"If a woman disagrees with you,” Ginger was saying, “you cut her off. Just like you did with Mom.”
"Watch your tongue." Her father’s voice dipped dangerously low.
The air changed on the entire ground floor. It felt like a heat wave passing through a hot desert. It was safest when Henry Dumasse raised his voice. When he lowered it, it was time to take cover.
Ginger knew better than to challenge their father with that tone. “I’ll show myself out."
Honey heard her sister’s footsteps coming near. She didn't want to be in the middle of this argument. She always made it her business to stay out of any argument that involved the man who provided for her. Unfortunately, despite the heat of the argument, her legs hadn’t unthawed from their frozen mode.
Ginger appeared in the hallway. She looked more like her mother than Honey. Despite her name, Ginger was a brunette, like their mom. But all three of them had the same crystal blue eyes.
Ginger’s face softened when she saw Honey. "Hey, honey bunny."
"Good afternoon, Ginger.”
Ginger’s smile fell by a degree. She didn’t mention the formality of her baby sister’s greeting. Her gaze went to the bag’s clutched in Honey’s hands. “Shopping?"
Honey dipped her head. “For the Bachelor's Brunch."
Her sister’s smile went down another degree. Honey knew Ginger detested the Debutante Ball and all its trappings. She had walked away from her come out ball in favor of campaigning to become the youngest state politician in the region at twenty-one.
"Whatever you wear, you're going to look beautiful, honey bunny."
Ginger came to her, arms open wide. Honey stiffened. If her sister noticed, Ginger ignored Honey’s tense state. Ginger wrapped her arms around her as though they were little girls again.
Honey couldn’t help it. Her bottom lip trembled, losing its grip on her bland smile. She shut her eyes for a brief moment and allowed herself to relax in her sister's hold.
A creak of a floorboard brought Honey’s eyes open. Her father loomed in the doorway. Henry Dumasse narrowed his bushy, blond brows at the two. Under his glare, Honey wiggled in Ginger’s hold.
"Goodbye, Ginger.”
Ginger’s smile was completely gone when she released Honey. She ran a hand down the side of Honey's face. "See ya, honey bunny."
The front door opened and closed with a quiet snick. When Honey looked up, her father was gone from the doorway. She was left alone in the quiet foyer. She was often left alone in this house. Soon, she was the one that would be leaving, she promised herself as she headed on quiet feet to her room.
Chapter Five
Mark had never considered himself to be socially awkward. He was always the life of the party. He'd just never been to a party where one wrong move could cost him his entire bank account, plus a few pints of blood. And maybe his right arm.
He'd never been inside a place so fine as the Chateau du Planturex. The carpet looked like it had been shaved off the backs of tiny chinchillas, sewn together using golden thread. The curtains were fine lace but such a high thread count that he couldn’t see through the fabric. Intricate glass vases sat in every corner with long, lush, colorful flowers that looked out of this world.
Mark kept his arms at his sides in fear of making one wrong move. He moved in a straight line to ensure he didn't put a foot out of place and bump into something he couldn't ever hope to repay.
And then there was the food.
He'd never been to a brunch a day in his life. If he missed breakfast, he simply ate lunch. He didn't know what to do with this combination of the two meals.
There were mini dishes that looked like egg omelets, but were far too colorful and filled with vegetables that should not accompany a yoke. There were tiny pastries with intricate sugary decorations that all had a 3D effect. And he wasn't sure, but he thought he saw snails on one of the silver platters. The things that looked like tiny blueberries, he'd learned were fish eggs. With his stomach turned, he decided to skip eating and focus on the reason they’d come there so they could leave as soon as the task was complete.
"I'm glad we're not splitting the check," Mark said to Chase.
The sergeant looked more at home in the high-end setting. But Chase stood rigid, far more stiff and stoic than his normal stance in the military. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable being back in his former life.
“Don’t worry, buddy, I would pay,” he said. “You're a cheap date. You'd just order a bison burger."
The mere thought of one of Montana's bison burgers or elk burgers brought Mark's stomach back to life. He couldn't wait to get out of this she-she poo-poo place and get some real food. Along with a slice of huckleberry pie instead of the little girl's tea party dishes that were available here.
The two soldiers were inside a grand ballroom with overhead chandeliers. Everyone was dressed to the nines. Many of the men wore uniforms. Mark had learned many of them were from military schools. But there was an equal number of men in tailored suits and ties. Those men, he'd learned, were from Ivy League schools.
Mark kept his distance from both. He had nothing in common with the suits. And he couldn't stand the green noses in uniform who had yet to know a day of combat and might never.
The women were another story. They were like porcelain. Pretty to look at, but he didn't dare touch one of the delicate creatures. He'd had his hands in the mud that morning. There was still dirt in his nail beds.
He gave his cuffs a tug. The fabric fought back. His watch had caught on the lining. The timepiece was an heirloom passed from his grandfather to his father to Mark. It was old and crinkled, and it didn’t keep perfect time. But he wore it because it reminded him of who he was and where he’d come from.
"There's our guy," said Chase, his back stiffening even more. “Henry Dumasse, the CEO of Sugar Daddy.”
