Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy)

by Alexander, Magda

  “Oh. God” she says.

  “What’s wrong?” I turn back.

  She’s staring out the window, her gaze wide. “What if somebody saw us?”

  Laughing, I stutter step my way back to her. Cradle her head against my shoulder. “Now you’re worried?”

  “I wasn’t thinking before.”

  Neiher was I, but I wouldn’t have cared if we’d had a whole parade marching by. “The Cathedral of the Nativity is the only building with a direct view. Somehow I don’t think there’s someone with binoculars in its bell tower ogling us.”

  But her gaze’s still fixated on the sight. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” I know no such thing, but might as well offer her what comfort I can. “But we should remove upstairs, you know, just in case,” I say with as much of a straight face as I can command.

  It doesn’t fool her for a bit, and she swats at me. “You’re evil, you know that.”

  I swat her bottom right back. “I live to serve.”

  Chapter 15

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  SATURDAY MORNING, sore in all the right places, I soak in the Jacuzzi and watch Gabriel shave. “Don’t shave off all your scruff.” I like it even though I have burns across my breasts.

  Finished, he unplugs his razor. When he sinks into the tub with me, water splashes all over the floor. But I could care less. I take his hand and guide it to where I’m aching below.

  Cleaning up the spilled water takes longer than expected, and we only have time for a hurried breakfast before the decorator shows up. While she takes notes, Gabriel settles me against him on the couch. He’s not letting me get too far from him. To start he’ll require furnishings for the dining room and the four bedrooms. And more formal furniture for the living room where we can entertain our guests.

  “We’ll move your stuff to the family room,” he says. “Does that meet with your approval, darling?”

  I bristle at the thought my ‘stuff’ is not good enough for the living room. But what can I do but say yes. He’s paying for everything, after all. And I don’t want to contradict him in front of the decorator whose name I recognize from the Style section of The Washington Post.

  Her reputation is well deserved. Within half an hour, she’s pegged down my preferences, classy but comfortable. Within another thirty minutes she’s dug out fabric samples, suggested a cream-colored sectional sofa with down seating that would suit the living room space to a tee. For the dining room, Gabriel approves a mirrored dining table with damask-print host chairs, and a crystal chandelier to sparkle over it all.

  A new television, massive enough to fill the appropriate space will be installed in the living room, along with an entertainment center complete with surround sound and other key electronics. He requests another TV for the bedroom and a third one for the bathroom. Understandable, given that he’s a business news junkie. Prices aren’t brought up. Who needs them when you’re a gazillionaire?

  After two hours, my energy’s dwindling. He suggests the designer proceed with what she has and revisit at a later time. She leaves with a smile on her face, probably imagining our clock tower apartment showcased in a future style section of The Washington Post. Not gonna happen if I have anything to say about it.

  “I have a surprise for you.” He tweaks my chin.

  I silently groan. “Another one?” I’ve had more ‘surprises’ the last week than I’ve had my entire life.

  “You’ll like this one. I hired a housekeeper and a butler chef for you.”

  What? “Gabriel, I don’t need—”

  He lays a finger across my lips, shushing me. “Sure you do. You can’t keep up this place by yourself.”

  He’s got a point. Suzy homemaker, I’m not. And the only kitchen appliances I’m familiar with are the microwave and coffeemaker. Still, he should have checked with me before he hired someone. “I don’t like you making decisions that affect me.”

  His eyes narrow as if he’s weighing his best approach. “Tell you what. Give it a week. If you’re not satisfied, I’ll let them go.”

  Oh, geez. I don’t want that burden. “What if they turned down another job to work here? That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  “Somebody else did want them. But don’t worry. If I terminate their services, I’ll give them severance pay. ”

  “Who wanted to hire them?”

  “An ambassador from South America.”

  They chose me over an ambassador? No. Not me. Us. I keep forgetting Gabriel’s a viscount. That would mean something to high class servants. Gosh, now I’m feeling even guiltier than before. “This is too much.” I gesture at the space.

  “What’s too much?”

