by Lace Daltyn
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Lace Daltyn
ISBN: 978-1-77130-899-1
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Kerry Genova
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my fans, everyone who reads this story. I love knowing I’ve reached you, touched you in some way, and maybe, given you a break from the day to day stuff life tosses us all. Thank you. I am both humbled and proud of your continued faith in me.
IVORY TOWER
Secrets, 2
Lace Daltyn
Copyright © 2014
Prologue
Michael Smith braced himself before entering the apartment. He’d told his boss he needed time off, but only managed two days before worry overrode good sense.
Drea Fortier had become the faceless woman who plagued his nights, damn it. In the four months he’d been her assistant, security, gopher, apartment electrician, plumber, and general repairman, she’d kept to the shadows around him and wore that hood and cloak of hers like a fucking shield.
So instead of a face, lips invaded his dreams. Crimson lips, full and lush and made for kissing. And hands. Delicate, long fingers, always tipped in red, that he’d imagine wrapped around his shaft, stroking him into a frenzy. Night after night, he woke in a sweat, his cock hard with a need his own hand couldn't satisfy. Hell, even a cold shower couldn’t quench the desire to bury himself deep inside her, to hear her scream his name.
He wanted to touch those lips, to see if they were as soft as his dreams suggested. To peel back the ever-present hood with infinite care and stare into eyes of a color that remained elusive. He would comb blonde hair he’d seen only the tips of with his fingers and find out if it was silky or thick or both. Tilting her head to his, he would capture her lips, show her the power of their attraction, and claim her as his.
Fuck. The woman had gotten under his skin and that was a new experience for him. Michael rubbed his chest, recognizing a tension he’d have to ease before entering her office or he’d bust apart. Drea was the most secretive and touch-shy woman he’d ever met. He gave her no reason to mistrust him and still she flinched whenever he got too close. He was a man comfortable with authority, yet each reaction from her stripped that power from him in large chunks.
Whatever pain Drea’s past held, it had scarred her beyond her own ability to mend. Michael intended to learn that history and help her move past it. So far, internet searches had come up with very little on his employer. In fact, he could find nothing about Drea Fortier prior to one year ago. It was as if she’d sprung full grown into the world. Full grown and immeasurably rich. He’d yet to see any financial statements, but the fact that she owned the best and most exclusive penthouse in New York spoke of money. As well, she shouldered the financial burden for each of these applicants she chose to help.
No matter how hardened Drea tried to be, her desire to help others find satisfying lives showed a soft side. She might deny it, but she wanted others to find the happiness that eluded her.
It gave Michael hope, which was a good thing, because his involvement had reached the point where there would be no going back. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He wanted to breathe her in, be near her at all times, yet was relegated to occasional contact as she chose to allow. It went against every cell in his body to be subservient. Add the almost constant hard-on he had around her and he was a mess. This was not how relationships played out for him. He chose to be the one in control. Always.
Until now.
His one consolation was that Drea interacted with him, and only him. She lived day and night in the dark, depressing, sterile environment she’d surrounded herself with. Never leaving, never even opening the windows, at least as far as he could tell.
Michael preferred being in charge, and today he planned to take the first step in that direction. One step. That’s all he needed. One tiny crack to allow him in.
He tossed his duffle down beside his desk and tapped on Drea’s door.
“Come in.” Her soft voice set his body thrumming, even through the closed door. Steeling himself to keep from showing any emotion, Michael walked in.
She sat, as always, in the darkened room, behind a desk and computer, and hidden beneath her cloak.
“Hello, Drea.”
“Good morning, Michael.” There was a tension to her voice that he couldn’t understand. “Did you enjoy your days off?”
Nope. Not one fucking ounce of perspective earned, thank you very much. I still raced to get here this morning.
“Yes.”
She waited, as if expecting more from him. When he didn’t expand, she tapped her fingers on the desk, the tightness in her voice amplified. “Good. We can get back to work, then.”
“Not quite yet,” he said. He pulled the pot from behind his back and set it on her desk. He’d seen the orchid in a flower shop. The rich red-tipped petals reminded him of Drea’s lips. The fragility of the flower, combined with the strength imbued in its stems, seemed to mirror the shrouded woman in front of him.
The fingers stopped tapping. “What is that?”
“It’s an orchid.”
Her lips pursed and he almost groaned as he smothered the ache in his groin.
“I am aware it’s an orchid. What’s it doing here?”
“I brought it. For you.”
“Take it away, Michael. I don’t allow flowers here.”
“No.”
Her head whipped up and Michael’s heart soared when he caught a glimpse of blue eyes underneath dark, long, lashes.
As fast as she’d raised her head, she lowered it. “No?” Her lips were now tightly compressed.
