The Legacy by Fayrene Preston Read Free Book Online Page A

mother. This one had the Taj Mahal on the front of it.”
    “So she’s visiting India. Why should that worry you?”
    Her mouth twisted with rueful humor. "India doesn’t bother me. Neither does Egypt. What does is that she’s been flitting from one country to another for years now. She can’t seem to stop. It’s as if she’s searching for something.”
    “And she’s done this for how long?”
    “She started at the same time I entered college. We lived in Boston during my school years, and she was there for me. Back then it was just the two of us, along with Ramona, of course. It was only later that she became so restless. ”
    “What about your father?”
    “I don’t have one.”
    He nearly came back with a lighthearted comment about how it was biologically impossible not to have a father, but the serious expression on her face kept him silent. He reached out to her, meaning to comfort her as she had tried to comfort him, but with his hand on her arm, her expression changed, and his heart skipped a beat. Desire and need—emotions he’d been attempting to keep banked down inside himself—were plainly written on her face. She wasn’t as aware of the possible repercussions as he was. She was simply a woman who wanted a man.
    How long had it been since anything had been that simple for him, he wondered, beginning to harden and hurt. And why shouldn’t he allow himself the pleasure of basic simplicity where nothing mattered but the two people involved?
    Why? he asked himself. Let me tell you why, Nico.
    A tremor shuddered through him as he tried to control his unraveling resolve. He had no idea how long his fevered mind had shut out the dull, rhythmic, scratching sound, but he heard her say, “It’s the record. I’ll get it."
    She disappeared through the high-arched doorway into the drawing room, and he eagerly seized the short time she was gone to take himself in hand. But the music began again—slow, melodic, and haunting. And then Caitlin reappeared, bringing her own melodic and haunting qualities into the air surrounding him. He drew in a deep breath and smelled her fragrance and femininity. What could he do? He couldn’t stop breathing. Was he destined always to have her scent with him, in his lungs, in his pores?
    He concentrated on the music. “What is that song?”
    “George Gershwin’s ‘Someone to Watch Over Me.’ It’s one of my favorites. My grandfather saw to it that I cut my teeth on Gershwin and Cole Porter. Literally." She laughed softly as she remembered. “He sang songs like ‘Isn’t It Romantic,’ and ‘Em-braceable You’ to me as lullabies, and later, when I was older, he danced me around and around the ballroom to ‘Night and Day' and ‘Begin the Beguine’, with my feet on his.”
    For years, Jake Deverell’s pictures had filled newspapers as he troubleshot one world crisis or another for the government. Nico tried to imagine this powerful, formidable man dancing with his granddaughter while she balanced on his toes. He found he liked the picture. But even more, he liked the image of her in his own arms.
    She laughed again, and the silvery sound stroked his spine.
    “It was quite a sight, I can tell you. I was such a gawky, awkward young thing. ”
    “You must have been a beautiful child, because you take my breath away as a woman.”
    Suddenly, inevitably, her body was burning for his touch. “Dance with me,” she whispered huskily.
    At first he wasn’t sure he had understood her. “What?”
    She moved to him and put her arms around him. “Dance with me.”
    A shock of heat ran through him and told him everything he needed to know about why he had been so careful until now to avoid holding her in his arms. Instinctively he had realized how it would be to have her against him. She was satin, sweetsmelling skin, and soft curves. Everything lovely and desirable. And inside he was dying with need for her.
    She stared up at him, her head back, the long line of her