Pirate's Gold (21 page)

Her voice trembled. “So what do you want to know about Brandon?” she asked softly.

She felt his arms release her before forcing her to turn and face him in the shadowy night. His gray eyes drove into hers, as if searching her soul. “I need to know what he means to you.”

“Nothing,” she responded with a sigh. “I thought I loved him once…”

Kyle's jaw hardened and his eyes turned dangerously cold. “But now you're not sure?”

Maren was forced to smile despite the tears in her eyes. “I grew up believing that love was eternal,” she explained. “Either I was incredibly naive or I wasn't in love.”

“You can't make the distinction?”

“Not easily.”

His eyes narrowed in the darkness. “Why do I still get the impression from you that you can't let go of him…not entirely at least?”

“Because I can't,” she admitted, her unwavering blue gaze filled with honesty and pain. She saw the anger surfacing in his stormy gray eyes, and she touched the tips of her fingers gently against his shoulders. He flinched under her touch. “Let me explain,” she insisted.

“Please do.” His voice was flat. All emotion was hidden.

“Brandon and I were married when I was still in college. I was young, and I thought I was in love. I managed to finish my senior year, but Brandon was too restless. He dropped out of school to become a professional tennis player…”

Kyle inclined his head. Vaguely he remembered a flash in the pan by the name of Brandon McClure. The man had had an incredible serve, which was accompanied by an equally explosive temper. In Kyle's opinion, Brandon McClure never had a chance. He was his own worst enemy. Tennis was a game of complete concentration and skillful manipulation. With only a couple of obvious exceptions, few hotheads made it into the top ranks of the pros.

“What happened?” Kyle demanded.

“To make a long story short, it wasn't long before I realized that he was having an affair. The woman was someone I knew and worked with.” She paused. “There were other women. He admitted as much.”

“So you divorced him?” Kyle's voice was low. The question seemed dangerous.

Maren took in a deep, ragged breath and tore her gaze away from Kyle's angry gray eyes. The pain of the divorce still bothered her. She looked toward the dark sky, and moonlight brushed a silvery sheen into her dark hair. “No. We separated for about six months, I guess. It was my fault. I opposed the idea of divorce and let it drag out. Even when we finally agreed to actually go through with the proceedings, I didn't feel comfortable about it…as if in some way,
I
had failed.”

“And you never got over that feeling?” Kyle guessed.

Maren shook her head from side to side and pinched her lips together to hold back the sobs of regret that were forming in her throat. “No,” she whispered. “A while back…it had been several years since the divorce was final, Brandon called and I suggested that we spend the weekend together skiing in Heavenly Valley.” Her hand slapped the railing as the memories that she tried vainly to forget came back to her.

“I realized it would probably be a mistake. He was talking about reconciliation, and I knew at the time that too many years had passed. But I decided to go because…”

“You still loved him,” Kyle accused.

“No!”
She pursed her lips together in determination. “It wasn't love that made me consider starting over with him. It was pride: stubborn, foolish pride, because I'd failed! Nothing as heroic as love was involved.

“I wasn't with him more than half an hour when the first argument started. I determined then and there that it would never work out, and I was relieved. But I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon skiing because Brandon had already bought the lift tickets.”

As she gazed into the distant night Maren tried to construct her thoughts so Kyle could understand the helplessness of her situation with Brandon—why she couldn't let go of him. “Brandon started skiing down the most difficult run, racing down the slopes as fast as he could. I could tell that he was tired, but he wouldn't give up. I think he was trying to work off some of the anger…”

“What anger?”

“His anger at me.”

“For refusing to go back to him?”

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don't know. But he was angry with me. Anyway, he wouldn't listen to reason when I tried to stop him. He pushed me aside and told me that he could do anything he damn well pleased. Rather than cause a scene, I gave up and let him go.”

“And he fell,” Kyle said, remembering the accident. Maren's story reminded him of an article he'd seen in the sports page of the
Times
a couple of years ago. At the time, he hadn't made the connection between Brandon McClure, the bad-tempered tennis pro and Maren McClure, owner of Festival Productions. But why would he? They were divorced at the time and the article had made no mention of Brandon's ex-wife.

“Right,” Maren agreed, her small shoulders slumping beneath the soft fabric of Kyle's oversize shirt. The horrifying memory of the accident flashed vividly before her eyes.

Kyle's voice seemed far away. “From what I understand, he'll never play tennis again—not professionally.” At least that was the speculation at the time. Since the first report, Kyle had read nothing about Brandon McClure.

“It's worse than that. He may not be able to play at all, or walk without the aid of a brace.” She felt suddenly tired, drained of her strength.

“Maren?” The coldness in his voice forced Maren to rotate and look at him. “Do you feel responsible for what happened to him?” Undercurrents of tension charged the cool night air.

