Revival

by Noelle Adams

  “I see that.” Leila smiled at her happy girls and then slanted a look at Baron, her eyebrows lifted. “That was very nice of Mr. James.”

  “Never come to a party empty-handed,” he murmured with an amused glint in his eyes. Then his eyes widened with something like trepidation as Jane came over, cradling her precious bouquet and looking as though she might give him a hug.

  Perhaps to defer this possibility, Baron reached down into the bag again and pulled out a wrapped present. “Can you put this on the table with the others?” he asked her.

  Happily, Jane took the gift and carried it over to the side table with the other presents for her father, and Charlotte ran over to confer with her twin sister over the proper placement of the newly arrived gift on the pile.

  “You didn’t have to get me a gift,” her dad said casually, although he was looking quite pleased with himself.

  Baron’s expression spoke very clearly about how absurd this comment was, and he reached into the bag with a half-smile to pull out a bottle of her dad’s favorite imported beer, a brand too expensive for him to buy for himself very often, since her dad had always been frugal.

  “Good memory,” he father said, smiling in a way that made Leila smile too. “It’s been a long time.”

  It had been a long time since Baron was best friends with her brother, but he had managed to remember her father’s favorite beer. Leila took the bottle into the kitchen to put in the refrigerator—since the girls’ punch was the drink of choice this evening—and she stayed for a minute to check on the food.

  Baron was really trying, she realized. Whether it was just to be a good guest, or whether he genuinely wanted to please her father and daughters, she didn’t really know. It was nice, though.

  “You need any help?” a male voice said from the kitchen doorway.

  She glanced over her shoulder with a grin for Baron. “I think I’m all right. The girls made everything this afternoon. Pizza and cake.”

  “Sounds excellent.”

  “I made a salad,” she added, recognizing the irony in his tone. “In case the adults needed a little something extra.” She pulled it out of the refrigerator and handed it to him. “You can bring it to the table if you don’t mind.”

  He took the large salad bowl without comment, but he didn’t leave. He stood in the middle of the floor, looking darkly attractive and expensive and woefully out of place in Leila’s simple kitchen.

  Flushing a little—for no reason she could understand—Leila pulled the pizza out of the oven with a hotpad. The heat of the oven made her cheeks even hotter. “It was really nice of you to bring those flowers. And the beer for my dad.”

  He gave a half-shrug, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “It was nothing.”

  “I don’t think it was nothing,” she said, turning to cut the pizza in quick, efficient strokes. “They didn’t either.”

  Baron didn’t respond. She realized he didn’t want to be thanked, that he didn’t want her to make a big deal about the gifts or his presence here.

  She really had no idea why he was here.

  “Anyway, you know you’ll be invited to every subsequent party the girls decide to throw, don’t you?” She pitched her voice to be light in order to break whatever tension had hung in the air the moment before.

  Baron laughed—low and husky—and Leila felt her cheeks flush again, for a different reason this time. As she carried the pizza out to the table, she told herself to pull it together.

  She wasn’t an inexperienced teenager, and she wasn’t about to be swept off her feet by a handsome face and a delicious laugh.

  Once they sat down to eat, conversation came easily. The adults talked casually about sports and current events, and Charlotte and Jane broke in occasionally to ask if everyone liked their pizza and their punch and if everyone suitably admired their beautiful flowers.

  When the cake came out—decorated in blue and lavender icing curlicues by the girls with a big football appliqué to make it a “boy” cake—the girls sang the “Happy Birthday” song to their grandfather in a slightly off-key duet. Then they managed to capture Baron’s attention and told him with great enthusiasm about their long preparations for the party.

  Leila watched carefully, looking for any signs that he was growing impatient with their happy prattle. He didn’t interact with them the way most adults did. He didn’t talk down to them or change his vocabulary or tone of voice. He was obviously listening to what they said, though, because he asked them apt questions during the infrequent breaks in their chatter. When the girls tried to pull their grandfather into the conversation as well, it was Baron who filled in the gaps in the background information that allowed the other man to catch up.

  Leila did occasionally catch a particular expression in his dark eyes. Almost like he was slightly uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing here anymore than she was.

  For some irrational reason, that made her feel better about the whole thing.

  They ended by opening presents. Her father raved appropriately over the cards the girls had colored for him and the ball cap they’d picked out. And he seemed to appreciate the books and other somewhat generic tokens the neighbors and Miss Martin had brought him. He smiled in pleasure over the fancy new coffee maker Leila gave him. And the last present Jane brought over for him to open was Baron’s.

  Leila saw out of the corner of her eye that Baron was glancing away, taking the last swallow of his punch as her father opened the wrapped gift.

  Instinctively, she knew how he was feeling—uncertain about the gift and hoping there wouldn’t be a big deal made out of it.

  Beneath the wrapping paper was a framed photograph that Leila vaguely remembered of her and Dave, giving their father hugs in unison in their old backyard. She’d been about twelve when the picture was taken.

  Baron had put the picture in a simple, but very expensive polished frame, and her dad sat for a minute just staring at it.

