelf with a look that was both disgruntled and lost. “I’ve already done my exercises. If I work my leg anymore I’ll just hurt myself. I was about to start dinner, but the freezer is empty and the power’s gone.”

“I brought the boat,” Nic reminded her, his body involuntarily reacting to the way she moved like a leaf in a stream, meandering in a way that mesmerized him.

“I’ve had enough of the sea today, thanks.” Her aimless path took her to a lamp fringe, which she lightly stroked, making the silk lift and fall in a ripple.

This was so like her—the way she accepted as her due that a room would pause and take notice when she entered. What was it about her that made it happen? he wondered. She was lovely, with her buttermilk skin and sable hair, the sensual softness of her features and the toned perfection of her frame, but that wasn’t what gave her such power. There was something more innate, something warm, that promised happiness and fulfillment if she noticed you.

Nic shut down that bizarre tangent of thought. He was not one of those people who fell for charisma, watching and waiting for the next act, aching to feel important because he was touched by her attention.

Irritated with himself, he did what he’d always done when Rowan inveigled herself into his space. He pretended he was ignoring her even though he could practically feel the heat off her body from across the room.

That was his libido keeping her on its scope. He hadn’t made much time for women in the last year and his body was noticing.

“Cold sandwiches are fine,” he said. “Bring mine here so I can keep working.”

“That reminds me. I should have said earlier, Nic.” She moved toward him, pale fingers coming to rest like a pianist’s on the opposite edge of his desk. The candlelight made her solemn expression all the more wide-eyed and impactful. “What you’ve done for Olief? Looking after things for him? That’s good of you. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

The unexpected praise turned him inside out. No one had ever suggested he was a good son. Olief certainly hadn’t acknowledged him that way—ever—and Nic had long given up expecting him to. Having Rowan offer this shred of recognition was a surprise stiletto through the ribs that slid past his barriers to prick at the most deeply protected part of himself.

For a second he couldn’t breathe. The sensation was so real and sharp and paralyzing. Then his inner SWAT team snapped into action and he remembered her using this same gamine face and earnest charm to garner affectionate pats on the head and indulgent approval from Olief. They’d been president of each other’s fan club, and now she was obviously looking for a new partner in her mutual admiration society.

“I’m not doing it for him,” Nic stated bluntly, angry with himself for sucking up her flattery like a dry sponge.

“But …” Rowan’s brows came together and she took a half step back from the refutation she read in his face. “Who, then?”

“Myself. I’ve been working my way up since he brought me aboard to launch his web journals on the Middle East ten years ago. It was a merger, actually, since I was already established in the electronic publishing side. I made it clear then that I had ambitions. He hadn’t named me as heir, and I wasn’t at the top of his corporate succession plan when he disappeared, but it was due to be reviewed and we both knew this is where I wanted to end up.”

“What do you mean, he didn’t …? Of course you’re his heir!”

Rowan’s certainty made a harsh bubble of laughter rise to catch in Nic’s throat. They were talking about a man who hadn’t spoken to his son until Nic had walked up to him at an awards gala and said, “I believe you knew my mother.”

With fresh rancor, Nic said, “We won’t know who inherits until he’s been declared dead and his will is read. Perhaps he left his fortune to Cassandra and you?”

With a shake of her head that made loose tendrils of hair catch the candlelight and glitter like an angel’s halo, Rowan said, “You’re his son. And you can build on what he’s already accomplished. Of course he would leave everything to you. Except maybe Rosedale.” Her chin hitched with challenge as she gave him a considering look.

“This land was bought as an investment property to be developed. It’s never been taken off the books as a company asset,” Nic said. “I know that much.”

“Therefore you control it as long as you’re in that chair?”

“Exactly.”

Her narrow shoulders slid a notch, but her breasts lost none of their thrust. For a skinny little thing, she had beautifully rounded breasts. All of her was a little curvier than he remembered. It was nice. Healthy.

“If I did inherit everything from Olief, I could fire you.”

Her disdainful look down her nose was the kind of entitled sassiness that had always made him want to yank her off her self-built pedestal. He reminded himself not to let her engage his emotions.

