by Ciana Stone
“No.”
Helen blew out her breath in exasperation. “Honestly, sometimes that boy tries my patience to the very brink.”
At that moment, Osgood appeared at the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Weston. I’ve located Maxwell.”
“Well it’s about time!”
He disappeared for just a moment then reappeared in the doorway, holding onto someone’s arm. “Come, Maxwell, your mother wants to speak with you.”
Nikki thought she was going to faint when instead of a young boy, her dream man stepped through the door.
“Holy shit!” she breathed without thinking.
Helen and Richard both looked sharply at her, but she paid them little attention. Her attention was on the man she’d been fantasizing about. His eyes met hers and she felt like someone who was free-falling through space.
The whisper of sheets sliding across bare skin and a breath of cool air from the opened window had her tingling. Moonlight fell in shafts across the room, casting harsh contrasts between darkness and light.
He stood at the foot of the bed, watching. She could not see his eyes. With his back to the window, he was silhouetted against the light. She extended one hand to him and he came to her, crawling onto the bed and stopping when he was poised above her.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light. She reached up to run her hand along the side of his face and into his thick hair. Fisting the silken strands, she pulled his face down to hers. He came to her willingly, lowering himself down on her, supporting the weight of his upper body on his forearms.
Her tongue flicked at his lips and they parted, allowing her to explore the sweet depths of his mouth. But only for a moment, then he assumed control, rolling over and taking her with him so that she lay on top him, her breasts pressed into the firm swell of his chest.
His hands moved down her back, cupping and squeezing her rear, fingers questing into the cleft to caress her anus and move lower, teasing the lips of her sex.
She shivered in delicious anticipation and pushed herself up, hands braced on either side of his shoulders.
He captured one breast in hand and mouth, hand squeezing as his tongue traced the puckered areola, drawing a moan from her.
Fantasy faded as Osgood pushed the man further into the room, breaking their eye contact. Nikki’s legs nearly gave out. She’d been moments from climax. But thoughts of herself vanished at the sight of emotions dancing across Maxwell’s face. It was like watching an emotional kaleidoscope.
“Maxwell, get in here and sit down this instant,” Richard barked.
Nikki was surprised by the change that came over Maxwell when he looked at his parents. The swirling eddy of emotion vanished. It was like a carved, expressionless mask had been dropped over his face.
“Please.” Richard gestured for Nikki to sit as he ushered Helen to the divan.
Nikki took her seat, keeping her eyes on Maxwell who remained rooted in place by the door.
Richard looked over his shoulder. “I said now, Maxwell.”
Maxwell started slowly across the room, his movements like those of a person who has to think about the act of walking. Nikki noted the movements and lack of facial expression, but also the emotion that blazed from his eyes. She wished she could read it. He stood in front of the divan, facing Nikki, with his back to his parents who were seated on the divan.
“Maxwell, this is Nikki Morgan. Nikki, this is our son, Maxwell.”
Nikki was still in shock. From the way Richard and Helen had talked, she’d expected to see a nine- or ten-year-old boy. The person standing in front of her definitely was not nine or ten, nor was he a boy. He was a grown man. A very handsome, well-built, grown man who was easily in his mid-thirties. And the man she’d been dreaming of for the last year.
Oh god. This is not good, not good at all. Get a grip. Come on. Okay, he’s not what you thought. But you can deal with it. Remember, he’s not normal. He’s not a beautiful, well-built normal man, he’s a kid trapped in that gorgeous body. He’s not the man you dream about. He’s—oh god, he saw the way I looked at him.
Trying to compose herself, she looked up at Maxwell. It was a big mistake. His eyes were like wells of emotion. She immediately fell into those endless wells and could do nothing but submit to captivity. At length he released her from his gaze to move his eyes over her. Freed for the moment, she did likewise, studying him. His face was like a living screen on which emotions danced in rapid-fire abandon. What was it she saw? Hurt, anger, confusion, nervousness?
