Holdin' On for a Hero

by Ciana Stone

  “Do I detect a note of concern?”

  Ben smiled and pulled her to him for a hug. “What are friends for?”

  Nikki returned the hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful and if things get rough I can always call in the troops.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “Right?”

  Ben gave her a goofy salute and grinned. “Always.”

  * * * * *

  Helen rose from her chair to pour another martini. After swallowing half of the contents of the glass, she topped it off again then returned to her seat.

  “I’m just not convinced that leaving him here is the best solution, Charles.”

  The man seated across from her, Doctor Charles Abernathy, placed his glass on the table before speaking. “Because of the young woman’s inexperience? Or is it something else, something you haven’t admitted?”

  “Of course it’s her inexperience!”

  “Really?”

  Helen sighed dramatically. “God, it’s sometimes such a nuisance to have someone know you so well.”

  “I’d prefer to think of it as an advantage.”

  Helen gave him a frosty smile. “I’m sure you would, Charles dear. Tell me, do you treat all your patients in such a caviler manner?”

  “Excellent fox trot, Helen, but I’m too fatigued to dance. What’s the real problem? Could it have something to do with Richard?”

  “Richard, Richard!” She got up to pace. “There are times when…Charles, it was deplorable, like some predatory creature stalking its prey.”

  “In other words, you think he was attracted to the young woman.”

  “Isn’t he always?”

  Charles chuckled. “For a woman who claims to have no feelings for her husband, you demonstrate a remarkable amount of jealousy.”

  “It has nothing to do with jealousy. That’s preposterous. I simply find it infuriating to have to endure his philandering right in front of me.”

  “From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like there was much philandering taking place.”

  “Not because he didn’t want it to. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know what I’m talking about. I could see it on his face.”

  “Be that as it may, Helen, I still fail to see your problem. You and Richard are leaving, she’ll be here with Maxwell, and when you return she’ll go back to her own life.”

  Helen stopped her pacing to regard him. “Yes, that’s true. Still…”

  “Still what? Once the summer is over, you’ll never have to see her again.”

  “It’s not my seeing her that’s objectionable.”

  Charles stood to face her. “What makes this girl any different than any of the others who’ve come before her, or will undoubtedly come after? She’s just another in a long list of conquests for Richard. You know that, Helen. He may enjoy his extramarital affairs, but that’s all they are to him. Richard would never leave you. There’s too much at stake. No pretty face is enough to make him risk everything.”

  Helen studied Charles’ face for a moment then smiled. “Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right. How silly of me. It must be all the stress with this situation concerning Maxwell. It has me on edge.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Now, if you’re feeling better and there’s nothing else, I have a dinner appointment.”

  “New paramour, Charles?”

  “Do I detect a note of cattiness, Helen?”

  “Not at all dear, just curious. You know how I pray for your happiness.”

  “Yes, of course.” Charles buttoned his jacket. “Have a lovely trip, Helen. You have my number if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Charles. You’re such a dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Charles smiled as he left the room. Once the door was closed the pleasant expression on his face disappeared, leaving a look of cold calculation. So, Richard has a new conquest. Interesting. I should check this out. A genuine smile appeared on his face. Being a psychiatrist had such wonderful perks. One never knew when a golden nugget would fall right into one’s lap.

  * * * * *

  Maxwell walked onto the balcony and stood looking out over the grounds. The lake shimmered in the twilight, the sounds of the evening creatures rising over the water like a distant symphony. Yet he found no pleasure in the moment.

  There were all too few pleasures in his life. He was a prisoner in his own home, in his own body. Sometimes he found himself contemplating just how long he could continue as he was without going mad.

  An image of Nikki’s face appeared in his mind. And with that came his second sight. Not even his grandfather was aware of it. Maxwell wasn’t sure what it was. The power of the mind to create an alternate reality so that he might escape his life? That was the most logical explanation he’d come up with.

  Not that it mattered why or how it happened. His visions were the one source of light in an otherwise dark and dismal life.

  He turned and saw her. Leaning against the doorframe, a filmy white short gown with thin straps that dipped low over her breasts. The thin material lifted on one side in the breeze, molding to her body on the other, displaying her curves as her dark hair blew like black silk strands.

  Her eyes were luminous, focused only on him. God how he wanted her. Yet he didn’t want to rush. For the moment, he was content simply to look at her, letting his gaze move slowly from her eyes, all the way down her body.

  It was clear she wore nothing beneath the gown. As the wind lifted the hem of the gown, he was afforded a glimpse of her hairless sex. Just the way he liked it, slick and bare. Nothing to get in the way of his tongue against her skin.

  She smiled as if anticipating his thoughts and his excitement swelled in concert with his erection. No matter how many times he saw her, touched her, or had her, he could not get enough. She was a drug in his system, an addiction he had no desire to break.

  He approached her, stopping just inches away so that she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The lovely curve of her throat beckoned. He bent forward, letting his tongue travel the length of that graceful curve to the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat rapidly, paying testament to her rising excitement.

