by Naima Simone
“What?”
“Say my name, Isobel,” he repeated.
Tilting her head to the side, she conceded warily. “Darius.”
Heat flashed in his eyes, there and gone so fast, she questioned whether she imagined it. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name since that morning.”
He didn’t need to specify to which morning he referred. But the first time... That couldn’t be true. They’d had several conversations, or confrontations, since then... Then again, if it were true...
“Why does it matter?” she asked, something dark, complicated and hot twisting her stomach, pooling lower. “Why do you want to hear me say your name?”
He stared at her, the silence growing and pulsing until its deafening heartbeat filled the room. Her own heart thudded against her sternum, adding to the rhythm.
“Because I’ve wanted to know what it sounds like on your tongue,” he said, his voice quiet.
But so loud it rang in her ears. On your tongue. The words, so charged with a velvet, sensual promise, or threat—she couldn’t decide which—ricocheted against the walls of her head.
She shivered before she could check her telltale reaction. And those eagle eyes didn’t miss it. They turned molten, and his nostrils flared, his lips somehow appearing fuller, more carnal.
Danger.
Every survival instinct she possessed blared the warning in bright, blinking red. And in spite of the warmth between her legs transforming to an aching pulse, she heeded it.
Without a goodbye, she whirled around and got the hell out of there.
Maybe one day she could discover the trick to outrunning herself.
But for now, escaping Darius would have to do.
Five
Darius passed through the iron gate surrounding the Wellses’ Gold Coast mansion and climbed the steps to the front door. The limestone masterpiece had been in their family for 120 years, harkening back to a time when more than the small immediate family lived under its sloped-and-turreted slate roof. As he twisted his key in the lock and pushed the heavy front door open, he considered himself blessed to be counted among that family. Not by blood, but by choice and love.
After entering the home, he bypassed the formal living and dining areas, and moved toward the rear of the home, the multihued glow from the stained-glass skylight guiding his way. This time of day, a little after five o’clock, Baron should have arrived home from the office. Since his heart attack, he’d cut his work days shorter. Helena and Gabriella should also be home, since they served dinner at six o’clock sharp every evening. In the chaotic turns Darius’s life had suffered, this routine and the surety of family tradition had been—and still was—a reassurance, one strong, steady stone in a battered foundation.
But tonight, with the news he had to deliver, he hated potentially being the one taking a hammer to them.
“Darius,” Helena greeted, rising from the feminine couch that had been her domain as long as he could remember. The other members of the family could occupy the armchairs or the other sofa, but the small, antique couch was all hers, like a queen with her throne. “There you are.”
She crossed the room, clasping his hands in hers and rising on her toes. Obediently, he lowered his head so she could press her lips to one cheek and then the other. Her floral perfume drifted to his nose and wrapped him in the familiarity of home. “I have to admit we’ve all been discussing you, wondering what it is you have to talk to us about. You’re being so mysterious.”
She smiled at him, and her expression only increased the unease sitting in his gut. He’d called to give them a heads-up without relaying the reason. This kind of information—about his impending marriage—required a face-to-face conversation.
“Hi, son.” Baron came forward and patted him on the shoulder, enfolding Darius’s hand in his. Warmth swirled in his chest, as it did every time the man he admired claimed him. “Sit and please tell us your news. Helena and Gabriella have been driving me crazy with their guessing. Do us all a favor and put them out of their gossipy misery.”
“Oh, it’s just been us, hmm?” Gabriella teased, arching an eyebrow at her father. She turned to Darius and handed him a glass of the Remy Martin cognac he preferred. “He wasn’t exactly tuning out over the gossip about the blackout. It seems several people have leveled suits against Richard Dent, the tech billionaire who owns the mansion, for emotional distress. Apparently his apology for trapping people in overnight wasn’t enough.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see him, but I even hear Gideon Knight was there. Can you imagine being caught in the dark with him?”
“I’ve met the man,” Darius said, referring to the financial genius who’d launched a wildly successful start-up a couple of years ago. “He’s reserved, but not as formidable as people claim.”
He accepted the drink, bending to brush a kiss across Gabriella’s cheek. She clasped his other hand in hers, squeezing it before releasing him to sit on a chair adjacent to her mother. He sank onto one across from her, while, with a sigh, Baron lowered to the largest armchair in the small circle.
Darius shot him a glance. “How’re you feeling, Baron?”
“Fine, fine.” He waved off the concerned question. “I’m just old,” he grumbled.
After studying him for another few seconds, Darius finally nodded, but his worry over causing Baron more stress with his announcement doubled. Even so, he had to tell them, rather than have them discover the truth from another source.
“You already know Isobel Hughes has returned to Chicago.”
All warmth disappeared from Helena’s face, her gaze freezing into emerald chips of ice, her lips thinning. Gabriella wore a similar expression, but Baron’s differed from the women in his family. Instead of furious, he appeared...tired.
“Yes,” Helena hissed. “Gabriella told us Isobel showed up at the gala. How dare she?” she continued. “I would’ve had her arrested immediately.”
“Attending a social event isn’t a punishable offense, honey,” Baron said, his tone weary.
