by JJ Giles
Instantly, Brian deflated and turned away. But Jerry grabbed his hand and crushed it in his zeal to protect his son.
“I won’t do it unless you agree to it and I won’t do it unless you promise me you’re going to call her tomorrow and explain everything, Brian. She has to know who you are finally. I mean... damnit, you were just gonna invite the entire family in for the wedding and then mention, ‘Oh, I’m sorry but I forgot to tell you I’m Brian Abernathy, the one the entire world is looking for, darling?’”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!”
“That’s obvious. And there’s things about her you don’t know. She needs to get real with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the reason she won’t marry you...or any man, including me, Brian. You see, I had her investigated before I got involved with her. There’s things you don’t know about her, too. But I want you to call her first thing in the morning and do some serious talking. I want very much for you two to work it out.”
“Do you mean that?”
The thought made his stomach convulse yet he said insistently, “Yes. I can see how you two could be very good together. She’s like an untamed mare, wild and free and always in heat. And you...forever the class clown, aren’t you? You never take anything too seriously...except Morgan.”
“I’ve grown up a little since then.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“She’s gonna be pretty pissed to find out who I really am, you know.”
“I don’t think so. But I don’t want you to be too pissed when you find out what she’s been hiding, either.”
Brian trembled to think what Jerry might have found in his investigation of her. That was the reason he didn’t get with her too quickly. “Can’t you tell me now?”
“No. It really needs to come from her. But I will promise you...if she won’t tell you, I will.” Because Brian needed to know. Brian definitely needed to be aware of what Morgan could do if ever Morgan lost control. Jerry needed to protect his son.
Heavily, Brian sighed. “I guess it’s best this way.”
“I understand how hard this is for you. She grew up so damned poor and you were one the world’s wealthiest kids. The chasm between you is a great divide.”
Genuflecting, Brian smiled. “We went to France for my birthday one year. God, she’s so cute, Dad. Trying to teach me how to order dinner in French. And you should hear her accent. What’s she gonna think when she finds out I spent entire summers in Paris, a guest of the very privileged elite? That I partied on the Riviera, skied Chaminix. Hop on a jet to cross the Alps because I felt like pizza one night when she had to save for something like that? That I could piss away a year’s salary for her in Monte Carlo in a single night? That I’ve fucked the Princess of Monaco?”
Uneasy about that, Jerry peered up at Alex.
“I don’t think your confession requires that kind of detail, precious. But now I understand something,” Alex admitted. “You like your life with her and you don’t want that to change.”
“Never,” Brian insisted.
“And you’re scared to death that should she develop a taste for that lifestyle, she’ll want to live it, but that she won’t really fit in?”
Brian shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t think she’s capable of it. Morgan just doesn’t have enough bullshit in her to maintain a conversation about who’s fucking who, how much who got in a divorce settlement, and who died and left someone a fortune.”
Alex peered at Jerry. “That’s not unreasonable.”
“No, it’s not,” he whispered. “But I’m afraid that’s a risk you’re going to have to take.”
“I’m afraid, too, Dad. It’s a foregone conclusion that she’d run into some of my acquaintances of questionable character, only too happy to tell where I’ve been.”
“Like Renee?”
“Yep. So even if I can convince her to marry me, what do we have to look forward to?”
“Just be patient with her, Brian. Maybe she will be smitten at first, but there’s nothing shallow about her. It’s not like she asked you to leave.”
Tentatively, Brian nodded. “So you’re going out there tonight?”
“Brian,” Alex started, “Jerry really needs to get away from this place. From everything that has to do with Abernathy and reminds him of the past. He needs to put it behind him at least for tonight. I really think it’s the best idea for him and since Morgan offered, I accepted. But only with the guarantee that you are going to call her in the morning. Or even tonight.”
“Alright,” Brian said softly. Still, he was so unsure of any of this.
“Cherry will stay with you tonight. Will you be alright?” Jerry asked quickly.
“No. But I’ll get through the night.”
“Will you call me if you need me?”
“Yes.” He was grateful for the support.
“Alright then. We’ll pack a few things and then I’m gonna go have a drink and get some sleep.”
“Maybe you oughta eat. Kitty’s an awful good cook.”
Jerry leered. “Kitty’s pretty damn good at a whole hell of a lot of things.”
With Jerry’s appreciation of Kitty’s varied talents, likely including the sexual arts, Brian relaxed back into the cushions, knowing his father had had her and could quite possibly be diverted.
* * * *
The plans were quickly made. Morgan would sneak Jerry out in her car and Alex and Kitty could follow in a limo, the press uninterested in what Alex was doing. They were still certain that the rift between the twins was permanent.
With the top and the heavily tinted windows closed tightly, Morgan inched out of the garage and blended into traffic. No one could have believed it was still two hours before the evening rush, the main streets still clogged with an audience, that audience awaiting the law to come for Jerry Abernathy and take him away in chains.
Rather than attempt to get to the freeway, she headed east on Broad Street to get out of the city. Just east of downtown, the throng thinned and Jerry relaxed finally.
“A little better already, huh?”
