Her arms wrapped around his waist, and her face found his pec, as strong and solid as she recalled. His familiar scent of warm, freshly-laundered cotton got into her nose, and her shoulders slumped.
“Alexander, someday I hope you’ll forgive me.” They were such inadequate words to say, lost in his shirt.
“Oh, I will.” His nose nestled in her hair, and his pull on her scalp intensified. Air rushed from her lungs when he yanked her head backward. “When you tell me the truth. How is it you are here? And, why? Out with it, and no lies.”
Nerves ignited up and down her spine. He was going to make her tell him the real reason she’d broken things off with him. Why had she thought she could sneak in and out without being caught? Perhaps one small part of her had known this would happen, which meant only one thing. Their sudden reunion was a sign for her to finally make peace with the man who was the single most important influence in her life. It was time to come clean—if those blue eyes didn’t sear her in half first.
8
Alexander released her hair and stepped back. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared down at Rebecca. “Start talking.”
She swallowed, her bottom lip trembling. Let her cry. He could handle tears. He couldn’t handle any more pretenses, and coincidences were for foolish men. Rebecca was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to visit Charles’ grave because the Wynter estate sold.
She sank to the couch. “Alexander, I … ” She stopped short and then sat up fully. “I’ve known where you were for the last ten years.”
His forehead tightened. She’d been thinking of him? Looking for him? “Explain.”
“You’re not a hard man to find. I mean, Google. Then when I heard the place sold, I had a feeling you had bought it.” Her lashes flicked up. “I’d hoped you’d bought it.”
Suspicion, shock, hope—all crashed in on him. “You came to see me?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I knew you probably didn’t want to see me. That’s why I snuck into the Memorial. I wanted to stand there one more time. I haven’t been able to get inside for many years.”
“Bullshit. I knew how much time you spent here after the funeral. I tried to get inside myself a few times. Climbing the fucking wall like an escaped convict.” Until he grew a pair and moved on. “That bitch or Marston would have let you—”
“No. No one knows. He can’t know. He can’t.” She jerked to her feet, her voice shrill.
What the hell? Why would it matter? He strode forward. “Did he do something to you? Marston?” The pussy wouldn’t dare, but if he had tried something …
“What didn’t he do?” she spat. “He threatened me regularly. He continued to threaten you.” There was that Irish temper he’d loved.
“Empty and nothing new. Bogus charges—”
“Not bogus. Real.” Her fists ground into her belly as if she’d been stabbed and staunched a wound. “I was seventeen. You know the law.”
“I know exactly how old you were. I was there.” He had never seen her as a young teen, but rather a full-grown woman like the one standing before him now. He’d treated her as such, and she’d blossomed. Such a mistake.
“Then you remember why we had to run away. How they cut us off … ”
Oh, how he knew. He turned away, scrubbed his chin. “How else could that bigoted, homophobic family deal with their sexually aberrant son but carve him out of the family like a rotten piece of meat?” After Marston caught the three of them in flagrante delicto, they’d ditched school and ran away to San Francisco like a bunch of 1960s hippies. It wasn’t their most intelligent decision, but they’d been free. As for the narrow-minded Wynters? They cut Charles off altogether. That old feeling of wanting to punch his fist through a wall nearly knocked him off his feet, but his intellect righted him. “It was expected. We proved we didn’t care, and the society-hungry Wynters would have never gone through with their other threats.” He faced her once more.
She shook her head. “You forget Raymond was friends with the DA and—”
“Nothing but a lot of bluster. Any statutory rape charges would have implicated their son, too.” He yanked his tie loose. His skin prickled from the heat rising in the room.
“You know the Wynters. They would have said he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t strong like you. He was … ”
“Sick.” Jesus, he was so damned tired of reminiscing about how reckless he’d been back then. He’d been a young man in love with two people, harboring some romantic notion they’d be able to form a life together. Yet would he have done anything differently? Hell, no.