“Partially,” she conceded.

“That's ludicrous!”

“I've told myself the same thing a hundred times over, but I just can't seem to convince myself.”

Leaning against one of the posts supporting the roof, Kyle studied her. He folded his arms over his chest and his square jaw jutted into the darkness. Deep lines of concern webbed from the corners of his eyes. “So how does this affect you now? It was all in the past: unless there's something you haven't told me.”

Kyle stared at her, noting every reaction on her elegantly sculpted face. He sensed that McClure still had a hold on her and it involved more than guilt. Gritting his teeth together to cut off the possessive feelings entrapping him, he waited.

“It isn't just in the past,” she admitted, rotating to face him. She noticed the tense angle of his jaw, the flexed muscles straining in his chest and the glint of steel in his eyes. “Brandon always had a way of living beyond his means…”

“I can believe that,” he cut in.

Ignoring the sarcasm in Kyle's voice, Maren continued: “Even the money he won on the tour couldn't begin to support his lifestyle. At the time of the accident, Brandon was in debt and had let his major medical insurance policy lapse. Only a small policy was left to pay a portion of the hospital bills.”

“So you've been supporting him,” Kyle concluded, his lips thinning in controlled rage. No wonder the profits from Festival Productions had been bled from the company. Maren had been using that money to support Brandon McClure. Kyle's thoughts turned dark.
“Do you still live with him?”

“Of course not,” she replied, surprised by his accusation. “I told you that part of it is over!” She saw his muscles relax slightly. “Brandon's in a rehabilitation center working with a physical therapist.”

“I assume he doesn't have a job and you're footing the bill.”

“He's only been walking with the brace for a few months,” Maren snapped, wondering why she felt so suddenly defensive of a man who had done nothing but hurt her. She let out her emotions in an angry sigh. “I think he'll be able to work again soon. Until he does, I have to help him.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn't have any other family,” she replied. “Haven't you been listening to me? It's my fault he went skiing that weekend. If it hadn't been for me, he'd probably still be playing tennis, for God's sake!”

She was shaking with the intensity of her emotions. She felt chilled to the bone. Kyle opened his robe and folded her against him, letting his arms and the soft folds of cloth protect her from the night air.

Softly he kissed the top of her head. She let her arms tighten around his naked torso and leaned her head on his chest. “I think your husband's career was over before it began,” Kyle stated reassuringly. “I read about him; he couldn't control his hostility. It worked against him rather than to his advantage.”

“Your opinion.”

“The truth.”

The protests forming in her throat died. For years she had been deluding herself that Brandon would have made it on his own. The gravity of Kyle's face and his firm words helped convince her that Brandon would take advantage of her as long as she gave him the opportunity. She had only to remember Brandon's last near-frantic call.

“For the time being,” she said, “Brandon is my responsibility.”

“Until when? Until he decides he can make it on his own? Or
you
get tired of carrying the burden?
When?
”

“It will work out,” she said vaguely.

“When Brandon McClure decides that he's tired of sponging off his ex-wife.”

She was tired and her voice was bitter. “I don't see that it's any concern of yours what happens to Brandon. It won't affect my decision to sell Festival Productions one way or the other, and that's why I'm here, remember?”

“Is it?” he asked in a throaty whisper. With one long finger he traced the length of her bare arm and a shiver of anticipation darted down her spine.

His embrace became more possessive, and his eyes drilled into the mystery of hers. “Tell me again,” he persuaded, “why you're here.”

With a surrendering sigh, she leaned heavily against him. “I'm here because I want to be,” she admitted, listening to the steady cadence of his heart. This is where I belong, she thought, alone with Kyle in the night, letting him hold me.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let's go to bed.”

His arms supported her as they walked through the door and back into the warmth of the rambling hacienda.

“I
WANT YOU TO MARRY ME
.”

Kyle's voice was the first sound she heard as she awoke. Maren opened her eyes and stared into the dark gaze of the man she loved. She smiled and stretched.

“I thought we weren't going to discuss marriage.”

“Only because you're so damned independent.” Kyle sat up in the bed and ran his hand over the stubble of his beard.

“Should I consider that a compliment?” she teased.

“Damn it, Maren, I'm serious. I want you to marry me and live with Holly and me here in La Jolla.” His tanned brow was creased and his coffee-colored hair, streaked from the sun, was rumpled. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “I've been thinking about this all night. It's the only answer.”

“And what about my work?”

“We could handle it here.”

“I don't think—”

“Sure, we'll have to be in L.A. once or twice a week to supervise what's going on, but there's no reason you can't work out your ideas and those sketches here.”

