Okay, Ian Greer was their knight in shining armor. Or rather, rumpled Armani. But that was only the beginning of her questions.
“But what are you doing here?” she asked. “You’ve never shown up before. Sam Riggins, who has been here for ten years, has no idea that you—” she laughed slightly “—that Ian Greer is the benefactor.”
He blinked, sagged slightly against the wall and Andille pushed a big hand against Ian’s shoulder to keep him upright. “If you’ll just give me the directions to that hotel,” Andille said, giving her a quick smile, “I’ll get—”
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Ian asked, as if Andille had never spoken. His eyes bored into hers and her whole body seemed to wake up under his gaze, as if brushed with electricity. Even drunk and nonsensical the man had a certain light about him. Something approaching bewitching. “A man like me. Crude and shallow, a walking embarrassment, a blight on the family name—so unlike my parents. A philanthropist. It sounds like a lie, doesn’t it?”
Jennifer nodded, unable to speak. Held motionless by the bitterness and grief she heard in his voice.
He lurched forward, bumping against her shoulder, and she dropped the knife so she could put up her hands to catch him. “Don’t tell anyone, huh?” he whispered, his eyes lighting over her face. “Let’s keep it a secret. You and me.” His voice was a purr, his gaze dropped to her lips and for one shocked stupid second she would bet money that Ian Greer was about to kiss her.
And she, like a deer in headlights, couldn’t even move out of the way.
“Whoa there, Casanova,” Andille said, hauling Ian back by the neck of his jacket. Andille tossed him lightly against the wall and Ian slumped, his eyes closing. Jennifer stepped away, sucking in big breaths because she’d stopped breathing for a few minutes.
Her body was shaking, unused to such a rush of adrenaline. A rush of anything…to be honest. She lived in a deep freeze and the past few minutes had been like being dropped in boiling water.
And it felt good—in a wild and uncomfortable way. Like running full-tilt downhill in the dark.
“Are you okay?” Andille asked.
She nodded, and then, because really, it was all just so strange, she laughed. Again.
“I’m fine,” she assured Andille, who looked as if he didn’t quite believe her. “I feel like I’ve stepped down the rabbit hole but I will survive.”
Andille grinned. “Welcome to life with Ian Greer. Normally he’s not this bad. But—” He took a deep breath. “It’s been a hard day.”
The funeral. Right. She looked at Ian, who seemed to be holding onto consciousness by a thread. This sad drunk man said goodbye to his mother today. His grieving process left a lot to be desired but Jennifer knew everyone handled pain differently.
Andille slung Ian’s arm over his shoulder as if to carry him to the car but Jennifer held up a hand to stop him. “There are beds here,” she said. She knew Deb would absolutely flip out but the reality was Ian and Andille were in need of shelter and they had shelter to give.
The guy had practically paid for it anyway. She could not in good conscience let Andille haul their knight in rumpled Armani to a Motel Six. It would serve Ian right getting drunk on the day of his mother’s funeral, but Andille looked exhausted.
For Andille and Annabelle, she would do this.
Part of her screamed a warning. The part that had cultivated this new life and wielded the sword with cold efficiency and was so terrified of feeling something again. That part wanted to slam the door and lock these men out in the night, where they couldn’t entice her, couldn’t nearly kiss her, couldn’t beguile her with stories and blue eyes.
This is a mistake, she told herself. You won’t be able to go back from this.
“Are you sure?” Andille asked and she could tell he wanted her to be sure. She could tell he wanted to collapse on a flat surface as soon as possible.
“Let me get you a key.”
“You did what?” Deb whisper-yelled. She was not happy. Not at all.
“What was I supposed to do?” Jennifer whispered, looking over Deb’s head to the hallway toward the rooms.
Not let him in, she answered her own question. Send him to a hotel.
But it was too late now.
Andille, who in the light of the kitchen had been even bigger than he’d seemed outside, had half carried and half dragged Ian to one of the spare beds. Deb had passed them in the hall and she and Jennifer had engaged in a whisper fight as soon as the men had been out of sight.
