Birthright by Nora Roberts
strip away the rest of their clothes.
When she bowed back, an offering, his mouth raced over her.
This is what she wanted now. Speed and need. A wild, wet ride. The thrill sprinted through her, turning her body into a quaking mass that craved more. She reared up, clamping her legs around him, curling over him to fix her teeth on his shoulder.
When he filled her, body and heart, she spoke his name. Just his name.
Spent, sated, he held on to her. The temptation was great to simply snuggle down on the bed, drag the covers over their heads and shut out everything else.
“I want time with you, Lana. Time that’s not part of anything else.”
“Normal time.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “We’ve hardly had any of that. What would it be like, do you think?”
“Quiet.”
She laughed. “Well, there’s not a lot of that in my house.”
“Yes, there is. There’s a nice sense of quiet with a kid running around.”
“Dogs barking, phones ringing. I’m an organized soul, Doug, but there are a lot of compartments in my life. A lot to handle.”
“And because you make it look easy, I shouldn’t think it is. I’ve never thought it was.” He drew back. “I admire what you’ve done with your life, and Ty’s. How you’ve done it.”
“There you go, saying the right thing again.” She eased away, rising to unzip her bag.
He noted that the short, thin robe was neatly folded and right on top. It made him smile. “Were you born tidy?”
“I’m afraid so.” She belted the robe, then sat on the side of the opposite bed. “And practical. Which is why when I’d prefer to snuggle up on that bed with you for the next hour or so, I’m going to spoil the mood. Something happened yesterday.”
She told him about Rosie, watched his relaxed expression chill, then heat. Though he rose, yanked on his jeans, paced, he didn’t interrupt with comments or questions until she was finished.
“Did you talk to Callie today?”
“Yes, before I left, and when I got to the airport here. She’s fine, Doug, if a little irritated with me for interrupting her work with the second call.”
“This can’t be put down to accident or impulse, or even a vicious kind of distraction. This was premeditated, with her as the specific target.”
“She knows that, just as she knows whoever laced the tea was one of her own team. She won’t be careless. Right now, we have to leave it to her to handle that end. We’ll handle this one.”
“I’ve got a list of Spencers—the secretary’s last name. As far as we know. I got them out of the phone book, and I’ve been running Internet searches. I’m down to six who might work. The others have lived here too long to fit. I was working out how best to approach them when the desk called me downstairs.”
“We could use the telemarketing angle, do phone surveys and try to eliminate a few more.”
“Are you now or have you ever been a part of an organization that markets infants?”
She was opening her briefcase now, taking out a pad. “I was thinking more along the lines of targeting the woman of the house—do you now or have you ever worked outside the home? In what field and so on.”
“It’ll take time. And you have to figure a lot of people just hang up on phone solicitations and surveys.”
“Yes. I’d be one of them.” She doodled absently on the pad. She could read him now, and nodded. “And yes, there’s something to be said for the more direct approach. Just go knock on doors and ask if we’re speaking to Marcus Carlyle’s former secretary.”
“That was my plan. Tell you what, since I’ve got a sidekick, we can play both angles. I’ll knock on doors, you stay here and play annoying telemarketer.”
“So you can keep me safely locked up in a hotel room? I don’t think so. We go together, Douglas. Side being the operative part of sidekick.”
“Just stop and think for a minute.” He followed her as she went into the bathroom, worked the shower controls until she was satisfied with the temperature. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. You’ve already had your office destroyed, been scared enough to send Ty away. Think about him if something happens to you.”
She slipped out of the robe, hung it neatly on the hook behind the door, then stepped under the spray. “You’re trying to scare me, and that’s the right button to push.”
“Good.”
“But I can’t and won’t live that way. It took me two months after Steve was killed to work up the courage to go into a goddamn convenience store, in broad daylight. But I did it because you can’t constantly be afraid of what might happen. If you do, you lose control of what is happening, and all the joy and pain it holds for you.”
“Damn.” He pulled off his jeans, stepped into the shower behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. “You don’t leave me any room to argue.”
She patted his hand, then stepped out before her hair got wet. “I’m a professional.”
“The list is out there on the desk. There’s a city map with it. We might as well plot out the most convenient route.”
“I’ll start that.” She dried off, put the robe back on.
But when he came out to join her, she wasn’t working on anything. Instead she stood by the desk holding a little Boston Red Sox ball cap in her hands. “You got this for Tyler.”
