by Lane, Nina
He walked up the terrace steps, not taking his eyes from hers. Her lovely features were a mask of perfection—red lips, black lashes, shaded eyes. He almost felt the cold radiating from her.
You’re beautiful.
That was what he meant to say. Instead, his frustration throughout the evening, his unsettling need for her, rose to the surface.
“Where were you?” he asked instead.
“Busy. I can’t be at your beck and call, much as you’d like me to be.”
Irritation prickled his neck. A woman standing near the railing glanced in their direction.
“You couldn’t answer my calls?” he asked.
“I had a commitment.”
“You had a commitment to be here too,” he retorted.
“Right, before you fucking fired me.” Her voice rose, tense and strained.
More people glanced in their direction. His fists clenched. He forced himself to lower his voice.
“What the hell is going on?” he hissed.
Julia stepped closer to him, tension evident in every line of her body. “I can’t believe you kept that from me.”
Wariness twisted through him. He’d thought she’d come to terms with his Matterhorn climb. She didn’t like it, but she wouldn’t try and stop him.
“I explained why I didn’t tell you. We didn’t know if we’d be able to go.”
Julia blinked. “Go where?”
Warren frowned. Unease pushed at his chest. What the hell were they talking about?
“Dad, we’re ready for you.” Luke came onto the terrace, followed by Evan. “Carson is asking everyone to come back into the dining hall.”
Warren didn’t respond. His sons looked from him to Julia and back again, clearly sensing the tension.
Julia’s mouth compressed. She slanted her gaze to her nephews. A frost descended over her expression, silencing whatever she was about to say. “I need a drink.”
Warren stepped closer to her. Beneath her makeup, lines of stress bracketed her mouth and pain tightened her jaw.
“You’re getting a migraine,” he said. “You shouldn’t have alcohol.”
Julia’s eyes hardened into cobalt. “Don’t you tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.”
She started to sweep past him, her spine stiff.
He grabbed her arm to stop her. She turned, her gaze colliding with his. Suddenly he knew everything was about to change.
The ache intensified behind Julia’s eyes, the sharp crystalline aura poking at the edges of her vision. Carson’s voice sounded from a distance away. The guests in the courtyard began rising from their seats and walking to the steps. She registered a blur of movement, voices, but only Warren was clear and in focus.
Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell her?
“What?” The single word was laced with urgency, his grip tightening on her arm.
“Rebecca.” Her sister’s name escaped on a breath. “You didn’t tell her.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Should I have?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
What would he have said? Julia was drunk and she kissed me and that was it?
But that was it. She’d been in the wrong, not him, no matter what he thought he’d felt.
For God’s sake. Thirty years ago, and she was being punished all over again.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words pricked her like needles.
Warren’s expression darkened.
“Everyone back inside, please.” Luke’s voice, a sharp order.
Her nephews blurred in front of Julia’s eyes. Too many people were standing around them, watching and listening. They knew Warren Stone as the stoic authoritarian, the president who kept his cool in all circumstances, the man who rarely showed emotion. She had to…
Warren hadn’t taken his eyes off her, rooting her to the spot. She was trapped, the pressure squeezing her head from every side, her breath choking her throat.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” she whispered.
“I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were my wife’s little sister, and she was worried about you.”
“And why didn’t you tell me she knew? That she’d found the letter?”
Something shattered in the air between them, like a pane of glass. Warren flinched—a barely visible movement that no one except Julia might have noticed. Her heart closed down. Everything she’d done to try and amend for her mistakes suddenly seemed meaningless, as if her whole life had been defined by one ill-conceived choice.
“What she must have thought of me when she found the letter…” Julia shook her head. She heard the words in her sister’s voice—just the kind of thing she would do. “She never stopped thinking I was just a useless little hippie girl, did she?”
“She didn’t think that,” Warren argued. “She knew what a success you’d become. She always knew.”
“I never wanted to come between you and her.” The ache intensified, pounding against her head, clawing at her eyes. “Never.”
“You didn’t. No one could have.” Frustration and deep pain etched his features. “I loved Rebecca. I loved everything she was—my wife, the mother of our children, my best friend, your sister. I thought my life was over when she died. There couldn’t be anyone else, I couldn’t love anyone else. She’d taken it all with her when she died.
“But you…” He pulled her inexorably closer, his gaze holding hers like a magnet. “You saved me. After the accident, I didn’t know how I’d ever be there for the boys again. Then you walked into Hailey’s hospital room and reminded me I had seven reasons to keep living. You gave me an eighth reason. Like you were a light showing me the way out of the dark. You proved that love doesn’t stop when someone leaves you. I’ll always love her. And here, now, in this life, I love you.”
