Sultry Pleasure

by Lindsay Evans

He had meant to tell her, but the timing had never seemed to be right. But it had been stupid of him to push the deal through in the first place once he found out that her nonprofit was part of it. His father had been furious when Marcus told him he wanted to cancel Baltree and even more so when Marcus shared with him the reason. Despite the intense disappointment in his father’s eyes, he had stuck to his guns. It hadn’t been easy. But he’d done it.

  The change of heart meant a significant financial loss to him. But it was money he could easily make back some other way. If he was going to be completely honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he had gone through with the deal in the first place to please his father.

  Quentin Stanfield had wanted to get into the gentrification business. He wanted to start with the property smack-dab in the middle of Baltree Heights. Knowing this, Marcus called his father in on the deal, planned on giving him the property to seal them working together for the first time since he loaned Marcus the two million dollars to invest in a budding project more than ten years before.

  He had long ago paid the two million back—with interest his father had at first refused—but he never forgot Quentin Stanfield’s generosity. And he never forgot how his father had brought him into the family, had chosen Marcus over so many others. Had still loved him even after the Stanfields had been able to conceive their own children.

  The sound of a glass tapping gently against the wooden table brought him back to himself. Seven had finished his drink and was watching him with an amused look.

  “You’re whipped bad,” his friend said.

  Marcus shook his head, about to deny it. But he couldn’t. And it was more than just the sex. More than the fact of her divine beauty that stirred both his protective urge and his baser ones. “I want her to forgive me,” he said.

  “I think you’ll have to do a bit more than stop being a prick.” Seven stood up. “It’s been fun, but I’m heading back home to Bailey. We have dinner plans.”

  “Speaking of being whipped…” Marcus chuckled weakly.

  It was moments like this when he almost envied what Seven and Bailey had found together. A love that seemed liberating rather than restraining, no matter how much he teased his friend about running back home to his wife.

  “Later, man.” Seven stretched his lanky frame and headed for the stairs that would take him up on deck.

  “Yeah,” Marcus said with a brief nod. “Give Bailey my best.”

  He stared off into space as his friend’s footsteps faded away, wondering if Diana would forgive him—wondering if he even deserved to be forgiven.

  Chapter 23

  Diana grabbed her keys on her way out the door. She’d had a long day at work, where she’d fielded questions about her and Marcus, about why she looked so normal when only days before she’d been practically glowing. The answer was Marcus, and it seemed like it always would be.

  After drinks a few nights before with Trish, she felt a little better. But the betrayal still stung her heart. She felt that all her trust had been misplaced. Then there was the imminent displacement of Building Bridges. It made her angry every time she thought about it. Keys in hand, Diana shoved open the door, then gasped at the sight of the slight form stepping onto her porch. Silver hair. A face neatly lined from years of emotional pain and worry.

  “Mother?”

  “Diana.”

  Her mother stood on the porch in a floral blouse and black capri pants. Her big white Cadillac was parked in the driveway.

  Diana stared at her in shock. Cheryl Hobbes-Freeman never left her house for anything other than shopping and errands. “What are you doing here?”

  “You didn’t think I’d hear about you and Marcus Stanfield and stay away, did you?” Her mother’s face was a study in coolness. Today she seemed fully in control of her emotions as she turned the full weight of her stare onto Diana. It had been more than a month since they’d seen each other at one of their rare Sunday dinners at her mother’s house. That had been less than a week before she met Marcus.

  Diana turned away from her mother, fully intending to lock her front door and talk with her mother on the porch.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Diana Hobbes! What you’ve already done is unforgivable. Don’t add this to it.”

  “Mother, please.” She already felt like she’d been crushed into the pit of the earth because of what happened with Marcus. The love she thought she’d found with him. The connection and rapport she thought they shared. All gone.

  “Invite me in,” her mother commanded.

  Diana sighed softly before opening the door and pushing it wide for her mother to follow her inside. She dropped the keys into the glass bowl by the door. In the kitchen, she poured two glasses of fresh-squeezed pineapple juice.

  She didn’t want to talk about Marcus. She didn’t want to relive any of what happened between them. But she knew that her mother had something heavy on her mind, something she was going to say, whether or not Diana wanted to hear it.

  She brought the drinks into the living room and put one in front of her mother, who was already sitting on the couch with her purse beside her. Diana sat across from her in the armchair, clasping her hands in her lap. Her usual attitude was to wait when it was obvious her mother had something to say. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “I’m so disappointed in you, Diana.”

  She swallowed, clenching her hands in her lap as her mother continued.

  “You let that man touch you. You let him turn you away from your family.”

  “He didn’t turn me away from anything, Mother,” Diana said, refusing to keep silent at that. “I’m still here.”

  “No, you’re not. Your brother called on the weekend you spent with Marcus Stanfield. Jason could have been dead in the gutter for all you knew.” Her mother frowned, leaning toward Diana. “He could have really needed you.”

