by Sey, Susan
Want twisted in her gut, mixed with the horrified certainty that if he tried to say goodbye right now she would humiliate herself by bursting into tears.
“I got something for you,” she said abruptly. Better to seize control, right? If she couldn’t avoid the punch, at least she could get herself into the best possible position to take it.
“You did?” Surprised pleasure raced across his face.
“I did.” She reached into the little crocheted reticule dangling from her wrist and withdrew a small box. “This is just one of them. I left the other two upstairs, one for each of the Blake boys.”
He gave her a mystified smile, then pulled off the silky bow and cracked open the little velvet jewelers box. Bel held her breath as he frowned down at the contents for a long moment.
“They’re cufflinks,” she said, unable to bear the weighted silence another second. “See? It’s the Blake family crest.” She pointed to a small coat of arms etched into two of the four heavy gold circles.
James ran a gentle thumb over the raised printing on the other two circles. “And this?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Clann thar gach ní,” she said, unease heavy in her chest. “Blake’s a traditionally Irish name so I went with Gaelic. It means Family First. At least I hope it does. I went to a professor of Irish studies for the translation but he was about six hundred years old. It could be verse ten of “Molly Malone” for all I know. He looked like the sort of guy who might have one over on me.”
She was babbling. She knew she was babbling but had no idea how to stop herself. The longer he stared into the box, not moving, not smiling, not even breathing as far as she could tell, the faster the words bubbled out of her.
“You don’t have to wear them,” she assured him quickly. God, she was a fool. What had she been thinking? Unless a guy was yours by either marriage or blood, you didn’t give him jewelry. Wasn’t that a rule or something? If Miss Manners hadn’t written it down, surely Kate had. How could Bel have flaked out on such a basic piece of etiquette? “I won’t be offended. I know your daily life doesn’t have much call for cufflinks. It was just, I don’t know, an impulse. It doesn’t mean anything. I only wanted to—”
“Bel.” His arms came around her with a swiftness that took her breath away, and then she was crushed against him, enveloped in the strength and heat of him, her chin hooked over his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his broad back. He lifted her nearly off her feet, buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Thank you.” The words were rough and low against her neck. “Thank you.”
He finally set her down, pulled back far enough to gaze down at her with something heart-stopping and searching in those deep green eyes. His mouth hovered inches from her own, and everything in Bel yearned to rise up on her toes and press her lips to his, to obey the snapping desire he’d ignited in her that he’d been oddly unwilling to feed these past two weeks. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d touched her of his own free will since their last dinner meeting with Kate. And on the few occasions he had, he’d leapt away from her the instant he realized what he’d done, as if she’d burned him.
For a moment, she thought the fast was over. Inside the loose circle of his arms, she watched him sway toward her, his beautiful mouth so close she could feel the sweet wash of his breath against her cheek. She leaned into him, a yearning heaviness low in her belly.
He startled and hopped back a few feet. Bel swayed, caught off-guard by the move, and he snatched up her hands. He held them between their bodies like a life preserver and gave the wrinkles he’d put in her skirt a rueful smile.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I got a little carried away.”
“No, you didn’t,” Bel told him with painful sincerity. “You definitely didn’t.”
“It’s just, I was surprised. This—” He tapped the cufflinks lightly against her knuckles. “—was such a beautiful gift, it...I guess—” He pulled in a breath, seemed to search for words.
“Oh, my lord.” Her cheeks flamed. “I didn’t mean to embarrass—”
“No! Geez, Bel, no. You didn’t embarrass me. You touched me. I mean, keeping my family together has been my life’s work since my parents died. It’s been all our lives’ work, I guess. Will had a full ride to UCLA but he gave it up to take on legal guardianship of me and Drew. I took early graduation after landing a contract playing ball for a third-tier club outside London because it was our best bet for staying together. I played my ass off, Will took whatever work he could find and dedicated himself to managing me into the money.”
Bel cleared the ache from her throat and asked, “How did you lose your folks?”
“Car wreck. I was sixteen.”
“Which made Will, what, eighteen?”
He nodded. “Drew was twelve. I don’t know how he turned out so well. God knows Will and I didn’t spend much time raising him. Honestly, sometimes I think he raised us.” He shook his head. “None of us ever learned to cook—”
“Don’t I know it,” Bel murmured and earned a quick half-smile.
“But Drew handed us each a sack full of peanut butter sandwiches on our way out the door every morning before taking his and walking to school. So I know it’s hard for people to understand why we are the way we are, especially Will sometimes. But we know what’s important. We know that family is precious, that love is rare, that fate is unkind. We learned those lessons the hard way, and it taught us how to protect what we love against anybody and anything that threatens it.”
He pressed her hands between his and dipped his head to look her straight in the eye. The warmth and regard she saw there had tears prickling hot and insistent in her throat again.
“And I can’t tell you,” he said, his voice low and warm, “what it means to me that you understand who we are. Who I am.”
A great surge of love rose up and clenched itself around Bel’s heart like a fist. “I do,” she said softly. “I know who you are, James. And I—”
Love you. I love you.
