“You’re not a problem, Vanessa. You’re my sister. We’ve got to stick together.”
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back, determined to stay stalwart. “I never knew you felt that way.”
A cloud passes and a shaft of sunlight beams through the wall of glass, illuminating his moss green irises. His focus shifts to the world outside and softens. “You can thank Dakota. She’s taught me a lot about family.”
This peek into Sam’s mind is both welcome and unexpected. Sam, Venetia, and I grew up in a world of nannies and boarding schools, in an atmosphere where wealth and status meant more than relationships or feelings. Although I love my parents, they both betrayed me, sacrificing our happiness for their own selfish needs. I won’t repeat their mistakes with my children.
Unable to speak, I close my fingers around his. The interlude lasts less than a few seconds. Uncomfortable with the emotional display, Sam clears his throat and shifts back in his chair. In the blink of an eye, he’s once again the corporate shark.
“We don’t have to be like Maxwell. We can do better for our children,” he says. Truer words have never been spoken. My children mean the world to me. I want them to feel loved and wanted; something I never experienced.
“When my kids come to stay in the fall, I’d like them to meet you.” They need a positive male influence in their lives. Although Giles is a caring father, he’s more concerned with shagging his new wife than spending time with his children.
“Not even a question. Dakota loves to get the family together—a lot.” The way he rolls his eyes doesn’t fool me. He’s smitten with his wife. “I’m sure you’ll be sick of us in a few months.”
“I can’t wait.” We share a smile. My previous unease dissipates. It’s good to know someone has your back, someone without an agenda other than your welfare. I shift the conversation away from the past and toward the future. “Just how angry do you think Cam is?”
“Judging by the expression on his face, he’s in his office right now, plotting revenge.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “I’ve had dealings with him before. He’s an opportunist. If he thinks we’re weak, he’s going to pounce. And he’ll do anything to win.”
“So will I. What do you suggest?”
“The rest of the business world will be watching to see how Blackwood handles this shift in control. Believe it or not, he’s powerful. And he’s got the edge right now. If he jumps ship, the rest of our investors will follow. You need to smooth things over with him. At least for the present. We can’t afford to lose Seaforth Media. It brought in over ten billion dollars last year.”
“I won’t apologize when I’m not in the wrong.” Seeing Cam has renewed the sting of his betrayal. I’ll never get over what he did. Never. And there’s also the matter of my wounded pride. Like my father, it’s always been one of my biggest flaws.
Sam’s jaw hardens. “You don’t have a choice. Unpleasant problems call for unpleasant remedies. Either you suck it up and make this right, or you’re not going to cut it in this position. The decision is up to you. I’ll support you either way, but you need to understand what’s at stake.”
He stands to leave but pauses at a framed photo near the door. It’s a picture of Gaston and Lisle, taken a few months before I returned to Laurel Falls. They’re standing in front of the Fontaine Dragon in the gardens of Versailles. I swallow down the thickness in my throat, remembering the day. Lisle smiles, eyes lit with delight over the fanciful dragons and cupids spouting streams of water. Gaston’s bright blue eyes shine in the afternoon sunlight, his black hair ruffled by the wind.
“It’s one of their favorite places,” I say. “Have you been to Versailles?”
“No.” He’s still staring at the picture, Gaston in particular. “Lisle looks just like you.”
“Yes.” Tension curls my fingers. Sam’s a smart man. How long before he—and the rest of the world—connects the dots?
5
Vanessa
Twelve Years Ago
One o’clock in the morning, and I’ve yet to shut my eyes. It’s sultry in this old house. With all their millions, I can’t believe the Avondales don’t have air conditioning. Mr. Avondale says it threatens the integrity of the historic architecture, but I think he’s too frugal to spend the money. I throw aside the sheet and pad over to the window, hoping for a cool breeze. Nothing. With two fingers, I pluck the fabric of my tank top away from my chest and blow to cool my skin. Blue moonlight bathes the gardens below, cool and inviting. I slip my feet into a pair of sandals and sneak down the stairs.
