A Perfect Storm

by Dane, Cameron

  Sophie’s jaw clenched hard enough to make her molars hurt. “Right.” A hint of shame fluttered in her belly, but for reasons she did not understand, this particular man made it difficult for her to feel true remorse for her snooping. “Let me go get some food. And no worries, Mr. Cabot”—she smartly saluted him and his subtle superiority complex—“I’ll make sure to go straight to the kitchen. I will not pass Go or collect two hundred dollars.” Sophie wiggled her fingers at him. “Bye.”

  She spun and hustled up the steps quickly, leaving Lucien to stand amid new chuckles, this time from Magnus, Cale, and Jade. More guilt poked at Sophie’s conscience as she made her way inside. She had no right to tweak Lucien at every turn, particularly not in front of his employees. She’d never behaved so unprofessionally in her life. Yet she sensed an ease, a closeness and protection for Lucien from his employees that registered in her as something more accurately described as friendship. Lines were obviously either very blurred or simply outright didn’t exist among this small group—evidenced clearly by last night and a bit more this morning. Once again, Sophie wondered exactly what she’d stepped into when entering Ravenstoke yesterday. And beyond that, she still had a thousand thoughts about what role they, but Lucien in particular, expected her to play.

  Sophie entered the kitchen to the inviting waft of warm, yeasty bread filling the air and snaking into her nostrils.

  The bread called her, but her thoughts remained squarely on the exchange outside. What do you want with me, Mr. Cabot? A sense of caution weighed heavy in Sophie’s middle amidst an unusual anticipation rocketing missiles willy-nilly throughout her system anytime she got near Lucien. Heck, if she were honest, every time she thought about him.

  At that moment, though, Sophie stumbled upon the freshly cooked loaves of bread still in their pans on the stovetop, and nothing else mattered. Holding back her hair, she leaned in, inhaled deeply, and let the smells of her earliest childhood memories roll through her. Love for her mother and father and the united, tender pair they’d constantly presented to Sophie and Royce filled her heart with the sweetest, welcoming pain. She and Royce might not share the same blood, but Sophie’s mother and Royce’s father had never once let them believe they were anything but true siblings. Royce’s dad had adopted her and made them all a real family in the eyes of the law. Because of that upbringing, when their parents had died, Royce had never even let the idea of someone else taking custody of Sophie become part of the conversation. He’d been of an age to assume legal responsibility for her, and she’d still needed a guardian, so Royce had done everything necessary to gain and then maintain the right to assume the role. Thank God. Although Sophie loved her extended family, it would have devastated her world had Royce contemplated making her someone else’s ward.

  Looking at this bread, Sophie laughed to herself. Royce had tried to make her bread once—with disastrous results. He’d almost burned their kitchen down. Some quick thinking and a handily placed fire extinguisher had saved them from authorities possibly reassessing granting a young man the caretaker role for his little sister when there were many adults around capable of taking on the job.

  “You sure do seem to like that bread.”

  The sound of a young, scratchy voice shoved Sophie’s heart right into her throat. She whipped out of her meandering thoughts, scanned the kitchen, and found an auburn-haired boy who appeared to be nine or ten. He stood at the entrance wearing jeans and an Incredible Hulk sweatshirt.

  A child?

  With one look at the kid, all the confusion that had been swirling and growing inside Sophie since stepping foot on this island increased a hundredfold. What. The. Heck?

  All arms and legs, the gangly boy continued to study Sophie from his position just outside the kitchen. His wide-eyed stare surely matched hers, and his immobile state spurred Sophie to action.

  “Hi.” She walked across the kitchen and stuck out her hand. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Sophie.” After a handshake, Sophie explained, “I’m staying at Ravenstoke because of the storm. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to leave.”

  “My name is Owen,” the boy shared. “I lived here before the storm.”

  Ah, Owen. Sophie remembered Emma’s mentioning him by name. So not another employee. Lucien’s son, then? No. For all the mysterious nature of the man, she could not see him showing her around this place, eating dinner with her, sharing the study quietly for hours afterward, and somehow just letting it slip his mind that he had a child on the premises. Still… Maybe she was letting her growing interest in the man create explanations for every surprise she came across at Ravenstoke in order to continue to justify her quick attraction to an absolute stranger.

