Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6

by Various Authors

  “Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Aim to get promoted to management by thirty. Have a baby.” Somehow, giving voice to her goals seemed like confessing something embarrassing.

  “You can’t live life by a neat plan.”

  “It’s important to have goals,” she said defensively.

  “Yeah, but not when they interfere with examining your evolving feelings. Sometimes plans can get in the way of getting what you really want.”

  “You sound like an expert.”

  He grinned. “You can take it from me. I’m the son of a psychologist, and I’m also someone who gets paid big bucks for singing about emotions.”

  “Yes, I noticed. I thought I heard you humming something under your breath a little while ago before we were, ah, otherwise occupied. I didn’t recognize the tune. What was it?”

  “Nothing,” he said obliquely. “Just a song that I kind of know.”

  “Hmm,” she said, running her foot along his leg.

  His hand clamped down on her moving leg and stilled her, his face taking on a seductive intensity. “On the other hand, I don’t just kind of know you.”

  As he pressed her into the bed, she laughed breathlessly and gave herself up to tonight, for once not thinking about tomorrow.

  Nine

  The next morning, Summer woke up feeling happier and more content than she could recall being in a long time. She looked across at the man lying asleep next to her.

  Zeke.

  She’d never before woken up next to a man. She wondered why she never had, and yet she knew how she was feeling now was due to Zeke himself.

  Looking at him, she itched for her camera so she could snap his picture. In repose, unguarded, his features relaxed, he looked even more heart-stop-pingly handsome than on stage.

  A part of her couldn’t believe the Zeke Woodlow had taken an interest in her. She knew he couldn’t be attracted to her for her money, since he was very wealthy in his own right.

  She recalled the events of last night and flushed. They’d fallen asleep and woken up to make love twice more during the night. After the last time, Zeke had sung her to sleep. Just thinking of it now, she felt warm and cherished all over again.

  She was pleased he’d liked the write-up that she’d done of their interview. She’d walk on hot coals before she’d admit it to anyone, but she’d played back the tape of their interview repeatedly, just to hear the sound of his voice.

  She watched as Zeke opened his eyes and smiled, rolling on his side toward her and stroking her with his hand. “Hi.”

  She smiled back at him. “Hi.”

  He pulled her toward him and nuzzled her neck. She laughed and squirmed, and soon there was no more talking.

  Much later, he asked, “Any plans for the weekend?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Spending it in bed, I’m hoping.”

  She laughed. “Actually, I usually go to The Tides.”

  At his confused look, she added, “My grandparents’ estate in the Hamptons. It’s where Scarlet and I were raised after my parents died.”

  His hand caressed her thigh. “Take me along.”

  “I couldn’t!”

  The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think. Yet, of course she couldn’t bring him to The Tides! Last night Une Nuit, and now The Tides? She’d be flaunting him right after her breakup with John.

  He cocked his head and gave her a look of mock offense. “What’s the matter? I’m good enough to sleep with but not good enough to be seen with?”

  “Isn’t that my line?” she responded. At the moment she still had to figure out how to sneak him out of the townhouse without alerting any of the servants. Fortunately, there was a secondary entrance from the outside directly to the living quarters that she shared with Scarlet. She just had to get downstairs to retrieve his jacket and cap, which they’d left in the foyer last night, and sneak back up.

  Zeke just continued to look at her in amusement, and she wondered for a second whether he’d read her mind.

  “Anyway,” she asked, “aren’t you busy? Don’t you have things that you need to be doing this weekend?”

  He smiled. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

  “We’ll have to take separate bedrooms,” she warned, weakening despite herself. “My grandparents are traditional.” She didn’t add that, of course, she wouldn’t give him the room that John used to stay in. That would be a little much all around.

  He gave her an intimate smile. “I can be fun out of bed, too.”

  She heated. “You’re incorrigible.”

  So it was that, later that day, they pulled into The Tides’ parking garage. Because they’d gotten a late start and had had to swing by the Waldorf, it was already after lunchtime when they arrived.

  As they walked along the breezeway that connected the garage with the rest of the mansion, she watched Zeke look around, then arch a brow. “Even more impressive than the townhouse.”

  She shrugged half-apologetically. “To me, The Tides has always been just home.”

  “Some home,” he said as they walked into the house.

  They dumped their overnight bags in their rooms, and Summer was relieved when she was told by Olive that her grandparents were out and would not be back until dinner. At least she didn’t have to deal with those introductions just yet.

  “How is Aunt Karen?” she asked Olive.

  “Michael brought her into the city to see her doctors. The both of them are not expected back until Monday.”

  Uh-oh. She’d been hoping her aunt and uncle would be around to act as a buffer between Zeke and her grandparents.

  Olive served them a quick late lunch, and afterward Summer said to Zeke, “Come on, I’ll show you around the estate.”

  They went back to their rooms for jackets to guard against the blustery March weather. On the way out Summer grabbed her camera and slipped it into her pocket. She always left one of her digital cameras in her room at The Tides. She liked to amuse herself on weekends by taking pictures of the surrounding landscape, playing with light and shadows and capturing the changing seasons.

