Brock

by Roxanne St Claire

  “A secret?” The other man, Gregg, stepped forward without any of Jenna’s finesse. His curiosity was obvious; Jenna’s was burning but quiet.

  “That’s what she said,” Sarah continued. “She told Graham she’d kept his secret long enough and marched right out of the Blackthorne Estate in King Harbor.”

  A long-kept secret? Like…a stolen recipe that made millions?

  “Aunt Claire always has a flair for melodrama,” Brock said quickly, glancing over his shoulder as Hoyt pulled up in the car. “Great to see you, Sarah. And to meet you, Gregg.” He put a hand on Jenna’s back and nodded to Hoyt, signaling him to stay in the car. Was that for a faster escape?

  And why did he want to escape at all?

  He had the back door open in a flash, guiding Jenna into the seat. “Give your father my best,” he said to Sarah as he got in the back and pulled the door closed. “Take us straight to the Colonnade, Hoyt.”

  Oh. So much for that nightcap and dancing. Which was fine, but something had made Brock want to end this night…something named Sarah.

  “So what was that all about?” she asked casually.

  “We’re negotiating to buy Sarah’s family’s business,” he said. “She’s just yanking my chain to up the price.”

  Really? Jenna waited a beat, smoothing her dress before asking, “What’s your aunt doing in Europe?”

  He cleared his throat as if that might help him don an expression that told her nothing. “Like I said, having a fun summer, in Paris. And Sarah McKinney loves to have gossip to throw around with the wholesalers and customers. It makes her sound very plugged in.”

  “She didn’t seem like a gossip,” she mused, glancing out the window. “I take it her father has cancer?”

  “And his brother’s ready to retire to Hawaii, making McKinney a hot commodity for us.”

  But there was so much more than that. “She seemed unhappy that your aunt is out of the country.”

  “We all are,” he said with a flicker in his eyes that could be interpreted only as regret for having said a word.

  “Why?”

  He took a slow inhale and blew it out. “It’s a boring story.”

  “Take a drink,” she joked, making him smile. After a second, she leaned a little closer. “There’s nothing boring about a secret,” she whispered. “I’m kind of building my whole career on them.”

  He slid her a glance. “Is that really what you want? Secrets and lies?”

  “Not lies,” she shot back. “Please, for heaven’s sake, no lies.”

  His expression softened as he held her gaze for two full heartbeats. “Then don’t go after idle gossip, which is nothing you’d want to include in a book as factual and accurate as yours.”

  “You sure seem to care about it.”

  “I care about anything that affects the Blackthorne brand.”

  “Idle gossip?”

  “Can wreck acquisition deals,” he told her.

  That made sense…sort of. “And the secret?”

  He snorted. “Sarah is reading too much into that night.”

  “What happened?”

  He shifted in his seat and turned to look out the window, silent, which only made Jenna want to know more.

  She added a little pressure to his shoulder with hers. “Hey.”

  He turned, brows raised. “Hey?”

  “I’d say hey to David.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I thought you weren’t lying anymore…David.” She whispered the last word so only he could hear it.

  For a long moment, he said nothing, searching her face, lingering over her mouth long enough to make her feel a natural and feminine response.

  “Should I put my glasses on?” he asked with a hopeful tease.

  “Not going to lie. I thought they were kinda sexy.” Then she smiled. “Which takes nerve coming from a woman who looked like a drowned mongoose when we met.”

  “Obviously, I thought that mongoose was hot.”

  A slow smile pulled at her lips. “And got hotter as the night went on.”

  He gave a slight grunt. “I’m trying to forget.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” she admitted.

  “It’s not easy.”

  “So not easy.” She laughed and turned to face him. “Sometimes, I catch a glimmer of…David, and I’m…” Hungry for more. “Sad he’s gone.”

  “He’s not gone.”

  The words, whispered right into her ear, sent chills through her and started a familiar burn low in her belly. She shouldn’t do this, and she knew it. But holding his gaze, touching his arm, losing herself in the look in his eyes…it was all too tempting.