His mouth descended on hers like an eagle capturing prey—swift, hard, possessive. Shock ricocheted through her in the instant before her body fell against his. Fragmented thoughts broke in her mind—he shouldn’t be doing this, not here, a crowd had gathered, she didn’t know how many people were standing on the steps, how much they had seen, what they were thinking—
But his kiss, my god, his kiss—a hymn to soothe her soul, a potion to ease her pain, a force to steady the ground beneath her feet. She fisted her hands into his jacket, surrendering to the sheer power of him, the unbreakable knowledge that no matter what life threw at them, he would always be there. Like the rocky cliffs battered incessantly by the sea, worn to a polish but enduring, invulnerable. Eternal.
He spread his hand over the back of her head in the way she loved—a cradle, like she was meant to be cherished—and deepened the kiss. She let him in, drank in the taste and feel of him, the here and now rather than the long-gone past. The solid strength of his body pressed against hers, his arm a band of steel wrapping around her lower back. She never wanted to leave the circle of strength and certainty in which he’d enclosed her.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d had a first love once upon a time, one she’d thought would last forever. She would never deny that her nineteen-year-old heart had truly loved the guitar-playing, rakish boy with whom she’d shared so many youthful experiences.
But this? This was time stopping, the air stilling, the world coming to a slow halt. This was infinity and a second wrapped into one. She spread her hands over Warren’s chest. His heart beat forcefully against her palm, radiating warmth through her arm as if sending a direct signal to her soul. She never wanted this kiss to end. Everything inside her melted.
Then an unfamiliar voice broke through her consciousness, a man asking, “Is this part of a show?”
Warren’s grip on her tightened. He’d heard the same voice. He lifted his mouth from hers, his darkened eyes catching hers briefly before shifting to the terrace steps. Guests lingered, caught by the spectacle that had lasted no more than five minutes. Julia’s heart raced.
Alarm coursed through her veins.
Warren released her slowly. He stepped in front of her, shielding her behind his back. Voices rose again. Julia tried to breathe. Pain knifed between her eyes.
Warren was speaking, telling everyone to go back inside. Her nephews’ voices rose around them. She had to get herself together, to try and mitigate whatever damage had just been done.
She was in control. Stepping out from behind Warren’s back, she forced herself to cross the terrace. The guests were moving slowly back into the foyer, their expressions ranging from shock to confusion and even amusement.
She caught snippets of conversation floating on the air like leaves. I can’t believe it. I had no idea they had a thing going on. Did you know? I’m surprised she didn’t move in on him sooner.
Nausea roiled in the pit of her belly.
“The show is over, everyone,” she called. “You can consider that a new form of performance art.”
A few laughs rippled over the crowd. Evan and Adam stood among the others, both of them businesslike and firm as they corralled guests inside. Luke strode up the steps toward her, his eyes dark with concern.
“Aunt Julia, are you all right?”
“Of course. I…”
Her voice cracked. Just past his shoulder, Hailey stood on the lowest step, her gaze on Julia and her lovely face devoid of expression. Empty.
A black pit opened in Julia’s heart. Sudden zigzag flashes splintered her vision.
Warren caught her the instant before she fell.
Chapter
SEVENTEEN
Pain and Warren’s arms were the only real things in the world. She was aware of him barking orders at his sons, then lowering her into the passenger seat of his car.
He got into the driver’s seat and dug through her bag for a bottle of pain meds. Though they both knew it was too late for the meds to be effective, Julia accepted the two pills he held out to her. He cracked open a bottle of water, handing it to her before he started the car.
Blissful silence followed. He didn’t speak, knowing noise exacerbated her headaches. He drove to her house and helped her into the bedroom. Julia barely managed to kick off her shoes before falling onto the bed.
Her nausea worsened, pitching in her stomach like a stormy sea. The headache had won, killing off any relieving effects the medication might have had. Excruciating pain stabbed both her eyes, radiating into her neck. She pressed her face into the pillow and tried to breathe past the sobs choking her throat.
“Julia.”
His voice washed over her. She gripped the pillow, tried to speak, both desperately relieved that he was here and wishing he’d go away. The bed shifted with his weight, and then his hands settled on her hair, his fingers resting against her temples.
“Do you have any other meds?” He spoke quietly.
She managed to shake her head. The stroke of his fingers on her temples didn’t ease the pain, but the rhythmic movement soothed her. He moved his hands down to her neck, finding the pulse points at the base. He applied a steady, hard pressure, even when she moaned in protest.
Part of her welcomed the different kind of pain; it might provide even a slight relief. Two years ago, when her headaches had worsened with the onset of menopause, Warren had researched alternative therapies and taken classes on acupressure and massage in the hopes of being able to help her.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Even through the black cloud of her headache, she couldn’t bear the thought that their public debacle might have ruined everything. That they could never go back to the way things were. Everyone knew. Hailey’s expression burned Julia like a hot iron.
Warren dug harder into the points of her neck, then moved to her shoulders. He pushed and kneaded her strained muscles hard enough to hurt, though she continued to bear the pain in the hopes that it would loosen the grip of the headache.
“I’m taking your clothes off.” His voice spilled into her, his lips close to her ear. “Try not to move.”
