Snowy Mountain Nights (14 page)

Damn.
What was she doing? Hours ago, she was determined never to see him again, but now all she wanted was to get naked and rub herself all over him through that gorgeous suit. She wasn't thinking with her brain.

He was like no man she had ever even thought of becoming involved with. He was no artist, no sensitive and passionate soul. Instead, he was a businessman with a cool and rational mind that sometimes chilled her with its precision. If there was a problem, he often had a solution—not a nice one, but one that was workable.

At the restaurant, even in the midst of his anger, she had seen him calculate the benefits and drawbacks of beating the hell out of Ian in front of everyone. She was sure that if she hadn't stopped him, he would have stopped himself. She didn't know him completely, but she liked to think she was beginning to.

Reyna left her wine on the coffee table to find the bathroom. When Garrison mentioned freshening up, she realized she still felt sticky from their encounter in the alley.

When she finished, Garrison was still on the phone. To occupy herself, she wandered around the large living room.

Now that she didn't have Garrison's hypnotic presence to distract her, she noticed that his apartment reminded her of Bridget's place on the other side of the park. It was smaller than her friend's multimillion-dollar, two-story penthouse, but the view was just as dizzying, the furnishings more impeccable and with an international flair.

A pair of African birthing chairs took up queenly space near the large and neatly arranged bookshelves. A Turkish rug lay underfoot, and a heavy, wooden screen with Adinkra symbols carved into it separated the reading area from the rest of the room.

Reyna stood near the screen to read the symbols, trying to remember what she learned from the class on West African culture and language she took her junior year. As she stretched to examine the images carved into the screen, her hip nudged a folder sitting on top of a nearby table. She hissed as the folder fell, scattering papers onto the floor.

With a curse, she bent to pick them up, gathering them quickly in some semblance of order to slide them back into the manila folder. A name on top of one of the documents caught her eye. She blinked. No, it couldn't be. Before she caught herself, she was tugging the document free of the folder again to look at it properly.

The breath left her throat in a shocked rush. Reyna felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

At the top of the heavy white sheet of paper, clean and freshly printed, was Marceline's name, and the husband she was filing divorce from. Garrison was the lawyer representing Marceline's husband. She dropped the paper as if it burned. And in some ways, it did. A hot, scorching thing sat in the center of her chest, eating away at the soft feelings she had for Garrison. She felt betrayed.

Had his appearance at Halcyon simply been a ploy to get close to Marceline and find out anything that her husband could use against her? Had he been gathering information on her friend that entire time? A fluttering noise jerked Reyna from her thoughts, the manila folder falling again to her feet. She stared at the innocuous-looking folder then picked it up, shoved the papers back inside and put it back on the desk.

Her fingers shook, and cold horror settled in the pit of her belly. This wasn't possible. But she couldn't ignore the damning evidence in front of her face. Reyna grabbed her purse and coat. She yanked open the front door.

“My apologies. That took much longer than I thought it would.”

Garrison came back into the living room, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He stopped short when he saw her at the door wearing her coat. “You're leaving?”

“You bastard!” Reyna spat. “How could you do this to me? To her?”

“What are you talking about?” He walked toward her, hands held up in a posture of surrender. “Come sit down so we can talk about whatever is bothering you.”

She struggled to button her coat, the anger making her fingers slip. “No more games, Garrison! I will not give you the chance to snowball me again.”

“I'm really in the dark here. Reyna, what's wrong?”

“Don't you dare say my name. Not like that.” She cursed the trembling weakness in her voice and backed away from him as he moved cautiously closer. “Did you know that Marceline was your client's wife the whole time, or did you find out and decide to use it to your advantage later on?”

An eyebrow rose. “Marceline? Your friend?”

“Yes!” Her voice rose in a scream. “You are her husband's lawyer. Daniel Keller. How convenient for you to forget to tell me.”

“Keller's wife is not Marceline. It's Brigitte.”

Reyna stared at him coldly, trying to control her temper as someone passing by the open door stopped to look at her before rushing past to the elevator. “Brigitte M. Keller. She uses her middle name with us because we already have a Bridget.”

Garrison stopped. An emotion moved quickly across his face, too fast for Reyna to see. He stood in the wide hallway, maddeningly cool in his suit despite the discarded jacket and tie. A frown creased his brow.

“I didn't know any of that,” he said. “Keller always referred to his wife as Brigitte.”

