by Nic Saint
She frowned, visibly disturbed this little detail about this life had eluded her. “Why’s that? Isn’t sailing a lot more fun than this—” She waved a hand encompassing the whole of New York, apparently. “—consultancy thing you do?”
He laughed. “This consultancy thing, my dear Kelley, is a multi-million dollar business that provides work for a lot of people and improves the quality of the other companies in our portfolio. It is actually essential to keep up with the times and stay competitive. Without my work—our work—Thornton Enterprises would inevitably fall behind and be swallowed up by bigger and better companies.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boooring.” She looked up at him. “I can’t believe you actually like that sort of thing. You seem so…” She wrestled with the right term, then finally settled on, “Exciting. Yet the work you do is bland and abstract.”
He shrugged easily. “Let’s not discuss work, shall we?” He gestured at the stars. “The night is young, my lady, and your carriage awaits.”
At this, she looked up and gasped a yelp of surprise when out of the traffic suddenly a horse-drawn carriage appeared and rattled up to the curb. She held her hands to her heart when the door was flung open by a grinning Will, and he took a curtsy.
“No,” she gasped. “Pour moi?”
“If you please, mademoiselle,” he offered with a gesture of invitation at the waiting carriage. Her eyes darted from the two whinnying and neighing horses to the driver sitting atop his perch and then back to Will, and she took his offered hand and allowed him to escort her into the vehicle.
He carefully closed the carriage door, and then the driver clucked his tongue and they were off and away, being carried through the heart of New York in a manner befitting a lady and gentleman.
“Do you rich always travel like this?” she ventured to ask when her surprise had given way to the joy of being taken for a ride by her most handsome companion.
“Of course,” he assured her. “This is our preferred mode of transportation. Didn’t you learn anything from your investigations into the habits of the filthy rich?”
She emitted a chuckle of mirth. “Touché, Monsieur.”
And when his arm snuck around her shoulder and he pulled her a little closer, she swallowed and forgot all about the rich and their weird habits and allowed herself to snuggle against his shoulder, taking in the sights and enjoying the company of a man who was quite extraordinary indeed.
Chapter 18
The night was warm and sensuous, Will decided, and as the gentle clip-clop of the horses pounded out its soothing rhythm, and the carriage wheels crunched the asphalt, the other sounds of the city—the honking of cars, the screeching of tires—gradually fell away.
They made their way from the busy boulevards to the quieter side streets, and as Will held Kelley, clasping her close to his chest, he thought he’d never been on a more romantic date—romantic solely because she made it so. The wonder in her eyes as the cadence of the carriage lulled them both into a sense of peace and comfort was her greatest gift.
He’d been with many women before, but all of them belonging to the same class: rich, bored and stuck-up to one degree or another. Kelley belonged in none of those categories. She was, by far, the most extraordinary woman he’d ever entertained. For one thing, she didn’t give a hoot about style or class, ate dinner with a spoon, preferred a burger and a coke to haute cuisine, dressed for the date in her usual ratty jeans and black hooded sweater, and the only make-up she’d bothered to apply was her typical brand of eyeliner.
Though this time she’d used a deft touch and hadn’t overdone it. He could even make out her eyes—and what beautiful eyes they were.
Beneath all that make-up, shaggy outfit and ironwork she was actually a gorgeous young woman, and each time he laid eyes on her, he felt he was making that discovery for the very first time—feeling a little like Indiana Jones setting foot in some ancient temple untouched for centuries.
Kelley Casey was his treasure, and the thought of another man laying claim to her appalled him. She was his and his alone, and he wouldn’t let anyone else touch her again. Especially not those funky friends of hers.
As she snuggled closer, he pressed a tender kiss on the top of her head, and when she looked up, he continued the treatment, darting kisses along her brow, temples, eyes and finally reaching her cherry lips—fortunately devoid of black lipstick today. She reciprocated lazily by darting her tongue between his lips and gradually allowing the kiss to deepen until they were absolutely engrossed in each other, kissing with relish and rising arousal.
“Do you want to see my apartment?” she whispered when finally they broke the kiss.
“The squat? Sure.”
She punched him lightly in the chest. “It’s not a squat, silly. There’s something I need to show you.”
“Only if you agree to spend the night at my place.”
She looked at him unblinkingly for the longest time, her eyes wide and innocent, then gave him a brief nod and nestled into his arms again. He was surprised to find that he’d been holding his breath as she considered his proposal.
He leaned forward to give the driver instructions to take them back to his car, and when finally they arrived, he had to stir her awake, as she’d drifted to sleep, rocked by the gently swaying carriage and the warmth of his embrace.
Kelley blinked as wakefulness returned, and reluctantly stepped from the carriage. The ride had done much to calm her frayed nerves, and the closeness of Will had done the rest. She felt so rested and peaceful now, she would have stayed in that carriage forever, in Will’s embrace.
