by Abby Gordon
Chapter Ten
Grant emptied his suitcase in his usual, methodical way. Suits and shirts were taken to the front closet for his housekeeper to take to the dry cleaner’s. All the rest of his clothing went in the laundry hamper in the master bathroom. Before returning the hanging bag to the closet, he repacked it for the next emergency—two suits, four shirts, six ties, and the rest of his clothing. He checked his shoes, frowning at the scuffmarks. Dammit, you’d think he had been channeling Bronson or something. He set those aside to polish that weekend.
“Grant! Grant!”
How the hell did his cousin do that? He’d only thought of him and the man had to pop up! Knowing Bronson, he probably wanted to borrow a bottle of whiskey. Or a paddle from the playroom.
“Grant, dammit, I know you’re back!” The voice came down the hall accompanied by the usual heavy footsteps. Grant frowned. Someone was with Bronson. “There you are.”
Grant glanced at his cousin. Just behind Bronson was an agitated Ben. He put the hanging bag on its hook inside his closet.
“Bron? I just got in from…”
“It’s Francine. Do you have any idea of what’s been happening to her?”
Grant felt the blood drain from his body. Forget jetlag. Forget the complexities of deals and contracts that had normally been able to command his complete attention. All he could see was the look on her face of that last orgasm. That smile. The light in her eyes. All he could hear was her laugher, her husky voice.
His eyes narrowed. “What about Francine? What happened?”
Bronson began pacing immediately. Ben leaned against the wall and began drumming his fingers against the paneling. Grant frowned. He couldn’t imagine what had happened that would agitate the two to this extent.
“Your plane probably hadn’t taken off when they started. It was so low that it took a couple days to build up steam...”
“Who and what?” Grant cut to the chase. Feeling he would need it, he reached for the drink he’d poured. “Stop beating around the bush. I’m not some jury you need to convince. Spill it, Bronson.”
Ben nodded when Bron glanced at him. “Kevin and Delilah. In case she didn’t mention them…”
“Her former fiancé and the woman she found in bed with him. Another model.” Grant nodded, finishing his Scotch. “What about them?”
“They started rumors. Among other things, Kevin said Francine had tried to do cocaine in his apartment and had taken all the money in their shared account. Delilah said she found Francine downing vodka and unknown pills…”
“That’s fucking bullshit!” Grant exploded.
“That’s not all,” Bronson said quietly.
“What else?” Grant took a deep breath and leveled a steady gaze at his cousin.
“Kevin said Francine seduced him to get company secrets. They’ve been crucifying her, Grant. Heather called me. Her roommate’s a model who was on the shoot with Francine in Fiji. Francine came to see me Wednesday and we’ve been working on it…”
“Why the hell didn’t you call me or…”
“I was a bit busy trying to protect her and straighten things out. They went after her professionally,” Bronson continued. “Her agent and I have been working non-stop since Wednesday. We’ve filed all sorts of legal motions and they’ve already backed down on most of it. The account thing was easy to disprove because Francine never had a joint account with him.”
“Is Francine all right?” Grant asked sharply, now pacing about the room.
“She’s held it together,” Bronson assured him. “She’s got some strength to her, but I’m not sure how much longer she can hold on.” He paused until Grant looked at him. “The girls are all at some breast cancer fundraiser right now chaired by Elizabeth MacLauren.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Francine surrounded by those he knew would be attending any MacLauren event.
“Sonuvabitch,” he muttered.
“Yeah, I know.” Bron nodded. “I just talked to Heather. Everyone’s treating Francine like she has the plague or something. PR and legal-wise, we’re winning there. But this is the upper crust of society, Grant. You know what they’ll be doing to her.”
Grant nodded. He knew what that could be like. “Is Kevin there?”
“Yeah.” Bron nodded. “It’s his grandmother’s event. Delilah’s with him.”
Clenching his jaw, Grant shook his head and paced over to the window. Francine was going through hell and he wasn’t there to defend her from the catty remarks and cold shoulder treatment he knew could hurt like hell. He hadn’t been there all week! He knew damn well how the press could rip a person to pieces. Whether she wanted him there or not, he was going to protect her. And God help MacLauren if Grant got his hands on him.
He strode to the closet and reached for the hanging bag that protected his tuxedo. He paused. Did he really want to waste time showering and fussing with a damn tux? What the hell was he going to do to make sure no one messed with Francine? The plans he’d made on the flight home went out the window. Keep it simple, stupid, he told himself. Two part plan—punch MacLauren’s lights out, find Francine. Simple. Easy.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, turning around. “Let me get something from the safe and we’ll go. Get a hold of Heather. Tell her to stay there with Francine. But don’t tell her I’m on my way.”
Bronson and Ben blinked as Grant headed for his study.
“What is he doing?” Ben muttered as they followed him.
“Not a fucking clue.” Bron shook his head as he dialed. “Heather? Stay with Francine. Don’t leave. Stay put.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just trust me, okay? Thanks.”
Standing in front of the open safe, Grant pictured the perfect features and wondered just what it would be like to have her for more than just one night. He could hear her voice in his ear. The joy of life, the strength, the grace. The warmth. His. She’d been his and he’d let her go. Every fantasy he’d ever created had been real for one perfect moment and he’d walked away from it.
