by Tessa Layne
“We don’t lock the door,” she says matter-of-factly, staring me down with her enormous blue eyes.
“Of course you do. Everyone locks their door when they leave the house.”
“We don’t.”
“I’m sure you do, sweetheart. Let me just ask your mom.” I shoot off a quick text. You forgot to tell me where the key is?
She texts right back. Don’t worry about locking it, you’ll be fine.
A: Seriously?
M: Yes.
I can’t fucking believe it. Who - in this day and age - leaves their door unlocked?!? Jeezus. Does she leave it unlocked at night, too? Visions of all kinds of vicious and violent outcomes fill my head. I swear to God, if I have to camp outside her house every night from here on out because she won’t lock her damned door, I’ll do it. We’re talking about this later, I text back before jamming my phone in my pocket. “All right, kiddo. I guess we’re going to the park.” Sophie shoots me a smile of pure ‘I told you so’ and flounces out the door, ruffly skirt bouncing with her.
“Hey, wait,” I call after her. “You forgot your shoes.” But she’s already grabbed the bike I saw lying in the grass and is pedaling down the street hell for leather, red curls flying behind her. I grab the pair of pink and purple sneakers by the front door. Motherfucker. Then I notice the helmet on the front step. I grab that too as I jog after the little hellion, cursing Jason with each out breath. This has to be his doing. Surely Macey isn’t the type of parent who lets her daughter run wild?
My leather soles slip on the gravel as I cross the intersection. I manage to catch myself before I fall spread-eagle. “Macey,” I holler. “I mean Sophie. STOP.” But she’s too far ahead. I swear I will wring her neck when I reach her. Visions of her falling and breaking an arm, or being hit by a car, fly through my mind with alarming vividness. Macey will kill me if anything happens to her. Hell, I might kill myself. I’m winded and sweaty when I finally reach her. She’s dumped her bike at the edge of the playground and has climbed to the very top of the jungle gym. “Sophie,” I bellow. “Get your ass down here. NOW.”
She looks down at me, eyes snapping, just like her mother. “I’m telling mommy you said a bad word.”
“And I’m telling mommy you rode to the park in bare feet without your helmet.” I hold up the evidence of her disobedience.
Her eyes narrow.
I narrow mine back.
If this were a Clint Eastwood movie, both our hands would be twitching above our six-shooters.
In the end, she decides to climb down, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I check my watch. It’s only ten-thirty.
I am so screwed.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Macey arrives home, I’m exhausted. Wiped. Out. And ready to call the doctor for a fucking vasectomy. It must show on my face because she gives me a look of sympathy as she drops her purse by the door. “Oh you poor thing.”
I glare at her.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you. Sophie can be…” she searches for a word. Six come to mind, none of them polite, or anything you would tell a mother. “A handful.”
“Indeed.” Honestly, I’m grateful she didn’t die on my watch. And that I didn’t kill her, because on at least four occasions, I was ready to string her up by her toes. Cuteness be damned.
“Stay for dinner?”
Tempting, but no. I shake my head. “Sorry.” She looks so crestfallen, I nearly change my mind. But I need a break from Wild Child. “How about later?” As in, long after she’s asleep.
Now, Macey shakes her head. “Mrs. Townsend.”
“I’ll walk from the park.”
“What if you park in the alley?”
“Won’t other people see?”
“I don’t think the other neighbors are as interested as Mrs. Townsend.”
I study her, taking my time as I scan her figure, prettily attired in the pale pink dress I like so much. She stares back, eyes hungry. I feel the same way. It’s been days since we’ve been able to sneak a fuck, and the idea of laying her down between soft sheets brings my cock to life with a jolt. “Nine p.m.?”
“Ten.”
I nod. “Will the door be locked?”
“I’ll leave it open.”
“If you do, I may have to spank you.”
Her eyes light. “Promise?”
It’s so tempting, but her safety is more important. “Keep it locked, Macey,” I growl. “There are assholes and criminals even in small towns.”
She lets out a sigh. “Fine. I wouldn’t want you to worry, or anything,” She adds with an eye roll.
Quick as lightning I rise from the couch and capture her wrist, pulling her flush against me. “I will always worry about your gorgeous little ass.”
It was meant to be more playful than it came out, and the air between us grows heavy. Her breathing becomes more shallow, and I can see her pulse pounding at the hollow of her neck. My mouth waters to taste her, but it’s too risky. If Sophie-the-hell-child saw us kissing, it would be game over. I’d be dead. I force myself to step back. “Until ten.”
“Until ten,” she echoes, barely above a whisper.
The pungent smell of a Cuban cigar hits my nose when I reach the lodge.
Declan.
I follow my nose around the corner of the building to find Dec wearing a light colored linen suit and lounging in an Adirondack chair. He’s got a cigar in one hand and a tumbler filled with ice cubes and whiskey in the other.
“That better not be my Pappy Van Winkle you’re polluting with ice cubes,” I say as I drop into the chair next to him.
“Sadly, no.” He motions to the paper bag beside the chair.
I grab it and pull out the bottle. Johnny Walker Blue. “Man, you’re slumming it.”