His wife aimed a narrow-eyed glare in his direction, while Gabriella shook her head. “She’s lucky the blackout occurred. Criminal or not, I would’ve had her escorted from the premises.”
Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his spread knees, Darius sighed. “I have an announcement, and it concerns Isobel...and her son. I’ve asked her to marry me, and I’ll become Aiden’s stepfather.”
A heavy silence plummeted into the room. They gaped at him, or at least Helena and Gabriella did. Again, Baron’s reaction didn’t coincide with his wife’s or daughter’s. He didn’t glare at Darius, just studied him with a measured contemplation, his fingers templed beneath his chin.
“Are you insane?” Gabriella rasped. She jolted from the chair as if propelled from a cannon. Fury snapped in her eyes. But underneath, Darius caught the shivering note of hurt and betrayal. “Darius, what are you thinking?”
“You saw for yourself what she did to Gage, how she destroyed him. How could you even contemplate tying yourself to that woman?” Helena demanded, her voice trembling.
Pain radiated from his chest, pulsing and hot, with the knowledge that he was hurting the two women he loved most in the world. “I—”
“He’s doing it for us,” Baron declared, his low baritone quieting Helena’s and Gabriella’s agonized tirades. “He’s marrying her so we can have a relationship with the boy.”
“Is this true?” Helena demanded. Darius nodded, and she spread her bejeweled hands wide, shaking her head. “But why? He’s not even our grandson.”
“He is,” Darius stated, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ve seen him,” he added, softening his tone. “He’s definitely Gage’s son.”
Gabriella snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll forgive us if we don’t trust her lying, cheating words.”
“Then trust mine.”
He and Gabriella engaged in a visual standoff for several seconds before she spun on her heel and stalked across the room, toward the small bar.
“Gabriella’s right,” Helena said. “Sentimentality could be coloring your opinion, have you seeing a resemblance to Gage because you want there to be one.” She paused, her pale fingers fluttering to her throat. “That she refused to have a DNA test done after his birth solidified that he wasn’t Gage’s son, for me. If he was, she wouldn’t have been afraid to have one performed. No.” She shook her head. “She’s caused too much harm to this family,” Helena continued. “I can’t forget how she isolated Gage from us, so he had to sneak away just to see us. She destroyed him. I’ll never forgive her. Ever.”
“And no one asked you to be our sacrificial lamb,” Gabriella interjected. “What about your life, marrying someone you love?” she rasped. Clearing her throat, she crossed the room and handed her mother a glass of wine before returning to the chair she’d vacated. “There’s a very reasonable solution, and it doesn’t require you shackling yourself to a woman who’s proven she can’t be trusted. If by some miracle the child is really Gage’s, then we can fight for custody. We would probably be more fit guardians than her anyway.”
“Take a small boy away from the only parent he’s ever known? Regardless of our opinion concerning her moral values, I’ve seen her with him. She adores him, and she’s his world. It would devastate Aiden to be removed from her.” And it would kill Isobel. Of that, Darius had zero doubt. “Isobel wouldn’t give up custody without a hard battle, which would be taxing on all of you, too. No, this is the best solution for everyone.” He met each of their eyes. “And it’s done.”
Several minutes passed, and Darius didn’t try to fill the silence, allowing them the time to accept what he understood was hard news. But they didn’t have a choice. None of them did.
“Thank you, Darius,” Baron murmured. “I know this wasn’t an easy decision, and we appreciate it, support you in it. Bringing the boy into his family—it’s what Gage would’ve wanted. And we will respect Isobel as his mother...and your wife.”
Helena emitted a strangled sound, but she didn’t contradict her husband. Gabriella didn’t either. But she stood once more and rushed from the room.
“Just be careful, Darius. I’ve lost one son to Isobel Hughes. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost another,” Helena pleaded, the pain in her softly spoken words like jagged spikes stabbing his heart. Rising, she cradled his cheek before following Gabriella.
“They’ll be fine, son,” Baron assured him.
Darius nodded, but apprehension settled in his chest, an albatross he couldn’t shake off. His intentions were to unite this family, return some of Helena and Baron’s joy by reconciling them with their son’s child.
But staring at the entrance where Helena and Gabriella had disappeared, he prayed all his efforts wouldn’t end up destroying what he desired to build.
Six
Isobel leaned over Aiden, gently sweeping her hand down his dark curls. After the excitement of moving into a new home and new room jammed with new toys and a race car bed he adored, Aiden had finally exhausted himself. She’d managed to get him fed, bathed and settled in for the night, and all while avoiding Darius.
It’d been a week since she’d agreed to the devil’s bargain, and now, fully ensconced in his house, she could no longer use Aiden as an excuse to hide away. With a sigh, she ensured the night-light was on and exited the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind her. She quietly descended the staircase and headed toward the back of the home, where the kitchen was. She would’ve preferred not to come downstairs at all, but her stomach rumbled.
The room followed what appeared to be the theme of the home—huge, with windows. Top-of-the-line appliances gleamed under the bright light of a crystal chandelier, and a butcher block and marble island dominated the middle of the vast space. A breakfast nook with a round table and four chairs added a sense of warmth and intimacy to the room. Isobel shook her head as she approached one of the two double-door refrigerators.
