by Naima Simone
Something is not right here...
Cain clasped her hand in his and led her into his home and the foyer that could’ve graced any palace. Marble floor, crystal chandelier, artwork, beautiful but impractical furniture. It was a showplace that testified to the wealth of its owner. And Cain didn’t appear fazed by any of it. His lack of reaction—pride, pleasure, admiration—could be attributed to him growing up here and being immune to it.
But she doubted that was the reason.
An older man in a black suit and white shirt appeared seemingly out of thin air. Even though he didn’t stand much taller than her five foot four inches, his military posture lent him the height of a giant.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to open the door, Mr. Farrell,” he apologized, holding his arms out for their coats. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
“Because I didn’t ring it, Ben,” Cain replied, his tone and gaze warming. “I have a key, and I’m sure you have more important things to do than running to answer a door I’m fully capable of opening myself.” He settled a hand between Devon’s shoulder blades, and as if her body recognized the claim her mind rebelled against, she shifted closer to him. “Ben, let me introduce you to my fiancée, Devon Cole. Devon, I’d like you to meet Benjamin Dennis. He’s been with my family longer than I have. And he’s calling me ‘Mr. Farrell’ just for your benefit. Usually it’s something else less flattering with more colorful language,” Cain teased with a snort.
“If you say so, sir,” Benjamin drawled, and Devon grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cole.” He inclined his head, draping their coats over an arm. He swept the other toward the long corridor to the right of the grand staircase. “Your guests are in the great room.”
Guests? She frowned. Hadn’t Cain said they were having dinner? She’d assumed it would be the two of them.
“Thanks, Ben.” Gently applying pressure to her shoulder blades, Cain guided her forward. “This way, Devon.”
Still confused, she nonetheless slipped into her polite, social mask—the one she donned when placed in the position of having to talk to people she didn’t know. The one she wore while silently counting down the seconds before she could escape.
But the moment she stepped into the entrance of the huge room that could double as a small ballroom, that facade crumbled like dry leaves under a boot.
“Zio Marco. Zia Angela,” she breathed, her gaze roaming over the beloved faces of her uncle and aunt. She blinked. But no, they still stood there. More lines around their mouths and eyes, a little more gray hair. But here. Still not believing she was seeing their faces after more than six years, she shifted to the others in the room. “Carla. Beth. Manny.” Her cousins. And all of her parents’ brothers and sisters and their children. Happiness, shock and a fear that if she glanced away from them, they would disappear swirled inside her. It grew and grew, spinning faster and faster until her chest ached, her throat seized and her eyes stung. “I can’t believe... What are you doing here?”
“Devon,” her aunt Angela said, dark eyes shining with tears as she moved forward, arms outstretched.
Devon almost ran forward, meeting her halfway. Angela drew Devon close, hugging her. The scent of powder and spices embraced her as well, transporting her back to her childhood. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to Angela’s shoulder, her arms tightening around the woman who looked so much like her mother both joy and grief pulsed inside her veins.
“We’ve missed you so much. So much.” Leaning back, her mother’s sister clasped Devon’s face between her soft palms and smiled wide. “When your man called and told us you were engaged, then invited us to see you and meet him, how could we not come?”
Cain... Cradling her aunt’s hands, she drew them down and whipped around to face Cain, who remained in the entrance. “You arranged all of this? For me?” she whispered.
“Arranged it?” Zio Marco boomed, appearing beside his wife and throwing an arm around her. “He flew all of us in, put us up in a hotel and provided a limo to bring us here. This one must really love you to shell out money like that just to see you smile, eh?”
God, she’d missed her uncle’s lack of filter. She grinned, tears tracking down her cheeks even as a sliver of pain slid between her ribs.
This one must really love you to shell out money like that just to see you smile...
She couldn’t begin to grasp why Cain had done this for her but love surely hadn’t been the motivation. Right now, though, with her aunts, uncles and cousins noisily gathering around her, she didn’t care.
“Have you met Cain yet?” she asked. Twisting at the waist, she stretched her arm toward him, palm up. His gaze settled on hers, and she caught the flicker of emotion that appeared then disappeared before she could decipher it. Still, he strode forward, enclosing her hand in his and stepping to her side. “Everyone, this is Cain Farrell, my fiancé and the person who made all this possible.” She squeezed his fingers. “Cain, this is...everyone.” She laughed, so much joy inside her, it seemed impossible that her body contained it.
Cain greeted her relatives, and never having met a stranger, they pulled him into the fold without reservation or hesitation—which included hugging him, slapping him on the back, grilling him about his sports allegiances and asking if he had any bachelor friends. This from Zia Stella, who had three daughters. Devon chuckled, enjoying Cain’s faintly overwhelmed expression.
No, she didn’t understand why he’d gone through all the trouble for tonight.
But he’d given her the best gift.
Family.
Eleven
“I can’t thank you enough,” Devon said to Cain...again. For probably the fifteenth time.
And she would say it fifteen more.
