"Of course, sir," Julius said, giving me another one of those little bows. This time, I held my tongue to keep from correcting him on the formal term, and he once again vanished into the depths of the mansion.
I looked after him for another minute before turning back to the window. Was a donut too much of an ordinary, everyday sort of guy order? Should I have asked for some kind of fancy pastry?
To distract myself, I thought about what Julius had told me. Even as I wiped away years of accumulated grime, spider webs, streaks, and dust from the windows, I turned over his words in my head.
Helen had perked up after I'd started seeing her – or, perhaps, after she first started seeing me, since she'd been the one really doing all the pursuing. She was getting over her loss, the death of her husband. If I was helping with that, maybe it was a good thing that she continued to not find out my secret? After all, if I came clean and told her that I wasn't wealthy, she'd dump me – and then, with no one else to cheer her up, she'd probably sink back down into depression once again.
The twisted logic almost worked. I nearly convinced myself to believe it. Yes, I was making a minor little white lie, almost just a lie of omission, but it was for a good reason. I wasn't just doing it out of my own selfish urge to keep seeing Helen – I was doing it for her, too, so that she could get over her previous husband.
I finished the windows, just as I heard a bone-dry cough from the top of the stairs. I looked up and saw Julius standing there, a tray held in his bony hands. "Would you care to be the one to bring the tray in to Mrs. O'Callahan?" he asked.
I bounded up the steps to take it from him. He'd also put a second coffee on the tray, along with a plate holding three donuts. "You're a lifesaver, Julius," I told him, giving him a smile. Keep the help on my side!
Very briefly, his lips tugged up in the slightest little hint of an answering smile. "The title could suit you, as well, Mr. McCallister," he said before turning and vanishing off into the depths of the mansion.
I looked after him, strangely touched, before carefully navigating the tray into Helen's bedroom.
Chapter Twenty
TANNER
*
The next three months seemed to fly by in a blur of happy scenes, almost like a montage out of some sappy romance movie.
Helen and I did just about everything together. We went out for brunch, laughing and swapping plates with each other to taste each other's dishes. We held picnics in parks, went hiking up some of the tall hills outside the city, curled up together on the couch in her mansion and watched the first half of various movies on the massive television that hung on one wall like a massive black window into another world. (Why just the first half of the movies? Generally, by the time that the movie was half over, Helen had either fallen asleep with her head leaning adorably against my shoulder, or we... well, we ended up too distracted by each other's bodies and decided on a different activity to finish out the evening.) With each week, we spent more time together.
But one thing that I didn't do with Helen was tell her the truth.
I, at least, managed to push down my guilt over keeping that secret. I shoved it down into a tiny little box inside my head and locked it there, telling myself that, the longer we saw each other, the less it mattered. I'd shared so much else with her; I told her about growing up, about my decision not to go to college and instead focus on becoming a writer, about all the various odd jobs I'd worked. I simply let her think that I did all this because I wanted to, while still independently wealthy, instead of relying on those low-skill, low-paid labor jobs for the money so that I could afford food and shelter.
I also kept on writing. I didn't let Helen read the work, although she asked a few times at first.
"Not until it's done," I said one afternoon as, sitting on the spread-out plaid blanket beside me, Helen prodded me to give her a sneak peek of my story. "It's a lesson that I've had to learn the hard way."
She rolled over onto her stomach, propping her head up on both hands, her legs dangling up in the air, occasionally dropping down to bump against her ass. Somehow, the woman even made a pair of blue jeans look like the sexiest outfit ever, as if they'd been custom tailored to her body! Her black hair, wrapped up in a long braid, dangled down her back, and I longed suddenly to brush it aside and kiss every inch of her exposed pale neck.
"Why not?" she asked.
I sighed. "I did it with a couple early stories. Let friends and family read them, sometimes even before I'd figured out how the story was going to end. But the problem is that everyone has their own opinions, and it's impossible to please them all. Everyone wants something different, and when I try and please them all, the story ends up crashing and burning because it's no longer my own voice."
"There isn't any way that I could convince you to let me get a peek?" Along with these tempting words, the fingers of one hand wandered over into my lap, towards where I knew they'd find eager hardness.
"Afraid not." I thought about pushing her hand away, but we were in relative seclusion; we'd hiked up quite the strenuous slope to get here, and we hadn't seen any other hikers in hours. What were the odds that anyone else could see us?
And besides, Helen looked so amazing in her outfit, the clothes clinging so appealingly to her body where she'd sweated on the hike up. Damn, but this woman could even make jeans, hiking boots, and a fanny pack look like lingerie on a runway model...
Forty minutes later, we lay back on the blanket, our hiking outfits scattered around us as we both tried to catch our breath. "How's the book coming?" Helen finally spoke up.
I could feel her head, lying on my chest, vibrate as she spoke. I wondered if she could feel my heart thumping so strongly in my chest, burning with need for her that didn't seem to go down, no matter how many times I held her in my arms.
"Good," I said. My hand slid down over her shoulder, down to curl around one tiny little breast that sat perfectly in my palm. She laughed, twisting her lithe body to give me a better angle for access. "I haven't had any marathon writing sessions like that first day, but it's basically all but done. I've even got the first few chapters polished up enough so that I can send them out to agents."
