A Gentleman's Agreement

by Avery, Joy

  Eunice glanced up from her cards and winked at him. He knew it meant she was working with a good hand. He returned the gesture

  Shelly slapped her cards on the table. “That’s why I can’t concentrate. You two have been screwing each other with your eyes for the past hour. It’s throwing off my concentration.”

  Twala, Shelly’s older sister, scoffed. “That’s not the problem. Your ass just can’t play. How do I get stuck with you every time? Let’s trade Blake. I want Eunice as my partner.” Twala shrugged when Shelly gave her the evil eye. “What? I want to win for a change.”

  Shelly rolled her eyes away. “Anyway. So, how did you two meet?”

  Blake placed his cards down and lifted his glass to his lips. “I’ll let Eunice answer that. She tells the story so well.” All eyes slid to Eunice, and hers settled hard on him. If the smirk on her face was any indication, he’d pay for throwing her under the bus. What was she worried about? They’d gone over every detail. Plus, she needed to earn that office. He’d had big plans for it.

  “But, sweetie, you always say I tell it inaccurately. Why don’t you give us your account?”

  Good comeback. “Okay. I mean, if you insist.” It was his turn to smirk. “We were—”

  “On second thought. I’m sure your cousins want to hear an adequate account.”

  Shelly tossed her hands in the air. “Will somebody please tell us? The suspense is killing me.”

  Eunice eyed Blake. “I was enjoying my lunch in Central Park one afternoon when this jerk—who wouldn’t take no for an answer—kept harassing me.”

  Twala swatted his arm. “Blake! No means no.”

  Eunice laughed. “Blake actually rescued me from the idiot.”

  Shelly flashed a look of admiration at him. “Aww. You were her black knight.”

  The room filled with laughter.

  “I guess so,” Blake said, taking a swig from his cup, never breaking eye contact with Eunice. The way her eyes danced at him caused a tightening in his gut.

  “Was it love at first sight?” asked Twala, who rested her chin on her hands and stared at Eunice starry-eyed.

  When Eunice slid her eyes away from him and to her cards, Blake found himself really interested in Eunice’s response to the question. Despite understanding none of what she would say was factual, her odd reaction peaked his curiosity.

  “Actually…” Eunice’s eyes rose to his again. “It was. My aunt always says you can see into a person’s soul by looking into their eyes. I guess I saw something in Blake’s that drew me in and held me there.” She shrugged. “Plus, he wouldn’t stop stalking me until I agreed to go out with him.”

  This garnered more laughter in the room.

  Blake chuckled along with the others, but something about what Eunice had said—how she’d said it—toyed with him. She’d said it with such conviction that had he not known the story was fabricated—and ad-libbed—he would have actually believed it. Damn, she was good. Even inspired him to play his part better.

  Shelly glanced between him and Eunice. “I could feel the chemistry between you two the second you walked in. You make an adorable couple. That last girl you dated, Prat, was a b—”

  Twala smacked her hand against the table. “Shelly! You have absolutely no filter at all, do you?”

  “I just call it how I see it. The b— The woman was crazy. And had the nerve to insult my Aunt Thelma’s turnip greens because Auntie used ham hock and she didn’t eat meat. Crazy.”

  Yep, that had made for a very tense moment in the kitchen. Luckily, his mother had laughed it off. He’d gotten the feeling it’d only been on his account she hadn’t strangled Sasha.

  Twala shook her head, then faced Blake. “What attracted you to Eunice, Prat?”

  Shelly laughed. “As if you really need to ask. She’s gorgeous. If things don’t work out between you two…” She placed an imaginary phone to her ear and mouthed, “Call me.”

  Blake tossed one of the cookies that’d been wagering at Shelly. “Hands off.”

  Shelly bit into the cookie, “All right. All right. Can’t fault a girl from trying.” She winked at Eunice.

  “I’m flattered,” Eunice said, then set her gaze on Blake. “You didn’t answer the question, Prat. What attracted you to me?”