Even though her relatives had left five minutes ago, after a boisterous and prolonged goodbye with promises to get together tomorrow morning before they left for New Jersey, Cain’s house still seemed to ring with their voices. “I’ll never forget this night. I—” She shook her head, and once more, murmured, “Thank you.”
Cain nodded. “You’re welcome, Devon.” He studied her for a moment, his blue-gray eyes shuttered yet intense. “Would you like a drink? Or I can take you home now.”
That invitation shouldn’t sound like an offer to sin. Issued from Cain, it most likely wasn’t. But that knowledge didn’t prevent a hot pulse of desire from playing slip ’n’ slide through her veins. It was late; if she possessed an iota of intelligence and self-preservation, she would decline the nightcap and head home. But enough wine had flowed this evening and she still rode high on the delight of being with her family. Both were enough to justify any unwise decisions she made tonight. Besides, it was a drink. She could handle one drink without committing any acts she would regret in the morning.
“Do you have any more of the wine from dinner? The Moscato?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, striding out of the foyer.
She followed him to a smaller, more intimate room than the one they’d been gathered in for most of the evening. A couple of couches, a cozy sitting area with chairs and a low table, a huge fireplace with a stone mantel, and a built-in bar occupied the space. Choosing one of the large armchairs in front of the low-burning flames, she sank down into it as Cain approached her with a wineglass. He lowered to the matching chair across from her, and for the next several moments, they sipped in silence, the muted crackle of wood the only sound.
“You weren’t exaggerating when you said you came from a big, loud family,” Cain said, peering at her over the rim of his tumbler.
She laughed. “And honestly, I think they went easy on you because they didn’t want to scare you off before we get married.”
As soon as the words exited her mouth, she mentally winced. Before we get married seemed to echo in the room over and over, ratcheting up in volume. God, she hadn’t meant to say tha
t. Especially since she still hadn’t given up on finding a way out for both of them. How she would accomplish that feat? No clue. She stared down into the depths of her glass as if it held the solution.
“No one mentioned your father. They didn’t appear to find it strange that he wasn’t there,” he added, his scrutiny fixed on her.
Another land mine of a subject. I don’t want to talk about him. Not here and now, she silently yelled. But Cain had brought up her father, and after all he’d done for her, she couldn’t not reply.
“I’m not surprised,” she admitted softly, shifting her gaze to the fireplace so he couldn’t glimpse her shame. “At one time, we were all very close. Even given our family’s size, we still managed to be tight. Holidays, birthdays, communions, graduations, hell just because—we spent our days together. The locations might change, but not the people. We were especially close to Uncle Marco and Aunt Angela, my mother’s older sister, since they and their family lived on the other side of us in our duplex. But that changed after Mom died. Everything changed,” she whispered.
Taking a fortifying drink, she inhaled a deep breath and continued, “I lost Mom, and I lost Dad, too. He used to be such a jokester as well as protective and loving. I couldn’t have asked for a better father, a more caring father. But after she died, he became angry, stern and work obsessed. It’s like he transferred all the love and grief into building his business. Now I think he worked so hard so he could divorce himself from the life he’d shared with Mom. If he couldn’t have her then he would erect an existence that was dramatically different from the one he’d shared with her. He accomplished what he set out to do.”
Underneath her joy tonight had lurked a bittersweet sadness. For the memories. For all she’d lost. For the distance she’d allowed to spring between her and her relatives out of a misplaced loyalty to her father. He’d essentially forced her to choose; she’d chosen her remaining living parent.
“The more successful Dad’s business became, the more he distanced himself from our family. First, it was moving out of the duplex. Then out of Plainfield. Then out of New Jersey. He cut them out of his life as efficiently and effectively as slicing off a limb. They no longer fit who Gregory Cole had shaped himself into, didn’t fit into the world he’d created.”
“What about you? He decided to purge his life of them, why did you have to?” Cain demanded, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his thighs, cupping the squat glass in his strong hands. She focused on those hands so she wouldn’t catch the condemnation in his eyes.
“I didn’t have to,” she said, guilt and embarrassment thickening her voice. “Dad only had me. Mom died and he no longer had his brothers, sisters or in-laws, even though, yes, that was by his own decision. It was just us. And...” She swallowed hard, battling the conditioned response to defend her father even when he was indefensible. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she shoved the truth past her suddenly constricted throat. “And I promised my mother on her deathbed that I would look after my dad. And that included not abandoning him even though he’d abandoned his family.”
Abandoned me.
“I didn’t know your mother, but from how your aunts and uncles spoke about her at dinner, I feel like I’m more familiar with her than I was before tonight. A woman who loved to cook huge meals, so she feeds everyone... A woman whose heart and joy were her child and husband and providing a haven for them... A woman who has been gone for over fifteen years, but who her family still remembers with love and reverence... That woman wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to not know the safety and happiness of family. And she didn’t intend for you to carry the burden of your father’s decisions or make them your own. No child—whether two or eighty-two—should be placed in that ugly and unfair position.”