Dec gives me a wry smile. “It was the best bottle they had at the liquor store.”
“So why the celebration?” If he’s enjoying whiskey and a cigar before midnight, something’s definitely up.
“Just added to my real-estate empire today.”
“Congratulations.” I take a swig straight out of the bottle since there’s no other glass to be had. And fuck if I haven’t earned it today.
Dec puffs out a halo of blue smoke. “Ask me where.”
“Bahamas,” I guess. Dec’s been savvier with his trust fund disbursements than I have, and has built quite a name for himself in real estate circles. He’ll be better off than me if he ditched his trust fund, which is why I haven’t been able to figure out why he consented to this whole stupid arrangement. He likes wine even less than I do.
“Guess again.”
“Grand Cayman.”
“Farther north.”
I’m too damned tired to be playing this game. I take another swig from the bottle. “Quit fucking with me.”
He side-eyes me and swirls the ice in his glass. “You hear from Nico today?”
I hardly ever hear from Nico unless he wants me to do something. “You’re not going to tell me?”
Dec arches an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth tilts up. I don’t press further because he’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.
“Well, did you?”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“Ronnie served him divorce papers today.”
I nearly drop the bottle. “Are you serious?”
Dec shoots me an amused smile. “Guess she was so unhappy when Nico told Dad to fuck off she went and got herself knocked up by Senator Whelan.”
Fucking hell. Senator Whelan, Hollywood producer turned politician. “He’s got to be at least sixty.”
“Fifty-eight. It’s all over the tabloids.”
I pull out my phone and type in Ronnie’s name. Sure enough, this shit is everywhere. “I always knew she was a social climber,” I say with a shake of my head. “Good riddance.” Dec looks at me oddly. As if he knows something. And for a split second, my heart races. But there’s no way he knows what I know about Ronnie, so I let it pass.
“How’d you find out?”
“I have Google Alerts set up on all our names.”
“So you haven’t talked to him yet?”
Dec shakes his head and takes a long draw of his cigar, puffing out his cheeks, then slowly exhaling. “He’s probably holed up someplace licking his wounds.”
“Does Jason know?”
“I doubt it.”
“Who’s gonna be the one to break it to him?”
Dec gives me an evil grin. “I’ll leave that to you, big brother.”
We’re triplets. Dec and I are identical. Nico was born first, then me, then Dec. In spite of sharing a womb for nine months and a bedroom for nine years, we’re surprisingly distant. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re born into a family where lies and secrets are the M. O. Trust no-one. Tell no-one. Every man, and child, for himself. I don’t look forward to breaking the news to Jason. Maybe if I stall long enough, he’ll hear it from Dad. Or maybe Nico. Although the irony will be too much for Nico to bear. That much I do know. Nico won’t be calling Jason anytime soon. “So tell me about your big deal.”
Dec grins. “I bought a building. Several, actually.”
“Bully for you.”
“On Main.”
“Wait, here?” I lean forward, incredulous. “Why the hell for?”
“Why the hell not?”
“Isn’t that taking diversification a little far?”
Dec shrugs. “Let’s just say I was helping a friend.”
I’m instantly alert. I smell tail. “Who is she?”
Dec’s face remains neutral “I could ask you the same.”
Fuck me. It shouldn’t surprise me, because we share the exact same DNA. Of course he’s found a little action. And of course, he’d know I wasn’t going without, either. But I’m not giving up my secret for love or money, or even torture. And Dec won’t either. “Tell me about the buildings.”
“Nothing much. Decent investments that will appreciate over time. One I’m leasing to a brewer. Big dude, named Mike.”
A brewery? Now there’s something I could get behind. “Does he have numbers? I might be interested in going in as a silent partner.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Silence falls between us. I lean my head back onto the chair and shut my eyes, the exhaustion from the day catching up with me. I need a shower and a nap before I sneak back over to Macey’s.
Dec’s voice startles me awake. “You’re snoring.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’ll head in.” I rise, but Dec motions me to sit back down.
“Let me guess. The cute little girl with the hot mama isn’t as cute as she seems?”
“She’s a demon.” I grit out. “And she scares the shit out of me. I’m never fucking having kids.”
Dec raises his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Better not say that too loud around Macey,” he cautions, eyes narrowing slightly.
He knows.
“It’s not like I’m going to do it again,” I say vehemently.
Dec’s eyes narrow further. “It’s her, isn’t it? You’re tapping her mom.”
“You’re fucking the blonde from the wedding.”
Dec goes still, and I know I’m right. It’s like that scene in Pulp Fiction where everyone is pointing a gun at someone’s head. “I’m going to need a renter for the house downtown.” That’s his offer. His bribe for me keeping silent. “Interested?”
“You want me to rent from you?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just stay in it so it doesn’t get vandalized.”
“What do you want in return?”
“Nothing.”
I don’t believe it for a second. There’s definitely going to be a catch. We’re Cases after all. There’s always a catch. “Nothing?”
Dec drains his glass and sets it down on the arm of the chair before rising. “Just my good deed for the year. Think about it,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner.
