by Donna Hill
Avery giggled. “To great sex.” But even as she smiled and sipped her sparkling water she couldn’t shake Rafe’s sensual words from her head, “surrender to me,” because she knew she had done just that.
Chapter 11
Once he landed in Louisiana and picked up his SUV from the lot, he decided to drive over to the family home instead of going to his place. For reasons that escaped him he didn’t want to go home.
Rafe pulled into the long driveway and parked, but was surprised to see an unfamiliar car—a black Lexus. Maybe one of his sisters had gotten a new ride, as he knew that Justin was out of town on business. He used his key and let himself in.
“Hello!” he called out. He heard the click of heels coming down the stairs. He glanced up and his entire expression bloomed in delight. “Aunt Jackie? What in the world are you doing here?”
She came down the stairs and into his embrace. She tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “Well, look what the devil dragged in.” She stepped back and held him at arm’s length. “My handsome nephew.” She stroked his chin. “How are you?”
“A better question is, how are you?” He looped his arm across her shoulders and they walked into the sitting room.
Jacqueline Lawson was Branford’s only sister. For years they’d been estranged. And Jacqueline, who had the same fire in her veins as her nephew, never let her non-relationship with her elder brother stop her from doing whatever the hell she wanted to. She was a renowned photographer that traveled the world, but when a near-death illness nearly took her from the family, she’d returned home for treatment and the wounds between her and her brother had been mended—at least for the most part. However, it was more than her brother’s bone marrow that saved her, it was finding Raymond Jordan.
“So, what’s going on? What brings you back to the old homestead?” Rafe poured himself a much-needed bourbon. Offered one to his aunt but she declined with a wave of her hand.
“I’m actually here on assignment. I’m doing a photo documentary of the rebuilding of the Ninth Ward after Katrina.”
“Hmm.” His right brow rose. “Unfortunately, you won’t have much to shoot. The rehab is dismal at best.” He leaned against the mantel and took a swallow of his drink.
“I know. That’s what I want to show. Where did the money go, and more important, the people?” She crossed her legs and leaned back.
“How long will you be in town?”
“Couple of weeks, maybe more.”
“Raymond can spare you for that long?” he teased.
“As a matter of fact...no, but that’s what makes going back home so much fun.” She gave him a wicked wink.
He totally adored his aunt. She was feisty and irreverent and down to earth all at the same time.
“I know why I’m here—decided why spend money on a hotel when there was this big-ass house? But what are you doing here? I know you have your place just outside of town.”
“Hmm, just getting back from DC, actually.”
Her eyes widened. “You went to see your father?” she asked incredulously. She knew how deep the divide was between father and son.
“No. I went to see a woman.”
“Oh, that sounds more like you.”
“Aunt J, whether you believe it or not I don’t just run around, I actually put in work,” he said with a grin.
“Hmm, umm. Is she stunning as all the others?”
He buried his focus in his glass. “Very,” he said quietly.
“What’s that I hear in your voice?”
He glanced over at his aunt. “Nothing. She’s a beautiful woman.”
“Where’d you meet her?”
“Here, actually.”
“Oh, really?”
“During Granddad’s birthday party. She was part of the Secret Service detail for the vice president.”
Jacqueline tossed her head back and laughed. “Secret Service! You sure know how to pick ’em, nephew. Well, she must be something special to have you traipse all the way to DC. Tell me all about her. What’s her name?”
He refilled his glass. “Avery Richards.”
Jacqueline was quiet for a moment. “The name rings a bell. I’m not sure why.”
Rafe shrugged. “She’s Horace Richards’s daughter, if that means anything.”
“Oh.” She lowered her head.
“What?”
“Are you serious about her?”
“We’ve been out on one date.”
“And I assume you slept with her.”
“A gentleman never tells.” He waited. “Is there something that I should know?”
“If you’re not serious about her then it doesn’t really matter.”
“What if I was?”
“Are you?”
“Aunt J, just tell me what you’re dying to tell me anyway. Cut to the chase.”
Jacqueline linked her fingers together. “Your father and Horace Richards go way back—and not in a good way.”
Rafe strolled over to the armchair and sat down. He crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “I’m listening.”
She pushed out a breath. “Back in law school your father and Horace were best friends. They did everything together, including wanting to forge a political career. But they were competitive. I mean diehard competitors. They constantly one-upped each other.”
“Interesting friendship.”
“That’s an understatement. Anyway, the competition spilled over into their private lives. Your father and Horace were at a party. Your mother was there with her friend Juliette. Louisa caught the eye of them both.”
Rafe grinned, envisioning his mother as a young beautiful woman, and turning the head of his father.
“Anyway, Horace moved on Louisa first. They went on a few dates but it didn’t work out. Apparently the reason was your father. They started seeing each other and the rest turned into the five of you.”