She stumbled to the waiting car, and when the customary beep of his alarm sounded, she stepped into the car and settled into the leather seat. Will pressed his thumb against some contraption that looked like it belonged in a jet fighter and the matte black Lamborghini Aventador rumbled to life. Moments later they were cruising along New York by night as he expertly steered the vehicle along the FDR.
“Nice car,” she remarked briefly, staring out across the East River.
“One of the perks of the filthy rich,” he said a little acerbically.
“Yeah, well. For the price of this one car you could probably feed a small town.”
He merely eyed her with an amused glint in his eye, and she allowed herself to relax in the comfortable seat, and in spite of herself had to admire the marvel of technique half a million dollars could buy. The thought of the workers who’d built this car momentarily flashed through her mind, and she figured that at the very least they’d gotten a day’s pay for a day’s work so she could be taken to her apartment in style.
As they approached her neighborhood, Will stared out at the derelict buildings, the bums huddling on the corners, boarded up shops and cracked pavement, sprouts of green appearing everywhere—graffiti sprayed liberally on facades. No, it wasn’t exactly his kind of neighborhood, he reflected, nor did he enjoy the notion that Kelley lived here—probably had lived here all her life.
On the next corner, he spotted a group of young men, all dressed in hoodies and baggy pants, and his lips tightened as he saw plastic baggies surreptitiously changing hands, dollars pressed in hands and pockets.
He checked his GPS and stared up at a building that looked even more worn down than the others, then back at the gang of small-time dealers hovering on the sidewalk, and shook his head.
Kelley, who’d spotted both his expression of disapproval and the fact that they’d arrived at their destination, frowned. “What? Don’t like my hood?”
“Not really,” he replied tersely. He suddenly turned on her. “I want you out of here. Tonight. Take your stuff and move in with me.”
She laughed in surprise. “Move in with… Man, are you crazy or what?”
“Not crazy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just being practical. And most of all—concerned about your well-being.” He pointed at the youth gang hovering on the sidewalk in front of her building. “It’s not safe
for you out here.”
“Safe enough for me,” she countered. “Those guys—”
He frowned darkly. “You know them?”
She shrugged. “Sure. It’s the same ones every night. This is where they hang out.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Don’t tell me. This is your… crew?”
She laughed scornfully. “My ‘crew’? Man, you really are clueless, aren’t you? These are just street kids. They probably got nothing better to do than hang out all day and night. I don’t have no—” She held up her fingers, drawing quotation marks in the air. “—crew. I don’t hang with these kids. I’ve got friends of my own, and they don’t have time to shoot the breeze twenty-four seven. Nor,” she quickly added, rightly surmising his next remark,” do they take drugs. And neither do I.”
“Good.” At least there was that. He reached out a hand and touched her cheek. “I don’t want you hanging around this neighborhood anymore, Kelley. From now on you live with me. Is that understood?”
She opened her mouth to protest but when she caught his intent gaze, she thought better of it and closed it again with a click. “Fine,” she finally grumbled. “I’ll move in with you—on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you allow my friends to crash at your place from time to time.”
He arched his eyebrows and she shrugged. “It’s what they do. I’m the only one with a regular address so they stay here when they’ve got nowhere else to go.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
His jaw worked as he mulled it over. Finally, he took her hand, realizing that if he wanted her, he needed to accept the baggage she came with. “Deal,” he grumbled, and popped the locks on the doors. Then he reached into the glove box and retrieved the Sig Sauer Roland had supplied him with several years ago and shoved it in the waistband of his pants.
Her eyes went wide at the sight of the sleek weapon. “What the hell?” she cried.
“Just a precaution. Don’t worry about it,” he offered, and exited the vehicle, giving the gang occupying the sidewalk his best glare.
Chapter 19
Kelley watched her broad-shouldered companion stalk up to the street kids, and her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she expected him to start a fight, then draw out his gun and put a bullet in each and every one of the hoodies.
Instead, he simply brushed past them without offering them so much as a glance, and climbed the steps to her house with an ease and litheness she wouldn’t have expected in a man his size.
She quickly tripped after him in an effort to keep up and murmured greetings to some of the kids she recognized. She briefly glanced back, but they didn’t even pay attention to her or Will, too busy with their own shit. As her gaze flicked from the kids to the street corner, her eye was caught by a burly guy hovering near a gnarled old sycamore that had survived several generations of tree cutters and badly parked cars.
The moment she saw him, he turned his back on her, sliding a hood over his cleanly shaven head. He was easily twice as big as she was, and looked like a prize fighter. And for a brief moment, fear trembled through her being, then he disappeared around the corner, and she forgot all about him.
She jabbed her key in the lock and pushed in, followed by Will, who’d stood surveying the street with a thoughtful expression on his face.
She led him past the hallway with its moldy walls and broken bottles heaping up in a corner, then up the creaking stairs, ignoring strips of faded wallpaper loosely hanging down, and finally to the third floor landing where she hurried past a pile of rotting garbage bags and finally to the door to her very own domain.
“This place is a dump,” grumbled Will as he stirred a stack of cans with his foot.
