Free Children of Dynasty by Christine Carroll Page B

into his townhouse. Instead of the suit he’d worn to the cemetery, he’d changed to casual navy pants and a red long-sleeve pullover.
    Mariah left her car and followed him into his kitchen to see how he lived. The place was bright, decorated in a nautical theme of white and dark blue. No sign of a bachelor’s dirty dishes in the gleaming stainless steel sink.
    The doorbell rang. She jumped.
    “You’re safe here.” Rory’s protective tone both surprised and warmed her.
    She followed him into his living room, decorated in the same white and dark blue, with red and gold accents. “Did you choose all this?”
    “I did.” He grinned. “I let Elizabeth keep pretty much everything and started over.” On a mirrored shelf in his dining room, he pointed out an array of tall ship models. “I put those together myself.”
    “They’re wonderful.”
    The doorbell rang again, and the sound of heavy knocking came from around the corner in the front hall.
    Trying to ignore the would-be intruders, Mariah continued to look around. On an end table beside the couch was a picture of Rory at age five or six. In the cockpit of a sailing vessel, the small determined boy stuck out his skinny chin and manned a wheel taller than he was. Behind him, Davis stood watch, a father’s softness in his eyes.
    Rory moved to stand beside her. “It’s strange. Sometimes I can’t deal with him, yet …”
    A wave of longing for things to be different swept over her.
    The news crew kept exhorting someone to come to the door.
    “What if they don’t leave?” she asked.
    Rory arched a brow and moved closer. “We can stay here.” His expression suggested he was all too aware they were alone with the world locked out.
    Before she could react, he bent and touched his mouth gently to hers. How well she knew the shape and texture of his lips, yet how different this kiss was from ones they’d known long ago. Then, he’d been urgent and eager, rushed by the single-minded passion of youth. Now she sampled a more complex recipe.
    How easy it would be to get lost in this, but she managed to remember. “I need to get to the Hotel Nikko. My Dad and the Barretts are going to stay there this weekend.”
    “I thought you’d let me take you sailing,” Rory said with obvious disappointment.
    She gestured toward the front door. “Won’t ‘On The Spot’ follow us?”
    “I can outrun anything they’ve got in my Porsche. Come on, go with me.” Taking in her black suit, he said, “I’ll find you some sweats or something to wear.”
    Mariah’s determination wavered. Her father and Tom were the best of friends. They and Wendy would spend the afternoon and evening in discussions of people she didn’t know, the way generations failed to cross-communicate.
    “Please,” Rory entreated. “Think of what you need right now … and what I need.”

     
    Sausalito hadn’t changed much. A few more bungalows and townhouses on the hillside above, a few more galleries and shops than when Mariah first came to Davis Campbell’s yacht.
    Midday sun cast sharp shadows between the close-packed stucco buildings, flowers rioted in window boxes. Waves slapped at the breakwater, sending up a salt tang to mix with aromas of cooking seafood and other delicacies.
    As Rory parked his Porsche in the marina lot, Mariah’s sense of unreality increased. None of this fit the expectations she’d had waking up this morning for a funeral.
    Although she’d changed into workout clothes and shoes from a gym bag in her car, she had trouble keeping up with Rory. He hurried past a fountain surrounded by pigeons, making a beeline for a little Italian market. When he apparently recalled that her short legs were no match for his stride, he waited for her with a rueful smile.
    Inside the shop, colored peppers and garlic hung in strands from the ceiling, red ripe tomatoes and bright oranges overflowed bins, and wooden shelves groaned under the weight of canned goods and olive oil tins.