Been Loving You Too Long
By
Seraphina Donavan
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
Edited by
Leanore Elliott
Cover Art By
Wicked Muse Covers
©June, 2013, Seraphina Donavon
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Except for excerpts embodied in reviews.
CHAPTER ONE
Vincent DuChamps was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so exhausted. It had probably been at some point in his early twenties and had involved copious amounts of liquor in a Bourbon Street strip club, he thought grimly. The partying had been fun for a while, but like most things, it had eventually gotten old.
Still, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t give to have that energy again. He’d partied all night, studied, worked for Thomas at the corporate office and never lacked for female attention. Exhaustion had been a concept he was totally unfamiliar with at that stage in his life. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, he wasn’t sure he actually remembered what it felt like.
For a split second, he considered heading back out into the night, going to a bar and finding someone to ease the ache, but the urge passed. Those days were done. He’d become more boardroom than backroom over the past few years and it was too damned late and he was too damned tired to go chasing down glory days that were probably not as great as he remembered. It scared the hell out of him that somehow, when he hadn’t been paying attention, adulthood had crept in and taken over his life.
With his current situation, there was no escaping adulthood and all the ugliness and responsibilities that came with it. The glaring realities of it were staring him in the face in the form of a frail and sickly man.
Thomas DuChamps had taken him and his younger siblings in after the implosion of their lives following their parents’ deaths. Thomas had been a robust man in his late forties then, the youngest sibling of their late grandfather. He’d been handsome, hale and hearty; bigger than life and always the life of the party would have been an apt description.
Women had flocked to him but he’d enjoyed the role of the unattainable bachelor, or so it had always seemed. The man lying in the large canopied bed, propped on a mound of pillows, his once tanned skin as pale as the sheets tucked around him, bore little resemblance to Vincent’s memories. But he knew that when Thomas opened his eyes, they would still be the same. Razor sharp and never missing a beat.
Walking into the room, Vincent waved the nurse away and took a seat at the side of the bed. As Thomas had gotten worse, his visits had become more frequent. He’d never been comfortable talking about his feelings, but when it came to his family, he tried to always show them.
“Is the harpy gone?” The question was asked in a thin and raspy voice. Weak as it was, it still held a fair amount of sarcasm and attitude.
Vincent chuckled in spite of himself. “She’s an excellent nurse and she takes very good care of you.” He’d made it a point to hire the best nurses he could find.
Thomas was the only parent he and his siblings ever had. Even before their parents’ deaths, they’d been so wrapped up in the drama of one another, they’d barely noticed the three children they’d somehow managed to bring into the world.
Until Thomas, Vincent hadn’t known what it felt like to have another human being invested him. Thomas hadn’t been easy. His expectations had been high and the consequences swift but fair. They had all thrived with him, in spite of their baggage. Thinking of it, of what might have been had Thomas not been willing to put his life on hold to raise three traumatized children, Vincent felt renewed appreciation for the man in front of him. It was accompanied by a well of grief and it took him longer than he liked to tamp that down.
“She’s a battle axe. This is my punishment... A man of my standing should be catered to by beautiful blondes with breasts that are still being financed,” Thomas groused. It was a good natured complaint. For the most part, Thomas had been nothing but good natured since being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
Vincent knew that if the positions had been reversed, he would not have fared so well. He cocked an eyebrow in response. “Has it slipped your mind that you’re gay?”
“If I’d suggested some young stud named Sven you might get all hopeful that I’m recovering. Besides, I still like to look at pretty girls even if I don’t want to do anything else with them... Now that Nurse Ratchet is gone, go get the bourbon.”
“That isn’t a good idea,” Vincent replied gently.
“I have cancer and I’m at death’s door! Why the hell not?”
Vincent couldn’t come up with a suitable response. If Thomas wanted bourbon who the hell was he to stop him? Rising from his chair, he crossed the room to the bureau where he knew Thomas had always kept a bottle stashed. Pouring a small amount of the amber liquor into two glasses, Vincent returned to his uncle’s bedside.
“That’s the stuff,” Thomas said, accepting the glass in a skeletal hand. “Dying is not for the weak, Vincent, and neither is the living.”
Vincent didn’t reply, just watched as Thomas took a small sip of the sweet, fiery liquid. He took a drink of his own and recalled that he’d been eighteen when Thomas had introduced him to quality bourbon. He’d taught him how to appreciate the sweet and complex flavor, how to drink like a man rather than a raucous frat boy.
There had been a hundred lessons like that over the years. How to hit a baseball, how to talk to women, how not to talk to women, how to take a punch and how to throw one.
Thomas had surprised almost everyone when he had revealed his sexual orientation, as if being gay meant he couldn’t be masculine. He’d jokingly said he was going to change his name to Butch. “How are the renovations going?” he asked, referring to the remodeling of their most recent acquisition.
