by Joss Wood
Feeling antsy, Tyce rolled to his feet and walked across the room to look at the framed photographs on the wall. He smiled at a picture of a very young Sage in a tutu, attempting a pirouette, of Beckett on a diving board about to race, Jaeger and Linc in tuxedos at a wedding. All across the world were millions of walls like this one, holding ten billion memories.
He didn’t have a wall, neither did Lachlyn.
Like most New Yorkers, he’d watched the Ballantynes grow up. The press was consistently captivated by the closest the city had to a royal family. He remembered the day their parents died, devouring the reports about their plane crash. Tyce remembered reading about Connor, a confirmed bachelor, stepping in and scooping up his orphaned nephews and niece. The Ballantynes had been, were, a constant source of fascination to the mere mortals of the city for a long time.
He had been amazed when Connor adopted Linc, his housekeeper’s son, along with the three Ballantyne orphans. He’d wondered what type of man did that. Neither his own father, who’d bailed on him before he was old enough to remember him, or his stepfather ever gave a damn for anyone other than themselves. They’d both been so immature and unreliable, so it was no wonder that Connor’s easy acceptance of children who weren’t his made such an impression on him.
His mom just managed to keep it together enough to keep working, but navigating the world for a few hours a day sapped all her energy. She’d had nothing left to give to her son and her infant daughter. A month after he’d graduated from high school, his mom fell in on herself and refused to leave her room, to go back to work, to talk and to interact. Six weeks passed and Tyce knew that she wasn’t getting better and that it was up to him to support his family. He gave up his scholarship to art school and found a job to feed, clothe and educate his ten-year-old sister. Since he worked two jobs and their mother slept as much and as often as possible, Lachlyn grew up alone. She’d craved a family, siblings, teasing, laughter and support but she got a mother who stopped speaking and a brother who retreated into an impenetrable cocoon, his thoughts consumed by how to stretch five dollars into ten, what new argument he could use to placate their landlord.
He and Sage couldn’t be more different. They’d come from two situations that were polar opposites. She knew how to “do” family, to love and be loved in return. To support and be supported. He adored Lachlyn but love and support had fallen by the wayside when held up against his desire to keep them off the streets.
“What do you remember about Connor, about the time when he and your mom met?”
Tyce jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “As I said, my mom worked as a cleaner at Ballantyne International and I remember her leaving for work in the late afternoon and coming home as I got ready for school.”
“Who looked after you?”
Tyce frowned at her. “What do you mean, who looked after me? I was seven, I looked after myself.”
Sage’s eyes widened. “She left you alone?”
“It wasn’t like she had a choice, Sage,” Tyce snapped back. “There wasn’t money for a babysitter.”
Sage laid a hand on her heart and looked horrified. God, they’d had such different childhoods. Sage probably hadn’t been able to sneeze on her own at seven.
“Did she ever try to tell Connor about your sister?”
Tyce shook his head. “No. After she died, we found a letter she left for Lachlyn, telling her the truth. She said that she could see that she’d already reached the end of the road with Connor. She knew he was going to dump her.”
“Connor didn’t do long-term relationships,” Sage said, her voice trembling. “It was just who he was... He felt trapped by people, by women. He never married or was engaged.”
He could relate. He’d had the odd affair that lasted longer than a hookup but his relationships never lasted long because he always ended up feeling trapped. Funny, he’d never felt like that with Sage, possibly because they parted ways before he started to feel claustrophobic. But he had no doubt that it would’ve happened, that he would’ve eventually felt like he was running out of air.
Getting back to the subject... “When I heard that Lachlyn was Connor’s daughter I tried to contact Connor but I couldn’t get beyond his personal lawyers. They told me that many women have tried to scam Connor, saying that they had birthed his child. They told me to subpoena his DNA but I had no grounds to do that, especially since Lachlyn’s birth certificate stated that my stepdad was her biological father. I couldn’t prove jack.”
“So you decided to buy Ballantyne shares.” Sage bit her bottom lip, her eyebrows raised. “God, Tyce, that must have cost you a fortune.”
Practically everything he had. “Yeah. But, at least, Lachlyn now owns a portion of what Connor created.” Tyce rubbed the back of his neck. This was the longest conversation he’d had in a long, long time. But he still had more to say. “We both understand that Connor left his assets to his kids. He didn’t know about Lachlyn and that’s the card life dished out. I dished another card and she now owns shares in his company. That’s enough for her, and me.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Tyce answered her, holding her eye. It was important that she realize he didn’t want anything from her or her family. All he wanted was for Lachlyn to have a chance to meet them. Anything that happened after that was in the lap of the gods.
It was raining outside; he could hear the ping of droplets on her roof. Soft light bathed her apartment in pinks and cream and made Sage look younger and softer. They were alone; he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, heated blood pumping through his veins. The hair on the back of his neck and his arms stood up as all that warm blood headed south.
God, he wanted her. He always did, would... Tyce looked at her and clocked the exact time when her mind moved from Lachlyn to the attraction arcing between them. Her cheeks turned pink, her mouth softened and he could see her pulse beating in that delicate vee at the bottom of her throat. She stroked the arm of the couch, her fingers gliding over the fabric as they’d once glided over his erection. She had no idea that she’d subconsciously lifted her chest, that her nipples were pushing through the fabric of her bra and T-shirt.