He worked the zipper of her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. With a few quick, efficient movements, he removed her bra and panties, then pulled a cotton blanket over her. The relief from the constriction of her clothes made Julia curl into a ball like a cat. She pressed her hand to her head.
He massaged her spine, the warmth of his hands easing the dull, icy throb. She gave up, stopped thinking, let him take over. He threaded his fingers into her hair, rubbed her scalp with slow, deliberate strokes, then stroked her temples again, her cheekbones, her jaw. The certainty and strength of his touch alleviated the headache’s sharp edge, but the pain was relentless, stabbing her eyes, her forehead, clawing through her whole body.
He moved away from her. An inarticulate cry spilled from her throat. The shower started. He returned to lift her into his arms, carrying her into the shower. Fully clothed, he got under the spray with her and sat on the ledge. Cradling her against him, he directed the shower spray to the back of her head and neck. The full force of the hot water pounded against her muscles and tendons, loosening some of the awful tension.
She huddled against him, taking the strength he gave her. She lost track of how long they sat there, but eventually the water cooled. Warren lifted her again, dried her with a towel, and settled her back into bed. He tucked the blanket around her and rested a hand on her head.
“Try to sleep.”
He started to take his hand away. Panic shot through her. She managed to grab his wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
A thousand painful years seemed to pass before he was climbing under the blanket behind her. He pulled her back against his bare chest, wrapping both arms around her as if he were protecting her from the onslaught.
Relief unfurled through Julia like ribbons. Her headache still had control, stifling her into immobility, but Warren was stronger than the pain. His warm, powerful presence calmed her fear, soothed her shattered thoughts, and finally sent her into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
Gray sunlight shone through the blinds. Julia blinked, wary of pulling herself into consciousness lest the pain was lurking and waiting again to attack.
But no. Aside from a slight lingering throb, the headache had retreated—conquered by time, her own defenses, and Warren’s forceful intervention. She shifted cautiously. Her body was sore, but the after-effects were a relief after the attack. Her back brushed against Warren’s solid chest. She turned to find him watching her, his brown eyes hooded, his expression grave.
Julia swallowed. Her throat was parched.
“Hi,” she whispered.
He ran his hand over her hip. “How do you feel?”
“Better.”
“I want you to see my doctor,” he said. “Find out about other medication options. The one you’re taking doesn’t work nearly well enough.”
“It works better if I take it sooner than I did.” She recalled why she hadn’t taken the meds sooner—because she’d been caught in the disaster of a public spectacle.
He frowned, as if he could see the memory descending over her. Was there anything he didn’t know or couldn’t sense about her? A dozen other questions crowded her mind—if he’d talked to Hailey and the boys, what had happened after they’d left, was everything okay…
She didn’t want answers. Not yet. She rose on one elbow and pressed her lips to his, wanting him to make the world disappear before everything else crowded back in on them.
Her heart clenched like a fist. She kissed him again, urged his lips apart. Crisp mint toothpaste and the warm, familiar taste of him, a comfort like no other.
Tension laced his shoulders. He lifted his head. She put her hand on his cheek, rubbed the coarse stubble of his beard.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I want… no, I need you.”
And she did—in more ways than she could name. She needed his strength, his loyalty, his concern, his friendship, his love. S
he needed the way he was the only person in the world who understood her even when she was being caustic and difficult.
She needed him to turn her failures and disappointments around in his big, capable hands, to help her look at them from different angles, listen to possible solutions. She needed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the warm pleasure of the secret winks he sent only to her. She needed him always answering her calls and assuring her she could handle anything.
She needed their shared past. His knowledge of everything she’d been and everything she was now. She needed him knowing her better than anyone, better than she knew herself.
“Please,” she said.
He put his hands on either side of her head, spreading his fingers against her scalp. His eyes darkened to the color of the earth. Exactly like him—solid, unshakable, enduring. A mountain.
He pulled her closer, the touch of their lips warming her slowly, the burn of a candle. She stroked his chest, absorbed his strength. He trailed his lips over her cheek and ear, down to her neck, flicking his tongue out to lick the hollow of her throat. Pleasure streamed through her, banishing the last threads of pain. He rubbed her breasts, his breath hardening her nipples, awakening her arousal.
Erotic tension began to wind around them both. The air thickened. She ran her fingers over the map of his chest—the hard slopes of his pectoral muscles, down to the ridges of his abdomen and the trail of hair leading to his groin. She rose, pushing him gently onto his back and bringing her mouth down on his.
He tangled his hand in her hair as their lips met in a warm, lengthy advance and retreat—nibbling, tasting, licking. She slid down to kiss his neck, his chest, stroking her tongue down the indentation bisecting his abdomen. When she moved lower and took his half-hard cock in her hand, his fist tightened in her hair.
“Jules, you don’t have to…”
“I want to.” She opened her mouth and took him in, her body firing with heat at the purely male taste and scent of him.
“Ah, shit, that’s good…” A groan rumbled through his chest. His head fell back on the pillow.
