She frowned. “Are you saying he’s fake?”
“No. He’s an absolute gentleman when he needs to be. But no one’s a gentleman all the time.”
“Well, everyone has a temper.”
“Not a temper. He wouldn’t lose control like that. He’s … exacting. Demanding.”
“Do you mean with girls?” It wasn’t like Shamus had any real career experience to reference. He seemed too easygoing to be as meticulous as Lucian made him sound.
“Not girls. Women . You’d be surprised how many older women want him—and they aren’t looking for a teddy bear.”
To each his own, she supposed. But she didn’t like the implied ambiguity that someone Lucian’s age might be demanding with women. She didn’t want her brother partaking in anything disrespectful, anything that some opportunistic young girl might use against him later.
It wasn’t uncommon for women to fling accusations at wealthy men—even the young ones. That sort of sexual extortion happened more than the modest members of polite society would care to admit, which was why it usually ended with a large sum of money being paid out.
The three of them—Lucian, Jamie, and Slade—should all be careful. “When it comes to women, Lucian, you have to ask.”
He laughed. “I know that, Isa.”
“Does Jamie?”
He gave her a strange look. “Some women like to be told.”
Her brow tightened. “Very few.”
How much experience could these boys possibly have? They were eighteen and nineteen years old. Regardless, she didn’t like the impression she was getting.
“What’s wrong with women your own age? You should be meeting girls at college.”
He laughed. “Don’t lecture me . We were talking about Shamus. And despite being in college, I’m not interested in shallow girls who think they’re sophisticated because they know what a macchiato is, stage their lives to resemble some undeserving celebrity, and try so hard to appear unique their only accomplishment is looking like everyone else. Show me an intelligent woman who’s different from the rest of women my age and you’ll have my full attention.”
Well, at least he’d put some thought into his tastes. “I think it’s good you’re being selective. You’re too young to settle down anyway.”
Lifting the novel she placed on the cushion between them, he casually examined the blurb on the back. “I don’t know if I’ll ever settle down. I have a lot I want to accomplish and a relationship would only get in my way.”
She scoffed. “Everyone wants to fall in love at some point.”
He returned the book to the cushion. “No offense, Isa, but men don’t care about those things.” He gave her romance novel a little nudge.
His statement took her by surprise, not because she believed he was right, but because he was so very wrong—he had to be, or there was really no point in hoping for more in terms of her own happiness. “You sound like Daddy.”
“I do not.” His easy expression hardened, an emotional wall going up so fast she almost felt a physical gust of wind hit her.
He did. He was putting business before human connections, before emotional ties. “Don’t delay your life for some silly vendetta, Lucian. You’re better than him. You don’t need to prove that to anyone. The people who love you already know how impressive you are.”
His expression shuttered some more. “With all due respect, Isa, let’s keep you and my private life separate.”
It hurt, being shut out so succinctly. More signs of their father. She couldn’t just let it go.
“Men care about love. They want to be loved as much as the rest of the world. Any man who denies it is a fool and will most likely spend his life alone and miserable.”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Isa, but … you’re wrong. You don’t have any experience beyond fictional fairytales. If you did, you’d realize we don’t care about those things the way women do.”
She scoffed, offended but unable to share the source of her logic. “I’m not a prude, Lucian. I know more than the stuff in books.”
“Okay.”
“I have experience,” she argued.
“Look, I’m not going to discuss my proclivities with you and I don’t want to hear about yours. You’re my sister.”
She scowled at him. “Like you even know what the word proclivities means.”
He raised a brow and she decided she didn’t want to know if he did or didn’t. But in a way she wanted to tell him her latest secret, even though she swore she wouldn’t say a word. It was probably best that Lucian didn’t want to know the personal details of her life— but she had details!
And she knew a thing or two about men. Sawyer could be very passionate and feeling. It wasn’t love, but it was something.
So long as Lucian wasn’t completely dismissing possibilities, she’d accept his current feelings on love. Over time they might change. Men changed. Relationships evolved. People grew.
“Just admit—for my own piece of mind—that you know not all men are cold. There are men like Daddy and then there are men nothing like him. Guess which ones are better.”
“Stop comparing me to Dad.” He groused and huffed. “Fine. Some men might care about that stuff, but right now, I don’t.”
Right now. That made her a little more comfortable. Let him be ambitious now. It would help him in college and, down the line, help him find a job. But eventually she hoped he’d fall in love. She hoped they all would.
It suddenly occurred to her Lucian was treating her like his equal, not the enemy. She’d carried so much fear they might never talk like equals again. His new attitude toward her was a huge relief.
Shooting him a smile, she confessed, “I missed you. I’m glad you’re home.”
He studied her for a short moment, his mouth hooking in a half grin. “I missed you, too.”
It was the first time in a long time that she believed their situation wouldn’t negatively affect them in later years. If Lucian continued to let her in, little by little, they might someday exist simply as brother and sister. Friends.
