Broken Heart

by Laura Browning

  “And his connections to Winchester?” Mason prompted.

  Smith pulled out a tablet computer and opened his notes. “They met at summer camp in their early teens. Both attended the same camp in subsequent years. There were also a few other occasions when they visited each other. In college, they became roommates. Worthington, like Winchester, dated women, but on only a casual basis. Neither man has had a serious relationship with another female until Winchester married Stacey Barlow-Barrett.”

  Mason tapped his pen on his desk. “Are you saying in a roundabout way what I think you are?”

  Smith set the tablet on the edge of the desk and leaned back. “Look, I’m going to be completely up front with you. Jones told me your background, so I know nothing I say will come as a shock. I’m bisexual. I’ve had a male lover a lot longer than a wife. If you believe the adage ‘it takes one to know one,’ then what I’m seeing with Justin Worthington and Jason Winchester is exactly what it appears to be–an intimate sexual relationship, though I don’t think Mrs. Winchester is aware of it.”

  Mason leaned back and expelled a loud breath. “It’s what I suspected. Tell me something, if I’m not being too personal, does your wife know about your lover?”

  Smith smiled. “We have a unique relationship. We live together. This isn’t what’s going on here.”

  “But Justin Worthington is staying in their home.” The idea Stacey would take part in such a triangle was making Mason slightly sick. It was one thing to think of a menage in theory, quite another when it concerned the woman he loved.

  Smith leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what your interest is in this–I’m assuming it’s Stacey Winchester–but what I need to know is do you believe she would be a willing party to a three-way relationship?”

  “No.” Mason could say so without any doubt whatsoever in his mind. “She is most emphatic about honoring her marriage vows. The whole Barlow-Barrett family wears their Catholicism on their sleeves, so to speak. In fact, she told me this last weekend she and Jason were trying to start a family…” When Smith looked surprised, Mason stopped. “What? Why does that surprise you?”

  Smith picked his computer back up and scanned through his notes. “The last summer Winchester was at camp, he contracted mumps and had to be quarantined. There’s every likelihood he’s sterile.”

  Mason didn’t like the picture forming in his head. It was no coincidence Winchester wanted to start a family right at the point where Justin Worthington entered the picture. He looked at Smith. “I want you to keep digging.”

  Smith nodded, tucked his tablet back in the pocket of his jacket and stood. “If I find out anything more of significance, I’ll give you a call.”

  Mason stood, shook his hand and escorted him to the door. “Thanks, Smith.”

  After the detective left, Mason returned to his desk, sat heavily and spun his chair to stare out onto the busy street. Now what the hell did he do? Deciding he needed to let Stacey know something, he started to call her but disconnected. What was he supposed to say? Hi, I’ve had a detective following you. That would be a good opening line, guaranteed to win her over. Not. She would hang up on him before he could even get to what mattered. It wasn’t exactly like they’d parted on the best of terms. No, he needed to talk to her in person. She was usually in the gallery on Fridays. It seemed to be a good day for getting together with her clients, so he would have to talk to her then because she was equally unlikely to meet with him in person if he requested it.

  Shit. Mason scraped his hair off his face and tucked it back into a ponytail. If he was lucky, business would keep his mind occupied until then, but the rest of the day was fairly slow. Mason had plenty of time to think over Stacey’s situation–and the best way to approach her. He kept recalling the bruising on her wrist, how down she’d seemed the previous weekend and finally decided he would need to be subtle. She had looked so fragile earlier, Mason’s gut clenched remembering.

  He had an artist he was taking to dinner that night, a painter who was just beginning to make a name for himself with his portraits. Mason felt like he could give the artist a real boost, but it would also increase his business as well. Once the painter’s portraits caught on, demand would increase for his other work as well–and that would be what Mason exhibited.

  They discussed business over pre-dinner drinks before being shown to their table in the dining room of the expensive Georgetown restaurant he preferred to use for business. After placing his order, Mason sat back, his body tensing as he heard a familiar laugh. Gaze going to the door, he saw Stacey enter the dining room with Winchester on one side and Worthington on the other, but it was Justin who had his hand resting familiarly on the small of her back.

  He and Smith had it wrong, Mason realized, his jaw hardening. There was no cover up, no lying going on. It seemed perfectly obvious to him Stacey knew exactly what was going on between her husband and Justin Worthington and was a willing partner in it. And if she was looking a little fragile, then maybe it was simply due to an overactive sex life. He averted his gaze, looking at the table while he swallowed the fury boiling inside him. The thought of her with both men made him sick, but at the same time, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying down that path. Did they pair off for privacy? Do it together? The images made him want to gag.

  He looked at the young artist. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  He needed to step out and compose himself, but God Almighty, he had to walk by their table to get outside. There was no way he could simply walk past without saying anything. Too many people in the district knew them, would know there was some issue if he didn’t stop to speak to her. It could hurt his business and Stacey’s.

