by Lane, Nina
“Looks good.” Warren dropped the list back onto his son’s desk.
Luke studied the paper and shook his head. “I can’t see someone outside the family stepping in. But I can’t see Carson or Evan doing it either. We work great where they are, but as president… I don’t know.”
Warren understood. The president-CEO relationship could be challenging to develop, though he and Luke had created a seamless partnership. Luke guided the company with a big-picture vision and strategy, while Warren focused on successful execution of day-to-day operations. They didn’t always agree, but they both knew how to negotiate and compromise.
The added challenge for them had been getting past the father-son dynamic, but Luke had stepped up to such a degree after Rebecca’s death that he’d proven himself early on. And Warren had been the one to guide the company through the rough waters of Luke’s false paternity suit, which had given them new levels of trust in each other.
A knock came at the door. At Luke’s invitation, Kate Darling, the vice-president of the Corporate Social Responsibility division, came into the office. Smart as a whip and organized beyond belief, Kate had been Luke’s executive assistant up until recently, when Warren, Evan, and Luke had promoted her to VP. Warren had seen a lot of young people both rise and fall at Sugar Rush, and he’d known from the start that Kate would be an incredible asset to the company if they tapped into her full potential. Rarely had he seen someone so gifted.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Stone.” She smiled at him en route to Luke’s desk with a heavy binder. “I didn’t know you were here, but I’m glad you are. I can kill two birds with one stone… oh dear, that was an unintentional but terrible joke. Here’s a draft of the report I’m working on linking Sugar Rush’s social impact to business benefits and metrics. I’m focusing on three avenues of data collection and usage, internal and external communications, and alliances. I’m going to submit it for presentation at the business summit in Europe next year.”
“Excellent, thank you.” Luke leafed through the book, shooting Warren a she’s a rock star glance. “I’ll talk to Evan and HR about connecting you with the other businesses slated to be there. Do you have a minute?”
“I’m free until two.”
“Let’s stop by his office.” Luke rounded his desk and started to the door, pausing to look at Warren. “Dad?”
Warren shook his head. He’d been purposely backing out of meetings and decision-making. “Go ahead. I have other things to finish up.”
Luke’s mouth twisted, but he nodded and stepped aside for Kate to precede him. She glanced from him to Warren, appearing somewhat baffled before heading out the door.
Warren returned to his office, walking past the framed historical photos and advertisements of Sugar Rush’s history. One week until December twenty-third and the Sugar Rush company party where he’d announce his retirement. No turning back now. He’d been so focused on the Matterhorn climb and the mechanics of retiring that he hadn’t thought past those two things. He had vague plans to do other things he’d never done before—scuba in the Great Barrier Reef, take a cross-country road trip, fix the garage door that had been rattling for months. Try the dating scene again.
He hadn’t seen himself with one woman, though. Not until now. And now he had to convince Julia that all of their years had been leading up to this—a life meant to be lived together.
He had no intention of returning to Sugar Rush—and that thought opened a hollowness inside his chest. He wanted to retire. Had been wanting to for well over a year. But he hadn’t yet gotten past the worry underscoring his decision, the one Julia had sensed from the beginning—would he regret it?
After he’d walked away, after the climb was over, would he wish he could still come to work every day? To the company that was part of his blood, the people who were his family, the culture that he’d lived his entire life?
The questions filtered through his mind, unwanted and unspoken. If his answers were all yes, then tough shit for him. He’d made his decision. Told his sons. Nothing—not even regret—could make him change his mind now.
He finished up paperwork and checked his email on the computer. He opened a message from Hans, the head of Alpine Climbs.
Warren, still don’t have your medical info for your file. Please send ASAP.
He ignored a flicker of unease and checked his calendar. He had a doctor’s visit tomorrow for a full physical. He hit the reply button and wrote:
Will have it to you by the end of the week.
He sent the email and checked his phone. Julia still hadn’t responded to his texts or voicemail, which didn’t surprise him. She was becoming an expert at giving him the cold shoulder.
Even though nothing about her was cold. Just the opposite. She was fire, spice, the sun. He’d never forgotten his first taste of her. And he’d spent over thirty years hating himself for not forgetting.
Old, raw guilt rose in him. He’d never betrayed his wife, his children, his sense of honor. At least, he didn’t think he had. But was remembering a form of betrayal? He had no way to rid himself of the memory. And God knew he’d had to restrain himself from Julia for the past thirteen years, as if not touching her was a penance.
But now? Touching her, kissing her, making love to her—it was all so damned right, so perfect, that it was an absolution. What reason was there for guilt anymore? Life was too short. Time passed too quickly. If you didn’t grab what was right in front of you, it was gone.
In mid-afternoon, he drove to her studios. Downtown Indigo Bay shimmered with holiday lights and decorations. Julia’s touch was obvious in the massive Christmas tree that sat in front of the city hall, surrounded by a stage where Deck the Halls would take place. Santa’s elaborate sleigh and North Pole Village adorned the square next to the stage.
