Damage Control

by Lisa Renee Jones

  My heart squeezes with the emotion etched in his confessions and I flatten my hand on his chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm, telling a story of worry and trepidation. “This is me you’re talking to. You know my past. You can’t scare me away.”

  He takes my hands in his. “We’re about to find out.”

  More relief washes over me with those words and he sits, taking me to the couch with him, his hands settling on mine where they rest on my knees. “Let me cut to the chase. Tonight was all about a major effort that should have let me tell you what I’m about to tell you, and that I could have prefaced by saying that it’s over. It failed. It’s not over.”

  “What isn’t over?”

  “Derek got involved with a drug cartel who wanted to infiltrate a legal pharmaceutical company.”

  “Oh God. That’s bad. Really bad.”

  “Yes. It is. That Escalade belongs to Adrian Martina, the son of the kingpin, who is proving his value through us.”

  “How are they using BP for illegal drugs?”

  “There’s a new stimulant that isn’t detectable in testing, and they’re packaging it as one of our near defunct drugs. The story is long, but I hired men to stage an FBI raid that was intended to spook Adrian. It didn’t. He says if I want him out, I have to find a way to replace the profits for him.”

  I study him for several beats. “And you agreed.”

  “I didn’t agree, but it’s that or go to the FBI, which would ensure my brother goes to jail, and our company is tainted in a way we might not recover from. I bought a drug company, a corruptible entity, with my brother, who is corruptible. It was, perhaps, the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “It’s not a mistake, Shane,” I insist. “This is not your fault. It’s your brother’s and he has to be stopped before he destroys us all. What happened to his hand?”

  “Adrian put a knife in it.”

  My eyes go wide. “Did it at least scare him?”

  “No. It did not scare him.”

  “Of course not,” I say. “It’s Derek. Can you sell BP?”

  “Not without Adrian coming after me. Unless…”

  His brow furrows and I press for more. “Unless?”

  He refocuses on me. “You might have sparked an idea I need to work through, but not right now.” He softens his voice. “I can send you away until this is over. I can—”

  I lean in and press my lips to his, my hand curling at his jaw. “Why would I leave you now, when you’re going through hell? Why would anyone who cares about someone else do that?”

  He takes my hand in his again, and leans back to look at me. “It’s a drug cartel. They’re vicious. They’re dangerous.”

  “And you have me guarded around the clock. I do think this makes the idea of this new clothing and makeup line all the more important. It’s—”

  I blink and I’m on my back with him on top of me. “I want to hear about it, but not now. Right now is about us. I almost lied to you. I walked down the hallway to the apartment, thinking of things I could tell you that you’d believe.”

  “Why didn’t you?

  “Because your honesty about your feelings, about your mother and stepfather, unraveled what might have been my lies. We aren’t them. I won’t let us become them. And I have never needed anyone the way I do you right now.”

  “I need you too,” I whisper, and a frenzy of undressing follows until we are naked on the couch, me straddling him, his hand in my hair, dragging my mouth a breath from his.

  “I need to taste like you, and smell like you, and feel your skin everywhere against mine,” he declares, his voice roughened with passion.

  Heat rushes through me, my sex clenching his cock, his name whispering from my lips. “Shane, I—”

  He kisses me, a deep ravishing, hungry kiss that borders on desperation. I do not believe I fully understand it, but some part of me knows that it’s telling a story that is dark, hard, and passionate, in ways I need to reveal. And while yes, those things are about us, I believe they are more about him, and where he feels he is being pulled, and that I cannot, under any circumstances, let him go.

  SHANE

  Saturday proves to be typical of Colorado, with the snowstorm gone, temperatures in the sixties, and plenty of time for Emily and me to try to put the last seventy-two hours out of our minds. We walk the city, shop, talk, and buy furniture. In between it all, we stop for coffee, and I tell her all about Mike, my father, and the win of having him on my side, despite the way it’s come about. It’s news she celebrates with me, and hours later, we order takeout, settle onto the couch in my office, and get lost in developing a new fashion brand for Brandon Enterprises. When we’ve finished our takeout, I pull her beneath me on the couch.

  “This is a brilliant idea.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes. I do. And I should have thought of it myself. I want you to run this division.”

  “Shane—”

  “I really want you to run it. You thought of it. I’ve listened to all of your ideas. This is your baby and you deserve the credit and the creative control.”

  “Can we do it together?”

  “We can do everything together as far as I’m concerned. You know everything now, Emily. I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I was just trying to protect you. I’ll get you the name of an analyst to contact about reviewing the companies you’d like to look into acquiring.”

  I kiss her then, and it’s a long time before we start back to work. And for the rest of the day I make sure I tell her she’s beautiful. I tell her she’s mine. Before, after, and during moments I have her naked. What I don’t tell her is that I love her. It’s there. It’s between us and I know she feels the unspoken words as I do, but I need to deserve her when I say them. And right now, there is a war raging not just with my family, but within me, between good and evil. I have to end Adrian Martina’s control of my family, and I’ve learned a lesson. I can’t think like me, like the way I used to. I have to think like my father. I have to think like Martina himself. I have to do whatever it takes to win, and in the process, I have to keep from lying to Emily about what that means. Because lies do destroy.

