by Lisa G Riley
“Therapy? Why on earth are you getting therapy?”
“Well, I just feel that I need it. I need it to get rid of the trust issues I’ve been carrying around my whole life.”
“What trust issues?”
“You know what I’m talking about, Mom. I don’t trust men because of what Dad did. The situation has spilled over into my relationship with Sloan and—”
Camille had eagerly pounced on what she’d viewed as damning evidence. “I knew it! I knew that he had something to do with this. What did he do? Tell you he wouldn’t marry you unless you got therapy? Listen to me, baby. You don’t need therapy. You’re fine, and if he can’t see that, then you don’t need to be with him.”
“It wasn’t his idea, Mom. It was mine, and I’ve already started it. I know I need some kind of help, because what I’ve been doing hasn’t worked. I distrust Sloan, and he’s given me no reason to. It’s unfair to him.”
Camille had closed her eyes as defeat coursed through her. She hadn’t hid her disappointment.
“You don’t need therapy, Kendra, and that’s all I’ve got to say on the matter. But you do what you want. I’ll talk to you later.”
Camille had hung up the phone without saying good-bye or her usual “I love you,” and things had been strained between the two of them since. Camille missed her daughter. She hoped that Kendra would come to her senses, because she didn’t like missing out on her life. She knew a little bit about how the wedding plans were going, but Kendra never really went into any detail. “I suppose it’s punishment because she doesn’t think I should be mad,” she muttered. “But I’m right. No child of mine needs therapy.”
Chapter Nineteen
In grateful relief, Sloan lifted his face to the breeze that blew off Lake Michigan. It was late July, so that meant that he was miserably hot. He turned back to tend to burgers on the grill that he’d brought and set up along with his tent and lawn chairs. It was barely ten thirty in the morning, and he and most of his family had been settled on the prime piece of green real estate between the Shedd Aquarium and the lake since eight. In his opinion, they had the best spot to be had for Venetian Night. The parade wouldn’t start until eight thirty that night, but it was the early bird who got the worm when it came to big summer events in Chicago.
So every year Sloan and his family got up early and pitched a tent at least twelve hours in advance for the spectacular show in which boat owners sailed their decorated boats, to the delight of lakeside audiences. Each boat was decorated according to the owner’s interpretation of the theme the city had dreamed up.
When the family had arrived, things were pretty quiet, but two and a half hours later, Sloan could already see that latecomers would be lucky to get a place to stand to see the boat show. He flipped another burger on the grill and turned slowly at the sound of a speedboat on Lake Michigan. He squinted in admiration behind his sunglasses. “One day soon,” he said aloud and turned back to his grill.
“One day soon what?”
Sloan looked up to see Connor walking toward him, carrying a huge cooler. “Is there wine in there?” he asked.
“Red and white. I also brought wine coolers for the wussies and beer for those of us who like a real drink.”
“All I care about is the wine. Amy wouldn’t shut up about it, and Mom…well, let’s just say Mom is a lot nicer when she’s not disappointed.”
“You’re lucky you caught me before I got onto Lake Shore Drive, because once I’m on it, there’s no getting off until I see my exit.” Connor put the cooler down in the lone empty corner of the large blue-and-white-striped tent. “I don’t know how you could have forgotten the alcohol, especially the wine,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “It should be common sense by now. Every Venetian Night your mother looks forward to her single glass of white wine as she watches the fireworks. Even I know that, and I’m not a member of the family.”
“You don’t want to remind me of your lack of familial ties right now, Connor,” Sloan said as he shooed a fly away. “It’s only the blood tie that’s keeping me from murdering several members of my family.”
“What happened?”
“I’m just annoyed; that’s all. Work has been crazy, wedding stuff has been picking up, and then today I had to come here in the hot sun and cook, and all I hear are complaints. Thank God they all went to the museum campus,” he finished. The museum campus, comprising the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, and the Adler, was one of the city’s more-popular attractions.
Connor looked toward the campus and shook his head. “I don’t know what makes them do it every year. Did they go to the Shedd this year? The place has got to be filled to bursting with sweaty tourists and visitors.”
“Yeah. The kids were really excited.”
“Anyway,” Connor began as he twisted the cap off a bottle of water, “speaking of your work, I’m sorry it’s taking so long to get further confirmation regarding Mrs. Patterson’s being on that cruise. I’m sure you can imagine that global red tape is even slower to unravel than the normal shit.”
“It’s all right,” Sloan told him. Connor was trying to get him a copy of the ship’s manifest, which would list Mrs. Patterson as a passenger if she were on board. Sloan also wanted further proof in the form of a picture of his client on the ship. Connor was working through his contacts, but it was a complicated process. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not—Not today.”
“I hear you,” Connor agreed. “What did you mean when you said one day soon?”
“Oh, I was talking about owning a boat. Once we’ve settled in after the wedding and our finances are in order, I’m going to buy a boat,” Sloan said with satisfaction. “I’ve got it all planned out. I’d like to moor it at Belmont, Burnham, or Diversey Harbor.”
