Storm Redemption

by Magda Alexander

  His nostrils flare. He strides up and down the study with that small hitch to his step that now seems sexy to me. Probably wondering how many dates it will take to get me back in his bed. After several seconds of this, he stops and confronts me.

  The rigid look on his face does not encourage me. “I need a time frame, Elizabeth. I’m not willing to be without you ad infinitum.”

  I glare at him. “Is that all I am to you? Someone to fuck?”

  “No. But you are my wife. As such I’m entitled to the pleasures of your body as you’re entitled to mine. And I know you bloody well enjoy them.”

  He’s right. I love everything he does to me. In bed, we’re in perfect unison. But. “Our relationship can’t revolve around sex, Gabriel. Don’t you see? There has to be more than that to make it work, to make us work.” I breathe hard for a couple of seconds. “Three months. We’ll date for three months.” It’s May now. At the end of the summer, I’ll need to return to my studies, whether here in London or back in the states.

  “And then what?”

  “We’ll reassess. See if there’s a future for us. This is not only for me, but for you as well. Maybe you won’t want me after the three months are up.”

  His gaze streaks to me with the speed of a rifle shot. “I’ll want you until I’m old and gray. I won’t change my mind.”

  “How can you know that, Gabriel?”

  “Because I bloody love you,” he screams.

  My mind freezes, even as my body trembles in response. He’d never said the words before last night, and here he is saying them again. Is he doing it just to keep me by his side? Or does he really mean them? I learned at an early age not to trust love. My mother said she loved me before she locked me in a dark closet so she could service her johns. And she told me she loved me before she used money that should have gone to food to buy drugs.

  So, no, I don’t trust the word. I trust Casey who taught me to be strong. I trust my intelligence, my work ethic, my studies, because they will help me meet my goals.

  But.

  My heart clamors for something different, a future which includes everything that’s there right in his eyes. But how can I trust my heart when it made all kinds of wrong decisions about Gabriel Storm? When it can be so easily swayed by him?

  But what if they were the right decisions? What if my heart knows better than my head what I need? Can I allow it to overrule reason when reason screams this is never going to work? And if I do, will I have to give up who I am, what I am, for him?

  “Elizabeth.” My name on his lips brings me out of my trance. His gaze’s gone soft and tender, as if he understands the struggle I’m going through. “When do you want our first date?”

  “How about dinner tomorrow? A small Italian restaurant I came across a couple of months ago. A family place. Nothing fancy.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay.” Glad this much is settled, I move to go past him, but he steps into my path, blocking my way. I don’t say anything, but simply look up at him. Emotion shines out of red-rimmed eyes. How could I not have noticed how upset he is? He must have been devastated when he first woke up, thinking I’d taken Andrew from him.

  Tears fill my eyes in response to his pain. But I don’t want to appear weak in front of him, so I shift my gaze to the carpet.

  He curls a finger and places it underneath my chin, raising it until my gaze finds his. So much feeling in that gaze.

  “I love you.” He whispers. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m going to make it my mission to prove it to you so you will never, ever doubt my love for you.” He bends his head and brushes his lips against mine. His kiss is soft, tender, reminding me of everything that’s good about us.

  I struggle to remain strong, to not let him in, but his taste, his man-scent are more than I can stand, and I surrender to the inevitable. My hands wind around his neck, and I sway against him, mold my body to his. My breasts rub against his steely chest; my nipples turn into hard little nubs. Moisture pools between my legs, and I grow restless. I want more, damn it. This is not enough. He angles my head so he can savor me more fully. When I moan, his tongue invades to taste every corner of my mouth. His leg insinuates between mine, and I ride his thigh. No shame, no embarrassment, only pure need. I’m about to suggest we take this horizontal when he brings the kiss to a close and lets me go.

  Mind scattered from the kiss, I wobble in a daze, eyes closed. When I open them, the expression in his eyes seems to say, ‘You won’t last three months without me.’

  I leave his study on the same unsure legs I entered, but not for the same reason. How am I going to stay away from him?

  Chapter 3

  ______________

  Gabriel

  IN MY DESPERATION TO FIND ANDREW, I dashed out bare footed. So before I meet Samuel to go over the fire investigation, I head back to the bedroom to grab a pair of shoes. I walk into my dressing area to find my valet, Parker, adoring the latest arrival, a wool-worsted bespoke three-piece suit from Savile Row.

  “Good morning, m’lord, will you be going out today?” How he can appear so unruffled after this morning’s drama is beyond me. But then he usually doesn’t concern himself with anything unless it has to do with my clothes or dressing me.

  “Not for the moment.” I hired him ten years ago when it became apparent I neither had the time nor the inclination to care for my clothes. He, on the other hand, has dedicated his entire life to the sartorial art. Not only does he keep meticulous care of my garments, but keeps up with the newest fashion. Although he never orders an avant-garde suit, he occasionally purchases a new style of tie or a clip to mix things up a bit. I trust him implicitly. At least when it comes to my clothes.

  “May I say, Sir, this suit is especially splendid. The new tailor did a fine job.”

  “Did he?” I open a shoe drawer, rummage around a bit. When I can’t find what I want, I slam it closed.