  Just as Sophie groaned inwardly at the convoluted direction of her thoughts, Owen pushed past her into the kitchen. “The storm was baaaad,” he said, heading right for the stove. With the way the boy dragged out that word, combined with the light in his eyes, Sophie imagined what he’d really meant was badass, cool, and awesome.

  “It was pretty spectacular,” Sophie agreed as she joined him. “I don’t know about you, but I could hear the windows shaking in their frames all night. One or two times, I thought they might bust right out of the walls.”

  “Jade stayed with me.” Owen made a face worse than if he’d swallowed down a tin of rancid sardines. “But I didn’t need her to. I’m not a baby or anything. I’m not scared of bad rain.” The kid suddenly wore a huge smile. “My mom says I might not have to go to school for a whole week cuz of all the mess from the storm.”

  Sophie’s thoughts drifted to the battered island and still-tumultuous waters. She could only imagine the destruction on the mainland. “I think your mom might be right.”

  As fast as Owen grinned, he hopped up on a stool and grabbed a knife out of a wood block. “My mom said the bread is cool now, and if I’m careful, I can cut it.”

  Sophie leaned her elbows on the counter and worked with everything in her to maintain a casual stance and tone. “Your mom?” Please, please, don’t let my interest come across as more than casual.

  Owen nodded. “She made it, so she knows, and that means it’s okay.”

  Sophie exhaled. “So Emma’s your mother.”

  “Uh-huh.” As Owen nodded again, he flipped the bread onto a plate and sliced off a huge wedge from the end.

  Hating her desire to know, Sophie asked anyway, “And your da—”

  “Sweetheart.” Emma swept into the kitchen right then, looking harried but lovely, and Sophie snapped her mouth shut. “You were supposed to cut slices for everyone and take them outside.” After joining them at the counter, she raised both eyebrows at her son. “I believe that was my condition. I’m sure you understood it as clearly as I spoke it.”

  With a big swallow, Owen wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Sorry, Mom.”

  Swallowing down her curiosity—for the moment, anyway—Sophie stepped in. “It’s partially my fault. I was already here admiring the bread when Owen showed up. I introduced myself, and we started chatting. I distracted him from his job.”

  “You got your free pass right there, buddy.” Her voice stern, Emma then ruined it by leaning across the counter and smacking a loud, messy kiss to her son’s cheek. “Finish up that slice while I get the plate ready for you to take outside.”

  Around a mouthful of bread again, Owen said, “I think Sophie wants a piece too.”

  “Sweetie.” Emma pinched Owen’s lips. “Your mouth. Food. No talking while it’s full.” Multitasking, Emma then began slicing the loaf of bread while talking to Sophie. “I swear he has manners and knows how to use them.” Efficiently, she completed slicing one loaf of bread and moved on to the second. “I think the excitement of the storm has everyone a bit off kilter.” Emma grabbed a plate out of a cabinet, slid it in front of Sophie and then moved to the fridge. “Help yourself.” Coming back with jam and butter, she added, “As soon as I get this plate ready for Owen to take outside, I can make you some eggs o
r pancakes or oatmeal.” Disappearing into a pantry, Emma then reemerged with a jar of peanut butter and went on without skipping a beat. “I also have plenty of fruit. I can put a plate together with some cottage cheese, if you’d prefer.”

  Sophie finished spreading strawberry jam on her bread, and her mouth watered. “No worries. The bread is plenty. Thank you.” Upon taking a bite, Sophie moaned as the warm, soft, sweet goodness drenched her taste buds. Mindful not to set a bad example, Sophie chewed and swallowed before saying, “I would love some coffee, though.”

  “Ooh, Mom!” Owen hopped off his stool, rounded the counter, and raced to the single-cup gourmet coffeemaker. “Can I do it? Please?”

  “Be careful.” After giving Owen that warning, Emma turned back to Sophie, chuckling softly as she rolled her eyes. “He loves that thing.”