“Not this time,” he vowed, grabbing the blue velvet pouch.
A minute later, Grant reappeared, tucking something into his pocket. Pulling on his sheepskin coat, he checked for his wallet and keys.
“Let’s go.”
“Heather will have your head,” warned Bron, closing the door behind him.
“Why’s that?” Grant wondered, pushing for the elevator.
Ben lifted his cell phone and murmured for someone to meet them with the car.
“I’m taking my car,” Grant told him. “Bron, why will Heather come after me?”
“She’s on a vegetarian and organic kick. Nothing to do with harm to animals or something.”
“Right.” Grant nodded as the elevator doors opened. “Note to self. Cancel full-length mink for Heather’s birthday present.”
Bron and Ben chuckled.
Reaching the hotel, Grant handed the keys and two bills to the valet, whispering to him. Eyes wide, the young man nodded. Getting in, he moved the Mercedes fifteen feet, pulled to the curb and turned the engine off.
Grant looked at Bron.
“Where’s Heather right now?”
“Left as you enter the ballroom. Halfway down under the largest pink ribbon.”
“Kevin?”
Bron murmured in the cell phone. “On the dance floor with Delilah. She’s wearing a barely legal pink mini dress with a long-ass train. Heather says with Delilah’s red hair it hurts to look at her.”
Nodding, Grant strode in, ignoring security who tried to stop him. Flanking him, Bron and Ben intercepted the men and shoved them aside. Ben’s three men took care of the rest. Grant didn’t notice anyone or anything. Reception line? Hell, no. He was intent on two things.
Seeing his first target, Grant shoved two people aside, pulled one couple apart and grabbed the tuxedo jacket. Nearby, Keith turned from his date and stared.
“What the…” Kevin MacLauren sputtered. “Franklin, what th
e fuck…”
“Francine is mine, asshole. Spreading your lies was a mistake. She doesn’t like to drink and has trouble taking an aspirin. She sure as hell would never touch drugs.”
He shot a dirty look at Delilah who stared at him blankly. Turning his attention back to Kevin, Grant snarled. “You ever say another word about her again and I’ll deal with you in ways that go beyond your worst nightmare. You understand me, you sonuvabitch?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” screamed Kevin. He looked at Delilah, who’d moved behind him. “What the fuck did you say to—”
Grant simply pulled his fist back and let it fly. Kevin staggered back, tripped over Delilah’s train as she tried to get out of his way and crashed to the floor.
“I’ll do the same to anyone else I hear spreading lies about Francine,” Grant announced in a firm voice. “We clear?”
He glared at the formal-clad society members who shrank back from him. Except Keith, who moved to stand with Bronson and Ben. Grant acknowledged the support against the man’s half-brother with a nod.
“You boke by bose!” Kevin protested, the hand over his nose already covered in blood.
“You’re lucky that’s all I’m going to do,” Grant told him. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Eyes searching, Grant found the largest pink ribbon hanging on the wall to his left. The elite of New York City society scrambled to get out of his way.
****
“Girls, I don’t think I can take anymore of this,” Francine said, gathering her full skirt to rise from the chair she was on. “It’s been a long week and…”
“Bronson told us to stay here and—” Heather suddenly turned her head.
Hearing the commotion, Francine frowned.
“Heather?” She turned to the younger woman to her left. “What is it?”
Craning her neck, Heather shook her head.
“Too many people in the way.”
“Can you see anything?” Rose was asking Jasmine.
Lily put her hand on Francine’s chair as she stood on tiptoes trying to see.
Too exhausted to stand, Francine didn’t bother to even try. She had gone through more than the rollercoaster Bronson had called it. Tears were in her eyes as she thought about everything that had happened the past week. She’d been praying as she’d never dreamed of doing that ‘master’ would appear and put an end to all of the rumors. Anything. Something.
Nothing.
People were scattering and she frowned, wondering what was going on. The last few moved and she caught her breath. Broad shoulders, solid muscular thighs, and a swagger that promised satisfaction. Her eyes moved up slightly and filled with tears as she recognized the sculpted face with the day’s stubble. Even more familiar was the heat in the blue eyes that scorched her from twenty feet away. Her pussy clenched at what his expression told her.
Four men were with him and only one was in a tuxedo.
“Grant and Bron, you’re not in a tuxedo,” Heather was saying. “Why are you here dressed like that? Keith, what’s going on?”
Things fell into place for Francine as she saw the two men standing next to each other. They and Heather had the same eyes and chin. That’s why she’d thought he resembled someone she knew! Cousins. This had to be the cousin Grant Heather had mentioned. Ten years ago there had been some scandal and he’d basically dropped out of society’s spotlight, focusing on his business. Dear God, had they all been in on setting her up? A frantic head swivel to her left told her that Heather was completely baffled by the appearances of her cousins.
Turning her gaze back to him, she drank in the sight—Grant Franklin. To Francine, he had never looked better. Except naked. But where had he been the past week when the tabloids had been tearing her to pieces? Had he been waiting to make some sort of grand gesture? Why? That didn’t seem like him at all. He would have spoken up sooner to reduce all the publicity. Unless he had been hoping to avoid all of it and finally felt as if he didn’t have a choice. Except if that was the case, why was he here? Why now?