“You remember the day you had to make the call to his family?” Her voice was barely a whisper but broke through his rage like a missile. “The day Charles collapsed in that horrible Chinese restaurant?”
“Branded into my brain.” How did you forget your best friend and lover collapsing and then have his cruel family jet in only to throw you out into the hospital hallway like trash? “Along with the day you ditched me as I stood locked outside that front gate.” His throat tightened to the point he could barely swallow.
“The day he died.” She lifted her lids and leveled her watery, gray eyes at him. “That was the day I got their final offer. Right here in this room. That bitch said I could save myself and you. If I cut you out of my life, disappeared, they wouldn’t pursue statutory rape charges. They promised to remain hands off. The price for your freedom was my penance.”
Hands off? Bile rose in his throat, just as it had the time he tried to get inside to see Charles, and Alice instructed security to shoot him. Later, the day of the funeral, he had gained entrance, throwing himself over a stone wall in the back. If the cops hadn’t arrived and hauled him away for trespassing, most assuredly, that bitch would have pulled the trigger herself. She believed she was above things such as the law. His anger flared to new life. “And you took that deal.”
“Yes.” She rose. “I loved you, Alexander. Enough to let you go. Now it’s time I go.”
When she tried to step around him, he blocked her path—a move uncharacteristic for him—but they were not done. None of this made sense, not back then and not now. She’d spoken her peace. He had some words for her. “I loved you. I loved Charles, and I was punished for that. You didn’t trust our love enough to stay with me? Fine. Consent is vital in my world, but I will not be lied to. Never again. What aren’t you telling me?”
She moved to speak but then snapped her lips together. Instead, she rushed toward him, pressed herself against him once more in an awkward hug. “If there was any other way, I’d have done it. I would have done anything for you.”
He grasped the back of her head with such force she gasped. Her delicate neck bent and a waft of familiar lavender cut into his senses. A silver chain disappearing into her cleavage glinted in the firelight. His breath stilled as his finger slipped under the thin strand and pulled. A moonstone teardrop slipped out from its hiding spot.
My God. His heart thumped under his ribs. “You still have it.” Her eyes rimmed with new tears.
“You said nothing bad could happen to me if I wore it.”
He stared at the pendant, the firelight dancing inside the stone. It was a cheap necklace, a talisman bought at a greyhound bus stop and given to a frightened, orphan girl who had the guts to run away with two men, committed to protecting their idealistic faith in a different kind of love.
He fixed his gaze on her eyes. “Was I right?”
She nodded slowly, as much as his firm grasp on her hair allowed. “You’re always right.”
He let the necklace fall back to her skin, and his anger drifted. She’d loved him once, of that he was certain. Perhaps a piece of her never let go. There was one way to find out, for desire never lied. He inhaled her lavender scent, and his lips took possession of her mouth.
9
Eric stilled in the archway. Alexander, tie skewed and shirt open, held the back of a woman’s head in a greedy hold, his long fingers threaded through wild red
hair. Who was the woman? Her skin was so pale against Alexander’s. He kissed her as if punishing her with his mouth, oblivious to the fact Eric had breached their personal space.
He should turn away. Hell, he shouldn’t be here. He had taken his life in his hands crossing that creek and sloshing up and over the bridge to bring Alexander dinner—the meal he’d forgotten to join Eric for. He’d chalked it up to the man still grieving. Clearly not.
Alexander’s fingers curled tighter into all those red strands as he deepened his kiss. Eric’s mouth watered, and the front of his pants shrank five sizes. One second of observing Alexander’s dominance and all Eric’s earlier efforts to drain his cock of need were for nothing as his erection strained against his zipper.
He swallowed, and shifted his weight. His soggy shoes squeaked against the marble, sending off an echo that could wake the dead. Alexander’s face broke contact with the woman and turned to him.
Eric glanced away. His options were limited. Step back out in the storm. Go to another room and wait out …
“Eric.”
