Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Future Releases

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Copyright

Storm Ravaged

Storm Damages Book Two

Magda Alexander

Magda Alexander, Publisher

Dedicated to my beautiful daughter, Heather, who’s probably looking down from heaven and shaking her head

Chapter 1

______________

Washington, D.C.

September 30

Elizabeth

THREE MONTHS HAVE GONE BY without the taste of Gabriel Storm in my mouth, the scent of his skin in my nostrils, the rush of his powerful body pounding into mine. In a few minutes, he’ll arrive for the closing of the SouthWind deal. Given an option, I would have scheduled a vacation, preferably one on the dark side of the moon. But I’m responsible for the closing documents and my presence is required. So here I stand, breathless with anxiety, heart pounding with anticipation.

This is not good for the child I carry. His child. Gabriel Storm’s, the powerful COO of Storm Industries. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant. I never told him. There never seemed to be the right time to do so. And then at the end, I couldn’t let him know, because it would have meant the destruction of everything he cherished, everyone he cared for.

He’s made no attempt to communicate with me since the stormy summer night I walked out on him. No phone calls, no emails, not even a text. I don’t blame him, not really. What else could he do after I admitted to betraying him. It isn’t true, of course. I would never do such a thing. But I was forced to make a clean break, so he’d never want anything to do with me. Still, after everything we did, after everything we meant to each other, his silence hurts more than I care to admit. I shrug. Just as well. It will make him easier to ignore when I see him again. Yeah, I know, denial at its best.

“You look like you’re about to pass out. Are you okay?” CeCe. My rock. I don’t know what I would have done without her in the last three months. She covered for me while I puked in the bathroom, answered innumerable questions about pregnancy and childbirth, and most of all listened when I poured out my misery.

“Yes.” I’m not. But fake it ‘til you make it, right?

“Here.” She hands me a water bottle. “Drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” I unscrew the top, guzzle half the container. The cold liquid feels good going down, and it gives my hands something to do besides shake.

A rustle of excitement outside the glass-enclosed conference room draws my attention. Many of the women from the law firm, and some of the men, have found an excuse to hang outside. They laugh, giggle. Oh, please. Don’t they have anything better to do? When Mr. Carrey frowns at them, some disperse but most remain right where they are.

And then Mr. Carrey’s new secretary is walking down the hallway toward the conference room, ahead of two people. One is Miranda Stone, Vice President of Acquisitions at Storm Industries, and the other . . .

I stop breathing.

He’s allowed his hair to grow. That fabulous kissed-by-the-sun golden mane reaches his shoulders now. He walks into the conference room, his glance bouncing around the room, landing on no one in particular. As ever, his gaze mesmerizes me. Was there a time when I wasn’t fascinated by those ocean-blue eyes of his? He’s wearing one of his killer two-piece suits, a dark blue one which caresses his broad shoulders and showcases his powerful legs to perfection. He’s the same.

And yet, he’s not.

He no longer walks with that smooth, sexy gait of his, but with a stutter step as he leans on a walking stick. Pain lines groove his face. His suffering guts me as much as it did when I heard he’d been injured. He never revealed the cause. And the tabloids never found out, even though they looked under every rock and hounded him for weeks. But clearly it caused major damage, to his right leg at the very least.

When somebody makes a comment about the cane, he jokes about his limp. Apparently, a tree ran into him during a skiing trip. But I spot something in the depths of his eyes that tells me he’s lying. Something else caused that injury.

Mr. Carrey steps up to him, shakes his hand and that of Gabriel’s VP before leading them around the room to reacquaint them with the members of the Smith Cannon team—Terry, Brian, Mark.

Me.

“And you remember Elizabeth Watson,” Mr. Carrey says.

Elizabeth, just like our queen. The words Gabriel spoke so long ago, accompanied by that panty-melting grin of his, echo in my head. Please say my name. The way you used to when you were so deep in me you stole my heart.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Watson.”

I dig my nails into my palm to keep from crumbling, because the glance he directs at me displays neither love, nor hate, but indifference as if I mean less than nothing to him. “Mr. Storm,” I manage to say even though I’m dying inside.

Although he’s shaken hands with everyone else, he doesn’t bother to do so with me.

“Everything ready, Liz?” Mr. Carrey asks.

“Yes, Sir.” I point to the papers on the conference table, vetted and approved by both sides.

A flurry of click-click-clicks from the financial media invited to the signing swirl around Gabriel Storm and the SouthWind owner when they take their seats at the conference table.

The contrast between the two men is startling. While the portly SouthWind owner looks like he’s been stuffed into his no-doubt high end suit, Gabriel, in his Savile Row custom-made jacket and trousers, appears to have just stepped off the cover of GQ. The disparity between the two men is brought home even further when they make it official. While Mr. SouthWind grabs a standard issue pen and signs on the dotted line with an ostentatious flourish, Gabriel Storm retrieves a classic gold-tipped Montblanc from the depths of his jacket and records his name with quiet dignity.

My fascination with his hands has yet to desert me. Big, masculine, tender. Barely three months ago, they worshiped my skin when he couldn’t get enough of me. And now . . .

My own hands tremble as I retrieve the signed papers and set them to the side to allow the ink to dry. More flashes go off when they and Mr. Carrey stand at the podium to make their statements. The good ole boy provides the press with a self-congratulatory speech which provides little in the way of substance, all the time grinning like a fool. But then why wouldn’t he? He just sold the rights to develop his Brazilian wind power farm to Storm Industries for a cool $600 million, most of it in cold, hard cash.

The cameras barely snapped when Mr. SouthWind blathered on, but they burst in blinding fury when Gabriel Storm steps up to the lectern to discuss the importance of renewable energy and the low cost of delivering wind-generated power. Surely, the environmentalists have no advocate more electrifying than him.

When reporters rifle off questions, he answers a couple before Miranda Stone steps in to handle the rest, giving him a chance to walk away from the limelight. The presentation concludes with a round of handshakes and more photos. And then Mr. Carrey leads Mr. SouthWind and Gabriel Storm, along with members of the Smith Canon team, two doors down to the Potomac Conference Room where a celebratory cocktail party will take place.

While the press corps collect their equipment, I gather the signing documents and head to Support Services to copy them. Once the signatory pages are bound with the rest of the closing documents, Smith Cannon will file the purchase agreement with the appropriate agencies.

Done with that, I head to my office, rather than the celebration. I’m being a coward, I know, but I can’t be in the same room with Gabriel Storm without falling apart. Back at my desk, I take deep breaths to slow my racing heart, still my nerves. But it doesn’t do any good. I let out a mirthless laugh. One would think a four-month pregnancy would cure me of my lust for him. Wrong. Even after all these months, even after the insulting offer he hurled at me, I crave him as much as ever.

My pumps pinch, interrupting my train of thought. Why, oh why, did I wear high heels today? With the baby bump, my center of gravity shifted, and I have yet to achieve the right balance in anything but flats. I’m reaching under the desk to ditch the shoes, when a knock sounds on my door.

"Come in," I raise my head to find Mr. Carrey’s secretary and the last person I expect to see. Gabriel Storm.

“Hi, Liz. Hope we’re not disturbing you,” she says with a bright smile.

“No, of course not.” I stand, grateful the desk hides my bare feet.

“Mr. Storm wanted to take a look at the closing documents.”

“Oh? Okay.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez. You’ve been so very kind.” He shoots her his dazzling smile which of course makes Jell-O out of Carrey’s AA.

“Yes, thank you, Carmen.” I bite out.

The door closes behind her, leaving Storm and me staring across my desk at each other, a desk not unlike the one I laid on while he pounded into me a mere day after we met. The day his condom tore and he more than likely got me pregnant. I swat away the unwelcome memory and glance up at him.

Without the high heels, we're even at more disparate heights. I always loved how my five seven felt next to his six three. Not that we spent a lot of time vertical. Most of our time we spent horizontal where height didn't matter. But other things did. Like the taste of him in my mouth, the scent of his skin in my nostrils, the feel of him buried deep within me.

A spasm of pain rolls across his face, and he points to a chair. "May I?"

I may not want Storm in my office, but my heart goes to out to him. "Yes, of course. Here, let me." Like any decent paralegal, my office is crammed with paper and the chair overflows with mounds of filings, research documents, library materials.

"Please don't go to any trouble."

His luscious Brit accent pours over me, scattering my senses. I cover up my unrest by shifting papers to my desk. "I'm used to this."

Once I clear the seat, he takes his time sitting down.

"Does it hurt much?" I ache for him. If I could take away his suffering, I would.

"Most of the time, it's manageable, but the travel . . ." He winces when he stretches his right leg.

"Made it worse."

"Yes."

A question about his accident trembles on my tongue, but I choke it back. Why would he tell the woman who betrayed his trust?

In the close confines of my tiny office, he seems larger than life, and, as usual, he smells of that maddening cologne and him. I indulge in a slight shiver before I turn to the purpose of his visit. "Let me get those documents for you.” I kept a couple of copies when I dropped the originals at Support Services.

“Please don’t bother. I don’t need to see them.”

I glance at him, confused. “But Carmen said . . .”

“It was just an excuse to see you. A small subterfuge if you will.” No smile accompanies his statement.

“Oh?”

His gaze wanders around my office, my walls, my filing cabinets, so different from his ‘I'm-going-to-fuck-you-silly-first-chance-I-get’ he used to pin on me. He clears his throat, rests the cane across his thighs. Why, he's uncomfortable. Strange. That’s one emotion which never surfaced between us. Lust, anger, transcendental joy, yes, but self-consciousness? Never.

"What do you want, Gabriel?" I’m not about to address him formally, not in my office.

He again clears his throat and finally, finally his gaze, filled with businesslike purpose, focuses on me. "We need to talk."

My shoulders cram with tension as one overwhelming question races through my brain. Does he suspect the baby is his? Well, there’s only one way to find out. “About?”

He brushes a hand across his brow. "Not here. In my hotel. Tomorrow—"

Alone with him in his hotel room? Hell, no. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why not?" And here's the Storm I know so well. The one that doesn't take no for an answer.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for me—”

He waves aside my objection. "Do you have a scheduling conflict?"

"No, but—

"If you're worried about me doing anything . . . improper, don't. I only want to talk." He leans forward on the seat, and a twitch of pain skitters across his face. For a second, his eyes scrunch close.

“Do you need to take some medicine? I have water here if you do.” I open a desk drawer where I keep extra bottles.

“No, thank you.” In the past, he would have flashed that devastating smile of his, the crooked one I loved, but now all I see is a bloodless white slash across his lips.

"What do you wish to talk about?" I ask again, but in a much softer tone. No sense adding to his grief.

"Brianna . . .” He drops his voice, even though the door is closed and no one would be able to hear even if they were standing right outside. “She told me about the child.”

Of course she did. She’s his sister after all. And she figured it out when she saw those prenatal vitamins in my room the weekend I spent at Winterleagh Castle, their family’s country seat. I should have called her, asked her to keep that detail to herself. But then I would have had to tell her about the devil’s pact I struck with her mother.

Lady Winterleagh demanded I keep quiet about the baby in exchange for her silence about something which, if revealed, would destroy Gabriel, his family, his company. Worse than that, she ordered me to break Gabriel’s heart. And God help me, I did.

The last time I saw Gabriel he accused me of copying his confidential documents on the SouthWind deal and handing them to my boss to gain favor with him. I admitted it, even though I had done no such thing. But what choice did I have? If I hadn’t, his mother would have ruined Gabriel, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

But now he’s here, wanting to talk about the child we created, which is going to be difficult, because I can’t let him know it’s his. “What about my baby?”

His brow rises and, in that very proper British voice of his, he cuts me off. Again. "Our baby, is it not?"

God give me strength to deny it. The facts haven’t changed. His mother can still destroy everything he cherishes. “Maybe, maybe not.” I shrug, looking down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Beg your pardon? Didn’t you tell Bri the child was mine?”

I can’t lie about that. “I did, but I spoke prematurely. If I may be blunt, you were not the only man I had sex with during the time in question. As a matter of fact, there were several men.” Not true. I lived the life of a nun after he left.

His nostrils flare; his mouth curls in distaste. “Still, there’s a chance.”

I bite down on my lip to keep from blurting out the truth. What must he think of me? “If it’s your child, I need nothing from you. I want nothing from you."

His phone rings, interrupting us, and he retrieves it from his jacket. "I'll be right there." He clicks off. "A reporter from The Wall Street Journal wants to interview me.” He offers by way of an explanation.

Eager for him to leave, I stand. “You should go then.”

“I will as soon as we’ve settled this. Sit down, Ms. Watson. Please. I can’t remain seated while you stand.”

I want to say no, but I can't. He’s in enough pain as it is. I plop back on my chair.

He breathes hard for a couple of seconds, probably trying to get his pain under control. “We need to discuss this situation, but we can’t do it here. Meet me tomorrow for brunch, say eleven, at my hotel, the Four Seasons."

Much as I want to avoid this discussion, I can’t. I’ll need to do as he asks. "Fine."

"Samuel Taylor will pick you up at your home. He's my—"

"I know who Samuel is.” My voice rises. “Did you think I'd forgotten him in the last two months?"

"No, of course not. My apologies.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he painfully comes to his feet while I slide my shoes back on. “Until tomorrow, Ms. Watson."

It’s against firm policy to allow an outside guest to roam around the office alone. “I need to accompany you.”

“Fine.” He bows his head.

We wander down the hallway, in silence, not once exchanging a word, as if we’re nothing but business acquaintances. This from the man whose passion burned with such intensity I feared I’d be consumed by his flame. Clearly, whatever we had is gone, never to return. And I want nothing more than to return to my office, lay my head on my desk and cry over everything I lost and can never be regained.

Chapter 2

______________

Gabriel

MY LEG THROBS IN AGONY, but I get through the interview with The Wall Street Journal reporter and even manage a half hour of the cocktail party before I say goodbye to Carrey and his team. Leaning heavily on the cane, I head toward the lift, immensely grateful for my VP’s presence. If I start to keel over, Miranda will cover for me.

Somehow I make it out of the building without any mishap and into the limo where Samuel Taylor, my driver and security guard, waits to whisk us to the Four Seasons. Once we arrive at the hotel, we go our separate ways—Miranda to a dinner she’s arranged with friends, I to my room, where I can give my leg a rest.

Alone in my hotel suite, I pour a scotch from the mini bar and sink into the sofa to rest my injured leg. Clicking the remote, I twirl through the telly offerings, stop at a Washington Nationals game. Half an inning later, I'm gritting my teeth from the excruciating pain. The alcohol alone is not cutting it. I reach for my pills, knowing damn well the danger of mixing them with booze. But what choice do I have? I won’t last the night without both.

When I float pain free, my mind wanders back to the events of the afternoon. Somehow the closing took second fiddle to meeting Elizabeth Watson, the woman I didn’t know existed until a week ago when Brianna told me about our relationship and my alleged role in her pregnancy. Something I find difficult to believe since I always use a condom. Or used to anyway. That much I remember. So I can’t comprehend how she could have become pregnant by me.

According to Ms. Watson, I may not be the father of the child she carries. That statement tallies up with the care I usually took to prevent conception. And yet, I don’t believe her. Something about our conversation strikes me as odd. Months ago, she told Brianna I was the one responsible, but now she’s waffling on her statement. Why would she do that? Is she trying to throw me off the scent? Or did she speak the truth when she admitted to multiple sex partners? I don’t buy it. Her refusal to look at me when she mentioned other men seems to indicate a lie of some kind. Which baffles me. Why prevaricate about something that can be proved with a simple blood test?

A remnant of a memory fleets across my mind—gardenias and the lush body of a woman beneath me. But it’s gone before I can examine it for further clues. Is it her? No. It can’t be. I didn’t detect a floral scent in her office, and in that confined space, I would have noticed. Wish I could remember her. She’s lovely, truly lovely. Mounds of dark hair, green, green eyes. And curves plump enough to get a rise out of a dying man.

Ironic, I know.

I’d schooled my features to reveal nothing when I met her today, for I didn’t want my face to give away my thoughts. Still, I’d hoped for something, anything, to clue me in to the woman who, according to Bri, captivated me in a way she’d never witnessed before. But when I saw Ms. Watson, I felt . . . nothing. Not even a spark. I was disappointed, but not surprised.

Two months after the accident, and I still have major holes in my memory, with Elizabeth Watson being the biggest one of all. With careful coaching by Miranda Stone, whom I was forced to take into my confidence, I managed to recall and understand enough of the SouthWind deal to muddle through today’s closing and interview. When the article and photos make the business papers, everyone will think I have things under control when quite the opposite is true. I’m half the man I used to be. Mentally, emotionally, physically.

Even though I abhor the wreck I’ve become, the accident turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for the head injury prompted the doctors to take a serious look inside my head. They discovered tumors, non-cancerous, but still large enough to cause the migraines. If they hadn’t been removed, they could have proved fatal. Hell, they would have proved fatal the day of the crash, but for whatever guardian angel watched over me that fateful night.

While I convalesced in hospital, barely aware of my name, much less anything around me, Bri resisted the Countess’s efforts to wreck the SouthWind deal. Without my sister, everything I’ve fought for the last few years would have been dismantled. So I can’t very well yell at her over her decision to withhold information about Elizabeth Watson until a week ago. Not when she did it because I had enough to deal with at the time. A broken leg, amnesia, various bodily injuries. The night of the car wreck my blood alcohol content was way beyond the legal range. So I have no one to blame but myself for the state I’m in.

My mobile rings. Brianna.

“Darling, how are you?”

I’m not about to share my level of pain. “Fair to middling.”

“Leg still hurting?”

“Yes, but it’s manageable.” Only through the combination of liquor and drugs.

“How was the closing?”

“We’re now the proud owners of the rights to develop the Brazilian Storm Industries Wind Farm.” I knock back the rest of the scotch. “Is everything in order for your trip?” Along with Jake Cooper, my head of security and her own personal bodyguard, Brianna will travel to Brazil to perform the necessary leg work before the construction project can begin. Even though SouthWind shared their reports, she needs to perform her own investigation and plan the best way to erect the wind turbines which even now are being built by one of our subsidiaries. The new machines will withstand wind forces of near hurricane strength making them superior to the current ones manufactured by other plants and making us the place to go for new wind power generators.

“Yes, but I can put off our departure date for a week if you need me.”

“I’m fine, Brianna.”

“Are you sure, Gabe?”

“Yes, darling girl. You’ve taken care of me long enough, now go do what you love to do.”

“All right.” A pause. “How did it go with Elizabeth Watson?”

“I didn’t recognize her, Bri.” I sound disappointed and, damn it, I am.

“That’s too bad.” She seems just as despondent as me.

“I invited her for brunch tomorrow so we can come to some sort of an arrangement about this child.” If in fact it’s mine.

“It’s your baby, Gabriel. She said so.”

I swirl the ice in the glass and another memory races across my consciousness. A cube of ice, luscious tits. I roll the glass across my brow. Why can’t I bloody hell remember? “I can’t blindly believe it just because she told you it was.” Especially after she placed my paternity in question. “I need proof.”

She sighs. “Very well. Keep me informed.”

“I will. Goodnight. And Bri?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, Gabe. You’ve done enough for me. It’s about time I returned the favor. Goodnight.”

Hours later I wake, still on the couch, telly blathering with an infomercial. By my watch, it’s 3:18. I grab my cane and stumble my way to the bedroom, strip and fall exhausted into the king-sized bed. My dreams torture me with images of a gardenia-scented female body, mine pounding into hers. Something bound to live only in my imagination, for such an event will never come my way again.

Chapter 3

______________

Elizabeth

THE FOLLOWING MORNING comes around a bit too soon. After dressing, I fidget about my townhouse, straightening pillows on the couch, alphabetizing spices on the spice rack. Having developed an aversion to strong scents, I stay away from the more fragrant ones. Even a whiff of my gardenia perfume makes me gag. So I gave it up rather than barf.

There are a lot fewer spices since Casey Jackson, the foster brother who raised me since I was six, moved out a month ago. The place seems so quiet without him. Strange, since he rarely spent time here toward the end.

He dragged his feet on the move, but I insisted. After all, he’d done quite enough for me, and now he needs his own life. We get together for Sunday brunch at his new condo off Wisconsin Avenue, the place he and his girlfriend, a nurse at Georgetown University hospital, bought together.

Before he left, I found a new roommate, but she shacked up with her boyfriend instead, waiting until the day before her move-in date to let me know. She forfeited the security deposit and first month’s rent so I have enough to pay the current and next month’s payments. But I’ll need a new roommate after that.

The thought of a new search with the endless phone calls and emails tacked on to a full time job and night law school classes exhausts me. But it’s something I need to do. If I don’t locate a new roommate, I’ll have to find some place a great deal cheaper than the Alexandria townhouse where I now live. As it is, my share of the rent is astronomical, half my monthly paycheck. So paying the full amount is beyond my means.

I grab a white sweater, open the blinds. While I wait for Samuel, I smooth down my dress, an empire waistline navy blue and white outfit I bought in London. Don’t know why I chose to wear a dress which accentuates my slight baby bump since I do just the opposite at work, hiding my pregnancy behind loose smocks and business jackets. Not that it’s done any good. Everybody knows I’m pregnant.

No one’s been bold enough to ask who’s the baby’s father, but the secretaries whisper when I walk by their desks. And I’ve caught more than one conversation behind my back. But what most upsets me is the change in my work assignments. Although Mr. Carrey continues to give me meaningful work, other partners and associates delegate menial jobs, rather than the meaty projects I enjoyed before my pregnancy became noticeable.

The situation is bound to get worse after the baby’s birth. Whether I keep the child or put it up for adoption, I’ll be damned either way. My future with Smith Cannon has been compromised by my pregnancy, and I don’t see a way out. Although I would hate to pull up stakes and move to a new law firm, I may be forced to do just that.

When I catch the limo pulling up, I grab my purse and walk toward the car where Samuel stands, holding the back door open for me. He’s wearing a stylish two-button suit which favors his large build to a T.

“Good morning, Ms. Watson.” His accent is a curious combination of southern American roots with a touch of Brit.

“How are you, Samuel?” I touch his arm, first time I’ve done so, but I can’t help myself. He got me out of a sticky spot in London, and, in a strange way, he’s dear to me.

“Fine. Thank you for asking,” he returns with a smile.

Soon he’s whisking me down the George Washington Parkway. The day is one of those early fall days, not hot, not cold, just right. As we cross Key Bridge toward Georgetown, I recall that wild ride in the limo and how I came apart in Gabriel’s arms. His power to seduce me in less than a day’s acquaintance astounded me then. Still does. I never fell so hard, so fast, for another man.

When we arrive at the Four Seasons, Samuel asks a valet to park the car while he escorts me through the lobby, up the elevator, down the carpeted corridor to Gabriel’s suite.

Barely a second after I knock on the door, Gabriel flings it open and my breath goes AWOL. For several seconds, I stand there like an idiot, taking him in.

He’s as gorgeous as ever in denim jeans, white shirt and a heather blue v-neck cashmere sweater, with a gray jacket thrown over it all. His hair falls loose to his shoulders, curling at the ends. His sexy stubble weakens my knees. Who am I kidding? The entire package weakens my knees.

“Thank you for bringing Ms. Watson,” he says to Samuel.

“My pleasure, Mr. Storm.” To my surprise, Samuel folds his arms across his front and remains standing against the outside wall of the suite. I can’t imagine what Gabriel would need protection from here in D.C.

“Please come in,” Gabriel says to me.

I’ve never been inside the West Wing Presidential Suite, or any other at the Four Seasons for that matter. The entire place screams understated elegance, decorated as it is in light blues, golds and greens. A huge square coffee table commands the living room surrounded by two sofas, one a soft green, the other a light blue.

“May I use the facilities?” One of the cons of pregnancy. You can’t go five minutes without having to pee.

“Of course.” He points to my right.

After I take care of business, I swipe a brush through my hair, freshen my lipstick, spread lotion over my hands. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Elizabeth. Enough stalling. I step out to find him lounging against the opposite wall, cane in hand, waiting for me. My cheeks flush with heat. I’ve done the dirty deed and then some with this man. Why I’m embarrassed by his hearing me urinate is beyond me.

Ignoring my obvious embarrassment, he leads me farther into the suite. “The ride wasn’t too long?”

“No.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat or if you suffered from . . .” His voice drifts off.

“Morning sickness stopped about a month ago. I’m in the second trimester, the one where you eat like a horse.” I pat my stomach.

He grins that special crooked grin of his, and my insides flip flop.

“Good, because I ordered everything.”

Boy, he’s not kidding. The dining room table fairly groans with pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, blintzes, fresh fruit, toast, croissants.

I look around. No one here but him and me. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“No. Just us.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Only two places are set at the far end of the table.

I load up my plate with bacon, eggs, pancakes and spread orange marmalade on a couple of croissants. He pours cups of coffee for him and me. I pass on the orange juice.

While we tuck into the food, the only sound to be heard is the cutlery. How can we be this uncomfortable after everything we’ve done with each other? Stuffed to the gills after twenty minutes, I stop eating, and he encourages me to move to the living room. I carry a cup of coffee just to have something to sip. Somehow, he manages to juggle another plate in one hand while leaning on the cane with the other. When I sit, he slides the croissant plate with a dollop of orange marmalade to me.

We’ve switched places, him and I. The first day we met I waited on him. And now he’s waiting on me. “You really want me to eat more?”

He flashes that devastating smile. “This is my small way of taking care of you.”

My chin hitches up. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m doing fine.”

“I can see that. You’re glowing. Pregnancy suits you.”

He’s seeing what I want him to see. He’s missed the early morning sickness, the endless exhaustion, not to mention dealing with a body growing bigger and more cumbersome every day. “So, I’m here. Let’s talk.” My tone is curt, businesslike. The only way I’m getting through this is to handle it like a business discussion and not allow my emotions to break loose. Hard to do when he’s so drop dead gorgeous, so overwhelmingly masculine. And when I want him so damn bad.

He takes a seat on the blue sofa across from me, but doesn’t offer anything for a few seconds. Probably trying to figure out how to broach the subject we are here to discuss. “So the baby might be mine.”

“Might.” I tear off part of a croissant and pop it into my mouth just to give me something to still my nerves. I’ve never been very good at lying.

“I had the night to think about what you said, Ms. Watson, and I’ve come to one indisputable conclusion.” He fixes a rather unnerving stare on me. “You’re not speaking the truth.”

I almost choke on the croissant. “What exactly am I supposed to be lying about?”

“The paternity of the child. When my sister discovered you were pregnant, she asked you if I was the father. You didn’t hesitate. On the contrary, you readily admitted it, while revealing you hadn’t told me yet. So the question becomes why would you lie about something which can be proved so easily? All it takes is one test of my DNA and your blood, and my paternity can be established with a 99% accuracy.”

With my words revealed as the lies they are, I latch on to the one thing I can contest. “What makes you think I would volunteer for a blood test?”

“The court order I will serve upon you if you fail to see reason. But I won’t have to go that far, will I? One phone call to Thomas Carrey should do the trick. I’ll simply intimate I’m the father of your child, but you’re refusing to take a simple blood test.”

“You wouldn’t!” If he tells Carrey, I’ll lose his patronage. And the Smith Cannon attorney is the only partner giving me meaningful assignments. Might as well kiss my career goodbye.

“On the contrary, Ms. Watson. I most certainly would.” He’s damn serious, but then he hasn’t become a billionaire without playing hard ball.

Maybe we have more present issues to discuss, but right now, I’ve had enough of being called by my last name. “Ms. Watson? Really? After everything we’ve done, you won’t call me by my first name?”

That pompous brow of his goes on the rise. “My apologies. Liz.”

Liz? What happened to Elizabeth? The word he invoked with such heat and fervor it melted me every single time he breathed my name.

“What’s wrong? Would you prefer I call you something else?”

Yes, I do, but I’m not going to clue you in. Figure it out on your own. “Liz is fine. Go on.” I snap off another piece of the croissant, jam it into my mouth.

He rises, grabs the entire plate of croissants from the dining table, brings it to the coffee table, and places it in front of me.

“No, really, I shouldn’t.” Those things have to be a gazillion calories each.

“Eat.”

I shiver at the command. Why do I love the way he orders me around when I won’t stand the same from another man?

“Thank you.” I lay another flaky roll on the empty plate and bring it to my lap. “Even if you were the father, and I’m not saying you are—”

He grunts with disapproval.

“—I’m not looking for help from you. I’m doing fine on my own.”

Without taking his gaze from me, he rests back against his seat. “Are you familiar with peer hereditary laws?”

Where did that come from? “Yes, of course.” We’d discussed it, among many other things, that weekend at the castle.

“You know my father’s an earl.”

“Of course.”

“As his oldest legitimate son, I will inherit the title.”

Is this going where I think it’s going? I curl a protective hand around my belly.

“Our baby, if it’s a boy, can inherit the title as well but first we’d need to—”

“—marry.”

“Yes.”

“No.” I jerk to my feet, spilling the plate and the croissant on the rug. But before I can bolt, he takes my hand. It’s the first time he’s touched me since forever, and a sizzle runs up my arm straight to my heart. I’m so enthralled by him, by his touch, I remain placidly in his hold. Not that it would do any good to struggle. The look in his eyes tells me he’s not letting go.

“Sit, Elizabeth. Please.”

Elizabeth! There he’s said it. The sound of my name on his lips does what it always does. Can he tell I’m trembling? Because I am. I’m shaking like a leaf on a windy day. Unsure if my legs will hold me, I collapse on the couch. It’s only then he releases his grasp on me.

I struggle to regain control of my breathing, still my quivering. And as I do, reason sets in. “Wait. I don’t understand how you can ask me to marry you. Aren’t you betrothed to Lady Melissande?” The beautiful daughter of the Duke of Marchstone whom he proposed to the same night I ran out on him.

“We were never engaged.” His eyes drop to half mast, and I can’t tell if he’s lying or telling the truth.

“That’s not what the British tabloids reported.”

“They were wrong. And never mind her. It’s you I want to discuss.”

There’s more to the story, but he’s not going to tell me. That much I can tell by the firm set of his sensual lips. “Fine. Let’s talk about me. I don’t want to marry. You or anyone else. I told you that in London. Remember?”

“I proposed to you?” His eyes widen with surprise.

What? “You don’t remember?”

He brushes a hand across his brow. “My . . . accident played havoc with my recollection of events. Some things I remember clear as a bell; others . . . not so much.”

What does that mean? I shake my head. “You never proposed. But I didn’t expect you to. From the beginning, I made it very clear I did not want a relationship.” The implication of his lack of memory shocks me. “You truly don’t remember?”

“No.”

Did he forget some of the things we did? Some of the words we spoke? My heart sputters before taking on a beat again. Did he forget me? Surely, that’s not possible. And yet . . .

Awkwardly, he comes to his feet, and, leaning on the cane, he stutter steps up and down the rug behind the couch. “Sorry. If I don’t exercise the leg, it stiffens.”

I thread my hands on my lap, hoping I can hang on, but everything is unraveling too fast. I came prepared to argue he was not the baby’s father, only to have him strip the lie, and now I’m facing the possibility he doesn’t remember me. I swallow back a sob. How could he not after all we did? After all we shared?

He stops pacing and faces me, as if he’s come to a resolution. “Whether I proposed or not is immaterial. The facts remain the same. You’re pregnant, and I don’t want my child to be born a bastard. So the offer stands. Marry me.”

The urge to run away from him, from his proposal, prompts me to my feet. “I don’t want to marry and you have no proof the child is yours.”

He stalks to where I stand, driving the cane so hard it leaves a dent on the rug. “It won’t be forever. Only long enough to make the child legitimate. I’ll make it worth your while.”

My breath catches. A lump grows in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“The day we marry, I’ll put ten million at your disposal, for you to do with as you wish. When the child is born, I’ll add another ten.”

How could he? As if I would accept such a thing from him? “You think I would marry you for money?” I spit out.

“Wouldn’t you?” His eyes flash with fire as he towers over me. “You’re drowning in school debt. Having a hard time making your rent. And you’re expecting a child. How are you going to pay for it all?”

My breath grows short at the thought he knows so much about my life. No doubt how he found out. He probably asked Jake, his chief of security, to investigate me. How dare he? I grab my purse. “I’m leaving. And you’re not stopping me, not this time.” Swerving around him, I race to the door, sling it open, only to find Samuel on the other side, blocking my way. Confused, I turn back to Storm.

“You’re right. I’m not.” His arrogant grin tells me I’m not going anywhere. He nods toward Samuel. “But he is.”

Chapter 4

______________

Gabriel

SHE’S ANGRY, and why shouldn’t she be? If I’d discovered someone had been looking into my affairs, I would be as well. Her anger doesn’t faze me. She must be made to understand how important this is to me. If she still balks, I will follow through on my threat to talk to Thomas Carrey. I have an ace up my sleeve with him and Smith Cannon as well.

“Come sit, Liz. So we can discuss this like reasonable beings.” Fire flashes in her eyes. My barb about ‘reasonable beings’ stings. Excellent. I mean to keep her off balance to get her to do what I wish.

She stomps back from the front door and, after rescuing the plate from the floor, drops into the same spot she vacated on the couch. I do the same, except this time I sit next to her. Her eyes widen with surprise and a touch of wariness.

“Now, for the time being we will assume the child is mine. It will have to be proved of course, but I have no doubt of the finding.” Actually, I do, but I’m not about to let her in on my qualms. Easy enough to walk away if I’m not the father. “So let’s discuss the next step, shall we?”

“I’m. Not. Marrying. You.” She bites out between clenched teeth.

“Are you in a relationship?” I know damn well she isn’t, except for Brian Sullivan who keeps sniffing around her like she’s a mare in heat.

She crosses her arms against her chest. “No. I don’t have anyone in my life because I don’t intend to marry.” She enunciates the last five words with firm insistence which I ignore.

“Good. Another croissant?” I smile while bringing the plate to her.

She shoots me a dirty look, grabs a napkin and bites into the flaky crust. No doubt who she’d rather bite into instead.

"I know it requires a bit of thinking to wrap your head around it."

"I'm not doing it. I never intended to marry. Or have children, for that matter. Neither was in my plans." She’s breathing hard. Bloody hell, she’s starting to hyperventilate.

I don’t want her upset, only off kilter, so I ratchet it down a notch. "I'm sorry I took away those options." Even if I don’t remember how the hell it happened.

Her gaze takes a downward turn while she shreds the croissant into small pieces. "It took both of us to make this baby, Gabriel."

"If we marry—"

"No."

"Please listen to me." I cover her restless hands with one of my own. A zing travels up my arm from the contact. My nostrils flare, and I catch a whiff of her female scent. She may not wear perfume, but there’s a bewitching essence to her that ensnares my senses.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out and stares point blank at me. "I'm putting the baby up for adoption."

The hell she is! My lips firm into a hard line. "Surely you realize that's no longer an option. I'm the baby's father. I have rights. And I will never consent."

"I can not take care of a baby. I have a full time job, law school. He deserves someone who has time to watch over him."

Joy shoots through me. “He? It’s a boy?” A boy would inherit the title.

She shakes her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I won’t find out for another few weeks. Regardless, I don’t have the resources or inclination to take care of a child.”

“Liz”— I squeeze her cold hands, hoping to lend them my warmth— “you may not want to care for the babe, but I do. It’s my child, after all."

“I want an open adoption, where I will stay in touch with the adopting family, make sure my child grows up safe and loved. If you take him to England, I'll never see him."

She may be planning to place the child with strangers, but the babe means something to her. Bloody hell. Now what do I do? The child will live in London with me. Would she accept a location in the States? We’re opening up a branch in New York City, one which Miranda Stone will head. What if I told Liz it would be me in charge of that office? Would she be more amenable under that condition? Only one way to find out. "I'm not taking him to England.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” I soften my voice. The nature of what I’m about to share requires it. “There’s something you need to know, but it’s sensitive information which concerns not only myself and my family but Storm Industries and the thousands it employs. Can I count on you not to reveal what I’m about to tell you?”

“I wouldn’t, Gabriel. Not if you told me in confidence.”

She has kept silent about our liaison, but the reason is not hard to understand. If she publicized our involvement, she would have put her job in jeopardy.

“Very well. We're opening up an American branch of Storm Industries.” At least, this much is true. One thing I’ve learned about prevarication is to stick as much as possible to the truth. “I'll be in charge of the American enterprise. My cousin, William, will head the European one. We’ll locate the headquarters of Storm Industries America in New York City where I’ll live." I have a residence in New York City—The Brighton II. A gorgeous building on the West End. So if she demands proof of domicile, it won’t be a problem.

Her jaw drops. “Wow. That’s . . . huge. Why are you doing this?”

“Financial as well as logistical reasons. The company’s structure became so unmanageable we could not move as quickly as we wanted on certain projects. By creating a headquarters in the United States, we’re able to operate in this country without running aground of international laws, at least when it comes to developing projects within American soil.” Again all of this is the truth. The only lie is who’ll be heading the New York branch.

“What about your family? Your mother can't possibly be on board with this plan.”

I grit my teeth. My mother, the Countess. She’d thrown up roadblocks to my every attempt to grow the company, preferring to spend money on frivolous pursuits. “My mother’s no longer on the company’s board of directors.” My siblings and I voted our mother out after our father transferred his board voting power to me. “She doesn’t control Storm Industries. I do.”

She fiddles with a ring she’s wearing, a small peridot. Her birthstone. She deserves worthier jewelry, stunning as she is. “I'm not saying yes to the marriage, but . . . how would it all work?”

I ache to touch her again, to still her restlessness. But she’d rather handle this like a business transaction, so I cross my hands over my good leg to keep from reaching out for her. “Before the child is born, we marry. The ceremony can be a civil one. A clerk at the courthouse would do. All we need is a license.” Although this is true, the official ceremony will be held at Winterleagh Castle as family tradition demands.

"And after the wedding? My job and law school are here. I can't move to New York."

"You won’t have to. After our child is born, I'll bring him to live with me in my domicile in Manhattan—a duplex penthouse in The Brighton II. I’ll get a nurse, a nanny, whatever he needs. And you can maintain the same life you have." Our child will have a nanny. In London.

More ring fiddling. "I want our baby to have a stable home life—”

Our baby. Does she realize what she just revealed?”

“—and you're always traveling." She continues.

Now fairly sure the child is mine, the tension within my body eases. "Not anymore. I don't intend to be an absentee father. I won't be traveling nearly as much." I let out a breath. At least this part of my farradiddle is true.

"I can see him whenever I want?" She truly has the most beautiful eyes. Green, luminous, and right now, moist with held-back tears.

"Of course. You're his mother." She can certainly travel to England any time she wishes.

“So how long would we stay married?”

“Let’s say a year and a month. After that, we part, amicably, citing irreconcilable differences. You go your way, I go mine. It’ll be worth your while.”

She bristles. “You think I can be bought.”

Damn it. I said the wrong thing, and after everything was going so well. “It’s not what you think—”

“I turned down your insulting offer in London to become your mistress. What makes you think I would accept money now?”

“I’m not asking you to become my mistress. I’m asking you to become my wife. It’s a dowry. It’s what we do when we propose marriage.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Aristocrats. Peers. Members of the nobility.”

“Ten million dollars?” Her voice lowers and her hackles settle.

“Pounds. It’s a tad high, but not unusual.”

“I thought the woman was supposed to provide the dowry, not the man.”

“You are, darling girl. My child.” I smile, caress her face with my thumb. She really does have the softest skin.

Her cheeks turn a soft pink. “Are you sure this is aboveboard?”

“Yes.” This much is true. “I can provide details of other marriage pacts if you wish.” Most of the information comes from the tabloids, but still, it’s a proof of sort.

Something flits across her face. And her expression goes from hopeful to despondent. She folds up the napkin with the remains of the shredded croissant, lays it on top of the empty plate and rises. “It’s lovely, really lovely. You have thought out everything. The only problem is . . . I can’t.”

She’d come to terms with it. What changed? I clumsily come to my feet using the cane for support. “What do you mean you can’t?” I grab her arm, hold on tight. “You must agree. What is it? Is there something holding you back? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Gabriel. Not everything’s within your control. I can’t marry you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. Please don’t ask me anymore. I won’t tell you. I want to go home. Now.”

When she wrestles her arm free and heads toward the suite’s front door, the emotions I’ve buried over the last several months surge to the fore, overwhelming me with their intensity. Skidding clumsily on the rug, I hurry after her. Somehow I catch up and swing her around.

The turn throws her off balance, and she collapses against the wall. Eyes the color of crushed leaves after a spring rain stare helplessly at me. A lone tear drifts down her dewy cheek and finds refuge in the corner of her lips.

Something twists inside me. The strong girl of a few moments ago has disappeared, replaced by this fragile creature. And I drove her to this. Tossing my anger into the rubbish bin, I brush a thumb across the edge of her crimson lips to catch the tear. I lick the moisture from my fingertip. She tastes of sadness, agony and regret.

Seeking to comfort, I cradle her face, brush the wet from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, love.”

“Please don’t. It’s hard enough as it is.” Her heartfelt plea is lost on me, for I won’t be stopped from my chosen course.

I kiss her, softly, and taste the orange marmalade she spread on the croissant, mixed in with the heady flavor of her.

Before I have a chance to savor her, she pulls back. “D-don’t.” Her gaze is filled with heartbreak. “Let me go. Please let me go.”

“I can’t, darling girl.” We’ve said these words before, acted this way before. I wish I could remember her, remember us. Wish I could do as she asks, but I can’t because suddenly I feel something I haven’t felt in the last two months. My cock stirs with hunger . . . for her.

Ravenous for her taste, my tongue plunges into her mouth to ravish her sweetness. I tell myself to go careful because she’s pregnant with my child, because she just denied me. But nothing matters except the intoxicating flavor of her mouth, the racing pulse in my veins.

At first she resists, but then a wildness grows in her and she claws at my neck, her hands tangle in my hair, and she pulls me into her. Giving as much as she’s getting, her tongue tussles with mine, sucks at me, love bites me.

Why did she turn down my marriage proposal when it’s quite obvious she desires me? It makes no sense. I put a smidgen of distance between us but keep her close to me. “You want me. I know you do.”

She emits a bitter laugh even as her fingers strum across my lips in a soft caress. “Wanting you was never a problem.”

Prompted by her admission, I help myself to another taste of her sweet flesh, push my hard length into her soft belly. “Then why?” I whisper against her tantalizing mouth. She shakes her head, denying me the answer I seek. Frustration drives me to plunge once more into the heat of her mouth, take possession of it, own her. But she pushes me back. Much as I regret it, I give in to her silent plea and give her the distance she seeks.

She gulps in air, as she tries to catch her breath. And it’s not from the passion we just shared. No, she’s bloody panicking, as if she’s reached the end of her rope. “If we marry, she will ruin you, destroy your family.” Tears spike her lashes.

“She? Who are you talking about?”