  His mouth traveled lower, over the swell of her breasts and into the cleavage between, earning a shiver from her. He smiled and eased one strap off her shoulder to bare a breast. A sudden intake of breath came from her when he took her nipple into his mouth. She arched against him, gripping the door frame with one hand, and reaching up to fist his hair and pull him more firmly to her breast.

  The sweet smell of her sex rose. An intoxicating aphrodisiac that brought a throbbing need to his testicles. Soon he would fill that need. But not until he’d taken her to the edge of reason, driving her desire higher than the last time.

  She moaned and he worked his hand down to the slick warm vee of her thighs.

  “Maxwell?” Osgood’s voice from the door behind him broke the spell. “It’s about time for you to turn in.”

  He nodded without turning and after a moment Osgood left. He wanted to sink back into the fantasy but the Sight was not something he could command at will. It came in its own time and of its own accord.

  He closed his eyes and replayed his meeting with her again, noting the look on her face when she first saw him. Was he imagining it, was it wishful thinking, or did he really detect a sense of attraction?

  His eyes opened. Wishful thinking. Even if she had initially been attracted to him, that was before she knew who he was. And yet, he couldn’t help but remember the way she had called out to him when he was leaving the room and the look on her face.

  A hollowness formed in his chest. He knew what it was. He’d had it so long that he’d forgotten what it was to live without it. Hopelessness. He tried to combat it in every way he knew. He read, he learned, he worked out and kept himself occupied, but the emptiness was too vast to be filled with knowledge and activities.

  His grandfather promised that if he learned enough, he wo
uld find the way out of the trap they were both in and that if he could only be patient, fate would provide the vehicle to freedom. There was a time when Maxwell had believed him. Now he wondered if perhaps his grandfather was not simply dreaming to keep himself from going mad.

  They were two of a kind, Simon and he. Both trapped within bodies that prevented them from functioning along with the rest of the world as normal people, and both prisoners within their own home.

  Maxwell supposed he should be grateful that at least he had his grandfather, but in truth, it was not enough. Simon was cloistered on the top floor and it was rare Maxwell could sneak up to see him. Simon had warned him long ago that it was dangerous for anyone to know that he and Maxwell saw one another. As far as Richard, Helen, and the staff were concerned, Maxwell had virtually no contact with Simon aside from rare family gatherings. Above all else, Simon had warned, Maxwell must never let anyone know that he was capable of any kind of communication. Maxwell didn’t understand the need for the secrecy, but despite years of pleading, he’d been unable to convince Simon to tell him the reason. Simon would only promise that when the time was right, Maxwell would understand everything.

  At present, Maxwell wondered if that day would ever come. Would he end up an old man like Simon, a lifelong prisoner with never a chance to experience life or love?

  What he wanted, what he needed, was someone to communicate his thoughts and feelings with. Someone he could build a relationship with to keep the loneliness and despair at bay. But it was the one thing that was denied him. Taking a quick look around to make sure he was not being observed, he opened his mouth and tried to force a sound. Nothing.

  Maxwell’s fists clenched, the veins on his neck and forehead stood out as he strained. Just one sound, it didn’t have to be a word, just a sound. But try as he might, no sound was forthcoming.

  Breathing hard from the exertion, he leaned against the railing, staring blindly out over the immaculate grounds. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he simply jumped. What did he have to live for? An endless succession of days in which he was treated like a child, someone who could not understand or comprehend even the simplest of thoughts? An outcast even from his own parents who seemed to have an intense aversion for him? A life of loneliness, never being able to communicate a thought, a feeling or an idea to another human being without fear? A life without love? What kind of life was that?

  He’d never been able to figure out why he was so cursed. What was wrong with him? No one had ever given him the answers, and he could not find them himself. He could recall every day of his life, every word he had read, every sound he’d ever heard since he was four years old in perfect clarity. Except for that one evening. There was a hole in his memory that he could not fill. Blessed with a photographic memory, it was doubly frustrating to be able to remember every event of his life except for those missing hours.

  Unexpectedly, Nikki’s face appeared again in his mind—the way the light danced off her hair, and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him. Maxwell knew it was foolish, but he desperately needed something to give him hope, and at present, Nikki Morgan was all he had. Maybe she would be different. Maybe she would see that he wasn’t some incompetent idiot without a thought in his head.

  And then again, maybe she’d be just like all the others. He would have to be careful. As much as he hated it, he’d been fooled before. Of course, not by anyone so young and beautiful, but still, he had allowed himself to think that someone was genuinely interested and it had come as a severe blow to discover that he had misread their intentions and interest. He would have to bear that in mind when dealing with Nikki. She might be as bad as all the ones who had come before her.

  That thought was no comfort. In fact, it almost was enough to make him decide to give up. But Maxwell was a man who despite everything had to believe that hope did exist, so he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, however remote, that she would be different. At least that was some kind of hope to hang onto. And in his world, anything was better than nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Richard’s secretary left the room as Helen was entering. Helen gave her a curious look then closed the door.

