Pirate's Gold (9 page)

Maren swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. “How do you feel about it?” she asked.

For the first time that morning, Jan's smile was genuine and illuminated her pale face. “I'm happy, I think. Can you believe that, the girl who said she'd never have any kids?”

“I think it's wonderful,” Maren said with heartfelt enthusiasm. “Congratulations!”

Jan seemed partially relieved. “That's one of the reasons I've been getting in later…. I haven't felt all that sharp in the mornings.”

“Don't worry about it. It's all right. You certainly have a good reason, and from what I understand, morning sickness doesn't last forever.”

“Thank God,” Jan murmured fervently.

“How did Jacob take the news?” Maren asked and immediately regretted her question when Jan's face sobered.

“I haven't told him yet,” Jan replied, warding off Maren's surprised stare with a wave of her hand. “I told you that we haven't been getting along very well, and that's an understatement. We fight all the time. I'm afraid he'll think I'm using the baby to trap him into marriage.”

Maren silently agreed, but decided it was best not to voice her fears. “Give the guy some credit, will you? We're talking about a child—
his
child. I bet he'll be thrilled by the news.”

“I doubt it.”

“Jan, you've got to tell him sometime.”

“I know and I will, once I go to the doctor and find out that I really am pregnant. I have an appointment scheduled for next week.” Jan lowered her eyes and fidgeted at the desk.

“You're sure you're happy about this?” Maren prodded.

A shadow of doubt clouded Jan's dark eyes. “Yes, I'm sure. About the baby, that is. But I'm worried about Jake…he's changed, Maren…a lot. I…I don't know how he's going to take the news.”

Maren understood Jan's concern, but forced herself to smile. “Don't borrow trouble. You don't know, the man might be ecstatic at the prospect of becoming a father.”

“He has grown children and never sees them,” Jan replied tonelessly.

Maren winked with feigned enthusiasm. “Maybe
this
one will make the difference.”

“I hope so.”

Maren turned toward her office, but Jan's whispered voice kept her in the room. “Maren?”

Maren looked over her shoulder, but Jan was no longer facing her. Apparently she had changed her mind. When Jan did meet Maren's inquisitive eyes, the secretary's face was pulled into a tight knot of confusion. “Forget it,” she said, reaching for another cigarette. Maren noticed that the second one was still burning unattended in the ashtray near the typewriter. “I'll…I'll talk to you later,” the secretary said dismissively.

“All right…and you'd better check with your doctor soon. I'm afraid he's going to suggest you stop smoking.”

“Great. That's just what I need,” Jan muttered to herself.

After casting a worried look in Jan's direction, Maren went back into her office and closed the door. Finally she understood the young secretary's behavior. For the last few weeks Jan had been edgy and forgetful, and Maren had suspected it had something to do with her on-again, off-again romance with Jacob Green. Now that her suspicions were confirmed, Maren could at least understand Jan's actions and her reticence to discuss her problems.

Jan and Maren had always been friends, but over the past year, during the time in which Jan had become involved with their former employer, Jacob Green, the relationship between the two women had suffered and sometimes been strained. Maren knew that she was more than partially to blame because she had never liked Jacob, and that fact was transparently clear to Jan. Both Maren and Jan had worked for Green before Maren had purchased Festival Productions from him. Now that he was no longer in the business, Maren tried her best to avoid him.

There was something about the man that had always bothered her. Maybe it was because he had made a pass at Maren years ago when she had still been married to Brandon. Since that time, she had never completely trusted Jacob Green. The man was shifty. If it hadn't been for the contract on the business and the fact that she still owed him nearly eighty thousand dollars, Maren would have made it a point never to see him.

And now, to complicate things, Jan was carrying Jacob's child. Maybe a baby would change him; make him realize what was important in life. Maren seriously doubted it, but for Jan and the baby's sake, she pushed her forebodings aside and hoped for the best.