As if slightly frightened of the raw masculinity not covered by the tuxedo civility, Lily and Rose stepped closer together behind Francine’s chair. Their hands landed on Francine’s bare shoulders.
To her right, Jasmine had found her voice. “Why did you punch Kevin MacLauren like that?”
Francine couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. He’d punched Kevin!
Two steps away from her, Grant stopped. For a long moment, he just looked at her. Francine gazed up at him, unable to believe who he was, or that she hadn’t realized it. God, she had missed him! She had held those memories close during the week. At shoots, doing the commercial and just going out to get groceries. After that one horrible chase by the paparazzi, she had stayed in her apartment, leaving only when Heather insisted.
Could he see it in her eyes? How much that brief time had meant to her? How he had moved her? Invaded her heart, mind and body? Could he see how much she needed him? How much she…loved him?
The heat was still in his eyes, but his expression softened slightly as he reached into his pants’ pocket. He took two quick steps and went down on one knee.
“My flight from Berlin was late,” he said, voice steady. He spoke loudly and clearly although the crowd had hushed to hear what was said. “Or I would have picked you up tonight as I said.”
Everyone around them gasped and stared. He lifted his hand, fingers unfurling and revealing his palm. A large diamond winked in the gleam of the chandelier overhead.
“That was Great-Grandmother’s!” Heather gasped.
Grant nodded, eyes never leaving Francine’s face.
“Grant?” She didn’t dare hope. Not after the last week. “I don’t understand,” she told him. “What is all this?
He gently covered her hands on her lap and squeezed them slightly.
“Francine, you’re the only woman I want with me for the rest of my life. I want all the smiles, all the tears…”
“All the shouts and all the laughter,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Knowing that one person…”
“Will always have my back.” He smiled.
Taking her left hand, he slid the ring onto her finger. As he stood to bend over her, one hand went to the back of her head and gripped the coiled hair at her nape. Pulling her head closer, he kissed her, drawing her to her feet. His left arm wrapped around her waist and brought her flush against him. Her hands slid under his jacket, smoothed over his cashmere sweater, brushed his jaw and then her fingers threaded through the dark blond hair.
With a low moan, she surrendered, letting her body mold to his. She didn’t care where they were or who was watching. He’d come to her. He hadn’t wasted time changing. He’d come to her. He’d punched Kevin. He’d come…
She looked up as he lifted his head.
“Grant?”
“Let’s go home,” he whispered. His eyes found a stunned Keith MacLauren. “Tell your grandmother to put me down for a million.”
“And me,” added Francine, smiling. She rested her head on Grant’s shoulder. “Heather, I don’t think I’ll need a ride home tonight.”
“No, I don’t think you will.” Heather smiled. “We’ll understand if you don’t show up for Sunday brunch.”
Already drawing Francine away from the group, Grant looked over her head and winked at his grinning cousin.
“Smart girl.”
As if to make things clear to those who might have missed something the past ten minutes, he swept Francine up in his arms and strode out the door. An alert attendant was there with her cloak and he paused to let it be tucked around her.
Outside, he felt her shiver in the cold and quickened his steps. The young man had been watching. As soon as they appeared, he started the car and got out, leaving the driver door open. Hurrying around, he opened the passenger door. Nodding, Grant carefully placed Francine inside and put the seatbelt around her.
“All right, sweetheart?” he whispered.
Her eyes glowed and she pressed her lips to his.
“I am now.” She smiled. “Silk.”
“Wait until I get you home,” he winked. He hurried around to get in. Slamming the door closed he turned on the seat to look at her. His hands framed her face — the perfect, porcelain skinned, high cheek bones and blue-green eyes he’d seen every time he’d closed his eyes.
“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing her with more tenderness than he’d thought was in him. She sighed in his mouth and her tongue tangled with his. He groaned. “I am going to fuck the daylights out of you when we get home.”
“You do say all the right things to a woman,” she laughed. Her right hand moved down his chest, inside his coat and down to his lap. His cock twitched at her caress and hardened as her hand rested on top. “Mm, just the way I like it.”
With a groan he gave her a hard, just-wait-until-I-get-you-behind-closed-doors kiss and focused on his driving.
“I think I should have known who you were,” she commented after a couple minutes. “I mean, all the clues were there. I just didn’t have a chance to put them together.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I’ve been a bit busy the past few days. But I should’ve seen it,” she smiled, turning on the seat to face him. She rested her cheek on the leather. “Especially in Bron’s office Wednesday. You’ve both got the same eyes. Nearly the same body build.” She grinned. “Jasmine didn’t know whether to drool or attack.”
“Connect the dots for me?” he asked, turning right.
“The model with dark hair. The wild-child of our group and Heather’s roommate when she’s not flying off on shoots,” she explained. “She knows how to deal with men, but she didn’t have a clue as to how to react to Bronson. Any other time, it would have been amusing.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For defending me the way you did. I wish you hadn’t punched Kevin, but…”
