by Dani Wade
It was the first time she’d ever managed to forget that...
Blake simply picked up his sandwich and continued to eat.
“How can you—” Men were obviously very different from women. Or maybe it was just her and her lack of experience with these things.
She simply stared at him until he met her gaze once more. It made her feel a little better when his smile had a sheepish tinge. “Well, I’m not about to let a little embarrassment keep me away from the rest of this po’boy. You weren’t wrong about it being the best in New Orleans.”
She recognized his attempt to return things to normal, and did her best to relax. “I hope you mean that, because I eat at Bebe’s all the time.”
“I’m on board for that.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Madison preferred not to think about the last few minutes. Maybe later tonight, alone in her room, she would. But if she thought about it now, she’d never be able to carry on a conversation. Instead she cast her mind back to what they’d been discussing before.
“I’m sorry that your father can’t see the value in your art,” she said.
As hard as her life had been, Madison’s father had always made his appreciation plain. He’d hated what she had to do to keep them afloat, but he’d always expressed gratitude for her hard work and dedication.
“My father is not an easy man.” Blake’s smile wasn’t as convincing as he probably wanted. “And I would have said that was no longer an issue for me. But, well, family is never easy.”
Instantly the picture he’d drawn that first night came to mind. “So you draw for a living?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a living. I had a lot of help from my inheritance from my mother, which would have let me live a careful existence without working for the rest of my life. But I’m rarely careful...”
“But you are a very talented artist.” Even in her inexperience, she could see that.
“Some people think so, and they are willing to pay for my drawings.” He glanced away, studying the lush foliage around them for long moments. “That was a very complicated answer to an easy question.”
“Sometimes the easy answer isn’t the best.” She couldn’t keep the words from slipping out. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
He studied her for a moment. “Why?”
She shook her head. “I tried to keep whatever this is between us on the surface, just fun, but everything about tonight has run completely counter to that. I don’t feel comfortable, like I’m lying to you. This just...isn’t me.” Her smile was sad, apologetic. “I realize that now. And I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want.”
“Are you sure?”
They both seemed equally surprised by the question. Then he cocked up one blond brow. “Quite frankly, I’m willing to hang around until we find out what it is. Not what it should be.”
“Really?”
He winked at her. “Really.”
That should be a good thing...so why was she shaking over the prospect?
* * *
“Let me see Abigail. Now.”
Blake’s father offered him a smile that had nothing to do with being happy. “Slow down,” he cautioned. “You didn’t seem to be making any progress the last time you checked in. Did you bring me some proof?”
For a moment, Blake just stared in disbelief. Arguing the way he wanted to would probably get him nowhere.
“What kind of proof are you looking for?”
“A pair of panties?”
Gross. Why would he—? “I don’t have to sleep with Madison to get the diamond.”
“But you do have to spend time with her, and get invited into her house. Which as far as I can tell, hasn’t happened, either...”
His father’s straight back and braced arms told Blake he wasn’t backing down. So instead of saying more, Blake pulled out his phone and offered up a picture of him and Madison together in the garden at the church. His father nodded slowly as he studied it.
“Not the most efficient method in my book, but good job.”
Those words grated over every nerve, forcing Blake to clench his teeth. His father had often told him “good job” as a child, usually after berating him for making a choice he wouldn’t have, then forcing Blake to do things his way.
His father leaned closer, staring at the phone. Blake was surprised to see his lips tighten. “Let me guess,” he finally said, his tone now clipped. “The garden behind St. Andrew’s?”
Blake nodded slowly. “How did you know?” After all, he couldn’t imagine his father being anywhere near that part of town.
“Her mother and I met there a couple of times.”
Whoa. That wasn’t what Blake had expected.
Then again, he couldn’t imagine his father meeting a woman anywhere other than at a fancy party. There he could easily disguise his narcissistic attitude with fancy clothes and jewelry. Polite small talk. And offers of fancy outings.
That brought Blake up short. Wasn’t that exactly what he had tried to offer Madison? To impress her? To keep things polite and on a superficial level?
Well, that approach hadn’t lasted with this particular woman, had it? All it had taken was one physical touch to shake him. Madison’s response hadn’t been practiced or lukewarm. It had been real, full-bodied passion.
And Blake had found it amazing.
His father and a woman anything like Madison? He just couldn’t imagine it. “Why are you doing this? Her mother is dead. Revenge is going to accomplish nothing.”
Familiar rage seemed to make his father grow larger and more menacing. At least this time Blake was too big to be intimidated. “She should have been mine,” he growled as he strode across the tile floor, his dress shoes clicking as he moved.
“And since you couldn’t possess her, you now have to take back what didn’t belong to you? After all these years? Come on... I’m not buying that.”
