by CORY CYR
“You didn’t answer my question, leannán. Is there someone else?” His voice becomes strained and demanding.
I swivel around and face him. His eyes are no longer the familiar green or blue, but dark and ominous. His pupils are enormous and his look fills me with trepidation.
“Of course I want you,” I whisper, touching his hand. “For God’s sake, Latch, when in the hell would I have time to be with someone else? You’re being ridiculous.”
“I need to hear you say it, leannán. Tell me.” His tone is alarming as he wraps his hand around my upper arm tightly. The force of his grip surprises me because he’s always been gentle with me.
“I’m yours, Latch. I belong to you,” I say softly in discomfort at having to admit that I am truly his, that I belong to this man and that he owns my heart, my body and my soul.
He kisses my neck, lingering on the spot as though in thought. Latch releases his hold on my arm.
“Hey, can you give Haven and me a minute alone?” he asks Keenan, knowing Weezie will follow him. And just like that, his mood changes once again. I cringe in despair, knowing that there is obviously something serious happening here, but not being able to pinpoint the trouble.
“No problem. We’ll head out to the courtyard, and I hope we’ll miss being cornered by your mother. You do know she needs to see you tonight . . . Latch—sober. Don’t be a twat. Your mother expects an audience with you and your girlfriend.” Keenan looks unsettled.
“After you, my dear,” Keenan says to Weezie, as he moves her to the door. Keenan looks back at both of us, and the tension is clearly expressed on his face.
The look on Weezie’s face is one of adoration. I’ve never seen her so calm before, and she appears enamored by Keenan. Weezie has never had a serious relationship before. Now, at forty years old, it’s time for her to start considering a life with someone other than me. Keenan is only twenty-nine, but his mannerisms speak of a well-seasoned man.
As the door shuts behind them, I feel dread. Latch’s emotions are all over the place. I’m not sure what I might say or do to set him off. He walks away from me, and stretches out in one of the big leather chairs. He motions for me to come to him.
“Come sit on my lap.” His eyes are fixed and glassy as he licks his lips.
I cross over slowly to him in hesitation. He pats his thighs, beckoning me to sit.
“Latch, please, we can’t do this here, not in your mother’s house, please,” I implore.
I know for certain if I sit on his lap, it will lead to something sexual. As bad as I want him, I can’t allow that to happen at his mother’s gala. I watch his hand tremble as he takes another sip of his drink, then scowls and rolls his eyes.
“I’m not going to fuck you in my mother’s library, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His hands grab me around my waist and he pulls me onto his lap. “Just because I won’t do it now, make no mistake, leannán, I will fuck you tonight.” He speaks of it as a matter of fact.
My stupid, traitorous body quivers with trepidation. Even though I feel anxious and hesitant, my sex is throbbing. My breasts feel heavy, overflowing my bra, and I feel flush and wet. His lips curve as if he knows I want him. His arrogance pisses me off. I feel his length, hard and taut pressing against my backside through the layers of my dress. He bends his head toward me.
“Can you feel how much I want you? You do that to me, Haven. I always want to fuck you,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “Are you wet? If I run my fingers along your pussy, will they come back slick and ready?” His voice is hushed, sensual and carnal. If he continues speaking in that tone, I’m going to come right here, right on his lap in my Oscar De La Renta gown.
I grit my teeth, trying to focus on anything but Latch’s hard cock and my sex beating like a drum. Latch raises me up off his lap as he stands up. I watch as he adjusts his pants. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a box and removing a velvet case from inside it. As he opens the case, he looks directly at me.
“I love you, leannán. I never realized how empty I was inside until I met you. You filled me up. You made me whole. You’re my other half. I need you, baby. I only hope that one day you’ll love me like I love you.”
I blink back the moisture in my eyes. This is Latch, a man that makes me feel, uncertainty, pleasure, pain, confusion and happiness—the man who says he loves me but has the ability to wreck me emotionally.