Damn. Caught being a voyeur. He turned to face the man and prayed like hell he wasn’t blushing. The woman had shrunk behind him.
He lifted the bag. “I brought you dinner.” Lame, but true.
“Ah.” Alexander scrubbed his salt and pepper five o’clock shadow. “Time got away from me.”
Eric stepped closer and held out the bag. “I’ll leave it and head back out.”
“No, come in.” Alexander crooked his finger. “You’re soaked. This is Rebecca Beaumont.”
She stepped out from behind him, her cheeks aflame. His heart hitched a little at the vulnerability in her red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying.
“Eric Morrison.” He offered a handshake. “I’d forgotten how vicious New England storms could be.”
Her hand disappeared into his palm. “Alexander and I are old friends.”
I can tell.
“Eric is helping me settle the estate.” Alexander gave him a half a smile on that word, and Eric’s belly gave a lurch worthy of a teenager with a bad case of puppy love.
“I don’t mean to intrude … ” Or stare. In this light, Rebecca’s high cheekbones and pale gray eyes cast an otherworldly vibe. His first thought was that she’d stepped off a film set from Lord of the Rings, like—what was the name of that elf colony? River-something. He was snapped back to reality from the crinkle of the food bag as Alexander took it from him.
“Not at all.” Alexander peered into the bag. “Eggplant Parmesan from the Grafton. My favorite.”
“Still?” Her tentative smile lit up her face. “Is it as good as Bertrand’s?”
“Better.” Alexander winked, and Eric’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. The Alexander Rockingham he knew didn’t do anything as frivolous as wink.
Eric cleared his throat. “If you’re planning on going out, you should know the bridge is almost washed out.” What else would he contribute to this tête-à-tête he’d witnessed—or rather, had barged in on.
Alexander frowned. “Tell me you didn’t take any chances.”
“No big deal.” He shrugged. “I survived Hurricane Katrina. A little Nor’easter won’t be a problem.”
“Well, that’s it. You’re staying. In fact, we all are.”
“What?” Rebecca’s eyes flared with fire and her cheeks colored. Yep, she had that enchantress, elf queen vibe going on.
Alexander turned to her. “Do you have someone you need to call?”
“N-no. But—”
“Then it’s settled. Nine bedrooms, and I’m sure there are linens somewhere. I’ll have Tony bring luggage in the morning before he heads back, and Eric, we can start fresh. Let’s eat.”
“I didn’t bring much.” She half-laughed. “I jumped in the car, and here I am.”
“We can handle that.” He circled her shoulders, and the overhead chandelier in the entry hall burst into life, throwing harsh and unflattering light over them and the space. He glanced down at Rebecca. “A sign?”
“A sign,” she whispered. Alexander looked down at her mouth as if he wanted to devour her again.
Oh, yeah, that watery, vulnerable smile of hers had a million-dollar movie contract written all over it. Eric had definitely, most unequivocally, interrupted a reunion. Rebecca’s eyes held a wild need, a look he recognized, as it imitated what he saw every damn time he looked in the mirror and thought of Alexander.
“Very good. Let’s eat in the kitchen.” Alexander steered her toward the hallway.
The man’s invitation could have been merely a polite offer meant for Eric to turn down, but like hell he’d leave. He didn’t get this far to once more be relegated to the bottom of Alexander’s invitation list and have this old friend, this elf queen, snatch him right from under his nose.
He fell in step behind the two of them. He’d thought he’d attempt to seduce Alexander tonight. Well, he could knee that fantasy right in the groin and move to plan B. “Raymond was a notorious wine collector. Let me see if there’s anything left in the cellar.”
“Excellent idea.” Alexander’s eyes flashed. “Rebecca … ” He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the kitchen.
If there is a god, there would be something alcoholic in this house. Drinks would loosen some tongues, and he was going to find out everything about the woman Alexander’s eyes and hands couldn’t leave. Alexander growing spellbound by this elf queen, this movie star witch? Not on his estate watch.
