The Proviso

by Moriah Jovan

  Though a full third of Giselle’s tribe had left the church or otherwise flouted church teachings, they were every bit as welcome and loved as those who had remained faithful. Of course, his father wouldn’t have approved of this family any more than he had approved of Knox or would have approved of Giselle. Certainly, his siblings had taken his news badly, but Bryce had found that unexpectedly amusing.

  “Are we going to have to get a bigger house for your family?”

  “No!” Giselle said, horrified. “If we had a bigger house, more of them would come.”

  True to form for a family of Mormons, along with the people came the food, most of which Giselle didn’t touch. He had met more people today than he could count, and, to Bryce’s consternation, even Fen and Trudy had shown up.

  “Giselle. They’re in our house.”

  “They always come to everything, although I’m not any happier about it than you are,” Giselle said. “I guess I should’ve warned you. I wish Knox had come, just this once, but Trudy, you know. And, hate to say it, but some of the tribe make him very aware of the fact that they would rather not have to claim him.”

  Bryce sighed. “Just like the rest of the city.”

  “Yeah. Sad, huh?”

  “He doesn’t think he deserves any better.”

  “Oh, you noticed that.”

  “I lived with him for four years. Kinda hard not to.”

  “Trudy did that. She broke him over her knee like a dry twig when he was still in single digits.”

  Bryce shook his head.

  “But,” she added, “I do think he would’ve come if he weren’t in the middle of a trial. I’m just happy he could make it to the wedding.”

  Fen’s nose had a pronounced bend in it now and Bryce grinned to himself. When he approached Giselle and Bryce in his usual jovial manner, he took them aside to speak a bit more privately.

  “Well, Giselle,” Fen said with great affection. “Congratulations. I must admit that I’m very, very pleased with you.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she murmured wryly.

  “You didn’t invite me to the wedding, though. I’m hurt.”

  “What, did you want to walk me down the aisle and give me away?”

  He rocked back on his heels with a chuckle, then pulled a tiny velvet jewelry box from his pocket and gave it to her. “Since you have taken the trouble to send me a statement every month demanding three times reparation for Decadence—ballsy vig, by the way—”

  Bryce blinked, then began to chuckle.

  “That,” he pronounced, “is the key to a safe deposit box where you’ll find the cash—couldn’t give you a check for obvious reasons. So, I’m sorry and paid in full.”

  He has an unfortunate tendency toward half-assed contrition.

  “Did you also pay the statements detailing Maisy and Coco’s losses? With vig?”

  “Yes, I did—though of course not personally.”

  “Natch,” Giselle returned as she took the box, seeming not in the least bit surprised. “Thank you, but this doesn’t really pay for trying to kill me twice.”

  “Oh, so you are still sulking.”

  “Fen, it was a wee bit traumatic. You were there both times; you saw what happened. Surely you can appreciate it from my point of view.”

  He grunted. “Well, now that you put it that way, I suppose I can.”

  “All right, Unk. I guess between this, your broken nose—you’re welcome—and our deal, we’re square.”

  “Maybe you two lovebirds are,” came Sebastian’s voice as he joined their conversation, “but I can still demand my pound of flesh.”

  Fen remained surprisingly calm and cheerful, yet Sebastian smirked. “I see you’re appreciating the unintended consequences of my last move, but I heard you got your funding from someone else anyway. Congratulations.”

  “Ah, Sebastian,” Fen purred. “So glad to have a chance to chat. I hear the drums starting back up in Washington.”

  “I don’t, but of course we don’t run in the same circles,” Sebastian said blithely. “Not to worry, though. I have an attorney who understands paper trails very, very well.”

  Fen snorted. “Of course you do. At my expense, might I add.”

  “Yes, thank you for that. Say, have you heard Senator Oth lately? I swear the man went from wishing me dead to having a spot open at his dinner table for me.”

  Fen speared Giselle with a disgruntled glance. “I don’t have to guess who cooked that up.”

  She smiled sweetly and Bryce chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. Now he did have the right to be proud of her.

  “Indeed, you do not,” Sebastian said. “But remember, I do own twenty-one percent of your stock, which means I can still muster up enough votes to be a pain in your ass. Now, about your deal with Giz,” he continued. “You do realize you would’ve been better off if she’d married Knox, right? There was always a better-than-fifty-percent chance she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in time, given how ancient she is and no time to get through the adoption process. But now . . . ”

  When Fen looked at Sebastian like he’d lost his mind, Bryce laughed outright. “Well, now that I’m not a squatter anymore, I’ve thrown my hat in the ring,” he said. “You’ll be getting my paperwork soon. Six percent for me and actively buying. With Taight’s twenty-one, together, we’re the majority shareholders of OKH Enterprises. Right. After. You.”

  Fen’s color dropped.

  “Fen,” Sebastian drawled, “you’re getting squirrelly in your old age. You should’ve seen that coming a mile away. I can only think you were under the impression that Kenard wouldn’t involve himself in our little war. Given the fact he enjoys a good jihad and you’ve tried to kill his wife twice now, you probably should’ve thought a little bit ahead.”