“This is not something you have to do or get involved in, you know.”
“I’m already very involved, Jerry.” Insistently, she wrapped her hand around his thigh. Rather than deny his involvement, he threaded his fingers through hers as if to create a woven bond.
“How far?”
“Ten minutes,” she whispered. She wanted more than anything to get him home, massaged, relaxed, fed. At two in the afternoon, traffic was light beyond the outerbelt.
She turned off the state highway onto a rather poorly maintained township road. “Boonies?”
“Yes.”
Barely a mile down the road, she turned onto a lane dividing a stand of thick evergreens and pushed a button inside the car. By the time they arrived at the entrance, the gates were open and she wheeled through them under a heavy blanket of cool shade, a small forest through which the driveway twined. But that forest gave way to a view of her home, a magnificent red brick house whitewashed to appear as old as the original.
“Oh, Morgan,” he whispered. The façade was three stories high. The huge columns at the front supported the upper floor’s wrap-around porch. But it was the exquisite knot garden in front that choked his breath. Boxwoods carved to the shapes of animals, globes and columns sat amidst the carefully tended squares of herbs. A boxwood in the very center was formed to the shape of a heart. The scent was intoxicating. And it was all due to Brian.
She pulled into the garage and jumped out. Another car was parked there, a common everyday car, probably Kitty’s. He followed her through the door into the kitchen.
“This is beautiful.” Shamelessly, he stared at the pure white cabinets and black granite countertops. The hardwood floor was painted black and finished with polyurethane. It was covered with thick-fringed runners ornamented with latticed vines and bright flowers of ev
ery hue.
“You can be comfortable here?”
“Yes.” Because truly he could. Relaxing a little, he breathed in the airiness, the expansiveness, the stray shafts of light pouring through the sparkling windows. But the answer would be no if the rest of the property was as carefully crafted as the front by his son.
“Let me take you upstairs, get you in the shower and then I’ll start dinner so Kitty can finish up.”
“Is there a TV up there?”
“No.” Her bright green eyes were a perfect match to the philodendrons hanging in pots from her white beadboard ceiling. “You need to let go of it, at least for tonight. Tomorrow...you can kick somebody’s ass and then get their name, if that’s what you want to do.”
Easily, he smiled. It wasn’t that she was a raving beauty, the kind he generally encountered in his circles. It was only that she was too natural and the place she lived was the perfect compliment to her. Everything about this place was of nature, even the color of her hair, her eyes, the tiny laugh lines at the corners of her eyes others would have had botoxed to death. Need he even mention the breasts, still firm and dense without the benefit of silicone.
As if he no longer had a say in the matter, he allowed himself to be led up a sweeping staircase over carpet cut to fit each tread leaving the edges of red oak exposed. But those little details drifted beyond his interest now, because it was her soft round ass, a derrière so succulent he wanted nothing more than a bite out of it.
“I haven’t seen a lot of color in your life, so I don’t know which room you would prefer.” She opened the first door down an avenue of doors and pulled him in. The carpet reminded him of the seafoam rushing to shore only to linger there and be warmed by the sun. The walls, a soft celery, were mottled with a pearl glaze. The crown molding and ceiling fan blades painted pure white.
“This is fine, honey.” He took off his jacket and laid it on the edge of a sprawling bed. He moved past the chaise lounge, the over-stuffed chair in soft cream chenille to the French doors covered in sheers. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.
But he didn’t linger. The back of the house was even more ornately crafted than the front. He didn’t want to think about Brian right now. He wanted only to lose himself in Morgan.
“Let me help you,” she whispered. With her arms enfolding him, she loosened his belt and then his trousers. They slipped to the floor and he stepped out of them. He could only turn and take her into his arms.
Jesus God, he prayed as he held her trembling frame in his arms. The very best thing that’s ever happened to me...other than my son.
What seemed not a moment later, he stood under the soft amber hue of a sunlamp feeling sheets of moist warmth course over his body in waves. Her breasts pressed against his back, her nipples inflated ready to offer the sustenance he so desperately needed. The fur of her mound tickled against his leg as she slipped under his arm, slid up his body and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” she whispered, her tongue in his ear.
Something in him screamed 'no', as if a pitchfork stabbed into his heart. Yet his arms crushed her to him, her breasts flattened against his chest. No one had ever said that to him before, not even his mother. He opened his mouth on her parted lips, drove his tongue into her mouth as if to swallow her, to drink down her essence, her energy, her volatility and serenity.
She pulled away only a little to clasp his face in her hands and leave a shimmering kiss on his lips. “You take your time. Lay down for a while if you want. I’ll go start dinner and mix the martinis.”
What more could he possibly want from anyone? He smiled; he released her only to watch as she bent over, her breasts dangling, to wrap a towel around her hair. As she bounced toward the door, her smile so sweet, she kissed the tips of her fingers and tossed it toward him. What the hell more could he want? He braced himself against the shower wall, stood under the flowing water and wept.
