"Oh, Landon, don't be ridiculous. You can't seriously think this woman is being honest with you," Lyla sniffed.
I yanked her around to face me. "Okay, Lyla, let's be honest with each other. You are way out of bounds here, and I'm not going to put up with this anymore." I had seen the bright sheen of insulted tears in Riley's eyes and my insides reacted like a pot boiling over. "You also need to remember that you are working for me, not the other way around."
Lyla raised her head and tossed her polished ponytail. "That would make sense if you worked."
Riley had been hurt enough. Lyla had ruined enough of our sunny morning. I took a deep breath and forced my words to be even. "Speaking of work, your helicopter should be here by now."
"This conversation isn't over." She turned and marched up the stairs.
I waited until I couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore, and then I turned back to Riley. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, gripping the carved newel post and staring at my shoes. Her face had gone pale and in the dim light of the basement stairs, I saw the glint of unshed tears.
I sat down on the landing and held my hand out to her. "I'm so sorry, Riley. That really had nothing to do with you. Lyla and I have not seen eye-to-eye on business for a long time, and we're both getting fed up."
Riley toed the bottom stair but didn’t come up. She chewed on her lip and glanced up at me. "There's something I think I should tell you."
I patted the landing next to me. "As long as it has nothing to do with you letting Lyla get under your skin."
"She's just trying to protect you." She trudged up the stairs and plunked down next to me. "She's probably seen dozens of women throw themselves at you for your money, and she doesn't want you getting hurt."
"That doesn't give her the right to talk to you like that. Or to me, for that matter. I'm getting really sick of her thinking she's my boss." I ground my teeth.
Riley's shoulders slumped. "I think she was surprised to recognize me. At the gala, she, um, she…"
I took Riley's hand and threaded my fingers through hers. "She said the same things to you at the gala? Dammit. Is that why you left?"
"No. Sorta." Riley shook her head and took a deep breath. "She offered me a large sum of money to leave and never come back. I refused, but then I couldn't stay at the gala. You were flirting with some heiress, and Lyla had made me feel cheap and irrelevant."
It came out in a painful whoosh, as if Riley had been holding that painful exchange in all this time. My jaw moved but I couldn't form words.
I had gone over and over that night in my head. It killed me that Riley had discovered who I was and ran. I had even talked to Lyla about it, dozens of times, thinking that Lyla had better insight into the female mind. Now I knew it had been Lyla's fault all along.
Riley tugged her fingers where my hand was squeezing too tight. "She was trying to protect you, but I couldn't take it."
"You should have told me," I said. "Why didn't you tell me? You must have known that I would have stood up for you. That heiress is just a friend, by the way. Lyla keeps trying to spread rumors that I’m going to propose to her, but that’ll never happen."
"I didn't know who you were." Riley blinked hard. "You were suddenly this billionaire in the midst of the fanciest party I had ever seen. What was I supposed to do? I felt like everyone there looked at me the same way, like some poor girl trying to grab on to a piece of your fortune."
My mind reeled as I replayed the gala evening from Riley's perspective. She was brought up to Golden Bluff by a driver she didn't know, only to find out that the man she thought she knew, was someone completely different. And then his cousin accused her of gold-digging and offered her money to disappear.
"No one thought that, and Lyla was wrong to say it. She actually offered you money?" I couldn't quite believe it, but, then again, I couldn't think of a single reason Riley would have for making the story up. And it explained why she ran from the party without saying goodbye.
Riley hung her head. "She offered me more than I've ever made in an entire month. Double that."
I reclaimed her hand with a gentle grasp and then covered it with my other hand. "Riley, I swear, I had no idea. I’m going to confront Lyla about this when she gets back. Until then, let's please forget about her. Are you still up for a horseback ride to the vineyard?"
“Yeah.” She stood up and rolled her shoulders. The golden gleam returned to her eyes. "Race you."
