Deny Me (Southern Nights Enigma Book 4)

by Ella Sheridan

  Saint stopped the car, then rounded to open the back door of the limo. King went first, giving Charlotte an excellent view of the man’s round, firm ass beneath the hem of his tux, before he turned to offer her a hand. Taking a deep breath, she accepted.

  Elliot and Deacon followed them up the right-hand staircase to the open doors. There King offered the invitation that had been couriered to the house, including Ms. Alexander and three guests. The suited attendant didn’t blink as he nodded them inside.

  The black-and-white marble tile in the foyer led the eye directly to a starkly beautiful curved staircase at the back. Wrought-iron spindles marched up each step, a mix of modern and vintage that caught at Charlotte’s imagination each time she saw it. But tonight her breath caught for a different reason—the couple standing near the staircase, their two handsome sons flanking them like blond, blue-eyed bookends. All four held glasses of champagne, and she quickly wished painkillers didn’t preclude a bit of liquid courage when the older son caught sight of them.

  “Charlotte?”

  Wes moved toward them, confusion plain on his face. Something in Charlotte’s stomach eased at that look. If Wes were behind this, he would’ve known she was coming, right? Instead a vee creased his brows as he surveyed their little group.

  “I thought you’d decided against appearances for now,” he admonished as he joined them. Over his shoulder she saw his parents, Warren and Christy Moncrief, and Hugh, their youngest son, moving toward them. King’s grip on her hand tightened briefly as he caught sight of the couple as well, before returning to the polite, gentle hold she detested. Here, in this moment—or, let’s face it, from the moment he’d walked back into her chaotic life—polite was the last thing she wanted. His strength was a blessing she’d always drawn from. If she couldn’t have all of him, she could at least have that, right?

  “Charlotte.” Warren, King’s uncle, directed his attention to her before glancing over his nephew. “Kingsley. This is quite the surprise. I had no idea you were still in Atlanta.”

  A sarcastic twist to King’s mouth said he wasn’t surprised his extended family hadn’t kept track of him. “I am.”

  “King works for JCL Security,” Wes offered.

  “A prestigious firm,” Christy said, sounding impressed. She and her husband appreciated rank as much as wealth, though compared to King’s parents, they were merely snobs. King’s parents…well, they were unbearable. At least Christy and Warren had provided a loving home for their boys.

  King ignored the comment—prestige had never done it for him, Charlotte knew—and turned to offer his hand to Wes’s brother. Hugh had been younger than the rest of them growing up, often tagging along when the teenagers were doing their best to wander off on their own. He’d grown up without a care in the world, and as far as Charlotte knew, he hadn’t taken on any since he reached adulthood. Wes was the hard worker in that family, putting every ounce of energy he had into building his law practice with little more than his genius and an inheritance from his grandmother on Christy’s side. Hugh had never held a job that Charlotte knew of, though he didn’t get into the kind of trouble too many rich, privileged kids so often did.

  “Good to see you, King,” Hugh said, his white teeth shining in a flirty smile that he aimed at Charlotte, then Elliot. “Who’s your friend?”

  Elliot opened her mouth, no doubt to eviscerate the man with her usual disregard for tact, only to have Deacon interrupt. “She’s taken.”

  There was that growl again. Charlotte shivered, and at that moment it clicked—the gravelly rumble was eerily similar to the sound King made when he climaxed. A rough, throaty sound that had extended her own peak every time she heard it. How could she have forgotten?

  “Charlotte?”

  Shaking away the realization—and the heat it generated low in her belly—she focused back in on the conversation. “Yes?”

  Wes’s fingers were on her elbow, tugging her away from the group. A glance at King gave her a small nod; he was watching. She relaxed and allowed Wes to pull her toward him.

  “What’s going on?”

  Her weariness came through in the sigh that escaped. “Creating Families is receiving a surprise donation tonight. I needed to be present.”

