by BETH KERY
“Shhh,” Lin said, laughing under her breath. “It’s a surprise. Where is he?”
“He’s upstairs cleaning up for dinner,” Madame Morisot said in her thickly accented English. They both were distracted by the sound of Angus’s jingling collar as she raced down the hall.
“Hi, girl,” Lin greeted the excited dog. When Madame Morisot saw her struggling to be able to pet the golden retriever, she relieved her of her bags. “I have dinner ready and warming in the oven,” the housekeeper said, setting down Lin’s bags on an entryway table. “I was about ready to go home, I hope that’s all right. I think Mr. Reardon wants you to himself tonight,” Madame Morisot said with a sly glance.
“Yes, thank you for getting supper ready. We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Lin called. She shut the door and locked it behind their housekeeper. Kneeling next to the grocery bag, she extracted a carton of milk, her heart bounding so fast, she was probably off the charts on her Reardon watch.
The thick new carpets muted her footsteps as she rose up the stairs. She opened the door to their bedroom softly, peering into the hushed interior. It was empty, but the bathroom door was slightly ajar.
“Not tonight, girl,” she whispered in apology to a panting Angus. She shut the door with the dog on the other side of it. There was a crackling fire in the hearth. She smiled, her excitement mounting, when she tiptoed toward the bathroom and noticed champagne chilling in an ice bucket and two flutes sitting on the bedside table.
Kam walked out of the bathroom wearing a dark blue towel wrapped low around his hips, his taut muscles and skin sheened with moisture from his shower. His dark hair was wet and finger combed back in thick waves. Her body stirred. He looked delicious. Edible. God, she’d missed him. He did a double take when he saw her. He went still, a smile starting on his mouth.
“Surprise,” she said, holding up the kitten.
He focused on the wriggling, gray fur ball. Lin waited anxiously. She wasn’t entirely sure he’d like her gift. His smile slowly spread all the way to his eyes. Without speaking, he walked over to her and took her into his arms. She pressed against his warm, hard body, the kitten and the carton of milk between them. He caught her mouth with his in a kiss that made her feel like a knot had just been tugged tight at her core. She blinked up at him dazedly when he lifted his head a moment later.
“We are not going to be apart for this many days again, I don’t care how important the business is,” he declared with a dark scowl, kneading her shoulders. “Six days, tops.” She leaned down and pressed her face to his chest, inhaling his delicious scent running her lips over his hard muscle and crisp hair.
“I love you, too,” she whispered against his skin.
“No. Five,” Kam continued. “Four at the absolute most, and then only three or four times a year.” She licked at him delicately, starved for his taste. His grip tightened on her shoulders. “Two times a year, if that.”
She met his stare and smiled. “I missed you, too.”
“Agree to it,” he insisted fiercely.
“I agree,” she said without hesitation.
His frown faded, that appreciative gleam she cherished so much entering his eyes as his gaze ran over her face. “Business just isn’t that important. Never as important as this,” he said gruffly, brushing her jaw with his fingertip.
“I told you I agree,” she said, going up on her toes and pressing her lips to his. She coaxed them into softening. “I’m a reformed woman these days when it comes to work, you know that.”
The kitten meowed loudly. Kam glanced down. His smile dawned to full radiance, brilliant and sexy as hell. He took the squirming kitten from her.
“Do you like him?” she asked hopefully.
Kam held up the little feline in front of his face, examining it intently. He was so big and rugged, and the kitten was so tiny and delicate. The sight caused her heart to squeeze tight in her chest. He lowered the wiggling kitten and cradled it against his broad chest, petting it with two large fingers.
“I do. It’s a him?” he asked.
Lin nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find a chocolate-colored one, but the good news is that Angus already approves of this little guy,” she said, stepping forward to join him in petting and admiring the kitten. She explained how before she had left for Japan, she’d taken the golden retriever for a viewing of the litter at a residence in town. Angus had seemed especially patient with this one, and so she’d based her decision on that.
Kam caught her eye. “You always think of everything, don’t you?”
She shrugged.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gratitude clear. He knew she’d hated what he’d revealed to her about his childhood pet and his father’s cruelty. He knew she wished more than anything that she could make it better, even if she couldn’t ever erase those hurtful memories completely. This was their home now. Not Trevor Gaines’s. Lin would make it so.
“We’ll call him Marque,” Kam said, reaching for the milk she still clutched in the crook of her arm. “It means ‘hallmark’ in French, and he’s a hallmark of a special night. For several reasons, I hope,” she heard him say under his breath.
Lin followed him when he walked over to the sitting area before the lazily crackling fire and picked up a shallow, decorative porcelain bowl sitting on the coffee table. When he placed it on the mantel, she helped him open the carton. He poured the milk into it and bent, placing it several feet away from the hearth. Marque immediately began lapping at it when Kam set him gently down next to the bowl. He straightened, his side pressing against hers.
“I thought we could keep him in the back room until he’s trained,” Lin said quietly as they watched the kitten drink eagerly. “It’s nice and warm in there, and it’s not carpeted, so cleanups wouldn’t be too bad.”