“Yeah? What kind? Speedboat? Sailboat?” Connor took a sip from his bottle of water and smirked. “Raft?”
“Not smart to make sarcastic remarks to the chef, Connor—especially when he’s the one who determines if you’ll get Kobe beef or just plain old ground chuck.” Sloan shook his head. “Not exactly a move I’d expect from the law-school class valedictorian.”
“I’m still smarter than your American, white-boy, salutatorian ass,” Connor said as he began walking away. “I’m going to the can.”
Sloan grinned and grabbed a bottle of water.
“Daydreaming?” Connor’s smooth voice asked from behind him a little later, causing Sloan to jerk around in surprise.
“God, I don’t know how you’re always able to sneak up on me like that. I didn’t hear you at all,” Sloan complained and waited for a response that never came. Connor just looked at him, his face completely expressionless. “Ah, so it’s the Mysterious Mr. Chang who’s come out to play today, huh?” Again, he got no answer, just a sardonic lift of one straight black brow. Sloan shook his head and turned back to the grill. “I don’t know why I put up with your weird ass, man,” he said and started taking off burgers.
“‘Cause I’m one of only a few who will put up with your shit; that’s why,” Connor said. “So how’s Kyle doing? Everything going okay in Tahoe?”
“As far as I know. I’ve only talked to him twice since he left, and that’s only been when we’ve been lucky enough to reach him on his cell.”
“Did he decide to work with the FBI?”
“Yeah, I think so. He doesn’t talk much about it. All he talks about is the money he lost in that big poker game. He was eliminated pretty early. He thinks someone cheated.”
“Is he that big a loser that he would accuse someone of cheating when things don’t go his way?”
“That’s just it,” Sloan said. “The few times he’s ever lost at anything, Kyle has always lost gracefully. He says something was off that night, and it wasn’t him—says that nothing felt right from the moment he sat down.”
“So why did he play? I would have thought a guy like him would always rely on his instincts.”
“He usually does. B
ut you know how it goes. Even when it doesn’t feel right, if something is really important to you, you convince yourself that everything is okay. So he sat down and lost his money. He feels like he’s been swindled.”
“So what’s he going to do about it?”
“Nothing. What can he do but chalk it up as a loss? A very costly one, but hey.” Sloan shrugged. “Live and learn.”
“I’m not so sure Kyle would have that attitude about the whole thing.”
“Normally he would. You know how Kyle is. You win some; you lose some. But this time it was a little more difficult for him to take that attitude because he really needed this money to get his company started.”
“Just how much did he lose?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
Connor’s whistle was long and disbelieving. “Damn, that’s quite a bit. Has he any idea how he’s going to recoup his losses?”
Sloan shrugged again. “Like I said, you know Kyle. He always has an idea. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it soon enough.”
“So is he planning on starting the company here, or does he want to stay in Lake Tahoe?”
“He likes the West Coast—claims that even as a born-and-bred Chicagoan, the winter weather here is too much on his delicate skin.”
“Really? So will it be Tahoe or somewhere else?”
Sloan frowned. “Why all the questions about Kyle? The FBI still want you to find out what he’s doing about that crook in Tahoe?” He and Kyle had known about the FBI’s contacting Connor regarding Kyle almost from the moment it had occurred. The FBI had contacted Connor because of his ties to the Johnson family, and as Kyle was being difficult, they’d wanted Connor’s take on him.
“Nah, they already know he’s working it. They just want him to stop being a lone wolf and join the pack, so to speak, before he gets hurt.”
Connor’s tone was flat and serious, and Sloan turned to look at him in question. “The next time you talk to your brother, tell him he’d be smart to bring the agent who contacted him into his confidence, and therefore have her watching his back. Things are looking ugly.”
“What do you know?”
“That’s it,” Connor promised. “Just urge him to throw his lot in with theirs. The sooner the better.”
“All right,” Sloan said with a slow nod. “I’ll do that.”
“Anyway,” Connor said as Sloan turned back to his burgers. “I’m wondering if Kyle will be here to throw the bachelor party, or if I should be the one making plans to spend all my money on strippers, call girls, buffalo wings, and beer,” he finished, dispelling the tension in the air.
Sloan laughed. “Don’t worry. Kyle will be here, and like I told him: no strippers and no call girls.”
“No, I don’t suppose Kendra would appreciate that.”
“Nah. You know her; she has the ridiculous notion that just because I’m marrying her, I should steer clear of other women.”
“Why, that’s just crazy talk,” Connor said.
“But anyway, Kyle will be here. I’m not worried.”
“What about Kendra? Is she worried? The wedding’s pretty damned close, right?”
“Don’t remind me. We still have so much to do. But in answer to your question, Kendra isn’t worried about Kyle. She’s got other things on her mind.”
“Oh, you mean that whole deal with her mother, right?”
“Yeah. Camille has been really standoffish since Kendra told her she was getting therapy. We’ve barely seen her since the big announcement.”
“I’ll bet that makes you happy. You don’t have to put up with her crap.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Sloan commented. “But Kendra’s so unhappy with the rift that I can’t enjoy the benefits.”
