House Of Payne: Scout

by Stacy Gail

  “Hell, would it be so bad if it did shake out that way?” Tonya wanted to know. “Personally it’s fine by me if Scout disappears for a while, as long as she eventually shows up walking funny because she’s spent all that time on her back. Or knees. Or whatever. I’m fine with it, because a man like she’s described is a man she can be happy spending the rest of her life with.”

  “I could see that happening,” Scout said before she thought it through, then when she saw both pairs of eyes lock onto her, she tried a hasty backpedal. “I mean disappearing for a while, not spending the rest of my life with Ivar. We’re not that serious yet.”

  “Yet?” Tonya and Sass echoed.

  “I mean we’re not that serious.” Then, when that didn’t sit quite right, she bit her lip. “Yet.”

  Her former foster sisters exchanged glances before Tonya lifted a brow. “Are you falling for him, Scout?”

  “No. I don’t know.” She sighed, too tired to muddle through it all. “You both know how it is, being a product of the foster-care system. Half the time all I think I’m really doing is looking for a place to belong. But the fact is, I already have a solid home that I can rely on, thanks to Frank Bournival and my work. I have a family, including you and all the other strays. I’m more secure than I’ve ever been, so I’m not sure why I’d be looking for a place to belong with Ivar.”

  Tonya pursed her lips. “Who says you have to have a reason? Maybe you just like being with him, and that’s enough.”

  “I don’t know what to make of what I feel when I’m with him.” At that, Scout shot them a sheepish smile. “Or when I’m not with him. For instance, I’ve been fighting the urge to call him for the past ten minutes, just so I can hear his voice. That’s never happened to me before, and it’s freaking me out.”

  “Oh, boy,” Sass muttered, shaking her head. “You’re definitely in the process of sliding off the radar.”

  “Sass, who cares if that happens? What matters is whether or not this bonerific dude makes Scout happy.”

  Sass hefted her hand basket up into her arms. “Mommies aren’t supposed to say things like bonerific. It’s like a law.”

  “How the hell do you think I got to be a mommy, immaculate conception? Besides, the description fits. Scout.” Tonya came over to give her a quick, one-armed hug. “Try not to overthink why this guy makes you feel the way you do. Just feel it, and see what happens.”

  “Sure.” She shot first Sass, then Tonya a dry glance. “Because that’s not a scary thing to do at all.”

  “Of course it’s scary, but you’re no coward. If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know you tried your best. And if it does…” Tonya’s smile was a brilliant work of art, full of happiness, confidence and serenity. “It becomes your whole world.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ivar unlocked the door to his apartment, then cautiously cracked it open. In a heartbeat, a tiny pink nose poked through, followed by an orange and white muzzle. One wild green-gold eye looked up at him, pupil dilated.

  “Back.” Wedging his foot in the crack, he slid his leg through while gently nudging the small, furry body back. “Maceio…”

  “I’ve got her.” Two scratched-up hands appeared to drag the little calico cat back just enough for Ivar to sneak inside. He could only imagine what he must look like edging warily into his own apartment, but he no longer cared about appearance. After having her less than a week, his new furry companion had escaped the apartment twice and had given both him and Maceio a merry run through the hallways.

  “She’s one hell of a door-dasher.” Shrugging out of his jacket, Ivar dropped his keys in the bowl and turned to see Maceio back away from the animal, the knuckle of his thumb in his mouth. “Uh-oh. Did she tag you again?”

  “That cat hates me.” Shaking his head, he headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to go and try to stop the bleeding. Oh, and I was able to get a hold of Marcel Dubois earlier. I left his number on your desk.”

  “Thanks.” Eyeing the small cat now innocently sitting in the middle of the living room like that was her intention all along, he shook his head. It had been a moment of total lunacy, going back to Navy Pier to find Scout’s little stray. It had taken hours and several cans of cat food, but he’d finally managed to lure her out. All things considered, getting her into the crate had been the simple part. Convincing her that she didn’t have to try and escape for her nine lives was another.

