Authors: Kate Perry
“The whole answer would take all afternoon, and I need to get back.” She finished her drink and stood. “Will I see you again?”
Standing, he left money on the table and gestured to the door.
“I’d like that,” she said when he didn’t reply.
Wanting to say yes to her, knowing he couldn’t, he took her hand instead and tugged her back, pulling her into his chest for one more kiss.
It felt more intimate than the first time—more urgent. Her lips echoed the need in his, equally eager. He cupped her head, massaging the nape of her neck, feeling her purr and melt in his arms.
When their mouths broke away, they stood panting, staring at each other.
She licked her passion-reddened lips. “I hadn’t expected this.”
“Neither had I.”
“I’m not complaining though.” She lifted onto her toes and kissed him again, brief but equally powerful, before she broke away and left the bar.
He watched the confident sway of her hips. They beckoned him to follow. He would have, too—followed her to the ends of the world just for another kiss.
But it was better this way. He’d never see her again—not under any good terms once she found out who Summer was. It was better that he let her go. Maybe one day he’d even make himself believe that.
Chapter Five
Em Shepherd ducked her head and tried to focus on the collage on her desk, but the delicious argument happening in the conference room kept drawing her attention. Who was the man who’d arrived to see Summer Welles?
It was none of her business, of course, except that Summer was a friend and had never mentioned any man in her life, other than a stepbrother. But Em couldn’t help herself. She was curious.
The most obvious choice was a client. Orson & Tomlin was a law firm, after all—they had a steady stream of affluent people flow in and out. As the receptionist, Em met all of them.
Only Summer didn’t usually greet any of her clients with a peck on the cheek. He couldn’t be her stepbrother. Stepbrothers were never that hot.
Maybe he was her boyfriend? Summer hadn’t mentioned dating anyone, but they also hadn’t gotten together in a long time. He was definitely pretty to look at. Lovely if not completely inappropriate for Em since she already had someone who was perfect for her.
She knew that most women wanted the excitement of champagne and silk. Not Em. She’d seen what passion and sexual urges got a woman, and she wanted none of that. She’d seen what had happened to her mother. Give her bland and boring for the rest of her life.
Like Ben Cooke.
Just thinking about him gave her a warm feeling, like being wrapped in flannel pajamas and drinking hot chocolate from a mug with a cat on it.
She looked down at her collage. She’d never gone to university—she hadn’t had the money—but she’d read a lot, and somewhere she’d read that people who visualized their dreams achieved them more consistently. Writing down her goals never felt right, but she loved cutting out pictures and making a collage.
On the poster board, she’d pasted a modest, white house with an iron gate. In the bottom half, there were two children—a boy and a girl—building a sand castle on a beach. She’d added the picture of a car that was big enough to take the kids to school, and another of a bank to symbolize the savings account she wanted to have for her children’s tuition. Floating in the top left corner was a picture of a man.
She’d tried to find one that’d looked like Ben—the more specific you were, the better the odds that you’d attain your goals. She’d looked in gardening magazines, but all gardeners (except Ben) appeared to be bearded men in overalls. The picture she’d finally settled on was close enough—was more blond than brunette, more tailored than casual, but he looked wholesome and loyal.
“That’s okay,” she assured herself, running a finger over the photo. Gardening was her least favorite thing about Ben. She went and helped him on the weekends, to get to know him better, even though she hated it. It left dirt under her nails, even when she wore gloves. But she had to keep her eye on the prize: Ben.
The voices escalated in the conference room. Well—the man’s voice. She heard the words
deceive
and
insane
and was about to move closer to see if she could hear more when the company phone rang. Sighing, she answered it and forwarded the caller to the appropriate person as quickly as possible.
As she set the phone down and started to scoot her chair closer to the conference room, Summer and her guest emerged. Em noted Summer’s satisfied grin, but the man didn’t look especially happy.
