by Naima Simone
Achilles propped a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “Devastated,” he said, voice dry.
“Don’t let the stoic face fool you. Inside, he’s broken. As am I. So please clear it up for us, Cain. Is it true that you’re getting married and we’re the last to know? Like literally, behind the mail room clerk, last to know? And if so, why is it you didn’t think it was any of our business? You know, being brothers and all.”
“Brothers?” Devon gasped behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her wide eyes. And sighed. “Devon, let me introduce you to my half brothers, Kenan Rhodes and Achilles Farrell.” Brothers still seemed foreign on his tongue. Like a language he hadn’t yet mastered. And wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Kenan, Achilles, this is Devon Cole...my fiancée.” It was a miracle he didn’t choke on that title.
“A pleasure to meet you, Devon,” Kenan greeted, his expression warming as he extended his hand toward her. Devon shook it, returning the warm gesture and smile.
And it was not jealousy that speared through Cain’s rib cage at the pretty sight of it. He didn’t do jealousy. And did not covet that warmth or wish it was directed at him.
“Devon.” Achilles dipped his head, the mouth surrounded by his thick beard remaining flat. The man could never be called emotive.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Devon said. “And I’m sorry about Cain not sharing the news about our engagement with you. I asked him not to tell anyone until we announced it in the paper. Call it being superstitious, but I didn’t want to jinx anything.” She wrinkled her nose, the gesture adorable. And damn believable even as she lied with a straight face. “He was just indulging me.”
“I’m trying to picture an indulgent Cain.” Kenan cocked his head and squinted. “I kind of like the look on you, brother.”
Across the room, Achilles snorted.
“If you two are finished with the nosy busybodies act, can I have a private moment with Devon, please?” Cain growled, his patience with the two men ending.
Kenan tsked, shaking his head. “We would be eternally grateful if you could do something about his manners while you’re at it, Devon. Welcome to the family.”
Kenan twisted family as if it were some kind of private joke. And maybe it was. To call them his “brothers” was more than a stretch—it neared a tall tale. Still, the asshole pressed a kiss to Devon’s cheek and had the audacity to flash a grin at Cain before exiting the office. With a chin lift, Achilles unfolded himself and followed their younger brother out.
“Would it be totally inappropriate for me to start singing ‘Papa Was a Rolling Stone’ right now?” Devon whispered.
Cain stared at her. Then snorted.
Instead of answering her question, though, he asked the one that had been plaguing him for the past few minutes. “Why did you lie to Kenan and Achilles?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want your brothers’ feelings hurt because they believed you didn’t tell them about the engagement. And I didn’t want you to have to lie to another family member.”
Astonishment whipped through him. Was this another trick, another tactic to make her appear less calculating than he knew her to be? It had to be. Otherwise, why did she care if Kenan or Achilles felt slighted by him? Why did it concern her at all?
He searched her face, her eyes for an ulterior motive. And as even as he did so, he couldn’t get past how swollen her lips were—and how proud he felt that he was the cause.
“How are—” she faltered, glancing at the door. “You three are...”
“How are three men of different racial backgrounds, who are obviously strangers, brothers?” he finished for her.
She flushed but nodded.
“The miraculous story of the long-lost Farrell heirs was in the papers a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t read about it?”
“It’s better you find this out about me now instead of later. I honestly couldn’t give a damn about business or society gossip. I go online to find out the latest reality TV news and spoilers about my favorite Netflix shows. Everything else is detrimental to my ass.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Detrimental to your...ass?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Reading all the crap that’s going on right now in the world makes me either sad or angry. And I’m an emotional eater. So, all the chips, ice cream and chocolate go straight to my ass. Therefore, no upsetting internet searching for me.”
He stared at her. Blinked. Then fought down the bark of laughter that pressed at his throat. This was the woman from the garden. Funny. Candid. Fucking adorable.
Note to self: Stop handing her opportunities to be adorable.
“Achilles and Kenan are my father’s illegitimate children,” he said, guiding them back to her original question...and away from his memories of those stolen moments in the garden. “I didn’t discover their existence until after he died.” He told her about the meeting and the terms of his father’s will. “So we’re forced to stay together for one year to save my family’s company.”
“I take it back,” she whispered. “Your father wasn’t a rolling stone. He was an asshole.”
Again, the urge to laugh shoved at his throat. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, he was.”
She shook her head, the strands of that thick, gorgeous hair falling over her shoulder. He stared at the brown-and-gold mass. Curiosity had needled him into tugging it free from the bun during the photo shoot. He hadn’t expected its heaviness, its softness. Or that it would slide over his skin, between his hands like a caress. What would it feel like against his bare chest...his thighs? Would it stream like a caramel waterfall to her hips, stick to her damp skin while she rode him?
Lust shuddered through him.
He should never have touched her. Kissed her.
That had been a tactical error on his part. One he had to avoid committing again at all costs.
She was a danger that needed blinking neon caution signs.
“Why would he do that? Wait until so late in life to let you know you had brothers out there? Wouldn’t you have wanted to know about Achilles and Kenan much earlier?” she asked.
