by Noelle Adams
Jane pressed her hands together and gasped in excitement over this miraculous offer. And even Charlotte perked up. “Two watchtowers?” she asked.
“Two.”
“And a drawbridge.”
“Yes.”
“Next week?”
“Yes. Next week. As long as it’s all right with your mom.”
Four pairs of eyes focused on Leila—two hopeful, one amused, and Baron’s, which were absolutely unreadable.
“Yes, that’s fine. But you have to be really good tonight for Grandpa. Then Mr. James can come over next week to help you with your castle.”
Charlotte turned to Baron. “We have strawberries to eat tonight, but we should take off our necklaces so we don’t get strawberry juice on them and mess them up.”
Relieved that the storm was finally over, Leila was able to give her final instructions and kiss them all goodbye.
Then she walked down to the street with Baron in silence, let him help her into the back of the chauffeured car waiting at the curb, and collapsed against the back of the seat.
It wasn’t even seven in the evening, and she was hot, exhausted, and on the verge of tears.
And she was absolutely positive she’d have some damage control to do now with Baron.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” He slid into the seat beside her.
“Thanks,” she replied, unable to imagine that just twenty minutes ago she’d looked pretty and elegant. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“They’re usually pretty well-behaved. But they’re just six, and they get so excited when they see you. I guess our leaving so soon after you’d arrived was just too much.”
“It’s fine,” he said, with a dismissive half-shrug.
She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved by his casual dismissal or concerned by it. “I guess I should have just met you somewhere so they didn’t see you.” She brooded for a minute, trying to figure out a scenario where things would have gone more smoothly.
Then, to top everything off, she realized she was still wearing her glasses, which must completely ruin her entire ensemble.
“Leila, I said don’t worry about it.” Baron’s voice was a little sharper. So sharp, in fact, that she sucked in her breath and dropped her eyes.
“Okay,” she murmured, managing to make her voice convey ironic humor, even though his tone had upset her. “I’ll shut up and stop obsessing about it now.”
After a long moment of silence, Baron reached over and put a hand over hers in her lap. “Sorry.”
She looked up to meet his gaze. His expression was still unreadable, but something was a little softer in his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just don’t like you to worry so much. I’m not going to crack under the strain of a temper-tantrum.”
Leila choked on a laugh. That was exactly what she’d been afraid of, but the way he’d phrased it made her fears seem kind of silly. “Right,” she said, brightening up at the knowledge that he wasn’t about to retreat again. “But, seriously, you don’t have to come over and help them make a castle. I’m sure you’re swamped with work and everything.”
“I don’t mind. They’re good kids.” He shook his head and added, as if to himself, “And that castle needed a lot of help. It would have collapsed on the first wave of invaders.”
Leila was so distracted and harried that it took her a full minute to realize his bland, understated words were offered in humor. When what he’d said finally registered, she burst into sudden laughter and was warmed when he smiled in return.
Then, because she was laughing—and because she’d gotten so unreasonably upset about Charlotte’s outburst and Baron’s potential reaction—a tear slipped out of her eye as she laughed.
She wiped it away discreetly, hoping Baron hadn’t seen.
“Where are we going for dinner?” she asked, “Will we be late?”
“I made reservations at the Garden for six-forty-five,” Baron said. “But they’ll hold them for us.”
The Garden was a newly-opened Indian restaurant that no normal person could possibly get a table at. Normally, Leila would have been thrilled to go, but she knew their eating there would be an event. Everyone would see them. She would have the pressure of being Baron James’s date. She would have to be on her best behavior and wouldn’t be able to relax.
Then she’d have to sit through a three-hour opera.
Closing her eyes, she hoped she’d be able to make it through the evening.
“We can go somewhere else if you want,” he offered casually. “It doesn’t matter to me. There’s a little Italian place I like not far from here. It would be quieter and less of a scene, if that sounds better to you.”
Some of the tension eased in Leila’s chest. “That sounds good to me.”
“And, since we’re running late anyway, I wouldn’t mind missing the first half of the opera. The second part has all the big numbers anyway. We could show up at intermission if we’re running too late.”
Leila wanted to cry in relief. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”
She wasn't sure if Baron was a little stressed after the incident at her house or if he'd seen that she was about to lose it. Or both. Either way, she was infinitely grateful for his change of plans.
They went to the Italian place. The owner knew Baron, gave them a quiet table in a corner, and brought out their drinks and food himself. Everything was excellent, and Leila didn’t feel put on display.
She drank three glasses of wine and had a wonderful time. She’d actually never interacted with Baron before when he was like this—witty, charming, dryly intelligent, and completely focused on her.
She liked him this way. She liked herself when she was with him this way. And she found him increasingly attractive—something that had only a little to do with how sleekly handsome he was in the tux.
It was after nine when they left the restaurant. Leila felt flushed, relaxed, and much more giggly than normal.
“We should be just about the right time for the intermission,” Baron said, glancing at his watch after he’d given his driver instructions.