He stopped abruptly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“You’re never desperate,” Blake argued. “Cold. Calculating. But not desperate.”
“In this economy, everyone is desperate.”
“Money?” He should have known. But his father had always been more than solvent. What had gone wrong?
“Isn’t it always about money?”
“No. Usually it’s about people.” Even when it seemed to be about money, for people like Madison, that money was necessary for keeping her family fed, housed, clothed. Not for fancy cars and travel.
“I made a few bad investments,” his father said with a too casual shrug. “With that diamond, I’ll be set.”
“But it doesn’t belong to you.”
“I’ll take whatever I have to. I did before, and I will continue to as long as necessary.”
Suspicion filtered through Blake’s consciousness. “Father? I know that tone. You couldn’t have had anything to do with her father’s illness. And I certainly hope you had nothing to do with her mother’s death. What’s the deal?” he demanded.
His father brushed at a nonexistent spot on his jacket. “No, unfortunately those issues were beyond me. But I made sure they didn’t have the money to do much about them, now, didn’t I? I set out to ruin Jacqueline’s husband, and that was one goal I managed to accomplish.”
Blake held silent. So this steady downward spiral of Madison’s father’s business, the bankruptcy that killed his spirit, had been his own father’s fault? Why wasn’t he surprised?
“So your only plan for pulling yourself out of the red is to steal from a young woman who deserves no punishment whatsoever?”
“She’ll never miss what she’s never had.”
Blake should be surprised, but even after all these years, he remembered that the only person his father cared about was himself. If his finances were in that
dire a state, he wouldn’t hesitate to strike out, no matter who it was. If it wasn’t Madison, it might just be Abigail.
His father turned away, cutting the conversation off. “I guess you deserve a little reward, for what progress you’ve made. Just make it quick. Abigail might be in her room. She’s as slippery as you were when you were a kid. Always where she doesn’t belong.”
Blake heard the patter of tiny feet as he stepped onto the first stair in the foyer. He moved slower than he should have, considering the concern that had built over the last week. What did he know about talking to a child?
The few times he’d been with Abigail before, her mother and nanny had been present. She’d been cute and engaging, but children were completely out of Blake’s league. He moved down the hallway to an open door and glanced inside. The pale pink walls, frilly pictures and a large silver monogram of the girl’s initials hanging over the headboard showed that her mother had at least decorated before she left. Abigail sat in a puddle of fluffy blankets on the bed. The dim light in the room didn’t reveal much about her, so he reached out to flick on the light switch.
She blinked in the extra brightness.
Those big brown eyes, so reminiscent of her mother’s, made her look vulnerable in a way Blake wasn’t comfortable with.
What should he say after not seeing her for two years? “How are you, Abigail?” he asked. Lame, but he had to start somewhere.
She shrugged, but Blake remembered that response from his own childhood. He wasn’t going to be brushed off.
“Tell me, Abigail.” He made sure their gazes met. “I really want to know. Miss Sherry said you’d been sick.”
“Those pills make me feel tired.”
Was that normal? Blake wasn’t even sure whom he would ask.
“But my head doesn’t feel funny anymore.”
So maybe the medicine was working? Her color looked healthy. Could you tell anything about epilepsy from just watching her? He needed to investigate that more.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Distracted from his obsessive worrying, he came closer and sat beside the bed. “Why are you sorry?”
“If I hadn’t gotten sick, none of this would’ve happened.”
Blake’s heart sank. No child should have to feel responsible for the actions of the adults around them. Blake should not have had to feel responsible for his father’s anger, for his mother’s incompetence, for the string of stepmothers who moved in and out of his life. “Abigail,” he said, searching for the right words. “You don’t have to be sorry. Scratch that. You should not be sorry. None of this is your fault.”
“But Mommy left me.”
“And that’s her fault.” Blake didn’t bring up the fact that her mother simply wasn’t strong enough to handle anything outside of his father. He didn’t want her more fearful that she already was. “You being sick, it just...is.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.” Man, saying that made him feel inadequate. He was probably screwing this up royally, but he didn’t know how else to proceed. “I have to go, but if you need me, you just need to tell Miss Sherry to call me, okay?” The housekeeper had given him frequent updates, even though they’d been short to avoid detection from her boss.
Abigail nodded slowly. The move was solemn enough to make Blake’s chest ache. “Look, I don’t know when he’ll let me come back. But I want you to remember, I will be back.”
Her deep brown eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back in an all too familiar move. Blake remembered that vividly from a time or two during his childhood. “Promise?”
“Promise.” Even if he had to walk over hot coals. Which would actually be preferable to complying with his father’s demands.
Six
Madison took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves in her stomach.
She always had butterflies at the beginning of a performance, but this was different. This was her first time knowing she was singing in front of Blake. The first time she wasn’t craving that chance to close her eyes and lose herself in a different world.
