The wind rises from the west—a wild wind that washes sea-foam into my face; it’s a wind without cold yet full of elemental fury. Keary squeezes my hand as we leave the sea and fly over land, up over the coastline.
“A lighthouse,” says Keary softly, as we share the vision together, bodies separate, but thoughts still as one. We continue flying over forest and glade and village, until we reach Boston, then the suburbs, then the fields of Andover.
“Harris House,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, as I gaze in amazement at the grand house, the complex roof lines, the lonely shutters like a doll’s closed eyes, and the gardens in full bloom, all light gray in the moonlight. The house of my grandmother, the house now under my protecting wings; wings that are not yet fully formed.
I tremble as I watch a black storm driving down from the north, a brilliant bolt of lightning eviscerating the dark sky. A storm is coming to Harris House, a storm I know I’m unprepared to deal with, a storm so powerful it could rip the house down to its very foundation.
“Do you see what I see?” I ask Keary, unable to believe I am alone in this vision.
“A storm is coming.” His words are balm on my fears, and I open my eyes just in time to catch his eyes gazing warmly at my face.
I’m not alone.
“Tell me again, the story of Harris House—what you told me before.”
Keary leans forward in his chair, his face basked in light from the fire, eyes twinkling with some kind of mischievousness. He opens his mouth to say something, but catches himself, his expression serious for a moment, and then sighs like he’s uncertain what to say.
“I’ll tell you everything I’ve heard, but don’t blame me for what I say, promise?” His eyes gaze at me, pleading, cautious, yet hopeful.
I nod, urging him to continue, and warm my hands on the fire, feeling cold suddenly by his serious tone.
“Harris House was stolen by the cheating Cornelius Chambers.” Keary pauses like he’s worried, but I keep my face impassive, and he continues. “Mr. Barclay, trying to save his family from certain ruin, used Harris House as collateral in a poker game. After he’d lost over and over again, Cornelius Chambers called his claim on the collateral, and brought ruin to Mr. Barclay and his family.”
“Just like that?”
“Back then, all you needed was the witness of two gentlemen of society, and that was as good as a signed contract.”
“So why do you say it was stolen?”
“Because he cheated.”
I exhale forcefully. “Were there two gentlemen of society that witnessed him cheating?”
Keary frowns and rubs a finger under his nose. “No, of course not. If that were the case, Harris House would be in the possession of the Barclay family.”
Blood throbs in my neck, angry at the accusation against my great-grandfather. “So then how can you prove he was a cheat?”
“You’re not making this easy on me.”
“Go ahead, I promise not to interrupt you.” Unless you continue to say ridiculous things.
Keary clears his throat.
“Are you thirsty? Let me get something to drink.” I saunter over to the small fridge in the corner of the room and grab two bottles of Perrier. Keary thanks me, accepts the water, and drinks ferociously, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“He was caught cheating many times before.”
I catch myself before I say anything, and motion Keary to continue speaking.
“Everyone in society knows the story; they know of your great-grandfather’s cheating, but money talks. In those days, when society families were dropping like flies, and with Cornelius Chambers flush with cash, he bought friendships with generous loans and gifts that secured his place in society. Harris House was the capstone in his crown. Yes?”
“But what about my great-grandfather’s businesses? The oil, the steel mills.”
“All were partnerships he was brought into by society friends he bailed out. His cash kept them afloat in difficult times, and he called on those favors when he caught wind of lucrative deals in the making. He had eyes and ears everywhere in society. His ‘little birds’ as he called them.”
Little birds. A memory flashes of Father telling me how shrewd and connected Great-grandfather was, and how he built a network of little birds to bring him information—information his business thrived on.
“So you see, that’s how he earned his reputation and yet was tolerated in society.”
“Why did your father try to ruin my father’s business?”
Keary looks like I’ve just struck him on the face. “What?”
“Father told me never to see you again…that your father had deliberately tried to ruin his business. Something to do with the real estate crash of 2008.”
