Serenity and peace.
Well, at least it had been for a few brief shining moments. Isabeau sat up straighter as Naomi Steele approached, her belly round with her second trimester pregnancy, her dark hair gathered into an elegant bun, teardrop emerald earrings nearly brushing her shoulders. Those Steele eyes sharp, but tired. Isabeau couldn’t tell how far along Naomi was—guessing months or ages had never been her strong suit.
“Do you mind if I hide out here with you?” She rested a hand on her pregnant belly. “Royce is driving me crazy about how long I’ve been on my feet and if I don’t sit and eat soon he’s going to start hand-feeding me, which would be embarrassing.”
“He sounds adorable.” Isabeau had spent considerable time with all the family members this past week, but somehow Royce Miller had a way of making himself scarce if there were more than two other people in the room.
“Hmm... Adorable isn’t a word I would choose. He’s sexy and brooding and a great guy. But he’s also a worrier and I want to relax for a moment for some girl talk with my artichoke heart pizza—yes, I know pizza isn’t normally at a reception but I have been craving it.”
“I think it’s delightful and actually have seen it showing up on a number of event menus.” She tossed a smile over her shoulder at one of the Steele brothers as the room began to fill up.
Where was Trystan?
“And you won’t rat me out about the three fruit tarts?”
Isabeau pretended to zip her mouth shut, a theatrical wink following. She leaned in to whisper, “My lips are sealed.”
Naomi lifted one of the fruit tarts toward her lips, clearly excited to indulge. She popped the tart into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Moments passed before Naomi broke the silence, her eyes trained on the horizon. “We appreciate your help with Trystan. This merger means everything to us.”
“You both have beautiful families.”
“And we understand blending everyone into a congenial unit is about more than blending the businesses. But if meshing the companies doesn’t go smoothly, we don’t stand a chance.”
“Trystan is being cooperative, which is more than I can say for some of my clients.” She liked this family, both sides. Which made her feel all the more disloyal for her attraction to Trystan. She owed everyone her best effort.
“Probably because he thinks it’s for only a month.” Naomi folded her pizza slice in half and ate with an expression of bliss on her face.
“Pardon me?” Setting the plate down on her lap, Isabeau turned to face Naomi.
“The fund-raiser is in just less than a month, but I think everyone is hoping that some of your influence will last beyond that time and he’ll be more involved. We would like all the siblings to be more involved, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen, not with Trystan or some of the others, as well.”
Isabeau looked over at the dance floor, at the other family members in question. Delaney, the quietest of the Steele siblings, fluffed her hair. She seemed to shrink into the background, her body language tense. Her younger teenage brother, Aiden, came up to her, dancing circles around her. A true goofball in the way only a teenager seemed to be able to get away with. The reception hall was filling up, only a few left in the sunroom.
Naomi cleared her throat, dropping her voice low as people began to pour through the sunroom into the reception area. “But really, you’ve done a great job with Trystan. It was evident today.”
“Thank you. He’s been very cooperative.”
She glanced at Isabeau, grinning. “I bet he has.”
Isabeau chose to ignore the insinuation. “This was a nice chance to watch how he interacts and make notes of what to work on over the next few weeks.”
“We’re lucky to have you. Takes a lot of pressure off us.” Naomi skimmed another touch across her pregnant stomach. Her long, slender face gazing downward, possibilities seemingly dancing before her dark brown eyes. A long sigh rippled through Naomi. “I had no idea when I decided to get pregnant through in vitro fertilization how upside down my family was about to be with the merger, my brother’s wedding, my dad’s engagement.”
“Congratulations on the baby.”
“I’m pregnant with two babies actually. I should have considered the possibility.” A small silence echoed after those words. In a less aggressive, less confident voice, Naomi added, “I’m a twin.”
Pain twisted in the woman’s beautiful face, pulling at Isabeau’s heart.
Isabeau touched the pregnant woman’s arm, offering a small—hopefully welcome—sign of comfort. “Your sister who...?”
“Yes, my sister who died in the plane crash along with our mother.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I wish I could say it gets easier to handle with time, but it only gets easier to hide the pain. I can’t help but think of them today.”
Isabeau nodded in agreement. “Of course, that’s only natural.”
“You’re a very good listener. I never expected to talk about this tonight.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“I should get back to my fiancé. He’ll be chomping at the bit for me to sit down, put my feet up, eat something from every food group.”
“That’s sweet that he’s so attentive.” Jitters pelted her, along with memories of her college boyfriend. His attentiveness had turned into something ugly—controlling obsession. She didn’t see that in Royce, but she understood too well the sensation of feeling smothered.
Naomi rolled her eyes. “A little too attentive. But I do love him.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “I enjoyed chatting. Let’s do this again.”
Isabeau couldn’t miss the way Naomi’s face lit up when she spotted her fiancé. The way he returned her smile. There was so much love in the air here. Did these families understand how lucky they were?