  “The apartment, the furniture, servants.” Not to mention the silver S-Class Benz and the security guards.

  He cups my cheek. “Can’t you work with me on this, Liz? You’ve struggled so hard your whole life. And this”—he imitates my hand wave—”is my small way of making things easier for you. Easier and safer.”

  I glance down at the plush rug under my feet which will be covered with the swanky Aubusson rug he ordered in sage green to ‘match my eyes’. What does it hurt to accept what he’s offering? It gives him pleasure to do such things for me. And he’s right about the upkeep of the place and the safety measures he’s put in place. Besides, I only have to put up with all this until the baby is born. After that, I’ll move to more modest digs and take my ‘stuff’ with me. “Okay. Fine.”

  He beams me that dazzling smile of his.

  Just as he drops a kiss on my lips, my stomach grumbles, reminding me it needs to be fed. “Sorry.” All I ate was toast before the designer arrived.

  “There’s a cafe downstairs. We can do lunch.” He suggests.

  “Is there?” I’ve been so busy with school and work, I haven’t explored the neighborhood. I do want to see what’s out there. “We’ll need to go incognito.”

  His brow wrinkles. “Incognito?”

  I drag him up to our bedroom where I grab a grey Washington Capitals cap and blue scarf from my wardrobe and toss both to him.

  After he arranges them in front of the bathroom mirror, he turns to me. “What do you think?”

  He’s wearing a heather gray fisherman’s sweater, with an oxford shirt underneath. The scarf styled in a simple loop around his throat does nothing to dim him down. If anything, it makes him more attractive. Drats. Well, at least the cap hides those ocean blue eyes.

  We ride the main elevator down to the lobby, holding hands the entire way. The man’s possessive to a fault.

  I’m pleasantly surprised by the ground level shops—a dry cleaner, a boutique, a hair and nail salon, a sundries store, and in the corner, a bistro which is a hive of activity. We put in our order—chicken salad and milk for me, hot tea and a monster burger with the works for him.

  When it’s delivered to our table, I make a face. “You’re going to eat all that?”

  “Yes.” He takes a huge bite. Ketchup, mustard ooze from the burger and drip unto his plate. He smiles, while wiping his mouth. “I need it to keep up with you.”

  I choke on the milk. “Me? It’s you who’s insatiable.”

  “Who snuggled her naughty bits against me in the middle of the night?”

  My cheeks blaze with heat. “I was cold.”

  “And I warmed you up.” His voice’s turned husky.

  Yes, he most certainly did.

  The couple sitting next to us is leaning so far in our direction they’re practically in our laps. “Hush, they’ll hear you.” I give a small nod toward them.

  He reaches over, presses my hand. “I don’t care.”

  He may not, but I do. “Gabriel.” I warn him.

  “Liz.” He flashes his devil-may-care smile. He’s incorrigible, that much is clear.

  Detente’s established when I pull back my hand.

  After lunch, he insists on stopping at the clothes boutique and picking out somethin
g for me to ‘try on.’ After the oodles of money he’s spent on furniture, I’m wary of overdoing it, so I choose only one pair of stretchy pants and a shirt. I emerge from the fitting room to find a mound of clothes by the counter. Dresses, pants, blouses, sweaters.

  “What’s all this?”

  He hauls me into him, drops a kiss on my lips. “Stuff I chose for you. Miss Bianca helped me pick them out.”

  Miss Bianca is beaming from ear to ear. Of course, she is. He just bought out half her store. After he makes arrangements to have them delivered, we return to the apartment where I find the housekeeper and butler chef waiting for us.

  Gabriel introduces us. “Liz, meet Marisol and Jorge Cortez.”

  “How do you do?” Marisol says, shaking my hand. Her husband does the same. Their dark-haired and olive complexion hint at a Hispanic ancestry. He’s tall; she’s about my height. Both seem really fit for their age which I guess to be their fifties.

  After they take our coats, Jorge informs us dinner will be ready at seven if it meets with our approval. It does, since it gives me time to take a nap. I’m not surprised when Gabriel slides into bed and rubs his naughty bits against me.