What’s wrong with you, Maxwell Weston? He didn’t look mentally handicapped, or slow. What exactly was his problem?
As she looked back into his eyes, it happened again—a sensation that nearly overwhelmed her. She didn’t know what it was, but she did know it was coming from him, from his eyes.
Abruptly, words she had spoken to Cat came back to haunt her, proclamations of how her dream man was the stranger she had met at the Westons’. No, it couldn’t be. She was not destined to have her heart held captive by a man who was emotionally and mentally little more than a child.
Maxwell slowly extended his hand to her. She took it and tried to smile naturally. “Hi Maxwell, it’s nice to meet you.”
The smile she received was so swift and unexpected that it was gone almost before it registered. Then the mask was back. Maxwell released her hand and moved stiffly to take a seat off to one side.
Nikki looked from him to his parents. They were watching her. She looked back at Maxwell, whose eyes were locked on her. Nikki felt they were all waiting for her to say something and she had no idea what it was supposed to be. Forcing back the knot in her throat, she smiled at Maxwell. He didn’t return the smile, but she saw a change in his eyes. It was almost a calculating look, as if he was weighing or judging her.
Richard broke the silence. “We’ve invited Nikki to spend the summer here while your mother and I are in Europe.”
Something in Maxwell’s eyes told Nikki he was surprised at the news. She felt the need to let him know that she didn’t want to be intrusive.
“If that’s okay with you, that is,” she added quickly.
Maxwell’s eyes seemed to change expressions, but nothing registered on his face. Helen leaned forward, speaking to him as if he were either hard of hearing or stupid.
“Nikki is going to be staying here to keep an eye on you, Maxwell. I want you to be on your best behavior and not test her patience. Do you understand?”
Maxwell did not react in any way to his mother’s words, but Nikki thought his eyes seemed to convey resentment at the condescending tone. Then again, she could be wrong. Maybe she was projecting her feelings onto him. She wouldn’t want to be spoken to or treated in such a way, and maybe she just imagined she saw a look in his eyes that indicated he felt the same way. But surely, he had to be embarrassed? Then again, maybe not. If he needed a baby-sitter at his age, he couldn’t be normal.
Richard stood and gestured to Maxwell. “You may go now.”
“Yes, wait for me in the conservatory. I have some things to say to you, young man,” Helen added.
Without looking at his parents, Maxwell got up and left the room. He stopped outside the door and looked back. No one paid attention except Nikki.
Her heart went out to him. He looked so desperately unhappy and dispirited, like a dog that’s been kicked around all its life. Resentment welled up inside her. No one should be made to feel that way. She smiled at him and called out, “See you in a couple of days.”
He didn't respond and moved out of sight. Nikki looked back at his parents who were standing. Apparently, the meeting was over.
“Well, I better go.”
“Yes.” Helen moved toward the door. “Richard, if you’ll please show Ms. Morgan out?”
As Helen sailed out of the door, Richard moved over beside Nikki, placing his hand in the small of her back as he ushered her through the house to the front door.
She moved away from him and extended her hand. �
�Thank you, Mr. Weston.”
“Please, no more thanks.” He smiled and took her hand in both of his. “I only hope the relationship will prove mutually beneficial and rewarding.”
She disengaged her hand with an uncomfortable smile and walked outside. Once at her car, she looked back at the house. What the hell am I getting myself into?
As she got in the car, she decided it really did not matter. For all the money they were paying, she could put up with just about anything. Or could she? What about Maxwell Weston, the man who until ten minutes ago had been her dream guy come to life?
She groaned as an image of his face popped in her mind. She looked back at the house but did not see the face that watched her from a darkened window on the third floor.
Nikki started on Gaspar as soon as he took a seat across from her in the booth. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Maxwell Weston? I went there expecting to find a kid and instead I find a…” Her face reddened as she remembered her initial reaction to Maxwell, and the feeling that came over her when their eyes met.