Mark looked over at the guy. He was a big bruiser of a man. He looked like a wrestler that had been stuffed into an expensive suit. But the suit, it suited him. Definitely custom made.
Henry Dumasse reminded Mark of a drill sergeant. He watched as the man cut the weaker men in his path with glares until they parted the floor for him. He silenced others with a downward turn of his lips until they sank down into seats. This was the man that stood between them and their recruitment center?
"Mr. Dumasse.” Chase stepped directly in the man’s path, back straight, gaze unflinching.
Mark fell in step at his back.
Mr. Dumasse peered down at Chase. Though both Mark and Chase were over six foot, the older man easily had a few inches on them in height as well as width.
"Sergeant Collin Chase.” Chase stuck out his hand, aiming it for the man’s middle. “I believe you know my father, Stuart Collins of Sunstone Banking and Financial.”
Dumasse’s glare didn't lose its hard edge. But there was a twinkle of recognition in his eyes. He took Chase’s hand and engulfed it with his own. Mark could’ve sworn he saw Chase wince at the man’s grip.
"This is my colleague, Private Mark Ortega."
Mark reached out his hand, preparing for a crushing shake of his own. But Dumasse didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he wrinkled his nose, the flint returning to his gaze. He left Mark's hand hanging there.
Mark’s empty hand curled at his middle. His feet shuffled until he was back behind Chase. Mark had no officer's title or rich family name to recommend him. Why was he there again?
"I did some business with your father," Dumasse was saying to Chase. "I don't recall meeting you during any of our interactions."
"I decided to go into service for my country,” said Chase.
"Seems a man's first loyalty is to his family. But I assume you'll be taking over for your old man when you're done playing toy soldier?"
Mark had served under Chase for over a year. They had been dropped into some harsh conditions during those times. Mark had never seen the man flinch. At Dumasse’s last statement, a slight tick began at the corne
r of Chase’s right eye.
"No, sir,” Chase said stiffly. “I think I can do more good serving my country on the home front than behind a mahogany desk.”
Now Chase got the flint sneer. "Good?" said Dumasse. “What good?”
"My colleague and I are opening a recruitment center,” said Chase. “It will be an opportunity to talk with the youth of the town about the benefits of enlistment and a career in the armed forces. It would give them a purpose.”
"Let me guess, you're looking for a donation?"
"Not a donation.” Chase shook his head. “A lease. It seems you own the property we're interested in letting. I'd love to make some time with you to-"
“Bryant,” called Dumasse with a sharp toothsome grin. "Been waiting for you to arrive."
Dumasse walked past Chase, bumping him in the shoulder and putting an end to the conversation. He shook the hand of another gray-haired man. Beside the newcomer stood yet another young man in military dress. The rank on his pristine uniform marked him as a second lieutenant, the highest rank that could be achieved for a student in a military academy.
"That went well," said Mark.
"I know men like him," said Chase. "That was just the intro meeting. We need to show him we won’t back down, gain his respect."
"So, we can go now?"
"Not yet. Let's not waste this opportunity. There are other movers and shakers in this room."
"Well, you go move into the crowd. I'm gonna go shake a leg outside for a minute and then head out.”
They had brought separate cars as Chase had come from the location in town and Mark from the ranch. Mark clapped Chase on his back and then made his way to the doors that led out back. The moment he stepped outside into the warm breeze, he felt all the constraints of the last half hour he’d spent inside the chateau loosen. He took his first deep breath and stretched his arms without fear of collateral damage.
The sound of a frantic feminine voice brought his attention around. The voice spoke quietly, quickly as though asking questions and also answering them.
Peering around a sculpted bush, the deep breath Mark had just inhaled stuck in his throat. Standing on the other side of the rose bush was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his life.
Blonde hair like sunshine. Blue eyes like the waters of a clean pool. She wore pink, the same shade as the roses. But her beauty made the flowers look dull. And she was indeed talking to herself.
It looked like she was giving herself a pep talk. Mark couldn’t hear her words, but her actions spoke volumes. She opened and clenched her fists for emphasis. She nodded her head as though that would force the truth of the words down into her soul.
Finally, she took a deep, cleansing breath. Then she took a step forward, only to catch her heel in the cracks of the pavement. Her forward momentum halted. She very nearly toppled to the ground. Luckily for her, Mark rushed into action.
Chapter Six
Everything was perfect. The designer dress she’d had custom made highlighted all of Honey’s best assets. Her hair was done up to sleek perfection framing her heart-shaped face. Her professional makeup job shimmered in the afternoon light. And the shoes were the knockout portion of the ensemble.
The golden straps crossed her petite ankles. The slim stem of the shoe lifted her arch and did wonders for her calves. She felt like Cinderella. If Cinderella had her father’s credit cards and not a fairy godmother.
Also, unlike fairy magic, Honey’s ensemble wouldn’t vanish at midnight. These would stay in her closet after this momentous day. Not that she would ever wear the outfit again. Dumasses never did repeat showings.
With her chin up, her bust line high, and her feet strapped in, she prepared to go and meet her future. Her father would be waiting inside to introduce her to Beau Bryant. She’d learned that Beau had just gotten into town the other night. So, there was no way that Quinn Ford had had a chance to interact with him.