“There's a lot more to it than that,” she stated, trying to quiet her racing heart. Kyle had asked her to marry him! It was what she wanted most, and yet it couldn't be. Not now. “I'm involved with the actual shooting of the sequences and some of the editing, not to mention hiring the actors, renting the soundstages…”

“But don't you have people who can supervise that sort of thing?”

“To some extent…”

“And once you've sold the company, things will be that much easier,” he suggested.

His words had the effect of salt on an open wound. She stiffened in the bed. “Elise advised me against talking with you or anyone from Sterling Records about the offer, until we can come to some sort of an agreement.”

He looked at her as if she were out of her mind. “And just how are we supposed to do that if we don't discuss the offer?”

“Elise thought she could straighten things out with Bob Simmons.”

“And then he'll want to discuss it with me, in private. It doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense, Maren. We can wrap this thing up this morning.” He turned to face her. “I thought you were the kind of woman who made her own decisions.”

“I am.”

“Then why the hell do you have to rely on Ms. Conrad?”

“Because she's my attorney!”

“Do you really think I would try to pull a fast one on you?” His silvery eyes impaled her. “Don't you trust me?”

“Kyle, this has nothing to do with trust…it's business!”

She rolled over and started to get up, but he caught her wrist, forcing her back on the bed. “This is not business…not anymore…this is
us.
”

“You're clouding the issue.”

“And you're avoiding it!”

She jerked her hand free of his grasp and got out of bed. “Maybe you're right,” she allowed, struggling into his bathrobe and seating herself in a chair across the room. She stared at him with intense indigo eyes as she brushed her hair away from her face with her fingers and crossed her shapely legs. “You want to talk business? What about right now?”

“Fine with me.” He rolled off the bed and pulled on a pair of khaki-colored jeans.

“Why don't you start by telling me exactly what you have in mind for Festival, if I decide to sell?”

“It's in the offer…”

“Refresh my memory.”

“Only the ownership will change. You can still run the operation any way you wish, with the exception that Festival will be in the same building as the record company and you'll spend most of your time working from the library here.”

She arched her eyebrows elegantly. If only she could believe that his proposal of marriage had nothing to do with his desire for the company. He'd married once to promote his career. Would he marry again to bolster the income of Sterling Records? Dear Lord, she hoped not!

“I'll pay you a fair price for your company,” Kyle said, breaking into her thoughts “Even Elise has agreed about that.”

Maren nodded, tapping the tips of her fingernails on the arm of the chair.

“I've been honest with you, Maren. I need your talent as well as your company. Elise mentioned that you wanted a three-year employment agreement. It's yours. As far as I'm concerned, you're the talent behind Festival Productions. Without you, Festival is just another production company, and they're a dime a dozen.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes holding her unwavering blue gaze. Resting his forearms on his thighs, he stared at her. “We can work together,” he said softly, “after we're married.”

She tried to speak but couldn't find her voice. She had to shift her gaze away from his penetrating stare. “You tried that once before,” she reminded him. “It didn't work with Rose.”

“Rose has nothing to do with this!” Every muscle in his body became rigid. “Haven't you been listening to what I just said?”

“I'm trying, Kyle,” she replied, her voice wavering and tears filling her eyes “Dear God, I'm trying.”

“Then hear what I'm saying. I want you to be my wife, and it has nothing to do with also wanting the production company.” His dark gaze grew deadly, and the lean muscles in his forearms flexed. “I made a mistake with Rose, and I'll be damned if I ever make that same mistake again. I want you to live with me because I don't want to live without you. I
love
you, Maren.”

The tears pooling in her eyes began to run down her cheeks. How long she had waited to hear those words, and how desperately she wanted to believe them. He stood and unhurriedly walked across the room. “Can't you see how much you mean to me?” Lowering himself to one knee he touched her shoulders. As she stared into his brooding eyes she thought she would like to drown in his gaze. Her love for him was overpowering, and she could never find it in her heart to tie him down with a marriage he didn't want.

“Maren, please marry me,” he said. His fingers slid under the folds of the robe and his thumbs moved seductively over her soft skin. How easily he could coax her.

“I don't want to rush into anything” she replied quietly, hoping to stop the tears streaming down her face. “This is the eighties. We don't have to get married.”

“Unless we want to.”

“It's not that I don't want to marry you,” she reassured him, softly touching his chin. “I just need a little time to think it over.”

His smile was wistful. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “Now let's go downstairs, and you can tell me how far you've come on the Mirage videos.”

“We're going to work at this hour of the morning? It's Saturday.”

“I've got to convince you that you can live here and still do your work,” Kyle reminded her. “And I've only got a couple of days to prove it.”

Wiping away her tears, she laughed. “Give me a couple of minutes to shower and change, fix me a huge breakfast and
then
I'll get to work.”

“Lady,” he responded with a widening grin. “You've got yourself a deal!”

