KIRKLAND: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  Miles didn’t even look at me as he took my hand and led the way to the car.

  Chapter 6

  I didn’t know what to expect on my wedding night. I knew that it wouldn’t be traditional, but I didn’t expect to spend it with a surly man who wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence. The moment we were alone, he shut down. It was as if I’d played the role he’d asked me to play, but now he was done. He was silent on the flight, silent on the car ride to the hotel, and silent as we rode up the elevator to our suite with the bellboy. The moment we were alone, he went to the bar and pored himself a hefty glass of whiskey. I stood there and watched him for a minute, not sure what I was supposed to do.

  “You want a drink?” he asked.

  I shook my head, but his back was to me so he couldn’t see it. He turned, his eyes almost cruel, as they found me standing there, still dressed in white, clutching the handle of my clutch.

  “You should probably go.” His voice was low, very controlled. “I plan on getting very drunk, and you probably don’t want to be around for that.”

  “Where would you like me to go?”

  He shook his head as he turned back to the bar, pouring more whiskey into his glass. “Fuck if I care.”

  And that’s how my wedding night went. I ended up locking myself in the bedroom and crying myself to sleep. When I woke the next morning, he was gone. He showed up for dinner, and then he was gone again. He never bothered to tell me where he was going or when he would be back. The first day I spent waiting for him to return. After that, I figured I was in Florida and I wasn’t going to sit in a hotel room the whole time. I’d never traveled further than Dallas my entire life—except, of course, the first five years of my life that were spent in Houston—so I was determined to enjoy this experience. I went for a walk on the beach, visiting some of the tourist shops in town. I even took a snorkeling class at the pool. Miles didn’t even ask me how I’d spent my time.

  We flew back to Waco after five days. And that’s when I got to see his house for the first time.

  I wanted to hate his house. I wanted to find it ostentatious and pompous, just like him. I wanted it to be something I would find it easy to walk away from in a few months when he decided he was done with me.

  But I couldn’t.

  It was beautiful. It was a Georgian-style house with gorgeous, gray bricks and whitewashed pillars. It wasn’t huge, not a mansion by any stretch of the imagination. Cozy seemed like a more fitting description despite the fact that it had five bedrooms on the second floor and a rambling floor plan on the first. As we turned the corner of the long drive and the house came into view, I found myself imagining how I would decorate a house like that, how I would change the landscape, and what I could do with the many rooms that looked out on the driveway through huge picture windows. I fell in love with it at first sight despite my determination not to.

  “I’ll be late tonight,” Miles said, as he dragged our luggage out of the trunk. “I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on when I get to the office.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s a car in the garage you can use if you have somewhere to be. Otherwise, you should probably stick close to the house. I’ll get you a cellphone in a few days so I can get ahold of you when I need you. Until then, there’s the house phone.”

  “I have a cellphone.”

  “Yes, well, I’d rather get you a better one. A more reliable one.”

  My cellphone was a little old, but it felt like an insult when he said it like that.

  He walked to the front door without looking to see if I was following. I did follow, curious to see the inside of this building I had already fallen in love with. I wasn’t disappointed. The marble and woodwork in the entryway alone was breathtaking. The French doors in the sitting room, the high ceilings, and the little details in the woodwork on the door frames were all incredible. I wanted to walk through each room and do it again, just absorb every little detail about the place.

  “Your room is at the top of the stairs, the second door on the right.”

  I nodded, not really listening to him. I ran my fingers over the glass doorknob that opened one set of French doors as I stared out at the terraced garden behind them. It was pretty obvious that the garden was a work in progress, but it already sported rose bushes that were overflowing with late spring blooms. My aunts would have a wonderful time here, planning what and where to put new plants. I was actually thinking of inviting them over when I realized what a mistake that would be.

  I couldn’t let them close. I couldn’t let them see the cracks in the façade Miles wanted us to put out there into the world. My aunts would see through it eventually. And I didn’t want them to know the truth.