"Agents? What do they do?"
I pulled her up a little further on my body. She rolled as she slid up so that now her chest pressed down against mine. Her naked legs spread over my pelvis, and even though we'd only just finished having sex, I still felt a stirring from having her so close, so exposed and tempting. Those dark eyes of hers looked down at me, full of smoldering heat, and I felt an answering fire burn brighter in my chest.
"I can't just send a book directly to a publisher, not anymore," I answered, feeling the splash of her warm breath against my cheek. "They get too many submissions to look at them. Instead, I need to convince a publishing agent to take on my book, and the agent sells it to a publishing house. They get a cut, but they have all the inside contacts that I don't, and they're an expert in all the publishing details and negotiations."
"Wow. It's a whole world that I didn't know existed." Helen drooped down on top of me, giving me another rush as I felt her press against me. "I just thought that you wrote a book, sent it off somewhere, and then heard back if it was getting published or not."
"Nope. There's a whole ordeal, and it involves a lot of failure, even for the best authors out there." I kissed her, letting my hand graze ever so gently against the bumps of her spine. "J.K. Rowling, the woman who wrote the Harry Potter series, got dozens of rejections before a publisher finally agreed to give her book a chance."
Eventually, the setting sun and growing chill in the air forced us to pull our clothes back on, descend back down to my truck, then back to Helen's house – where, in short order, all the clothing once again ended up on the floor. So it goes.
"Let me go see if Julius needs a hand," I said a bit later, tugging my boxer briefs back up to wrap around my ass. Just like always, I saw Helen's eyes dart to check me out, even though she pre
tended that she was above such a basic feminine reaction. It was strangely cute, the way she insisted, cheeks burning, that she didn't look at my butt.
Helen rolled over, blinking those big eyes up at me and tugging at my heartstrings. "You don't need to keep winning him over, you know."
I paused, shirt around my arms but not my chest yet. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that he's already told me that he thinks you're the best man I've had visit for a while." She blushed. "Not that I've had many visit. Or any, really. But the point is, he really likes you. I know you helped him out a little to win him over to your side."
"I helped him out because I wanted to help," I countered. "It's the kind of guy that I am."
"Amazing?" Her eyes reflected such warmth as she looked out at me. I didn't know if she felt the same heat burning inside her chest that I did, but that smile certainly added another log to the fire.
"Generous." I pointed a finger at her, tugging my shirt down. "You remember that, later tonight."
She laughed, and I practically floated out of her bedroom and downstairs to see whether Julius needed aid in the kitchen.
Thankfully, he had the kitchen under control. Julius might not have the energy and time to keep the rest of the house clean, but he possessed a mastery in the kitchen that I never had a hope of matching. When he occasionally did accept my offer of help, he mainly relegated me to the easier tasks, like chopping up vegetables or washing some of the used pots and pans, spending my elbow grease to scrub them clean of sticky sauces.
Still, although his attitude hadn't changed much, I agreed with Helen in the belief that the old British butler was warming ever so slightly towards me. He no longer sighed quite so much or looked down his nose at me, and although he still acted like there was a big ol' stick up his ass, he at least didn't direct any scathing comments towards me.
Working with Julius, I'd managed to get through most of Helen's house, washing away the worst of the dirt and grime. I still wanted to convince the woman to hire a cleaning service, but our recent discussions on the topic didn't end up going anywhere. She derailed one, in particular, by asking me which cleaning service I used for my own house, and I had to cough and quickly force a change of topic.
Instead, I asked her about what she did during the time when I wasn't over at her house. The question made her pause, her eyes unexpectedly clouding over.
"I think about that, sometimes," she murmured.
"Think about what?"
She shrugged her slender, delicate shoulders. "What sort of good I do for the world." I blinked, confused, but she kept talking. "You're a writer, and you're working hard to create something that millions of people will read and enjoy, something to help give meaning to their lives."
"If it works out," I said, reaching out to rap my knuckles against the wooden doorway.
She shook her head, her eyes glowing with her belief in me. I saw it radiating from those dark irises and felt physically warmed, touched by how strongly she insisted that I'd find success. "You will." Her gaze fell, and she tightened her fingers into a knot in her lap. "But I'm not really doing anything to help the world at all."
"But you could," I pointed out. "Helen, you're fabulously wealthy, and smart and determined and motivated besides. There's no reason why you couldn't help far more people than I can, if you decide on who needs that help!"
"But how? There are so many complex things..."
"All of which tend to go away with the application of money," I countered her. "What about something like the Poverty Ball, where we met? That hadn't happened for years, but Richard Stone brought it back, as a way to keep helping the city's poor. You could do something like that."
"I don't have the social connections that Richard Stone does."
She was thinking about her nickname, I knew. I reached out and caught her hand, holding it pressed between my own. She finally raised her eyes to mine, and I tried my hardest to show how strongly I believed in her.
"Then use that infamy." The idea sprang right to my lips without checking in at my brain, but it made sense, and I plunged onward. "Think of how many gossips will make huge donations if it got them a sneak glance into the house of the Black Widow!"