A sharp sense of guilt hit her as she realized now that he seemed to be opening up and letting down his guard she was the one keeping secrets. She still wasn’t sure if Sawyer was a big secret or a little one. That depended on Sawyer. If things continued, eventually Lucian would find out. He was too perceptive not to. So long as no one told their father she figured that was fine.
***
Sawyer called the Monday after the boys returned to school. He wanted to see her again, but in her brother’s absence there seemed a spotlight on her every motion. Not that Toni was concerned with her old, boring sister’s personal life—she had her own life—but it didn’t go unnoticed when Isadora suddenly announced she was going out after not going anywhere in … forever.
“Can I come with you?”
“No, it’s a school night and you have homework.”
Toni scoffed. “I have to study. That’ll take two seconds.”
“Maybe if you took more than two seconds you could get that B minus up to an A.”
“Where are you going anyway?”
Isadora fussed with her shirt, not liking the way it sagged in the front. Returning to her closet she said, “Out with friends.”
“What friends? You don’t have any friends.”
Silently counting to ten, she changed into another shirt. “I have friends.”
“Who?”
She couldn’t think of a single believable person, so she made one up. “Susan.”
“Who’s Susan?”
“You know Susan.”
“No, I don’t. Has she ever been to the house?”
“I’m sure you’ve met her.” Avoiding eye contact, she sorted through her jewelry box.
“No I haven’t.”
Isadora shut out the light on her vanity and Toni trailed her to the kitchen where she’d left her other pearl earring by the phone.
“I think you�
�re making up this Susan .”
“Why would I do that, Antoinette? You’re just not used to me having a life.”
“True. Can I rent a movie tonight?”
“No. It’s late. You need to study for your test and shower before bed. And I don’t want you on the phone after nine.”
“How late do you plan to be?”
“As late as I please.” She grabbed her houndstooth coat, and adjusted her scarf.
Her sister, always her second set of eyes when it came to color coordination, laughed. “That scarf’s yellow. It totally clashes.”
Toni’s honesty wasn’t always delicate, but Isadora appreciated her sister’s bluntness on occasion—especially where style was concerned. If not for Toni, Isadora would be a fashion disaster.
She pulled the scarf from her neck. “I’ve been wearing that with this jacket all week. Can you find me something that matches?”
Toni examined the print of her coat and nosed through the closet, pulling out a soft pashmina. “Here, there’s red in your coat. This’ll match.”
Isa twisted the material around her neck. “Thanks. Do as I said and I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, Lucy’s in charge.” Lucy was their youngest maid.
“I’ll just call you if I need something.”
“Fine, but only if something’s wrong.”
“Like if the house is on fire?”
“Toni,” she warned, and her sister snickered. Buttoning her coat, Isadora took a deep breath. “Okay, I guess I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
She sighed. The conversation had escalated to a point of tediousness she wouldn’t escape until she was out the door. “Goodnight. Behave.”
“Bye. Have fun with Susan. ”
Isadora rolled her eyes and entered the eight-car garage. Hitting her key fob, the lights of her Volvo XC90 came to life and the engine purred. She slid inside, the seats warming her bottom as she waited for the car to heat.
The Bishop’s estate was picturesque with modern undertones, situated on an expanse of lush land butting up against the local country club. The nearby golf course gave the impression of more acreage, making it difficult to discern where one property ended and the Bishop’s began. She liked that his house was so close to hers—well, her father’s.
Sometime over the past several years since her father relocated to his estate in France, she’d come to think of the home they occupied as hers. It wasn’t. She knew that, but the remaining servants now answered to her. Her father merely paid the bills, which, with a house the size of theirs, was nothing to dismiss. She should be grateful he let her stay there.
She scoffed. He should be grateful she stuck around to meet the obligations he abandoned—namely, raising his children.
When she pulled onto the long drive the front door opened. Sawyer waited on a long cobblestone patio that seemed more suitable for a backyard than a front one. She’d never been inside his home. She’d only acted as her brother’s chauffeur in the years before he got his license, caddying him to and from his friends’ houses.
Sawyer approached and opened her door. “Hi.”
She smiled, a little jittery with the sense that they were somehow breaking the rules. It was silly. They were both adults. “Hi.”
“Want to come inside?”
She unbuckled her seatbelt and he took her arm, guiding her down from the raised seating. “Thank you.” She adored how gentlemanly he was with her.
“I ordered dinner from the country club. I figured that would be easier than enduring my abysmal culinary skills.”
Her laughter held a tinge of nervousness. “I’m sure you’re as capable in the kitchen as you are in any other room.”
“Your faith is flattering, but I’m afraid my skills in the kitchen versus the bedroom are worlds apart.”
“Well, at least you’re modest,” she teased.
Men like Sawyer had a habit of doing everything well. So she couldn’t very well blame him for taking credit where credit was due.
