“How many times do I have to tell you the same thing, Julian?” I barked. “If you won’t listen, I’ll have to handle things my own way.”
“By being a big jerk?”
“Watch your mouth,” I snapped. “If the only way I can keep you safe is by keeping people away, then I will be the biggest jerk that ever was. Now go to your room and stay there. I have had enough of this crap for one night.”
“Whatever,” Julian snapped. “You’re just going to stick your nose back into your work anyway. It must be nice to have something to do all day. I wish I had something to do!”
I didn’t reply, shame filling me as he retreated from the den. The problem was, he wasn’t wrong.
He needed to go back to school—to be among his peers. I couldn’t keep him hidden forever, and I could not keep looking over our shoulders, expecting the sky to fall. It was no way to live, not for either of us.
I moved back toward my desk, rubbing my temples with my fingertips as I tried for what felt like the hundredth time to figure out a better solution.
Here I was, one of the wealthiest men in America, powerless.
Money really can’t buy everything, can it?
It was a bittersweet reminder of how the world worked. Fear dominated everything—not money.
My eyes returned to the Mac, and I opened a new tab. A burst of energy consumed me as I typed in “Gabriella Delancey.”
To my surprise, the search produced half a dozen results for the woman I was seeking, her resplendent smile unmistakable across the screen.
“Graduated with honors, NYU, social work. Internship at Morgan-Lyster Memorial. Valedictorian, Henderson High, 2013. Jesus Christ,” I mumbled aloud. “Who is this girl?”
Whoever she was, she was certainly not working with Molly. At least, I was about ninety percent certain she wasn’t.
It was clear they did not run in the same circles. But ninety percent wasn’t good enough, was it? Not when Julian was at risk.
I groaned at the constant looping of thoughts whirling about in my mind. But I reminded myself that there could be no reprieve—not until Molly was caught.
If she was caught.
I rose from the desk and made my way toward the bar cart near the fireplace. It was going to be another long night of chasing demons in my mind, and I was going to need something to help fight them.
I lifted the stopper off a crystal decanter and found a glass. Pouring myself a drink, I retreated to the window and peered out into the night, swirling the drink in my hand.
The warm glint of flame from tiki torches caught my eye, and while I couldn’t see Gabriella, I knew she was there. I could picture her, only a few feet away from my property, seething in anger at my rudeness.
As if triggered, I felt another tug in my boxers at the thought of her, and I sighed deeply, slugging back the entire contents of my glass.
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Five
Gabriella
I don’t know why I was so upset. From the very start he had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.
I flew back over to my cottage, determined not to think about him for another second. He wasn’t worthy of my anger or my time.
But some things are easier thought than done.
I also discovered that the burgers—the very ones that had started this entire harebrained idea of extending an olive branch to Mason Ambrose—had been cooked into solid hockey pucks, forgotten on the grill the moment Julian had arrived.
This night is getting better and better, I thought furiously, throwing the ruined meat into the unlit firepit before starting up the tiki torches.
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry anymore anyway, even though I hadn’t eaten all day. Pouring myself another glass of wine, I flopped down and tried to think about what I was going to do next.
I couldn’t very well live next to such an inconsiderate asshole. It would defeat the entire purpose of my holiday. I wouldn’t be able to stop wondering why he was so reclusive and so determined to keep me out.
Was it just because I wasn’t rich?
It seemed unlikely. Julian had had no problem coming to meet me, and snobbish behavior is usually passed down from parent to child.
They seemed to be hiding from something, but what?
A part of me told me to leave it alone. After all, he had been rude, almost cruel to me, not once, but twice in one day. I didn’t want to give him another chance to upset me.
No matter how handsome he might be.
No matter how good he smelled.
No matter how much I wanted to know what his mouth tasted like beneath that five o’clock shadow.
What was wrong with me?
I stood abruptly, heat rushing to my head and crotch simultaneously.
A gush of wetness lubricated my inner thighs beneath my shorts, and a wave embarrassment hit me immediately as if there were someone watching me, noticing me.
Of course, that was ridiculous—or wishful thinking?
My gaze rose toward the house beyond, the looming stone structure towering over me. I bit my lower lip, backing into the cottage, hoping no one was witnessing my odd behaviour.
Had I drunk too much wine on an empty stomach?
A heady feeling overcame me as I made my way to the sofa, my hand slipping casually under my waistband to slide across my wetness.
Settling down onto the plush cushions, I closed my eyes, my tongue trailing over the plump curve of my lower lip as my fingertips found the pulsating button under my silk panties.
He’s an asshole, I told myself, my fingers sliding over the nub. I bet he’s selfish in bed.
Instantly, I envisioned myself on my knees, my blonde tresses entangled in his hands as he guided my mouth over his rigid shaft, filling my throat.
I sighed, my hips rising up slightly over the cushions, my digits working faster as Mason Ambrose moved my head to his own rhythm, my mouth matching the sopping wetness of my core.
