Hot Property [Discretions 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
Page 18
“Well, Henry, I don’t think in all my years of reporting sport I’ve ever seen anything quite so emotional. The defending champion just came out onto center court to start the defense of his title. Then there was an announcement over the public address system. Everyone knows about the tragic death of young tennis talent, Saul Redford.”
“A tragedy indeed,” the anchor agreed.
“Well, astonishingly his father, two step-brothers and another man are in custody, accused of murder by steroids. His poor sister, the famous model, Naomi Redford, is said to be devastated by her brother’s death and there are unsubstantiated rumors that she was instrumental in exposing her family’s involvement in it.”
“That must have taken some courage.”
“Indeed. And she’s here today.” The camera panned to the front row of the royal box. “She’s wearing a very simple black dress and her only jewelry is an unusual diamond-studded collar. She looks stunning, as always.”
“Who are those men with her?”
“Her brother’s agents, Jared Maynard and Kenton Sinclair. Coincidentally, they’ve just signed the champion’s challenger, a young Italian qualifier whom a lot of pundits reckon is destined for great things. The Maynard-Sinclair Agency have a reputation for recognizing young talent, much as they recognized Saul’s. However, the public announcement I was telling you about said there would be a minute’s silence as a sign of respect for Saul, not just on center court but throughout all of Wimbledon’s grounds. Nothing like that’s ever been done in this bastion of tradition before. And look how it was respected.”
The camera panned the center court crowd. Every single person was on their feet. Men removed hats, and many women had tears streaming down their faces. Naomi Redford held hands with her brother’s agents, somehow managing to look beautiful, dignified and heartbroken all at the same time. The large screens played images of Saul in action, his laughing face in close-up, adding to the feelings of senseless loss. The camera showed the outside courts from a high point. Every single person stood in silence. It was possible to hear a pin drop. Even on Henman Hill, where those without court tickets took picnics and watched the action on the big screen, not a muscle was moved.
When the tribute came to an end, the camera once again found Naomi as loud applause echoed around the center court, and Wimbledon as a whole. She acknowledged it with a wave and a brave smile before resuming her seat and watching the champion get the tournament under way.
* * * *
“I can’t believe they did that,” Naomi said. “I had no idea they intended to.”
Jared squeezed her hand. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Did you arrange it?”
“What, you think I have the power to influence the committee at a club that’s so traditional it still insists upon all white clothing?” Jared sent her a devastating smile. “You credit me with too much power.”
“On the contrary, I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”
“Well, he did go to Eton,” Kent said, grinning. “Old Etonians secretly run the country.”
“Hey, isn’t that where Prince William went to school?”
“I was several years ahead of him, but yeah, I know him.”
Naomi widened her eyes. “You sound so matter-of-fact.”
“He’s just another bloke.”
Naomi shook her head. She would never understand the British class system if she lived to be a hundred.
“This guy’s good,” she said a little later, when the challenger took the first set from the defending champion.
“Of course he is.” Jared squeezed the hand that hadn’t yet left his. “Why do you think we signed him?”
“Come on,” Kent said, when the champion finally prevailed in four sets. “Shall we get out of here?”
“Don’t you need to talk to your protégée?” Naomi asked, nodding toward the kid still on the court, lapping up the attention.
“Nah, we have people here to look after him.” He pulled Naomi to her feet. “We have somewhere else to be.”
Connor appeared on cue to pick them up.
“Where are we going?” Naomi asked.
“You’ll see,” Jared replied.
A short time later Naomi walked through the hallowed halls of Discretions with Jared and Kent flanking her. She noticed how deferentially her guys were greeted as they were shown to what was obviously one of the best tables in the restaurant.
“This is a treat,” Naomi said as she sipped at the excellent wine Jared had ordered. “What’s the occasion?”
But she already knew. The tribute to Saul at Wimbledon, and now this lovely dinner at their exclusive club, was their way of saying good-bye. She died a little inside but decided she would behave herself and not cling. She had known this moment would come but had hoped they wouldn’t be in quite such a hurry to get rid of her. Life moved on, and so must she. The guys had taught her so much about herself and how to live. The only problem was she didn’t see herself living that way with any other men.
