She had attempted to contact her family in Spain, but they had disowned her for disgracing the family. In truth, her family came from royal bloodlines stemming back to the Elizabethan age, but Josephine’s family was on the poorer side of that line. Her family roots were rumored to have ties with the prince that had won Mary, Queen of Scots’ heart hundreds of years before, and it was for that reason that Josephine had been thrilled to be raised in London, England.
Her parents had retired to Spain a year after she started working for the house of Glenenshire. She had been seventeen at the time. When she contacted them after being fired, she tearfully explained what had happened. They had berated her for being so stupid and had refused to help her. That left her alone and penniless, but she was determined to have her baby. When Christian was born, she had taken one look at his perfect face and full head of black hair and cried. She loved him on sight.
As Christian grew, Josephine had begun to see his father’s features. His light blue eyes, his broad shoulders, and slim waist. By the time Christian was sixteen he had grown to his father’s full height of six feet, and he added two inches to that the following year.
Josephine knew her son was handsome, and she knew that he received a lot of attention for his striking looks. She also knew the kind of trouble he was in. She didn’t like it. But she was aware that it was how her son helped with the bills and the rent on her flat, so it was hard to criticize him. She knew Christian felt it was his responsibility to take care of her, since she had given up a lot to have him, but Josephine didn’t like the direction her son’s life was taking and she intended to stop him.
That evening, after dropping Geneva Glasstone off at Charmè’s, Christian went to his mother’s apartment to check on her. He stopped in on her frequently during the week, even though he’d had a flat of his own for years now.
“Mum?” he said as he walked in.
“In here,” Josephine called from the kitchen.
Christian went into the kitchen and, showing a contrast to his somber clothing and dark looks, stood right behind his mother and leaned down to kiss her on the top of her head. “Smells good,” he said, moving to sit at the small table.
“Stay for dinner, then,” Josephine said mildly.
Christian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”
“No reason.” Josephine glanced back at her son. “Good lord, Christian, not everybody has an ulterior motive, you know.”
“Yeah,” Christian said, grinning. “But you do.”
Josephine turned around, crossing her arms and looking at him. “And what would that be?”
Christian sat back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to detect her motive by sight. He pursed his lips then, and shook his head. “Don’t know. But I suspect I’ll find out before the evening’s over.”
Josephine made a face and wagged her stirring spoon at him. “You are an evil child, Christian Joseph Collins, and I should take you over my knee for such blatant disrespect of your dear sick mother. To think that I labored for thirty-six hours to bring you into the world, and to have you talk to me like this. I could have died, you know? Right there, on the table, died, and then you would have been without the benefit of my experience to guide you through the treacheries of life…”
By the time she was halfway into her speech, Christian was laughing. Josephine was trying to keep a straight face as she recited the speech he had heard so many times in his twenty-five years of life that he could recite it with her, and often did.
“I know,” he said, nodding, with a look of resignation in his light blue eyes as he looked down at the floor, the grin still on his face. “I am a sacrilegious youth, and I’m just lucky you’ve allowed me to grow to the ripe old age that I have…”
“Shut up, you,” Josephine said, laughing as well. “Are you staying for dinner or not?”
“I am. Want me to do anything?”
“Sit there and tell me about your day,” Josephine said, turning back to her stove.
Christian scratched a jet black eyebrow with his index finger, his expression troubled. “Well, there’s not much to tell, really. Just did some running around and all that,” he said, his voice non-committal.
Josephine suspected he was telling her a half-truth; when she turned to look at him and noted his index finger at his brow, she knew it.
“Are you still working for that drug dealer?” she asked point blank.
Christian was taken aback. He hadn’t known that she knew about that in the first place; he certainly hadn’t expected her to ask him about it directly. “I, uh…” he stammered, not sure how to answer.
“It was a yes or no question, young man.”
Christian looked back at his mother, surprised. She wasn’t usually this forthright. Finally, he lowered his eyes from hers, something no one else had ever seen Christian Collins do and probably never would. He nodded, staring at the floor.
Josephine didn’t reply, merely nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to the stove. She didn’t speak again until they were seated at the table. Christian had poured himself a stiff shot of brandy and followed it with a couple more, and now he waited for his mother’s tirade. They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Josephine gave him a long, hard look.
“I want you to stop,” she said simply.
Christian looked up at her, his eyes showing his surprise. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is, and you will.”
“Mum—”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me, Christian. I did not bring you into this world to have you killed by some lowlife junky,” Josephine raged. It was obvious she’d been chewing on this for a while.
Christian sighed. “I’m not gonna get killed. I gotta do this, Mum. It’s the only way I can make ends meet.”
“Yes, and I suppose you have to drive a brand new Jaguar too, right?” Josephine said, not willing to be placated.
“That car isn’t mine, it’s Charmè’s,” Christian said, feeling a stab of anger at the thought.
Josephine looked taken aback for a moment, but then the fight came back to her. “I don’t care. You can do something else. I don’t want you working for a drug dealer, Christian.”
