Read Once Upon a Dream Online

Authors: Kate Perry

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Contemporary

Once Upon a Dream (9 page)

Something wasn’t right with him. Not that something was wrong, or that he was questionable, but he was troubled. If she had to give him a description, she’d have called him
lost
.

On impulse, she turned around. “You’ll stay here with us, of course.”

He frowned. “I will?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You don’t know me.”

She arched her brow. “Isn’t that the point of you visiting?”

“Touché.” He smiled tiredly. “You’re rather commanding, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” She smiled and took his arm. “You’ll find we’re a household of commanding women.”

“I feel like I’m being warned,” he murmured.

“You must be wise then.” She led him into the kitchen.

Fran stopped rolling her dough, a questioning look on her face. “Aren’t you clever, Lady Jacs? I didn’t think you’d bring me a real man.”

Her old friend wasn’t going to be pleased when she knew who the man was. “Fran, this is Sebastian Tate.”

Her old friend gasped. “The American.”

Sebastian smiled wearily. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Jacqueline looked directly at Fran. “Sebastian is going to stay with us for a bit. But before we show him to a room, he needs a spot of tea. He only just arrived.”

Fran’s eyes narrowed on the man. “Did he?”

“Oh boy,” he said, pulling out a seat. “Maybe we should sit down and agree to the rules of engagement.”

“Rules of engagement?” Fran asked suspiciously.

He shrugged as he slumped onto the chair. “Well, it looks like we’re going to war, right?”

Fran harrumphed.

Jacqueline shook her head. “There will be no war in this house. There were too many years of strife. I won’t have it any longer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sebastian said.

Fran harrumphed again. Then she pointed a floury finger at him. “Don’t you think I’ll be taken in by your lost, waif look. I may feed you, but I’ll have my eye on you.”

“Thank goodness someone will.” He grinned. “What’s this about feeding me?”

She narrowed her gaze at him and went to wash her hands. On her way, she leaned in toward Jacqueline and said, “I’m locking up all your jewelry.”

“I heard that,” Sebastian called out. “But I don’t care. I feel better already. Thank you.”

She heard the relief in his voice, and she frowned. What was his story? And what did he want? Because there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he wanted something.

 

 

Against her better judgment, Jacqueline left Sebastian with Fran and went to accost Declan.

She saw him the moment she stepped into the coffee shop. He sat in the far corner, his back to the wall, typing madly into a laptop. His fingers were graceful and fast, confidently typing out his next bestseller.

She paused, thrown off by his use of technology. In a million years she wouldn’t have figured him to use a computer. When they knew each other before, he’d kept a notebook as his constant companion, his pen ever ready. He’d resisted any sort of typing like a plague.

Suddenly his head popped up. He looked at her, head to toe, in a slow engulfing stare. Then his mouth turned down into a scowl.

Excellent. She smiled wryly and strode to the counter. While she placed her order, she felt his eyes on her back, judging, angry, wishing her gone.

It was a spear to her heart.

But she composed herself and put on her Countess of Amberlin mien. Calmly, she sat across from him, setting her cappuccino down before her shaking hand spilled it. She set her notebook in front of her and took a pen out of her purse, putting it on the floor next to her.

“Are you stalking me?” he finally asked.

“No. I’m being persistent.” She lifted her cappuccino and took a sip, hoping the hot liquid would scald her into calmness. “I figure if I sit with you, occasionally we’ll talk about writing and maybe you’ll give me a pointer or two.”

“You’re going to grow old waiting.”

She smiled ruefully. “I’m already old.”

“You look as beautiful as you did when you were nineteen, and you know it, Jacs,” he said reluctantly, as though he’d have preferred to see her as a hag.

The old nickname surprised her—only Fran ever called her that anymore. Hearing him use it gave her hope for the future, as did his soft tone when he said she was beautiful.

Not knowing what to do with that, she drank more of her cappuccino. Hope seemed like a child’s whimsy.

“I’m not going to give you pointers, so you might as well leave,” he said, his tone firm.

