I dig into the breast pocket of Roy’s shirt—I picked out a white Burberry this morning—and text Vincent what time we’ll be at the hotel for the party. With less than forty minutes to get ready, I tidy up, put my dishes away, and grab the breakfast trays. Not sure where they go, I place them on the counter, right next to the jewelry box.
Why couldn’t it have disappeared overnight like socks do in the dryer or earrings or…who am I kidding? It’s going to sit there and silently wait until I decide if I should wear it or not. I scroll through a list of pros and cons, the cons far longer. I snatch it off the counter and tip the lid back; the hinge is stiff like it hasn’t been opened in years, and the tiniest whiff of a scent floats up, of lavender and oranges and something sweet. I frown at the radiance of the emerald as it shimmers under the light. It’s a stunner of a ring. Gently, I roll it back and forth in the palm of my hand. It should be gaudy, what with the knuckle-sized emerald cut in a rectangular shape and the diamonds encircling it big enough to be the centerpiece of a ring. I walk over to the French doors with the ring pinched between my thumb and forefinger. The natural light bounces around the facets, creating tiny rainbows.
The ring can’t hurt me, I tell myself, and it might end this sooner. I’m having about as much luck convincing myself of this as I would if I were strapped to a parachute and ready to jump from a plane. I slide it over my finger and wiggle it past my knuckle until it’s seated at the base of my finger. Irrationally, I’m afraid it will lock in place and yank it off. “Don’t be crazy,” I tell myself, and slide it back on.
People with the gift, as Aunt Mae calls them, claim objects emit vibrations. All I sense is sadness, probably my own.
If wearing this will help unlock the mystery, then so be it. I square my shoulders, toss my hair back, and resolve to be strong for however long it takes. When I pass by the library, Roy’s wide back is hunched over the long table.
“What are you doing?” I smooth the front of his shirt I’m wearing.
Without looking back, he responds, “I’m converting the broodmare barn—I think that’s what you call it—into an office space for my staff and me.”
“No horses or livestock?” He has too many acres to leave fallow.
He turns his back to the table and leans against it, his arms in front of his chest. “There’s a stable, along with an apartment above it. We could look into getting you a few horses to ride.” He lowers his head to make eye contact. “Well-trained, safe horses. And you in protective gear.”
I’ve never had my own horse. When I ride, it’s always one of Vincent’s mounts. I fight back the tears just thinking of hacking around Chadwick.
“Do you know the farm manager, a Mr. Luke Wolfe?”
I jump up and sit on the table, swinging my legs back and forth. “Sure, he’s worked on this farm for”—I think on it a moment—“as long as I can remember. He’s got a family. And he’s honest and discreet,” I add. Where there’s a lot of money, there are always people trying to take advantage. “And you can tell how well the farm’s maintained. Not a loose board in those miles of fencing. Never heard of any mismanagement. I think you should hire him.”
“I’ve been contacted by your hunt about riding through.”
I lay back, probably messing up his plans, but not caring, and laugh. “I’m sure you have.” I lean up on my elbows. “Anyway, it’s not my hunt. I’m not even a member, simply a guest of Vincent’s family.”
His eyes travel to my neck, linger at the large gaps between the buttons of his shirt, my stomach and…He suddenly goes rigid, fixed in place like he’s made of concrete.
I lean forward to ascertain where he’s looking. It’s the ring.
“Not that finger. Pick another.”
“I thought…” I sit up and pull it off my engagement finger. “Proctor said—”
“Proctor has the emotional grid of a crocodile, so don’t take him too literally.”
I’m confused. I thought he liked Proctor. “So I shouldn’t wear it?”
He takes it from my hand, rolling it between his fingers, and grabs my right hand, sliding it past my knuckle. “With nothing else to go on, it’s the best course of action. I don’t like it.” He kisses the palm of my hand and places it back on my thigh. “So, tell me how the hunt works?”
