“I knew there was something to those Birds!” Lucy piped up, opening the floodgates of Ransome exuberance. Excited conversations and nonsensical arguments about everything from art history to whether the Autobahn actually had a speed limit soon filled the room. Callie tried many times to sneak away, but she never got further than the reception-room door before yet another Ransome waylaid her and pulled her back in.
She knew the moment Lucius arrived, feeling his presence before she saw him, the commotion of the Ransomes not dulling her senses to him. The babbling all faded to white noise.
Their eyes met across the room; he focused entirely on her, sapphire eyes gleaming and determined. He crossed directly to her and, sweeping aside his family and their protests, took her hand and dragged her from the room, not speaking until they were alone in the library.
But before he spoke, he kissed her, pressing her back against the door, leaning heavily into her. One last time, she kissed him back, wishing everything was different, wishing she could be the woman for him. But she could not fit into his world; she would always be Callie Dahl, he would always be Lucius Ransome. And no matter how much he liked her, it wasn’t enough.
He raised his head, his breathing as laboured as hers as he surveyed her flushed features. She tried to speak, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up,” he rasped. “I’ll do the talking and you’ll do the listening. Understood?”
She nodded slightly, as much as her head could move, being restrained and all.
“Good. Now,” he continued conversationally, “some people believe in saving the best for last, thinking it strategically wise to hold back the big guns for the final blow. I’m not going to do that. You’re such a chatterbox, you’re sure to talk right through my hand, and I don’t care to listen to you right now. I need to use the big guns on you first, and maybe shock you into temporary silence. So, I’m going to start with the most important thing.”
But he merely flicked his gaze over her face as if trying to imprint it on his memory. His mouth curved in a slight smile, relaxing his stern expression somewhat.
“Funny,” he murmured, “I was so sure about what was the most important thing, but suddenly they all have equal weight.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “It’s so nice to have you shut up outside of bed. I won’t say you’re quiet when I make love to you, but you sure don’t talk so much.”
Her lashes dropped as she blushed violently.
“So, this is the deal. I let you go and you don’t talk while I’m talking or else I’ll strip you naked and take you on the floor. Deal?”
She could not get any redder, though she was certain she did. Giving another slight nod, she agreed to the terms, and he slid his hand away from her mouth to grip her neck lightly.
“I’m going to do that anyway,” he threatened/promised, and the click of the lock sounded loudly in the room, “just not first.”
She opened her mouth to protest, and snapped it shut again.
He rested his forehead on hers, his eyes closing for a moment.
“Callie, I love you. That is the most important thing. I love you,” he repeated, and drew back to gaze solemnly into her saucer-wide eyes. “Secondly, I want to marry you. I’m not taking no for an answer, unless you can convince me that you don’t love me at all. I’m pinning every hope that you feel something more than desire and affection for me.”
He paused, as if expecting her to try to say something, but a thousand cats held her tongue.
“Good girl. Now, thank you. Thanks for everything. For solving the HRF mystery—twice. For slapping sense into the family. Into me. For being everything I needed exactly when I needed it.” Fingertips trailed down her hot cheek. “For being my confidante. My lover. My friend.”
Gentle kisses brushed against her mouth before he continued.
“I don’t ever again want to hear you refer to yourself as an omega. Or in any way run yourself down. You are wildly intelligent, resourceful, lovely. That’s the final word on that, Cal. Never doubt that I know these truths about you.
“The last thing . . . the HRF is going on special exhibit, Birds and all. Hamilton is making all the arrangements for it to travel the world once provenance of each painting is confirmed. It will be several months or—well, who knows how long it will take to get the exhibit organised? The income is going to be enormous. Now, don’t worry about the family reverting to past habits as they spend the loot. Their financial woes will be solved with budgeting, sell-offs, and self-discipline. For the HRF, we want to share the art with the world, and the proceeds, too. So, we’re creating a charitable foundation to accomplish that. If you remember, I promised you ten percent if you found the HRF, so you’re going to be financially independent.”
He drew in a breath. “I lied. One more thing. I want you to smile for me, doll. One of those blinding smiles I so rarely get to see, all the sweetness and none of the bitter. Show me once in a while that you’re happy, truly happy with me, with life, with yourself.” He offered her an encouraging smile to prompt that response.
To her horror—and his—tears welled, and spilt down her cheeks.
“Not what I had in mind.” Gathering her closely against him, he lifted her and carried her to the sofa, cradling her tenderly on his lap as he kissed away her tears.
“Why don’t all of you hate me?” she finally managed as Lucius produced a wad of tissues for her from a box on the side table. “I’m so horrible and mean and—”
“Stop,” he instructed sternly, though he smiled. “Callie-doll, just because you resent being used and get angry when you see waste, doesn’t mean you’re horrible. It means you’re human. You’ve taken care of everyone your entire life,” he said, stroking her riotous curls. “It’s natural to feel a bit guilty when a reasonable amount of self-interest strikes. Natural, but unnecessary.”
“But the things I said to them. How I said them. And I never thanked you for handling Leon.”
“You know.”