She shakes her head, and the hair she’d pinned up tumbles loose around her shoulders, the devastation no doubt caused by my marauding hands.

I thread a hand through her dark tresses and tug a little until she’s looking at me again. “Tell me.” I demand in a hoarse voice.

“I can’t. I can’t. If I do, your mo—”

“My mo—” My hand jerks open, releasing her glorious curls, as the implication hits me. “My mother? What does she have to do with this?”

“I can’t tell you. Please let it go. Let me go.” She pushes against my chest, harder than before. Without my stick for support, I stumble back which gives her time to reach the door and fling it open.

Samuel stands on the other side. For a second, he takes us both in. No doubt what he sees, tears in Liz’s eyes, hair disheveled, clothes mussed up. His face reflects disapproval. “Ms. Watson, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says in a shaky voice. “Please, Samuel, take me home.”

It’s a measure of the man he doesn’t wait for my consent, but simply takes her by the arm and leads her away.

Just as well, I’ve gotten the information I need. She won’t agree to my proposal. Not until I solve this riddle. I fish out my mobile from my jacket, and dial my pilot. “Get the plane ready. We’re leaving tonight. At seven if you can manage it.”

I need to get back to London and find out what evil scheme my mother hatched, vile enough to stop Liz from marrying me.

Chapter 5

______________

Gabriel

AFTER RETURNING TO ENGLAND, I bid my time for an opportunity to talk to my mother’s maid. If anyone knows the witch’s plot my mother devised three months ago, it would be Tilly. A week later, my patience is rewarded when my mother travels to London to visit her spa and hairstylist, leaving Tilly with a few hours’ free time.

I seize the opportunity and invite her to tea. Even though I have every right to hold our discussion in my parents’ town mansion, I choose my penthouse in The Brighton, since I don’t wish for news of our meeting to trickle back to the Countess.

When the concierge announces Tilly’s arrival, I ride down on my private elevator to the lobby to greet her. “Good afternoon, Tilly.”

She bobs a curtsey. “My lord.” Time has taken a toll on her. Hair, which glowed bright gold once upon a time, is grey now, and the lines on her face bear witness to the misery she’s endured at my mother’s hands. Not to mention she’s so thin a puff of wind could blow her away. By the way she’s clutching her handbag, nerves have gotten the better of her as well. Shame, for I do not intend to harm her. If anything, I aim to make her life easier to bear.

On our ride up, we make small talk about the weather. “I’m sorry I asked you to travel on such a cold and rainy day. I thought it best if we conduct our conversation in private.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her blue-eyed gaze flickers uncertainty from a worried face. At sixty-five years of age, she’s faithfully served my mother for forty years. Never once taking a vacation, she’s performed her duties quietly, efficiently, without fuzz.

When the elevator doors open, her gaze bounces around my living room before she steps out. “We the only ones here, my lord?”

The third ‘my lord.’ Tradition demands the honorific, since I’m the heir to an earl, but I hate being addressed as such. I take her elbow and guide her toward the burgundy leather sofa, next to which a spread fit for a queen resides on the crystal coffee table. “You don’t have to be so formal, Tilly. I remember when you used to call me Master Gabe.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes from her. “I haven’t called you that since you were eight.”

“Well, if that’s too familiar, Mr. Storm will do.”

Her head bobs. “Yes, Sir.”

“Tea?” I’ve ordered a special spread, complete with Tilly’s favorites—pekoe tea and orange scones—served on heirloom china.

“Thank you kindly.” Even though she’s lived in England for four decades, a Texas twang still resonates in her voice.

I wait until she’s sipped the tea and eaten half a scone before I circle around to the object of her visit. “How are you, Tilly?”

“Fair to middlin’. This old body ain’t what it used to be.”

I pour my own cup and balance it on my knee, the good one. “You’ve been with my mother close to forty years, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. Since she was a young lady.” Having polished off the first pastry, she helps herself to another.

“Do you ever miss your home?”

“No. Not really. My family lived in a one-room shack with only dirt for a floor.”

I’d hope a visit to her family would prove a treat, but no help there, so I move on to option B. “Have you ever thought of retiring?”

She shrugs. “Where would I go?”

I offer her my most charming smile, the one that used to win her over during my wayward youth. “Why, anywhere you wished. You’d be your own mistress. Set your own clock. No more waking up before dawn to perform onerous chores. You would answer to no one. And have enough money to live comfortably the rest of your days.”

She squints her eyes at me. Her third pastry lands, untouched, back on the plate. “That . . . would be right nice.”

Good. She’s beginning to see the possibilities. “If you could choose a place, anywhere on earth, where would you go?”

For a few moments, wheels grind in her head. “A place where my bones could soak up the sun. Near a beach so I could hear the ocean race to the shore, especially at night. And lots of colors and scents.”

“The Caribbean has many such places,” I say softly, hoping not to overplay my hand.

She rests the cup of tea on the coffee table, right next to the pastry plate. “You didn’t invite old Tilly only for tea and scones, Master Gabe. You have sumthing on your mind?”

Uneducated she might be, but she’s never been stupid. “Yes, I do. The Countess. Do you recall Ms. Watson, Tilly?”

“Yes, Sir. The young lady who came to the castle.”

“That’s right. Do you know if my mother discussed anything in particular with her?”

There’s only a moment’s hesitation before she answers. “Yes, Sir. She did.”

Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

“Your mother. She had a mighty hankerin’ about Lady Melisssande.”

Lady Melissande, the duke’s daughter my mother had chosen for my wife. After my accident, my mother insisted I was engaged to her. Something I couldn’t refute since I couldn’t remember the turn of events. But when I approached Lady Melissande, she denied I’d ever proposed.

“She wanted the duke’s daughter to marry you and give her grandbabies. ‘My blood will mingle with that of a king. How about that, Tilly?’ she’d say. Can you imagine?”

Yes, I can. The Duke of Marchstone is a direct descendant of William IV. On the wrong side of the blanket, but what did that matter to someone like my mother?

“But Ms. Watson was standing in her way. She took a powerful dislike to her. Probably because you liked her so much.”

Even Tilly had caught on to my fascination with Liz? I brush a hand across my brow. How could I have been so careless? “How so?”

“Anyone could see by the way you looked at her. Like she was the sun, the moon, and stars all rolled into one. I hadn’t seen you that happy for a long time.”

Happiness. That emotion has eluded me most of my life. Wish I could remember. “Was I?”

“Yes, Sir. And Miss Margaret? Well, she was plumb scared you’d marry her instead of Lady Melissande.”

Miss Margaret. Nobody called my mother by her first name except Tilly. Doubt anybody even remembered it since she demanded everyone call her by her title—Lady Winterleagh—or my lady. But Tilley had known her since she’d been plain old Margaret Simmons, the poor little rich American girl who’d inherited millions from her American ancestor. Hungry to marry into the British aristocracy, she’d gone on the prowl for a peer who’d want her money badly enough to give her the title she coveted so fiercely. And she’d found one in my father—the Earl of Winterleagh.

“So she planned and plotted. The night she held the dinner party to celebrate the closing of the deal, she snuck into the powder room to talk to Ms. Watson.”

“Do you know what my mother said to her?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.” She gulps, twists her gnarled hands on her lap. “You have to understand Master Gabe, I wouldn’t have told her if I thought she’d use it against you.”

Bloody hell. “Told her what?”

“I was confused, didn’t know what to do, so I told her what I’d seen.”

I reach over and cover her troubled hands with my own. “Tell me what you saw, Tilly.”

“Your father, pushing Mr. Snipes down the stairs.”

Mr. Snipes, the tutor who’d beaten me at my mother’s command from the time I was five, whose death had been ruled accidental eighteen years ago.

“That night I took his dinner up to him, even though that wasn’t something I normally did, but the kitchen maid had come down with a tooth ache, and she asked me to cover for her. When I got near the nursery, I heard yelling and screaming. Lord Winterleagh was furious about the tutor damaging your hand.”

Damaging my hand. The son of a bitch broke every finger in my left hand one Christmas after I told my mother I planned to become a concert pianist and tour the continent when I reached the age of majority. I was fourteen at the time. She’d demanded I study business so I could manage Storm Industries, the company she’d run into the ground. When I balked at following the path she’d set out for me, she ordered the tutor to injure me so I could no longer play. Something the sadistic bastard enjoyed doing to me.

“Mr. Snipes laughed at him. Told him he knew who wore the trousers in the family and it wasn’t the earl. Next thing I know there was a scuffle, and your father dragged Mr. Snipes to the top of the stairs and threw him down. Mr. Snipes didn’t move after that. Even though it was colder than a witch’s tit, your father climbed to the castle roof and got himself good and drunk. He never saw me, hiding as I was in the shadows.”

For a long time, I’d suspected my father killed my tutor, but hadn’t confirmed it until now. Such a revelation could destroy my family name. And it wouldn’t do any good to bring my father to justice. Several months back, he’d suffered a stroke. Although he’d been making progress, he’d recently taken a turn for the worse. The doctors confirmed a second stroke, one which left him paralyzed and barely coherent. So this crime would need to remain secret. “So after you witnessed this, what did you do?”

“I crawled down the stairs, trying hard not to look at the body. It was crooked like with the head bent at a strangle angle.” She shivered. “So I went to Miss Margaret and asked her what I should do.”

“And what did she say/”

“She ordered me to say nothing. If anybody asked, I was to say I was with her. But nobody ever asked.”

“And the next day they found Mr. Snipes.”

“Yes. They ruled it an accident. He’d been drinking you see. I think your father got him drunk on purpose.”

Yes, my father would have thought that far ahead.

“Lady Winterleagh used the story to blackmail Ms. Watson.” She whimpers and her hands flutter. No doubt with genuine sorrow. But she’s not to blame. My mother’s actions can not be laid on Tilly’s fragile shoulders.

“How?”

“She demanded Ms. Watson break up with you, in exchange for your mother’s silence about the murder.”

I hiss out a breath. Questions whirl in my mind. Did Liz break up with me as my mother demanded? Was that what drove me to drink and crash my Jag against a tree? I can’t reconcile such actions with the self I remembered. The one who’d never once cared about a woman.

And my mother. She hated my father, but to the level of destroying the family name, ruining Storm Industries? Yes, she would. Power is everything to the Countess. Something precipitated her action, though. Had I challenged her authority by going against her wish for me to marry Lady Melissande? I can’t remember. There is more to this story, but for now I need to deal with Tilly’s revelations.

“You must not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“No, Sir. I haven’t, except for Miss Margaret. Not to anyone.”

That was saying something since the tutor died eighteen years ago. I lay my hands over hers once more. “You’ve been a good and faithful servant to my mother. And I want you to be happy. So I’m going to reward you with your very own beach cottage in the Caribbean and put enough money in a bank account for you to live comfortably the rest of your life. Is your passport in order?”

As I spoke, her eyes widened until they became huge pools of wonder. She swallows before she responds. “Yes, Sir. Has to be since your mother travels now and then.”

“Good. In a week’s time, you will leave here, and never return. You’ll be safe, I promise. She’ll never find out your whereabouts. Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?” I can’t come right out and ask her to remain silent about the tutor’s murder, but I pray she understands.

She nods and for the first time a smile surfaces on her face, a creaky one like it hasn’t been used for a while. “Yes, Master Gabe. You don’t have to worry.” Her hands turn and she grips mine. “I always loved you and Lady Bri, and that scalawag, Master Royce. Sweet Edward as well. Like you was my own babies. I’d die before I hurt any of you. I’m just plumb sorry I couldn’t stop her from hurting you. She has a bee in her bonnet about you.”

“She wanted Edward to be the heir.” My brother, killed five years ago.

“Yes. But she couldn’t get that so she set out to hurt you as much as she could. In the end, she hurt herself most of all.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She doesn’t have anyone who loves her. And after I’m gone, she’ll be all alone.”

Exactly what I wish.

“Watch her carefully, Master Gabe. Rattlesnakes strike out when they’re cornered.”

A rattlesnake. Such a perfect description of my mother.

Once Tilly leaves, I call Jake and give him orders to put round the clock surveillance on my mother.

“Why?”

“I’m sending Tilly away, and her departure will make my mother very dangerous.”

I wait while the wheels grind in his head. “There’s more to this than a servant leaving.”

“Yes. But I can’t share what prompts me to take such action, not with you, not with anyone. Suffice it to say, once my mother finds out her maid’s gone, she will strike at Liz Watson and that I won’t have.” He knows my past history, so I don’t have to tell him what a sadistic bitch my mother is.

But still, he pauses. Jake’s no pushover. He never does things just on my orders, not unless I provide him with a logical reason for acting on them. But once he agrees to execute a plan, he’ll carry it out with military precision. Which is why I need his approval on this.

“I’ll go along with your plan, mainly because Ms. Watson’s safety hangs in the balance. But your mother will notice the change to her security team, Storm. She’s no fool.”

“I don’t care. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything, including going to the loo, without you knowing about it. And I don’t want her anywhere near a phone.”

“That will be difficult, but not impossible. How do you want to handle it?”

“Be creative. Cut the cable into the castle if you have to. She doesn’t have a mobile, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

“How long do you mean to keep this up?”

“As long as it takes for Liz to marry me.”

He laughs as if he finds the notion of any woman turning me down amusing. “I gather she hasn’t said yes.”

“Not yet, but she will.” No matter what it takes.

Chapter 6

______________

Elizabeth

IN EARLY OCTOBER, a certified envelope arrives at the office from a law firm in town. Not an unusual thing. I'm often sent documents by law firms working on a case. But when I tear open the envelope, the letter inside is from Gabriel's lawyer. He's made arrangements for a Washington, D.C. doctor to draw blood to establish the paternity of the baby.

My breath whooshes out. How dare he have his attorney send this without the courtesy of a phone call to let me know it's coming? Besides, I never agreed to this. My hand itches to toss the letter into the trash and ignore the request. But what good would that do? I’ll still have to do it. If I don't comply, Gabriel will out our relationship to my boss.

But does it really matter if Mr. Carrey discovers the truth now or later? He's going to find out once Gabriel claims the child as his own. Yeah, it does. If the news does not leak out until after the baby is born, it'll give me time to find another job. Because I'll more than likely lose mine at Smith Cannon when management figures out I had sex with Gabriel while the negotiations for the SouthWind deal were taking place.

But would another law firm look the other way about such a breach of ethics? Not likely. Who am I kidding? I'm screwed either way, unless I practice law somewhere they've never heard of Gabriel Storm. Timbuktu, maybe? I drop my head into my hands and let out a mirthless laugh.

"What's so funny?" A male voice asks.

I jerk up my head to find Brian Sullivan, a senior associate at my law firm, at my door.

I paste on a bright smile. "A product review about a banana slicer. I'll send you the link."

"Oh. You want to do lunch?" He comes by two, three times a week and asks me to lunch, dinner, drinks. I'm pregnant, hello? Can't exactly drink alcohol. I turn him down most of the time, not that it stops him from asking.

"Sorry, I can't. Need to read forty pages before my Con Law class tonight."

"Constitutional Law is a bear. But you should have done your reading Saturday or Sunday. Busy weekend?"

The question irks me. He's got no business prying into my private life. We're co-workers nothing more. It's my own fault he's become over familiar. Two months ago, during a weak moment, I accepted his offer of friendship, and now he acts like we're more than office acquaintances, which we're not. There are only two people I trust in my life—Casey and CeCe. But Brian's a senior associate and about to make partner so I can't afford to tick him off.

"Yeah, kind of. Do you have an assignment for me?"

"No, not a thing." Even though he knows I'm capable of analyzing complex financial data, he hasn't given me a meaningful task in I don't know how long, All he seems to care about is engaging in a social agenda with me, something I have no interest in pursuing, not with him, not with anyone. I have enough on my plate, thank you very much.

"Lunch tomorrow?"

"Maybe. We'll see." I'll have to come up with some other excuse. Law school reading assignments get you only so far.

No sooner does he leave that CeCe comes knocking on my door. "Brian bothering you again. What is it with that man, buzzing about you like a honeybee? You ain’t his honey. Humph.”

I laugh. It’s not a happy sound.

“What’s wrong? Did he say something to upset you?” Her mouth twists.

"No. He asked me to lunch, but I turned him down."

"Good. He’s got no business asking you out. Not when you’re pregnant with another man’s baby. You shouldn't be seen with him anymore, Liz." Since our return from London, she hasn’t been shy about her dislike of Brian, but she’s never come right out and suggested such a thing.

"What do you mean?"

She looks back toward the door, probably to make sure it’s still closed, before leaning closer to me. "There's a nasty rumor going around the office,” she whispers. “Because of the way he hangs around you all the time, everyone thinks Brian’s your baby daddy. And rumor has it they're holding up his partnership because he knocked you up."

Oh, my god. "But he didn't!"

"Well, you know that, and I know that, but nobody else does.” She props her hands on her hips. “So if Brian’s not the problem, what is?”

“Gabriel Storm.”

“Mr. Tall, blond and delicious?” She’s a huge fan of Gabriel’s. Maybe it’s because he kissed her hand, or because he showed her nothing but courtesy during that weekend in the castle. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because she knows I’m in love with him. “What about him?”

“This.” I push the envelope toward her.

She picks it up, reads the letter. “So Gabriel Storm wants to verify he’s the father of your baby.” I’d told her about the conversation we had at the hotel, skipping the part about the marriage proposal. “A necessary step if he wants to claim custody. So why are you upset?”

“He should have called to give me a heads up.”

“Yeah, he should have done that. But—” She cocks her head to the side, scrutinizes me. “I think it’s more than that. You don’t have a problem with him raising your child, do you?”

“No. It’s just . . .”

All I get in response are hunched brows over chocolate brown eyes.

“I’ll have to see Gabriel, talk to him, make mutual decisions about our baby. For the rest of my life.”

“And you don’t want that.”

“No. I don’t.” For years, I’ve known what I wanted. A career in corporate law. I’d fashioned a solution to the pregnancy. By placing him in an open adoption I’d know my child was taken care of while I pursued my life’s goals. Not perfect, by any means, but one which would work for the baby. For me. But now . . .

“You thought you’d put the baby up for adoption and check in on your child’s life once in a while. No complications. No messy involvement.”

“Yes. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No.” She shakes her head, setting off her tousled curls. “Unfortunately, life’s messy, Liz. It’s rarely that clean cut.”

“I was just hoping.”

“Well, the adoption ship has sailed. What you need to do right now is figure out how to deal with Gabriel Storm, because I can’t see him taking a back seat with your pregnancy. From what I know of him, he’ll want to be involved every step of the way.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I prop my elbows on the desk, drop my head into my hands.

“You’re a strong woman, Liz. You’ll figure it out.”

I straighten up and rest back in my seat. “You think?”

“Yeah, I do.” She waggles a finger at me. “I know what you need. A girls’ night out. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She always sounds so chipper. I envy her that outlook on life.

"I can't. Have class." Like I do every Monday through Thursday.

"You can skip one night, can't you?" She’s relentless, like another person I know. No wonder she likes Gabriel so much.

"Maybe." I could get notes from a classmate in my study group. But there is one more problem. "It'll have to be a cheap night out. Budget's stretched thin as it is."

She waves her hand, dismissing my objection. "Don't worry about the money. Dinner's on me."

"Who's going to watch your kids?" With three children, CeCe's always busy with one child-related activity or another.

"I'll get my husband to handle whatever they need to do. About time too." One corner of her mouth scrunches with distaste.

Oh, wow. Is she having problems on the home front? Have I been so troubled by the events in my life, I failed to notice hers? "Anything wrong?"

"He's been working late nights. Weekends too. A lot."

"Well, he is an accountant. Maybe things are busy at the office."

"Yeah. I'm probably worrying about nothing." I can tell by her tone she's not convinced.

She's done so much for me, and right now it looks like she needs a diversion as much as I do. "Okay. Let's do this."

She beams me a wide smile. "All right. We can stop at that Thai place near your house, do a take out, and you can tell MaMa CeCe all about it."

I laugh at the Mama CeCe remark since she's only in her mid thirties. "You're too young to be my mother."

"Older sister then. But right now, I'll go get something healthy from the cafeteria, and we can eat lunch in here. Gotta keep that little one fed." She points to my burgeoning belly.

"You're the best, CeCe."

"Yeah, I know. I won't let it go to my head." She throws over her shoulder before she bounces out of my office.

After I take a deep breath, I call the doctor noted on the attorney letter and make an appointment for the next day. They tell me it’ll take only a few days to confirm Gabriel’s paternity.

The girls’ night out with CeCe recharges my spirits and I get through the next few days in a happier mood. Friday afternoon I have a doctor’s appointment to find out the baby’s sex, so I schedule half a day’s leave. But that morning something happens I didn’t expect, although in retrospect, I really, really should have.

Chapter 7

______________

Elizabeth

SHORTLY BEFORE LUNCH ON FRIDAY, Mr. Carrey asks me to come to his office to discuss a new client. Giddy from the thought of a meaty project, I pick up my notebook and hightail it to his corner digs. Well, hightail’s a bit of an exaggeration. These days all I can manage is a fast walk.

“Liz! Glad you could join us.”

Us? Gosh, the client is here. If I’d known I would have stopped in the ladies’ room to freshen up.

Mr. Carrey waves his hand behind me, toward the side of the room where a couch rests. In my rush, I failed to notice anyone sitting there. “Storm Industries engaged us as their outside counsel. Since you’re familiar with the company from the SouthWind deal, I wanted to bring you on board.”

Storm Industries? I close my eyes and fire off a prayer to whoever might be listening up above. Please let it be anyone but him. I turn around.

“Gabriel Storm.” I breathe. My heart pounds at the sight of him. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we talked. Not long enough of an absence to cause this reaction. How can he affect me this much?

With the aid of his walking stick, Gabriel comes to his feet. As always, polite to a fault. “Ms. Watson, how very nice to see you again.”

The dark gray, three-piece business suit caresses Gabriel’s broad shoulders and hugs those powerful legs. But it’s the magnificent body within that takes my breath away. I’ve loved that body with singular intensity, licked it, tasted it, clutched it tightly in my arms. Hungered for it on countless nights when I couldn’t sleep. My boss might be only a foot away, but given half a chance I’d jump Gabriel right now.

When Mr. Carrey’s phone rings and he takes the call, I thank my lucky stars. Because I can’t stop my body from trembling.

Gabriel’s aquamarine eyes wrinkle at the ends. “Anything wrong?” His voice’s a study in innocence.

The bastard. He knows exactly what he does to me. I try hard to get my emotions under control. “No.” My hand flies to my belly. “The baby kicked, that’s all.”

“Oh.” That shifts his attention.

“Yes. She’s moving around a lot now.”

“She? So it’s a girl?” Is he disappointed? I can’t tell. And by now he knows the child is his. The doctor called yesterday with the result of the paternity test.

“Maybe. I have an appointment this afternoon to find out.”

“That’s splendid.” he says, all nonchalant politeness, like the sex of our baby is of no interest to him. But his eyes? They tell a different story. His concern is so strong, it’s almost a living, breathing thing between us.

Mr. Carrey interrupts to let us know lunch has been served in the Jefferson conference room. While we head in that direction, I fight to guard my emotions. I’ll need to stay far away from Gabriel during the lunch meeting.

But luck’s not on my side. Terry, Brian, and Mark are all ready in the conference room, seated around the table. By the time, I grab my sandwich, salad and drink, the only seat available is right next to Gabriel. Figures. Fate can be a hairy bitch at times. After we eat, he discusses the projects he’d like to develop. Wind and solar power projects to start. More down the road.

After the Q&A winds down, Mr. Carrey takes over. “Storm Industries will be opening a New York branch to manage its North American projects. The office will be operational by December 1.”

“Who’ll be heading the New York office?” Brian asks.

A pause. “Officially, Miranda Stone will be in charge,” Gabriel says.

What? That’s not what he said two weeks before. Did he lie to me then or is he lying now?

“You’ll need to keep that information confidential until we issue a press release. It shouldn’t be long. Maybe another week or two,” he says.

While everyone’s busy taking notes, he rubs his leg against mine. Not an incidental contact, going by the slow insistence of it. I swallow back the hot need that rises within me. Why does he always do this to me? I can’t be in a room with him, without falling apart.

Mercifully, the presentation concludes and he shakes hands all around, with everyone except me. Why does he do that?

But I don’t have time to ponder that question when I catch the time on my watch. Two o’clock and my appointment is at three. “Sorry, but I have to run. Doctor’s appointment.” l stick out my hand forcing the issue. “So glad to see you again, Mr. Storm.”

“Please call me Gabriel.” The words he used that night in The Brighton penthouse when he insisted I call him by his first name. Afraid it would slip out during a business meeting, I initially declined. Ironic, given our present circumstances.

“Gabriel.” When he clasps my hand between both of his, I realize the colossal mistake I’ve made. I can’t touch him without every one of my senses reeling from the heat of him.

“Where’s your doctor’s appointment?” he asks, not letting go.

“M Street, close to Georgetown.”

“I’m staying at the Four Seasons, not far from there. Unless you’ve already arranged transportation, I can drop you off if yon wish. It’s quite nasty outside.” He points out the window toward Pennsylvania Avenue where a blustery wind and a hard, pounding rain has people scurrying for cover.

Get into his limo with him? No. I’m barely holding it together as it is. “I’ll take a taxi.”

“You might find it difficult to find one in this weather.”

“He’s right, Liz.” Mr. Carrey says. “Might as well take Storm up on his offer.”

I sigh. If I refuse Gabriel again, Mr. Carrey will wonder why. I have no choice but to accept. “Thank you, Gabriel. That’s very gracious of you.”

“My pleasure,” he says with that devastating smile, the one that makes my nipples hard.

“I’ll go get my things and meet you back here.”

On our ride down on the elevator, we don’t exchange a word. Hard to carry on a conversation with other people drifting in and out.

Outside he pops open his umbrella. Somehow he manages to juggle that and his briefcase while leaning on the cane.

“Come near so you don’t get wet.” His umbrella could shelter a Shetland pony. Yeah, it’s that big.

When I lean in, his yummy scent hits me like a semi, and I grow wet in an instant. No surprise since I’ve fantasized about being this close to him every night in my dreams.

As I expected, Samuel’s waiting by the limo.

“Hi, Samuel.”

“Ms. Watson.” He nods.

I slide in ahead of Gabriel.

“Where to, Mr. Storm?” Samuel asks after getting behind the wheel.

“We’re driving Ms. Watson to her physician.”

“23rd and M, please.” My law office is located at 17th and Pennsylvania so my doctor’s office is not that far. If the day had been fair, I would have walked. But with the weather today? Not a chance.

Gabriel pushes a button and the window between the front seat and the back rolls up, isolating us.

“Thank you for—”

He hauls me into his lap and his lips find mine. No preliminaries, no teasing. His tongue sinks into my mouth, to plunder, mark me as his own, like he can’t get enough of me.

I don’t struggle but give him full access. It’s after all what I’ve dreamed of for the last few months. I’m parched for the taste, the smell, the feel of him. I nibble on his mouth, suckle his tongue. He threads his hand through my hair and tugs my head back so he can get to my throat. Hot, insistent. His need’s greater than mine, so I let him do what he will.

I’m wearing a scoop-necked blouse, one which fastens on the front. He loosens the buttons, exposing my lace-bra covered breasts. His mouth feasts on me, licking, nibbling, suckling my exposed flesh. He roams down to my hardened nipples. Right through the bra, he sucks in the tip of my breast. When he bites down, I let out a moan.

“You wet?”

“Yes,” I say in a shaky voice.

“I’m about to make you wetter.”

Yes, please. His hand drifts to my ass and he urges me close to him. And we’re right back where we were so many months before. He’s hard beneath me, just like he was during that ride on his limo a lifetime ago. His hand slides beneath my dress, up my thigh, skirts the edge of my thong and he thumbs my hot button. His finger sinks deep into my pussy. Parched as I am, his lust, my passion are all too much and just like that I fall apart.

“Liz?” He moans my name while I convulse into a mind-blowing climax, the likes of which I haven’t experienced in a long time.

It’s only when I come down from my high, I realize his moans are ones of pain. Oh, god, I’ve been trashing on his legs, one of which suffered a serious injury only a few months ago. How much pain he must be in.

“I’m sorry.” I start to scramble off, but he holds me tight to him.

“No, don’t go. Just”—he gulps—”Bloody hell, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Don’t move. Give me a moment to get my pain under control.” Breathing hard, he leans his forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

He chuckles followed by another moan. Sweat beads his brow. “Fucking leg.”

I cradle his cheek in my hand. “How did the accident happen?”

“I wrapped my car around a tree. I was drunk as the proverbial lord, love.” His breaths saw in and out of him as he fights for mastery over his agony. “Not one of my finest moments, I know.”

“Why on earth would you drink and drive, Gabriel?”

“Can’t remember. The accident stole my memory of the accident.”

Before I can ask more questions, Samuel’s voice drifts in. “We’re here, Mr. Storm.”

I look out the window and spot the medical building where my doctor’s office is located. I don’t want to leave him, but I must go. Goodbye trembles on my lips.

But I don’t get a chance to say anything. “Let me go with you,” he says. “Be with you when we find out our baby’s sex.”

My heart bleeds for him, for his pain. But the examination is an intimate thing and I always find it so difficult to control my emotions. Today will be especially hard. Would his presence help or hurt? “I don’t know, Storm.”

“Please, Liz. Don’t deny me this joy.”

And suddenly I feel infinitely small for refusing him something every father to be has the right to experience. Even if it tears my heart out. “Okay. But we can’t be seen together.”

“You go in first and I will follow. No one will know, you’ll see.”

Except for the doctor and the medical staff. I’ll make it clear his presence is to be kept confidential. Surely, we’re not the first couple to require such secrecy. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll tell the front desk to show you into my examining room. Don’t give them your name.”

“Thank you. You’ve made me very happy.” He takes my hand, kisses the palm.

And, as always, I melt.

Chapter 8

______________

Gabriel

TEN MINUTES AFTER LIZ LEAVES THE LIMO, I walk into her doctor’s office. The results of the paternity test she took earlier in the week irrevocably prove I'm the father of the child she carries which gives me the legal right to demand custody. But I want more than that. If the child is a boy, he can inherit the title of the Earl of Winterleagh, but only if we marry before the babe is born.

The first time I proposed, Liz turned me down. Her objection stemmed from the deal my mother forced upon her. She would keep mum about my father’s role in my tutor’s death in exchange for Liz breaking up with me. But now with Tilly, the only witness to the crime, retired to a Caribbean island cottage, my mother’s blackmailing scheme no longer holds.

But was that the only reason Liz broke up with me? Her goal is to become a corporate attorney. She’s doing everything right to get there—pursuing a law degree at a top law school, working at a premier law firm in Washington, D.C. Apparently, our liaison was a covert affair. If anyone had found out, she could have lost her job. Did my mother’s scheme give her the excuse she needed to bow out?

Whatever happened in London, she’s still drawn to me, going by the way she fell apart in my arms. And I’ll use that attraction, and whatever else I can devise, to bend her to my will.

Not only do I have a responsibility to this child we created, but something about her stirs my body in ways no other woman has since I wrapped my Jag around a tree. For the last several months, I’ve lived the life of a monk. Not by choice, but by circumstances. At first I notched my impotence to the medications coursing through my system, but once most of the drugs were discontinued, I could no longer assign the blame to them. No matter how many beautiful women came on to me, nothing stirred below.

Until the day Liz came to the hotel.

A mere whiff of her scent, a bare taste of her lips and my cock hardened into iron. It took everything I had in me not to take her right then and there against the wall, like a common trollop. But this woman who carries my child and, with any luck, the future Earl of Winterleagh deserves to be treated better than that. I’m not letting her get away. No matter what I have to do.

Ten minutes after she exits the limo, I walk into her doctor’s office. Once I tell them I’m here for Liz, I’m shown past the door to the inner sanctum of the surgery. The place has a clean citrus scent to it, rather than the hospital disinfectant one encounters at too many doctor's offices. A knock on a door later, Liz answers “Come in.”

When I walk into the room, a no-nonsense nurse is taking Liz’s blood pressure and temperature. After she weighs Liz and measures the girth of her waist, she enters the information into a computer.

“The doctor will be here in a few minutes, Ms. Watson. You’ll need to change.” She points to a paper gown just before she leaves.

“Thank you,” Liz says.

“Efficient little thing, isn’t she?” I say just to have something to say.

The examining room fails to impress me; it's the size of a postage stamp. But I withhold judgment about the quality of the care. After all, it's not the smell of the place or the size of the room that's important, but the competence of the medical staff.

"Should I step outside?" I'm more than willing to give Liz whatever privacy she needs to change into the flimsy paper hospital gown that rests on the examination table.

"No. Just turn around."

I face the wall where several posters hang. One promotes breastfeeding; another cautions against the use of alcohol during pregnancy. But the most fascinating one shows a naked woman with a cut out view of a baby in her belly. With his eyes closed, and his head pointing toward his mother's cervix, the child is beautiful. Is that what my babe looks like?

"You can turn back now," Liz says.

I whirl around to find her seated on the table, wearing that horrible hospital johnnie, paper blanket covering her front. Part of me howls at the image she makes. She shouldn't be going through this wearing nothing but a paper gown and covered by a tissue-thin blanket, if that it can be called.

Before I get too worked up, a knock sounds on the door, and the doctor steps in. She's dark-haired, petite. Warmth and curiosity shine out of bespectacled, big brown eyes. "Oh, you're new."

I extend my hand and start to introduce myself. "Ga-"

But Liz cuts me off. "This is the baby's father."

"Gabriel Storm, is it not?" The physician asks.

Something unintelligible escapes Liz.

"Yes. How do you do, Dr. Carson." First name, Joanna. She studied medicine at Johns Hopkins and is board certified in obstetrics, an excellent physician with flawless credentials, according to the dossier Jake compiled on her.

As she washes her hands, she answers the obvious question of how she recognized me. "My husband works at the Department of Energy. He's a huge fan of your wind power projects. Raves about how they generate so much electricity for so little cost. When you closed that deal last month, he showed me the article in The Wall Street Journal."

The interview I'd given the reporter the day the SouthWind deal closed. Glad some good had come of it, crazy with pain as I'd been that day. "What's your husband's name?"

"Howard Morris."

I enter his name into my contacts on my mobile. "When next I'm in town, I'll need to arrange a meet and greet. I'd love to discuss our renewable energy projects with him." A contact at the DOE could prove nothing but beneficial to the future of Storm Industries.

"He'd like that." As she finishes drying off her hands, she approaches Liz. "Now, how are you doing, my dear?"

The conversation descends into a general give and take about Liz’s wellbeing. She hasn't gained too much weight; her minor aches and pains are normal. Doctor Carson cautions her about too much salt intake. Wouldn't want an increase in blood pressure.

While the doctor performs the internal examination, I stand in one corner, as invisible as I can make myself.

"Everything looks good. Ready for the ultrasound?" The doctor asks.

"Yes."

"Come on, dad." Doctor Carson waves me over and slathers a jelly-like substance on Liz's stomach.

When she slides the ultrasound device over Liz's belly, I can hardly breathe. I'll be happy whatever sex the baby turns out to be; it's my child after all. But with so much riding on the succession, I freely admit, yes, I want a boy.

An image pops up on the screen, and Doctor Carson points out the head which is hard to miss, the baby's spine, arms, legs. He's kicking his legs in some sort of Australian crawl. Suddenly, I'm finding it hard to swallow.

"Everything appears normal. You have quite a swimmer there."

"Must be in training for the next summer Olympics." I joke, trying to get back my composure.

"Ready to find out the baby's sex?"

Yes. But I can't get the word out. It's Liz that answers, "Yes, please."

My hand reaches for hers, squeezing it for all its worth. I'm probably hurting her, but she doesn't protest.

"We're going to take a look between the baby's legs to see if we can get a peek," Dr. Carson says shifting the device lower on Liz's belly.

I squint hard into the screen. An eternity later, something becomes visible and the doctor freezes the frame. She points the little computer arrow to a protruding image, and my heart stops.

"You see that?" The doctor asks.

"Yes." I choke out.

"That's his little boy part." With a big grin, she beams at Liz and me. "You're having a boy."

Chapter 9

______________

Elizabeth

THE EXPRESSION ON GABRIEL'S FACE—joy, awe, pride—brings tears to my eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asks in a choked voice.

"Pretty darn." Doctor Carson says. She's so busy working the sonogram over my stomach she doesn't notice Gabriel's loss of composure.

"That's brilliant, simply brilliant." Sheer happiness pulses out of him.

"I'll print out a couple of images so you can take them with you."

"If we could have two sets, doctor?" Gabriel will surely want his own.

"Of course." Dr. Carson takes it all in stride, snapping tissues from a box and cleaning up my belly. She must witness such a scene several times a week. "You're doing fine. The baby looks right on schedule to be born February 28 give or take a few days. Keep taking your vitamins and we'll see you in another month. Any questions?" she asks after tossing her gloves in the hazards bin and washing up.

"No."

Gabriel is all smiles as he shakes Dr. Carson's hand. "Thank you, doctor."

Gotta give him credit. He's regrouped in less than a couple of minutes' time.

"You're welcome. Go out and celebrate." She grins at both of us. "Today's a big day."

"We will." He assures her.

After I dress, I insist he leave first.

Before he does, he carefully buttons up my raincoat all the way to the top, drops a kiss on my nose. “I’ll wait for you in the limo.”

When he tweaks my chin, I grow breathless.

“All right?”

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The look he sends me tells me he knows exactly what he does to me.

On my way out, I confirm my next appointment with the front desk before taking the elevator down.

The dismal view out the glass-enclosed lobby dismays me. It's still pouring. The balmy Indian summer we enjoyed earlier in the week has now turned into a cold dreary harbinger of winter. At least I don't have to return to work since I've taken the rest of the day off.

Samuel stands at the ready inside the front door of the building. Outside, he pops open the pony umbrella. The few people scurrying on the sidewalk pay no attention to us as he escorts me to the limo. Can’t blame them. They probably want to get somewhere where it’s nice and warm and dry.

When I slide into the limo, Gabriel’s talking on his cell. “What the bloody hell happened? How could your operatives lose track of her?” A pause and then. “I don’t care what you have to do. Find her. I expect a status report in two hours.” He clicks off. His color is high, and his breathing uneven. He’s heard bad news of some kind.

My heart aches for him. He’d been so happy a few minutes ago. I touch his sleeve, seeking to comfort him. “What’s going on?”

A muscle ticks on his cheek, like he’s grinding his teeth. “Not now. I’ll explain later.”

“Very well.” I busy myself unbuttoning my coat, slipping out of it. The outside temperature might be frigid, but inside the limo it’s warm.

“Here.” Gabriel takes it from me and passes it to Samuel.

“Don’t. I’ll need it when I leave.”

“You won’t, not where we’re going.”

"Where are you taking me?"

He pushes the partition button, and we’re isolated once more. "You'll see." His brows hunch over eyes which have taken on the hue of a storm.

What is he up to? And what was that conversation about? Whatever it is, it’s got him worried, restless. He curls an arm around the back of my seat and urges me close to him. "Tired?"

"A little."

"You can lay down for a nap before dinner."

We're going out to dinner? He hasn't asked, but states it as a fact. Typical Gabriel. And a nap sounds lovely right about now. Rather than fight him, I decide to enjoy whatever he's got planned. Like Dr. Carson said, today's a big day and we should go out and celebrate. I rest my head against his shoulder and nod off.

Half asleep, I sense the car turning right, but I'm too tired to open my eyes. I'm safe and warm inside the limo with the man I love who’s holding tight to me. Worse things in life, right?

Ten minutes later, the traffic changes from stop and go to a smooth descent. The light grows dim and finally vanishes. We're moving into an underground garage.

When the car stops, Gabriel helps me out of the limo. "We won’t be long.” He tells Samuel.

"Right, Mr. Storm."

The parking structure contains about fifty cars, give or take. The ones I recognize are all luxury brands—Audis, Benz, Lincolns. Some makes I don't recognize, but they look expensive. We climb into an elevator. Gabriel inserts a plastic card into a slot and pushes the top floor. The building contains only fourteen floors. No surprise. Most structures in D.C. don't rise higher than the United States Capitol. A brief ride later, the door swooshes open and we step out.

We're in an apartment, a huge one, going by the size of the living room. The place is bare of any furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows surround the space on three sides and boast a stunning view of the Cathedral of the Nativity and farther off the spires of Georgetown University. "Where are we?"

"The Cathedral Arms.”

Impressive. The co-op built in the 1940s just north of Georgetown provides an exclusive address for congressmen, members of the diplomatic corps and the Washington elite. Rumor has it a two-bedroom apartment goes for over five million dollars. God only knows how much this place is worth.

"Why are we here?”

"I bought it. Signed the papers two days ago. For you. For me. For us."

For a second, my brain freezes, and I don't know what to say. He's got the right to purchase whatever he wants for himself. But not for me. "I have a place.”

“Yes, you do. But it’s too vulnerable, too easy to break into.”

“I’ve never had a burglary.”

“It’s not the garden variety thief I’m worried about, Liz.” A shadow crosses over his face before he takes my hand and leads me around the space. “The main floor has an open living room, dining room and kitchen, plus a powder room. The ceilings are 16-feet-high. A glass-walled elevator in the back of the living room leads to the second floor, which contains four bedrooms, three en suite baths, and another full bath.”

“Yes, I can see.” Some of it anyway. The place is stunning.

“And one more thing. Come.” He places his hand in the middle of the back and walks me around the living room. “Let me show you why I bought this place.”

On the other side of the wall, another elevator resides. A smaller one, similar to the one in his London penthouse. My breathing goes staccato.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like small spaces.” Did he forget my fear?

He cups my cheek. “It’s only two floors, love.”

His caress melts me, like it always does. I take a deep breath. I can do this. Holding tight to his hand, I say. “Fine.”

We climb aboard and seconds later, the door opens to reveal a wide space.

“Look.” He points to the far side of the wall where the back of a huge timepiece resides. “It’s a clock tower, fourteen feet high. Works too.” On cue the gears grind and the small hand moves.

“This is”—my hands flutter—“amazing.” While the clock presides over the center of one wall, the others contain the same floor-to-ceiling windows and offer the same breathtaking view as the main floor below. But this floor does not feature an outside balcony.

“This is our suite. It consists of a sitting room, our bedroom, an en suite bathroom, and another room I will use as my office while in town. It even contains a modest kitchen that connects by dumb waiter with the main one down below. The suite can only be reached by elevator, which you can lock from here. “Do you like it? Could you live here?” His eyes telegraph a desperate hope.

I allow my gaze to roam over the space. Gorgeous as it is, it just isn’t me. “Gabriel, I like Alexandria.” I love my neighborhood with its mix of business and residential and the busy comings and goings of visitors and residents. This luxurious clock tower triplex overwhelms me with its opulence and size.

“I can’t protect you if you remain there.”

