She was really happy with her living arrangement; her life was a lot easier these days. Aidan was the perfect roommate as he was not only much neater than she was; he also derived a bizarre satisfaction from cleaning. Her house was always immaculate and she only had to cook three days out of the week, unless she had a dinner date, which was quite often now. Aidan cooked the other three days and they ate out at least one day a week.
Merlin was also very companionable. He only had two flaws as far as Paris was concerned. He was obsessed with her pantyhose and she often had to chase him through the house to retrieve them from his sharp little teeth. His other obsession was anyone Paris dated. Merlin had designated himself protector of the house and he did his level best to dispatch any potential suitor from the door. He would pretend to hack a hairball on someone’s Italian loafer, or go into a frantic spasm at the feet of a new swain, or just resort to the age-old cat trick of staring. Since Russian Blues have very large eyes and he accompanied the stare with a hypnotic swaying of his long body and a low growl in his throat, it was the most successful of his maneuvers. Luckily, Paris wasn’t that attached to any of her dates and secretly found his antics quite amusing. She was actually laughing with her secretary Deirdre about something he’d done the night before when her intercom rang and her cousin Clay asked her to come to his office.
She was there in minutes with a smile on her face; she adored all of her cousins and was always glad of a chance to chat. He greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as usual, and she thought, as she always did, that he was just like a really exceptional vintage vine; he was getting better and better with age. Clay was about six foot seven with the light golden complexion that was shared by most of the family. He was still lean and muscular with broad shoulders and a truly captivating face, highlighted by long-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes, a thick moustache and topped off by a thick head of wavy hair that was turning prematurely silver, courtesy, he always said, of his wild brood of children. When he asked her how she was doing, she had to hide a smile at his deep, sonorous voice. His wife Benita had often said that Clay’s voice was the thing that really got her going when they first met.
“I’m just fine, Clay, and you? How’s the family?”
“Everyone is fine, better than fine, in fact. We want you to come over for dinner tomorrow, if you can manage it.”
She accepted happily and asked if Clay had been keeping up with the show. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Of course I am. Even if you weren’t my cousin I’d be keeping abreast of Paris & Company. You’re doing a fine job, Paris. Your ratings just keep climbing and your show is becoming a real powerhouse. The syndicators are going to be pounding your door down soon, mark my words. You’re destined for great success, Paris. I’m proud of you.”
“We’re all proud of you, Paris. You make us look good.” The deep voice was that of Clay’s brother Martin, who’d entered Clay’s private quarters followed by his twin brother Malcolm and their younger brother Marcus. All three men hugged Paris, and Martin guided her over to the sofa and sat her down with him on one side and Clay on the other.
“Wow, all my handsome cousins in one room on a workday,” she teased. “To what do I owe this singular pleasure?”
Martin kept his arm around her shoulder and the four men glanced at each other before Clay spoke.
“Paris, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it outright. Your life may be in danger.”
She stared at each of the men in turn, trying to detect a smile or other expression that would let her know they were joking, but not was forthcoming. They all looked completely serious as they returned her stare.
“Clay, what are you talking about? Is this some kind of practical joke, some kind of prank or what? How am I in danger?”
This time it was Marcus who spoke and his voice was as grave as Clay’s.
“We’re not sure yet, Paris. All we know for sure is that there have been threats made against your life and we’re taking them literally. Someone is after you, Paris.”
***
Titus’s mood was the opposite of Paris’s. She might have been feeling sunny and warm that day, but he was overcast with storm clouds on the horizon. The previous night should have been relaxing and fulfilling, instead it had been the most humiliating one he could ever recall. He’d called an old friend; a woman with whom he’d had a very pleasant relationship some time before. He knew she wasn’t seeing anyone exclusively and they’d always enjoyed a prolific and energetic sex life. Best of all, she was no more interested in settling down than he was and wasn’t averse to the proverbial booty call. She’d initiated quite a few of them herself, as a matter of fact; she referred to them as “late dates”. That was how he’d posed it to her when he’d called.
After a little chitchat, he got right down to business. “So how about a late date,” he’d asked in his sexy voice.
“But of course, sweetheart, I’ll chill the wine and you come on over,” she’d purred.
He arrived at her townhouse about forty-five minutes later and within a very short time they were in her bedroom, going at it with gusto. Neither one of them liked to waste much time; they knew what the deal was, and they both wanted to maximize their enjoyment of each other. It didn’t take long before his partner, Michelle was her name, noticed that something was amiss. For one thing he kept repeating something strange, and for another, what started out so well had now fizzled out completely as it was apparent that Titus Jr. wasn’t feeling it that night. To his utter horror it was the first and only time in his life he hadn’t been able to perform. The fact that Michelle didn’t seem to be devastated by his anatomical indifference was also galling. She tried to be philosophical, which annoyed him to no end.