  Fen’s expression betrayed nothing more and Bryce felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, though he did manage to keep a straight face when Sebastian turned to him and said, “Kenard, when’s Oakley’s press conference?”

  “Uh, Tuesday. I asked him about that before the wedding.”

  “Fen,” Giselle said conversationally, “did you know Kevin Oakley’s going to announce his run for Senate?” Fen stared at Giselle then. “I like him. I’m sure you understand why.”

  “Ah, yes,” Sebastian murmured, “between me and Kenard—and oh, Hollander—” Fen’s lip curled. “—he’ll have a hefty war chest. Justice McKinley’s already given him the third degree and she’s on board. It’s a lock.”

  “Boss Tom Pendergast, Part II,” he snarled.

  “Libertarian version,” Sebastian added smugly. “But also not my idea. You can blame your little catnip Giselle over there for that, too.”

  Bryce slid a look at Fen, who didn’t bother to hide his anger as he glared between Bryce and Sebastian. “Your move, Fen,” Bryce murmured, staring at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Make it my wife, I’ll make you wish she’d killed you when she had the chance. I’m not that merciful.”

  Fen looked at Giselle then and nodded, brusque. “Godspeed, Giselle.”

  She nodded in return with a wicked smile. “Uncle Fen.”

  Once he had stalked off to find Trudy and drag her out the front door, Bryce looked down at Giselle to see her chuckle. “I find your relationship with him very disturbing.”

  “So do we,” Sebastian muttered, “but I must admit he is entertaining. Giz, what happened to his nose?”

  “It ran into my fist.”

  “See, now that’s funny. Has your mother read you your pedigree yet?”

  “No. She’ll save it for the next time I piss her off.”

  “Well, my mother got an earful, which, of course, she felt compelled to share with me in a very, ah, aggravated tone of voice. Yet again, you bear absolutely no responsibility for your own behavior. Your lack of purity and inability to get married in the temple is all my doing, what with my profligacy. They seem to think I drugged and stripped you, strapped you to the bed, and offered you up as a blo
od sacrifice to whichever demon I worship.”

  “Do you mean to say they don’t think I was sleeping with Knox?”

  “No, they do think that, but he is, apparently, as much a hapless victim of my Svengali-like control as you are.”

  Giselle laughed. “Okay, but did you get blamed for my strapped-to-the-bed nudity on display?”

  “Uh, no, come to think of it, I didn’t.”

  “Ah, sweet irony.”

  Bryce burst out laughing and Sebastian smirked. “I heard you got a drubbing, though.”

  “It was worth it.”

  Sebastian snorted his amusement and wandered off.

  The party wound down and Giselle excused herself. “I’m really tired, Bryce,” she murmured. “I’m going to go to bed. Can you make my apologies?”

  He nodded, then leaned down for a gentle kiss. She’d disappeared very early that morning and she hadn’t allowed him to get any more intimate than a kiss or two. He’d fantasized about a night like this for years: A wedding night with a gorgeous woman who was intelligent, well educated, and wild in the sack.

  And she was tired.

  * * * * *

  Bryce walked heavily up the stairs after everyone had gone, wondering if, now that they’d tied the knot and ceased to sin, the magic would dissipate. He hadn’t thought it possible until she had left the party early.

  He realized that he had feared that about their relationship more than just about anything else—his first wedding night had begun the same way and he’d failed to see it as a warning sign.

  When he walked into the bedroom, it was mostly dark, the drapes drawn, a small night light on in the bathroom. He could see the silhouette of her body in the bed, absolutely silent, absolutely still.

  Bryce sighed and turned to head to the bathroom.

  “Take your clothes off, Kenard,” she demanded with the same fire in her voice she had had the night they’d met and kissed.

  His head dropped back. Relieved and aroused at the same time, he nearly laughed as the tension left him.

  “Turn around.”

  He did and she snapped on a small lamp on her side of the bed. He sucked in a quick breath when he saw her. The skin of her breasts and belly, her thighs and her hips, were adorned with an elaborate copper-colored henna tattoo—which explained her mysterious disappearing act.

  Bryce rocked back on one heel just to look at her and take in the woman who lay in his bed.

  The tattoo, oh that tattoo! He found it surprisingly, achingly erotic, paisleys wrapping around her nipples and belly button and down her thighs, over her thighs, around her hips, and back up her ribs and belly. The gunshot wounds in her shoulder and her hip had been specially decorated.

  Her eyebrow rose and she smirked. “I said, take off your clothes. And don’t talk,” she added when he opened his mouth.

  He figured he’d go along with her for a while to see what she had in mind. He started with his shoes and socks, throwing them in a corner somewhere.

  “Did you know,” she murmured, drawing a finger across the icons around one nipple, “that paisley is the female counterpart to the phallic symbol? Don’t talk.”

  He grinned as his hands went to his shirt. He watched her watch him as he obeyed her as slowly as possible. She didn’t object. Once his feet and torso were bare, his hands went to his trousers; he unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, slowly and deliberately freeing his hard, very erect cock before letting his clothes drop to the floor.

  When he took his arousal in his hand and slowly, deliberately stroked up its length, then back down again, she drew in a harsh, shaky breath and shifted in bed, the leg on top drawing up and pressing into her other leg. She slid her hand between her legs.