  So she wanted to put him on the hot seat? Okay. Blake slid his chair from under the table, stood, and moved to Eunice. Taking her hand, he guided her out of her chair. The look of victory she wore moments earlier was replaced by an uneasy smile.

  Cradling her face between his hands, he said, “The first time I saw her in Central Park, I watched her give her lunch to a homeless man. The second time I saw her, she helped a complete stranger chase down their wind scattered papers. By the third time, I knew I had to meet this woman.”

  Eunice bit at the corner of her lip, but remained silent.

  “Not only was I attracted to her good looks, I was attracted to her compassion. I was attracted to her selflessness.” He paused a moment when Eunice swallowed hard. “When I finally approached her in the park, I guess you can say something drew me in and kept me there, too. To be honest, I think our paths were destined to cross. I’m so glad they did. I haven’t regretted a single minute or hour with this woman. I hope she can say the same.”

  Eunice stumbled over her words as she tried to speak. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean… I don’t regret anything, either.”

  Blake’s eyes slid to her lips. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want to seal this moment with a kiss that would leave Eunice breathless and wanting more. But he chose not to cross that line. He wasn’t sure if he could come back from it.

  Breaking their connection, he captured Eunice’s hand, then faced his dropped jawed cousins. “Well, ladies. It has been a pleasure taking all of your Chips Ahoy cookies, but I think me and my lady are going to call it a night. It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes. Yes,” Eunice said, finally recovering, “It’s been a long day. Good… goodnight.”

  The second they rounded the corner, Eunice snatched her hand away. “What the hell was that?” she asked in a whisper.

  “What?” He wasn’t truly that clueless, but played so.

  She released a heavy sigh and hiked up the stairs. Inside the bedroom, he was on her heels—right until the moment she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.

  Blake leaned against the door jamb. “Are you upset?”

  “Yes. No. I mean—” She cursed under her breath.

  He couldn’t understand why she’d gotten so distressed. Okay, maybe he’d gone a little overboard, but…

  Eunice continued. “I don’t know. Did you—”

  She yelped once the door slung open and he was standing there. He flashed one of his award-winning smiles in hopes of lightening the mood. She pushed him out of the way and moved toward the bed. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she wore a simple white nightgown shirt. It was sexy as hell.

  “Did you have to take it that far?” she said.

  “We’re supposed to be a believable couple, right?” She narrowed her eyes at him. Had she been a bull, he had a feeling this was the moment she would have charged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my words would affect you so…deeply. They were pretty poetic, huh?”

  Eunice snatched a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him. What was with him and women with pillows?

  “Enjoy the floor, Mr. Poetic.”

  Blake barked a laugh.

  Eunice climbed in bed.

  He sobered.

  She pulled the covers to her chin.

  Blake pulled his hands to his waist. “Eunice?” When she didn’t answer, he rested his hand on the back of his neck. “Come on. You can’t be serious. You’re really making me sleep on the floor?”

  “Goodnight, Prat. Sweet dreams.”

  There was a hint of laughter in her tone. Frankly, he didn’t find anything funny. “Seriously, that bed is the size of a small island.”

 
“In that case, you should feel privileged. You have the entire ocean to yourself.”

  Every damn body is a comedian in this house. “Okay. I’ll remember this.” This time, humor played in his tone. “See if you get a Christmas bonus.” He escaped into the bathroom, did his before bed rituals, then returned and made a pallet on the floor. Using the remote, he shut off the lights, then attempted to find a comfortable position.

  “Blake?”

  Ah-ha. I knew she’d feel sorry for me. “Mmm-hmm,” he hummed.

  “Your story… This is going to sound strange, but it actually happened to me in Central Park. Weird, huh?”

  Not weird at all. Unlike her story, his had been steeped in truth. All except for the approaching her part. Unbeknownst to Eunice, he’d seen her in the park doing exactly what he’d stated. He’d also wanted to ask her out. But before he could, he discovered she’d recently started working for his company. Imagine his surprise when they’d bumped into each other at the annual Spring Fling he threw for his staff.