  Putting her chin in her hand, Sophie couldn’t help smiling at the excitable kid. “It’s a cool gadget,” she mused, remembering the first time her mother had let her feed huge chunks of fruit into a juicer. “I wish I had one myself.”

  With a grin in return, Emma went back to spreading various condiments onto her many slices of freshly baked bread.

  As Sophie munched on her breakfast, she watched Emma and couldn’t reconcile this openly loving mother, who flitted about the kitchen more naturally than any of those chefs who had their own TV shows, with the woman tied up last night begging for two men to fuck her and push at the boundaries of her sexual pleasure. Unlike when seeing Cale and Magnus again, Sophie couldn’t as easily transfer back to that bedroom and see Emma with her hair flowing in fiery tresses around her face, or the way her puckered nipples capped her alabaster breasts, or how she’d screamed as she came. Emma and her needs had sat front and center in that scene last evening, but now Sophie only saw the homemaker and mother within the curvy redhead.

  Sophie suddenly started as the truth hit her. She had double standards. Despising the thud that hit her stomach with the realization, she absently thanked Owen for her coffee when he brought it to her and then slipped back into the dialogue running silently at mach speed in her brain. She naturally allowed that Cale and Magnus had elements of raw, sexual beings inside them but that they also functioned every day in society as professional men. But when it came to Emma, Sophie’s brain fought to keep those two pieces of Emma as separate people.

  I’m a hypocrite. I don’t openly accept women as sexual entities the same way I do men. Immediately following that loud thought came the whisper, That’s because you don’t embrace yourself as a sexual person. Sophie felt herself making a face. No way. She rejected that sentiment. She was by no means a virgin. She’d had sex. Heck, she’d even liked it. She knew how to have an orgasm. She’d even had a few while with a man. She knew how to make herself come when the need struck too. And while she might not want to do it in front of an audience, masturbating did not embarrass or shame her. Still, though. Her mind insidiously pushed at her. You’ve never let go in the earth-shattering way Emma did last night. If that was an earthquake you witnessed, you’ve barely experienced a tremor yourself.

  “Not true.” The sweet edge to the mocha coffee turned bitter in Sophie’s mouth, and the bread turned to stone in her stomach. “It can’t be.”

  Across the kitchen, a voice asked, “Did you say something?”

  Sophie jerked up straight. “What?” Snapping back into reality, she looked around to find Owen now gone and Emma chopping her way through a pile of root vegetables at the table. “No. I’m sorry,” Sophie replied. Warmth filled her cheeks, and she was sure they’d turned pink. “I was just thinking out loud.”

  Emma’s eyes twinkled. “I do that too.”

  “Hey, babe.” Jade breezed into the kitchen, empty plate in hand. “I wanted to get this back inside before it broke. And Cale gave Owen permission to lug the wheelbarrow around to help with cleanup. Don’t worry.” The svelte woman strolled to Emma’s side. “We won’t let him anywhere near the cliffs, and he’ll always be with one of us.”

  “All right. Make sure he keeps his coat on.”

  “Will do.” Jade then dipped down and brushed her lips against Emma’s. She lingered on Emma’s mouth with grazes and little kisses. It didn’t take but a second for Emma to hum a throaty little noise and rise to her feet, straight into Jade’s embrace. Clearly deepening the kiss, Jade ran a hand down Emma’s back to her ass and then to her hip, touching with obvious familiarity and easy affection. Emma made another soft, purring sound and rubbed herself against Jade’s thigh.

  Mentally blocked no more—at least where Emma was concerned—Sophie could now easily picture the redhead flat on her back with her thighs wide apart, and Jade with a big dildo strapped on, taking Emma until the smaller woman begged and screamed as loudly as the sounds Cale and Magnus had ripped out of her last night.

  With a groan, Jade broke the kiss and stepped away. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.” She stole another fast kiss and said, “I have to get back outside.”

  While Emma openly stared at Jade’s backside as the lithe woman left the kitchen, she sank into her chair so languidly Sophie thought she might turn into syrup and spill to the floor. Emma went back to chopping her veggies, but she now wore one of those dreamy little smiles teenagers newly in love don. Much the same as she had in the aftermath of Cale and Magnus working her over last night.