Would he? When Cain was younger, he’d dreamed about having brothers or sisters. Someone who would be in the trenches with him. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so alone or isolated. But as he’d grown up, he’d stopped wishing for that. He wouldn’t have wished his existence with Barron on an enemy much less a sibling.
“Knowing about them now or ten years ago wouldn’t have changed anything,” he said.
Maybe it’d been a blessing that he hadn’t been aware of them. They would’ve been just two more people his father could’ve used against him. Like his mother.
“Barron had his own reasons for his actions. The least of them being manipulation and power,” he added, then immediately cursed himself for revealing too much. No way in hell was he getting into a discussion about his hellish childhood with her.
With anyone.
“You can’t mean that,” she protested.
“About Barron? I damn well can.”
“No.” She shook her head. “About your brothers. I wish I had siblings. It would’ve meant someone who had your back. No matter what. No questions asked. It would’ve meant not being alone. What I wouldn’t give to have that right now,” she said softly.
So softly he had to wonder if she’d meant to voice the words aloud.
“Why are you alone, Devon? You might not have siblings, but what about family other than your father? You told me you came from a big family. What about them?”
She blinked. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything,” he murmured.
About you. About that day.
He wished he didn’t.
“Yes, I do have a large family. Between my father’s and mother’s sides, I
have six aunts and four uncles. And a ton of cousins. I haven’t seen them in years. Not since we moved from New Jersey.”
Cain frowned. “New Jersey isn’t across an ocean. It’s not even five hours away. Why?”
Pain flickered in her eyes before her lashes lowered. But he caught the shadows it left.
“Initially, Dad’s new firm demanded a lot of his time, so we didn’t return to visit often. And then I guess everyone became busy because the phone calls slowed, then stopped, and we just lost touch.” She shrugged a shoulder, but he didn’t accept or believe the nonchalant gesture. Not for a minute. She missed that big Italian family she’d spoken of so affectionately in the garden. And he suspected there was more to the story than she was admitting.
And he also suspected that “more” started and ended with Gregory Cole.
“Oh God.” Her low exclamation refocused his attention on her and not on his darkening thoughts. “That’s why you were in the garden the day of the funeral,” she breathed, eyes widening. “Your father is who you were damning.” Her full lips twisted. “Not only did you lose your father, but you discovered he’d been lying to you for years. No wonder you were furious. I’m so sorry. You should’ve been saying goodbye, grieving. Not having the rug pulled out from under you.”
“You were my saving grace that day,” he murmured.
He hadn’t intended to let that slip, either. Even if it was the truth.
“Until I wasn’t,” she said, voice as soft.
“Until you weren’t,” he agreed. “But I’m still thankful. You reminded me of one very important fact. If it seems too good to be true, then it is,” he drawled.
Satisfaction should’ve filled him at her barely concealed flinch. It didn’t. He hadn’t stated the obvious to hurt her so much as to drive home that she couldn’t be trusted. Those pretty green eyes and that disarming honesty had tricked him once. Now that he’d made the mistake of kissing her, he was even more susceptible to disregarding what he knew about her and her father for another taste.
At this point, when his body was in danger of launching a full-out rebellion, he needed her to be the woman capable of deception and blackmail, and not the soft, desirable woman who’d welcomed his mouth and domination.
“I have a meeting I need to prepare for,” he said, sliding his hands in his front pockets—and away from temptation.
If his blatant dismissal affected her, she didn’t reveal it. Nodding, she crossed the room for the purse she’d deposited on the visitors chair before the photographer arrived. She stood for several seconds, staring at him, lips parted as if words hovered there. But, after a moment, she gave her head a shake and exited the office without glancing backward. The soft snick of the lock reverberated in the room.
And he was glad she wasn’t there to witness his flinch.
Eight
I’m in hell.
Cain surveyed the large formal dining room full of people. It reminded him too damn much of his father’s funeral. The guest list included business moguls, society darlings, celebrities and even a few professional athletes. Food and alcohol that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salary. A beautiful decor including antiques and artwork that had probably netted some interior designer a mint. The laughter and chatter from jeweled, tuxedoed and gowned guests.
Except this time, instead of celebrating a death, they were toasting his engagement.
Same thing, in his opinion.
The only good part about this trip to purgatory was that Gregory Cole had insisted the party be held in his Back Bay townhome instead of the mansion Cain had been forced to reside in for the next year. Any excuse he had to not spend time in that mausoleum, he grabbed.
Still, he had to hand it to Gregory. When the man threw a party, he didn’t hold back. He’d gone all out to brag about his wealth and prowess to Boston society. Because regardless of what the invitations stated, this occasion wasn’t about Cain and Devon. It was all about Gregory Cole. An opportunity to gather the very people he sought to impress in one place. This wasn’t an engagement party but the beginning of his campaign to infiltrate their privileged, blue-blooded ranks. And like any good general, the man was a master strategist.
Disgust boiled inside Cain. He hated this. Hated the hypocrisy, the phoniness. And yet, here he stood, right in the midst of it, a hostage because of his loyalty to one person. The person he loved most in this world.