  “What is Beth doing here? I was under the impression you’d concluded all of your business affairs.”

  Richard looked up from the papers on his desk. “In all the time you’ve known me, when have I ever concluded all my business?”

  “Or your affairs,” Helen added.

  Richard ignored the jibe. It was going to be bad enough when he gave her the news without adding to it. “As much as I dislike it, I’m afraid my departure is going to be delayed.”

  “Excuse me?” One of Helen’s eyebrows shot up.

  “There are matters here that require my attention and until they’re resolved I can’t leave. I estimate no more than a week at the most, perhaps two.”

  “No, absolutely not!”

  “Helen—”

  “No, I won’t hear one more word. I’m not delaying, postponing, or rescheduling. The plans are made and that is final.”

  “I’m not suggesting postponing. Simply that you go ahead without me. It’ll take at least a week to get the villa in shape and we don’t have anything pressing scheduled for the first week, so it will work out fine. I won’t miss any of your events and I’ll get things attended to here.”

  “Who is she?”

  Richard blew out his breath as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Why must you always assume—”

  “Years of experience.” Her tone was icy.

  “Well, you’re wrong. This is business. Things have heated up since the fiasco with the Chinese, and the administration is concerned. It’s vital that I intervene and smooth things out. Otherwise a billion-dollar contract with the Chinese government may well go down the drain.”

  Helen crossed her arms but made no comment. Richard smiled inwardly. Let Helen think they stood to lose money and her attitude changed.

  “Very well,” she gave in as quickly as he’d expected. “One week, no more.”

  “Yes, absolutely. Thank you for your typical understanding and support.”

  Tossing her hair, Helen stalked out of the room. Richard smiled as the door slammed.

  Helen marched straight to her room and placed a call to Mark Robinson.

  “Mark, Helen. I need to see you immediately. Yes, that’s fine. I’ll be there in one hour.”

  Hanging up the phone, she went to the dressing table to touch up her makeup. Perhaps Richard was telling the truth but she didn’t take things on faith. She preferred concrete evidence, one way or the other.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror she smiled coldly. God help him if he was lying.

  * * * * *

  Mark stood as Helen entered his office through the private entrance. As always he was captured by her regal bearing and icy good looks. Even after all the years he’d known her, he’d yet to meet a woman who could compare to her.

  Pushing back the familiar ache that rose in his chest, he greeted her, taking her hands and lowering his face for her customary kiss on the cheek.

  “You sounded urgent. Is something wrong?”

  Helen sighed dramatically. “Mark, I need the truth. Does Richard have a new mistress?”

  Inwardly, Mark groaned. The same old song and dance. Helen wouldn’t give Richard the time of day, but let her suspect that he was involved with another woman and she turned into the territorial bitch queen. Why it mattered to her what Richard did was a mystery. She had no physical or even emotional interest in Richard. She hadn’t for years. Mark knew that better than anyone. Was Richard right? Was it all just about money and status? Maybe so.

  “Not that I’m aware of. Since the affair with Rebecca ended he hasn’t seemed interested in starting up with anyone else.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Are you aware that he decided to delay his departure to Europe?”

  “A
ctually, yes, I am.”

  “Then he is telling the truth?”

  “This time, yes.”

  She seemed to consider it for a few moments. “Fine, if you say so. But I’m still not completely convinced. He has that look. I want you to keep an eye on him, Mark.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Helen looked away as his eyes sought hers. He knew that she cared for him, maybe even loved him, but they would never be together. Regardless of the fact that he was a wealthy and powerful man in his own right, he was not Richard Weston, billionaire and advisor to every president since Nixon. No, he could not complete with Richard on that playing field, and nothing less would do for Helen. The only way she would leave Richard was in a box in the ground.

  Helen looked up at him. “You’re the only person I can trust, Mark. I need you. Please, I must know that I can count on you to keep an eye on things and inform me immediately if anything happens I should be aware of.”

  Mark nodded. Keeping an eye on Richard was one of the things he did. Little did Helen know, his eye was also on her. There was little that either one of them did that he wasn’t aware of. Not because it was his job but because it was his life. Mark had plans of his own and Helen and Richard were instrumental in ensuring that his plans worked out.

  * * * * *

  Simon maneuvered his electric wheelchair to the bookcase beside the fireplace in his library. Pulling out a thick leather tome, The Iliad, he reached inside and pressed on a small circular disc inserted into the back of the bookcase, then rolled his chair backward as the entire bookcase swung open.

  Gaspar de Troyes had just enough time to step inside before Simon’s curiosity overcame him.

  “Your communiqué stated that you’d made contact with the candidate.”

  “Not simply contact,” Gaspar said. “Even as we speak she is preparing to take the position your son offered.”

  “Ah,” Simon smiled. “Your impressions?”