Charming Jane_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Kristin Coley

  “Love!” He caroled the word before saying, “Buster.” The admonishment didn’t go unnoticed, but Buster just crossed his arms as he shook his head.

  “Your cock-up.”

  Ian’s face tightened at the rebuke, but he leaned back and patted the cheek of a woman sitting next to him. “Be a doll, and get my friends a drink.” She stood up, her movements sinuous, but Ian didn’t seem to notice. His eyes never left my face as he attempted to gauge my emotions.

  “I don’t need a drink,” I managed to say, controlling my temper. I’d heard him call her doll, and I wondered how many women he called love. I’d assumed it was an endearment he reserved for me, but now I wasn’t so sure.

  Michael had been right every time, it seemed, when it came to Ian’s behavior. As much as I’d wished to believe otherwise, I wondered if I really could compete with this lifestyle of his. Because the truth was, I didn’t want to compete. This wasn’t my idea of a good time, and I didn’t want to spend my life wondering if he’d rather be here than with me. “I want an explanation.”

  “A bit of fun,” he answered with a careless shrug.

  “A broken promise,” was my reply. The words struck him just as I intended, and I heard Buster suck in a breath next to me.

  “Love.” He half stood, his balance precarious as he wobbled.

  “Don’t call me that. Not if you call every woman you come across the same,” I hissed, blinking back bitter tears. I hated the tears. They made me appear weak when I was really just angrier than I’d ever been in my life. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. Because I assured Michael you wouldn’t break your promise to me. It appears I was wrong, and he was right.”

  “No, lo … Jane.” His words held a note of desperation as he stood completely, managing to stay upright to my surprise.

  “You should have come to me, talked to me; but no. You immediately went out to find a distraction from your pain. How long are you going to do this? And how long do you think I’ll stick around to be treated like this?”

  I stepped back from them, most of the room’s attention now focused on us. Buster stepped with me, but I waved him back.

  “You stay with Ian. I can manage to find my own way back to the hotel.”

  “Absolutely not!” Ian’s words slurred and he swayed as he said it, raising his hand in the air. “He goes with you. It’s too dangerous by yourself.” I laughed, the sound harsh, causing him to blink at me.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Look at yourself.” I waved my hand. “You can barely stand upright. You can’t stop me.”

  “Buster can,” he boasted, nodding as if he’d solved it.

  “Buster won’t,” I replied icily. “Buster will stay with you and make sure you arrive back at the hotel safely, once you’ve sated your demons. For however long that lasts.”

  His expression was taken aback as I spun on my heel and walked away.

  “Follow her. DAMN you. You work for me. I said, follow her!”

  “No, she told me to stay with you. Apparently, your life is more important to her than her own,” I heard Buster reply as I pushed through the VIP door. I held my head high as I walked back through the club, avoiding the curious and occasionally leering glances. I hadn’t realized how exposed I’d feel without Buster’s protective presence.

  I clenched my fists, feeling the icy coldness of my fingers as I pictured walking down Bourbon Street alone. I was pretty sure I remembered how to get back to the hotel from here, but dreaded the solitary walk if my ploy didn’t work.

  I couldn’t imagine Ian wouldn’t come, but it all depended on Buster playing his part. I knew Buster’s own protective instincts would have him anxious to join me, feeling that Ian could take care of himself, but I knew better.

  Ian was in pain. I’d recognized it the second I saw him. Whatever had triggered it still existed, and until we could get past it, he was only going to become more self-destructive.

  I stepped back onto the street and quickly found myself pushed aside by the crowds. I found myself pressed against a brick wall as I released the breath I’d been holding. Seconds later, the door burst open again, and Ian came rushing out, his gaze frantic as he looked around. Buster was right behind him, catching him as he stumbled. Ian jerked away from his touch.

  “If she’s harmed, I will take it in your blood.” His accent was so thick it was difficult to decipher.

  “If she’s harmed, I’ll gladly beat you to a pulp, because it would be your fault,” Buster answered him as they glared at one another.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing I have the two of you to make sure I don’t come to harm,” I replied, stepping forward.