“All right. Just leave him to his dinner for now, though,” Kam said, standing and taking her hand. “You and I have an overdue appointment over here,” he said, leading Lin to the bed.
• • •
They made love not once, but twice, in quick succession, their need for one another sharp and swelling after being apart for so many days. Afterward, Lin nestled contentedly in the curve of Kam’s encircling arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder, his fingers furrowing through her hair.
“Marque is fast asleep,” she murmured after a moment. She could see across the suite in this position. The kitten had curled up at the outer edge of the marble hearth, undoubtedly made drowsy by his milk and the warmth of the fire.
“Are you tired?” he asked, his roughened, quiet voice like a gentle, arousing scratch on her nape. “You’ve been traveling for twenty-plus hours.”
“I’m okay,” she said, stroking his strong biceps and squeezing it lightly, enjoying the dense texture. “I don’t want to sleep. Not now. I want to be with you.”
He kissed the top of her head and scooted into a sitting position. Dislodged from her resting place, Lin flopped back against the pillows. “Good,” he said. “Because we’ve got champagne.” Lin stared up at the ceiling dreamily, feeling ridiculously happy to be home. With Kam. He had turned and was opening the bottle of champagne. She sat up in bed, holding the sheet over her breasts, and accepted the filled flute from him several seconds later.
“To our four-month anniversary,” she said, grinning and holding up her glass.
“I was hoping today could be another anniversary.”
She paused in lifting the glass to her mouth when she heard how sober he sounded. Her gaze leapt to meet his stare. “Of what?” she asked.
He slipped a box into her free hand. She stared at the dark red ring box, frozen.
“Is this . . .”
She trailed off, going dry mouthed at the implication of her unfinished question.
“Yes,”
Kam said. She met his steady stare. He looked so calm. So solid. So certain. It was an amazing sight. Shivers cascaded down her spine and down her limbs. “Will you?” he asked her quietly.
“God yes,” she replied fervently, and just like those other times she’d given him important answers, it felt entirely right. “I . . . I doubted at times this would happen to me,” she said falteringly.
He caressed her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it happen to such an incredible woman?” he asked, his light eyes gleaming with emotion. “You’ll always be number one with me. Always. Nothing and no one will come before you. That’s what I promise you. You deserve nothing less.”
“I promise you’ll always come first, too, Kam,” she vowed shakily. He’d known that solemn oath was precisely the one she would hold most dear. Tears of happiness prickled behind her eyelids.
“Open it,” he urged in a gravelly voice, taking her champagne glass to free her hands.
A smile spreading on her lips, Lin followed his instructions, opening the lid to their rich, vibrant forever.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of the new erotic serial romance novel by Beth Kery
THE AFFAIR
Available September 2014 from InterMix
A good night’s sleep would end her odd ruminations. She flung her purse over her shoulder and started for the exit. She came to a sudden halt and gasped.
“Oh my God, you startled me,” Emma said to Mrs. Shaw, who stood in the entryway to the suite, unmoving.
“I’ve come to get you. Mr. Montand would like a word,” she said unsmilingly.
Her mouth fell open. “With . . . with me? Mr. Montand? Why?”
“He didn’t tell me his reasons, but I assume it’s about your work here. He’s very particular in regard to his stepmother’s care,” Mrs. Shaw said with a tiny smug smile.
“I see,” Emma said, even though she didn’t. To her knowledge, Montand had never spoken to any of the nursing staff individually. His expectations had been discussed with Dr. Claridge, who was the hospice doctor, and Monica Ring, the nurse supervisor. A flicker of anxiety went through her. What if this request was somehow associated with the armoire incident? Was she about to be called out or accused? Her heart started to beat uncomfortably in her chest.
There was only one way to find out.
“Okay. I’m ready,” she said briskly, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder.
She followed a silent Mrs. Shaw down the hushed staircase past the lavish workout facility and indoor pool, her heartbeat pounding louder in her ears with every step. Mrs. Shaw left the staircase behind on the next level. She led Emma into the luxurious living room she’d seen last night, the lush ivory carpeting hushing their footsteps. Emma could almost feel the housekeeper’s disapproval and dislike emanating from her thin, stiff figure back toward Emma.
Mrs. Shaw paused before a door and swung it open.
“Ms. Shore is here,” she said to someone in the room.
She stepped aside and gave Emma a glance of loathing before nodding significantly toward the interior. Her heart now lodged at the base of her throat, Emma stepped past Mrs. Shaw into the interior of the room. She had a brief but vivid impression of a stunning dining room consisting almost entirely of black, white, and crystal. A huge white modernist china cabinet and wet bar structure dominated the wall closest to her. The long, grand dining room table was made of African blackwood and was surrounded by more than a dozen handsome blackwood and white upholstered chairs. Two large crystal chandeliers hung above the table. The far wall consisted of warm brick in beige and reddish tones, offsetting the cool luxury and sleek lines of the room. On the brick wall hung a huge painting that she recognized in a dazed sort of way was a modernist depiction of an engine.
