Touch of Heaven (8 page)

Warrick nodded slowly. “I hear what you're saying, Uncle Randall. Believe me, I do. But Deniece and I have always been up front with each other. It's one of the reasons our relationship worked so well in high school. We understood each other. I really don't see anything wrong with two mature, consenting adults enjoying each other's company for a while. No empty promises, no strings attached.”

Randall gave him a shrewd, assessing look. “Have you had any false paternity suits brought against you?”

“
What?
Hell, no! I'm not stupid. I don't take any chances.”

“Good. Because when it comes to Deniece Labelle, I wouldn't put it past her to try anything to trap you into marriage.”

Warrick chuckled grimly. “Don't worry, Uncle Randall. Nobody's trapping me into anything.” He slid Randall an amused sidelong glance. “You know, you're the only one in the family who's never really liked Deniece. And even after all these years, you're still hard on her.”

Randall shrugged, poking at the engine's crankshaft. “Maybe she reminds me a little of your aunt Clarissa. Beautiful to look at, but high-maintenance.”

Warrick grinned. “Qualities you can appreciate in a car—”

“—but not in a woman,” Randall finished.

The two men laughed.

After a few moments, Warrick ventured casually, “Have you seen Raina lately?”

“Not recently,” Randall murmured.

Warrick looked at his uncle's face, as expressionless as his voice, and knew he wasn't being entirely truthful. While Randall had never made any secret of his dislike for Deniece, he'd always had a soft
spot for Raina St. James. Growing up, Warrick remembered being both amused and annoyed that his uncle had always brought an extra treat for Raina whenever he visited the house. He'd always invited her along whenever he took Warrick and his siblings on trips to the amusement park, the beach and various sporting events. And at family cookouts, Randall had always let Raina choose the best steak or burger on the grill; when others complained about the preferential treatment, Randall laughingly explained that people whose names began with the letter
R
had to look out for one another.

Randall was the only member of the family who didn't blame Raina for what had happened to Yolanda Mayne. In fact, Randall had defended Raina from the start, much to the displeasure of the rest of the family, who viewed his stance as the worst of defections. For several months after the trial, Warrick was the only one who had remained on speaking terms with Randall. But as much as Warrick loved and respected his uncle, even
he
had a hard time understanding how Randall could so easily forgive Raina for betraying his own niece. But Randall, who'd always been the maverick of the family, had never apologized for what he believed.

Nonetheless, he didn't exactly go out of his way to remind Warrick that he still kept in touch with Raina. Some things were better left unsaid.

Which was why Warrick hadn't told his uncle about his plans to buy Raina's property. He knew Randall wouldn't approve, and although Warrick had always valued his uncle's judgment, this was one decision he couldn't be talked out of.

“Why did you ask about Raina?” Randall asked, breaking into Warrick's thoughts. “Did you happen to see her?”

Warrick hesitated, then nodded. “At the restaurant last night,” he said, deliberately omitting the part about him visiting her spa earlier that day.

“Really? Raina was at the same restaurant?”

Again Warrick nodded. “She's beautiful,” he murmured, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

Randall smiled. “She always was,” he said mildly. “You just never noticed. But, then, why would you? She was just a child.” Glancing up from the engine, he winked at his nephew. “And you had Deniece.”

Warrick grinned, but it felt forced. “Having” Deniece last night sure as hell hadn't stopped him from thinking about Raina, speculating about whether she had gone home with that pretty boy she'd been sharing dessert with. Warrick wondered if that tiramisu was
all
they'd shared last night.

He scowled, disgusted with himself. Just because Raina St. James had morphed into a knockout, one who sent his libido into overdrive, didn't mean anything had changed between them. He still believed she was a traitor. He still detested her. The only difference now was that he needed something from her.

And one way or another, he intended to get it.

When a cell phone trilled inside the garage, both Warrick and his uncle automatically reached for their pockets. Warrick was relieved when the call turned out to be for Randall.

