All He Ever Wanted

It was the first accurate fortune she’d gotten in her entire life, and it had done her absolutely no good. Why couldn’t it have said, “Dalton Cain is going to call” or even “Change is in your future, so tomorrow would be a great day to wear some kick-ass heels and that Betsey Johnson dress you bought on eBay. And your Spanx.”

Of course, she would never wear Spanx or heels to teach in—too much bending—and if the fortune had referenced Cain directly, she probably would have booked a flight to… oh, say, Tahiti, and been halfway around the world by now.

So instead, here she was, waiting for the last of the parents to pick up their kids, sweating in the blazing October sun in her vintage sundress she’d picked up at the thrift store and her bobby socks and Keds shoes. She was dressed like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

She didn’t actually care how she was dressed for Dalton Cain. It was just costuming, really. She might not care about how she looked, but she cared desperately what he thought about how she looked. She needed to make the right first impression.

Because there was only one reason why one of the richest, most powerful men in Houston was coming to see her. He must know her grandmother had stolen nearly a million dollars from the Cains.

Money that Laney hadn’t known anything about before she’d been granted power of attorney the year before.

Ever since discovering the extra funds in Gran’s trust, Laney had been racked with guilt wondering what to do about it. There was no way Gran had come by the money honestly. Laney knew roughly how much Gran had had when Laney had graduated from high school. No amount of frugality or clever investing could turn her meager savings into well over a million dollars in a decade.

Gran must have stolen the money from the Cains.

Laney couldn’t very well go to the authorities. It seemed unlikely they’d prosecute an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s, but what if they did? Laney couldn’t risk it. She certainly couldn’t go to the Cains and explain. Hollister was brutal and vindictive to his enemies and Caro was little better. Every time Laney tried to think of a way out of the conundrum, she pictured Gran being led away to jail in handcuffs.

She couldn’t even just give the money back. It was in an irrevocable trust, which Gran had set up to pay for her care at the assisted-living center. Laney couldn’t touch it. Her power of attorney extended only so far. So there she was trapped with the knowledge of a wrong she had no way to right. And terrified that Dalton Cain had somehow discovered the truth.

Either he was going to prosecute her defenseless eighty-three-year-old grandmother or he was going to make her return the money.

Neither option was acceptable, which meant Laney had to consider very carefully how she wanted to play this.

Her default reaction to any of the Cains—especially Dalton—was bravado and indignation. Ten years ago—when she’d last seen Dalton—she’d been a completely different person. That girl would have dressed up in her most provocative outfit, dared him to call the police and then hurled insults and cuss words at him as they hauled her off to jail. But she wasn’t that brash, rebellious girl anymore.

The previous decade had taught her moderation and restraint. She was an elementary-school teacher, for goodness’ sake. So maybe it wasn’t a bad thing she looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid, all soft, cuddly and compliant.

No sooner had the thought passed through her head than a sleek cream sedan turned the corner onto Beacon Street and headed for the school. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she knew instantly that Dalton was driving that car. Maybe it was because she was familiar with most of the cars the parents drove. Or maybe it was the way the car practically oozed down the road.

The cream car slid into one of the visitor parking spots, and sure enough, out climbed Dalton. She recognized him instantly, even though the last time she’d seen him had been more than a decade ago when she’d moved out of her grandmother’s apartment right after she turned eighteen. Today he was dressed in tan slacks and a white oxford shirt. He paused and slipped his sunglasses down to look at her over their top, as if not quite sure he recognized her. She gave a little half wave, and then he walked toward her.

Beside her, Ellie—the last of her car-pool kids—squirmed. “Ms. Fortino, you’re hurting my hand.”

“Huh?” Laney glanced down. “Oh, sorry.” She loosened her grip then gave Ellie’s hand a little rub.

Ellie frowned as she nodded suspiciously toward the parking lot. “Who’s that strange man over there? He’s been waving at you. We should go tell Principal Shippey.”

“No!” Jeez, that was just what she needed. Ellie’s mom’s Buick finally—finally!—pulled to a stop in front of the school. “He’s an… old friend of mine.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Next time, karma, okay?” she muttered as she handed Ellie into her mom’s car. Just once, she’d like to meet Dalton Cain on even footing. But instead, she was meeting him in ruffled bobby-socks footing.

Stupid, comfortable Keds shoes.

Even though he hadn’t seen her in years, Dalton instantly recognized Laney Fortino. There was no mistaking the ink-black hair that tumbled around her shoulders. She still moved with the sort of slinky sensuality that should have been at odds with her schoolteacher clothing but somehow wasn’t. She had the same alabaster skin and same wide, smiling mouth.