The intercom beckoned her and Maren answered the call. Jan's voice, once again cool and professional, greeted her. “Kyle Sterling is on line two, returning your call.”

Maren's pulse jumped. “Thanks, Jan.” She sat in the desk chair for a moment to steady her nerves. Why was she so jittery? No man had ever affected her like this, and it was damned unsettling. Resting her forehead in her palm, she cradled the receiver between her shoulder and her ear and pressed the flashing light on the telephone. “Hello.”

“Maren? My secretary said you wanted to get in touch with me.” His voice was cold and distant. Gone was the intimacy of the night.

“Not an easy thing to do,” she allowed.

“I instruct my staff not to give out my telephone number.”

“Not even to business associates?”

“To no one.”

“I'm sorry to bother you,” she replied evenly, though her heart was pounding an irregular cadence in her chest, “but I think I left my briefcase in your car last night.”

There was a weighty pause on the other end of the line. “You're sure about that?”

“Yes.” Maren couldn't hide the strain in her voice. “Didn't you find it?” Her dark brows drew together. What was he trying to do—scare the devil out of her? The briefcase had to be in his car.

“Wait a minute. I'll check.”

“Kyle—” But he was gone. Her mind revolved backward in time, recalling the events of the evening. She remembered putting the briefcase in the backseat. It had to be there. Certainly Kyle had noticed it when he'd driven to work—unless of course he took another car. Maren tapped her fingernail nervously on the desk. The only other alternatives were dismal: Either her briefcase had been stolen, lost, or Kyle was deliberately withholding it from her, though for what purpose, Maren couldn't begin to guess.

“Got it.” Kyle's voice broke into her thoughts. “You were right. It was in the backseat.”

Maren felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Good. I'll send someone over to pick it up early this afternoon.”

There was a deep-throated chuckle on the other end of the fragile cord linking her to him. “Oh, you will, will you?” Why did he sound so amused? Maren's tight nerves got the better of her.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Not for me. I plan to be here the rest of the week.”

“The rest of the week? But it's Friday…” Suddenly a dim light dawned in her worried mind. “Kyle, where are you?”

“San Diego…I drove down last night after…our discussion. I didn't think about your briefcase.”

“Neither did I,” Maren admitted. “So you're at your home in La Jolla?”

“Uh-huh.” Maren could imagine the seductive twinkle in his silvery eyes.

“Great.” She glanced at her watch. Though it was still before noon, the drive to San Diego would take over four hours round-trip. It was pointless and a waste of time, except for the fact that she had planned to work over the weekend. She needed her case. Damn!

“Do you need the contracts immediately?”

“It would help—especially considering your proposal.”

There was an awkward silence. “I can't bring them to you, Maren.”

“I didn't expect you to.”

His voice became low and all too familiar. “Why don't you come down for the weekend? You can get the contracts and we can work out a few ideas for the Mirage album…besides which, I could talk you into selling Festival to me.”

“You think so?”

“Sure of it.”

The sound of determination in his voice made a chill skitter up her spine. “I'd love to Kyle, but…”

“You're afraid.” He was angry. She could hear it in his sharp accusation.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. What is it, Maren? Are you committed to another man? Was last night just an idle flirtation? All that talk about one-night stands and commitments, was that just sophisticated hype?”

“Of course not.” Her voice had begun to shake. She had to sink her teeth into her lower lip.

“Talk is cheap.”

“What do you mean?”

“Prove yourself. Come down here tonight.”

Despite her anger, she forced herself to remain calm. “I don't have to prove anything to you other than that I can produce the best, most artistic and marketable videotapes on the market today.”

“You're right, if what you want from me is strictly business. Last night I was left with a different impression.”

“I wish I knew what I wanted from you,” she admitted.

His tone softened, and when she closed her eyes, Maren could imagine the look of frustration on his rugged face. “Let's find out,” he suggested, “We're two adults, and I won't force you into anything you don't want.”