“You were saying?” Gaspar folded his hands in his lap and regarded her.
“You set me up!”
“Then you refused the job?”
She looked down at the tabletop, furious at him for lying to her and ashamed to admit that she had jumped at the offer.
“No, I took it.”
“Ah.” Gaspar nodded.
“But not for the reason you think!” She leaned forward and glared at him. “I think you’re full of shit about the Westons but they’re offering too much for me to turn it down.”
“Yes, of course,” Gaspar agreed.
Nikki glared more fiercely at him. He endured it for several seconds before he smiled. “I take it the real problem is Maxwell.”
Immediately, she averted her eyes. She had not been able to get over the tempting sensation that claimed her when she looked into Maxwell Weston’s eyes. She flopped back in the booth. “You should have been honest with me.”
“As you are being with me now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
There was no way she was about to admit to Gaspar that her dreams had suddenly sprang to life and now she wanted to change them, forget them or deny the feelings they inspired. It was not at all what she’d wished for or imagined. If this was fate, then it was indeed cruel.
She jumped up and went to the counter to get two cups of coffee. She returned to the booth and sat down. “Look, I already told you. I need the money. In case Christian didn’t tell you, I’m not exactly what you’d call affluent. I can’t afford to pass up a thousand a week and fifteen grand at the end of the summer.”
“If you make it the entire summer,” Gaspar said.
“That’s an odd statement.”
“It’s an odd position. But back to our original conversation. I sense something happened during your interview aside from surprise at Maxwell’s age.”
Nikki sampled the coffee and added more sugar before replying. “Something’s really strange about those people. Here they are with more money than most small countries, and they can’t find anyone to take care of their son? And it’s not like he’s a kid or even a young adult. He’s got to be—what, thirty-five or so? Come on, it doesn’t add up.”
Gaspar shrugged. “Perhaps, but that is not my concern.”
“Yeah, right, you only care about the Stones. I forgot. Which brings me to another point. What makes you think that even if there is one there I’d ever find it? Have you ever seen that place? It’d take months to search it and that won’t be easy since they have god knows how many maids and servants milling around. Not to mention I wouldn’t know this damn thing if I found it.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
The last thing she expected was for Gaspar to agree with her. “What?”
“I said you’re absolutely right. You would not know where to look, or what to look for. But there is someone there who can help you.”
“Who?”
“Simon.”
“Who’s Simon?”
“Simon Richard Weston. My patron and Richard Weston’s father.”
“He lives there?”
“Yes, on the third floor of the west wing.”
“Well then why doesn’t he just look for the thing himself?”
“He has been confined to a wheelchair for the last eight years. Richard manages the business affairs for the most part. Simon is what you might call a figurehead.”
“This is starting to sound even crazier than it did before. If Richard Weston has a Stone or the housing device, and his father knows it, then why doesn’t he know where Richard has it? Aren’t they sort of like on the same team?”
“Hardly. Simon had hoped that Richard would share his vision, but unfortunately Richard proved himself to be of a different philosophical bent than his father and so was never made privy to the society.”
“Let me get this straight. The father, Simon, is part of this society you belong to and his son doesn’t know it?”
“Correct.”
“Then how did Richard get his hands on the Stone?”
“An unfortunate accident.”
Nikki exhaled loudly. “This is starting to sound like some cheap thriller.”
Gaspar slid his untouched coffee cup aside to reach over and touch her hand as she clenched it around her own cup. She quickly moved her hand out of reach.
“Nikki, believe me, I know how insane this seems, but it is all true. Simon is the only one who can identify the Stone or the housing device, but he cannot search for it himself, nor can he let Richard become aware of his actions.”
“Well whose house is it anyway? Simon’s or Richard’s?”
“Neither.”
“What?”
“The estate and controlling interest in all Weston holdings belong to Maxwell Weston.”
