by Lucas, Helen
I wanted to give her those things. And in return, I wanted her to give herself.
To me. All to me.
I sighed. I was in my office, overlooking a mostly empty city. What the hell was wrong with me? It wasn’t like me to get this hung up over a woman. And if I ever did, all it took was giving a call to one of the many girls I’d enjoyed over the past few years—lovely girls, who’d jump at the chance to attach themselves to my arm for a weekend and my cock for the night…
But Karen was different. There was no doubt about that.
I gave Nicholas a call, ostensibly to talk PR strategy. I could tell her was annoyed that I was bothering him about work while he was off with the kids, but his voice softened when I mentioned Karen.
“I’ve been making her jealous,” I said with a chuckle. “I took one of her grad students out for dinner and let her spend the night at my place. I’m rubbing it in her face now.”
“Kyle, just what are your intentions here?” Nicholas asked carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you fuck that girl?”
“No! I’m just trying to piss Karen off and besides, I had a reservation I didn’t want to show up alone for.”
“So, what are your intentions with Karen? With your step-sister, to whose university you just donated a whole boatload of cash?”
I paused. Did I tell Nicholas?
“I want to bed her. And she’s not my sister anymore.”
“Kyle…”
“What? We’re all adults here. I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. If only Karen got it through her head what a good time we could have…”
“Do you even see how this could blow up in all of our faces? There’s another scandal right here, waiting for us. You’re a couple of nasty tabloid photos away from more trouble.”
I found myself rolling my eyes, even though Nicholas wasn’t there to see.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“As your chief public relations officer, I have to advise you to refrain.”
I paused, letting the words sink in.
“And as my friend?” I asked finally.
Silence on the other end. And then, Nicholas sighed.
“As your friend… Not everyone wants to be bought. Not everyone has a price.”
“Everyone has a price.”
“All right. Then maybe her price isn’t what you think it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Damn it, Kyle, stop thinking about Michelin-starred restaurants and bottles of Dom. There’s more to life than that for the vast majority of the country. A majority into which Karen falls.”
“I still don’t follow you.”
“What’s she interested in?”
“Nineteenth-century American literature,” I answered without skipping a beat.
“There. Do something for her involving that.”
“But that’s boring.”
“And now you wonder why she doesn’t want to fuck you?”
He had a point. A damned good point.
We chatted a bit more—about the Macy’s parade, about whether or not the Chinese stock market was going to implode this years, about what model of Mercedes he was going to buy after the New Year, and so on.
But my heart wasn’t in it. I was planning—planning how I would get Karen, how I would win her. It wasn’t going to be with luxury and money.
But, of course, that didn’t mean luxury and money wouldn’t help…
KAREN
“So, you never slept with him?”
It was Monday. The Monday after Thanksgiving. The undergraduates uniformly trudged through the university, unwilling to be back at school so soon, their Thanksgiving dinners sitting uneasily in their bellies. Masha sat in my office, and while we were supposed to discuss a due date for a draft of her dissertation prospectus, it wasn’t long before we started talking about Kyle.
“Oh, god, no!” she cried. “We had dinner and I slept over—but I skyped with my boyfriend the whole time. Mr. Stone went back to the office. He said he’d been waiting for months to get a reservation at Dorsia and he didn’t want to lose it, since they won’t seat you if you don’t have the exact number of people…”
“But he took you shopping?”
“Well, yes, but just so I’d have something to wear. It’s not really a jeans kind of place.”
I sighed. It checked out. I realized I had fallen into Kyle’s trap.
I had gotten jealous. He had tricked me into being jealous, being jealous of my student, a more or less innocent girl who had no idea what my brother was capable of.
Ex-brother. And was I really even sure what he was capable of?
“Really, we spent a lot of time talking about you. He wanted me to explain your research to him—he said he was too intimidated to ask you himself.”
“Really?”
“Really. Maribeth Wilson, New Orleans—he seemed to want to know all of it. It was a nice conversation. I was definitely a little buzzed by the end, but I don’t think he had more than one glass of wine the entire night. He drove me home and everything. And I only stayed over because it was so late.”
I shook my head, refocusing on Masha’s dissertation. I knew that Kyle was coming by today and I had no idea what I was going to say to him. He was a jerk, but he wasn’t evil.
And maybe… Maybe he was smart too. The fact was, I had accepted that I was jealous of Masha, that I wished it had been me on Kyle’s arm. No matter how much I wanted t deny it… There was no denying the jealousy that had burnt my heart all week.