 

S
ATURDAY AND
S
UNDAY PASSED
too quickly, and Maren realized that she was beginning to feel a part of Kyle and his intimate family. Holly's hostilities slowly evaporated, and Lydia seemed elated that Maren was in the house. During the day Kyle took Holly and Maren sailing, and in the evenings they walked along the beach.

The meals were a time of laughter and warmth, especially when Lydia was able to stay and sample her own talents. Everything the elderly woman prepared was superb, and Lydia positively beamed when Maren insisted on helping her in the kitchen in order to discover the secrets of Lydia's culinary skills.

If Holly disapproved of her father's relationship with Maren, she managed to hide it. Several times the young girl caught Kyle holding Maren in a loving embrace, but Holly only smiled at the intimate couple.

The only black spot on the remainder of the weekend occurred just before Maren left. She was packing her clothes into her suitcase when Kyle came into the bedroom. “I hate to see you leave,” he stated, watching Maren's movements as she leaned over the bed and folded a blouse into her bag.

“Oh, but I must,” she quipped, looking behind her and sliding a suggestive glance in his direction. “That president of Sterling Records becomes positively unglued if I'm late with anything.”

He caught the look of provocation in her eyes and noticed the way her jeans hugged her hips. “You're going to have to marry me sooner or later,” he responded mentally calculating how long it would take to strip off her jeans.

“Why's that?” She locked the suitcase and turned to face him, balancing herself on the edge of the bed. “And don't give me that lame excuse of making an honest woman of me.”

He lifted his palms in mock surrender. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Well then?”

“I think it would be best for all of us.”

The laughter in her eyes faded. “I don't think Holly would appreciate me stepping into her mother's shoes.”

Kyle strode across the room, pushed the suitcase off the bed and sat next to Maren. His gray eyes held hers in a smoky embrace. “Holly adores you…”

“She
tolerates
me.” Maren let out an uncomfortable sigh. “I'll admit, that's progress and a lot more than I expected, but a far cry from adoration.”

Attempting to rise, Maren felt strong hands grab her arm and pull her forcefully onto the bed. She fell onto the comforter and felt the persuasive strength of Kyle's body stretched near hers. Her auburn hair fell away from her face in tangled disarray, and her clear indigo eyes searched his. Her skin was flushed, and Kyle knew she was the most intrinsically beautiful woman he had ever met. This one woman had changed his entire outlook on life.

“Why won't you consider my proposal?” he demanded, his hands tightening behind her back. She felt each of his lean muscles pressed supplely against hers. His warm breath fanned her face, and though she tried to ignore it, her heart began to thud irregularly.

With all the determination she could gather, she replied. “I think it's time for total honesty, Kyle.”

“I'd agree.”

One of her delicate dark brows cocked. “Would you?”

He smiled and gave her a short shake. “Out with it, woman. What's on your mind?”

“There's more to it than worrying about becoming a stepmother to Holly,” she admitted.

“I figured as much.”

“How much of this…proposal has to do with the buyout of Festival?” She felt his arms tighten rigidly around her.

“None.”

“Then why do I get the feeling that you're holding something back from me…that something about Festival Productions is bothering you? If it's not the sale, then what?” Confusion clouded her gaze, and Kyle was forced to unburden himself.

“Of course I want you to sell Festival to me, and I expect that you will, once we change the terms of the offer to satisfy Elise.” He released her slowly and propped his head on one elbow so he could study the slightest reaction on her face. “Ryan Woods thinks that he's found a pirated copy of Mitzi Danner's latest release.”

Maren's eyes widened. “The video of ‘Going for Broke'?”

“Right.”

“That's impossible,” she stated, her mind whirling. That tape was barely back from editing.

“Not according to Woods.” Was it his imagination, or did a tremor of fear darken her eyes?

“We haven't even sent the finished product over to Sterling Records yet.”

“I know.”

Anger replaced disbelief. “So you assume that someone at Festival is ripping you off?”

“I don't know. I haven't seen the tape myself, but Ryan Woods seems pretty sure of himself, and he knows his business.”

“There must be some mistake…”

“I don't think so.” Kyle's voice was as calm as the steely look in his eye. “But I'm waiting to see the evidence myself…”

“Evidence?”
Maren cried. “Good Lord, Kyle, you make it sound as if I'm some kind of criminal!” She pulled herself off the bed and stood up before glaring down at him. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I wanted to be sure.” Dragging himself to his feet, he towered over her, accepting the anger in her gaze.

“Are you?”

“No, not yet.”

She ran trembling fingers through her hair. “But you expect to discover something,” Maren guessed.

“I don't know. I'm not certain that someone from Festival's involved. The only thing we can do is wait until Ryan somehow finds a way to get a copy of that tape.”