by Jaycee Clark
He glanced at Quinlan, the dashboard lights glinting eerily on his brother’s features as he remembered what his brother had said about a ring.
Brayden’s grin grew. A ring? Damn straight. He’d bought it the day he bought her the pendant. But he was smart enough to see when the time was right for things, and as yet, Christian wasn’t ready to hear his proposal.
He hadn’t gone looking for a ring. He’d been in that shop to buy her the pendant, or something. While the clerk had wrapped the sapphire necklace, he’d browsed. And seen it. Sitting on a bed of black velvet, the ring winked at him.
A single marquise diamond, simple yet not, if he could find the right band to go with it. He had no doubt he eventually would. Three carats seemed perfect; after all, Christian wasn’t a flashy or showy type of woman, but that didn’t mean he had to get her a plain little diamond either. He didn’t want anyone missing what the ring meant when she put it on her finger. With one this size, it should be fairly obvious, though personally, he liked the larger stone. But she wouldn’t.
The closer they got to home, the more he looked to the backseat.
Christian sat with her head against the headrest, her gaze out to the cold world. As if she felt his eyes on her, she turned and their gazes locked. Would he ever get used to those pale gray eyes? Probably not. Hell, he hoped not.
A small smile teased her lips and he wished he’d sat in the backseat with her.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching over the console into the backseat, holding his hand out to her.
She grabbed it and laced her fingers inside his. “I’m fine.” A frown pulled between her brows before it straightened away. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Just thinking about Christmas and seeing Tori. God, I’ve missed her.”
“Me, too.” Talking on the phone every day had in no way made up for not getting to see his daughter for several weeks. The only thing that had comforted his worry was knowing she was in good hands. But it was the first time he’d been away from his little girl since that nightmare with Gavin and Taylor when Tori and Ryan had been kidnapped.
Quinlan turned onto the driveway of their family home.
Home.
Thank God. He couldn’t wait to see his daughter. Just as the car pulled to a stop, the front door flew open and the light of his life bounded down the walk.
He heard Christian’s sigh as she squeezed his hand, hurrying with her seat belt as quickly as he was. Brayden was out of the car just in time to catch Tori as she launched herself at him.
“I’ve missed you. It’s about time you came home!” she said into his neck, burrowing against him.
Brayden breathed deep, the smell of her sweet and fruity, not masking the child’s scent of innocence. He felt a catch in his throat and cleared the words past it as he squeezed his daughter tighter. “Not nearly as much as I’ve missed you, pumpkin.”
She pulled back and he saw her roll her dark blue Kinncaid eyes. “Really, Daddy, I hardly doubt that.”
He raised a brow and turned as Christian came up beside them. Tori squirmed to be set down. She wrapped her arms around Christian, whom he saw bend down and inhale deeply just as he had.
Christian’s eyes were closed, but he still saw the silvery trail glide over her cheek. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad to see you.”
Tori pulled back and said, “Well, of course you are! I’m precious.”
God help him. She was only eight.
“Why are you crying?” Tori asked, wiping her small hand over Christian’s cheek.
“It’s a happy, stupid tear,” Christian said on a chuckle.
“How can a tear be happy, or even stupid?”
He wondered the same thing. Quinlan strode past them up the walkway and into the crowded door.
“I’ll explain when you’re older,” Christian answered, straightening and looking to him with a small smile.
He smiled back and took Tori’s and her hand. “Come on, you two. Everyone’s waiting.”
“They’ve been waiting since like yesterday,” his daughter informed them. Just as they reached the door, she stopped, halting them all half inside, half outside the threshold. “So, did you get me the Christmas present I wanted?”
She grabbed Christian’s right hand, then shook her small dark head and reached for the left one. Dropping that one, she turned a frown on him. “Daddy. Daddy, I ask for one thing? And you couldn’t get it for me?”
Some things were not that simple.
“See, Kaitie lass,” his father said in his normal booming bark, just to his right as Brayden ushered them all in and shut the door. “I told you. Not an ounce of propriety among any of our sons . . .”
“Oh, Jock, stuff it.” His mother smiled and walked to them.
God, it was good to be home.
• • •
The ballerina twirled and flitted across the stage with a speed and ease that even the most uneducated had to appreciate. The notes of Tchaikovsky’s Sugar Plum Fairy chimed out in short, sharp bursts. Her stiff tutu bounced to her movements, her sequins flashing silver under the blue stage lights, as her partner ran his hands along her rib cage as she bent back.
Richard found the dancers’ movements beautiful and erotic.
Then again, it was probably because she was here. He’d seen her the minute she walked in on the arm on that Kinncaid. And a child with them.
He quietly sniffed as he watched them from the corner of his eye. They were in the next section of balcony seats, so it wasn’t hard for him to see her, to watch the way she leaned over to whisper something to the girl, or the way her head tilted when he said something in her ear.
When the man’s arm stretched across his daughter’s seat back and his hand caressed Josephine’s shoulder, a red haze clouded Richard’s vision.
