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Five
“Maci, are you all right?”
She heard Seymour’s question, but she couldn’t answer. Her throat was so tight that no air could get into her lungs. The room spun and she feared she would faint.
Digging her hands deeper into the leather-backed chair, Maci forced herself to smile, all the while feeling as if her composure might crack under the pressure of this shocking encounter.
“Maci, what the hell’s wrong with you?”
Seymour’s harsh tone broke her out of her catatonic state. “I’m actually not feeling well,” she responded in a halting tone.
Seymour frowned his disapproval.
“But I’ll be fine,” she added on a rushed note, keeping her gaze averted from Holt Ramsey.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Maci?” Keefe said in his gentle tone. “Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look well.”
Maci smiled her relief as she took his suggestion, holding her gaze steadfast on Keefe’s nondescript features, seeing him as a safe harbor.
“Holt, my boy, what can I get you to drink?” Seymour asked with exuberance.
“Nothing.” Holt’s tone was clipped.
Seymour’s brows shot up. “Why not?”
“This isn’t a social call.”
Seymour muttered under his breath and then fell silent.
Maci concentrated on smoothing a wrinkle out of her capri pants as distraction from the alarming thoughts going through her mind. A voice screamed inside her telling her this wasn’t fair. No one deserved two cruel twists of fate in a row.
“It’s good to see you, Holt,” Keefe said into the daunting silence before walking over and extending his hand.
Maci watched the exchanged handshakes but still couldn’t bring herself to look at Seymour’s son. Even thinking the word stepson was impossible.
“Likewise, Keefe,” Holt said in his low, rough-edged voice. His sexy voice.
Maci drew in a shuddering breath. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe if she blinked a time or two, he would disappear. Instead of blinking, she actually looked in Holt’s direction. He hadn’t disappeared, nor was he a figment of her imagination.
There he stood rock solid, and looking more gorgeous than he had two years ago with his fabulous head of blond hair and his blue-green eyes staring at her as though he’d seen a ghost. If anything had changed, he’d gotten browner and leaner, which made him seem taller. His was the commanding presence in the room. The other two men seemed to have shrunk.
Once she looked at him, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He’d had this same effect on her in Jamaica. Her stomach was in a knot and she still felt dizzy.
“Did you sail here?” Seymour asked.
“No.” Holt’s tone was clipped.
“Then I’m assuming you’ll be staying here,” Seymour said, breaking the second long silence. “With us.”
Holt shrugged. “That depends.”
Maci saw her husband’s lips stretch into a thin line. “On whether you help me or not.”
Holt uncoiled his frame from against the door. “That’s right.”
“Sit down,” Seymour urged, gesturing toward a winged back chair. “We have a lot to discuss.” He turned to Maci. “I’m sure Holt’s ready for something to drink. Are you up to making him one?”
“Don’t bother,” Holt said, his eyes finally finding hers.
Maci held her breath. The physical attraction that had electrified her in Jamaica was still there, and from the look that jumped in Holt’s eyes, he felt it, too. She swallowed and shifted her gaze, her blood drumming in her ears. Seymour must never guess she and Holt had a past. Panic washed through her.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Keefe said in a nervous tone. “Your father desperately needs you.”
“That remains to be seen.” Holt’s tone was harsh with cynicism.
Seymour flushed, and his eyes narrowed on his son.
Maci knew he was having a difficult time keeping the lid on his temper. In fact, she was surprised that he had. Groveling was not Seymour’s style. But if Holt’s attitude prevailed, that was exactly what her husband was going to have to do.
Unless Seymour decided Holt wasn’t worth the effort.
Maci’s breathing faltered again, this time for a different reason. Seymour couldn’t go to prison. He just couldn’t. If Holt was the key to stopping that from happening, then he had to be persuaded to stay.
But how could she handle his constant presence? She couldn’t. That was the bottom line.
“Why did you come, then?” Seymour asked after taking a gulp of his scotch and water. His eyes never wavered from his son.
“I have my reasons.”
“Fine,” Keefe interceded quickly. “We won’t argue with that as long as you stay and hear us out.” The attorney didn’t bother to keep the guarded eagerness out of his voice.
“Look, son, I know—”
“Save it,” Holt cut in brutally. “It’s too late for that.”
Seymour’s eyes flashed. “Okay, you’re here, and I’m grateful. Having said that, your attitude sucks.”
“Take it or leave it.”
Maci’s gaze bounced between father and son while the air in the room crackled with tension. Her heart was hammering so hard she feared everyone could hear it.
“I’ll take it,” Seymour muttered.
Maci watched as relief settled over Keefe’s features. She, however, didn’t share it. And not because of her and Holt’s past, but rather because of Holt’s present relationship to Seymour.
Holt’s attitude did indeed suck. Under that circumstance, how effective would he be in representing his father on a murder charge? And why would he want to?
The answers to those questions weren’t readily apparent, so Maci would have to attempt to answer them later. While Keefe filled Holt in on the details of the case, Maci watched Holt’s reaction closely. Nothing was forthcoming. His features remained stoic, his eyes unreadable, and his thoughts hidden.
When Keefe finished, Holt turned to Seymour. “How long have you been hooked?”
“I’m not hooked,”
