by Serena Grey
I hear my wild cries fill the room, my voice begging for more, screaming his name almost incoherently. I hear his grunts, rough feral sounds of pleasure as he nears his own peak, and then I lose myself, I lose control of my body, my whole being seizing with pleasure so intense that I almost pass out.
Or maybe I pass out. The next thing I remember is Landon untying me, and cradling me in his arms, the warmth of his climax still hot inside me, and the vibration of both devices gone. He lavishes kisses on my face and hair and holds me like that until I fall asleep.
THE next day, I go through my work in a haze of pleasure, my face flushing furiously whenever I think back to last night and the truly indescribable sex with Landon.
I work for half the day and spend the afternoon moving my things to my new office. Liz Buckley checks in on me and asks me how I like the place.
“It’s great,” I tell her. It’s nicer than my former office at least. It’s bigger and the view is much better.
“I hope you still think so in a few weeks,” she laughs. “Our deadlines may be harsher here than what you’re used to. We publish every week.”
I return her smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Her eyes go to the flowers on my desk, lilies, my office-warming present from Landon. I’d told him my schedule for the day, so they’d arrived in the new office just after lunch. “Those are lovely.”
“Yes.” I look in the direction of the flowers, and sigh, not only because of how beautiful they are, but also because of how much I love the person who sent them.
Liz is smiling at me, no doubt interpreting the expression on my face to mean that I’m a lovesick puppy. “We’ll meet later to go through your lineup for next week before you take your week off.”
I was still very relieved that my request for time off for Laurie’s wedding so soon after my employment had been approved. All I had to do was conduct an interview and write an article about the rising star of the Barbadian literary scene during that one week, which wasn’t such a bad deal. I was already reading one of his books and it was excellent.
I start to say something back to Liz, but she’s looking at something outside the office. “Ms. Weyland is here,” she says in a hushed voice.
“Oh,” I don’t have time to add anything else before Liz is saying in a formal tone. “Good afternoon, Ms. Weyland.”
“Hello, Liz.” Gertrude Weyland’s familiar face appears at the door. She’s wearing a severe black dress, her black hair is up in a loose knot, her lips red and her face otherwise free of makeup, making her look years younger than her age. “How are you, Rachel?”
I haven’t seen her since that night with Jack at her apartment, and now my mind goes to what Landon said about finding out if she had anything to do with me getting this job. “I’m great,” I tell her. “Just settling in.”
“Good.” She gives me a small smile and starts to turn away.
“Ms. Weyland,” I say haltingly, making her stop. “May I have a moment?”
She looks at Liz, who gives me an encouraging smile before leaving. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just… I applied for a job here more than two years ago. I was a little surprised to get the invitation for an interview.” I leave it as an open-ended question, watching her face.
“You surmised that I had something to do with it, and now you want to know why.”
“I suppose,” I say, feeling a little out of my depth. Her head is angled up, her eyes intent on mine. I try to read her expression, but it’s impossible to know what’s going through her mind.
“Let’s say I did,” she smiles a little. “What do you think were my reasons?”
I wonder how much she’s enjoying this. “I have no idea.”
“Do you always worry so much when you get the things you want?”
I stare at her, silent. I have no idea how to reply. Do I?
When I don’t say anything, she chuckles. “You signed an employment contract that protects you as much as it protects the Gilt Review. You obviously have nothing to worry about. So why are you bothered?”
“I’m not,” I deny. “I just wanted to know for sure.”
She smiles. “I will concede that after our conversation the other night, I was impressed. Add that to the fact that you actually want to work here...” She shrugs.
So she had something to do with it. “Well… Thank you for the opportunity.”
She makes a bored face and starts to leave, then stops herself. “You know that Jack is leaving Gilt?”
“I heard,” I say noncommittally. I don’t know how much she knows about my prior relationship with her son, and I don’t want to make it a subject.
“There goes my grand plan of moving across an ocean to be closer to him.” She sighs. “Like all grand plans.” For an instant, her face softens, and I’m actually sad for her and Jack, and the lack of communication that makes it so hard for them to have a real relationship.
“Well. Enjoy your week in Barbados, and make sure you come back with an excellent article,” She arches a brow, and I find myself thinking of Jessica Layner, and how alike they are. “Okay?”
“Yes,” I smile back. “Of course.”
AFTER Gertrude leaves me alone, I spend a few moments deep in thought, feeling some sympathy for her, and also for Jack. But ultimately, it’s none of my business, and now that I’ve got my anxiety about her motives out of my mind, I can concentrate on my job.
I spend the next few hours arranging my desk and personalizing the office. There’s a frame on my desk with a picture of me with my family, and another one of Landon and me. Laurie sent me a Doctor Seuss clock for the wall, which is cute and funny at the same time.
In the evening, I leave work early to get ready to go out to dinner with Landon and the Hayes. They are staying at the Swanson Court, but because of their full social schedule for the few days they’re in town, we decide to meet at the restaurant instead of driving over together.
Landon arrives when I’m almost ready, dropping a kiss on my cheek before changing quickly into an evening suit.
