His to Claim Page 2

  She hadn’t only stolen his technology.

  She’d stolen his fucking mojo.

  He should hate her, and yet there were nights he’d roll over in bed and reach for her, only to find the sheets cold.

  According to Finn, all of McKay’s essential employees had been invited to the wedding.

  Which was why Ryder was here.

  Tonight, he was on a mission.

  Find Jane.

  Confront her.

  And get her out of his system, once and for all.

  Whatever it took.

  Even if whatever it took meant him having to dress in a monkey suit, smile at people he detested, and kiss up to his father. If he’d shown up at McKay Industries, no doubt Keane would have had security toss Ryder out of the building.

  But he couldn’t keep Ryder from the wedding.

  And Jane wouldn’t be expecting him.

  Ryder gulped down his next shot, not even bothering to enjoy it, and returned it bottom side up to the white-satin-covered bar top. Thank fuck his brother and his fiancée had chosen to get married in the city’s only five-star hotel instead of having the traditional church wedding. He’d never make it through the next couple of hours if he had to do it sober.

  “Make the next one a double and keep ’em coming,” he told the bartender.

  A hard slap on his tuxedo-clad back had his teeth rattling. He didn’t need to turn around to know who had smacked the shit out of him. Finn may be ten years older but he’d never gone easy on him.

  “Save some of the good shit for the other guests,” his brother said.

  Ryder turned around, relieved that Finn was alone. He definitely needed more whiskey before dealing with the rest of the family. “Thought you’d be getting ready with Keane and all the other groomsmen.”

  Although they shared a father, they looked nothing alike. The only thing they had in common was their gray eyes, a trait shared by all the McKay men. Otherwise, Ryder took after his Mexican mother with his dark brown hair and tanned skin while Finn was a younger version of their Irish father with reddish-blond hair. Not to mention, Ryder towered over Finn by a good five inches, something he never let his older brother forget.

  Smooth shaven and with his hair cut short, Ryder barely recognized his brother. Where was the beard? His trademark long hair? This guy was a carbon copy of their father. Of course, it had been a couple years since Ryder had last seen Finn. It had killed Ryder to do it, but once his brother had chosen to take a position at McKay Industries, Ryder had been forced to put some space between them.

  Finn gave him a wink. “Wanted to make sure my best man hadn’t taken off with some random chick to get his pre–wedding ceremony blow job.”

  More like Finn was worried Ryder had again changed his mind about attending the wedding and wouldn’t show. Understandable, since Ryder had questioned his brother more than once as to why Finn was marrying Ciara.

  Bad enough Finn had left the attorney general’s office to work at McKay Industries, but to marry into a family possibly even more corrupt than theirs? Finn must have lost his damned mind.

  Ryder scratched his head. He had to try one last time to convince Finn he was making the wrong decision. “Listen, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but—”

  “I’m marrying Ciara.” Finn held up his hand, effectively stopping Ryder from continuing. “I appreciate that you’re concerned for me, but I assure you, I know what I’m doing.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Ryder snorted and leaned his back against the bar. “Yeah, because after all, your first marriage went so well.”

  His brother shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Marriage is complicated.”

  Complicated was something Ryder didn’t need in his life. That’s why he was never getting married. “Especially when your wife tries to kill you.”

  “She wasn’t trying to kill me,” Finn mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Greta was an expert marksman. Got me exactly where she wanted to.”

  Ryder would never forget the night he’d gotten the phone call that his brother had been shot. Nearly ran off the road trying to get to the hospital, only to arrive and find his brother resting comfortably on his stomach as he watched the Tigers’ game on his iPhone.

  Asshole.

  “What does your new woman think of the scar on your ass?” Ryder asked Finn.

  Finn grinned. “She thinks it’s sexy.”

  “Only the daughter of a criminal would find a bullet to the ass sexy.”

  His brother shushed him and stepped closer, looking around the empty room in a move that hinted at paranoia. “Keep your voice down, would you?”

