Like Honey (11 page)

A
fter a midnight snack of Roquefort cheese drizzled in honey and walnuts, Jennifer begged off for the rest of the night. Jackson and Maeve were night owls; she was not.

“Did they ever find Liam?” Maeve asked before Jennifer opened the door to leave.

“Yes,” Jennifer said. “He's in jail.”

Maeve glanced at her throat. “I don't see any marks.”

“Gone,” Jennifer said, then yawned. Wine, a huge dinner, dessert, and then more wine, then the cheese; it all left her sleepy. “Good night,” she said, and left.

As she walked to her room, just next door, she swallowed the fear creeping inside of her. She refused to acknowledge the way Liam's attack left her frightened. She refused to give that fear any power. But it was still there, lingering beneath the surface.

She took off her clothes, and as she did so, she brushed against the bruise on her chest caused by Liam holding her down. It still hurt, reminding her to take some ibuprofen.

She climbed into bed with Liam's face on her mind. She tried replacing it with positive thoughts. Her masked man was a good thought. Except that she'd probably never find him. She didn't want to think about Gray. No. It was too confusing. And if she thought about Ren, well, she'd just get sad.

She turned over on her side and sighed. She'd think about the honey boutiques she visited today. Only in Paris: boutiques with many kinds of honey where you could purchase the honey by grams, raw or processed. The variety was astounding.

One of the largest shops had been holding a honey tasting. Jennifer and Maeve signed up for it. They'd both been to wine tastings, coffee tastings, chocolate tastings, and now honey. Here Jennifer was in the business and had never attended one of these events.

The honey, in colors that went from dark brown to barely yellow, was already set out in crystal wineglasses. Of course, as one would expect, the color depended on the crop the bees feed on, but it also depended on soil and environment. Or as the honey sommelier said: “Single-source or single-origin honey represents a honey that truly reflects the floral source and its terroir—the climate, region, and soil. Honeybees also pollinate plants that produce some of the foods found at our local farmers' market. Single-source honey embraces the seasons—what the bees are doing and what flowers are blooming.”

It made Jennifer proud to be a part of the industry. And it started Jennifer's wheels turning—she thought having a honey tasting at her farm would be a good way to raise money. But they would have to keep some of the honey used through the season because with each new crop, the honey changed. If she was interested in going further, if she needed more marketing to help save the business, why not a hands-on educational tour of the farm?

She rolled over to the other side of her body.

She could imagine what Ren would say. “Honey connoisseurs, my ass. They aren't coming into my home.”

A twinge of guilt shook through her. She needed to do what she could. And she would. Damn him anyway, leaving her to clean up this financial mess.

Her head sank farther into the feather pillow. Thoughts of Gray formed clouds in her mind's eye. Did she really have sex with a man she barely knew? Hell yes, she did. But why did she leave so quickly? Was Maeve correct, that she must really like him? Crazy that she didn't know her own feelings. Why was it so difficult to sort through them? Liam. Ren. Gray.

The green glint of the masked man filled her dreaming mind. Dancing until they were sweaty. Running through open fields and him finally catching her beneath a glade of trees, just like the one they had lain under before. When he took her in his arms this time, there was no turning back.

He pinned her down with his large arms and legs and took her—without asking permission. As his weight pressed into her, she looked up into the Scottish night sky, and felt him enter her—not as a gentleman would, but like an animal, taking her for his. Marking her.

Beneath her pussycat mask, her eyes met his blue ones, full of the excitement of the hunt, his capture. He growled. “Mine,” he said. “You are mine.”

She purred and opened wider to him, meeting each pulse with her own. Trees. Sky. Stars. Him inside of her.

Jennifer awoke drenched in sweat with an orgasm that shook her bed. Damn Gray. Damned her masked almost-lover. For both of them had stirred something inside of her that she thought had died with Ren. A passion that could not be quite satisfied by a vibrator alone.

W
hat was Jennifer doing beside that tree?

Gray just happened to be back at his old spot from where he had first watched her—and when he looked up, there she was. At least he thought that was her, dressed in beekeeper's garb, and was she doing what he thought she was doing? Was she trying to capture a swarm of wild bees? He grinned and watched.

She had already placed a hive under the tree.

Good thinking.

He was standing there with his heart in his mouth—it could go very wrong for her. She'd be disturbing a group of homeless bees.

But she seemed calm. She puffed the smoker around a bit, reached for the low branch where the bees were gathered, opened her hive, and just scooped in the bees. Wow. It was working.