His pride in her was endless. Even though he still believed she’d taken on too much this year, she hadn’t expected the bomb of the Evermore deal. But she was still coordinating Deck the Halls with the aplomb of an orchestra conductor—and, more than likely, a few dozen sharp commands.
He parked and went into her office, nodding a greeting at Enzo, who was staffing the front desk.
“Is she in?” he asked.
“Yes, but she sent out a notice that she’s not to be disturbed. So enter at your own risk.”
“I always do.”
They exchanged commiserative looks before Warren headed down the carpeted corridor to Julia’s office. His knock on the door went unanswered, so he opened it and stepped inside. She wasn’t at her desk, but her coat and bag sat in their usual places, and her cell phone rested beside her computer—which partly explained why she hadn’t responded to his texts. He crossed to the closed door of her private studio and knocked.
“Julia?”
No response. He tried the knob and pushed the door open.
She sat on a stool at the drafting table, the sleeves of her white shirt rolled up, her high heeled red shoes kicked off, a pencil tucked behind her ear. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, the crease of concentration on her forehead turning to a frown.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Melting you.”
“Not possible.”
“I disagree.”
She threw him a glower. “You can go pickle yourself, Warren Stone.”
“Well, I am kind of a big dill.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are on the inside.”
He stopped by her desk, eyeing the black-and-white and colored drawings spread out in front of her. The pages were filled with intricate images of models wearing an array of clothing—gowns, skirts, dresses, pants, and shirts. Though Warren had known Julia was an excellent artist, he was struck by the sheer amount of detail she’d conveyed, from the texture of fabrics to the anatomy of the models.
“What are these?” he asked.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Enzo should have told you I don’t want to be disturbed.”<
br />
“He did. Unfortunately, I like disturbing you.”
An appealing flush rose to her cheeks, indicating she liked being disturbed by him.
“I’m designing dresses for a few Deck the Halls performers,” she said.
“Really?”
“If I didn’t step in, they might have shown up onstage wearing Christmas flannel pajamas,” Julia said. “I couldn’t let that happen. My reputation is tied to the show, after all.”
Warren picked up a sketch of a mini-dress. “Is this one of the designs?”
“No, that’s for my Appear line.” Julia sketched the hem on a drawing of a red gown, shooting a derisive glance at the mini-dress. “I have to rework those concepts too, maybe change the lines and patterns. Hopefully I can secure an investor next time.”
“Nice.” He studied the drawing. “I’d love to see you in this little dress.”
She scoffed. “Those are for women in their twenties. Not fif—I mean, forties.”
“What’s wrong with being in your fifties? Longevity is power.”
“Not in fashion.” Julia shaded the edge of the red dress. “Fashion is all about the young.”
“So there’s a lot of competition for young women consumers, right?”
“Loads of it.” She slanted him a glance. “Why?”
“From a business angle, why try and break into such a highly competitive market?”
“Because it’s the biggest market.” She set her drawing aside. “Some people would probably say it’s the only market.”
“Is it your market?”
“I style a lot of women in their twenties. Of course, many of my clients are also older women who have no idea where to start creating a personal style. Or where to find flattering clothes.”
“Which is why they need you to help them.”
“Exactly.”
Warren had the same feeling he sometimes had at Sugar Rush when they were developing a new product—the sense that something was missing but he didn’t know what. Spencer often had the same instinct, though he worked through it with science. Warren examined everything else—market research, competition, advertising, focus groups.
What was Julia missing?
“I need to get going.” She put her colored markers away. “We’re getting the Deck the Halls stage decorated this afternoon, and I need to supervise.”
She got to her feet, bending to put on her shoes. Warren let his gaze wander to the slight gap in the neckline of her shirt, which exposed a pale V of skin and a hint of cleavage. That alone heated his blood. He’d always been aware of Julia as a woman, but now that he knew exactly how she felt and tasted, he’d never be able to get enough of her.
“Hey.” He rested his hands on the table and leaned closer to her. “Sorry about last night. I’ll take you to dinner to make it up to you.”
She hesitated, then straightened and shook her head.
Irritation bit at him. “Julia, we are the same.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes. And we can be even better than we are.”
Her mouth tightened. She started to pass him. He closed his hand around her arm, bringing her closer, her shoulder against his chest. The scent of her perfume, of her, washed over him like a hot summer breeze.
“She’s not here anymore,” he whispered.
Julia closed her eyes. Something inside her seemed to give way, like the turning of a lock.
It wasn’t enough, he knew that. The past—Rebecca—was too much a part of them to be settled with easy platitudes. But it was the truth. And Julia had become a part of him too, as essential to his and his children’s lives as sunlight to a garden.
He brushed his lips over her temple, settled his hand on the back of her warm neck.
“You can’t hide from me,” he said. “You can try to ignore me, freeze me out, pretend like you don’t want me… but you won’t succeed. I know you.”
“You don’t know everything about me.”
“I know more than I did last week. I’ve always known you’re sharp and controlling, and now I know that in private, you want to give up that control. And I want to take it.”