She shrugged, the way she fancied her daughters would. “Even if you don’t help me, I think I’ll come here and write with you. Writing is so solitary. It’s nice having someone to sit next to, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbled.

She caught the jab at her, that she’d abandoned him. She sighed, feeling both weary and annoyed. “How long are you going to harp on something that happened a lifetime ago?”

“For as long as it pleases me.” He bent is head and began typing with a vengeance, each tap of his fingers was a jab—likely at her.

She sighed again. She couldn’t help the past. She was imperfect and had made mistakes. Too many mistakes.

Fran would say that there was no use crying over spilled milk. She opened her notebook and picked up her pen. She had no idea what to write, so she wrote any nonsense that came to mind, just to look busy.

Which meant she wrote about Declan.

His presence overwhelmed her. Despite the space between them, she could practically feel his heart beat, pounding at her. She remembered the way he’d smelled—virile and manly—so different than when she knew him before.

Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea, coming to harass him into helping her.

She lost herself in her words, a constant stream of consciousness that poured through her and onto the page. She even forgot he was there until he spoke again.

“Why is this so important to you?”

His voice jarred her. She looked up, blinking, surprised to see they’d been writing for an hour. She didn’t need him to know she was sex-starved. “I want to contribute something to the world, something that’s significant.”

“You don’t have a high opinion of your children.”

“They’re lovely girls, but I’m afraid I can’t take credit for them.” She smoothed her skirt over her thighs, rubbing her palms against it, trying to take comfort in the cool silk. “I was too busy being the Countess of Amberlin to raise them myself.”

He watched her, a silent judge weighing the evidence before making a proclamation.

But he didn’t say a word, so she had to. “No smug replies? No veiled barbs at my wretched state of being or that I’m a horrible person?”

“I just feel sad for you,” he said simply.

“That was possibly the worst thing you could have said.” Ruthlessly repressing tears, she lifted her chin and dared him to continue.

He opened his mouth but seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. Finally he mumbled, “I could just go to another café, you know.”

“You’re a creature of habit. It’d kill you to go to another place. Disrupting your schedule would disrupt your writing, and you’d never do that. Besides, that would mean I’d won, and you’d hate that.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully.

She smiled sadly. “Despite the years and animosity, I still know you.”

He didn’t look happy about that, but he just bent his head and began to pour his anger into his work.

They worked like that for another hour when she was startled out of her writing by the slamming of the laptop shut. Glaring at her, he packed up his things. “I take it you’re planning on being here tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“And I can’t convince you not to come?”

“If you help me, you’ll get rid of me faster.”

He leaned over the table, glaring at her. “You don’t deserve my help.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly, but she winced on the inside. “You’re right. I don’t deserve it, but I’m still going to come back and ask again.”

His stormy eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, opening his mouth. His anger was palpable, a living thing between them.

Which made it startling when he said, “Bloody hell,” and lowered his lips to hers.

It was a punishing kiss, but it made her feel alive. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt in her hand and held him to her, wanting him to punish her like this, because it was better than not feeling at all like she hadn’t for the longest time.

Then he lifted his head, staring at her with eyes blazing from anger and passion. “Bloody
hell
,” he spat out again, turning on his heels.

“So it was good for you, too,” she mumbled, watching him storm away.

Chapter Ten

Summer picked at the salad she’d ordered. She should eat it, because it’d be good for her even if it tasted like weeds. Only she was too distracted with her thoughts and wondering about Ryan.

He hadn’t found her yet.

Maybe she should have told him where she worked? Or given him the address to the South Street house. She’d given him her name—he should have been able to extrapolate from that.

Maybe he’d decided to stay with Sondra Fawkes.

“What are you up to, Summer?”

She looked up to find her brother Nick staring at her suspiciously. “Sorry?”

He waved his fork at her. “You’re up to something, and I want to know what it is.”

She didn’t need to feign innocence this time, because she had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, he set his fork down. “Now I’m really worried, because it’s when you have a grand scheme that you try to act innocent.”