  Shifting a little in his chair, Baron said, “I took that picture on my old camera—I don’t know if you remember. Then I found it in an old box a few months ago, so I made a new copy of it.”

  Her father couldn’t stop staring at the photo. “Look at my sweet little kids,” he said in a hushed voice. “It seems so long ago now.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that long ago.” Leila peered at the photo, feeling the same nostalgic pull to which her father had responded but managing to suppress it. "But I don’t know what was happening with my hair.”

  “Your hair is pretty!” Charlotte objected earnestly, “Look how it sticks out on both sides.”

  “I like it better long,” Jane put in, “But you're pretty here too.”

  Leila put a hand on her dad’s shoulder and glanced over toward Baron. “What a great present,” she said lightly.

  “Yes,” her father said, sounding more like himself. “Thank you.”

  Baron brushed off the thanks and strategically changed the subject by asking Charlotte and Jane if he could have more punch. As they scampered off to pour it for him, Leila cleaned up the torn wrapping paper and carried some dishes into the kitchen, vaguely surprised when Baron started to help.

  The party broke up then. Miss Martin declared she was exhausted and was ready to head home, and her father—ever the gentleman—volunteered to escort her on his way out. The other neighbors left at the same time, and the girls waved them all out the door.

  It was almost nine-thirty, and Leila told the girls that it was past their bedtime and they needed to say goodbye to Mr. James and get ready for bed.

  Charlotte’s chin stuck out, and Leila knew an objection was coming. But Jane fended it off by asking, “Can Mr. James read us some stories?”

  “Yeah!” Charlotte agreed, perking up. “Please?”

  Leila frowned at her daughters. “We don’t invite people over for a party and then expect them to do things for us.”

  “Oh. Then just one story?” Jane asked, as
if this was a great accommodation on her part.

  Baron, who’d been stacking up the last of the dishes, said from the other side of the room, “Only if it’s a really good book.”

  Charlotte squealed in excitement while Jane vowed it would be the best book ever. Then they ran into their room to pick one out.

  “You don’t really have to,” Leila said.

  He gave a half-shrug. “Why ruin their night by disappointing them?” He sounded matter-of-fact, like reading a book to a couple of six-year-olds was sometimes the only reasonable option.

  Feeling like her presence might make Baron awkward, she went to load the dishwasher when the girls came out with their book. They’d chosen their most impressive book—the expensive, beautifully illustrated hardback Leila’s dissertation director had given them on their last birthday.

  By the time Leila had wiped the kitchen counter and turned on the dishwasher, Baron was almost finished with the book. She stood in the living room doorway and watched in silence as Jane and Charlotte sat on either side of Baron as he read them the final pages.

  She felt a familiar tightness in her chest as she watched. Knew she had to be careful with her emotions here. Just because a man was kind to her daughters for an evening didn’t mean he could ever really be a fixture in their lives.

  When Baron finished the book, the girls agreed to get ready for bed without too much fuss—probably because he told them the book appeared to be from the secret treasury of the Knights Templar, and they’d better return it to its place with the appropriate ritual so as to hide its presence from the world.

  The girls ran off to their bedroom, holding the treasured book between them.

  Alone in the living room, Leila and Baron looked at each other in silence for a long moment.

  She shifted from foot to foot. “Thanks,” she said at last, mostly just to say something into the oddly thick silence between them. “You were great with them tonight.”

  He gave that familiar half-shrug.

  “You know, you really don’t have to hang out with them,” she continued, feeling herself babbling but unable to stop. “I mean, obviously, they’ve decided you should be their best friend, but I know it’s not really your thing.” She swallowed over the last word, worried she might have offended him. “I mean, you’re great with them, but it’s not like you spend a lot of time with kids... I mean...” She trailed off, finding herself at a complete loss for words.

  Baron’s appeared to hide a smile, as if he knew exactly what she meant and was amused that she couldn’t seem to say it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spent any time with kids.”

  Leila looked at him, at his dark hair, handsome face, expensive clothes. His watch might have cost more than her car. “When was the last time you spent much time with kids?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  Baron opened his mouth, then paused and stared off in the distance, as if the realization had just come to him. “When I was a kid,” he said at last, his voice barely a breath.

  For some reason, Leila found that admission incredibly poignant. She reached out and squeezed his arm.

  “Don’t take this wrong,” she said, her voice gentler than it usually was, “because I’m really glad you came tonight. But why are you here?”

  Baron met her eyes. His expression first made her think he was going to gloss over the question with an ironic comment. So she added, “Seriously.”

  His expression sobered. He looked down and sounded slightly stiff as he admitted, “It’s nice. That they like me.”

  She knew he meant what he said, and it moved her so much she had to fight the urge to give him a hug.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said softly.

  Now that the brief vulnerability was over, Baron looked more like himself. “Thanks for having me.”

  “And I noticed you brought something for everyone except me.”

  His expression changed yet again. His eyes grew hot in a way that made her breath quicken. “Did you want me to bring you something?”