“Yeah, I thought he’d get a kick out of it. When my grandfather used to travel, he’d always bring me a ball cap or a toy. Some little thing.”
He picked up his shirt again, uneasy with the way she simply stood, running the bill of the cap through her fingers. “I didn’t get it for him to score points with him, or you. Well, not entirely.”
“Not entirely.”
A ripple of irritation crossed his face. “Having been a small boy once, I know the value of a ball cap. I saw it at the airport and picked it up. When I was paying for it, the point angle occurred to me.”
“He asked when you’d be back.”
“Yeah?”
It was the instant delight in Doug’s voice that struck her first. Instant, natural and true. Her heart tripped. “Yes, he did. And he’ll love this. Points or not, it was very sweet of you to think of it.”
“I didn’t forget you either.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Nope.” He opened a drawer. “I didn’t leave it out because I wasn’t sure what the maid might make of it.”
Lana stared as he pulled out a can of Boston baked beans. When he dropped it into her hand, grinned at her, her heart not only tripped, it fell with a splat.
“That just tears it. I’m done in by a can of beans.” She pressed it against her heart and began to weep.
“Oh Jesus, Lana, don’t cry. It was a joke.”
“You sneaky son of a bitch. This was not going to happen to me.” She waved him away, opened her purse and pulled out a pack of travel tissues. “I knew I was in trouble when you stepped off the elevator. You got off, and when I saw you, my heart . . .”
She tapped the silly can of beans against her breast. “My heart leaped. I haven’t felt that jolt since Steve. I never expected to feel it again. I thought, I hoped, that one day I’d find someone I could love. Someone I was comfortable with, who I could live with. But if I didn’t, that was all right. Because I’d had something so extraordinary already. I never believed I’d feel anything this strong again. Not for anyone. No, don’t say anything. Don’t.”
She had to sit, steady herself. “I didn’t want to feel like this again. Not like this. Because when you do, there’s so much to lose. It would’ve been so much easier, so much easier if I could have loved you a little. If I could’ve been content and have known you’d be good to Ty. Good for him. That would’ve been enough.”
“Somebody told me that you can’t live your life worrying about what could happen, or you miss what’s happening.”
She sniffled. “Clever, aren’t you?”
“Always h
“I know it.” She laid a hand on his knee. “I can’t change Ty’s name. I can’t take that away from Steve.”
Doug looked down at her hand. At the wedding ring she continued to wear. “Okay.”
“But I’ll change mine.”
He looked up, met her eyes. The flood of emotion was so huge, it almost swamped him. But he took her hand, the one that wore another man’s ring. “You know, this is starting to tick me off. First, you beat me to asking for a date, then you seduce me before I make my move. You follow me here. And now you propose to me.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m pushy?”
“No, I can just say you’re pushy. It’s my way of saying I’d like to ask you this time.”
“Oh. Well, that’s all right then. Forget what I said.”
He opened her hand, kissed her palm. “Marry me, Lana.”
“I’d love to, Douglas.” She rested her head on his shoulder, sighed. “Let’s get this job done so we can go home.”
They had a nice working rhythm, Lana decided as they drove to house number four. She imagined they looked like a very safe, all-American couple. Which was why those first three doors had opened to them so easily.
When they found the right door, she doubted it would open quite so smoothly.
“Lovely neighborhood,” she considered as they drove streets lined with big, well-tended homes, rolling lawns. The cars in the driveways were all late models.
“Money,” he said.
“Yes, money. She’d have that. And would probably be smart enough to spend it well, and discreetly. Nothing big and splashy to draw too much attention. Just quiet class. It should be coming up on your left.”
It was a rosy old brick with a white veranda with flowering vines trailing up both sides to shield it from its neighbors. The drive was flanked by two tall magnolias. And in it sat a vintage Mercedes sedan in soft yellow.
There was a realtor’s sign in the yard.
“It’s on the market. Interesting. Pulling up stakes?” he considered. “Nobody but you and my family know we’re here, but somebody knew I was poking around in Boston.”
“Mmm.” Lana played the angles in her head as he pulled to the side of the shady street. “If she’s in any way connected to what’s happening now, she’d know we’re pulling the threads. Relocating would be a natural step. And it certainly gives us a logical way inside.”
“House hunting.”
“The affluent and happy young couple, looking for their dream house.” She tossed her hair, then took out a tube of lipstick. Flipping down the vanity mirror on the visor, she applied it in smooth, meticulous strokes. “We’ll be the Beverlys—that’s my maiden name—from Baltimore. Keep it simple.”