Normally when she was up here on stage, she didn’t see the crowd. She didn’t hear the clapping. She didn’t pay attention to any hecklers. She lost herself in an inner world of melody mixed with darkness. A place where she felt happy and safe.
Tonight she felt the glare of the spotlight. But she needed it, wanted it. She could no longer deny that she wanted to see where this thing between her and Blake would go. The only way to find out was to dive in deep, and stop questioning every single stroke.
And he’d given her the perfect opportunity by showing up tonight.
Madison caught her cue and opened her mouth to sing. Tonight, instead of losing herself in the darkness, she sang for Blake alone. Every rhythm, every note was for him. As if they were alone in the room.
She braced her heels against the wooden planks of the stage. The mic stand felt cool between her palms.
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. Feel his gaze as it roamed every inch of the silky green dress she wore. Her blood raced through her veins, as if the very act of singing were foreplay. She was amazed at how good this felt...and at her ability to let go and embrace what she realized she wanted.
A real relationship. Yes, she wanted it to be fun. But she wasn’t capable of living on the surface. And if he was okay with it being more, then they’d see where this would go.
If it ended, it would hurt more. But Madison’s life had been a series of endings, and she knew she’d survive.
This time when her set was over, she met Blake at his table with a drink of her own and slid into the seat opposite him as if they were strangers. The glass between her hands steadied her. “What brings you here?” she asked with what she hoped was a sexy smile.
His half smile sped up her heartbeat. “I heard there was a very sexy singer that I just had to see.”
“I hope she didn’t disappoint.”
“Never,” he said, his tone dropping an octave.
Even in the dark she could see his gaze dip down to the V-neckline of her dress, tracing the arrow down to her cleavage. Secretly she’d wanted to show off and had chosen this dress for that very purpose. Hoping he’d be here. Hoping he’d want more.
It looked like her hope just might turn into reality.
“You look beautiful tonight, Madison.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Blake.”
“How late will you be—”
A gravelly male voice interrupted. “Well, I should’ve known you’d be here, sugar.”
Blake looked up, but Madison kept her gaze trained on him. Her teeth clenched.
She recognized the voice. One she’d dreaded hearing ever since her daddy had died. The man was a nuisance at best. His visits to their house had always upset her father. As an adult, she’d realized the man had been trying to buy the house out from under them. But he’d never wanted to pay a decent price for it. Or maybe her daddy had been like her. It really didn’t matter who the house went to, as long as it didn’t go to this obnoxious, self-entitled boob.
Finally Maddie looked away from Blake’s enticing blue eyes up at the man’s face. His overtanned skin and calculating look repulsed her. “Hello, John Mark. How are you?”
Not that she really wanted to know, but it was polite to ask.
The middle-aged, heavyset man pulled over a chair from another table and turned it around backward so he could straddle it. He held out his hand to Blake. “Hi there, I’m John Mark. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“I don’t guess so,” Blake said, glancing back and forth between the two of them.
Madison had been raised to have manners, to be accommodating of other people even when you didn’t care for them. But somehow she couldn’t summon it tonight. Her greeting had used up her store of
politeness. She could feel a frown pulling down the edges of her mouth and eyebrows. The energy to lift them just was beyond her. This man was associated with so many irritating memories from when her father was alive, and that gloom settled over her like a weighted blanket.
She didn’t bother to contribute to the expected introductions. Hopefully the dim lighting would hide the animosity in her expression.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here, John Mark,” she said instead. That was one good reason to keep coming to the club. It had always felt like her safe place. What was with the sudden invasion?
“Oh, but I knew you would be here,” he said. “And it’s long past time we talk some business.”
“I don’t really think this is the time or place—”
“Of course it is,” he said with a grin that was too wide. “Besides, you’re a hard woman to catch. Always here or there. And nobody’s returning calls from the house. In the meantime, that place is gonna fall down around your ears.”
Blake cleared his throat. “I don’t really think...”
“Oh, she knows what I’m after,” John Mark replied with a careless wave of his hand. “I begged her father to sell me that house for years. Now it’s time.”
The audacity of his words hit Madison the wrong way. Heated pressure grew deep inside her. “Actually, I don’t think there’s anything for us to talk about.”
John Mark wasn’t listening. “I will take that house off your hands real easy, young lady. You just sign over the paperwork and the headache is no longer yours.”
Madison knew she needed to sell the house, but not to this man. Never this man. “The house isn’t ready...”
“There’s no need to do anything to it. I’m pretty sure I know how bad a shape it’s in. I might have to tear it down and start over, but that’s a prime piece of land. It’s a shame your daddy let it get that bad, but he wouldn’t get out when his body gave up on him, would he?”