"You want me to encourage the rumors about me like that?" She didn't sound dismayed, at least. She looked skeptical, but I seized on it.
"Let them gossip," I said. "You'll be laughing all the way to the bank with their donations – and then, after that, laughing all the way to whatever charity organization you want to support. With a huge check in your hands."
Helen looked intently at me – and then, suddenly, smiled. It was like the sun coming out from behind the storm clouds. "You're right," she declared, smiling up at me. "I don't really care about what they think. As long as you believe in me, I don't need to worry about anyone else. And it could be a great way to help out the less fortunate."
I nodded, unable to hold back my own smile. Emotion choked my voice slightly, and I felt an unexpected surge of warmth spilling out from my heart to infuse every cell of my body. I did believe in Helen, just as she believed in me. I'd never felt anything like this strength of connection before, and I didn't want it to end. I wanted to hold Helen forever, always see her smile like that. I wanted to be the one to make her smile.
*
"I know I ought to come clean," I told Linda the next morning, back at the Stone mansion, gazing down into my cup of coffee. "But I just don't want what we have now to break! It feels so perfect!"
She eyed me over her own mug of tea. I sensed that she was carefully keeping her eyes from rolling. "Do you actually want advice from me?" she asked.
I didn't really want the advice, but I knew that I ought to listen to it nonetheless. "Might as well get it. Hit me."
She carefully set her tea mug down on the table. "You don't want to tell her anything about your true net worth..."
"Or lack thereof," I muttered.
"...because you fear that it will change things," she kept going, ignoring my little dig. "But if she finds out any other way, things will change, as well. And you probably will, at that point, find yourself wishing that you'd told her earlier. Right?"
I winced at the thought of Helen finding out the truth about me from some other source. "Right. I'd rather she hears it from me."
"So you have two choices," Linda said. "You tell her now, and it's the best way she could find out. Or you keep on waiting and taking the coward's way out, and at some point in the near future, she'll find out anyway, in the worst way possible."
"At some point in the near future? Is that a threat?"
Linda shook her head, but her husband appeared behind her, his tall frame blocking out most of the light from the doorway leading to the sunlit sitting area off from the kitchen. "I ought to tell her," Richard said as he entered. "Helen deserves better than this."
I turned to him, annoyed that this husband and wife were teaming up to attack me. "What do you mean?"
He looked steadily back at me. Most of the time, when I'd known Richard, there had always been the hint of a little smile at the corner of his lips, the hint of humor belying his stern tone. Now, however, I didn't see any sign of that softness.
"Helen O'Callahan lost just about everything when her husband passed away," Richard stated.
"You don't believe the Black Widow thing?"
He shook his head. "It's just cruel gossip. She lost everything when that man died, and she's somehow managed to keep from totally falling apart. I don't know how she does it. If I lost Linda," and he rubbed his wife's shoulder with one hand, tenderly, "I'd totally fall to pieces. But Helen somehow managed to keep herself together, despite that loss."
Richard's eyes bored into me. "But if she suffers another shock, do you think she'll still be able to hold it together? Or will one last push finally break her spirit?"
"And you think that could come from me?"
Richard's eyes grew harder, two chips of steel in an iron face. "If it tu
rns out to be you, you're going to get the hell out of my house," he promised softly. "And you'd better hope that we don't cross paths again."
I swallowed. Richard's voice held nothing but deadly promise. I looked back down at Linda, hoping for a bit of sympathy, but she didn't say a word. She just matched my gaze, silent but not contradicting her husband.
"Right," I finally said, swallowing the last of my coffee. It tasted like ashes in my mouth. "I'll think about telling her soon."
Richard and Linda Stone both watched me as I got up and left the kitchen. I tried to convince myself that they'd just been exaggerating, that I wouldn't really hurt Helen that badly, even if she did find out the truth. She'd understand, wouldn't she?
Wouldn't she?
Chapter Twenty-One
HELEN
*
I paused, sitting up a little as I heard a new buzzing sound in my garden. This one didn't sound like the drone of the cicadas, the hum of busy bees darting from flower to flower. This one sounded more robotic, more rhythmic.
I stripped off one of the thick gloves covering my hands and dug my hand into my pocket. I wrapped my fingers around my phone, pulled it out. The vibration had stopped, but I saw that I had a new text message.
I squinted at the screen. Out in the bright sunlight, it was next to impossible to read the words on the phone. Grunting, I planted my hands on my knees and climbed up from where I'd been kneeling in the dirt, digging out weeds. I made my way over to the shady area underneath the largest of my cherry trees, getting a deep breath of the scent of its blossoms as I lifted my phone back up.
"I have something important to tell you," I read from Tanner on the screen in a text message. That was all he'd sent, and when I rubbed a finger over the screen to open the device, there wasn't any sign of a follow-up clarification message.
I smiled, slipping the phone back into my pocket. We'd taken the last few days off, holding off on seeing each other, but I couldn't wait for our next date tonight. Incredibly, even after just a couple of days away from the man, I found myself really missing him, wishing that I could have him beside me – and not just when I was in bed alone.
For Love of Passion (Stone Brothers Book 4) Page 14