  “Surely someone else…” Wes’s lips tightened, his hand coming up to smooth across her cheek. “You should be home taking care of yourself.”

  She would give anything for that to be the case, but… “Duty calls,” she said, giving him a barely there smile.

  Wes glanced back at their group. “You’re here with King.” He cleared his throat. “Is that… What…” His hand balled into a fist against her skin, but when he turned back to her, he relaxed. “Never mind. What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing, really,” she said. “I hope to leave as soon as this donation thing is taken care of. My head’s getting better, but I would rather be anywhere than standing on four-inch heels right now.”

  He pulled her close, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the firm body against hers was the body she dreamed of late at night when no one else knew. “Well, I’m here,” he said, then pulled back slightly. “I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”

  This time she touched him, laying her palm against the broad expanse of his chest. “I do know, Wes. I promise.” I wish I could give you what you want from me. But giving men what they wanted wasn’t her superpower, she knew. First King, now Wes.

  Her friend went stiff against her, and she jerked her thoughts back to the present. “What is it?”

  “Incoming,” Wes muttered. Taking her hand, he dragged her back toward King and the trouble rapidly approaching.

  Chapter Twenty

  King had known it might happen, had even been fairly certain it would, but no amount of mental gymnastics could truly prepare him for the sight of his parents walking across the room toward him.

  Warren and Christy Moncrief were neutral enough. Yes, they were aware of what had happened between King and his parents, and his Uncle Warren hadn’t done anything to stop it or to make certain King landed on his feet, but they hadn’t gone out of their way to ostracize him or trash talk behind his back. They’d simply…ignored the situation. He’d assumed Wes had the same motivation for staying away from him all the years. It appeared he’d been wrong about that; Wes had avoided him out of respect for his choices, and it wasn’t like his cousin could support him even if King needed it—not that he would’ve considered such a deal.

  Seeing his extended family didn’t pierce him like a hot knife, but his parents…

  Arthur Moncrief’s gaze was glued to his brother, not his son. King’s father had aged gracefully, a picture of King’s own face thirty years from now. The fact that they looked like brothers seemed unfair considering. The last words he’d spoken to King had been on the doorstep of their home, right after he’d tossed King’s suitcases—packed by the housekeeper, of course—onto the driveway. “If you refuse to follow the right path, I refuse to support you. Don’t contact me again.”

  The words echoed in his ears even now. No declaration of love, no thought to pride in the son who’d forged his own path to success without help of any kind. His father had never loved him, had only seen him as a means to an end. A source of status.

  His mother, Monica, had felt the same. Why else would she have endured stretch marks and labor? It certainly hadn’t been for a child to adore. Adoration got you nowhere in society.

  Power was the only thing that mattered to either of them.

  “Warren,” Arthur said stiffly. “This is an unpleasant surprise.”

  “Is it?”

  Warren wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Arthur was saying, but it appeared he wished to stay on neutral ground.

  “Arthur,” King forced himself to say. He nodded to his mother. “Monica.”

  Monica’s nose couldn’t go higher in the air, and like Arthur, she refused to look at him.

  Hugh smirked, something like mischief
adding a gleam to his Moncrief blue eyes. “How’s the air up there, Aunt?”

  Monica narrowed her eyes on her nephew.

  “We were just—” Christy began.

  Wes appeared at his mother’s elbow, Charlotte beside him. “We were just catching up on old times.”

  King had expected surprise, but the outright fear in his parents’ expressions at the idea that he might be re-entering their social sphere had sorrow roaring through him. He’d insulated himself from the pain of his family’s lack of relationship, or so he’d thought, but seeing it face-to-face made it difficult to keep those emotions locked away where they couldn’t hurt him. And having his teammate witness it…

  No, he wouldn’t let that disturb him. Elliot wouldn’t feel sorry for him. She was more of a revenge kind of woman, a trait he appreciated. Elliot and Dain and Saint had become his family; he didn’t need this one anymore.

