Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

  “Fine.” Her voice was low, and he knew she felt it too. “No more using Old Hardwood to woo me.”

  “I wasn’t wooing you either.” Even though he knew her entire family was watching—either in the backyard or through the kitchen window where Nancy was washing the dinner dishes—he brought her hand to his lips and dropped a slow and careful kiss on the surface.

  Hand kissing, it turned out, was still good. Hand kissing was still great.

  “If I was wooing you, I’d try much harder than that tree.”

  “Harder?” she gasped.

  “As hard as you can stand,” he said. And didn’t falter over the words once.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Monty whirled from his contemplation of the tree in his family’s orchard, so startled he dropped the rope he’d borrowed from the gardener’s shed. “Oh, hi, Dad. I didn’t expect to see you out here so early.”

  His dad consulted his watch, as if the answers to his son’s lapse into lunacy might be hiding behind the solid gold Roman numerals. “I can’t imagine you expected to see anyone at all. It’s six in the morning. Why are you out here with a lasso?”

  Monty picked up his rope and twirled it, laughing at the comparison. It was kind of like a lasso, now that he thought about it—if cowboys roped Frisbees in their spare time. “I was trying to figure out how difficult it would be to throw this rope to the top of a sixty-foot tree. The answer, in case you were wondering, is very.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  “I’ve never been better,” he said truthfully, and tossed the rope again. It went all of twenty feet before tangling in a branch. “Fuck. I’m going to have to find a better way. Do you know how high those remote-controlled helicopters can go?”

  His dad stared at him.

  “I doubt it’d have the capacity to lift anything anyway. Maybe it could just jar it?” Monty resumed his perusal of the tree. Even though it wasn’t quite as tall as the one in Georgia’s backyard, it seemed the closest approximation. There had to be an alternate way up there.

  “It’s Saturday,” his dad stated.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You’re not working?”

  Monty looked at him in some surprise. “We already agreed I’m taking weekends off this month.”

  He’d have preferred to be suiting up to join Georgia and her brothers at the build site this morning, but even though he’d been forgiven for his interference, Georgia had announced with absolute conviction that he was banned from the premises until further notice. The banishment hurt—it hurt a lot more than he cared to admit—but he wasn’t about to cross her will.

  Her will was wrong. Her will was stubborn and contradictory and tied into some deep-seated need to prove herself by tackling unnecessary challenges. But her will was also one of his favorite parts about her. He was going to have to find some other way to get her to trust him again.

  So far, all he had was this rope.

  “Yes, we did agree to that—so you could help Georgia with her project.” His dad spoke slowly and with an emphasis on each syllable. “Does Georgia’s project need you to lasso a tree?”

  Monty fell into a burst of laughter—it was too much, the heavy-handed concern, the cautious way he was being watched out of the corner of his father’s eyes. If he wasn’t careful, the next date he got set up on would be with a psychotherapist. “What Georgia’s project needs is a wide-scale infusion of skilled labor, but I’m not brave enough to make the offer. You go ahead if you think you’ll have better success, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  His dad frowned. “I did offer.”

  “You did?”

  “She turned me down.”

  Monty laughed again, finding the sound easier with each passing moment. It had been a long time since he’d dared to be amused at his father’s expense. Maybe years. Possibly a lifetime. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

  His dad looked as if he wanted to say more, but he firmed his lips in a line. “You really plan to spend your whole day off playing outside?”

  Monty’s amusement fled, and he was back to feeling eleven years old again, squirming under the steely gaze of a man who demanded nothing less than his soul. “Yes, Dad. That’s exactly what I plan. I’m going to lasso trees and catch tadpoles in the pond and maybe ride my bike to the store later so I can steal a pack of gum. Do you have a problem with that?”

  The iron in his voice dared his dad to contradict him. There was no way he could know Monty was bluffing—that there was an annual report sitting on his desk he intended to go over until his eyes bled, or that he’d promised Thomas he’d confirm his meeting with the Connecticut Board of Regents—and he had no intention of offering enlightenment. This automaton wasn’t done working, but he was done following the orders programmed into him since birth.

  “If you’re looking for plans this evening, I could always call up—”

  “No.” His hands tightened on the coil of rope. “No more of this. I’m sorry my life choices bring you so much displeasure, but I’m not going to have dinner with Willa. I also found my own date for Ashleigh’s wedding, and I’m not going to keep having this discussion with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find an alternate route to the top of that tree, and then I have a long day of juvenile misbehavior ahead of me.”

  He could tell his dad wanted to say something—something that would crush Monty under the weight of expectation and obligation, something so he would remain exactly where he’d been for the past thirty-five years of his life. He settled for “You found a date for Ashleigh’s wedding?” instead, his tone disbelieving enough to border on outrage. Monty might as well have expressed an interest in necromancy.

  “Yes,” he said, and resumed his attentions skyward. “She’s younger than me, not in mourning for her deceased husband, unlikely to bring any financial prosperity to your future business plans, and quite possibly my favorite person in the whole world.”

  Not even his dad dared argue with that.