The old hotel in the French Quarter was in a prime location, but it had needed a serious overhaul. It was a project that had been in the works for more than a decade. They’d fought the city, then they’d fought the aftermath of Katrina. Finally, New Orleans would be able to sustain another luxury hotel.
“We’re on track, but just barely. It should be up and running by Mardi Gras. The budget is going to be tight though... I’ve been battling with Claude about it,” Vincent confessed. He hated to bother Thomas with business matters, but he needed the guidance.
Claude was his first cousin, the youngest son of Thomas’ oldest brother. He felt that he was entitled to run DuChamps Hotels because of his father’s position as the eldest son of the previous generation, not taking into account that it was Thomas who had salvaged the hotel chain from the ruin Claude’s father had almost created.
Thomas nodded sagely. “Claude understands money, but he doesn’t understand business. DuChamps Hotels aren’t simply a place to stay... We sell luxury and fantasy. People stay in our hotels because they match the elegance of their own homes, or they scrimp and save to stay in our hotels so that for a brief moment, they get to live the kind of life they dream about.”
Vincent took another sip of the bourbon, feeling the heat as it settled in his gut. “He’s making it difficult. Fighting me at every turn. I need you
r support on this, Thomas.”
“You have it, for what it’s worth. I don’t have a lot of time left. At this point, I’m thinking a week at the most,” Thomas continued. “There are things in my will that you won’t like, but you need to know that everything I’ve done has been because I think it’s best for you.”
Vincent took another sip of his bourbon before asking the dreaded question. “Is there something I should know?”
“The business is sound and I haven’t blown through the family fortunes, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ve been easier on the lot of you than I should have. My last act as the shitty father figure I’ve been is to give you all some hoops to jump through,” Thomas explained.
Vincent sighed. “You were never a shitty father figure and we’ll deal with the hoops. Justin and I will at any rate. Kaitlyn will probably be another matter.”
Thomas smiled. “My sweet, fiery Kaitlyn! I have something special for her. Go home Vincent. Or better yet, get laid.”
“We made a deal once, old man. You don’t comment on my sex life and I don’t comment on yours.”
Thomas snorted. “That implies one of us is having a sex life... When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“I had dinner with Melina Tate last weekend,” he answered. It had been horrid. She’d clung to every word he said while smiling vapidly and batting her eyelashes. If there had been a single genuine thought in her head, she hadn’t bothered to express it.
“That wasn’t a date! Her mother has been trying to put the two of you together for years now, but I promise you it’s all Marvin’s idea. That girl’s daddy has it in his head that getting the two of you together would give him the in to supply linens to all of DuChamp Hotels.”
Not a chance in hell, Vincent thought. The Tates’ were wealthy enough to move in their circles, but the bottom line was that their fortune had been gained through providing cheap textiles to discount stores. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, but DuChamp Hotels were about luxury, not bargain bin linens. “I bought her dinner and she made it very apparent that she was willing to let me do so again.” That he had no intention of doing so was implied.
Thomas looked at Vincent sharply, his shrewd eyes missing nothing. “Has there ever been a woman you couldn’t just walk away from? Surely, a man your age has managed to meet just one woman who keeps his nuts in a vice?”
Vincent finished the bourbon and placed the glasses back on the bureau. There were some topics he didn’t intend to discuss with anyone, especially Thomas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t tell Thomas that he loved him. He wanted to say it, but those words stuck, dammed up by the tears he refused to shed.
For Vincent, the words meant little. His parents had said them daily, sometimes hourly, but it hadn’t stopped the fighting and it hadn’t done either of them a damn bit of good in the end. No. He preferred to show his love rather than just tell it.
That was why he’d taken over DuChamps Hotels instead of going to New York and Wall Street as he’d originally planned. That was also why he spent every evening sitting in Thomas‘room, discussing everyday topics as if they had all the time in the world. It was taking its toll on both of them, though.
Heading down the grand staircase of the stately home that would become his far sooner than he liked, he headed towards the kitchen and the back door, hoping to make his escape. The room with its white tiled walls and aged hard wood floors hadn’t changed much in the almost thirty years since he’d first come there, but the woman standing inside it had.
She’d been a fixture in the home as long as he had. Little more than a toddler when he’d first arrived, the granddaughter of their now retired housekeeper, Ophelia, had grown up beside them. She’d run tame through the house as long as he could remember.
He didn’t know the whereabouts of her mother, but he knew enough to realize that she’d probably been better off with the woman’s absence. Thomas had employed her as his personal assistant almost a decade earlier, and over the last few years, her role had shifted from secretary to caretaker.