Now, if she had gotten the queen inside the hive, the other bees would stay there. Gray couldn't see for sure, but it looked as if it was a success. Jennifer left them there to make the new hive their home. Once again, Gray was left intrigued and in awe of the Widow D'Amico.

They had a meeting later that day.

When he walked into her office, Jennifer was behind her desk, looking a bit browner and more relaxed, but still focused on her work—papers spread all over.

“Hey,” Gray said.

When she looked up, her green eyes sent shocks of passion rippling through him. Something had changed. Was it a good change or a bad change?

“Hello there,” she said. “Have a seat, Gray.”

He sat down. “What's up?”

“What have you found out from Patrick?” She went right to it. He liked that about her. No pussyfooting around.

“Patrick is a drunk,” he said.

“I know that. I told you that. But did he have anything to say?”

Gray grinned inwardly as he remembered the way the old man had looked when Gray shoved him up against a wall and the way he suddenly remembered a few things.

“The answer is yes. The D'Amicos were importing honey to China, but he claims there was nothing under the table about it. He said it should be a part of the bank records.”

Her head tilted and she smacked her hand on the desk. “I've seen nothing about exporting our honey to China. Have you?”

He shook his head.

“Obviously there was something under the table about it,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“I don't think he'd know. I think he was an old-school beekeeper here. He knew bees and how to manage them. And he knows his honey. But he doesn't know a thing about the business side of things. That was the D'Amicos.”

She flung her hands up.

“Well, whatever. If we were exporting honey to the Chinese, and I have no record of it, the only thing I can do is to move ahead, make the best of what I know, and hope we don't sink,” she said.

“We?”

“I've taken on a few partners,” she said. “Maeve Flannery, Jackson Dodds, and Sasha Barnes.”

“Interesting.”

“Silent partners, I assure you.”

“You're serious about making a go of this place,” he said.

“Don't sound so surprised. I told you I need to make this place attractive to buyers. It might take a while.”

“I just thought that maybe with a little time . . .”

“One thing you should know about me, Gray, is that I never give up. I'm like a dog with a bone.”

He laughed. “A dog with a bone, heh?”

Their eyes met in an awkward glance. He felt himself slipping into his memory of their night together.

“How are the bees?” she asked, changing the subject.

“As far as I can tell we didn't lose any. I've not checked on the bees at the west side of the property yet. But the snow is almost gone. Would you like to inspect with me today?”

A huge smile spread across her face. “I thought you'd never ask.” Her eyes held promise and fire. Amazing what a few days in France did for this woman. Confidence oozed from her. Gray wanted to grab her and lay one on her, but now things were complicated. She was his for the taking. He felt it.

But he was still working for Kasey and the agency. Still not able to tell Jennifer who he really was, and it gnawed at his gut.

“Are you ready?” she said, grabbing her gear and shoving it into a bag. She was taking this inspection thing very seriously. Most bee-farm owners inspected from a distance. But she was bringing her suit.

As they drove to the far west of the D'Amico property the Scottish sky opened before them. Gray had been all over the world—but there was no sky like a Scottish sky. The colors, vibrant; cloud patterns, interesting. His grandmother used to tell him that—and it was so true. His father would pshaw about it. “The sky is the same in Virginia,” he'd say.

Suited up, he and Jennifer approached the hives. The humming, buzzing noises from the bees calmed his fears. They were still alive, of course, just as he'd thought. As Jennifer slid one of the oblong hives out from the box, it gleamed with honey and frenzied bee activity. The hive's bees had been getting out—maybe not as much as they would have, but the hive was almost full. Gray would tell the team to get on with the harvesting.

Jennifer insisted on inspecting half and Gray took the other half. It wasn't necessarily easy work. The hives were heavy with honey—some more than others. As he worked, he caught views of Jennifer from time to time. She was no pansy. She lifted the hive with strength and gentleness at the same time—a rare quality, especially in a woman who had such a lovely ass. He choked back a chuckle and tried to focus on the bees.

When they were finished, she unzipped and stepped out of her suit, her eyes catching his. “Honestly, Gray, you look at me as if I'm naked.”

“Honestly, Jen, I'm wishing that you were,” he said, pulling her to him. Enough of trying to resist. She squirmed, but his arms held her there. “Just one kiss,” he said, leaning into her, half-expecting her to pull away. It was a kiss unlike any other they had shared. She was shed of inhibitions and opened her mouth, to a long, tongue-twisted passionate kiss, ending with her taking his lower lip and biting it. She pressed harder into him and went in for another kiss, sending his nether regions into a stiff, uncomfortable stance.