Chapter Nineteen
I think about it all evening - through dinner, through my shower, while I shave. And by the time I fire up the truck, my mind’s pretty much made up. But just to be sure, I think about it some more, covering all the possible angles. By the time I park across the street from the park, I’m certain.
I walk the four blocks from the park, and Macey meets me at the kitchen door. Maybe it’s the harsh light, or maybe I’m just tuned in differently after my own exhausting day, but Macey looks… tired. Her smile doesn’t stretch as far, and I see stress lines around her eyes. “Are you okay?”
She motions me in, speaking in hushed tones. “Long day. And Soph had a hard time going to bed. It seems you impressed her.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”
She drops into a chair next to a half finished glass of merlot. “Nope. She wouldn’t go to sleep because she wanted me to promise you’d come tomorrow.” She waves me to join her.
I gulp, feeling sweat break out on the back of my neck. There’s no way I can survive another day like today. I’m wrecked. Not to mention scared shitless that the kid is going to get herself killed on my watch.
“It’s okay,” Macey reassures me with an amused smile. “One of the other moms agreed to take her tomorrow.” It’s only then I see an empty glass next to the wine bottle. “Wine?”
I shake my head. “I don’t drink wine to unwind.”
“I understand.”
I don’t think she does. And she won’t because that’s a can of worms I refuse to open. “How about a tumbler of the Midleton Bluebell?”
She starts to push away from the table, but I lay a hand on her forearm. “You sit. I’ll get it.”
“Third cupboard from the left.”
I find the bottle next to four Waterford crystal glasses. I snag two and the bottle. “Impressive.” I motion to the glasses as I prepare to pour.
“Thanks. They were a wedding gift.”
My hand stills, but only for a split second. Still, she notices and gasps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay,” I say with a wave of my hand. I jealously wonder if she thinks of her late husband when she’s drinking the booze I gave her. It’s petty and small, but I can’t help it. And it reinforces why emotional attachments are a no-go. Too messy. Too complicated. I bring the booze to the table and set a glass in front of her. “I presumed you’d enjoy a little?” Her eyes look sad, and that stupid ache blooms in my chest. I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms and kiss away her expression.
She raises her glass. “Cheers.” We both take a sip. It’s smoother than my bourbon of choice, but no less complex, and I ponder the nuances as we sip. The silence settles around us like a blanket. After a while, she lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so low energy tonight.”
“Should I go?” I don’t want to.
“You can’t spend the night, but I’d like it if you stayed a while.”
I rise and come behind her, dropping my hands to her neck. I move her copper tresses to the side, exposing her neck, and start to work at the knots. I’ve never noticed them before, but tonight, they stand out like a neon sign. How could I have missed them?
She drops her head with a groan and rolls her shoulders. “That feels heavenly.” Her voice catches.
It dawns on me that it’s probably been a very long time since she’s received touch like this. I pause my ministrations as the weight of that sinks in. My stomach flutters way up in my sternum, but I bat the sensation away. This isn’t emotion, it’s foreplay. Plain and simple. And I pride myself on being an attentive lover. I continue working the muscles, letting my fingers slip below her neckline. “Come on,” I say gruffly when the tension has drained from her shoulders. I pull back the chair and bend, sweeping her up into my arms.
“End of the hall on the right,” she murmurs as I carry her through the kitchen. She buries her head into my shoulder with a sigh. The door
creaks open and I enter her bedroom, as prim and tidy as she is - white sheets, a rocking chair next to the queen-sized bed, and a simple dresser with a mirror perched on top. I step into the space, then quietly push the door shut with my foot. It catches with a quiet click and we’re home-free.
I gently place her on the bed, as if she’s antique porcelain. She reclines onto her elbows, and the soft cotton tee-shirt that clings so sweetly to her curves rides up to expose the gentle curve of her belly. There’s a vulnerability about her tonight that tugs at me. But I don’t want to analyze it. I just want to make her feel good. To erase some of the day’s hardship with pleasure and release.
Our lovemaking is soft and slow. I take my time with her body, serenading her with my mouth, my tongue, until her little gasps and ragged breaths, and quiet moans tell me she’s nearly there. When I hover over her, she looks up at me with luminous eyes. My breath sticks in my throat. I can’t breathe as I stare down at her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, as she pulls me in for a deep, searing kiss. I slide into her slowly, losing myself in the sensation, pushing away the urge to run. Instead, falling deeper and deeper into her as our bodies move together, our release sweeping us away like a riptide.
“I’ve targeted a vineyard,” I say a few days later when I walk into Jason’s office. He grunts but doesn’t look up from his laptop. I toss the folder down on his keyboard. He looks up with a scowl but takes it, flipping through it, and pausing every couple of pages.
“Why this vineyard?”
“They’re growing for bulk pinot production only. I think I can do something with it.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Rosé.”
Jason’s eyebrows rocket. “With pinot?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because that’s a valuable grape to be wasting on rosé.”
“Who says it’s wasting if it sells?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he skims more pages. When he’s finished the last page, he lays the folder on the desk. He’s doing all this deliberately to gain the upper hand, to remind me he’s in charge. But it’s not going to work this time, because I’ve done the due diligence. Hell, I even ran my idea by Macey. “What’s your plan?” He finally asks.
