by Regan Black
Upstairs, his mother joined him near the balcony railing. Side by side, they silently admired an enormous canvas on the floor below. He couldn’t speak with authority to the style or interpretation, but he saw a storm raging on the sea, slamming into a rocky coastline with great force that he could practically feel. Somewhere in the Pacific, he thought. He couldn’t decide if the painting left him feeling empowered or cowed.
In his layman’s opinion, a painting with that much life and power would only fit in a library or museum setting. Or maybe the house he’d once imagined owning, a place with clean, modern lines, soaring ceilings and windows that let in tons of natural light where he and his wife would raise their kids. He really needed to let that vision go, at least while he was on active duty.
His gaze drifted back to Charlotte. It was far more enjoyable to study the artist rather than review the way his career had tanked his past relationships.
“No,” his mother said, low enough that she wouldn’t be overheard.
“No what?” he asked.
“Do you think I’ve forgotten your face?” she queried.
Unsure what that meant, Mark gave her his most innocent expression. “I think you’ve thought I was Luke more than once, whether you’re mom-enough to admit it or not.” The long-standing family joke referencing his twin was the best diversion he could offer with his mind on the stormy scene.
Patricia Riley had left her career in the army nursing corps to raise her five children and keep house and home while her husband moved up through the ranks to become one of the army’s most admired generals. She had bright eyes, a wicked sense of humor and a smile that could slice to the bone or soothe any heartache. Never once had her husband or children doubted her devotion, wisdom or courage. Her standards were high and, in Mark’s mind, disappointing her was the worst consequence a kid could suffer for a mistake or poor choices.
“You look nice tonight,” he added for good measure. Since his father retired, she’d sworn off dressing up and fancy occasions. For Charlotte, she’d made an exception. In a trim black dress and classic pearls, she didn’t look like the mother of five adults with intense military careers.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, Patricia angled away from the gallery below to pin him with an unflinching gaze that cut straight to the point. “I am mom-enough to speak candidly to my son, a young man I admire and respect. And whom I love dearly,” she added after a brief pause.
“Young?” He cocked an eyebrow. He supposed thirty was young if you were looking at it from the parental side of the equation. In his line of work, he’d passed young several years ago. These days, he was almost to the top of the hill, and occasionally peering over the edge.
He’d noticed the changes in recent years. It required more discipline and effort, extra reps and fewer beers to stay in peak mental and physical condition for himself and his team. His experience was valued, but a SEAL who couldn’t keep up with the demands was quickly shuffled into a less active role. Just when he’d thought a change was right, he’d been sidelined against his will thanks to the recent attacks on his family. The situation had had the unexpected benefit of revealing he wasn’t ready to make that shift yet.
“You are too jaded for Charlotte,” she said baldly.
What did that mean? She was a family friend. He wasn’t here to stalk through the gallery and carry Lottie off, her long, silky strawberry blond curls trailing over his arm. The notion was far more appealing than it should’ve been. And recognizing the tension in Charlotte earlier, he wondered if she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Once she got over the heavy-handed approach.
“Mark.”
“Mom,” he said, mimicking her exasperated tone.
She wasn’t impressed. “Promise me you won’t do something foolish.”
He supposed he’d earned that, having embraced his role as the gregarious son, always happy to flirt outrageously or crack a joke, often at his own expense to put others at ease. On top of that, he was the only Riley child to buck his army upbringing and join the navy. Still, he gave her an arch look on principle. “Being expertly trained in a variety of subjects, I find myself offended.”
She aimed her eyes heavenward in that way she’d developed whenever he and his twin brother, Luke, gave her grief. “Stop it. Stuffy and overblown doesn’t suit you.”
“Good. Interfering and nosy doesn’t suit you,” he countered.
“It does too.” Grinning, she patted his cheek. “Expertly trained mother at your service.”
She was, that was true. Always there to celebrate, soothe or redirect them as needed. “Well, no need to worry. I don’t have any romantic designs on Lottie.”
“Hmm. Is that an attempt at reverse psychology? I know you have too much free time right now and the two of you are in the same city.”
“Make up your mind, Mom.” Laughing, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I thought you wanted me to find an intelligent, caring and pretty girl to settle me down.” He’d been close to succeeding once. Now he wasn’t so sure all three traits existed in the same woman. “Isn’t Lottie all of those things?”
“Are you implying you’re ready to settle down? That would be music to my ears.” She rubbed his back as she’d done countless times throughout his life. Here he was, part of an elite team of operators and he still appreciated that sweet maternal affection.
He hadn’t missed the way she dodged his question. Obviously, Charlotte was pretty and she was definitely intelligent. Caring? That wasn’t an easy one to answer. Who knew what made a woman start or stop caring about a man?
His mom was right; he was jaded, and being the wife of a career army officer, she understood the risks he’d overcome better than most. But those experiences piled up, putting much more than a five-year age difference between him and the sunny, vibrant Charlotte. While he couldn’t deny he found her attractive, she wasn’t a woman to flirt with lightly.
“I’m closer,” he admitted, giving his mom a winning smile. “But there isn’t anyone in particular on my radar. Not even Lottie.”