  He hesitated a moment, then leaned to his left, touched the armrest, and a dark privacy panel rose between them and the driver. The move was slick, subtle, and downright sexy.

  She tried to swallow, but her throat was tight. If he kissed her…could she possibly stop, get out of this limo, and send him away?

  He held his finger up as if asking her to wait and touched one of his eyes, then the other. “Disposables,” he said, rubbing his fingers on a handkerchief he produced.

  “Did you just take your contacts out?” she asked on a soft, surprised laugh.

  “Yep. And now this.” He reached to his tie knot, loosened it, then slowly and deliberately pulled the silky fabric until it opened. Every second, her mouth grew drier and her heart beat faster.

  He slid the tie off completely, then, still holding her gaze and giving her the slightest smile, he reached into the jacket that lay next to him, pulled out the same glasses he wore last night, and put them on.

  “Clark Kent is back,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and tight.

  “You can call me David.” He put his hand on her cheek, stroking it with a touch that somehow managed to be hot and feather-light. “The man you ride in cars with. The man you run in the rain with. The man you…” He came a little closer, near enough that she could feel his breath and had to close her eyes to handle the impact. “Kiss.”

  She tilted her head so his lips landed exactly where she wanted them on her mouth, sucking in a soft breath at the shock of just how good it felt. He kept the kiss light, maddeningly so, more of a brush of lips than the dozens of kisses they’d shared last night.

  But when she groaned at the sheer pleasure of his mouth, he slid his hand under her hair and eased her closer, adding pressure and warmth and the sweet tip of his tongue.

  Jenna closed her eyes and shut out all the many thoughts that said it was wrong, stupid, foolish, and dangerous to kiss the man who could make or break this book for her. Instead, she just listened to the hum of blood in her head, the sound of their heartbeats, and the sigh that he let out when they parted.

  “David,” she whispered, reaching up to take those glasses off for the next kiss. “I kissed David, not Brock.” She slid the glasses into his unbuttoned shirt and leaned in for another kiss.

  He laughed. “I can bring him out to play anytime you want.” He opened his mouth a little, and she did the same, both of them shuddering as a now familiar burn flickered into a fire in her body.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he whispered as the car came to a stop.

  Bad idea. So bad.

  “Okay, but tell your driver to wait for you,” she replied. “I have to turn all that Blackthorne history into notes tonight.”

  “Of course,” he said, but the glint of disappointment was easy to read.

  “You know anything else would be crazy,” she said.

  “Insane,” he agreed.

  “Ruinous.”

  He laughed. “An absolute tragedy.”

  “It would be…”

  He kissed her lightly as he tapped on the window for Hoyt to get the door. “Just the worst night ever. Again.”

  Still smiling at the exchange, they climbed out as the driver waited, and Brock walked her into the empty lobby and to the elevator. There, he put on his glasses, a mix of dark rims and wire frames.

  “Never t
hought these things would get me a girl.”

  She tapped his chest. “You didn’t get her tonight.”

  When the doors opened, she stepped inside and held up one hand to keep him out. He gave a simple nod, but she saw the heat in his eyes and the promise and longing and lust he didn’t bother to hide.

  Then the doors closed, and she fell back against the wall.

  Stupid. Crazy. Insane. Dangerous. Foolish. Ruinous. Tragic.

  Yeah, it would be all those things.

  And so damn good.

  It wasn’t until Jenna reached her hotel room and put the key in the door that she realized that Brock Blackthorne had just used the oldest form of distraction known to man. What better way to stop her line of questioning than…that? But, oh wow. What a way to go.

  If she could make it through the next three weeks without getting in bed with him again, it would be as much of a miracle as if she sold this proposal.

  She knew which of those two things she needed more. And she had to remember that.

  Chapter Seven

  She could get used to this.