Although she wasn’t sure she could trust all this happiness if it landed on her doorstep with a bow.
* * *
Striding past a harpist playing on the lawn at the reception, Trystan scanned the wedding guests in search of Isabeau. Had she gone inside to the sunroom or great room? Even for a gathering of just family and friends went beyond what most would call an intimate affair.
His plan to bring Isabeau as his date had been the perfect distraction from the way his family was meshing with the Steeles. His sister was marrying a Steele now. His mother would be marrying the Steele patriarch in a month.
The fact that his sister’s wedding was at the Steele family compound rather than the Mikkelson home made him edgy and, yeah, angry too. As if the Steeles were working to erase all traces of the Mikkelsons.
All the more reason for him to make a success of this month as the face of their merged company.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his time with Isabeau. No question, sparks were flying.
He had a sense that up until now, particularly in his interactions with women, he’d been sleepwalking, stumbling through the motions. But Isabeau jolted him, electrified his core.
Surprising him each time he saw her—like now.
He strode faster up the stairs to the deck leading to an enclosed sunroom. And damn, did she look hot today, sunlight catching the flames of red in her hair as she sat by herself in the sunroom, her legs delicately crossed. Manicured fingers gripped a now empty plate, traces of crumbs decorating the china.
A vision.
That’s what she was. A vision he very much wanted to touch, hold and more, so much more. With the signature bravado that enabled him to approach even the flightiest and most aggressive horses, he drew in a breath and walked toward her with the Mikkelson swagger that had turned the onetime small business into an oil empire.
She sipped a glass of champagne, her bright eyes focusing on him as he drew closer.
“Come with me.” Extending a hand, he noticed as her
lips parted, brows raising in subdued—but visible—interest.
“Okay. You’re the boss.” She stared awkwardly at her plate, seeming unsure what to do with it.
Taking it from her, he set it down on a nearby table. She set her now empty champagne flute down too, rising to take his outstretched hand. “Where are we going?”
“Dancing,” he said simply as they moved to the center of the great room. The small jazz band was tucked in the corner amidst the woodland themed decorations and a small space was cleared for dancing. So far the tunes had all been of the slower variety, and he hoped they stayed that way, eager for the feel of Isabeau against him.
“Dancing?” She laughed lightly, but still kept her soft hand tucked in his. “Now you’ve surprised me.”
The band segued into a Sinatra classic and Trystan didn’t miss a beat. He pulled her into his arms. He slipped his hand to her waist, letting it rest in the curve of her slender body. She seemed to lean into him, ever so slightly. Enough to send his blood pumping through his veins.
“I do know how. Mother insisted on lessons for all of us, everything from the basic ballroom styles to a session on square dancing.”
“Good for Jeannie. Did you protest?” Her steps synched with his from the first move.
“Hell no, I was worried my family would get rid of me—” He stopped short. He didn’t want to bust the mood here with talk about his insecurities during the early days when he’d been adopted. “Bad joke. I tend to blurt out what I’m thinking.”
“Honesty is an admirable trait. It’s just...” She bit her bottom lip.
A low laugh burst free. “Not always the most tactful for the business world.”
A major part of why he was better cut out for his role managing the family ranch.
“That makes tact sound dishonest somehow.”
Wanting to lighten the mood and chase away the shadows in her eyes, he twirled her away, the silky yellow dress fanning around her lithe legs. Radiant and sexy. She spun back to him, her hands finding his.
“I only meant that I get that there are nuances and things that are better left unsaid. I’m just not a nuance kind of man.” Keeping her close, he guided their steps away from the other half-dozen couples dancing, steering her toward the stone fireplace. Massive moose antlers stared down at him. Tall ceilings provided an airy balance to the thick leather sofas that were now strategically staged against the walls rather than in their normal places.
“Let’s talk about the dancing more. You’re a natural. I think we should capitalize on that this month in your image building. This has a great sophisticated look to it. With the right press coverage—”
“Isabeau, seriously, the image again?” He needed a night off from all of that. The past week had been intense and outside his comfort zone. Particularly the past two days when all he could think about was having her here tonight. In his arms for a dance.
Yes, he wanted a night he could enjoy. With her.
“Could you stop with the business talk and let’s just enjoy this dance?”
“Oh, um, sure. This must be an emotional day for you, with your sister getting married and your mom engaged—”
“Emotional?” He stifled a laugh, drawing her closer to his chest. He whispered against her ear, as they swayed in time to the music, “It’s just a wedding. That’s it. I’m focused on you.”
“Wait, our being here together is supposed to be about business, working on your image.”
He smiled, his blue eyes glinting.
She swatted his arm. “Stop that or I’m going to line up a dozen more press conferences for you.”
“I didn’t say a word so I couldn’t have shoved my boot in my mouth.”
“Your smile speaks volumes.”
His grin widened.
“Trystan, that’s not professional—or fair.”