“Are you serious?” Keary’s eyes pinch shut. “Why would he want to do that?”
“In my whole life, it’s the first time Father has ever sounded worried about money and his investments. Like he was afraid his business was about to collapse.”
Keary stares at the ceiling, as if he’s trying to remember. “Wait, my mother did say something. She was making a joke about your father’s business and laughing at what a pathetic investment it was.”
“Well, that’s obvious. I’m sure everyone in society was talking about Father’s failing business.” My words come out too sharp, so I stop myself and study Keary’s reaction.
“I think my father was involved in real estate investments. It could have been that he tried to maliciously sell them to your father.” Keary lowers his head as if weighed down by some terrible secret.
“But why would he do that?”
“Because my great-grandfather’s last name was Barclay.”
CHAPTER 8
“WHAT DID YOU say?” Keary’s great-grandfather was Mr. Barclay?
“That’s why my father hates your father. My entire family loathes the fact that Harris House is out of their hands. They’ve talked about it for years.”
I scoff, completely blown away by what I’m hearing. “If you knew all this, why did you ever associate with me? Are you spying on me for your father?”
“No, no, never! I would never do that—never do anything to hurt you. I told you I can’t stand my father. Listen, I tried not to like you at first. Part of me hated you for being a Chambers.” Keary smiles his slow, warm smile that melts my insides. “But I just couldn’t resist being near you.”
I want to kiss him so bad it hurts. I want to wrap my arms around him and smother my face against his chest. I want to completely give myself to him, no matter what the cost.
“What are you thinking right now?” Keary’s face holds a puzzled and amused expression.
There is no way I am going to tell him a thing. I am feeling far too vulnerable to answer that question. So instead I just shake my head slowly and a small smile spreads across my face. My voice is low and raspy when I finally speak.
“It’s getting late. I don’t want my father to kill you if he finds you here like this.”
“So you don’t hate me anymore?” Keary places his warm hand on mine, and a million prickles of electricity snake up my arm and across my chest.
My body quivers as I stare at his beautiful hand. How can I ask him to go? I don’t want him to go; I want him to stay with me here in my bedroom all night. I want to feel his hands explore every inch of my skin.
I stand and walk over to the door and lock it. The clicking sound echoes across my room like a final spoken verdict. Keary clears his throat and watches me as I traipse back towards the fire, pull him from his chair, and lead him to my bed.
“Let’s just cuddle, okay?” I whisper in his ear, and feel reassured by his nod. We slide under the covers. I wriggle my way back into him, his body spooning mine, his breath warm on my scalp. The rain still pours outside, making a shooshing sound that lulls my mind. I close my eyes and remember when he held me that night; I try to remember that sweet feeling I felt in his arms and find it in
the heat of his body pressed against my back. Soon all thoughts, all memories, all sensations fade into a warm, black sea as I fall asleep.
I am dreaming a dog is licking my ears. It’s hot floppy tongue laps at my neck and face. I try to push off the dog, but it is warm and insistent as it keeps repeating my name over and over again. Then I wake and see Keary’s eyes, feverish, crazed, hot with desire. He’s kissing me like an animal, kissing my neck and ears and face. His cock is hard against my pelvis; his hands clench my hips, fingers digging into my skin.
“I want you, I want you, I want you.” He murmurs like a sleepwalker.
It must be early morning because I see Venus shining powerfully through the crisp, stormed-cleared sky. Soft lips on my ear and a thrust from Keary’s hips make my panties go wet.
I want him too.
So I cup my hand around the back of his neck and thrust my tongue into his mouth, kissing him long and hard until he sighs with a soft, urgent exhalation. My hands grip around his tensed shoulders as he maneuvers his way on top of me, our bodies locked together in a frenzied embrace. We kiss and kiss until I fear I’ll drown in the intensity of his animalistic movements; or is it me urging him on, my hands pulling him closer, and my pheromones wafting into his nostrils, driving him insane?