Chapter Eighteen
Riley
The wind tossed another dousing of cool rain on us as we ran from the stable to the conservatory. Down past the deep green trees, the Pacific Ocean roiled with shots of silver, grays of frightening depth, and the startling whites of churning waves. I had never seen the ocean during a storm.
Thankfully, it didn't turn into a storm until we got the horses securely back in the stable. Even then the splintering crack of thunder made me dive for Landon. One arm held me tight as he charged out across the streaming path and led the way to the conservatory.
Once we were inside, the storm sounded louder; hard rain ricocheted off the glass roof. Landon reached for a light switch, but I stopped him. The dark clouds rolled over us, and I looked up past the canopy of palm trees.
The conservatory smelled like lemons, and the air was humid with green growth and wet earth. We stood next to each other and Landon's arm was still tight around my waist.
When he turned to ask me why I wanted the lights off, I kissed him. We were hidden, and everyone would think we were waiting out the storm in the stable. He was delicious with rain-wet lips that parted with a pleased smile. Our clothes were nothing more than soaking wet second skins that felt every contour and press.
Both his arms encircled me, lifting me up against his hard chest. My toes brushed the floor and then the lights came on.
A man cleared his throat. "Chef saw you from the window and wondered if you’d like hot toddies."
Landon didn't let me pull away; instead, he stole one quick kiss before he said, "No, thank you. I'll call down later when we've decided."
The staff member left and closed the door.
"I'm sorry you didn't get to see the vineyards," Landon said.
"I wouldn't mind going back down in the archives." I pushed against his chest lightly and he let go. "Really, I find your archives fascinating."
Landon took my hand and led me into the hallway. "How about we decide after we're out of these wet clothes."
As much as my mind fluttered over the suggestion in his words, Landon was serious. Back in his master suite, he headed straight for his closet. I gathered up some of my own dry clothes and headed to the bathroom.
"Still shy?" Landon called from the open closet door.
I was, and my cheeks were burning, but I managed to say, "Maybe you just need to work a little harder for it."
Inside his master bathroom, I forced myself to maintain my coolness and leave the bathroom door ajar. I flipped on the light and gave myself a congratulatory smile in the mirror.
Then my mouth dropped open and I turned to gape at the marbled temple behind me. I hadn’t paid attention before, but now that I was taking the time to look, I was impressed with this bathroom. Two glass walls with separate rain showers stood on either side of a massive white marble sunken tub. Greek pillars surrounded it on four sides with a fresco of olive groves on the wall behind it.
I leaned on a double vanity longer than my car. Still taking in all the incredible details of the bathroom, I stripped off my wet clothes and grabbed a sinfully soft towel. I wrapped it around myself quickly when I remembered the door was still ajar.
Landon had emerged from his closet and suddenly my attention was diverted from his grandiose bathroom. He was naked, toweling himself off with a navy blue terry cloth robe. He reached up to tousle his hair dry and all the air left my body. His arm muscles danced as he rubbed the towel across his head, and his chest and abs tightly flexed.
The sensation of wanti
ng him melted away the chill of the rain and left me smoldering. I still couldn’t believe he would look at me. As if to test my theory, my toes inched out the bathroom door. What would he do if he saw me drop my towel?
The wanton thought had stopped my heart when Landon's phone rang. He snatched it off the bed, scowled at it, then muted it and tossed it behind him onto the sofa.
Chilled again, I stepped back into the bathroom, wrapped my hair in a towel, and got dressed. When I emerged a few minutes later, still brushing my hair, Landon was dressed and pacing by his front windows.
"I'm sorry the day keeps getting ruined," Landon said.
"It's not," I said. "So, aren't we supposed to be doing afternoon tea?"
He laughed. "My housekeeper would be over the moon if she heard you suggest that." Landon came across the room to feel a curling tendril of my hair. "I hope you didn't get chilled out there."
"Not at all. The views were amazing." Another crack of thunder underscored my enthusiasm.
"Maybe we should get you that tea anyway," Landon said.
I took his arm. "Actually, I'm more of a coffee drinker."