Shouldn’t we discuss the ring more? And what does it matter which finger it rests on? “You’ve seen the jumps in the fencing.” From the shaking of his head, I take it he has no idea what I’m talking about. “I’ll show you. The jumps are so we can ride across the land without having to open gates. The hounds get the scent of a fox. We follow them. We might ride through here, we might not.” I shrug. “Depends on what scent the hounds pick up and where it takes them.”
“So there’s an actual fox?”
I tip my head to the side, not knowing how to explain it’s the thrill of riding that’s the main draw. “We don’t kill the fox. Just chase it. It’s a way to keep the tradition alive. And there are hunt balls and hunt breakfasts.” His attention to the subject has waned as his eyes drift over the plans I’m lying on, and, to be ornery, I keep moving my body into his line of sight so he can’t see them.
With a grunt, he plants his hands on either side of my hips. “Like I told you this morning, no sex until I get back.”
Seems like such a stupid rule. “You want me now, though.” I toss my head back until my hair pools on the table.
“When I return, we’ll go away for a few days.”
“Where?”
“Do you like the beach?”
“Don’t know.”
He nudges between my knees and pulls me toward him, his big body spreading my thighs wide. “I’ll take you to St. John. Wrap this pretty little body of yours in a bikini.” He lifts me off the table and sets me back on my feet, slapping my butt before returning to his work. “Go on, find your knickers and get dressed.”
“Oh!” I rub the sting with my hand and turn back to see him giving me a questioning look.
“Like that?”
I suck my lower lip and nod.
He looks me over. “Go on, you little temptress, get dressed before I toss you over this table and give you a good hiding.”
But I don’t want to leave. I turn, taking a step closer to him.
“Go!” He lurches toward me, and I run squealing down the hallway like a little kid scared at a Halloween haunted house.
His laughter echoes through the halls as I trot up the staircase. This house should be filled with laughter and parties and family.
I select a white, off-the-shoulder minidress that falls an inch too high on my thigh for comfort. When I twirl in front of the mirror it’s perfect and flirty and the right mix of sexy. Did the assistant procure this? If so, I think I might like what she’s picked out for tonight.
Like Cinderella, my foot slides easily into the red, strappy heels. My long hair is curly and a bit wild, and for once I don’t try and tame it. My shoulders are creamy and bare, and I have a huge smile on my face.
Roy’s waiting impatiently in the foyer, dressed in a suit and tie, looking like an erotic fantasy lover who invades women’s dreams. The stubble on his face—he needs to grow what beard he can for the upcoming trip—gives him a more feral quality, and my heart beats a little faster. It’s a heady high, taming the savage beast.
“You look stunning.” His eyes travel over my bare legs and shoulders before resting on my eyes. “I like you in heels.”
I’m wanted. Roy desires me. I’m not frigid. It’s miraculous, and I take his hand and walk with him to the car. “This is new.” Not his usual Suburban or Range Rover. It’s black, of course—a Mercedes, sleek and almost feline-looking. “You’ll fit in this?”
He registers my comment with a smirk and easily slides into the car.
I run my hand over the leather and lean my head back. “I’m always in the van or my old car.” I sigh as the classical music surrounds us.
“I’ll buy you one. What
color do you want?”
I turn in my seat. “Are you serious?
“Or you can have this one. It’s only a few months old. Not many miles.”
“You can’t give me a car.” I guiltily roll my thumb over the Rolex crystal. “I wasn’t fishing.” I’m discomfited he thought I was trying to guilt him into buying me something.
“You forget—”
“You’re Midas? You paid cash for this farm. You want to buy me horses and give me a car. You do realize how much it costs to maintain this farm, right?”
“You don’t have to worry.” He squeezes my knee with his hand.
The music’s interrupted by a call.
“Mr. Blackwood, sir,” a female voice says through the speakers, “I have Gavin on the line for you. Do you want to take the call?”
“Inform him I’m not alone.”
“You wouldn’t want him to say anything unwise,” I snap. Is this the assistant? Her voice sounds young, though you can’t always tell.
