Winning Wyatt (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 1) (8 page)

“No
kidding! I figured that one out all by myself.” Regina tipped her wineglass in
Kara’s direction before taking a sip. “Or should I say, with a little help from
Wyatt Maitland.”

“He
said he didn’t tell you anything about us.”

“He
didn’t, but that’s what made me suspicious. He shows up out of nowhere, and
you’re very suddenly too sick to hang around. He’s asking questions. I’m not an
idiot. There had to be more to the story than either one of you admitted
before. Why didn’t you tell me when you came back from California?”

“I
just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Regina
held up a hand with lime green fingernail polish. “Don’t be, unless Wyatt’s
completely lost his touch. He’s a fabulous lover, isn’t he?”

Kara
choked on her tea. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about him at the
time. I won’t engage in personal comparisons with you or anyone.”

“All
right, then,” Regina agreed. “I’ll settle for hearing about the rest of it.
You’ve maintained all this time that you and he shared a lackluster meal, and
he dropped you off at your hotel after. What really happened?”

Kara
shrank into herself, remembering not enough or maybe too much about that time.

How
can I explain? Where do I begin? “I not only left the museum with him on my
first day in California, I stayed with him for the next three months.”

Los Angeles, three years earlier

Kara
had wanted Regina to mind her own damn business, but that was the trouble with
best friends. Regina had insisted instead that Kara go to L.A. for a job
interview.

So
what if Kara had been down? So what if she’d been uncommunicative and
anti-social? Why was it anyone’s business but her own? Despite Kara’s protests,
Regina had stepped in. As Kara’s best friend and literary agent, she claimed
Kara needed something dramatic to pull her out of her world-class depression.

So
Kara went to L.A. to interview for an absolutely perfect temporary position—according
to Regina. She also insisted she didn’t care whether Kara accepted the
assignment to chronicle the museum’s one hundred and fifty year history or not.
Her goal was merely to get Kara out of her apartment, provide her with a change
of scenery, and remove her from the dreary March weather in New York.

But
the blasted director was tied up when Kara arrived for her three o’clock
appointment, so she went off to while away the time, examining some of the
museum’s displays. A Helen Thayer exhibit particularly piqued Kara’s interest
more than anything else had done in quite a while.

In
three years and ten days to be precise.

On
the third floor, she stepped out of the elevator and stopped abruptly on the
threshold of a sun-drenched chamber. A cathedral ceiling soared above the large
and airy gallery. At the far end of the room, a panoramic wall of glass pulled
the sun, the sky, and the ocean into a natural backdrop for the Thayer
paintings. She stared, unprepared for a spectacle of such beauty and dimension.

The
color of the walls deepened near the window, blending from the delicate shade
of a robin’s egg into the deeper blue of the Pacific. The sun’s reflection on
the ocean shifted and repeated the golds, reds, and oranges that dominated
Thayer’s work.
      

In
swirling brushstrokes, each canvas celebrated the theme of timeless awakenings,
bold and hopeful. The masterpieces depicted moods that ranged from freshly
innocent to darkly erotic. A sun peeking over a meadow at dawn. A rose on the
brink of bursting into bloom. A man and a woman locked in passion. A mother
nursing an infant.

Each
one spoke forcefully to Kara of glories she had once known, but which had long
since been buried with her husband and child.

For
three years, Kara’s all-encompassing grief had hardened her heart to the beauty
that existed in art, life, and nature. But in this room, on this day, she felt
the hard shell of grief encasing her heart begin to soften like a piece of clay
massaged into a malleable consistency by an artist’s nurturing hands.

Her
nerve endings twitched and vibrated inside her skin. Circling around, she
rushed desperately to absorb the unexpected visual and emotional feast before
the miracle of her newly recovered awareness could vanish once again.

After
such a long absence of positive emotions, the rapid rush of impressions
overwhelmed her. Dizzy from the onslaught, Kara closed her eyes to block out
the room around her. She turned to feel the sun on her face and center her
thoughts beyond the crystalline window.

Like
a child blowing out her birthday candles, she wished with all her heart she
could start her life over in the simplicity and clarity of the moment.

“It’s
like a religious experience, isn’t it?”

The
words, which so closely aligned with Kara’s thoughts, startled her from her
reverie. She turned in the direction of the honeyed voice that carried the hint
of moonlight and magnolias.

“What?”
She stared at the man whose stunning good looks and coloring made his presence
seem like an extension of the magic surrounding her. With her newly resurrected
powers of observation, she soaked up the details of his appearance.

Standing
motionless, he held himself with the grace of Michelangelo’s David stepped down
from his pedestal. Only a small crescent-shaped scar on his chin saved his
classical features from other-worldly flawlessness.

He
had the long-fingered hands of an artist or musician. Even in repose, they
looked as if they could express his thoughts with the eloquence of spoken
words. He lifted them now in a gesture that encompassed the gallery. “The
combination of art and nature always has a spiritual effect on me.”

The
sun haloed his dark auburn curls. Brushed away from his high forehead, it fell
forward at the temples and tapered in smooth layers down the nape of his neck.
Even his soft tangerine sweater and sand-colored khakis blended with their
surroundings. Most compelling of all were flecks of amber in his deep-set brown
eyes.

The
intensity of his gaze made it difficult for her to process his comment and form
a response. But after several dumbfounded moments, a quotation from an Art
Appreciation class popped into mind. “‘Art for the sake of the good and the
beautiful, that is the faith I am looking for.’”

“George
Sand?” A gleam of surprise sparked within his entrancing eyes. He cocked his
head to the side and focused his attention on her as if nothing else on earth
interested him more than she did.

His
voice alone was sensual enough to hypnotize the unwilling, but the effect his
unusual eyes had on her was worthy of Merlin. Only a magician of legendary
skill could penetrate the crack in her protective shield so effortlessly.

