by Mary Whitney
“Only his work. I’ve never met him. His work is brilliant, though.”
“He’s a very good friend of mine from school days. We go way back; we were at Stowe together. You know, he’s retiring soon. He’ll still contribute to the paper, but not daily. If you want, I can introduce you two.”
Nicki gave my hand a hard squeeze. I didn’t need her prompt, however, to readily answer, “That would be wonderful, Professor Hadley. I’d really appreciate that.”
By midafternoon, I could see that the jetlag had caught up with Nicki and she was flagging. When I thought she might fall asleep standing up, I whispered, “Nicki, let me take you upstairs. You’re knackered.”
Her eyes popped open, and relief spread over her face. “Thank you. I haven’t had much sleep.”
“I just need to tell Mum.”
On my way to inform her, I bumped into David. “I’m taking Nicki upstairs for a kip. Can you help out down here if they need me?”
“A kip? Like you’re going to let her nap.” David smirked.
“Yes, I’m going to let her nap. Do you really think I’m taking her to my room to shag her brains out during my father’s wake?”
“Seems like as good a time as any, mate.” His smirk widened. “Everyone’s sorted down here.”
After telling Mum and grabbing Nicki’s bag, I led her upstairs to my room.
“Will your mother be okay with this?”
“I’m pretty sure she had cottoned on to the fact we were sleeping together sixteen years ago. I doubt that she’ll be upset today.” Kissing her forehead, I added, “Besides, with David and his mum here, the house is full. There’s no other space. You’re stuck with me.”
“I like that,” she said happily.
Walking into the room, Nicki looked around and laughed. “This is quite a collection.”
I smiled. She had to be remarking on my Liverpool obsession. I placed her suitcase on my desk chair and glanced up at a giant football poster from 1989. “I always meant to change it, but never got round to it.”
“Oh please. Like you’d really want to take any of this down.”
“You’re right about that.” Smiling at her, the bed caught my eye. I’d forgotten it was a single. “Bugger, I only just noticed the bed. We might be a little uncomfortable in this small space tonight.”
“Never,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around my neck. After a long kiss that changed from loving to highly erotic, she pulled back. “Don’t you remember? We’ve only ever slept together in a twin bed. That’s what was in my room in high school.”
“Ah! That’s right.” I touched her hair. “I never wanted to leave.”
“I never wanted you to leave.” She rose up to kiss me. “And I still don’t.”
Her mouth and body were so tempting that I gave in to her kiss.
Damn it, David. Now all I can think about is how much I want to fuck her.
Just as I felt myself getting hard, I begrudgingly broke off our embrace. “I should go back downstairs.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that.” She smiled sheepishly. “I got carried away.”
“Believe me. I want to get carried away with you. I just can’t right now.”
After leaving Nicki with a towel and an introduction to the loo down the hall, I went back downstairs. David stood at the bottom, chatting up Professor Hadley. She had no idea what to make of him because he was at least thirty years her junior, yet he kept calling her “love.”
When she wandered away, I asked him, “Do you often chat up old-age pensioners?”
“She’s lovely…for her age. I probably made her day.”
I shook my head at him. Realizing that we hadn’t talked about women in a while, I asked, “So how are things with Lisa?”
“Lisa?” David grinned wickedly. “She’s my never-ending challenge.”
“What happens if she gives in?”
“Oh, she has, and she’s still a challenge.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s fantastic. For now.”
“For now?” I leaned back in alarm. “You can’t just toss this one aside, David. She’s Nicki’s best—”
“Good God.” He laughed. “I’ll be the one who’s tossed on the rubbish heap when she moves back to Houston. She’s already told me that.”
“She’s planning on dumping you, yet she still wants to see you.” I shook my head in disbelief. “How do you do it?”
“Charm,” he said with pure self-satisfaction. He then patted his chest. “And of course, I have other…physical…attributes and abilities that keep the ladies interested.”
I held up my hand. “That’s enough.”
He chuckled and gently slapped my back. “You know I’m taking the piss. It’s just because I’m jealous you’ve found your lady for this life.”
“Thanks, but I doubt you really want to settle down.”
“Fuck no,” he said with a derisive snort. He looked off outside a window. “God help me if I ever do find the one.”
Talking with him only made me want to be back upstairs with Nicki. As soon as the last guest left, I made sure that Mum was happy with her sister and a glass of brandy before I hotfooted back up the stairs.
I’d promised Nicki that I’d wake her before it got too late so that her body clock could adjust. When I found her still asleep, though, it seemed cruel to disturb her. She was in a deep sleep, so I thought I’d rouse her gently. Stripping down to my boxers, I got in bed with every intention of easing her out of her slumber. But as I lifted the covers, I saw she was wearing a lacy pink camisole with her pajama bottoms.
The sexy sight stuck in my mind as I leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. She didn’t stir. Then I got an idea. Maybe I’d coax her out of her sleep.
