by Lucy King
He hadn’t recognized any of it for what it was because he’d let his guilt and his fear bury it but now enough was enough. To hell with the past. He wanted the future. With Mercy. And he was going to get it. Assuming he hadn’t completely buggered things up.
As his heart began to thump with anticipation, longing, and no small amount of terror that he might have ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, he whipped round on surprisingly shaky legs.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Zel,” he said gruffly, striding over to his desk and grabbing his phone and his keys.
Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”
“To Mercy’s apartment. To talk to her.”
“You won’t find her there.”
He stilled. Tensed. Felt a bolt of panic. “Why not? Where is she?”
“Argentina. Mendoza. Home.”
Right. OK. Fine. A slight delay but not a problem. If Mercy was in Mendoza then that was where he was going. “So I’ll take the jet,” he said, his brain racing through the logistics because now he’d realized he was crazy about her he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
“You can’t,” said Zelda. “We had to leave it in St. Petersburg.”
What? No. “Why?”
“Mechanical fault. Ty and I flew back commercial. He was pleased about that. He disapproves of the jet. We even went economy, which was novel. The food was awful and the seats were kind of snug, but actually it wasn’t that bad.”
The dreamy look of happiness on his sister’s face caught him right in the solar plexus, making his breath catch and his head swim because that was what he wanted. Happiness. Intimacy. He wanted fun. He wanted to learn how to start living again. He just wanted Mercy. So much his throat hurt.
“I love you, Zel,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Zel looked at him, startled, then got up, her eyes watering, her smile tremulous. “I love you too, Seb,” she said, wrapping herself around him in a hug he didn’t think he’d ever tire of. “Now you go and get her, and try not to mess it up again.”
Chapter Twelve
‡
The temperature in Mendoza might be in the low thirties or the high eighties depending on whether she was feeling Argentinian or American, but Mercy, who was sitting on the verandah with her knees up, staring out across the vines that filled the land as far as the eye could see and twirling the stem of a glass filled with one of their mid-range reds, still felt as cold and numb and wretched as she had when she’d arrived nearly a week ago.
She’d been a wreck when she’d gotten on the first of the two planes she needed to take to get to Mendoza. In such bits that she’d barely even packed. The journey had passed in such a regret-filled, teary, heartbreaking blur she didn’t remember much about it. Nor did she remember her parents picking her up at the airport in Mendoza, although she did recall her mother hustling her into bed and plying her with tea – her love and support welcome rather than smothering for once.
Nothing, though, was strong enough or distracting enough to wipe out her misery and patch up her broken heart. Not the calm, concerned understanding of her parents, not her love of the vineyard, not work.
She’d heard about what had been going on in her absence and had listened to the advancing plans for the launch of rosé. She’d spent hours checking the systems and machinery she’d put in place and talking to the staff. And even more hours wandering through the vines, finding solace among the grapes and letting the heavenly warmth and scent of the soil envelop her as she thought about nothing but Seb and where she’d gone wrong.
That she had gone wrong she now had no doubt. Despite her vow not to fall into the trap of thinking she could fix him, she’d done exactly that. She’d really thought she could help him. Had really thought he’d welcome it. But, of course, he hadn’t. And why would he? He’d never asked her for help. In fact, he’d specifically warned her against trying.
So why had she done it? she asked herself for what felt like the billionth time. Had it simply been because that was the way she was? Or had she wanted to release him from his past so that he’d be free to fall in love with her?
Whatever the reason she’d been stupid. So stupid. And she deeply regretted it because it had been a mistake and now she was paying the price of that stupidity, crying into her pillow at night like some kind of pathetic teenager and sleepwalking through the days.
At least Seb didn’t know how she felt, she reminded herself, blinking back the ever present tears and taking a sip of wine. That was a blessing. She didn’t think she could bear it if he knew. The humiliation would be crucifying.
But he didn’t, and at least that would make facing him once she was back in New York that little bit easier. And unfortunately, she was going to have to face him at some point because he was now an important part of Zel’s life so he’d be around. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Honestly she wouldn’t because Zel was so happy now. So she’d just have to suck it up and pretend everything was fine.
And it would get better. With time. The girls would help, too. The eighteen months she had left to complete her MBA would be over in no time. Everything would be fine. There was no point in wishing things were different. No point in wishing she could rewind time. No point wishing –
“Mercy.”
Mercy froze, her glass stilling mid-twirl, her heart leaping into her throat and her pulse suddenly going like a jack hammer because that voice had haunted her dreams for the last seven days and, what? Now it was haunting her days too? Was she imagining things? Was she going mad? Or was Seb here?
Her mouth bone dry and her head swimming, Mercy slowly lowered her feet to the floor and then turned. She looked up, and over, and there he was, standing in the doorway that opened from the lounge onto the verandah, wearing a crumpled white polo shirt and faded jeans and looking tired, haggard and absolutely, heart-meltingly wonderful.