She heard the door shut and glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Shaw was gone.
Emma turned back to the single inhabitant of the room. He sat at the head of the table turned toward the wall that faced Lake Michigan. For a few seconds, she just stood there, speechless. He matched the room in almost every way. He wore a black tuxedo with careless elegance. His brown hair was not cut short, necessarily, but it wasn’t long, either. A woman could easily fill a hand with the glory of it. It was thick and wavy and had been combed back from his face. A dark, very short goatee seemed to highlight a sensual mouth. He was all precision lines and bold masculinity: an angular, strong jaw; broad shoulders; straight, handsome nose. The only way he didn’t match the immaculate, stunning room was the way his tie was loosened and the top collar of his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at his throat.
He was even better looking than the actors hired to drive cars and drink champagne for his company commercials. Impossible.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, just a hint of impatience in his tone. He set down the fork he’d been holding. Emma blinked. It hadn’t even registered immediately that he’d been eating, she’d been so captivated by the image of him. “Come here,” he prompted when she remained frozen.
She stepped forward, a surreal feeling pervading her. As she drew nearer, she realized that his eyes were the same color of the lake on a sunny day—a startling blue green. The lake would serve to soften and warm the cool, sharp lines of the beautiful, austere dining room during the day, however. This man’s eyes would soften nothing. They seemed to lance straight through her.
His mouth quirked slightly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded quietly.
“Am I looking at you a certain way?” Emma asked, surprised and set off balance by his question. “I hadn’t realized,” she fumbled. She yanked her gaze off his compelling visage and glanced around the room, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen a room like this. It was a little like walking into a photo from a magazine or something.” Especially with you sitting at the end of that grand table it in that tux.
She looked at him when he laughed mirthlessly. “Cold and uncomfortable, you mean. I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to my architect and interior designer.”
She matched his stare. “That’s not what I meant.”
He frowned slightly but didn’t respond. Nor did he look away. “You’re Michael Montand?” she prodded in the uncomfortable silence that followed.
He nodded once and glanced at the chair nearest to him. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”
“Would you mind telling me why you asked me here first?”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. They were a shade darker than the hair on his head and created a striking contrast to his light eyes. Clearly, she was just supposed to follow his command without comment.
“You’re taking care of my stepmother. Surely you don’t think it odd that a family member would want to speak with you about your work,” he said.
“You haven’t called anyone else from the nursing staff up here.”
“Nobody else has directly disobeyed my orders.”
She swallowed thickly at the ringing authority in his tone. Her heartbeat began to roar so loudly in her ears, she wouldn’t be surprised at all if he heard the guilty tattoo. What could she say that wouldn’t betray what she’d accidentally seen last night? Had that man—Vanni—told Montand something?
Was he Vanni? she wondered wildly. No, Vanni wasn’t a nickname for Michael. Plus, the man she’d partially seen last night had long hair. She opened her mouth to utter some feeble excuse—she had no idea what—but he cut her off.
“It may seem random to you that I asked for the drapes to remain closed in my stepmother’s suite, but I can assure you that I did so with a reason.”
“I can explain . . . What?” she muttered.
He gave her a nonplussed glance.
“The drapes,” he repeated.
Relief swept through her. He’d meant the drape incident, not the armoire one.
“What did you think I was
going to say?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” she lied. “Of course I’ll respect your wishes about the drapes.”
“I’d appreciate if you respected my wishes in regard to everything I have specified with your supervisor.”
She held her breath for a split second. Had he emphasized the word everything, or was that her panicked brain jumping to conclusions.
“Of course,” she managed.
He nodded once and then picked up his fork. Emma had the distinct impression that she’d been dismissed. She wavered on her feet.
“It’s just that the sunshine . . . it might do Cristina some good.”
He regarded her with glacial incredulity. Emma felt herself withering from the sheer chill.
“It’s such a beautiful view. I see no reason to deprive her of it,” Emma rallied, despite his intimidating stare.
He set down his fork, the clanging sound of heavy silver against fine china startling her. He sat back in his chair. He possessed a honed, muscular . . . phenomenal frame, from what she could see of it. Clearly, he hadn’t built that elaborate workout facility for show. Emma wasn’t sure what to do with herself in the strained, billowing silence that followed.
“It may be beautiful to you,” he said finally, nostrils flaring.
“It’s not to you?” she asked, bewildered. “Why did you have this house built then? The view dominates every room.” At least, when you’re not in it, it does.
One look at his frozen features and she knew she’d gone too far. His gaze dipped suddenly, skimming her body. If another man had done it, she would have been offended. In Michael Montand’s case, it was like a mild electrical current had passed through her. Her nipples tightened and something seemed to prickle in her belly, like a hook of sensation pulling at her navel. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her wisp of confidence evaporating.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful to me,” he said. He glanced away and Emma knew she’d imagined that flash of heat in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate. “How is she doing?”