He smiled and tucked me close as he reached for the old-fashioned phone. "Yes, thank you. Could you please send coffee to the cozy hall?"
"What's the cozy hall?" I asked as he hung up the phone and led the way downstairs.
"You'll see," Landon said. "I have to say I'm really sorry for what happened with Lyla. What if she hadn't met you at the gala?"
I wanted his cousin out of his mind. Landon let her drive him crazy, and if he kept worrying over our last encounter, the day would never recover.
"If we're playing 'what if,' how about what if you had to meet me all over again? Would you still lie about who you were?" I asked.
Landon paused at the railing before the grand staircase. "It was just so nice talking to you."
"Because I didn't recognize you? Is that the reason you like being around me? I don't think of you as Landon Michel?" I tugged on his arm.
"That's part of it," he confessed. "You have no idea what a relief it is to be unknown."
"Is it really that bad to be you?" I asked.
"I don't know how to explain it. Wait, you told me you used to teach back in New York. So imagine walking down the hallway. You can't just walk —you're a teacher so you have to present a certain image. The kids notice if you stumble, or stop to buy a candy bar, or have an outfit on they don't like." Landon paused on the stairs one step below me. "Does that make sense?"
"Anonymity," I said.
"Just being normal," he countered. "That's why I like being around you. I can be normal, my normal, not the representation of my family legacy or the celebrity facsimile of everyone else's fantasies."
"It'd be easier if you had more family around you," I said. "I used to always wish for a sister that knew everything about me, and I didn't have to hide anything from her."
Speaking of family, I tugged him back up the stairs and led him toward the portrait gallery.
"It's too bad my mother never wanted any more kids than me," Landon said with a chuckle. "All of this would be so much easier if I had siblings."
It wasn't hard to find his mother's portrait. The modern skyline of New York, plus the sleek sophistication of her outfit, were nothing compared to the poise and beauty of her face. Landon's mother sent a serene smile out over anyone who viewed the painting. Next to me, Landon looked up at her with shuttered eyes.
"Her portrait is beautiful. Perfect. It graced the byline of every gala and event she hosted. She sat for two whole weeks to get the portrait just right." Landon stuffed his hands in his pockets. "My father, on the other hand, made his artist travel with him. They'd been to three countries by the time the poor man had started the actual painting."
"What city is that behind him?" I asked, puzzled.
"Tel Aviv," he said. "I remember because I got the flu and the only time my father sat with me was when I was laid out on a couch in the artist's workspace."
"Where was your mother?"
Landon shrugged. "She was there in Tel Aviv. Exhibit openings, antiquities auctions, whatever the social to-do was, she was there."
"So she didn't mind that your father worked all the time?"
"Not at all," Landon said. "She saw it as a status symbol, part of his public image, and it garnered her a lot of sympathy and attention."
I crossed my arms and looked at his mother's searching smile. "I think it's wonderful that they wanted you with them."
He sighed and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. "They thought it was exciting for me, broadening my horizons, giving me a childhood full of adventure. But I was also missing out. Missing out on normal school, missing out on normal family holidays, missing out on normal weekday dinners with my parents."
His hurt was too close to the surface and Landon looked miserable, so I knocked his elbow with mine and smiled. "If you're going to have a portrait up here one day, you should wear a really ugly tie. Then you don't have to worry about anyone talking about your faults —they'll just be talking about that ugly tie."
Landon's chuckle banished some of the lonely chill in the portrait gallery, but not enough. I shivered and he wrapped an arm around me.
"It's about time we get you to the cozy hall," he said.
"With a nickname like that, I already know I'm going to love it." I insisted on leading the way even though Landon kept having to call out which turn to take.
The cozy hall was the far end of the formal living room. After passing two fireplaces, a grand piano, three separate alcoves, and a polished redwood bar, I found out where it got its nickname. It was probably the only place in the house that didn’t have high, imposing ceilings. Most of the room’s ceilings towered almost two stories, but the cozy hall was ensconced between built-in bookshelves and a low, hand-carved wooden ceiling.