She should be grateful. But even now, standing in a kitchen her mother would surrender one of her beloved children to have, she couldn’t escape the phantom noose slowly tugging tighter, strangling her. Powerlessness. Purposelessness. Futile anger. The emotions eddied and churned within her like a storm-tossed sea, pitching her, drowning her.
She’d promised herself two years ago that she’d never be at the mercy of another man. Yet if she didn’t find some way to protect herself, maintain the identity of the woman she’d come to be, she would end up in a prison worthy of Architectural Digest.
Minutes later, she had the makings of a ham-and-cheese sandwich on the island. Real ham—none of that convenience-store deli ham for Darius King—and some kind of gourmet cheese that she could barely pronounce but that tasted like heaven.
“Isobel.”
She glanced up from layering lettuce and tomatoes onto her bread to find Darius in the entrance. Her fingers froze, as did the rest of her body. Would this deep, acute awareness occur every time she saw him? It zipped through her body like an electrical current, lighting every nerve ending.
“Darius,” she replied, bowing her head back over her dinner.
Though she’d removed her gaze from him, the image of his powerful body seemed emblazoned on her mind’s eye. Broad shoulders encased in a thin but soft wool sweater, the V-neck offering her a view of his strong, golden throat, collarbone and the barest hint of his upper chest. Jeans draped low on his hips and clung to the thick strength of his thighs. And his feet...bare.
This was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him, and that he’d allow her to glimpse him this way...it created an intimacy between them she resented and, God, foolishly craved. Because as silly as the presumption might be, she had a feeling he didn’t unarm himself like this around many people.
Remember why you’re here, her subconscious sniped. Blackmail and coercion, not because you belong.
“Did you want a sandwich?” she offered, the reminder shoring up any chinks in her guard.
“Thank you. It looks good.” He moved farther into the room and withdrew one of the stools lining the island. Sitting down across from her, he nabbed the bread bin—because what else would one store freshly baked bread in?—and cut two thick slices while she returned to the refrigerator for more meat and cheese. “I’m sorry I had to leave earlier. I didn’t want to miss Aiden’s first night in the house. There was a bit of an emergency at the office.”
“On a Saturday?” she asked, glancing at him.
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking in a rueful smile. “When you’re the CEO and president of the company, there’s no such thing as a Saturday. Every day is a workday.”
“If you let it be,” she said. But then again, she understood the need to work when it called. As a single mom with more bills than funds, she hadn’t been able to turn down a shift at the supermarket or tell her mom she would skip helping her clean a house.
“True,” he agreed, accepting the ham she handed him. “But then I’ve never had a reason to dial back on the work. I do now,” he murmured.
Aiden. He meant Aiden and being a stepfather. She silently repeated the words to herself. But they didn’t prevent the warm fluttering in her belly or the hitch in her breath.
“How old are you?” she blurted out, desperate to distract herself from the completely inappropriate and stupid heat that pooled south of her belly button. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t seem old enough to run a company.”
“Thirty,” he replied. She could feel his weighty gaze on her face like a physical touch as she finished preparing his meal. “My grandfather started the business as one corporation, and my father grew it into several corporations, eventually folding them all under one parent company. When he died,
my father left King Industries Unlimited to me, and I started working there when I was seventeen, in the mail room. I went from there to retail sales associate to account manager and through the ranks, learning the business. By the time I stepped in as CEO and president at twenty-five, and with the guidance of Baron, I had been an employee for seven years.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “Many men would’ve just assumed that position as their due and wouldn’t bother with starting from the bottom.” She hesitated, but then whispered, “I can only imagine your father would’ve been proud of your work ethic.”
With his amber eyes gleaming, Darius nodded. “I hope so. It’s how he did it, and I followed in his footsteps.”
Their gazes connected, and the breath stuttered in her lungs. Her pulse jammed out an erratic beat at her neck and in her head.
Clearing her throat, she dropped her attention to her sandwich, and with more effort than it required, sliced it in half and did the same to his. “Tell me more about your work?” she requested, cursing the slight waver in her voice. Her biggest mistake would be letting Darius know he affected her in any manner. Get it together, woman, she scolded herself. “Was it hard suddenly running such a huge company?”
Over ham-and-cheese sandwiches, they spoke about his job and all it required. Eventually the conversation curved into more personal topics. He shared that his home had been his parents’, one they’d purchased only months before they’d died. And the pocket watch collection had been his father’s, and like the family company, Darius had taken it over and continued to add to it. She told him about her family, leaving out the part about her brother’s lucrative but illegal side business. Even her mother pretended it didn’t exist and refused to accept any money earned from it. Isobel also added amusing stories about Aiden from the last two years.
“He took one look at Santa and let out the loudest, most terrified scream. I think the old guy damn near had a heart attack.” She chuckled, remembering her baby’s reaction to the mall Santa. “He started squirming and kicking his legs. His foot caught good ol’ Saint Nick right in the boys, and they had to shut down Winter Wonderland for a half hour while, I’m sure, Santa iced himself in his workshop.”