One look and they were both jittery with need. He had to kiss her again, he couldn’t resist...
Tyce moved across the floor quickly, stopping in front of her and placing his hands on the back of the sofa, on either side of her head.
Sage lifted her chin and shook her head. “Not happening, Latimore.”
She didn’t sound very convincing, Tyce thought. Besides he’d seen the flash of interest in her eyes, the smoky blues that suggested she was remembering how he made her feel. His junk immediately tightened and the hot, hard thump of his heart reminded him that it had been months since he’d had sex. Sage was the last woman he’d had in his bed and she was still, damn her, the only woman he wanted.
“I’d rather walk through cut glass without shoes than sleep with you,” Sage defiantly muttered, dropping her eyes to stare at her hot-pink toes. Sexy toes with the middle toe sporting a delicate toe ring.
The saying about ladies and protesting too much dropped into his head but Tyce was smart enough not to verbalize that thought. He ran the back of his knuckles over her cheekbone and down the line of her jaw.
“You might not like me at the moment. You’re angry and confused and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the fact you are pregnant and that my sister might be a Ballantyne but you still want me and I still want you.”
Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Tyce leaned down. Their earlier kiss hadn’t been nearly enough. He just needed to taste her again, once, maybe twice, and he’d be satisfied. He covered her mouth with his and sighed at the perfection of her silky lips. He swallowed a moan when those lips opened and his tongue slid into the hot, spicy space that was all Sage. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, nippe
d it and slid his tongue over the bite to soothe its sting. Sage’s hand on the back of his neck held his head in place, her tongue dancing with his as her other hand pulled his shirt up to find his bare skin.
He had to stop this now, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to. He wasn’t satisfied; he wanted more. When it came to Sage he always wanted more: one kiss, one bout of sex, was never enough. She was like the most addictive drug in the world. He doubted that there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t want Sage Ballantyne and that complicated the hell out of this situation. He had to stop...
Tyce pulled away, lifted his mouth from hers and leaned backward, raising his hands in the air. Sage’s mesmerizing eyes slowly refocused and when she was fully in the present, she shook her head and let out a whimper. “What the hell is wrong with us?” she whispered.
“An inability to talk, a desire to avoid anything that smacks of intimacy combined with white-hot heat,” Tyce retorted, pushing his hands through his hair. He stood up, willed his junk to subside and walked over to the large windows, staring out at the wet street below him. Night was falling and he and Sage hadn’t progressed one inch.
“We need a new way of dealing with each other,” he muttered, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. In the reflection of the glass he could see her pulling her long hair off her face, raising her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. “I’d say that we should try to be friends but that’s ridiculous, since we both know that friends don’t generally want to rip each other’s clothes off.”
“I’m not very good at being a friend.”
Tyce, intrigued by that odd statement, turned around to look at her. “What do you mean by that?”
Sage made a production of looking at her watch. She gasped, wrinkled her nose and jumped to her feet. “I’m so late! I have to go to The Den and break the news that I am pregnant to Jo—”
“Jo?”
“Linc’s mom. Connor employed her as a housekeeper when he adopted us and she became our second mom. And my brother’s wives are going to be pissed that my siblings heard the news first.”
Tyce lifted his eyebrows. “You avoided my question.”
Sage handed him a snotty look but her eyes begged him not to pursue the topic. “I really do need to get to The Den and I really am late,” she said, walking to the door.
And you really don’t want to explain why you think that you are a bad friend. Tyce walked across the room to pick up his leather jacket and scarf. Making a quick decision, based purely on the fact that he wasn’t ready to walk away from Sage just yet—something he’d worry about later—he tossed the suggestion out. “What if I go with you and help you drop the news?”
Sage, holding her shoe, stared at him with panic-filled eyes. “You can’t! They aren’t ready for you, for us... I need to tell them on my own.”
Tyce shook his head. “The sooner they get used to the idea that I am going to be hanging around, the easier this situation will become.” And really, irritating her brothers would be an added bonus.
“Tyce...” Sage’s eyes slammed into his. “Please, I need some time. Your revelations today, the pregnancy, my family... You’ve known about your sister for years and...we’ve only just learned about her. We need time to catch up, to process all of this.”
Tyce considered her statement, impatience and a need to move forward warring with her words. She did have a point, he reluctantly conceded. They were playing catch-up and he needed to give her, and her family, time to do that.
Tyce opened her front door and held it open. “Okay, I hear you. But we still have more to discuss, a lot more.”
“I know...we didn’t get very far tonight,” Sage said, pulling on a long navy coat and winding a cashmere scarf around her neck. “But I need some time, Tyce, and some space. I’ll call you.”
He wanted to argue, to have a firm date and time in mind but he also knew that, if he pushed her, she’d retreat back inside her shell. It was, after all, exactly what he would do.
“You’d better. And soon,” Tyce told her, bending to drop a kiss on her temple. He stepped away and touched her stomach with the tips of his fingers. His kid, growing inside her. God, what a concept. “Take care of yourself, Sage. Call me if you need me.”