  For the countless time he questioned his sanity.

  For the countless time his sanity had no response.

  “How are you this evening, little one?”

  At the sound of his voice, only a bat-like ear twitched while those huge eyes locked on him like the was the Destroyer Of All Felines. How had Scout made this wary thing come right up to her? She must be the cat-whisperer.

  Maybe some sweet talk would work. “You’re looking very pretty today.”

  Nothing.

  “And you didn’t open an artery in Maceio this time. Good girl.”

  Another ear twitch.

  “Yes you are. You’re a good girl, little Navy Pier cat.”

  She slow-blinked and looked away, unimpressed.

  He sighed and headed for the kitchen. In an instant he gained a second shadow. Food seemed to be the only key that did the trick, but the moment she had a full belly she would no doubt go back to looking at him like she suspected him of ritualistic cat sacrifice.

  Smashing up a can of smelly cat food on a paper plate, he set it down near the water fountain he’d picked up for her but had yet to see her use, and headed to his office. Time was what he needed to tame the calico, but for right now he had other fish to fry.

  “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear from your representative.” The mildly effete voice of Marcel Dubois hit his ear, sparking a slow burn in his blood. Even if he hadn’t already possessed a growing dislike for the man, the affected breathy tone he used made Ivar want to crawl through the phone and knock a real man’s voice into him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I need clarification on the information you gave me regarding your late boss, Frank Bournival.”

  A through-the-nose scoff reached his ears. The need to reach through the phone intensified.

  “Clarification?” Though they were speaking English, Marcel repeated the word in French, breaking that last part of it into two syllables with such emphasis it made Ivar grimace. That was one hell of a weird accent he had. “I was very clear that you needed to do your research regarding Frank and where you come from, Monsieur Fournier.”

  “See? That right there. That is the goddamn definition of unclear. Vague insinuations like that make it sound like you are fucking with me. That would be a very bad idea, Dubois. Because if you are fucking with me, I might get it into my head that turnabout is fair play, and fuck with you. And just in case you missed it, this is something you really do not want me to do.”

  There was a beat of silence. “I’m not fucking with you.”

  “No more games, then. The last time we spoke, you said your late employer wanted to lay an inheritance on me worthy of a father to his son.”

  “But he was talked out of giving you anything by that gold-digger, Scout Upton. I’m sure of it. You need to turn her life upside down if you want to get any answers.”

  “Oh, I will get answers, but they are going to come from you. Did Frank Bournival tell you that I was his biological child, yes or no?”

  “Well…”

  “Do not fuck with me.”

  “I…” There was an ominous beat of silence. “He never specifically stated that, no.”

  His heart sank. For years he’d hoped for a miracle—that a good man was really his father. Bournival had fit the part as perfectly as if he’d been called up from central casting.

  Damn.

  “That was a conclusion you jumped to, though I can understand why,” he went on, this time less breathy but more high-pitched and almost no accent at all. Poser assho
le. “when Frank mentioned you and your mother Eliane while he was setting up his will, I also wondered if he was your father. He seemed very concerned for your welfare.”

  Just not concerned enough to actually check on him, Ivar thought bitterly. “So there was no concrete reason for you to contact me. You stupid son of a bitch, I am going to make you suffer in unimaginable ways—”

  “The reason I contacted you was because I know Bournival had a connection with your mother, and therefore to you. It was this connection I thought you needed to know about.”

  “Why come forward now, rather than at the time of Bournival’s death over four years ago?”

  “As I said, he had a connection with your mother. Unfortunately, your mother also has a connection with Lady Albertine, a daunting woman by any measure and a woman Frank hated. It was only when Albertine was placed in a nursing home that I felt safe enough to approach you.”