“The guy’s mother died. It’s late. They are clearly exhausted. I couldn’t just—”
“Yes,” Deb said, dreadlocks flying, “you could. Have you forgotten this is a women’s shelter?”
“But it’s not anymore, Deb.” Jennifer was getting into semantics at this point but it was about all she had. “We haven’t had women stay here like that for over a year. We’re community-focused and frankly, I think the guy needs more help than we do.”
“So, Ian Greer’s going to spend the night? A drunk, womanizing—” Deb glanced at Spence, who stared wide-eyed in the corner “—man. Just bunking down in a former women’s shelter?”
“He’s the benefactor, Deb,” Jennifer whispered back.
“He’s the freaking son of the freaking former president of the United States,” Deb whispered back. “He probably owns a hotel nearby he could stay in. This is nuts. And who is that Andille guy?”
“A bodyguard or something,” Jennifer answered.
“What are you guys talking about?” Spence asked in a normal voice that sounded like gunfire in the quiet house.
“Shhhhhh!” Jennifer and Deb both turned on Spence.
“Who were those guys?” Spence asked, dropping his voice to a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” That big deep voice of Andille’s echoed through the room and everyone snapped around to face him. Spencer grabbed on to Daisy.
Andille smiled and his face showed something so calming, so reassuring, that Jennifer nearly gasped. Without the drunken weight of Ian Greer at his side, the guy’s vibe was positively serene.
Jennifer, in her other life, had interviewed Maya Angelou. Andille was about thirty times bigger than Maya, but he carried himself with the same peace. The same calm.
“Nothing that you need to be scared of,” he said. “I promise you.”
A diamond earring winked in his right earlobe and he wore a black suit. An incredibly well-tailored one, with a crisp white shirt and a pink tie.
The guy, tired and slightly road-wrinkled, was gorgeous.
Deb sucked in a breath, her whole body tight and still and radiating a certain fear and distrust.
“May I?” He gestured toward the kitchen and Jennifer realized the man was asking permission to join them.
“Sure,” she said, waving him in.
He indicated her hand. “Mind if I ask you to disarm first?”
“Oh, my gosh, right.” Jennifer laughed awkwardly and shoved the knife she’d picked up from the common room floor back into the block on the counter. Deb was still watching him out of narrowed eyes and Jennifer appreciated the woman’s skeptical nature. It was hard-earned, but her holding that knife wasn’t helping things. So she took the knife from Deb’s weak grip and put it away.
“My name is Andille Jabavu-Fushai,” he said, striding through the room to tower over Deb.
“What kind of name is that?” Deb asked, without any graciousness.
“A family one. With a long history and a complicated spelling,” Andille joked and Deb still scowled.
“I am Jennifer Stern,” Jennifer said, putting her hand in Andille’s giant palm. “This is my son, Spencer.”
She turned slightly to include Spence, who stood, slack-jawed, at the table. Jennifer gave him a little jostle with her elbow and he lifted his hand in a wave, but didn’t pick his jaw up off the floor.
“It is good to meet you,” he said to Spence as if little boys star
ed at him all day long. “And your name?” Andille asked, throwing his considerable vibe toward Deb. She didn’t even crack a smile. She eyed him up and down as if she’d seen such men a million times before.
Which couldn’t be true. Jennifer had a hunch about Andille, that he was one of a kind.
“Deb Barber,” Deb finally said.
“I’m sorry we scared you,” he said, shaking Deb’s hand, cast and all. “It’s been quite a day.”
Deb pulled her hand free and crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess so. Is that really Ian Greer back there?”
Andille nodded.
“And he’s really the benefactor.”
Andille nodded again.
Deb harrumphed.
“He usually makes a better first impression,” Andille said, then yawned, covering his mouth with his fist. “Sorry. I’ve been driving for hours.”