  “Love.” I opened my mouth to object to the endearment, but he held up a finger. “No, you are and always will be love to me. I have not called a single woman that since we’ve met. I assure you. I may have broken my promise, but I won’t lie to you.”

  The sincerity glowing from his eyes stilled my protest, and I found myself nodding. Ian vibrated with emotion, and only at my acceptance did he move. He took my arm and stepped forward before pausing. He didn’t look back at Buster, but told him, “I’ll take her home. Return to Michael. He’ll need you to guard his back.”

  “Yes, sir.” I glanced back at Buster, his tone catching me off guard, as did the ferocious frown on his face.

  Ian winced, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

  “Thank you,” he said, turning to face Buster. “I don’t deserve either of you, mate. I know it.”

  Some of the tension left Buster as Ian spoke.

  “Tosser.”

  “Wanker,” Ian replied, a glimmer of a smile coming back to his face. Buster slammed a hand against his shoulder, almost throwing him off balance. “You’re right, mate. She’s better than we deserve, and for some reason she thinks you’re capable of redemption. I can’t fault her for that. But don’t let her down,” he warned.

  Ian nodded, accepting the warning as his due. The streetlights gleamed off his mussed blond locks, and I wondered how many women had run their fingers through them. Something on my face must have tipped Buster off as he gave me a considering glance, but I didn’t budge. I’d decided to stick with them, and I’d find out quickly enough if Ian could be saved.

  We parted ways at the next intersection, and Ian took a left when I thought we should go straight.

  “Shortcut,” he answered with a tilt of his head. I trusted him, so I kept silent and followed. Each step was torturous as my heels seem to shrink on my feet, and by the time, we reached the hotel I was ready to cry.

  “Just a few more steps, love.” Ian supported me as I hobbled my way to the side entrance. Neither of us was prepared to walk in the front door of the hotel, in case there happened to be a photographer loitering. “We truly look a pair,” he said, catching sight of our reflection as the elevator doors closed. “Vagabonds.”

  I managed a weak smile as I leaned against him. My intense desire to know why he acted the way he did was tempered with doubts. I was relieved we’d made it back to the hotel unscathed, but I hadn’t missed the fact that Ian had withdrawn into himself with every step. Only half the battle had been won; Ian had come with me. But the tight expression on his face made me wonder if I could handle the demons that pursued him.

  I tightened my hand around his and felt a rush of relief as he squeezed back. Whatever the story was, I’d deal with it. I only prayed I could find the words to help him.

  When we reached the room I slipped my shoes off with a cry of relief. It garnered a sympathetic smile from Ian as he told me, “Go change into your pajamas, and I’ll rub your feet.” The thought was so sublime, I obeyed immediately.

  A few minutes later, I returned to see him settled on one end of the sofa, clad only in his undershirt and trousers, the bottle of bourbon next to him with a full glass. He caught my gaze and mustered a grin.

  “I’m not nearly drunk enough to tell this tale, love. So you’ll have to forgive thi
s vice tonight.” I nodded, inexplicably afraid. Not of his tale, but the pain I was knowingly forcing him to endure in its telling. What right did I have to force him to this? Was I helping him or only making it worse?

  He patted the cushion invitingly, and I sank down, suddenly uncertain. He tugged my feet into his lap and pressed his thumbs deep into the ball of my foot. My own moan startled me and garnered a chuckle from him.

  “Ah, love. You have no idea what you do to me.” He reached over and grabbed the glass of bourbon, tossing it back with a grimace. “A shame to treat a fine whisky this way, but alas a wicked tale calls for wicked deeds.”

  He glanced back at me, his fingers never letting up as he massaged the knots out of my feet.

  “This story, as all the good ones do, begins with a woman,” he began. “She was a bonnie one, if you’ll forgive me for stealing a phrase from Buster. I fancied myself in love as all lads are want to do when a pretty girl gives them liberties.” He swallowed and poured another glass, but didn’t drink it. “I was nineteen, and we’d met at university. We told each other our deepest secrets, and dreamed of a better future. I told her of how much it pained me to be the center of my parents’ disinterest; how I longed for their love. She told me she would love me, and I’d never need to worry over them again.” His gaze turned inward, but he continued to rub my feet, the touch seeming to keep him grounded in the present.