I slipped my hand beneath her pajamas and between her legs to very gently stroke her over her knickers. At first, her body didn’t react. Eventually, though, she spread her legs slightly wider, offering me better access. I took the liberty of sliding her pants to the side, which caused her to unconsciously mew and roll onto her back as if offering her body up to me to play with. When I finally touched her skin, I concentrated solely on that one spot and watched as Nicki came to life. She squirmed and moaned a while, then opened her still-drowsy eyes for a moment and mumbled, “Don’t stop.”
“Then I won’t.”
So I continued tormenting and pleasing her only with my finger. It was amazing to watch one small, consistent motion on a tiny spot of flesh wreak such havoc on a body. Arching her back, she clutched the sheets and attempted to stifle her sounds as I increased the circular pressure. She was soon shuddering and coating my hand with her wetness. It was all I could do not to mount her like a dog in heat.
I let her go at her own pace, though. Blinking a few times, she opened her eyes and shyly smiled. “That was nice.”
“It was nice to watch.”
“Was it, now?” She snickered and found my erection waiting for her. “Well, it appears it was.”
With her hand on my rock-solid cock, I leaned in for a kiss. “I get off watching you get off. Call me old-fashioned.”
“You’re old-fashioned, and I like it,” she said and pulled me on top of her.
I went after her like the randy bastard I was. No thoughts of Dad or his memorial or my family members downstairs entered my mind. She was the one who made sure we were quiet.
Afterward, I caught my breath and kissed her hair, and she looked up at me and grinned.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am?” I asked, though I obviously knew she was right.
“You are.”
“Probably because I’m so damn happy.”
“Good,” she said, following up with a kiss.
I kissed her back, but guilt eventually pulled me away. I stopped smiling. “It’s odd though…feeling this way. I don’t think I’m supposed to be cheery after my father has just died. It’s very confusing.”
Her eyes softened. What I thought was sympathy coming from th
em was actually empathy. “I know. I remember that feeling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Way back…when we first started dating. I thought my heart was going to burst. I was so elated…such a giddy teenager. But even though everything felt right between us, I felt like I was doing something wrong—like I’d forgotten about Lauren. Like I should’ve been in mourning. I couldn’t be in mourning, though, not with you around.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” I squeezed her, enjoying the shared experience, but then I remembered Dad and winced. “Maybe if I’d been able to give him a proper goodbye, it would feel differently. Why did he have to go while I was away?”
“Oh, Adam.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “You can’t think about it like that. Lauren and I were bickering over something stupid when she died. Why would I want to focus on that? You’re not supposed think about the end. The end is full of regret that you can’t do anything about.” Her voice quavered. “You need to remember them living—when they were really alive—not sick or dead in a car.”
Seeing Nicki become emotional about her sister always touched me, but this time was different. Now I understood what she felt.
I started to tear up as I confessed, “I think I’d miss him too much if I thought about what he was like before he was ill.”
With her own eyes glistening, Nicki helped wipe my tears away. “You’ll always miss him. You just won’t miss him all the time, if that makes any sense.”
“It does.” I smiled.
Kissing my cheek, she whispered, “I love you, Adam.”
“I love you.” My hand went beneath her chin, and I raised her face so I could see my sweet, smart, and sexy woman. “You know, you’re making me smile again.”
“You make me smile, too. I’m even happier than I was back then.”
“I’m happier as well.” And just before another kiss, I said, “Because this time we’re together for good.”
Chapter Seventeen
NICKI AND I WERE PACKING OUR LUGGAGE for Scotland the following morning when Sylvia greeted us with The Cambridge News in her hand.
“Morning, Nicki. Morning, Adam. I thought you might want to see this.”
I grabbed the paper from her. “What’s that?”
“Look right here,” Sylvia said as she pointed to a few photos accompanying an article about Dad’s memorial service. The first photo depicted mourners in front of the chapel. The second photo was of Mum and me greeting Dad’s colleagues. Then there was the third photo. The room fell silent.
Sylvia shrugged. “It’s a darling photo of you two. It would be lovely to frame.”
I gave my sister a look that conveyed she was completely insane.
After taking the newspaper from me, Nicki studied the photos, lingering on the last one—the one of her standing in front of me with my arms encircling her as she stared into the distance.
She read the caption aloud. “‘Cambridge-born BBC White House Correspondent, Viscount Adam Kincaid, consoles himself over the loss of his father with Ms. Nicole Johnson.’” Looking up, she gave her professional assessment. “This is going to be picked up somewhere. There are probably other photos, too. Let me call Matt, and you should warn the BBC.”
I nodded. “I’ll call Kent after you talk to Matt. I need to know what the White House might say.”
Trying to brighten the day, Sylvia said, “I knew you two would want to see this, but isn’t the bright side that it’s a lovely photo?”
“It is a nice one.” Nicki smiled, succumbing to Sylvia’s optimism. “Now let me wake up Matt.”
Ten minutes later, Nicki returned from making her call in a private room. She grimaced as she walked in.
“How was it?” I asked.
“He wasn’t happy, and he won’t be for a while, but we came up with a good statement.”
“What is it?”