Leila giggled, although nothing he’d just said had been funny. Her hand strayed to her face and she realized in surprise that she was still wearing her glasses. Why hadn’t she taken them off by now?
She did so. “I should have left these at home,” she murmured, opening her little clutch and trying to fit the glasses in between her cash, keys, lipstick, powder compact, and phone.
“Why?” Baron’s tone sounded genuinely curious.
“I wanted to look pretty.” She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she and Baron were much closer on the seat than they’d been on the way to the restaurant. Their thighs brushed against each other’s.
A buzz of attraction and pleasure rose inside her as she stared at Baron’s handsome face and warm eyes.
“You do look pretty. I like you in the glasses.” He reached over and brushed her hot cheek with his knuckles.
Leila sucked in a breath and leaned her face into his hand. “Liar.”
Baron chuckled, and the vibrations from his laugh seemed to travel through his hand and all the way through Leila’s body. Arousal tightened between her legs.
“I do like them,” he said, his voice thicker than normal. “They make you look like Leila.”
She was ready when he tilted his head down toward her. She stretched up until their lips met. A wave of pleasure washed over her as they kissed. She reached up to cup his cheek with her hand, and he slid his palm up and down her back in a sensual caress.
She opened her mouth to his tongue, and her whole body hummed in response when she heard him groan deep in his throat.
It should have been a sweet, hot kiss and nothing more—but for some reason it spiraled into more than that far too quickly. After a minute, their embrace became more urgent and intimate than Leila would have expected. Baron’s body was tight and h
eated, and his hands were hungry and possessive. Leila couldn’t stop clawing at him, trying to feel him as much as she could, pleasure and need rushing through her in waves.
“Oh, God, Baron,” she gasped, when their lips broke apart and he mouthed his way down her neck. They needed to stop. This was getting out of control. But she couldn’t bear to pull away from his heat, his strength, the deliciously male, expensive scent of him, the need she could sense in his touch.
He moved his hands down to her hips and, before she knew what was happening, he’d adjusted her so she was straddling his lap. Her long skirt was in the way, but it had a high slit and Baron had managed to push it up enough to slide his hands up her legs to her thighs.
When he found the edge of her stockings, he made a guttural sound of approval.
Leila was so aroused now she was wet and throbbing a little. She moved in his lap, trying to get friction. When she felt he was starting to harden, one last flash of sense burst into her heated daze.
She tore her mouth away. “Wait, Baron, we have to stop.”
Baron dropped his hands at her words. He leaned against the seat, panting, flushed, and with glazed eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling herself off his lap, even though everything in her body cried out in resistance. “I’m so sorry. But we can’t. Not like this.”
“Right,” Baron said, his voice raspy and strained. “You’re right.”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. But I can’t... I mean, I want to, but I can’t take sex so lightly. Not anymore.”
“I know.” Baron rubbed his face, obviously trying to pull himself together. “I know that.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes as the car slowly crawled through city traffic. Eventually, both of them managed to get control of their arousal using whatever mental gymnastics happened to work for them.
“We’ve got to stop doing that,” he said at last, the corner of his mouth tilting up.
Leila was so relieved to see that little sign of humor that she giggled again, the rush of the alcohol and the giddiness of knowing that Baron wanted her so much rising up to lighten her spirits again. “I know. It’s like we’re horny teenagers or something—making out in the back of car.”
He released gust of laughter and leaned back against the seat. He seemed to have fully recovered. He didn’t look exactly relaxed, but he was smiling and that warm look lingered in his eyes as he gazed at her.
To distract herself from saying something sappy and infinitely stupid, Leila pulled out her compact and tried to repair her makeup. Everyone who was anyone in Boston would be at this opera performance. She didn’t want to look like she’d just been tumbled in the back of a car.
When the car finally pulled up in front of the opera house, Leila was ready to get out. Her dress might be a little wrinkled, and her hair might not be perfectly coifed, but she thought she still looked pretty good.
Baron took her arm as they entered the lobby. How he’d managed to time it so perfectly, she had no idea. But people were mingling in the lobby in what was obviously the intermission break.
She wasn’t sure how this was possible. She was just Leila, with two less-than-perfect girls and a basically normal job. Yet she was on a date with Baron James.
And things were going remarkably well.
She should have known it was too good to be true.
After just a few moments, she felt Baron tighten palpably beside her. She looked up in surprise to see that his expression had frozen and his gaze—fixed on a certain spot across the lobby—had darkened ominously.
She turned to see what had so upset him, and Leila found herself frozen too, her hand clamping down on Baron’s rigid forearm.
The focus of Baron's attention stood across the crowded lobby in all of his loose, long-limbed elegance. He’d never been as handsome as his brother, but the arrogant stance and challenging tilt of his head hadn’t changed in all these years.
Steven James had left Boston years ago in the fall of the year, shedding all ties to his family and friends in some sort of act of rebellion.