And perhaps that proclamation would have been followed by a moment—the kind he’d been thinking about nonstop since the day of the fitting—but a cacophony of voices disrupted the intensity of their eye contact, the closeness of their bodies.
Isabeau pivoted toward the noise first. Chuck and his wife, Shana, stood at the edge of the dance floor. Heat seemed to rise around them, calling a tempest into the room as their voices escalated, beginning to drown out the jazz tune.
His cousin, Sage Hammond, moved between them, her voice low and calming. While Trystan couldn’t make out what the argument was about this time, it was clear that Sage was playing peacemaker. A role he’d seen his fierce butterfly of a cousin play on behalf of her aunt and boss, Jeannie Steele.
He felt Isabeau tense, clearly uncomfortable with a family altercation. Squeezing her hand, Trystan tilted his head and mouthed, “Follow me.”
A quick nod of agreement was all the encouragement she needed to leave the tense scene unfolding nearby. He maneuvered them outside, taking the path to the boathouse on the bay, near the seaplane.
Toward a small section of the compound all their own.
Three
As the sounds of the spat faded, replaced by the light wind rustling through the low-hanging tree branches that gathered, sentry-like, at the left corner of the boathouse, Isabeau felt her heartbeat intensify.
Trystan’s slightly calloused hand wrapped around hers. His skin, rough from ranch work—hands clearly used to the brush of leather reins—sending her own skin humming with awareness. She was drawn to the dichotomy of him, a tycoon in boots.
She hated to admit it, but part of her eagerness to escape his family’s chaos had a lot to do with the draw of this man. In her line of work, she’d found herself frequently at the epicenter of familial disputes. It came with the territory of image curation.
But this felt different from her experience with any other client. Isabeau knew why too.
It had everything to do with the man with the charismatic, gruff demeanor.
She heard the distant bark of her dog and glanced over her shoulder to be sure Paige wasn’t fretting about being away from her. A quick check assured her that her yellow Lab was still enjoying playtime with her new pals—a husky named Kota and a Saint Bernard named Tessie.
Isabeau turned her attention back to Trystan, surprised at the ease in her steps. She didn’t feel the urgent need to have her dog close. A relaxed and mellow sensation flowed through her veins.
Along with a total awareness of this big, sexy man. An outdoorsman who danced with a confidence and smoothness that made her body burn.
And she couldn’t help but glory in the feeling. So many of her panic attacks stemmed from negative encounters with men.
Some of the males who had flocked to her beautiful, weary mother had crowded Isabeau.
And then came her college boyfriend, who’d never laid a hand on her but stole her privacy by stalking her every move until she’d been forced to take out a restraining order.
People could leave a scar on a person’s soul in so many ways.
Yet, something about Trystan put her at ease.
His total honesty.
He might be rough around the edges, but he was authentic and that kept her moving forward along with him. She would worry about the impropriety issue later. Right now, she could only think about how hot she’d found him since the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
Leading her inside, he flipped on the lights, the switch igniting the darkness in front of her with the warm glow of yellow-hued lamplight. Golden illumination revealed the luxury of even this aspect of the property.
Plush couches and well-appointed wooden furniture. A row of yellow two-person kayaks lined the wall farthest from them, complementing the neatly arranged fishing poles and nets. A powerboat docked in the water nearby, bobbing up and down, adjacent to a sitting area with Sedona-orange-colored cushions decorating a couch and two chairs. Waterproof, she realized, though they stil
l seemed overstuffed...
Trystan turned a slow circle. “It’s definitely quieter here.”
She drew in a breath of the salt-laden air. “You did well at the wedding with the photo shoots.”
There hadn’t been media present, but still, he’d put on his game face for the shots to be released to the press.
“So I’ve earned my respite from the masses?”
“Is that what this is? An escape, a break?” She smoothed her silky dress, her fingers—her senses—hyperaware of every texture down to the timbre of his whiskey-smooth voice.
His blue eyes lit with a smile. “Actually, this was about getting time alone to talk to you about something other than work. I think we’ve both earned that. Do you agree? Or is it back to business for us?”
“I do agree,” she answered, wanting to linger in the mellowness between them a while longer.
“Good, good.” He strode toward the refrigerator and opened it, surveying the contents. “Ahh... What have we here?”
He pulled out a bottle of beer bearing the Mikkelson family brewery label—Icecap. He glanced at Isabeau. “There’s wine and water, as well.”
Inclining his head, he suggested they make their way over to the sitting area.
“The beer sounds good, but the water is probably safer for me, with my diabetes, after everything I enjoyed at the reception.” She eyed the deck of cards on the table suspiciously. “Why the cards?”
He dropped onto the sofa, his body relaxed. Open. Inviting, as he handed her the water bottle. Their hands brushed, a crackle passing between them.
A blush heated her face, warmth spreading further until her body tingled with awareness. She sipped the water, suddenly so very thirsty, then set it on the table alongside the two decks of cards.
The Love Child Page 3