  Ryder tamped down his urge to chuckle. Fucking with his brother rated high on his list of favorite things to do. “What are you worried about? Someone finding out that your future father-in-law is a criminal or that your ex shot you in the ass when you asked for a divorce?” he asked loud enough for anyone close by to overhear, including the bartender, who stopped his cleaning at Ryder’s words and let out a snort.

  Finn only shook his head. “You’re an asshole. Do you know that?” He clamped a hand on Ryder’s shoulder and squeezed. Hard. “But you’re also the best brother any guy could ask for. I’m thankful every day that Dad boinked the maid and fathered you. Which is why I’m going to tell you that when it comes to Ciara and her family, I know what I’m getting into.”

  “I thought we agreed we were both getting out of the family business. Me with Novateur and you by becoming some hotshot lawyer. We don’t need Dad’s money and we certainly don’t need his connections.”

  His brother clenched his jaw and looked away, almost guiltily. “As long as Dad is still in charge of McKay Industries, we’ll never be free of him. Don’t you get it by now?”

  “So you just gave up and figured you’d make him even more powerful by marrying a rival’s daughter?”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Finn sighed. “I told you. I love—”

  “You love Ciara.” He rolled his eyes. Childish, but appropriate. “I heard you the first twenty times. But I still don’t believe you.”

  Ryder wasn’t completely dead inside. He had the ability to love. He loved his brother, Tristan, and an ice-cold beer at a ball game, but as for the so-called everlasting romantic kind of love?

  Not in his genetic makeup.

  His father was on marriage number four—no, five—and his brother’s first marriage had ended in gunplay.

  The odds were definitely not in Ryder’s favor…or his brother’s.

  Long ago, Ryder had made the decision never to get married or have children. Both a wife and a kid would be a vulnerability he couldn’t afford. Look at what Keane had done by stealing Ryder’s designs and competing against him. No, Ryder could never give Keane that kind of power over him.

  Finn shot him a look of disappointment. “I know you don’t, but I wish you had at least a little faith that I know what I’m doing.” He puffed out his chest and straightened his bow tie, cutting the awkward tension with his smirk. “After all, I’m the big brother. You’re supposed to look up to me.”

  “And I would if you weren’t such a midget,” Ryder deadpanned.

  His brother grabbed his crotch. “Yeah, well, unlike you, I’m large where it counts.”

  Ryder was about to challenge that comment when his brother’s smirk slid off his face and all the joy was sucked out of the room. He didn’t have to turn around to know the source of the sucking.

  “Pop,” Ryder said in greeting.

  A firm hand clasped his shoulder and a raspy voice, created by a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit, came from behind him. “Ryder. Good to see you, son.”

  Too bad he couldn’t say the same.

  He waited for the scent of cigarettes to assault his nose and was surprised when it didn’t happen. Had the old man finally quit?

  His father moved to his side, giving Ryder a glimpse of the man he hadn’t seen in years.

  Al
ways robust and thick around the waist, his father had shrunk to half his old size. Still not skinny, but to Ryder, the difference was jarring. His white hair had thinned on top, showing off the reddened scalp underneath it, and his wrinkled skin seemed especially pronounced because of his weight loss.

  He looked…tired. Old. Too old for seventy-one.

  For a moment, Ryder experienced a rush of compassion for his father, until he remembered that his father had never once had any compassion for anyone else.

  He expected a lecture. A snide remark. Something.

  But his father simply gave him a nod of regard and focused his attention on Finn. “There’s been a slight delay with the wedding ceremony. Apparently, Jane has had an incident with her bridesmaid dress and had to run to the bridal shop to have it repaired. She’s on her way now.”

  Ryder froze mid-breath. Although he tried to keep his voice disinterested, he was anything but. “Jane?”

  His father’s eyes twinkled with something resembling pride. “My step-granddaughter. Or soon-to-be step-granddaughter.”

  No.

  It had to be a different Jane.

  “Ciara has a child?” he asked his brother, surprised that fact hadn’t come up before.