Hope, concern and disappointment rippled across his mother’s face in rapid succession. He had no idea how to interpret or respond to any of those reactions. It all came from love, he supposed. And he knew she only wanted the best for him.
For Charlotte too. The Hanovers, Sue Ellen and Ron and their children, were as much a part of the Riley family as any of his blood relations. So it stung a little that his mother seemed to think he wasn’t good enough for her honorary niece. He battled back a surge of irritability, the result of being off the active operations team for too long.
“I should get going. Early PT,” he lied.
“We’ll see you at the beach house soon?” she asked.
“Sure.” There wasn’t anything better to do with his weekends now that he was riding a desk and running training simulations thanks to the Riley Hunter. “I’ll definitely come down for the Fourth of July.”
“Great.” She beamed. “Caleb will be thrilled to hear it.”
Mark scanned the crowd milling about on the main floor, searching for his nephew. “I’ll let him know on my way out.” It was a good way to reassure his mom he wouldn’t back out of the promised visit.
“Love you.” She kissed his cheek. “Be safe.” The final words chased him as he strode away. She’d made that particular farewell a habit when he and his siblings started driving on their own. These days she’d put it back into use because of the ever-present threat hanging over the family.
By leaving, he was probably increasing the safety factor at the gallery. There was no telling when Eaton would make another attempt to embarrass, undermine or flat-out kill one of the Riley children. Though Mark hadn’t received any overt threats like Grace Ann and Matt, everyone involved believed he’d be the next target, since he was next in the birth order. Even if he wanted to
settle down, this would be the worst time to bring a woman into his life. Catching sight of Charlotte, her hair glowing under the perfect lighting, he was grateful for the protective detail hovering inside and out.
Mark had read through the security plan earlier. A patrol team was posted on the rooftops of neighboring buildings and another team cycled through the gallery with the guests. If anyone stepped a toe out of line, they’d be subdued and questioned, with the primary goal of gathering information on Eaton’s location.
Restless and uncharacteristically grumpy after his conversation with his mom, Mark decided on a little recon of his own.
* * *
Charlotte had never been entirely comfortable in the spotlight, but having Mark in the gallery made her big night a thousand times worse. She was too aware of him, always had been. She couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t been charmed by his quick wit or the laughter lurking in his eyes. And that dimple when he smiled... It made her melt.
The man was a serious threat to her peace of mind. Inwardly, she scolded herself for giving only half an ear to her conversation with a lovely couple, longtime clients of the gallery, while keeping tabs on Mark. Her gaze seemed drawn to him when he was upstairs, when he paused to pick up a beer at the bar, when he circled through the smaller gallery rooms. It was like being in the throes of her crush as a teenager all over again.
Long before her first real kiss, she’d daydreamed about kissing Mark, holding his hand on vague romantic dates. Outrageous fantasies, considering the age gap, but her young heart was stuck on him. Back then, five years might as well have been a century. Eventually, he drifted out of her life and into his career. She grew up and gained a more realistic framework of dating and relationships, though none of her boyfriends had completely exorcised her image of Mark as the perfect guy.
And being the target of his charming smile was all it took to bring that image back to the top of her mind. What awful timing.
For weeks, she’d been envisioning this night the way an athlete might visualize a critical performance or important game. Tonight had the potential to change everything. These connections could propel her name into the right circles, open more doors and launch her career as an independent artist. She loved working as an art therapist, but taking this past year to stretch herself had revealed a new facet of her passion. What she wanted more than anything was to develop a retreat for artists and creatives, maybe even hold camps for students. Tonight could be the first step on that path.
To prepare, Marisol had employed role-playing conversations and drilled Charlotte in the art of graciously accepting compliments. None of her practice scenarios included an appearance by Mark. Naturally, her agent wouldn’t have thought about the possibility because she didn’t know about Charlotte’s lifelong infatuation with the man. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he would even be available to attend.
Having him here threw everything off-kilter. She wanted to put the world on pause or hide in the back room until she could adjust to being in the same vicinity as his perfect body and devilish grin again.
She hadn’t seen him in person since a summer party a few years ago when the families had rented cottages in Cape May. Mark had brought his girlfriend on that trip. In the Riley family, that kind of move indicated a serious commitment. Charlotte had done her best to be a supportive extra sister, ignoring the last of her teenage heartbreak. She’d vowed to be happy when the wedding announcement arrived, but it never had. She hadn’t asked for any details, too worried that her crush would be revealed.
He hadn’t brought a date tonight.
As he strolled by, for what must have been the third time, she felt like a shipwrecked sailor, helpless against the circling of a hungry shark. Every time her gaze landed on him, temptation swelled through her. This wasn’t good, couldn’t be healthy.
If she asked, would he kiss her? An experiment between friends was all she needed. If he agreed, she could finally stop wondering and know what his lips felt like against hers. Then she could put an end to this fixation.
Losing track of yet another conversation, she covered the gaffe with a smile. “Please excuse me.” She apologized for interrupting the older gentleman quizzing her about a painting and stepped into Mark’s wake. Hopefully her intent to catch up with him wasn’t too obvious.