“Well, at least therapy is going well, right? That’s one good thing—the most important thing to come out of this.”
“Yep. Burgers are done. Want one?”
Connor looked at his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock.”
Sloan looked at him for a long moment. “I’m waiting for your point.”
“It’s eleven, and I haven’t had breakfast yet. Can I have two?”
“Help yourself.” After sitting down in his lawn chair, Sloan took a big, satisfying bite out of his burger.
“Who’s all here, and how long have they been at the museum?” Connor sat next to him in another lawn chair. Both men wore their dark sunglasses to fight the glare bouncing off the lake.
“A couple of people from my office are expected to arrive a little later, but for now the usual suspects are here—Mom, Dad, Amy and her brood, and Kendra of course. Mozell came along too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
There was too much satisfaction in that one word for Sloan to ignore. He kept his eyes on the lake and his mind on his burger but asked, “Attracted to the tall, thin one, are you?”
“Yep.”
“Not your usual type.”
“Nope. Usually like them short with some heft.”
“How does she feel about it?”
“Antsy,” came the reply after a short silence. “Antsy and nervous. It’s perfect.”
“Good combination,” Sloan confirmed as he polished off his food.
“I remember how you had to basically chase Kendra down, but this is different,” Connor said. “Ms. Reese and I have more of a combative relationship. She’s attracted to me and doesn’t want to be, because I annoy her.”
“And what are you doing about it?” Sloan asked.
“Everything I can think of to irritate her even more,” Connor replied without hesitation.
“Good strategy.” Sloan stared at another powerboat on the lake.
“Hi, boys!”
Sloan and Connor turned to see Kendra and Mozell strolling over. Kendra wore a light blue sundress that floated around her knees and a sun hat with a light blue band. As he watched her laugh while she walked gracefully toward him, a sudden happiness filled Sloan so fiercely that he felt light-headed. Here we go again. Though it happened often, he still couldn’t explain it, other than to say that he simply went loopy with love. Sometimes all Kendra had to do was walk into a room, and bam, love overtook him so quickly that he felt breathless just looking at her.
Saying nothing, he rose and met her, taking her hands in his and lifting her arms to wrap them around his neck. He bent his head to kiss her, smiling because he knew she would be a bit embarrassed at the public display but still kiss him back. A line from one of his favorite Stevie Wonder songs eased its way into his head, and he picked up the melody, softly singing the words against her smiling lips, “I was made to love her, worship and adore her…”
Chapter Twenty
Barefoot, Kendra walked into the living room and sat on the couch, then folded her legs beneath her. Unable to stop laughing at Sloan, she shook her head. “So you’re trying to tell me that your client—a man who runs a multimillion-dollar company—actually told you that he believes that he’s the spawn of aliens?” When Sloan nodded and sat next to her, she snorted and said, “I don’t know if I should believe you or not. You’re such a clown sometimes; it’s difficult to tell when you’re serious.”
Sloan laughed and stretched out to lay his head on her thighs, which were bared by what he liked to call her “getting Sloan ready” shorts, because they were cut off so high and were so threadbare that he could see her butt if he looked closely enough. She only wore them around the house, and tonight she’d paired them with one of his old T-shirts. “Well, this clown is off duty tonight, and I’m not making it up. Not only is he the son of aliens, but they’ll be back to pick him up once he’s completed his mission here. Ahhh,” he said with closed eyes when she started taking her fingers slowly through his hair. “That feels good. What should we do on this, our one free night in what seems like forever?”
Kendra frowned at the sleepiness of his voice. “It sounds like one
of us is trying to go to sleep, and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get that idea out of his head right now.” She yanked on the ends of his hair, so his neck was bent and she could look into his face.
They’d both been so busy over the past couple of weeks that they’d actually had to carve out some time to spend alone together. Tonight was the night. “I’m just resting my eyes. How about a movie?” When she released his hair, he snuggled his head into her thighs again.
“DVD or theater?”
“DVD. You couldn’t pry me from this spot.”
“Cool,” Kendra said eagerly. “We just got Troy in the mail today. How about that one?”
“The movie where Brad Pitt plays Achilles, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I’m game, so long as it isn’t the usual kind of role you like to see him in.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the pretty-boy role.”
“Pretty boy?”
“Yes, pretty boy. The kind of role that requires him to prance around and try to look competent, witty, and charming all at the same time.”
“But he’s all those things without even trying. And he’s a good actor.”
“You think so?” Sloan challenged as he took hold of her legs and yanked so that she was lying on the couch and he was leaning over her. It was small of him, but he didn’t like her fascination with the actor. He supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t refer to Brad Pitt as her “a-girl-can-only-dream spare.”
“Yes, I do,” Kendra purred. “But he doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
Sloan felt her legs spread open beneath him, and slowly lowered his body to hers and slid a hand up her shirt to caress her torso. The clothes that blocked actual penetration just made the whole thing even more arousing. When she moaned and slid her arms around his neck, he bit her earlobe. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. “Now, what was that you were saying about what’s-his-name?” he teased gruffly, and pinched one of her nipples through her shirt.