Outside, I pick my way through the grass toward the gazebo. White Grecian columns shine in the moonlight. The wood steps creak beneath my weight. The interior is dark and quiet. I curl up on the wicker settee and luxuriate in the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs. My eyelids grow heavy and almost close until a twig snaps in the trees to my left. I bolt into a sitting position. Footsteps crackle through the underbrush. Fear snakes down my spine. A tall shadow darkens the doorway. I’m about to scream when Cam’s voice turns my terror into surprise.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” he says. He moves into a shaft of moonlight. His features come into focus, sharp and clean. Thick black eyebrows slant over intelligent, almond-shaped eyes. His nose is straight and narrow, jaw square. The darkness heightens the shroud of mystery surrounding him.
“What are you doing out here?” I ease back into the cushions but remain wary. Cam’s give me no reason to doubt his motives, but trust doesn’t come easily for me. Most people want to use me as a boost for their social status, to gain access to my parents, or weasel money out of my bank account.
“I couldn’t sleep, and it’s hotter than balls in the house.” His gaze roves over me. “What’s your excuse?”
My nipples pucker under the scrutiny and poke through the thin cotton of my shirt. I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t sleep much. A couple of hours a night, if I’m lucky.”
“Sucks, huh?” He takes a seat next to me and slings an arm over the backrest.
He’s shirtless, and I can’t take my eyes off his chest. It’s thick and broad and covered with just the right amount of hair. My fingers curl with the desire to dig into it. Even though I try not to look, I can’t help but notice the happy trail that dives into the waistband of his shorts over a smooth, flat belly.
“I’ve got a prescription for insomnia, but I can’t wake up the next morning when I take it. I hate being groggy more than I hate being tired. You’re welcome to try it, if you want. The prescription, I mean.” Words tumble out of my mouth. I bite my lower lip to stop them.
“No thanks. I prefer natural methods.” His arm brushes the back of my neck. The tiny hairs on my body lift in a pleasantly unexpected way.
“Like what?” I shift in the opposite direction and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Jesus, he’s a big guy, not bulky, but streamlined. Next to him, I feel small and dainty.
“Diet, exercise…” His focus dips to my lips. “Sex.”
“Oh.” A fine sweat breaks out on forehead but not because of the weather.
“Did you know a man’s body chemistry changes after sex? Fucking releases a chemical called prolactin. It relaxes our muscles and causes us to fall asleep.” The casual way he says fucking sends my girly parts into a frenzy. I want to hear him whisper that dirty word in my ear.
“I thought it was rudeness.”
He laughs. “Sounds like you know from personal experience.”
“None of the guys I’ve been with have stuck around long enough to put the theory to the test.”
“That so?” He leans back and spreads his knees wider until his bare thigh presses against mine. The casual contact dampens my panties. I slam my knees together to dull the sudden ache. “I can’t imagine.”
Can’t imagine what? Having sex with me? I’m not sure how to reply so I stay silent. He exhales and removes his arm from the backrest. I’m aware of him in a way I’ve never experienced before, h
is breath, his body heat. A tingle skips along my side.
The silence makes me nervous, so I grasp for a topic. “Why aren’t you going to the dinner party?”
“I wasn’t invited.” The lack of bitterness in his voice startles me. “Wouldn’t want the riff-raff to spoil the meal, would we?”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“Come on. You know what I mean. I’m not one of you. I’m the poor, dirty half-breed from the wrong side of the tracks.” He stands and walks to the steps. I follow him. His back is long and smooth; a column of muscle runs down each side of his spine. The waistband of his drawstring shorts hangs low enough to reveal a dimple above each one of his butt cheeks and the V-cut of muscle below his hip bones. “‘Tristan, we can’t have that boy at the table. What would our friends say?’” His impression of Mrs. Avondale’s soft southern accent is perfect.