  Outside, they toured the grounds together, taking in the pool house, the helicopter landing pad that her grandfather used when commuting to work in Manhattan, and the site of the English rose garden that Maeve lovingly tended and that bloomed in warmer weather.

  Finally, they stopped at the top of hand-carved stone stairs that led down from a bluff to a private beach and boat dock.

  Summer drew the camera from her pocket.

  She saw Zeke grin as he spotted it.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You. I still think you’re more suited to be in front of the camera than behind it.”

  “Oh.” She flushed. “I thought that was just a line you were giving me when we were in your dressing room after the concert.”

  He arched a brow. “Distrustful sort, huh?” He shook his head. “No, I really meant it. With your coloring, you’re model material.”

  “Will you pose for me?” she asked, skirting a subject she wanted to avoid.

  “I thought you’d want to capture the landscape.”

  She shrugged. “I often do, but today I want to photograph you. You have an interesting face.” A compelling face. She didn’t want to admit just how fascinated she was by it. By him.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Okay, I’ll pose for you. I like where this led last time.”

  She remembered, too. It had led to kissing and would probably have led to much more if she hadn’t fled after their interview. Careful, Summer.

  Soon, though, she was snapping photos of him from different angles, first as he looked out at the water, and then as he stood on the stone steps.

  “Did you ever do photo sessions with John?” he asked when she was done.

  “No,” she answered, then realized how that sounded. She lowered her camera and busied herself with shutting it off and putting it away.

  “Hey,” Zeke said as he came back up
the steps to join her, “I want to see how those pictures turned out.”

  “I’ll e-mail them to you.”

  She was troubled by what she’d admitted to Zeke—and to herself. She’d never been fascinated by John’s face, had never had a compulsive urge to snap his picture.

  Good grief, what was wrong with her? She’d nearly convinced herself to marry a man who’d really been not much more than a good friend. On the other hand, maybe it was her current fascination with Zeke that was abnormal.

  When she looked up, she caught Zeke gazing at her thoughtfully.

  “It’s okay if you find me more fascinating than you do other men,” he teased.

  He saw too much, she thought with chagrin. “Let’s get back.”

  Later that evening, as she sat across the dining table from Zeke, Summer realized dinner was going to be as much of a trial as she’d thought. Olive had informed her grandparents that Summer had brought a “male friend” along with her.

  Summer had started to count the number of times that her grandfather’s eyebrows had risen and fallen with suspicion, and now she wondered if civility would hold sway at least until the end of the meal.

  Even her grandparents had heard of Zeke Woodlow and, of course, her grandfather was no fool. If her cousins had seemed to sense there was more to her relationship with Zeke than met the eye, then certainly Patrick Elliott wouldn’t be fooled. Last weekend she’d announced her broken engagement, and this weekend she was showing up at The Tides with a different man in tow.

  At that thought, she caught her grandfather’s penetrating look and nearly winced as she got a good idea of his thoughts: Well, Summer, my girl, these are the sorts of shenanigans that I’d have expected out of your sister and not from you.

  Zeke cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had descended. “So, Summer tells me you’re in the process of choosing a successor. Do you already have big plans for your retirement?”

  Summer groaned inwardly. The word retirement didn’t exist in her grandfather’s vocabulary. Not really, and certainly not as applied to him.

  She wondered why Zeke would bring up a touchy subject. She’d already told him how the competition among magazines was exacerbating family tensions. She tossed him a quelling look that he either didn’t see or refused to acknowledge.

  Summer watched as her grandfather leisurely finished buttering a roll and took his time answering. She knew from experience that one of her grandfather’s techniques for making his targets uncomfortable was to draw out the silence.

  Zeke, however, appeared to remain completely at ease. It was she who felt like squirming.

  When Patrick finally looked up, he said, “Some of us never really stop working. For others, though, the party never seems to end.” He bit into his roll.

  Argh, Summer thought.

  She watched as Zeke took his time chewing his food and swallowing. “Yes, sir. That’s all too true. I’m glad we fall into the same camp on that score.”

  Patrick huffed, as though he couldn’t believe Zeke had the audacity to claim that he—the up-by-his-boot-straps, self-made founder of a publishing empire—had anything in common with a bad-boy rock star.

  Summer noticed her grandmother hide a smile. Well, at least Gram seemed to be rooting for the underdog.

  Patrick stopped eating and addressed Zeke. “You mentioned that your parents are a professor and a psychologist. Do they approve of your career choice?”

  “They weren’t too happy at first, but they realized I was entitled to pursue my own dreams. How about yours?”

  Summer thought she heard her grandfather say something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “insolent pup.” She wanted to crawl under the table, or at least throw her napkin over her head.

  Maeve appeared to catch the pleading look that Summer sent her and said, “When Patrick first came calling, my father disliked him intensely.”

  “Then I’m glad he’s only continuing a family tradition,” Zeke said.

  Maeve looked greatly amused, while Patrick lowered his eyebrows.

  To Patrick, Zeke added, “I’m like you. Ambitious, hard-working and willing to start at the bottom and work my way up in a field in which I had no connections.”

  Patrick studied Zeke thoughtfully. “But still with time to dally, it seems. First with one granddaughter, now with the other, eh?”