As head of a major corporation, Warrick rarely had a moment's peace. From the moment he got up at five every morning for his daily workout, his cell phone would begin ringing, and it would continue nonstop throughout the day. Before heading to his uncle's house that afternoon, Warrick had told his secretary that he was taking the rest of the day off and instructed her to forward all nonemergency calls to Stephon Fuller in the Philadelphia office. College buddy or not, Warrick wouldn't have made Stephon his VP and right-hand man if he didn't think the brother could handle the job.

“I have to take this call,” Randall announced. Pointing at the T-Bird's engine, he grinned at Warrick. “Put those gifted, eighty-million-dollar hands to good use while I'm gone.”

Warrick chuckled, shaking his head. “Still as bossy as ever. I came here to see you, and you put me to work.”

Randall laughed. “Damn straight!”

After his uncle left, Warrick, still smiling to himself, went to work fitting a starter ring gear and dowels to the engine's flywheel.

It felt good to be working with his hands again, something he rarely got to do anymore. Overseeing all operational and financial functions of Mayne Industries kept him too busy to work on the complex engineering and design projects he'd once thrived on. But because Warrick liked to keep his skills sharp while keeping his company ahead of the curve, right now he and a team of his best engineers were working on a vaporization process that would reduce
fuel gas consumption and carbon emissions, which would not only satisfy the global demand for clean, natural gas, but would significantly lower operating costs.

And right now, the challenge of helping his uncle rebuild the engine of a 1956 Thunderbird was too irresistible to pass up.

Before long Warrick had worked up a good sweat, a result of his exertions and the sweltering afternoon heat. He peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it in the vicinity of the chair he'd been sitting on earlier. As he threw himself back into his task, he lost track of time.

So he didn't realize how long his uncle had been gone until he heard his voice outside the garage. It was joined by another voice. A woman's. Softer, smokier.

Warrick froze, his muscles going rigid.
It can't be.

But he'd know that siren's voice anywhere. Especially since it had haunted his dreams all night long, torturing him.

Warrick straightened from beneath the hood and stepped around the car just in time to see his uncle enter the garage. And he wasn't alone.

Walking beside him was none other than Raina St. James.

T
he moment Raina saw Warrick standing there, her dark, feline eyes widened in surprise, although Warrick knew she must have seen his car parked out front when she'd arrived.

What is she doing here?
he wondered. Had she changed her mind about selling her property to him?

They stared at each other across the distance that separated them.

Because he knew it unnerved her, and because he couldn't seem to help himself, Warrick let his gaze roam the length of her body. Today her hair was parted down the center, framing those high cheekbones and full, sensual lips. She wore a red tank top and white designer jeans that molded her long, shapely legs in a way that made Warrick long for the view of her backside, which he already knew was amazing. She had on a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals, and even the sight of her pretty feet, the toenails painted a bold shade of red, turned him the hell on.

Slowly, deliberately, he let his gaze travel back up to her face. Sure enough, her cheeks were flushed as she stared at him.

His mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but close. “Raina,” he murmured.

Her chin lifted in that defiant little way he was coming to appreciate. “Warrick.”

Their eyes held another moment. When her gaze dropped to his bare chest and lingered, blood rushed straight to his groin. As if sensing his body's reaction, her eyes snapped back to his face. She looked almost guilty, as if she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Something naughty.

Warrick could think of several naughty things he wanted to be doing with her at that very moment.

Reluctantly he shifted his attention to his uncle, whose sharp, discerning gaze told Warrick he had followed the entire exchange and reached God-only-knew-what conclusion.

“You didn't tell me you were expecting company this afternoon,” Warrick said evenly.

“He wasn't,” Raina interjected, as if to protect Randall from Warrick's displeasure. “I called him and told him I was dropping by to see the Thunderbird.”

“That's right,” Randall said, smiling affably. “See, War, you're not the only one I've converted into an antiques aficionado. I dragged Raina to an auction with me a few months ago, and I think she caught the bug.”

Raina laughed, a soft, husky sound that was as disarming as her voice. “You didn't
drag
me anywhere,” she said to Randall. “I wanted to go. It was fun, and I learned a lot about vintage cars.”

Randall tweaked her nose playfully, the way he'd done when she was a little girl. She grinned at him.

Warrick did a mental eye-roll.

“Come on over and get a closer look at her,” Randall said, leading Raina over to the car.