  The smell of something delicious cooking wakes me. I choose the stretchy pants and an oversized top from the clothes delivered while I was asleep.

  Since we have no dining room furniture, we eat at the counter that divides the kitchen from the dining room. Marisol and Jorge have dug up a tablecloth and candlesticks from somewhere. The service is impeccable and the food? “What did you prepare? It smells yummy.”

  “Chicken and rice,” Jorge explains while serving a plate in front of me. “A native dish from my homeland.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Cuba.”

  I take a bite and moan. Yeah, it’s that good. I could have babies with this dish. “It’s delicious.”

  “So happy you like it. Buen apetito.” He and Marisol vanish behind the kitchen’s back door, leaving Gabriel and me alone in this very romantic setting. The view out the curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows is stunning with the lights of Georgetown winking in the background and the Cathedral of the Nativity looming in its majesty.

  That night Gabriel makes love to me slowly, driving me crazy. But then that’s always been his style.

  Sunday morning, my cell rings. It’s Casey. “You coming for brunch?”

  “Of course.” This much of my routine I’m not willing to forego. Not that Gabriel complains.

  With my brain still whirling from everything that happened yesterday, I’m eager to relax among friends. While we eat brunch, Gabriel gets Casey to open up about his restaurant. He expresses a wish to expand, and Gabriel being Gabriel indicates a willingness to invest.

  To his credit, Casey does not snap at the offer, but promises to give it some thought. They talk a loan at one percent interest, repayment as long as it takes. Who’s Casey kidding? He’s never going to get better terms than that.

  After brunch, I insist Gabriel and I clean up while Casey and Gina relax in their living room. Gabriel surprises me when he does a fair job of wiping down the table, scraping dishes, tucking them in the dishwasher.

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “You keep thinking I’m not useful in the kitchen.” He leans back against the counter, his eyes shining at me.

  “What do you mean ‘I keep thinking?’”

  “That time you visited The Brighton, you said the same thing.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.” Fighting back my tears, I clutch my hands in front of me. “You’re starting to remember.”

  He blinks as realization sets in. “I am, aren’t I? Bri was there. It was the day after she caught Anton cheating on her. And Jake and . . . and . . . and . . .” He fists a hand and punches his head. “Why can’t I bloody remember anything else?”

  “Hey, stop that.” I pull down his hand. “It’s a beginning.”

  He crooks a finger beneath my chin and kisses me. And, of course, I melt into him. He grabs my ass and drops me on the counter where he proceeds to ravage my mouth. The world fades away until I hear a noise from the living room

  Oh, geez. “They’re not looking this way, are they?”

  He glances over my head toward Casey and Gina. “Not to worry. They’re flipping channels on the telly.”

  I catch the time on the kitchen clock. “We better join them. The football game’s about to start.”

  As he helps me down from the counter, he whispers in my ear, “We’ll finish this later.”

  A shiver runs through me. He won’t get an objection from me.

  Casey and Gina have settled on “Washington This Weekend,” a news and entertainment show that features the movers and shakers of D.C.

  Suddenly, a photo of Gabriel in one of his killer business suits flashes on the TV. “It seems we have a new celebrity in town, Gabriel Storm, COO of Storm Industries, who’s here for a business deal.”

  “What the—?” Gabriel asks, his mouth a white slash.

  My heart stops. I clutch the flute of virgin mimosa by its fragile stem. Please let that be the only picture of him.

  “But is that the only thing that draws the insanely handsome tycoon to our nation’s capital?” Photos of us in front of our apartment building, eating lunch, holding hands, pop up on the screen. “Yesterday, the viscount and heir to the Earl of Winterleagh was seen strolling down Wisconsin Avenue with a very lovely dark-haired woman who appears to be expecting a joyous event.” The next image shows him pulling me to him, kissing me inside the boutique. “And they appear to be close. Very close.”

