Murphy's Law (9 page)

To defuse her annoyance, Quinton brushed his thumb over her cheek. “I'm glad you're being cautious.”

“Why would you assume I wouldn't be? I don't have a death wish. You have to trust me to take care of myself, all right?”

He shrugged. “I'll promise to try, but that's the best I can do.”

“Quinton…”

His hand opened on the side of her face, and his tone became guttural with some unnamed emotion. “I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

Wow. He looked…really serious and sincere, and that was so far beyond what she was accustomed to, it unnerved her. Without even meaning to, she resorted to the ingrained defenses of a credible laugh and a hint of sarcasm.

“If that's how you feel, then maybe you better put me down before your suit gets wrinkled and we end up late to the show. Jude will strangle me for sure if I mess up the big day. I've never seen a man so anxious to get legal with a woman.”

For the longest time Quinton looked at her,
into
her, as if searching her soul. “Did I thank you for the enthusiastic greeting?”

“No. But you have held me this whole time.”

He nodded. “I like it.” And with that, he cradled her in close for a tender hug, kissed her ear, and let her legs slide down to the floor.

A little wobbly in the knees, Ashley avoided his gaze and scuttled out of his reach. The man was just too potent for her own good. She gathered up her purse, slid her feet into flip-flops, and went out the door without a word.

This would be the longest day of her life.

But she had high hopes that the night would be worth the wait.

Quinton stayed alert as he escorted Ashley to his Bentley at the curb in front of her apartment. After the garage told him that someone had deliberately slashed his tires, he'd made up his mind to hire protection for her.

Given her reaction to Flint's escort, she'd be really pissed to know she now had two bodyguards standing watch over her at all times. But damn it, he couldn't leave her at risk when he had the means to assist. Unlike his uncle, he'd never been obtuse to those around him. Sometimes, as his uncle suggested, he thought he felt and empathized too much.

With Ashley, he knew only that he needed her safety ensured.

Before picking her up, he'd driven through the lower-middle-class neighborhood where she lived. The older streets were in need of repair, but well shaded by tall oaks and elms, and lined with large houses converted into apartments.

A few miles down, he'd passed a trailer park. Farther up was a small strip mall and window factory. To the back of Ashley's apartment complex were some abandoned lots and a crumbling drive-in that had gone out of service a decade ago.

It wasn't a bad neighborhood by any stretch, but neither would he call it quiet. Youths hung out on every corner. He saw her neighbors on their porches, tossing back beer. Young kids, most of them barefoot and shirtless, played in the street and on the sidewalk. A few disreputable characters might have been drug dealers, and a young couple made out in a parked car.

In her loose jeans and tie-dyed baby doll T-shirt, Ashley fit in, while he and his suit stuck out like a sore thumb. “How long have you lived here?”

“A few years now.”

She sounded funny, drawing his scrutiny away from the surrounding area to her.

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, she stared at his car.

He would have brought the Porsche, but the garage hadn't yet replaced the tires. Arriving at a wedding in an Aston Martin V12 Vanquish didn't feel appropriate, so that left his Bentley.

“I'm a little enamored of vehicles,” he admitted to her.

“It's…
awesome
.” She stepped away from him and dashed the last few feet to the car. Bending at the waist, she peered in the window without quite touching it. Her backside invited a pat, but Quinton restrained himself.

“Glad you like it.” Pushing a button on the pocket remote unlocked the doors. Quinton opened the passenger side for her, then caught her arm before she could scramble inside. “Would you like to drive?”

“No way!” She swung around to face him. “You're pulling my leg.”

In that moment, he wanted to
give
her the damn car, just to keep her so happy. “Sure. You're not reckless, are you?”

She bit her lip, turned to look at the car again. “God, you're a terrible tease. And no, I'm usually a terrific driver.”

“Usually?”

She held out her hands, which trembled. “Jitters.” Her fingers curled into fists. “I hate to admit it, but this whole wedding thing has me off-kilter. There won't be many people there, just May and Jude's immediate families, a photographer, and Denny. But…I've never met Jude's family, and the idea of being photographed makes my skin crawl.”