But I couldn’t act on it. I just couldn’t. It would cause a complete and utter scandal.
But sometimes, scandals are worth it, a voice in my head whispered, unhelpfully. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I didn’t want to cause a scandal. I didn’t want to cause trouble.
But why? Why didn’t I want to? Was it because of my career, because I risked sacrificing everything I had worked for? Was it because I was afraid of hurting Kyle?
Or was it because I was afraid of being hurt myself?
Masha left and half an hour later, Kyle strode into my office. He was all confident swagger, clad in a navy-blue suit that shimmered ever so slightly and fit him like a glove, while his shirt seemed to glow under the cheap fluorescent lights in our building. He wore no tie, and his intoxicating cologne immediately hit my nose as he grasped my hand, guiding it to his lips for a flirtatious kiss.
“I saw Masha on my way over here. She warned me that you seemed stressed.”
“You two have a pretty good rapport right now, don’t you?” I scowled.
“We sure do. We had a great time the other night. She’s a lovely girl. In more ways than one.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You can cut the macho act, Kyle. Bro, I know you didn’t sleep with her. I know you went back to work while she skyped with her boyfriend.”
He cracked a smile.
“Guilty as charged. I’m a workaholic and my guest room doesn’t get much use these days anyway.”
“You really just wanted to use your reservation?”
“I sure did,” Kyle said, taking a seat across from me. “And to get Masha’s take on the department and your research. This was a working dinner, sis.”
“Don’t call me sis.”
“Fine. Ex-sis.”
He reached into his pocket and revealed an envelope. He tossed it across my desk and I caught it.
“As my first act of fund administration, I want to propose a research trip.”
Inside were two plane tickets, first class, to New Orleans. And then, a hotel confirmation for a deluxe suite at the Ritz-Carlton.
“Kyle… What is this?”
“Maribeth Wilson. Masha told me all about her—born a slave, ran the most profitable bordello in New Orleans for fifty years, corresponded with presidents, poets, and princes. Left behind tomes and tomes of private papers, including poems, essays, and short stories. Potentially the most import
ant African-American female writer of the period right after the Civil War.”
“Yes…”
“So, I’m sure there’s research you could be doing.”
“Always.”
“So, let’s go. You and me. This weekend.”
“Kyle… I can’t just drop everything and leave!” I cried, my face burning. But damn it, it sure was tempting.
My fingers trembled as I turned over the tickets in my hands. Had he really done this? What was his end game here?
“What’s the idea?” I growled. “Is there only one bed in the room?”
Kyle laughed.
“I thought you would ask that. No, I made sure it was a two bed suite. Just in case my charms haven’t totally enraptured you by this point.”
“Kyle, this is so kind… But I can’t accept this.”
“Don’t look at it as a professional thing. This is a gift. From a brother to a sister. From a man to a woman.”
I bit my lip. I began calculating my calendar in my head: I was teaching Wednesday, but not Thursday or Friday. I could get away Thursday, be back in time for class on Monday. That would be four days… Four days to research. Four days in New Orleans.
Four days with Kyle.
“Yes,” I said finally, almost crying. “Yes. Let’s go.”
KYLE
It hadn’t been hard to make the arrangements. Once I took Nicholas’s suggestion into account, along with what Masha had told me about Karen’s research, New Orleans had been the obvious choice.
I picked Karen up in Connecticut on Wednesday evening and drove her to the airport. I was delighted to see that she hadn’t just worn slouchy airplane clothes, but was actually wearing a smart and flirty short green dress.
“I thought I should wear something fun,” she said with a quick and easy smile. She hopped around, dancing in a circle for me to see. I approved. Oh yes.
I loved the way it showed off her long, slender pale legs. I hadn’t seen much of her body so far, but damn it all, I liked what I was seeing now. She worked out. She was more athletic than I had initially imagined.
And I was planning on giving her a workout before our trip was over.
As we stood in line, waiting to board the plane, Karen’s face was alive with delight. She had her nose buried in a guidebook, which promised a tour of the best literary sights in New Orleans. I, however, was not used to waiting.
“One moment, sis,” I murmured, stepping out of line and grabbing a flight attendant by the arm.
“Back in line, sir,” she said curtly. I flashed a smile.
“Of course—I just think there might be some mistake. I don’t think we ought to be waiting in this line.”
“You’re in the first class line, sir—what else do you want?”