“Oh. Oops. Yes. I just found out. I was so shocked and grateful—”
He gave her a half-angry shake. “I don’t want your gratitude, Cal. I threw a bit of salt on a leech. That was all.”
“Some salt,” she muttered crossly.
“Well, since he’s going to be my brother-in-law—”
But she shook her head violently. “I can’t marry you. I won’t do that to you.”
“Do what? Make me the happiest man on the planet? Maybe you are mean,” he teased lightly.
She slid off his lap, shoving a hand against his hard shoulder for balance as she struggled to stand. Mopping her face as she walked away a few paces, she got control over herself again, squaring her shoulders as she faced him once more. “You are Lucius Ransome—”
“I’m aware of that,” he agreed cheerfully.
“And I am Callie Dahl,” she ploughed on. “A Ransome can’t marry just anyone,” she chided.
“What century do you live in?” he snapped, leaping to his feet. “Would you have us relive the tragedy of Neville and Mina?”
“They were together,” she protested weakly. “Not openly, but together just the same.”
“He did not publicly acknowledge his son until the reading of the will.” Lucius ran a hand over her belly, his touch possessive, his eyes burning. “We won’t do that to our children. God, Cal. How I wished I had made you pregnant; to have some sort of leverage with you, force your hand.”
She placed her hand over his. “You really want Dahl DNA for your kids?” she attempted to scorn, but her eyes betrayed her desire for him, for the future he suggested. “Gypsies? Underachieving layabouts?”
“Absolutely.”
Shifting away from him, she gained some much needed space. “Why now, Lucius? Is it because of the HRF? The big reveal? Are you doing this out of some sense of gratitude? I mean, we ended things, and you were fine with it.”
“This has nothing to do with the HRF, the big reveal, or gratitude. And I was not fine when yo
u ended us.”
“You seemed fine,” she huffed. “Well, maybe a bit put out—”
“Put out? You cut me to the quick that day,” he averred quietly. “Running on about how bored you were with us. I was furious at you. And myself, for falling for a woman who could be so heartless. Obviously it was all a lie. Can’t believe I fell for it, even for a second. Eventually, I got that you were scared. But I couldn’t pursue you again, doll, because there was nothing I could say that would make you love me enough to take a chance on serious commitment.”
“What’s changed? I’m still that coward, Lucius. I don’t know how else to be.”
“You are not a coward! Though, yes, you do let your fears run you a little on occasion. But when you told me that you’d taken a frightened leap into the unknown by buying a home and going to see your grandparents . . .” Realising he had raised his voice a good deal, he dialled it back. “I think that as a child you were so used to being unseen by your—no offense—idiot parents that you never saw how visible you are. And when you find yourself the centre of attention, the novelty of it freaks you out a bit. So you become diffident as a defence mechanism.”
“Maybe,” she agreed stiffly.
“All of which has created that omega crap you’ve been dishing out.” He paused, shaking his head. “The day I realised I loved you, I had a mental image of having accidentally tripped over you, found you, on the median of my life’s paths. I didn’t realise then how apt that idea of you was. You’ve waited on the median of your own life, unwilling to move forward out of fear.”
But her mantra . . . Wasn’t she moving forward?
Shifting her into his arms, he placed soft kisses on her pale cheeks. “I’ll leave it at this: There’s only one reason you shouldn’t marry me, doll. Tell me you don’t love me, even just a little. I won’t necessarily give up, but it might slow the timing of the wedding until you do learn to love me.”
“You’re making a mistake. I gave you up for your own sake. To keep you from being saddled with a girl whose fears paralyse her.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly. “I do love you, Lucius,” she said in a tortured whisper. “How could I not?””
It was apparent he disagreed with the mistake part of that speech, for he was bestowing the wildest of kisses on her as he ridded her of her clothes. At her gasping protest, he just grinned and pulled her to the sofa.
“I warned you I would do this. But since you’ve been such a good girl, you get the sofa instead of the floor.” Tossing his shirt aside, he lowered his weight onto her. “I love you, doll. Live dangerously. Say yes.”
“Yes,” she breathed, helping him shed his jeans. And added insanely, “Yes to everything.”
***
Lucius draped a cashmere throw over them and spooned her with a pleased sigh, burying his face in her hair, a hand sliding over her hip. “Missed you so much,” he breathed in her ear.
Tremors still ran through her body, the force of his lovemaking and the general shocks of the day catching up to her. “Are you sure you want me for your wife?” she asked softly, still uncertain.
“Yep. And you’ve agreed, so you can’t get out of it now.”
“But what if you want out?” she asked.
A loud knock sounded. Lifting his head, he called: “Very busy right now. Go away.”
There was a muttered “Sorry . . . Brunch is ready, though,” and they were left in peace again.
He snuggled her tightly. “I still haven’t seen that smile I ordered you to give me.”
She ignored that. “What if you want out, Lucius?” she demanded again.
“I won’t want out.” He turned her slightly to subject her to a loving gaze. “I can’t promise you sunshine and puppies, as much as I’d like to. You know I have a short fuse on my temper and like having my own way. But I can promise that everything I do with you, for you, to you,” his smile edged with wickedness, “for the next few decades will all be geared to making you happy and generating that smile. I never feel better,” he averred, “than when I see you taking the joy in life that you deserve.”
