Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

  Dr. Grimes stumbled down from the stand. She retreated to the gallery and refused to look at anyone. Francesca figured she was most afraid of the daggers Stedman was shooting at her. He looked ready to kill.

  “Well, Mr. Wiltshire. What’s next?” MacKenzie did not bother to hide his annoyance. “I’m starting to think that this entire case is bogus.”

  “We call Francesca Hyde-Pierson to the stand.” Wiltshire’s voice boomed through the courtroom, but the only affect it had was to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Wiltshire seemed to wilt like his name suggested. “Uh, we call Francesca Ormonde to the stand?”

  “Ms. Ormonde,” Judge MacKenzie said kindly. “Would you mind?”

  “No, sir.” Francesca felt her knees wobble as though they were rubber, but she managed to make it to the chair without collapsing. The bailiff swore her in, and she could not help but think that this was a bit like being on a television show. Since she had never had a desire to act, it wasn’t pleasant at all.

  Francesca locked gazes with Quentin. The strength in his expression gave her courage. She could do this. No matter what happened, she had Quentin. And she really needed to tell that poor man that she loved him. She had kept him waiting on that for too long already.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Quentin felt as though he were the one on the stand. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was shallow. Wiltshire was pacing in front of Francesca like a predator assessing prey. To her credit, she looked calm and very put together.

  “Ms. Ormonde,” Wiltshire began. “After your husband committed suicide, you retreated from social life and your regular duties within the family. Why is that?”

  Francesca raised her eyebrows. “I believe it’s perfectly normal for a woman to grieve her husband. The fact that he committed suicide and was found by me on the floor of his study only made things a little more difficult to recover from.”

  “And how has the recovery been?” Wiltshire’s smile suggested he was about to say she hadn’t recovered. “Because it is often remarked upon in your family circle that you have become withdrawn.”

  “My family circle?” Francesca offered Wiltshire a cold smile. “If you are referring to Stedman, then yes. I have been withdrawn. I don’t like Stedman. I never did. He is overbearing, rude, and excessively fond of himself. I spend most of my time with his ex-wife, Ava—who was my best friend all the way through grade school. I often see my nieces and nephew. I spend time with my household staff because they are more like family to me than Stedman ever was.”

  Wiltshire looked more than a little disgruntled. “What about your so-called recovery process?”

  “I go to a therapist once a week. I check in with my psychiatrist every quarter. I keep a diary of my moods. I do suffer from depression, but so do over fifty percent of Americans. You are saying nothing here that makes me different from any other woman my age.”

  “Except most women your age don’t start sleeping with a man nearly ten years their junior,” Wiltshire said triumphantly. “Isn’t it true that you’re sleeping with your bodyguard?”

  “Bodyguard is probably a poor description for what Quentin is to me,” Francesca said slowly. She turned her head just far enough to catch Quentin’s gaze. “I love him. He loves me. He is a wonderful man and a great listener. He understands me, and the two of us have developed a good friendship. So, when you say I’m sleeping with him, you’ll understand why I feel the need to tell you that those words don’t even begin to scratch the surface of what he and I have together.”

  Quentin was afraid to take a breath or blink. Of all of the responses to his declaration the other night, this one made him feel like he had just been handed the moon on a platter. She had publicly announced her feelings for him. She had done it in a venue where it might not be the best plan for her. And yet she had given him the words.

  He held her gaze and put his hand over his heart. He needed her to know that he was with her no matter what happened. Unfortunately, Wiltshire was not quite so understanding or polite.

  “How naive,” Wiltshire snorted. “Do you know anything about Mr. Quentin Torrance? The man is a convicted criminal. He was practically run out of his own hometown in Louisiana because of his violent behavior. Have you not considered that he could be simply getting close to you in order to fleece you out of your money? This seems as if it is more reason than most to appoint someone to oversee your affairs.”

  Francesca did not miss a beat. “Meaning that Stedman is worried some other man will fleece me out of my money before he can do it? Yeah. I’m aware he’s very worried about that possibility.”

  This time it was Judge MacKenzie who laughed. “Wiltshire, wrap it up. Your accusations against Mr. Torrance have nothing to do with these proceedings. The court is not here to rule on Ms. Ormonde’s taste in men. But I would remind you that making derogatory comments against a decorated war hero would not win you any points with this court. I spent twenty years in the marines, and I know what it’s like to come home and have nobody understand what you’ve been through.” MacKenzie tipped his head toward Quentin. “I thank you for your service, young man.”

  Quentin did his best not to gloat at Stedman. “Much appreciated, Your Honor.”

  From that point on, things seemed to get better. Wiltshire gave up on Francesca. Holloway asked her a few pertinent questions about her investments, her banking practices, and her charitable work with Stedman’s company—Hyde-Pierson Financial. As always, Quentin could not help but smile as he watched Francesca light up with eagerness as she explained her scholarship programs and how she had watched the company’s PR statistics rise drastically during the last two years as she had worked to make a positive impact on the community.