  * * *

  Hours had passed since the rest of the crew went home for the day, but Georgia lingered, finding it difficult to walk away from the mounting to-do list in her head. She blamed visions of recessed lighting and drawer pulls for why it took her so long to realize she was being watched by a tall, dark figure near her truck, almost indistinguishable in the twilight air.

  She didn’t panic, as instinct urged. Palming her trusty hammer instead, she did what any well-armed woman would do alone and at dusk. She strode forward and threatened bodily harm.

  “Monty! What are you doing here?” She stopped as soon as she recognized the glint of auburn at the top of his head. That glint was everywhere lately—there were a surprising amount of redheads in this world, once you started to look for them. “I thought I banned you from crossing this threshold.”

  “You did.”

  Not very effectively, it would seem. “Do you understand what being banned means?”

  “It means I’m exiled. Prohibited. Unwanted.” He didn’t move. “I think I understand that word better than anyone, Georgia. Don’t worry. I promise not to touch anything.”

  Even me? she wanted to ask, but it wasn’t the right moment for flirtation. She and flirtation had always enjoyed a somewhat questionable relationship, but today was worse than usual. Not only was she covered in residual fertilizer from the lawn spray they’d put down earlier, but Monty’s words had her stopping in her tracks. Making him feel unwanted had never been her intention, and guilt tore through her for not remembering how keenly he felt his outsider status.

  She also felt a swirl of annoyance. She wasn’t supposed to feel guilty for this man, what with his incredible looks and huge bank account and high-handed business tactics. He had everything a human be
ing could possibly want, and was therefore untouchable. That was the fantasy, right? A god from up high, gilded in his perfection, his personality a blank slate she could fill in on her own?

  Unfortunately, Monty was turning out to be none of those things. He was real and unsure and awkward. He was a man who looked out at the world and wondered just what it was everyone else seemed to know that he didn’t.

  Goddammit. She blamed the hugs for the weakness in her heart and in her knees. Hugs opened the doors to all kinds of emotional overflow. And now it was flowing all over the place, mucking up her job site and making her question everything.

  “I know we didn’t make any concrete plans for tonight.” He spoke before she had a chance to formulate a response that wasn’t a complete sacrifice of everything she was. “And I’m not here to interfere with your work, but I was hoping you might be able to spare me a few hours.”

  She ignored the way her heart went into overdrive—at how desperately she wanted to launch herself into his arms and allow him to interfere in anything and everything he wanted—and gripped her hammer tighter instead. It was better this way. Monty might be able to turn her into a swooning, flighty bit of fluff with the touch of his lips on her fingers, and he might possess the ability to hug her into submission, but she still retained a few of her faculties.

  “That depends on what you intend to do with my hours,” she said carefully. “If you want a hug, I should probably warn you I smell like fish. It’s the seaweed in the fertilizer we sprayed. It’s an organic brand.”

  “I want a lot more than a hug, if you’re up for it.”

  Faculties. She had faculties, dammit. “But I smell like a mermaid. Did you miss that part?”

  His laughter was silent, but she could tell from the way her truck shook at his back that it was real. “I can wait until you shower, Georgia. Unless you want to do a mermaid thing, in which case I’ll go roll around in the yard until we match.”

  Her faculties slipped even more, leaving a gaping hole behind. “How do I know you aren’t trying to lure me away on false pretenses?”

  His shoulders came down. “Is this a bad time? I know you said you were busy, but I thought...”

  “No!”

  He blinked.

  “I mean, yes. Of course yes.” She sighed, powerless against the desire she felt for this man—not just in a sexual way, but for the pleasure of his company, period. “No, it’s not a bad time. Yes, I’d love to play mermaids with you. I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”

  “That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting me either.”

  His words made no sense either in context or out of it, but she nodded all the same. Truth be told, she could really use one of his strong hugs right about now. Meecham’s visit to the site last week had left a rain cloud overhead, and not even the regular raillery of her crew had been enough to dispel it. Emotions, self-doubt, girlish dreams...the floodgates had been opened, and now she was drowning.

  And she didn’t even have time to grab one last gulp of air before she went under, because Monty chose that moment to stride forward and kiss her. His mouth was as desperate and grasping as she felt inside, pieces of him fitting into the hollows of her heart as if they belonged there.

  “Should I drive, or did you want to follow me?” he asked, pulling away only to press his forehead gently against hers.

  “Follow you where?” Off the nearest cliff? It might already be too late.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I thought we already discussed how I feel about surprises.”

  “You can put me in a cast if you don’t like this one—I promise.”

  “I’ll put you in a cast anyway. I’m serious, Monty. You have to tell me.”

  He didn’t look pleased at the idea, but she stood firm. Hugs she could accept with relative grace. Sex was the gift that kept on giving. But this man was capable of too much—had too many resources at his disposal—for her to feel comfortable going in blind.

  “I thought it might be easier for you if we had sex somewhere new this time. Somewhere with no negative associations.”