She stared at him, trembling. An automatic objection to his assurance swelled in her but desperation silenced it. Desperation to grab on to those words and absorb them as truth. Desperation to be freed by them.
Closing her eyes, she willed the stinging to recede. Her fingers tightened around the wineglass, and afraid of shattering it in her grip, she set it on the low table between their chairs.
“Devon, look at me.” The low, tender command contained a thread of steel, and she obeyed it. “When I called your aunt, do you know what she said after I told her who I was?” She shook her head, unable to voice anything. In the firelight, his bright gaze softened. “She said she’d been waiting for this phone call. She hadn’t known who it would come from or when it would happen, but that she never doubted she would one day have you back. Not once did she give up on you, and there was no bitterness, no resentment. Just pure happiness that she would see you again. Sweetheart,” he murmured, “they don’t blame you. So stop beating yourself up.”
“Why did you do this?” she blurted out. One, because the question had been nagging her all evening. And two, she needed a distraction before she asked him to hold her.
He was the last person she should be asking for comfort.
But in this moment, he was the only one she wanted.
How pathetic did that make her?
“At the community center, you gave me a few moments of happiness. Maybe I wanted to do the same for you. Or...” He glanced at the fireplace, and in its light, she noted the jump of a muscle along the clenched line of his jaw. “This house has never been a...happy one. Maybe I was just being selfish and wanted to steal some of what you have with your family. Even if for a little while.”
Images of his cold expression, of the desolation in his eyes as they approached his home earlier flashed in her mind. What had happened here?
Longer than I can remember. That had been his response when she’d asked him how long it’d been since he’d truly enjoyed himself. For someone who possessed wealth, power and a blue blood pedigree, he seemed so isolated...so lonely.
It was wrong. This man who had sent dozens of pizzas to a center full of kids, granting them great memories, should be offered the same selflessness in return. This man who would surrender his own happiness and future to protect his mother from humiliation should be given the same protection. This man who’d reunited her with her family just to bring her joy was deserving of that same joy.
Even if for a little while, as he’d said.
Her pulse pounded under her skin, the blood in her veins suddenly screaming, hot and alive. She could do that for him.
Staring at him, at the slight frown that indented his brows, at the thick fringe of lashes that hid the emotion in his beautiful eyes...at the bold, carnal slant of his firm mouth...
She needed to do that for him.
Her breath whistled through her lungs, but she still slid to the edge of her chair. Then lower, to her knees.
As if Cain caught her movement out of his peripheral vision, his head jerked around, his wolf’s gaze narrowing on her. Surprise glinted in the bright depths. Surprise and hunger. Oh God, so much hunger. Its heat warmed her skin more than the flames from the fireplace, and for a moment, she hesitated.
Would that intensity consume her? Leave her as ash?
Yes.
The answer was immediate and unequivocal.
And it would be her fault. She knew the consequences of playing with fire. She could turn back now before she crawled too far onto this path. She could end this, return to her seat and blame this impulsive decision on the wine...
She shifted forward on her knees—in supplication.
He didn’t move except for the flare of his nostrils. Did he scent the desire that threatened to incinerate her? Silly question, but here, with lust an invisible string between them, yanking her closer, she could afford a bit of whimsy. It kept her from focusing on the reality of what she courted—a sexual animal who could easily devour her.
The short, negligible distance between her chair and his seemed to stretch for miles, but she finally reached him. Settling her hands
on his knees, she applied pressure, widening his thighs. He allowed it, his muscles bunching then relaxing as he slowly opened for her, straightening when she claimed more space for herself. Only when his legs bracketed either side of her torso did she stop.
And she slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to the wide, solid expanse of his chest.
Cain stiffened, but she didn’t loosen her embrace, didn’t pull back. Desire continued to throb inside her but even more than she craved his mouth on her, she craved holding him. She needed to offer him the comfort he’d so selflessly given her. And whether he admitted it or not, he needed to be held.
In slow increments, his arms rose. Wrapped around her. Tightened. Gripped.
His big body curled over hers, sheltering her even as he clung to her. With her height—or lack of it—his frame nearly doubled over to hold her close. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but he didn’t let go. No, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his heavy puffs of air bathing her skin. Each beat of her pulse transmitted an insatiable greed through her, but she closed her eyes, focusing on the power of the body surrounding her. On the fresh, earth-and-wood scent filling her nose. She inhaled, already taking him inside her.
An inarticulate groan rumbled up and out of him, and she felt the vibration before the sound reached her ears. He jerked out of her embrace with an almost painful wrench and glared down at her, face taut over his sharp cheekbones, his mouth a hard, cruel line.
“What do you want from me?” he snapped, chest rising and falling as if he’d just barreled across a great distance.
“What are you willing to give?” she asked, not intimidated by the abrupt switch in his emotions. Not hindered by the soft voice in her head that warned she was turning into one of those people willing to settle for scraps. She shushed that voice. Afraid if she didn’t, she would realize it was right.