As they drew nearer to Warrick, he saw Raina trying very hard not to look at him. Wiping his greasy hands on a rag, Warrick stepped aside as his uncle launched into a proud recitation of the T-Bird's classic features.

While Raina admired the car, Warrick admired
her.
Just as he'd thought, her ass looked incredible in those jeans. When she bent down to inspect the leather interior of the vehicle, the denim stretched tight across the roundness of her bottom, sending a sharp jab of lust speeding to Warrick's groin. When she straightened and
ran a manicured hand over the gleaming chrome finish, he imagined that same hand gliding sensually over his body, wrapping around his throbbing erection, stroking up and down, before slowly guiding him into her—

“Boy, you work
fast.
”

Jerked out of his lustful daydream, Warrick saw his uncle leaning over the engine, nodding approvingly at the work Warrick had completed in his absence.

“He always did have a knack for working with his hands,” Randall said proudly to Raina, who sent Warrick a furtive glance beneath her long, dark lashes. He was intrigued by the deep, becoming flush that had spread across her cheekbones.

What was
that
about?

Randall said, “Say, Raina, why don't you join me and Warrick for dinner? I was thinking about grilling tonight.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I can't stay,” Raina demurred.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I already have plans.”

Warrick felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. “You going out with that chump again?” he blurted without thinking.

Both Raina and his uncle turned and stared at him in surprise.

“
Excuse
me?” Raina demanded. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Not that it's any of your business,” she said belligerently, “but I'm having dinner with my sister. And did anyone ever tell you it's rude to insult people you've never even met?”

Warrick gave an insolent shrug. “So arrange an introduction.
Then
I'll insult him.”

Raina scowled.

“Boy, what has gotten
into
you?” Randall demanded, frowning at his nephew. But there was an imperceptible glint in his dark eyes, a glimmer of mirth, that belied his disapproving tone.

Warrick looked at Raina. “You're right,” he drawled. “That was rude of me. Forgive my manners.”

“Since when do you have any?” Raina retorted.

He grinned. “Touché.”

Randall divided a look between them, a speculative gleam in his eyes. A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “Say, Warrick, if you get
this beauty of a car up and running again, I just might let you take it for a spin.”

Warrick stared at his uncle in surprise. “Really?” No one got behind the wheel of Randall Mayne's vintage cars. No one.
Ever.

Randall shrugged. “Sure. Why not? You'd have to stay off the expressway, of course. Wouldn't want none of those crazy Houston drivers testing your patience or crashing into you. Maybe Raina could tag along for the ride, just to make sure you don't speed.” He turned to grin at her. “He always did drive more safely whenever you were in the car with him. Remember how I used to ask you all the time, Does he speed or run any red lights when he drops you off at home?”

Raina nodded, smiling. “I remember.”

Warrick chuckled dryly. “I drove carefully because I didn't want your old man coming after me with a shotgun.”

She shook her head at him, her smile softening. “He wouldn't have done that. He liked you.”

Warrick stared at her, his grin fading. He could tell by the way she quickly averted her gaze that the gentle admission had surprised her as much as it surprised him.
Martin St. James had liked him? Since when?

“Speaking of the good doctor,” Randall smoothly interjected, “how are your parents doing, Raina?”

“They're doing fine,” she answered. “They've been in Paris for the past two weeks celebrating their anniversary.”

“Is that right? How many years?”

“Forty-five.”

“Forty-five
years?” Randall whistled softly in appreciation. “That's wonderful, Raina. Hell, my marriage didn't last even a fraction of that time. Tell your parents I said hello and congratulations.”

“I will,” Raina promised with that warm, bewitching smile that was doing crazy things to Warrick's pulse.

He swallowed, and dragged his gaze away.

Randall glanced at his watch. “Would you two excuse me for a minute? I have some important calls to make.”

Raina shot a panicked glance at Warrick. “I should really be go—”

“No, no, baby girl, don't rush off,” Randall said quickly. “I want to visit with you some more. I just have to make some phone calls
before these businesses close at five. It won't take me but a few minutes, I promise.”

Raina wavered for a moment, then nodded weakly. “All right.”