My head jerks back to him. “Protect me from what?”

He tosses back his head. “It will take too long to explain. Let’s go to my hotel. You’ll be safe there.”

Safe. He keeps saying that word which makes me very nervous. What’s going on? What do I need to be kept safe from?

Chapter 10

______________

Gabriel

ON THE WAY TO THE FOUR SEASONS, I keep her close to me. Everything changed once the doctor confirmed our child’s a boy. And Liz has no idea of the ramifications of that fact. I must be careful when I explain things to her. She’s resisting me. Resisting my offer of marriage. Resisting the move to a place where I can keep her and our child safe. And I won’t have that.

“If it’s okay with you, we can order from the hotel menu and have dinner here tonight,” Taking the raincoat she insisted on retrieving from the front seat, I hang it up on the foyer closet.

After she drops her purse and briefcase alongside it, she turns back to me, arms crossed. “Stop handling me and tell me what’s going on, Gabriel.”

This discussion will take a while, so I take her by the elbow and lead her to one of the three sofas in the living room. “The last time we met, you let slip my mother’s name, intimating she was the reason you couldn’t accept my proposal.”

She takes a deep breath, slowly lets it out. “You didn’t approach her, did you?” Her bravado drains out of her as fear, confusion cloud her gaze. She’s afraid of what my mother would do, afraid for me. My heart spills over with tenderness for this woman I can’t remember.

“No. Not her. I talked to her maid, Tilly, and got the truth out of her.” She’s shaking with emotion, probably fearing the worst. I pick up one of her hands, hold it my own, to lend her my warmth. “I know my mother blackmailed you. She demanded you break up with me in exchange for her silence about my father.”

Her hand clenches in mine. “You know about your father?”

“That he pushed my tutor down the stairs, killing him? Yes. I know. Mr. Snipes was a sadist who enjoyed inflicting pain on me. I don’t condone murder, but I don’t blame my father for his actions.”

“And you’re not upset about your father’s crime?”

“No.” I let out a breath, releasing the tension I’ve carried since Tilly’s revelations. Only now, when speaking to Liz, do I realize I’m speaking the truth. I’m not upset, at least not about what my father did. “What I’m angry about is my mother using that information to blackmail you. She kept that secret until she could use it to her advantage and saw her chance with you. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come to me? Tell me what she’d asked of you?”

She shakes her head and her gorgeous hair tumbles loose around her shoulders, the way it did right here weeks ago.

My hands itch to twine a finger around a curl, pull, and urge her close to me. But that must wait. For now.

“I couldn’t take the chance. She would have destroyed your family, ruined Storm Industries.”

“So you terminated our relationship and returned to the States.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me you were pregnant with my child.”

“No.”

“Did you think I would never find out?” How could she believe such a thing? Sooner or later, my sister was bound to tell me.

“Other than your mother, Brianna was the only one who knew. I hoped she would keep quiet about the baby.”

And Brianna had, while I convalesced. But once I’d begun to heal, she’d sat me down and explained about my infatuation with Liz and the child we’d created. It’s not hard to see why I became attracted to her. With her lush hair, green bewitching eyes, she’s truly lovely, And even now, with her body fertile with my child, the luscious curves of her body tempt me. To touch. To taste. To possess.

“I’m glad Brianna didn’t keep your secret, love.” My hand curls around her jaw, I thumb the soft satin of her cheek. The thought my mother could and would damage her, injure our child, stabs at me. I won’t allow it, no matter what measures I need to take.

Her hands clench on her lap as her eyes telegraph desperation. “But what’s to stop your mother from spilling that secret? She can still harm you, Gabriel, destroy Storm Industries.”

“No. She won’t be able to use that secret anymore. I sent Tilly away, and she’s the only witness to the crime. Without Tilly to back up her claims, no one will take her seriously. Not after so many years of silence.”

“But something has happened with your mother, hasn’t it? Please tell me what’s going on.” Should have known she’d put two and two together, as intelligent as she is.

“My mother disappeared, Liz. We don’t know where she is. I put her under surveillance, but she went to the loo. Half an hour later when she didn’t emerge, one of the guards assigned to her broke open the door. She was gone. Best Jake can determine is that she escaped through one of the hidden passages in the castle. One we didn’t know about. Who creates a hidey hole in a loo?”

She snorts. “A person who wants to watch someone else in the nude. How could you not know?”

“It was her en suite bathroom. I never went in there. And the castle architectural plans do not include that detail.”

“But why is her disappearance a cause for alarm?”

“She wants my heir to be born of Lady Melissande because that would make her grandson a descendant of a king. But you’re pregnant with my child which makes you vulnerable. There’s nothing she won’t do to stop our child from being born.”

She picks at her fingernail polish. Is that what she does when she’s worried about something?

“Your mother is evil.”

“Yes. She is.” She’s finally beginning to see the light.

Her head comes up. She fixes me with an unwavering gaze. “But if we don’t marry, he’ll never be the heir.”

If only it were that easy. My leg’s stiffening up, so leaning on the cane I stand up, pace the floor. “You think that will stop her from hurting you? She hurt me for merely breathing, tried to break me in so many ways.” I brush fingers across my brow. I have to make Liz understand. “You’re in danger. Our baby is in danger. I have to protect you. And the only way I can do that is if you go along with my plan.”

“To move into the Cathedral Arms.”

“Yes. And to marry me.”

Ceasing the devastation of her nail lacquer, she turns to look at me. “Wouldn’t that put me in greater danger?”

“No. I can provide greater protection to a wife than a mistress.”

“I’m not your mistress! I never was.” Her tone rises.

I kick myself. I should have known the term’s a hot button for her. “Girlfriend, lover then. Whatever we were to each other, your pregnancy has changed everything. Right now, no one except family and close friends know about us. Have you thought what will happen once word leaks out? That job of yours you value so much, can you honestly tell me they wouldn’t whisper behind your back?

“They’re whispering now. I hate it.”

“But if we were engaged, married, the whispers would be of envy, not derision, as I suspect they are now.”

She stands, walks around the couch to stare out the window..

Rain pelts the glass, tinkling the surface. Gusts of wind lash branches on trees, bending them to its will.

She runs her hands up and down her arms, as if she’s cold. “I don’t want to be a subject of gossip.”

Wanting to lend her my warmth, I take a couple of halting steps, circle my arms around her. “I’m afraid that can’t be stopped, not anymore. It comes along with the territory of being with me.”

A shiver runs through her. “What about my law studies, my career?”

“You can continue law school. Neither our engagement, nor marriage would stop that. Let’s come away from the window, love.”

Rather than heed my advice, she turns in my arms, puts a hand on my chest. “You wouldn’t treat me like a sweet little wife and imprison me in a golden cage, would you, Storm?”

His brow knits. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

“From you! At the time I thought you were joking, but now.”

“Liz, if you married me, you’d be a viscountess. Do you realize the power my name would invoke? The doors it would open for you? You could do anything, be anything you wished.”

“I want to get my law degree and work as a corporate lawyer. That’s what I want.”

“And you could still have that. As my wife, you’d gain entry into the top law firms her in the States or in London. I’d make sure of that.”

My mobile rings, interrupting our discussion. “Jake.”

“Storm.” He answers in his deep American voice. An ex-Navy Seal, weapons expert, used to command. I hired him eight years ago when one of our projects came under fire, literally. He runs a tight operation, hiring only the best and most competent people in the business, most of them ex-Special Forces and British SBS.

“I’m putting you on speaker so Liz can hear. I’ve explained things to her. Anything new?” Even though he’s in Brazil watching over my sister, he’s got his pulse on the entire grid.

“Ms. Watson.”

“Hi.” Her voice sounds shaky. No surprise. I’ve laid quite a lot on her.

“Have you found her?” I ask.

“No. She withdrew a sizable sum from her bank, all in cash, and transferred over a million pounds to a Swiss account. The Swiss refuse to cooperate. They won’t even admit receipt of the money.”

“They are famous for their secrecy. I don’t expect we’ll get much out of them.”

“I agree. Our operative, Sarah Simmons, has also gone missing. My guess is your mother bribed her to help her escape.”

I don’t respond. Not much I can say.

“I’m sorry, Storm. She came with a spotless record, passed every background check. I don’t know what I missed. I’ll resign, if that’s what you wish.”

“I don’t want your resignation.” I grit out. “I want you to find my mother. You can beat yourself black and blue later. Where do you think they’ve gone?”

“My guess. France.”

He’s right about that. It only takes two hours by Eurail to reach Paris. But she could have taken a plane, jumped on a ferry. Too many ways to travel to find her easily. “Keep looking. Focus on the continent, but don’t discount London or other places in the UK.”

“Hard to direct the search from Brazil, so Brianna and I are flying back. Knowing what her mother is capable of, Bri’s as jumpy as a Mexican jumping bean.”

I allow myself a tight smile. “Keep her safe, Jake.”

“I always do.”

“Call me when you land in England or if you hear anything beforehand.” I click off.

Liz’s eyes are wide and luminous. She’s biting down on her lip. And she’s trembling. I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or fear.

I hate what this is doing to her but I push through. “Convinced yet?”

“I need to think about it.”

“Fair enough. Take a bath, take a nap. We’ll order dinner when you wake up. The hotel has quite an extensive in-room menu. I can personally vouch for the chateaubriand.”

She laughs.

“What’s so funny?

“The day we met. I asked for a steak dinner, a bath and a massage. Don’t you remember?”

I swallow hard. My gaze cuts to the floor. I was hoping to avoid this conversation for some time, but it seems we must address my lack of memory now. “No, I don’t.”

A shadow skitters across her gaze. “Did you forget me, Gabriel? Forget us?”

I take a deep breath, release it. "I only remember a remnant here and there, but mostly . . . I don’t recall much. Maybe in time, I will."

Her face crumbles. Pain registers across her features.“So your interest in me is because of the child I carry. Nothing more.”

I capture her face, rub a thumb across her wet cheek. “No. Not just because of the child. I need you. Badly.”

“Don’t say that. Please. Don’t lie to me.” Her lips tremble. Her soft underbelly’s showing. She’s hanged in so tough this entire day, and now she’s crushed by the thought my only interest lies in the babe.

A well of tenderness rises up within me. “I’m not lying. I take her hand, drive it to my cock which throbs hard with need. “See.”

She chokes out a bitter laugh. “What is that supposed to prove? You react that way to every woman, Storm.”

“No, I don’t. Since the accident, only you can get a rise out of me.” Not only does she carry my heir, but she’s given me back my virility. The warmth of her hand lights a fire within me, and I harden to a painful degree. I must be inside this woman. Now.

Chapter 11

______________

Elizabeth

HIS LIPS TAKE MINE in a hungry, voracious kiss while his cock thrums beneath my hand, a pulsing, living presence between us. He might be hiding things from me, but he’s not lying about this.

“Come, let me show you the intensity of my need.” Turning, he leads me deeper into the suite. “Wish I could carry you, but my leg won’t allow that much.”

“I don’t need to be carried, Storm.”

He opens the bedroom door where a bed fit for a king awaits. Pulling me into him, he drops a kiss on my throat before he unbuttons the front of my blouse. After he strips me of the garment, his nimble fingers go to work on the zipper of my skirt. When it swishes to the floor, I’m left wearing nothing but a blue lace bra and matching panties.

Insecure about my baby belly, small though it might be, I fidget while he takes me in. Does he still find me attractive? Obviously, his hard erection thinks so, but I want to see that look in his eyes, the one that says ‘I can’t wait to fuck you silly.’

His eyes take on the hue of a darkening storm. “You’re beautiful.”

“Am I?”

He goes for his tie. “You know you are.”

I know no such thing. But if he believes it, who am I to argue with him? Letting go of the breath I’ve been holding, I bat away his hand. “Let me. I want to do this.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Do you, love?”

A wingback chair rests at the corner. Meant to be a reading nook, it now serves as the repository of his clothes after I rid him of his tie, jacket, shirt. The scar from the time he was shot in Honduras blazes in the upper right of his chest, but amazingly he does not have any new scars from the car accident. I know I will find a different story on his leg.

I push him to sit on the bed, bend down to rid him of his textured leather mocs. Some animal donated its skin. “What are these made from?”

“Crocodiles. Venetian crocodiles.” That crooked grin I love so much pops up on his lips.

I laugh as I toss his shoes behind me. “Lift.” Belt, trousers join the pile on the chair. Only his boxer shorts remain. His hard on impressively peeks out from the top. He’s magnificent, as always. And exactly the way I remember him from my dreams.

Lying right alongside him on the bed, I run my hand up his hard pecs, bare except for a blond triangle of hair in the center of his chest. I don’t know how, but he’s even more cut than before. “You’ve been working out.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Rehab?”

“Yes.”

My hand roams down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. I breathe out a purr of total contentment. I’d dreamed about him, hungered for the taste, the scent of this man for so long, and now he’s here allowing me to enjoy everything that is him. And everything that is him is sheer perfection.

He takes my hand, brings it up to his lips, kisses it. “May I return the favor?”

“Not yet.” I go back to exploring him, twirling his chest hair with my fingers, tweaking a nipple.

He jerks. “Bloody hell. I don’t know how much longer I’ll let you manhandle me, love. I’m all ready hard enough to pound nails.”

“Good things come to those who wait, Storm,” I say with a wicked smile of my own. I roll him over. It’s only then I see the long, angry scar on the back of his calf. I gently run my hand over it. “It must have hurt quite a bit.”

He turns his head to gaze at me. “A fair amount. Yes.” And that’s as much as I’ll get out of him.

“May I touch you now?” he asks.

Since I’m dying to feel his hands on me, I nod and sit back on my heels. “Yes.”

He rises as well. One handed he snaps off my bra, tosses it somewhere in the room. My boobs have grown larger, a result of the pregnancy. He doesn’t seem to mind, but then he wouldn’t remember. His hot gaze roams over me, taking in every inch of my skin, before his hand goes to my panties. I brace for what’s sure to come.

“Lift.” When I comply, he rips them off.

Fully content, I sigh.

He’s not slow to notice. “Like that, do you?”

“Yes.”

A devilish light glints in his eyes. What is he planning to do to me? Much as I did, he pushes me down until I’m lying spread-eagled on the bed.

He kisses me again, his mouth a hot delight to my senses. I missed him so much, missed the spicy man taste of him. And he’s so very good at kissing. He nibbles the corner of my lips, his tongue licks the seam. I open and give him the entrance he seeks. He love bites the tip of my tongue. Heat shoots straight down to my pussy and my legs tremble. If I’m this turned on by a simple kiss, what’s going to happen when he does more?

Those big hands I love so much cup my breasts, weigh and measure them. He licks up the side of one before he curls his tongue over one tip. When he nips it, a shot of heat streaks right to my pussy and I gasp.

“You like that too.”

I cup his cheek. “I like everything you to do to me. You might want to move on, though.” I haven’t done this for a long time, and I’m about to go off. Even though he’s hardly done anything to me. I clutch the sheets and breathe deep in an attempt to calm down.

His mouth travels between the valley of my breasts, down my belly, to my mons.

“Gabriel.” I gasp. How does he know that’s exactly what I want when he doesn’t remember me, remember us?

His clever tongue licks the outside of my pussy, suckles my pearl. Oh, dear, sweet lord. I writhe beneath him, from the pleasure his mouth brings. There’s no way I’m calming down from this.

“You’re exquisite.”

Only he has spoken those words to me, but then he’s the only man I’ve ever allowed to enjoy me this way. I squirm beneath his adroit mouth, his agile fingers, which now are finding their way into my sheath. His touch is electric, but it’s been months of dying with lust for this man. If he doesn’t put his cock in me soon, I will go off like a skyrocket. And I don’t want to do that until he’s deep in me. “Fuck me, Gabriel. Please.”

“Good things come to those who wait.”

Damn. Hoisted by my own petard. “You suck.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I do.”

I breathe in her intoxicating scent, and I grow harder. Like that’s even possible given my hunger for her. I may not remember her, but I remember this feeling. This desperate feeling. No matter how close we are, I can never get enough of her taste, her scent, her.

I wanted to go slow, for her sake, for the baby’s sake. But that’s not what she wants. I insert a finger into her wet pussy. She screams, when I work in a second one. Seems like I worried for nothing. She’s hot and wet and definitely is ready for this.

Her hips jerk, almost dislodging me. I’m forced to hold her down to keep my mouth on her. Her legs tremble, and her sheath ripples around my fingers, both a precursor to orgasm. How could that be? I’ve barely touched her, suckled her, tasted her. But her body doesn’t lie. And I don’t want her to climax until I’m deep inside.

I grip her arse, and with one mad surge, thrust gladly into her. Bloody hell. She feels like heaven itself. Tight, hot, wet. Her cunt ripples, massaging my length. I pull out a smidgen of an inch and slam into her again. We both groan at my effort.

She curls her hand around my head and pulls me down for a kiss, suckling my bottom lip into her mouth, love biting it. “Do that again.”

I grab her arms, hold them over her head. For one second, panic flashes in her eyes.

“Hey, it’s just me.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Her tension eases as she hooks her legs around my hips. “Harder, deeper, Gabriel.”

I grab her arse, pound deep, desperate to please her, please me. Her sheath grips my cock, ripples around me. Her skin’s grown feverishly hot, and the scent of her? Bloody hell. Mindless with passion, with lust, I pump, pump, pump into her. My mouth curls in a rictus of pleasure/pain. Have I ever fucked a woman when it’s been this good? No. Of that, I’m sure.

She comes with a high keening cry. It doesn’t take long for me to follow her.

Sweaty, heart pounding, I collapse on the bed. Careful not to crush her, I hold her tight to me while we both catch our breaths. Her eyes are closed but when she opens them, I swear there are stars there. Stars and a world of love.

She’s mine. No one will take her away. No woman. No man. Not even God.

Chapter 12

______________

Elizabeth

IN THE MORNING, we order breakfast which we eat in bed. I hate the crumbs so he licks them off me. We bathe and make love in the shower. It’s like he can’t get enough of me. Understandable, if he’s only gotten his libido back. Making up for lost time, I guess.

Since we didn’t stop off at my place to get a change of clothing, I put on the same outfit from yesterday. Which he hates.

“Georgetown is only a couple of blocks away. Plenty of shops there for you to buy another outfit.”

“I have enough clothes, Storm. I don’t need more.” I’ve managed to work out a wardrobe which consists of stretchy pants, skirts and roomy blouses and jackets. At some point, I’ll need to spring for maternity clothes, but right now what I have suffices.

“You need a new raincoat. A Burberry. I’m sure we can find a shop that sells one. That flimsy thing you own is a step away from the rubbish bin.”

“It’s served me well for many years.”

He grunts. “Why won’t you accept a gift from me?”

“I have. You paid for the hotel, our meals.”

Fully dressed now in a new bespoke suit, a blue one this time, he’s too yummy for words.

“Will you move to the Cathedral Arms?”

I heave out a breath. He’s like a dog with a bone who won’t let go. I don’t want to move to the apartment. It’s way too big and besides I don’t even know how I’d get from there to work. The nearest subway is quite a walk aways. I’d probably need to take a bus to the metro stop. Nowhere near as convenient as my townhouse which is only a few blocks away. “I thank you for the offer, Gabriel, but I’m fine where I’m at. I love my place.”

“We can move your things, surround you with them.”

“No, thank you. I need to go home now if you don’t mind. I have stuff to do.” A lot of reading for school, laundry, cooking meals for the week.

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

“No.”

He yanks his cell from his jacket, dials Samuel. In a gruff voice, Storm asks him to bring the car around. We conduct our elevator ride in silence. He’s worried about my security, but I honestly don’t see why I won’t be safe. His mother might belong in a loony bin, but no matter what Gabriel says, I can’t believe she’d put a hit on me. No. He’s using her disappearance as a way to control me and that I won’t have.

In the car, he says, “Samuel will remain behind to watch over you. He’ll drive you to and from work, school. ”

What? “Gabriel he doesn’t have to do that. I’m fine on my own.”

“I will not give on this, Liz. He’ll hire additional staff to guard you day and night.” He faces the window, dismissing any objections I may have. Well, he’s got another think coming.

“That’s insane. I don’t need any of it.”

“I beg to differ.” He grits out, anger pulsing out of him.

I don’t want discord to come between us, not now when we’ve just reconnected. Maybe if I try to reason with him, he’ll see things my way. “Your mother won’t come after me, Gabriel.”

“After everything she’s done, how can you believe that?”

I hitch a shoulder. “As long as we’re not married or engaged, I don’t pose a threat to her.”

“You’re willing to take that chance? With yourself? With our child?”

“I don’t think I’m taking a chance.”

“There’s nowhere to park, Mr. Storm.” Samuel, over the intercom, interrupting us.

“We’ll get off here then.” Waiting only long enough for Samuel to release the door lock, Gabriel climbs out, helps me disembark. “Go around the block, please, Samuel.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walks me to my door, his steps dragging all the way.

“Goodbye, Gabriel.” I stick out my hand to say goodbye, fighting back the tears.

But he won’t shake hands. “Invite me inside.” He spits out through gritted teeth.

“There’s nothing more to say.”

“There’s plenty to say.”

“Nothing I want to listen to then.”

His skin takes on a ruddy hue. I’ve never seen him this angry. “I’m nothing more than your dirty little secret, aren’t I? The man you fuck when the mood strikes you. That’s the way you played it in the past. Why should you change now?” He harshes out a bitter laugh.

The tears flow and I brush them away. “It’s not like that. I’m not like that.”

“Aren’t you? Aren’t you, Liz? So damn afraid of any commitment. You can’t even commit to your own child. All you could think about is giving it away like some unwanted refuse. And you would have, if I hadn’t come along and demanded custody.”

“I never wanted a child. I never wanted to be a mother.”

“No. You only want your career. And that’s exactly what you’ll get. Five, ten years from now, you’ll be all alone. Living some place by yourself. Maybe you’ll have a cat or a dog. No, not a dog. A dog’s too much of a commitment. But a cat. He practically takes care of himself. When you could have had a family. When you could have had me.”

A thug comes out of nowhere, brandishing a knife. Before I know it he’s upon us, cutting my purse from my shoulder, pushing me down. Gabriel lunges for him, but the thief stabs at him, the blade cutting through his jacket, right into his arm. Gabriel hisses with pain. And then the hood flees down the street, disappears into an alley while Storm stands there with a torn jacket, his life’s blood dripping unto the street.

Oh, my God.

“Are you all right?” he asks. With his good hand, he reaches down and helps me to my feet. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” My voice trembles along with the rest of me. How could he be so concerned about me? He’s the one who’s hurt. I touch his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

“So I am.” His gaze takes on the color of a cold, wintry haze. “What do you care?”

My breath hitches. “How could you say such a thing? Of course, I care.”

I drag him into my townhouse, grab a towel from the powder room, and wrap it around his arm. And then I hunt down the first aid kit. With shaking hands, I patch him up.

“It’s barely a knick. In a day or two I’ll be good as new,” he says. Is he trying to comfort me? Must be.

“You’re white as a sheet, love. Why don’t you take a seat?”

My knees give way and I drop on the couch next to him. The edges of my vision waver. If I don’t do something, I’m going to pass out.

“Put your head between your legs.” He puts his good hand on the back of my head, pushes it down. “Take deep breaths.”

I do as he says. As though from a distance, I realize I’m in shock. After a minute or so, I sit up. As it turns out, too soon. When I come to, he’s sitting next to me, a worried look on his face. The first aid kit is closed and the bloody gauzes are gone. I’ve never fainted from the sight of blood. But then it’d never been his blood before either. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Liz. Are you all right now?”

“Yes. I think so. I’m still shaking like a bowl full of Jello-O, but at least the faintness is gone. “Should we call the police?”

“Did he take your ID, anything important?” How can he appear cool as a cucumber while I’m anything but?

“No, That stuff is in my briefcase. I only carry cash and makeup in my purse.” And then I recall what else was in my purse. “Oh!”

“What?”

“I put the baby’s sonogram pictures in there.” Tears spring to my eyes. The first pictures of our baby, and now they’re gone.

“You can get new ones next time you visit the doctor. The thief is probably miles away by now. And you only lost a handbag. Better not call the police.” His voice’s gone cold. Now that I’m on the mend, he’s retreated into that frigid shell of his. The place I can’t touch him.

“You were hurt.”

“If we bring in the cops, we’ll need to file a report. My name’s notorious. The media might pick it up, and someone from your job might hear it on the news. And God forbid anyone should find out about me and you.” He slips into his jacket, glances at his watch. “I better go. Samuel must have circled the block a couple of times by now.”

I can’t let him go. Not with this distance between us. What am I going to do? That thug awakened a fear in me, something I hadn’t felt before. If he managed to hurt Gabriel that easily, how could I stand up against somebody determined to hurt me? To hurt our baby? “No. Wait.” I touch his good arm.

Shoulders stiff, he waits for me to speak. His body language says it all. He’s disconnected with me.

I hate being the cause of this distance between us. I wrap my arms around my waist to get through what I must say. “I failed to see what you’re talking about, the danger I’m in. If that thief could hurt you so easily what would someone bent on injuring me do to our child?” I glance around the living room. “I have great memories of my home. Of the good times with Casey. This is the first place you made love to me.”

“Is it?” His wintry glance travels across the space to me.

“You may not remember, but I do.” I run my hand over the Redskins cushion. “I can take my things with me. Make a life somewhere else.”

“What are you saying, Liz?” His gaze warms with a burgeoning hope.

“I’ll move to the Cathedral Arms.”

Chapter 13

______________

Elizabeth

BEFORE HE FLEW BACK TO LONDON, Gabriel insisted I stay at the Four Seasons until Samuel transferred my things to the Cathedral Arms. I agreed, and was rewarded by that incandescent smile of his. So I packed a few things and hunkered at the hotel for the next few days. Room service, every TV channel known to mankind, and a Jacuzzi to die for. Not a hardship by any means. Still, I can’t help but wish my old life back.

By Thursday the move is accomplished and I go from law school to my new digs. The place’s so cavernous it echoes. My sofa and coffee table barely take up a fourth of the living room space, but my big screen TV is here, and I plan to wind down with a playback of my favorite show.

I don’t have to time for a meal between work and school, so I usually wait until I get home to eat. But with the cupboards bare until I have a chance to grocery shop, I order take out, which apparently must be vetted by Samuel. Does he think I’m going to be poisoned by Mr. Wong’s? Sheesh.

After dinner, I bid him goodnight and take the tiny elevator to the bedroom suite. He’s searched the place, secured all doors. For the remains of the night, he’ll stand guard in the living room. Well, at least I’m not alone.

Next morning on the way to work, I take stock of the tremendous changes in my life. I’m still employed at Smith Cannon and attend law school. That much is the same. But everything else? Yeah, night and day. Per Gabriel’s orders, Samuel hired additional staff. I don’t go anywhere without someone driving me—to and from work, to and from school—in the silver S-Class Mercedes Benz Gabriel bought for me. Even a lunch out has to be run by Samuel.

I resent all of it which does not augur well for the future. If after a few days, I’m chafing at the bit, how am I going to handle the months until the baby’s birth? Guess I’ll have to. I rub my baby bump. The important thing is he’s safe.

After arriving at work, I head to my office, eager for my usual Friday morning routine, bagel, cream cheese and a dish of hot gossip, courtesy of CeCe.

“What’s going on?” she asks as soon as I step through the door.

Damn. Guess today’s gossip is about me. Still, just to make sure, I feel her out while I hang up my coat on the door hook. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being dropped off and picked up by a limo driver. You don’t go out to lunch anymore.”

Should have known she’d notice, the way my luck’s been running. “Things . . . have changed.”

“You’re telling me.” She slides over a cinnamon raisin bagel, cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice. “So spill, girlfriend.”

I close the door before taking a seat and giving her a heavily edited version of the facts. “Gabriel doesn’t want me living in Alexandria because he doesn’t feel it’s safe. So he bought an apartment in the Cathedral Arms. And he’s such a security nut, he assigned a team to me. Really, nothing out of the ordinary.” For him.

“Uh-huh.” She bites into her own breakfast treat, an English muffin dripping with butter and lathered with strawberry jam. Her eternal diet goes out the window for this one meal. “And . . .”

“He had all my things moved from the townhouse.”

“So you’re living together?”

“Not really. Well, kind of. I guess.” That clears things right up, doesn’t it?

She arches a brow. Honestly, her brows say more than she does sometimes. “So which is it? Is he or is he not living with you?”

“He’ll stay in London during the week and fly in for the weekend.”

She grabs a napkin and wipes some jam off her lip. “Looks like things are getting serious.”

“Yeah.” About as serious as they can get. He keeps pressuring me to marry and his crazy mother probably put a hit on me, but other than that? Things are peachy keen, thank you very much. “Please don’t mention any of this. We’re trying to keep it under wraps.”

She reaches out, squeezes my hand. “Oh, honey, I won’t. Besides I’m having too much fun watching everyone try to figure out the identity of your baby daddy.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes I’ve learned not to trust. “The office started a pool.” She chuckles.

“A pool?” I choke out.

“Brian Sullivan’s in the running, but he’s not ahead. Joe Lipskitz is.”

I gag. “Joe Lipskitz? He’s got to be fifty if a day.” And has a paunch.

“I know, right? He’s such a horndog. But he’s a partner and ultra rich.”

“Like I’d even look at him. And when exactly did he and I hook up?”

“Memorial Day weekend. Apparently you took a little vacay with him. His secretary, snitch that she is, leaked the fact he was in Acapulco that weekend with a certain someone. I could wring her scrawny neck. Doesn’t she know secretaries are supposed to keep their boss’s affairs secret?”

“But I was here that whole weekend doing prep work for the SouthWind deal!”

“You don’t think the truth is stopping them, do you?”

I rub my lip. There is one silver lining to the gossip. “So basically nobody has a clue about Gabriel.”

“Not a one.” She flashes her pearly teeth.

“That’s good.”

“So how big’s the place?” The rest of our breakfast we spend talking about the apartment. It’s way too big and empty, but the view is breathtaking. Gabriel made an appointment for a designer to come by this weekend to discuss new furnishings. God knows the place needs it. A table and chairs for the dining room, and furniture for the four bedrooms on the second floor at the very least.

After work, I slip into the car to find Gabriel waiting for me.

“When did you—?”

That’s as far as I get when he pulls me into him. His hand threads through my hair devastating my carefully pinned up do before he sinks into my mouth. He tastes of champagne and smells like sin itself.

Chapter 14

______________

Gabriel

THIS LAST WEEK WITHOUT LIZ HAS BEEN HELL. The unrelenting need for her occupied my every thought. Through business meetings, in the shower, at night when I couldn’t fall asleep. I have this constant craving for the smell of her, the taste of her, the sweet benediction of her body next to mine. I no longer wonder about what had caused me to get into the Jag half drunk and crash into a tree. I’d been mad with grief about losing her. My mind might not recall everything she’s been to me, but my body remembers.

When we come up for air, I whisper against her mouth. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” She rests her head against my shoulder. And for the first time in four days I take a deep breath.

“Where to, Mr. Storm?” Samuel’s voice. Not wanting a witness for my hunger for her, I’d put up the divider before Liz slipped into the car.

“Home,” I say. The Cathedral Arms may be a new purchase, but it’s the place I think of as home. And it’s because she’s there. If I couldn’t have her in my life, it would devastate me.

Somehow I manage to restrain my passion until we’re inside the lift which leads to our place. There, I push her against its wall, and raising her leg, grind my erection against the space between her legs. Our breaths commingle in a heated burst, as she curls her hands around the nape of my neck, bites down on my lip, heals it with a kiss.

Wish I could stop the elevator and take her right now. But my leg’s not up to the task. Mercifully, the ride is short. As soon as we step off the car, we’re tearing at each other’s clothes. We barely make it to the couch before we fall on each other—tasting, biting, suckling—not caring about which body part we enjoy first.

I cup her luscious breasts, suckle the tips, tease them while she writhes beneath me.

“Fuck me, Gabriel.”

God knows I want to more than my next breath, but I want to enjoy all of her. “Patience, love.”

Her hand sneaks down below, grabs me and positions me against her opening. “Now.”

I wriggle away from her. “Not yet.” I bend down to take her lips, explore every inch of her mouth. She tastes of heaven and coffee and the exotic flavor of her.

She clamps down on my ass and wiggles against me, moistening my erection with her damp heat. The scent of her need almost breaks my resolve to go slow. “You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

I rub my cock against her mons and she gasps. “Please, Gabriel. Please.”

How can I deny her when it’s exactly what I want? I was a fool to think I could go slow.

I unhinge my hips and thrust, giving her what she needs, what we both want.

“Yes. Oh, God. Yes.” She shouts with unfettered joy.

Our bodies, slick with sweat, grind, surge, climb together. until we’re both struck by lightning and succumb to the madness.

She screams. I collapse on top of her. For a moment until I catch my breath. When we’re both breathing somewhat steadily. I rise from the couch. Give her a hand up. My leg, unused to all the vigorous activity, throbs like a whoreson. I stagger to the spot where I dropped my cane, pick it up.

“Oh. God” she says.

“What’s wrong?” I turn back.

She’s staring out the window, her gaze wide. “What if somebody saw us?”

Laughing, I stutter step my way back to her. Cradle her head against my shoulder. “Now you’re worried?”

“I wasn’t thinking before.”

Neiher was I, but I wouldn’t have cared if we’d had a whole parade marching by. “The Cathedral of the Nativity is the only building with a direct view. Somehow I don’t think there’s someone with binoculars in its bell tower ogling us.”

But her gaze’s still fixated on the sight. “You think so?”

“I know so.” I know no such thing, but might as well offer her what comfort I can. “But we should remove upstairs, you know, just in case,” I say with as much of a straight face as I can command.

It doesn’t fool her for a bit, and she swats at me. “You’re evil, you know that.”

I swat her bottom right back. “I live to serve.”

Chapter 15

______________

Elizabeth

SATURDAY MORNING, sore in all the right places, I soak in the Jacuzzi and watch Gabriel shave. “Don’t shave off all your scruff.” I like it even though I have burns across my breasts.

Finished, he unplugs his razor. When he sinks into the tub with me, water splashes all over the floor. But I could care less. I take his hand and guide it to where I’m aching below.

Cleaning up the spilled water takes longer than expected, and we only have time for a hurried breakfast before the decorator shows up. While she takes notes, Gabriel settles me against him on the couch. He’s not letting me get too far from him. To start he’ll require furnishings for the dining room and the four bedrooms. And more formal furniture for the living room where we can entertain our guests.

“We’ll move your stuff to the family room,” he says. “Does that meet with your approval, darling?”

I bristle at the thought my ‘stuff’ is not good enough for the living room. But what can I do but say yes. He’s paying for everything, after all. And I don’t want to contradict him in front of the decorator whose name I recognize from the Style section of The Washington Post.

Her reputation is well deserved. Within half an hour, she’s pegged down my preferences, classy but comfortable. Within another thirty minutes she’s dug out fabric samples, suggested a cream-colored sectional sofa with down seating that would suit the living room space to a tee. For the dining room, Gabriel approves a mirrored dining table with damask-print host chairs, and a crystal chandelier to sparkle over it all.

A new television, massive enough to fill the appropriate space will be installed in the living room, along with an entertainment center complete with surround sound and other key electronics. He requests another TV for the bedroom and a third one for the bathroom. Understandable, given that he’s a business news junkie. Prices aren’t brought up. Who needs them when you’re a gazillionaire?

After two hours, my energy’s dwindling. He suggests the designer proceed with what she has and revisit at a later time. She leaves with a smile on her face, probably imagining our clock tower apartment showcased in a future style section of The Washington Post. Not gonna happen if I have anything to say about it.

“I have a surprise for you.” He tweaks my chin.

I silently groan. “Another one?” I’ve had more ‘surprises’ the last week than I’ve had my entire life.

“You’ll like this one. I hired a housekeeper and a butler chef for you.”

What? “Gabriel, I don’t need—”

He lays a finger across my lips, shushing me. “Sure you do. You can’t keep up this place by yourself.”

He’s got a point. Suzy homemaker, I’m not. And the only kitchen appliances I’m familiar with are the microwave and coffeemaker. Still, he should have checked with me before he hired someone. “I don’t like you making decisions that affect me.”

His eyes narrow as if he’s weighing his best approach. “Tell you what. Give it a week. If you’re not satisfied, I’ll let them go.”

Oh, geez. I don’t want that burden. “What if they turned down another job to work here? That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“Somebody else did want them. But don’t worry. If I terminate their services, I’ll give them severance pay. ”

“Who wanted to hire them?”

“An ambassador from South America.”

They chose me over an ambassador? No. Not me. Us. I keep forgetting Gabriel’s a viscount. That would mean something to high class servants. Gosh, now I’m feeling even guiltier than before. “This is too much.” I gesture at the space.

“What’s too much?”

“The apartment, the furniture, servants.” Not to mention the silver S-Class Benz and the security guards.

He cups my cheek. “Can’t you work with me on this, Liz? You’ve struggled so hard your whole life. And this”—he imitates my hand wave—”is my small way of making things easier for you. Easier and safer.”

I glance down at the plush rug under my feet which will be covered with the swanky Aubusson rug he ordered in sage green to ‘match my eyes’. What does it hurt to accept what he’s offering? It gives him pleasure to do such things for me. And he’s right about the upkeep of the place and the safety measures he’s put in place. Besides, I only have to put up with all this until the baby is born. After that, I’ll move to more modest digs and take my ‘stuff’ with me. “Okay. Fine.”

He beams me that dazzling smile of his.

Just as he drops a kiss on my lips, my stomach grumbles, reminding me it needs to be fed. “Sorry.” All I ate was toast before the designer arrived.

“There’s a cafe downstairs. We can do lunch.” He suggests.

“Is there?” I’ve been so busy with school and work, I haven’t explored the neighborhood. I do want to see what’s out there. “We’ll need to go incognito.”

His brow wrinkles. “Incognito?”

I drag him up to our bedroom where I grab a grey Washington Capitals cap and blue scarf from my wardrobe and toss both to him.

After he arranges them in front of the bathroom mirror, he turns to me. “What do you think?”

He’s wearing a heather gray fisherman’s sweater, with an oxford shirt underneath. The scarf styled in a simple loop around his throat does nothing to dim him down. If anything, it makes him more attractive. Drats. Well, at least the cap hides those ocean blue eyes.

We ride the main elevator down to the lobby, holding hands the entire way. The man’s possessive to a fault.

I’m pleasantly surprised by the ground level shops—a dry cleaner, a boutique, a hair and nail salon, a sundries store, and in the corner, a bistro which is a hive of activity. We put in our order—chicken salad and milk for me, hot tea and a monster burger with the works for him.

When it’s delivered to our table, I make a face. “You’re going to eat all that?”

“Yes.” He takes a huge bite. Ketchup, mustard ooze from the burger and drip unto his plate. He smiles, while wiping his mouth. “I need it to keep up with you.”

I choke on the milk. “Me? It’s you who’s insatiable.”

“Who snuggled her naughty bits against me in the middle of the night?”

My cheeks blaze with heat. “I was cold.”

“And I warmed you up.” His voice’s turned husky.

Yes, he most certainly did.

The couple sitting next to us is leaning so far in our direction they’re practically in our laps. “Hush, they’ll hear you.” I give a small nod toward them.

He reaches over, presses my hand. “I don’t care.”

He may not, but I do. “Gabriel.” I warn him.

“Liz.” He flashes his devil-may-care smile. He’s incorrigible, that much is clear.

Detente’s established when I pull back my hand.

After lunch, he insists on stopping at the clothes boutique and picking out something for me to ‘try on.’ After the oodles of money he’s spent on furniture, I’m wary of overdoing it, so I choose only one pair of stretchy pants and a shirt. I emerge from the fitting room to find a mound of clothes by the counter. Dresses, pants, blouses, sweaters.

“What’s all this?”

He hauls me into him, drops a kiss on my lips. “Stuff I chose for you. Miss Bianca helped me pick them out.”

Miss Bianca is beaming from ear to ear. Of course, she is. He just bought out half her store. After he makes arrangements to have them delivered, we return to the apartment where I find the housekeeper and butler chef waiting for us.

Gabriel introduces us. “Liz, meet Marisol and Jorge Cortez.”

“How do you do?” Marisol says, shaking my hand. Her husband does the same. Their dark-haired and olive complexion hint at a Hispanic ancestry. He’s tall; she’s about my height. Both seem really fit for their age which I guess to be their fifties.

After they take our coats, Jorge informs us dinner will be ready at seven if it meets with our approval. It does, since it gives me time to take a nap. I’m not surprised when Gabriel slides into bed and rubs his naughty bits against me.

The smell of something delicious cooking wakes me. I choose the stretchy pants and an oversized top from the clothes delivered while I was asleep.

Since we have no dining room furniture, we eat at the counter that divides the kitchen from the dining room. Marisol and Jorge have dug up a tablecloth and candlesticks from somewhere. The service is impeccable and the food? “What did you prepare? It smells yummy.”

“Chicken and rice,” Jorge explains while serving a plate in front of me. “A native dish from my homeland.”

“Where is that?”

“Cuba.”

I take a bite and moan. Yeah, it’s that good. I could have babies with this dish. “It’s delicious.”

“So happy you like it. Buen apetito.” He and Marisol vanish behind the kitchen’s back door, leaving Gabriel and me alone in this very romantic setting. The view out the curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows is stunning with the lights of Georgetown winking in the background and the Cathedral of the Nativity looming in its majesty.

That night Gabriel makes love to me slowly, driving me crazy. But then that’s always been his style.

Sunday morning, my cell rings. It’s Casey. “You coming for brunch?”

“Of course.” This much of my routine I’m not willing to forego. Not that Gabriel complains.

With my brain still whirling from everything that happened yesterday, I’m eager to relax among friends. While we eat brunch, Gabriel gets Casey to open up about his restaurant. He expresses a wish to expand, and Gabriel being Gabriel indicates a willingness to invest.

To his credit, Casey does not snap at the offer, but promises to give it some thought. They talk a loan at one percent interest, repayment as long as it takes. Who’s Casey kidding? He’s never going to get better terms than that.

After brunch, I insist Gabriel and I clean up while Casey and Gina relax in their living room. Gabriel surprises me when he does a fair job of wiping down the table, scraping dishes, tucking them in the dishwasher.

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“You keep thinking I’m not useful in the kitchen.” He leans back against the counter, his eyes shining at me.

“What do you mean ‘I keep thinking?’”

“That time you visited The Brighton, you said the same thing.”

“Oh, Gabriel.” Fighting back my tears, I clutch my hands in front of me. “You’re starting to remember.”

He blinks as realization sets in. “I am, aren’t I? Bri was there. It was the day after she caught Anton cheating on her. And Jake and . . . and . . . and . . .” He fists a hand and punches his head. “Why can’t I bloody remember anything else?”

“Hey, stop that.” I pull down his hand. “It’s a beginning.”