  That sounded about right, even if everything else had more than a whiff of bullshit about it. “But what have you approached me with, exactly? Nothing but innuendo and a mysterious connection my mother and Bournival shared. What connection are you talking about, and why do you believe it is something I need to know?”

  “Frank Bournival was your mother’s godfather. Did you know that?”

  He hadn’t, but his lack of knowledge wasn’t surprising. Since his mother had the rather unfortunate urge to kill herself whenever his name was mentioned, he’d done his best to stay the hell away from her. “You really are a piece of work, Dubois. First you insinuate the man might be my father, but now he is my mother’s godfather? I need a fucking scorecard to keep up with your bullshit.”

  “I repeat, I never said I had proof Frank was your father.”

  Merde, if he ever got his hands on this bastard… “I am about to hang up, but before I do, let me give you some advice—hide from me as best you can. I am going to make it my mission in life to crush you like a fucking bug for sending me on this wild goose chase and dragging Scout through the mud.”

  “I wasn’t trying to mislead you,” came the quick reply, and Ivar took grim satisfaction in hearing the other man’s fear. “I’m telling you only the facts as I know them. Frank mentioned both you and your mother Eliane while restructuring his will to include that tattoo guy, Sebastian Payne and his sidekick, Scout. He was your mother’s godfather, and he said he knew the truth about your life and who you really are. That was when it occurred to me that the only person left alive who might have answers for you besides your mother is Scout Upton, since she inherited his penthouse and its contents. That’s where things get tricky. I still believe that bitch won’t want to admit to anything, because I’m sure she didn’t get into Frank’s will just because she has a great personality. You’ll have to break apart her life if you want to get any answers.”

  “I notice you veer off the fact trail when it comes to Scout,” he pointed out, disgusted and ready to just leave the whole mess behind him where it belonged. “You really seem to have a problem with her.”

  “She’s a nightmare wrapped in a pretty package,” came the surprisingly savage reply. “Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I think you are the one who underestimated the both of us. I will not contact you again, nor will you contact me. If I hear that you are trying to undermine Scout in any way, you will be the one who gets broken apart. Forget she exists, and I might decide to let you live in peace.”

  Peace would be nice, he thought as he hung up and tossed the phone onto his desk. Though he hated to admit it, part of this was his fault. He’d heard what he wanted to hear when Dubois told him about Frank Bournival. He took that one hint and ran wild with it, hoping against hope that it actually meant a good man like Frank could be his father.

  Instead, he was back at square one, being the spawn of a monster.

  A fluid flash of white, orange and black suddenly leapt up onto his desk, startling him. Cats, he thought, watching her saunter over to sniff at his phone before scraping her face along its edge. Okay, maybe he wasn’t back where he started. He’d made great strides with Scout, and he now had a four-legged, tri-colored ninja that thought he was okay as long as he knew how to open up cans of cat food.

  “I will take my wins where I can get them, cat,” he said, watching the animal snap around to face him at the sound of his voice. Carefully he held out his hand, ready to snatch it back if it looked like she was in the mood to draw blood. Instead, she scraped her face against his fingers, and the faintest of purrs reached his ears.

  Though she hated to admit it, Scout did drop off of Sass’s radar over the next several days, and the blame landed squarely on Ivar’s shoulders. If she’d been asked what kept her so busy, she would have said she wanted to share her city with a newcomer. But as she planned their days around city-oriented activities—from taking in a Cubs pre-season game, to exploring Millennium Park, to taking tea at the Langham Hotel, to sharing her favorite spots at the Botanic Garden—deep down she knew she wasn’t sharing her city with Ivar.

  She was sharing herself.

  That became painfully obvious when she drove him by the now-abandoned, graffiti-covered house where she’d seen her first flower. Looking at that hovel wasn’t going to make Ivar love her city. Nor would he fall in love with Chicago when she took him on a tour of other foster homes, including the one she’d been removed from after she’d called the police on the foster father she’d beaned with a paperweight she’d kept under her pillow for protection.