“Maxwell? But he’s… Why would Richard put everything in Maxwell’s name?”
“Richard didn’t. Simon did. When Maxwell was twenty-four years old.”
“Why?”
Gaspar shook his head. “That is something I cannot discuss.”
Nikki plunked her elbows on the table and lowered her forehead into her hands. “Okay, so the gist of it is, Richard’s a power-hungry shit, Simon wants to save the world, and Maxwell…”
She looked up at Gaspar. “And what about Maxwell?”
“What about him?”
“Why is he…? Damn, I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. Is he autistic or what?”
“Far from it,” Gaspar said. “Maxwell Weston graduated from The Citadel, a prep school in Charleston, South Carolina. With honors, I might add. The night of his graduation, he went out with some of his fellow graduates. His parents were staying at the home of friends and when Maxwell showed up there, late the next day, it was to announce that he had enlisted in the Army.”
“The Westons were not happy. Richard would not have opposed a military career for Maxwell, but certainly not as an enlisted man. He’d planned on Maxwell attending West Point, to which he had already been accepted, and then perhaps enlisting as an officer.”
“Maxwell, however, had other plans. Despite protestations from both his parents, he left for basic training a week later. He cut off communications with his parents after that and for years communicated only with his grandfather. It was Simon who informed Maxwell’s parents that he was being sent to war.”
“In the middle east?” Nikki asked.
“Indeed. As an Army ranger. After the end of the war, Maxwell opted to stay for extended duty and spent nearly five years in Iraq. While on leave in Baghdad, there was an incident. Two other Marines were killed along with a handful of civilians. Maxwell was wounded. He was found cradling the body of an elderly Iraqi man. He was treated in Germany and then returned home.
“From all appearances he was on the mend, and then there was an incident at the Weston estat
e. A break-in. The intruder was killed. That was the only fatality, but Maxwell was found unconscious. From the moment he gained consciousness to the present, he has not uttered a word.”
“So he’s not mental, he’s just…what? Brain damaged? Lack of oxygen to the brain?”
“That is unknown. Despite years of tests, no one has yet to determine the cause of his loss of communication or his odd behavior.”
Nikki was certain she’d never heard anything any sadder. “That’s terrible. But surely there’s some clue as to what’s wrong with him? His mother treats him like a total imbecile and he kind of acts like one too—at least around her. So there has to be an explanation, right?”
“Perhaps,” Gaspar shrugged. “But that, my dear, is a puzzle yet to be solved.”
At the sound of the tap on the door of his private study, Richard looked up from the report he was reading. “Yes?”
His long-time associate and friend Mark Robinson opened the door. “I have that information you wanted.”
“Come in.” Richard rose to go to the bar and pour them both a drink.
After they were settled comfortably and had sampled the scotch, Mark pulled several folded pages from his inner jacket pocket and handed them to Richard. “In a nutshell,” he opened the conversation. “Nikki Morgan, age twenty-eight. Mother Sharon Blackhawk, Native American; father Nathan Morgan of Cotton Creek, Texas. Mother died of drug overdose when Nikki was nine. The father, a truck driver and alcoholic, died in an auto accident when she was sixteen. The state placed her in foster care but after some incident with the male of the house, she ran away. She's been on her own since then.
“She supports herself and put herself through undergrad at the university, and now grad school. Worked at various jobs—waitress, child care, store clerk, dishwasher, short stint as a stripper that lasted about three months until some guy got a little too familiar for her taste whereupon she presented him with a severe headache and thirteen stitches from introducing him to a beer bottle.
“She shared an apartment with another girl, Catherine Miller, until two years ago, when Miss Miller married and wanted the place for herself and her new husband. Ms. Morgan then rented an apartment in the home of Milton Sprull, where she’s lived for the last two years. At present, she’s behind a month in the rent and late on the present month. Sprull’s given her a week to come up with the money or she’s on the street.