From the tortuous grinding of his hips against me, his hard shaft rubbing against my pelvic bone, I twist my body enough to allow a hand to glide down his undulating abs until my fingers wrap around his cock, separated thinly by my brother’s jeans. I’m shocked by the enormity of the thing.
I quickly stare up into his feverish, glazed-over eyes. Is he still asleep, dreaming of Therese? I push him off in disgust but his hands take advantage of the distance and rub my breasts, his thumbs fondling my nipples through my pajamas, sending a shiver of desire throbbing through my blood.
A moan escapes from my lips and my neck arches back, eyelids fluttering, all resistance melting away under the heat of his passion. Then his eyes go clear, gazing into mine. His voice is soothing.
“I wanted only you, Clarise. Only you, only you.”
I believe him.
Now his insistent hands slide up underneath my pajama top, his warm fingers tracing the line of my tensed stomach up to the sensitive place beneath my breasts and sending my body into a writhing fit of pleasure. I kiss his earlobe, my tongue probing the delicate contours inside; he shivers from his shoulders down to his toes, which are pressed playfully against mine. He smells like vanilla and coconut, like the islands in heat, like my skin.
I unbutton the shirt stretched tightly against Keary’s chest, starting with the top button, allowing my lips to tenderize his chest. After each button I suck skin and my tongue flicks, and kisses leave stains on his immaculate chest. As I work my way slowly down, Keary’s fingers motivate my desire with delicate caresses on my nipples; his hands dance in circular motions around my stimulated breasts.
A low, throaty moan escapes from my lips and I bring my arms together to embrace myself in a fury of arousal, electricity cascading up and down my legs.
I’m so wet I’m afraid my pajamas are soaked. If he touches me down there, like I know he wants to and I know I want him to, my ability to contain myself will vanish into the gold of the early morning haze filtering in through the windows.
The memory of his soft lips flashes a bright surge of desire to kiss him again. I’m unable to contain my craving and give in, hiking myself up his body, dragging my nipples along his tensed stomach, my hands grappling his shoulders until my lips suck along his sternum, then his Adam’s apple and under his chin, finding his lips eager and open. His tongue dives deep into my mouth. I suck the air from his lungs, from his mouth, and finally there’s nothing separating us inside; he sucks back until I’m breathless.
I imagine his cock filling me up so completely, like our kiss, and his skin pressing hard against my skin, fluid and motion, arousal and lust. My hand scurries down to unbutton jeans straining under Keary’s erection. It’s so tight that I need both hands to complete the job. Keary squeezes his knees together and tucks his stomach in, allowing me the space to yank the zip down. I glide my hand over his boxers and he stiffens like granite, the head poking out like a red, delicious strawberry rising up away from his belly button, giving my fingers room to try and wrap around it, but I’m unable; either my fingers are too small or his cock is too large. Either way I marvel at its size and strength.
My tongue flicks over my lips, suddenly hungry, desiring a taste, longing to explore. In a burst of energy, Keary’s hands deftly lifts my pajama top up and over my head, the morning chill prickling the skin along my arms and breasts, my nipples erect like Keary’s beautiful cock.
He pulls the sheets up and over us, shielding my skin from the cold, his smile warming me with its innocence. I fold my arms instinctively over my chest, but his mouth burrows its way through my defense and sucks on a nipple like a baby craving milk while one hand plays with my other nipple and another hand pushes down underneath my pajamas to find me completely wet. I feel like an octopus is covering me in its stimulating tentacles. A moan from my lips wafts its way through the air surrounding us.
“I want you inside.” I whisper the words in his ear, and push his jeans down further, his hands helping, legs wriggling until the jeans are stuck at his ankles; I move in closer to help and my forehead cracks against his face.
“Ow!” Keary’s hand draws up to his lips; I laugh and then stop myself as I notice blood dribbling down between his fingers.