“I know that much,” she conceded. It wasn't his needs that frightened her; it was her own.

“Then what d'ya say?”

She couldn't help but smile. “All right—why not?” she asked, laughing at the folly of it all. This whole idea bordered on insanity. “I'll need your address and telephone number, just in case I get lost.”

“Or have second thoughts.”

Her lips pursed into a provoked frown as she scribbled his hasty instructions on a memo pad. After hanging up the telephone, Maren wondered if she had the courage to take him up on his offer, or would she, as he had intimated, back down?

A thousand excuses for avoiding the trip filled her mind, and just as many reasons for going refuted them. It was foolish to get involved with Kyle Sterling. She knew it as well as her own name. And yet, she was enticed by him, drawn to him as a moth to flame.

T
HE PHRASE THAT CAME
to Maren's mind when she first drove through the gates and caught a glimpse of Kyle Sterling's home was “la casa grande.” The house was magnificent. Wrought iron gates and a stucco fence guarded the estate, keeping the curious sightseers at bay. Softly arched palm trees and fragrant hibiscus lined the circular drive leading to the two-storied Spanish home. The exterior of ivory plaster gleamed in the sunlight and contrasted to the angular red-tile roof. Long narrow windows had taken on the hue of the lowering sun.

The house stood proudly on a cliff overlooking the calm blue-green waters of the Pacific Ocean. Maren parked her car near a sprawling garage and tried to ignore the fact that the house and well-tended grounds reflected the image of the man living on the estate—private, wealthy and powerful. She hesitated before getting out of the car and wondered if this weekend might become the single largest mistake of her life.

It wasn't that she hadn't been around wealth. In the recording industry, it was impossible not to run across a young overnight success story who ran through money as if it were water. But dealing with Kyle Sterling was entirely different. Though Maren had often rubbed elbows with the Hollywood elite, she had meticulously avoided being swept up in the Hollywood social tide. It was too fast moving and dangerous for her. She had refused to get involved with any man since Brandon, and now that she was becoming emotionally entangled with Kyle Sterling, she felt twinges of doubt. What did she really know about the man? Business with a man as powerful as Kyle Sterling was one thing, but a one-on-one relationship was quite another.

Calling herself a fool, she walked up the flagstones leading to the courtyard and tried to bolster her wavering confidence. Don't let all of this overwhelm you, she cautioned herself. Remember that he's only a man. Ah, yes, her worried mind tossed back at her, but a man who wants the one thing you have: Festival Productions!

Maren couldn't ignore the fact that Kyle wanted very much to own Festival Productions and, for that matter, herself as well. He knew that she was the artistic force behind Festival, and there was no doubt that he would do just about anything in his power to entice Maren into selling him her production company. More than anything, she had to keep a level head while in his company. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of trusting him completely, because she understood his motives. How much of his affection for her was sincere and how much was just a part of the game? Was his interest in her merely a well-rehearsed act carefully planned to seduce her into selling Festival? She wanted desperately to believe that he really did care for her, but her common sense instructed her to tread warily.

After stiffening her backbone, she pressed the doorbell and braced herself for another meeting with him. Poise and control were the order of the day. Why then was her pulse racing in anticipation?

Lydia was gone for the weekend and Kyle had awaited Maren's arrival impatiently, watching the clock as the slow hours passed and cursing himself for his own impetuosity. Right now, the last thing he needed cluttering his life was an entanglement with Maren McClure. Why then was he so anxious to see her again?

There was something damnably seductive about that woman. It had captivated him last night and ruined his sleep. He had lain awake for hours, frustrated by urges he hadn't felt in years. It was as if he were compelled to see her again, forced to confront her. He only hoped that the frustration would soon end; that they would become lovers and his lust for her would be satisfied. It would be better for everyone involved if his fascination for her would die a quick death. A quick affair would serve his purpose. He could convince Maren to sell out Festival to Sterling Recording Company, satisfy his physical needs and then be back on track. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. Maybe that was his problem.