“What else can I do?” Christian said, his anger starting now. “What, be a checkout boy at the local grocer? A waiter? A bellman? You tell me.”
“Don’t snap at me, Christian Joseph Collins. I don’t care what you do, I just want it to be legal. Do you understand?” Her tone was no-nonsense, and Christian could almost feel her digging her heels in. He knew if he wanted to keep his mother happy, which was basically what he strove for most of the time, he’d have to break with Charmè. The thought did not sit well with him, because he didn’t know what else he was going to do.
The solution presented itself later that night.
Christian was asleep in bed when the bell on the security gate rang. Groaning, he turned over and listened for it to sound again. When it did, he dragged himself from the bed and padded into the living room, over to the front door. He depressed the button for the intercom system at the front gate and spoke into the monitor.
“Yeah?” he said, his irritation at having been awoken clear.
“Blue, it’s me,” came a cultured voice. Geneva Glasstone.
“What do you want?”
There was silence on the other end of the intercom for a moment, then, “First of all, I want you to open this bloody gate. Then I want to talk to you.” She sounded irritated now as well.
Christian grinned at having affected her mood so easily. He enjoyed making people react, either to his words or to himself. So far Geneva Glasstone was pretty easy. After a long pause he finally pressed the button that would release the lock on the gate, then reached over to open his front door. Leaving it ajar, he walked over to his couch and sat down, lounging almost indolently when she came in.
Geneva caught her breath when she wal
ked into Christian’s apartment. To begin with, the apartment itself was a striking combination of white walls and black and charcoal-gray furniture. The carpet was a deep sapphire blue. Secondly, the young man she’d come to see lounged before her wearing black sweatpants and no shirt. He looked incredible. Geneva couldn’t believe she’d temporarily forgotten how good-looking his was. His light blue eyes watched her with interest, even as the rest of his body screamed indifference.
Christian watched Geneva’s expression and gave her a knowing look. He could see she was deeply affected by him—not that it was unusual, but it gave him the upper hand, and he liked that. She was wearing a fur coat, a sable that fell to her mid-calf, and black stiletto heels. He noted that she made no move to take the coat off, and he didn’t offer to help her, something he was sure would bug the hell out of her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. She walked over and looked down at him. Normally, when a person stands above another person and looks down at them it creates an air of superiority in the individual standing. Geneva didn’t feel in any way superior in this instance. Perhaps it was the way he was staring up at her with naked truculence in his eyes. She had hoped that he’d be pleased, or at least flattered that she’d obviously gone out of her way to find out where he lived and to come there at this hour. That hope had already been dismissed.
But Geneva Glasstone was not one to allow disappointment to hinder her intentions in the least. She wanted this young man in the worst way possible, and she was going to get him, one way or the other. She knew she just needed to figure out what made him tick. Find out what he wanted most and give it to him, then he’d be hers. She knew; she’d done it before with other young men. Geneva had actually made a few millionaires that way. The smarter young men took what she offered and built on it. The foolish ones took everything for granted and found themselves on the outside looking in when Geneva tired of them. Right now she had her sights set on one Christian “Blue” Collins, and she had no intention of stopping until she got him. Her first priority once she had him, however, would be to break him of this defiance that seemed ingrained in his very nature. While exciting in the beginning, she knew that a “rebellious youth” was more trouble than he was worth.
“Charmè told me where to find you,” she said finally, her tone conversational. “Rest assured that I paid handsomely for the information.” She moved to sit down next to him.
Christian didn’t move, which she had half expected him to do. Instead he gave a short, derogatory laugh and shook his head. “You should have asked me,” he said depreciatively. “It would have cost you a lot less.”
Geneva didn’t reply, surprised. She had figured him for difficult, considering his comment about no one owning him and his condescending attitude. Maybe she’d been wrong. Even after her extended interrogation of Charmè she knew almost nothing about Blue; all she knew was where he lived, that he’d worked for Charmè for a year, and that he usually did what he was told.
Charmè hadn’t told her about the time he’d asked Christian to carry out a hit on a customer and Christian had refused. Charmè had attempted to strong-arm the younger man with two of his bodyguards. Christian had taken the bodyguards out instead and had, in no uncertain terms, told Charmè that if he ever sent his goons after him again, it would be Charmè that would end up in a body bag. Charmè had never asked Christian to do a hit on anyone again, for fear that he would carry out his threat. Charmè didn’t tell anyone about the incident, not wanting anyone to know that he was literally terrified of Christian Collins. Except for that, Charmè adored him, thinking he’d love nothing more than to see if the young man swung both ways but afraid to chance asking him. He was just waiting to see any signs of bisexuality in the young man.
The flamboyant drug dealer had told Geneva that little tidbit of information, and looking at Christian now, Geneva seriously doubted Charmè would ever glimpse anything hopeful in Christian Collins’ mannerisms.