  “Huh. Yeah. That is weird.”

  ***

  Blake jolted from his sleep at the sound of a monstrous clap of thunder. He rotated his head toward the window, then cussed under his breath at the sharp pain that shot through his neck. Why in the hell had he allowed Eunice to banish him to the floor? He searched out the clock on the nightstand.

  3:17.

  Collapsing back to the floor, he draped his forearm across his forehead and groaned. He wouldn’t survive eight more days of this. By the stiffness in his joints, he wouldn’t survive eight more hours. To hell with this. What could Eunice possibly do if he climbed into the bed, throw him out of the room? He had no doubt she would try.

  A vibrant flash illuminated the room, and he jerked from the silhouette settled inches from him. What the hell…? It took him a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts. “Eunice?” With his hand, he searched the darkness for the remote. Finally locating it, he turned the lights on. A dull glow lit the room.

  Eunice sat on the floor with her back against the footboard and knees hugged to her chest. With her head tucked, her body trembled. A sense of urgency unlike anything he’d ever felt rushed over him. Slinging the covers off, he crawled toward her, ignoring the ache in his knee.

  Blake positioned himself in front of her. “Eunice,” he said delicately, “what’s wrong?” He hesitated touching her, but when he did, she flinched. “Talk to me, Eunice. Are you sick? Please, say something.”

  Swollen, blood-shot eyes greeted him when Eunice finally lifted her head. His heart pound against his ribcage and his stomach knotted. Without giving it any thought, he ran the pad of his thumb across her tear-stained cheek. Her face was warm to the touch, but the rest of her body was ice cold. He snatched a quilt from the bed and draped it around her, then used another remote to increase the flames in the fireplace.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

  “I hate thunderstorms.”

  Judging by her response to the turmoil outside their window, there was clearly a story behind her hatred. Instead of inquiring, Blake eased down next to her and draped his arm around her. She rested her head onto his shoulder.

  A short time later, Eunice’s trembling subdued. Silent minutes passed and so did the storm, until only faint rumbles could be heard in the distance.

  “My mother didn’t die in an accident, Blake. She was murdered. The day before Thanksgiving.”

  Blake froze, then relaxed. Murdered?

  “When I was twelve, my mother rushed into my bedroom and locked the door. I was half asleep and had no idea what was going on.”

  When Eunice’s body started to tremble again, he glided his hand up and down her arm.

  “I could hear him coming up the stairs.”

  Him? Did that mean she knew her mother’s killer? Then something far more awful occurred to him. Had she witnessed her mother’s murder?

  “I asked my mother what was happening, but she shushed me. Then she led me into my closet and tossed a bunch of clothes on top of me.” She dragged her hand across her cheek. “Even scared out of my mind, I thought how nice the clothes smelled. Like lavender. God, how I hate the smell of lavender.”

  Blake made a mental note. He would have been okay if she’d ended the story there, but she didn’t.

  “My bedroom door splintered just as my mom closed my closet door. When she told him he was violating a restraining order, I knew it was my stepfather she was talking to. He said nothing, simply laughed at my mother’s words as if she’d told the best joke in the world. Then started calling her awful names. I remember thinking…he would fill the swear jar we kept on top of the refrigerator. Ridiculous, huh? At a time like that to have such a silly thought.”

  Blake could only imagine how difficult it was for Eunice to relive this moment. “No, it wasn’t. You had the thought of a twelve-year-old.”

  “I was used to hearing her cry. Especially when we still lived with my stepfather. But this time was different. This time I knew something was really wrong.”

  Eunice lifted and pulled away from him. Reluctantly, Blake allowed his hand to fall away from her shoulders. He’d never in his life felt the desire to protect someone as much as he felt it now.

  More tears streamed down her face. “My mother begged for her life, but the heartless bastard shot her anyway. The sound… It was like a cannon.” She shook her head. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

  Blake stood and held out his hand for Eunice to take. “Come on.” Once her hand was in his, he led her to the bed. She didn’t protest when he tucked her in, nor when he nestled close behind her. With her tightly cloaked in his arms, he whispered in her ear, “We all have demons that haunt us. But tonight, you don’t have to fear yours.”

