Wherever It Leads (31 page)

I let my gaze drift to the dark waters of the Pacific through the windows. “When we were little, Brady was scared of the dark. I really wasn’t, probably because we shared a room in our little bungalow and he was my big brother and I thought he’d protect me if something bad happened. But he used to sing himself to sleep to distract himself from the monsters he was sure lived in our closet.” My heart burns with the memories, the sound of him singing the theme to He-Man making me smile. “I wonder if he’s out there somewhere now, singing himself to sleep, distracting himself from the real monsters. The worst part is, I don’t even know where he is. Is it dark there? Is he warm? Is he cold? Is he bleeding? Does he know we want him back? Does he think we forgot about him?”

I swipe my napkin off the table and press it to my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not here. Not now.

Fenton moves to stand and I wave him off. “Don’t. I’m fine,” I sniffle. “If you come over here and hug me, I’ll cry.”

“I hate seeing you like this.” I can tell his throat is dry because the words come out like sandpaper.

“Yeah, me too,” I laugh.

He watches me carefully before pushing back from the table despite my wishes. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. My stomach is in so many knots right now I couldn’t force anything down.

He stands and whips around the table, pulling me to my feet and into him before I can object. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the strumming of his heartbeat. It’s the warmest, safest place I’ve ever been besides my daddy’s arms when I was a little girl. I could get used to it. I want to get used to it. I want him to want me to get used to it.

He draws away far too soon and takes my hand, locking our fingers together, and leads me to the sofa facing the water in the center of the room. As we sit, I notice his breathing has gotten quicker, his hand squeezing mine off and on.

“So, how did Grant and I end up at Pano last night?”

Fenton stares at the water, his profile so rugged and handsome. He has a trace of stubble dotting his jawline and I itch to touch it, to run my fingers from his temple down to his supple lips.

He turns slowly to face me, his pupils wide in the soft light. “I had someone track him down and offer him a gift card.”

“Are you serious?”

His head nods slowly, his hand releasing mine and wiping across the top of his pants.

“Why would you do that? How did you even know who he was?”

I’m at a loss for words. My head is spinning because although I figured something like this was the case, hearing him admit it is beyond crazy.

“I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before last night.”

I sink back into the sofa, watching him uneasily. He’s nervous, but he seems confident. He’s looking me straight in the eye. I press forward. “So how did you find him? I don’t get it.”

“Finding people is easy.” He seems to realize what he’s said as my face falls. “I’m sorry.”

“Finding people in this country must be easy, I guess, when you have money.” I force a smile, trying to make light of the comment, even though it makes my heart hurt.

He flashes me a tight grin and chooses to keep going and not dwell on his slip-up. “I called a guy I work with and he did some digging on Grant. We tracked him to the marina and someone gave him a gift certificate.”

“But why?”

“Because I knew if he tried to take you to dinner, he’d go wherever it was free.”

“But Fenton, why?” I rise off the sofa and take a few steps away. I need some space to think, to breathe, to let my heart pound like a drum and not think he can hear it. “Why would you go to that much trouble?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “It matters. Your motivation behind it really matters to me.”

He loosens his tie further. He’s squirmy, so unlike him. “After everything you told me about him, I was concerned for your safety. I wanted you somewhere I could keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe.”

“After what I told you about him? What? That I had to pay for his shit?”

“That he was acting erratically. He had problems with money, he lied. That you suspect he has something to do with your brother,” he gulps. “Those aren’t positive attributes, rudo.”

“Obviously,” I snort. “But why do you care? You have no obligation to me.” I bite my tongue, holding myself back from saying more.

He laughs, a quiet chuckle that leaves me standing wordlessly. He leans back and looks at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he faces me again, his eyes are as clear as I’ve ever seen them. “I do have an obligation to you,” he says quietly.

My heart leaps to my throat and I take a staggering step backwards. “How do you figure?”

“There are many reasons why.”

“Such as . . .” I prompt him.

His gaze catches mine mid-air and holds it and doesn’t let go.

“You’ve really made me rethink a lot of things in my life. See things in a new light.” He grins a boyish smile, his head dipping just a touch. “You’ve made me smile, inside and out, for the first time in maybe forever. Certainly on this level.”

“You’ve made me smile too,” I whisper.

“The report on Grant isn’t good, Brynne. I saw enough to realize you shouldn’t be alone with this jackass. He’s bad news. Very bad news.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“Why would I just say that?”

I shrug, trying to process this information. “What did it say? Anything that would have impacted his time in Zimbabwe? I mean, is he on drugs? Could he have been so fucked up on something over there that maybe he is the reason Brady was in that neighborhood that day?”

My mind is spinning, round and round and round. The more I think, the faster it twirls.

Fenton shakes his head and looks around the room. “When I get the final report back, if I think it can help you, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“I’d really appreciate that. No one gives a shit about Brady. Grant, his employer, the government—they all just left him there to die. If you have anything, as small as you might think it is, please let us have it.”