  “Jane’s an adult now. Ciara had her at fifteen,” Finn said quietly. “Jane was raised by Ciara’s aunt and uncle down in Florida. Even now, not a lot of people in our circle know Ciara has a daughter, so I’d appreciate it if you kept the information to yourself.”

  Whoever this Jane was, anger flared hot in his gut on her behalf.

  They wanted to keep the girl a secret as if she had a reason to be ashamed. Why even bother inviting her to the wedding?

  Mumbled curses and frantic footsteps echoed from down the hall, growing louder as someone approached.

  Ryder’s mouth went dry.

  Even mumbled, he’d recognize that silken voice anywhere.

  Like a tornado, she whirled into the room, every part of her in disarray, from her long, dark brown curls to the thick black-framed glasses tilted on her nose.

  She was as beautiful as he’d remembered.

  It made it difficult to remember she was the enemy.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, gripping the sides of her dress in her hands to keep it off the floor and looking down at her feet as if worried she’d trip. “As I was leaving my apartment, the hem of my dress got caught in the”—she looked up and her eyes widened as she caught sight of Ryder—“door.”

  This wasn’t the plan. He’d wanted to surprise her.

  But he hadn’t expected to be just as shocked.

  If Ciara was Jane’s mother, that made Jane his…

  He couldn’t even finish the thought.

  Finn kissed her warmly on the cheek. “Jane. This is my brother, Ryder. Ryder, this is—”

  “Jane,” she said, smiling tightly while her swanlike throat worked over a swallow. “Your soon-to-be stepniece.”

  TWO

  One year ago…

  Joining the hundreds of other conference attendees for evening cocktails, Jane stepped into the ballroom of Mackinac Island’s Grand Hotel. The dichotomy of having the state’s biggest business innovation conference on an island that didn’t even allow for automobiles on its roads wasn’t lost on her.

  She smoothed her fingertips over her head to tame any frizzy wisps of hair before remembering that she’d had it professionally straightened a couple days ago.

  How long would it take before she wouldn’t feel like a little girl playing dress-up? Thanks to McKay Industries’ generous clothing allowance, she’d be able to purchase a red Armani power suit for the day’s activities and a dressier outfit for tonight’s cocktail party. Conservative yet a tad provocative, the Carolina Herrera white button-down silk blouse wrapped around her like a second skin, and the black A-line faille party skirt flared out at the knees, showing off her newly waxed legs.

  When she’d looked in the mirror a few minutes ago, she’d barely recognized herself.

  It was amazing what a trip to the spa and a pair of contacts could do.

  And she owed it all to Keane McKay.

  She fiddled with the diamonds dangling from her earlobes. Her jewelry alone cost more than she could earn in a year as an intern at McKay Industries.

  But when your boss gave you an opportunity to represent a billion-dollar corporation, you accepted it and all the gifts he gave you. She didn’t understand why he’d taken such an interest in her. He had nothing to gain by winning her favor. Yet the spring before Jane had graduated from the prestigious Edison University’s Lancaster Business School, Keane had called Isaac Lancaster, the dean of the business department, to offer Jane a paid internship at McKay Industries. It had only been after she’d accepted and moved to the city that she’d learned her mother was dating Keane’s son Finn.

  And that her mother hadn’t even known that Keane had offered Jane the job.

  Jane hadn’t been disappointed. Really. After all, Ciara had never wanted anything to do with her before. Why should now be any different?

  While McKay Industries was known for its controversial and often hostile mergers and acquisitions, Keane had placed her in its much smaller innovation division, teaching her about start-ups and emerging technologies. Still, she was shocked when he’d not only insisted she attend this conference, but also paid for her to have a day at a spa, where she’d been treated to the works, including a manicure, a haircut and style, and makeup.

  For the first time in her twenty-two years, she could pretend she was someone different than Plain Jane, the virgin who gave modern meaning to the word wallflower. She looked as lush and regal as the Victorian hotel she was standing in, but inside, she knew the truth.