  Fury barely in check, he stopped at the table, noting the way Worthington had his hand on her arm. “Good evening. Good to see the three of you.” When Stacey didn’t meet his eyes, he shook the men’s hands. Finally, she extended her hand, and he shook hers as well. The faint tremor there made his gaze once again dart to her face, but the brittle, social Stacey he so disliked was firmly in place, her expression not betraying what her handshake did. She wasn’t nearly as happy as she appeared.

  Mason stepped out of the dining room and into the bar for a moment. He raked his hand through his hair, concern once again mixing with anger. Something wasn’t right with the whole picture. Winchester nearly ignored his wife. Worthington appeared to pay her far more attention. In fact, had he never seen the three of them before, he would have to assume Stacey was married to Justin, not Jason.

  He felt sick.

  Taking a deep breath, Mason readjusted his tie and checked his BlackBerry. There was a message from Smith. When he opened it, the text was simply Smith’s number and a message to call him first thing in the morning. Mason sighed and pressed his lips together in frustration. If it was something important, he needed to know now, while Stacey was here. Acting on impulse, he dialed Smith’s number, but got dumped into his voicemail. Damn.

  Mason shoved the phone back into his pocket and headed back to the dining room. He nodded at the people he knew, but didn’t stop until he reached his table.

  “Sorry about that. I had a call concerning some personal business I had to take.”

  By the time he and the painter parted ways, both men were satisfied with the deal they’d worked out. Mason would refer clients to him for portraits, and he would provide the gallery with some of his work and suggest clients use Mason’s gallery. Mason had taken a cab to the restaurant rather than driving, and now he decided to walk back to his penthouse. Fresh air was a commodity that had felt in short supply in the restaurant’s dining room.

  Once home, Mason decided he would call Smith first thing in the morning. Only after he had the latest from him would he make any attempt to contact Stacey. It was time to tell her what he knew and see what her part in the whole affair might be. If she was happy with her situation, then so be it, time for Mason to move on and put her in the past for good.


  The idea of cutting loose the emotions she’d stirred hurt. The idea of her with someone else still hurt. But Mason didn’t need the kind of head job sticking around would bring. He’d had enough of psychological games before he finally took to the streets as a kid. As a successful businessman, he no longer had to put up with anyone messing with his head or his heart.

  * * * *

  Stacey wanted to shrug away from Justin’s hand on her back as they entered the dining room, but one glance around told her there were simply too many people they knew, her clients as well as some of Jace’s. Her husband would never forgive her. Her mother’s voice drummed in her head. A Barlow-Barrett never creates a scene. Stacey supposed never creating a scene applied both in public and in private, and she could certainly see her mother living up to that, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to do so.

  Jace had never been overly attentive in public. Open displays of affection embarrassed him, but when it reached the point where it seemed Justin was her escort and Jace merely along for the ride, that was too much. Still she smiled. She was a Barlow-Barrett, so even though she might have her own rebellion started in private by continuing to take her birth control pills, she wasn’t ready to bring it out in public. In fact, she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready, and it frightened her to think her existence could go on like this forever. The poster child for passive-aggressive–that was her.

  “It was thoughtful of you, Justin, to take us out to celebrate my birthday early,” Stacey told him, feeling guilty for the resentment still burning inside her toward him and her husband.

  Justin leaned closer, resting his hand over her forearm. “I know you’ll want to celebrate the actual day in private, so I figured you wouldn’t mind a littler earlier public celebration. Jace is such a close friend, and I feel the same way about you, so it’s my pleasure.”

  It was all Stacey could do not to cringe. Mason chose that moment to stop by their table. She saw his eyes rest for a moment on Justin’s hand, and she couldn’t meet his gaze as he shook hands with both men. Finally, knowing she had no choice, she offered him hers. God, she was shaking again! She almost snatched it back, but knew she couldn’t, not when they were in such a public place. Instead, she pasted the expression on her face her mother had drilled into her from girlhood, the social mask concealing every worry or problem. She was good at it. She watched Mason’s eyes harden, saw the faint tightening of his generous mouth. When he turned away from her, she wanted to yell at him to take her with him. She was instantly ashamed that even the thought she needed rescuing from her own husband had crossed her mind.

  Dinner passed in a haze. Justin and Jace were both attentive, but their conversation seemed to flow over and around her rather than including her. She drank more wine than she intended, something happening to her a lot of late. Stacey was sure she would awaken yet again with the groggy, hungover feeling she hated after a night filled with bizarre dreams. By the time they left, she was grateful for Justin’s supportive arm at her back.

  For once, she went to bed and slept without any of those disturbing feelings of waking in the middle of the night wondering what was happening to her. She had slept so soundly, she hadn’t even awakened when Jace came to bed. When she did rise the following morning, it was with a faint headache.

  Knowing she had a busy day ahead of her, Stacey went ahead and packed a bag for the beach, leaving it inside her closet, so all she would need to do when she came home was change clothes, then grab it and go. It was her hope getting a solid couple of days on their own would help them clear the air about a few things, like her continued unease at the thought of having children at this point in their marriage.

  She kissed Jace goodbye, disappointed when he turned his face so her lips brushed his cheek, and gave Justin what she hoped was a sincere smile of farewell. Then she was out the door and on the go until nearly lunchtime. When her phone rang, her heart sank when the caller ID showed it was her husband.