  The entire time this was happening, Stedman could be seen with his iron poker face on the other side of the courtroom. It was obvious the man was fuming with anger. He was smart enough not to be overt, and yet he could not completely hide his irritation. Finally, Mr. Wiltshire called Stedman himself to the stand.

  The entire courtroom grew hushed. A burgeoning sense of anticipation filled the room. It was as if everyone assembled wanted to hear what this self-righteous, entitled bastard had to say for himself. There was no doubt in Quentin’s mind that Stedman had lost the battle for control of Francesca. Still, Quentin could not shake the feeling that there was a bigger game going on and another prize on the line.

  “Mr. Hyde-Pierson,” Wiltshire began in a voice that carried to every corner of the room. “What is your biggest concern to date when it comes to your sister-in-law?”

  All of a sudden, Quentin knew what this was about. It had nothing to do with Francesca’s mental competence. It was a gamble. It was all because of what Stedman Hyde-Pierson believed to be in the letter that his brother had left as a suicide note. That was the objective!

  FRANCESCA KNEW BEFORE Stedman opened his mouth what the man would say. It made her want to laugh. Not because of Stedman’s gamble. That still had the ability to hurt her and would—if the truth came out. The laughter was simply Francesca’s acknowledgement that her freedom was not at stake. Stedman had never truly believed he could get control of her. It wasn’t about that. It was about the stupid letter, and it always had been.

  “My brother left a suicide note,” Stedman began. He actually glanced over at Judge MacKenzie as though the judge could be swayed by false emotion. “It’s never been seen by anyone but Francesca. I feel as though she has been denying my brother’s last wishes since his death. This denial has led me to believe that she is not quite right in the head.”

  “We don’t use that terminology anymore, Stedman,” Judge MacKenzie said drily. Then he turned to address Francesca. “I’ll admit that I’ve heard of this letter’s existence. I have trouble believing that anyone would be so foolish to use the legal system and create a bogus lawsuit in order to win an opportunity to see such a thing, but this is Stedman Hyde-Pierson we’re talking about. And I think we all know
by now how he reacts to the word ‘no.’”

  “There is a letter,” Francesca acknowledged from her seat beside Fabian Holloway. “And as I’ve explained to Stedman many times, it has absolutely nothing to do with Hyde-Pierson Financial and will not advance his personal agenda or mine one iota.”

  “Then, how about we let him see it here in court and dismiss this bogus lawsuit in the process so that he will be content and leave you alone?” MacKenzie sounded both disgruntled and tired.

  Francesca’s hands went ice cold. She felt her cheeks grow red with embarrassment. “I have it with me,” she admitted. “Included in the envelope is a handwriting analysis I had done after I found the letter. When you read it, you will understand why.” Francesca tugged the envelope from her inside pocket and handed it to Fabian.

  Her lawyer’s lips were pursed, and he did not look happy. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Francesca sighed. “The judge is right. Let’s just get rid of Stedman. Believe me, this letter isn’t going to make him happy either.”

  Fabian stood up and walked the letter over to the bailiff. The bailiff in turn handed it to the judge. MacKenzie opened the envelope and drew out both sheets of paper. He briefly perused the handwriting certification, and then he opened the simple piece of folded notebook paper. Francesca could see the man’s ruddy face pale as he read to the end of the letter.

  Finally, MacKenzie glanced up at Francesca. “I’m sorry. I should have let this alone.”

  “It’s all right,” Francesca told him honestly. “No good has ever come of holding it back.”

  “What?” Stedman burst out. He leaped to his feet and had to be held back by two of his attorneys. “What does it say?”

  The judge glanced at Francesca. “May I?”

  Francesca thought of all those people sitting behind her in the courtroom. Some of them were just spectators. Some just had the unfortunate honor of sharing a court date with this dog and pony show. They were all going to know far too much about her in the next few minutes.

  “To my wife,” Judge MacKenzie began in a strong speaking voice. “I put this in your jewelry box because I knew it would take some time for you to find it. By then, you will have discovered that my true final wishes have been carried out. You may keep my shares in Hyde-Pierson Financial. I will consider that a final finger in my brother’s face. Any money that you brought into our marriage will remain yours, but anything that was mine has been transferred to my true love—Harrison. I never loved you. I married you from duty, but I never wanted to raise a family with you. When I hit you and you miscarried our child, it was a great relief to me. Harrison and I have had a secret life together for nearly ten years now. We have a son. I have longed to tell you this and to bring my relationship with Harrison and my son out into the open. I cannot. My brother would never accept it. So, I’ve taken this way out instead so that I will not waste one more second on this cursed heterosexual lie that I have been living. Do yourself a favor and do not try to find my husband or my son. They are both long gone by now and out of your reach and that of my brother. Your late husband, Lyle Hyde-Pierson.” Judge MacKenzie finished reading and cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

  “No!” Stedman howled. “That’s impossible! She’s lying. She fabricated this! My brother left me the company! He did! I know it. He promised. We spoke about it repeatedly!”

  “Order!” MacKenzie was slamming the gavel down now. “I will have order in my courtroom, Stedman. Get control of yourself or you will spend the night in a cell.”