  It was like a cold slap that brought me back to reality.

  “I’m leaving,” Miles said.

  I just nodded without bothering to turn around.

  And that’s how things went between us for the next few months. I stayed at the house, alone, and waited for Miles to need me. When I had a job, I thought it would be fantastic to stay home all day and watch television, but now, I would have given anything to have a job, or an excuse to get out of the house.

  We went to dinner with a few of Miles’ clients, attended a some parties, and even drove to Dallas for a big gala at one of the museums there. And it as fun, I guess. Most of the people stared at me and asked stupid questions without actually appearing to address me. Miles was always kind and gentle in front of other people, but the moment we were alone he mostly ignored me. If I’d known it would be like that…I don’t know. Maybe I would have done it anyway. Or maybe not.

  I was curled up on the couch one afternoon when Miles came slamming into the house. I mean, literally, slamming. The front door closed with such a clatter that I could feel the house reverberating under me. I sat up and watched him toss his suit jacket over the back of a chair and head for the bar.

  “Bad day?” I asked, even though it was only three o’clock. Miles rarely came home earlier than seven on a normal business day.

  He didn’t answer. Big surprise. I was so used to him ignoring my questions that I settled back on the couch. I was two more paragraphs in to my novel when he said, “Go pack. We’re leaving in an hour.”

  “Pack? For what?”

  He didn’t answer at first. He swallowed whatever it was he was drinking. I guessed that it was whiskey—that seemed to be his favorite drink—but I wasn’t sure. Then he turned and focused on me for the first time in weeks.

  “I’ve been summoned to my father’s house, so I need you to go pack. Make sure you have a couple of cocktail dresses. Mother and father like to dress for dinner.”

  That wasn’t a problem. Joan took me shopping a couple of days after we returned from Florida. She said a proper lady needed a proper wardrobe and she couldn’t imagine that covered my particular wardrobe. It was hard not to be offended by the words that often fell from Joan’s lips, but it was also hard to take offense because I didn’t even realize I was being insulted half the time until I’d had a few minutes to think about it.

  I dropped my book on the couch and headed out of the room.

  “Riley?” Miles called after me.

  I turned around and looked at him.

  “It’s very important that everyone we meet at my parents’ house believe that this marriage is real. I realize I haven’t been very forthcoming with you these last weeks, but, please…”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  There was tension in everything about him, from the way his shoulders were set, to the way his jaw hardened as he watched me.

  “If we can pull this off, it will be the last thing I ask of you.”

  “Okay.”

  It was a different experience packing for this trip than it had been for our honeymoon. I had monogrammed luggage now and beautiful clothes that required careful arrangement. I packed more than one pair of shoes and makeup—I actually wore makeup now. Joan took me to a spa where
they taught me how to accentuate my better qualities and hide my lesser ones. I still didn’t wear makeup often, just when Miles took me out, but it was nice to know I could do it without looking like a clown now.

  I changed from the shorts I’d been wearing into a soft linen dress that made my curves look desirable. At least, I thought they did. Miles never seemed to notice. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and fixed my face, tossing everything into the travel bag Joan also insisted I have. Packed, I opened the door to find Miles pacing in the hallway.

  This visit clearly had him tied up in knots for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess. In fact, I’d stopped trying to figure out my husband. He was an enigma that it wasn’t mine to figure out.

  We drove to the airport in silence. I turned on the radio when I couldn’t stand it anymore. There was a local station that played some Sinatra, so I switched it to that and was instantly rewarded with “That’s Life”. I hummed under my breath, thinking of aunts with a wisp of nostalgia.

  Miles switched it off.