I gently pressed my passport into her hand. Her eyes widened when she saw my name.
“Oh… Mr. Stone… I didn’t realize… One moment.”
She darted to the head of the line, whispered a few words to her colleagues, and gestured frantically towards us. Karen’s eyes were as wide as theirs were as we cut the line, gliding through onto the airplane.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stone, so good to see you. Welcome aboard, welcome aboard. Sorry about that mix up—you’re of course welcome to board the plane before all the other passengers.”
“Oh, we’re not married,” Karen said quickly, smiling.
“My mistake, ma’am—enjoy the flight, and if there’s anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask.”
In moments, we were comfortably ensconced in huge first class seats—the only kind I’m willing to fly in these days. I stretched out my legs, lazily picked at a copy of the Financial Times, and flagged down a flight attendant.
“What’s your best champagne?”
“Oh, sir—we’ve only one, Mr. Stone.”
“And it is?”
“Er, a prosecco.”
I shook my head.
“That won’t do. Send someone to the duty free shop and buy a bottle of Dom Perignon.”
I handed her my American Express card and turned back to Karen.
“Air travel, in general, is barbaric, but at the very least, we needn’t be barbarians about it.”
She just laughed.
“Kyle… I’m amazed. Do you really live like this all the time? This isn’t just an act to impress me?”
“Impress you? I’m not trying to impress you. You’re just coming along for the ride.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“I assure you,” I said with a smooth as silk grin. “This is just how I live every day.”
“Why did we get to cut that line? Do they just know you that well?” Karen asked, her eyes searching mine. I replied with my own grin.
“I happen to own a fifty-two percent stake in this airline. I’m essentially their boss.”
“Oh? Why don’t you just travel by private jet?” she asked, her voice teasing.
“Do you know how expensive a private jet is? Not to buy, but to maintain. I had one for a few years but it was absurd, just a waste of money. I don’t like to waste money. I like to enjoy it.”
As if on cue, a red-faced flight attendant dashed down the aisle, pushing his way through struggling, lumbering passengers. Clutched in his sweaty hands was an ice cold bottle of 2004 Dom Perignon.
“Not a moment too soon,” I announced as he stopped, catching his breath and fumbling to open the bottle. I snatched it out of his hands, deftly stripped the wrapper off, and popped the cork. A bit of champagne bubbled out.
“Flutes?” I asked the flight attendant. He nodded and dashed off. Meanwhile, Karen wasted no time.
“You might not like to waste money, but I don’t like to waste champagne,” she declared, snatching the bottle from my hands and slurping the run off. She winked as me as she inhaled the bubbles and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Not very professional, Mrs. Stone.”
“I’m on vacation. You’ve never seen me away from the department.”
“I’ve seen you in my bedroom.”
Her face darkened.
“And how’d that work out for you?” she asked.
“Not as well as I had hoped, I admit, but I’ll give you time to come around.”
“Keep hoping.”
“I don’t have to hope.”
The flight attendant returned with our flutes. In a strange twist, he held them both out while I poured our drinks. I knew that wasn’t what he was supposed to do and he knew it too, but Karen didn’t seem to care.
“I always get what I want,” I said finally as we clinked glasses, toasting as the plane filled up with passengers—passengers not lucky enough to be my guest in first class.
KAREN
Kyle may always get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy for him.
As soon as we arrived in New Orleans, we went straight to the hotel. But I didn’t bother accompanying him up to the room.
“I’ve got a meeting scheduled with Maribeth Wilson’s great-great-great-grand-daughter at the Tulane University archives,” I said as we pulled up to the hotel, magnificent in its colonial, old French glory. Kyle raised an eyebrow. I did so like the way his handsome face contorted, annoyed when I made my announcement. Poor, poor Kyle. You can’t have everything you want, boy.
At least, not right away. Not just yet. Not… Oh, damn.
I danced out of the car and hailed a cab. As we raced off to the next neighborhood over, I glanced back to blow Kyle a kiss. His face was dark, annoyed. He looked extra cute when he was annoyed.
Oh, god, was I actually thinking about him as… As cute? I hated that I was thinking those thoughts but there was no denying it, no denying that I thought he was cute.
More than cute. Sexy.
Hell, more than sexy. Sexy as hell. Broad shoulders, chiseled face, those eyes too, and perfect hair every day. And the way he wore a suit… It was more like making love to the fabric. I’d love to strip one of those Hugo Boss numbers off him.