  I practically choke on my virgin mimosa which, let’s face it, is just orange juice. Should have known this idyllic existence wouldn’t last. And the thing about living in a castle on a cloud? The crash back to earth is a real bitch.

  Chapter 16

  ______________

  Gabriel

  MONDAY MORNING I’M BACK IN LONDON, much as I hate to be. I’d rather be back in D.C., but there are things in London I must deal with. Business issues, personal matters. So here I am.

  I arrive at Heathrow to find Jake waiting for me. With Samuel left behind to manage Liz’s security, Jake’s hired a new security guard, Travis Webber.

  Travis is the size of a lorry, has the nose of a prizefighter and his arms resemble small tree trunks.

  “He’s smarter than he looks.” Jake says after I shake hands with his newest hire.

  Travis laughs at the semi-insult. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Storm. I’ll take right care of ye.”

  He’s got a sense of humor. Good. He’ll need it working for me.

  “I don’t doubt that for a second, Travis. Where’s Bri?” I ask Jake, sliding into Benz.

  “Home with her latest project.”

  Bri and her men. You’d think I would have gotten used to her promiscuity by now. “Who is it this time?”

  “An artist who meets all her requirements.”

  “Good looking, none too bright, and hung like a moose?”

  “Can’t attest to the last trait, but yes, to the other two. And, no, I didn’t leave her unguarded. I assigned someone to watch over her while I rode to Heathrow to meet with you. Why so late?” Jake asks once we’re on the motorway to London. “We expected you this morning.”

  I’ve arrived mid day, rather than my usual pre-crack of dawn. “I was detained.” Truth to tell, I had to tear myself away. In the past, I couldn’t leave a woman’s bed fast enough after we had sex. But with Liz? All I want is to cocoon and let the world spin on its own.

  “You’ll have a long day ahead of you.”

  “I slept on the plane.” In fits and starts. Still, I did get some shut eye. “Any news?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Glancing toward Travis, he activates the button that divides the front and back seats. Only when it clicks shut does he say, “I found your mother.”

  Bloody hell. Wasn’t expecting this. “Did you?”

  “Yes.” The steel in hi
s gaze is not lost on me. “Or I should say, the actress you paid to impersonate her and travel to France.”

  Fuck. I should have known Jake would figure it out.

  “What are you up to, Storm?” His eyes narrow.

  I hate like hell having to explain myself. But if I want his cooperation, or at least his reluctant compliance, I’ll have to. “I executed a preemptive strike. As an ex-Navy Seal, I’m sure you understand exactly what that means.”

  “I’m familiar with the term, Storm. Go on.”

  “With Tilly gone, the Countess would have realized I was on to her nasty blackmail scheme and that I’ve reestablished relations with Liz. Since my mother would do everything in her power to prevent our child from being born, I did what I had to do.”

  “And my operative, Sarah Simmons? She agreed to your ‘preemptive strike?’”

  “She’s not ‘your’ operative, Jake. She’s mine.” I cringe at the arrogant tone to my voice. Can’t be helped. That’s what happens when my emotions are involved.

  “You may pay her salary, but I hired her. I’m responsible for her.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s not happy about my use of one of ‘his’ operatives.

  Before I further alienate him. I take a deep breath, modulate my voice to sound less like a prig. “Yes, she agreed. I asked her to pretend she’d do anything for money. She must have done a good job because the Countess took the bait and offered her a sizable sum to help her escape.”

  “How the hell did they get out of the castle? My team was watching every exit.”

  I grow weary of this interrogation. But I must make him understand, so he won’t throw a spanner in the works. “They weren’t watching the coast. A tunnel leads directly from the castle to a cave below. It’s the way the castle was provisioned during medieval sieges.”

  His gaze narrows. “That passage does not appear in the castle plans.”

  “The passage caved in at one point, so its existence was lost in time. But it’s still there. My mother knew about it, Probably pried the information from my father during one of his drinking binges. She sent Ms. Simmons to reconnoiter. When Sarah reported there was enough room to get through, they planned their getaway. The night of their escape, a ship waited for them offshore. It was supposed to take them to France.”