Keir O'connell's Mistress

It was Keir.

She wanted him. In her arms. In her bed, and to hell with whether or not he’d respect her in the morning. She already knew the answer. He wouldn’t…but she didn’t care anymore. She wanted Keir, wanted him, wanted him—

“You know what you need, Berk?” he said softly.

Her mouth was as dry as the Nevada desert. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His voice roughened, and she could feel her heart trying to leap from her breast.

“You need a lesson, and I’m the man to give it to you.”

“Keir…” His name came out a whisper. “Keir…”

“What time does lunch finish up?”

She blinked. Sex by appointment? “Four, but why do you—”

“Good.” He turned away. “Be ready to go at five-thirty.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the exciting, passion-filled world of the O’Connells. Meet Keir, the eldest O’Connell son, and Cassie, a young woman whom life has sometimes treated unkindly. Cassie’s worked at Keir’s hotel, but he never really noticed her. Now, in the first book in the O’Connell series, Keir lets us in on a secret. He can’t forget what happened between him and Cassie one magical night under a hot summer moon. Cassie can’t forget, either…and that’s when the fireworks begin.

You’ve told me how much you loved the Barons. I hope you’ll show that same generous warmth to the O’Connells. Please take Keir, Sean, Cullen, Fallon, Megan and Briana into your hearts. Then come along with me and their proud, powerful mother, Mary Elizabeth O’Connell Coyle, as we begin that most important of life’s journeys—a search for deep, passionate, all-enduring love.

With love,

You can e-mail Sandra at: www.sandramarton.com

Keir O’Connell’s Mistress

Sandra Marton

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Late summer, on the road to Las Vegas:

THE sun was a hint of gold lighting the rim of the desert as Keir O’Connell crossed the state line into Nevada.

The road was empty and he was driving fast, the black Ferrari eating up the miles like the powerful thoroughbred it was. A sign flashed by, so quickly Keir couldn’t read it, but he didn’t have to. He knew what it said.

75 miles to Las Vegas. Welcome to the Desert Song Hotel and Casino.

Seventy-five miles. At the speed he was driving, little more than half an hour away.

Keir eased back on the gas pedal.

He’d been on the road for two days, driving almost nonstop, knowing he’d pushed things too far and if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss his mother’s wedding.

The thought was almost enough to make him smile.

Missing the duchess’s wedding wasn’t an option. She’d wait until all six of her children were gathered before taking her vows with Dan Coyle. Afterward, she’d peel the hide off whichever of them had caused the delay.

No, missing the wedding wasn’t a possibility. Besides—Keir checked the dashboard clock—besides, he’d make it in plenty of time. The ceremony wasn’t until tomorrow. He’d told himself he was driving hard because he wanted the chance to visit with his family and that was part of it, yes, but the greater truth was that driving fast relaxed him.

He knew, from long experience, that taking a car almost to its limit, seeing how far he could push the speed until he was hovering on that razor-sharp edge between control and the loss of it, was usually enough to drain him of tension. That, or being with a woman, but that was the last thing he wanted now.

He hadn’t touched a woman in the thirty days he’d been gone…in the month since he’d made an ass of himself in a moonlit Texas garden with Cassie Berk.

One month. Was that all the time he’d been away? Had he really made so many life-altering decisions in four short weeks? It didn’t seem possible, especially for him. He’d spent a lifetime with his brothers teasing him about being such a vigilant planner.

“Be careful,” his mother had said the year he’d gotten his pilot’s license, and one of his brothers—Sean, maybe—had laughed and hugged her and said there was no reason to worry, that Keir would never have an accident unless he planned it first.

Keir frowned.

Then, how come he was about to sign off as Chief Operating Officer of the Desert Song and move twenty-five hundred miles across the country to a vineyard in Connecticut—a vineyard into which he’d sunk a small fortune?

Keir shifted in his seat and tried to find a better angle for his legs. The Ferrari had more room under the dashboard than some cars he’d driven but it was built for speed, not comfort, especially if you topped six foot two.

What he was going to do would make anyone edgy. And, yeah, why lie to himself? The prospect of seeing Cassie again bothered him, too. It bothered him a lot. Nobody went through life without doing something stupid; despite what Cassie had called him, he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he was the exception to the rule. But what he’d done that night…

He owed her an apology. She’d be calmer by now, willing to let him eat crow and say he was sorry he’d come on to her. It had been the mood and the moment, that was all. Too much champagne, too much slow dancing, too much of the enforced togetherness that came of him being Gray Baron’s best man and Cassie being Dawn Lincoln’s maid of honor.

It was his fault, all of it, and he was prepared to admit it. He was her boss, dammit; he knew the rules about sexual harassment. Knew them? He’d written them at the Song, not just rules about harassment but others that clearly laid out what he expected of people.