  He hurries to my side, likely eager to forestall any damage to his kingdom. “May I be of assistance, Sir?”

  “Can’t find the mocs Elizabeth gave me for Christmas. Do you know where they are?”

  “They were scuffed, m’lord. Thought about tossing them”—I groan—“but knowing how highly you think of them, I sent them out for repair. They should be back in a week. If I may suggest.” He opens a drawer which contains my casual shoes, and pulls out a pair of loafers. “These enjoy a similar style.”

  “Fine.”

  He kneels in front of me to slide on the footwear, and for the first time, notices I’m bare footed. He breathes out a laborious sigh. “Socks, Sir.”

  “If I must.” I know how he feels about skin sweating into fine leather shoes.

  After suffering through more of his fussbudgeting, I’m finally turned out to his satisfaction. And my comfort. The jeans stay but he insisted on a Henley rather than the cotton T-shirt I prefer. You have to pick your battles with Parker. As I head toward the study to meet with my head of security, my mobile rings. Bri.

  “Well?”

  Don’t have to ask what she’s asking about given her earlier harangue. “We talked, established a detente of sorts. Elizabeth decided we should date.”

  “Date?”

  Glad I’m not the only who thinks the idea odd. “Apparently, we missed a key step in our relationship, and we need to know each other better.”

  “I guess that’s something positive. If it’d been me, I would have kicked you in the bollocks.”

  That part of my anatomy cringes at the thought. She’s not bluffing. She’s responded more than once to an insult with a swift kick to the family jewels. “I have to go. Meeting Samuel in a few minutes.”

  “Wait. There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  “Can’t it wait?” I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and let her light into me once more.

  “No. It can’t. There’s something else we need to deal with. An explanation for Edward’s absence and his prodigal son return.
The vultures will be circling the second they get a whiff of this.”

  Bloody hell, with everything going on with Elizabeth, I failed to handle this. And I can’t put it off until a more convenient time. If the truth behind Edward’s absence leaks out, things will go from bad to worse for our family. And we have enough to contend with at the moment. “I don’t want any of us talking to the press until we work out a story.”

  “Which is why I called Edward and invited him up for the weekend. So we can devise a logical explanation and determine the best way to announce it to the press. He agreed to come up. I suggested he stay with Royce.”

  “Nonsense. He’ll stay with me.”

  “Are you sure that would be best? Things are a bit cocked up with you at the moment.” She clips out in a tight voice. She’s still angry at me. Not only over what happened with Elizabeth but my branding our father a murderer after the funeral.

  Regardless, I need to discuss things with Edward which go beyond an explanation of his absence. Some financial, others more personal. So I’ll need him close by. “I’ll make sure my . . . situation doesn’t affect him. Did you tell him about Elizabeth and me?”

  “No, I haven’t. But he’s a smart man. He’ll figure things out. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll ring him up and give him the change of accommodations. Dinner on Saturday at your place? Just the four of us. And Elizabeth, of course.”

  “Yes. I’ll let Jorge know.”

  “He’ll be thrilled, I’m sure. The way that man cooks. He’s a bloody genius in the kitchen.” For the first time, her voice softens. “The dinner should be nice, don’t you think? It’ll be the first time the four of us have enjoyed a meal together since . . . I can’t remember the last time.”

  I do. “Before Edward and I left for Honduras. At some restaurant here in London.” At the time, I didn’t have a world-class chef on staff. “La Reve, I think.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I brought . . . oh, what was his name.”

  Bri and her men. Most of them barely make an impression. But who am I to judge when my life is such a mess? “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we will be together again next week. Thank you for handling this.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her tone turns measured once more, so unlike her usual spontaneous self. She rings off with not so much as a goodbye.

  A heavy sigh escapes me. I wish I’d said something to try and mend our fences, but I don’t think she would have listened. It’ll take some time to heal the rift between us. Time and patience. Bri loves passionately, but she hates just as virulently as well. And right now, I’m afraid I make a rather large target. Putting those thoughts aside, I head for the kitchen where Jorge is sure to be found.

  After I give him the dinner details for Saturday night, he asks, “Any particular dish your brother prefers?”

  “Steak au poivre with pommes frites were his favorites.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll prepare.”

  “Thank you, Jorge.” Having taken care of that minutia, I resume my walk toward the study where Samuel waits for me. He’s now chief of security at Storm Industries. A job I asked him to take on after I fired Jake. He accepted, although he hesitated at first. Probably from loyalty to Jake more than anything else. Elizabeth trusts him. And that’s worth more than any set of credentials. Not that it matters. He has the necessary background and is very good at his job, as he’s proved time and time again.

  “Good morning, Samuel. Any progress on the fire investigation?” I ask as soon as I take a seat behind my desk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Storm.” He flips open his computer notebook. “After interviewing all fifty-seven castle servants, we confirmed the whereabouts of thirty eight of them. Many of the house staff were occupied with meal duties and vouched for each other. But we could not verify the location of the rest to my satisfaction, so we’re investigating them.”