  None of that could ever spark a feeling like love for her hometown. But it might make him know her well enough to care about the person she had grown to be. Tough, a commoner, an orphan. This was who she was. But above all those other labels, she was a survivor.

  Just like him.

  He had gone through so much in his life where he’d had no control, and it was important that he knew she understood. She knew what it was like to be yanked around like a dog on a leash by people who had power over her. It was the loneliest feeling in the world, to be so utterly at the mercy of others, and to be voiceless when it came to crying out for help. When they’d been kids, they hadn’t had anyone to cry out to. No hero had been waiting in the wings to save them, so they’d had to save themselves.

  And when they hadn’t been able to do that, they’d had the choice of enduring whatever hell life was putting them through, or letting it kill them.

  More than anything, she wanted him to know she understood.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as she slipped a Swiss dot black swing dress over her head before heading into her bedroom to glance out the window. Crap. The forecast had been for no rain, but apparently no one told Mother Nature that. With ominous clouds rolling in across the lake, it looked like she and Ivar would have to change their picnic plans for some kind of indoor activity.

  Between the two of them, she was pretty sure they could come up with something.

  The buzz of the intercom had her skipping over—dear God, skipping—to verify clearance for Ivar. The thud of her heart was so wild she could hear it as she stood waiting at the elevator doors. It was absurd to be this out-of-her-mind excited to see him again, but that didn’t stop her from flinging her arms around him the moment the elevator doors opened, pushing him back into the wall of the private car.

  “This elevator ride gets longer every day,” she said by way of greeting a scant moment before Ivar’s mouth closed in on hers, turning her until her back was pressed into a corner.

  Ah, heaven.

  When he’d enjoyed her mouth to his heart’s content, he broke the connection by smiling down at her. “I also thought it was a slow ride coming up here, but I thought it was because I was so anxious to see you.” His lips touched to hers once more, as if he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her when she was this close. “And to taste you.” The hand at her back slid over the swell of her ass and gave it a possessive squeeze. “And to feel you. Have I told you that I am crazy about your ass?”

  She l
aughed, and it sounded as breathless as he made her feel. “Not today.”

  “It is one of my favorite parts of you.” Without looking down, he kicked a basket she hadn’t noticed at his feet out of the way, while behind him the doors whispered closed. “But then, when I have your beautiful breasts in my hands and pushed together so I can bury my face there, then that is my favorite part of you. And when I feel those silky long legs of yours clamp around me to push me deeper into you, then they become my favorites.” With that rare smile glowing deep in his eyes, he brought her fingers to his mouth to run his lips over her knuckles in a way that was so gentle, so cherishing, it made her heart stutter. When had she ever been cherished? “Every part of you is my favorite. Every smile you give me is my treasure. Every touch, my serenity.”

  Her heart paused in its faithful beating. How was she not supposed to swoon after something like that? “Then I guess it’s a good thing you get to have me all to yourself now that bad weather is rolling in. Unless you want to keep to our original plan by heading outside and into the rain?”

  “I like the idea of not sharing you with the rest of the world.” Those pale eyes looked at her from over her knuckles in a way that left her hot all over. “Is there such a thing as an indoor picnic?”

  “There is now. But I’m not hungry yet. Are you?”

  “Not for a picnic. But I am for you.”

  Yes. “Good answer.”

  “Glad you like it.” His hand released hers to delve into her hair, while the other one stayed firmly cupped to her southern cheek and pressed her into the slowly hardening length of him. “Will the elevator go back down to the lobby?”

  “No.” Damp heat bloomed between her legs, thoroughly turned on by his arousal and sorry now that she’d bothered to wear a thong. Maybe it was best to adopt a no-undies policy whenever she was seeing him. “It stays up here with me. Security downstairs doesn’t summon it for guests unless I’ve given the approval. It’ll stay put as long as we don’t hit any buttons.”