  She didn’t belong here.

  But what else was new?

  She didn’t belong anywhere.

  She owed it to Keane to network this weekend. He wouldn’t have sent her if he didn’t believe in her, and she didn’t want to disappoint him after he’d been so kind to her.

  She’d pretend she belonged here until she actually believed it herself. She’d smile at people. Meet their eyes. Engage in conversation. Live a little.

  Be the opposite of Plain Jane.

  No one had to know she wasn’t actually an executive at McKay. Tonight she would forget that the only thing she had less experience in than business was in the bedroom.

  She scanned the room for a semifriendly face. For some reason, she’d expected a younger, geekier crowd, but the average age was probably around forty and there didn’t appear to be a geek in the crowd. Everyone was polished, suave, and experienced. These were the corporate executives. Not the brilliant minds behind the innovations. Maybe a little liquid courage would help loosen her tongue.

  Waiters walked through the room offering glasses of wine, but she’d never been much of a wine drinker. If anything, hard lemonade was more her speed, but somehow she didn’t think they stocked it behind the bar.

  Leaving her spot by the entrance, she made her way toward the bar, stopping only momentarily to snag a cheese puff off a tray of passing hors d’oeuvres. Remembering she hadn’t eaten since noon, she popped it in her mouth as she stood in line for a drink and surveyed the limited selection of premium booze.

  After only a minute, she got to the front. “I’ll have an Absolut and plain water, please,” she said, choosing her uncle’s standard drink. She’d accidentally tried it once, thinking it was a glass of water. When she finally stopped choking, she’d sworn off vodka for the rest of her life. Of course, she had been twelve at the time.

  “You strike me as more of a Sex on the Beach type of girl,” said a low male voice from behind her.

  She spun around, expecting a gray-haired executive in a three-piece suit.

  She’d never been more wrong.

  Sex.

  That was the first thing—the only thing—that came to mind. Hot, sweaty, messy sex on every conceivable surface. It radiated off him like heat radiated off th
e sun. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth as every bit of moisture in her body flew south.

  His dark brown hair had that tousled look, giving the impression he’d just rolled out of bed and run his fingers through it. Unlike the other men there tonight, he wore dark jeans and an azure V-neck sweater that clung to his torso and hinted at the muscles underneath.

  But it was his eyes that drew her in. At first glance, she’d thought they were blue, but close up, she realized they had picked up the color of his sweater. In actuality, it was like looking into a piece of glass, the irises an unusual light gray. She blinked, realizing she was staring. “Excuse me?” she finally said, not sure if seconds or minutes had passed since he’d first spoken.

  “Sex. On. The. Beach,” he said, punctuating every word so that she could almost imagine the feel of the cool, wet sand beneath her and his weight on top. “The mixed drink.”

  He ordered himself a scotch on the rocks and reached around her, his forearm brushing the side of her breast. She sucked in a breath at the contact, heat shooting between her thighs and her nipples hardening underneath her blouse. His gaze dropped to her chest as he passed her the vodka and he made a noise in his throat, something between a grunt and a hiss, making her wonder what he’d sound like if she dropped to her knees and took him to the back of her throat.

  Okay, that was random.

  “And why is that, Mr.…?” Willing her nipples to behave, she knocked back the entire glass in three large gulps. Although she enjoyed the burn as it made its way down her throat, the alcohol tasted just as awful as it had ten years ago.

  He snatched his own drink off the bar and the ice clinked in the glass as he lifted it in salute. “Ryder. Just Ryder.”

  Figures he has an original name. Unlike…

  “Jane.”

  Warmth spread throughout her belly from the vodka…and Ryder.

  He took a sip of his scotch. “Well, Jane,” he said as if he didn’t believe it was her real name, “women usually fall into three different categories at these things. You’ve got those who are the traditional wine drinkers. If you look around, you’ll see most of the women here drinking wine. They’re conformists. Followers. Afraid to take a risk and drink something different.”