  “We spent an idyllic fall together, falling in love, I believed. I brought her home to meet my parents, for once uncaring at their indifference. Michael wasn’t there. They’d sent him off to negotiate a buyout not even caring it was Christmas.” He paused before continuing. “I didn’t fret. I knew he’d have a chance to meet her soon enough.” A bitter smile crossed his face, and he did reach for the glass this time, taking a swallow before setting it back down. “I’d determined I would ask this love of mine to marry me, but only after I’d introduced her to Michael. It was our way. We’d decided at a young age that lifetime commitments required the approval of the other.” I blinked back the dampness in my eyes, feeling my breath stutter as I inhaled.

  “I wonder sometimes what he would have thought of her; if he would have warned me against aligning myself with one such as her, but the opportunity never presented itself.” He met my eyes, but his were lost in the past as he stroked my foot. “Spring came and with it a gift. She told me she carried my child.” He bit his lip roughly as his eyes shuttered once more. “I was suitably frightened at the thought of being responsible for another life, but still I rejoiced. A son or daughter was a chance to love, as I had not been. I expressed my fears and excitement to her, but she was upset. She thought a child would take away our dreams, and I tried to assure her it would not. We would be fine. I thought of asking for her hand then, but I didn’t want it to seem as if I did it only because of the pregnancy.” He gave me a mocking smile.

  “I still wished for Michael’s approval, you see.” He took another swallow, glanced down, and took another. “He was overseas still, so I waited impatiently. We went to the midwife, and I heard the heartbeat.” At this point, I wanted to tell him to stop. I knew where this tale would end, and tears slipped down my face as he kept going on, getting inexorably closer to the painful thing that haunted him.

  “It was early she told us, but strong. I don’t believe I’ve ever smiled like I did that day. I told the girl I loved that my brother would be home soon, and I wanted her to meet him. That he would help us. See, I’d never told her that both my brother and I had trust funds. I was wary of gold diggers, but we couldn’t touch the trust until we were of age: Twenty-one. Michael was, and I knew he’d support us, until I could access my trust.” He leaned down, resting his head on my leg as he gripped my foot. He peeked up at me, and the raw emotion in his eyes took my breath away.

  “I always wondered if that was my mistake; if I should have explained more fully; if she would have made a different choice.” He shook his head and sat up again. “I’ll never know, but it doesn’t matter now anyway. She did what she did. She aborted the baby at ten weeks and told me it was a miscarriage. I was devastated.” His face shimmered in front of me as tears ran unabashed down my face. “I’d pinned so many dreams on that little one. I couldn’t imagine it was all gone so quickly. I insisted she go to the midwife. I wanted to know why. My persistence finally broke her down, and she admitted to aborting it at the clinic. I couldn’t understand. I thought she wanted the baby. That’s what she’d told me. She’d never mentioned abortion. A few days later, she broke up with me and left. Packed her things and was gone with no explanation.” I swallowed, the pain on his face hard to witness as I realized how deeply she’d wounded him.

  “I wished to lick my wounds. The child I’d lost haunted me. The woman I believed myself in love with had betrayed me with no warning. I was enraged. I acted out and was promptly kicked out of university. I don’t remember the trip home or even why I went home. Perhaps, I was seeking acceptance, love of some kind. I don’t know, but I didn’t find it there.”

  He finished the glass of bourbon and poured another shot. I held out my hand and he gazed at it with surprise before passing me the glass. I took a deep swallow, wincing at the burn, but it warmed the chill that had formed inside of me as I thought of his parents and imagined their rejection.

  “When I arrived, they were suitably disappointed. As Father told me, “We paid to fix your mistakes but still you manage to screw up. You are a disappointment to this family’s name.” His stare was dead as dread began to crawl up my spine.