“It's common courtesy,” he answers.
“Roy.” There’s static in the background. “Flight was delayed. I’ll still make it in time to meet you at the hotel. You owe me.”
Gavin sounds like he’s on the North Pole or somewhere equally remote. His voice is gruff, plus he has an accent, maybe Scottish or Irish.
“I know, I know,” Roy responds. “Just get here.”
“Aye.”
Music fills the car again but doesn’t lighten my mood. “Great. He isn’t happy about this either. Maybe Jason’s sorry and won’t bother me. And the stalker…” When did he become a stalker? Oh, the moment Proctor made it abundantly clear it wasn’t my mother. Yeah, that’s when. “Could have decided I’m not worth the effort.”
“Sure and I’m going to sprout breasts and need a training bra.”
“Well,” I giggle. “You never know.”
He smiles and rolls his eyes, and I go to lean over to kiss his cheek except for the ring of another call.
“What,” he snaps.
“Ah, Mr. Blackwood, sir.” His assistant is clearly frazzled. “I received word the departure has moved up.”
“Goddamn it, when?”
“Nine hours from now.”
He grips the steering wheel until the white bones of his knuckles are clearly defined. “Confirm. Inform the team. Gavin’s flight was delayed. Whatever it takes, make sure he arrives before I leave. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I apologize for yelling at you.”
“No need, sir. Thank you, sir.”
He disconnects the call. “Not enough time,” he says to himself and seems to retreat inwardly. His hands twist the steering wheel until I think it will snap in two.
I kick off the heels, place my feet on the dashboard, not giving a damn if my skirt rides up to an indecent level, and pull out my cell phone to check messages. Vincent’s sent me a video of him walking through the hotel. What a goof.
“Thanks for inviting Vincent.”
Roy’s rough hand slides over my leg. “Is he bringing a date?”
“Are you kidding? Vincent isn’t big on dating. He has sex once, and that’s it. Life’s too short for encores. That’s what he says, anyway.” I’ve made him sound terrible. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s nice, only not ready.”
“No need to explain. I understand.” Roy clears his throat. “I’ve meant to ask. Have you thought about birth control?”
Wow. From Vincent’s man-whore ways to my use of birth control. “No.”
His fingers caress the delicate skin of my inside thigh, sending delicious goosebumps over my body.
“I was close to losing control last night.” He pats my leg and puts his hand back on the wheel.
“I wish you had.”
“No, you don’t. It won’t happen again.”
I mull over his comment.
“I’ve always used a condom, but I thought if you want…”
I turn to face him. “You’ve never had sex without a condom?”
“Bastards and disease are two things I don’t need.”
“Ouch.”
“I’ve been tested, so you know.”
“For AIDs and such?”
“Yes, I’m clear.”
“And the bastards?” I hate saying the word.
“Children should be brought into this world because they’re wanted and not because some asshole forgot to put on a rubber.” He places his hand back on my thigh.
He’s too adamant about this point for it not to be personal “Are you…” I bite my lip.
“Yes, Daisy, I’m a bastard. I wouldn’t wish my childhood on my worst enemy.”
Am I? “I thought you didn’t know your parents.”
His fingers slide closer to the lace of my underwear. “Are you regular?” The abrupt change in our conversation has me confused. “Are your menstrual cycles regular?”
I don’t even talk about this with my aunts, well, not since I was fourteen.
He gives me a quick glance. “If you want to be in a sexual relationship, you need to be an adult about this. Women bleed; it’s not a mystery.”
“No.” I move my leg away from his wandering fingers. “I’m not.”
“Dr. Johnson will be at the party. If you want, she will consult with you there. Or you can handle it. Or I’ll keep using condoms.”
“Are you always going to be two steps ahead?”
“Baby, I don’t even know what you’re thinking now.”
“I’d tell you, but you’d accuse me of being a tease.”
He taps my leg. “Sit up. We’re pulling into the hotel.”