He crooks a finger beneath my chin and kisses me. And, of course, I melt into him. He grabs my ass and drops me on the counter where he proceeds to ravage my mouth. The world fades away until I hear a noise from the living room

Oh, geez. “They’re not looking this way, are they?”

He glances over my head toward Casey and Gina. “Not to worry. They’re flipping channels on the telly.”

I catch the time on the kitchen clock. “We better join them. The football game’s about to start.”

As he helps me down from the counter, he whispers in my ear, “We’ll finish this later.”

A shiver runs through me. He won’t get an objection from me.

Casey and Gina have settled on “Washington This Weekend,” a news and entertainment show that features the movers and shakers of D.C.

Suddenly, a photo of Gabriel in one of his killer business suits flashes on the TV. “It seems we have a new celebrity in town, Gabriel Storm, COO of Storm Industries, who’s here for a business deal.”

“What the—?” Gabriel asks, his mouth a white slash.

My heart stops. I clutch the flute of virgin mimosa by its fragile stem. Please let that be the only picture of him.

“But is that the only thing that draws the insanely handsome tycoon to our nation’s capital?” Photos of us in front of our apartment building, eating lunch, holding hands, pop up on the screen. “Yesterday, the viscount and heir to the Earl of Winterleagh was seen strolling down Wisconsin Avenue with a very lovely dark-haired woman who appears to be expecting a joyous event.” The next image shows him pulling me to him, kissing me inside the boutique. “And they appear to be close. Very close.”

I practically choke on my virgin mimosa which, let’s face it, is just orange juice. Should have known this idyllic existence wouldn’t last. And the thing about living in a castle on a cloud? The crash back to earth is a real bitch.

Chapter 16

______________

Gabriel

MONDAY MORNING I’M BACK IN LONDON, much as I hate to be. I’d rather be back in D.C., but there are things in London I must deal with. Business issues, personal matters. So here I am.

I arrive at Heathrow to find Jake waiting for me. With Samuel left behind to manage Liz’s security, Jake’s hired a new security guard, Travis Webber.

Travis is the size of a lorry, has the nose of a prizefighter and his arms resemble small tree trunks.

“He’s smarter than he looks.” Jake says after I shake hands with his newest hire.

Travis laughs at the semi-insult. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Storm. I’ll take right care of ye.”

He’s got a sense of humor. Good. He’ll need it working for me.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, Travis. Where’s Bri?” I ask Jake, sliding into Benz.

“Home with her latest project.”

Bri and her men. You’d think I would have gotten used to her promiscuity by now. “Who is it this time?”

“An artist who meets all her requirements.”

“Good looking, none too bright, and hung like a moose?”

“Can’t attest to the last trait, but yes, to the other two. And, no, I didn’t leave her unguarded. I assigned someone to watch over her while I rode to Heathrow to meet with you. Why so late?” Jake asks once we’re on the motorway to London. “We expected you this morning.”

I’ve arrived mid day, rather than my usual pre-crack of dawn. “I was detained.” Truth to tell, I had to tear myself away. In the past, I couldn’t leave a woman’s bed fast enough after we had sex. But with Liz? All I want is to cocoon and let the world spin on its own.

“You’ll have a long day ahead of you.”

“I slept on the plane.” In fits and starts. Still, I did get some shut eye. “Any news?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Glancing toward Travis, he activates the button that divides the front and back seats. Only when it clicks shut does he say, “I found your mother.”

Bloody hell. Wasn’t expecting this. “Did you?”

“Yes.” The steel in his gaze is not lost on me. “Or I should say, the actress you paid to impersonate her and travel to France.”

Fuck. I should have known Jake would figure it out.

“What are you up to, Storm?” His eyes narrow.

I hate like hell having to explain myself. But if I want his cooperation, or at least his reluctant compliance, I’ll have to. “I executed a preemptive strike. As an ex-Navy Seal, I’m sure you understand exactly what that means.”

“I’m familiar with the term, Storm. Go on.”

“With Tilly gone, the Countess would have realized I was on to her nasty blackmail scheme and that I’ve reestablished relations with Liz. Since my mother would do everything in her power to prevent our child from being born, I did what I had to do.”

“And my operative, Sarah Simmons? She agreed to your ‘preemptive strike?’”

“She’s not ‘your’ operative, Jake. She’s mine.” I cringe at the arrogant tone to my voice. Can’t be helped. That’s what happens when my emotions are involved.

“You may pay her salary, but I hired her. I’m responsible for her.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s not happy about my use of one of ‘his’ operatives.

Before I further alienate him. I take a deep breath, modulate my voice to sound less like a prig. “Yes, she agreed. I asked her to pretend she’d do anything for money. She must have done a good job because the Countess took the bait and offered her a sizable sum to help her escape.”

“How the hell did they get out of the castle? My team was watching every exit.”

I grow weary of this interrogation. But I must make him understand, so he won’t throw a spanner in the works. “They weren’t watching the coast. A tunnel leads directly from the castle to a cave below. It’s the way the castle was provisioned during medieval sieges.”

His gaze narrows. “That passage does not appear in the castle plans.”

“The passage caved in at one point, so its existence was lost in time. But it’s still there. My mother knew about it, Probably pried the information from my father during one of his drinking binges. She sent Ms. Simmons to reconnoiter. When Sarah reported there was enough room to get through, they planned their getaway. The night of their escape, a ship waited for them offshore. It was supposed to take them to France.”

“Where did they end up?”

“Scotland. In a hunting box my family owns. Far away from any roads or towns.”

He fiddles with his mobile, one of the best satellite phones in the market and a twin to my own. “Sarah blocked my calls, but I assume you’re in communication with her.”

“She sends me a status report every evening.”

He jams the phone back in his jacket. “I can’t imagine your mother went willingly once she landed in Scotland.”

“There was some sedation involved.”

“Christ, Storm. Kidnapping, drugging her? What you’ve done is immoral, never mind illegal.”

“She did worse than that to me.”

“That doesn’t justify your actions.” He glances out the window where cars whizz along the busy motorway. “How long are you planning to keep up this farce?” He doesn’t bother to look back at me.

“Until I marry Liz and our son is born. Then the Countess can go to blazes for all I care.”

He turns back to me. “And how are you going to keep your mother quiet afterward? Have you thought about that?”

“Of course I have. Did you really think I wouldn’t?” I choke out a laugh. “There’s no love lost between her and the castle staff. Everyone hates her. They’ll swear to a man and woman she’s been at Winterleagh the whole time. If I have to, I’ll get a physician to certify her insane. She’s not that far off, so it won’t be much of a stretch.”

Jake’s steel gaze drills into me. “There’s a lot of your mother in you, Storm. Much more than you realize.”

I gnash my teeth. I learned from the best, didn’t I?

“And you planned all this behind my back.”

“You wouldn’t have approved my scheme.”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t.”

I expected his anger, so his reaction is not a surprise. I’d hoped, no prayed I could talk him around to my point of view. But things are not looking good. I may need to recalibrate my plans. Until then there’s something else I need to know. “What’s the latest on the security in D.C.?”

“Samuel’s arranged for a company to wire the apartment—cameras, motion sensors. And of course Marisol and Jorge are fully capable of handling anything that comes up.”

“The Cuban couple was quite a find.” Trained as operatives by the American government, they’d retired two years ago. Having worked as servants to the elite for many years while spying for the CIA, they made the perfect cover. “Anything else?”

“A couple of your mother’s acquaintances have called. How do you want to deal with them?”

“Our official line will be she suffered a nervous breakdown caused by the stress of dealing with my father’s illness. Her doctor thought it best if she were in total isolation to get the rest she needs.”

Another tick of his jaw.

“If you’re worried about being connected, don’t be. You can rightfully claim you had no prior knowledge.”

“I have knowledge now. Do you think I won’t be implicated as an accomplice? And what about Sarah, have you thought about the repercussions if things don’t go your way?”

My conscience lies clear. Given a chance to do it all again, I would do the same. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t suffer any consequences, Jake. And you must do as your scruples dictate. Are you in or are you out? Because if you’re not, I’ll have to make other plans.” I have no idea what those plans would be.

His jaw juts. That body part is getting quite a workout today. For a couple of minutes he doesn’t say anything. But then there’s a subtle shift to him, a relaxation of sorts. “You did the right thing, even if your methods are illegal. Your mother would have gone after Ms. Watson. Of that I have no doubt. I may not like what you’ve done, but I understand why you did it.” His gaze cuts to me. “So I’m in. I would feel better if I knew the security measures being taken to ensure she does not escape. Maybe I should travel to this hunting box. Where is it by the way?”

I trust him implicitly, but I don’t want him directly involved. In case things head south, he still could claim ignorance. Doubt he would. His honor would demand an admission of his knowledge. “No need. I will visit her this week to find that out for myself.”

“Very well. One more thing we need to deal with. Photos of you and Elizabeth appeared in the British papers. It will take them only a day or two to figure out who she is.”

The same thing happened in D.C. “It was foolish to believe no one would find out about us.”

“Did you arrange for those photos to make their way to the media?”

So, he suspects me of complicity. That’s the problem with committing one transgression. You’re suspect in everything else that goes wrong. I turn away from him to stare out the window. We should be in London proper soon. “You give me too much credit, Jake. Not hard to see how it happened with the Cathedral of the Nativity right next door. My guess? Some tourist recognized me and took our picture. And a couple in the cafe where we ate lunch took a keen interest in us.”

“How would anyone know who you are?”

“Probably from the pictures that surfaced from the closing. They made the business section of The Washington Post. And The Wall Street Journal wrote a full article about the deal and me.” I brush nonexistent lint from my trousers. “I imagine things will get sticky at her job. It can’t be avoided, I’m afraid. They won’t fire her. I’ll withdraw my business if they do. But they may take measures she won’t like.”

“They’ll have rules in place to deal with that kind of thing.”

“Yes, they probably do. I just hope they don’t go overboard with their ‘rules.’”

Chapter 17

______________

Elizabeth

“SEE YOU AT 5:30, MS. WATSON?” Rick Blaine, my new guard, asks. Of average height and build, he’s not much to look at. But there’s a look in his eye that tells me he’s no one to mess with. The three members of the team will take turns watching over me. I’ll meet the third guard tonight. Martha Rawlings, hired because they need a woman to accompany me places men can’t go. Apparently, I need a bodyguard while I pee. Lovely.

“Yes. I’ll call if there’s a delay.”

When Rick climbs out and opens the door for me, a couple of co-workers witness it. I wish them good morning as I breeze into the building along with them. They don’t comment upon my new mode of transportation, but then they don’t have to. Their raised brows speak for them.

My message light’s lit up on my work phone. One call from Carrey, four from CeCe. HR requests a meeting as soon as I’m available. Wonder what they want to talk about, as if I don’t know.

Carrey’s tied up in a meeting, his secretary tells me, but she’ll let him know I called. By the time I hang up, CeCe’s standing at my door, excitement clear on her face.

“Girl, you’ve gone and done it now. The place’s buzzing with the news.”

Even though I expected that reaction, my stomach flip flops. “So everyone knows about Gabriel and me?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about it anymore.” I rub my baby belly. I just have to worry about the fall out sure to occur.

“A lot of people are disappointed. Nobody won the pool.”

Serves them right.

My phone rings. Carmen, Mr. Carrey’s secretary. “He can see you now if you’re available.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What time you want to do lunch?” CeCe asks.

“One?”

“You got it.” I’ll need to call Samuel and arrange for security. I grit my teeth before I grab my netbook and head for Mr. Carrey’s office. Maybe he just wants to give me a substantial assignment.

The foolish hope’s dashed when I arrive at his office and he greets me with a frown. “Good morning, Liz. Please take a seat.”

I do, fearful of what he’s going to say.

“I understand you and Gabriel Storm . . .” He leaves the rest of the words hanging in the air.

Not much I can say but, “Yes.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, drops into his office chair. “This puts us in a bit of a sticky spot, Liz.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.” Even though I know what’s coming, I wait, hoping the damage won’t be too great.

“As you know, Storm Industries has hired us as their outside counsel. Unfortunately, that means we will need to take some cautions.” He fiddles with the pens in his pencil cup, always a bad sign.

“What kind of cautions?”

He leans back into his seat and fixes his gaze on me. “We’ll need to build a Chinese wall between you and any transactions involving Storm Industries.”

A Chinese Wall is a barrier implemented within a firm to prevent exchanges of information that could cause conflicts of interest. Because of my involvement with Gabriel, I won’t have access to any data having to do with Storm Industries.

“Which means you’re off the Storm Industries team. I’m sorry, Liz.”

Yeah, it’s just as bad as I thought. At least I still have a job. “I understand, Mr. Carrey.”

“I’ll ask the other partners in the group to provide you with meaningful work.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” They hadn’t in the last several months, and I don’t expect that to change. Not now, after I’d slept with the COO of a company on the other side of a business deal. Even though SouthWind had sold the wind farm assets for more money than originally sought, someone or a group of someones will be assigned to analyze the transaction to make sure I had done no wrong. I had put the firm in a really bad spot. And, as I’d always feared, I was about to pay the price. Can’t say I didn’t expect it. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

I can just see my future. Because they don’t want Gabriel to pull his business. I’ll be treated with kid gloves, given a light workload. And be bored silly.

I think things can’t get any worse. But that’s before I return to my office to find Brian waiting for me.

“So you and Storm, huh?” The smirk on his face tells me exactly what he thinks.

My hackles rise. How is my relationship with Gabriel any of his business? I can’t afford to alienate him, though. Not if I hope to get work from him. “Excuse me.” Rather than snap out a pithy comment, I put the breadth of my substantial desk between us and glare at him. “Do you have an assignment for me, Brian?”

He chokes out a derisive laugh. “No, I don’t. And in the future, you won’t get much from me. Nor from the other partners in the office.”

Other partners? “Wait. You made partner?”

A nasty grin pops up on his face. “Yes. I got the news this morning. Funny it came through as soon as the news broke about you and Gabriel Storm. Guess they were holding it up because they thought I was the father.”

As if. I’ve never found Brian attractive. “You’re not. Gabriel is.” There is a note of pride in my voice. Gabriel’s ten times the man Brian is.

His face falls at my confirmation of Gabriel’s paternity. The intimidation leaches out of him, but then an ugly look comes over his face. “I would have married you. You would have wanted for nothing. And I wanted you, not that bastard you carry.”

I suck in air. Such an ugly word and one that would be aimed at my child every day of his life. In England, he would be known as the Earl’s bastard. When Gabriel married, as he was bound to do to provide an heir to his title, my baby would be shunned, never to be held in the same regard as his legitimate siblings. Am I willing to submit my child to such insults?

His words are taking a toll on me. I need time to think about what he said, solitude to deal with the turmoil roiling within me. “I’m done with this conversation. Shut the door on your way out.”

“It won’t last, you know. Sooner or later, he’ll kick you to the curb. And then where will you be? Everyone here knows you slept with him while we were negotiating against his company. You think any other firm in town will hire you with your reputation?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “Not bloody likely.” He mimics the way Gabriel speaks.

“Since when do you have a British accent?”

“My father’s a Brit. I spent the first ten years of my life in London. You didn’t know that, did you? I can speak like the bloody lot, pass off as one of them too. Does he call you love when he’s fucking you?”

I’ve had enough of this. “Get out. And don’t ever come into my office again or I’ll file a harassment suit against you.”

He leans into the desk and for the first time I fear what he’ll do. “Who will they believe? The slut who spread her legs and allowed an opposing party to fuck her or the partner who’s never put a toe out of place? You’re damaged goods, love. Might as well fold your tent and go home for your work here is finished. No one will give you a meaningful assignment. I’ll make sure of that.”

“If you don’t get out right now, I’ll scream the place down.”

I don’t know if it’s my raised voice or the threat in my words, but he does an about face and stomps out. I lock the door but don’t stop shaking for a good twenty minutes. I’d been happy with my private office in a deserted hall, with no neighbors near by. But now I fear the remote location will work against me if Brian turns physical.

I could tell HR. But with no proof of his threatening behavior, doubt they would believe me given the recent turn of events. I will need to be careful. Make sure my office is empty before I enter it. Lock it when I’m inside and when I step away. Wish I could tell Gabriel. But I can’t. God only knows what he would do if he found out.

When calm eventually returns, a thought pops into my head. Someone stole Gabriel’s confidential documents which included his notes on the margins. Notes he’d written in front of me at the London hotel. Those same comments appeared on the documents Carrey presented to him as proof that the SouthWind deal was worth a great deal more. So it stands to reason the documents had been obtained at the hotel.

Could Brian have arranged for someone to copy Gabriel’s documents? He said he had London contacts. And the morning I returned from Gabriel’s penthouse, I saw him giving money to a concierge, and the concierge giving him something in return. At the time, I thought it was theater tickets, but it could have just as easily been a flash drive.

How could I not have seen this before? Too much on my mind, I guess, what with the baby, Gabriel, his mother’s disappearance, the move.

I need to get my hands on the documents Gabriel handed to Carrey. They should be in our files. But how am I going to do that when the firm cut me me off from anything related to Storm Industries? I drop my head into my hands. Think, Elizabeth, think. After a few minutes I take a deep breath, hitch up my chin. I’ll be damned if I let that snake Brian get away with it. One way or another, I’ll find out.

Chapter 18

______________

Elizabeth

THURSDAY MORNING, MY CELL PHONE RINGS. An unknown number pops up. I think about letting it roll over to voice mail, but it might be something important so I pick it up.

“You’re a very clever girl, Ms. Watson. I underestimated you.” Gabriel’s mother. What the hell?

A million questions pop up, but I go with the most important one. “Where are you?”

“You don’t know?” She laughs that nasty laugh of hers. “Well, well, well. Let’s just say, somewhere remote.”

I clutch my cell tight in my hand. “Gabriel’s looking for you. He’ll find you.”

“Ahh, but will he find me in time?”

My stomach lurches. “In time for what?”

“Before I rid the world of you and that brat you’re carrying.”

Oh, God. Bile rises in my throat. I’d made myself believe Gabriel had exaggerated the threat from his mother to get me to do what he wanted. But now? I choke back the bitter taste in my mouth. “You’re evil.”

“You can stop it, you know.” Her insidious voice sounds almost normal. If it weren’t for the fact, she’s insane.

I want to hang up, but I need to get as much information as I can to pass on to Gabriel. “How would I do that?”

“My preference would have been you get rid of the baby. But it’s too late for that. Not too late for you to disappear, though. I offered you twenty million dollars before. I see that wasn’t enough. Clearly, you were holding out for more. How does forty million sound? I’ll get you a new identity. All you need do is walk away.”

Forty million dollars would pay for a life of luxury. All I would need do is leave behind everyone and everything I care about—my job, law school, Casey. Gabriel. It would devastate him were I to disappear, taking his child along with me.

“Gabriel wants his son. He’ll find me.”

“No, he won’t. He hasn’t found me, has he?” She cackles. Good lord, she really does sound insane.

I don’t understand her vitriolic hate or her reasoning. Not now when marriage to the duke’s daughter is no longer an option. “Why are you doing this? Surely you understand he’ll never marry Lady Melissande.”

“He took my son from me.” Lady Winterleagh spits out. “He was the one supposed to die that day, not Edward. If my son’s dead, why should his live?”

This goes way beyond her wish to have a grandson with royal blood in his veins. “Gabriel’s your son, too.”

“No, he’s not. He’s his father’s son. You never met my husband, but Gabriel looks exactly like him, acts like him, has the same devil’s own charm about him just like his father did. And he, he besmirched the vows we made by bedding a slut on our wedding day. And now Gabriel’s doing the same, sleeping with a whore.”

“I’m not a whore!”

“No? What do you call what you’re doing, Ms. Watson? Living in the lap of luxury in an apartment owned by my son, with servants, bodyguards. No doubt all in exchange for your sexual favors. Isn’t that the very definition of a whore?”

The churning in my stomach intensifies. I’m going to be sick. By sheer force of will, I fight it down. “How do you know this?”

“I have my ways, Ms. Watson. So what say you? Do we have a deal?”

That night in London I refused to accept Gabriel’s offer of an apartment in his co-op, money, jewelry, anything I wanted. And now, except for the jewelry, haven’t I accepted just that? I might not like what I’ve become, what Gabriel has made of me. But I’ll be damned if I give this evil witch any satisfaction. “Gabriel wants our child. It’d break his heart were I to disappear. And I won’t do that a second time. So no. I won’t agree to this.”

“Very well. You’ve brought this upon your head.”

“What are you going to do?” Terrified, I grip the phone with hands grown cold.

“What do you think?”

“I’m not engaged to him; I have no plans to marry him. Our son will not inherit the title.” I launch one last plea, hoping against hope my argument persuades her.

“Ms Watson, one thing about being my age, I know a truth when I see one. I know Ainsley. More than anything, he wants your child as his heir. You may not want to marry, but he does, and he’ll find a way for you to agree. He always does. And I can’t have a grandchild born of a whore. If you don’t accept my proposal, you and your child are doomed. So, one last time, will you take my offer?”

“Go to hell, Lady Winterleagh.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Watson. The blood of your unborn child will be on your head.”

The sickness surges within me, no longer willing to be held back. I dash for the ladies’ room and barely make it in time. Thankfully, no one enters while I spew my stomach contents into the porcelain bowl. Minutes, hours later, when there’s nothing left in my stomach, I stumble out, weak and shaking.

Oh god, what am I going to do?

Chapter 19

______________

Gabriel

“SHE DRUGGED ME.” Sarah Simmons, the agent guarding my mother.

My blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?” I step away from a business meeting into an empty office to take the call.

“Your mother. We were in the potting shed when she asked for tea. We shared the brew. But when I left to fetch her some honey, she must have put something in my cup. Whatever it was, it knocked me unconscious. When I came to, she was calmly pruning some plant like nothing had happened. But two hours had passed.”

I punch the nearest wall and don’t feel the pain. Rage, fear threaten to overwhelm me, but I choke them down. Emotions won’t help me get to the bottom of this. “What did she use? You sedated her to get her to the cottage. Were those drugs lying around?”

“No. That narcotic was administered on the boat. And the only medicine in the cottage is a headache remedy, nothing which would render me senseless.”

No help there. “She must have done it for a purpose.” There was always a reason to my mother’s madness.

“She did. She”—Sarah’s voice wavers—“she called Ms.Watson on my mobile. The call lasted fifteen minutes or so.”

Fear spears through me. I drop into an office chair before my legs give way. “Bloody hell.”

“Yes, Mr. Storm. Exactly. She made another call to an unknown number.”

Another call? To whom? For what purpose? The possibilities are too horrible to entertain.

“I apologize, Sir. I should have been more vigilant.”

“No, Ms. Simmons. Don’t apologize. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me. I should have asked Jake to send another operative.” Even though I’m howling inside, somehow I will my voice to remain calm. Panic won’t solve this puzzle. But cold, logical reason should, after I discover the facts. And there’s only one way to do that. “I’ll fly to Scotland tonight and bring an additional guard with me. In the meantime, don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, Mr. Storm.”

My hand shakes as I hit Jake’s number. Who the blazes did my mother call? She hadn’t stopped at Liz. And why the devil hasn’t Liz phoned to tell me about it?

I explain the events to Jake and what I need from him. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask questions, but tells me he’ll take care of things. He probably heard the desperation in my voice and knew I was hanging on by a thin thread.

After I hang up with him, I call Liz. Since I must be ignorant about my mother’s call to her, I aim to lead with the surprise I’d planned—my day early return to D.C. Plans which must be scuttled due to my mother’s actions.

“Liz.” I infuse as much excitement into my voice as possible.

“Gabriel.” Her voice sounds weak, shaky.

My protective instincts kick in. “What’s wrong?”

“Your mother called.”

As she reveals the conversation, my pulse speeds up, sweat pops on my brow.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Finding it hard to breathe, I loosen my tie.

“I was going to, as soon as I stopped shaking.”

I pound the desk in frustration. God. Doesn’t she realize somebody could be on the way to kill her? “Lock your office door. Right now. Do it.”

“Gabriel. You’re scaring me, and right now I don’t think I can take any more.” Her voice sounds threadier, high strung.

I’m sorry I’m having this effect on her, but she must be made to understand. “Stop talking and lock. Your. Door.”

“Fine.”

I hear her shuffling in the background and a soft click.

“There. It’s locked. Happy now?” She clips out the words at me. Angry is better than scared.

“I’ll call Samuel, have him come up for you. Don’t step outside your office until you hear his voice on the other side.” I’m clutching the mobile so tightly it might break.

“I can’t leave. I have a project to finish.”

So help me, God. Stubborn, stubborn woman. “I don’t fucking care what you have going on at work. If you force me, I’ll call Carrey and tell him about us.”

“He all ready knows.”

Well, there goes that advantage. I’ll need to use something else to persuade her. “Please, Liz. I need you to go home. I need to know you’re safe. If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for the child you carry. Our son.”

“Fine. Okay. I’ll go home.”

I don’t know if it’s the ‘safe’ that gets her to agree, but right now I don’t care. All I care about is she’ll be looked after as soon as Samuel gets there. “Promise me you’ll rest. And don’t plan on going to work tomorrow either. I’m flying in tonight. That’s what I was calling about.”

“Really?” She’s happy about this, going by the lilt in her voice.

“Yes. I arranged an extra day with you.” I’d gone through three days of hell without her by my side. And now with this new threat, I’ll need to make new plans. At the very least switch my work schedule and spend less time in London and more time in D.C. Whatever needs to be done for Storm Industries, I can do it long distance. Nothing’s more important to me than the welfare of my child and Liz.

“Oh.” A sound of distress.

“What’s wrong?”

“My stomach’s clenching again. You don’t think it’s the baby, do you?” Fear. In her voice.

Bloody hell. “Call your doctor. Now.”

“I don’t want to lose him, Gabriel.” She was scared before, but now she sounds downright terrified.

Damn it. I need to be there, to hold her, to talk her through it, to make sure she and our child are fine. “You won’t. I won’t allow it,” I say in my most authoritative voice.

A mirthless laugh escapes her. “You can’t control this, Gabriel.”

“Yes. I can. Call the doctor. I’ll call Samuel. Tell him to fetch you straightaway and take you to your physician. We can deal with the rest when I get there. You’ll do that. Won’t you?”

“Yes, Gabriel. I will.”

I call Samuel, explain the situation. Tell him what I need him to do. I end up with a plea. “Please make sure no harm comes to her or our child, Samuel. You know what they mean to me.”

“Yes, Sir. Don’t you worry, Mr. Storm. I’ll make sure she and your child are safe. You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up, clutch the phone to my head. God, please, if you’re listening, don’t let her lose the baby, don’t let me lose her. I’m begging you. Please.

No answer comes forth, but then I don’t expect one. Only time will tell. I’ve placed my trust in God and Samuel. And out of the two, I trust Samuel more.

Chapter 20

______________

Gabriel

THREE HOURS LATER, Jake and I, plus the new bodyguard, land on the patch of dirt next to the hunting box where I secreted the Countess. After arriving in Glasgow on the company jet, we chartered a helicopter to fly us here. I’ve come in search of answers. Not that I expect my mother to volunteer any. But I have eyes and a sound mind, so I hope to discover something useful.

After unlocking the front door, I leave my companions in the front room and limp toward the back of the cottage where my mother is to be found according to the text from her guard. I walk into the drafty, bright lit room to find her working at a makeshift potting shed, sporting gardening gloves. A gardening book lies open next to her. One of my mother’s few redeeming graces is a gift for nurturing flowers and plants. Ironic, I know.

“Hello, Countess.”

Almost in slow motion, she turns toward me. She’s dressed in casual clothes, but her hair’s carefully pinned into her usual chignon and she’s wearing her signature pearls. “Ainsley, nice of you to drop by. Sorry, I can’t offer you better service, but the help’s not what it used to be.”

“I’m not here for tea and crumpets.”

“No, I don’t imagine you are. How’s your whore, dear?”

I will down my anger, temper my reaction to her venomous words. She can capitalize on the slightest emotion, as I have good reason to know. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come, come, Ainsley. Did you think I wouldn’t figure things out? Why else would you consign me to this benighted place, except that you found out about the little deal I struck with your chère amie? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

When I don’t take the bait, she purses her lips. “I called Ms. Watson. But I expect you all ready know. Funny thing, though, she asked me where I was. I guess you failed to share my whereabouts with her. Keeping secrets with the woman you hope to marry, Ainsley? What will she say when she finds out?”

“She will never find out.”

“So like your father. He hoped I’d never discover his most important secret, and yet I did.” She smiles so beautifully one could easily forget how evil she is.

Another secret? One she’s keeping to use when the time’s right. I know better. Still, I have to ask. “What are you talking about?”

She cocks her head to the side as if she’s considering her answer, before coming upright again. “No, I don’t think I’ll share it with you. Not just yet anyway.”

“You called a second number.”

“Why, yes, I did.”

“Who?”

She smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

As I suspected, she won’t answer the question. We’ll have to figure it out another way. Jake will take Sarah’s mobile back to London and try to retrieve the information from the unit.

Turning back to the shed, she carefully picks up a pot which contains a shoot of purple flowers and, handling it ever so carefully, faces me. “Beautiful, is it not? It needs careful tending to see it through to maturity. Just like I did with you.”

When I don’t so much as move a muscle, she returns the pot to the long table, removes her gloves, washes her hands, before she turns to me, hands folded across her middle. “I could use Tilly.”

“Afraid she’s not available. Caught the flu.”

She allows herself a tiny smirk. “No need to prevaricate. She’s gone, isn’t she? After all these years, she’s finally free of me.” She shrugs. “Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”

“She served you faithfully for over forty years, Countess.”

Her hand slashes the air. “She never learned to brew tea properly.” She heaves out a sigh. “I miss the orange pekoe and the savory hams. All we have are dried up biscuits and some inferior tea leaves. Least you could do is provide me with proper sustenance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Why, thank you, Ainsley.” She approaches, but when she tries to give me a kiss on the cheek, I step back.

“Such a prickly boy. You never could stand your mother’s kiss Unlike Edward. My son loved me. He went everywhere with me.”

I never understood why my brother went along on her trips, but then she never treated him the way she did me. And with his death, I will never find out. “Starting tonight, you’ll have an additional guard.” I snap my fingers, and he steps through the door.

“Oh, how lovely. Someone else to talk to.” She beams at him.

Obviously, his big and menacing physique is lost on her. “He carries a gun and won’t be afraid to shoot. So I suggest you do as he says. Goodbye, Countess.”

“Leaving so soon?” She pouts. “And here I thought we’d share a spot of tea.” Her cackling laugh follows me as I step out the door into the parlor to find Sarah Simmons waiting for me.

“Did you find out anything, Mr. Storm?”

“Yes. Those purple flowers she’s growing? They’re monkshood, also known as wolf’s bane.”

“Monkshood?” She appears confused.

“You’re a city girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Monkshood is a poisonous plant. It can kill within seconds of the simplest brush against its leaves.” I’d learned about it in a botany class.

“But it’s such a pretty flower,” she says in wonder.

“Beautiful but deadly.” Just like my mother.

“Is that what she used against me?”

“If she had, you’d be dead, Ms. Simmons.”

Her eyes grow big, and she gulps.

“Get yourself some gloves and get rid of every single plant in that shed. I suspect one of the others can be brewed into a sleeping potion, the one she must have used on you. And then burn everything in that shed. Get rid of that book, too.”

“Which one?”

“Highland Horticulture. As a matter of fact, get rid of all the books in the cottage.”

“Yes, Sir. Right away, Mr. Storm.”

While I spoke with my mother, Jake remained behind to talk to his operative. He has her phone in his hand. As much as I want to ask him if he found out anything, I don’t. Not here where my mother could overhear our conversation. “Ready, Jake?”

“Yes.” His expression gives nothing away.

I limp toward the cottage’s front door, but pause at the threshold to look back at my mother’s guard. “Consider yourself lucky, Ms. Simmons. She could have fed you the wolf’s bane. Don’t turn your back on her.”

“I won’t, Mr. Storm. You can be sure of that.”

“Good. Because your life may depend on it.”

On the helicopter, Jake tells me nothing Ms. Simmons hadn’t told me before. “She followed your instructions to the letter. Searched her for contraband every night before she locked up your mother into her bedroom at night. Handcuffed her if she had to use the facilities.”

“And still my mother found a way to fool her.”

“To say the least, I’m disappointed in her. She offered to resign, but I refused to accept it.”

“She shouldn’t suffer for my mistake. I was the one who assigned only her to guard my mother.”

“I would have done things differently. Assigned at least two agents to handle your mother. Still, she should have been more vigilant.”

“What’s done is done. We’ll need to watch Liz more carefully, as well as Brianna and Royce. I wouldn’t put it past the Countess to go after them. What about the phone?”

“I’ll hand it over to our tech guru. Hopefully, he’ll be able to work his magic.”

The Countess could have called anyone in the world on that phone. She could have arranged to have Liz killed.

“Don’t get your hopes too high, Storm. We probably won’t get the information you want.”

“But there’s a chance?”

He nods. “A small one. Yes.”

“Better than nothing. Call me with the results. I want to know either way.”

“I will.”

In Glasgow we part ways. Jake will take a commercial flight back to London while I fly to Washington Dulles. My hope for a prompt departure is dashed. Due to a refueling delay, we don’t get clearance to leave until one in the morning. While I wait, I get a bite to eat.

Once in the air, I call Liz to tell her I won’t arrive until late. Our third conversation of the day.

“I’ll wait for you.” She sounds calmer than the last time we talked two hours ago.

“No, you won’t. Your doctor told you to get some rest, didn’t she?” Liz called earlier to tell me the physician gave her the all-clear sign, but to take a couple of days off to rest. Since I’d phoned her doctor and filled her in on a sanitized version of events—too much work and school, not enough rest—I hadn’t been surprised by the prescription. “When I arrive at the apartment, I want you in bed sleeping.”

“Dreaming of you?” I’m amazed by the flirty tone to her voice. How she can dredge that up after this horrible day is beyond me.

“Do you? Dream of me?” I smile as the weight of everything that’s happened rolls off my shoulders.

“Sometimes.”

“What do you dream about?”

Her breath hitches. “Would you like the X-rated or the PG version?”

“Oh, the X-rated version by all means.” While she talks, I wander to the stateroom on the back of the plane and lie down on the double bed. All alone in the dark with her sexy voice whispering in my ear, I dig into my trousers, curl my hand around my erection and listen to the exquisite details of her erotic dreams.

“So I yank down your briefs, and you bob up, hard, randy, so eager for me.”

“I’m always eager for you, love.” My voice’s gone gravelly.

She lets out a husky laugh. “Yeah, you are. So I take your cock in hand and pump, nice and slow.” I do the same.

“Your balls I take in my other hand and play with them. You know, the way you like it.”

“Yes, I know.” My balls tighten up.

“And then I take you into my mouth, curl my tongue around your hard cock and . . .”

“Yes.”

“Suck.”

I shout out a curse and ejaculate so hard I see stars.

Her sexy giggle transmits over the line. “Gabriel, did you just come?”

“Yes, darling girl, I most surely did.”

“Wish I were there with you.” Her voice wavers, so I know it’s time to cut the conversation short.

“Me too. You sound tired. Better go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Gabriel.”

“Goodnight, darling girl.” I head to the bathroom and clean up. With all the running around today, my leg’s killing me, so I down a pain pill, lie down once more and glance out the window at the stars. Wonder if she’s doing the same tonight.

What seems only minutes later I’m jarred awake by the pilot’s voice announcing we’re landing at Dulles. One of Liz’s new guards meets me at the private hangar. We don’t arrive at the Cathedral Arms until after three. Jorge takes my coat and disappears into the depths of the apartment. I ride the elevator up to our bedroom suite where I see the last thing I expect to see.

Chapter 21

______________

Elizabeth

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING AWAKE?” His bag hits the floor. He doesn’t seem too happy to see me.

And after our phone sex I was so looking forward to his coming home. I hitch a shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about . . .” The thing with an over active imagination, you don’t have any trouble picturing the worst. Images of an assassin breaking into the place, hurting me, killing our baby played in my mind until I had to wake up to keep the phantasms away. And then wide awake I worried about somebody getting to Gabriel as well.

His face softens. “Come here.” He opens his arms, and I fly into them.

“I was so worried, Gabriel.”

“About the baby.”

I nod against his chest and mumble. “And you. No telling what your mother will do. She might be targeting you as well.” I pull back to glance at his face. “Have you eaten?”

“At the airport.”

I glance out our bedroom window where the curtains are pulled back. This side of the suite faces the Cathedral of the Nativity. No way a sniper could get on its roof. Still. “It’s so out in the open.”

He nods toward the window. “That glass and the one downstairs? They’re bulletproof. And both the front door and the kitchen door are reinforced steel. It would take a tank to break through.”

“Really? Whoever lived here before must have had some enemies.”

“Something like that.”

“Gabriel, I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a dangerous thing.”

“Hush.” I bop him on the arm. I’ve spent the last two hours staring at the cathedral. Somewhere along the way, I found the answer, the thing I must do. “This isn’t working out for me.”

His lips tighten, and his gaze narrows. “I’ll make it bloody work.”

“You don’t understand. Sit.” After a seven-hour flight, his leg has to be killing him, so I tug him toward our bed and bend down to remove his shoes.

He loosens his tie, tosses it on the chair along with his jacket. “Stop doing that and tell me what the blazes you’re talking about.” Patience has never been Gabriel's strong suit, except when it comes to making love. And then he’s got all the patience in the world.

Rising, I rub a finger across his lips. “Be quiet.” I push at him until he's lying prostrate, crawl over him, leaving just enough room for me to loosen his shirt. As I unbutton him, I kiss his skin—warm, fragrant, smelling of soap, his expensive cologne and him. Done, I slip him out of the garment and lay over his heart which thuds heavy and deep beneath my breast. Except for my gossamer-thin robe, we're almost skin to skin. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

He curls a finger beneath my chin, bends down to kiss me. “Me too.” His voice's gone husky, and his body's hard with need. He might be tired from the flight, but there's no doubt in my mind what he wants to do. He pushes back his hair.

And, of course, that simple motion is enough to strike me stupid, like it usually does. He’s so beautiful with his hard hewn pecs, rippled abs, steel-roped arms.“What a magnificent beast you are, Gabriel.”

His heart somersaults beneath my cheek; his gaze turns wary and hopeful at the same time. “Stop stalling and tell me what you mean.”

“I didn’t want any of this,” I say.

“The apartment you mean?”

“Shh, I’m talking. You can speak when I’m through. Like I said none of this was in the cards. A baby, marriage, you.”

“You want a career in law. I get it.”

“Gabriel, hush!” I tweak one of his nipples.

His sensual lips quirk in amusement, but he doesn’t say another word.

“And then one hot summer day you blazed into my life, making me burn. God, I wanted you so much. Still do.” My hand roams over the hard muscles of his pecs, down to his washboard abs. He makes a noise of some kind, but, other than that, remains still. A statue made from warm, living flesh.

“Within a day you seduced me. No. That’s not right. I allowed you to seduce me. I fell into your arms, so, so eager to taste you, to hold you deep within me.”

He reaches for me, but I slap back his hand. “No.”

Blue fire flashes from his eyes, but he obeys.

“I told myself I would have sex with you only that once. I’d get what I needed from you, and that would be that. That resolve lasted less than a day when I allowed you to fuck me. At my office. Over a desk.” I shake my head. I couldn’t believe it at the time. I still can’t.

He starts. Clearly, he doesn’t remember.

Rolling to the side, I rub my hand over my belly. “That’s when I got pregnant with him. Your condom tore, and my birth control did not work.”

“I wondered how it happened.”

“You still don’t remember?”

“Only glimpses and that moment in the kitchen. But other than that? No.”

“That’s too bad because we were great together.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second, love.” He twirls a finger around one of my curls. “May I talk now?”

“No. I’m not done.”

He tucks the curl behind my ear, I take comfort from that gesture. He may not remember me, remember us, but his body seems to remember enough.

“In London, I no longer had the strength or desire to fight you off. You’d become something I needed, as necessary as breathing. I told myself that it was fine. Our affair would end when I returned home. After all, you had your life in England and I had mine here. And then I discovered I was pregnant with your child.”

“You never told me.”

“I was terrified of what you’d do when I did. You see, regardless of what I told myself, I wasn’t ready to let go of you. But then your mother took that choice away, blackmailing me into silence, forcing me to break up with you.”

“Going by my reaction, you must have done a bang-up job of it.”

My face crumbles. “Did our break up cause your accident?”

His eyes take on a closed in look. “I have no way of knowing what happened that night. I suppose we’ll never know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too, but not for the same reason. I’m sorry because the accident stole my memories of you.”

“Oh, Gabriel.”

“Can I talk now?”

I shake my head. “Not done yet.”

“No wonder you want to be a lawyer. You love to talk.”

I hit his arm but don’t pack much heat in my punch.

“Whatever else you plan to say, you better hurry. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.”

“I’m almost finished.” The living, breathing strength of him gives me the courage I need to go on. “The two and a half months after London were some of the hardest I’ve lived through. I wanted to pick up the phone and call you so many times. But I couldn’t. Because I knew what your mother would do. When you walked into the conference room for the signing, I almost lost it. You acted so cold toward me.”

“I forced myself not to react, afraid I’d give away my secret.”

“It hurt. A lot. But then the next day you asked me to marry you, and I panicked. I knew your mother would hurt you if you found out.”

“I found out anyway.”

“Yes. And then your mother disappeared and you convinced me to move here to keep our child safe. You bought me clothes, provided me with guards, staff. Oh, and one more thing. You paid off my school loans. I got a letter in the mail yesterday.”

“I didn’t want you burdened with such heavy debt.“

“When you asked me to be your mistress in London, you offered me an apartment, money, jewelry. I told you I didn’t want any of it. And yet, here I am. With an apartment, clothes, money. All of it paid by you. And it took your mother to point it out. She called me—”

“Don’t say it. You’re no such thing.”

“To you and me, Gabriel. But the outside world won’t think so charitably about this arrangement. My mother . . .” I pin my gaze on him, to gauge his reaction to what I’m about to say. “She was a prostitute.”

He eyes me steadily. My revelation is no surprise to him.

“You knew?”

“Yes. You’re not her.”

“I know I’m not, but if I continue to take from you—”

He curses. “You’re not taking anything. I’m sharing what I have. Gladly.”

I sit up on my elbow. “Please let me finish.”

He gnashes his teeth, but goes along with my wish.

“I can’t be like my mother. I won’t be like her. So I see only one way out of this.”

He grabs my shoulders, shakes me a little. “You’re not leaving me. Do you hear me?”

I smile inwardly. He has a tendency to imagine the worst. Not a surprise, given his upbringing. “No matter how hard I fight, the universe keeps spinning me in your direction, or maybe it keeps spinning you in mine. You were right when you said I didn’t want commitment. I would have been happy to give up our child for adoption. But now?” I rub my baby bump. “I don’t want that anymore.”