“I will. You have my word.” His voice wobbles and he stands, wiping his hands down his pants again. “There was another reason I wanted you and him to come to Pano.”

“What’s that?”

“Because I needed to know . . .” he groans and sweeps his hand through his hair. “I needed to know if you wanted Grant back or not.”

“I told you I didn’t.”

“You told me you loved him.”

“That doesn’t mean I want him back.”

“If love is what you told me it was, then if you loved him, you might want him back.”

“Now you’re going to get all philosophical on me? You go from not saying hardly anything to being profound?”

“I’m not being profound. I just wanted to see how you looked at him.”

My chest tightens. I almost can’t say it. “Why?”

He just shrugs and grins a twisted grin that melts me. “I wanted to know if you looked at him like you look at me.” He stalks towards me, his eyes boring into mine. “I needed to see if that twinkle in your eyes, that one—right there,” he says, pressing his fingertip lightly on my eyelid, “if it was there when you looked at him.”

“Was it?” I breathe.

“No.”

Finally, his arms wrap around me and I make no resistance. I’ve been craving his touch for far too long. I melt into him as his lips find mine. They work together effortlessly, like they were created for this very thing. My hands go to his hair and I brush back the silky strands as I pull back.

“Have any more questions, Miss Calloway?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“I sure don’t, Mr. Abbott.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” His fingers drag around my hip and across my pubic bone.

“That means, now, we fuck.”

“But we’re in the middle of my restaurant,” he says as blandly as he can manage, all the while fighting a smile.

“So we are.”

He takes my hand in his and pilots me to the door. A knock raps from the other side just before we get there and Fenton tells them to enter.

The server comes in and stops, a confused look on her face. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re leaving,” Fenton says. “Tell the chef it was fine, we just had a change in plans.”

“Sure . . .” She steps out of the way as we charge by, me struggling to keep up in my heels.

“Fent! Slow down,” I giggle.

He turns and swoops down, picking me up. I shriek, tossing an arm around the back of his neck, my legs dangling over his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you home. With me.”

He strides through the entrance and I spy his car sitting below. I’m in the passenger’s seat and we’re tearing through the parking lot before I know it.

I
t’s exactly how I envisioned it.

Fenton’s living room reflects everything I know about him. Sturdy, brown leather furniture sits around an oversized cinnamon-colored rug. One wall has a dark hued, built-in entertainment center with framed photos, books, and small trinkets that I’m dying to get a closer peek of.

It’s a mixture of responsibility and fun, of classic and modern. The room is sophisticated in some ways, yet comfortable in others. It’s just so Fenton.

He pulls me through the room, sliding one frame of glass to the side, and out onto an expansive deck. The view is stunning. The sea is as far as we can see, although I can’t currently see too far because of the night sky. Silver stars twinkle above, the water pushing in and going out, creating our own private white noise.

Each side of the house is lined with trees, so even though he has neighbors, we can’t see them. There are no lights. Just serenity.

I stand at the railing and gaze across the water. I feel him come up behind me, sense his presence, before he nuzzles his face against my neck.

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

“My father built this for my mother.”

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, imagining a little Fent playing on the beach below. Maybe a dog chasing him or a group of little boys playing tag.

He laughs. “No.”

“You must love it though.”

“I feel close to my family. My mother loved this place. Dad had it built a few years before he passed away and it’s where she lived out the rest of her life.”

“What happened to her?”

“They said a heart attack, but I figure it was a broken heart.”

His arms come around me, grabbing the rail on either side. His chest is pressed against my back and I let my head fall back on his shoulder. His body rises and falls, his breathing regulating with the waves.

I’ve never felt so peaceful with a man before. Even though I’d prepared myself hours earlier to walk away from him, now after his explanation, I feel my walls crumbling. It’s so easy being with him, such a natural give-and-take. I don’t feel like I have to be anyone, give anything, or do anything I don’t want to, and that’s in stark contrast to any relationship I’ve ever been in before. And even though this isn’t a relationship per se, it is . . . something . . . and I like it, even if I can’t define it.

“A broken heart?” I repeat. “What happened?”

“She just couldn’t live without my father, I don’t think. He met her on a business trip and I think he proposed within a few days,” he chuckles. “That’s what they told me, anyway. I never remember them fighting, never remember them being anything but happy. Even when things got hard—and they did—they didn’t let it split them. Some things we didn’t talk about in our house, like politics and religion. But we didn’t argue about it either.”

“Sounds like a perfect relationship.”

“They were just so in love . . .”

His heart, so heavy against my back, skips a beat when he says the words. I grin, knowing he’s waiting on me to comment. I consider not saying anything, but I can’t help myself.

“I thought you didn’t believe in love?”

His delayed response is thunderous. My mouth slacks, my breathing quickening, as I wait for his answer.

“I might not,” he says finally. “But there’s a chance that I do too. Maybe I was just afraid to believe in it, that I wouldn’t be able to sort out real love from the shallow motives I’ve seen a hundred times. Maybe I was scared I’d never be loved for me and not just for my money or who I am.”