  I’d assumed we were flying commercial, but Miles pulled into a small, private airstrip just outside of town where a small jet was waiting just off the runway. He came around and took my hand to help me out of the car, his fingers intertwining with mine as though they owned that space. And, perhaps, they did. He often held my hand when we were out together. I kind of assumed it was to keep me at his side. And it worked. I was always so nervous that it gave me a certain amount of courage to feel his strong hand wrapped around my own. Maybe it worked that way for him, too, though I couldn’t imagine he would need courage, especially not from the likes of me.

  We walked to the plane, and a young man greeted Miles by name.

  “Jonathon,” Miles said in return, shaking the man’s hand with his free one. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, sir. Glad to see you again.”

  “Yes, well, if only it was under better circumstances.”

  The man looked down at the ground for a second, and then he was looking at me, naked curiosity in his eyes as they moved over my face.

  “May I introduce my wife,” Miles said. “Riley, this is Jonathon Calla, my father’s private steward. Jonathon, this is my wife, Riley Thorn.”

  I rarely heard my name attached to Miles’, so it was always kind of jarring. I managed to control my reaction this time, however, forcing a smile that felt too heavy on my facial muscles as I accepted Jonathan’s light handshake.

  “Welcome to the family, Mrs. Thorn,” Jonathon said, as he gestured toward the plane. “Everything is set up for you. Please, make yourselves at home.”

  Miles led the way to the steps, letting go of my hand and pressing his against the small of my back. Even after all these months, I was still unused to him touching me. Not that he did it often. But it was still odd—and a little thrilling—to feel the heat of his hand against my back, even with the thin linen of my dress between us.

  The plane was like so many I’d seen on television and in the movies. It sported a half-dozen, leather-clad chairs, thick carpet, and expensive accents. I caught myself running my fingers over the fine-grain wood that was the arm rests of each chair. Miles stayed close to me, directing me to a chair toward the center of the cabin. I sat next to the window, and he sat beside me, quickly fastening his seatbelt and gesturing for me to do the same.

  I’ve flown twice in my entire life—to Florida and back to Texas. This was definitely a new experience for me. Jonathon brought Miles a whiskey without being asked, and a glass of red wine for me. When I tasted it, I realized it was a similar vintage to the one Miles and I had shared over dinner the night he proposed his crazy scheme for us to marry. I glanced at him, but he was staring at his cellphone, occupied with a text message displayed on the screen.

  I stared out the window, as the crew prepared the plane for takeoff. The longer we sat there, the more nervous I became until I grabbed Miles’ hand as the engines rumbled beneath us and the plane began to move.

  “You’re perfectly safe,” he said, leaning close to me so that only I could hear his words. “It’s much more dangerous to drive across town than it is to fly in an airplane.”

  “Yes, well, I’d rather be behind the wheel at the moment, thank you.”

  “You can’t always be in control.”

  “I don’t want to always be in control. Just right now.”

  He chuckled softly near my ear. “You are stubborn.”

  I would have argued, but the plane chose that moment to leave the ground. I don’t know what it was about being in such a small plane that made this moment so much worse than the overcrowded commercial jet we’d flown in earlier, but it did. I turned to him and buried my face in the side of his shoulder, a small groan slipping from my lips. He turned into me, my head sliding closer to his throat as he pressed his free hand against the side of my head.

  It would have been a nice moment if I hadn’t been so frightened—and if he hadn’t been laughing.

  Chapter 7

  Miles’ parents lived in Wellesley, Massachusetts, less than forty minutes from downtown Boston. Their house…my God…it took my breath away when I first saw it. This was the kind of colonial house I imagined when I thought of mansions. Only it was probably three times larger than I had imagined, with a sprawling lawn that could have been an entire park in the neighborhood where I grew up.

  “It’s okay,” Miles said as the SUV we were riding in pulled up to the house, “you can stare. Most people do.”

  “It’s impressive.”

  “It’s the definition of opulence.”

  I glanced at him, a little amused he would use that word to define his own childhood home. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was sitting so far back in his seat that he looked like a child about to have a temper tantrum. I wanted to reach over and reassure him somehow, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t understand his reluctance to see his parents, but I suppose I don’t often understand those sorts of things. I had no personal experience to draw from.

