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perfect, and not everybody gets what they want. Mary was well aware of the brutality of people and life in general.
    When she heard the truck pull away she returned to the kitchen and polished off the rest of her Irish coffee.
    A vision of Terry filled her mind. He was the opposite of Gabe. Terry had a long and lithe body, and his face could grace any popular magazine. He was tough but he had class. He could be deadly, but he could kiss her into liquid, too.
    She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine how pleasurable it could be in his arms. It was just a fantasy. A dream. Nothing good could ever come from a tryst with Terry McCoy, son of a notorious crime boss. But she was allowed to fantasize in her own home, on her own kitchen chair.
    She pictured his soft, kissable lips on a face with a hint of stubble to scratch and excite. She imagined his smooth, low voice whispering sensual words against the soft spot below her ear, before he trailed those hot lips down her body.
    Naturally, she parted her robe and slid her middle finger between wet lips and softly stroked her sensitive clit, wishing a bad boy was giving the attention.
    God she was pathetic.
    Her finger moved faster, more forcefully.
    She wanted more. Wanted it all. Needed to be touched and loved and spoiled.
    What she really needed was to let go.
    With a heavy sigh, she let her head fall back as she slid her bum closer to the edge of the seat, while her finger brought her closer to the edge of release.
    What have you done to me, Terry McCoy?
     

Chapter 3
     
    Terry pulled onto the teardrop driveway at the family estate near Saanich Inlet. He bounded up the massive stone steps, velvet box in hand, and walked right in. The house was silent as he entered the parlor and made his way into the great room, where his father liked to read the paper by the windows.
    “Dad? Wanda?”
    He strolled over to the round table. The paper lay untouched, his reading glasses sitting atop. No Colton. Terry stared out the big picture window as a sailboat drifted along the waterway. With his mind in chaos, he stared out over the water, wishing he could disappear in those clear blue depths.
    Too many windows. Too exposed.
    The McCoy estate, designed by a wealthy old coal baron, had sweeping ocean views from every waiting room, and all seven bedrooms. Even two of the four bathrooms had a lovely view of a natural waterfall with its immaculate surrounding gardens. The property even had a creek and a small beach to add to its list of perfections.
    The imperfections consisted of the people inside.
    To Terry this place held no more meaning than a pretty decoy, like the hotel in Victoria. A convenient lie covering the nasty bones of this business his father worked hard to build. A business that would be his one day—whether he liked it or not.
    This is only the beginning.
    Adolfo had him all worked up wondering what the hell those words were supposed to mean. Should he be scouring the house for a bomb? Was there a hit man on the property ready to put a bullet through the window right where he stood? Fuck, I hate living like this.
    He scowled at the happy couple on the sailboat, drifting at a languid pace only a few hundred yards from the house on the shore. They embraced each other by the wheel. No worries. No end in sight. Champagne and strawberries. Maybe they weren’t even married. Maybe she was his mistress or perhaps an expensive escort. Hell, she could be his best friend’s daughter.
    They may not be able to see him through the window, but he saw everything.
    He saw too much and knew too much. Felt too much. Emotions always got the best of Terry, and Colton was quick to remind him: “If you’re going to survive in this business you have to shut yourself off.”
    Not Terry.
    He honestly believed he’d never be able to flip off the switch and continue to live like a puppet. This life his father had thrown him into was seriously getting to him. It all came down to being accepted.