He stands behind me, reaches up to my neckline and puts a choker around my throat. I move over to the liquor cabinet with mirrored doors and I kneel down to see the necklace. A quiet sob leaves my lips as I run my fingers over it. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Diamonds encompass the entire choker with square cut emeralds spaced evenly between them.
“I wanted you to have something that reflects how I see you: rare, beautiful and exquisite.” Latch says, helping me to my feet.
“It’s breathtaking.”
I’m still touching the necklace as I stand up to cup his face with my other hand.
“Latch, this is too much.”
Latch catches my hand and kisses the palm. I know it’s his way of showing me he loves me, not just saying the words.
“No matter what I give you, it will never be enough to show you what you’ve given me.”
He bends his head down to mine, our foreheads touching. His lips crush mine as our tongues entangle and his body presses against me. He stops abruptly and straightens his tie.
“Well, it’s about that time.” Latch’s look is one of aggravation.
“Time for what?” I ask, straightening my gown and primping my hair.
“My mother, she wants to meet you, and I’m sure I’ve procrastinated long enough. Let’s get this over with. And Haven, please, take my mother with a grain of salt,” he says dryly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We step out of the library and the gala is in full swing now. I’m still able to pick her out through the hundreds of guests. I see her standing by the grand piano. Latch’s mother is tall, beautiful, regal, and dripping of grandeur. She smiles when she sees her son, but her expression is not so welcoming towards me. My heart begins to pound and my hands feel clammy.
“Mother.”
Latch kisses his mother on the cheek. She looks at him adoringly. It’s obvious she’s devoted to her son.
“Where have you been hiding, Lachlan?” she asks, and amusement glints her eyes. I’ve never heard anyone call Latch by his given name, and it sounds foreign to me.
“Getting loaded in the library, what else?” he retorts, obviously attempting to get a reaction from her, or maybe it’s payback for making him come to an event he loathes. She seems to brush off his comment as her eyes dart from Latch to my necklace.
“Mother, this is Haven Wells,” he announces proudly.
I reach out to shake her hand. Even though she takes it, the gesture feels stiff and awkward.
“Miss Wells, it’s a pleasure. My son has told me a great deal about you.” Her tone is laced with malice.
I nod my head. I am in disbelief that Latch appears oblivious to his mother’s tone. No wonder he drinks.
“You have a beautiful home,” I say, attempting small talk and praying for this to end soon.
Latch is busy perusing the room.
“Did Keenan come with you tonight?” his mother asks.
“Of course he did. I’m not sure where he is right now. I’m going to see if I can track him down as well as grab another drink. Mother, can you entertain Haven while I’m gone?” Latch bends down to whisper in my ear. “Just remember, anything she says . . . grain of salt.”
I remain silent, but my eyes are begging him not to leave me. Oh no, don’t go, please. As soon as he walks away, I swear the air around me becomes chilly. The stony look she gives me is none too comforting either.
“Why don’t we have a little chat, Ms. Wells?” Her voice reeks of intimidation.
She moves away from her guests, walking toward the foyer
, and I know I have no choice but to follow. She turns and faces me with a stoic visage.
“I love my son, but he’s never been one for propriety. When he told me about you, I had hoped that you would be like the rest, and that he would grow tired and bored as he has done since he became sexually active.” She pauses. “When that didn’t transpire, I had you investigated.”
Her eyes are fixed, her hands folded. I clench my fists at my sides, red creeping up my neck and onto my face.
“I knew you were older, but really, Ms. Wells—you’re thirty-seven years old and you’re having an affair with my twenty-five year-old son. You’ve never been married. Is there something wrong with you? Certainly a somewhat educated woman of your age would have at least attempted marriage.” Latch’s mother speaks with venom that leeches into my very being, poisoning me slowly from root to tip.
I try to speak, to advocate for myself in any way possible, but she waves her hand in front of my face to stop me. The shock of being admonished by someone’s mother nearly unravels me.