  What. The. Heck?

  Sophie felt like a broken record, but she couldn’t help it. Those three words had popped into her head more since getting that phone call to come to Raven Island than she’d ever thought or uttered in her life. The need for an explanation about Ravenstoke pressed heavily on Sophie. Illogical or not, the urgent desire to know if anybody in this place belonged to anyone else, or did they all just trade off whenever the whim suited them, ate equally at her brain and her heart. Added to that now was a desire to know if Owen belonged to Lucien. Her gut clenched upon that possibility. If the child belonged to him, then maybe Emma did too. And as ridiculous as it was, for she did not yet know this man at all, Sophie did not want Lucien to belong to anyone else. Not romantically, not sexually, and not intimately in any way.

  More than a budding sense of possessiveness or prurient curiosity drove Sophie’s need to seek answers. Every part of her being, burying itself deeper every hour she remained at Raven Island, was the knowledge that her presence was no accident. She just had yet to get even the tiniest answer as to why or how she fit.

  Of one thing Sophie had no doubt. Lucien lived in the highest, most important tower in this cloud-shrouded castle. He held all the power.

  That meant going straight to the man at the top for answers.

  Chapter Five

  Long after Lucien had given everyone permission to call it a night, he continued to clean the exterior of his home. The sun had set hours ago, and only a few strategically placed soft lights lit the first of Ravenstoke’s two courtyards. If this castle had truly existed during the times of knights and feverish land wars, Lucien imagined these long and narrow courtyards could have served for something as dainty as a place for the women to gather for tea or as brutal as a training ground for the men. Closed in deliberately by the castle’s design, the grounds offered a great deal of protection against the elements. Today one of them remained a field of grass, and this one served as a place to gather and eat on warmer evenings. That by no means included tonight.

  No longer aware of the near-freezing temperatures, Lucien righted a teakwood bench, wiped it down, and wondered how much longer Miss Emerson intended to hold out before she gave up and either asked her questions or went inside. After dismissing the others, Lucien had told Sophie to go get some food and to turn in early for some much needed sleep. She’d earned it, he’d said, and he’d meant it. In the cold and damp of the day, Sophie had kept up with Lucien chop for chop and bag for bag in their cleanup. That sweet little body of hers, buried under all that clothing, had a hell of a lot of power and stamina.

  Fuck. Lucien winced at the su
dden sharp, internal tug that brought his balls to life. He couldn’t help imagining all of Sophie’s strength wrapped around him and matching him thrust for thrust in an all-night fuck session that left them both depleted of electrolytes and unable to walk in the aftermath. And if she could build herself up a head of steam during sex like he could goddamn feel her doing right now, Lucien might have to reevaluate his assessment and say she would put him into a coma by the end.

  Jesus. Upon thinking that one word, a different kind of pain immediately rammed itself into Lucien’s gut and slammed him back to reality. Coma. Damn it. Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, and his chest banded tight enough to make his next breath painful and difficult to manage. There is always a job to do. You have not earned respite. You can never turn it off.

  No longer in the mood to let Sophie control how long she would dog his ass while she gathered her courage to speak her mind, Lucien spun and found the young woman wiping down the matching bench some dozen feet away. The second he made eye contact with her, she dropped her focus fully to her task.

  Growling, Lucien threw his towel across the courtyard and stalked Sophie until just the bench stood between them. Her sapphire gaze widened. She even reared back, but Lucien no longer gave a shit that he might be intimidating her.

  “I have fucking felt your judgmental stare drilling a hole into the back of my head all day, Miss Emerson,” he snapped through clenched teeth. “So unless you’re trying to psychokinetically perform a lobotomy on me, goddamn spit out whatever it is you’re clearly itching to say.”

  “Hey!” Sophie rounded the bench in a flash and shoved her wadded-up cloth at Lucien’s chest. “I have not judged you. I have not judged one single gosh-darn thing about you or your island or your castle or your employees, Mr. Cabot. Don’t project your labels onto me that you’re maybe secretly feeling yourself.”