“So, I don’t see the problem. They got married.”
“It was a problem for Horace. He started dating Juliette, maybe to stay close to Branford. But he built up this almost irrational disdain for your father. I remember overhearing them arguing one night shortly after your father proposed to your mother. Horace accused your father of betraying him, of sneaking behind his back with Louisa and making a fool of him in front of all of their friends even though your father knew how Horace felt about your mother. Your father wanted to know what his problem was since he was dating Juliette, only to have Horace say that was because she couldn’t have Branford, as well.”
“Whoa. Is it true?”
Jacqueline shrugged. “You know your father. He keeps his own counsel.”
“All I know is that whenever I saw Branford with your mother he was happier than any other time. Louisa brought out a side of your father that he always kept hidden. Anyway, Horace came to the wedding with Juliette, and they eventually got married. But things were never the same between them.” She paused. “I know you pretty much steer clear of your father and what he does on Capitol Hill, but your father is up for Chairman of the Homeland Security Committee.”
“And?”
“So is Horace Richards.”
“Oh.” His brows arched. He stood. “Well, may the best man win, I guess.” He finished the rest of his bourbon.
“Your father will spiral into one of his tirades when he finds out you’re seeing Horace’s daughter.”
“Not that it would bother me, but I never said I would see her again.”
“You will.” She gave him a knowing look. “If you hadn’t planned to before—I know you, nephew—you’ll see her just to spite your father.”
He chuckled. “You wound me, Auntie.” He dramatically held his hand to his chest.
“Your auntie te
lls you the truth.” She pushed up from her seat and walked up to him. She looked deep into his eyes. “Don’t let the messiness with you and your dad spill on that woman.” She lightly pinched his cheek. “I’m going to take a nap. I’m beat. Are you staying? Maybe we can order something for dinner later. I’m not up for cooking.”
“Sure. Sounds good. Go rest. We’ll talk later.”
Jacqueline turned and walked out.
Rafe slid his hands into his pants pockets and walked to the window. He stared out onto the sprawling lawn and let his mind process everything his aunt told him.
* * *
Rafe spent the following day working in the studio with his producer. They’d been at it since early morning. Although they’d made some progress and were satisfied with the pieces that were laid down, the new work still seemed to be out of reach.
“Let’s call it a day,” he said to the engineering crew and the four-piece band. “Good work, everybody. Thanks.”
“When do you want to come back?” his engineer asked.
“Give me a week or so. I think I’m gonna take a short trip and get my head together. I’ll call you.”
Everyone packed up and began to file out. Rafe was the last to leave. He’d driven his Harley and now wished that he hadn’t. The weather had gone from balmy to stormy. The wind and rain made riding hazardous, but he didn’t have much choice. The usual twenty-minute trip took twice the time and he was relieved when he finally pulled into his garage.
He got out of his wet clothes and went to fix something to eat. But the moment he was alone and without the distraction of composing and playing then riding, his thoughts sped back to Avery. He had yet to call her as he said he would. Generally he never told a woman something that he didn’t mean or intend to do. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t called Avery. It wasn’t as if she didn’t constantly occupy his thoughts. Maybe that was it. He was giving her more space in his head than he was ready to deal with.
He thought about what his aunt told him about his father and Avery’s dad. Part of him wanted to pursue the relationship if for no other reason than to piss off his father. But he didn’t want that to be the motivation. Not totally. It was, however, an incentive.
He took a steak out of the freezer and put it in the sink under running water. What he needed to do was get Avery out of his system. He turned off the water, dried his hands on a towel and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket.
He hadn’t seen Miranda in several months. Only a few “checking-in” text messages. Hopefully she was available for a late dinner. Miranda was always great company, and she hated strings as much as he did.
* * *
That night it was Miranda. Days later it was Celeste, then Tess then Lindsay. He flew down to Acapulco for a weekend with friends in the hope of unwinding. When he finally slowed down he realized that he was still unsettled. Beautiful, sexy women, intelligent conversation, exotic locations, none of it meant anything. He wined and dined them and kissed them good-night, even though they were ready for more from him. As much as he believed that what he wanted was someone other than Avery Richards, he was wrong.
It had been nearly three weeks since he’d seen or spoken to her. She’d probably moved on.
He paced across his bedroom floor staring at his phone. He pushed out a breath of frustration, then tossed the phone onto the bed and headed to his home gym.
Chapter 12
“From the look on your face I take it you haven’t heard from him,” Kerry said.
“No, but I’ve seen him. In the weekly tabloids.” She sputtered a fake laugh. “Each time with someone new.” Avery pushed the salad around on her plate. “But, it’s okay. Like you said, I’m a big girl.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She took a sip from her glass of water. “If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have been walking around for the past month in a daze. And what if he were to call you...?”