She was dressed in a floral sundress that hit her midcalf and fluttered as she moved. A small girl stood by her side, her hand wrapped in Laney’s. The girl chattered, pointing down the street at a car pulling slowly to the curb. Though a few kids were still loitering at the edges of school property, most of the students seemed to have cleared out.

For a second, the sight of her standing there stopped him dead in his tracks. A jolt of pure desire shot through him. Laney had been one of those girls who had skipped over the awkwardness of adolescence and gone straight from girl to sex goddess—a role she’d reveled in because it irritated her strict grandmother and her benefactors, his parents. It had irritated him as well, though he’d tried not to let it show. Now, womanhood had softened the raw edges of her sexuality. Her sensuality was more subtle but more attractive as well.

Before now, he questioned whether he’d done her any favors when he’d helped her get this job three years ago. He wondered if she could temper her rebellious nature enough to teach first grade—in a wealthy, conservative private school, no less. The Laney he’d known as a teenager had scorned the wealthy and despised their hypocrisies. Now she was teaching their kids.

Watching her today, he’d have never guessed that flowing dress camouflaged her defiant nature—until she bent to speak to the little girl by her side. Then, the strap of her sundress slipped to reveal the swirling line of a tattoo on her shoulder. That was more like it.

She looked at him, the full lines of her mouth flattened into disapproval. Well, one thing hadn’t changed. She still hated him. He couldn’t really blame her after the way he’d treated her.

Laney said something to the girl, giving her hand a pat. There was something intrinsically feminine and graceful about her appearance but certainly nothing refined or elegant. For some reason, he thought of his ex-wife then. Portia wouldn’t be caught dead in a fluttery floral sundress and… were those sneakers Laney had on? He’d been married to Portia for eight years, and he wasn’t even sure she had sneakers. For that matter, Portia wouldn’t be caught dead standing outside a school, holding a child’s hand.

Only after Laney had helped the little girl into the Buick and turned to face him with a sort of stalwart determination did he wonder why he was even thinking about Portia and Laney in the same thought. The two women were nothing alike. He’d been intimately and emotionally involved with Portia, but with Laney… He hardly knew how to describe his relationship with her. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly what he was doing here.

As Dalton stepped up onto the sidewalk, he pulled his glasses off and slid them into his shirt pocket. “Hello, Laney.”

“Um. Hi. Dalton.” Her words came out choked and awkward, as though she’d forgotten how to talk altogether. Jeez, between the sneakers and being suddenly struck nearly mute, this was so not her day.

She knew it was nerves—and fear—that had tied her tongue into knots. It had nothing to do with the fact that Dalton had grown into a man of such arresting attractiveness that she could hardly pull air into her lungs when he looked at her.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” he asked, nodding toward the building.

“Yes. My classroom.” But instead of walking inside, Laney found herself just standing there, trying not to stare at Dalton. His face was still lean, his lips still full. His dark hair still curled slightly, as if in rebellion against the relentless structure he imposed on his life.

Then, unexpectedly, she found herself looking into his eyes, as if he’d been studying her in return. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she jerked her eyes away from his.

He kept his gaze on her. She could practically feel it. “You look good, Laney.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

She did not look good—not standing here in her thrift-store dress and her bobby socks, at the end of a long day of working with children. She’d once come home to find a Cheeto stuck in her hair. So she knew for a fact that she did not look good—at least not the way he looked good.

However, his relaxed greeting calmed her. Maybe he didn’t know about the money. If he did, wouldn’t he have started with that? But if he wasn’t here about the money, then why was he here?

Flustered, she turned and headed for the building. “I should warn you that I can’t talk long. I teach an afterschool theater class.”

At the door, Laney paused before swiping her card past the electronic lock, only to find Dalton right behind her. She jerked back a step, and he reached out a hand to steady her.

She looked up from his hand to his face. He was standing closer than before, and she sucked in a sharp breath. How had she forgotten how blue his eyes were? They were such an unusual shade of blue too. The color of the sky—not the rich, deep sky-blue you saw when you looked straight up but the muted, almost sea-blue of the sky at the distant horizon. Cain blue, Gran had always called it.

Dalton Cain—with his Cain blue eyes. She couldn’t let herself forget, even for a moment, who this man was—or that he had the power to crush her and Gran, if he ever had reason to do so.

Jerking her arm away from him, she asked, “What is it you want from me?”

“Why do you assume I want something from you?” he asked, his tone all innocence.

“Because when a Cain comes to visit, they always want something.”

“You don’t have a very high opinion of us.”

“No. I don’t suppose I do.”