It was all he could do to watch the performance, let alone not stand up and demand that she come to him.
His fist thumped on the armrest. Estella covered it with her cold hand, jerking his attention back to where they were.
Shifting, she leaned over and whispered, “What is with you tonight?”
He caught the annoyance in her voice.
Looking around, he took note of the other people in attendance, obviously politicians. Senators, Congressmen, government officials. Military uniforms, their braids and buttons catching the light, ordered respect. This was hardly the place to have people wondering. He had a reputation to keep, to build here, to uphold.
Smiling, he patted her hand, and answered, “Sorry, darling, I was just thinking.” He kissed her cheek and promised, “I will stop and enjoy our evening.”
His wife nodded, straightening in her seat, concentrating on the story unfolding through movements and music.
Kinncaid traced Josephine’s ear, and Richard saw them share a smile.
An intimate smile.
Richard bit down, tried to look at the performance, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from the couple.
Couple!
And they were clearly that.
No. No. No. This would not work. This would never work. He was not about to let her get away, to all but give her away now that he had her back.
Silly girl, she knew better, damn it. How dare she let that man touch her! The rage netted his vision, choked his breath.
Time for another tactic. One was already in play, sympathy already given, she just didn’t know it yet.
Richard straightened his bow tie and shifted in his seat, wanting to leave.
How could he get her attention?
His plan was, unknown to his wife, already in motion. But in time she would learn. He absently wondered how she would react when she saw her daughter. Knowing Estella, she’d probably ignore Josephine, but then again, it would depend on the setting. If a performance was needed, he had no doubt his mate could deliver it, she always had before.
He and his wife were a perfect pair, coldly ambitious. He would admit that. But Josephine . . .
She was the fire in hi
s life.
The reason . . . a game . . . the enjoyment.
His angel smiled again, a real smile.
Why had she never smiled at him like that? Hadn’t he shown her love? Shown her what it was like to be a woman, to be cherished? He’d shown her beauty and she’d hated him.
That man, that man could do no more than graze her shoulder with a finger and she smiled at him.
Anger sat heavy and thick in his mouth, rushed through his veins.
The man would have to pay.
Josephine was his.
With that comforting thought in mind, he focused back on the stage, as his mind calculated, plotted and planned.
He smiled and enjoyed the performance.
• • •
Christian shivered as Brayden’s finger traced her ear. Trying to concentrate on the performance was beyond her. She saw the dancers, the Arabians jumping and leaping to impossible heights, but she could not concentrate.
Pulling her head to the side, she attempted to glare at him, but he had that deceptively bored look on his face. The corners of his eyes told of the smile lurking just at the edge of his mouth. She shook her head and turned back to the stage.
Tori sat on the edge of her seat between them, enthralled as she was every year. Christian ran her hand over the girl’s black velvet dress. She and Tori matched, both had on long-sleeved, ankle-length black dresses. She wore her cloak and the pendant Brayden had bought for her in Italy.
The night was wonderful. It was like they were a family. Secretly, she’d dreamed this every year they’d come to see The Nutcracker, but this year, it was real. Now, she and Brayden were aware of each other as they’d never been before. Before had been a fantasy for her and not even a thought for him. This year, there were stolen glances, soft touches, promising caresses.
Tori wiggled back in her seat, and Brayden dropped his hand, gently massaging her shoulder.
Intermission came and the little girl had to go to the ladies’ room.
The line was long but finally she and Tori were done and heading out one end of the restrooms. There were two entrances. Christian glanced down the way, to the other entrance, and stopped.
Estella Burbanks.
Estella Burbanks.
Her mother.
The woman disappeared inside the ladies’ room, the flash of her maroon gown and brown hair gone.
No, she had to be mistaken.
What would the woman be doing here? A stupid question. It was cultural, it was a place to see and be seen, a place to make an appearance.
Her heart pounded, and her hand trembled. If Estella was here, then so was he.
Oh, God.
A vise tightened on her chest. Before the attack could stake its claim, she pulled her inhaler out of her evening bag and took a puff.
“What’s wrong?” Tori asked her.
Christian could only shake her head. Darting quick looks around, she searched for him. He had to be here. No, he was here.
She knew it.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
“Come on, let’s go find Daddy. You don’t look so good.” Tori pulled her hand, trying to get her to follow.
Her feet were rooted to the spot. A group of men several yards away burst into laughter. The sharp noises grated on her nerves and drew her attention. One man shifted and she could see several of them. She could see him. Richard was staring at her. The look on his face was utterly furious, even if he did smile at the man next to him. His gaze was one she knew too well, green eyes all but glittering, the skin pulled tight over his sharp cheekbones.
“Christian! Come on,” Tori said, impatience clear in her voice.
I love you, everything about you, mia bella.
Brayden’s voice guided from her heart, through her soul. Christian raised her chin, looked at Richard, through him, past him.