Immediately, I bend over, grab my shoes, and shove my feet in, trying to get the straps wrapped around and behind my heels.
“Mr. Blackwood, sir.” The deep voice makes me turn. That’s no parking attendant. He’s clearly one of Roy’s people, as he calls them. I want to pretend Roy’s an ordinary guy with a regular job, but I’ve got to face facts. Roy’s business is dangerous.
Too soon, he’s opened my door and is waiting. “A second.” I get the right shoe wrapped and buckled well enough to make it to the room—I think.
“Daisy.” Roy holds out his hand while I wrestle with my left shoe.
I exit the vehicle, careful to keep my knees together and pivot out of the car—don’t want to give anyone a free show, as Aunt Stella always reminds me—and take a few steps. The blasted shoe strap is coming loose.
“Mr. Blackwood.” A concierge meets us in the lobby and immediately walks us toward an elevator. “The Federal Suite is ready for you.”
Keeping up with them as we walk through the lobby of The Hay-Adams is impossible in these heels, as the strap loosens until I have to stop fix it. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”
Roy halts, and a man walks up to him. As I kneel, I see them shake hands.
“Can I have a moment of your time? It’s about the autoloaders you ordered.”
“I'm all right, almost done,” I say. “I’ll meet you at the elevators.”
Roy looks over my head and nods to someone. I turn and see Proctor proceeding toward me.
Roy hesitates until Proctor is almost on me and then walks with the man to the elevators.
“May I help you?”
That’s not Proctor’s voice. “No,” I reply, finally getting the strap untwisted and back in place and stand up. The man who spoke is dreamy, like Robert Redford was in Barefoot in the Park. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Proctor steps up to the man. “Run along.”
“He was trying to help.”
Proctor doesn’t blink, only aims a constant, icy glare at the man.
“Are you fine?” Dreamy Robert asks. “He doesn’t seem your type.”
I blink. He thinks Proctor is my boyfriend. “Ah, yes, just had some trouble with my shoe is all.”
Proctor steps into the man’s space.
Robert lifts his hands. “Maybe I’ll see you at the party.”
Proctor’s focus changes, and I follow his gaze. Roy is standing by the elevators, watching. He jerks his head to the side. If you weren’t looking straight at him, you wouldn’t see the motion.
“Daisy.” Proctor turns his back on the man and blocks him from my view. “Come with me.”
This is wrong, but I walk beside him and look back to see Robert—or whatever his name is—watching me go.
Roy wraps his arm around my waist, and Proctor turns back toward the unsuspecting man.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I protest.
But Roy’s not listening to me as he propels me forward to the elevator. “Can’t leave you for one minute.”
“It was a polite gesture. Don’t send your henchman after him.”
“Don’t start with me, not right now.”
“This is insane. I thought you said you weren’t a jealous man.”
His eyes roam over my body. “Apparently, I am now.”
“Proctor won’t hurt him, right?”
“Of course not.” He steps out of the elevator, and we walk to the end of the hall, where a brass plate identifies double doors as the Federal Suite. He unlocks and swings the doors open for me to walk inside.
“Holy shit,” I exclaim. It’s opulence, Russian Tsar-style, with gold everywhere and plush upholstery and high ceilings and huge paintings and thick carpet underfoot.
“Do you like it?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. He takes my hand and leads me through the suite. The bedroom is off to the right. The bathroom, almost as large as the bedroom, has a sunken tub and windows, at a discrete height, all around. We return to the living area and through another set of double doors into an office.
“Come.” He pulls me out a set of doors onto a balcony.
“That’s the White House. Right there. This is amazing.”
“You should see it at night.” He smiles at me.
I will, I think, but he’ll be gone by then.
“I’m sorry.” He smooths his hand over his immaculate tie. “I wish I could take you sightseeing.”
I try to keep my face from dropping.
“Meetings. Planned in advance. Before I knew…”
Before he knew I’d be here with him. “I understand.” My head does. My heart is a different matter.
Secrets In Our Scars Page 16