* * * *
An attempt to rest was futile. His mind churned with the day’s events and settled on nothing. It bounced from Cheryl to Abernathy, from Brian to Morgan. Could Bryant actually handle the pressure and responsibility? Could Brian and Morgan work it out?
Rather than let riddles without clues drive him insane, he opened the armoire door and found a soft terry robe of white. The woman had a thing for purity, he noted and slipped it on, went downstairs.
Fuck, as he peered around the corner to see her in a fluttering cream gown, something thin, almost sheer, shimmering, the soft folds lying over her hips as if it were a second skin. The sleeves flowed to the floor, something out of one of those paintings of virgin damsels in museums, a perfect canvas to set off the color of rich bronze cascading from the crown of her head. When she turned, it cinched under her breasts in a wide band, plunged between those breasts to expose cleavage deep enough to suffocate within.
“Come on in,” she mewed. Her lashes batted covered only in the softest sable, a touch of blush on her cheeks. Her lips of creamy salmon smiled, but the nod to modern notions of feminine beauty ended there.
Without will to resist, he moved barefoot over the thick, soft runner. “Can I help?”
“No. Kitty can finish up.” She reached into the refrigerator for a plate of shrimp and cocktail sauce. “And since we’ll eat outside tonight, you can just get comfortable out there.”
He followed her into the scent wafting on a breeze through the door. Onto the flagstones, the expansiveness of this place was incredible to behold. The ancient trees swayed lazily to the afternoon breeze. But it was over the low wall around the veranda crafted of the same stone he noted the flowers, colors he couldn’t describe, only appreciate, to remind of Brian.
She stood by the chaise, her gown flowing as did the trees. The long strands of ornamental grasses swayed with the forces that compelled it rather than resist. Quickly, he fell into it and curled a little as she laid the tray of shrimp on the table. She perched on the very edge holding a large glass of sparkling amber liquid reflecting the stray shafts of light through the ice.
“That’s a martini?”
“No. This is southern iced tea, a water-based concoction to help cure your dehydration...and your headache,” she whispered.
“How do you know I have a headache?”
“You haven’t eaten today and you look like shit because you feel like shit. But by the time I put you to bed tonight, you’ll feel much better.”
He held the glass to his lips and sipped. He tipped the glass and drank deep. “That’s pretty good stuff. Not sweet.”
“Anybody who drinks as much as you doesn’t do sweet.”
“I do drink too much, don’t I?” But the sentiment was cut short by, “Dear God.” He curled tighter to see two animals the size of ponies lope onto the porch. Their huge velvety muzzles pressed into his feet, sniffed at his legs, drove into his groin.
“Easy,” she hissed. She reached out to stroke their clipped ears. “This is Mr. Abernathy. He’s staying with us awhile. Be nice, damnit.” With determination, she jerked the choke chain of the one more aggressively sniffing at his armpit. Suddenly, a broad flat tongue swept over his cheek for a taste. “That’s enough. GO!” The dogs leapt over the wall, loped across the lawn and disappeared into the woods.
“What the hell was that?”
“Fame and Fortune. Their father was a Westminster champion Great Dane. My little girl, Fame, is very protective of me and consequently more aggressive in her desire to know who’s around than Fortune. He’s content to be entertained and served.”
“Curious. I thought it would be the other way around.”
“Don’t be stupid. Males can be taught to protect and defend, unto death if necessary, but in females it’s an instinct. Think about your average lion lulling around the savanna waiting for mom to bring home the zebra. He gets up off his dead ass long enough to get his fill and then leaves the rest for her and the kids. He only defends the pride
from other lions who might want his pussy cat, while the mommies defend the babies to death and kill the infirm rather than allow them to be eaten alive.”
His expression somber, her stared conspicuously. “Never thought of it that way.”
She leaned forward to leave a quick kiss on his cheek and go for more tea.
Never, never noticed, he thought. Defend the pride. He thought about his little pride at the moment. And Morgan, the coveted pussycat of all the males...and his daughter, too. He thought about the moment Morgan defended her little pride, when her mother laid on the floor slowly dying from a beating and she struck out and murdered the man who did it. About how he only accepted what his father and his wife threw at him until Morgan came and freed him.
He also thought about Fame and Fortune. Curious that she would give her dogs those names. Fame was more aggressive than Fortune. Was Morgan more aggressive when it came to fame? Maybe Brian had it right when he feared the loss of this life-style to cavorting the globe because she wanted it.
But Jerry was the interloper here. Yet the sense that Brian needed him, that Brian merely wanted him remained firm. But how?
“Oh, love, this place is beautiful.” He watched Alex swirl up the steps onto the porch. “It feels like an English garden...with grass.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“How are you?”
“Did anybody follow you?”
Alex shook his head.
“And you left the guards at the gate?”
Alex nodded and Jerry relaxed a little more. But how would Morgan handle the extra people around when she was so easy to be free of commotion? And married to an Abernathy, whether it was Brian or him, that commotion provided a wall of protection she didn’t know she would need.
“Alex,” Morgan said happily in greeting. “What can I get for you? A martini, tea, your own personal valet, a room with a view?”
“All of that, Precious, and in that order, thank you.”