“Hon, it happens to the best of us sometimes. It even happens to women, quiet as it’s kept. You start out with the best of intentions and somewhere along the line your body just won’t cooperate.” She was putting on a silky black robe as she spoke, looking at Titus over her shoulder as she did so. “Maybe you need a vacation. Maybe you really should go to France,” she suggested.
Titus had been lying on the bed staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. Her words made him sit bolt upright. “Why would I want to go to France?” he asked with a deep frown.
She raised an eyebrow as she answered. “You said ‘Paris’. You said it a couple of times, like you had this need to be there or something. Does that make sense?”
What made sense to Titus was to get out of there as fast as humanly possible, which is what he did. He bolted. Now, after a restless night with little sleep, a long run, a brisk shower and a protein shake for breakfast, he felt like a new man, albeit an angry, frustrated one. It was bad enough that he dreamed about Paris with a regularity that bordered on nocturnal stalking; now she’d gotten to him in as even more personal way. He set his jaw grimly as he maneuvered his Hummer through the morning traffic. The oversized vehicle was his special play toy; he didn’t drive it every day, he used it purely for fun. But this morning he had a need for the raw machismo of the ultimate man machine and walked past his Chrysler 300 to the highly polished black vehicle. He arrived at the office compound looking like something out of a glossy men’s magazine, tall, impeccably clad and undeniably sexy. He strode into his office while mentally renewing his vow to keep his distance from the one person who had the ability to turn his world upside down.
His secretary, Denise, widened her eyes at the sight of her boss looming into the office wearing an glacial expression she’d learned over the years meant that he needed some alone time. She held out a pink slip of paper to him while she switched her gaze to her computer screen. “Good morning, boss. Your presence is requested,” she murmured as he took the slip from her outstretched hand.
“Hold my calls. I’ll be back soon,” he said, staring at the request to come to Clay Deveraux’s office.
***
After his startling announcement, Paris’s eye
s locked on Marcus’s. She stared at him like he was suddenly speaking in tongues. The sound of someone else entering the office broke the spell and she looked around at all of her cousins, and inexplicably, Aidan who’d just entered the room. “Aidan? What are you doing here?” she asked with a truly puzzled look on her face.
He cleared his throat and tried to look nonchalant, but failed miserably. His pale skin, courtesy of his Irish father and Mexican-American mother, bore a slight flush along his cheekbones as he took an available chair. “I’m here because I’m the one who’s responsible for this little soiree,” he admitted. “I accidentally got some of your mail about three weeks ago. It was pretty bad, Paris. Whoever sent it has a definite agenda, they’re out to get you at any cost,” he said quietly.
“You got one piece of mail that had something nasty to say about me and you decide my life is in danger?” Paris’s incredulity was plain in her voice. “Honey, I get crap like that all the time, don’t be ridiculous!”
Clay’s thick brows knit into a single line of concern. “What are you talking about, Paris? You mean you’ve gotten things like this before?”
All of her cousins were staring at her with intense, piercing looks that showed how serious they were. Paris looked around helplessly and shrugged. “Yes, sure, I’ve gotten my share of weird mail. People don’t like my hairstyle, or they hate my outfit, or they don’t like the sound of my voice, the size of my butt, whatever. I’ve gotten plenty of weird mail, guys. It’s not that big a deal.”
Martin’s voice sounded so loud she jumped as he demanded to know how long she’d been getting that kind of mail and why she never told anyone.
“Martin, I don’t get a lot of it, and when I do I throw it away. I’m just not that sensitive, I guess. I never thought I was going to be the end-all and be-all to every viewer, I knew there were going to be people who hate me and my show and who wouldn’t have any problem letting me know that. And there’re a few crackpots out there, too. I get marriage proposals, requests for money, and invitations to join folks on the mothership. The list is endless and I don’t get upset about it, so I don’t think you should either. I think it’s just par for the course,” she said reassuringly.
She was startled again by the intensity with which Aidan spoke. “Paris, this is not just some harmless crackpot. The letter I received was a deliberate threat. It was specific, very nasty and deviant and it wasn’t the only one.”
Malcolm turned his eyes on Aidan and demanded details. “How do you know this? How many letters were misdirected to you?”
Aidan met the man’s gaze without a hint of remorse. “Only one. But I got nosy and started intercepting her mail from the mailroom so I could check for more and there were three more from the same person. Same postmark, same writing, same message.”
Marcus exploded. “So why didn’t you do something? Why are we just finding out about this?”
“I did do something,” he countered. “I moved in with her so she’d have some protection and then I told you. I had to do it that way because, well, you know how stubborn she can be.”
Marcus had to agree with that assessment. “Yeah, you’re right about that. It runs in the family. I’m assuming you still have the letters for the investigator,” he said. He looked from Paris to Aidan and then at his brothers. “Okay, we’re getting a little bit of a late start, but it’s better than nothing, and at least she has someone looking out for her at home.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Good looking out, Aidan, we appreciate it,” Malcolm said. “So what’s the next step? What’s the first thing on the agenda?”