  Jenna stepped into the summer sunshine the next morning and caught the eye of Brock’s driver outside of the hotel, waiting next to an understated black town car.

  “Ms. Gillespie,” he said with a nod, instantly moving to open the back door. “How are you this morning?”

  She gave him her brightest smile to cover that she was exhausted from a night of writing and research that ended at three in the morning. “I’m wonderful, Hoyt. Or is it Mr. Hoyt?” She angled her head and gave the silver-haired man a smile. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  His eyes flickered with surprise as he gestured for her to get in the car. “Hoyt Ashgrove, ma’am, and there is not much to know.”

  So Blackthornes trained their employees to answer that way, too. “I don’t believe that’s true about anyone,” she said as she situated herself in the back seat. “I bet, by the time we get to Blackthorne Enterprises, I’ll know your secret.”

  “Don’t have one,” he said on a chuckle. “Plus, it’s only a mile or so, ma’am. And I know how to avoid traffic.”

  “Plenty of time,” she said, unfazed.

  She had her first question ready by the time he climbed in behind the steering wheel. “Do you have kids, Hoyt?”

  “Our son, Sean, is deployed in Afghanistan right now, and so is his wife.” She could hear the pride in his voice and noticed that when he said it, he reached forward and touched the dashboard. When his hand moved, she could see he’d grazed his finger over a piece of white paper with tiny writing.

  “That must be difficult for you.”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine. Marines, both of them, and tough as nails.” His voice trailed off as he turned into traffic, and maybe realized his job wasn’t to chat up the Blackthorne guests when he drove them. But he hadn’t driven Jenna Gillespie alone yet.

  “Have you worked for the Blackthornes very long?” she asked, keeping her questions as light and conversational as possible, just like her mother taught her as a way to open up a subject.

  “Almost a decade,” he said. “I’ve had many jobs with the company, too. I drove the senior Mr. Blackthorne for several years and now work primarily for Brock and fill in as a driver for some of the others in the family.”

  She inched forward with interest. “Have you driven Mrs. Blackthorne?” Maybe he could shed some light on what happened with Claire, because that was one aspect of this family she hadn’t found in any article, interview, or marketing material she’d been through until the wee hours.

  “Yes, I have,” he said with a smile. “Mrs. B has been so good to my little granddaughter.”

  Oh. He had a young granddaughter? And his son and daughter-in-law were both deployed? She squinted at the small piece of paper he’d touched, not able to read it, but she could see from the tiny numbers with a colon between them that it must be a Bible quote.

  “When little Janie turned four last fall, Mrs. B made sure we had the most amazing birthday party for her,” he continued. “Clowns, balloons, one of those big bouncy houses.”

  “How sweet.” So Claire was thoughtful, family-oriented, and generous. And in Europe.

  “It took the sting out of her parents not being here, you know.” She heard the pain in the words and imagined just how difficult it was for this family.

  “Are you taking care of Janie while her parents are deployed?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. Never thought I’d be tripping over toys and dolls at sixty-eight, but there you have it.” He chuckled and crossed the intersection, slowing down in front of the Hancock Tower. “I’m available all day, Ms. Gillespie, if you need a driver. Just talk to Karen, Brock’s assistant.”

  “I will, Hoyt, thank you.” She gathered her bag as he parked, waiting for him to climb out and open the door for her.

  “I told you I was rather uninteresting,” he said as she stepped out.

  “A man who spoils his granddaughter with toys, prays for her parents every day, and has postponed retirement to make sure he can provide for her no matter what?”

  His jaw loosened.

  “I’d say you’re quite interesting, Hoyt.”

  “But you didn’t get any secret,” he said with a smile. “Raising my granddaughter and praying for her is no secret. I’m proud of both.”

  “I bet you are. And I’m so pleased to hear the Blackthornes are so supportive. I’ll be sure to work that into the book I’m writing.”

  He nodded. “Mr. Blackthorne told me you were writing a tell-all.”