  “They won’t be there when we arrive,” he said. “They’ll be out for the evening. We probably won’t see them until morning.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “They know we’re coming, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why wouldn’t they be there?”

  “They have a busy social life, Riley. And they wouldn’t let something as common as my arrival change up their schedule.”

  There was no anger in his voice, no resentment. Just a kind of acceptance that broke my heart. The fact that he was correct in his assumptions only made it worse. We walked into the house, and the only person there to greet us was an elderly butler. He politely—but curtly—told us which room would be ours for the duration of our stay and bowed his way out of the room.

  Now I knew where Miles got some of his manners.

  “Come on,” Miles said, leading the way up the grand staircase that bisected the impressive, large entry hall. It was big enough to fit my entire bedroom inside of it and then some. And it was all marble—the walls, the floor, the ceilings—an impressive display that belonged in a museum. I was still staring at it as we walked up the stairs, turning at the landing to look back. It was even more impressive from such a height.

  Miles grabbed my hand and pulled me down a long, wide corridor that led to another corridor that led to another. I knew I would get lost if I tried to navigate all of this on my own, but Miles seemed to know exactly where he was going. With another turn, we stood in front of a set of double doors that opened onto a room that was…green. Green everywhere. The draperies, the carpet, the small loveseat and recliner set into a corner, the comforter on the bed. Even the linens in the bathroom—which I could see through another set of double doors—were green. And not just one shade of green, but dozens. Kelly green. Emerald green. Pale green. The green of shamrocks and ivy. It was overwhelming.

  “Does your mother like green?”

 
“All the rooms have a color scheme like this. She usually puts me in the blue room, but I guess Lila and her husband are expected this weekend, too.”

  I walked over to the bed and picked up a pillow, pulling it against my chest as I sat down. Miles stood in the doorway, watching me, until the butler showed up with our suitcases. He immediately turned and moved out of the way, watching the man with a pained expression. I wondered for a second why he didn’t help the poor man who seemed overburdened with the weight, but then I could see that he wanted to. I knew that sometimes it was better to preserve a person’s pride than it was to offer them help. I was slowly learning that with my aunts. They kept firing the nurses I hired to stay with them during the day, insisting they didn’t need help. It took me a while, but I finally called Lisa’s mom and asked her to peek in on them a couple of times a day instead. Maybe they needed their freedom more than I’d always thought they did.

  Things were a little awkward after the butler left. Miles opened his bags and began to unpack, so I followed suit. But we’d never really shared space before, so we kept tripping over each other. And when I was ready to change into my pajamas…I wasn’t even sure where I was going to sleep.

  “You take the bed,” Miles said almost as if he could read my mind.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Awkward. I lay awake for a long time, listening to him in the darkness. At first, he was quiet, only making noise when he rolled over or adjusted his long legs over the short edge of the loveseat. But then he fell asleep, and I could hear his heavy breathing. It was reassuring in a strange sort of way. And ironic. Here I was, a married woman for what, three, four months? Yet, this was the first time I’d slept in the same room with a man.

  The virginal bride. Somehow I’d taken that idea to a whole new level.

  ***

  Miles was gone when I woke the next morning. I went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The walls were still wet from Miles’ shower. I couldn’t imagine how I’d slept through the noise of the water hitting the stone walls, but I had. The thought of it, of him standing here, naked…it filled my mind with images that brought back the heat of that kiss he’d given me on our wedding day. We hadn’t kissed since—not unless you counted the numerous kisses Miles had pressed to my forehead or the top of my head when we were out together—yet, the taste of his lips was still so strong on the tip of my tongue. I told myself it was just my imagination; that my mind had blown that one kiss into something it wasn’t. However, I couldn’t quite convince that other part of me, the part that quivered deep in my belly each time it crossed my mind.