  He certainly knew how to take an innocuous question and turn it into sex. Leila felt her body respond a little, just from the texture in his voice.

  Her cheeks warm, but she tried to ignore her response. “I can just share my dad’s beer, so I won't feel left out." She walked to the door and hoped he would take the hint.

  Obviously, it wasn’t a good idea for her to be by herself with Baron James after the sun had set.

  He took the hint without hesitation. He followed her to the door, obviously getting ready to leave.

  She was just releasing a sigh of relief when he said, “Leila.”

  She turned toward the one word, and he kissed her.

  He took her face in his hands and pulled her toward him, and Leila gasped into his mouth as she felt his lips. She leaned into him instinctively, the line of his body irresistibly hard and warm against hers.

  The kiss wasn’t as practiced or skillful as the time he’d kissed her at the cocktail party, but Leila’s response was even more overwhelming. A rush of pleasure shot through her spine as her entire body flushed hot. One of her arms wrapped around his neck, and she opened her mouth to his tongue. Her other hand fisted in his shirt.

  She was drowning in him—in the press of his mouth, the flutter of his tongue, the heat of his body, the warm, male scent of him. He was all around her.

  She moaned against his lips as she felt arousal tighten between her legs. Then moaned again as she felt him push into her belly. He was starting to grow aroused too.

  A glimmer of recognition penetrated through her heated haze. She tore herself out of the kiss, out of the embrace. They stared at each other, both of them flushed and breathing heavily.

  “What?” she gasped, her mind whirling and her body screaming at her for pulling away from what had felt so good. “What... what?”

  She could tell he was affected by the kiss too, but he recovered more quickly than she did.

  “Three excellent questions,” he murmured with an intimate smile. He leaned over and gave her another brief kiss. “Good night, Leila.”

  And then, before she could manage get anything else said, he shut the door behind him.

  “What?” she demanded once more, this time to the closed door. “What the hell has gotten into him?”

  Unfortunately, the door had no better answers than she did.

  Six

  Baron went back to work after the party.

  MaryAnn had chided him for leaving so early that evening, since he hadn’t finished everything that needed doing in preparation for an executive-level meeting first thing the following morning. So he returned to the office to finish the day’s to-do list, trying to clear his mind of Leila and how much he wanted her.

  When he arrived, MaryAnn followed him back into his office with her tablet in hand.

  They worked for more than an hour, until Baron’s head was pounding and he could barely focus on MaryAnn’s voice. They’d finished the meeting preparations and were now going over what needed doing tomorrow.

  “Surely some of this can be passed off to other people,” he said, rubbing his head with his fingertips in a futile attempt to ease the pain. He shouldn’t have gone to the party. The distraction just made getting back into work even harder. “Isn’t Jones responsible for finance? Why do I need to do all of this again?”

  “Mr. James—I mean your father—made sure he was in control of every aspect of the company. It’s why James Coffee has been run as such a tight ship for so long.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” It was also why Baron had barely seen his father growing up and had only grown close to him as they’d worked together over the last few years. “But once everything is settled with the will, maybe we can go over some of the processes and see what can legitimately be delegated. It really seems like this office could use more staff. You and I can’t do everything.”

  “Your father and I managed just fine.”

  Baron managed not to snap the woman�
�s head off. She’d been completely devoted to his father, and this job appeared to be the only thing she had in her life. Naturally, she’d be troubled if he started to make major changes.

  His father probably wouldn’t have been happy about it either.

  Baron was just about to send her away, since he needed to go home and get some sleep if he was ever going to get through the following day, when her tablet gave a little buzz.

  “Mr. Howard is on his way up,” she said, glancing up at him.

  “Now? It’s almost eleven.”

  “Even so. He’s been having trouble catching you, so I told him you’d probably be working late.”

  Baron almost groaned, but there was nothing he could do. Not unless he wanted to make a mad dash down the stairs to avoid the James family lawyer.

  He knew why Howard needed to talk to him, and he’d been trying to delay the conversation, mostly because it was easier to pretend his brother didn’t exist.

  When there was a tap on the door and then it opened, Howard and one of the corporate attorneys came in.

  “I’m sorry it’s so late, Mr. James,” Howard said, genuine sympathy in his eyes. “But we really do need to talk. Your brother contesting the will is no small thing.”

  “I know. Come on in.”

  Baron rubbed his scalp with his fingers again while the two men sat down in the chairs near his desk.

  All he’d wanted was some connection to family.

  But what he’d gotten instead was the hopeless task of filling his father’s shoes and a brother who resented him so much that he was initiating a battle over the will—the will of a father he’d claimed to want nothing to do with.

  Baron listened to the lawyers talk and tried to process the words. He knew this legal conflict would cause a delay in finalizing the will that could have repercussions for everyone in the company. He knew they needed to make plans accordingly. But his chest kept constricting, and his mind wasn’t working now at all.

  He tried to breathe slowly and clear his head, telling himself he just had to get through this conversation and then he could go to bed.