“I’ve spent the last year proving to the board I’m the right man for the job. They’re not going to switch allegiance on the whim of a spoiled brat—despite your proven ability to charm older men.”

Her chin twitched at the word ‘spoiled’ before her thick lashes came together and her most impudent smile appeared. “Don’t underestimate me. I charm the younger ones, too.”

“Yes, you always manage to get what you want, don’t you?” he said with chilly disgust. “Until now.”

As soon as he said it a vision of her feet flashed in his mind’s eye and he heard her again. I want my family. The source of hardness in him turned on its edge, pressing at an unpleasant angle against his lungs. He grimaced, wishing for her to be the diva ballerina he’d always found easy to dismiss.

“Am I really that bad, Nic?” Her white hands sifted the air. “Maybe Olief did pay my expenses, but developing as a dancer was my job. I didn’t have time to hold down a real one. And, yes, I did take things too far in the last few months, but it was the first time I’d been free to! I kept waiting for someone to set me a limit and finally realized I had to. Everyone goes through that on the way to becoming an adult. You’re making out like I’m all new cars and caviar, but what did I ever have that you didn’t?”

His laptop timed out, abruptly going black and dimming the room into a place of darkness and shadows. Thunder continued to rumble in the distance, along with the piercing wail of wind and the churn of rough waves against the shore.

“What a loaded question,” he muttered, stabbing a key to make the screen come back to life, and rising restlessly at the same time. “What did you have?” he repeated.

He rounded his desk to confront her in the cold bluish glow. He couldn’t contain the confused hurt bottled against the spurned rock that was his heart.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to meet your father for the first time when you’re an adult? To finally be invited into his home only to watch him fawn over the daughter of his mistress—a girl who isn’t even related to him—while knowing he never once wasted affection on his real flesh and blood? Now, to be fair, my mother was only a one-night stand—not a long-term companion like your mother—but he knew about me from birth. He paid for my education, but he never so much as dropped by the boarding school to say hello. I came to believe he was incapable of fatherly warmth.” He’d had to. It had been the only way to cope. “Then I saw him with you.”

Rowan drew in a breath that seemed to shrink her lungs, making her insides feel small and tense. Olief was the one safe, reliable, loving person she could go to without being told to try harder, commit deeper, be better. That was why his disappearance was killing her. She missed him horribly. She loved him.

And apparently Nic felt she’d stolen all those precious moments at his expense.

“At least that explains why you hate me.” Nic, like everyone, had expected better of her and, like always, she didn’t know how she could have been different. All she could do was what she’d always done: apologize. “I’m sorry. I never meant to get between you.”

“Didn’t you?” he shot back, his feral energy expanding until her skin prickled with goose bumps.

She felt caught red-handed. Her old crush on him sputtered to life in neon glory, making her feel gauche. The memory of today’s kiss, which she’d managed to ignore through sheer force of will since entering this room, was released like an illicit drug in her mind—one that stole her ability to think and expanded her physical perceptions.

Betraying heat flooded into her loins while the tips of her breasts tightened. She was hyper-aware of his male power held in tight restraint. For years he’d looked at her with bored aversion. Today he was seeing her, and his gaze was full of the force of his primal nature, accusatory and personal.

And for once she understood his animosity.

The defusing explanation didn’t come easily. Her throat didn’t want to let the words out. They were too revealing.

“I know I often interrupted the two of you. Please don’t judge me too harshly for that.” She had wanted so badly to catch Nic’s attention. Being in his presence had made her heart sing—not unlike right now, she thought in an uncomfortable aside, burning on a pyre of self-conscious embarrassment. “I wanted to hear your stories,” she excused, trying to downplay what a wicked pleasure it had been to eavesdrop on his rumbling voice. His analytical intelligence with such an underlying thirst for justice had drawn her irresistibly. Her fingers tangled together in front of her. “You were traveling the world while I couldn’t steal time to climb the Eiffel Tower in my own backyard. Don’t fault me for wanting to live your adventures.”