And oh, how she wanted to leap up, throw herself into his arms and smother him in kisses. She wanted to beg him for forgiveness then drag him off to her bedroom because she’d missed him so damn much. But she kept herself right where she was because she didn’t get to do that anymore.
“Seb,” she said, her voice hoarse. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“What about?”
He didn’t respond to that. Instead his dark fathomless gaze shifted to her glass. “What are you drinking?”
“Malbec.”
“May I have a glass?”
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“I didn’t. But I’ve been making up for lost time lately. With a lot of things… I can see why you love it here,” he said, walking forwards and gazing out over the fields bathed in warm golden light. “It’s beautiful.”
“Sunset is my favorite time of day.”
“I remember you saying.”
She was not going to weaken. She was not going to weaken. Him remembering what she’d said didn’t mean a thing. “Who let you in?”
“Your mother. She told me you were out here.”
She sighed. Then remembered her manners. “You might as well take a seat.”
“Thank you.”
While he folded himself into a chair, Mercy got up to fetch a glass from the sideboard. She could feel his eyes on her as she did so, could feel her body begin to simmer with heat and need and longing.
“So what did you want to talk about?” she asked, banking down the desire and ignoring the aching of her heart as she filled his glass and handed it to him because neither had any place here. What was so important that he’d travelled five thousand miles? She’d have heard if something had happened to Zel, wouldn’t she?
“You,” he said gruffly and Mercy went still. “Me. Well, you and me, actually.” He lifted his glass, downed half of it, then shoved his hands through his hair and shifted on the chair, and it occurred to her that he was nervous.
“I didn’t think there was
a you and me,” she said, her heart suddenly pounding because she’d seen him many things before but never nervous. Never unsure of himself.
“Neither did I. I was wrong.”
“In what way?”
“In pretty much every way.”
A seed of hope sprouted deep inside her but she stamped it out because she really wasn’t going there. She couldn’t. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “You told me we were over.”
“I was an idiot.”
“A peabrain?”
He gave her the glimmer of a smile. “New Word of the Day?”
She shot him a look. “Yes.”
“Very appropriate.”
“So, what, we aren’t over?”
“I hope not,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his face and swallowing hard. “God, I hope not.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I don’t blame you. I screwed up badly. I’d like to put that right, so first of all I need to tell you about that night five years ago when you came to tell me about Zel.”
“The night you deliberately seduced me?”
“Yes. But I didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Deliberately seduce you. I might have kissed you initially to shut you up but the moment I did I was lost.”
Mercy felt her heart skip a beat. “Lost?”
“Yes. Lost. As in unable to find my way out. Although I doubt I would have taken it even if I had been able to find it. You cast a spell on me that night, Mercy. I wanted you. Desperately. I was mad with desire. For you. And that was all there was to it. No manipulation, no distraction strategy, just need.”
She scoured his face, his eyes, but found nothing but sincerity and some of the ice inside her melted. “So why pretend what you did was deliberate?”
“That was what you assumed and it was easier to let you believe it.”
“Why?”
“You made me lose control, Mercy,” he said gruffly. “And I have a thing about control. I don’t like not having it. A hang-up from the accident, I imagine. You made me feel vulnerable, on unstable ground. It wasn’t a comfortable place to be.”
Oh, and there went her pathetic, fragile heart, aching for him because now his attitude towards her, then and recently all made sense.
“You left me alone.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for that. It was a cowardly thing to do.”
“You didn’t like it when I made you lose control again the other morning, did you?”
He sighed. “Not a lot. It scared me. Terrified me, actually. You have such a hold over me, Mercy. I think you always have. I tried to battle it but I can’t, and I really don’t mind anymore.”
“Why not?”
He took a breath. Looked her straight in the eyes. “Because I love you.”
For a moment Mercy felt winded. “You love me?” she echoed, not sure she was able to believe it.
Seb nodded. “Yes. Very much. How could I not? You’re incredible. You once said you were nothing, but you’re everything. You’re a vintage champagne, sparkling, delicious, intoxicating, making everyone feel happy. You’re brave, loyal and you don’t back down from anything, which is something I admire about you more than you’ll ever know. You know the best of me and the worst of me. I think I’ve been half in love with you for years. Now I’m completely in love with you, although I refused to acknowledge it until Zel gave me no option. I hated not being with you on Thanksgiving.”
“So did I.”
“I missed you that weekend you went out with your classmates. Not the sex. Well, not just the sex,” he said with a rueful smile. “Mainly I missed you.”
“Oh, me too.”
“And I was so jealous of that Raf guy.”
“There’s really no need.”
“I even bought you some grape scissors.”
“Grape scissors?” she said, feeling dizzy.
“A gift. I haven’t bought a gift in years. But when I saw them they made me think of you. They’re lovely. So are you.”
“Can I see them?”