“I
don’t know how I remembered that,” she said in a whisper, “but it seems
appropriate.”

He
leaned forward, increasing the level of intimacy between them. “I make weekly
visits here the way some people attend Sunday morning church services.”

She
rubbed her hands along her forearms to ward off the tingling sensation his
words—or his unsettling presence—produced. “My fingers are itching to take up a
brush and capture this precise mix of light, color, and texture.”

“Are
you a painter?”

“No,
just a dabbler. I have the interest, but not the talent. It’s a shame memory
alone can’t imprint a scene this stunning. Or that I can’t stay here forever.”
The idea of leaving such beauty behind made her heart ache. That emotion, at
least, was a familiar one.

Issuing
the words with reluctance, he suggested, “Would you consider extending the
moment in a different setting?”

The
provocative timbre of his voice sent shivers down her back, but she felt more
feverish than chilled. “How?”

“I
know another place, just as beautiful, where I could share the sunset with
you.”

His
comment aroused her curiosity.“Why would you want to?”

Again,
she saw his hesitation. “Very few people take the time to observe the quiet
beauty surrounding them. It would be a pleasure to share another example of it
with someone who appreciates it as I do.”

If
his words were the truth, Kara didn’t believe they were the whole truth.
Against her better judgment, she asked, “Where?”

“I
have a cabin up in the hills,” he said easily, as if she would find his answer
reassuring, “with a spectacular view.”

Talking
to a gorgeous stranger within the relative safety of a public museum while
undergoing an almost mystical resurrection was one thing, but Kara couldn’t
picture herself leaving the premises with him under any circumstances.

“I
don’t think I can,” she answered, dragging her eyes away from his and forcing
her attention back to the rhythmic, calming movements of the ocean.

He
reached out one of his finely shaped hands and turned her to face him. The
gentle touch of his fingers on her elbow sent prickles of warmth down to her
toes. For three years, she had avoided the touch of others. But now, in the
room where her senses had been restored, she craved the comfort and awareness
the contact provided.

“Think
again,” he suggested, extending his right hand to her. “You’ll be safe, I
promise.”

Safe.
The tricky word hung suspended in front of her like a holograph. She hadn’t put
much stock in safety since fate, the weather, and National Package Delivery had
destroyed her family and turned the concept of safety into an illusion.

The
intriguing combination of amber-flecked sensitivity, understanding, and
enchantment that swam in his eyes seduced Kara away from a more sensible
course.

She
looked at him and then at his beckoning hand. Her gaze returned to his face,
searching for incentive. Forgotten longings stirred within her. Desire returned
in full force to her dormant heart, tempting her to agree.

Take
a chance, desire urged.

No
way, sanity objected.

“I
have an appointment with the museum’s director at four.”

“I’ll
wait.”

“Who
are you?” she asked.

“My
name’s Wyatt,” he said. “Regina sent me to meet you, Kara.”

A
while later, Wyatt pulled his vintage Jaguar up the bumpy drive of a rustic
mountain cabin. “Good. We’re right on time.”

“For
what?” Terrifying images of sacrificial rituals flashed through Kara’s mind.

“The
sunset, remember?” He removed his seatbelt. When she couldn’t bring herself to
follow suit, he reached across the gearshift to unbuckle the straps holding her
in place. She shrank from the contact, and he immediately leaned back. “I’m
surprised you didn’t get cold feet earlier. Take as long as you want to get out
of the car, or tell me now, and I’ll take you straight back to The Hansett or
your hotel. Or wherever you’d like to go.”

Their
eyes met again in silent communication. Something in his gaze telegraphed all
the reassurance she needed. She surrendered with a quick nod.

While
he came around the front of the car, she opened her door. His palm felt warm
and comforting against hers as he helped her out and directed her up a flight
of stairs to a wide redwood deck.

“Have
a seat.” He made a broad gesture toward a bench built along the railing.
Joining her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward a
magnificent view. “Now, watch.”

The
setting sun balanced itself like an orange ball on an aquamarine tabletop. The
sea swallowed the brilliant sphere with imperceptible nibbles, scattering
shimmering patterns across the undulating water. Enchanted, Kara could almost hear
the slide of its descent. All too soon, the parade of colors faded into
lavender-tinged twilight.

As
the last remnants of light extinguished, the final suffocating layers of
bereavement broke free from Kara’s soul and disappeared into the sea with the sun.
Dusk had settled into place around her. But inwardly, she felt the promise of a
new day.

An
arm brushed against hers, returning her attention to the benefactor who had
presented her with such a precious gift. “My eyes have been closed to sunsets
for a long time,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to see one.”

Slowly,
very slowly, as if he tried to prevent himself from doing so, he raised his
hand and trailed a finger along her cheek, then down her neck to the vein
throbbing at the base of her throat. “Do you need anything else?”

Kara
accepted the question as her cue to retreat. In her head, she planned to. In
her heart, she meant to.

But
her desperate body just wouldn’t comply.

She
had more than enough time to reject his advances before he brought her to her
feet and enfolded her in his arms.

His
touch inspired a stirring within her, powerful and instinctive. She needed…
wanted… to be healed by his fundamental magic for just a little while. A
swirling excitement pulled her along in a whirlpool stronger than the pain of
her previous existence. Starved for the basic joy of physical union, she
focused on their intertwining desires.

Kara
savored the embrace for a long moment, then leaned back and traced the curved
scar on his chin with her fingertip.

“What
I need to do is thank you.” She dared to touch her lips to his in a fleeting
kiss.

He
took her fingers in his hand and brought them to his mouth for a gentle caress.
“That isn’t necessary. You didn’t ask for this. It was my pleasure to give it
to you.”