  “Yes, we were,” Charlotte said brightly, sliding her arm through the crook of his. Her warmth heated the left side of his body, the feel of her molded against him pushing away the sourness of this encounter. “King has a lot to be proud of, including a coveted position at the top security firm in the city.”

  Monica sniffed. “Brute force.”

  “It’s fairly effective, especially when you’re protecting some of the richest people in the world,” King said, injecting a touch of humor into the words. He shouldn’t want to take a jab at her, but shaking his mother out of her cold indifference had always been his specialty. Sure enough, a slow red flush crept up Monica’s neck.

  “As I recall,” Arthur said, staring down at Charlotte, “you didn’t find anything to be proud about when he dumped you ten years ago.”

  A collective, if muffled, gasp shot through their group. Arthur ignored it.

  “Not that you’ve done much to improve the family stature since then,” he added. “Your father takes care of that. But it’s to be expected. A daughter can never amount to as much as the perfect son can.”

  A jumble of responses, most of them rabid, pushed against King’s lips. Elliot beat him to the punch.

  Stepping forward, she drew Arthur’s attention with a sexy sway of her body. When his gaze latched on to her breasts, she smirked. “You know, my father felt the same way.” Her fingers trailed up her thigh, exactly where King knew her knife rested, waiting for her skill to wield it. “I thought I showed significant restraint in my response.”

  A frown replaced the lust glinting in Arthur’s eyes. “What response was that?”

  Elliot bent toward him as if imparting a secret. “I filleted him.”

  Monica wheeled back frantically, dragging Arthur with her. The two stared at Elliot, the whites of their eyes prominent, as they hurried away. Deacon tucked Elliot back beneath his arm, his chuckle indulgent. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

  Elliot bumped him with a hip. “Or you can take me everywhere. At least you don’t have to worry about fending for yourself.”

  Wes and Charlotte were hiding amusement behind their hands. Hugh laughed out loud. King glanced at his aunt and uncle, wondering what they thought of the scene. The pair stared warily at Elliot, seeming unsure if they should take her threat seriously.

  They should, but he didn’t intend to tell them that. “I apologize—”

  Warren held up a hand. “My brother takes things too far sometimes.”

  That was an understatement, but whatever.

  “But it was good to see you nonetheless, boy.” Warren reached for his hand again, gave it a firm shake. “Hopefully it won’t be so long next time.”

  Christy smiled vaguely, and the two made their exit. King couldn’t take his gaze off their backs until they disappeared around the staircase.

  “You always did have great taste in friends,” Hugh said, eyeing Elliot. When Deacon narrowed his gaze on the man, Hugh blanched. “I’ll… I’ll be seeing you later?”

  The question didn’t have a specific recipient, and none of them bothered to answer as Hugh scurried away. “And you think I’m bad?” Elliot muttered up at her fiancé. “I had to threaten to pull a weapon. You just gave him a look.”

  Deacon shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve got talent.”

  Charlotte’s laugh shook her body against King. He latched on to the sound and to her, allowing her amusement to cleanse his palate of the bitterness trying to take root. His parents didn’t deserve that kind of space in his life, and he refused to allow them an in.

  “I believe it’s almost time for the opening remarks,” Wes said. “Charlotte?”

  She nodded, pulling King forward with her as they moved to the ballroom at the back of the house.

  The director for the Magnolia Ball committee already stood on a temporary dais opposite the entrance, set against a wall of windows that looked out on the Swan House gardens—large open areas set around a series of fountains, with an expanse of woods at the bottom of the lawn skirted by a stone wall and columns. King surveyed the view as he escorted Charlotte to one side of the dais. Elliot and Deacon split off to make their way to the opposite side of the stage, watching over Charlotte from there. Saint, unseen, would be waiting and watching beyond the windows.

  Charlotte was covered from every side.