“You do realize my son desires a family, children? Are you prepared to provide children at your age?”
Tears sting my eyes and I have to choke them back. I will not give this woman the satisfaction of knowing she can break me.
“My son is a philanderer. It appears that he has many of the same traits that his father had. I, however, was groomed from birth to deal with my husband’s appetites in life, including his inadequacies. You are inconsequential to Lachlan. As soon as he grows tired of the sexual commerce with you, he’ll move on to the next conquest. I’m not sure what your end game is, but you’re slightly older than his traditional gold digger. If it’s money you’re after, then allow me to write you the check.”
The air around me circulates with coldness and cruelty. To say that Latch’s mother is not a nice woman would be an absolute understatement. I appear to be frozen on the spot in the foyer, not sure of what to do next. Latch’s mother holds a smug demeanor in her stance against me. Even though I have remained silent during her verbal assault, somehow I find it in me to speak.
“He loves me.” I say to her quietly.
She laughs. “Ms. Wells, surely a woman of your maturity realizes that some men, which sadly includes my son, appear to confuse love with, and I abhor to be so vulgar—a piece of ass.”
“That’s enough, Fiona,” Keenan says icily as he takes my arm gently, pulling me toward him. With the shock and hurt of this vile woman’s words, I didn’t even hear him approach us.
His eyes center squarely on Latch’s mother. He does not look happy.
“Oh goodness, Keenan, Ms. Wells and I were just having a woman to woman conversation.” Her voice drips with innocence.
“Yes, I heard some of the conversation. I wonder, what do you think your son would say about the context of it?” Keenan questions with a calculated harshness to his voice. And with that parting shot, he effectively dismisses her. “Come on, Haven, let’s go find Latch and Weezie,” he says gently as he walks me away from Latch’s mother toward the grand ballroom.
I feel so unsteady. I have to physically lean into him for support. Thank the heavens for Keenan.
“Ignore her. She’s always been possessive when it comes to Latch. Do me a favor . . . don’t tell him about it.” Keenan rubs his jaw, his face conflicted. “I only heard a small bit of it, but I know Fiona and she can be vicious. I can only imagine the things she said. I’m sure you’re hurt and upset, but telling Latch will make it worse.”
I look up at Keenan, puzzled.
“Trust me on this, Haven. I love Latch like a brother, but he’s in a dark abyss right now. What his mother said to you will only push him over the edge.” Keenan pauses and takes my hand. “You do know how much he loves you? Deeply to his soul. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, and I was hoping that caring about someone, besides himself, would keep him from spiraling out of control.” Keenan’s face is carved with pain and confliction, and I’m confused with what little information he is revealing about Latch and his well-being.
“Keenan, I don’t understand what’s happening, and right now I’m not even sure I want to know. I just want to leave now, please.”
I feel extremely disoriented right now. I just got verbally bitch-slapped by Latch’s mother, and now Keenan is telling me things regarding Latch that don’t make any sense. Why is everything so cryptic? My emotions are splintered between needing to know and not wanting to know.
Keenan stops and turns toward me. His height makes him tower over me.
“What’s wrong with him? Tell me. I know there’s something wrong, just fucking tell me.” I shock myself with my demand as I grab onto Keenan’s jacket. Maybe dropping the f-bomb will show him how desperately I need to know what’s going on with Latch.
“I can’t,” Keenan replies, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not my story to tell. Ask Latch, just not tonight. If you corner him right now, it will get brutal. He’s had way too much to drink and it’s not even midnight.”
“You’re his friend. If he has a drinking problem, why not cut him off?” I press as I glare at Keenan.
“I’ve been trying all day. You have no idea. You can’t argue with him once he starts. If I try to intervene and take away the booze, he will get ugly—very quickly. You need to talk to him, Haven, just don’t try tonight—I’m begging you.” Keenan looks frustrated and worried.