He knew right then and there that he was in trouble.

 

Either she was imagining things or Gray didn't like that kiss. He turned away from her and said, “We better get going.”

One minute hot, the next cold. What was his problem?

She slid into the truck and turned on the radio. A Beatles song was playing—“Strawberry Fields.” And as they drove the dirt roads back to the house, the music filled the truck and she looked out over her land. It was beautiful land.

“I brought you some honey from France,” she said.

“Hmm?” He was distracted. Withdrawn.

“I brought you some honey from France,” she said. “I can drop it off tonight.”

“I won't be home,” he said. “Sorry. I've an appointment.” He said it with a clipped tone, matter-of-fact, and she knew not to ask more. But she wondered what had gone wrong.

She didn't have time to dwell on it. She had several e-mails to return and numbers to crunch. Later, she was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Grady, Liam's mother.

“Please come in,” Jennifer said, and led her into the office. “What can I help you with?”

The woman was small, dressed in cheap clothes, and smelled a bit of alcohol. But she had beautifully done fingernails, long and red, and rings sparkled on her fingers.

“I feel as if I need to apologize for my son's behavior,” she said. “I raised him better. I want you to know that.”

She lifted her chin high.

Jennifer's stomach flip-flopped.

“You aren't responsible for a grown son's behavior,” Jennifer said. “Though I appreciate the gesture. Please have a seat.”

She had been trying not to think about the attack, but from time to time, she still felt an ache in her throat. And she planned to have a security system installed.

The woman sat down in the chair, looking dwarfed by it. She looked around the office, as if she'd never been inside one before.

“Can I get you some tea?” Jennifer asked.

“Ahh, no. I won't be staying,” she said. “I just wanted to see you, to look at you, and tell you how sorry I am.”

“Well, you do have some fine sons,” Jennifer said, trying to deflect another apology. “They are good workers.”

A smile cracked on the woman's deeply wrinkled face. “That they are. Just like their father.”

When she said the word “father,” she placed an odd emphasis on it and a winsome look came over her. Her husband was dead, this much Jennifer knew.

“So, you won't be holding Liam against my boys, then?” She looked hopeful.

“No,” Jennifer said. “I'd be lost without them. I'm learning the business, Mrs. Grady. This was not something I prepared for. I'm only here because of Ren. Your sons have made things bearable. In fact, if I could, I'd give them raises.”

“Raises would be nice, Mrs. D'Amico, but I'm not here to beg for money,” she said. “I've never begged a D'Amico for anything.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“How long have you known the D'Amicos?” Jennifer asked.

“Long enough,” she said, getting up from her chair.

“Please stay,” Jennifer said. “I didn't know them at all, you know? Anything you can tell me about them?”

The woman sat back down, leaned forward. “What do you want to know?” She folded her fingers together and placed them on her lap.

Jennifer leaned in. “Anything.”

“The D'Amico family has been here for generations,” she said. “Some of them have been more kind than others, that much I'll say. And I don't like to speak ill of the dead. But your mother-in-law was the most unkind of the lot. Ren Senior was an unhappy man.”

Jennifer's heart sank. Sad. “Were they getting a divorce?”

The woman chortled. “Rich people don't get divorces. They just live separate lives, keep it together, for the money and the land's sake.”

“People don't live like that anymore,” Jennifer said.

“Aye,” the lady said. “They do and they did. I ought to know.”

“What? Why?”

“I was Ren D'Amico's mistress,” she said, smiling. “No point keeping it to myself anymore.”

Jennifer was taken aback. She drew back in her chair as her mouth flung open.

Mrs. Grady laughed, shimmying all over.

Jennifer didn't know what to say, how to say it. This little old woman came in to apologize for her son, but had just confessed to sleeping with Ren's father.

“I can see you might not believe me,” she said. “You see me as a little old woman. I am that, now. But when Ren and I started seeing each other, I was eighteen years old. He always saw me as that young sweet-faced girl.”

“You mean . . . ?”

She nodded. “Our affair lasted for years. Up until the day he died really.”

“Why didn't you just . . . ?”

“He was already married, you see, and I had been promised to Kevin. Besides, a D'Amico and a Dugan would never marry.”

Jennifer was missing something. “Why?”

The woman cackled and slapped her knee with her hand. “I've got to go. Another time, maybe. Oh,” she said, holding up a bag. “I brought you some bread. Hope you like it.”

She set the bag on Jennifer's desk and left before Jennifer could find words—or thoughts.