She frowned. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Name one.”

“That time when Rosalind came back for your father’s funeral and you told her your name was Sara and that I was a barrister.”

“Oh.” Not her most brilliant moment. As a Formula One driver, Nick had been as far from a barrister as one could get. But she’d been desperate, and in desperate times…. “I can’t deny that then. But it all worked out.”

“Because Rosalind is a goddess and forgave me for lying to her.”

She smiled softly. Rosalind
was
a goddess, but she forgave Nick because she was in love with him. Adopted by Tabitha, Nick had always been Summer’s brother. Now he was becoming one twice over: He and Rosalind were getting married in the spring.

He pointed a chip at her. “I haven’t forgotten that you’re plotting, and you haven’t admitted what you’re doing yet.”

Nick took his role of big brother very seriously, so she’d have to be careful in what she told him because she didn’t want him to worry. “I found the man of my dreams. I’m just making sure that he stays mine.”

“Tell me you haven’t interred him in a wall, Edgar Allen Poe style.”

“Of course not!” She frowned. “Do you think that’d hold him?”

“Summer.”

“Just wondering.”

“Who is this man?”

Ryan was heaven. Instead of seeing him in his suit, like she did every day in the hall outside their respective offices, she pictured him in the mask and tuxedo. He’d been so much more that night. And that kiss…. She shivered.

But a big brother wouldn’t want to hear how orally talented her future husband was, so she said, “He’s got a great job.”

Nick’s gaze narrowed. “What’s his name? I’m going to have Bea look him up.”

“No.” She didn’t need anyone to interfere in her pursuit of Prince Charming.

He crossed his arms. “Yes.”

“Please, Nick.” She took his hand across the table. “Let me play this out my way? I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“Yes, you can, but sometimes they’re questionable.”

Frowning, she withdrew her hand. “That’s not supportive.”

“Because I can’t support madness.” He pointed at her. “If I were making what you thought was a mistake, you’d try to stop me, too. Don’t deny it.”

“Because you’re my brother. I love you.”

“Stepbrother,” he corrected, the way he did whenever he was cross with her. They both knew that they couldn’t have been closer if they’d been bound by blood.

He tossed his napkin onto the table. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the office. We’ll get a treat on the way.”

“You do love me.” She stood and picked up her bag.

“Or else I’m just counting on you being more docile after a cookie.”

They got macarons from a small shop she favored—two for now and two for later. She wasn’t sure she liked them—they had an odd texture—but her sisters loved them, so she was partial to them for that. They were so colorful and cheery they were hard to resist.

On their way back to her office, they chatted about innocuous things, but her mind was still on Ryan.

Was he going to come find her?

It’d been several days since the ball, and she didn’t expect him to come the next day—he had to break off his relationship with Sondra, after all—but surely it didn’t take that long to do it.

Nick faced her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Behave yourself.”

“I always do.”

He raised his brow. “I’ll leave that untouched.”

Grinning, she waved as she entered the building and went up to her floor. As the elevator doors opened, she looked into the hall, hoping to see Ryan waiting there.

He wasn’t.

A niggle of worry ran through her as she started to open the door to Orson & Tomlin. For the millionth time, she wondered what’d happen if he didn’t come. What if she waited and waited for him and he never showed up?

She touched the blue diamond pendant around her neck. Portia had given it to her. It’d belonged to the first Countess of Amberlin, who’d been a particularly bold woman. Catherine Summerhill would have gone after the man she wanted. She often had.

So would Summer.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned around and headed toward the investment firm.

As she passed, the elevator doors opened and a man stepped out.

Focused on her mission, she didn’t give him a second look—until he grabbed her arm.

She gasped, looking up. Her heart raced, because of anger, she told herself, and not because he was the sort of man you’d climb onto and ride. His hair was wild, like he’d run his hands through it and left it standing. His clothes were no better, somewhere between rock star chic and street grunge. The T-shirt he wore had rhinestones and fit tight to expose bulging biceps and a chest that made Summer want to reach out and touch.

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