  Come Sunday morning, I wake with her pressed to my side, and I lie there, staring at the ceiling as the sun comes up, thinking of the loss of my law career, the loss of her schooling that somehow led us to each other. “Penny for your thoughts,” she says, proving she’s as awake as me.

  Having no desire to start her day thinking about law school, I reply with my belly, not my brain. “I’m thinking I want pancakes, then you,” I say, rolling her to her back. “Actually, amend that to you, pancakes, and then you again.”

  My cell phone rings and we ignore it, which is easily done considering we’re both already naked. A good hour later, we split my pajamas between us—her in my shirt, while I slip into my pants—and head to the kitchen, where we dive into the job of pancake making. Emily is managing the batter on the stove, and I’m making us both coffee when the doorbell rings.

  Emily abandons the stove and faces me. “Seth?” she asks, hugging herself, already looking worried, and I hate that I can’t take away her fear that the Geminis will one day find her, no matter how hard I try. It will always be there in the back of her mind.

  I step to her and cup her face. “Stop fretting. Seth wouldn’t show up on a Sunday unannounced. Housekeeping stops by on the weekends.” I kiss her and my nose twitches. “I smell burning pancakes.”

  “Oh dang it.” She turns to the stove and murmurs something not very ladylike that still manages to be adorable coming from her, and I’m laughing as I reach the door, only to have the bell ring again.

  “Shane!” she calls out. “You have no shirt on!”

  “Because you’re wearing it!” I call back, opening the door, taken aback to find my father standing there in yesterday’s suit, his tie in his pocket. He eyes my chest, his lips quirking with surprisingly good humor, before he says, “I smell panc
akes.” His nose twitches. “Burnt pancakes. That’s no way to keep a woman, son.”

  Now, it’s my lips that quirk, and I can’t remember the last time I shared a moment of amusement with my father. “Would you like some burnt pancakes, Father?” I ask, unable to judge him anymore for his woman on the side, considering my mother has Mike on the side, and I have no idea who came first. “Obviously you’ve been in the building working up an appetite.”

  “I ate,” he assures me. “Just reminding you about dinner tonight.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Bring Emily. That’s not a request. It’s mandatory.” He turns and starts walking away.

  I inhale and shut the door, returning to find Emily throwing out the pancakes. “I’m starting a new batch,” she says, then asks, “Was that your father?”

  I rest my hands on the island and she turns to look at me. “He wants you at dinner tonight.”

  She studies me a moment and then leans on the counter. “Do you want me to go? Because Shane, there’s no pressure from me.”

  “I always want you by my side, Emily. Tonight is no exception, but of course, my father is playing a game.”

  “I can handle your father’s games. You know that and I want to be by your side, Shane, but my concern is Derek. You said we were keeping a low profile with Derek.”

  “I also thought I was ending this Martina problem last night. That didn’t happen. You’re in my life. Derek is going to figure that out.”

  “Actually, your mother referenced the way we look at each other and made it pretty clear she thought we were more than a fling.”

  I round the counter and snag her hips, pulling her to me. “It’s time we make it clear we’re a couple.”

  Her hand flattens on my chest. “What about Derek?”

  “We’ve filled in the holes in your past, which was what I wanted handled before he had a reason to look any closer at you.”

  “He is looking closer at me as of yesterday,” she says. “I saw that in his eyes. I’m a target.”

  My mind goes to the recording I’d made outside Teresa’s house last night; I should have already played it back. If it’s as perfect as I think it is, I own my brother. “He can’t touch you,” I say, cupping her backside. “Just me, sweetheart, which is how I plan to keep it.”

  “I like how you touch me,” she says, and despite her daring, her cheeks flush, a contradiction of qualities I find sexy as hell.

  “Screw the pancakes,” I say, setting her on a barstool, and going down on one leg in front of her, my hands settling on her bare thighs. “It’s you I want.”

  She smiles, and sighs follow, but pancakes do not. We order room service. I think Emily and I will be ordering a lot of room service, and that suits me just fine.

  * * *

  Despite the early six o’clock hour, it’s already dark outside when we arrive at my parents’ house. I park the Bentley at the rear of the house, next to Derek’s Porsche.

  “I’m suddenly nervous,” Emily says, as I open her door and help her to her feet, the dim glow of outdoor lighting surrounding us, a light breeze lifting her long, dark hair.

  “Don’t be,” I say, draping a black cashmere wrap over her navy blouse, which I’ve matched with my tie, skipping a jacket. “You know my family and you were right. You do handle their games well.”

  “I hate that the word ‘family’ means games to you.”

  I gather her hand in mine and kiss her fingers. “Family means you to me now, Emily.”

  Her expression softens. “That is the best thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re that to me too. You really are and it’s kind of scary.”

  “Then we’ll be scared together.”

