Smoke and Mirrors (21 page)

"My grandfather has a house north of the city," he told her innocuously. "I spent a lot of time there as a kid." Still spent time there, when he wanted to forget the dangerous game he was playing and be just a man.

"It sounds lovely." Her hand rested against his shoulder, followed by her body to his back. "I'd like to see it."

And he could see her there, too. Too well. "Maybe sometime."

Cass slipped in front of him, eyes wide. "Tonight," she prompted. "Just the two of us. We're lovers now. We shouldn't keep secrets from each other."

He took in her upturned face, the gorgeous hair cascading around it, the hope radiating in her eyes. It would be easy to spirit her away to his grandfather's house, far from this world, this life. They could pretend there, hold destiny at bay.

But he knew the truth would be waiting around the corner, primed to shatter any idyllic spell he could create.

No one ever wanted him for who he was. Not his parents, not Marla, certainly not a class act like Cass. He wasn't sure what she wanted, maybe just the healing power of mindless sex, but he sensed the danger of indulging the heat between them.

"One night of mind-blowing sex," he forced himself to say, "doesn't mean I'm ready to take you to the family home, doll."

She staggered back. "We made love, Derek. We shared. We communicated. I thought—"

"That we'd be a couple now? An item?" Because he couldn't take much more, he parried even more viciously. "That we'd hold hands in the park and share hot cocoa? That we'd—"

Hurt registered in her eyes. Betrayal. And a devastating
shimmer
of tears. "Go to hell, Derek."

He held himself very still, when in truth he wanted to crush her to him and never let go. Instead he pushed even harder. "Ah, Cass. I'd rather not take you
there,
either, though I do seem to have a knack for the place."

She looked as if he'd just confessed to being Lucifer. "Just forget it," she rasped, then turned and strode from the room.

He didn't follow.

* * *

Three days crawled by. Three long, agonizing days, but not one word passed between Derek and Cass. Just looks. Long, hot, soulful looks, those of brooding and hurt. Of anger.

And Cass withstood them all.

Then, that third night, while she stood at the front desk—picking at a new arrangement of white roses, everything changed. The front door swung open, and a woman breezed in. Cass recognized her instantly. She'd studied so many
pictures,
the woman's image was etched into her mind.

Marla Fairchild. The woman Derek had asked to be his wife. The mother he'd wanted for his children.

"Well, well, well," Ruth commented. "If it's not Lady Godiva herself."

Cass tried to laugh at the blatant sarcasm, but she was too preoccupied by the woman strolling toward her. Long, blond hair. Flawless skin. High cheekbones. Wide eyes. Full lips. Diamonds dripped from her ears, her neck,
her
fingers. A plush leopard-print swing coat danced around her long legs.

"Bet she's not wearing anything under that coat," Ruth snickered.

The same thought had already occurred to Cass, and with it rushed a primal surge of disgust. "And here I thought tonight was going to be business as usual."

"Just wait till the boss gets a load of her. Trust me, any hope you had of a dull evening will be long gone."

That's what she was afraid of. Derek was upstairs, she knew. The last time she'd seen him he'd been striding toward the elevator, sparing nothing but curt looks for those who dared to call his name. He'd been dressed to kill, his dark hair queued back, accenting his deep-set, go-to-hell eyes. A double-breasted, black Italian suit had completed the image.

"Tell Derey I'm on my way," she purred.

Cass pulled herself back from the fog and came face-to-face with the infamous Marla Fairchild. The woman stood boldly across the reception desk, looking down her elegant nose at her.

"I'm sorry," Cass replied coolly, "but Mr. Mansfield has asked not to be disturbed."

Ruth, who knew darn well Derek had said no such thing, shot her a puzzled look.

"Not to worry," Marla purred. "I'm not going to disturb him. Bother him, probably. Disturb him, never."

Cass stiffened, rejecting the punishing thoughts that swam forward. Derek had known this woman intimately. "Sorry," she returned, not missing a beat. Composure was something she'd never had problems maintaining; she wouldn't start now. "He specifically said he wanted to be alone."

The bold words were a gamble, but Cass needed to know if Derek had invited Marla to the hotel.

"He'll want to see me." Marla laughed, low and throaty. "Well, maybe not see," she conceded. "That's far too passive for my Derek. But the rest will hold true—trust me."

The innuendo slashed at Cass's heart. Take away the "see," and that left only the "want."

Of course Derek would want Marla. Cass knew firsthand what a voracious sexual appetite he had. She also knew she had turned her back on him. What had she been thinking? That he would come begging to heel? That he would haul her into his arms and tell her he was wrong, that he would take her to his grandfather's house and prove he was an innocent man?

That's what it came down to. She'd been so convinced that once she set foot in the estate, she would have proof of his innocence. But he'd foiled her plans, her dreams. He'd refused, without the courtesy of a viable reason. He'd simply refused.

That's why she was staying away. The last thing she needed was to fall back into his bed, if in only a matter of days she would be slapping cuffs around his wrists.

But now Marla was smirking at her, primed and ready to take Cass's place. "There's nothing I can do. Once Mr. Mansfield gives an order—"

"Marla." The husky voice resounded through the now-silent foyer. He strode toward them, still dressed like a mob hit man in his Italian suit, his hair still queued back.

The cameras—he'd foiled her again. She'd hoped to get rid of Marla before Derek could lay eyes on her, but he'd obviously caught sight of his fiancée on the surveillance cameras—the same cameras that had brought Cass into his arms, then his bed.