She read from a piece of paper, “If asked, the White House will say that ‘Deputy Press Secretary Nicole Johnson was given a few days off to support her old friend Adam Kincaid at his father’s funeral. The BBC notified the White House on Tuesday of this past week that Adam Kincaid had resigned.’” She looked at me. “That’s it. I think it sounds all right. Now go find out what the BBC will say.”
“It does work.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Just give me a moment to track down Kent.”
“Oh, and Matt and I agree it’s important that I show up at work on Monday morning. You know—give everything a sense of normalcy.”
“That would be the best thing. If you stay here, it looks like you’re hiding out.”
She cringed. “Unfortunately, that means I’ll need to leave tomorrow, after the interment.”
“You know, I think David was planning on flying back to the States on Monday. I’m sure he would change his plans to head back with you tomorrow. It might be good to have someone with you in case there are photographers.”
“That would be great if he could.”
“You know he’d be happy to.” I gave her another kiss. “This is going to work out. Now, let me call Kent.”
Sitting in Dad’s quiet office, I leaned back in the antique oak swivel chair that only professors seemed to own. I was sure that you needed a PhD to find them comfortable. After only one ring, Kent picked up the line. “Good morning, Adam.”
“Morning, Kent.”
“My condolences. I’m very sorry for you and your family.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“Well, Nicole Johnson is here with me. She was at my father’s memorial service yesterday. The Cambridge News has published a photo of the two of us together at the service. It identifies both of us and says I’m the BBC correspondent at the White House but doesn’t say her title.”
“It’s a local paper. It wouldn’t do more research than find out her name from one of the attendees.”
“I’m sure that’s what happened.”
“So, I suppose the photo shows some public display of affection between you two.”
“Yes.” I couldn’t stop a chuckle. “Not too bad in this one, but there are others, I’m sure.”
“Others that I’m sure someone will pay dearly for.” Kent laughed. “This local photographer didn’t know he’d stumbled on a gold mine.”
“If things work as Nicki and I suspect, I wouldn’t be surprised if this shows up in the Sunday tabloids tomorrow morning.”
“Oh yes. Someone will put two and two together.” His tone became more formal. “I presume she’s spoken with the White House about it.”
I relayed the White House response on the matter. Kent took a moment before declaring, “The BBC response is only slightly modified from the one we talked about earlier. It now reads something like, ‘Adam Kincaid resigned from the BBC last Monday. We look forward to employing him again if the opportunity arises. The BBC will permanently fill its White House correspondent position shortly. Our condolences go out to Adam and his family as they mourn the loss of the former Viscount Kincaid.’”
“Thank you,” I said as relief and gratitude overtook me. “Thank you very much.”
“Not a problem. Frankly, I think if everyone is forthright, this should blow over relatively quickly. I’m guessing you’re heading to Scotland soon.”
“Yes, we are. Shortly.”
“Well, when the hacks call for the BBC response, I’ll give them my unsolicited advice that it will appear unseemly to stalk the young viscount during this period of mourning—especially at the Kincaid estate in Scotland.”
“Like they’ll heed your advice,” I said with a laugh.
“Wait a moment.” I could tell that he took the phone from his ear because I heard him say, “Hmpf,” in the background. When he came back, he said, “Speak of the devil. It’s my counterpart over at the Daily Mirror ringing me right now.”
“Damn, they act quickly. Maybe they’ve hacked my phone.”
“I wouldn’t put it pa
st them. I should take this call to get our response out there. Take care, Adam, and please give your mother and sister my sympathies.”
“I will. Cheers, Kent. Thank you for everything.”
By the time we arrived at the family home in Scotland, my phone had rung no less than ten times—all London numbers, none of which I knew, all of which were surely the tabloids. I didn’t answer any of them.
Sylvia kept looking over my shoulder with concern. “Shouldn’t you say something?”
“Absolutely not.” Nicki frowned and shook her head. “Don’t give in to them. No one in the general public will expect him to return a reporter’s call when he’s burying his father.”
“It’s true.” I laughed. “I always knew revealing our relationship would be controversial, but Dad’s death is giving it an air of dignity that it wouldn’t otherwise receive.”
As our driver pulled onto the long road toward the estate, Nicki’s voice went flat. “That’s your family house?”
I looked up from my book to acknowledge the collection of ancient stone buildings, tucked in a glen. “That’s it. Since the fourteenth century.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes and said, “I hate it. Everything smells like wet rock—even in the family quarters, even if it hasn’t rained for a month.” She looked at the car behind us, which David was driving with Mum and his mother. “Poor David. I bet he’s having to listen to them gush about it. He hates it, too. He says being here makes him feel like a serf.”
“I can see why,” Nicki said, gawking at the property. “I’m feeling very inferior myself.”
“Ridiculous,” I said. “It’s not like we earned this place or the title. There’s no merit involved.”
“That’s very egalitarian of you, Viscount Kincaid.”
“I won’t be using the title, and you know it.” I nudged and kissed Nicki as she giggled.
Stepping out of the cars, we all walked around a bit, weary from the hours of road and air travel but happy to be upright. Nicki surveyed the surroundings with amazement. “It’s hard to believe that you own this.”
“Well, we don’t really anymore.” I winked. “The nation is kind enough to let us squat.”