“Hey.” A man in a well-tailored suit—what man in this place wasn’t?—stopped at their table and shook hands with Jared and Kent.
“How you doing, Dale?” Jared asked.
“Very well indeed. I’m surprised to see you here today. I thought you would be busy.” His gaze lingered upon Naomi. “And this, I take it, is Ms. Redford.”
Jared introduced the man as Dale Benson. Naomi took his outstretched hand and said she was pleased to meet him.
“The pleasure’s all mine, I do assure you.” He smiled at her. “And if these two brutes aren’t treating you right, my manners are pristine.”
“Behave yourself, Dale. The lady’s spoken for.”
I am?
“Damn.” Dale shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Who was that?” Naomi asked when Dale moved on.
“He’s the founder of our elite little group here,” Jared explained. “In fact, it’s him you have to thank for unearthing your father’s financial records so quickly.”
“Oh.”
Jared looked as though he regretted mentioning her father, putting a damper on the atmosphere. He needn’t have worried. Naomi had gotten used to the idea of what her conniving relations had done and knew that conviction was a foregone conclusion. Her step-brothers had wised up, finally realizing they were in deep shit, and were singing like canaries. It wouldn’t save them. They’d still do time.
Kent distracted her with irreverent chatter and she found herself relaxing. This was her last night with the guys and she intended to enjoy every second of it.
“What do you plan to do now?” Jared asked when they sat on the terrace a little while later, sipping coffee and twenty-year-old Armagnac.
So, here it was, she thought. The gentle reminder that it was time to move on.
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had time to decide.”
“No more modelling?” Kent asked.
“No. I’ve had it with that game.”
“Have you considered going into the agency business?” Jared asked casually.
She blinked back her surprise. “What, modelling agency?”
“Yeah, why not? You know the business backward and you’d be good at it.”
“There’s a lot of competition.”
“That’s why we need someone with expertise to start the modelling agency wing of the Maynard-Sinclair Agency.”
“Yes, but there’s so much…hang on, what did you just say?” She looked at one of them, then the other, convinced she must have misheard them. “You want to branch out into the model agency business yourselves?”
“Seems like a logical step to take,” Kent said. “After all, you need to do something—”
“What are you suggesting? I kinda thought I’d go back to America—”
“Is that what you want to do?”
No, I want to stay here with you guys.
She shrugged. “It’s home.”
“No, darling,” Jared replied, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Your home is with us. We love you and don’t want to part with you.”
Kent grabbed her other hand, leaving Naomi with no fingers free so she could pinch herself and convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. “We were rather hoping that you might feel the same way about us.”
“After all, you did wear our collar in public today. We took that to be an encouraging sign.”
“You don’t have to decide immediately. Just stay a little while, grieve properly for Saul, then make a decision.”
But Naomi didn’t need to wait. She knew without a trace of doubt that she’d met her soul mates and no way would she risk letting them slip away by keeping them waiting. She’d seen the hungry looks directed their way by more than one female—first at Wimbledon, now here. Hands off, ladies, they’re mine. Both of them. It was risky, starting a new model agency business, but if Jared could organize a public display of emotion at Wimbledon—and she knew it was him who’d done it—he could handle anything.
“Yes!” she cried, flinging her arms around first one of them and then the other. “Yes, yes, yes! I love you both too and don’t want to be anywhere except with you.” Tears streamed down her face yet again, but this time they were tears of happiness. “Not ever.”
She looked up at the starlit sky, her vision still blurred with tears. Even so, no one would ever convince her that one of those stars didn’t burn extra bright. It was Saul, up there somewhere, telling her it was all right to live again.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zara Chase is a British author who spends a lot of her time travelling the world. Being a gypsy provides her with ample opportunities to scope out exotic locations for her stories. She likes to involve her heroines in her erotic novels in all sorts of dangerous situations—and not only with the hunky heroes whom they encounter along the way. Murder, blackmail, kidnapping and fraud make frequent appearances in her books, adding pace and excitement to her racy stories.
Zara is an animal lover who enjoys keeping fit and is on a one-woman mission to keep the wine industry ahead of the recession.
For all titles by Zara Chase, please visit
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