“She said that to you?” Rage burns through my veins on his behalf. “That’s bullshit.”
One of his shoulders lifts and drops, and when he turns around, his expression is blank. “She didn’t say it to my face. I overheard her when she thought I was out of the room.”
“I’m sorry.” My fingernails bite into my palms. “I’ll say something to her.”
“Not necessary.” He locks his gaze with mine. Slowly, he extends a hand to me, like he’s afraid I might bolt. My heart skips a beat when the backs of his fingers slide down my arm. His touch is tentative, gentle, savoring. “It’s my fight, princess. I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not a princess.” The nickname brings up a lifetime of unpleasant memories. Paparazzi has tracked my every move for as long as I can remember, dubbing me the Princess of Seaforth.
“Oh, you’re a princess, alright, and your daddy is the freaking king.”
The moon passes behind a cloud, covering his face in shadows. The darkness heightens my awareness of his body, the rise and fall of his chest, the heat from his skin. My breasts ache. The clouds recede, but not the desire.
“I can’t help who my father is, any more than you can help who your parents are.”
“True.” His gaze dips to my mouth and holds there for two infinite heartbeats. “But you definitely got the better deal.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s not…” The words die on my lips. I have no idea how to explain Maxwell Seaforth, his coldness, or complete lack of interest in his daughters. “He’s not a nice person.”
One of his eyebrows arches. “What did he do? Ground you from using the yacht?”
“I’ve never been on the yacht.” I’ve never even seen it. The one time I asked if we could take a vacation on the yacht, Maxwell laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Once he stopped laughing, he informed me that vacations were for lazy people and the yacht was for business—his business. The memory still burns. I never asked again. “I haven’t seen him in forever. He works all the time. Every day. All day. Including holidays. The only thing that matters to him is his precious money.” And Sam—he’s obsessed with Sam, but that’s another story.
“You have everything your heart desires. It can’t be that rough.” He leans back against one of the columns and folds his forearms over his chest. “You have no idea what it’s like to go without food because your father doesn’t pay his support, or wear the same clothes for days on end because you don’t have anything else.”
He’s right. I have no right to complain. To the outsider, my life is perfect, a fairytale existence. I lean against the opposite post and mimic his posture. A cool breeze ruffles through my hair, providing relief from the humidity. How do I convey the dull ache in my chest whenever I see a family, the endless loneliness of boarding schools and dormitories, the constant sensation of being judged for your last name? I know how it sounds, the poor rich girl whining about the inequity of her life, so I say nothing and stare across the garden.
“My father’s not a nice person either. I guess we’ve got that in common.” There’s wistfulness in his tone that draws my gaze back to him. “My dad’s in prison for beating my mom to death with a baseball bat.”
This single sentence sends all my preconceptions about this boy into the toilet, and I feel like an ass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“When he got done with her, he went after my ten-year-old sister. He beat her so long and so hard, she lost seven teeth and needed plastic surgery to repair all the shattered bones in her face. She suffered irreparable brain damage.” The cords in his neck tighten, and his fingers curl into fists.
“Why would anyone do a thing like that?” The sheer brutality of the act turns my stomach.
He shrugs and stares into the darkness. “No idea. It could’ve been anything. Maybe Mom put too much salt on his supper or didn’t fold the laundry. It’s hard to tell. He didn’t need a reason most of the time. The last time he hit me, it was because I tripped over his foot when he was asleep in the chair.” One corner of his mouth curls up in a humorless grin. “But that was the last time he ever touched me.” He flexes his hand, staring at his knuckles. “I packed my bags and left. Two months later, he killed Mom.”
His eyes lift to mine. Anger, disappointment, and hurt swim in the blue pools of his irises. He corrals his emotions before the next blink of his long, thick eyelashes. I want to comfort him, to take away his pain, and before I can stop myself, I cup his face. He covers my hand with his. The stubble of his cheek tickles my palm.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.” Words seem inadequate to describe the way I feel. No matter how hard I try, I can’t look away from him.