As they walked by the group of men, nausea greased her stomach, but she held her head high and laughed at something Tori said, though for the life of her, she didn’t know what it was.
Seconds after they sat down, the lights dimmed.
Brayden wasn’t there. Where was he?
The lights flickered again. And still no sign of him.
First will be Brayden and his little girl . . .
“I wish I could dance like these girls do,” Tori said wistfully. “But I’ll just stick to the piano.”
Christian ran her gaze over the room. Where was Brayden? She scanned the crowd again and saw Richard and Estella sitting down in the next section.
They were so close! She fisted her hands in her lap.
“I missed you two. Where did you go?” Brayden asked, jerking her around.
She couldn’t hold her sigh in, but tried to hide her relief.
“Well, I thought we might get a drink, but Christian had to use her inhaler, and I thought maybe we should sit down. I didn’t want to miss any of it,” Tori chattered.
The lights dimmed a last time, plunging the room into darkness save for the stage lights.
She still heard Brayden’s, “Hmmm . . .”
Staring straight ahead, she didn’t dare turn her attention to her right for fear Brayden would see her, afraid he’d follow her gaze through the darkness and see who she was looking at.
Brayden’s hand rubbed the back of her neck, and though she didn’t look once at him, she could feel his cool assessing gaze on her, wondering, studying, watching.
From the other direction, she could feel Richard’s hot, angry glare.
She had no idea how much longer the performance lasted. An hour? Over? She didn’t remember anything about it, other than Brayden talking to Tori on the way out of the concert hall. His arm, tight around her shoulders, steered them down the steps as he held his daughter’s hand.
As they hurried down the steps, out into the cold bitter wind, she heard that voice that haunted her nightmares, that stalked her over the years.
She tried to ignore it, but she must have done something, because Brayden stopped and looked at her, then scanned the crowd.
His look was weighing, tight, and coiled, as though he knew.
But how could he know?
Their limo waited at the curb, the driver standing by the door. Tonight they were staying at the hotel. Christian pulled away from Brayden and hurried to the car. Tori slid in after her. Through the dark glass, she saw Brayden standing on the steps, still looking around, his gaze predatory. She could see the determined set of his jaw from here.
“What’s wrong with Daddy? He looks mad,” Tori said from her seat along the windows.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she answered.
Richard guided Estella down the steps. It was choreographed perfectly. A slight jostle, and Estella stumbled right against Brayden.
Christian’s breath caught as Brayden mumbled something and turned his back on the pair, still searching. They stepped away, but Richard turned back and glared at Brayden.
Finally, Brayden ran a hand through his hair, hurried down the steps without a word to either Richard or Estella as he brushed past them. The driver opened the door for him and he slid in. When the doors closed and the car pulled away from the curb, she sighed and leaned back against the seat, snuggled up next to Brayden.
Too close. Too damn close. God, she felt sick.
Tori’s chattering voice saved her from an inquisition but she knew it wouldn’t last. Forcing a smile, she listened and tried to concentrate on what the girl was saying.
“My favorite part is the Russian dance,” Tori said.
Brayden listened with half an ear to his exuberant daughter.
The ride to their hotel was quiet, save for the slush of tires over the wet asphalt.
Brayden watched Christian while she got Tori ready for bed. She was wound tight as a violin string. Something had happened and he wanted to know what. He was rather impressed with himself for not demanding right away what had happened, but demands didn’t really work with Christian. Wel
l, not most of the time anyway.
Whatever it was happened during intermission. She’d been fine when she’d left the auditorium, but pale and jumpy, too composed when she’d returned. And she’d used her inhaler.
He fixed them a drink and set them on the coffee table, before striding to his daughter’s room.
Good-night kisses and hugs all around. He flicked the light off and led Christian out of the room and to the couch.
Without a word, he sat, and waited.
Her fingers drummed on her thigh.
“Thank you for tonight. I had a great—”
He stopped her words when he put his finger against her lips, turning her to face him. “Tell me.”
The shadows of fear slithered in the smoky depths of her eyes.
She opened her mouth, shut it and shrugged. “It was nothing. Nothing.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Gently, he caressed her cheek, her jaw, all the while watching her eyes.
“I just—I just thought I saw someone I knew.” She shrugged again.
He nodded once. “Did you?”
Her eyes darted down. “I—I don’t know. I lost them in the crowd.”
He thought about her words, wondering what part of it was a lie, what part was the truth. “Hmmm.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
He tried a different approach. He leaned forward and kissed her.
“Tell me,” he pressed, whispering against her lips.
She grabbed his head between her hands, spearing her fingers along his scalp.
He tried to stay detached, he wanted answers.
The kiss was ravenous, her tongue dueling with his, parries and forays.
Brayden leaned over, laid her back on the couch, tried to remember where they were and that his bedroom was across the way.
Instead, he kept kissing her, letting her have the lead for the time being. Soon they were both panting.
He stood and pulled her to her feet.