The chimes alerted him of Maren's arrival. Without realizing it, he smiled and the deep furrows of concentration that had lined his brow softened. He opened the door and stared into Maren's incredible blue eyes. Sunlight filtered through the fronds of the palm tree and caught in the dark strands of her hair, streaking the rich auburn color with fiery bursts of burnished gold.

Kyle's smile broadened to touch his eyes as he wedged himself between the heavy door and the wall. “So you made it,” he greeted.

“Were you afraid I wouldn't find the place, it being so small and all?” she returned, showing off just the hint of a seductive dimple.

He cocked an appreciative dark brow. “I try to keep things simple,” he responded with a hearty laugh. Moving out of the doorway, he pushed the door open and silently invited her inside. “I'm glad you're here,” he admitted, with only a trace of reluctance. His knowing gray eyes were warm and tempting. “I assume you're planning to stay…”

“I don't think that would be wise.”

“Why not?”

It was difficult dissuading him. He noticed the hesitation in her eyes. “You
are
having second thoughts.”

“Maybe. I'd prefer to think of it as considering all of the alternatives and carefully deciding what's the best course of action.”

“Boardroom double-talk,” he muttered as he motioned her inside the house. “Are you always so…poised and careful, Ms. McClure?” he asked as he followed her inside the hacienda and closed the door behind him. That single action seemed to cut the two of them off from the rest of the world.

Maren managed to hide her unease with a composed smile. “I'd like to think that I am,” she replied, ignoring the sarcastic bite to his words. “And I would think that you, above all people, would understand my caution, and appreciate it.”

“That's the problem. I don't understand, not at all.”

She paused for a moment, waiting until her eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the interior, and hoping that she could somehow convey her feelings to him. It seemed important that he understand her.

Once inside the plushly carpeted sunken living room, Maren turned to face the solitary man who made this estate his home. “I don't know you very well,” Maren conceded, cocking her head and letting her hair fall away from her face. “In fact, I wasn't sure that you would be here, alone…or that you would meet me at the door. I really didn't know what to expect.” The expression on Kyle's face was still puzzled, and Maren realized that she wasn't making much sense. She started over.

“Look, Kyle, I know that you run with a pretty fast crowd.” His thick brow quirked, indicating that he had heard her. The rest of his face was set in an intent expression as he regarded her silently, patiently waiting for her to continue with her explanation. Fascinating slate-colored eyes held her stare.

“And you don't…run with a fast crowd?”

“Right. I'm a little…no, make that
very
uneasy with the idea of spending a weekend with a man whom I barely know, and a business associate to boot. I'm not like Mitzi Danner or any of those other glamorous Hollywood types who change lovers as easily as they change shampoos.” She shook her head and held her palms skyward in a supplicating gesture. “I'm not apologizing for my sense of values, but I thought you should know that this sort of thing is just too casual for me—not my style…”

“Thank God,” he murmured, obviously relieved and slightly amused. The laughter in his eyes fueled her unexpected anger.

“I don't even really know what I'm doing here,” she admitted. “I shouldn't have agreed to come and should have told you to put the briefcase in the mail!”

“What is it that you're afraid of? Is it me—or men in general?” he asked.

“Fear has nothing to do with this—”

“I think it has everything to do with it,” he argued, his eyes darkening dangerously. “The conflicting signals I get from you lead me to believe that something about me scares you—more than just a little. Now it could be that I intimidate you because I own Sterling Records and Festival strongly depends on its relationship with my company,” he suggested calmly. “Or, it might be that you're
afraid
of any kind of relationship with a man, because you let yourself get involved in a bad relationship in the past.”

“Or it could be,” she said loftily, “that all my instincts tell me that spending a weekend with you might end up to be one monumental mistake!” Unwanted scarlet crept up her neck. “I'm not afraid of you…but I'm not…easy, either, and I'm not comfortable with the idea of spending a weekend with a man I don't know. Is that so hard to understand?”