He waved a hand for her to step into the house first, but as soon as the door shut he caught her hand, this time with a touch of urgency and turned her back to the wall. His mouth found hers, the evening shadow of his jaw scratching against her chin deliciously as he kissed her.
He was so good at hiding his attraction until precisely the right moment when they had absolute privacy. Still waters sure did run deep, because once he showed his hand there was quite a bit to see. Melting into him, she sighed.
His devastating eyes peeked under full lashes as he stared at her, their lips only a breath apart. “Why don’t we apply some of my better skills in the kitchen?”
She giggled. “I don’t know. A bed makes a big difference.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it?” He nibbled her lip, pulling back slowly as tempting promises danced in his heated gaze.
“Counters might be easier than carpets. I won’t know until I’ve tried.”
Something flashed in his eyes and he chuckled. “Who knew there was this side of you?”
People always assumed she was so prim and proper because she was a Patras and a generally quiet person. To be taken seriously at school functions and conferences, she had no choice but to act the part of a respectable middle-aged woman, but that really wasn’t her at all.
She loved playing around and being silly. The problem was, no one ever wanted to play with her. Everyone seemed in such a rush to grow up. She’d been forced to be an adult before she could legally vote. Her younger years were a collection of missed opportunities she doubted she’d ever get back. Any opportunity to be a little adventurous seemed an opportunity she couldn’t miss.
“Did you want to?” she asked, thinking fooling around in a kitchen might be a rite of passage she should check off her list.
His tongue swirled beneath her ear and he groaned then grudgingly stepped back. “I should feed you first. I did promise dinner.”
She really didn’t care about eating, but he was probably right. This was nice, having the chance to sit and talk like a normal couple—sort of like an actual date. It definitely clarified things. She obviously wasn’t just there for a booty call, although that had its merits, too.
His hand slid into hers and he pulled her away from the wall, further into the house. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Her blood heated and she was certain she wore a deep blush, just from being near him. He led her through his home and there was a familiar sense of him in the air. She greedily appraised every surface for clues about the sort of man he was in private.
Books, there were lots of books, and a large television in the open living room. “This is nice. Did you read all of those books?”
“No. An interior decorator chose them.”
She snorted. “I don’t know what’s funnier, the idea of you having a decorator or the fact that you have a gorgeous wall of books only to stare at the spines.” She stepped closer to the shelves and frowned. “No wonder. Who wants to read An In Depth History of Igneous Rocks? Don’t you enjoy fiction?”
She turned and found him leaning against the adjacent wall watching her, an amused grin on his face. “I’m more of a TV guy, but I take it you like to read.”
“I love to read. I think it’s a crime for a non-reader to have such a beautiful bookcase. I have a sort of obsession with fancy bookshelves. It’s almost pornographic the way I ogle them.”
He chuckled. “Maybe later I’ll show you the moldings in my office,” he teased. “There’s a bookcase in there, too.”
“So unfair. I want the name of your decorator—not for my reading list, but for shelves like this.”
“That would be my carpenter. I’ll get you one of his cards. Come on. Kitchen’s this way.”
His kitchen was impressive for a man who claimed not to cook. He’d set the table with white dishes and linen napkins. As he unpacked boxes of food, she analyzed the various surfaces—hard granite counters, cold por
celain tile… Maybe sex in a kitchen wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“Did you have a hard time getting out of the house?”
Giving up her appraisal of the room, she took a seat at the table. “No, but Toni had lots of questions.” She smirked. “I told her your name was Susan.”
He stilled in the midst of removing another carton of food from the box. “Susan?”
“Well, she wanted to know who I was meeting and I couldn’t think of anyone.”
“I suppose I could be Susan. Though I doubt Toni’s old enough to draw any conclusions about our relationship.”
“Toni’s nosey and has a big mouth. I didn’t want her saying anything to Lucian.”
“Then it’s probably wise I remain Susan for the time being.”
He took a seat at the table and dished out food. The conversation came easily, being that Sawyer had a firm grasp of the main players in her life. They discussed his career, raising children, and briefly touched on her parents.
“Your mother was a patient woman,” he commented, fondness hidden in his gaze.
“She’d have to be to put up with my father.”
“Christos has never been an easy man.”
That was an understatement. “No, he hasn’t.”
“How are he and Tibet?”
She shrugged, not able to offer much in the way of her father’s second marriage to the woman who was once his mistress. “Happy, I suppose. We rarely hear from them.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Certain burdens seemed so heavy at first, but over time, they were simply accepted. Putting them down felt like losing a piece of herself, so she preferred to lug her resentment with her everywhere she went. But she wanted to make sure Sawyer didn’t see her as any sort of martyr.
“I’m not sorry,” she explained. “I think the house is happier without him in it. Lucian seems to finally be letting go of his anger. I know I’m a better parent than my dad ever was, so things are just better this way.”
“Your brother’s definitely someone to watch. I have no doubt he’ll do well for himself. Slade says he’s already making connections. I wish my son would take a page out of his book.”
Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1) Page 9