“Look at you all sexy,” I tell him when he comes to help me zip up my dress. He looks superb and he smells heavenly. “I don’t know how you expect a girl to function when you look like a fantasy all the time.”
“You function well enough for me,” he says with a suggestive smile, making me blush. “I love the fact that you blush. Underneath all your bravado you’re really a prude.”
“We both know you couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“You know how you can show me how wrong I am.” His hand curves around the swell of my ass and he leans in to whisper in my ear. “In fact I think you should remind me now, how far from a prude you are.”
I ignore the frisson of excitement that moves through me as well as the sweet ache that begins between my legs, and concentrate instead on adjusting Landon’s tie. “You’re unbelievable,” I tell him, “and if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”
Wilson and Betsy are waiting at the restaurant, and the attentive manager leads us to a table with a spectacular view of the park. After we greet each other and take our seats, we talk about the play and about Aidan, who they saw at lunch. Betsy is fretting about how he must be stressing himself, while Wilson assures her that he’s sure Aidan is having the time of his life.
We’ve just finished dessert when I see Landon’s gaze lock on a table at another corner of the restaurant. I follow his line of sight, looking past a few tables until I see one with two occupants, one of them a familiar face. Evans Sinclair.
My eyes meet his and I recoil from the naked hatred I see in their depths. Shuddering, I shift my gaze to the other occupant of the table. He’s an older man, unfamiliar to me. I turn my gaze back to Landon, a worried frown on my face. I’m wondering what Evans is doing in New York, and if it has anything to do with Landon, and I’m annoyed that a scumbag like Evans Sinclair seems to be abou
t to ruin our evening.
Landon sees the look on my face and gives me a reassuring smile. His hand covers mine on the table. “More wine?” he asks, refilling my glass when I nod my assent.
He turns to Wilson and starts to discuss the Newport hotel. Wilson is worried about the viability of the project, but Landon tells him he’s already drawn a contract up with the owners and he thinks it will turn out to be a sound investment.
I allow myself to breathe. If Landon’s not worried then maybe I have no reason to be. I turn my attention back to our conversation, intent on enjoying myself, but just before we leave, Evans Sinclair’s companion gets up, leaving him at the table, and on his way to the exit, he sees Landon and comes over to our table.
“Landon Court,” he says, proffering a hand to shake Landon and then Wilson. It’s been ages.”
There is a certain gravitas to the way he holds himself, and I attribute it to his age and obvious success. He turns in my direction, smiles, and nods at Betsy and me. “I’m Devlin Barkeley,” he says, still smiling.
The name sounds familiar, but I’m not quite sure where I’ve heard it before. “Rachel Foster,” I hear Landon say, “my girlfriend, and Betsy Hayes, Wilson’s wife.”
The man smiles at Betsy. “I’m charmed,” he declares. “I tried to hire your husband away from the Courts a long time ago. He wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“He was happy where he was,” Betsy replies, her face showing how unimpressed she is by the man’s suaveness.
He shrugs, the charming smile still on his face as he turns back to Landon. “I stopped to congratulate you on your accomplishment with the Gold Dust. I have every confidence in your continued success.”
Landon gives him a measuring look. “Your choice of dinner companion doesn’t give me much confidence in your words.”
The man laughs and looks back to where Evans remains at their table, glowering in our direction. “Evans is my godson. I owe him a fair hearing, but I owe it to myself to make sound judgments.” He smiles across our table again. “Have a good evening.”
I watch him leave, and a few minutes later, Evans follows him. He’s swaying slightly, and I guess he’s drunk. As he passes our table, he raises both hands and flips Landon, who ignores him.
After he has gone, I turn to Landon. “Who was the other guy?”
Landon shrugs, a small frown on his brow. “He’s the chairman of a conglomerate that acquires and manages hotel chains.”
“Acquires? Like takeovers?”
“Yes,” Wilson offers. “They take the soul out of hotels and kill them with so-called efficiency. Sinclair there was probably trying to get him to try to acquire Swanson Court International from under Landon’s feet.”
“If he can,” Betsy says scornfully.
I admire their confidence, but I look at Landon, wondering what harm a powerful conglomerate could do if they really wanted to hurt him and his brand, but then the man had all but assured Landon that he was safe.
That was something at least.
Landon senses my worry and gives me a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “He doesn’t matter. The Swanson Court International is a very strong institution. I’ve dedicated my life to ensuring that. Even if Evans got a few people to sympathize with him, they’d be on a fool’s errand trying to hurt me.”
The conviction in his tone is both reassuring and in a way, sexy. We finish our dinner, and after Landon replies the maître d’s obsequious inquiries as to how we enjoyed our meal, he leads me outside, his hand a light and welcome weight on the small of my back. Wilson and Betsy’s driver is already in front to pick them up, and they go into the car after we exchange hugs. We watch them drive off, waiting for Joe to bring the car around.
When Joe arrives, Landon opens the rear door for me, waiting for me to climb inside before he goes around to the other side. I look up when he appears at the glass and starts to open the door, and then I hear the loud rev of a car engine. At first, I’m confused, not sure what to make of the glare of headlamps on Landon’s face and body, then my heart explodes in paralyzing fear as I realize that there’s a car coming toward him at full speed.