"The ceiling was imported from a French monastery," Landon said. "The fireplace is also from France, but it’s from some dismantled palace."
The fireplace crackled and smelled of pine. Landon took what looked to be his usual spot on the end of a dark plaid sofa. He patted the cushion next to him, but I just smiled and kept browsing around the room.
All of the furniture at the far end of the formal living room was overstuffed and stacked with pillows. Quilts of startling intricacy were draped over the arms of the sofas and the backs of some armchairs. It was also the only place in Golden Bluff that didn’t boast opulent overhead lighting. Golden lamps, candles in hurricane lanterns, and Tiffany shades gave the space a soft, warm glow.
I was leaning over a side table of photographs when a woman arrived with a silver coffee tray. She smiled brightly at me and gave me a quick sweeping assessment. Then she saw Landon and grinned.
"A good spot for a great day, your grandfather would have said."
"Thank you," Landon said, grinning back. She disappeared through a hidden side door, and he laughed. "My housekeeper always called the servants’ hallways 'secret passages’."
Outside, the storm threw buckets of rain against the window, but it couldn't drown out the merry fire or the warmth I felt when Landon smiled. He was so sure and solid, finally looking relaxed despite the rich furnishings.
"Stop looking for embarrassing photos and come sit down. I'll pour you some coffee," he said. "Besides, if you want to see anything good, you'll have to dig out an album. My mother would never let any but the most meticulously chosen photos go in a frame."
"Then I'll just have to find a photo album," I announced. Landon raised an eyebrow when I joined him on the couch and picked up my warm coffee mug with both hands. "You don't think I can find one?"
"By cuddling with me and sipping coffee? Not that I'm complaining." He smiled and inched closer to me.
"I should make you bet money but that just wouldn't be fair," I said.
Landon chuckled until I leaned down and opened the hidden drawer of the trunk that served as a coffee table.
"M
y grandfather had the same hope chest," I explained. "Well, maybe not this nice —his wasn't inlaid with mother-of-pearl —but it was made with the same place for keepsakes."
Landon looked suspicious of the wide leather-bound photo album. The sleek shine meant it was relatively new, within the past couple of decades.
"You're not going to find a cute baby book if that's what you're thinking," he said.
It was a scrapbook of some sort. Most pages held extra party invitations or newspaper clippings.
"Here are baby pictures," I said, holding the book up toward Landon.
He picked up a stray invitation, gold leaf on heavy cream stock. "This party was four days after I was born. I bet my mother went. Now that's more like it."
Landon pointed to a photograph of his beautiful mother posing on a white wrought-iron bench. Her flowing skirt was artfully arranged and she held an exotic parasol. On the fringe of the photo was Landon's father, an angry expression on his face as he talked into his phone. He used his leg to hold back a crying toddler, Landon, who was reaching out for his mother.
"Just because that's what's captured on film, doesn't mean that’s how they felt about you all the time," I said.
Landon rolled his eyes. "I know. My childhood was nothing to complain about. How about yours? Don't you hold any bitter complaints against your mother or your grandfather?"
I looked out the window at the rain. "Whenever it stormed and I got scared, my grandfather made special hot cocoa. He'd sprinkle the top with cinnamon and tell me it was a special potion to calm the skies."
"Did it work?" Landon asked.
"Every time," I said with a grin.
Landon handed me my coffee and I sat back to enjoy its warmth. "What was it like living in your house?"
"It could be lonely," I admitted. "My mother worked a full-time job and a part-time job a couple days a week. Grandpa worked long hours, and no one in the world could make him retire. I lived for the days we all had off together."
"They took you out to do fun kid stuff?" Landon asked.
My smile was tight, trying to keep the memories under control. "No, never. Days off were spent at the farmhouse. We had a routine for everything. Coffee, or cocoa, and the newspaper in the kitchen. I didn't even mind sitting at that table for hours when it was gorgeous and sunny out. My mom would bake, my grandfather would read out loud and add his own stories, and I was just glad we were all in the same room."
Torn_An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 43