“Well,” she said, breaking the silence, “it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
Christian didn’t answer; he just shrugged slightly and shook his head.
“I wanted to see you again.” Geneva reached out to touch his arm. Christian turned his head to look down at her hand, then his light blue eyes trailed up to hers, but he said nothing. “I wanted to offer you a proposition.” This time Christian grinned knowingly, the look in his eyes wintery. “Hear me out before you say anything,” Geneva said, her tone cajoling. Christian nodded, but the look in his eyes didn’t change.
Geneva took a deep breath and began again, trying desperately not to be affected by how close he sat to her and the smell of his cologne, still evident even after he’d been in bed. Good Lord, Geneva, don’t think of him in bed—you’ll never get through this!
“I want to offer you a job, of sorts. You see, my husband died many years ago, and since then I have attended parties in the homes of the people in the same society set. Well, it seems these people are forever setting me up with eligible men my age, to try and get me married off again. The men they set me up with are, to say the least, detestable.” She made a face, showing her distaste, and Christian couldn’t hold back a grin. “Well, as you can imagine, since I was only twenty-eight when my husband died, I was far from ready to settle down with some old codger and grow old like him. My husband left me all of his vast fortune, and I don’t feel the need to get married again. And so, since if I go to these parties alone I get stuck with old men, I have ceased going to them by myself. Now I take handsome young men who end up being the envy of every woman at the party, young or old. I’ve developed quite the reputation for discovering the most handsome young men in England and abroad. In any case, I think you would probably cause a huge uproar anywhere you go, and that is very appealing to me.”
“Okay,” Christian said, not bothering to deny her last statement; he knew she was right.
“What I want is for you to be my escort, and I’ll pay you.”
“That’s it?” Christian said, the look in his eyes belying his guileless question.
“It can be, if that’s what you want,” Geneva said, gazing up at him.
“But it’s not what you want.”
“No,” Geneva said, feeling herself being drawn in by him.
“And what is it you want?” His tone was cool, but he was staring straight into her eyes.
“Everything,” she said breathlessly.
“But can you handle it?” he asked then, his look heating up a few more degrees.
“I can handle you better than you know,” Geneva said, her own confidence finally showing.
“How much better?”
Without a word Geneva stood up and unfastened her coat, dropping it to the floor. She wore nothing underneath. Christian stared up at her with a look that was a combination of amusement and surprise. “You are rather daring, aren’t you?” he said finally, his tone indicating a new respect for her.
“I can be,” Geneva said proudly.
“Where did you park when you came here?” There was no parking near his building.
“Two streets down.”
Christian grinned, inclining his head just slightly.
“Why?” she asked, feeling the warmth of sexual tension start in her.
Without warning Christian reached up, taking her hand and pulling her down. She straddled his lap, staring down at him. “Because it excites me to think of you walking up the London streets dressed like that.”
Geneva felt a shock of electricity light up her whole body as he pulled her head down to him and kissed her. They spent the next three hours having sex. In the end, Geneva was happy to realize that there were indeed things she could teach him. Christian had all the makings of an incredible lover, with the looks and the body to back them up, but there were nuances, touches, and other things that could make him a legendary lover, and Geneva intended to teach him them all.
Later they discussed their business arrangement. She would make the payments on his flat a
s well as buy the Jaguar from Charmè and sign over the title to Christian. She would pay him a fair amount for escorting her to parties and there would be the added bonus of sex, for which Christian refused to actually take money. To his way of thinking, if he didn’t take money for that part, he was still within an acceptable realm of employment. That way he wasn’t really a whore. Well, not totally.
****
After their first meeting, Donovan and Jeanie worked together often. Jeanie found that she enjoyed spending time with him. His laugh was contagious, and he’d often have her laughing over something really dumb till her sides hurt. They talked about inconsequential things, but in no time, Jeanie counted him among her friends. One day, about three weeks after they met, Jeanie and Donovan were working out at the department warehouse for the day. They’d taken a radio and had spent the day debating what songs were good or not. They found that they had a lot in common when it came to music.
Jeanie sat on a stack of boxes, watching as Donovan opened yet another box and started examining the contents. He was wearing jeans, dark brown Dr. Martens boots, and a teal shirt that just about matched the color of his eyes. Jeanie found him terribly handsome, and his personality went a long way to making him perfect. He had an even temper, and such an easygoing way about him that she couldn’t help but like him.
“Okay, Jay,” he said, using the nickname he’d coined for her almost right from the beginning. “This one’s got four Motorola Saber radios and one Motorola Midland radio.” He glanced up at her, his sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead and making his teal eyes seem more blue-green than ever.
“Got it,” she replied, writing it down on the list they were making. Midnight had decided to inventory the equipment in the warehouse, in the event that any of it started to disappear—if it hadn’t been taken already. “You know, if you’d let me help, you could sit down for a while…” she said as she saw him reach for another box.
For all Intents and Purposes (MidKnight Blue Book 6) Page 5