Her slender throat worked with a swallow. “Don’t you dare think you can—”
“You’re not pushing me away.” He tightened his grip. “And I won’t seduce you here either. Because the next time we make love, we’re doing it in your bed or mine. I’m going to strip you nice and slow so I can enjoy every part of your gorgeous body. I’m going to kiss you all over, watch the way your eyes darken and your skin gets that pink blush that makes you look like a sunrise. Then I’ll slide my hands over every part of you—your breasts, your thighs, your hips, your ass. I’ll feel you start to tremble and get all tense and hot. Then I’ll spread your legs and touch your pussy. You’ll already be wet and ready because you’ll want it as much as I do. You’ll arch your hips and say Warren, please in that throaty voice that sets my blood on fire.”
“God.” The word escaped her on a low breath. “I can’t battle you. You’re too strong for me.”
“No.” He slid his arm around her waist, preventing her escape. “We’re perfectly matched. That’s why we’ve been so good together all these years.”
He brought his other hand around to her throat, turning her face toward him. Heat burned the air. Her eyes flickered with a thousand fires, her breath caressing his lips. A memory emerged of the first time they were this close, when his thoughts had been a tangled mess and he hadn’t known what to expect.
Now he knew. Longevity was power.
He’d seen the best and worst of people. He’d been with other women, traveled the world, walked through dark tunnels of pain in search of light. He’d been strong when he hadn’t wanted to be. He’d hated being helpless in the face of circumstances he couldn’t change. He’d wondered if there was a god and he’d prayed to the stars. He’d loved fiercely, felt joy so big his heart couldn’t contain it all, and clawed his way up through the black hole of grief.
Now he knew the touch of Julia’s lips was a gift. She was a gift.
He touched his mouth to hers. The pulse in her throat beat against his palm. She slid her hand over his chest, up to his shoulder. Her body fit against his, her soft breasts pressing against him, her other arm twining around his waist.
He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. His nerves flared with heat, pressure tightening his groin. She tasted like everything good—honey, spices, the sweet flavor of cherries that belonged only to her.
“I wanted to forget that night,” he murmured against her lips. “But I didn’t.”
“Neither did I.” She eased away from him, her eyes dimming with guilt. “But I can never live up to my sister. And what if you and I take that step and it messes everything up?”
“It won’t. We’re stronger than that.”
She plucked at a button on his shirt, not looking up but clearly listening.
“I want you because I know you so well,” he continued. “You’re an incredibly strong woman who’s overcome a lot. A selfless, amazing friend who goes out of her way to help others, even if she’d never admit it, and who will always be there for my children.”
“The kids don’t even really need me anymore.”
“Yes, they do. So do I.”
He lowered his mouth to hers again. She sank against him, her hand spreading over his chest.
A buzzing noise sounded in his ears. He tightened his grip on Julia. For a heart-stopping instant, he braced himself instinctively for an attack of dizziness.
“…have to take that.” Her voice filtered past the sudden fear, her hand sliding reluctantly away from him.
He took a breath and let her go. She walked to her desk and pressed the buzzing intercom.
“Minnie the Pitbull is trying to reach you,” Marco announced through the speaker. “Line one.”
Regret laced Julia’s expression as she glanced at Warren. “I should take that.”
He
nodded and stepped back toward the door. “I’m not letting you get away, Jules.”
Before she could respond, he left the office. He pushed away his lingering unease as he got into his car and drove home. Julia’s earlier words echoed through him.
This was a mistake.
No, it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let her keep thinking that, much less believe it. Yeah, they’d both made mistakes years ago, but they’d made up for them countless times over. They’d spent their lives doing the right thing, helping and supporting their family, working hard for their careers. They’d done good deeds for the community, for their friends and employees. No fucking way was any part of their relationship, especially a blazing new facet of it, a mistake.
He needed to make Julia see that. They’d gone through too much together. He wouldn’t tolerate her self-condemnation or regrets. He wouldn’t let her distance herself from him.
He wouldn’t let her run away again.
Twenty-nine years ago
“Becca, you don’t get to decide how I live my life!” Julia snapped.
His muscles tensing, Warren edged in front of his wife as if to protect her from her younger sister’s wrath.
Julia was on fire—her blue eyes blazing, her long blonde hair a tangled mess around her shoulders, her pale skin flushed with anger. In a red cotton tank dress that left her tanned shoulders bare, her arms lined with silver and string bracelets, she vibrated with righteous anger, like the rattling of a shiny bell.
By contrast, Rebecca was as composed as a marble sculpture in her navy pleated skirt and silk blouse, her hair pulled into a smooth chignon at the base of her neck. She crossed her arms and leveled a cool look on her younger sister.
“I’m not deciding anything,” she said. “I’m telling you it’s about time you grow up and figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
“Just because you did?” Julia spread her arms out. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? You’re embarrassed by my divorce because you always wanted me to be like you, to get married to someone like him…” She waved an irritated hand toward Warren, “…and live in suburban torture.”