He eases his hold on me; a tentative grin flits across his face. “What do you want, love?”

You. Only you. Always you. “Peace. I can’t fight anymore. Not your mother, not fate, not you. So, yes, Gabriel I’ll marry you and make our son your heir.”

If I thought his eyes grew bright at the doctor’s office, it’s nothing to the way they’re shining now. “My turn to speak?” he asks, in a choked voice.

“Yes.”

One by one, he slips loose the robe buttons, until I’m exposed to the air. His hand, that big hand I love so much, cups a breast, thumbs a nipple. And I grow liquid.

“Moon goddess. Fertile moon goddess.” A great big moon hangs in the sky. Huge and luminous, it shines through the glass window right on us.

Oh, geez, he’s gone lyrical on me. “Gabriel.” If I sound peeved, it’s because I am. I wish he’d get on with whatever he’s got to say.

He lays a finger across my lips. Okay. Fine. I get the hint.

He kisses me, stealing my breath. His hand skims my belly, his touch so tender, it brings tears to my eyes. What is he doing? And then it dawns on me. He doesn’t have to speak. He’s telling me without words what I mean to him. So I let him do what he will.

His hand roams up and down my skin, stroking, caressing. And everywhere he touches, little sparklers go off. His hand roams past my belly which he leans down and kisses. And all I can do is go, “Ahhhh.”

His only response is a smile imprinted on my skin. He pulls my head back and takes my mouth, ravages, owns me. He doesn’t stop at a simple meeting of lips but delves deep inside, hungry for the taste of me. As he’s kissing me, a long finger teases me, almost touching my bud. I want it so badly I rise up to meet it. But as soon as I do, the finger scoots away from me.

It’s only when I lie quietly, he returns, pressing against my clit, tweaking, circling it with expert fingers until I’m soaking wet. His mouth wanders down my throat to my ear. He nips the lobe. And that’s all it takes for me to come.

Once I stop shaking, I don’t have long to wait to see what’s he’s planned next. He turns me to the side, goes back to work on my mons. And soon I’m writhing on the bed once more. He slides his cock into my sheath from behind. So big. Always so big. But this time, I don’t know how he does it, he slides right in.

His breath goes ragged and his movements become jerky, no longer the clever lover, but a primitive being bent on claiming me. He sinks in deep, so deep, he’s almost touching my heart. And with a groan, he spills inside of me.

I come down to earth and smile—happy he’s home, happy to be in his arms, happy to be his.

Chapter 22

______________

Elizabeth

THE SCENT OF SOMETHING DELICIOUS COOKING wakes me. Next to me, the bed lies cold. Where is Gabriel? His rumbling voice drifts in from the office outside our bedroom. He must be working on some business deal. Better leave him alone. I take a quick shower before heading downstairs in search of Jorge’s cooking.

“Morning, Ms. Watson,” our premier chef says.

“Good morning, Jorge. What’s for breakfast?” Whatever it is, I want some of it.

“Blueberry French toast with berry butters and maple syrup. Would you like some eggs?”

“Yes, please, scrambled.” With a soft smile, Marisol places a cup of decaf in front of me. Five minutes later, the French toast and eggs follow. I bite into the rich, cinnamony goodness and moan. “Jorge, if you weren’t all ready taken, I’d marry you for this French toast alone.”

A feminine laugh drifts in from the kitchen.

“I think my Marisol would have something to say about that.” Through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room, I spot him giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Yeah, I just bet she would.

Leaning on his cane, Gabriel stutter steps into the dining room and drops a kiss on my lips. “You taste good.”

“French toast.” I mumble, my mouth full.

He takes a seat at the head of the table, more gorgeous than ever. Even the daylight is good to him. As soon as he sits, a cup of hot tea and a plate of the French toast and eggs is placed in front of him.

“Thank you, Marisol. That’s lovely.” He gives her a charming smile which she returns with a soft one of her own.

She has a little bit of a crush on him. I don’t blame her. No female can withstand that charm. I should know. “What were you working on?” I ask.

“This.” He slides a batch of papers toward me.

He trusts me enough to take a gander at business documents? The thought perks me up. “Something you want me to look at?”

“Something I want you to sign.” He lays down his gold-tipped Montblanc pen on the pile, the one he used to sign the closing agreements. “Jorge and Marisol can witness your signature.”

I stare at the papers like they’re a stinky bug of some kind. “What is it?”

“The settlement papers. I wanted to make sure some provisions had been included, so I called my solicitors in London and asked them to make some key changes. It took about an hour for them to revise the documents and email the finished ones to me.”

And he used the machine upstairs to print them out. “Settlement papers?”

“Your dowry. The Storm Family Trust will settle ten million pounds on you the day we marry and ten more once our son is born.” He picks up The Wall Street Journal that Marisol laid next to his plate, rifles through it until he finds whatever he’s looking for, creases it to his satisfaction and calmly reads it, like he hasn’t dropped a bomb on me.

Suddenly, I lose my appetite. I push the papers back to him, push back my plate as well. “I don’t want your money, Gabriel.”

Beneath hunched brows, his gaze darts toward me. “As you will see once you read the documents, it’s not MY money. It’s the money in the trust. Every Storm bride’s entitled to a certain sum. Our investments have done well. The pre-determined five percent distribution comes to ten million when we marry, ten more when our child is born.”

If twenty million represents five percent, that means the trust is worth 400 hundred million. Pounds. Good lord. I may have agreed to marry him, but I didn’t agree to this. “I don’t want it.”

Breathing a heavy sigh, he lays down his fork. “Last night you were fine with it all. What changed?”

“I’m not fine with you paying my school loans, but I accepted it as part and parcel of it all. But this is obscene. My debt amounted to seventy thousand dollars, a pittance of the twenty million pounds you wish to ‘settle’ on me. I won’t have it.”

“Why do you have to make things so difficult? Why can’t you for once say ‘Thank you, Gabriel,’ and leave it at that?”

“Our marriage will only last one year. That is the arrangement, is it not?”

“Yes. That’s what I promised you.”

“This settlement is meant for a bride who intends to remain married. That’s not me.”

“The trust disburses funds to the fiancee regardless of any private arrangements between the heir and his bride to be. In this instance, it happens to be you.” When I open my mouth to argue further, he raises his hand to stop me. “I don’t care what you do with the bloody thing. Keep it, burn it. Spend it on your trousseau. ”

“Trousseau? Why do I need a trousseau? We’re getting married at the courthouse, aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not.” He snaps the paper. “Our wedding will take place at Winterleagh Castle where every Storm heir has gotten married for the last six hundred years. Well, except for the one whose wedding took place in the Tower of London before he got his head chopped off.”

“Winterleagh Castle?” His family’s ancestral seat. “You said the ceremony could be a civil one. That a court clerk would do.”

“A courthouse ceremony would stink to high heaven. It would make it look like we were getting married just to give our child my name.”

“But that’s what we’re doing!”

“Yes, but I don’t want the rest of the world to know that, or our child for that matter. I want them to think we married for love. And that requires a ceremony at Winterleagh Castle, not a havey cavey one in some dreary courthouse.”

Jorge and Marisol have disappeared, probably to allow us the privacy we need to argue.

He pushes his plate back, temples his hands above his plate. “Liz. I'm not the product of a grand love affair, or any love affair at all. I was conceived to fulfill the agreement my parents made before they married. My mother promised my father an heir and a spare, no matter how many conceptions it took. My father got the heir he needed with me, and the spare with Edward. After the succession was assured, my father reverted to his old ways. Gambling, drinking, endless affairs. One weekend, he even brought a paramour to Winterleagh Castle. Needless to say, my mother did not take it very well."

"I'm sorry." I am. I just fail to see what this has to do with me.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I don’t want our marriage to be like theirs or for society or our child to think we married for duty, only to give him a name.”

Last night I thought I was done giving in. Should have known better for I’m no match against his plea. I do not want our child to suffer like Gabriel has. “Fine. We’ll marry at Winterleagh.”

“In public, we’ll need to appear as if we actually care for each other. No arguments, no disagreements. Can you work with me on that?"

Sheesh, how much more does he want from me? “Okay.”

“And you’ll accept the settlement.”

I hitch up my chin. “I won’t spend a dime of it, you know. You’ll get back every cent when we divorce.”

“If that’s your wish.” He snaps the newspaper, sips what must be by now lukewarm tea. “Casey called.”

“He did?” I flip through my cell’s phone logs. No record of any incoming calls. “I don’t see one here.” Wait. How would he know? Gabriel doesn’t have access to my phone.

“That’s because he called me. He doesn’t feel comfortable accepting my loan until I’ve eaten at the Ragin’ Cajun. So he wants me to come by and check it out. I made dinner reservations for eight. Does that work with your schedule?”

“Fine.” I’m planning to study the rest of the day. I’ll need to call my friend and get her notes on last night’s classes too. My law studies can’t suffer simply because I’m about to marry the Lord of the Manor.

“Wear that—”

“You going to tell me how to dress too? I’ll wear whatever I damn well please, Storm.”

“Well it didn’t take long for you to breach your no arguing agreement.”

“We’re not in public, Gabriel. Here in the home you forced me to accept I can say whatever I want.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He snaps the paper.

“Good.” I stomp to the elevator, before he can get in the last word.

Chapter 23

______________

Elizabeth

SILENCE PREVAILS DURING OUR RIDE to the Ragin’ Cajun, but just before we arrive, Gabriel opens up about the security details.

“Rick will pull up in front of the restaurant. Samuel will jump out to open our door and accompany us inside. Martha Rawlings is already on site. She made sure the place is secure.”

“What do you mean ‘secure’?”

“She checked out the restaurant. As you can imagine, Casey was very accommodating. He doesn’t want you hurt any more than I do.”

When we arrive, Casey’s hostess, Jeannie, welcomes us as soon as we step through the door. She’s worked for him since he opened the restaurant and has become a good friend.

“Lizzie! Look at you. I won’t ask how you’re doing. You’re glowing. Obviously, pregnancy suits you.”

Knowing what Gabriel expects of me, I smile like I’m absolutely thrilled to be here. “Doing well. Thanks for asking.” With the familiarity of old friends, I kiss her cheek.

“And is this . . .?” She lets the question dance in the air.

“Gabriel Storm, my . . .” I don’t know what to call him. Baby Daddy. The guy who knocked me up.

“Boyfriend. A pleasure to meet you, Jeannie.” He kisses her on the cheek like they’re old friends.

And, of course, like every other female on the planet, her eyes go wide, her mouth hangs open. “Uh, your table isn’t quite ready. Would you like to spend a few minutes in the bar area?”

“That will be fine.” He smiles that devastating smile of his. Honestly. I think he’s incapable of dialing back the charm.

He rests his hand in the middle of my back. Even through the blue velvet dress I’m wearing, his warmth sinks into my skin.

Once we’re seated at a small round table by the bay window, he says “You can stop smiling now. She’s gone.”

I relax my face muscles. “Good. My cheeks were starting to hurt.”

He laughs as he picks up the small menu on the table, the one that lists a wide selection of drinks, wines, and appetizers. “Would you like an appetizer? These oysters bienville look quite good.”

I snort. “Last thing you need, Storm, are oysters. You’re quite potent on your own.”

He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Am I, darling?”

“Cut it out. Nobody here but me.”

Rather than take offense, he scoots his chair closer to mine and whispers in my ear. “Smile. They’re looking in our direction.”

I do as I’m told. That is the arrangement, after all. “Who?”

“That couple by the bar.” He nibbles on my ear, and heat streaks to the juncture between my legs.

I start to turn my head toward the bar, but he cradles my chin, kisses my lips, roams lower where he bestows the same benediction to my throat.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, setting off little sparklers, before fixing a sleepy-eyed gaze on me. “There, that’s the look I love.”

“What look?” All I can do is whisper, what with oxygen being at a premium.

“The one you wear after I fuck you silly.”

“You’re killing me, Storm.” But there’s no heat behind my words. He’s kissed me silly.

Thankfully, the waitress chooses that moment to take our order. I ask for hot tea; Storm orders a glass of the dark lager. The same brew he drank that first night at my townhouse.

Hoping to break the spell he so easily winds around me, I allow my gaze to wander around the almost empty bar area. “That’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“It’s Friday night. Usually the place is packed.”

“Maybe the weather kept people home.” Atypical for early November, the wind’s howling and temperatures have plummeted to the low thirties. On top of that, it’s raining. Again.

“You’re probably right.” A lot easier to hunker down at home in front of a roaring fire than to be out in this bit of nastiness.

While we wait for our drinks, Gabriel studies the area. With so few people present, he can get a really good view of the space.

"Casey wants to put in a stage over there where a jazz trio could play during weekends,” I volunteer.

"That's a terrific idea."

“The space next door is available, but the lease is more than he can afford.” They discussed this point last Sunday, but it’s important. So I’m reminding him of it.

"Thus the need for a loan.” He smiles down at me, brushes a thumb across my throat. If he doesn’t stop touching me, I’m going to jump him. And I don’t care who’s looking. “Do you think he would go for a silent partner?”

My eyes widen. “A silent partner? I thought you were only offering him a loan.”

“I like this place. It has class and ambiance. Plus think about the cachet I'd bring every time I dropped in to dine. Not every restaurant in D.C. can boast a viscount for dinner, don't you know?" He says in his posh Brit voice.

I laugh. But he's right about the notoriety he can bring to the place.

“Or I could lend him the money, of course, if he wishes to go down that road instead.” His lips brush against my ear again, raising goose bumps all along my arm. All I want to do is make love to him right now.

Jeannie interrupts to announce our table is ready just as the waitress shows up with our drinks.

In the main restaurant area, Jeannie seats us next to another bay window, larger than the one in the bar. Outside I catch the shadow of Samuel and my other bodyguard blocking the view. They must be freezing. Casey has more secluded seating, where we wouldn’t be so out in the open. “Could we move there?” I point toward the back of the restaurant where a bunch of tables are jutted together into one long line.

She appears confused, looks at Gabriel, at me. “This is the table Casey said to to seat you. Or am I wrong?” She flips through the papers on her clipboard, her face clears up. “No, this is the one.”

“Thank you, Jeannie,” he says to her. “This is fine.”

The restaurant, like the bar, lies half empty. “Do you know what’s going on?” I ask her. “Usually this place is packed.”

“Well—” She looks around as if she doesn’t want anyone overhearing her— “Don’t tell anyone, but we got a call from that congressman who’s thinking about running for President. The one from Massachusetts.”

“O’Leary?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, his office called and said he wanted to reserve a private room, but since we don’t have one, they reserved half the tables instead.” She glances at her watch. “They should be here any minute.”

As soon as she says that, a phalanx of very important looking people, about twenty of them, burst in through the restaurant’s front door. Jeanie deserts us and hurries to the hostess stand to welcome them. Excitement ripples around the room, and when the other diners recognize the luminary around us, applause breaks out. The congressman, who I recognize from television, flashes his Colgate smile. While Jeannie leads them to the long table, he puts his arm around a woman I assume is his wife and follows, waving to the crowd. Photographers circle him, snapping photos all the way.

Oh, geez. “Unbelievable. He’s got his own press following him around?”

“Look at the silver lining. The photos will bring publicity to Casey’s restaurant.”

“I guess.”

Even more paparazzi stand outside the restaurant, their cameras almost blinding me.

“What’s wrong with those people? They’re supposed to be taking photos of the congressman, not us.”

“We’re probably in the way. And they can stand outside and take as many pictures as they like. What with the United States being a free country and all.”

The waiter approaches to take our order. Gabriel surprises me by ordering the same dish I do, a spicy mixture of rice, ham, sausage, and chicken.

“Jambalaya, huh?” It’s the meal we shared the first night we made love. Is he remembering more?

“I’ve never eaten it before.”

Guess not. I’ve come to terms with his lack of memory, but once in a while I can’t help but resent he can’t recall us.

More cameras flash, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Honestly, how many photos must they take?”

“As many as they want. Ignore them. That's what I do.”

He might be a master at making believe blinding cameras don’t exist, but I'm not.

He presses my hand. “Can't you relax, love? I honestly just want to have a nice dinner with you at a lovely restaurant.”

Another flash goes off, and I practically jump out of my skin.

He heaves out a laborious sigh. “Right. We'll leave then.”

He’s trying so hard to be gallant, and I’m being such a bitch. I swallow back my nastiness. “It's all right, Gabriel. I'll ignore them, just like you say.”

Somehow, I actually do manage to ignore the paparazzi and focus on us. Not hard to do when Gabriel's being his most charming self.

When our entrees arrive, I tuck into mine with the zeal of a starving mommy-to-be. Dessert is crème Brule, another favorite of mine. Over cafe au lait, decaffed for me, his smooth patter dissolves. He reaches once more for my hand, and the cameras go crazy again. That’s when I realize, the paparazzi are reacting to us, not the congressman. “What’s going on?”

"Did I mention how beautiful you look?"

“Gabriel.” At the moment, last thing I want is more charm.

"There's a question I want to ask you."

Oh, God. No. He's doing this here? Now? Of course, he is. The prime seating, the cameras, the holding hands.

He retrieves a gorgeous blue box emblazoned with Tiffany & Co from inside his jacket. If I thought the cameras were blinding before, it's nothing to the flurry of light bursting around us now. The room grows silent as the diners cease talking, including the faux congressman, who I now recognize from a car commercial. The waiters halt serving, everyone stops what they're doing to stare at us.

He gets down on his knee. His bad one.

“Please don't. Your leg.” I can't imagine the pain he must be in.

“Hush, love. I have to do this right.” He smiles that devastating grin. “On the day we met, you captured my heart. And I find I can't live without you by my side. Everything that I am and hope to be is yours. Please, Liz, marry me.”

My stomach churns. I know my line. “Yes.” But I’m too stupefied by the whole scene to voice it.

“Nod,” he whispers.

I do.

“Now smile.”

After I obey him, he takes my hand and slips the ring on my finger. Knowing how much pain he must be suffering, I reach down to help him rise and somehow make it look like he's helping me from my seat. Once we're standing, he gathers me into his arms and kisses me. The kiss is everything it should be—lush, passionate, romantic. Too bad it's only for show.

As applause breaks out around us, Casey emerges from the kitchen to shake Gabriel's hand, kiss me on the cheek.

“Traitor,” I whisper behind clenched teeth.

Casey doesn't take offense but grins at the camera clicks as if he does this every day of the week. No surprise he's so happy. The photos will bring a world of publicity to his restaurant.

Before I have a chance to say anything else, Gabriel sweeps me out of the restaurant and into the limo where Samuel stands by the open door. I scurry to the far left of the seat. Gabriel slides in but maintains his distance on the right. Good. In my current mood, I’m likely to tear a chunk out of him. “Those people in the restaurant—”

“Actors hired by me. They’re grateful for the job, and they’ll get a nice meal out of it. I rented the restaurant for the night.”

Knowing Casey’s usual Friday night take amounts to roughly eight thousand dollars, the extravagance of Gabriel’s gesture staggers me, especially when he could have proposed in private. “Why did your orchestrate such a public proposal?”

“Those pictures will appear in British newspapers, American ones as well. The internet. Unless, I miss my guess, they will portray a couple very much in love.”

His getting down on his bad knee to propose would be seen as evidence of his love for me. And my face would have shown my concern for his pain. The kiss had been everything a proposal kiss should be, so yeah, I don’t doubt the pictures will reflect exactly what he wishes. And that, as he explained earlier, is important to him.

I can’t help but wonder, has he done the same before? “Did you arrange for those pictures of us last weekend too?’

His brow scrunches. “No.”

I clench my hands on my lap. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll have Jake investigate. He’ll find out where those pictures came from.”

“Don’t bother. Jake works for you. I’m sure he’ll ‘discover’ a source with no ties to you.”

His hand clenches on the car strap, the one he’s been holding since he got into the car. I’ve touched a nerve. Good.

“What would I gain by us going public, Liz?”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You chafed at the secrecy.”

“I did. But I was willing to put up with it for your sake. Surely you see there’s no longer any need for it. Your firm won’t fire you. Not now when I’m one of their clients.”

“No. They didn’t fire me when they found about us. Instead, they reassigned me to Litigation. You know how boring that work is. All I do is dock pleadings and shuffle papers.”

“Why did they do that?”

“To avoid a conflict of interest. They put up a Chinese Wall between me and every client who deals with your company. Worse of all, they removed me from the Storm Industries team.” I can’t help the hitch in my voice. “And I was really looking forward to working on your legal issues.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe if I talked to them, they would assign you back.”

I shake my head. “That won’t happen. They’re not doing it just for kicks, Gabriel. Every law firm has the same policy in place.”

For a few seconds, neither of us breaks the silence. “There’s an easy solution to the problem, you know. If you’re so high on Storm Industries, you can work for me.”

“Really?” For the first time this evening, my spirits lift only to fall again. I can’t work for him. In London he turned down my suggestion to work for Storm Industries. He believed I’d betrayed him by handing copies of his confidential documents to my boss. He may not recall that conversation, but if his memory returns, he won’t be so eager to have me as his employee. But now I have a gut feeling Brian Sullivan stole those documents. So as long as I prove it before Gabriel gets back his memory, it might be okay. “You would hire me?”

“Yes. I’ve seen your efforts. You’re brilliant, Liz.”

He thinks I’m brilliant? “Where? When?”

“Your analysis of our proposal. You managed to encapsulate our offer in a few succinct pages and suggest ways to sweeten the deal for your client. How long did it take you to put that together?”

“About three hours.”

His left brow arches in that sexy way of his. “I’m amazed. It would take longer than that just to read our proposal.”

“I was familiar with the general details, so I only had to write the summary. And I’d thought about ways to improve the transaction for our side. So it isn’t that amazing.”

He captures my hand, squeezes it. “No one I know could have done what you did in such a short period of time.”

“But how did you get a hold of the analysis?”

“It was included among the due diligence documents your law firm provided.”

A mistake, for that document was confidential. Something else to investigate. “So what would I do if I came to work for you?”

A grin pops up on his face. “Look at you.”

“What?”

“You have stars in your eyes. If I had known all it would take was a job offer, I could have saved myself hours of shopping for the perfect stone and choosing the right setting.”

He spent hours choosing the ring? “It’s lovely, Gabriel. Thank you.”

“How would you know? You’ve barely glanced at it.”

“I have too.” I look down but, before I can examine the ring, he covers my hand with his.

He quirks a grin. “What’s the shape of the diamond?”

Darn. I can’t recall, but I’m not about to admit it. So I punt. “Which one? It has several.”

“The biggest one.”

“Round?”

“Nope.”

“Oval?”

“Not even close.”

Not being a jewelry shopper, I haven’t a clue as to the different cuts. But I give it the old college try. “Square?”

He lifts his hand. “It’s an emerald cut.” He sounds peeved. And why shouldn’t he be? I hurt his feelings.

Hoping to make amends, I climb on his lap, cuddle into him. “It’s beautiful, Gabriel. Truly.”

He tweaks my chin, drops a kiss on my lips.

“So what would you have me do at Storm Industries?”

“Legal work, obviously. You could be stationed at our New York office or in London.”

“I can’t be employed in London as an attorney. I wouldn’t be licensed to practice there.”

He threads a hand through my curls, pulls back my head, drops a kiss on my throat. “Yes, you could. If you obtained a dual degree.” His voice’s turned gravelly, and I’m going up in flames.

When I scoot off his lap back onto the seat, he narrows his eyes at me. He didn’t like my move. But if I stayed where I was, I wouldn’t get any rational words out of him. “What do you mean?”

“Your school and King’s College in London have a dual degree program. It would qualify you for admission to the bar examinations in both the United Kingdom and the United States.”

“Really?” I didn’t know such a thing existed. “What would it take?”

“You’d do two years at your school and two years at King’s College.”

“You’ve looked into this. Why?”

“Because it’s something I thought you would like.”

I rub a finger across my lower lip as I ponder the possibility. “I’d need to live in London for two years.”

“Yes.”

“But we’ll only be married for one year.” And one month.

“A minimum of one. It can be more.”

A flash of panic surges me. Married longer than a year? No. “Gabriel, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“You’re marrying me.” Nothing like pointing out the obvious.

“We have a deal.” I insist.

“To which I’ve agreed verbally and in the settlement documents. The parties will remain married for a minimum of one year and one month.” He quotes from memory.

“Yeah, I caught that. Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“But there’s nothing in there that says we have to divorce as soon as the year’s up.”

When I take another breath to continue the discussion, he lays a finger across my lips. “I’ll agree to the divorce as soon as the requisite time’s up, if that’s what you wish. But for now, can’t we just enjoy what we have?”

“And what do we have, Gabriel?”

“This.”

Chapter 24

______________

Gabriel

I HAUL HER INTO MY LAP, kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to all night.

“Gabriel, your leg.”

“Let me worry about my bloody leg.”

I want to tug down her zipper, unclasp her bra, but the ride to the Cathedral Arms won’t take long. Best wait to enjoy her until we’re back home.

As soon as we get to our bedroom, I strip her. My own clothes disappear and everything lands on the floor, her dress, my trousers, her bra, my briefs. I pick her up to land us on the bed, but she stops me. “Wait.”

“Liz?” I’m hard as iron.

Getting down on her knees, she takes my cock in her hand, licks it from base to head, pumps the long-veined length. With her other hand she squeezes my balls, plays with them.

God!

I thread my hand through her hair. “Can I be a total pig and say that I love the way you look right now?”

“Worshiping at the altar of Gabriel Storm with his cock in my mouth, his family jewels in my hand.”

“And my child in your belly. Let’s not forget about that.”

“And let’s not forget with a simple twist I can cause you excruciating pain.”

Everything about me freezes. My lip curls in distaste.

She clambers to her feet, kisses my jaw, my lips, anything she can reach. “I’m sorry. How could I have threatened you with pain after everything you’ve gone through? I would never hurt you, Gabriel.”

I thumb her cheek. “I know you were teasing. It’s just for a second . . . everything went black, the way it used to when I was a child, when they . . .”

Her eyes widen as she cups my head in her hands. “Gabriel, they didn’t hurt you . . . that way, did they?”

God, no. At least I was spared that. “No. They were content to shackle me, whip my back and legs. Sometimes so bad I couldn’t walk for days.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her gaze softens. “What can I do?”

My heart melts with tenderness for this caring woman I can’t live without. “That’s easy. Love me.”

“That, I can do.” She rains kisses down my jaw, my chest, to my erection which she takes into her mouth again.

Primitive though it might be, I want to mark her as mine, imbue her with my scent. And there’s only one way to do this. To love her hard into the night. But she’s pregnant with my child, and I can’t abuse the privilege. I must take it easy on her.

The problem is her mouth is hot and demanding, her hands exquisite in their hold. She does something with them causing me to kick back my head and moan. She knows how I like to be pumped, to be sucked, and she’s so very good at bringing me to fruition. “Wait.” I reach down and lift her to her feet.

“Don’t you like it?” Her question echoes in my brain. She’s said these words before somewhere, someplace. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. It’s the here and now that’s important, not something that happened long ago.

“Yes. But I need to be inside you when I come.”

This time when I lay her across the bed, she doesn’t object. She stares up at me, her green-eyed gaze luminous, a small smile on her face.

Putting my weight on my elbows, I crawl over her, until we’re nose to nose, chest to breasts. I lean down and kiss her brow, the side of her face, her cheeks. Her mouth. My lips roam down her throat, across her collarbone down to her breasts. Fuller now in pregnancy, they’re a sight to behold. And touch. And taste.

I gently pinch the tip of one, suck it into my mouth. She moans as she threads a hand through my hair. “Harder, Gabriel.” I comply and give her what she needs.

She jerks beneath me. With her skin burning up, the scent of her passion rises enveloping me, enthralling me. Much as I want to taste her, I can’t wait. My need’s too great.

Her belly’s fuller than it used to be, so I switch positions and raise her over me. I run my hands up her belly to her breasts. “Take what you want, love. I’m yours.”

Her pussy glistens with dew as she opens herself to me and drops unto my hard cock. We both moan as she sinks deep, down to my root. “I’m more open now, somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

Straddled around me, my cock in her pussy, she rocks against me, driving me insane. “I could never take you before, The pregnancy’s made a difference.”

My head jerks up at that. “Did I hurt you when I took you?”

“No. Well, not much. It was a hurt-so-good kind of a thing.”

“And now?”

“It’s great.” I hitch my hips and she moans. “Oh, do that again.”

I do, though it’s killing my leg.

I don’t know if she detects something in my expression, or it’s her own desire, but she shifts forward so her hips are not laying across my hips. As she rises and lowers herself on me, my legs no longer bear the brunt of her weight. Clutching her hips, I help her rise and fall while she works on me.

“So good. So damn good.”

“Take it all, darling girl. Take what you want. Take me.”

With an ever frantic cadence, she pumps up and down, her glorious breasts swaying in counterpoint. As her rhythm grows frantic, fiery pleasure shoots through my body. She grabs her breasts and squeezes. And that’s all it takes for me to reach the crisis point. I clutch her hips, jerk up and spill my seed into her. She comes down one last time on my cock and screams.

When she collapses on me, our sweat combines into a delicious cocktail of hot sex and the essential essence of our beings.

“So good. So damn good.” She breathes out between gasps.

Wrapping my arms around her, I drop a kiss on her head, grateful for my life, grateful for her love, grateful for her.

Chapter 25

______________

Elizabeth

CIRCUMSTANCES FORCE GABRIEL to delay his move to New York. Rather than the December 1 date he originally planned, it looks like the change won’t take place until after our wedding and honeymoon. The transfer of duties to his cousin, who will take over as COO of Storm Industries-Europe, is taking longer than expected. And since he doesn’t wish the financial markets to get jittery, the press release won’t be issued until everything is in place.

Which is fine with me.

I have enough to deal with at work, at school, at home. Looking for more of a challenge at Smith Cannon, I’d copied and cross-referenced all documents in a high-level project unto a digital file so our attorneys could retrieve all related document with the stroke of a key. My effort was so successful, I’m now in hot demand at the office with every litigation partner clamoring for my time. But my doctor limited me to no more than thirty hours a week, so I work through my lunch hours to get it all done.

With law school finals looming over me, I spend whatever free time I can wrangle out of my busy day organizing my notes and studying for tests. And some time in the near future, I’ll need to buy a wedding dress, something CeCe’s been hounding me to do for the last week.

I could deal with it all, since I thrive on chaos. But the thing I can’t stand are the photos of me popping up on the internet. The headlines— ‘Gabriel Storm’s Baby Mama’ and ‘Gold Digger’—insinuate I’m marrying him for his money. Hello! Have they seen him? Good lord, any living, breathing woman would give her left arm to marry Gabriel. The worst are the ones that intimate he’s only marrying me to give our child a name. Even though it’s the truth, it still hurts.

In the middle of this insanity, Brianna calls. “Darling. Love the photos and the headlines.”

“Bitch.”

“Aren’t I, though? If it’s any consolation, I’ve been called worse.”

I laugh. God, how I’ve missed her breezy humor. “I was wondering why you hadn’t called.”

“Blame it on Gabe. He wanted time for you to ‘find your footing’ before I stepped in. Like I would do anything to rock this boat. Have I told you how happy I am you’re marrying my brother?”

“Are you?”

“Yes! He gets this look in his eye when he talks about you and the baby. The man’s positively smitten.”

Gabriel’s acting ability seems to be top notch if even his sister believes he’s in love with me. “So you’re in London?”

“Yes. Until mummy dearest is found and brought—well I don’t know where they would take her. My vote would be for Bedlam seeing how she’s mad as a hatter. So how are you handling it all, darling? Hope it’s not too much for you.”

“Well, they’ve added more security guards. The one in my office checks out every stall in the ladies room before I pee.”

“The loss of privacy’s a real bitch. But it could be worse. You could have Jake Cooper guarding you.”

“Umm. I thought you liked him.”

“Are you barmy? The man’s a positive stickler for the rules. He doesn’t dare stick a toe ouf of place.”

“And you’re a free spirit who goes where the wind blows you.”

“Somebody would definitely get blown in a liaison with me.”

I laugh.

“I can’t blame Gabe for wanting to protect you. You’re too important to him. And hopefully, they’ll find mummy and it will be over soon. When are you moving to London?”

Moving? She must mean when am I flying in for the ceremony. But what an odd way to phrase it. “I have classes until December 4 so not ‘til a couple of days before the wedding.” The ceremony will take place on December 7. “After the honeymoon, I’ll return to D.C. for finals. Gabriel wants to spend Christmas in London, though. Guess it’ll be his last one for a while.”

“Why do you say that?”

“With him taking up residence in New York City, he might want to spend the next one there. The Big Apple is such a beautiful place at Christmas time.”

“Oh.”

She sounds surprised. Did Gabriel not tell her about his transfer to New York? Oh, gosh. Maybe I let the cat out of the bag. Gabriel is going to kill me. “You didn’t know he was transferring to New York to head Storm Industries North America?”

“No. He hasn’t said anything.”

“He’s waiting until after the wedding to make the official announcement, but I thought you knew. Please don’t let on I told you.”

“I won’t. You can trust me, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you.” Better change the subject quick. “So how do you feel about being my bridesmaid?”

“Thought you’d never ask. So tell me all about your wedding gown. Who designed it? What neckline did you choose? Details, I want details.”

“Ummm, I haven’t bought one yet. CeCe’s been pressuring me, though. So I thought we’d go to the mall this weekend.”

“Darling, you can’t do that. You simply can’t.” Her horrified tone tells me what she thinks of that scheme. “You need a designer, someone with a flair for designing medieval wedding gowns.”

“And where am I supposed to find someone like that?” I’ve never bought anything that wasn’t on sale with a twenty percent off coupon.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. There has to be a couture designer in Washington, D.C., worthy of creating the wedding gown of the future Countess of Winterleagh.”

“Geesh, since you put it like that. Off the rack seems quite not the thing.”

“Exactly, my love. I better ring off if I mean to get a line on one.”

“Thank you, Brianna.”

“Don’t thank me, darling. What else are bridesmaids for? Ta.”

Since CeCe’s the matron of honor, I call her to see if she’s available. She’s got two kid events, but she dragoons her husband into babysitting. “I’m not about to miss out on this. He can deal with the kids for a change.” Things are still not happy happy joy joy in her world.

Brianna arrives on Thursday with Gabriel. Thank God the bedroom furniture has arrived. With Brianna in one bedroom, Jorge and Marisol in the second, Jake in the third, and Samuel commandeering the fourth for security, there’s no more room at the inn.

On Saturday morning, Jake insists we take two cars to Madame Fleurette’s who Brianna claims is the most exclusive couture designer in town, at least as far as wedding gowns are concerned. Apparently, the shop caters to an exclusive clientele—the daughters of highly ranked government officials and the super rich. How Brianna got an appointment on such short notice is beyond me.

I arrive ahead of Brianna to find CeCe waiting for me. When I step through the door, I’m greeted politely but with reserve by Madame Fleurette. “Ms. Watson? Are you ze bride?”

“Yes.”

She gives me the once over. Today I’m dressed in a loose smock, stretchy pants, and flat shoes. Since I’ll be shedding clothes for the fitting, I didn’t see a reason to dress up.

Madam Fleurette sniffs as if she smells something bad. “This is for a consultation, n'est-ce pas? I’ll need to check our books to see if we can accommodate you.”

“I thought arrangements had all ready been made.”

“Unfortunately, my assistant”—Her gaze cuts to an underling who’s desperately trying to get her attention—“made the appointment without consulting with me.”

“Madame Fleurette.” Her assistant, a thin woman in her thirties, is clutching the appointment book to her chest. “If I may have a word with you.”

But Madame Fleurette ignores her. “When’s the wedding, Ms. Watson?”

“December 7.”

“Over twelve months’ lead time. Well—”

“Not next year. Next month.” I bite out, having had just about enough of her snootiness.

“Next month! I’m afraid that would be c’est impossible.” She’s rattling something in French when Brianna strolls in. Tall, slim, wearing a white wool coat opened to reveal a sleek, aquamarine silk sheath which just screams haute couture.

Madame Fleurette stops in mid sentence. Her jaw drops. She can probably spot a Chanel at fifty paces. In the dark. Wearing a blindfold. Well, maybe not the last.

Without even asking for permission, Jake, who’s followed Bri inside, snaps shut the window blinds and locks the door, before he leans back against said door and rests one ankle over the other.

Brianna slips off her white kid gloves and extends her hand to the modiste. “Madame Fleurette?”

“Mais oui.”

“Is there a problem? I talked with your assistant two days ago and she assured me it would not be a problem to design a gown for my future sister-in-law.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you, Madame Fleurette.” The rest is conducted in a whisper between her and the modiste.

“Viscount Ainsley?” Madame Fleurette squeaks out.

“My brother. Ms. Watson is to marry him,” Brianna says, arching a brow. Damn if she doesn’t look just like Gabriel right now. “If you’re not available, I’m sure we can find another modiste in town who would love to design the gown for the next Viscountess Ainsley.”

Madame Fleurette undergoes an amazing transformation. Wreathed in smiles now, she snaps her fingers. By magic, her staff drifts in from wherever they’ve been hiding. “I’m sure we can accommodate Ms.Watson.”

“We’ll pay premium rates, of course, for the short notice,” Brianna says.

“Mimi, lock the door. We will not be seeing anyone else today.”

“The door is all ready locked, Madame.” Mimi reminds the modiste, but a frown mars her features as she scrutinizes the appointment book. “What should we do about Ms. Watkins? She has an appointment today.”

“Call and reschedule.” She claps her hands and everyone jumps, including me.

“Now Mademoiselle Watson, can you give me an idea what style gown you would like?”

I have no clue, but Brianna does. Soon she and Madame Fleurette are scouring design books, discarding most styles, considering a few, until they finally come up with a couple of likely choices.

“She’ll be wearing a fingertip veil.”

“I will?”

“Tradition, darling. Goes back to medieval times.”

“You’re enceinte, ma petite?” Madame Fleurette asks.

I know enough French to know what she means. “Oui.” That word and Merci Beaucoup comprise my entire knowledge of the French language.

Brianna makes a face behind the modiste’s back.

“So. An empire waistline would be best, don’t you think?”

Brianna mouths “Oui,” and I happily agree with “Yes.”

“Good, we progress.”

An hour later, my dress has been decided upon and it’s time for the measurements. But when Madame Fleurette leads me to a closed fitting room, I balk. “I can’t go in there.”

“Why not? You’ll enjoy privacy inside.”

Not about to tell her I’m terrified of being locked in, I voice the tried and true excuse I’ve offered all my life. “I suffer from claustrophobia.”

“Very well. We can set up a screen outside the fitting room where you can undress. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.” Once the screen’s set up, Madame Fleurette, her assistant and I scoot behind it. Within minutes, I’m stripped to my bra and panties. Good thing I brought a slip.

Once my measurements are taken, they turn to the gowns Brianna and CeCe will wear.

“I don’t think there’s anything in those books for us,” CeCe says, slightly crestfallen. “Look at us. We’re like Mutt and Jeff.”

I have no idea who Mutt and Jeff are, but I take the contrary view. “You’re not.”

“Yes, we are. Brianna is tall, svelte. She could make a sackcloth look good. I’m short, dumpy, and a triple D.”

She does have ample boobs.

“I’m sure we can find something that would suit you both,” Madame Fleurette volunteers. “What color are you thinking about?”

Another problem, for Brianna’s porcelain white skin and blue eyes differ from CeCe’s cafe au lait tone and brown eyes.

“How about red?” Brianna volunteers. “We don’t have to wear the same shade. Look at this darling number here.”

CeCe bends over the book. “I don’t do tall and skinny.”

“An A line would look better on you. How about this?” She points to a a drawing in the design book.

“Umm, that could work,” CeCe agrees.

“Let’s look at fabric samples while Elizabeth takes a load off.”

I gladly accept Mimi’s offer of peppermint tea. She really is a darling. Madame Fleurette is lucky to have her. While I sip, Brianna and CeCe discuss the shades of red. They seem to be getting along. Good thing since I’m going to depend on them to get me through the wedding. I’m bound to be a nervous wreck.

Wedding and bridesmaid gowns taken care of, it’s time to celebrate. Gabriel’s made reservations at the Ragin’ Cajun, but not until eight so I lay down for a nap at the apartment.

I wake up to find Brianna and CeCe, drinking mojitos in the living room and planning my bachelorette party. I nip that idea in the bud.

When they both look at me and say, “Fine,” I know I’m in big, big trouble.

Chapter 26

______________

Gabriel

“YOU LOOK LIKE SHITE, BROTHER.” I haven’t seen Royce since I dispatched him to South America two months ago to determine the feasibility of building a hydrowater plant in the small country of Santa Maria. He arrived home over the weekend when I was in D.C. So this is the first time I’m seeing him.

“So would you if you’d spent the last two months in a ruddy jungle so hot and humid it was a struggle to breathe,” Royce says dropping into the burgundy leather sofa in my penthouse suite at The Brighton. “Caught a bloody fever. Lost two stone.” The loss of twenty eight pounds on his six one frame stole muscle, hollowed out his cheeks.

The thought I could have lost him bites me to the quick. “Why didn’t you call? You have a satellite phone.”

“Didn’t work in the jungle. I would have had to trek out to make the call. And since I was too sick to do so.” He allows the meaning to sink in. “By the time I was on the mend, all I could think of was getting out of there, not phoning in a status report.”

“That’s a problem.We’ll have to devise a solution.” Royce never checked in on a regular basis. So when he’d gone AWOL, I hadn’t thought anything of it. But clearly something had to be done. Somebody would have to accompany him in future missions, something he’s fought from the start. No more. I’m not about to lose another brother. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. Now than I’m in England. Where I mean to eat, drink and be merry.”

“Speaking of which, would you like a drink?”

“One finger of the Macallan. That’s all my stomach will allow.”

I pour the liquor into a tumbler, hand it to him. Rather than guzzle it down like he normally does, he sips. He must be more ill than he lets on.

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you home.”

“Why?”

“I’m marrying Liz. In a couple of weeks.”

He jumps out of the couch, hugs me, pounds me in the back. “You wanker. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Too much going on, I guess. You heard about father’s second stroke.”

“Yes. Bri told me.” He brushes back his coal black, shoulder-length hair. He needs a haircut, my brother. “I visited him this morning. He didn’t recognize me. The nurse said a third stroke would probably prove fatal.”

I nod. I’ve relegated my father’s failing health to the back of my mind. He’s at the London townhouse, getting round-the-clock care. Nothing more I can do to make him comfortable.

“And the mater has taken a powder?”

“Yes.” Since I don’t want either of my siblings implicated, in case things head south, I haven’t shared my mother’s whereabouts with them. “Jake has done his best to track her down with no luck.”

“You have ordered some protection for Liz.”