  She blushed, remembering where she was when her brother called. “I checked my voice mail. Jason was fine. He’s fine now. He just hates Marcus for what his father did, nothing else.”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You know that’s not true. Jason told me he’s buying up everything near your adoption house, that place you work.” She gripped her purse, a satisfied look on her face as if glad all she’d predicted was coming true. “He’s going to buy all those buildings and rip your office and everything you’ve worked for to the ground.”

  “He won’t.” She felt like a child protesting the existence of darkness simply because she didn’t want it to be in her world. “He’s not going to buy Baltree Heights anymore. He changed his mind.”

  “If you believe that, then you’re more of a fool than your father ever was.”

  Diana drew in a breath of surprised pain. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She could only stare at her mother with tears blurring the edges of her sight. Her father was a fool? And now she was a fool, too? Diana shook her head and stood up from the chair.

  “Mother, I think you should go.”

  Her mother leaned back in the couch, watching Diana. Slowly, her face softened into something resembling tenderness. “Baby, I only say these things to make you realize that you have to be stronger.”

  Diana crossed her arms over her chest. She bit the inside of her cheek, pushing aside the tears that threatened. “I’ve been strong for this whole family since I was sixteen years old,” she said. “When will the family ever be strong for me?” Tears slipped down her cheeks, salting her tongue. “I love him. God help me, I do. I may be stupid for falling like this, but I feel like I can’t even have that, my own mistake, without having to take care of the family first.” Her chin trembled and the tears came harder. “When will the family ever take care of me?”

  She collapsed into the armchair under the weight of her sadness, the crushing realization that her family cared more for its hatred of one man than for her.

  She flinched when her mother settled on the arm of the chair and touched her shoulder. “Diana, I
love you. We all do. But we just—”

  “Don’t!” she cried, moving from under her mother’s hand. “There’s always a ‘but’ with you. Why is that?”

  “Strength costs, Diana,” her mother said. “But if you’re strong, you can withstand anything. That’s what I want for you—not the sadness that your father had. Not the sadness that I have.”

  “How can I be anything but sad when the only thing you’ve encouraged me to do was hate a stranger and give up my life for yours?” She took a sharp breath at the look on her mother’s face. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did.” Her mother sighed. “I know you’ve done a lot to keep the family on its feet since your father…left us. And it’s gotten to be a habit for all of us to rely on you for so much. I should have stopped this before, but I admit we all got used to you being there no matter what.” Her mother sighed. “Don’t cry, baby.” She lightly touched Diana’s hair. “Please.”

  Diana looked up at her mother, drawing a deep breath. “I can’t be strong like you want. I can only be myself.”

  Her mother opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, she pressed her cool palms against Diana’s cheeks, enveloping her in the scent of earth and the irises from her garden. “Then I’ll be strong for you.” She smoothed Diana’s hair away from her face. “If Marcus Stanfield is what you want, open your heart to him. And if he’s the man for you, he’ll make his way to where he belongs.”

  Diana closed her eyes and nodded, feeling the last of her tears slip away.

  Chapter 24

  Marcus slept badly. He’d spent a restless night with sleep eluding him, and he’d been haunted by the traces of Diana’s scent in his sheets and by the pain on her face when he admitted to buying up the land in Baltree Heights. But a result of his sleeplessness was a determination to win her back, to show her the canceled paperwork for the sale and ask her to allow him back into her life again.

  At barely nine o’clock, he called his secretary.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stanfield.” Irene greeted him with her usual gentle efficiency, showing no surprise that he was calling her so early. The sound of her fingers steadily clacking away at the computer keys reached him through the phone.

  “Good morning. Do you have the canceled contract for the Baltree Heights project on your desk? The courier was supposed to deliver it to you by this morning.”

  “Canceled contract?” The question in her voice made him freeze. “The contract wasn’t canceled, sir. The money and deeds already changed hands, as of eight o’clock this morning.”

  “What?” He paused at the top of the stairs, the cell phone pressed to his ear. “Baltree is supposed to be dead in the water.”

  “Your father called shortly after you and I talked.” Worry threaded through her voice. “He told me everything was proceeding forward as before. I thought it was fine since the lawyers already knew.”

  Marcus’s hand tightened on the banister. “My father called you?”

  “Yes. Is something wrong?”

  He forced his teeth to unclench. “No. Nothing is wrong.” He took a slow breath. “I won’t be coming into the office after all. But you can reach me on my phone if you need anything.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Marcus hung up the phone, wanting to hurl it against the wall. What had his father done? And why?

  He left the house with only one destination in mind—his father’s office. There, he politely pushed past his father’s secretary until he was at the office door. He rapped quickly against the polished wood before stepping inside. His father was sitting at his desk, a slim middle-aged woman in a black suit perched across from him. They stopped in mid-conversation when Marcus walked in. His father took one look at his face before turning back to the woman.

  “Let’s continue the conversation another time, Maite.”

  The woman stood. “Of course, Quentin.” Her voice, cool and well-modulated, held the touch of a Spanish accent.

  Once the woman left, his father stood and walked from behind the desk, his face cautiously welcoming. The pale gray suit fit him well, emphasizing the aura of power he naturally wore.