The words caught in her throat. Thank God. Because about the only thing worse than giving an inappropriately intimate gift would be exposing a wildly inappropriate emotion.
He gazed at her, his brows drawn and concerned. “You what?”
She squeezed his hands, and gave him her biggest, brightest smile. “I think we ought to have a glass of champagne, because we’re about to knock this party out of the park.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Will planted himself in front of the bar. He felt like a perfect fool in this get up. He was one tri-corn hat away from being mistaken for Patrick Henry and if that didn’t earn him a double shot of whiskey, straight up, he didn’t know what would.
Well, that wasn’t precisely true. Watching James charm the breeches and hoop skirts off every idiot in the room was enough to drive anybody to drink.
He glanced into his rapidly emptying glass and wondered how long he ought to force himself to wait for a refill.
“Hey.”
Will turned and found über-agent Bob at his elbow. “Hey, yourself.”
“Tonic water, twist of lime,” Bob said to the bartender.
Will snorted. “What, you give your balls to your girlfriend for the night?”
Bob smiled placidly. “I stopped measuring my balls with a shot glass years ago. It was liberating. You might look into it.”
“Yeah, sure.” Will treated himself to a burning gulp of his whiskey and considered Bob’s hollow cheeks and the tinge of grey underneath his skin. Some health kick. “I’ll do that. Tomorrow.”
Bob picked up his non-drink and took the stool next to Will’s. Damn it, why couldn’t anybody just let him drink in peace these days?
“World Cup qualifiers are wrapping up,” Bob said, his eyes following James’ stupid golden head around the room. “Looks like the U. S. Team is going to make it.”
“Yep.”
“With James back in action, they’re going to have a damn good sh
ot at making the quarter finals at least.”
“Yep.” A bitter pit opened in his gut, the kind there wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to fill.
“The U. S. team hasn’t made it to the quarters since...when?”
“2002,” Will said automatically. “And that was our best showing since a 3rd place finish in 1930.” He cut Bob a look. “Not exactly an impressive track record.”
“A track record your brother is looking at chewing up and spitting out.”
Will gave him an elaborately careless shrug.
“Seriously, Will. He’s in good shape. The best I’ve ever seen him in, and I’m talking physical and mental. He’s fit.” Bob shot him a smug glance. “Bel’s been good for him.”
“Whatever you say.”
But a great swell of resentment rose up, nearly choking him. God, where did it end? Not only did James get all the family talent and first crack at all the pussy but then he lucks into some kind of magic pussy that solves all his problems? What kind of greedy fuck was he?
Bitterness backed up in his throat but Will forced it down with a swallow of whiskey. Because that was bullshit, and he knew it. James was a lot of things but he wasn’t greedy. James believed without question or reservation that his success was their success. His, Will’s and Drew’s. That his money was their money. The house, the food, the cars, the clothes and the fans were all common property as far as he was concerned.
The only person tallying accounts and holding grudges was Will.
Disgust was an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders, and he wished he could dredge up even an ounce of the righteous resentment that had been fueling him these past months. Because sitting here at the bar, stone-cold sober, looking down the barrel of the truth was damned depressing. Without that protective layer of anger, he was starting to get an awfully clear picture of himself, and it wasn’t pretty. He was seeing a lot of poor judgment, a wide streak of spoiled and ungrateful, and a hefty dose of self-pity.
Props to Audrey, he thought bitterly, lifting his glass toward her shiny blonde head. He seemed to be able to locate her in any room at any moment, much to his disgust. She’d called it. He was an ass.
Which seemed like all the reason a guy would need to have another drink.
Two hours into the party, Bel wasn’t quite so thrilled with her corset anymore. She was still pleasantly surprised every time she happened to look down her own dress—wow, where did those come from?—but she wasn’t overly fond of racing between the kitchen, the gardens and the ballroom on about one third of her usual lung capacity.
James was about to start the charity auction and Bel wanted the wait staff circulating with fresh trays of champagne before he did. Alcohol went a long way toward loosening purse strings.
Not that she figured they’d need a whole lot of loosening. James had done that mysterious thing again, the one where he just sort of understood his target market without any apparent effort. She had no idea how he’d done it on short notice, but he’d rounded up a stable of celebrities—athletes and horsey-types from both the U. S. and overseas—and charmed them into donating to charity an hour or two of whatever magical thing they did.
Small, thrilled exclamations had been flying up like startled fireflies from the crowd all night as these luminaries walked among the partygoers, talking up their offerings. Bel scanned the ballroom with narrowed eyes, satisfaction a warm glow in her chest as her servers wound through the growing buzz of anticipation like an efficient little army. Her army.
Audrey appeared at her elbow. “Lillian says we’re ready for the dessert buffet. We’ll start laying it as soon as the auction starts.”
“Perfect.”
“Anything else I can do?”
“I don’t think so.” Bel turned to grin at her. “Things seem to be going pretty—Oh. Oh, no.”
“What?” Audrey’s purple eyes went wide and she followed Bel’s unhappy gaze over her shoulder. “What?”
“At the bar,” Bel said grimly. “Will.”