“Oh, yes. She’s living in a three-floor apartment I purchased. The building is literally bullet proof. Plus I assigned a team of bodyguards to her. She doesn’t go anywhere without them, including her job.”

“Good. Good.”

“So the reason I need you home.” I roll the ice around the glass before I glance up at him. “And I am very glad you’re home. I want to ask you a question.”

He looks at me expectantly.

“Will you be my best man?”

He shoots me a look that tells me how he feels about my request. “I’d be honored.”

“Excellent.” I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

He almost blinds me with his smile. “You appear relieved. Did you think I would say no?”

“Of course not. It’s just. Because of our age differences, we haven’t always been close.” I’m six years older than him. “I was away at uni when you were at Eton. By the time you got to Oxford, I’d graduated.”

“You were closer to Edward.”

“Yes. We were only two years apart.” I roll the ice around the glass again. “There’s something I need to know.”

“Whatever it is, Gabe. Let it out. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

Which is more than I can say. “The Countess. I know how she felt about Edward, and father protected Bri. But you didn’t have him as a champion. I tried to keep her away from you when I was home. But I was away at school so much. She never”—I clear my throat—“she never went after you, did she?”

“No.” His eyes are clear, so I know he’s speaking the truth. “She left me alone.”

The tension I’ve held in for so long drains out of me. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

He rises, pours more scotch into my glass. “It was you she was fixated upon, you she wanted to destroy.”

“Yes, I got that, but still”—I swirl the alcohol before downing it in one gulp—“I worried.”

He squeezes my shoulder before going back to sitting on the couch, propping one ankle over the opposite knee. “So where’s Bri? I thought she was joining us for dinner.” A rather obvious change of subject. Not a problem. I’d rather think of my future than my past.

“She should be up any minute. Probably shagging her latest project, a starving artist. He paints murals. They look like graffiti to me.”

“They are murals, you tosser.” Bri says from my left, sneaking up on me through the door that separates our floors.“How are you, darling?” She smooches Royce. “You look perfectly dreadful.”

“Love you too, sister. I’m good.”

“Talk about a starving artist look. What happened to you?”

Royce gives her the condensed version of his South American trip.

“Royce. We could have lost you.” She’s just as shocked as I am.

“I’m not that easy to kill, little sister.”

She’s six feet to Royce’s six one, and he likes to rub it in every chance he gets. In her trademark stilettos, though, she towers above just about every other man, except for Jake. So the word ‘little’ hardly refers to her.

After she pours herself a drink, she drops next to Royce on the couch, curls her arm around his shoulders. “You’ll have to stay home a good long time to recuperate. And with Gabe’s wedding and all.”

“I just heard.” He salutes me with his still full tumbler. “So tell me the details—when, where?”

“Sunday, December 7, at Winterleagh Castle as tradition demands. After our honeymoon, she’ll return to D.C. to take her final exams and then we’ll come home to London.”

Brianna startles at the announcement.

“A Christmas wedding, The family hasn’t had one of those in a good long time.” Royce contributes, seemingly unaware of Brianna’s reaction.

“Not since medieval times, I believe.”

“Wait. Back up a bit. You’ll both return to London?” A frown creases Brianna’s brow. “I don’t understand. Elizabeth mentioned she’d remain in D.C. to finish her studies and that you planned to move to New York City to head the Storm Industries branch.”

“She’ll finish her studies in London.”

“And she’s agreed to this?”

“She will, like she’s agreed to everything else.”

“Gabe, did you tell her you were moving to New York City to head the Storm Industries North American branch?”

“Yes. I had to. She wouldn’t agree to marry me otherwise.”

“What?”

“After the closing, she told me she wanted to put the baby up for an open adoption. I nixed the plan, asked her to marry me. She balked and only relented when I told her she wouldn’t be far away from our child because I planned to move to New York City to head up our branch.”

“So you lied to her.”

I brush nervous fingers across my brow. “If she didn’t marry me, our son would not inherit the title. Don’t you see?”

“I see you lied to her. What’s going to happen when she discovers the truth?”

“Nothing. We’ll be married by then.”

“Gabe, you have to tell her before the wedding.”

Something strong and hot surges within me. “No, I’m not, and you’re forbidden from telling her. I lost Edward to an assassin in Honduras, and this fool almost died in a South American jungle. I can’t lose Liz and our child. I won’t lose them.”

“It wasn’t that dire,” Royce says, referring to his bout of sickness.

“Then why aren’t you drinking, Royce? By now, you would have been on your third drink.”

He shrugs but doesn’t say anything.

“For so many years, I fought for you, for Royce, even for Edward, knowing all the while she could do something to tear you away from me. In the natural way of life, you’ll go your own way. But a wife, a child, those are mine. Mine. I need something of my own. Something that can’t be torn from me.”

“Darling, you won’t lose us, no matter what.”

“Liz and the baby are mine. And I won’t allow anyone, not God nor mortal man or woman to take her, or our child, away from me. So promise me you won’t tell her about my plans.”

I’m shaking so much from the emotions coursing through me, the ice in the glass I’m holding rattles around in the glass.

Bri wraps her arms around me. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep your secret, won’t we, Royce?”

He nods in agreement, seemingly dumbfounded by my loss of control.

Neither voices the obvious. I won’t allow anyone to tear Liz away, but what if she herself chooses to walk away from me?

Chapter 27

______________

Elizabeth

AFTER MY LAST CLASS ON THURSDAY, I’m whisked to Dulles Airport where Gabriel’s corporate jet waits to fly us to London. I arrive at the plane to find CeCe, Casey, and his fiancee, Gina, waiting for me. Against all odds, I actually sleep on the plane which contains a nice comfy bed.

In London, we’re transported to Winterleagh Castle where Gabriel, his family and the wedding guests expect us. We’d settled on twenty of them. His brother and sister, of course, close friends. His parents do not attend. The official story was they suffered from precarious health. True enough of his father, but his mother? Apparently, she’d suffered a nervous breakdown and could not handle the excitement of a wedding. I doubt anyone believes that farradiddle, but the guests go along with the plan.

The wedding will take place on Sunday. With events scheduled for the entire weekend, Gabriel invited all twenty guests to stay at the castle. After the ceremony, we will spend one day at Winterleagh before leaving for our honeymoon. Gabriel, being Gabriel, has planned everything down to the smallest detail.

Winterleagh Castle sparkles and shines with Christmas greenery and ornaments. Holly is strewn throughout every corridor, nook and cranny, and a great big Christmas tree presides over the Great Hall. Mistletoe hangs over the entrance to each room, giving him the opportunity to kiss me every time I cross a threshold.

Brianna makes the mistake of entering alongside Jake, her bodyguard. After he offers her a peck on the cheek, they drift apart, Brianna flustered for once.

Dinner bears no resemblance to the one I experienced last July at the castle. This one’s much more casual with everyone taking their seats where they wish. Since most of those present are close friends, no awkward moments arise. After dinner, Bri and CeCe steal me away to a bachelorette party. Surrounded by body guards, we still manage to have fun at the local village pub where male strippers have been brought in for our viewing, and touching, pleasure.

Seeing how the ceremony will take place in the afternoon, on my wedding day I’m allowed to sleep late. I wake up nervous, excited, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Gabriel would have no problem calming me down. But since tradition forbids me to see him until the service, he’s nowhere in sight.

Brianna and CeCe keep me company throughout the day, but as the time for the pomp and circumstance draws near, my nerves get the better of me. Am I doing the right thing? There’s no going back from this. I may not have wanted to wed, but marriage is a sacred institution, not to be entered into lightly.

The hairdresser and makeup artist Bri arranged to meet us here take care of Bri and CeCe’s dos before they turn to me. As befits their family tradition, my hair’s left loose and flowing down my back. The stylist is putting the finishing touches in my coiffure, tiny sparkling diamond-like stones strewn through my hair, when a knock sounds on the door.

A servant dressed in medieval garb—a tunic, leggings, and leather shoes attached with straps. He bows as he offers a gold box festooned with a bright red ribbon. “From Lord Ainsley to his bride-to-be with his compliments.”

With shaking hands, I open the envelope that accompanies the box. “All my love, G.” Within the velvet-lined box resides a sparkling tiara dripping with shiny stones.

My eyes practically bug out. “Those diamonds are not real, are they?”

Brianna takes the tiara from me. “Yes. They are. Storm brides have worn this for centuries, Liz.”

After I’m tucked and laced into the wedding gown, she places the tiara on my head. Since she’s so tall, it’s an easy task for her. She fixes the tiara beneath the shimmering veil which cascades down to my fingertips. She turns me and finally, finally, I see myself in the mirror.

Why, I’m beautiful! My eyes sparkle with emotion, my lips glow with a soft rose pink. The gown flows from my shoulders into an empire waistline bedecked with more sparkly tiny diamonds, the sleeves tight to the elbow and then split open to cascade down in soft, flowing chiffon. And the decolletage? Well, let’s just say my boobs are in full display. “You don’t think the girls will fall out, do you?” I ask, tugging up the neckline.

“No. The seamstress did a great job constructing the gown.” She brushes a hand against the stays which hold up the dress on the sides.

“You’re stunning, Liz.” Tears shimmer in CeCe’s eyes.

“Pregnant belly and all.”

Brianna peals out a laugh. “Actually several Storm brides have come to the wedding altar bearing proof of their husband-to-be’s virility.”

“Darn. And here I was hoping I would be the first.”

“You’re first in Gabriel’s heart. And that’s all that counts.”

First in his heart? I don’t think so. But he’s played the besotted groom so well, even his sister believes he’s in love with me.

I remind myself we are doing this for our baby.

CeCe and Bri’s gowns, although not as elaborate as mine, are also of medieval construct, with deep decolletages and long flowing sleeves.

A knock on the door signifies it’s time to leave. The dresser hurries to envelop me with the last finishing touch, an ermine-lined cape draped around my shoulders to keep me from growing too cold. Part of the ceremony will be conducted outdoors.

Bri hands me my wedding bouquet, a mixture of red roses, lilies of the valley and baby’s breath. I take a deep breath, and CeCe opens the door.

Casey stands right outside, looking very handsome in the groomsmen version of medieval garb, a dark flowing coat that falls to his knees over trousers, with a sword tied to his belt. Bri precedes me down the Adams staircase with CeCe following behind, and Casey and I bringing up the rear.

At the bottom of the stairs, I’m greeted by an entire array of all the castle servants dressed in similar costumes. Lined along the length of the Great Hall, they smile and bow as we walk by.

“Breathe”—Casey reminds me—“before you pass out.”

I take a deep breath, well as much as I can take in the constricting gown. How on earth people wore these types of garments for hours at a time is beyond me.

We finally make it to the castle’s massive front door where we take a right. The chapel shares a wall with the castle, but it must be reached from the outside. It’s a cold, breezy day, with lots of sun. The bright light hurts my eyes, momentarily blinding me

I open them to find Gabriel standing on the front steps with Royce to his side and the officiant who will marry us on the top step, holding a big book close to his chest. He looks exactly the way a minister should, white hair and a kind smile.

“Welcome, milady.”

I don’t know what to do, so I nod in acknowledgment of the greeting.

He waves his free hand about. “God blessed you with a beautiful day for your nuptials. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice sounds unsure. I wish Gabriel would turn around and acknowledge my presence, instead of staring straight ahead at the congregation through the chapel’s open door.

My hand trembles in Casey’s arm. He presses it for reassurance.

The minister offers another kind smile, opens his book and reads from it. “God is love, and those who live in love live in God and God lives in them.”

Gabriel’s hanging on to the minister’s every word, a solemn look on his face. He’s yet to glance at me.

From somewhere within the chapel, an organ peals out a hymn, accompanied by a choir of voices. The minister turns and leads us down the aisle. Gabriel and Royce, Brianna and CeCe, Casey and me.

When we reach the altar, Casey waits until the hymn finishes before gently pulling back my veil. He kisses me on the cheek, and steps into the first row, where Gina waits for him.

And still Gabriel hasn’t looked at me.

The minister offers more prayers that seem to go on forever. And then suddenly, he’s addressing us.

“The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence

of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts;

therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.”

Both of us remain silent.

“Gabriel James, will you take Elizabeth Marie to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.” Gabriel’s firm voice echoes in the chapel.

When it comes to my turn, my voice wavers. Not only am I about to pass out, but the chapel’s bloody freezing.

Another hymn is sung while I sway on my feet. And then the minister invites us to hold hands. I swallow back a moan of ecstasy from Gabriel’s warmth. Finally, blessedly he turns to look at me, all the emotion in the world in his gaze, eyes practically brimming over with tears. How could I have doubted him knowing what our wedding means to him?

“I, Gabriel James, take you, Elizabeth Marie, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

With Gabriel now lending me his support, my vow is stronger than the puny thing I offered before. After more prayers, we exchange rings. And then finally it’s time for us to kiss.

Okay, I have to admit, I practically jump him seeking more of his warmth and strength. The kiss is everything a wedding kiss should be—tender, loving, with just a hint of tongue. Giving as much as I’m getting, I clutch at him with all the joy my heart will allow. He kisses the palm of my hand afterward. From the look on the minister’s face, I gather that’s not part of the ceremony. Gabriel hurries us up the aisle. Outside, he picks me up and twirls me around and around. I grow dizzy, breathless, before he drops me back on my feet and kisses me, the way he usually does, with lots of tongue. As the guests gather around us, applauding the passionate kiss, his mouth splits in the most luminous smile I’ve ever seen on him.

The reception is held in the castle’s dining hall. The food is sublime, prepared by the castle chef. After dinner, the small band he hired strikes up the song he’ chosen for our first dance—The Way You Look Tonight.

He and I have never danced so I don’t know what to expect. We never discussed this, much less practiced dancing to ‘our’ song. But as always, he surprises me. Even with his slight limp, he manages quite well.

“You’re really good,” I say.

“Amazing what a few dance lessons will do.” He winks at me.

I suspect he hasn’t taken a dance lesson in his life.

After we cut the cake, Gabriel takes my hand and kisses the back of it while glancing up at me. A photographer captures the pose and that’s the one that makes it into the papers. We appear totally besotted with each other. Maybe it was the wine in him, the cake in me.

In the emerald bedroom, he tosses his jacket on a chair and then he unlaces the back of my gown. The veil, my shift, the rest of my underwear all land on top of his jacket. Except for my silk stockings, I’m left standing nude, trembling, in front of him.

“You’re shivering.”

“Not from the cold.”

“I’ll warm you.” He gets down on his knees.

“Gabriel.” He’s put so much stress on his leg today.

“Shh.”

He unrolls one silk stocking and bends down to kiss my foot. “Mine.” Kissing the other, he whispers the same. A litany of “Mines” follow as he lavishes the same benediction along an upward trail of ankles, legs, thighs. No spot is left untouched by his lips, including my mons, against which he murmurs “Most definitely mine.”

His longest kiss of all is bestowed on my belly after which, eyes shining, he looks up at me. Leaning on a chair, he comes off his knees to continue his parade of kisses. Each breast gets its own tribute, the swell of my chest, my arms, hands, fingertips. He brushes his blessing on my throat, jaw, brow, cheeks. And finally, finally my lips.

“Mine. All mine.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier.

What can I do but agree. “Yes, my darling Gabriel. I certainly am”—for a year and one month—”yours.”

Chapter 28

______________

British Virgin Islands

Gabriel

OUR HONEYMOON finds us at the Pirate’s Cove Villa in a private island close to Virgin Gorda, one of the British Virgin Islands. The remote location grants us the privacy we need with little, if any, interference from the outside world. Constructed on a small hill, the villa commands a 225-degree view of the islands surrounding us. The panoramic terrace perched fifty feet above the bay below is only a one-minute walk to a private beach. The only way in or out is by boat, the hill above considered too inhabitable for man.

Given my mother’s threat against Liz, we’re accompanied by a full security contingent, headed by Samuel. Operatives guard the beach and the pier at all times. The villa accommodates up to ten people so it’s large enough to house the entire team.

In and around the villa with the occasional fly-by helicopter. The private island can’t be approached without someone knowing about it.

The villa comes with its own staff who cater to our every whim.

I spend an hour checking in with the office and Jake who by necessity remained behind, not only to watch Bri but to make sure Royce stayed put while his health continues to improve. I don’t trust my brother not to get a hair up his ass and take off for parts unknown. But seemingly he’s satisfied to remain in England to eat, drink, and be merry, as he promised.

Having performed my familial and corporate duties, I head out to the deck to join Liz, who’s lying on a lounge chair soaking up the sun and sipping some drink. She’s wearing a black two-piece bathing suit which covers her pregnant belly although right now the top’s rolled up to catch some rays.

When I arrive by her side, I lean over to kiss her and a cornucopia of tropical scents greets me—orange from the juice, coconut from her tanning cream. Dropping into the lounge chair next to her, I take the tanning tube from her and lather it all over her skin. Not that she needs it. In three short days, she’s turned brown as a berry.

“This place suits you.” Her skin glows with health and her teeth appear white in her tanned face. She’s glowing with health.

“I love it here. The air smells different, lighter, and the sea breeze. Ummm. Wish I could stay here forever.”

“Sooner or later, you’d miss D.C.”

Her face scrunches. “Not now when it’s cold and dreary. Bu I would miss the cherry blossoms in the spring. You’ll have to come down from New York to see them.”

“We’ll see.” In the spring, she’ll be in London, not D.C., but of course I don’t say anything. I want her to enjoy our honeymoon before I tell her what she can expect in her future.

Leah, our pool girl, approaches. “Would you like another glass of orange juice?”

“No, but I’ll take a glass of iced water. It’s getting hot out here.”

Leah smiles. Having lived here all her life, she’s used to the heat.

“What is that scent you’re wearing?” Liz asks.

“It’s a special blend of frangipani, white ginger and jasmine. Island Fragrances sells it on Charlotte Amalie.”

Charlotte Amalie. The capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands.

“I’ll have to buy some when we go there tomorrow.”

I’ve scheduled a jaunt to St. Thomas to do some sightseeing and for Liz to buy some souvenirs of the trip. I’m surprised by Liz’s sudden affinity for our pool girl’s scent. “But you don’t wear perfume.”

She laughs. “You don’t remember it, but I did. I had to stop using it when I got pregnant. The scent was too strong for me. But I love Leah’s. It’s nice and light.”

After she guzzles the glass of water Leah brings back to her, I bend over and kiss Liz’s belly. She curls her hand around the back of my head and urges my mouth close to hers.

A heated kiss later, she smacks her lips. “Ummm, your lips taste like coconut.”

“Want to go inside and taste the rest of me?”

She laughs. “God, Storm, don’t you ever get enough?”

Keeping my hands off her has proved an impossibility even though she’s seven months pregnant. We make love every night, every morning. “No. So?”

She peeks up at me through her eyelashes in a coqquetish gesture. I don’t recall her doing much flirting with me. But since our wedding ceremony, she’s become more carefree, more joyous. I love her like this. “Not now. Maybe later. The baby’s enjoying the sun too much.”

I take her hand, drop a kiss on the palm, and drift off to sleep beneath the brilliant blue of the Caribbean sky.

The next morning dawns bright and sunny, like every day we’ve been here. She skips breakfast, preferring to eat after we arrive in Charlotte Amalie. We jump on the boat I chartered to Virgin Gorda where we catch the ferry to Charlotte Amalie. We’ll spend the night there, shopping and sightseeing, before returning to our private island the next day. At the capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands, a limo awaits. First stop is the main shopping street of Dronningens Gade where, starving now, we step into a cafe to grab some grub.

My leg’s decided it likes the sun, so by now I’m walking with only a slight hitch in my step. I no longer need the cane unless I overdo it. She purchases souvenirs for Casey and Gina, CeCe, even something for Bri and Royce. For herself, she buys a tropical skirt and a t-shirt. I run into a jewelry store and buy her a pearl necklace. Someone offers to braid her hair, but I nix that on the spot. I don’t want to see her beautiful hair anything but loose down her back.

She spots the Island Perfumes store Leah told her about, and squealing with excitement, drags me in there. Something squeezes my heart. I’ve never seen her so carefree and happy. She has every right to worry and curse me for the situation she finds herself in. And yet, since she’s stepped on the island, she’s been nothing but smiles and acts like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

While she explains what she wants to the sales clerk, I take a look around the store. I spot a bottle of gardenia-scented perfume, and something clicks inside of me. A shiver follows, as if a ghost walked over my grave. Drawn to the perfume by some unseen force, I open the bottle and take a whiff.

Just like that, all my memories of Liz come rushing back—the day we met, making love in her home, me pounding into her over a desk at her job, London, Winterleagh Castle. Her confessing to stealing those confidential documents from me.

Unaware of the cataclysmic change in me, she turns to me holding a bottle of fragrance. “What’s wrong?” She must have seen something in my eyes.

“Elizabeth,” the name I used to call her when we first met, when I made love to her. The name I yelled when she confessed he betrayal and walked out on me.

The bottle she’s holding crashes to the floor, spilling its essence over the well worn wooden floor, over her.

The sales clerk cries out, a couple more converge on Elizabeth, bringing a mop and broom, asking her not to move. But she’s frozen like a statue, gazing at me.

“Gabriel?” Her eyes fill with tears.

I order one of our guards to pay for the broken bottle, an additional one to take with us and to add something extra for the trouble of cleaning up. After which, I stride up to Elizabeth and pick her up. I don’t say anything but walk out with her in my arms, limping a bit, yes, but still holding on tight to the woman I love, the one who betrayed me, my wife.

Chapter 29

______________

Elizabeth

“PUT ME DOWN. I can walk.” By now I know better than to mention his leg, so I don’t.

He lowers me into a convenient bench by the side of the road where he proceeds to toss my flip flops in the nearest trash bin.

“Hey.”

“Hush.” His gaze silences me as much as his tone. He points to one of the street stands where sandals are brightly displayed and orders one of the guards to purchase a pair, size eight.

“Which ones? the guard asks.

“Doesn’t matter.”

What? “The white ones on the end.” I point to a pair of criss cross flats.

When the guard comes back with the shoes, Gabriel slides them on, fastens them, before taking me by the hand and leading me down the road toward the spot where the limo waits for us.

“We’re done shopping?”

“Yes.”

As we pass the stores. I look longingly at them. I’m not much of a shopper but I love the ambiance of this place—the sun beating down on my skin, the music drifting from one of the kiosks, the variety of fragrances wafting in the air.

I slide into the limo ahead of Gabriel. “Are we going to Bluebeard’s Castle now?” He’d promised me a visit.

“No. We’re going to the hotel. I need to take care of those cuts.”

“It’s nothing, Gabriel. They’re minor at best.”

“You need to rest.”

Rather than protest the change in itinerary, I acquiesce. I know there’s more in his mind than my need to take a nap.

We’d pre-checked into the hotel, and our overnighs are all ready in the room, so it’s only a matter of riding the elevator to our suite. The four guards will bunk down on the one next to ours. On the walk down the hallway I notice his leg’s bothering him again. Having to carry me even for a short distance couldn’t have done it any good.

Having obtained a first aid kit from the concierge, Gabriel dabs my cuts with some antibiotic wipes, covers a couple of them with band-aids. “It shouldn’t leave a mark.”

I laugh. “Gabriel’s it’s nothing.”

He helps me to my feet. “Better go take a nap.”

“And will you join me?”

“No. I’m going to take a shower. I need to get this scent off me.” While I’d been holding a perfectly innocuous bottle of island scents, he’d held a bottle of gardenia, the perfume I wore when we first met.

“Gabriel?” He won’t meet my gaze. Could the scent have jogged his memory? Scent is the most powerful of all the senses.

“Gabriel? Do you remember?”

Before he answers he turns to the guards. “Leave us.” He waits until they’re gone before he answers, “Yes.”

“Oh, my God. That’s great.” I jump off the couch, throw my arms around him. But when I embrace him, he stiffens up. “What’s wrong?”

“I remember all of it. How we met in the elevator, having sex in your townhouse, your office. London. Winterleagh Castle. You stealing my documents from the Southwind deal and handing them to your boss.”

My breath hitches. How could I have forgotten what I’d told him? I’d been so happy since our wedding day, and now everything is ruined. “I didn’t. It wasn’t me.”

He goes for his crutch, the hotel’s drink car. “You admitted it that last night in London.”

“I lied to protect you. To lend credence to my breakup.”

“Let’s say for a moment I believe you. Who stole those papers then?”

“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. I think it was Brian Sullivan.”

He barks out a joyless laugh. “The man never entered our suite, unless you let him in.” His eyes narrow.

“Of course I didn’t let him in. He didn’t even know I was in your suite. I think he arranged something with the concierge.”

“Nigel’s been there for ages. Doubt he would take a bribe.”

“Nigel, is it? How do you know his name?” A nasty suspicion enters my head.

“I’ve stayed at the hotel before.”

“Is that where you took your women, Storm? To fuck them in the same suite you fucked me?”

A ruddy color tinges his face. “I’m not going to answer those questions.”

“You don’t have to. The answer is written all over your face. God, how could you? How could you make love to me at the same place? Was that all I was to you? A cheap fuck?”

He lets out a curse before limping to the hotel bar, pouring another whiskey into a glass, and knocking it back. “I had liaisons in that hotel, yes, but never in that suite. And you were never a cheap fuck.”

I brace my arms around my stomach, tell myself to calm down. This is not good for the baby, not good for me.

“Why do you suspect Brian Sullivan?”

I collapse on the sofa. “The morning I returned from your penthouse, he gave Nigel some money and the concierge handed an envelope to him.”

“Probably theater or sightseeing tickets.”

“That’s what I thought at the time. But what if it was a flash drive?” I can tell by the look in his eye, he’s not convinced. “Somebody else copied those documents, Gabriel. It wasn’t me.”

For a minute he stares at his empty glass as if the answer’s to be found at its bottom. “You expect me to believe you when all evidence points to the contrary?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your wife.”

“My wife.” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Am I supposed to believe you hold the sacrament dear, when you’re so eager for it to end? You didn’t want to marry me not until my mother called and threatened you. You would have gladly made our child a bastard out of sheer stubbornness and pride.”

“Pride? What are you talking about?”

“You wear your independence like a badge of honor. Bound and determined to allow no man to take care of you.”

“I depended on Casey.”

“You were a child then. And I’m damn glad he was around to do so. Otherwise God knows where you would have ended up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you insinuating I would have turned into a prostitute like my mother?”

“I didn’t say that.” He brushes a hand across his brow. “Look, I’m sorry. Getting my memory back. It’s a lot to deal with. I need time to process. Time to think.”

I should know better, but I can’t let it go. I have to make him understand. “I wanted to stand on my own two feet. And I would have done so if you hadn’t come along.”

“Oh, so I ruined your life’s plans.”

“You tell me, Gabriel. Before I met you, I planned to graduate from law school, work as a corporate attorney, make enough money to have a decent life. And now I have a death threat hanging over my head, I’m pregnant, and married to a maniac who doesn’t let me out of his sight.”

“You’re living in the lap of luxury, with more money than you’d ever dreamed of at your disposal.”

“I’m a bird in a gilded cage. Can’t go anywhere without it being approved by someone. Can’t even go into the ladies’ room without a guard to hear me pee. This is not what I wanted from life. I want what I had. I want my life back.”

“This is your life. The child you carry. Me. Get used to it.”

“Only for a year and a month. After that, we’re through.”

He works his jaw, eyes blazing. Turning, he goes for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“When are yo coming back?”

“What do you care, Elizabeth?”

“I care.” I say in a small voice. We’d been so happy and now everything’s ruined.

“If you’re worried about your safety, don’t be. You have four guards outside the door watching over you.”

“Gabriel!”

But he’s all ready gone.

“And now I have a death threat hanging over my head. All because A prostitute like my mother. I get down on my knees every day and thank him for the sacrifices he made. I couldn’t take more from him. He’d done enough.”

“Funny how you cut im loose when I came along.”

“Are ou suggesting I latched onto you?”

“No. No man will get the better ofyou. No You shall not depent on any man to take care of you.You’d say that now

Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

Chapter 30

______________

Gabriel

“MASTER GABE, how good to see you.”

“Tilly, how are you?” Not that I need to ask. There’s a golden glow to her skin and she’s gained weight. At least a stone.

“Happy as a clam at high tide.”

I laugh. “Island life suits you.”

“That it does.” She leans back, pins a wise eye on me. “What brings you to St. Thomas? You didn’t travel all the way down here just to see me.”

“You always could see right through me. I’m on my honeymoon.”

She claps her hands in front of her. “Ms. Watson?”

I nod.

“Oh.” She claps her hands together. “I plumb knew it. You’re sweet on her, aren’t you?”

Sweet doesn’t begin to cover it. My face heats up. “You might say that.”

“Oh, you can’t fool old Tilly. You’re in love with her.”

“Yes. She’s expecting our child, a son.”

“Oh, a sweet boy. He’ll be your heir, won’t he?” Her face darkens. “Keep her away from him.”

She doesn’t have to spell out who ‘her’ is. “She won’t be allowed any where near my son.”

“Good. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, Tilly. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” While she busies herself in the kitchen, my gaze drifts over the bungalow I bought for her. Right by the beach as she wanted. Just far enough she’ll need to walk only about twenty feet or so. I spot her knitting basket, needles sticking out, balls of different colored wool. She’s knitting?

“Knitting wool scarfs, Tilly?”

“Gives this old hands something to do.”

“You need anything, anything at all?” I want to make sure she’s as happy as can be. She did me a favor by revealing what she saw and keeping quiet about it to boot.

“What could I possibly want, Master Gabe. You gave me my freedom. And you pay for everything else. You’ve been too generous. I don’t know what to do with most of the money you deposited in my account.”

“Least I could do after everything my mother put you through for the last forty years.”

“How is she?”

“The same.”

“Up to no good then.”

“Yes.” I don’t provide her with any more information.

“Keeping your eye on her?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She pours out the tea, hands me a cup. Orange pekoe. Her favorite. “And how are my other babies?”

While we have tea we talk about Brianna and Royce.

She tsks tsks when I tell her about Royce’s fever. “One day that boy’s gonna get tangled up in something he can’t get out of.”

“That’s why things are going to change. On his next trip, he will have somebody with him. He just won’t realize who it is.”

I help myself to a biscuit before I broach the subject I’m curious about. “Tilly, my mother mentioned a secret my father kept.The biggest secret of all, she said. Do you have any idea what it could be?”

She closes her eyes, and for a minute, she rolls back and forth on the rocking chair. A minute later, she opens her eyes. “Not sure, but it probably has to do with Brianna.”

“Brianna?” Not something I expected.

“Your mother locked her bedroom against the Earl after Royce was born. But he got good and drunk one night and broke down her door. She screamed at him, cursed him something awful. With the door left open, everybody in the castle heard them.”

“Did he hit here?”

“No, it wasn’t hitting he had in mind. Eight and a half months later, Brianna was born.”

“Good God.” His father raped his mother? Was that her secret? But what would she hope to prove after all these years. Wait. “Eight and a half months?”

“Almost from the beginning your mother had problems, spotting and such. At eight months, she almost lost the baby. They rushed her to the hospital. Kept her there for two weeks until your sister was born. She never cottoned to Brianna. Hated her from the get go. Maybe it was all the trouble she’d gone through or the way she was conceived.”

For a moment, I feel sorry for my mother. She’d endured my father’s violence only to discover his seed had taken root inside of her, an everlasting reminder of that night. “But my father cared about Brianna.” I’d never seen them together when there hadn’t been a smile on his face.

“Yes. He adored his little princess. Strange, since he never involved himself with the rearing of you and your brothers.”

“I’m glad she had him.” Even if that fatherly affection had gone missing when my mother ordered me whipped.

“Your mother, she was plumb jealous of all the attention he showered on Brianna. One night he was hanging over her crib talking to her while your mother watched from the shadows. The look on her face. Lord. Hate, love, jealousy. She tried to strangle Brianna the next day.”

I let out a curse.

But Tilly doesn’t stop her rocking, like the instance was just one more of the same. “The earl stopped her, threatened to strangle her if anything happened to Brianna. And then he took the baby to London and gave her to a nanny to raise, a no-nonsense Scots woman, brawny enough to take on even your mother Brianna did not return to Winterleagh until she was four years old, and she always had her nanny with her.”

Good God. The hits just keep coming with my family. And now, I’ve made a hash of things with Elizabeth. Something I have to fix if I want any kind of future with her. “I better go. Elizabeth’s waiting for me.”

“You take right good care of her, Master Gabe.”

“I am.” I bend over, kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, Tilly, for everything. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I have everything I need.”

On my way back to the hotel I ponder my conversation with Elizabeth. Regardless of what it looks like, I owe her an apology and my trust. She’s my wife. At the very least, I can have Jake start an investigation, have him check into the hotel to see if there’s any truth to Elizabeth’s assertions.

I’ve always found it difficult to trust. A bequest from my mother. Why should I trust anyone else unless I know I can count on them? And Elizabeth has fought me every step of the way which is why I took the necessary steps to ensure she married me.

But if she swears she didn’t copy the papers, don’t I owe her the benefit of the doubt? She’s my wife after all. And the soon-to-be mother of my child. Yes, she lied to me. In London. In Washington, when she told me I may not be the father because she’d had sex with other men. At the time I suspected she was lying. Don’t ask me how I know, but she did no such thing. There was too much between us for her to fuck another man. Plain and simple, she lied to protect me, to prevent me from gaining knowledge about my mother’s perfidy. So the least I can do is give her the benefit of the doubt and have Jake investigate the hotel staff. I can also ask Carrey about the documents, where he got them, who gave them to him. I don’t think he would refuse to tell me, not now when Storm Industries is a client.

On the way back to the hotel, I think about Tilly. Should I arrange for security for her as well? Wouldn’t hurt. We haven’t gotten to the bottom of the unknown call she made. The tech’s still working on it, something about the signal being pinged around the world. But he’s got some high tech gadget that will work the signal back to the receiver. Only a matter of time before we find out.

I find Elizabeth fast asleep on the suite’s king-size bed. Feeling like shite, I lean over and drop a kiss on her head. That’s when I notice the damp pillow and the track of tears on her cheeks. A pain stabs at me. I did this to her. Me and my arrogance and my lack of trust.

It’s close to dinner time. I should wake her, but all I want to do is crawl into bed with her, so I do just that. But when I wrap my arm around her center and draw her to me, she stirs awake.

“Where did you go?”

“To see an old friend.” I trust her, but I don’t want her to know the whole ugly truth about my mother. She knows enough. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the things I said.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.” She heaves out a deep sigh. “And I shouldn’t have either. I don’t hate being married to you.”

“You don’t?” I nibble her shoulder. She smells of the frangipani perfume and of clean soap.

“No. There are some rather nice benefits to it.”

“Such as?”

Biting down on her lip, she peeks up at me through her lashes “Well, you’re rather a good kisser.”

“Am I?” I drop a kiss on her throat.

“And you’re better than average in bed.”

“Better thn average?” I smack her on the bum.

She giggles. “Good you’re good in bed.”

“Elizabeth.” A distinct warning in my voice.

She heaves out a deep sigh of contentment. “I love when you say my name.” She curls her arms around my neck and draws me down to her. “Mr. Storm, you rock my world.”

To say the least, dinner is delayed.

Late at night, my mobile rings. One of my guards. “Mr. Storm. The USVI police is here. They have some questions for you.”

What the blazes could they want at this time of night? I glance at my mobile. It’s fucking 2 o’clock in the morning.

Elizabeth stirs. But I tell her to go back to sleep, throw on a robe and pad to the suite’s door.

Outside, two-beefy looking individuals flash their badges at me. I let them in. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you Gabriel Storm?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know Matilda Phillips?”

Tilly’s name. “Yes.”

“You visited her this afternoon.”

“Yes. What’s wrong? Did something happen to her?”

“She was murdered in her home, stabbed to death.”

Chapter 31

______________

London

Elizabeth

IT’S BEEN TEN DAYS SINCE I LEFT THE ISLAND where Gabriel’s still being held. Apparently, he was the last one to see Tilly alive. They’d tracked him down through the car service. Limos rarely visited that part of the island, so when one showed up it’d sparked the curiosity of several neighbors, one going so far as to take a picture with her camera phone. So when police canvassed the neighborhood, she’d contributed her bit of news and the photo which led the police to Gabriel.

Originally taken in ‘for questioning,’ he’s now being held for suspicion of murder based on his fingerprints being found on the murder weapon—a knitting needle stabbed into Tilly’s heart. We haven’t talked since they took him, but Jake’s kept me informed. The company’s lawyer along with a criminal attorney have flown to the island. Jake hired additional investigators, island natives who knew the lay of the land, to get to the bottom of the murder. But seemingly the wheels of justice grind slowly in the Virgin Islands, and things are not moving along as fast as we wish.

From the island, they flew me to D.C. where I remained only long enough to take my finals. After the last test, I wasn’t even given a chance to go home and pack, but had been driven directly from law school to the airport and dumped unceremoniously in Gabriel’s corporate jet. Marisol and Jorge had flown with me. An ominous sign, for it could only mean one thing. Our household was being transferred to London.

After ten days of not being allowed to so much as breathe the balcony air outside Gabriel’s penthouse, I’m going stir crazy. With Christmas fast approaching, I long for at least a glimpse of the holiday spirit to brighten my mood. Marisol and Jorge have done their best decorating the place, providing festive meals. But I miss the holiday sights. No matter how busy I’d been with school and work in D.C., I always made time to visit the White House and Capitol Christmas trees. And London seems a veritable feast for the senses, what with Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London, never mind the shopping on Bond Street.

I’ve been allowed three phone calls—one each to Casey, CeCe and my job. My friends commiserated with the turn of events. My job seemed quite amenable to my extended leave. Of course they did. Last thing they want would be to alienate Gabriel. Well, at least I’d finished all my projects before my wedding, so I hadn’t left anything hanging.

“I’m going out.” I announce to the one guard assigned to me today—baby-faced Jonathan. Samuel certainly wouldn’t let me walk out the door, and neither would Martha or Rick. But Jonathan’s younger and less experienced than them.

“Ma’am?” he says.

“You heard me. I’m going out.”’

“Mr. Taylor left explicit instructions you were to remain inside, Ma’am.”

I hitch up my chin. “He might be the boss of you, but he’s not the boss of me.”

While the wheels turn in his head, I make a break for the elevator, insert the card I found among Gabriel’s things into the slot. It will allow me to not only use the lift, but open the gate down below.

“Mrs. Storm, you can’t leave.” He chokes out.

“Watch me.” The door starts to slide close, but I strong arm it. “If you want to accompany me, jump in.” He’ll get intro trouble if he loses sight of me.

He jumps in. “Mr. Taylor will not be happy.”

“Right now, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Mr. Taylor’s feelings. I need to be outside. See some sun. Walk.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He desperately pushes buttons on his phone, speaks into it, giving my break for freedom report. When we reach the ground floor, I sail through the metal gate and The Brighton’s lobby. and out the door where the doorman snaps to attention.

“Lady Ainsley.”

“Could you get me a taxi, please?”

“Mrs. Storm!” Jonathan has his cell phone glued to his ear.

I stop from getting into the taxi.

“Mr. Taylor says you are to return back upstairs. Right now.”

“Well, Jonathan. You have a choice. You can either put your hands on me and drag me bodily upstairs, something I would not recommend seeing how I’m six and a half months along and a tussle might harm the baby, or you can get in the cab with me.”

He slides into the cab.

“Wise man.”

“I’m gonna lose me job because of ye.” His cockney accent, the one he’s tried so hard to suppress, slithers out.

“No, you won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Where to?”

“Waterstone’s on Oxford Street.”

Jonathan swallows hard. “That’s a right busy place.”

“Yes, it is. I’m going Christmas shopping.” I found money among Gabriel’s things, and I have my American Express as well.

By the time we arrive at Waterstone’s, Samuel and Rick, are waiting for us. Samuel doesn’t even try to argue with me, but simply talks into his wrist to report his location. Good thing Jake’s in the Virgin Islands because HE would not hesitate to lay his hands on me and haul me back to The Brighton.

For a while I’m in shopping heaven with Jonathan dogging my every step. I hand things to him, books, doo dads, Christmas gifts for Royce and Brianna. And, of course, Gabriel.

After an hour, my energy’s flagging so I stop at the cafe to have a quick bite to eat. I wander outside to window shop. My bodyguards eyeball people so hard, the shoppers give me a wide berth as they pass by.

I set up a faster walking pace. Well, as fast as my belly will allow. At first the kinks are hard to get out but as I move from block to block my muscles warm, loosen. I swing my arms up and down to get circulation n them. I’m on top of the world until I spot a loving couple holding hands. The man looks so much like Gabriel, blonde blue eyed. He leans over to whisper something in his girlfriend’s ear. She laughs and kisses him. When he strokes her cheek, my heart twists with longing, and my eyes mist.

Damn it! I’m not going to break down and cry. Not in the middle of Oxford Street. I slow down, breathe in and out. But nothing diminishes the great big lump in my throat. Soon a tear spills out before I can catch it. Thankfully, my guards are scrutinizing the passersby. They’re rushing past so fast no one notices my meltdown.

When another sob breaks out, I stop walking altogether and head toward a storefront. A baby boutique with the cutest baby clothes. A stroller, blankets, those thingamajigs that you put in a baby’s room to hear the baby. What are they called? Oh, right, baby monitors. More delicate baby clothes, blues and pinks. And it occurs to me I haven’t bought one single thing for our child. What kind of a mother-to-be am I that I haven’t bought one single thing?

I’ve been busy yes, with work and school and the wedding, but online stores are only a click away. I could have made time to order something, anything. If I don’t care enough to buy something for our child, what kind of mother will I be? A lousy one, that’s what. I dip my head so no one can see the tears, not even the lady inside the store who’s now looking at me with concern. So deep into my pity party am I, I fail to hear the commotion behind me until hands grasp my shoulders and turn me around.

“What the blazes are you doing out here?”

Chapter 32

______________

Elizabeth

GABRIEL’S FACE IS LINED and his clothes are rumpled but he looks so, so good. I throw my arms around him and shower kisses all over his beloved face. “You’re here. You’re here.”

A confused look rumbles over his face. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Have you been crying?”

“No. Yes. I missed you.”

His face softens. “Have you, love?”

He steps into me and finally, finally kisses me the way I’ve been dreaming for the last ten days. I don’t even care his week-old beard chafes my skin, all I care about is him safe once more. Here, in my arms.

We’re so lost in our world, whispering inanities to each other, we fail to see or hear the crowd surrounding us until somebody yells “Get a room, mate.”

We break apart to find a whole slew of strangers surrounding us. Somebody takes a picture, somebody else whistles.

He ducks his head, drops a kiss on my nose. “What is this place?” He nods toward the storefront window.

“Baby boutique.”

“Let’s go inside so we can have some privacy.” Tugging my hand, he leads me through the door.

The saleswoman who greets us is in her fifties with an upswept do that manages to project both a grandmotherly and sophisticated vibe at the same time. “How may I help you, Mr. and Mrs. Storm?”