“No,” he said again. “You do not get to refuse a simple gift. You need some life around here.” He waved toward the dark shell she called her living quarters. “So, if you don’t want the orchid, you’ll have to dispose of it yourself.”
The tapping resumed. “You take too much upon yourself.”
He grinned. “I do, don’t I? And I’m not done yet.” He walked past her, into the apartment and straight to the windows. Whipping the heavy drapes back, he let sunlight flood the room.
Drea shrank back into the shadows of her office. “Close those curtains.”
“Do it yourself,” he countered. He approached her slowly, treating her as the wounded animal she was. His voice softened. “There is a time for darkness, and a time for light. You’ve lived in the dark far too long.”
She shook her head. “There can only be darkness for me.”
He stood in front of her, closer than she’d ever let him get. He could reach out and touch her if she—
“Don’t.” He almost didn’t hear her, the whisper was so faint. He could see, even beneath the cloak, that her body was wracked with the shakes of someone working hard to maintain a faltering control. It killed him to see the pain inherent in her tremors. He wanted to relieve that pain. And he wanted to crush something, anything. Every ounce of his willpower was siphoned into keeping his fists from clenching.
“Drea, you can’t live like this. I can help you.”
“No!” She looked down at the floor. It was the first time she’d raised her voice to him and he could see her jaw working as she struggled.
“Please.
I can help.” Michael had never once in his life begged. Ever.
“There is...” He heard the quaver in her voice. She held her arms up, not touching him, but her meaning was clear. Back off. Drea’s spirit may be broken, but strength, most likely the reason she’d survived whatever happened to her, straightened her spine.
When she spoke again, he knew control had won. The cold was back in her voice. “You have breached the protocols of our agreement. Back away or begin searching for another job.”
Michael took a step back. Hesitation wasn’t an option. He couldn’t take the chance she would dismiss him. He wasn’t done yet. Hell, he’d never be done.
“All right, Drea. You win.” He’d give her some space. And more time.
The slow outtake of air was the only indication he got of her response. Michael walked over to the door, then turned back. “This isn’t over, though. We will finish this conversation at some point.”
Arms, clutching her cloak, tightened even further. “I emailed you an application, along with some notes on how to handle it. Please do the usual checks and set up the scenario.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
When Michael entered Drea’s office later that afternoon, she wasn’t there, although her exit seemed hasty as he could see her apartment curtains flutter gently with no breeze. He was pleased to see she hadn’t closed them and sunshine still bathed the area in gentle golden light. He glanced around, then shifted her computer mouse to see what she’d been working on. The website on the care and feeding of orchids slapped an all-out grin on his face.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Fortier. I do believe you have met your match.”
CONFIDENTIAL APPLICATION
Are emotional scars holding you back? We can help you let go of the past and give you the opportunity to reach for a happier and more fulfilling future. Begin the healing through this one-of-a-kind offer. Take the chance. To initiate the process, complete the short questionnaire below. Remember to be honest, both with yourself and with us, so we can correctly evaluate your needs.
Name: my fiancée’s name is Jenna Wilton
Age: 25
Demographics: Currently living in Seattle with her widowed mother.
Occupation: Author.
Social history: Engaged to be married in a few weeks.
What is keeping you from moving forward in your life? I need help. I love my fiancée more than anything, but she is so controlled by her mother I doubt she’s ever made a decision on her own. If we are to have the marriage of equality I crave and she deserves, I need her to know she’s a vibrant, wonderful woman capable of making her own choices.
Thank you,
Josh Latham
Chapter One
Jenna Wilton closed her eyes and tried to shut out the hubbub around her. This was the fifth dress she’d tried on and one that put a smile on her face as she’d taken it off the rack. In a rare disagreement with her mother, she’d insisted on adding it to the pile.
Now, as the satin settled around her, so did a sense of rightness, of peace. The zipper’s teeth chuffed as the attendant closed the back. It fit like a glove, unlike the other dresses. Jenna felt the shirred bodice, ran her hands down the simple contour of the skirt. She knew the back was a touch longer to create the illusion of a train.
The soft swish of the fabric sang to her as she turned toward the mirror, her eyes still closed.
This is it. This is the dress I want to be married in. I can feel it.
Jenna opened her eyes. The loveliness reflected in the mirror validated Jenna’s vision. Her hair, more blonde than brown thanks to regular appointments, hung in soft curls to just below her shoulders. She’d keep it down. Josh liked it that way. And she liked how he played with her hair, running his fingers through it, tugging gently to pull her nearer.
The ivory, not white, of the silk, made her skin seem less pale and more vibrant. But mostly, the strapless gown elongated her throat and made non-descript blue eyes look larger than life. For the first time that she could recall, Jenna felt beautiful. This was definitely the dress.
The yank of the zipper and her mother’s shrill voice jarred Jenna back to reality and she yelped.