Logic. Reason. Common sense. He believed in those principles. He’d built his life on them…and forgotten every last one, that night with Cassie.

“You’re an arrogant, self-centered, stupid son of a bitch,” she’d said, breathing fire when he’d done the right thing, stepped back and tried to say he was sorry.

Had she let him? No way. She’d rounded on him with fury and the worst of it was that the things she’d called him might have dented his ego, but they were true.

He’d made a move on her he never should have made and put her in the position where she’d been damned if she responded and damned if she didn’t.

She’d responded, all right.

He’d taken her in his arms in a dark corner of the garden at that Texas ranch. A second later, she’d been clinging to him, opening her mouth to his, moaning as he’d bunched up her skirt and slid his hands under her dress, that long, gauzy dress that made her look like an old-fashioned dream instead of a Las Vegas cocktail waitress…

This kind of crap wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He was maybe fifty miles from Vegas and exactly thirty days and nights from what had happened—what had almost happened—in that garden, and why was he thinking about it again?

He was hungry, that was why. His stomach wasn’t just growling, it was snarling. He’d pretty much been living on black coffee and catnaps, just pulling off the road long enough to fill the car with gas and his system with caffeine. It had been a long forty-eight hours from Connecticut to Nevada.

If you wanted to get philosophical, he thought, goosing the car back to speed, it had been the longest journey of his life.

Other cars were feeding onto the road now, all of them heading toward that glittering Mecca in the desert. Keir slowed the Ferrari to what seemed a crawl.

He’d gone to New York on vacation, though that hadn’t been his original plan. He’d intended to drive to Tucson, then to Phoenix, just get away for a couple of weeks, enjoy the feel of the car—he’d bought it only weeks before—on the long, straight desert roads.

And then, right after the ceremony, his mother and Dan Coyle, the Desert Song’s Head of Security, had taken him aside.

“Keir,” the duchess had said, clinging to Dan Coyle’s arm, “I know this will come as a surprise…darling, Dan and I are getting married.”

Keir smiled.

A surprise? Yeah, but once he’d thought about it, he realized it shouldn’t have been. He’d caught Dan casting longing looks at the duchess for quite a while and caught her blushing like a schoolgirl in response.

So he’d kissed his mother, clapped Dan on the back, and after they’d laughed and maybe cried a little, the duchess had taken his hands in hers and told him that he was to take a month’s holiday, at least.

“Orders from on high must be obeyed,” Dan had said with a wink, when Keir had begun to protest.

“You deserve a real vacation,” Mary had insisted. “Just be sure you’re back for the wedding.”

Dan had grinned, told him that they’d chosen a date, even a time, and then Keir had kissed his mother, shaken Dan’s hand, said if he expected him to start calling him Daddy he was in for a rude surprise.

And when all the good wishes and jokes were over, Keir had taken a deep breath and said he thought it might be time for Mary to take over the management of the Desert Song again, and for him to move on.

Dan had urged him to reconsider.

“Is it because I’m marrying your mother? Keir, that isn’t necessary. There’s no need for you to leave.”

“No,” Mary had said softly, “of course there isn’t.” Her smile had trembled a little. “But he wants to leave. Don’t you, Keir? Running the Song was never what you wanted to do in the first place.” She’d touched his arm. “I think I’ve always known that.”

It was the truth and Keir hadn’t denied it. They’d talked a bit, the three of them, of how things would be with him gone and Mary in charge.

“With Dan sharing responsibility,” she’d said firmly and Keir had nodded his agreement. He liked Coyle; he’d be good for the duchess and if anyone could keep her in line, Keir figured Dan could.

After that, he’d gone back to the wedding festivities…

And Cassie.

Keir frowned, took his sunglasses from the visor and slipped them on.

He’d intended to start for Tucson early the next morning but after the fiasco in the garden, he’d tossed his things in his car and headed east instead of west, not just in search of a holiday but in search of his own life.

It was one thing to be free of the responsibilities he’d assumed six years ago, but free to do what? The only thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to go back to arbitrage. He’d made a fortune in the complex world of stocks and bonds before taking over the Song, but that was the past.

He had yet to glimpse the future.

To that end, and, yeah, maybe because he’d figured that keeping busy would block memories of how stupidly he’d behaved with Cassie, he’d made some discreet inquiries of colleagues once he reached New York. Within a couple of days, an attorney representing a French hotel conglomerate approached him about a five star facility planned for the East side of Manhattan. They wanted his expertise and were willing to pay handsomely for it. A lunch, then a couple of dinners, and Keir had begun thinking about becoming a consultant in New York. The idea pleased him. He loved the pace and power of the city and started looking to put down roots.

That was why he’d been standing on the terrace of a penthouse a few mornings ago, the realtor beside him gushing over the view, the rooms, the lap pool and spa, when suddenly her voice seemed to fade and Keir had found himself seeing not the view but himself, forever trapped inside a paneled office, forever doomed to wear a suit and a tie and sit behind a desk.