  “Usually,” she whispered shakily as she manipulated her clitoris, “I don’t do this by hand. But you make me want to.”

  He quirked an eyebrow and smirked at that, but she only acknowledged it with a slow blink and that not-smile-not-smirk she had. Then she withdrew her hand and rose out of bed slowly. She strutted toward him, then stopped and put her hands flat on his chest, softly kissing his sternum. Butterfly kisses, tiny touches of the tongue, sharp nibbles. He felt his cock rub against her belly and he nudged his hips forward a bit to make his point.

  “You are a god,” she whispered, awe tingeing her voice. “Ares, the god of war.” He stopped smiling, his heart pounding from the impact of her words, her regard. This was so much more than he had ever hoped for and he gulped. Then she slid down his body.

  “And I’m on my knees. In front of you. Sucking your cock. Isn’t that where you wanted me?”

  He gasped when her tongue first twirled around the head of his cock. He palmed the back of her head to pull her closer to him, his head falling back once again. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. He had to trust her to know how to use those lips, teeth, and tongue, bold and clever.

  Bryce fisted his hand in her hair and swayed from the feel of her mouth around him. She licked and sucked and twirled, her hands clutching the back of his thighs to keep him close to her. His hips began to move and he pressed her into him. His head dropped back, his eyes closed in ecstasy, his back arched. She opened her throat when he thrust harder, faster. He couldn’t think. He pumped himself into her mouth and groaned when he came.

  When she’d sucked him dry and licked him clean, she pulled away from him and looked up.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, grateful and very, very touched.

  “It was the only wedding gift I could afford on short notice,” she whispered back. “I have—well, I had—nothing before it started raining money on me.”

  “It was more than enough,” he said, pulling her up off the floor and kissing her. “That first weekend, the blow job you gave me then—that was the first time for me.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You never—”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. Never.”

  “I— That’s— Oh, my.”

  “I never dared ask and she wasn’t volunteering. You, I didn’t even have to ask. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.”

  He pulled her close and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist then taking her to the bed. He lowered her gently and pulled her knees apart, sliding backward down the bed until his face was between her legs. He looked up at her. “Also something I’d never done before you.”

  She sucked in a quick breath and dug her fingers in his hair to pull him into her. “Drink me, Bryce.”

  And he did until she came, arching her back and clutching his face into her. He rose then, slowly, and buried himself inside her, having gotten hard again as his tongue played with her clitoris.

  Giselle sighed, and sighed again. She came again, softly, and then he did, once more.

  He stayed inside her as long as he could, her legs wrapped around him, bearing his full weight. He didn’t know how she could do that, but it filled him with joy.

  “I lo—”

  He clapped a hand to her mouth. “Don’t say it,” he said softly. “Not in bed. It means nothing to me in bed, when we’re coming down off that adrenaline rush. It needs to mean something when things aren’t so rosy downstairs or outside or during any number of things that need attention that don’t have anything to do with sex. Giselle, I have never had an experience like this in my entire life and I just want to enjoy it, to enjoy you.

  “Please quit your job,” he continued, a pleading note in his voice as he pulled his hand away her mouth. “I need you here in the evenings with me. I can’t stand a quiet house and I can’t stand being alone, especially after dark.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t have to. This morning, Hale told me not to come back until after I’d passed the bar. He put me on leave of absence.”

  Bryce rolled them over until she lay atop him. They kissed for a long time, slowly, enjoying the moment, enjoying each other, until they fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  44: THE HOUSE AT POOH CORNER

  OCTOBER 2006<
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  Eilis didn’t know what she’d done that had made Sebastian so angry with her that he was barely civil, but every Friday at three, he came by, looked at her reports and spoke as little as possible. Only on Fridays did she stand at the window and look down upon Cubicleville, which thrummed with the excitement of Sebastian’s three o’clock visit. Because he stopped to talk to everyone who wanted to chat, it took him about thirty minutes to walk the hundred feet from the door to the mezzanine steps.

  How did no one in the cadre of CEOs she knew and associated with see what he did? Why was he considered Satan himself? No, he didn’t smile or laugh. Yes, he looked like the most beautiful demon she could imagine. No, he didn’t take any bullshit. Yes, he was ruthless.

  But he understood people. He brought hope to them, faith, optimism, and validation. He made impossible situations look possible. He made work fun. He made the pain and the paranoia go away. He taught and in the teaching, he left better people behind.

  Still he delayed the trip up the stairs to her office. She wasn’t sure if he did this because he didn’t want to speak to her or if this was just his way, but she felt bereft, as if her lifeline, her support, her savior, had disowned her for an offense she hadn’t known she’d committed.

  The reports he wanted to see every week were on the table between her office and the conference room, waiting for him. She turned away from the window once he’d disappeared to climb the stairs and then he was there.

  “Good afternoon, Eilis,” he said, remotely cordial as always. He immediately sat down and began inspecting the reports she’d laid out for him. He’d come in looking as preoccupied as he always did on these visits, but was now completely focused and writing with his right hand. She thought both the preoccupation and focus might be a dodge, but she couldn’t tell.