And now he was ignoring Cass, focusing on the dazzling blonde posing for him. Marla had turned toward
him,
left hip tilted forward, a perfectly elegant, diamond-clad hand resting there. Not just any diamond, either, but an engagement ring. And unless Marla had already gotten over him,
which
Cass doubted, the sparkling ring was the one Derek had given her.

But he didn't go to her, as Cass expected. He halted ten feet away, and merely stood there, a single brow arched in challenge. He was testing Marla, Cass recognized, refusing to go to her, making her go to him instead.

"Oh, Derey…" She rushed across the hardwood floor and flung herself into his arms. "It's been a long time."

"It certainly has."

Cass watched in an agonizing fog as Derek and Marla strolled toward the elevator. Their shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, taking them farther away from Cass and twisting the knife deeper into her heart.

The pain of it almost sent her to her knees.

* * *

Marla lay sprawled on the sofa. Her plush leopard print coat was bunched up around her thighs, revealing her long legs. She was just as icily beautiful as Derek remembered.

No wonder he'd never seen beyond the next tumble in the sack.

"I see six months haven't changed anything," he commented, curious to discover the reason for her visit.

Her pouty lips slumped into a frown. "How can you say that, Derey?" She shifted, her coat riding higher on her legs. "Six months have changed everything. We should be celebrating our half year wedding anniversary," she reminded. "Instead I can hardly get you to look at me."

Derek paused by the window. "And which stings worse, Marla? That we're not married, or that I'm not eating out of your hand?"

"You're being cruel."

"I'm being honest. Can you say the same?"

"Oh, Derey. Do we have to drag that up again?" she pouted. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry?"

That was easy. "You don't."

Marla bolted to her feet and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "Do you mean it, Derey?" she gushed, glowing. "Are you finally ready to let go of the past?"

He stood ramrod stiff. "Sweetheart, I let go of the past the second I walked out that door."

She pulled back. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say anything," he told her bluntly. He stepped free of her clinging arms and moved out of her reach. "I
am
saying there is nothing you can say, nothing you can do, to erase what you've already done." That was the way it was with him: no second chances. Ever. "You used me. I was never anything more than a nifty little toy to help you win your dear daddy's respect."

Her bottom lip began to quiver. "That's not true."

"My God, Marla, do you think I'm an idiot?" The memories were whipping back now, slapping him all over again. "I was there. I saw the plans."

"They were just some stupid drawings, Derek." She raised her hands, dropped them to her side. "Ideas and fantasies. Dreams."

Betrayals. "You can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me. We both know the truth. They were extensive, elaborate plans for the
Edinburgh
resort, drawn up and ready to roll."

Marla stepped toward him, paused when he cut his eyes. "My father owns an architectural firm. You knew that. Why was it so shocking we would want to bid on the
Stirling
resorts?"

Derek just stood there and stared at her. He'd thought himself in love with this woman, that he'd wanted her to bear his children.

"You know the damnedest part, Mar? If only you hadn't counted your chickens before they hatched, it would have all been yours. That was going to be my wedding gift to you, exclusive rights to every Stirling Manor from that point forward." He'd already had the paperwork prepared. "But you couldn't wait, could you? After so many months of whoring yourself for your father's company, you got sloppy when the end was so close you could taste it."

"That's not true!" she protested. "Maybe at first," she conceded, "but later, after I got to know you, I fell in love with you. How can you doubt that?"

He'd heard enough. They'd already had a scene like this once, the night before their wedding, when he'd confronted her with the drawings. He'd found them at the house he'd built for her, while he'd been filling her closet with the trousseau he'd commissioned for their European honeymoon. He still remembered the disbelief, the cutting sense of betrayal.

Marla wasn't marrying
him—
she
was marrying the heir to the Stirling Manor. The truth had been a bitter pill to swallow, one he should have seen all along but had been too blinded by lust to consider. Days later, when he'd found himself alone in the rugged highlands of
Scotland
, his anger had receded, replaced by numb indifference—the same thing he felt now.

"Nothing has changed, Marla, and nothing will. Quit wasting my time and get out of my hotel. This time for good."

Well-timed moisture filled her beautiful eyes. "I was a fool to come here," she sobbed brilliantly, "thinking you might have actually changed. What is it my daddy said? 'Once an unforgiving bastard, always an unforgiving bastard'?"

Derek took the description as a compliment. "It's called
survival,
I would think you, of all people, would know that."

"I loved you," she whispered.

"You know what?" Derek shot back. "I think you believe that, I honestly do. And for that I feel sorry for you, Marla. You only love one person—and that's your precious daddy."

"That's not true." She rallied. With a flick of her wrist, her coat
fell
open, confirming Derek's suspicions and revealing nothing but her perfect body, and a black garter belt.

"I know you still want me,"
she
purred. "Let me show you how sorry I am, Derey. Let me remind you how good we are together." She cupped her full breasts, raising them, squeezing them until nothing but her nipples remained between her fingertips. "One night, Derey. No strings attached. One night, then we'll both know if you can just walk away."

* * *

Cass refused to let
herself
think about Derek and Marla, what they were doing upstairs. She would not let herself go there. Instead she stood in the lounge and studied Santiago Vilas. He sat not ten feet away, smoking a thin cigarette, a nearly empty glass of Scotch by his side. She hadn't seen him for a few days; in fact, if she didn't have access to registration records, she would have thought he'd checked out.

Call Gray.
That was her first thought, the result of training, but she cast it aside when she remembered Gray was off site tonight. She could call him, anyway, wait for him to arrive, but the moment could be gone by then.

The fog lifted, and the cop in her took over. She was here to do a job, a job that had seen her through the past five years,
a
job that would be there long after Derek left her life.