Impatience flashed in his eyes. “Damn it, woman,” he whispered as he shook his head in disbelief. “How many times do I have to tell you that I like your ‘style'?” After crossing the room, he reached for her and traced the ridges between her wrist and fingers with his strong hand. He captured her gaze in the warmth of his stormy gray eyes.

She was still wary. “Does my ‘style' include my production company?” she whispered. “Isn't that what you really like about me?”

A muscle near the back of his jaw began to tighten and his eyes bored into hers. “I admit that I'm interested in Festival Productions. You know it, and I haven't tried to hide the fact. I thought I put my cards on the table last night. I'm very interested in your production company.” She was about to interrupt but he held a finger to her lips. “But that is
not
the reason that I invited you down here.”

“But on the phone you said—”

“It doesn't matter what ploy I used to get you here.” He saw the argument forming in her eyes and warded it off. “It won't change things to accuse me of being underhanded,” he warned with a rakish grin. “I've heard it before.” He took both of her hands in his, forcing her to face him squarely. “I don't want to get involved with you any more than do you with me, but it seems to be in the cards, wouldn't you say?”

Gently he kissed her palm. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip at the intimacy of the gesture and her heart began to beat in a syncopated rhythm. “I just hope the deck isn't stacked against me.”

Again his eyes drilled into hers. “Would I do that?”

“I don't know. Why don't you tell me?” she replied, her voice becoming ragged. He was getting to her, just as surely as if she had willingly let him in to her heart.

“Let's not argue,” Kyle suggested, releasing her hand. “I've had enough of that for one day.”

Maren was perplexed. “From me?” The sudden tensing of his body warned her that she was prying into forbidden territory.

His gaze clouded. “No.” He didn't elaborate and Maren didn't press him. The private battles he was fighting were none of her business and she knew intuitively that the less she became entwined in the personal aspects of Kyle Sterling's life the better. “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked abruptly, effectively changing the subject. When she nodded, he strode over to an ornately carved wooden sideboard that had been converted into a bar.

While Kyle was mixing the drinks, Maren took the time to examine the living room. It was expansive, with an open-beamed ceiling rising a full two floors. A polished tile floor was covered with a tightly woven cream-colored carpet. The furnishings were modern pieces in variegated hues of brown and rust with clean, strong lines. A bank of tall windows facing west opened to a commanding view of the restless azure Pacific Ocean. A few potted plants were casually arranged near the heavier pieces of furniture and watercolors of dusky mountain ridges adorned the walls.

When Kyle turned his attention back to Maren, she was struck by his overwhelming masculinity. She suspected that it wasn't an image he attempted to cultivate, but the power surrounding him couldn't be disguised. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and an open-throated shirt. His arms were bare and bronzed, and when he handed her a glass of amber liquor, his arms flexed to display lean, corded muscles that moved smoothly under his dark skin. He was more ruggedly sensual than any man Maren had ever met, and he wore his masculinity with a pride and near arrogance that fascinated the woman deep within her. Though she tried to think of him as the opposition and not as a man, she found it impossible.

“Is brandy all right?”

“Fine,” she responded, taking the glass. “I try to keep things simple, just like you.” She was rewarded with his amused smile. His eyes were warm and seemed to caress her skin. For an awkward moment there was silence. She sipped the drink before motioning toward the watercolors. “Did you do those?”

His smile broadened. “'Fraid not. My artistic ability is limited to a twelve-string guitar.”

“And sheet music.”

“Some people would beg to differ on that point.”

She smiled and relaxed a little. “But they couldn't argue with your success.”

He seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. His eyes became guarded. “That was a long time ago,” he whispered.

Realizing that she had touched a sensitive nerve, Maren changed the subject and forced her attention back to the watercolors. The brandy slid easily down her throat as she concentrated on the varied hues of purple and blue. She inclined her head in the direction of the most distinctive work of art. “Do you know the artist?”