Maybe he
was
a client. As the receptionist for a law firm, Em had to deal with a lot of unhappy people. She didn’t like it. If she didn’t have her one-year plan in motion, she’d have left this job and gone to work in a candy shop. Everyone was happy in a candy shop.
But soon she wouldn’t have a job, because she’d be Mrs. Ben Cooke, and then she’d have children to care for.
She sighed happily at the image that created.
Summer came to lean on the reception desk. “Em, did you meet my brother, Nick?”
“Stepbrother,” he corrected, facing Em. “I hope they give you hazard pay for dealing with this one.”
“Actually, Summer is lovely.” Of all the lawyers in the firm, Summer was the only one who treated her like a person instead of an indentured servant. They had lunch together whenever they could, and she was always interested in Em’s life.
Of course, Em glossed over the dreary details of her existence. No one wanted to know that her dad had died of a heroin overdose when she was twelve, and her mom lived in the gutter with any man who’d tolerate her. Still, it was nice that Summer asked.
“That’s what they teach them in law school, how to misrepresent the truth to their benefit.” He gave Summer a narrow look, but then he kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Summer grabbed his arm. “I really appreciate what you did, Nick.”
“I didn’t like lying to her.”
“I know. I’ll take over from here.” Summer smiled and waved as she walked down the hall to her office.
If Em were Nick, she wasn’t sure she’d trust that smile, but maybe she was imagining things.
The phone rang again and she answered it, watching Summer’s brother wait for the elevator, hands in his pockets. He was attractive, she thought as she dispatched the call. The rear view was particularly enticing, she decided as it disappeared behind the closed elevator door.
“Em Shepherd, I believe I caught you ogling that man’s arse.”
She didn’t need to look to see who was speaking—she knew just by the goose bumps that rose on her arms every time Joe Winslow was in close proximity.
Of all the people in the world, Joe was the last person she’d have wanted to catch her staring at a man. He was one of the partners in the firm, the youngest. Not that she cared about that—being a receptionist wasn’t her life goal—but she didn’t need him nosing in her business any more than he already did.
He
bothered
her
.
Around him, she had steamy thoughts she didn’t need.
Joe should have looked angelic with his blond hair and blue eyes, but instead he looked wicked. She figured it was the ever-present glint in his eyes. Worse, he was tall and built—not anything like what a lawyer should have looked like. His clothing was expensive. She didn’t know anything about fine clothing, and especially not men’s clothes, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that his suit cost as much as her rent each month.
Joe leaned in. “Are you going to deny it?”
He reminded her of a predator trying to lure her into his trap. She just didn’t know what trap and why he’d want to lure her.
To cover her confusion and naughty thoughts, she smiled brightly. “Of course I was ogling him. He had a very fine bottom.”
“Em Shepherd, you saucy minx. And here I thought you were a nun.”
She brightened. “Did you really?”
“You must be the only woman on earth who’d be happy to hear that, and that’s curious in itself.” He looked her over, slow and thorough as if he could see down to her knickers. “It makes me wonder how prim and proper you really are.”
Not very, but she tried her hardest to suppress that part of herself. “I’m quite proper, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a handsome man, even if he’s not eligible.”
“Not eligible?” Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “Nicholas Long?”
“You know him?”
“Everyone knows him, love. He’s the top-grossing Formula One driver on the circuit.”
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise. “Well that makes him doubly inappropriate, doesn’t it?”
“You must not know what the top Formula One racers make,” he said, watching her carefully.
She arched her brow. “More than lawyers who do mergers, I wager.”
His grin was slow and sly. “You clever girl. He makes millions, plus endorsements. He’s currently the package behind Calvin Klein briefs.”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s why he looked familiar. I’m sure if he’d been shirtless, I’d have recognized him right off.”
Joe’s brow furrowed. “And you still don’t think he’s a good catch?”
“Of course not. I don’t want a man who parades around the entire world in his underwear.”
“Not even if it’s a rich man?”
“Especially then. What use do I have for money? Money doesn’t guarantee that you have everything in life.” Sometimes money even attracted bad things. It certainly had with her parents. Any time they had extra funds, it seemed to get them into more trouble.