He’s probably such a prick, he wouldn’t even care if I cum.
My body grew hotter, and in my mind’s eye, the scene shifted, and suddenly he was bending me over his desk, my cheeks spread as he plunged his engorged member inside my dripping opening.
On the couch, two fingers stretched inside me, my breaths shortening as I continued to coax my way toward a release, my body tensing as Mason reached forward, his rock-solid body pinning me to the cool surface of the desk, his thumb rubbing against my naked breast.
Shockwaves of pleasure jolted through me, and I whimpered aloud, my fingers slipping and sliding in and out of myself, feeling Mason’s breath along the ridge of my neck.
He whispered something filthy into my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe, and I yelped out in pleasure, my center on fire.
I was so close.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please—”
An abrupt knock on the door caused me to shriek and yank my hand from my naughty place instantly.
Of course I hadn’t cum yet. Story of my life, really.
Who the hell is it? Julian again?
Hastily, I jumped to my feet and tried to make myself presentable, and I became painfully aware of my scent overwhelming the small cabin.
There was nothing I could do about that now.
I’ll just talk to him outside, I decided, throwing open the door, a sheepish smile on my face.
“Back so…” I trailed off, my grin fading as soon as I saw Mason Ambrose on the porch.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling my face go scarlet. I tried not to look at his crotch, willing myself not to wonder if he was as big as I had envisioned in my fantasy.
“I want to speak to you without Julian around,” he replied gruffly. “May I come in?”
My initial reaction was to refuse, not just because I was still mad, but because I knew he would instantly know what I had been doing.
You’re being paranoid. There’s no way he can tell.
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“I…guess,” I replied, tossing my hand nervously through my hair. “Are you here to be an ass to me again?”
He seemed taken aback by my direct question, and he cleared his throat, clearly a little uncomfortable. That was when I smelled the Scotch on his breath.
A slither of expectation flowed through me. Had he come here to…?
I would not let my mind go there.
Perhaps I was a little bit too trusting, but I wouldn’t allow him to make a fool out of me for a third time.
He entered the cabin, glancing around with mild interest.
He’s probably thinking he’s slumming it tonight.
“It’s not an Ambrose, but it’s ours,” I quipped lightly, hoping to break the uncomfortable tension between us.
But something told me that we’d need more than words to end this friction. Maybe I had a chip on my shoulder after the way he treated me earlier, or maybe I was just unwisely attracted to him after my interrupted fantasy—whatever it was, something was brewing beneath the surface that we were going to need to address sooner or later.
And judging by the look on his face, it’s going to be sooner rather than later.
“I was rude to you,” he conceded, and I felt my eyebrows rise; I bit down on a smart-ass reply, knowing he had come for a purpose.
“You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry,” he continued. I felt my shoulders sag in relief.
I was anticipating another slight, but it looked like he was coming around after all.
Was he thinking about me the same way I’d just been thinking about him?
I drew a step closer to him, trying to catch his steely blue eyes with mine, but he purposely kept his gaze averted.
My pulse was still racing, but I nodded with understanding.
“I’m a stranger,” I offered. “I came around your kid. I get it.”
“No, you don’t,” he retorted sharply, and I felt my guard rise again.
What is wrong with this guy? Does he have some God complex?
I had never felt so emotionally jerked up and down in my life.
“I don’t think you understand at all.”
I chewed on the insides of my cheeks. “Maybe you should explain it to me then,” I replied quietly, stuffing down everything scathing I wanted to say.
“There’s nothing to explain,” he said coldly. “I need you to stay away from my son and our house. If Julian comes here, I need you to send him back to my place. This is not a negotiation. This is what I need you to do.”
I was incensed. “And if I refuse?”
His gaze finally met mine, and I saw a flash of annoyance cross his face.
“Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with a ten-year-old?” he snapped. “Are you so hard up for friends that you have a hard time telling a kid to go home to his dad?”
The question infuriated me because it was true; I had no business befriending a child, but Julian had sought me out, not the other way around.
I told Mason as much.
“I have a degree in social work, Mr. Ambrose,” I retorted frostily. “I can tell you from experience that when a kid doesn’t want to go home, there is usually a good reason for it.”
His mouth went tight, and his eyes grew dark.
I had overstepped the line, and I knew it.
After all, what the hell did I know about the Ambroses? I had only met them a few hours ago and had hardly spoken to either of them. I had no right to make such a bold statement.
But Mason Ambrose was pushing my buttons, too, and I felt completely justified giving it back just as hard.
My mantra had always been “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it back.”
“You’re getting into the middle of something very dangerous, Miss Delancey. I suggest you mind your own business before you end up doing something you regret.”
A shocked breath escaped me, and I gaped after him as he left the cottage.