Warrick watched as his uncle left the garage for the second time that afternoon. And he realized, then, that Raina must have been the one who had called earlier, which was why Randall hadn't answered the phone in front of Warrick.
Sneaky old man.

As if reading his mind, Raina said almost defensively, “I didn't know you were here. Your uncle didn't tell me, or I never would have—”

“Come,” Warrick finished, mouth twitching. “I know.”

Raina looked at him, biting her lush bottom lip as if to hold back a smile. “What do you think he's up to?”

“What else? He wants us to call a truce once and for all. He wants us to be friends.”

“Yeah. You're probably right.”

When Warrick said nothing more, Raina searched his face, an unspoken question in her dark eyes.
Could we ever befriends?

Warrick held her gaze for a moment, then abruptly turned away and walked back over to his beer where he had left it earlier. It was now lukewarm, but he tipped back the bottle and took a healthy swig. In the middle of drinking, he glanced over and found Raina staring at him, at his throat and his bare chest, in a way that stopped him cold.

Slowly lowering the bottle, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and murmured, “Want some?”

Raina blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. Her eyes flew to his face. “Want some what?”

Warrick held up the bottle. “Do you want a beer?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. That, um, that would be great. It's, like, a hundred degrees in here.” She swept a glance around the garage. “Why aren't the fans running?”

“They're not working. My uncle hasn't had a chance to replace them yet.” Warrick removed a cold beer from the minifridge and twisted off the cap as he walked back over to Raina. Their fingers brushed as she took the bottle from his hand. Warrick was caught off guard by the jolt of heat that shot through his veins.

Their eyes met, an undercurrent of awareness passing between them.

Raina was the first to look away, lifting the beer to her lips and taking a long sip.

Watching her, Warrick smiled crookedly. “Remember the time you were sixteen and you got drunk at my neighborhood block party during spring break?”

Raina laughed, her mortified gaze returning to his. “How could I ever forget? I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover I've ever had in my life. I honestly thought I was dying!”

Warrick chuckled. “No wonder. You must have knocked back, like, three wine coolers and two beers. And you'd never had alcohol before.” He shook his head at her, bemused. “What were you trying to prove?”

She shrugged. “Who says I was trying to prove anything?”

He gave her a knowing look.

She grinned sheepishly. “All right. Maybe I
was
trying to prove something.”

“What?”

“I wanted to show you and your college buddies that I wasn't a baby, that I could hold my liquor just as well as the rest of you.” She grimaced. “I held it all right. Held it for all of one hour before it came back up—all over Yolanda's shoes.”

Warrick grinned. “Her
brand-new
shoes,” he reminded her with wicked glee. “The Nikes she'd saved up for months to buy.”

Raina covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly. Warrick threw back his head and laughed.

He remembered glancing up from where he had been standing with a group of his friends and watching, in amused disbelief, as Raina vomited all over his sister's shoes. Yolanda had jumped back, cursing and shrieking at the top of her lungs. As Warrick's friends erupted in laughter, Warrick had taken one look at Raina, doubled over and clutching her stomach, and had felt an unexpected burst of sympathy and protectiveness. Before he knew it he was marching across the street and sweeping a startled Raina into his arms. He carried her back to his house, reaching the bathroom just as another wave of nausea struck. While she threw up in the toilet, he'd held back her hair and gently wiped her forehead, calling her all kinds of a damn fool. When she had finished, he walked her into Yolanda's bedroom and tucked her into bed while his sister cleaned up and changed into a fresh pair of shoes, glaring balefully at her sick friend.

After Yolanda had returned to the party, Warrick had stayed behind to keep Raina company for a while, feeling partly to blame for her condition. He was twenty-one years old, home from college for spring break. He should have known better than to allow Raina—or any of his younger siblings, for that matter—to drink alcohol. He knew that if his uncle or Raina's parents ever found out, they, too, would hold him responsible.

Not that Raina had been pointing any fingers. Warrick remembered her smiling dreamily at him and telling him how hypnotic his eyes were, saying how much she had always liked his name, asking him how he'd gotten so tall and handsome. Warrick had chuckled and shaken his head at her, assuming it was just the liquor talking. But now, in light of what Deniece had revealed to him over dinner last night, he had to wonder.