“And you expect me to believe someone like you isn't thorough enough to know that simple damn fact?” She blinked back tears of anger. “If you lie so easily about this, you could have damn well lied to me about sleeping with other ex-wives of your old clients.”

Garrison stiffened. Whatever emotion she had sensed in him before drained away. He watched her with a coldness that made her want to gather her coat more closely around her. “Do you really believe that?” he asked.

She swallowed, glancing back toward the papers with her friend's name. “Right now I don't know what to believe.” Reyna walked out of the apartment and closed the door behind her.

The elevator came quickly, and in just a few minutes she was downstairs in the cold and slush, rushing toward the subway station in her impractical heels. She felt chilled and could not get warm enough, but it had nothing to do with the weather. She trembled the entire way home.

Chapter 10

G
arrison stood frozen in the middle of his living room, wondering what the hell just happened. One moment, he was planning one of the most romantic nights of his life, arranging for his favorite restaurant in the city to send them dessert along with a bottle of wine, and the next...the next, Reyna was raving at him about something he had no idea about. A stupid coincidence. Then she had thrown
that
accusation at him. And it hurt.

When Barbieri said it at the restaurant, Garrison had been furious. That piece of nothing didn't know him, yet he
dared
hint that Reyna was some piece of castoff Garrison had gotten from another man's trash. She was much more than that. And Garrison was, too.

His business was his life. He had built it from the ground up with no capital invested from a wealthy parent, no business connections except the ones he'd forged in New York on his own. Nothing. Garrison Richards and Associates was something he'd built with his two hands and his reputation.

His law firm supported his mother, helped her to leave the workforce and live the life she'd always dreamed of. This was what paid for every morsel of food that went into Garrison's mouth. He would never,
ever
think of endangering it just to find someone to warm his bed.

But Reyna thought he would. What had he ever done to make her believe he was a conscienceless opportunist who preyed on vulnerable women?

He breathed through the tightness in his chest. She was gone.

Garrison shook himself and grabbed his keys, his coat. He couldn't let her leave. And the high heels she wore didn't seem suited for the slush that sat in haphazard piles all over the city. He ran downstairs to look for her, thought he saw her fleeing down into the subway, but by the time he crossed the street and ran down the steps, the train to Brooklyn was only a howling sound and brace of wind blowing back at him in the tunnel.

Garrison cursed. His coat flapped around his legs in the wake of the southbound train. He glanced at his watch, mentally calculating how long it would take her to get home. He got his car and drove toward her Brooklyn apartment as fast as the streets would let him.

He parked on the street across from the subway exit closest to her building and waited. Barely ten minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her familiar figure emerge from the subway station. She was huddled in her coat, the long material covering her from throat to calves. She walked quickly from the station, a slim and dark figure, checking her surroundings as she made her way from the well-lit entrance. Even covered as she was, the swaying walk of hers managed to attract quite a few admirers. Garrison got out of his car.

“Reyna.”

She stopped when she saw him. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets, and she looked as if she was freezing. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“I'm obviously fine.” She began to walk again, her heels stabbing into the sidewalk with each deliberate step. She stopped at the red-lit pedestrian crossing. “You can go back home now.”

Garrison gently took her arm, his gloved hand against her black sleeve. “Let me drive you home.”

She looked down at his hand as if it was something loathsome. “I walk these streets every day. I am fine. I don't need your fake chivalry, and I definitely don't need you to tell me when I'm safe and when I'm not.” Reyna yanked her arm from his. “The only time I wasn't safe was when you took advantage of my friend and used me to get to her.”

Garrison flinched, but he tried not to show how deeply her words pierced him, a shocking arrow of pain in his chest that he'd never felt before. He drew back. “All right.”

The light changed, and she quickly crossed the street, nearly lost in the swarm of pedestrians. She didn't look back. But Garrison followed her the whole way home to make sure she was as safe as she thought she was. At her building, she walked inside and slammed the door in his face without once looking in his direction. Garrison went back to his car. He cursed when he saw the parking ticket on the windshield. Of course this would happen.

But when he got into the Jag and started the engine, he couldn't find the energy to be angry about the fine. He had parked where he shouldn't. Fair enough. What wasn't fair were her accusations of duplicity.

But life isn't quite fair, is it?

Garrison wanted to kick his inner sardonic voice in the throat. He tightened his fists around the steering wheel. His leather gloves creaked.

At Halcyon, he thought he'd shown Reyna the kind of man he was. The oblivious and morally blind man from five years ago had been burned away by his own deliberate fires of change. Now he was more conscious of the people who could be hurt by his actions. And he changed lives for the better when he could. Garrison thought that was the man she'd responded to and made love with in the mountains.