“Oh, shit…did I do that?” I touch the blood, trying to rub it away, but more comes. He winces, looks at his bloodied hands, and gives me a split-lip grin that makes me feel horribly guilty yet even more attracted to him at the same time.
“I am so sorry! Crap, hold on, I’ll get you some tissues.” I roll off my bed like a ninja and scamper across the room, the smell of old fire in the air, my exposed skin tingling and tight. The entire roll of toilet paper is too much, but I grab it anyway and dart back under the covers, and dab away at Keary’s lip like a nurse out on the battlefield of love.
Instead of having my first time with Keary, I fucking split his lip. What was wrong with me?
“It’s okay…don’t worry—” I stop his words with a kiss, luxuriating in the coppery taste of his blood, melting his puzzled eyes with my insatiable lips. More blood oozes from the wound. A flick of my tongue allows the blood of his life to linger licentiously in my mouth. My eyes gaze into his curiosity. He’s turning me into a vampire; I drink and now crave the taste. I want more.
“You’re crazy.” Keary’s smile makes my heart weep. I’m struck by the warmth and love on his face and plunge into his arms, relishing the heat of his body. For a long moment we lay there like that, listening to the silence pervading the morning air.
A toilet flushes down the hallway and Keary tenses and lifts himself upright, eyes wide as an owl’s.
“I should go.” Keary kisses me so softly my lips feel numb. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you all morning and all afternoon and the next day.”
“And after that?” I grin devilishly at him.
“Of course. Even after that. Always.”
Always. Did he really just say that? My heart is triple pounding in my chest and my throat suddenly dry. But how can I have my always with Keary if my father hates everything about his family? I shake off my thoughts, not caring what happens that far off, only hoping that for right now, we can dance in the magic of all this.
“Don’t fucking betray me again like that, please.” I sigh and squeeze his hand unconsciously until I notice him wince.
“I won’t, I promise. That night was so messed up. I swear I’m never doing shrooms again.”
I shrug, unconvinced it was the drugs. “Maybe if it was just the two of us it would be okay.”
A door closes down the hallway, and Keary slides out of bed in response. He pulls up his jeans; I find myself ogling his taunt stomach, wishing the jeans would come off
instead. Maybe tomorrow night I can convince him to sneak into my room again.
He leans in close and kisses me. “Bye,” he whispers, the smell of him lingering in my nostrils.
As he quietly opens the deck door, I wiggle my fingers in his direction.
“Text me.” My voice is hoarse and he nods in response, his eyes somber and distant. When the door clicks shut I’m missing him already so I put on my pajama top and bounce over to the window and watch him navigate his way outside down the trellis, the morning mist wrapping vapor fingerlings around his beautiful figure.
I hear a soft rap on my door and feel the thrill of fear wash through me.
CHAPTER 9
MY FATHER LOOKS as if a ghost has possessed his hair. The lines on his forehead that I once thought gave him character now look like grooves etched in wood: rivulets of pain and suffering.
“What’s wrong?” My voice is thin and shrill, and my father startles in reaction.
“Why are you awake?” He stares suspiciously at me. “You look like you didn’t sleep all night.”
I flush with embarrassment, hoping the fact that I spent the night with Keary doesn’t show on my face. “I couldn’t sleep.” I hug myself as if to reinforce the idea. “I made a fire to cozy up.”
Father frowns, studying me as if there is something out of place. Only then do I notice I’ve put my pajama top on backward. “Well, it was stormy last night. Anyway, that’s not why I came. I’ve been up since early. Selby called.”
Selby is Father’s business advisor on financial matters and I know that any call from Selby on an early morning is not a good thing.
“And what did he say?”
Father runs his fingers through his unkempt¸ graying hair. “The firm is in serious trouble. Most of our investors fled the fund overnight.”
“What does that mean?”
Father’s face holds an expression of anguish and contempt. “What does that mean? I’m ruined. We’re unable to keep our commitments to any of our creditors. We’ve got to return home immediately.”
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