CHAPTER 7
If there was one thing Evan Sinclair detested, it was incompetence.
As he walked down the dark streets of Amesport, he cursed the lack of ability of the transport company that was supposed to have had his vehicle at the Amesport airport. He’d arrived on schedule in his private jet only to find that his vehicle hadn’t yet been delivered to his location. Dammit, he didn’t have time for the ineptitude of other companies. He ran his own business like a well-oiled machine, and he expected the same of every other company.
Damn his younger brother Dante and his unusual urgency to enter the state of wedded bliss within a few weeks’ time. Evan really couldn’t understand Dante’s enthusiasm to have that event happen so quickly. He was already living with the woman, why did he have to marry her so hastily? That was the real reason that Evan didn’t have his car, and his ever-present driver, Stokes, who never separated himself from the vehicle. Evan’s own transport jet had been tied up doing a favor for a very important business client, unavailable because Evan hadn’t known he would need it. He’d promised it months ago, and had scheduled accordingly. He didn’t like schedule changes, and he never broke a promise once he agreed to something. So, he’d been forced to use a damn transport company that obviously couldn’t deliver, even though they were the most expensive and supposedly the best company in the business.
“Amateurs,” he growled angrily to himself.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Dante would end up married to Sarah . . . eventually. After all, he made it his business to know exactly what was happening with his siblings . . . or rather, he should say all his brothers. He’d screwed up with his sister, Hope, finding out about her adventures way too late to prevent her from suffering the consequences of her rash actions.
My fault. I should have known better than to assume that Hope was living a quiet life in Aspen. Women were trouble, every single one of them, including his sister. Evan knew that he was the only Sinclair aware of all that she’d been through in the past, and it wasn’t because she’d told him. No. She’d hidden everything from her own brothers. The only reason he knew now was because he’d gotten a call from Grady that she’d gone missing in Colorado. He’d gotten an investigator involved, even after she’d been found by her now husband, Jason Sutherland, and the agent had subsequently uncovered the fact that Hope had been leading a completely different life than the illusions she’d maintained to all of her brothers. Presumably, her husband knew the real Hope and the trauma she’d suffered, but it didn’t stop Evan from regretting that he hadn’t checked up on her often enough to find out the truth sooner. She’d suffered, and Evan hated that.
Hope was a very important missed detail, even more critical than business for me.
He tried not to think about the horror of Hope’s life, attempted to put it out of his mind since she was happy now. And she’d stay that way. He’d make sure of it.
The walk from the airport into town had calmed his temper somewhat, but he was still irritated by the time wasted for him to walk to his Amesport Peninsula home from the airport outside of town. Yes, he could have called Grady, Dante, or Jared, but it was late, and he was the eldest Sinclair. He wasn’t about to make one of his siblings get out of bed to come pick him up. He’d never hear the end of it from his brothers if they had to come give him a ride in the middle of the night because his car hadn’t arrived at the airport before he did. Such things just didn’t happen to him.
Evan, the oldest and very anal Sinclair sibling.
Evan, the manager-of-every-single-detail brother.
Evan, the meticulous planner who never missed having anything prearranged, no matter how big or how small, had actually been stranded at the airport without a car?
Oh, hell no. He’d walk until he got to his home, even if it did mean a several-mile hike in the middle of the night and the possible destruction of one of his favorite custom-made suits and fine leather shoes. The rain that had been coming down off and on left him damp, pissed off, and ready to strangle the delivery team the second they arrived with his car. He couldn’t blame Stokes. The elderly driver had never left the vehicle, and he couldn’t control the inability of a company to deliver. Stokes was where he needed to be. The delivery service was not.
“I should have never trusted another company to deliver,” he grumbled to himself, his hands in the pockets of his pants, shaking his head irritably as he trekked along the deserted Amesport boardwalk. He might not want to call his brothers, but he’d had no problem waking up his assistant to verify that everything had been confirmed. Of course . . . it had. His assistant knew if he failed at one single task, his job would be history. It had been the transport company’s error. Evan would deal with them first thing in the morning, and he’d destroy the bastards who had left him out here walking in the fucking rain. If the CEO of the company couldn’t get a simple delivery to the place it needed to be on time, his company didn’t deserve to be in business anymore. It had been a very expensive botched job, and Evan Sinclair could make or break a company easily. When a company couldn’t perform, he had no problem doing the latter.
Evan was just about to leave the boardwalk and turn onto the street leading to the Amesport Peninsula when he saw a burst of fire explode from one of the homes at the end of Main Street.
Was it a business or a home?
Evan had only been to Amesport a couple of times, but as far as he could remember—and he recalled nearly everything in detail—Main Street was all businesses.
Jogging across the street, he stopped in front of the old home, which had obviously been converted into a shop. He looked at the window and then looked up at the flames that seemed to be consuming the roof of the building.
Dolls and Things?
It was definitely a store, and it was highly unlikely that anyone was inside at this hour of the night. Digging into the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out his phone to report the fire just as he heard the wail of fire engines.
“It’s already been reported then,” he muttered to himself, ready to turn and get on his way to the Peninsula. There was nothing more he could do. The fire department was obviously alerted and on their way.
