LITMIR.BIZ

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Everything he wanted—fame, money, influence—was just within his grasp. The reach of the Marshall fortune extended beyond their restaurants and hotels, their family estate and vineyards. The Marshall name alone made people take notice, lift their heads and pay attention. He wanted to be part of the rarefied air the Marshalls breathed. Elana was his ticket. Two things stood in his way—Finola and Thom.

      He turned on his side and slid a finger inside her wet walls. Elana’s breath hitched. He inserted another and then suckled the soft skin of her neck.

      “Let’s not worry about that now, babe,” he whispered in her ear before rising above her and bracing his weight on his forearms.

      “How can I not worry about my father...the wedding...” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears even as her hips rose and her legs spread for him. “My whole life is about to change. What about us?”

      “Shh.” He covered her mouth with his. What he needed now was release. He pushed deep inside her. Her cry died in his mouth. No more talking. The rest they would figure out. One way or the other.

      * * *

      Thom rang the bell again. Had she actually forgotten that he was coming?

      Finally the door was pulled open. “Oh, Mr. Scott. The family isn’t here,” Joy, the Marshalls’ live-in chef, greeted him.

      “Joy, hi.” He took a quick look at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet Elana.”

      “Of course. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and Thom walked into the expansive entryway.

      “Can I get you anything, coffee, tea, a snack?” she asked over her shoulder.

      Thom smiled. “No, thanks. I’m fine. What’s on the menu for today?”

      Joy turned, slipping her hands into the pockets of her white jacket. “With Harrison still in the hospital, everyone is in and out all day. I’m ready for a full meal if they want, but I have some small dishes prepared and plates of hors d’oeuvres.” She smiled, and her deep dimples carved her cheeks. “And of course the seafood paella that Mariella loves.”

      “Pretty sure that’s a house favorite,” he said with a smile, recalling the dinners he’d shared with the family and Joy’s famous paella as a main course.

      “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

      “No. Thanks. I’m fine. I’ll just wait in the reception room.”

      Joy gave a short nod and turned to leave, her shoulder-length ponytail swinging behind her.

      Thom strolled down the wide foyer, the artery that branched off to the rooms that occupied the main level of the mansion. The closest reception room was to his left. A small corner of his mind hoped that when he stepped across the threshold he would miraculously find Elana waiting, and for once he would be the one who was late and needed to apologize. Pure fantasy.

      Thom wanted to be annoyed, but he’d grown used to Elana’s disregard for time. It had been a running joke between them since they were kids. If you wanted Elana to be anywhere on time, tell her the appointment started an hour earlier. Thom smiled, checked his Rolex and shook his head. Sometimes it worked, but then there were days like today when it didn’t.

      Absently he picked up a crystal decanter from atop the eighteenth-century Spanish colonial console, turned it in his hand and set it back down. His chestnut-brown eyes scanned the controlled opulence of the family room. This space, more than some of the many others on the estate, reflected Mariella’s vision by echoing the lush Santiago heritage, from the furnishings to the art.

      Thom always found it amusing that the Diego Rivera was on one wall while the Frida Kahlo hung on the other, truly a reflection of the famously volatile couple and occasionally mirroring Mariella and Harrison’s union. Through the years while he hovered on the fringe of the family, he got an up-close view of the interactions between Harrison and Mariella that could shift from near erotic to World War III in the blink of an eye. They were both passionate about their beliefs and had no problem letting their opinions be known. But no matter what, even a blind man could see the devotion between them. They were a team first and foremost, and Thom wondered if that would ever be possible between him and Elana. From family, to business to the exotic purchases that made their extravagant house a home, they were a team.

      A Persian rug probably easily worth hundreds of thousands, partially covered the teak floors beneath a six-foot rosewood table and a crystal chandelier that glittered like a tree of diamonds. The value of this room alone was easily in the tens of millions, yet it still breathed family. The mahogany mantel as well as the eggshell-white walls boasted photos of the Marshall clan.

      Thom strolled over to one of the inlaid tables and fingered the glided-framed photo of Mariella and Harrison posing on the bow of his yacht named after his wife. There were photos of Luc as a young boy, budding athlete, graduate and successful doctor. Elana’s, on the other hand, simply showed off Elana, smiling for the camera at one party or the other. Another series showed Gabe clinging to Mariella’s hand when he was a small boy, standing off to the side as a teen and in the back as an adult. Thom had never quite understood Luc and Rafe’s clear animosity toward their cousin or why Gabe was often referred to in the tabloids as “the other one.” Gabe, as far as Thom could tell, was a stand-up guy, and he adored his aunt and uncle.

      Thom stopped by an eight-by-ten photo of Rafe standing in the foyer of the Palm Springs home where he’d done the interior design. The photo stood out in it silver frame, but knowing Mariella and her adoration of her younger son, it was probably platinum.

      “Oh... Mr. Scott...”

      Thom snatched his hand away and turned.

      “I didn’t know anyone was here. I can come back.”

      Thom cleared his throat. “No. No. It’s fine, Vanessa. Come in.”

      The housekeeper stepped inside, carrying a dust cloth and furniture and glass cleaner in a small bucket.

      “I will only be a few minutes,” she assured him.

      “No worries. I’m the one in the way. Waiting for Elana,” he offered.

      “Oh.” Her sleek dark brows pulled together. “I didn’t see Ms. Elana this morning.”

      “No. She’s supposed to meet me, but she’s running...late.”

      Vanessa gave a short smile then went right to work. She expertly moved photos, precious glass and sculptures from the mantels and side tables, dusted and replaced each item exactly the way she’d found them.

      Thom stood by the floor-to-ceiling window while Vanessa worked and couldn’t help but notice her efficiency. Even he could see that she in no way fit the picture of a housekeeper but rather a Sports Illustrated cover girl. The standard black uniform did little to camouflage her curvaceous body or her lustrous dark hair and haunting eyes.

      “Do you have family here in California?” he asked.

      Vanessa stopped dusting and glanced at him. “No, Mr. Scott, I don’t. My parents—” her cheeks colored “—they passed several years ago.”

      He held up his hand in apology. “I’m sorry.”

      “Thank you. It’s okay.” She continued dusting.

      “Sisters and brothers?”

      “No. Only child.”

      “So am I,” he said feeling an odd kinship.

      Her eyes sparkled in the light.

      “Sometimes it can be difficult being part of this big noisy family when you’re used to growing up as the only one,” he said and laughed.

      “Yes, the Marshall family is...apasionado, passionate.”

      “That they are,” he agreed.

      She beamed a bright smile and gathered up her supplies. “Can I get you anything?”

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