“I moved away and changed my name.” The break in his voice belies the hard line of his jaw. “I’d appreciate it if you forget I mentioned it. Tristan doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I won’t tell. I promise.”
His fingers curl around mine. He draws my hand away from his face and down to his side. The gesture pulls me against his chest. Our noses hover millimeters apart. My breasts press against a torso hardened with muscle. His free hand tangles in the hair at my nape and tilts my head to align my lips with his. The caveman gesture weakens my knees. The mixture of toughness and vulnerability in his touch awakens desire in every corner of my body. Does he make love the same way? I’ve never been with a guy who actually knew what he was doing, but I’ve got a feeling that situation is about to change.
6
Cam
Twelve Years Ago
I can’t believe I confided my dirtiest, darkest secret to a girl I’ve known less than a day. What the hell is wrong with me? But one look into her green eyes reassures my doubts. She’ll honor her promise to keep my secret.
Memories of my father invoke an anger I can barely control. He stole my mother’s life and my little sister’s future. I’m more infuriated with myself. Instead of running like a coward, I should have been there for them. The passage of time can’t erase my guilt. Every night, when I close my eyes to sleep, I see their faces, replay the scene in my head, wondering how I might have changed the outcome.
“Cam.” Vanessa’s soft voice calls my name, stirring something low in my belly. How long have I been staring? Her eyes are wide, compassionate but not pitying.
My fingers tighten in her hair. Every fiber in my body needs to kiss her. She’s soft and pliable in my hands. Her nipples stab into my chest. I want her in a thousand different ways—most of them illegal in the state of Kentucky—and I’m pretty sure she’d comply. Sex soothes the beast raging inside me, but I refuse to use her like that. She’s too vulnerable, too sweet, for a revenge fuck. I save that for the women who pay me.
Headlights sweep across the garden and briefly illuminate the gazebo. A car door slams. Footsteps crunch over gravel. I gently push Vanessa away, but I can’t resist stroking my fingers through her long hair first. Another place, another time, I would’ve been between her thighs without a second thought.
“That’s Mr. Avondale.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. �
�You’d better go. You don’t want to get caught out here like this.” With me.
She stares into my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can’t look away from her. I sweep a thumb over her trembling lower lip. There are a million reasons why I need to walk away, but I can’t think of a single one. Fuck caution. It’s never done a thing for me. I snake an arm around her waist, pull her to me and take what I want.
When my lips part hers, her tongue meets mine with equal ardor. In two heartbeats, we’re writhing against each other. Her mouth is soft and sweet and tastes of honey. My cock swells. Her hands bury in my hair and tug hard enough to make me growl. I back her up against the column and revel in the feel of her body molding against mine. I can’t get enough.
“Wait.” Her command halts my wandering hands. I swallow and ease away from her.
“Sorry.” Cool air rushes between us. Sometime during our kissing, the temperature has dropped, and the air smells of rain.
“No. It’s okay. I wanted it.” Her gaze dips to my mouth before returning up to my eyes. “But I promised Trish—” The tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her bottom lip like she’s tasting me there, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Promised her what?”
“She likes you.”
“But I don’t like her. I like you.”
“I like you, too, but it wouldn’t be right.”
I draw in a cleansing breath and sweep a shaking hand through my hair. “Pretty, rich, and loyal. Just my luck.”
Drops of rain patter on the grass. A light illuminates one of the downstairs windows.
“I’d better go,” Vanessa says.
“Yeah.” Thunder rumbles in the distance. I watch her jog across the lawn. By the time she reaches the house, her hair and clothing are soaked. At the back door, she turns and lifts a hand before disappearing inside. I wait another ten minutes for my erection to go down before walking back to the house, oblivious to the downpour.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 91