It wasn’t until he turned that he heard a scream, a terrified wail of terror that sent chills down his spine. Turning back, realizing there actually was someone inside the building, he pushed his considerable bulk against the door.
Mara flung the burning blanket from her with a loud shriek of horror.
I’m alive, but the comforter is on fire. Everything is on fire. I need to get out.
Brushing frantic hands over her clothing from her position on the hardwood floor outside her bedroom, she quickly verified that none of the items on her body—her pajamas and underwear—were in flames. Stumbling to her feet, she tried to get her bearings in the thick, blinding, gray smoke. Coughing harshly, she felt for the bannister of the staircase just as she discovered she couldn’t put weight on her right leg. Mara crumpled to the floor again, whimpering at the pain in her ankle as she scooted toward her right and down the hallway, her hand out, searching frantically for the stairs.
The steps should be . . . right . . . here!
Her fingers connected and felt the edge of the first step just before she was bodily lifted into the arms of a very tall, very strong, and very male figure she couldn’t recognize through the darkened haze of fog caused by the fire.
“Generally when one’s house is on fire, one feels compelled to leave it,” a low, arrogant voice commented, as though he were addressing a person of questionable intelligence.
Mara trembled with shock as she let herself be carried down the steep flight of stairs to the main floor. The mystery man wasted no time getting her outside and didn’t lower her to the ground until he reached the tiny patch of grass in front of Shamrock’s Pub across the street.
“I was trying to get out,” she finally responded, her voice raspy from inhaling the smoke. She breathed rapidly, sucking the clean air in and out of her lungs frantically. Looking up at her rescuer from her position on her ass, she still didn’t recognize him. It was dark, and all she could make out was black hair and mammoth proportions. Squinting through her dirty glasses as she panted for breath, she could see he was actually wearing . . . a suit and tie. What the hell?
He knelt next to her and took her by the shoulders. “Obviously you weren’t trying very quickly or successfully,” he commented nonchalantly. “A fire usually requires a little faster response.”
Mara gaped as he came down beside her. She could see him now; the dim glow from the fire and the lights left on inside of Shamrock’s at night illuminated his face as he positioned himself beside her. His raven-dark hair was damp and slicked back from his face, and his startling blue eyes were roving meticulously over her body clinically, as though he was trying to assess whether or not she was injured.
“W-who are you?” She’d never seen him before, and if she had, she would have definitely remembered him.
“Evan Sinclair,” he snapped. “Are you hurt?”
“Evan? Jared’s brother?” As he scowled at her and shook her lightly, she answered his question. “My ankle. I couldn’t walk. I was trying to find the stairs so I could crawl down.”
She flinched as her home started crackling, and a deafening crash sounded as the roof fell completely into the first story of the house. Fire trucks pulled up just as the upper level fell, and firemen, police officers, and an ambulance screeched up to the house, swarming the residence immediately.
Evan’s sharp eyes glanced at her feet, and he moved to palpate her ankles. “The right one is swollen. I’ll let the medics check you out. I’m not particularly versed in emergency medicine,” he said, as though it annoyed him that there was anything he didn’t know.
“Mara!” an agonized male voice rang out from the front of her house.
“Jared,” she said roughly, her throat still raw from inhaling smoke.
“Ah, yes,” Evan acknowledged as he stood. “I’d recognize the bellow of my younger brother anywhere. You two are acquainted, I take it.”
“Friends,” she answered shakily. “He’s worried.”
“Surprisingly, I think you’re absolutely correct. He does sound somewhat desperate,” Evan replied calmly as he strolled across the street to direct one of the medics to her. As he moved toward the house, his large figure disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Mara shook her head at Evan’s retreating figure until he vanished. Sweet Jesus . . . and she had thought Jared was cold and arrogant. Evan Sinclair made Jared look like a warmhearted angel. She mused that Evan was also probably one of the few men who could make the other Sinclair brothers look simply . . . large. The eldest Sinclair was built like a Mack truck covered in an expensive suit, and he hadn’t appeared to have one ounce of fat on his body. He was just . . . mammoth, his expansive shoulders appearing as broad as Atlas, the primordial Titan who could carry the celestial spheres.
Evan Sinclair had just broken into her residence, carried her out of a burning house where both of them could easily have perished when the roof gave way if he’d entered just a few moments later. All without batting an eye. Mara hadn’t seen one single emotion reflected on Evan’s face, his haughty demeanor staying fixed in place.
Mara’s entire body was shivering with horror as one of the EMTs ran over to check her out. She answered his questions shakily, watching with despair as her childhood home went up in flames. Tears streamed down her face as she watched every meager belonging she had destroyed. Firefighters were working furiously to put out the flames, and concerned residents slowly started to crowd the street, most of them with businesses close by.
“Mara! Thank fuck!” Jared exclaimed as he dropped down beside her on the grass, his chest heaving.
“Your brother saved my life,” she told him tearfully, her mind starting to finally process what had happened.
“He told me,” Jared grumbled, wrapping her body in a blanket that must have come from his vehicle.