“Yeah, well,” she said as she opened the door to her flat, “it’s home.” Stepping inside, she hollered, “Tatiana! You around?”
When no voice called out to greet her, she shrugged. As usual, Tatiana was out. Probably spending the night with one of her boyfriends. Then she eyed the envelope on the table in the kitchen nook and frowned. Picking it up, she quickly tore it open and extracted the letter concealed inside. Scanning the page, she heaved a sigh of joy.
“What is it?” Will had joined her and was staring down at the letter.
“Tatiana—my roommate—she’s getting married! Says she’s moving out before the end of the month.”
“So are you,” he growled. “Before the end of the night.”
This was great news, she knew. Tatiana had mentioned something about a man she’d met—not just any man, a special man, and falling for him hard and fast. And now, barely three weeks later, she was engaged to be married!
For a moment, she couldn’t conceal a pang of worry. Tatiana was a delicate soul, and when she first arrived in New York from her home country of Ukraine not accustomed to the big city life or the sacrifices and requirements the life of a professional model demanded of her.
Kelley had helped her out as well as she could, with advice and support, and now her friend was finally going to fly the nest and go out into the world an independent woman.
Another piece of paper fell from the envelope. It was a wedding invitation. “Oh, look, Will,” she exclaimed as she fingered the cream-colored paper, embossed with lilies.
Will had turned to the window and was staring outside, checking out the hoodies still lounging below. “Mh?”
She thrust the invitation in his hand. “I’m invited to Tatiana’s wedding. Perhaps we can go together? Like a date?”
He absently took the envelope from her hand and stared down at it, that worried frown still marring his brow. He briefly checked the writing before returning his gaze outside. The intentness of his frown elicited a frown of her own.
“What’s wrong? If you’re worried about those kids—don’t. They know me and would never hurt me.”
“It’s not those kids I’m worried about,” he muttered, and as she followed his gaze, she saw that the man on the corner had returned, only now he had crossed the street and stood staring up at the house. He’d removed the hoodie, and the light from the street lamp shone on his bald pate. She shivered at the sight of him.
“Who is that man?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“Drake,” mumbled Will as his lips tightened into a thin line. “Is there a back door to this place?”
“No. Only the front. Why? Is this man Drake dangerous?”
“Pretty much,” he acknowledged. “And he hates my guts.”
“Do you—“ She swallowed, the envelope and the invitation falling from her nerveless grasp. “—do you think he wants to hurt you?”
“Yep. Pretty sure that’s what he wants.”
This didn’t make sense. “Why would anyone want to hurt you, Will? You’re the CEO of a consultancy company.”
He turned hard eyes on her. “I’m a Thornton. There’s plenty of people out there want to hurt me—us. You of all people should know that.” He took her by the shoulders. “Tell me, Kelly. Did you tell your contact I was coming here tonight?”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
“This… Turtu guy you were talking about. Harlan’s man. Did you tell him about our date?”
Anger twitched at the corners of his eyes, and she could feel the rage behind them. As his accusation hit home, tears sprang to her eyes, but they were tears of revolt, not sadness. She jerked herself loose from his grip. “That’s the second time today you’re accusing me of something I didn’t do!”
“This time I’ve got good reason to, don’t you think? How else would this guy know I’d be here?”
She stood with fists pressed against her sides and yelled, “I don’t know!”
He pointed at the window. “He’s one of Harlan’s men. Your employer!”
“He’s not my employer anymore. I work for you now, Will, remember?”
They stood glaring at each other, the veins in his temples throbbing. “Not anymore,” he finally spat out and started f
or the door.
Panic rose in her chest like a wave as she watched him leave. “Will!” she cried. “Don’t—don’t go!”
“I’m so done with you,” he grunted, and slammed the door shut behind him.
She stood staring at the closed door, her chest heaving and falling erratically, her heart racing, then ran over and yanked it open. Throwing herself against the balustrade, she yelled down, “Will! Don’t go out there—that man—he will kill you!” But then she heard the door slam downstairs, and knew he was gone. Gone for good.
Chapter 20
She sank against the balustrade to the floor, tears flooding her face. Why was this happening to her? First the man walked into her life, unexpectedly and uninvited, stirring things up and changing her life around, and just when she was starting to fall for him, just as abruptly, he walked out again, hurling unfounded accusations at her.
Couldn’t he see that she was in love with him? That she would never do anything to harm him? Couldn’t he see it in her face—read it in her eyes—hear it in the inflection of her voice? Why did all men seem to carry blinders, concealing life’s treasures from them and inducing them to push the best things away from them?
Then she realized she wasn’t the best thing in his life—not by far. He probably had scores of women lined up, forming a long queue that stretched around the corner from his condo, all waiting to fill his bed and his life. All of them more sophisticated and educated than her, and all more fitting to stand beside him, gazing into those lovely green eyes and whispering, ‘I do.’
They were different—worlds apart. He was a billionaire—she was an activist. By definition the twain could never meet—should never meet. Simply by spending time with him she was betraying all her ideals—everything she had ever fought for—and against.