Quinton sympathized. “Then perhaps after the reception you can take the wheel.”

“I just might hold you to that.” She climbed in and spent a little time running her hands along the leather before buckling her seat belt.

Amused, Quinton came around to the driver's side. He didn't see anyone suspicious on the streets or in the nearby houses, but then he didn't see the bodyguards either. He only knew they were there because he'd spoken with them before picking up Ashley.

After he turned the key and the engine purred, Ashley asked, “I'll bet weddings never make you nervous, do they?”

“I'm used to crowds. Right after graduating from college, I lost my parents in a boating accident and inherited the company. I've been dealing with large groups, socially and in business, ever since.”

At the mention of his loss, she went very still. “I'm sorry. I guess I never even thought to ask you about your folks.”

And he hadn't mentioned them because, unlike her, he'd always felt loved by both his mother and father. In comparison to her upbringing, he almost felt guilty. He'd had it all: wealth, love, security…while she'd had nothing.

“It was a long time ago. They were sailing and a bad storm blew in. The boat capsized. My mother drowned. They never recovered her body.”

“Your father?”

“He had a head injury and didn't recover. After three weeks in the hospital, he passed away.”

Ashley touched his arm, speaking in a soft, unfamiliar tone. “That must have been excruciating for you.”

“It was, yes. Sometimes I still miss them, but Uncle Warren stepped in to finish my education with the firm. I've been in front of employees, prospective clients, and target groups enough times that I don't even think about it anymore. I just do it.”

With the topic deliberately lightened, she gave way to her curiosity. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My parents tried, but they never conceived again after me.”

“What about your uncle? Did he give you any fun cousins?”

“Two, both female, which my uncle claims is why he's so close to me. The son he never had and all that.” As he spoke, he checked his rearview mirror for any cars that might trail him. He saw no one. “His daughters are both sharks, but they have their own interests. One is a clothing designer, the other a news correspondent. I only see them on the occasional holiday.”

“Impressive family.”

He shrugged. To some they might seem that way. To him they were just terrific relatives whom he enjoyed visiting.

“So you and your uncle get along?”

Her interest pleased Quinton. It was the first time she'd cared enough to ask him about his life, friends, and family. “Most of the time. He's different from my father. More formal and stiff. Dad was pretty laid-back and easy to be around. He was as happy throwing a football in the backyard with me, as he was running a fast-growing business. He and my mom were in love until the day they died. With Uncle Warren and Aunt Ivana, it sometimes seems like they're strangers in the same house.”

“They have a bad marriage?”

“I wouldn't call it bad. It's as they want it, and they both seem content. But it's…cold.”

“Your uncle seemed plenty annoyed with you last night.”

“Warren doesn't like it when his plans are thwarted.”

“His plans being a match between you and some socially acceptable female paragon?”

The way she sneered that showed shades of jealousy. Normally, any sign of possessiveness set him on edge. With Ashley, he chose to see it as strides in the right direction. “You're going to give yourself wrinkles, frowning like that.”

“Frowning comes naturally to me.”

“I noticed.” He reached for her knee and gave it a squeeze. “But this time it's not warranted. I wouldn't have accepted the dinner date even if I hadn't made prior arrangements to attend the wedding with you.”

“Why not? You don't like her?”

“I don't even know her, but I know her type. To get Warren's approval she'd be fresh out of Yale, a debutante with high aspirations for a career, two perfect children, and an adoring husband, in that order, acquired on a specific timetable. No, thanks.”

“Marriage doesn't appeal to you?”

She didn't even flinch when asking that. In almost every circumstance, marriage was a touchy subject, one that both people tiptoed around until they knew they were both on the same page. Not Ashley. She blurted it out without a single hesitation.

Grinning, he glanced at her. “I don't know. Why? Are you planning to propose?”

She countered, saying, “Are you avoiding the topic?”

She probably didn't want a serious discussion, but what the hell? It wouldn't hurt for her to know more about him. If she wouldn't shy away from the M word, neither would he. “I want what my parents had—love, commitment, loyalty—not an arrangement and a scheduled family.”