Paris had had enough. “The first thing is we stop talking about me like I’m not in the room. What’s wrong with you people? You think you can just run roughshod over me because some lunatic is making crazy noises out there? I’m a grown woman and I can take care of myself. And as for you, Aidan Estevez Sinclair, I’m too through with you. How dare you move into my home under false pretenses? You’re supposed to be my friend,” she said angrily.
“I am your friend,” he assured her. “And that’s why I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to be there for you whether you like it or not.”
Clay concurred with Aidan. “Sweetie, as much as you’re going to hate it, we have to take care of you. You’re like our sister and there’s no way in hell we’re going to let some lunatic harm you in any way. So until we’re convinced that you’re not in any danger, you must be protected. There’s no room for negotiation here, Paris. It’s either our way or no way at all.”
“But Clay, that’s ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I don’t need Aidan and you guys hovering over me,” she said fretfully.
The men exchanged a look before Clay assured her they weren’t going to be hovering over her. “But there is going to be someone taking care of this situation. You need protection, sweets, whether you know it or not.
A new voice from the doorway sent a chill down her spine. “He’s absolutely right, Paris. I’ll be taking over from now on.”
She turned her head to see Titus standing in the doorway looking like the wrath of God. Slumping against Martin’s shoulder she closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer for deliverance. Please let this be a dream. A really weird dream, she pleaded.
Chapter Seven
Titus entered the office and stood towering over everyone, looking stern and uncompromising. “Sorry about just barging in but your secretary told me I was expected. I overheard enough to get the general idea of what’s been going on and I agree totally with your cousins. Until we find out who’s doing this and bring him down, you need round the clock protection. I know you don’t like hearing that, but there’s no other option.” He crossed his arms and waited for the explosion he was sure would follow his words. Sure enough, Paris had plenty to say.
She stared at him balefully for a second, and then she stood to face him. “Look. I appreciate the fact that my cousins and Aidan are concerned about me, but I can’t live like a victim. Has anyone been paying any attention to my show at all? The theme this year is “Living without Fear”. The whole purpose of my show, the mandate for this year is to empower people to take control of their own lives. How am I supposed to do that if I’m cowering in a corner somewhere?”
A long lock of her hair fell in her face and she pushed it behind her ear, all the while looking daggers at Titus. Suddenly the mere sight of him filled her senses in a way that made it necessary for her to look away from him and she turned to her cousins. “Clay, Martin, come on, guys, you can see how this is impossible! In order for me to maintain integrity with my viewers I‘ve got to walk the walk; I can’t just spout platitudes and do something entirely different in my personal life. I’d lose all credibility and you know it. This is really important, not just to me, but also to the show and to my viewers. I’m structuring the entire season on the idea that we can take control of our lives, that by facing up to our fears and dealing with them effectively, we can free ourselves to be the best we can be. How can I do that if I’m living with a bunch of keepers? Traitorous keepers,” she added with a pointed look at Aidan.
There was a respectful silence that lasted almost thirty seconds before Clay’s game face descended and Paris knew she was doomed.
“Paris, I agree with what you’re saying and I’m sure that Titus will be as circumspect as possible in his investigations, surveillance and protection. But let’s not get it twisted in any way. If you don’t cooperate fully, if you do anything to thwart anything he does, I’ll have the Judge and your brothers here within two hours. I know you think we’re being unreasonable, but that’s how much we care about you. That’s the way it has to be, sweetie. No arguments.”
With the sure knowledge that resistance was futile, Paris crossed her arms and resumed her seat on the long leather sofa. Martin’s arm around her shoulder didn’t make her feel one bit better; she was furious, as well as feeling smothered. Martin sensed her rage and tried to comf
ort her.
“Look at it this way, sweetness. Titus is the best investigator in the business and he’ll have this all taken care of before you know it.”
She finally dared to look Titus directly in the eye and what she saw reflected there was anything but reassuring. She’d never seen his eyes that particular color, they were a light, icy gray, almost silver, in fact. He met her gaze steadily and suddenly she felt as cold as his eyes looked. Heavenly Father please help me. How could this possibly get any worse?
***
Titus looked down at Paris’s lowered head and had to remind himself harshly that all bets were off. She was now under his protection and therefore she was completely off limits. The reminder was necessary because for the first time since his days in Special Forces where his career in investigations had begun, his personal feelings were encroaching on his professionalism. When he arrived at Clay’s office and Clay’s longtime, long-suffering personal secretary, Annie, told him he was expected and to go on in, Titus heard everything that was being said for two reasons. One was that a Deveraux voice carried. All the men had deep ones and they all had excellent lung capacity, so their voices were easy to hear and distinguish even when they were in good moods. The other reason was that when they were emotional about something, their voices got deeper and louder. Since Paris was offering resistance and they were all totally impassioned by what they were saying, it wasn’t at all difficult to hear every word. Titus wasn’t surprised by their reactions, but his own feelings stunned him.
The Closer I Get to You (Cochran/Deveraux Series Book 8) Page 7