Avery lifted her eyes from her plate. “What?”
Kerry raised her chin toward the door. Avery turned around and her heart stood still.
Rafe walked toward their table and stopped next to Avery. “Your office told me where I could probably find you.”
“Maybe I need a new assistant,” she said tongue in cheek.
“Good to see you again, Kerry.”
“Rafe.”
“Mind if I join you ladies?”
“Actually, I have to get back,” Kerry said and ignored the death stare from Avery. She took some money from her purse and put it on the table. “I’ll see you back at the office. Good to see you, Rafe. Look after our girl here.” She pushed back from her seat and stood, squeezed Avery’s shoulder and walked out.
Rafe rounded the table, pulled out the chair and sat down. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
He slowly nodded. “I should have called you.”
“No worries. I’ve seen that you’ve been busy. What are you doing here?”
Rafe rocked his jaw. “I came to see you.”
“Why?” She wrapped her hands around her glass to keep them from shaking.
“Let’s talk about it over dinner.”
“No.”
He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay. Understood.”
That smile. Her heart banged.
Rafe pushed out a breath. “It was good to see you, Avery. I mean that.”
The timbre of his voice dipped down into her soul and stirred up all the feelings and thoughts that she’d shoved away. She followed him with her eyes until she couldn’t see him anymore.
She slammed her hand on the table, rattling everything.
* * *
Rafe strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue past the White House and the daily stream of tourists. The Capitol was in the distance. He checked the time.
He’d guessed that Avery wouldn’t necessarily welcome him with open arms, but he’d underestimated her level of being pissed off. Seeing him with other women he was sure didn’t help, not that he’d done anything to stop the photo hogs from snapping his picture. In the back of his mind he was fine with it. He wanted Avery to find out. It would ensure his one-way ticket to freedom. But once he had it in his hand he knew he should have never pursued it. He picked up his pace.
* * *
“Senator Lawson, your son is here to see you.”
“My son?” he said into the intercom.
“Yes, sir.”
He cleared his throat. “Send him in.”
Rachel, his secretary, opened the door, stepped aside and let Rafe enter. She closed the door quietly behind her. Branford closed several manila folders on his desk before acknowledging him.
“Rafe. This is a surprise.” He stood.
Rafe walked across the room and shook his father’s hand. “You’re looking well.”
“What brings you back to DC?” He took a seat behind his desk.
Rafe took a seat. “Came to see a friend.”
“A woman, no doubt,” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“You said ‘back,’” he returned, ignoring the barb.
“I’d heard you were here a few weeks ago. Played at some club in Georgetown. One of my staff happened to be in the audience.”
Rafe chuckled. “Of course.”
“So, you’re back and you’re here.”
“I thought since I had a little more time I should at least see you.”
“So who is she?” Branford asked, dismissing his son’s pretense at congeniality.
Rafe almost smiled. “Avery Richards.”
Branford’s eyes flashed. “Avery Richards. Horace Richards’s daughter?”
“From what she told me.” He watched his father’s expression tighten then relax.
“Secret Service. A little out of
your comfort zone.” He rocked back in his swivel chair and stroked his hairless chin.
“Didn’t plan it that way.”
Branford waved his hand. “How long will you be in town?”
He thought about Avery’s reaction, the chill she gave off. It was going to take a while.
“Not sure. I’m going to stay in Arlington.”
Branford nodded then stood, signaling that the impromptu meeting was at an end. “Maybe we can grab a drink or dinner at the club.”
Rafe stood. His father almost sounded like he meant it. A part of him wanted him to mean it, but that was wistful thinking. “Sure. I’ll call you.”
Branford walked his son to the door. He clapped him heartily on the back. “Take care of yourself, son.”
“Yeah, I will.”
Branford closed the door and returned to his desk. He pressed the intercom.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get me the background on an Agent. Avery Richards.”
“Right away, sir.”
Branford’s jaw tightened as he looked off into the distance.
* * *
Rafe strolled down the long corridor, lined with the offices of those who held the world in the palms of their hands. The presence of wealth and power, mixed with arrogance and entitlement assaulted him. He snatched the visitor badge off his jacket, signed out on the log book and stabbed the button for the elevator.
He looked around at the thousand-dollar suits and designer white shirts, the secretaries that scurried back and forth or trailed their bosses. The Secret Service who stood as sentinels every few feet. His jaw tightened.
The elevator door opened. He stepped on and let the closing door seal him from all the trappings that had taken away the one thing he’d ever needed after his mother died. But the pull of this city, this place and all that it represented was stronger than any thread that bound Branford Lawson to his family.
* * *
Avery returned to her office. Kerry was in there waiting for her.
“Well?”
“Don’t well me. Some friend. Why did you leave me like that?”