It was fall again—a crisp, elegant evening with an internationally acclaimed opera and the glitter of the city elite—when Steven James finally came home.
Eight
Baron hadn’t expected it. Not now. Not like this.
He’d known his brother would make an appearance eventually to contest the will. He’d been preparing himself for it.
He’d managed to compartmentalize his life very neatly for the last few weeks. Part of his world was spent doing his father’s job and in the thrusts and parries of this duel his brother had waged. And the other part of his world was spent exploring this thing with Leila. Being someone different. Testing out if it was even possible for him to have normal human connections, despite the pressures and burdens of being a James.
Tonight was supposed to be about the Leila-side of his life. He’d been wrapped up fully in Leila and her family—including a ridiculous, humiliating case of nerves over a first date, a very uncomfortable tantrum from Charlotte, and a rising thrill over how close he was feeling to Leila. He hadn’t spared a thought for his brother all evening.
He’d been hopeful. Almost happy.
But then he’d seen his brother. In the lobby of the opera house. And the other side of his life was blown apart.
He had no idea what to say. No idea what to do.
Leila looked up at him with anxious eyes. “We can leave, Baron. We can just leave.”
The space around him had blurred into a vague haze of color and shape and a dull murmur of indistinct voices, but he was able to process that Leila was worried... for him. “There’s no need,” he said. When his voice sounded too raspy, he cleared his throat. “I don’t want to leave.”
He did want to leave, but he couldn’t.
“All right.” Leila loosened the tight grip she’d had on his arm. Instead, she rubbed it gently. “Well, then let’s just take our seats. The second half will be starting soon anyway.”
That was a delay he desperately wanted—some time to process what had happened and figure out a way of handling it.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Baron, you don’t have to confront him now.” Something pleaded in Leila’s voice.
He was tempted—so incredibly tempted—to take the shelter she offered, both in the seats of his private box and the tenderness of her obvious concern. But taking it would be a defeat. “I have to.”
When Leila didn’t argue, he let out a thick breath. He tried to make his brain function. He’d always been good at thinking on his feet and strategizing on the cusp of a given moment. But no ploy, no thrust, no move, no tactic pierced the dark haze of his mind.
He wasn’t sure how it happened. He wasn’t conscious of moving. Or of Steven moving. But the crowd milled around them, parting and reshaping until he and his brother were standing face to face.
“Baron,” his brother said. “It’s good to see you.”
The bitter irony in the words hurt more than he’d expected. More than it should have. “You too. How are you?”
The conversation was a mockery of a familial greeting. Neither man extended a hand.
Steven’s eyes shifted to Leila in a casual assessment, but Baron caught a flicker of surprise in his brother’s face when he registered her identity. “Is it little Leila?”
“Actually,” she said, sounding sharp and bold, with just the slightest edge of uncertainty, “it’s doctor now. Dr. Luther.”
Steven’s blink was the only indication he gave of being caught unaware. “I’d heard my brother had recently started dating a university professor, a single mother of twins. I guess that would be you.”
Somehow, he’d made the innocuous words sound like an insult. Baron bristled inwardly but was careful not to let it show.
Leila made no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Yes, that would be me. Why are you here? I thought we were rid of you.”
> “Tonight is the opera’s only performance in the U.S. How could I miss it? But I notice you missed the entire first act.”
Baron managed a dismissive shrug. “Evidently, you take the performance more seriously than we do. Am I to assume, when the opera is over, you’ll crawl back into your hole?”
Steven gave a huff of laughter. “Is that any way to treat family? I’m hurt.”
“We can only hope,” Leila muttered, not quite under her breath.
Her blunt words surprised Baron. And, for some unexpected reason, they hit a note of humor in his otherwise tense, preoccupied mind. He laughed. Although it was low and slightly bitter, the laughter clearly startled his brother.
Steven’s sharp gaze focused on Baron, and then Leila, and then back to Baron. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
The lights in the lobby blinked, signaling the end of intermission.
“Well, it’s been lovely,” Leila said, with a false, bright smile on her face, “but we better get to our seats.”
Steven nodded. “Of course. But I’ll be in touch.” He met Baron’s gaze, and neither was willing to look away. “We’re family, after all.”
“I never doubted it,” Baron replied.
Then Leila was pulling him away, and Baron went with her willingly.
The confrontation could have been worse. It still hurt that his man—his brother—was all he had left of a family, but oddly the conversation hadn’t felt like it was the most important thing in the world.
As they made their way to Baron’s box, he tried to figure out what was different, why it hadn’t been as painful as he’d expected.
He finally concluded that the difference was Leila.
“You all right?” she asked very softly, leaning over the armrest toward his seat. She put a hand on his knee.
“Yeah.” He looked at her—her wide eyes, soft lips, that nameless feeling in her expression. He covered her hand with his.
“He’s an ass.”
Baron felt a flash of ironic amusement, mingled with sharp bitterness. “Yes.” He paused. “He’s also my brother.”
Leila swallowed visibly. “I know he is. I know.”