  “Darling…I’m so glad I caught you. I have a client who’s had to reschedule for later in the afternoon, so I will be a little late getting to the beach house.”

  “That’s okay,” she assured him, relieved he was only running late. “I’m swamped too. Why don’t we meet there? It might save some time.”

  “That’s a marvelous idea. I promise I’ll be there in time to take you to a late dinner.”

  Stacey smiled, feeling better than she had in ages. Jace sounded sincerely apologetic that he would be delayed. With a bit of free time after lunch, she ran by the house to grab her bag. She could always change once she got to the beach. Everything was going according to plan. In fact, she finished earlier than expected in the afternoon. Good thing, too, because she realized she’d forgotten to stuff her bathing suit in her duffel bag. It would be easy enough to swing by the townhouse, change clothes and grab her suit, then head to the beach. She would still have time to get the beach house opened and aired out. Stacey hated spending the night in places that had the feeling of having been shut for an extended period of time.

  She used her key to get in, disarmed the alarm, set her briefcase and purse down and kicked off her heels. As she did, her gaze took in two other briefcases–Jason’s and what she had to assume was Justin’s. Her gaze slid to the hall tree, where their suit coats hung as if put there in a hurry. Good. Maybe Jace had finished earlier than expected and they could travel to the beach together. Strange, though, he’d left the alarm armed… And why hadn’t he called?

  As she padded along the hall, she became aware of the sounds coming from his study. Heavy breathing followed by a low moan, then her husband’s voice thick with more passion than she’d ever heard in it. “Fuck. That feels so good. Just like that. How the hell am I going to get through a weekend without you?”

  Was he in there with another woman? Without giving herself time to think, to remember all those Barlow-Barrett gentility maxims her mother had drilled into her, Stacey swept into the room ready to give her husband and his girlfriend a piece of her mind. Screw passive-aggressive. She wasn’t the daughter of a newspaperman for nothing.

  Jason was sprawled in one of the chairs near the fireplace, his tie askew, his shirt partially unbuttoned and his lover kneeling between his legs giving him a blowjob. Except it wasn’t a woman. It was Justin.

  “Oh, shit!” Stacey swayed and thought for a moment she might faint. She blinked, hoping she was hallucinating, but when she opened them again, both men were on their feet, tucking in and zipping up. Stacey turned, wanting nothing more than to get out of there as quickly as possible, but as she reached the doorway, Justin grasped her arm.

  “Wait, Stacey!” he implored. “Don’t leave. You need to hear us out.”

  She jerked her arm away from him and spun to face him, her hand snapping out and slapping him across the cheek. “I don’t need to listen to anything you have to say. Get away from me. You disgust me!”

  Justin held out his hands and backed away a step, but it just gave Jace room to get by and block the doorway. “Stacey, I don’t know what you saw…”

  She laughed, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “What I saw? I saw you having your cock sucked by our houseguest while you moaned how you couldn’t get through the weekend without him.” She drew in a couple of breaths, trying to calm the pain and rage coursing through her.

  “Stacey…” Jace muttered.

  She glanced between the two men, an eerie calm now suffusing her. “This isn’t anything new, is it?”

  It was Justin who replied. “No. It’s been going on since we were teenagers. We had hoped… Well, it doesn’t matter now what we’d hoped.”

  “You’re right about that.” She took another deep breath. “I can’t deal with this right now. Please let me out of here.”

  Jace moved toward her, acting like he wanted to take her in his arms. Stacey recoiled, pushing past him. She grabbed her briefcase and purse and fled down the steps to her car. Before she gave herself any time to think, sh
e was behind the wheel and heading out of town.

  She managed to make it to the outskirts before she had to pull over. Standing on the shoulder of the highway, she braced one hand on the hood of the car as she bent over and vomited.

  * * * *

  Mason had called Smith first thing in the morning, and what he’d discovered had Mason immediately trying to reach Stacey. Jace and Justin’s fishing trip had been anything but fishing. According to Smith, the two men had visited a fertility specialist in New York. Both men. God. Were they somehow coercing her into bed with Justin so she could get pregnant? His stomach turned.

  He got her voicemail.

  “Stacey, it’s Mason. Give me a call as soon as you get this message.” He hung up and tried to concentrate on his business, but couldn’t get her off his mind. Stepping out of the office, he looked at his assistant. “If Stacey Winchester comes by, I need to speak with her. Even if I’m out of the gallery, find some reason to stall her and keep her here until you get in touch with me so I can get back.”

  He hated to sound so melodramatic, but he knew Worthington had no reason to see the fertility specialist unless Jason had asked him to, and it could only mean he wanted him to play some role in fathering a child. Mason couldn’t envision Stacey being willing to agree. But did she have to be willing? Did she even know?

  When he didn’t hear back from her, and she didn’t show at the gallery, Mason went so far as to drive past her house. In desperation, he finally called her home number, something he’d found in the gallery’s files though he’d never used it himself.