Honey still had the advantage. She turned on her heel. Her body lurched forward, but her foot didn’t move. Her shoe had been caught in the cobblestones.
She tried to raise her foot. But the golden straps trapped her ankles inside the shoes. She'd have to bend down to undo the strap. Unfortunately, the boning of the dress made that difficult, and she almost toppled over. She immediately straightened.
She tried wiggling her foot but was so afraid that the stem would break. She was even more afraid that the smudges of dirt from the cracks would smear her stem. What was she going to do?
Even now, Quinn was probably inside talking Beau’s ear off. They were probably even talking about her. Quinn would certainly drop Honey’s name casually. With an innocent smile and guileless gaze, she’d match innuendos and allusions to Honey’s name, meticulously picking apart her character with nothing but friendly chatter.
Honey is as lovely as a bee, always buzzing around in everyone’s ear. Implying anything that he might tell her wasn’t safe. Which wasn’t true. Honey was not a gossip.
Have you ever been stung by a bee? Wait until you meet Honey. Implying that Honey was vindictive. But no, that was Quinn. The woman never met a grudge she didn’t hold on to.
Honey knew the game. Everything was fair in love and husband hunting. She might have done the same. Only anything she might’ve said disparaging about Quinn would’ve been true.
"Can I give you a hand, ma'am?”
The voice sent a delicious buzzing sensation down her spine. The tone was deep and resonant. It washed over Honey's back like warm syrup. She turned to see where such a voice had come from. She let out a tiny gasp when she saw that the face did the voice justice.
Twin dimples stared back at her. They arrested her before his eyes did. Dark, coffee colored eyes that she could've gotten lost in. But it wasn't time to get lost. She had to get free.
She saw that the man was an officer with his uniform covering his very broad shoulders. He was a big man, but he wasn't as broad as her father. Her father's size was imposing. This soldier's size looked warm and welcoming, perfect for hugging.
But hugging wasn't what she needed right now. She needed to get her shoe loose and get into the banquet to snag herself an appropriate escort for the ball and for life.
"Yes, sir,” she said. “If you please."
The soldier walked toward her. Honey had the impulse to step back. That is if she could've. Not out of fear. With every step this man took, she felt something big coming her way, something that would change her life forever.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"My shoe appears to be stuck."
"It's like you're Cinderella,” he said. His grin was a bright planet with two twin stars on the polar opposites.
"Yes, but instead of fleeing the ball, I'm trying to make an entrance into brunch.”
He wrinkled his nose at the word brunch. That was curious. What person didn’t like brunch? It was breakfast and lunch foods all at the same time, the best of two worlds.
"Right," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see what we can do. Two heads together will certainly win against a shoe."
He reached out toward her leg. His fingers nearly grazed her ankle before he jerked his hands back.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “May I?"
It was not at all proper, having a stranger put his hands anywhere on her body off the dance floor under the watchful gazes of plenty of chaperones. But Honey had no choice. She had to get free.
At least that's what she told herself as she gazed down at his strong, capable hands hovering around her bare ankles. She could've asked him to go get help from another woman. But, for some reason, she didn't want him to leave.
Honey nodded her head, giving him the permission he sought. With another three-point smile, the officer ducked his head and took hold of her ankle. Honey sucked in a breath at the first contact.
His fingers were warm and gentle on her skin. They set off trickles of sensations that ran the length of her legs. Her heart skipped a b
eat at the points of impressions that he made.
"Just loosen the strap, and I can step out,” she said.
He cradled her ankle with his left hand. Though most of his palm cupped the back of the shoe, she felt a sense of security, of being sheltered by him. It was an unfamiliar feeling in her life with a volatile parental figure. The soldier’s thumb fumbled and fiddled with the clasp.
"I'm afraid I'm not all too good at taking off a woman's shoe."
Honey wondered what he was good at taking off a woman?
She gave her head, and those errant thoughts, a shake. Looking down, she saw that her dress still covered most of her leg. He was having some difficulty managing her dress, keeping her modesty intact, and wrangling the shoe.
Her head shot up as someone walked past the door. If someone saw them in this position, it would not be good for her reputation. Especially if it got back to Beau. Or worse, Quinn.
"Get up, get up, get up,” she urged the soldier.
The soldier shot up, but instead of moving away from her, he pulled her to him. This position would be even worse. So, why wasn’t she pulling away from him?
His chest pressed into hers. Her hands fluttered down to rest on his biceps. She thought he might try and kiss her, but his head was turned away from her.
He wasn't trying to seduce her. He was trying to protect her. Of course, he was. He was a soldier.
"What is it?” he demanded. “What's wrong?"
"I ..."
He looked down at her. Coffee colored eyes bright and alert. Her heart pounded so hard, as though she’d had a triple espresso shot … three times. She was sure he could feel her heart beating against his chest.
"Someone was walking by,” she said. “If we're caught together, it wouldn't be good."
"Oh." He blinked. The strong, dark roast of his gaze dulled. "Right. We wouldn't want that."
Every Step He Takes Page 3