  “Good morning, Marcus. It’s a surprise to see you on this side of the bridge so early.”

  “Why did you push the deal through after I told you it was canceled?”

  His father gave him the hard-eyed stare Marcus had seen him level on his opponents across the boardroom.

  “You were making a decision based on a woman’s desires,” his father said. “I looked into your Diana Hobbes and saw where she works. How often do I have to tell you never to make important decisions based on what a woman wants?”

  Marcus winced, thinking then of his mother and how she had wanted the family to stay together, had wanted Cherish to stay close to home instead of being shipped off to boarding school abroad, but that hadn’t mattered to his father. “My decision was already made. And it was mine to make.”

  “It was also mine to un-make.” The look his father gave him was firm. Immovable.

  “This is bull and you know it.”

  “Careful, son.” His father’s jaw hardened.

  “I’ve been careful with you my entire life, and look where it’s gotten me.” He jerked his chin toward his father as the anger washed over him. “You don’t even respect me enough to honor my business decisions.”

  “You earn respect. You don’t get respect just because you’re my son.”

  “And you don’t get to disrespect me just because you’re my father.” He clenched his fist hard against his thigh. “It’s done, Dad. No more. Let’s break these ties of ours right here and now. If you can’t treat me as an equal, then I see no use in us working together.”

  “Very well.” His father’s face was a stone wall. “If that’s the decision you’re going to make, then I’ll stand by it.” Some unnamed emotion moved across his face too quickly for Marcus to identify. “Now, if that’s all, I have a meeting to get back to.”

  “Yes, get back to your meeting,” Marcus spat. “Get back to screwing people over who have the misfortune of being in your path.”

  He turned without another word and left the office. An impotent anger toward his father and toward himself burned in his chest. What his father had done came as no surprise to him. Quentin Stanfield had always had a ruthless streak. He was just surprised at how badly it hurt when it was used against him. His father knew about Diana. He knew the hopes Marcus harbored regarding their budding relationship. But his father simply did not care.

  He didn’t want Diana to find out from anyone else. Marcus left his father’s building and headed straight to her office. Minutes later, he found himself in her neighborhood, which would soon look nothing like it did now. All the tidy homes would be razed, and the grandmothers and grandfathers who’d been there for years would be forced out, a massive condo and strip mall of gourmet grocers and doggie day cares built in their midst. Marcus swallowed hard and rang the doorbell.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “You don’t have to ring the bell, you know.” The young receptionist, Carla, greeted him with a welcoming smile. “You’re here to see Diana, right?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  She pushed the door open to let him into the building that smelled of air-conditioning, warm paper and ink and fresh coffee.

  “She’s in with a family right now, but just give her a few minutes.”

  She indicated a small alcove nearby with a set of about seven chairs. Silver metal and functional. The kind he was used to seeing in casual dining restaurants in Miami and TV cop shows. He sank into one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs and waited.

  Just like the last time he had been there during business hours, the office was a flurry of activity. The chime of the occasional phone ringing. Muffled echoes of conversations from another room. Somewhere, the distant ping of a microwave’s bell. Not the breakneck pace of desperation, but the movement of a place where thi
ngs were always being done because the work was such a pleasure. Guilt stabbed at him all over again.

  He looked up when a couple walked out of the main office area and into the hallway with the receptionist. The woman held a child’s hand, a boy who looked about eight years old, while her husband walked slightly ahead of them to open the front door for them to leave.

  “Thank you again so much, Ms. Hobbes. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

  Marcus’s head jerked at the sound of Diana’s last name. She walked behind the wife. Pretty and solemn in a pale yellow dress, a wide black belt around her waist, her hair in a tight bun. She looked professional but warm as she shook first the husband’s hand, then kissed the wife and little boy on the cheek.

  Once they were outside, she waved goodbye to the family and closed the door. Her faint smile decorated her mouth, although there was a certain tightness around her eyes. She turned to walk back to her office.

  “Someone is here to see you, Diana.” Carla delivered the news as if she were handing Diana a gift.

  “Really? Who? I’m not expecting anyone else until after lunch.”

  The receptionist inclined her head in Marcus’s direction. He stood up. Shoved a hand in his pocket. “Diana.”

  Her lips tightened. “Marcus.” She nodded her thanks at the receptionist, then looked at him. He saw the struggle on her face. To talk to him or not. To throw him out of her space or be adult about this. “What brings you here?” she asked.

  “Something important that I want to discuss with you.” His fingers clenched and released around the keys in his pocket.

  “Come to my office,” she grudgingly said.

  He followed her and closed the door behind him. In the middle of the room, she paused, glancing between her desk and the couch. Finally, she made a decision and sat on the couch. She crossed her legs as he took a seat next to her. “Thank you again for not going through with the land purchase. I really appreciate that. Instead of using our recent donations to move, we can use them to expand our services like we’ve been talking about for years.” A light of excitement flickered in her eyes. She glanced at him, a tentative look, inviting him to share her pleasure.