  She couldn’t help curling her lip at the expression. “I prefer to think of it as an in-depth study of a fascinating family.”

  “They are that,” he agreed.

  “Who do you think is the best person to interview?” she asked as they walked toward the building, comfortable that the short ride had developed a good rapport. “The senior Mr. Blackthorne?”

  He snorted. “Good luck getting time with him.”

  “Brock’s admin?” The support staff always knew good stuff.

  “She’ll never say a thing that Brock wouldn’t.” He glanced from side to side. “You want to talk to Mrs. B, but…” His expression fell.

  “Do you think she’ll be coming back soon?”

  On a sigh, he pulled the heavy glass door. “I sure hope so,” he said quietly. “Janie keeps asking about her.”

  It seemed like everyone felt the absence of this great lady. Why would she take off from her birthday party and leave so many people missing her? Jenna tucked the question away and ended the conversation with a bright smile.

  “Shopkins,” she said to him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Next time you’re at a drugstore, ask if they have Shopkins. Janie will love them.”

  He frowned. “New one on me.”

  She remembered the interview she’d done with Susannah Villeneuve while her little girl had played in a mountain of toys, interrupting constantly to show Jenna the miniature dollhouse items. “It’s my pro tip for you.”

  He grinned. “Shopkins. Good to know, Ms. Gillespie.”

  “Now I better go. I’m already late, and I have a feeling Brock won’t like that at all.”

  “No, he doesn’t do late.” As he held the door to the Hancock Tower lobby, he dipped his head and narrowed his eyes a bit. “So here’s my pro tip. If you go around the bank of elevators to the right, take a short hall and look for the sign that says Private Express, that elevator only goes to executive levels in the building. Take it to the fifty-third floor, and you’ll go straight to Blackthorne’s mahogany row. You just have to key in 1108, which is the Blackthorne family code.”

  She pointed playfully. “See? I got a secret from you after all.”

  He laughed. “Well, I guess you did. But that number’s not that tough to figure out, since it has to be something everyone in the family can remember.”

  “Eleven-o-eight?” she asked, trying to gu
ess what it was.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorne’s wedding anniversary.”

  “Good to know, and thank you, sir.” She gave a little formal bow, which he returned, along with that sparkle in his eye, giving her the confidence—and insider info—to head straight to the executive express elevator.

  There, a handsome older man stood waiting for the elevator, looking down at a picture on his phone. She stole the quickest glance, catching the image of a woman with long, silver hair, but stayed a few feet away so as not to be rude. And then she took a closer look at the man and sucked in a little breath of recognition, making him instantly turn to her.

  “Graham Blackthorne?” she asked, since it was obvious she’d recognized him.

  He lifted his brows, which were darker than his salt-and-pepper hair, interest glinting in dark eyes that reminded her very much of Brock. His jaw was still defined, despite his sixty years, and he had broad shoulders and an imposing air that oozed power and wealth.

  “I’m Jenna Gillespie.” She reached out her hand to shake his. “Working on a project with your nephew Brock.”

  “Ad agency?” he guessed, giving her a cursory, but strong handshake.

  “No, no, I’m in publishing.”

  The doors opened, and he let her go first, then crossed his arms and looked toward the keypad, as if daring her to know the secret code. She probably wasn’t supposed to be in here, but she sure didn’t want to miss this chance.

  Without Brock to steer and guide the conversation, this moment was interview gold. And Brock would no doubt be furious not to be next to her when she talked to a Blackthorne, but right now, opportunity knocked. Well, it presented a keypad, which she touched with one confident index finger.

  “One-one-oh-eight,” she said brightly as she keyed in the numbers.

  He kept a keen gaze on her. “What was it you said you’re doing with Brock?”

  “I didn’t say.” She reached into the side of her bag and pulled out a card she kept handy. “I’m writing a book about your family, Mr. Blackthorne.”

  “A book?” A frown furrowed his brow as he read her card. “I know nothing about this.”