What had happened to the boy who’d wanted to be an astronaut? To the kid who’d wanted to slay dragons? A penthouse suite, a private pool and an expensive view had never been part of those dreams.

How could he have forgotten that?

He’d turned to the realtor, told her he was sorry but he’d just remembered an appointment. Then he’d gotten into the Ferrari, pointed it north and let the car eat up the miles until he’d found himself in Connecticut farmland.

He’d been driving without an agenda, figuring on turning back once he knew what in hell he was doing, but the weather was beautiful the car was purring. When he pulled out a map while he filled up at a gas station, he realized that if he went just another few miles he could check out the Song’s competition. A couple of northeastern Native American tribes had opened casinos and hotels in Connecticut. They were very successful. Why not combine business with pleasure and take a look? He might not be running the Song anymore, but he might find something interesting to pass on to Dan and his mother.

So Keir had piled back into his car and headed a little further north and east.

The Native American casinos had proved enlightening. He’d spent the rest of the morning strolling around, discreetly observing the operations. Then for reasons he’d never be able to fathom, he’d gotten back in the Ferrari and driven another hour, hour and a half, until he’d ended up on a road that knifed through tall stands of oak and maple, where his car was the only traffic and the only sound was the cry of a hawk, circling overhead.

He’d almost missed the sign.

DEER RUN VINEYARD, it read, Luncheon and Dinner Thursday thru Sunday, By Reservation Only.

It was Thursday, Keir had thought, glancing at his watch. It was almost two. A little late for lunch and besides, you needed a reservation but, what the hell?

So he’d turned down a narrow dirt road and found, at its end, a scene that might have been a painting: a handsome old barn converted into a small restaurant, a garden surrounding a patio filled with umbrella tables and a profusion of flowers, and beyond that, row after row of grapevines climbing a hill toward a handsome old stone house set against a cloudless blue sky.

Keir felt a tightening in his belly.

Yes, the hostess said, someone had just phoned to cancel a reservation for the second seating. If he’d just wait a few minutes…?

He’d accepted a glass of wine and gone for a stroll up the hill, walking through the rows of vines, drawing the rich smell of the earth and the grapes deep into his lungs…

And suddenly known that he belonged here.

He’d asked the owner to join him for coffee. Keir came straight to the point. He wanted to buy Deer Run. The proprietor beamed. His wife was ill; she needed a change of climate. They’d decided to put the place up for sale just days before. What a nice surprise, that Keir should have turned up wanting to buy it.

Keir hadn’t been surprised. Until that afternoon he’d never believed in anything a man couldn’t see or touch but something—he didn’t want to call it fate—something had been at work that day.

He’d looked at the books, had data faxed to his accountant and attorney. Before the sun dipped behind the gently rolling hills, he’d become the new owner of Deer Run.

Stupid? His accountant and attorney were too polite to say so. What they did say was “impulsive.”

Keir speeded up a little and changed lanes. Maybe they were right, but he had no regrets. He needed to change his life, and now he’d done it.

Las Vegas, ten miles.

The sign flashed by before he knew it—before he was ready. He slowed the car to a crawl.

He was not a man who ever acted on impulse and yet he’d done so three times in the past few weeks, walking out on the French deal, buying a winery…kissing a woman he shouldn’t have kissed.

Why regret any of it?

The kiss was just a kiss, the five star hotel and the penthouse in New York had been wrong for him, but the winery…the winery felt right.

No, he thought, he had no regrets at all. Not even about Cassie.

Keir turned on the radio and heard the pulse of hard, pounding rock. One thing he’d learned during this trip was you could tell where you were by listening to local DJ’s. Back east there’d been lots of Dylan and Debussy. The closer he’d come to the middle of the country, the more he’d heard Garth Brooks. Now, with the desert behind him and the Vegas strip just ahead, the sounds of rock and roll were kicking in.

Actually, what he liked best were the old standards, the stuff nobody played anymore. He’d grown up listening to those songs, Embraceable You and Starlight and the rest; his parents had always seen to it that music like that was featured in at least one lounge at the Desert Song.

The band had played lots of those numbers at Gray and Dawn’s wedding, especially as evening came on. He’d been dancing with Cassie, the two of them laughing as they moved to something by the Stones, when suddenly the music had become slow and smoky.

That was when he’d gathered her into his arms, as if the whole day had been leading up to that moment.

He knew the reasons.

People did things they’d never think of doing when they went to weddings and parties where the wine flowed and inhibitions got tossed aside.

How many toasts had he drunk? How many dances had he danced with Cassie, watching the flash of her long legs, the way her dress clung to her body when the summer breeze blew? How often had he inhaled her scent when he leaned close to ask if she wanted something from the buffet?