  “And we are pleased to announce a substantial donation to an organization that strives to help the very smallest members of our community, and has for many years. Here to receive this generous donation is founder and director of Creating Families, Charlotte Alexander.”

  King tensed instinctively as Charlotte left his side. Their enemy would prepare well, he knew, so the likelihood that an attack would come now, here, in the middle of a crowded ballroom, was low. That didn’t stop his body’s protest at the distance between them.

  And yet his ears refused to take in the words of her acceptance speech. There had been far too many moments this week where his past Charlotte, the one he’d known intimately, had collided with now Charlotte, a woman whose maturity and poise and dedication he’d seen the seeds of but missed the growth. None of those moments compared to now, when the woman Charlotte had become overwhelmed him, not just with all that she was, but with how much he wanted her. He’d never allowed himself to consider what returning to her might be like, but God, he wanted to. With a fierceness that went beyond anything he’d ever thought he could feel, he wanted her.

  She walked back across the dais toward him, and when she met his eyes and smiled…

  “Everything okay, cousin?”

  King had forgotten Wes was standing next to him. He dropped the hand he abruptly realized was pressing against the ache in his chest. “Of course. Just fine.”

  He even let Wes assist Charlotte down the steps—to prove to himself that it was all a fluke, that he was imagining things? If that was the case, the sharp flare of jealousy at the sight of Wes’s hand taking Charlotte’s blew that delusion to pieces.

  King rubbed a hard hand down his face, wishing he could wipe away all these emotions as easily.

  Charlotte glanced up and read him as easily as she had when they’d been engaged. “What’s wrong?”

  He forced a smile for Wes’s benefit. “Just a bit close in here.” The crowd earned a glance, then, “How about a stroll outside?”

  Charlotte passed the check in her hand to Wes. “Take care of this?”

  “I will.”

  The sour note in Wes’s voice didn’t stop them; it couldn’t—there was work to do. They left Wes in the ballroom and made their way onto a back veranda. The lawn spread out before them, with lit tiers marching down toward a Romanesque wall at the end of the gardens. Curved arches and columns separated the tiers from the back woods, and the tinkling of water in the fountains filled the air. Trees and bushes dotted the landscape, providing shadows and giving couples places to disappear—or the enemy places to hide. King led Charlotte down the lawn, walking slowly in deference to her heels and anyone keeping pace with them through the landscape.

  Charlotte stayed silent
for a few minutes, but he could feel her gathering her words. “I’m sorry.”

  Not what he’d been expecting. “For what?”

  “Your parents.”

  “Don’t be.” He hadn’t expected anything more than what they’d given him. “I learned to stand on my own long before I left.”

  Charlotte stopped, gripping his hand to halt him next to her. “You shouldn’t have had to be.” She glanced down at their hands, intertwined in the dim light. “I wasn’t there for you when I should have been, King. I’m sorry. I could say I was young, but the truth is, I was afraid. I wasn’t ready to leave my family behind.”

  He shifted his gaze to the shadows surrounding them. “I would never have asked you to do that.”

  “I understand that now. I’m sorry I didn’t understand it then.”

  She hadn’t been the only one wrapped up in her own decisions. What had he missed while his fiancée had needed him? “I need you to tell me, Charlotte…what happened after I left?”

  She was quiet so long he thought she’d refuse to answer. Her fingers twitched in his grip, and he tightened his hold, unable to release her without an answer.

  “Just tell me.”

  “I had a miscarriage.”

  The words knocked the air from his lungs. “What?” A baby. She’d been carrying his baby? His eyes strained in the darkness, searching for answers in the face he’d always loved. A baby? “Charlotte?”

  A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I didn’t know until after you left. Not until—”

  The lights spilling from the ballroom cut out, leaving the gardens around them black. Charlotte’s words turned into a cry just as a massive weight hit him from behind, slamming him into the gravel beneath their feet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Until I almost died. That’s what she’d been about to say. And then the lights were out and King was gone and hard hands were bruising her arms as they dragged her away from him.