  “Nineteen people unaccounted for. How long will it take?” Whoever set the fire hurt Elizabeth, almost killing her and our son. I will not rest lightly until he’s found and put behind bars. My mother didn’t leave her room so she couldn’t have set it. Doesn’t mean she couldn’t have hired someone else to do it, though. “Any anomalies?”

  “One individual stands out. A groundskeeper’s assistant. He disappeared the night of the fire. A Ronald Malloy. Ring any bells?”

  I shake my head. “Never heard of him. Our head groundskeeper has full authority to hire his staff, but someone from security should have vetted him.”

  “We did when he applied for the position a month ago. He came with excellent recommendations. We’re looking into those as well.”

  “What about Sarah Simmons?” She had an ax to grind after Jake fired her around Christmas for taking a bribe from my mother.

  “It couldn’t have been her. She left the country, traveled to somewhere in Africa. Some sort of gun-for-hire scheme.”

  “And her brother?”

  “We haven’t been able to find him. Word on the street is that the gang he stole drugs from is looking to find him as well.” Supposedly, Sarah’s brother used my mother’s bribe money to pay back the gang, but either the money never reached them or they were looking to send a message. So that no one would dare steal from them again.

  “Keep looking. Make sure to investigate every tunnel, including the one that leads down to the cove from the castle. Once you finish your investigation, I’ll order the tunnels blocked. No one will ever again use them for any means, nefarious or otherwise.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “One more thing.” Picking up a pen from the pencil stand, I twirl it around my fingers, a nervous habit of mine. “Jake was looking into something for me. Last summer during the SouthWind negotiations, some of my confidential documents were photocopied and turned over to Smith Cannon. This happened at the hotel where the discussions were held. Elizabeth suspects someone from the law firm engineered the theft, but he needed someone from the hotel who had access to the suite. She recalls seeing the concierge hand an envelope to Brian Sullivan, an associate at Smith Cannon. Could have been theater tickets. Could have been something else. Can you see what progress Jake made and get back to me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Storm. Of course. Anything else.” His fingers pause over the keyboard.

  I clear my throat. “Who will you assign to guard Elizabeth now?” Since I promoted Samuel to head of security, he can no longer handle that responsibility.

  “Jonathan Tilden.”

  The pen lands on the leather desk pad with a dull thud. “Isn’t he the one who allowed her to sneak out before Christmas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why the blazes would you have him watch over her?”

  “She likes him. And was mortified over the trouble she caused him during her escapade. I believe she will listen to him. He’s quite good at his job, Mr. Storm. He’d take a bullet for her if the need arose.”

  “Very well. Let’s hope the need does not, in fact, arise. One more thing.”

  He pauses once more.

  “Other than myself, Elizabeth or Nanny, no one gets within six feet of Andrew. Nanny and only Nanny will prepare his bottles. And he can be fed only by the three of us. The formula and bottles are to be kept behind a locked cupboard to which Nanny has the only key.” After the fire, it occurred to me, there was one more way to get to Andrew. By poisoning his food. Even though I trust every member of my household staff, I will sleep better knowing only the three of us will feed him.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll pass on the word.” He rises and wanders out. A big man, Samuel, with a quick mind. A worthy successor to Jake. I won’t get any arguments from him or uncalled for opinions. So unlike Jake in that regard. In many ways, he played devil’s advocate. I can’t expect that from Samuel. He’ll take my orders and follow them to the letter. And I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Guess only time will tell.

  Chapter 4

  ______________

  Gabriel

  WE’RE IN THE BENZ,
being driven to Elizabeth’s Italian restaurant by one of our guards. Another member of the security team rides shotgun.

  “So what’s the name of this restaurant?”

  “Luigi’s.”

  “Original. I gather Luigi owns the place.”

  “Yes.”

  Her one-word answers grate on my nerves. But they’re par for the course. During the last twenty-four hours, she’s barely spoken to me, with ‘Hi’ and “Goodbye” being the extent of our conversations. If we’re to work through our problems, we’ll need lengthier give and takes. So hoping to get more from her, I ask an open-ended question. “So what’s the place like?”

  “Busy. Filled with families and couples. The food’s quite good. I hope you like it.”

  I have my doubts. Family-style restaurants are not something I’ve enjoyed in the past. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get us back together again.

  When we arrive, she insists on going in without an escort. Fine. They can stand outside and keep watch. Until I discover who tried to kill her and Andrew, I’m not taking any chances.

  As it turns out, ‘busy’ means screaming kids, loud voices, and tables butted up against each other. You can hear everything your neighbor says. Bloody hell. How are we supposed to carry on a private conversation in this madness?

  Our waiter approaches, a twenties something bloke sporting a white apron stained with red blotches. “Good evening. Me name’s Smitty. Would you loik something to drink?”

  Smitty’s not exactly Italian, and neither’s his accent. Cockney would be my guess. But he’s prompt and friendly, and his pencil’s poised over his order pad.

  “Do you have a wine list?” I ask.

  “On the table, mate.”

  I don’t see anything on the table which remotely resembles a wine list. “Where?”

  He grabs a 4 x 5 centimeter card nestled between the paper napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers and hands it to me. There are exactly ten wines on it, five reds, five whites, with vintages unfamiliar to me. “What do you recommend?”