“There’s one more room back there,” Jennifer said. “You should feel free to go sleep.”
“I will,” he said with that deep voice and kind smile, and Jennifer found herself really liking the guy. “And we appreciate it. We do. I just want to reassure you that we mean you absolutely no harm. Ian got your call this morning and after the funeral, when the paparazzi started dogging him, he decided he needed to hide out and we decided to come here. Killing two birds with one stone.”
“It’s fine,” Jennifer said and Deb shot her an incredulous look.
“We won’t be here long,” he said. “We’ll clear up your banking and legal issues and be on our way.”
“We appreciate the help,” Jennifer said.
“Well.” Andille locked eyes with her and Jennifer saw something scared there. Something worried and unsure and it stunned her. Shocked her. “We appreciate the break. After today…” He stopped and shook his head as if redirecting his thoughts. “After today a good night’s sleep will be welcome.”
“Let me get you the key to that room,” Jennifer said, waving him toward the office where they’d gotten the key for Ian’s room.
“No,” Andille said, holding up a hand to stop her. “I’ll bunk in with Ian. We’ve troubled you enough.”
“You guys are our knights,” she said, wanting to ease what she’d seen in his eyes. “It’s the least we could do.”
Andille laughed. “That’s not anything I’ve been called since I was a kid, but it’s nice you think so.” He nodded slightly at her and then at Deb, like he was actually a knight, then turned and left the kitchen.
Spence let out a big breath and Daisy beside him seemed to relax, licking her nose. “Who is that guy?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” Jennifer said with a smile. “But I really like him.”
Deb’s head flipped around. “You bought that line of crap?” she asked.
“Crap?”
“I don’t trust that man as far as I could throw him.” Deb scowled. “Lock your doors tonight.”
There was something pounding in Ian’s head. A hammer. Or a drum. Something loud and terrible. And painful. An army of hammers.
Fully clothed, in a suit even, he rolled—carefully trying not to anger that army—onto his back and found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Hmmm. He was alone in the bed under that unfamiliar ceiling and that was a very good thing. He could not handle anyone, naked and probably good and pissed off at him for any number of stupid things he might have done last night.
The sheets were rough. He poked out a toe and found the edge of the bed. The single bed. So, not a hotel. At least not a very nice one.
This was getting worrying.
His eyes were filled with sand and his mouth tasted dead and furry. And those hammers—the terrible pounding in his head—were his own blood.
Ten years clean and sober and apparently the wagon backed up and rolled over him a few times when he fell off of it.
“Andille?” His voice was a soundless rasp and he tried again. “Dille?”
“We’re at Serenity House in North Carolina.”
The name sounded familiar and Serenity certainly sounded better than jail.
Ian turned his head to see the mountain of his best friend under the sheets on a single bed on the other side of the narrow room.
“You acted like an ass and the women are nervous,” Andille said, rolling onto his side. “Don’t talk to me until noon.”
“The funeral?” Ian asked, his skin prickling with dread and a pain so big, so thick and real it felt like fear. It felt like losing her all over again.
“You ruined it.”
Ian rolled back over and grinned at the ceiling.
4
Two hours later Andille’s snoring and the scent of coffee drove Ian from the small bedroom. The house was quiet, the narrow hallway he stood in was bright and shabby in the way that a lot of the shelters he’d toured and helped over the years were.
He followed the bitter tang of coffee into the kitchen where a woman—blond, thin and elegant—sat at a laptop on the table.
A shaft of sunlight illuminated her, gilding her hair, turning her pale skin into something…otherworldly.
His breath caught in his chest. She looked angelic. Like she truly belonged in a place called Serenity.
And she was talking to herself.
“At Serenity House the need for shelter,” she mumbled, “was quickly usurped by the need for education and—” She paused. Grimaced. Tilted the screen to the laptop and thunked her head on the edge. “Stupid,” she muttered. “Stupid.”
“I don’t think it sounded that bad,” he said into the silence and the woman jumped, clamping the laptop shut.