“I thought it was best if I let you go. Best for you.”
“You were wrong, then, weren’t you? God knows I don’t get a chance to say that often.”
There were so many unanswered questions; unasked ones, too. “Um, Lucius? Do you expect me to live with you?”
“Certainly once we’re married,” he said dryly. “And yes, I’d love if you moved in—later today would be perfect. But—correct me if I’m wrong—I think you’d like to enjoy your own home for a while, hm? Your box-in-the-sky dream. You’ve worked so hard for it.”
“I take possession on Monday.” A worried and surreptitious glance checked to see if that bothered him, but without conclusive evidence one way or the other. “Would you mind if I did that? Lived there, I mean?”
“Not if we have regular sleepovers,” he teased, tugging her thumb from her teeth.
“We could do that.”
His mobile mouth warmed hers. “Thanks for the invite. This is perfect, you know? You’ll be able to plan the wedding in your own space without troubling me with those froufrou details in the least. Once we’re married, you can decide whether you want to sell or keep it.”
“I’ll likely need it as getaway spot when you piss me off. I envision that happening often.”
Of course, that made him laugh very hard, and she smiled, still fretting but at least willing to give the relationship a test run if he was. Maybe there was a chance for them, if he could love her enough—and not grow bored with her, or come to resent this grand gesture of offering marriage. Or find his energy sapped by her nagging doubts and fears.
“Now, in a few minutes we’ll get dressed and go out there, eat very quickly, say our goodbyes, and go back to my place. You’re going to need some rest, my little celebrity.”
“Celebrity?”
“Surely you understand what this discovery means to the art world? Harrison is over the moon, thinks you’re all that and a bag of chips.”
“He’s just excited about the money he’s going to make on the commission. Speaking of which, you can’t give me ten percent.”
“I can and I will. Besides, you might want to quit FalTech and work with Ben.”
“Work with Ben? Doing what? And I can’t quit! I just got promoted! I have a mortgage now!” She definitely sounded like she was freaking out.
He gave a long-suffering sigh and she realised she was being very slow on the uptake. Financial independence . . . she could do anything she wanted. Anything.
Be anything you want.
And there it was: the realisation that no matter how many zeros were on bonus cheques and in investment portfolios, there wasn’t enough money in the world to make her feel secure. How strange that, in the same instant that she was handed all the financial security she would ever need—either by marrying Lucius or the HRF commission—it almost didn’t matter anymore.
It had been upstaged entirely by this little matter of investing in a future with Lucius.
Because there had to be something more to make that work.
Something more important than money.
Something that had no guarantee of sticking.
“Why can’t I donate my portion to the foundation?”
The question startled him. “You can do anything you want with it,” he said at last. “I thought you’d want the security of it.”
“I don’t think I need it,” she replied quietly, pleating the edge of throw.
“Certainly when you marry me money won’t be a concern,” he said lightly.
She sent him a steady look. “If I marry you, it won’t be for your money.”
“When,” he corrected, his mouth moving over hers.
Cupping his face in her palm, she held his gaze. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Apology accepted,” he murmured, his gaze incredibly loving and understanding.
“I interrupted. You
were telling me about Ben.”
“Right. Okay, so the HRF,” he continued, “has given Ben the long-awaited topic for his documentary, and he wants you to write the script with him. And you, of course, will want to write a book. You know more about it, and Neville and Mina, than anyone.”
“A book? I never thought about that.” Excitement and energy ran through her and she struggled to sit up. “Lucius, that’s a great idea!” She laughed for joy, scooting out of his arms, finding her shirt and shrugging into it.
He glared at her wryly as she virtually vibrated with happiness, so much so that she struggled with her jeans, cursing delightedly, giggling madly. The incandescent smile he so wanted to see transformed her.
“Well,” he reached for his clothes, keeping his irritation out of his tone, “I’m not complaining about the smile, but I’d rather you were happy about marrying me rather than writing a book.”
It wasn’t until he had fastened his jeans that he realised that she hadn’t moved since he had spoken. She stood frozen, staring at him in stunned amazement.
“What is it, Cal?” he asked huskily, his throat clogging with emotion.
“Oh, Lucius.”
She dropped to her knees before him, grasping his hands in both of hers, kissing his knuckles fervently, reverently. Astonished, he couldn’t move. He could only look down at her, wondering at the moistness of her tears as they fell on his skin.
At last she spoke, her voice thick and hushed. “Don’t you see? If I write this history, it makes me someone. Someone you can be proud of to have as your wife. I want you to be proud of me, not pity me, or tolerate me because you think you owe me something. This would be—would be like an added incentive for you. Something extra on my tally card that might keep you loving me.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks wet, lashes spiked with tears.
“I lied. Breaking up with you—it wasn’t altruistic. It was solely for me. Pure survival mode. Because I couldn’t bear if I committed to all this and you took it away. . . And I’m so scared that my being scared will ruin it. I love you so much. I want to believe that you love me as much as I love you, but it isn’t possible! I don’t believe. I can’t believe what I can’t quantify!”
A Bird Without Wings Page 30