She went quiet, so he asked, “What about you?”

“I've never even thought about marriage.” She traced a finger along the console's bur walnut veneer. “Dad married my mom because she got pregnant with me. It was a stupid thing to do, because they detested each other as much as they did me. More than once over the years, he said he didn't think I was his, and she wouldn't deny it. She'd just laugh in his face.”

Every time he thought he'd heard the worst, she shocked him with another revelation. He'd never been able to reconcile such insensitivity toward a child. “Do you think your mother just wanted to hurt him?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? Mom must have slept around a lot before they married, because Dad brought it up every time they fought, and they fought a lot. But if I'm not his, it's no skin off my nose. Most times I wish I weren't hers either.”

Her choice of words left him edgy. “You mean they argued?”

She puffed out a laugh. “Sure, they argued every day, about everything under the sun. Lots of times they argued about what I wasn't allowed to do—which was just about everything. But they also duked it out on a regular basis. Dad would slap Mom. She'd throw something at him, or pull his hair. And the battle would begin. I learned to get out of the range of fire.” She made a face. “Luckily neither of them had Jude's skills as a fighter, or they'd have killed one another.”

She crossed her arms and turned in the seat to face him. “You know, I guess I have thought about marriage a little. At least, I've thought of the reasons why I wouldn't marry.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, I'd never use a baby as an excuse. I don't plan on getting prego, but if I did, I'd be independent and able to take care of the kid on my own—without a man's interference. I'd never make a baby pay for my mistakes.”

Because she'd been made to pay? Damn her parents. Fury roiled inside him, and he said, “No child should have to live with that.”

“Yeah, I know. That's why I bailed.”

She was too matter-of-fact when he knew it still had to pain her. How could it not? Had she never been able to reconcile with her parents? Had they not come after her to make amends, to check on her and make sure she was okay?

Apparently not, given her attitude. Ten years, then. With new insight, he understood what her life must have been like.

Pressing a hand to her belly, she said, “Oh, God. We're here.”

Quinton took in the sight of the impressive stone fence surrounding a generous proportion of acreage and a sizable mansion. “It's beautiful.”

“Yeah, just wait till you see the inside. Or…” She frowned at him. “Is your house as big as his?”

Her lack of tact didn't insult him because he knew she hadn't asked out of prurient interest. Ashley wasn't a gold digger. In fact, she looked almost accusatory as she waited for him to answer.

On a groan, she said, “It is, isn't it?”

The idea obviously didn't please her. “How about you tell me, after I've taken you there tonight?”

The reminder of the evening to come had her straightening in her seat again. “Okay, I will.” She looked out the windshield. “Pull up to the intercom and push the button to let them know we're here.”

Quinton did as directed, and a second later the gate opened. A voice he recognized as Denny's said, “Nice car. Come on in, then. I'll walk out front to show you where to park.”

Quinton accelerated through the tall gates, which immediately clanked shut once the car was clear. All along the tree-shaded drive, monitors picked up activity. Jude Jamison's home had good security. He liked that.

Wide porches wrapped around a two-story brick and stone structure with a six-car garage. A sweeping cobblestone walkway led to double columns at the entrance. Fall colors bloomed in the landscaping around the house, grounds, and a large fountain.

Instead of Denny stepping out, as he'd said he would, Jude Jamison himself strode down the porch steps. As a fan of the SBC, Quinton was anxious to meet Jude. But as a man soon to be intimately involved with Ashley, he wanted to talk to Jude about threats, security, and any plans that might be in the works.

Leaving the car running, Quinton opened his door and stepped out. He couldn't help grinning as he extended his hand. “Jude Jamison. This is a pleasure.”

Jude smiled, too, and accepted the handshake. “I can say the same. Never in a million years did I think to see Ashley with a date. How'd you do it?”

Ashley yelled out the window, “Just look at him, Jude. It should be obvious.”

Jude laughed. “It's Quinton Murphy, right?”

“I take it Denny filled you in.”

“He's a regular chatterbox.” Jude nodded at the Bentley. “Mind if I take a look? I'm a bit of a car nut myself.”