I see Weezie across the room and I wave her over. When she gets to me, Keenan places his hand on the small of her back and whispers in her ear. She giggles as she leans into him. I almost feel jealous; they appear to be so relaxed with each other. I touch Weezie’s arm lightly, pulling them apart.
“Come to the restroom with me. We need to talk,” I say quietly.
Weezie looks at Keenan, shrugging. “It’s a girl thing.” She smiles, handing her drink to him.
“Just meet me in the courtyard after you’re done. I’ll go find Latch,” Keenan tells her.
As he starts to walk away, he passes a desperate glance to me, his eyes pleading. Whatever is going on regarding Latch, it’s something that needs to be addressed. Just not tonight. I acknowledge the message in Keenan’s gaze.
Weezie and I walk out of the ballroom and begin moving down the hall looking for a restroom. We find several but choose to use the one nearest to the kitchen because it has less traffic. As we enter the room, I shut the door and lock it behind us.
“What is it?” Weezie asks as she decides to use the facilities.
“Latch’s mother read me the riot act. I mean, she was a real bitch,” I say shakily, and my hands are still trembling from the confrontation as I view myself in the mirror.
“I kind of expected that. Mothers are territorial as hell, and he’s her only kid. I bet she wants some Scottish chick for him,” Weezie replies, pulling her dress down. She walks over to the sink to wash her hands.
“You know he loves you. I mean, shit, look at that necklace. Good God, that thing must have cost more than a small country.” Weezie chuckles as she fingers the necklace.
“Sometimes, I’m not sure if it’s love or ownership,” I state, trying to pinch color back into my very pale face.
Weezie touches my arm. “She really shook you up, didn’t she?” Weezie asks, her face mirroring the concern in her voice.
“It was horrible. She was so mean and then some. She basically gave me my walking papers. Jesus, Weezie, she even had me investigated.” Weezie stares at me in disbelief.
“You know Latch’s opinion is the only one that matters. And that man truly is in love with you.” She looks at me, pulling my hair back as she straightens the choker. “You love him.” She states it more like a fact than an actual question.
I bend my head down, trying not to look at her. I know I can no longer keep my feelings to myself. The entire time I’ve known Latch, I’ve been doing my best to talk myself out of being emotionally attached to the man, but here I am. I can rationalize it an
yway I want to, but I am hopelessly in love with him. Even when I was with Jared, I never felt such intensity. Latch makes me feel different, and it feels real.
But whatever he is hiding has me worried.
I’ve seen Latch drink, but not like this. His moods are all over the place. His highs and lows are alarming. True, I haven’t been around too many alcoholics in my life. Jesus, is he an alcoholic? Have I saddled myself with someone who is more damaged then I am? In college, both Weezie and I had many friends who drank to excess, but their personalities didn’t go from nice to hostile in a split second. Only the few acquaintances we had known doing drugs had such sporadic behavior. So it has to be drugs—there’s no other explanation. I’m draped in guilt to being ignorant to what has been going on. My mind flashes back to his bathroom cabinet and the bottles of pills I’d seen. Truthfully, I don’t know much about drug use other than the occasional joint Weezie and I share as a stress reliever. I’m certainly not informed on the usage, or misuse, of Latch’s prescription drugs, other than what’s in the news. I need to get back into his bathroom and get my hands on those pills so I can make sure my suspicions are right, and then maybe I can figure out how to help him. Maybe it’s too late and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t abandon him—what’s between us is too strong. I could never just walk away. This has been probably going on for a long time, and I don’t understand why no one stepped in to rescue him.
“Ready, my dear?” Weezie asks, arching her brow.
I pause, touching her arm. I have finally been honest with myself and what I truly feel for Latch. So now, it’s my confession time. I need to verbalize it so I’ll know it’s real.
“I do love him,” I tell her with a faint voice.
It takes everything in my power not to blurt out my theory about Latch to Weezie, even though I need her support and her advice. A beautiful smile spreads across her face when she takes my hands and holds them in her strong grip. I smile back at her, knowing that, no matter what, she will always support me.