Why wouldn’t she have suddenly seemed a beautiful, mysterious creature of every man’s hottest dreams instead of a woman who might have been around the block more times than he wanted to count?

As he’d danced her into the garden, away from the lights, away from the other guests, he’d even imagined asking her to go with him the next day. He’d thought of what it might be like to be alone with her in some quiet, romantic hideaway.

“Cassie,” he’d murmured, tilting her face to his in the darkness. And he’d kissed her. Just kissed her…

Until she made a little sound, moved against him and dammit suddenly, his hands had been all over her, molding her to him, lifting her into him, sliding under her skirt against soft, silken skin.

Keir tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Great. He was right back where he’d been when he’d pointed his car east the night of the wedding, feeling like a damned fool for having hit on a woman who worked for him, who’d probably been afraid to say “no” or maybe figured making it with the boss would improve her chances of being something better than a cocktail waitress…

He could still feel the way she’d stiffened in his arms, hear the sound of her voice.

“Keir,” she’d said, “Keir, no.”

That was what had brought him back to sanity, the way she’d said his name, her voice shaking, her body losing its soft, warm pliancy—and maybe that had been part of the act, a game designed to make him want her all the more—except, if he’d wanted her any more, he’d have exploded.

Keir cursed, stepped on the brakes and brought the car to a skidding stop on the side of the road.

Okay. He’d made a fool of himself but he’d done that before and survived. Not with a woman. Never with a woman, but he’d done his fair share of dumb things. Like making cold phone calls as a trainee at a San Francisco brokerage house and being set up by one of the other trainees so that somehow he’d ended up phoning the wife of the firm’s CEO.

He’d sold her three hundred shares of stock.

Now there was Cassie. Well, yeah. He was sorry he’d kissed her, but seeing her again, apologizing, wasn’t going to be any problem at all. Wasn’t there some old Irish saying about a little humility lightening the load and being good for the soul?

If there wasn’t, there ought to be.

As for buying the vineyard…Keir took a deep breath and pulled the car back into traffic. Enough introspection. He was minutes from home, his mother was getting married tomorrow, and he had the feeling he was in for one hell of an old-fashioned, rowdy O’Connell family reunion.

Up ahead, a creature that looked like a small, slow-moving tank stepped out of the scrub. It looked from side to side, took a cautious step forward, then an equally cautious step back.

Keir braked, swung wide, and left the armadillo in the dust.

Half an hour later, he pulled into the employee lot at the Desert Song and parked his car in its usual space. The security guard at the back entrance gave him a big smile.

“Hey, Mr. O’Connell. You’re back.”

“How’re you doing, Howard?” Keir stuck out his hand. “How’s your wife? That baby’s due any time now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Couple of weeks. How was the vacation?”

“Terrific.”

“And now it’s back to work, huh?”

“Something like that.” Keir clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Take care, Howard. Be sure and let me add my good wishes when the baby gets here.”

Keir stopped smiling as he stepped inside the hotel and walked down the hall that led past a series of offices. He could almost feel the place swallow him up. Even dragging a breath into his lungs seemed difficult.

A month away, and now he really knew how much he wanted out.

He stabbed the freight elevator call button, tucked his hands into the pockets of his well-worn Levi’s and tipped back a little on his heels.

The duchess had made it clear that she’d understand, if he left the Song.

Would she, really?

He’d come to Vegas to help run the place after his father’s death. He was the eldest son, the O’Connell offspring who’d proven himself Responsible with a capital R. Cullen wasn’t. He’d just left college, a dozen credits short of his degree, to do God only knew what. Sean had been—well, nobody had been quite sure of what Sean had been doing or where he’d been doing it. And the girls—Megan, Fallon and Briana—had all still been away at school.

“You’ll just stay for a bit,” his mother had said, “only until I can handle things on my own.”

After a year, he’d suggested they hire a Chief Operating Officer.

“I don’t know that I’d feel comfortable with someone outside the family,” Mary had told him. “Can you stay on a little longer, Keir?”

He had, and just when it looked as if his mother was ready to take the reins, she’d had a massive heart attack.

Keir pressed the call button again and made a mental note to have Maintenance check the elevators. There were only two cars in this bank and they got heavy use from employees. One, at least, should have been moving.

Now, by a twist of fate, he was free of the responsibility of the Song. Thanks to another twist, maybe he’d found what he’d been looking for, even if all he knew about wine was how to drink it.

Better not to think like that. Whatever he knew or didn’t know about grapes and wine, he was glad he’d bought Deer Run, glad he was finally getting on with his life. He felt as if it had been on hold for years, not just the six he’d spent working for his mother but the years he’d spent taking university courses that bored him.

He’d never let himself think about that while he was in school or even afterward, but during the trip east, the car eating up the miles, he’d felt something pushing for acknowledgment inside him, as if what had gone on in that garden had only been the first step toward acceptance of the truth.