  Oh. Okay. That was considerate of him, actually. She’d never thought of location as being part of the problem before. “As long as it isn’t anywhere near the Manor, I think I’m okay. My truck can be quite roomy.”

  Monty looked back at the cab of her Ford with only mild horror. “Uh, maybe some other time? For tonight, I thought we might try something more upscale.”

  Georgia stopped. “How upscale?”

  “Five stars? Recognized by Upmarket Traveler as a ‘feast for all the senses’?”

  “Oh, no.” Georgia put her hands up and backed away. “No, no, no. You’re not taking me there. Anywhere but there.”

  Her hesitance only seemed to infuse a childlike joy into his smile. She mistrusted that joy. She mistrusted any joy beamed so directly her way. “But, Georgia—if I can’t take my secret lover to my own hotel, what’s the point of having one?”

  She wasn’t falling for it. “The secret lover or the hotel?”

  He flashed his teeth. “Both.”

  * * *

  The Hartford Montluxe afforded an average man the perfect opportunity to woo a woman. From the marbled lobby on the bottom floor to the penthouse at the top, everything about the hotel was designed for romance. Luxury linens, gleaming mirrors, discreetly uninterested staff members who could satisfy any whims that fell within legal confines—all of it could be acquired for a price.

  For a not-so-average man—say, the next in line to inherit the entire chain of hotels—it was red carpet treatment from the get-go. Monty had no more ushered Georgia through the revolving doors, his hand clamped firmly over hers so she couldn’t run away, than the concierge began trying to ply them with champagne and compliments.

  “No, no—we don’t want the penthouse,” he said for what had to be the tenth time. “A regular room is all we require. Take my card, run it through your system and charge us for every tiny bottle of vodka that disappears from the en-suite bar.”

  “But, Mr. Montgomery, I’m not authorized to do that.”

  He looked to Georgia with an apologetic wince. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away with all of this bowing and scraping—honestly, unless you counted his philanthropic efforts or the other day at the build site, he rarely took advantage of his family name or money—but the yellow ring in her eyes was alit with laughter.

  “What if I get the room?” She reached into her pocket to extract a wallet made of Velcro and duct tape. “Would that simplify things?”

  She’d squirmed uncomfortably as they came in through the reflective doors, wrinkling her nose at her own appearance beside his. She’d almost made a break for it when he was recognized by several bellhops coming in. But this—him struggling to make the front clerk understand the most basic of requests—had her feeling perfectly at ease.

  “I’m not supposed to charge any members of the family.” The desk clerk looked ready to cry, but at Monty’s attempt at a smile, she gulped and nodded once. “Maybe I can pretend I didn’t see him come in with you?”

  “Excellent.” Georgia tapped a credit card against the marble countertop. “Put the room under my name and on my card, but lock access to the minibar, if you please. I’m not made of money.”

  Monty laughed, which only seemed to cast the desk clerk further into confusion. “I had no idea it would be so difficult to whisk a woman away for a night of passion. They make it look so easy in the movies.”

  “Monty,” Georgia said, a threat in her voice. It was the “night of passion” bit that did it.

  To avoid another attempt at escape, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, loving how the rough texture of her hand was so at odds with the rest of her. He loved even more how powerless she was against that tiny display o
f affection, rendering him powerful in ways he’d never known existed. It didn’t matter that she was still halfway angry with him, or that the Montluxe was the last place she wanted to be seen with him. When he pressed a single kiss on the surface of her hand, he somehow managed to say the thousands of words lodged in his throat.

  And she somehow managed to hear them.

  “I can’t believe you conned me into taking you to the most expensive hotel in Connecticut,” she muttered, though her cheeks flushed as he finally relinquished his grip. He would have kept her fingers entwined in his, but the clerk finished processing their request and handed Georgia the key card. “I take it you must not do this very often.”

  “Lure a woman upstairs?” he said. “Never.”

  “Not even when you were younger?” She led the way to the elevators, and he was more than happy to let her. She seemed to prefer it this way—paying for the room, calling the shots, ignoring the fact that he could clear everyone out of this entire building with the snap of his fingers.

  His wealth obviously made Georgia uncomfortable, and that was okay. It made him uncomfortable most of the time. But it existed, and it was a large part of his identity. If he wanted more from Georgia than an occasional stolen hug—and it was becoming clearer and clearer to him that he did—it was time to start introducing her to his other half.

  If Monotonous Montgomery hadn’t sent her running for the hills, he could only pray Moneyed Montgomery wouldn’t either.

  “How is it possible for me to be the first woman you’ve wooed with luxury?” She stepped into the mirror-paneled elevator. “Did you hatch as a responsible, levelheaded human being? If this were my family’s hotel, I’d have been living off room service and pillow mints for years.”

  “You want the truth? I hate these hotels. I always have.”

  As the doors closed in front of them and the elevator began its ascent, Monty became aware of how wrong Georgia had been when she claimed to smell like a mermaid—she was an incredibly untrustworthy source when it came to this sort of thing. She smelled not of the sea but of the air and sky, of the peaty topsoil that covered the earth where the two met.