  “I puzzled on that in my drunken stupor. I couldn’t quite put the pieces together. What did he mean by paying to fix my mistakes? My tuition was paid from the trust. I demanded to know what he meant, and he laughed. Mother told me ‘my pregnant whore’ had come calling. My parents couldn’t stand the thought of my ‘bastard child’ existing and casting shame upon the family, so they offered her money to abort my child.”

  Bile clawed its way up my throat causing me to swallow hard. His hands shook against me, and he wrapped them tightly around my feet, in an effort to still them.

  “Half a million pounds. That’s what my child’s life was worth to them. To the woman that carried him.” I climbed across the sofa, wrapping my arms around him tightly. He didn’t move, sitting as still as a statue. “I didn’t know who I hated more in that moment. The girl I’d loved and promised to take care of or my parents—the ones who should have loved my child as much as I did. I still don’t know which of them I hate more.” I tucked my head into the curve of his neck, his stillness frightening me, even as I clung to him, desperate to give him some of the comfort he’d needed then.

  “The next few months were a blur. Michael finally caught up with me. He and Buster sobered me up, and tried to get me to tell them what was wrong, but the words would never come. They took care of me and have been ever since.” He turned his head, seemingly surprised to find me clinging to him. He brought his arms up around me. “At least, until now. Now it seems they’ve hired a babysitter to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  I shook as the sobs poured out of me. All the tears he couldn’t seem to shed, I cried for him. The boy that had been continuously rejected by his parents, the teenager that had been betrayed by the woman he loved, and the man that sat before me, still grieving the loss of his child and the ones he loved.

  “Oh, love, don’t cry for me. I survived, and I found you. So maybe, just maybe, it was all worthwhile,” he whispered, stroking my back gently as my tears soaked his shirt. “I do regret one thing tonight.” I sniffled, rubbing my head against him, wanting to know what. “I didn’t get to dance with you. You were so very beautiful in your dress. It is a shame.” A choked laugh escaped me as I pulled back to gauge his seriousness. His expression didn’t change as he stared back at me, and I placed my thumbs against his cheeks, his gray eyes mesmerizing me as I leaned forward. The sound of the door had him pushing me back gently, a warning in his gaze.

&nbs
p; “Go to bed, love. This tale does not bear repeating.” I stumbled to my feet as Michael and Buster came in. They took in the scene with a glance, their expressions concerned as they saw the tear tracks on my face. I shook my head, forcefully wiping the tears from my cheeks with the edge of my hand.

  “Good night,” I whispered, moving to my room by rote. The click of the door behind me unleashed the remainder of my tears, and as I curled up in the bed, I allowed the pillow to soak up my tears as I cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian

  I sat poised, frozen on the sofa, as Michael stepped closer. The veneer I kept so carefully maintained was close to shattering after telling Jane my story. I knew I’d disappointed Michael tonight and waited for his ire. He settled on the sofa where Jane had been and indicated the bottle of bourbon.

  “Do you have enough for two more?” he asked, and I nodded, pouring each of us a glass. We sipped in silence for a while as the past once again threatened my peace. When we finished our drink, Buster reached for the bottle and poured us another.

  “I don’t know what transpired this evening, but we won’t leave you alone to drink, brother. Tonight, we drink together.” They tipped their glasses toward mine, and as they clinked, the past slipped back into the darkness where I’d buried it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The morning sun woke me, its brightness piecing my swollen eyes. I pressed my hands to my head where a headache throbbed. My emotional evening had left me feeling hungover, or at least what I imagined a hangover would feel like.

  The thought of Ian had me leaping from the bed, worried he’d slipped out in the night to try and drown his sorrows once again. I stumbled my way to the door in my haste, understanding now what drove him. The level of betrayal he’d experienced was incomprehensible to me.

  My parents may have made mistakes, but never would they turn their back on me. I knew this with absolute certainty. I also knew Michael would never turn on Ian, but he’d never had the opportunity to know the truth either. I’d understood Ian’s warning the night before. He didn’t want me to mention it to Michael, but I also knew Ian would not heal, not until he’d told his brother. I believed some part of him thought Michael would agree with his parents’ terrible betrayal.