My jaw drops. “You know who we are?”

“All of London knows who you are.” She smiles a very kind smile.

The doorbell jingles as a person walks in. He points a camera ready to snap a picture of us, but the saleswoman marches up to him and pushes him out the door. “Sorry, we’re closed.” She flips the “Close” sign and locks the door before turning back to us.

“Thank you.” Gabriel says.

“Not a problem, Mr. Storm. Now, my name is Mrs. Robbins. How may I help you?” She has a shrewd businesswoman look to her. Obviously, she knows a golden goose when she sees one.

“We need”—Gabriel looks around the store, scratches his head. “Everything.”

“Boy or a girl?”

“Boy,” both Gabriel and I say.

“How wonderful for you.” She probably would have said the same thing if we’d said girl.

We order rattles and bibs, the baby monitor in the window, tons of clothes. He defers purchasing the baby stroller. He wants to research them and get the best one. He’s actually enjoying this. While I listen to him chit chat, my heart spills over with love for this man.

“Have you chosen a theme?” Mrs. Robbins asks.

“Theme?” Gabriel and I ask. Seemingly, he’s as clueless as I.

“For the baby’s room.”

“Err, no.”

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”

Does she have our number or what?

“I have a couple of designers on staff who do marvelous work and that’s not just me saying that. They’ve won design awards. I’m positive they would love to do your baby’s room.”

“They?”

“They work as a pair. Brilliant, really. Tim and Tom Worley. May I send them over to discuss what you would like?”

Gabriel looks at me. “What do you think, darling?”

I melt at the endearment and the look on his face, even though I know it’s all for show. Speechless, I nod.

She retrieves an appointment book from her desk. “What day would work best for you?”

“Actually, I’ll have to check my schedule. I just got back from an out of town trip.”

“Yes, I know. I hope the difficulties have been resolved.”

Difficulties. Well, that’s one way of putting it.

“Yes, they have. Permanently,” he says gazing at me.

For the first time in the last ten days, I take a full breath.

“Here’s my card. That’s not only the store number but my own personal cell. Give me a call anytime and we’ll set up a time for Tim and Tom.”

“Brothers? Imagine that.”

“Oh, no dear. They’re married. Tim took Tom’s last name. They couldn’t quite pass up that opportunity.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Robbins.”

“You’re most welcome, dear.” She pats my hand. Now, don’t you worry. I’ll have everything delivered by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Oh?”

“Or do you wish to take some things with you.”

I nod. “Yes, please.” I choose about twenty outfits and the baby monitor. Don’t know why I’m fascinated by the darn thing, but I am.

She places everything in beautiful bags, ties the bags with gorgeous bows. And hands the whole thing to Gabriel who accepts it with a surprised look on his face. “You’re doing most of the hard work, dear. Let him do his share.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I beam at her.

We emerge to find Jonathan standing outside the store. “Mrs. Storm. Mr. Storm. Samuel’s waiting by the curb with your car.”

More paparazzi are perched outside. They snap a flurry of pictures as we get into the limo. Finally, we’re inside, with the divider between the front and back seats up. I’m thinking glorious reunion, but Gabriel has something else in mind.

“You shouldn’t have gone out. It’s not safe.”

“I was going stir crazy in the penthouse, not knowing if you were okay, what was happening to you.”

“I’m fine.”

“So what happened?”

“Timmons, the solicitor, worked his magic. After Jake worked his. He worked with the police and local investigators to uncover every clue, interview witnesses.The break came when a neighbor remembered seeing an unsavory character hanging outside Tilly’s bungalow. She also remembered Tilly watering the bushes after I left.”

“So this unsavory looking man killed her?”

“Yes. They tracked him down. A junkie, with a record of breaking and entering. Usually when someone wasn’t home. Unfortunately, in Tilly’s case, she had been.”

“I’m so sorry, Gabriel. I know she was dear to you.”

His hands clamp down around mine. “You must not leave the penthouse. It’s not safe for you to wander the streets of the city.”

I free my hands from his hold, stare out the window. “Jonathan accompanied me to the store, and I had a whole contingent of guards, including Samuel, following me at Brookstone’s.

“Jonathan shouldn’t have allowed you out of the building. He should have blocked your path and locked the elevator. He will be fired.”

“Oh, please don’t.” I’m almost in tears. First he yells at me and now he wants to fire Jonathan. “It’s my fault.”

“Very well. I’ll ask Samuel to issue a reprimand. Next time think about the consequences. Not only to yourself, but to our child, to the person in charge of watching over you. You wouldn’t want his job jeopardized, would you?”

“No.”

I’d been so happy a minute ago, and now my joy has turned to dust. I’ve made a hash of everything.

Chapter 33

______________

Gabriel

WE ARRIVE AT THE PENTHOUSE to find Bri and Royce there, along with Jake who flew back on the plane with me.

Elizabeth’s happy to see them, but I’ve dampened her joy through my diatribe in the cab. But I won’t apologize for my words. She must be made to understand she can’t just flit around London, endangering our child, endangering her.

She greets everyone and excuses herself saying she’s tired after the shopping trip and needs to lay down for a nap.

After I make arrangements for everyone to join us for dinner, I head for the bathroom to shower and shave.

By the time I enter our room, Elizabeth’s fast asleep, wearing a full length nightgown with a baby on board sweatshirt over the whole thing.

I crawl into bed with her and wrap my arms around her belly. I missed her so damn much. I paced that jail cell every night torturing myself with the memory of her soft skin, her lush body, the clean scent of her skin.

Sighing softly, she turns to me. The look on her face dismays me. Where has all the joy gone? The joy I saw in her eyes when she first spotted me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“For a moment there, I forgot about our arrangement. This is all make believe. It’s not real. Oh, don’t worry I haven’t changed my mind. The last thing you want is a permanent wife. I understand my role in our marriage. The baby bearer. Once I give birth to our son, my role is done. Certainly, you can never trust me again. Not after what you think I did.”

“Elizabeth, I value you as more than a baby bearer.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Do you want me to show you how much I missed you while I was in jail. How much I ached for you.”

Her luminous gaze turns to me. “Yes, please.” The longing in her eyes nearly unmans me.

I slowly raise her gown and toss it over the side. She’s hesitant about revealing her body to me, wrapping an arm around her breasts and her belly while she gazes shyly at me. Has our time apart changed her? She was never this modest before. Regardless, she needs reassurance, something I’m more than happy to provide.

“You’re beautiful, Elizabeth. Don’t hide yourself from me.” It’s true. She’s just as stunning as when she wasn’t pregnant with our babe. Her breasts are spectacular, and her lush lips and womanly curves call out to me. I’m finding it hard not to take her fast and hard, but she’s with child and I must be gentle with her.

I turn her so her back’s to me and sweep my hand down her side, to her legs and circle around her front to where I hope she’s wet for me.

Her scent intensifies as I sweep my fingers into her honey pot and thumb her pearl. “I dreamed about you while I was in jail. Every damn night thinking what I would do when I had you in my arms again. It was the only thing that kept me sane.”

“I was so worried for you.”

“And I for you. We won’t part again.”

“You mean until after the baby is born.”

I won’t let go of her even then. But for now, I give us what we both want. Parting her thighs, I slip into her wet warmth.

She breathes a soft sigh, exactly what I want to hear. And in the tried and true ways of time immemorial, she welcomes me home.

Chapter 34

______________

Elizabeth

WITH CHRISTMAS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER, I busy myself wrapping the gifts I bought in my one and only outing. What other gifts I need, I’ve ordered online. The Christmas wrap in gold, reds and greens, match the ornaments on the tree, including the golden angel on top I found at Waterstone’s.

Finished wrapping the presents, I find myself with time on my hands once more. Bored with reading and television shows, I decide to start a journal. But after an hour, all I have to show are two pages filled with trite events and nothing about the things bothering me, topmost of which is being held prisoner in my own home.

I rub my baby belly. It’s for his protection and mine, I remind myself. And I only have a couple of months to go. After that, I’ll be able to walk free once more. Something tells me they’re going to be the longest two months of my life.

A couple of days before Christmas, Gabriel arrives home around noon. I put down the book I’m reading and rise to give him a kiss. “What are you doing home so early?” Not that I mind.

His strong hands circle my back and he pulls me toward him. “I have an early Christmas surprise for you.” He smiles the boyish grin he doesn’t parade often.

“Where is it?” He’s not holding a package. So I go digging into his coat

“It’s not the kind you wrap.”

“Oh.”

He turns me so I face the elevator, circles me, and covers my eyes with his hands.

The elevator dings, and the door swooshes open. Someone steps off.

I can’t tell who or what it is. “Gabriel?”

He removes his hands, and I find Casey and Gina standing by the lift. “Oh, my gosh.” I waddle over to be caught in their embrace. Hugs, kisses are shared, and happy tears are shed. And not just by me. “Oh, I‘m so happy.”

“Thought you would be,” Gabriel says, walking up to us and putting his arm around my shoulders.

I turn to him, wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. “Thank you. It’s the very best Christmas gift you could have given me.”

He drops a kiss on my nose. “I thought you’d be pleased. They’re here for ten days.”

“I managed to get Christmas week off at the hospital. Can you believe it?” Gina says as we take our seats in the living room.

“You work hard, Gina. It’s about time they gave you a Christmas vacation. But who’s managing the restaurant?”

“Jeannie,” Casey answers. “She knows the staff and all the suppliers. She’ll do a bang up job. I’m sure.”

“Where’s your luggage? You are staying here, are you not?” They’re family after all.

Gabriel lays his hand over mine. “I got them a suite at the Ritz. I thought they could use the privacy, and it will be easier for them to come and go.”

And I wouldn’t have to watch them go out while I’m cooped inside. “Oh.”

“We’ll be here here every chance we get,” Casey says. He must have noted my crestfallen expression.

“They’re invited to Christmas Eve dinner, and they’ll join us at St. Paul’s Cathedral for Christmas Day services, after which they’ll return here and spend the day with us.”

“You’ll be sick of us in no time. You’ll see,” Gina says, obviously trying to cheer me up.

“I doubt that.” Determined to make the most of their visit, I put on a happy smile and make suggestions as to where they should go. “You’ll have to take in the sights. Buckingham Castle, the Tower of London, Canary Wharf. There’s so much to see in London.”

“We will, but I’ll also be checking possible restaurant locations,” Casey says.

“What?” I ask.

“Darling.” Some more hand tapping from Gabriel. “I’ve talked Casey into opening up a Ragin’ Cajun here in London. While he’s here, we’re going to look at sites.”

I hate it that I know nothing about these plans. Why hadn’t either of them clued me in? It’s like I’m stuck in a bubble watching everyone else lead happy lives.

The next night, Casey and Jorge treat us to a dueling cook off to see who can create the most delectable dish. With Jorge’s expertise of international cuisine and Casey with his knowledge of New Orleans and American food, nothing is beyond their range.

While they’re cooking, Gina suggests I show her the place. “I would love to explore the penthouse. I’ve heard so much about it.”

“Of course, follow me.” I rise and lead her around the living room, point out the art on the wall. The baby’s room is the highlight of the tour. The designers decorated it with a jungle theme. Monkeys, lions, and tigers rumble around the walls ready to pounce among a foliage of faux trees.

“How darling!” Gina exclaims. “Why even the bedding matches the motif.”

“I know. Right?”

“What’s that?” She points to the high tech device I got at the baby boutique.

“It’s a baby monitor. See the camera. I point to a corner of the room. We’ll be able to see and hear our son all the way from the bedroom. You’ll see.” I turn it on and waddle into the bedroom. “Say something.”

Gina fakes a baby’s cry, loud enough to be noticed without the monitor.

“That was so fake. Do it softer.”

She snuffles and I hear it perfectly through the monitor. I leave my receiver in the bedroom. I like to play with it to make sure the image and sounds come through loud and clear. When I arrive back at the baby’s room, Gabriel’s there. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yum.” Can’t wait to see what they’ve cooked.

Christmas Eve we’re expecting not only Gina and Casey, but Royce and Brianna as well. Before they arrive, Gabriel gives me another present—a parure set which consists of a pendant, bracelet and matching pair of earrings. The set is made up of diamonds and emeralds to match my eyes.

“It’s not part of the family collection. I commissioned the set just for you.” He secures the clasp of the pendant, maneuvers it so it rests in the valley between my breasts. “Perfect.”

“The pendant or my breasts?” I tease.

“Both.” He takes my mouth in a breathless kiss. “Do you like it, darling?”

I study the stunning pendant, a huge oval diamond surrounded by emeralds in a yellow gold setting. “It’s beautiful, Gabriel.”

“I want you to wear it tonight.” His eyes flash with blue fire.

“Of course. It’s such a perfect match to the green gown.”

He laughs a husky laugh. “Yes, it is. But that’s not what I meant.”

I look up at him, confused.

“I want you to wear it and nothing else when you come to bed tonight.”

“Oh, Gabriel.” How he can want me this much when I’m big as a house is a puzzle to me. I curl my hand around his neck and draw him in for another heated kiss. Seven months pregnant and I still burn for this man. I think I will, even when I’m six feet under. A shiver runs through me at the unwelcome thought of death.

“Cold?” he asks.

“No.”

He smiles. Knowing what he does to me, he probably takes my trembling as a sign of my weakness for him. He tweaks my nose. “Better go change. Our guests should be here any minute.”

“Right.” Just as I reach our bedroom, I hear the ding of the elevator. I’ve laid out my dress, a green velvet empire waistline gown with long sleeves, but I don’t want to put on such a beautiful gown without bathing. So I slip into the bathroom for a quick shower. I’m am brushing my hair in front of the vanity when squawks erupt from the baby monitor. Gosh, I forgot to turn it off.

Chapter 35

______________

Gabriel

“NOW, WHAT’S SO IMPORTANT you have to drag me away from my guests.” I ask Jake.

He’d texted an hour ago, saying he needed to talk. When he arrived with Bri, I’d been serving cocktails to Casey, Gina and Royce. After offering Bri a cocktail as well, I’d suggested Jake accompany me to the baby’s room to discuss security measures.

Only Bri protested. “Cut him some slack, Gabe. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I don’t mind, Lady Brianna. It’s my job after all.”

Leaving my guests behind, I’d led him to the baby’s room where I now awaited his answer.

“I fired Sarah Simmons.”

My mother’s guard. “Why?”

“I’ve had my doubts about her since she allowed your mother to put the drug in her tea. We put our operatives through a rigorous annual review process where we check out their entire lives—their financials, their families, among other things. Nothing popped up six months ago, but when I ran another check last month, a new problem surfaced.”

“Like what?”

“Her brother. He’d been the fly in her ointment when I first hired her, the issue that made me think twice. He’d been a juvenile delinquent, but they weren’t close. So I deemed it safe to hire her.”

“But something changed.”

“Yes. He became a drug runner for some Southie gang.”

“And?”

“He decided to start his own business. They found out and threatened to kill him. Unless he forked over the cash. Since he’d gambled it away, it became a problem. So he came to Sarah and asked for her help.”

“So when my mother offered her money to help her escape, and I suggested she accept it, I played right into her hand.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. One more reason I shouldn’t have gone about this alone. But what choice did I have? Jake would have never gone along with kidnapping and drugging my mother.

“Yes. That second phone call you mother made? Our tech guy finally figured it out. It was a request to transfer money into Sarah’s bank account. She used the money to pay off her brother’s debts.”

“And in return Sarah allowed my mother to call Elizabeth and scare her half to death.”

“Yes.”

Bloody hell. I run my hand through my hair, pull its ends. “Firing’s too good for her.”

“Don’t worry. I put the word out. No one else will hire her, at least not for security work.”

“Good.” Although this smacked too much of closing the barn door after the horse was stolen. “Did my mother call anyone else?”

“Not from Sarah’s phone. Once we tracked down the phone call, I confronted Sarah. She broke down and told me the truth. Your mother only made two phone calls, one to Sarah’s bank to request the transfer of funds and another one to Elizabeth. She wanted to scare Elizabeth into breaking up with you. Again.”

“Except this time, Elizabeth said no.”

“Yes.”

“What about Tilly?”

“Tilly’s death had nothing to do with your mother. The killer was a junkie looking for money. He knew her routine from following her from the stores where she shopped for food. And he knew she lived alone.The day he broke in was her usual shopping day, so he thought no one would be in the house.”

“But she was there because of me. She was killed because I asked her to meet with me. God.” I drop into the rocking chair, bury my face in my hands.

“Tilly’s death is not your fault, Storm.”

I raise my head, “But it was. It was.” That kind old woman who had loved us as children lost her life because of me.

“You don’t control the world, Storm. Much as you think you do. Shit happens.” He squeezes my shoulder. “We can ease the restrictions on Elizabeth. She’ll appreciate that.”

Like hell I will. “No. Not yet.”

“Storm. You can’t continue to keep her a prisoner in this place when there’s no threat to her life.”

Wiping the moisture from my face, I fly off like a rocket from the rocking chair. “I’ll decide that, Jake. Not you. You are not to say a word to her.” I stride toward the entrance to the room.

“Storm.”

“What?” Turning back to him, I barely register the baby monitor in his hand.

“I didn’t see Elizabeth when I came in.” His voice is soft, cautious.

“She’s changing into her party dress.”

A myriad of emotions runs the gamut on his face, but he says nothing.

Impatient, I wave my hand toward the living room. “I have my wife and guests waiting for me. Anything else?”

“Just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas. That’s all.”

“Same to you.” I head back toward the voices in the living room. And the warmth and light and joy that is Elizabeth. Only months later do I decipher the look on his face, the one that rolled over him as he held the baby monitor.

Chapter 36

______________

Elizabeth

ON CHRISTMAS DAY, there are so many presents from him under the tree, it takes me over an hour to open them all—more jewelry, clothes, shoes, and a brand new laptop.

“Thank you so much, Gabriel.” I’m afraid my gifts pale in comparison, but he seems happy with them. I couldn’t buy him clothes since he gets everything custom made, but I felt safe ordering moccasin slippers.

And he’s thrilled about the books, all on being a new dad. He curls his hand around the nape of my neck and kisses me. “Thank you. These are perfect.” He dips his hand into his shirt pocket and fishes out a box, a small one, wrapped in gold.

“More?” I say, tearing into it. Inside the box is a Platinum American Express card.

“I have one, you know.”

“You have a gold one. This one provides more perks.” I don’t feel right about accepting it, but it’s Christmas. So I smile and thank him again.

We’re joined by the family at St. Paul’s Cathedral for Christmas service. Afterward we return to the penthouse where Jorge has outdone himself. Scottish smoked salmon for starters, roasted turkey and baked ham, baked potatoes, brussels sprouts, and two sauces, bread and cranberry. For dessert, he serves the traditional Christmas pudding.

After our guests leave, I change into one of his gifts—a gorgeous cranberry red fleece robe. When I return to the living room, I’m happy to see he’s reading one of the new dad books.

“Tired?” he asks, as I settle next to him.

“A little. It’s been a long day.”

He grabs the remote. “You want to watch something on the telly?”

“No. I’ve watched enough TV for the last week.” My tone comes across as curt. I can’t help it. During dinner the conversation partly revolved around Casey and Gina’s plans over the next couple of days, with everyone offering suggestions as to which places to visit. And I couldn’t help but be envious of their ability to come and go as they wished.

“Anything wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay? It’s not the baby, is it?” He frowns and his lips tighten.

I shake my head. “I’m fine, Gabriel. The baby’s fine.”

He lays the book on the coffee table, fixes his full attention on me. “Something’s bothering you. What’s wrong?”

He’s not going to let it go, unless I explain myself. I heave a deep sigh. “Tonight, Casey and Gina were talking about their plans.”

“And?”

“I can’t help but envy them. They’ll get to see all the tourist sights and have fun. And I’m stuck here.” I make a face. “I’m sorry. Just saying that makes me realize how petty I’m being. Forget I said anything.”

“You’ve seen London.”

“No, I haven’t.” I glance down and start to chip off my nail polish, a nervous habit of mine. “When I was here in July during the negotiations, I didn’t leave the hotel. Well, except to come here and to travel to Winterleagh Castle.”

He gets a hold of my chin, and gently lifts so I have to look at him. “You went shopping with CeCe.”

“Yes, I did. But I’ve never seen Buckingham Castle, or the Tower of London or Westminster Abbey. Or enjoyed a play in the West End. Or visited Canary Wharf, the British Museum.“ Or done so many other things I long to do.

His hand covers both of mine, stilling the destruction of my manicure. “Just hang on a little while longer darling. You can see them after our son is born.”

“How can I? I won’t be here.”

He stands, walks away from me. Pours himself a scotch. By now, I know him well enough to realize it’s an evasion tactic. Something in me lurches. He’s hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me, Gabriel?”

“You’re not going back to D.C.”

“What?” I jump to my feet. “I have school, a job. And why would I stay here when you’re moving to New York?”

He looks down at his glass. “I’m not transferring to New York. Miranda Stone will run the Storm Industries-North America branch.“

“And you just decided this?”

“No. I never intended to move to New York.” He downs the drink in one gulp.

“You lied to me.”

“I had to. You wouldn’t have married me otherwise, bound and determined as you were to put our child up for adoption. And I. I couldn’t allow that.”

Wild thoughts riot through my head. He’d lied about New York, and about his mother as well, going by the conversation I overheard through the baby monitor last night. I hadn’t confronted him with it, preferring to hear it from him, to have him explain why he’d done such a thing and keep it hidden from me. But now? If he’d lied about New York and his mother, what else has he lied about? What about the photos taken in D.C. and the man who attacked us? Did he arrange for that as well? He said he hadn’t, but given his current actions, can I believe anything he has to say? One thing is clear, he has no right to sever my ties with the law firm. “When Gina and Casey return to D.C., I’m flying back with them.”

“No. You’re not.”

“I have a job, a school to return to.”

I informed Thomas Carrey you won’t be returning to Smith Cannon. He agreed it would be for the best.”

“You have no right—no right Gabriel. And Smith Cannon can’t accept my resignation. Not when it comes from you and not me.”

He fixes me with a resolute stare. “I’m bringing Smith Cannon business in the sum of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Do you think they’re going to quibble about who turned in your resignation?”

“I’ll walk out of here. You can’t stop me from walking out.”

“The guards downstairs will. They’re under orders to physically restrain you if they have to.”

“I’ll tell Casey. He’ll help me get back to the states.”

“If you tell him, I’ll withdraw my financial support of his business. Since he’s started construction on the expansion, he will go bankrupt and lose his restaurant.”

“You son of a bitch. You can’t do this. You can’t—” I break down into sobs.

He walks up to me, puts his arms around me. “I’m sorry, but this is the only way I know to keep you safe, to keep our child safe.”

I struggle against him, but he only holds me tighter. I’m drowning, choking. I can’t catch a breath. “I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

“Bloody hell—”

He hands me his glass, the one with alcohol in it. “Drink.”

I shake my head. “The baby.” I wheeze out.

“One swallow won’t make a difference.” He lifts the glass to my lips and I take the smallest of sips. The heat burns all the way down my throat. I cough, gulp in air, cough again. Finally, I take a shaky breath, let it out, do it again.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You can’t get this upset, Elizabeth. It’s bad for you; it’s bad for our child.”

I nod while trying to regulate my breath.

“Listen to me, please,” he says. “We discussed your studying for the dual degree. Remember?”

I nod again while still struggling to take in oxygen.

“Well, this will give you an opportunity to do that. While we’re married, you’ll remain in England.”

I start to say something but decide I’ll just get too upset.

“You can apply for the program. Probably start classes in the fall. Next year you can return to D.C. and finish your schooling there before returning to London to finish your studies. It will all work out. You’ll see.”

I stare at the man I thought I knew, but never had. Not really. Come hell or high water he wanted our child. He’d worked out in his head the only way to have him, have me was to keep me here in London, a prisoner in the penthouse.”

“After the baby is born—”

“Yes.” He interrupts.

“—I’ll be given more freedom to come and go.”

“Yes, of course.”

No, of course about it. God only knows what he’ll plan next. “And I want to work. If not at Storm Industries, somewhere else. I need to keep up my credentials.”

“We can talk about it when the time comes.” He hugs me to him.

Does he honestly think I’ve given in? I’m furious at him. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” Hope he gets the hint. I don’t want him anywhere near me right now.

I change into my sleeping gown, crawl into bed, stare at the ceiling. God, what am I going to do? Nothing I can do until after the baby is born. He’s got this deathly fear his mother will harm us, even though he has her stashed someplace.

Jake believes there’s no threat to us, that his mother can’t cause us any harm. But Gabriel believes she can. Irrational? Maybe. Maybe not. Given the level of abuse she inflicted on him, it makes sense in his mind. Even if it doesn’t make sense to Jake. Regardless, for the time being there’s nothing I can do. I’m a prisoner in my own home.

Chapter 37

______________

Elizabeth

FEBRUARY 13, we’re on our way to a party thrown by Gabriel’s godmother. I’ve been experiencing back pains on and off most of the day, but haven’t told Gabriel. If I did, he would probably chain me to our bed, and I’ve had enough of being housebound. I’m eager to get out and talk to people.

The weather’s quite frigid, with rain and sleet spitting against the windows of the Benz. I’m bundled up in the heavy Vicuña wrap Gabriel gave to me for Christmas, and the car’s nice and toasty. At his godmother’s townhouse, a covered walkway keeps the ice off the outside steps, but the walk up is enough to chill me to the bone.

Inside, Gabriel takes my wrap and hands it to a servant which leaves me in a long-sleeved black maternity gown. Its ankle length is not enough to keep me warm. Taking my hand, Gabriel leads me to the drawing room, where I greet his godmother, Lady Margaret Payne.

Bri’s all ready there so we gravitate toward her. Jake’s watching her back, much as Samuel’s watching ours. “Hello, ducks.” She greets us with smooches on the cheeks. “How’s my nephew?”

“Kicking up a storm.”

She laughs. When I realize what I just said, I join in her laughter.

“Ainsley! Glad you’re here.” An old codger dressed in an old-fashioned jacket with a pocket square calls out. “If we may have a word. A political issue to discuss.” He nods toward a group of men, conversing at one edge of the room.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” Gabriel responds, and the old codger drifts off to rejoin his chums.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“Political cronies of my father. They’re hoping I’ll go along with some of their less progressive ideas. I’m afraid I’ll have to talk to them. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. You do what you have to do.”

“I’ll keep her company, don’t worry,” Brianna says.

“Thanks, Bri.” And he’s off to join the politicos.

A passing waiter drifts by, and I request water. After he returns with the glass, Bri links arms with me and walks me through the room. Although she nods at the occasional person, we don’t stop to talk to anyone.

“Oh, bloody hell, Sebastian’s here.” She murmurs.

“Who?”

“Four o’clock. Dark-haired. Golden eyes. Can’t miss him.”

The man’s dressed in a dark, perfectly-tailored suit. Custom-made, unless I miss my guess. His gaze darts around the room, searching for something, anything to keep the boredom away. He certainly has no interest in the rail-thin woman at his elbow.

“Wonder what he’s doing here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He fell out of favor with his aunt.”

“Our hostess is his aunt?”

“Yes. They must have repaired their tiff.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. But they didn’t talk to each other for years.”

His roaming gaze finds us and a smile lights upon his lips. With a quick word to the woman, he abandons her and joins us. “Brianna. Lovely as ever.”

She makes a face. “Sebastian. What a pleasure.” By the way she sounds, it’s nothing of the sort. But as courtesy dictates, she offers her hand which he kisses before turning to me. “Introduce us.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Brianna asks.

He looks over his shoulder toward Gabriel who’s staring holes into his back. “And miss an opportunity to rile Ainsley?”

“You’re playing with fire, Sebastian.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Introduce us,” he says again.

“This is my sister-in-law, Elizabeth Storm, Lady Ainsley. Elizabeth meet Sebastian Payne, the—.”

But he interrupts before she can finish. “Enchante.” He bows over my hand, kisses it.

In the background, Gabriel glowers. Whatever lies between these two men, it isn’t friendship.

“Surprised to see you here, Sebastian,” Brianna says. “Thought you were persona non grata with your aunt.”

“I got back in her good graces.”

“Bollocks.” This from Brianna.

“What happened?” I ask her.

“My strap’s coming loose.” She’s wearing a chain strap, mid-calf dress which like everything else she owns looks smashing on her. But the chain links which hold up the bodice appear quite delicate. And the last thing she’d want would be to flash her world-class boobs in the middle of this gathering. It would cause quite a stir. “I need to dash off to the loo to repair it. Are you going to be all right?” She tilts her head toward Sebastian Payne.

“Of course.” Honestly, why does everybody think I need somebody to watch over me. We’re in the middle of a cocktail party with nothing but upstanding citizens all around me.

Sebastian’s eyes sparkle with a bit of mischief. “I’ll keep Mrs. Storm company.”

“Watch him.” She whispers to me before dashing off.

He nips a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and takes a sip. “You’re quite beautiful, Mrs. Storm.”

I scrunch my eyes at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Umm.” he sips from his glass. “It’s a wonder the old ball and chain left you alone. Why did he?”

“He got dragooned into a discussion about politics. Are you friends?”

“Quite the contrary.” When he holds up his glass in a salute to Gabriel, my husband’s brows hunch in disapproval.

“You can’t be enemies.”

“More like rivals. He once took something I wanted very badly.”

A sharp pain stabs at me. “A woman?” I ask, once I catch my breath.

“No. He never cared enough about any female to fight for her, but from the fearsome glances he’s shooting over here, I’d say that has changed.” His gaze laser beams on me. “You’re valuable to him.”

I rest a hand over my blimp-sized belly. “I’m carrying his child.”

“And you think that’s the only reason?”

“Of course not. I’m his wife as well.”

He glances once more toward where Gabriel stands, who’s looking positively murderous by now. “I think it’s more than that. A lot more. Wonder what it would feel like to take you from him.”

Another pain hits. Wincing, I ignore it. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“Passion as well as beauty. I’m beginning to understand what he sees in you.”

I fiddle with my clutch purse. “Can we change the conversation, please? I’d rather not talk about my marriage.”

“Certainly. So I read in the papers you’re studying to become a lawyer?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve taken a break until after the baby’s born. But I’ve applied to a dual degree program in King’s College and my school back home. If I’m accepted I’ll be able to sit for the bar in both countries.”

“Heaven knows, I’m not a marrying man, but I’m beginning to envy the old boy.”

For a second I bask in the light of admiration in his eyes, but then another pain hits, sharper than the on and off ones I’ve been experiencing all day. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The baby kicked. I think.”

“You think?” His attention is fully on me. “You’re perspiring, Lady Ainsley.”

“Am I? It’s rather warm in here with all the people. And please call me Elizabeth. I’m not fond of that title.”

“Here. Grab my arm. We’ll just take a walk to that nice settee over there.” He juts his chin toward a white unoccupied two seater.

Holding on to him, I take mincing steps, about all I can handle at the moment.

“The child. When is it due?” He barks out military style, all his indolent charm vanishing.

“In two weeks.”

“I think he’s about to make an early appearance.”

“But he can’t. I’m not ready to give birth yet.”

“Trust me, Elizabeth. I’ve seen women out in the jungle giving birth, and you have that exact same look. Are you in pain?”

“Back pain. Off and on.”

“How long?”

“All day.”

He curses.

As we finally gain the settee, everything happens at once. Brianna returns from fixing her dress. Gabriel converges on us.“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I think—” Another pain hits, making it hard to breathe.

“Baby’s coming, old chum,” Sebastian says.

“Now?”

“Very soon.” He glances at his watch. “Pains seem to be about two minutes apart. Apparently, she’s been having contractions all day.”

“All day? Why didn’t you tell me?” Gabriel demands of me.

“I didn’t know,” I say in my defense.

By now we’ve drawn quite a crowd. Somebody pipes up with. “I say, Ainsley, it would seem bad form to yell at your wife right at the moment.”

Ignoring the speaker, Gabriel tries to pick me up, but his leg gives out on him.

Sebastian elbows him out of the way and does what Gabriel can’t. “Go get the car. I’ll carry her down.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel’s gracious enough to say, even though he’s gnashing his teeth.

The next few minutes are a blur of activity. Before I know it I’m bundled up in my robe and Sebastian’s carrying me down the steps. Even though it’s still frigid outside, I’m not feeling the cold anymore. When the Benz pulls up, Sebastian gently slides me in while Gabriel climbs into the other side.

“Thank you.” I press Sebastian’s hand.

“My pleasure. We’ll need to continue our conversation another day.”

By the way, Gabriel grinds his teeth, I think he wouldn’t approve of a friendship between me and Sebastian Payne. And then all thoughts of Sebastian Payne desert me as a wrenching pain hits, and my water breaks.

Chapter 38

______________

Gabriel

ANDREW STEPHEN GERVAISE STORM rests in my arms after being born into this world during the early morning hours of St. Valentine’s Day. Exhausted after a fierce but mercifully brief delivery, Elizabeth sleeps while sounds drift in from the hospital corridor.

His mop of black hair comes from his mother; and his blue eyes and long legs from me. But other than that. I can’t tell who he resembles. Only time will tell.

“Hey.”

I glance up to find Elizabeth’s soft gaze on me.

“You’re awake.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.” Like a benediction, her soft smile flows over me, easing the weeks of strife between us.

“Thank you for my son.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How are you feeling?”

She makes a face as she tries to sit up. “Sore.”

I don’t doubt it.

The baby stirs in my arms, stretching his legs, his face scrunching in displeasure.

“He’s awake?” she says like it’s a big surprise.

“The nurse said it would be good to feed him as soon as you woke up. Are you up to it?”

“I can try.” She unsnaps her hospital johnnie and bares a breast. We fumble the exchange of baby into her arms. She brings him to her, but he doesn’t quite get it. “How do I do this? I’ve never done this before.”

“I’m guessing most new mothers haven’t,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. But all I get is a frown in return. After a couple of tries, Andrew latches on to her nipple, and she jerks. When the baby suckles she settles back against the pillow, seemingly content. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

“That he is.” I bend down and drop a kiss on his head and one on her lips.

A couple of days later, they’re home where Nanny McKay takes charge. She’s a stocky, no-nonsense woman who knows when we want her to take Andrew and when we’d rather be left alone with him.

Elizabeth insists on breastfeeding him, so whenever he needs to eat, he’s brought to her day and night. As family and friends drop by to see our newborn, she hovers around the baby just as much, if not more, than I do. She’s fanatical about guests washing their hands before they hold Andrew or come anywhere near him. It takes her a full five minutes to instruct Brianna on how to hold our child. She jumps at Andrew’s slightest whimper, and spends countless hours rocking him, allowing Nanny to get some much needed rest.

In the blink of an eye, it’s time for her six-week checkup, the one where she’ll get the go ahead to resume sexual relations. The dry spell of the last four months has been sheer torture. I’m like a stallion. One whiff of her, and I grow hard as stone. Cold showers don’t help, neither does wanking off. So I wait on pins and needles until she gets home.

When she doesn’t arrive by six o’clock, I text Samuel to find out the reason for the delay. His message is cryptic. “Mrs. Storm went shopping. B there soon.”

What the bloody blazes did she go shopping for? She has everything she needs right here at her fingertips. Fifteen minutes later, my question is answered when she breezes in through the door, holding a massive bouquet of flowers.

“Sorry I’m late. Is Andrew—?” Almost on cue, our babe’s cries wail from his room. “Oh, good. I need to feed him. Here.” She hands me the bouquet and hurries past me toward Andrew’s room, leaving a trail of her gardenia scent behind. She resumed wearing it after Andrew was born.

Marisol appears from nowhere. “Do you want me to take those from you, Mr. Storm?”

“Yes, please, and push back dinner by half an hour. Mrs. Storm is feeding Andrew.” If I know my son, and I do, his feeding will take ten minutes tops.

“I’ll arrange them on the dinner table.”

“Thank you, Marisol,” I say absentmindedly. Would there be enough time to make love to Elizabeth before dinner? God. I’m a randy goat to think so.

Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth returns, a smile on her face. “I’m starving. Is dinner ready?”

“Just about.”

Once we’re seated at the dinner table, I finally get to ask her about the appointment. “So, how were things at the doctor’s?”

“Everything’s fine. Great, as a matter of fact. Breastfeeding really helps to get things back to normal.”

Hurray for breastfeeding. “That’s splendid.” Something stirs below, and I rearrange the napkin on my lap. Don’t want to give our serving maid a shock.

“So by normal, do you mean?”

“We can resume sexual relations, Gabriel, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so gauche.”

“It also means I can go back to work.”

“Go back to work?” What is she talking about? “You don’t work.”

“I did. Back in D.C. I need to employ my analytical skills to keep my mind sharp, plus I need practical experience, here in the UK. So how about it? Can I go to work at Storm Industries?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Andrew needs you.”

“He can do without me for three or four hours a day. Nanny takes excellent care of him.”

“I will not allow it.”

“You will not—?” She sputters. “I don’t need your permission, Gabriel. I can get a job on my own. If not with you, then somewhere else.”

“You need a work visa.”

“I’ll get one.”

“You don’t get it. Your employer has to get it for you.”

Rising, she tosses her serviette on the table. She’s barely eaten her meal.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“I was. I’m not anymore.” Chin held high, she stomps out of the room.

I will not change my mind. Andrew needs her. I temple my hands over my plate and drop my head. Damn. I’ve botched the whole thing. My cock, still hopeful, throbs with need. “Settle down. You’re not getting shagged.” Not tonight at any rate.

Chapter 39

______________

Elizabeth

“MRS. STORM TO SEE SEBASTIAN PAYNE.” I’ve checked out Sebastian Payne on the internet. Turns out he’s the head of a thriving conglomerate that buys and sells businesses throughout the world. If I could get a job, or even an internship, with him, I would gain valuable experience.

“He’s expecting you, Mrs. Storm, please go in.”

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed being mummy to Andrew, but now that he’s three months and on baby formula along with breast milk, Since Nanny McKay handles most of the duties, I have the time to take on a job, never mind I’ve grown restless with hardly anything to do. Gabriel has been absolutely no help, refusing my suggestion that I work for him. So I’m taking the bull by the horns and sought out another job.

“How very pleasant to see you again, Elizabeth.” Rising, Sebastian Payne takes my hand, bows over it. Thankfully, he doesn’t kiss it like he did at the party. “Please take a seat.”

I sit on a black leather chair across from his desk. Clear glass lines his office. But when he presses a button, the walls frost, closing us in. I’m no longer as confined as I’d been while pregnant although one of the guards is accompanying me. He took a seat in the vestibule right outside Payne’s office while I talk to Sebastian.

The frosted glass worries me. “My bodyguard won’t be able to see.”

Sebastian’s mouth quirks. “Do you want him to see?”

“I don’t want him to get in trouble.” After the baby Jonathan incident, I’m trying very hard not to get another guard in hot water.

“Very well.” He pushes the same button and the frost dissipates making us visible again.

I breathe out a sigh. I’m not fooling him. He knows how uncomfortable I felt. Which is ridiculous, if he had the usual office I would be behind a closed door. But the frosted glass lends a certain air of inappropriateness. I mentally shake myself at the silly thoughts. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“How could I pass up the chance to talk to you again? How’s you son?”

This time my smile is real. “Thriving, happy.”

“And Ainsley?”

“He’s fine.”

“Well, now that we have taken care of the niceties, what can I do for you, Elizabeth?” His eyes light up with mischief. He’s enjoying this game of cat and mouse, except that I refuse to play along.

“As I told you at your aunt’s party, I’m studying to become a corporate lawyer. I’ve had to take a bit of a sabbatical between terms. And I find myself with time in my hands.”

“One would think marriage to one such as Ainsley and a new child would keep any woman quite busy.”

“Andrew’s nanny is quite efficient and Gabriel, well, he works all day. So there’s really very little for me to do.”

“And you’re used to working full time.”

“Yes. And going to school at night. So I would like to work three or four hours a day. Get some legal experience until the next term begins in January.”

“And you came to me to offer your services.”

“I would love to work in your legal department. If not a job, then an internship of some kind. I brought my resume with me.” I hand him the sheet of paper which took me several hours and drafts to produce. “As you can see I have two years of experience in the legal field. I’ve performed quite complex legal analysis, including the deal involving the SouthWind Brazilian wind farm assets Storm Industries purchased.”

“Is that how you met Ainsley?”

“Yes.” Heat rides my cheeks. Even after all this time, I can’t help but get flustered about all the things we did.

Rather than comment on my state of discomfiture, Sebastian studies the resume. After a few minutes, he says, “You graduated summa cum laude from an ivy league school and made law review in law school. Your grades are top notch.”

“You can contact Thomas Carrey, my boss at Smith Cannon, if you need to discuss the quality of my work. I got his approval for you to talk to him.”

“Why do you want to work for me rather than Storm Industries? Surely, Ainsley would find a position for you somewhere in his company.”

I fiddle with my hands. “Gabriel’s proving stubborn. He’d prefer I remain at home.”

“Ahhh.” He pushes the paper aside, folds his hands over his desk. “You have stellar credentials, Elizabeth, and I don’t doubt you’d be an asset to my company. I would enjoy having you work under me.”

I smile at the innuendo.

“But have you thought about the harm such employment might cause your marriage? I can’t believe Ainsley would take kindly to you working for me.”

“Let me worry about my husband, Sebastian.”

“Very well. I’ll let you handle him.” Another smile.

He’s enjoying playing this game. But since I’ve learned from the best. I don’t give him so much as a ghost of a grin in return.

“I’ll consult with the head of my legal department. He’ll be in touch. I imagine he can find something for you to do.”

“If I may ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“At the party, you said Gabriel took something from you. What was it?”

“At an auction, we were both interested on a particularly beautiful object. It’d belonged to my grandmother, but my father let it slip from his hands. Ainsley outbid me for the piece. It happened several years ago when I wasn’t as successful as I am now. A year ago, I offered to buy it for twice the amount he paid. But he refused my offer. I was on the outs with my aunt, so I imagine he refused as a show of support for her.”

“Oh.What was it?” I finger the pearls I’m wearing, a gift from Gabriel upon the birth of our son.

“You’re wearing them, Elizabeth. I can tell from the clasp.” He rounds the desk and stares at me. “May I?”

I nod my consent.

His fingers finger the necklace, slide under the catch. “See. Our family crest is engraved upon it.”

“Here.” I start to unclasp it to give it to him.

“I won’t take it. Your husband gave it to you.”

He’s looking down at me when a commotion erupts in the outer office. I look up to find the last person I expect to see. Gabriel.

He barges in, hauls me up off the chair by my elbow.

“Gabriel. What are you doing here?”

But he ignores me and addresses Sebastian. “Stay away from my wife.”

“Really, old chum, you’re acting positively medieval.”

“I’m warning you, Ravensworth.”

“Are you now?” Without looking at me, Sebastian says, “Elizabeth. I don’t need to consult with my head of legal. If you want a job working with me, it’s yours.”