“Everything’s gone,” she sobbed frantically, covering her face with her hands to keep from watching the rest of the house destroyed.
“You’re alive. That’s all that matters right now, Mara,” Jared rasped, gathering her into his arms and cradling her head against his shoulder.
She let Jared hold her, fisting his shirt to reassure herself that he was here, and that she actually was still alive. He was her anchor right now in this surreal, heart-wrenching nightmare.
Turning her face into his chest, she finally gave in to her sorrow completely and wept.
Hours later, Mara lay in the bed of one of Jared’s many guest rooms, unable to sleep. Fatigue was overwhelming her, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was everything she owned, every memory she had of her entire life going up in flames.
In the end, she’d left the house with nothing except her mother’s ring in her pocket.
Emptiness threatened to swallow her whole, and she shivered underneath the blankets even though the bedroom was warm.
“It’s as though I don’t exist anymore,” she whispered in the darkness. Daylight had come hours ago, but Jared had pulled the heavy drapes closed so she could sleep.
Jared.
He’d never left her side after he’d found her, waiting in the emergency room while they X-rayed her ankle and took blood to make sure she hadn’t gotten too much carbon monoxide from the fire. He’d sat beside her patiently, never leaving until he could take her from the hospital, bringing her home with him as though there was no question of where she was going. Physically, she was fine other than her sprained ankle, and the swelling was subsiding already, making the pain bearable. Even so, Jared had tended to her like she was fragile, finding her an old T-shirt to wear to bed after she’d showered, insisting that she sleep.
The fire was contained, no damage done to any other shops except hers. God, she was grateful that nobody else had lost anything, but even that knowledge didn’t lessen her pain.
“I have nothing now,” she whispered huskily, curling on her side in the bed. If she’d had very little before, the total of her belongings since everything had gone up in flames was zip . . . zero . . . zilch. Even the pajamas she’d been wearing had needed to be trashed.
“You have your life,” a husky male voice said from behind her. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I can’t,” she said tremulously.
The bed dipped heavily as Jared moved onto it behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Not one damn thing in that house mattered except you.” He breathed a masculine sigh of contentment as he held her. “I couldn’t sleep, either. All I could think about was how close you came to dying in that damn house.”
Mara shook her head, but let Jared’s embrace warm her. “My mom’s stuff, my pictures—all gone. I don’t even have my driver’s license or an ID.” The warmth of his strong, muscular body soothed her, and she let herself relax back against him. She could tell he was fully clothed, feeling the denim of his jeans against her legs and his T-shirt against her neck. “I don’t even understand how this happened.”
“I know what happened,” Jared growled into her ear. “The fire investigators will look the place over, but I’m fairly certain they’ll find out the wiring in the place sucked and that it was run up in the attic. The water from the leaking roof probably sparked the shitty wiring. That house should have been renovated years ago. Homes that old can become a goddamn hazard if they aren’t updated right.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Mara sighed.
“Probable,” Jared corrected.
“I feel . . . lost,” she admitted, hating her own weakness at the moment. She was going to have to move on eventually, but for now, she was still mourning. “Empty,” she added woefully.
Jared ran a soothing hand over her stomach. “Shhh . . . I’ll help you. I swear I will. Whatever you need to come alive again, I’ll get it for you.”
I need you.
His soothing, masculine voice was pulling her out of her haze of loneliness, the touch of his hands on her body making her feel again. Leaning her head back on his shoulder, she asked in a hushed voice, “Will you make love to me?” She needed him, wanted him to make her come alive again. The adrenaline was still pumping through her body, and she needed . . . something . . . anything to make it stop.
Not just anything. I need Jared.
He groaned into her ear. “Not this way. Fuck knows I want you so bad I can’t think, but I can’t do it this way.”
“Why?” she whimpered painfully, her core clenching as his palm moved slowly, gently over her belly.
“You’ve been through hell and back in the last eight hours. I might be an asshole, but I can’t take advantage of the fact that you’re in shock, you nearly died, and you think you’ve lost everything right now,” he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating against her back.
“I have lost everything,” she murmured.
“No you haven’t. You still have me,” he answered in a graveled voice.
“Then show me. I need something to hang on to.” She moved her hips backward, rubbing her ass against his hard erection, proof that he wanted her as much as she wanted him right now.
“Mara.” His voice was a low, ominous warning.
“Please, Jared.” Her voice was needy, entreating. His clean, masculine scent surrounded her, and all she could think about was getting the hard length of him that was pushing against her ass inside her, filling her until she could think of nothing else but him. That’s exactly how it would be with Jared. He’d dominate her senses, push everything else out of her brain until she didn’t have to think anymore.
“Fuck,” he exploded.
Mara moaned with satisfaction as he easily flipped her onto her back and covered her with his hard, muscular body. “Yes,” she begged.
“Your ankle,” he growled.
“It’s fine,” she argued. “Please.” The twinge of pain in her ankle was nothing compared to the overwhelming longing that was clawing at her mercilessly.
He answered her plea by pinning her hands over her head and covering her mouth with a tortured, agitated groan.