  Stedman’s tirade wound down to a muttered rant about the deviousness of women in general and Francesca in particular. Somewhere in this cacophony, Judge MacKenzie dismissed their case and told them that they could leave. It was all a blur. Francesca stood up and pushed her chair back. Fabian was saying something, but she could not focus on what it was. The bailiff handed her the envelope back, and she stood and stared down at this bomb that Lyle had left for her to find after his death. He had been right. When the money started to simply disappear, she had wondered what was happening. A quick consultation with the attorney hadn’t yielded much in the way of answers. But this letter? It had told her everything that she needed to know and more.

  “It’s over.”

  She looked up and realized that Quentin was standing there beside her. She could not speak, but she felt as though he were dead wrong. It was not over. Not just yet.

  Then Quentin took her hand and began to lead her from the courtroom. “Time to go home, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Francesca had lost track of the time. It was dark outside. That much she could tell from the amount of light seeping through the blinds. Beyond that, she didn’t know and didn’t really care. She was happy enough being naked in her bed with Quentin by her side.

  The two of them lay on their bellies. With his hands stacked beneath his chin and his eyes half closed, Quentin was the picture of relaxation. The dim glow of her bedside lamp cast a pattern of shadows over his beautiful body. Unable to resist, Francesca ran her fingers from one broad shoulder to his waist. She loved the way the taut skin felt when she touched him. He was all muscle and sinew and man.

  “Umm,” he growled. “That feels good. Careful, you’ll get me all revved up again.”

  “Surely you’re getting tired of making love to an old lady,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

  His expression settled into a frown. He rolled to his side and caught her hand. Bringing it first to his lips, he then held it against his cheek. “Never say that.”

  “Say what?” She sighed. “Compared to you, I am an old lady. If we stay together, you will have people asking you what you see in me all the time.”

  “First of all.” He sounded gruff and maybe a little irritated. “You look younger than I do. You’re gorgeous. And you’re going to have to field just as many comments about the gold-digging younger man.”

  “I would never think that!” She was outraged by the idea. “You’ve never once talked about money or asked me for anything.”

  “I know that. Just like you should know that I would never think of you as old.” He nudged her onto her back and covered her with his body. “I don’t want to hear anything about age ever again.”

  “But don’t you want children?” The question burned her lips. She loved the feel of him against her. She loved being with him. She never wanted to be with anyone else, but she would not have him sacrificing a life he wanted just to be with her. It would only breed bitterness later on.

  “After everything I’ve seen and done,” he began softly. “No. I don’t want children. I don’t want to bring any more children into this world. I’ve thought of adopting.” He gave a little shrug. “Or maybe taking on foster kids. You know?”

  Her heart nearly stopped. She stretched out her legs until she could tickle his feet with the tips of her toes. He was so much larger than she was. Had he not been purposely letting his groin rest in the vee of her thighs, she never would have been able to do this. It was always such a power trip for her to know that this powerful man who could rip her in half so easily would not harm a hair on her head.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “And I would love to open our home to children in need.”

  “Speaking of need.” His voice was hoarse. “I need you. Now. Please?”

  She didn’t even have to think twice. “Yes.”

  The tip of his erection pressed intimately against her body. She shifted her thighs farther apart, and he began to gently press inside her. The slowly increasing pressure made her suck in a quick breath. It felt so damn good. Even the slight burn of her body stretching to accommodate his was pleasurable. This was what she wanted. This man, this moment, and every single moment from here on out was what she craved like a drug.

  “God, you feel good!” He gazed down into her eyes.

  She could not look away. The intensity of their joining brought tears to her eyes. The emotion she
felt was almost too big. A big, fat tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Hey now.” He stopped moving and gently cupped her cheek. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” She sniffed and tried to stop the tears. “It’s just really beautiful.”

  His low chuckle made her shiver with delight. “No man can complain when a woman tells him that.”

  “More please?” She grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him into her.

  Quentin sighed and began to move again. He thrust into her with long, slow strokes that left her breathless for more. She wanted it hard and fast, and yet this felt so good that she didn’t want it to stop.

  Heat built between them. She lifted her leg and hooked it over his. The new position left her clit exposed. Each surge of his body into hers sent the root of his cock sliding right past the sensitive nub. The burn of need was surpassed by the sensation of fulfillment, and in moments, she gasped as her first orgasm hit hard and fast.

  “So good!” She shouted the words as she came and seemed to keep coming over and over again. She clenched her hands around his big shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, and yet he made no noise of protest. He only continued to give her exactly what she needed.

  QUENTIN FELT AS though his heart was full to bursting. Being inside Francesca was so good every single time. He braced his weight on his hands and tried to keep himself under control. His legs felt as though they were on fire. The way she was scratching his shoulders was turning him on even more, and he wondered if he was eventually going to die of acute arousal.

  Her face was exquisitely beautiful during sex. Quentin had never seen anything like it before. Everything she felt was on display. He angled his hips to drive deeper into her pussy. The wet sound of the joining filled the room. He could smell her on his skin. He could smell her everywhere. The scent of her cream made his mouth water and sent his lust into overdrive. Never had a woman smelled so good!