“Stand still,” Patricia Wilton said as she ripped the zipper down. “I told you. This dress absolutely will not do. Good grief, Jenna. You look like a plain Jane in it.”
“This is the dress I want.”
Jenna could almost see the skin tightening around her mother's mouth.
“I will hear no more about this,” the matriarch said, tugging the strapless dress over Jenna’s hips.
Jenna glanced around the white-dress filled room, trying to calm nerves that never could quite settle around her mother. And, since she’d moved back home after her father died two years earlier, another idea of her mother’s, it meant her nerves were perennially frayed. She glanced skyward, wishing again that her father hadn’t asked so much of her. If she’d known what “be patient with your mother” had meant, she’d never have promised.
It hurt that he wouldn’t be here to walk her down the aisle. Jenna missed her father. Missed his ready smile, the twinkle in his eyes, and the way he bridged the gaping hole between her and her mother. Without him, they were oil and vinegar and Jenna struggled to keep the two mixed together.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jenna caught the mass of red hair that almost overtook the petite, lithe frame of her best friend since grade school. A best friend who, at the moment, was making the funniest googly eyes at her. Jenna stifled the laughter that bubbled up and grinned at Mags.
“Well, I, for one, think it’s the perfect dress,” her forever-friend said.
Jenna’s mother skewered Mags with a look. “You would.”
Mags stuck out her tongue at the woman’s back and Jenna clamped a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter from spilling out. She tossed her friend a grateful glance just as her mother’s “Aha!” foretold that Jenna’s dress-selection day was going to tank even further.
Her mother handed the attendant a flouncy cotillion style dress Jenna had disliked on sight when her mother grabbed it from the rack. “This,” she said, “is a much more appropriate style.” She ran her hands along the heavily beaded bodice with a wistful sigh. “You’re getting the wedding I never got, Jenna. It’s going to be perfect.”
To forestall yet another rendition of how her mother missed out on her own white-dress wedding, Jenna gave in and let the attendant help her step into the gown. Too small to button up the back, her mother’s tsk, tsk, said that Jenna would hear later about the need to lose weight.
The mirror confirmed Jenna’s opinion. She looked like a Barbie doll. No way did she want anyone to see her in this dress. Getting that through to her steamroller mother wouldn’t be easy, though. To date, Jenna had won, oh, exactly zero arguments with the domineering woman.
She worried her lower lip. This wedding was turning into something she didn’t recognize. That wasn’t quite correct. She couldn’t identify with it, but she did recognize it as everything her mother had missed out on due to the rushed nature of her own nuptials. As she’d been told on many occasions, that’s what happened when you got pregnant out of wedlock. Hold on to your virginity, Jenna. You don’t want to make the same mistake I did.
Always nice to know you were the mistake your mother regretted. Sigh. Jenna wondered for the zillionth time if she was doing the right thing. She loved Josh. She honestly did. And it wasn’t just that he made her forget, well, just about everything when they were together. Drawn to him in a way she’d never thought possible, Jenna honestly couldn’t imagine life without him.
They’d known each other since her father’s death. Working his way through college at the funeral home, he’d offered her the shoulder her own mother had deprived her of with her “stiff upper lip” attitude.
And now that he’d graduated college and launched his own successful business, her mother finally found him worthy.
Marriage to Josh would get her out from und
er her mother’s thumb. Another bonus. Still, at the age of twenty-five, it seemed like she'd never been on her own. Ever. When would she get to make her own choices? Her own decisions. She glanced down at the layers and layers of material, knowing that dress selection was the least of her concerns.
Later, freed for the moment from her mother’s tight reins, Jenna and Mags scoured the local mall for wedding accessories. She picked up a tiara that combined fine filigreed silver and tiny pearls, her birthstone.
“Ooooh,” Mags said. “That is beautiful. Perfect for you.”
Jenna slipped it on and loved everything about it. Imagining it with a veil just a touch longer than her hair, she realized her friend was right. It was exactly what she would pick out. She placed it back in the display case, rubbing her thumb across it one last time before turning away.
“Oh, come on.” Mags rolled her eyes as they walked out of the store. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Mother won’t approve.”
Her friend yanked her to a stop. “Tell me you are not going to let your mother make every wedding decision for you.”
“She’ll want diamonds, or something like them. You know how she is with her bling.” Jenna envisioned her mother’s bony hands covered in rings, her bangled wrists, and her neck never without at least two chains around it.
“It’s your wedding, not hers,” Mags said.
“If only that were true.” How many times over the last weeks had she heard her mother tell her how lucky she was? She would have more than a small ceremony in front of a tired judge on a Friday afternoon.
“When are you going to break free of her overbearing control?” Mags asked as they walked out to their cars in the August sunshine.