She found him chatting with a teenage boy she didn’t recognize. “Pardon me—”
“Perfect timing,” Mark interrupted her. “Caleb, this is the artist of the evening, Charlotte Hanover.” He winked at her over the boy’s head. “Charlotte, my nephew, Caleb.”
The relationship raised a dozen questions, but she kept them to herself. How and why had her mother never mentioned the next generation of Rileys was in the works?
“He’s Matt’s oldest,” Mark said cheerfully, his warm brown eyes alight with mischief. “It’s a great story.”
“I’m sure it is.” Charlotte could see the Riley genes in the boy’s eyes and smile. Better to keep her nose out of it than ask the wrong question. “Is this your first art show, Caleb?”
He nodded. “Other than school or museums.”
“I’m honored you’re here,” Charlotte replied. She enjoyed talking with kids more than adults. Younger people were typically more direct and willing to share an honest opinion once they warmed to the topic. Or her.
“They said it was a family event.” He shrugged one shoulder, his cheeks coloring a little. “Not that it isn’t great.”
She liked him immediately and she got the sense that he didn’t mind family things as much as he let on. “Are you bored?”
Caleb’s gaze brightened. “I thought I would be, but it’s actually cool.”
High praise, she thought, and more sincere than some of the conversations she’d had this evening. As she and Caleb walked toward one of the smaller rooms, he candidly shared his opinion on various pieces. Following a hunch, she mentioned comic books. He jumped at the topic and they discussed pros, cons and his favorite comic book characters and artists. By the time they met up with Caleb’s mom, Bethany, and Matt, Charlotte felt as if she’d made a new friend. Possibly created a new fan of art, in general.
“Well, he’s hooked for life,” Mark said from just behind her. “Nice job.”
She managed to keep all the fluttery tremors on the inside. “Thank you,” she replied in the same friendly tone she’d practiced in the mirror for the past month. “Some lucky girl down the line will be grateful that such a cutie can talk about something other than sports or pizza.”
Mark tilted his head. “Is that some kind of jab at my lousy conversational skills at fifteen?”
“Not at all. If memory serves, you could talk bark off a tree at his age.”
“Someone had to be the chatty twin,” he pointed out.
She laughed, hoping the sound came out more like an amused, accomplished woman than a giggly, bubbleheaded girl. That was forever her trouble with Mark. He was approachable, friendly and though he teased her on occasion, he was never unkind. The hang-up had always been on her side, in her heart and mind where hormones and daydreams twisted up the friendly signals, weaving them into a delectable, impossible world that revolved around that handsome face.
“Actually Luke was chatty enough with me earlier,” she said.
Mark’s dark eyebrows snapped together. “About what?”
“Hmm? Oh, Italy. He vacationed in the same region where I studied abroad for a semester.” What was it about Mark that got her all wound up while his twin easily fit into the brotherly category? It made zero sense to her when they looked so much alike.
She made an effort to study Mark objectively. He currently wore a close-trimmed beard that flattered his strong jaw and highlighted the lone dimple. His dark suit was typical of those worn by the majority of the men in attendance. But to her, he wasn’t typical at all.
Mark inquired about Italy, t
hen asked her how she’d prepared for this show. She found herself inexplicably at ease as the party swirled around them, a blur of color, light and sound. Thank goodness. It was high time adult Charlotte showed up for these interactions.
While they chatted, she caught Mark scanning the room, his gaze occasionally settling on one person or another. Was he expecting someone? Please, not a date. Before she could ask what or whom he might be looking for, Marisol appeared and tugged her away to speak with an interested patron and a gallery owner visiting from the West Coast.
She didn’t recall invitations going that far out of the area, but there was no time to ask for clarification. Marisol made introductions and Charlotte smiled through the poorly veiled condescension as the two men grilled her about her alma mater, her mentors both here and abroad and her brush techniques. Marisol abandoned her to the not-quite-polite interrogation with a bolstering thumbs-up behind their backs as she darted away to sweet-talk someone else on Charlotte’s behalf.
To her immense relief, Patricia Riley drew her away from the men a few minutes later. “How are you holding up?”
“Better now,” she replied. Mark’s mother had a knack for seeing right to the heart of any person or issue. “Thanks for the save, Aunt Patricia.”
“They sounded like a couple of jerks.” Patricia cast a glance over her shoulder.
“To paraphrase my agent, jerks with money must not be ignored,” Charlotte whispered.
“Maybe they should be. On a case-by-case basis, of course.” She aimed a subtle glare at the pair. “Earlier, that snobby gallery owner overheard Caleb talking about your redwood landscapes and had the nerve to correct his opinion,” she said. “It’s art and he’s a kid.” Patricia shook her head. “Ben kept me from putting the snob in his place.”
Charlotte smothered a snort. “That would have been fun to watch.”
“That’s what I said.” Patricia winked. “My overprotective mother-bear mode only seems to intensify with age.” She waved the observation aside. “You’re handling this evening with amazing grace and patience. We’re all so proud of you.”