The person she had allowed to touch her would have never done those things she so freely accused him of. Why, then, did she think it was possible for him, now that they were back in the city, to do those despicable things? Garrison shook his head. It was not a question he could answer.

Resigned, he pulled the car into traffic and headed for the bridge.

* * *

At home, he poured himself another whiskey then carefully checked his notes on the Keller divorce. As he read the details, he remembered what he had seen of the young Haitian woman at the resort. She was beautiful and gentle, but with an air of sadness about her, as if depression was only a breath away. She looked like someone who had lost at love and lost badly.

The man who wanted to be her ex-husband was doing much better. Although Daniel Keller often talked about how he missed his wife and wished things would go back to how they once were, he did not wear anguish the way Marceline did. But that wasn't surprising.

For the men who came to him—“the shark lawyer”—for an effective and incisive divorce, all the soft feelings and tenderness for the women who had shared their lives were long gone. All that was left was a desire for self-and asset preservation.

It was a depressing scenario, one that Garrison told himself he had been lucky to escape. Nothing ended in happiness. And those who were fools to forget that were the ones who suffered the most.

Chapter 11

R
eyna rushed into her apartment and locked the door. The cold night air had burned into her lungs, freezing them as she'd breathed openmouthed, pushing tears of disappointment and anger at bay, on her walk from Garrison's apartment and then from the subway station. Her nose stung with cold. She still couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to fall for his brand of bull. And almost fall for him.

She dropped her purse on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes and sank into the couch.

“I'm such an idiot.”

Before she could start crying, she grabbed her cell phone and quickly dialed a number. Louisa answered on the second ring.

“What are you up to, girl? I thought you'd be too busy getting pounded into the mattress to call me at this hour.”

The tears Reyna fought so long against rushed down her face. “He's a liar, Louisa.”

“What? He's a lawyer? I thought we all knew that.”

She sniffled, smiling weakly at her friend's joke. She bit her lip and told her what happened at his apartment.

“Did you sleep with him again? Before?”

Reyna toyed with the necklace at her throat, blushing as if Louisa could see her. “Yes.” And she would have slept with him again if she hadn't found those papers with Marceline's name on them.

“You must really like him.”

“I did,” Reyna muttered. “I must be a fool.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself. He's a sexy man with enough appeal to make any woman forget her common sense. And although you're not any woman, you're not immune to the appeal of a fine man, no matter what you tell yourself.” The faint rustle of fabric came through the phone, the sigh of a mattress. Was Louisa in bed?

“Are you home?”

“No, I'm not. But I will be tomorrow.”

“Oh, my God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your night. I feel like such an idiot!”

“Stop beating yourself up, honey. It gets old. If I didn't want to talk with you, I wouldn't have answered the phone.”

“I still feel bad.” Reyna took a deep breath and wiped the tears away with trembling fingers. “I'm going to take a long bath and get myself together. You enjoy the rest of your night. Okay?”

“Reyna...”

“No, really. Please.” She took her cell phone from her ear to look at the clock. “This is so booty call hour—what was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that you need a friend, and that is exactly what I am.”

“I know. Thank you for answering my call.” She forced a smile into her voice. “Now I'm going to be a friend to you and hang up so you can go back to whoever you're entertaining right now. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. Good night, Louisa.”

Her friend sighed. “Fine. But let's meet up tomorrow. We can have brunch at our usual place then go see Marceline. I already know she doesn't feel like going out, so we'll just have to go to her.”

“That sounds good,” Reyna said softly. “See you tomorrow.”

She disconnected the call and lay down on the rug, curled onto her side with a fist under her cheek. A sigh shook her body from head to toe. That sigh became a sob, then fresh tears fell.

Yes,
she thought as she tasted the salt from her eyes.
You are a fool.

* * *

The next day when she met up with Louisa, she had herself a little more together. But as they sat down at the table for two at their favorite street-side bistro, Louisa frowned at her, her bright gaze missing nothing.

“Girl, you look a mess. Are you sure you're not going through all this for no damn good reason?”

Reyna reached for the menu, deliberately not looking at her friend. “I'm not ready to talk about this yet.”

Louisa signaled their waiter. “That's fine for now, but I need the details from you
very
soon.”