Sage sent him a puzzled look, her expression stating that she couldn’t imagine a situation in which she might need him. She had three brothers, three new sisters and more money than God. She didn’t need him for anything except, possibly, sex and that wasn’t on the table. Tyce ran his hand through his hair and followed her into the elevator opposite her front door.
He looked at their reflection in the mirror finish of the lift. Sage’s hands were in her hair—where his really wanted to be—and twenty seconds later she’d, somehow, secured all those waves into a messy knot at the back of her neck. She pulled a tube of lipstick from the side pocket of her bag and swiped the color across her lips, turning her mouth from sweet to luscious. The lipstick was returned to the bag and a multicolored scarf appeared in her hand. She twisted it around her neck, tied it into a complicated knot and she was, once again, Sage Ballantyne, heiress, ready to face the world.
Tyce glanced at his outfit, old jeans, hiking boots, a black sweater over a black shirt and a leather bomber jacket that he’d had for too many years to count. Sage was an heiress from a family whose blood ran blue; he was an artist who genuinely thought that the art world would one day wake up from their stupor and realize that he wasn’t half as good as they’d proclaimed him to be and definitely not worth the ridiculous money the collectors paid for his work. He plowed the bulk of the money he earned from his art into buying those Ballantyne International shares so he was, well, not broke but he wasn’t flush with cash either. He didn’t have a college degree and his only asset was a battered warehouse on the edge of an industrial park.
He was her former lover, the father of her child...the man who’d given her the bare bones of a very complicated story involving both their families, too scared to open up and make even the smallest emotional connection. He was also the man who wanted her more than he wanted to keep breathing, existing. His raging need to strip her naked and sink inside was part of the problem, he reluctantly admitted, but it went deeper than that.
Sage was, had always been, in a class of her own. She was funny and smart and generous and, surprisingly, she was the most down-to-earth girl he knew. She had no idea that her smile could stop traffic, that her legs could make grown men weep, that her eyes could be weaponized. She had the ability to cut him off at the knees and that was the primary reason why he needed to keep her at a distance. He could fall into something deeper with Sage. She was the one woman who could tempt him into opening up, to explore a world that went beyond some bed-based fun.
Tyce banged the back of his head on the wall of the elevator, feeling his throat constrict. His mind was all over the place, as unsettled as a raging river. She’d always had the ability to mess with his thoughts, to disturb his equilibrium.
He’d explained about the shares, about Lachlyn, and it would be at least two weeks until the DNA tests came back. Sage said that she needed space and, yeah, judging by his crawling skin and accelerated breathing, maybe he did too. He’d take some time, put some distance between them, get his head on straight, to figure out how to deal with Sage on a long-term basis.
A basis that didn’t, sadly, involve getting her naked.
Six
Sage glanced at her laptop screen and frowned at the brief message from Linc that had popped into her inbox five minutes ago.
DNA testing confirms that Lachlyn Latimore is Connor’s biological daughter. Family meeting?
Family meeting? What did that mean anymore? Did that mean just her and her brothers, her brothers plus their partners, Lachlyn, Tyce?
They were all now connected through DNA. She was connected to Lachlyn because their fathers w
ere brothers, she was connected to Tyce through the DNA their baby shared. It was all crazy, too much to handle. She had a cousin. A sister, sort of. Who was also her baby’s aunt.
The news that Lachlyn was Connor’s daughter wasn’t a surprise: from the moment she saw Lachlyn’s photo she’d known who’d fathered her. How to interact with Lachlyn, what to do, how to approach her had played on an endless loop in her head over the past ten days. They were frequently joined by How involved does Tyce want to be with the baby? and What would he do if I jumped him?
The question of Tyce’s role as a father was constructive thinking; the thoughts and memories of Tyce’s muscled body and his skilled mouth, and rediscovering what lay under his clothes, were not.
Throwing her pencil onto her workbench, she picked up the sketch she’d been working on—resetting an eight-carat cabochon-cut diamond—scrunched it into a ball and tossed the piece of paper over her shoulder. Her concentration was shot; she couldn’t draw a stick figure if someone put a gun to her head.
Sage pushed her chair back and walked across her loft to the windows to look at her city. Linc’s email sealed the deal—Lachlyn was Connor’s daughter and was a Ballantyne. That meant changes and Sage wasn’t fond of change. In her experience change meant sadness and grief. Every time change slapped her it hurt like hell: her parent’s deaths, Connor’s death. Change always meant tears and she was quite convinced she’d shed enough of those.
Lachlyn’s connection to her family meant that Sage had to make an effort to know her, to pull her into the family circle. It was such a big ask. God, she was still getting used to her siblings’ women and she was still finding her way with them. She adored Piper, Cady and Tate but she didn’t understand them. How could they be so open, so unafraid? They lived bold lives, believing, erroneously in her opinion, that their lives would only and forever be wonderful. Her parents had lived like that: fearlessly, daringly, without worrying about the future, without worrying that life could smack them in a hundred and ten different ways. She’d experienced that intense grief when her parents died, again with Connor’s death.