“Thank you, Sebastian.” I toss over my shoulder.

With an iron grip, Gabriel hauls me past Sebastian’s secretary’s station to the elevator where he proceeds to push the button several times.

“You’re out of line.” I spit out, so angry I can hardly speak.

“You will not work for him, do you hear me?”

I say nothing on the way down. But I have plenty to say once we climb into the car with Samuel at the wheel.

“You embarrassed me.”

“Except for Ravensworth, nobody heard what I had to say, and he doesn’t count.”

“Why do you call him Ravensworth? Isn’t his name Sebastian Payne?”

“Yes it is. Sebastian Payne, the Marquis of Ravensworth.”

Great. Another aristocrat. Do they grow like weeds?

“You will not talk to him.”

“Kind of hard when I will be working with him.”

“No, You won’t. You need to stay home and be a mother to our son.”

“I’m not his mother now?”

He yanks a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Please enlighten me.”

His teeth make a clicking sound. “Andrew’s barely three months old. He needs his mother.”

“I breast feed him alternating with formula. I would only be away three to four hours a day. Surely he can live without me that long. In the meantime, I’ll gain experience working at Sebastian’s company.”

“I don’t want you near him.”

“I don’t understand your animosity toward him. Please explain.”

“We were in Oxford together. He got a girl in trouble and she went to him for help. When he refused, she committed suicide. She was only eighteen.”

“How do you know this?”

“After a night of drinking, he admitted it in the Junior Common Room.”

“You heard him?”

“No. I learned about it second hand. When she died, he quit school, disappeared and did not reemerge until four years ago. In the ten years in between, he acquired a fortune. Nobody knows how he earned it, but he used that money to build Payne Enterprises, Ltd.”

“He said this necklace belonged to his grandmother.”

“It did. I bought it to give to my godmother, his aunt, but she refused to accept it. Said it rightfully belonged to Ravensworth.”

“So you held on to it.”

“Yes. And when my son was born, I gave it to you. The Marchioness would have approved, you know. She loved children. She used to bring us sweets when she visited Winterleagh Castle.”

“Your families were friends?”

“Yes. My father was specially close to Sebastian’s father. They were both cut from the same cloth.” He snorts. “Ne’er do wells with nothing but the thought of pleasure in their heads. And in my opinion, Sebastian’s just like his father.”

“I can’t believe Sebastian abandoned a young woman pregnant with his child. There has to be more to the story than that.”

“Well, believe it. I won’t have you working for him.”

I don’t say anything. No sense going over the same ground again and again. But as it turns out other events intercede upon our arrival at our penthouse that thrust my going to work for Sebastian Payne into the back burner.

Chapter 40

______________

Gabriel

WE RIDE THE ELEVATOR in silence from the garage to the penthouse where, to my surprise, Jake waits for us. The somber expression on his face tells me his reason for being here is not good.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Elizabeth whimpers as she clutches my arm. “Andrew?”

“No. Your son is safe in his room. It’s the earl. He suffered another stroke. A fatal one. I’m sorry, Storm.”

“Gabriel.” The tension within her body fades and a well of caring replaces it.

I’m surprised by the tears in my eyes. God knows my father and I had never been close. “Bri?”

“I haven’t told her.” Jake explains in his usual deep voice. “I thought it would be better coming from you.”

“Yes, of course.” My legs give way, and I drop into the living room sofa.

Elizabeth sits next to me stroking my arm, Her warmth, her nearness at such a moment comforts me.

Jake strides to the liquor cabinet, pours two fingers of the Macallan and hands it to me.

I knock back the alcohol. “We’ll need to make arrangements.”

“We’ll do that,” Elizabeth says, “but you must tell Bri and Royce before you do anything else.”

“Yes, of course.” I reach for my mobile, ring up Bri. Thankfully she answers on the first ring.

“Gabe? Funny hearing from you. I’ve been unsettled all afternoon. Everything okay?”

“Are you in your apartment?” It’s a fair question. I’ve rung up her cell, so she could be anywhere.

“Yes.”

Thank God. It would have been an ordeal to wait to tell her the news. “Could you please come up?”

“What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“Please, Bri. Just come up.”

While we wait for her to climb the stairs that connect the two floors, I call Royce and ask him to do the same. By some miracle he’s in his apartment as well.

“Now?” Royce asks. “I’m kind of busy.” Something rustles in the background and a woman’s voice calls his name.

“Yes. Now.”

“Be up in five.”

By the time I hang up, Bri’s coming through the door that leads from her floor to ours. “What’s going on? Did you find mummy dearest?”

I stand and take two steps toward her. “Bri. It’s our father.”

Her gaze bounces from me to Jake whose expression has darkened considerably. “No.”

“He suffered a fatal stroke,” I say.

She collapses but before I can get to her, Jake does, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. “I’m so sorry, Brianna.” For once he calls her by the name she prefers, rather than Lady Brianna, the sobriquet she hates.

“He can’t be dead, Jake. I just saw him yesterday. Tell me it’s not true.” She must have seen the truth in his eyes, because she breaks down into huge sobs while Jake kneels on the floor and brushes his hand down her back, murmuring soft comforting words to her.

A clatter on the stairs precedes Royce’s entrance. But he comes to a halt when he takes in the tableau. “What’s wrong? Why’s Bri crying?”

“Father.”

That’s all I need to say for him to understand. “Damn. When did it happen?”

“A couple of hours ago. It was quick. He did not suffer.” I have no idea if this is true, but it’s something Bri needs to hear.

He’d never been close to our father, rarely seeing him, so no surprise our father’s death does not affect him the way it does our sister. Still I can tell he’s stricken by the news. I splash liquor into another glass, hand the tumbler to him.

Without saying another word, he tosses it back.

Jake helps Bri gain her feet, holds her while she stumbles to the couch. She falls into Elizabeth’s arms and another round of grief ensues. I hand her a glass of the alcohol. “Drink.”

Elizabeth takes it off my hands and gets Bri to take a sip.

“We’ll need to make arrangements.” Royce echoes the same sentiment as me.

“Yes.”

“Is there a protocol for this?”

“Protocol?” Elizabeth asks.

“He was an earl. There probably is with the succession and all. Bloody hell, Gabe. You’re the Earl of Winterleagh now.” He tangles a hand through his dark hair. “How are we going to explain our missing mother? Everyone will expect to see her there.”

I’d planned for many things, but not this.

“Gabriel.” Elizabeth comes to her feet, rests her hand on my arm. “You’ll need to fetch your mother from where she is.”

“Fetch her?” Royce asks. Both he and Brianna glare at Elizabeth like she’s gone bonkers on them.

“From Scotland. From where you’ve been keeping her for the last several months.”

Bri hiccups. “You know where she’s been all this time?”

I don’t try to deny it. But how in the blazes did Elizabeth find out. “How do you know?” I ask her.

“At Christmas time, you and Jake talked about it in the baby’s nursery. I’d turned on the monitor to show Gina. It was still on when you and Jake walked into the room.”

“You’ve known since Christmas and you haven’t said anything?”

“Bloody hell, Gabe.” Royce tosses into the mix.

“I figured you’d tell me in your own good time.”

“Why? How?” Bree asks.

“I knew what she’d do to Elizabeth, to our baby. So I put her away where she couldn’t hurt them. In the family’s hunting box in the highlands.”

“She’s been in Scotland all this bloody time?” Royce asks.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? I would think you would want us to know.”

“I didn’t want you implicated in case things didn’t pan out. You can walk away and claim you didn’t know.”

“Wait. If she was under wraps in Scotland, she couldn’t have had Tilly killed.” Royce says. So the thought had occurred to him as well.

“No.” Of this much I’m sure. “Tilly was killed by a local junkie. She caught him with his hand in her purse and fought him off. He grabbed the nearest thing, the knitting needles, and plunged them into her heart.”

“What do you want to do about your mother, Storm?” Jake’s voice of reason interjects into the maelstrom of emotions swirling about the room.

“Bring her back, but put several guards on her at all times. She may not have killed Tilly, but I don’t want her near Elizabeth or my son.”

“She won’t be.”

Bri wobbles up from her knees..“I want to see my father.”

“No.” This from Jake.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She lashes out at him.

“Bri,” I intercede. “He wouldn’t like you to see him this way. You’ll get an opportunity to say your final goodbyes at Winterleagh. The entire family will. Would you like to spend the night here?” I glance at my sister and brother, half hoping they’ll say yes.

Bri shakes her head. Royce passes as well. The secret I kept about my mother has put a rift in our relationship, one that won’t heal anytime soon. I’m not sorry. If I had to do it the same way again, I would.

Without saying another word, Royce wanders back to his place. Alone. Or not alone. That woman, whoever she is, waits for him.

To my surprise, Bri takes Jake’s hand. “Come down with me?” As far as I know this is the first time she’s sought his company.

His features sharpen as he scrutinizes her, “What about your artist friend?”

“We’re through. I kicked him out.”

Typical Bri. None of her boy toys last long.

“Please, Jake. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

My heart bleeds for her pain, but I hope she doesn’t plan on playing him. Because I need him as my head of security. I can’t intercede, though. I’ll need to trust Jake knows her well enough to handle her. “Fine, Lady Brianna. Lead the way.” He disentangles his hand and allows her to precede him down the stairs, back to her co-op.

The arrangements are both simple and complicated. The business of death is the same no matter where or who. My father’s body is taken to a mortuary for a post-mortem. The body will be released to an undertaker who’ll perform his services and we will have the funeral at Winterleagh. He’ll be buried with all the honors due an Earl of the realm.

We’ll place a notice in the papers with the details of the service. For family and close friends only. In lieu of flowers, I’ll request a donation be made to the hospital which first cared for him. In death at least he’ll do some good, even if he did little while he lived. He loved Bri. And that’s what I’m going to remember about him. Well, that and my tutor’s murder.

With Bri and Royce gone, I drift into the bedroom where Elizabeth is finished feeding Andrew.

“Thank you,” she says handing our son to his caretaker.

“Yes, milady.”

I stop Nanny on the way out and drop a kiss on Andrew’s head. With my father’s death, he’s now Viscount Ainsley, but I shall never call him that. It would always remind me of my mother.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Elizabeth once we’re alone.

Elizabeth clips her nursing bra, slides into her blouse. “We don’t need to talk about it at the moment. Not now when your father’s arrangements need to be made. But after the funeral, when we return to London, we will need to discuss things.”

I expect I will not like what she’ll have to say.

Chapter 41

______________

Gabriel

“YOU WILL NOT WHISPER A WORD about your stay in Scotland. To anyone. Do you hear me, Mother?” It has taken five days for the funeral arrangements to be made, more than enough time to retrieve her from Scotland. She arrived today, just as Elizabeth, Andrew, and I have. Royce and Brianna chose to drive separately from us and should make it here by tonight. My decision not to tell them what I’d done with our mother still rankles with them.

“And what happens if I do?”

“I’ll find a doctor to certify you insane and have you committed to an asylum which would make your stay in Scotland seem like a vacation on the beach.”

She purses her lips, folds her hands across her middle. “Very well.”

I’m not fooled for a moment by her seeming acquiescence. Deep in that devious mind of hers, she has something planned. I just need to make sure she doesn’t execute it, whatever it is. “This is how it will go. The service will be held in the chapel tomorrow. Only a handful of close family members and friends are expected. I will stand at the head of the receiving line to welcome the mourners. You will stand next to me. Royce will be on your left. Jake will be directly behind you. So will a nurse. Should you act out of line, she will immediately administer a sedative, and we will take you away. Permanently.”

“And where will your little whore be, dear?” A smirk flits across her lips.

By now I should be immune to her barbs about Elizabeth, but I’m not. It hurts to have my wife called by such an ugly name. “If you call Elizabeth by that name one more time, I will retaliate.”

“Very well. I will refrain.” She nods, like she’s granting me a boon. “For now.”

She’s seeking to get a reaction out of me, but I’ll be damned if I give it to her. “When a mourner approaches, you will acknowledge him or her by name, you will thank them for coming. If they ask how you’re holding up, you will say ‘as well as can be expected.’ If they ask another question or make another comment, you will give a suitable reply. Do you understand?”

“Yes. And if I do exactly what you want, what do I get out of it?”

She had never been one to do something and not expect something in return. So I will give her what she wants, with limits, of course. “You get to live with a retinue of servants waiting on you as befits your status.”

“No more exile in the frozen hinterlands of Scotland?”

“You may remain here, if you wish. Under guard, of course. You will not be allowed any telecommunication devices, including phones. You will have a full library at your disposal. You may continue your horticultural pursuits. Any plantings or seeds will be vetted before you’re allowed to work on them.”

“Visitors?”

“None.”

“I require the services of a hairdresser. My hair’s a wreck.”

Still pulled into her usual chignon, her hair has gone white at the roots. That will play very well at the funeral service. She’s been so upset about my father’s illness, she hasn’t gone to a hair salon. “I’ll find one and have him or her attend to you.”

“And I’ll need Tilly.”

A stab of sadness knives inside of me. “I’m afraid that’s an impossibility,” I say in a much softer voice.

“Wherever you have her hidden away, fetch her. She should be here. I need her.”

“She can’t be fetched, mother. She’s dead.”

“Dead?” she screeches. “What do you mean dead?”

“She retired to an island in the Caribbean. There was a break-in while she was inside the house, a junkie looking for money to buy drugs. She fought him off and he killed her.”

Her shoulders stiffen and her mouth prunes up. Is she affected by Tilly’s death? “That’s too bad. She was the only who knew how to handle my garments.”

I should have known better than to expect her to mourn the woman who had served her faithfully for over forty years. All my mother cares about are her clothes. And her hair. “I’ll find somebody else for you.”

“No one else will do.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with whatever I provide, Mother.” And that is the final word on that.

She scrutinizes me closely. After a few seconds, her mouth tightens and her gaze narrows. She’s at her most dangerous when she wears that expression. “You’re too good to me, Ainsley.”

I don’t correct her on the title. Why bother? I escort her to the door of the study, hand her to one of her guards. She will remain at Winterleagh for three days, long enough to bury my father and have her present when his last will and testament is read. After that she will be taken to her new abode. She thinks she will remain at Winterleagh, but I have other plans for her.

Chapter 42

______________

Elizabeth

HIS FACE IS LINED with exhaustion. No wonder. Having to deal with his bitch of a mother, the funeral, the mourners.

We’re gathered in the drawing room, the same room where we gathered for cocktails before that dinner in July a lifetime ago, waiting for luncheon to be announced.

Shunned by her children, the Countess sits alone on the sofa, watched carefully by two of her guards. The rest of the family’s gathered at the other end of the room. Brianna, sitting next to Royce on a blue sofa. Neither of them has said two words to Gabriel since they arrived. Can’t blame them. He made a decision to hide their mother without telling them. His highhanded ways are finally coming home to roost.

I don’t know what to do. This life in a gilded cage is not working for me. I may have more freedom to move about now, but not what I wish to do which is work. He doesn’t understand. I don’t think he ever will.

“Milady?” Nanny, holding Andrew in her arms.

“Yes.”

“He won’t take the bottle. I think he misses his mother.” We’ve been alternating between breast milk and formula, but it’s clear he’s picked up on all the tension of this place. Who can blame him? I can hardly bear it myself. Only one more day until the reading of the will and then we can leave.

I take him from her, cradle him against me. “My sweet, sweet boy.” I fed him right before the service, but it’s been more than three hours, so he’s got to be starving by now. “Excuse me.” I say to no one in particular. I’ll need to find a quiet room to feed him. But I find my way blocked—by the Countess.

“Bottle? You’re not breastfeeding him?” she asks.

When did she leave her perch on the couch? “Yes, I am, but we alternate with the bottle.”

“Give him to me. I know how to get him to calm down.”

Hell, no. “No.”

“Mother.” Gabriel stands by my side, ready to intercede. “Allow Elizabeth to leave so she can feed our son.”

The Countess’s lip curls in derision. “Give him to me.” Her hands reach out for him, but Gabriel blocks her. “No.”

“How dare you deny me. I’m the Countess of Winterleagh.”

I’ve had enough of her highhandedness. “Lady, I don’t care who the hell you are. You’re not putting your hands on my son.”

Everyone freezes. Guess no one’s ever confronted the bitch in public.

“How dare you? I’ll have you thrown out, dismissed. You’re nothing but a—”

“I would think very carefully before you say the next word.” Don’t know how the harridan could miss Gabriel’s angry tone.

“How you could have married this creature is beyond me, Ainsley. She’s nothing but a common guttersnipe.”

I reel from the insult, but before I can say anything, Gabriel shouts. “Shut the bloody hell up.”

“How dare you insult me, Ainsley? I’m the Countess. I deserve your respect.”

“You’re wrong, mother. You’re no longer the Countess of Winterleagh. Elizabeth is.”

“No, she’s not, she’s not,” the witch screams, pulling at her hair.

“I am the Earl and Elizabeth is my wife. Ergo, she’s the Countess of Winterleagh. You’re not the countess any more.” There’s a wicked delight in his speech, even though he’s spitting out the words through his teeth.

His mother screeches. Claws out, she comes for me. But before she can reach me, Gabriel wrestles her arms down. In a deadly tone, he turns to her guards. “Take her away. I believe she’s not feeling well.”

His mother breathes hard for a second or two. And then in a normal tone of voice, she says, “I haven’t had my lunch.”

“I’ll have a tray sent to you room where you will stay until you’re transported to your new abode.”

“What new abode? Am I not staying here?”

“No. You will not. You’ll be taken to the Dowager House. I renovated it specially for you. Bars on all the windows. You wil be allowed a walk in the inner courtyard, once a day for twenty minutes. Other than that, you will not see the light of day ever again.”

“You bastard.”

“Wish I were. Because then I wouldn’t have you for a mother.”

Talons out she comes for me again. This time Jake holds her back before she can get to me while Gabriel throws himself in front of me and our child.

“Stop this. All of you.” Brianna screams. ‘We’re here to bury father, not behave like animals at a zoo.”

“Always such a lady, Brianna,” her mother says, calm again. The woman truly belongs in an insane asylum. “You think you’re better than me. You’re not. Ainsley might not be a bastard but you most surely are.”

Brianna stomps up to her mother, her usual graceful walk gone. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re your father’s get born from his mistress. When he found out, she was pregnant, he forced himself on me. He was ecstatic when he discovered I was pregnant, but that baby never grew right. Lost him at the hospital. Another boy. Like I needed another one. That’s when he foisted you on me. I came from the hospital not with the brat he planted in me but you, his darling princess.”

Brianna’s eyes widen and her breathing’s grown erratic. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. You don’t believe me? Do one of those tests. My blood doesn’t run through you.”

“So you’re not my mother?”

“No.”

Brianna steps up to the dowager to stand toe to toe with her. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you. The things you did to your children, to Gabe. I hope he buries you in that dower house and throws away the key.”

She goes for Brianna but Jake holds her back before she can harm her.

The butler walks into this insanity, his face chalk white. Good lord, what now?

Andrew’s screaming at the top of his lungs, but I can’t get out. The butler’s blocking my way.

“Your lordship. There’s someone here.”

“Not now.”

“I believe you’ll want to see him, milord.”

Behind him a stranger walks into the room. No, not a stranger, Someone who looks just like the Countess, the ex-countess, whatever the held she is. Except he’s a man. Tall, dark-haired, dark eyes. A scar marks his left cheek. Except for Andrew and me, everyone freezes.

“Edward!”

Edward? Gabriel’s brother, come back from the dead.

Chapter 43

______________

Gabriel

“EDWARD.” Words fail me. All I can say is his name.

“Hello, Gabe.” Thinner than I remember, tanned. A scar mars his left cheek, one that wasn’t there before. But other than that he doesn’t appear to be injured.

“Where in the bloody blazes have you been?” I demand.

“Mexico.”

“For five years?” That’s how long he’s been gone. Since he was shot and killed. No, not killed. Obviously.

“Edward, my son.” Our mother falls upon him sobbing. “You’re not dead.” She plants her hands on his shoulders. paws at his face, falls weeping across his chest.

His lips curl in distaste. “No, mother. I’m very much alive.”

“How can that be? I saw you die,” I say. “I brought your body back here. We fucking buried you.” I’d lived with the reality of his death for so long, I’m having trouble believing he’s alive, even though he’s standing in front of me.

“I didn’t die. The doctors at the Honduras hospital patched me up and I managed to pull through. You, on the other hand, were hanging on by a thread.” He brushes a hand across his brow. “We didn’t know for a couple of days whether you would survive the assassination attempt.”

“Why didn’t you come back to us?”

“Because if I did she would just try to kill you again.”

“What are you talking about? That was a guerilla attack.”

“No. It wasn’t. It was a hit, ordered by our mother.” He pulls her hands from around his neck. “Isn’t that right?”

She glances up, a wily look on his face. “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew. Why do you think I always accompanied you on those out of town trips. Because I knew you’d find some way to kill Gabe. I hoped that somehow by spending time with you it would prevent you trying to harm him. But after that hit and miss on Piccadilly, that hope was dashed.”

Six years ago. I’d almost been run over by a cab on Piccadilly Circus.

“That’s when I knew what you were trying to do. It wasn’t enough fo you to torture him growing up. No you had to try and kill him. All for what?”

“I did it for you. So you’d inherit the title.”

My mind reels with her confession. “You tried to have me killed?”

“Yes. I meant you to die. I even told you when you returned, don’t you remember?”

You should have been the one to die. Her words echo in my head. I thought it’d been her grief talking. But she’d meant it, literally.

“But you didn’t die and Edward did. Except, he didn’t. He didn’t. And he’ll stop you from exiling me to that dowager house. Because he loves me. He’s the only one of my children who does.” She paws at his face.

But Edward clamps down on her hands and pulls them down. “You think I love you? I despise you. The only reason I went on those outings with you was because if you were out of the castle you couldn’t hurt Gabe. So I put up with you, played your little games, to keep you from hurting him.”

Mother shakes her head and her hair comes down in clumps. She’s aged a decade in the last few minutes. “You don’t mean that, Edward. I did it for you. So you would inherit the title. I did it for you.”

“I never wanted the title, mother. That was your dream, not mine. You are an evil, wicked woman. The thought you did all those things to Gabe because of me sickens me. For the last five years, I paid the price for what you did. I want nothing to do with you ever again.”

“No.” She collapses on the floor, sobbing out of control. “You love me. My son loves me.”

“No, mother. I never loved you. I despised you.”

Leaving her sobbing on the rug like she’s unwanted refuse, he skirts her and goes for the drink cart and pours himself a glass of scotch.

“Take her away.” I order.

One of the guards helps her to feet. The sound of her sobbing fades as they make their way out of the room, down the Great Hall. They’ll deliver her to her room. One of the smaller ones, far removed from the family suites.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” I ask of no one in particular.

“She left with the baby.” Jake answers.

Brianna and royce have converged on Edward, hugging him, carrying on a soft conversation. After the high drama of the last few minutes the soft voices are a welcome hush.

“He couldn’t have done this alone. He had to have help.” And I know who aided him. My head of security.

“I assisted him. Regardless of what he said, he was critically injured, and he almost died, same as you. When he regained consciousness, he shared his misgivings about the attack. I investigated. Those guerillas were not from the region. They were hired mercenaries hired to kill you. After I told Edward his hunch was right, we agreed he should fake his death. Your father refused to deal with your mother’s actions, weak man that he was. So Edward remained in South America until he died, and you claimed your rightful heritage.”

No, my father wouldn’t have done anything about my mother, because she held the threat of disclosure of my tutor’s murder over his head. But with my father’s death, Edward could return and take his rightful place in his family.

“You should have told me. You should have fucking told me.”

“It was not my secret to share, Storm. And Edward didn’t want you to know.”

“You work for me. Not him.”

“I work for Storm Industries, for your family. I know what your mother held over your head, Storm. I know what she would have revealed.”

“What?” Brianna asks. “What did she do?”

“Our father killed my tutor in a drunken rage.”

“He didn’t. He didn’t. My father was not a murderer.”

I wave my hand, dismissing her argument. “Tilly saw him, Bri. That’s why I sent her away.”

“No. No. You’re lying.”

Royce wraps his arms around her. “Bloody hell, Gabe, couldn’t you allow her her memory of him?”

“Why? He was a murderer.” And a sot and a philanderer, and oh so many other things.

“Because she loved him. Is there so little softness in you, you can’t afford some kindness toward your own sister?”

“You hated him because he never stood up to her,” Bri says through her tears.

I knock back my drink. “He traded me for you, Bri. He knew I was strong enough to take the punishment. So he told her if she left you alone, she could do what he wished with me. So yes, I have good reason to hate him.”

“Take it easy on her. Gabe” This from Edward.

“Stay the fuck out of this, Edward. I didn’t notice you volunteering to take a beating for me.”

“It wasn’t me she hated. It was you.”

Edward crushes the glass in his hand, cutting it. Everyone converges on him. Bri with a napkin. Royce calls out for a first aid kit.

While they deal with Edward’s injury, I fix my sight on Jake. “You’re fired.”

“You don’t mean that, Storm.”

“Yes, I do. I can’t trust you. First the incident with Sarah. Obviously your judgment was faulty. And now this. You kept this secret from me for five years. What else have you hiding from me?”

“Not a damn thing, you arrogant son of a bitch. You want me gone? Fine. I’m gone.” Head high, he strides out of the room, but not without a final glance toward Bri.

Chapter 44

______________

Elizabeth

I WAKE UP CHOKING, gasping for breath, my stomach churning with nausea. Thick clouds of smoke hang over me. Andrew lies next to me, his small body racked with coughs. Flames lick up the curtains of the Tudor bed where we lay, and its ceiling’s on fire. For a second all I can do is stare, not believing what I’m seeing. A spark drops down right on Andrew, right on my baby.

I smack at it to put out the flame. With him in my arms, I stumble away from the inferno the bed has become. The room’s no better. Dense smoke all around me Dear God. How did this happen? The heat, the smoke clog my lungs. I can’t breathe. My baby whimpers. I clutch him to me.

I can’t get to the door. Something’s on fire in the middle of the room blocking my way. Clothes, the carpet who knows? Desperate, my gaze darts around for a way out, but there is none. The room has only slits for windows, nothing big enough to escape.

Somebody pounds on the door. “Elizabeth. Elizabeth.” Gabriel’s voice muffled by the thickness of the oak.

“Gabriel! Get us out. Get us out.”

“Door . . . locked.” The inferno between the bed and me, hungry for us, eats up the space. Soon it will incinerate us if the smoke doesn’t get us first. My lungs struggle to breathe. Andrew coughs, his little body shaking with the struggle to breathe.

A wet cloth will help him breathe, I recall from some college lecture. A vase stands on a side table. I drench his blanket with the water from the vase and wrap it around his mouth. A temporary solution for I must find a way out. And then I remember. The tunnel. The tunnel to the library. Next to the fireplace. The one Gabriel used last summer so we could make love.

On leaden feet, I move in that direction and pull at the latch that opens the hidden door. Searing pain shoots up my hand, my arm. I look around for something anything to wrap around the white hot handle. The dress I’d thrown over a chair while I breastfed Andrew. The fire hasn’t gotten to it yet. I grab it, wrap it around the shaft, and pull. I whimper when it doesn’t give.

A thump reverberates through the space. Somebody’s hacking at the door with something, but I can’t wait to be rescued. If I do, it will be too late. I pull again, harder this time. Finally, mercifully the portal swings open and I face my greatest fear—a big, dark hole.

Memories crash down on me of the last time I saw my mother, the day she locked me into a closet so she could entertain a john, the day she died from an overdose. Only by the grace of God and a nosy neighbor, I’d survived. They found me three days later, crying, hungry and soiled by my own waste. But where that dark closet offered me death, this tunnel offers me life. For my baby and me. I won’t allow my fear to rule over me.

Clutching Andrew to my breast, I stumble into the passage with no idea which way to go. But anywhere is better than the hell behind me. The draft of air sends the flames shooting higher. Soon everything inside the room will be gone. The door closes behind me, as if pushed closed by the hand of God.

I don’t look back but stumble through the pitch black corridor, trying desperately to remember the castle layout. Deep wracking coughs stop my progress while I fight hard to catch my breath. Andrew’s cries encourage me. He can’t cry unless he’s breathing. “Cry, baby. cry, so I’ll know you’re alive.” My voice comes out as a squawk. The smoke must have damaged something.

I shuffle through the darkness feeling my way an inch at a time. I don’t dare go faster, afraid I’ll tumble down some dark stairway. The air on the right seems clearer, not as smoke filled, so I move in that direction even though something in me tells me to go straight. The fresher air will give both Andrew and me a chance to breathe.

“Elizabeth!” Gabriel’s voice, somewhere in the gloom.

“Here!” I try to answer, but all that emerges is a croak.

Andrew’s calmed down, seemingly content to trust me to get us out of here, but I don’t know the way. He’ll have to be the one to cry out. I pinch him hard, whispering a sorry to him. And blessedly, as if his little heart’s been broken by my perfidy, he cries and cries and cries. Clutching him tightly in my arms,I slip down to the ground. I can go no further. I can breathe no more.

Chapter 46

______________

Gabriel

WE’RE EATING A RATHER UNCOMFORTABLE DINNER, my siblings and me, when a commotion erupts outside the dining hall.

A maid bursts into the room yelling, “Fire. Fire.”

My blood runs cold because I know exactly where the fire burns, the Emerald Room, our room.

I take the stairs two at a time. Samuel’s all ready there, trying to break into the room. “It’s locked.”

I push him out of the way, scream “Elizabeth. Elizabeth.” I pound on the door. “The door’s locked.” Made a million years ago from hearty oak, the door won’t give up easily. “Where’s the damn key?”

“The housekeeper’s gone looking for it,” Samuel says.

By the time she gets back, it will be too late. “Get an ax, a broadsword. Anything.” God knows there are enough weapons lying around the castle.

“Take off the hinges.” somebody says. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?

Somebody—the castle’s carpenter?—goes to work on the joints. Samuel and I step back to give him room to work.

Edward hands me an ax retrieved from somewhere. I take it from him and whack at the door with everything in me. I ignore the pain.

The carpenter is working as fast as he can but it’s taking too long. He’ll never get through in time. Neither will the ax.

And then I remember. There’s another way into the room. “The tunnel.”

I race for the library, throw open the door to the hidden passage, praying it’s not too late. Light smoke fills the air on my dash up the stairs. The smoke grows thicker as I near the Emerald room. I brace to open the door, pleading a backdraft won’t occur, when I hear Andrew’s cries coming from my left.

She got out. She opened the portal to the tunnel and got out. Relief washes over me. I just have to find her. I retrace my steps. Which way would she have gone? The library is straight ahead but she didn’t take that passage. The air on the left seem less filled with smoke, so I go in that direction. When Andrew’s cries become stronger, I know I’ve made the right choice.

I find them. Even unconscious, she’s clutching our baby to her breast. I pick them up and maneuver my way through the tight space down the steps. But before I get to the library, the passage door opens and someone takes them from me.

By the time I stumble out, emergency workers are administering oxygen to Elizabeth and Andrew. By Andrew’s cries it seems he was not as affected as Elizabeth who’s unresponsive. God. I kneel next to her. “Breathe, darling girl. Yu can’t leave me now. Not now.” When she doesn’t, I shake it. “Breathe, damn it.”

“You might want to take it easy on her, Sir.” One of the emergency workers. How dare he?

Elizabeth coughs, coughs again. Thank you, God. “That’s it, darling. Breathe. Breathe.”

She opens her eyes. Another cough. “Andrew?” Her voice rasps out.

“He’s safe, Elizabeth. Thanks to you. You saved him.” Tears streaming down my face, I kiss her hand, and give thanks to whatever angel watched over her and our son this night.

Chapter 46

______________

Elizabeth

OUR RETURN TO LONDON is conducted in silence, except for Andrew, babbling away in his car seat alongside us. Gabriel stares out the window practically the entire trip. I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind. So many revelations, betrayals. His brother’s return from the dead. His sister declared a bastard by his mother. And the ultimate betrayal. His mother tried to have him killed

I cough.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” He insisted both Andrew and I get checked out at the local hospital. Our baby is fine. He’s breathing normally. I have a lingering cough. But the doctor assured me my lungs were healthy. It would just take a couple of days for them to return to normal.

“Gabriel,” I curl my hand around his cold one, lean my head against his shoulder. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”

“Will it?” He says, not bothering to look at me.

“Yes.” He’s always had this fatalistic streak within him, always expecting the worst. Who can blame him? He’s experienced the worst. A mother who tortured him, a father who turned a blind eye while his mother did her worst. But he also has a brother who sacrificed himself for five years to prevent Gabriel’s death. A sister and another brother who love him, even if he can’t see that right now. A son who will adore him when he grows up. And me. He must be made to see the more positive side of life.

When we arrive in London, he heads for the shower before coming to bed.

I catch up on my phone messages. One’s from Sebastian Payne. He’s sorry I won’t be able to work for him. What is he talking about?

Wanting some privacy, I step into the study and ring him up. “Sebastian? It’s Elizabeth. I got your message. I’m confused.”

“Ainsley. I suppose it’s Winterleagh now. Your husband phoned to tell me you’d changed your mind. My condolences by the way.”

“Thank you, but I haven’t changed my mind. There . . . there must have been some misunderstanding. Things have been quite hectic after his father’s death,” I say to save face.

“I . . . understand.” I’m sure he does, but he’s not going to call me a liar.

“Do I still have a job?” I clutch the cell tightly in my hand. A position at his company would add a great deal of credence to my career. “It’s very important to me.”

“Yes. My head of legal was very impressed with your credentials.” He drops his voice. “Take time to deal with the aftermath of the old earl’s death. When you’re ready to start work, ring me up.”

“I will. Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Who were you talking to?” Gabriel standing at the open door to the study, hair shining wet, wearing nothing but a loose pair of sweats.

Even after all he’s done, my heart skips a beat. “Sebastian Payne. He says you called him and told him I’d changed my mind about working for him.”

“You belong here, with your son. With me.”

“Gabriel. I need to work to keep up my credentials. This would be a great opportunity. I’ll wait a month or two, to help you deal with whatever you need. And then it would only be a maximum of four hours a day. Surely, that would not be a problem.”

“No.”

I look down trying to find a way to bridge our differences, but only one solution comes to mind. Raising my head, I look steadily at him. “I can’t do this anymore, Gabriel. This marriage. It’s not working for me. I need a break, a separation.”

“A separation?” In the space of two words, his voice’s gone breathless. “Why?”

“You lied to me about . . . so many things.. Your mother, New York City, the tunnels in the castle. You knew about them. The library contains schematic maps of them. You manipulated me every step of the way. Forcing the Cathedral Arms apartment on me, keeping me a prisoner here in my own home. You still don’t trust me, not entirely, even after I told you I didn’t steal those papers.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Was anything you told me the truth?”

“If I’d told you the truth, you might not have married me. And I needed to legitimize Andrew.”

“So everything you did, everything you said, it was all a lie.”

“No. Not everything was a lie. I need you. I need you by my side. Andrew needs you.”

He steps forward, reaches for me.

I step back. “Don’t touch me, please. This is hard enough as it is.”

“We can work this out, Elizabeth.”

I shiver as I always do every time he says my name. “I don’t see how we can. You’re too stubborn to change, too arrogant to compromise.”

Andrew’s cries echo from down the hallway. Nanny’s voice murmurs, trying to calm him down.

“That’s his hungry cry.”

I whimper. My heart lurches with pain. “Nanny will make sure he’s fed.”

“You’d walk away from Andrew, walk way from your son?”

My head jerks up. “I’m not walking away from him, just you. I want joint custody and don’t you dare deny me. I know enough dirt on your family to feed the media for years to come.”

He banks his fist against the door frame, and I jump. “You’re not taking him to the States.”

“I’m not going back. I intend to stay here, work, finish my education.”

“And all that is more important than me, more important than us.”

“What about me, Gabriel?” I beat on my chest. “Am I not important? Don’t I matter? All those decisions you made, not once did you consult me.”

“I did it to protect you, damn it, to protect Andrew.”

“I don’t want to be protected. Don’t you understand? I want to know everything that affects me, affects our marriage. Maybe I would have agreed with you, maybe I would have suggested a different path. But no you decided my entire future on your own without once consulting me.”

He breathes heavy, in, out. “I love you.”

Oh, God, this is all I need. A declaration of love. Now. When he’d never said it before. “You don’t love me, Gabriel. You love this woman you’ve created in your mind. The sweet wife who cares for your child, waits for you to come home every night, spreads her legs every night for you. The perfect woman, the perfect mother, the perfect wife. I told you once I wasn’t like that, but of course, you didn’t listen to me. You thought if you wanted something bad enough I would change for you.”

His eyes turn moist, his lids grow red rimmed.

“But don’t you see?” Tears roll down my cheeks and I angrily swipe them away. There’s no room for weakness. Not now. “That would change who I am. I would wither away, day by day, night by night, until I’d become a bitter woman, regretting all the chances I missed. I love you, Gabriel. I do. You brought me so much joy, gave me a son. But I won’t give up on my dreams. Not even for you.”

“Don’t you tell me you love me and then walk away.”

“I have to. Because if I stay, you’ll find some way to change my mind. Oh, yes, I admit, I’m weak when it comes to you.”

“You’ll be miserable without me.”

I hitch up chin. Two can play at this game. “As much as you’ll be without me.”

“Stay and fight for it, damn it, fight for us.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all these months? I’m tired, Gabriel. I can’t do it any more.”

His chin drops to his chest. He’s run out of ammunition. “Where will you go?”

“Tonight? To a hotel. I’ll look for a permanent place tomorrow. Somewhere close. Thanks to the money you settled on me, I have enough money to buy a decent apartment.”

He raises his head. I don’t like the light in his eyes. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Since that day you broke into Sebastian’s office. I’m going to work for him, by the way.”

“Everything’s becoming clear.” He smirks. “Sebastian. He’s a marquis. You’re trading up, aren’t you?”

I punch him in the gut. Hard enough for him to double over. “You bastard. When have I ever given a damn about your title? Until Andrew came along, all I ever cared about was you.”

A myriad of emotions run rampant across his face as he rubs his stomach. That old familiar grin pops up. “If this is your way of showing you care for me, you’re failing miserably at it.”

How can he joke at a time like this? “Goodbye, Gabriel.” I go to move past him, but he grabs my hand.

The grin disappears, replaced by a tight white line to his lips. “Don’t go. Please.”

“I have to. Let go of me.”

He releases my hand. I go to our bedroom, grab a duffle, throw some clothes, toiletries into it. In five minutes, it’s filled. It will have to do until I have time to retrieve the rest of my wardrobe. I retrace my steps through the hallway to the lift. He’s still standing at the entrance to the study, his back to me.

“I’ll be in touch about Andrew.” I choke out, wiping the tears from my face.

He doesn’t say a word.

Chapter 47

______________

Gabriel

UNABLE TO WATCH HER GO, I turn away. Only when I hear the lift bell ding and its door open and close, do I turn back. The space seems so empty like the life has gone out of the place.

What am I going to do without her? She is my life, my soul, my very reason for living. I can’t catch my breath. Desperate for air, I claw at my throat. But all I do is I draw blood.

Breathe you bloody wanker. Breathe.

Darkness beckons as the room closes around me, but in the pit of my despair, a voice emerges. I love you, Gabriel, the words she whispered, right before she walked out on me. My throat relaxes and I choke in a breath, cough, take a deeper one. I can win her back. I can. I just need to plan for it. But right now, I need to hold my son, hold something with a connection to her. I walk into the nursery to find nanny changing Andrew.

“Milord? Anything the matter?” Nanny stares at me out of knowing eyes.

“No. No.”

Andrew stares at me. Green eyes, so much like hers. There’s nothing of me in Andrew. He is all Elizabeth. My son will remind me of her the rest of my life. “Has he been fed?”

“Yes, milord and changed.”

“Give him to me.” Holding Andrew, I trudge to my bedroom, lock the door, and crawl into bed with him.

I cradle him against my chest and soothe his upset. “Don’t cry, darling boy. We’ll get her back, you’ll see.” Only then do I realize the tears on my face don’t belong to my son. They belong to me.

Somehow, I drift off to sleep. Not a surprise, I haven’t slept in three days. And, of course, in my dreams, I dream of her. Her gardenia scent drifts into the room. How can that be? I locked the door.

“Come, darling boy,” she says, “you’re coming with me.”

The bed dips as she takes Andrew. I struggle to wake up, but my body refuses to obey.

“Where are you taking him?” I mumble, mostly asleep.

“I have him. He’s safe.”

Satisfied with the answer, I dream of happier days. Elizabeth, the first time we made love. Elizabeth, striking me stupid on our wedding day. Elizabeth, holding our son the day he was born and smiling at me. The dreams allow me to get the rest I need, while I sleep the sleep of the dead.

Hours later, I wake up to the harsh reality of day and come face to face with my nightmare.

Future Releases

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About the Author

Magda Alexander loves piña coladas and walks in the rain. Okay, enough of that. Rewind.

Magda loves reading steamy romances which she’s been doing since she was ten. Ummm, that’s not quite true. Steamy romances did not exist when she was ten, and if they had, she’s pretty sure her mother would not have allowed her to read them. She did read the hand-holding, longing-glances kind, along with her catechism, which got her into trouble more than once. Mother Superior was not amused.

Anyhoo, as soon as sexy romances came into existence, thank you Rosemary Rogers, she’s been lapping them up. So when it came time to write one, guess what she wrote. A no-brainer, right?

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading STORM RAVAGED! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other people find this book by: 1. Writing a review at Amazon and Goodreads; 2. Signing up for my mailing list (see below) so you can find out about the next book as soon as it's available and giveaways; and 3. Liking my Facebook Author page (also below) so I can tell you about my next book. Is there an echo in here?

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Acknowledgments

I’ve been singularly blessed by, first and foremost, my critique group, the Crit Divas, Sariah Aarons, Lexa Chase, Lula Diamond, Teresa Hearl, Loni Lynne, and A. Palmer. Without them, this book would not exist. Second, I’m grateful for my family, including my in laws. They’ve been a constant source of support after the publication of STORM DAMAGES, even if half of them are shocked by the “sexy stuff.” Last, but certainly not least, to the many readers who fell in love with STORM DAMAGES. You not only wrote great reviews, but were a constant source of joy and motivation while I wrote STORM RAVAGED. I offer my gratitude to each and every one of you.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Magda Alexander.

Cover Design: Magda Alexander

Cover Photograph: Conrado/

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The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status of the following items/ brands, etc. mentioned within this work of fiction: Mercedes Benz, Four Seasons, GQ Magazine, Guinness, Jaguar, Washington Nationals, Washington Redskins, The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, Courvoisier, Macallan, Chanel, Valentino, Dior, Jell-O.

Magda Alexander, Publisher

First Edition: January 2014