  “You? Scared? Never, Shane Brandon.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I admit. “Alone is safe. There is no fear of losing anything. You can’t get hurt.”

  “Then you’ve never truly felt alone, because alone is a cold, empty place.”

  I cup her face. “You will never feel that again. And before you ask, I promise.” I lean in and kiss her, my tongue doing one slow, caress against hers, followed by her shiver. “Let’s get you inside.” I drape my arm over her shoulder, and we enter the open foyer with towering ceilings I always take for granted, but Emily is amazed, walking to the center of the tiled room, and staring up at the domed ceiling.

  “I love this so much,” she declares as my mother enters from the kitchen, and laughs.

  “I still do and say that sometimes,” she declares, looking lovely as ever in black pants and a matching blouse, and while I’d love to just be proud of my mother, I can’t. The son in me is thinking of her nabbing Mike, a younger, powerful man, and how that might be related to positioning herself for the future.

  “Come to the library,” my mother says. “Our chef says he needs another thirty minutes to serve and your father has a predinner announcement that even I’ve been kept in the dark about. Frankly, I’m eager to find out what it is.”

  Emily and I share a curious look, and I close the space between us, taking her wrap and hanging it by the door before lacing the fingers of one of her hands with mine. Together, we walk ahead of my mother and under the winding stairwell to the right, passing through the towering arched wooden door. Once over the threshold, we find my brother and father standing at the fireplace against the far wall, in deep conversation.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Emily murmurs beside me, while my gaze lands on Derek’s hand, which is now well bandaged. I am struck by how alike my father and brother are tonight, both dressed in starched white shirts, both tall and striking in similar ways.

  Shaking off the idea that I too am like them, I turn my gaze on Emily, to find her taking in the walls, lined with bookshelves, and topped with another domed ceiling that is painted to look like a globe, and the fireplace burning in the center of the far wall.

  “My parents do have good taste,” I agree. “And I wonder how my brother explained that bandage on his hand.”

  “I was wondering the same,” she replies softly.

  “I have the champagne,” my mother announces, breezing past us, and toward my father and brother, while I guide Emily that direction and inside the square formed by the dark brown leather couch framed by chairs.

  My father motions to Derek. “Give it to him.” He eyes Derek. “Open the bottle, son.”

  Derek lifts his hand and my father grimaces. “Right. The attack of the steak knife your date somehow landed in your hand.” He looks at me. “Get it done, Shane.”

  Derek’s expression darkens with the irony of the moment that says I always have to come to the rescue, and the look he gives me is pure hate. I open the champagne while my mother holds out glasses, which I fill as she passes them out. Finally, I set the bottle on the ledge above the bar and step to Emily’s side.

  That’s when Derek’s eyes land on Emily. “Had I known we were bringing dates, I could have brought one myself.”

  “If your date is Teresa Martina,” I say, “we’re all better off with you leaving her at home.”

  “And yet Emily is welcomed?”

  “Emily won’t get us all killed,” I say, while my father adds, “I invited Emily.”

  “And I want her here,” I add, “because she’s now family. She lives with me.”

  “Oh my,” my mother says. “That’s amazing.” She smiles at Emily. “I knew there was more to you two.”

  “Interesting,” Derek says, his eyes glinting with a purpose I don’t like and will shut down.

  “Let’s move on,” my father says. “Originally, this was going to be a dinner to announce the vote for head of the table. New events have occurred and I’m canceling the board meeting.”

  It’s not a completely unexpected move, considering my father is now looking to control Mike before that vote, but it does seem to indicate his desire to do so is newfound.

  “What new events?” Derek demands, his voice cutting with irritation.

  He
holds up his glass. “Seems I shouldn’t drink my way through chemo, and to my grave, after all. This drink is for show tonight, at least, for me. There’s a new experimental cancer treatment I’ve been approved to take part in. Of course, a generous donation to the right people helped.”

  My mother’s eyes go wide, relief filling her face. “What treatment? How successful is it? When can you start?”

  Her response pleases me, but I’ve researched these experimental treatments and fear she is simply headed for more pain.

  “What matters here,” my father says, “is they’ve had patients enter remission that otherwise were thought to be imminently terminal. I won’t be giving up control of the company as quickly as I thought might be necessary.”

  My mother hands me her glass and embraces my father. Emily moves forward and takes my father’s glass as well, and he wraps my mother in his arms. Derek’s gaze meets mine and he eyes the chess table sitting on the far left wall. “Let’s play, shall we?”

  The last thing I want is to join Derek in a game of chess, but it’s better than standing here, looking at each other. I down my champagne and set both glasses on the coffee table. “Game on,” I say, giving him my back, my hands coming down on Emily’s shoulders, softening my voice. “You okay?”

  “Of course. I’m not fragile.”

  My lips quirk. “No. No, you are not.”

  “But please kick his ass in chess.”

  “I will,” I promise, releasing her to claim the leather chair across the table from my brother. “How long has this game been set up and going?”

  “Seven years,” he supplies, “but I say we end it tonight.”