“Are you threatening me?” I choked out as I ran after him, but he was already out of earshot, re-entering his own property as I stared on.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Chapter Six
Gabriella
The rest of the week was oddly quiet.
From time to time, I would catch a glimpse of Julian in the house, his dark eyes staring longingly out the window toward me. If I tried to wave or engage him in any way, he would disappear from sight.
I did not see Mason again, although his car remained in precisely the same spot it had always been.
On Friday, a delivery truck appeared, and I watched from my yard as men unloaded groceries by the gate and left.
Neither Ambrose appeared until the truck had vanished up the laneway and out of sight.
A short time later, Julian appeared and began lugging the boxes into the house.
Unable to resist speaking to him, I ran toward the mansion.
“Hey,” I called brightly. “Need some help?”
He looked at me warily and shook his head nervously.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. My dad was super mad when I brought you home on Monday.”
I shrugged flippantly. “If he says anything, I’ll say I insisted, okay?”
He eyed me for a long moment and then glanced back at the house.
“No.” he sighed. “No, I’m sick of always fighting with him. Thanks, anyway.”
I felt a tug on my heart as he turned away, dejected, with a box in his hands. He was a nice kid. He just needed a friend.
Suddenly, something occurred to me.
Where are all his friends?
I waited until he returned for his next load.
“Gabriella, please,” he mumbled. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“I’m leaving,” I promised. “But shouldn’t you be in school? Or do you have a tutor? You haven’t left the house all week.”
His dark eyes widened, and I saw a combination of worry and fear.
“You can’t tell anyone!” he hissed. “Please, Gabriella!”
I nodded quickly, alert to the panic in his tone. “No, of course not,” I replied, my eyes dancing back toward the blue door where Mason now stood, his arms folded over his chest.
“Crap! My dad saw you.”
“It’s okay, Julian. I’m going. I won’t bother you again,” I promised. “But if you want to come by and talk, my door is always open, okay?”
“Julian!” Mason barked. “What are you doing?”
My eyes rested on Mason’s face, and we stared at each other for a long moment. My heart was thudding dangerously in my chest—so hard I almost wondered if he could hear it.
“Let’s go,” Mason called, striding toward us.
As I started back to my house, Julian’s voice stopped me.
“Thank you, Gabby.”
I paused to look over at him, smiling softly. “Of course, Julian.”
He disappeared from view along with his father, and I knew I had to find out what was happening in that house.
I raced back to my computer and began to dig for every article I could find about the Ambroses.
I soon found that until recently, they had been the quintessential jet-set father–son team.
Mason Ambrose lived in a self-designed New York City penthouse, an architectural masterpiece. He owned several properties all over the world, most of them five times the size of the mansion at Lake Chamberlain.
If you’re going to go into exile, why not go to your chateau in France or your villa in Switzerland? Shit, he even owns an island off the Australian Coast. Why would he come here? And build a place specifically to come here?
None of it made a lick of sense, no matter how I tried to spin it.
From what I could glean from the articles, Julian Ambrose was a well-adjusted kid, who at one point had attended school regularly. There was no indication of mental illness or drug use in Mason’s past. By all accounts, he was a shrewd but honest businessman and a widower who
had lost his wife, Olivia, not even a year after adopting an infant son, Julian.
He had never remarried, never been involved in a scandal or sordid affair. On paper, he seemed nearly perfect.
I could not find any information on what could have put them into hiding.
But everyone has a breaking point, I reminded myself. You’re burnt out right now, aren’t you, Mason? That’s why you’re here. Had Mason finally cracked from all the stress?
I had nothing to base my speculations on except my gut, which was screaming at me that something was not right, and that Julian was in trouble.
Not to mention that Mason Ambrose had threatened me…hadn’t he?
I couldn’t be sure. He never really clarified his words, and if there was one thing I had learned while interning at Morgan-Lyster Memorial, it was that what people say and what people mean are often two very different things.
For some reason, I couldn’t reconcile that Mason was harming his son. It didn’t ring true to me, no matter how he treated me, a stranger. Julian didn’t display any of the classic signs of an abused child, but again, that didn’t mean anything.
He still wasn’t in school, and that was just cause to get the authorities involved.
I sighed and wondered why I was getting involved in the first place.
Mason Ambrose had more money than God. No matter what he was up to, he would be able to buy his way out of it. And yet, he was hiding away in the middle of Vermont as if he had no other options.
None of it made sense, and the more I wondered over it, the less it did.
“Gabriella?”
I looked up as Julian approached the screened door cautiously, looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds, no doubt expecting his father to be close behind.
“Hey! Come in,” I called invitingly. “You want a Coke? Or something to eat? I’ve got some amazing fudge cookies.”
He looked at me curiously.
“You don’t look like the type of girl to eat cookies and drink soda.”
I snorted at the assessment. What could I say? Junk food was my crutch. I loved to eat, and my metabolism allowed for it.
The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 33