10
“Downward dog.” Rebecca tore off another piece of garlic bread and nibbled it.
Eric waved his hand in the air. “Everyone says that. I’d choose wild thing. I mean if it was the last yoga pose I could ever do, why not go all the way?”
“You’re a hedonist.” She clinked her wine glass against his. “I like it.”
Alexander studied her smile, now aimed at Eric. The flirt kept touching his arm. When they’d been involved, he’d allowed no man other than Charles within five feet of her.
She cocked her head at him. “What?”
“Mmm, nothing.” And everything.
God, she was still so beautiful. Gray eyes that looked more blue under the artificial light and with tiny laugh lines that only made her look wiser and more womanly than the young girl he’d known. Her full, peach lips teased the edge of her wine glass as she peered at him. Her pussy lips were a similar peach—or they had been when he’d had the privilege of worshiping that part of her years ago. Did she still have that smattering of freckles across her back that resembled the star constellation, Delphinus?
“And, you, Alexander?” Eric refilled his wine glass with a wonderful Cabernet the man had liberated from Raymond’s stash in the basement.
He gratefully accepted the wine. “Last yoga pose forever? Tree.”
“Of course. Then you’d have a great view of everyone in their various, uh, positions.” He winked. It appeared Rebecca wasn’t the only flirt in the room.
Alexander laughed. Eric had been quite entertaining—and helpful, despite his slight possessiveness arising from Rebecca’s obvious and instant affinity with Eric. She’d always been good with men.
Alexander threw down his napkin. “Change in topic. If you could only visit one place for the rest of your life, where?”
“Oh, easy.” Eric leaned back in his chair. “I’d go back to South Africa.” He slanted his eyes toward Rebecca. “Go ahead. Top us all, Miss Travel Writer.”
Eric’s little get to know you game had been good at teasing out bits of Rebecca’s life. Tonight that void in his mind, the blank spaces about what she’d been doing, had been filled with images of street festivals in India, hiking in Nepal, all the things she’d described with big hand flourishes and laughter. Thank God she’d had a good life. Her chosen profession under the pseudonym of Anne Broadmoor also explained why his few attempts to find her were thwarted, though, truth told, he hadn’t tried very hard. He should have tried harder.
She sighed. “I know what you’re thinking. It was all resorts and first-class travel. Well, think again. I’d go to South Africa, too, because I was stuck in Johannesburg the whole time.”
“Museums?” Alexander ran his finger over the stem of his wine glass, let his gaze liberally travel her face, her hair, drinking in all the light she still emanated.
“Nightlife.”
Eric’s hand flew to his chest in mock horror. “I feel for you. The horror of having to go out and have fun.”
“Ha. Says you. I was in my forties then and being jostled around on a lighted dance floor right out of 1976 was no fun.” Her eyes clouded in thought. “But, I remember it was a magical place, even though I was there for just three days.”
Eric rocked his chair onto its back legs and stretched out. “There’s something in the air in South Africa. The wildness of it. The woods. The mountains. The desert. Then there’s the generosity of the people, how what’s theirs is yours. Ubuntu.”
Rebecca’s forehead crinkled. “What’s Ubuntu? I’m unfamiliar with it.”
“It means humanity,” Alexander said. “Humanity toward others. A universal bond of sharing that connects all of us.”
Eric’s gaze shot to him. “I am because we are.”
“That’s beautiful.” Rebecca’s smile was, too.
Alexander twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, and her lips parted. “You’re beautiful.”
Eric’s chair slammed back down on its legs. “Ubuntu makes me think of your home, Alexander. How you connect people.”
A sliver of irritation arose. He dropped her hair and stared hard at Eric, who knew better than to raise even a hint of his home’s true nature. Alexander would deal with the why and details of how his house doubled as a BDSM club with Rebecca later. During dinner, he’d had an urge to take her there, show her who he’d become since they’d parted ways.
Invincible (Elite Doms of Washington Book 6) Page 4