Emelia Farrell.
He scanned the room, and within seconds located his mother, as always, surrounded by a circle of admiring men and women. Though in her midfifties, in Cain’s eyes, she hadn’t aged a bit from the woman who’d read him bedtime stories when his father wasn’t home to forbid her from coddling him. The woman who’d gifted him with his first camera on his twelfth birthday. The woman who’d yelled the loudest and longest when he’d graduated from both high school and college, when his father couldn’t be bothered to attend either ceremony because of business trips. Time might’ve brushed her raven-black hair with touches of gray and grazed the corners of her eyes with lines, but it hadn’t stooped the proud lines of her shoulders, hadn’t dimmed the brightness of her blue eyes—or the love for him that shone there.
That love had brought her here tonight, to her ex-lover’s home. Cain didn’t know the details of her affair with Gregory, and he couldn’t ask because she wasn’t aware he possessed knowledge of it. Still, even if the relationship had ended amicably, Gregory now used it as a weapon against her and Cain. And damned if he would allow his mother to discover her affair with Gregory was the sword held to Cain’s throat.
Unbidden, his focus shifted to the woman at his mother’s side—his fiancée. Though his mother had met Devon for the first time tonight, she’d immediately taken to her. Even now, with their arms linked at the elbow, they appeared to be close friends instead of strangers who’d met only hours earlier. But how could his mother resist? Devon had assumed her friendly persona for the evening—the one that had snagged his attention. His mother had been enchanted and had told Cain so. Witnessing that delighted smile on her face—and the relief in her eyes—he hadn’t possessed the heart to disappoint her by revealing Devon’s true nature. How this engagement had more to do with mercenary greed rather than love.
As if sensing his perusal, Devon glanced away from the young man so animatedly talking to her and met Cain’s gaze. Damn, those eyes. Capable of gleaming with amusement, then shadowed with sympathy and sadness, then glazing over with passion. Chameleon eyes. Gorgeous eyes. Secretive eyes.
Against his will, his attention dipped to her lush mouth, painted in a bold red that begged to be smeared. It called to him, just as her body did in a dark green, floor-length gown that should’ve been modest. But the material clinging to the high thrust of her breasts, the indent of her waist and the dramatic flare of her hips transformed the simple style into a billboard for a wet dream.
She was a princess holding court. Accepting all the attention and praise as her due. Regal and untouchable.
All lies.
Especially since he couldn’t evict from his mind just how touchable she was.
“It’s your engagement party, son.” Gregory appeared beside him, clapping Cain on the shoulder. “You should be enjoying yourself instead of standing over here in the corner. Go mingle. After all, these people are here to celebrate you and your bride-to-be.”
Cain snorted. At both the man and the admonishment. “These are your guests, not mine. And considering I was informed of this little get-together a couple of days ago when the invitations had been mailed out a week earlier, count yourself grateful I’m here at all.” He shrugged off the other man’s hand on the pretense of lifting his tumbler of Scotch to his mouth. “And don’t ever call me son.”
Gregory’s smile tightened and anger flashed in his eyes. “You’re not thinking of causing a scene in my home, are you, Cain? I wouldn’t
advise it.” Tucking his hands into his front pockets, Gregory turned and made a show of surveying the room. “I was delighted that your mother chose to attend. She looks as beautiful as I remember.”
Rage barreled through Cain, licking at the restraints binding his control. His vision flickered to crimson, and for a moment, real fear that he would hurt this man flashed through him.
“Listen to me, Cole,” Cain growled, waiting for Gregory to swing his smug smile back to him before continuing, “and listen well. Don’t comment on my mother. Don’t look in her direction. Don’t even fucking think about her. You believe you have me by the short hairs with your blackmail scheme, but if you upset her—if I even suspect you hurt her feelings or breathed in her direction—I will raze your world to the ground, and I don’t give a damn if I go down in flames with you.”
“You’re in no position to threaten me,” Gregory snapped.
“Threaten you? Oh no, Cole. It’s a promise.”
The older man glared at him, a muscle ticking along his jaw. “I—”
“There you are, Cain.” Kenan strode up to them, Achilles beside him.
The two of them cut a wide path between the thick throng of people, leaving glances in their wake that ranged from admiring to curious to smirks and whispers. This was the first public appearance of the Farrell Bastards with their legitimate brother, after all. Irritation rose within him, swift and bright.
“Smart to position yourself near the bar,” Achilles rumbled, stepping past Cain and requesting a beer from the bartender.
“The man might not be much of a talker, but when he does speak, he makes perfect sense,” Kenan praised with a grin. He stretched a hand toward Gregory. “Kenan Rhodes. It’s nice to meet Cain’s future father-in-law.”
“Yes,” Gregory said, accepting his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you and your brother. Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Of course.” Kenan nodded, still smiling. He must’ve inherited that charm from his birth mother because God knew neither Cain nor Achilles had received it from their father. “Would you mind if we steal Cain from you for a moment?”