  Because tonight—and every moment they were together—he’d protect her.

  Chapter 7

  Eunice eyed Blake as he lay asleep beside her. How was it possible that the man was even handsome when he slept? She wasn’t sure what time he’d fallen asleep, but she’d dozed almost the second he nestled behind her.

  What she’d shared with him was something close and personal. Why had she chosen to share it with him of all people? She hadn’t even shared the traumatic experience with Trevor. The way he’d held her in his arms… Like he was truly trying to shield her from demons.

  She’d forgotten how great it felt to fall asleep in someone’s embrace. Why did it have to be his? Damn you, Blake Farrington. For reminding her how much she’d missed the comforting act.

  Inching out of the bed, Eunice escaped to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she ventured downstairs and allowed her nose to lead the way toward the delicious aroma of coffee. Clearly, none of the countless other visiting family members were morning people because Mr. and Mrs. Farrington were the only two in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she said, entering the room.

  “Good morning,” they said in unison.

  “Happy, happy anniversary.”

  “Thank you,” they said, then kissed.

  “I love this woman,” Mr. Farrington said, eyeing his wife with pure admiration. “I’m nothing without you.”

  These two are too adorable. “Wow. Someone’s been cooking up a storm,” Eunice said, eyeing the large spread. Bacon, sausage, country ham, grits, eggs, pancakes, biscuits, and toast. Enough food for two armies. “Do you need any help? I’m a fair cook.”

  Aunt Belle entered the room. “I was married to a cook once. He died. Slipped on a grease spot and broke his neck.”

  Mr. Farrington waved Aunt Belle’s words off, twirling his finger on the side of his head. “She’s crazy,” he whispered.

  “Solemn!” Mrs. Farrington scalded. “No, honey. I don’t need any help. Fix yourself a plate and relax.”

  Eunice felt awful that Mrs. Farrington was working in the kitchen on her anniversary, but she didn’t argue with her. She took Mrs. Farrington to be a no-nonsense type of woman. Her petite stature may be mislea
ding to some, but not to Eunice. She had no doubt the woman could be as vicious as a caged lion. She’d raised three boys. She had to be tough. Eunice made a mental note to not give the woman a reason to unleash on her. And that meant giving an Oscar worthy performance.

  “May I?” Eunice said, pointing to the coffee pot.

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. Farrington said, passing her a mug. “Cream and sugar?”

  Eunice shook her head. “No, ma’am. I take it black.”

  Mr. Farrington’s face scrunched. “Yuck!”

  Mrs. Farrington laughed. “Not everyone has to load their cup with a pound of sugar and a gallon of cream, Solemn.”

  “Thelma, no cream or sugar is like having fried fish with no hot sauce. Just wrong, I tell you.”

  “I was married to a fisherman once. He died. Slipped on a fish and fell overboard.”

  “Crazy as hell,” Mr. Farrington said, excusing himself from the room.

  “Solemn!” Mrs. Farrington shook her hand. “That man of mine.”

  Eunice moved to the table with her hot brew.

  “Are you not hungry, honey?” Mrs. Farrington asked.

  Eunice took a sip from her cup before answering. “No. I’m really not a breakfast eater.”

  “It’s the most important meal of the day.”

  Eunice smiled because that was exactly what her mother used to say. “Maybe I’ll have a few strips of bacon.” She stood, but Mrs. Farrington waved her back in her seat.

  “I’ll fix you a plate. Is Prat still asleep?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eunice eyed Mrs. Farrington. “Why do you call him Prat?”

  Mrs. Farrington glanced out of the window and toward the lake. “His grandfather—Solemn’s father—used to call him that. When he was young, Blake always followed Ian and Tucker around. They would call him a brat.” She laughed. “Blake asked his grandfather what brat meant. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, he told him they were saying prat and that it meant he was super smart. So Blake came to me and told me he wanted to be called Prat.”