A dog—a monster, really—leaped from the woman’s feet and charged Ian, teeth bared and saliva dripping. Ian froze, prepared to be ripped apart.
His misbegotten life flashed before his eyes.
“Daisy!” the woman cried. “Stop!” The dog slowed but didn’t stop and was soon standing on Ian’s feet, growling low in its throat. But not killing him. For the little things, Ian was grateful.
“Daisy?” Ian asked. It was like calling Godzilla sweetie.
“Yes.” The woman cleared the table and got a hand on Daisy’s collar, pulling her out the kitchen door. “She’s our guard dog.”
“She seems to like her job,” he joked, feeling like he’d lost about five years of his life.
“Sorry about that,” she said, shoving the dog onto the lawn. Her eyes, wild and brown—or rather amber, like whiskey—looked over him from top to bottom and frankly, scared the bejesus out of him.
Sharp. Focused. Being the attention of that gaze felt like being under a scalpel—without anesthesia. She looked at him and took him apart at the same time.
Then she blinked and the scalpel was gone. Instead there was a soft, stunning, slightly rumpled woman looking at him, a little detached, only vaguely curious.
The change made him dizzy.
He felt naked and he wished he was sober. Wished he smelled better. Wished he felt half as clean and pure as she appeared.
“No problem. It’s probably handy to have an animal like that around a place like Serenity,” he said, running a hand over his bed head. “I…ah…understand I owe you an apology.”
She waved her hand between them. “You were drunk and tried to kiss me.”
“I did?” His voice squealed slightly in his horror. This is why he didn’t drink. Why he’d stopped ten years ago. He was an absolute idiot every time he did.
“Happens all the time. If I had a nickel for every time the sexiest man alive tried to kiss me, I’d be a rich woman.”
He chuckled, relieved that he’d made an ass of himself with a woman with a sense of humor.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “Truly. I was—”
“A mess,” she supplied with a grin that was totally enchanting. And, transfixed, he found himself staring at her for a moment too long.
“So, you’re our…secret benefactor?” she asked, looking away to fiddle with the corner
of her laptop, because clearly this apology was going so well.
“I am,” he answered, snapping out of his daze. “I am the benefactor of about a dozen community centers and women’s shelters in North Carolina and another dozen in New Hampshire.”
He saw the disbelief in her whiskey eyes. To be honest with himself—and he believed in being honest with himself because he wasn’t honest with anyone else—he saw every headline, every tabloid photograph of him at a party with his arm around some actress, he saw every rumor and every scandal.
Really? her eyes said. You?
He nodded, answering her silent question. “It’s complicated. My—” he swallowed the bitterness in his throat that never seemed to go away “—father was a lawyer here before he became Governor of North Carolina. I grew up not far from Northwoods.”
“That explains it, I guess,” she said, her voice indicating his answer didn’t explain anything, which is what it was designed for.
The conversation stalled and he knew he should say something, but he was distracted by her hair. It was beautiful. A blond curtain, straight and shiny, and all one color. No highlights or lowlights or blue streaks or whatever else the women he usually spent time with did. Just a waterfall of real hair and he wanted to touch it, run his hands through it.
“Well, then.” She cleared her throat and he told himself to get it together. “Welcome to Serenity. We’re really glad you’re here. We’ve had a little run of bad—”
He stopped her, crying surrender. “Coffee first, if you don’t mind. I am more than ready to help, but I can’t do it without coffee.”
“I totally understand.” She stepped away from the table toward the counter and the coffeepot that sat there, and he, because he was hungover and a terrible cad, checked out her long, long legs under the khaki shorts she wore.
She turned, steaming cup of salvation in her hand, and he, trying not to be caught staring, stepped toward the sink as if to wash up.
“The pipes are broken,” she said. “We had to turn off the water. You can wash up in the bathroom.”
“Coffee first,” he said and took the mug from her.
And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2) Page 4