“I couldn’t bring them with me. I only came with hand luggage. Didn’t want them confiscated. They’re in New York, waiting for you to be there so I can give them to you. I love you beyond measure, Mercy, and that bloody terrifies me too, because even assuming that’s OK with you, which I frankly doubt because why would you want to give me a chance when I’ve been such an idiot, what if I screw up? I mean, I did with that phone call, didn’t I?”
Mercy’s head spun at everything he was saying. “Maybe. A bit. But, then, so did I.”
He stared at her. “You? How?”
“By thinking I could help you. That you could be changed.” She looked up at him her vision ever so slightly blurred. “What gave me the right to think that anyway? I should never have done what I did in your garage. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said leaning forward, looking at her so intently it was as if he wanted to see into her soul. “I kind of liked what you did to me in that garage. And you were right. I have been locked up in the past too much. But I’m trying to get out. Do you know how I got here?”
“No,” she said, although presumably it involved a couple of planes and a cab.
“I drove. All the way from Buenos Aires.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I got behind the wheel of a rental car and drove.”
“Why?”
“National air strike. Don’t you read the news?”
Well, no. She hadn’t. She hadn’t done much of anything really, except wander the fields and feel despondent. “That must have been quite a baptism of fire.”
“Tell me about it. Ten hours from the airport to here. It was grim at first, not so bad after a couple of hours, and then as I got closer to you, it didn’t seem so awful at all. And I want to sell all that wine, Mercy. I may need your help to do that.” He stopped. Looked a bit uncertain, and her chest squeezed. “If you’re willing, I mean. If you tell me to bugger off I’ll understand. I won’t like it, but I’ll understand. After all, there isn’t a whole lot in this for you. So if you’re not interested, I won’t bother you again.”
Mercy looked at him, her heart turning over with love. Nothing in this for her? she thought, happiness beginning to spin through her. There was everything in this for her. She adored him, every single bit of him. She was more than willing, she’d always been willing, and there was no way in hell she was going to tell him to bugger off when she wanted to spent the rest of her life with him. “You can bother me all you like, Seb,” she said, her voice shaking.
He looked at her. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you too.”
He stilled, but didn’t take his gaze off her. “Why?”
God, where did she start? She loved everything about him. “Because you’re decent and you care. Because you admit your mistakes and aren’t afraid to correct them. Because you’re brave and strong and let’s not forget you can do some seriously wicked things with your tongue.”
She smiled but he didn’t return it. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I couldn’t be more sure. I love you. Very much. And if you don’t believe me I will simply have to carry on telling you until you do.”
“Oh, thank God for that,” he muttered, reaching for her, pulling her up into his arms and holding her tight, as if he was never going to let her go. “Zel said you did but I thought I could well have killed it off.”
“You didn’t. And oh, Seb, I’ve been so miserable.”
He kissed her, hot and hard, and she melted against him. “So have I,” he muttered when he drew back for breath. “I’ve missed you a lot. The only reason my rose garden is still in one piece is because it’s been lying under six inches of snow. Living has always been so hard for me. Survival has been so tough. But I’m done with that. I’m done with the guilt. I plan to make changes, Mercy, live more, la
ugh more, have fun again. And I want to do it with you. Only you. Is that something you could maybe help me with?”
She looked up at him, at the love blazing in his eyes, and felt happiness flood though her. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
Putting his hands on her cheeks he kissed her again, as if he’d never have enough of her, as if she was the most precious thing in the world. “So,” he murmured when he lifted his head, “how about you show me your world?”
Giddy with love and joy, Mercy grinned, took his hand in hers and said, “Follow me.”
The End
Enjoy an excerpt from book 4 of the Fairy Tales of New York series
Seducing the Baron
by Amy Andrews
Copyright © 2015
Sullivan’s Pub (Sully’s), Brooklyn.
It was official. Rafael Quartermaine was freezing his gnads off. Too much longer out on the streets of Brooklyn and his ability to father a child at some stage in the future was going to be seriously impaired.
He hunched further into his jacket as he picked up the pace, the tops of his ears burning, his gloveless fingers curling deep into the pockets. He needed gloves. And a better scarf. Maybe a pair of long johns for under his Levis.
Minus five the CNN weather chick had said this morning. Or, more correctly, twenty-three. He really needed to wrap his head around the whole Celsius/Fahrenheit thing. But whatever way it was measured, New York in February was brutal! A far cry from a sweltering Australian summer.
Cold enough to freeze the tits off a bull as his old bushie grandfather would say.
For a moment Raf almost wished he was back home straddling his surfboard, the hot Aussie sun on his back, his feet dangling in the ocean, waiting in a line of surfers for the next big one to come in. Instead of here, killing off his sperm cells.
At the very least he should have decided to launch into the west coast market. It was warmer than this in California and he’d been there several times since his mother had moved back to the place of her birth after the divorce.
And they had some wicked surf.
But he’d been looking for the right pub to launch Baron lager on the US market and Mercedes Hernandez, an old friend whose opinion he valued highly, had persuaded him that Sully’s in Brooklyn was the perfect neighborhood pub. And she could get him an intro to the owner.