Reyna didn't say anything. At least not then. But by the end of brunch, Louisa had gotten every single detail from her, even the ill-advised but infinitely pleasurable detour they'd taken in the secluded alley. Louisa wasn't shocked by any of it, but she had been amused.

“Whatever else happens between you and this lawyer, at least you can say he opened up your horizons,” Louisa murmured. “As well as a few other things.”

Reyna nearly choked on her water.

After brunch, they left the relative noise and bustle of SoHo for the house in Long Island that Marceline had shared with her husband. Instead of taking the train, which was Reyna's usual and preferred means of transportation, Louisa insisted on driving.

As they pulled into the driveway of the massive house, Reyna noticed an unfamiliar car close to the house. A black Lamborghini.

“Is that Daniel's car?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe Marceline found herself a new beau in the past few days while we've been worried sick about her.” Louisa raised an amused eyebrow as she climbed from the driver's seat of the white Mercedes. “Come on, let's go see what our bereaved friend is up to.”

Reyna firmly closed the passenger-side door and walked with Louisa toward the lakeside Georgian-style mansion. The house was all white columns and wide windows with lots of beautiful landscaping that took a small army to maintain.

“She's
got
to get rid of this albatross before the divorce. What—”

Reyna broke off when angry footsteps pounded against the stone walkway leading from the house. Daniel burst down the path toward them, barely sparing her and Louisa a glance before jumping in his car and peeling away in a screech of tires.

“What the hell?” Louisa said.

The two women hurried to the house. They didn't have to go very far before they saw Marceline slumped over the living room couch, crying as if her heart was breaking.

Reyna rushed to her side. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“What did that loser do now?” Louisa followed at a more sedate pace, her narrowed eyes taking in the neatly ordered living room as if searching for signs of something worse. Blood on the floor, a knife tucked into the potted plant, something.

“It's Daniel!” Marceline grabbed the front of Reyna's blouse. She looked shattered.

“I think we were able to figure out at least that much,” Louisa said drily. But the look of concern on her face belied her tone.

Reyna made a shushing motion in her direction. “What happened?” she asked Marceline.

But her friend couldn't speak. Reyna and Louisa guided her from the living room to the kitchen, where Louisa put on water for tea. Reyna sat with her arm around Marceline at the dining room table, the large and opulent room a big contrast to the cozy space they'd shared at Halcyon.

“Tell us what's wrong, honey.” Reyna smoothed her friend's hair. “If we don't know, we can't help you.”

Only when Louisa returned with cups of chamomile tea did Marceline try to speak. It was probably to appease the firm look on Louisa's face, the look that said she was tired of not getting any output other than tears. Marceline stuttered a few words before going quiet again.

“It's okay.” Reyna rubbed Marceline's back, murmuring softly to calm her.

With her tea in hand, Louisa strolled to the window and looked over the small vegetable garden Marceline insisted on planting despite the inhospitable New York weather. “Do I have to go find Daniel and drag him back here to find out what happened?” she finally asked.

Marceline looked terrified. “No!”

She reached for Reyna with cold hands. “He...” She swallowed. “He says he's going to yank my whole life from under me.” Tears splashed down her cheeks. “He says he'll make your divorce from Ian look like Woodstock in comparison.” Her chin shook as she spoke. “I can't believe this. I thought he was the one. I thought he loved me.” She trembled in Reyna's arms while Reyna tried to push her own anger aside. This was about Marceline, not about her. But dammit, how dare he use what happened to her all those years ago to threaten her friend?

“This proves that he has no love for you, Marceline,” Reyna said quietly. “You have to do something about this before it gets any worse. You need your own lawyer.”

“No...” Marceline's weak voice suddenly grated on Reyna's nerves, reminding her too much of herself years ago.

“Snap out of it,” Louisa muttered, her lips pursed at the edge of her teacup. “What are you waiting for? For him to punch your lights out?”

Marceline froze in Reyna's arms. Reyna drew a breath, sharp and surprised.
No,
she thought,
not this
. Louisa was at their side in seconds.

She stared at Marceline. “He hit you before?”

“Yes, but...”

“No.” Louisa sharply cut her off. She abandoned her tea on the table, hands visibly trembling. “Reyna. We need to take care of this. Now.”

We? Reyna's mind raced. What could she do to help Marceline? She didn't have the clout that Bridget and her parents had, nor the financial resources available to Louisa. Marceline's parents had been wealthy but died leaving her orphaned, if exceedingly rich. She was alone with no remaining family in the United States. No one to turn to except her friends. And all Reyna had to offer her, as a friend, was Garrison.