She capped the tube, replaced it. “We’re relocating here because you’ve accepted a position at the university. Wear your glasses.”
“Teaching positions don’t pay that well.”
“It’s family money.”
“Cool. We’re loaded, huh?”
“Modestly. And I’m a lawyer. We’ll stick with that because it may present an opening. Corporate law. I rake in the dough. We’ll ad-lib. We’ve been doing fine so far. If we can get into the house.”
They walked toward the house, holding hands. They rang the bell. After a short wait a woman in trim black pants and a white shirt answered; Lana’s hopes skidded. She was entirely too young to be Dorothy Spencer.
“May I help you?”
Stuck, she decided to play it out. “I hope so. My husband and I saw the house was for sale. We’re looking for a house in the area.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Spencer has a showing scheduled for this afternoon.”
“No.” Hopes lifted a level. “No, we don’t have an appointment. We were driving by, admiring the homes. I suppose it might be inconvenient to see the inside right now. Are you the owner? Could we make an appointment for later today or tomorrow?”
“No, I’m the housekeeper.” As Southern hospitality won out, she stepped back. “If you’d like to wait here, I’ll check with Mrs. Spencer.”
“Thank you so much. Roger,” Lana continued as the housekeeper started down the hall, “isn’t it lovely?”
“Roger?” he queried.
“I did fall for him first. Such nice light,” she continued. “And look at the floors.”
“The other place was closer to the university.”
She beamed, delighted with him. “I know, honey, but this one has such character.” She turned, acknowledged the woman in the slim beige suit who came toward them.
Could be the right age, Lana thought. Looked younger, but women often found ways to look younger. “Mrs. Spencer?” She took a step forward, extending her hand. “We’re the incredibly rude Beverlys. I’d apologize for intruding, but I’m too delighted to get even this small glimpse of your home.”
“The realtor didn’t mention she was sending anyone by.”
“No, we haven’t been there yet. We were driving through the area and spotted the sign. When we decided to move south, this is exactly the sort of house I dreamed of.”
“Tiffany.” Doug squeezed Lana’s hand. “We’ve just started to look. I won’t be transferring until the first of the year.”
“You’re just moving to Charlotte?”
“We will be,” he confirmed. “From Baltimore. It is a beautiful house. Big,” he added with a wary glance at Lana.
“I want big. And we need the room to entertain. How many bedrooms—” She shook her head as if stopping herself, laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I know we should let you go, and make an appointment. I’m pushing a bit. Roger thinks January gives us plenty of time. But when I think about having everything packed and moved, learning a new area—new stores, new doctors, new everything—all while still dealing with two careers, it’s daunting. And I’m in a rush to start.”
“I have a little time if you want a look.”
“I would love it.” Lana started toward the main parlor behind her. “If it wouldn’t be indelicate, could you tell me your asking price?”
“Not at all.” She named a sum, waited a beat, then continued. “The house was built in the late eighteen-hundreds, and has been carefully maintained and restored. It offers original features as well as a state-of-the-art kitchen, a master suite that includes a large dressing area and a spa. Four bedrooms and four baths, as well as a small apartment off the kitchen. Ideal as a maid’s quarters, or for your mother-in-law.”
Doug laughed. “You don’t know my mother-in-law. You don’t sound local.”
“I’m not. I’ve lived in Charlotte for four years, but I’m originally from Cleveland. I’ve lived in a number of areas.”
“What fabulous windows. And the fireplace! Does it work?”
“Yes, it’s fully functioning.”
“Wonderful craftsmanship,” Lana added as she ran a finger over the mantel and got a closer look at the photographs scattered over it. “Did you travel for your work or your husband’s?”
“Mine. I’m a widow.”
“Oh. This is the first time I’ve relocated. Out of the state, I mean. I’m excited, and nervous. I love this room. Oh, is this your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She’s lovely. Are these floors original?”
“Yes.” As Mrs. Spencer glanced down, Lana signaled Doug to join her at the fireplace. “Yellow pine.”
“I don’t suppose the rugs go with the house. They’re extraordinary.”
“No. They don’t. If you’d like to come this way.” She walked through a set of open pocket doors into a cozily feminine sitting room. “I use this as a little reading room.”
“I don’t know how you can bear to sell. But I suppose your daughter’s grown and moved out, you’d be happier with something smaller.”
“Different, in any case.”
“Are you retired, Dorothy?”
There was