"The air is sweet and clean. Must be a wonderful place to raise children."
He sent her a sardonic sideways glance. "My childhood was anything but wonderful."
"Dean--"
"It was lonely and hellish. We're here." He turned into a long and winding driveway that seemed to go on for miles. Palm trees waved their branches in the breeze, and the scent of flowers blooming permeated the already fragrant air. The house was a dazzling white, like a very beautiful bride, the windows glinting from the sun sinking over the horizon. There was a pergola a short distance away, and she could see the water from the pool, a clear and beautiful blue.
It was difficult for her to imagine that somewhere as lovely and graceful as this was not a scene for happiness. But she was not naïve enough to believe that having money, vast sums of it, brought happiness.
Pulling up at the base of the steps that led to the wraparound porch with the towering pillars sweeping gracefully upwards, he parked and sat there staring at the house.
He was so deep in thought, he jolted when she placed a hand over his.
"I'm fine," she said softly, her voice soothing.
"They will want to know everything about you." Turning his hand over, he clasped hers. "What you do for a living, who your parents were--"
"And I believe in honesty." She curled her fingers around his. "I'm not ashamed of who I am. My past is just that. My past. If they want to dig into it, then let them. I'm not perturbed."
He smiled at the determined look on her beautiful face. She had gone for a kind of retro look with the thick coils of hair styled intricately at the nape of her neck. Discreet diamonds glittered at her lobes but were no match for the exquisite square-cutdiamond ring he had placed on her finger just this afternoon. She was wearing a slim-line unrelieved black pants suit with a shell pink lace top, just peeping from the bosom. She looked elegant and coolly beautiful, and he was proud to call her his own.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed her knuckles, eyes glinting. "You look ready to do battle."
"You make it sound as if we're about to enter a battlefield."
"Something like that." His expression sobered. "If you feel the slightest discomfort, just a nod and we're out of here. They insist on being formal, a seven-course meal that drags on forever." He looked up and was just in time to see the ruby red drape twitched slightly. No doubt his mother was watching.
To give her something to mull over, he bent his head and closed his mouth over Catherine's, taking her completely by surprise. The kiss lingered and deepened, and he wished with all of his heart that he could suggest they leave and go anywhere else.
He lifted his mouth from hers reluctantly, eyes darkened with passion, his mother completely forgotten. "I love the way you look after I kiss you," he told her huskily. "You have this sultry look about you that I find very irresistible."
"Not one I want to have on when I'm going in to face your family. You shouldn't have kissed me." She sighed.
His chuckle warmed her heart. "I could not help myself." He gazed at her deeply. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Ready?"
He nodded and kissed her lightly. "Let's do this."
The term that sprang to mind when the uniformed maid opened the massive oak doors was oppressive opulence.
The woman took their jackets, her expression solemn, her voice remote as she bobbed a funny little curtsy to Dean after informing him that the family was in the grand salon.
"Grand?" Catherine whispered, gratified when he reached for her hand.
"Overwhelming is more like it," he said in an undertone.
The hallway floor was highly polished, and the walls were papered a delicate blue water silk. A massive doorway openedinto a large dark-paneled room. A huge fireplace took up an entire wall. The soaring ceiling added to the impression of more space. Antique furnishings with silk-cushioned chairs were strategically placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows. A thick expensive rug was in the middle of the floor.
There were four people in the room, but the woman draped elegantly on the padded turquoise high-back chair drew her attention. Isobel Collier might be in her sixties, but the woman had somehow defied the aging process. Her skin was a pale alabaster, her narrow face barely lined. She had passed on her incredible good looks to her son, giving nothing to her daughter. The sapphire blue dress she had on mirrored her eyes. Her makeup was flawless. The man standing by her chair topped over six feet easily and was watching her with appraising gray eyes as they walked into the room. Martin Collier exuded confidence and arrogance.
The older couple overshadowed the other two occupants of the room. A quick glance at Irene revealed a woman who had been cowed her entire life. Her thin face was pinched and haunted. The man seated next to her had distanced himself by a few inches. It was plain there was friction between them. Catherine was instantly sympathetic to the woman's plight. She was part of a dynamic family and had been shoved into the corner. Isobel and Dean had the striking good looks, Martin had the power and presence, which left Irene with nothing.
"We were starting to wonder if you were still coming." Isobel swept a cursory glance over the woman her son was holding onto so possessively and pinned him with a glance.
"Everyone, this is Catherine Miller, my fiancée."
There was silence for a few minutes as they all pinned her with a glance.