I watch as if in slow motion as Landon reacts. He opens the door and swiftly climbs into the car, shutting the door a moment before a black car zooms past, almost scraping the side of the car, the tires screeching as it comes to a stop a few yards in front of us.
I reach for Landon, frantic, wanting to assure myself that he’s all right, but he’s already pushing the door open. Joe is out of the car, striding purposefully toward the driver who almost hit Landon.
The driver is Evans Sinclair. I watch as he exits the black car. He looks unsteady on his feet but has an asshole grin on his face. I push open my door and leave the car just in time to hear him say in a loud, slurry voice. “Come on! It was an accident. I lost control of my car for a moment.”
Joe has him in a grip, and Landon walks up to them, the barely controlled rage in his every step making me nervous. What is he going to do?
I take a step forward and stop when I see him jab a finger in Evans Sinclair’s face. I can’t hear what he’s saying to him, but after a few terse-sounding words, he turns around and comes back toward me.
“Are you alright?” he asks me.
I nod. “He tried to kill you.”
“He’s stupid,” Landon mutters, “and drunk.” He opens the front passenger door for me, and I climb in, watching as he goes around to the driver’s side. He gets behind the wheel. “Joe will drive him home and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, or someone else.”
‘Shouldn’t you call the police or something?” There are at least two valets and the doorman for the restaurant who witnessed what happened. I frown at Landon, wondering why he’s being so easy on Evans. He could have hurt you.”
He starts the car. “Let’s go home,” he says tiredly, sliding the car onto the road. I look from his face to my hands on my lap. They’re still shaking from the fear of moments before. Why is he letting Evans off so easy? I don’t want to latch on to the closest reason in my mind. The fact that Evans is Ava’s brother, that Landon doesn’t want to cause Ava or her family any embarrassment, maybe because he still cares about her.
The thought is unsettling, a dent in the confidence I have in his feelings for me. I shake my head, pushing my fears to the back of my mind. He probably has his reasons. Negative publicity would likely be as bad for him as it would be for the Sinclairs.
I watch his fingers on the wheel as he drives, the frown on his face, the look of concentration on his features, and suddenly, the profound relief that he’s safe overcomes me.
He’s not hurt.
He’s not hurt.
I want to cry. I want to tell him to stop the car just so I can hold him.
At the apartment, Landon is quiet, his hand clasping mine as we make our way up to the bedroom. I can tell that he has a lot on his mind. We prepare for bed, and I’m still anxious, mostly because I can’t shake the thought that Evans might be a real danger to him.
Landon takes a call from Joe, maybe to tell him that he has taken Evans to wherever he’s staying. I listen to the terse responses on his side of the conversation, and when he comes to bed, I press myself into his chest, reveling in the comfort and warmth of his arms as he wraps them around me. My fear making me hold him tighter, making me wish that I could somehow ensure his safety forever.
THE next morning when I wake up, Landon is not in bed. I felt him leave sometime during the night, but he didn’t return as he usually does close to morning. I get off the bed, washing my face and brushing my teeth before I go downstairs in search of him.
The door to the study is open, and I hear Landon’s voice before I reach the doorway. He’s talking softly; his voice gentle.
“I would have called last night, but I didn’t want to wake you,” I hear him say. “He’s your brother and he’s out of control. It’s time to stop talking and actually do somethin
g about him.”
I stop walking, realizing that he’s talking to Ava. I wait, not sure whether to go on, suddenly wrestling with the feeling that I’m intruding, which is absurd, or at least would be absurd if I didn’t have that lingering fear about his relationship with Ava Sinclair.
“Ava,” I hear him say. Am I imagining the intimacy in his voice when he says her name? I picture Ava on the other end, beautiful, confused, and concerned, telling him how she doesn’t know what to do. “I don’t know what to say,” Landon continues. “Try rehab or a sanatorium. The next time he tries anything like what he did last night I won’t be so easy on him.”
I turn around, heading for the kitchen. I put on the coffee and sit at the island. I should go back to bed, I think tiredly. It’s Saturday after all, and what’s a Saturday without a sleep-in? However, I know that I won’t sleep a wink, not after last night, not after listening to Landon talk to Ava. My mind is in too much turmoil.
I try to shrug Ava out of my mind, recalling all the assumptions I’ve made in the past. I shouldn’t let my fears get in the way of trusting Landon, however insistent they may be.
It’s almost an hour before Landon joins me, he finds me still sitting at the island, surrounded by the aroma of fresh coffee.
“Good morning,” he says gently. He’s already showered, dressed in light pants and a gray sweater. His eyes flick over my face, full of concern. “Are you okay?”
I smile and shrug. “I’m fine. Good morning.”
He looks like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes to the phone and orders breakfast. Esmeralda arrives soon after, with waffles and sliced fruit, before moving on to start her housekeeping.
I’m not hungry. A lot has happened to make me lose my appetite, but I eat anyway, my eyes on Landon, waiting for him to tell me about his phone call, anything to make me feel less like Ava still has some sort of hold on him.