Audrey looked. “What about him?”
“He’s drinking.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s always drinking.”
“No, sometimes he just has a drink or two.”
“Or eight,” Audrey muttered. Bel ignored her.
“This is Drinking, capital D,” she said. “This is drinking with serious intent.”
“Intent to what?”
“To get wasted. And then do something foolish and/or destructive, to himself or the assembled company.”
“Oh.” Audrey looked closer. “Right.”
“Bel?” James waited at the base of the steps leading to the podium. He lifted his eyebrows in question.
She checked her watch. It was an anachronism, she knew, but she’d be damned if she’d throw a party without her watch. She nodded at him, mustered up a bright, reassuring smile. “Go for it.”
She turned back to Audrey and lowered her voice. “Can you get him out of here? Will?”
“I may not be, um, the best choice,” Audrey said.
“Why not?”
“I’m sort of afraid of him.”
“Everybody is.” Bel watched as James took the stage and started charming a couple hundred people all at once with every appearance of ease. Love filled her chest and she looked away. “I think he likes it. Don’t give him the pleasure.”
“No, it’s more than that.” She twisted her fingers together, worry wrinkling her perfect face. “I don’t even know how to explain this.”
“Try.”
“Wow. Um, okay. You know how it feels when you stand at the edge of a really tall cliff? And how, even though you know you’d never jump, you have the insane impulse to do it anyway? Just to see what it would feel like before you hit bottom?”
Bel shrugged. “Sure. Everybody does.”
“It’s like that with me and Will.”
“He makes you want to jump off a cliff?” Bel asked, at sea.
“Not that I ever would,” Audrey said quickly. “I’m not a suicidal fool. But it’s the impulse coming up inside me like that, all strong and sharp and unexpected. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it, and I don’t like him.”
Bel frowned at her. “Are we still talking about cliffs here? Because it feels like we’re not but I have no idea what we’ve moved on to.”
Audrey closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. “Never mind. I’m not explaining this very well.”
“No, you’re fine. I was totally following you right up until—” The dots connected abruptly in her head and she grabbed Audrey’s pointy elbow. “Unless you’re saying that you sort of want to...” She trailed off, disbelieving, as color raced into Audrey’s milk-pale cheeks. “With Will?”
“No!” Her eyes went wide and panicked. “No, see that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t! Really, really don’t. It’s just that sometimes, I sort of...” She lifted thin shoulders in pained bafflement.
“Do.” Bel shook her head. “Sometimes you sort of do.”
The fight went out of the girl’s spine and she deflated right before Bel’s eyes.
“Yeah. But only sometimes. When I’m feeling particularly, I don’t know, fragile.”
“That’s a good word for it.” And I ought to know, she thought, not looking at James. “Okay, you know what? Don’t worry about Will.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got this.”
Audrey gazed at her with pathetic gratitude. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She thought about James weaving his magic spell from the stage and her heart swelled. “Tonight is perfection, and I’m not going to let anybody smear the frosting. Not even Will.”
“Right.” Audrey frowned at the bar. “Good luck with that.”
Will sprawled over one of the benches in the kitchen’s breakfast nook and missed his whiskey like he’d miss his right arm.
“The least you could have done was let me bring my drink,” he said to Bel, who paced back and forth across the opening of the n
ook looking for all the world like Martha Washington. If Martha Washington had been tall and tidy and quietly enraged.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Her voice was low and tense. “Your brother is this close to climbing out of the hole you helped him make of his life, and you’re at the bar drinking yourself blind?”
“Yeah, poor James.” Will ran a skeptical eye over the acres of gleaming kitchen at Bel’s back. “Trapped in this wretched hole.”
She said nothing, only gazed at him with such open dislike that shame seized his belly like a cramp. He forced an elaborately false smile.
“And I wasn’t drinking myself blind.” Trying, though. Solid effort. “Unfortunately, I can still see just fine.”
“Ah.” She pounced on that stupid unfortunately and his stomach cramped tighter yet. Shit, he thought. Said too much. Bel was bright, and—worse—detail oriented. He should’ve remembered that. “And you’re seeing something you don’t like, aren’t you?”
He surprised himself with a laugh, but it broke like glass so he let it go. “I sure am.” And he was. He just hadn’t meant to say so out loud.
“What is it?”
He snorted out another laugh. Like he was going to detail his pathetic woes for James’ perfect girlfriend.
“Will.” She moved forward until her dress brushed his knees. He wanted to move away but his back was already—literally—to the wall. She was inexorable. “Tell me.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He stared straight ahead at the hands she’d folded into a concerned knot at her waist. Her voice was all firm command but her eyes would be full of dislike or—worse—pity, and he couldn’t make himself lift his gaze to hers.
She sighed and dropped gracefully into a crouch that brought her eyes level with his. Her skirts gave a perfumed billow, and longing hit him like a hammer. God, he wanted. Wanted what, though? Her? Sure. He was a guy and she smelled nice. Plus that corset was doing amazing things for her figure. But this want was a pale, measly thing compared to the gut-punch of lust Audrey unleashed inside him every time she so much as sneered his way.