The phone rang. As she picked up the receiver, she smiled at Joe, expecting him to move along back to whatever he’d been doing before. But he waited at her desk, watching her the whole time.
“So what type of man are you looking for?” he asked the moment she set the phone down. “Or do you have one already?”
“I do.” She thought of Ben and smiled. “He’s kind and gentle and always nice.”
“He sounds like milk.”
She shrugged. “Not everyone likes devil food cake.”
Joe laughed. “Em Shepherd, you are precious.”
He tapped the counter twice and strode to the elevator, which magically opened as he walked to it. He entered it, turned around, and winked at her as the doors closed.
She exhaled as she slumped in her chair. Fanning herself, she shook her head. What a relief that Joe Winslow was
so
not her type.
Chapter Six
Between jetlag, worry about the missing will, and thoughts of kissing a half-naked Nick, Rosalind hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d finally given up tossing and turning and gotten up.
It was time to take action. The sooner she found the will, the sooner she could go back to her life.
Which meant leaving Nick.
She frowned as she descended the stairs. That shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did, given she’d only just met him. But the kisses … Those kisses made her feel like everything was possible.
Utterly irrational. But then Bijou would have said love was irrational.
Love.
She shook her head. Lust, more like it. And grief, she decided as she walked into the kitchen. Wanting sex in the face of death was a natural thing.
Fran was there, a crisp white apron around her thick waist. She smiled brightly, taking a cup from the counter and filling it with coffee. “You look like you need this, love.”
Some things never changed. She traded a peck on the cheek for the coffee cup and sat at the high counter in the middle of the kitchen.
“You’re up early.” Fran studied her closely. “You didn’t sleep.”
She smiled fondly. “You’re acting like I’m a teenager again.”
“You girls will always be my little lambs.” The older woman shrugged. “Old habits die hard. You’re the children I never had.”
Without Fran, who knows what would have happened to them all. “Do you regret it? Staying here instead of starting a family of your own?”
“Not a day,” she said with an emphatic shake of her head. “You’re my family.”
“But except for Portia, we’re all gone.”
“There’s your mum now, isn’t there?” Fran patted her hand fondly. “It’s good that you’re here for her. You always were the closest one to her.”
She wrinkled her nose. Everyone kept saying that. “That’s not saying much.”
“She missed you most, as happy as she is for your success.” Fran pointed a finger at her, her expression fierce; the same way it had been when they were kids and had done something bad. “Don’t get that look on your face, miss. It’s true, even if she doesn’t show it. Everyone makes mistakes, even Lady Jacs. She’s still your mum.”
Fran was more of a mother than anyone, but Rosalind knew better than to point that out.
“Maybe this is the moment you’ve been waiting for,” Fran said with a knowing nod. “Maybe it’s the right time to forge a relationship.”
“Maybe,” she said, sliding off the stool. But unlikely. Her mother had always had a tall stone wall around her, and Rosalind had fallen off it too many times trying to scale it.
She walked down the long corridor toward her father’s study and stuck her tongue out at the centuries-old portraits of her ancestors. Stuffy, unyielding looking people.
Like her father. She hovered in the doorway of the study. It took her a moment to realize she was waiting for permission to be allowed in. Old habits. She shook her head and walked in.
She looked around, feeling the ghost of Reginald Summerhill in the room. The musty smell of the cigars he used to smoke lingered, shadowed by the faint spiciness of his cologne.
Everything looked the same as it ever did. Bookshelves filled with untouched volumes, a massive desk like a sentinel in the middle of the room, and paintings by famous artists that had hung in the house for a couple centuries.
They’d always had
stuff
around them. But it was the real things in life that were important, like friends and love and purpose.
Still, Rosalind was grateful for the antiques cluttering the house. The furnishings would go a long way to ensuring that her mother would be able to live comfortably the rest of her life. Jacqueline Summerhill was used to keeping up the appearance of being well-off without the liquid cash to back it up.