  At Summer’s gasp, her grandfather turned to her and added, “Don’t look at me like that, my girl. I’m still able to read, and, yes, news of Scarlet’s appearance with Zeke in the Post did make its way back to me. I may need reading glasses, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “That was me, not Scarlet, Granddad!”

  The minute the words were out of her mouth, Summer regretted them.

  Patrick sat back, a curiously satisfied look on his face.

  Summer flushed. “I mean—”

  Zeke looked Patrick in the eye. “There is no explanation.”

  Summer recovered enough to add, “I still meant what I said last weekend. I realized that John and I wouldn’t suit, that we’re too alike, so I called off the engagement.”

  “Your grandfather understands,” Maeve interjected. “After all, there was a time when he was young and impetuous himself.”

  “Never,” Patrick declared.

  “Why,” Maeve continued, as if she hadn’t heard her husband, “my father swore that Patrick was heading for the shortest courtship on record.”

  Maeve then steered the conversation to a safer topic and asked Olive to bring in some fresh fruit.

  Summer was relieved when dinner wrapped up soon after that. Afterward, she sat with Maeve in the small tearoom, which was done up with chintz-upholstered furniture, and sipped some herbal tea from a porcelain cup. Her grandfather and Zeke had disappeared into the library, and Summer worried about their conversation.

  “I think Patrick likes him,” Maeve said.

  Summer jerked up her head to look at her grandmother. “You’re kidding. How can you tell?”

  Maeve gave her a fond little smile. “Zeke refused to be cowed. He put me in mind of Patrick nearly sixty years ago when he came to Ireland and courted me.”

  Summer mulled over her grandmother’s comment, and later that night, when she finally caught Zeke alone, she said, “I did try to warn you about Granddad.”

  Zeke laughed. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

  “What did you talk about in the library?” she asked curiously.

  “We smoked cigars and shot the breeze. He showed me his impressive collection of first editions.” He added with a wink, “Don’t worry, I like him.”

  Her eyebrows shot upward in surprise, but Zeke just laughed again.

  On Wednesday night, Zeke picked up Summer at work in his rented sports car. They’d made plans to eat at Peter Luger Steak House in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, just over the bridge from Manhattan, and then take in a photography exhibit at an art gallery in nearby Fort Greene, which was known as an artists’ haven from Manhattan’s high rents.

  He’d never met anyone quite like Summer, Zeke reflected. She was a bundle of contradictions. An heiress with few pretensions and not a few insecurities. A throwback to another era, but one who had career ambitions. A recent ex-virgin who could send him from relaxed to heavily aroused in less than a minute.

  Maybe that was why he found her so fascinating.

  He glanced over at her now as they strolled the streets of Fort Greene. She had on a short, fitted leather jacket and, under it, a black-and-white striped top that dipped low and was gathered enticingly between her pert breasts. He hadn’t been able to stop his gaze from wandering back there again and again during their recently ended dinner.

  In fact, he’d had to stop himself from whisking her back to his hotel room in order to spend the evening in bed, engaging in hot and satisfying sex.

  “Here we are,” she said, smiling and turning to him, interrupting his thoughts.

  He loo
ked at the storefront behind her. The store windows were draped with red velvet curtains that shielded the inside, and there were no signs indicating what lay within except for a discreetly placed plaque beside the front door with the words Tentra Gallery in black.

  As he soon discovered, however, the space inside was light, airy and loft-like, with a second-floor accessible by elevator. Photographs hung on the walls, each marked by a nameplate and a brief description.

  The gallery had attracted a sizable but not overwhelming crowd. And because he didn’t want to be recognized, he kept his baseball cap on.

  He and Summer started at one end of the gallery and, taking their time, gazed at each photograph individually.

  “Remind me again of why we’re here,” he murmured.

  She laughed softly. “Because Oren Levitt is a good friend and one of the photographers whose work is being shown.”

  “How good a friend?”

  She cast him a sidelong look. “Jealous?”

  “Do I have reason to be?”

  She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “No.” Then she added, “Oren’s engaged to his longtime girlfriend.”

  “Good.” Irrational relief washed over him. He couldn’t recall ever being this possessive—or passionate—about a woman before.

  Just then, a lanky guy whose look was all grunge approached, accompanied by a petite woman with dyed black hair and heavy eyeliner.

  Summer made the introductions, and Zeke gave a nod of acknowledgment to Oren and his fiancée, Tabitha.

  Both seemed impressed and enthusiastic to be meeting the Zeke Woodlow, and, as far as Zeke could tell, the only awkwardness came when Oren asked Summer about how John was doing and she had to divulge their recent breakup. If Oren and Tabitha wondered about Zeke’s own relationship with Summer, however, they kept their thoughts to themselves.

  After Oren and Tabitha had moved on to greet some new arrivals, Zeke glanced down at Summer and said, “Not exactly the type of friends that I’d have thought a debutante like you would have.”

  She arched a brow. “Are you saying you think I’m a snob?”

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Until recently, you were all pearls and cashmere, and you’ve still got the posture of a comportment-school grad and the manners for afternoon tea with royalty.”