With her sleek dark hair and big doe eyes, she was beautiful in a somewhat less than traditional way. But it was her lush curves and tempting bee stung lips that tormented him. Wanting her was the about as taboo as anything he’d ever done, but he hadn’t been able to stop. So, he’d done the only thing he could to resist temptation and avoided her like the plague. Now he was stuck.
She stood between him and the door. Wearing a cotton sundress that nipped in at her waist and flared over the gentle curve of her hips, her dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, she looked like she’d stepped from another era. But she’d always done that.
Ophelia had been doing the vintage thing long before anyone else realized it was cool. There was something so appealing in her tidy, ladylike appearance.
How many times had he pictured her with her hair mussed, her lipstick smudged from his kisses, and her modest dress hiked up around her waist while he took her? That image was burning inside him, constant, agonizing, tormenting. There was never an escape from it, but with her standing only a few feet away, it was so much worse.
He knew that he should retreat, go out the front door and walk around to his car or at the very least, alert her to his presence. Instead, he simply stood there in the kitchen doorway and watched her, lurking like some pervert.
Her movements were economical, unconsciously graceful and painfully appealing to him. Some sound, or perhaps some hind brain instinct must have alerted her to the fact that she wasn’t alone. She turned and let out a startled gasp that was immediately followed by a hiss of pain.
When she’d turned, he’d seen the knife in her hand, and could see the blood welling from the cut on her finger. Quickly, he closed the distance between them and grasped her wrist, inspecting the damage.
“I’m fine, Vincent. It’s nothing—just my normal clumsiness,” she said quickly, trying to withdraw her hand.
“Let me see,” he prompted.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
He pulled her toward the kitchen island and the small first aid kit that had always resided in the top drawer.
Applying a small amount of antiseptic to the cut, he didn’t acknowledge her statement. What could he say? It was too embarrassing to admit that he’d been trying to slip in and out of his own home without seeing her because he was a nearly forty year old man who couldn’t keep his libido in check. “I was upstairs with Thomas. The nurse has gone for the night.”
She nodded. “He’s had a good day, I think. He beat me at chess this morning.”
Vincent smiled. “I taught you to play chess. You’re terrible at it.”
~~****~~
“I was only ten. I’ve gotten better,” Ophelia protested. She hated that her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears. She couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, when her awareness of Vincent as a man had morphed into this impossible yearning inside her.
The girlhood crush had never quite vanished, but this almost painful need was too much to bear. She could smell his cologne, the scent light and subtle, but wholly masculine. It made her want to rub against him like a cat, just so she could smell his scent on her.
While he stared down at her hand, applying the small bandage, she stared at his face, noting the dark shadows beneath his eyes. They told the truth of how difficult it was for him. It wasn’t just that he and Thomas were family. Thomas had been his mentor, his friend, and the only father he’d ever known. Vincent respected and admired him, but more than that, he needed him.
“You look tired, Vincent.”
He quirked an eyebrow, his expression sardonic. “So I hear.”
It had slipped out, an admission that she shouldn’t have made. Acknowledging to anyone how frequently Vincent crossed her mind or how often she studied his face was dangerous.
When he looked up at her, their gazes locked and Ophelia’s breath simply froze. Her lungs seized and she could do nothing but star
e into his coal-black eyes and pray that everything she felt for him wasn’t written all over her face.
It was only when he drew her hand up and placed it against his chest, directly over his racing heart that she realized he’d even still been holding it. The firmness of muscle and the springy mat of chest hair beneath the cotton of his shirt was too much temptation to resist. She caressed that muscle lightly and watched as his eyes blazed with lust.
His expression changed to something she could only describe as carnal, predatory even. He stepped closer to her, backing her against the island.
She let out a sigh, savoring the sensation of his closeness, of the heat from his body scorching her.
His mouth was only inches from her and the anticipation of waiting for the kiss that seemed so inevitable was agonizing. “Tell me to stop,” he demanded.
“You shouldn’t,” she whispered, unable to find her voice.
“I shouldn’t stop or I shouldn’t kiss you, Ophelia? Which is it?”
She knew the right answer, the answer she ought to give. Instead, she sank against him, savoring the heat, the hard planes of his body against hers. Her eyes closed softly as she raised her lips to his.
The heat between them sparked, flared, then raged out of control. She might have initiated that first tentative touch of their lips, but he quickly seized the reins.
His lips were firm as they settled over hers, demanding. When his teeth scraped her bottom lip, nipping roughly and then soothing with his tongue, she couldn’t hold back the low moan. Each gentle tug and pull as he sucked at her lips, the sensual glide of his tongue against hers as he swept it into her mouth was overwhelmingly intense.
It was as if he’d peered inside her and knew what she wanted even before he she did. Heat suffused her, spreading throughout her body. He tasted of bourbon and the spice that was simply him. Sliding her hands up and over the breadth of his shoulders, she clasped her hands behind his neck, bringing them even closer.
Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty) Page 1
