The Proviso

by Moriah Jovan

  “And you did.”

  “Yes.” She licked a stray drop of ice cream off her lips and at that moment, Sebastian though he’d never been so hard for a woman in his life—and talking business! “I didn’t sleep much those first two or three years. I was either working or worrying.”

  Sebastian had almost scraped the bottom of his cup when he decided that since she wasn’t going to welcome his questions as to what made her tick, he’d talked about himself all he could stand, and she probably wouldn’t respond well if he simply picked her up and took her to bed, it was time to quit while he was ahead.

  He wanted to amuse this woman, seduce this Rubens goddess, lure her into his bed to stay awhile, maybe a very long, long while—a lifetime or so would be a good start.

  You don’t seduce. You overwhelm.

  Giselle’s words came back to him in a flash; he realized that in this area of his life, he had never followed his own axiom: If what you’re doing isn’t working, think of something else.

  Slow. Easy. No freight trains allowed. As long as he could keep the door open, he could draw her out little by little.

  Once he had set his course of action, he stood and stretched. “Well, Eilis, I’m going to head home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Plaza.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You drove all the way up here to take me to lunch, which was way back down there again?”

  Sebastian came down from his stretch and saw his opening. He dropped, bracing himself on the arms of her chair, and he kissed her, deeply and long, tasting maraschino cherry flavoring on her tongue, until she sighed and kissed him back, then continued kissing her a while longer for good measure. Finally, he drew away from her slowly, watching her as he straightened to his full height.

  “Sure did.” He turned toward his truck. “And I’d do it again, too,” he called over his shoulder before he climbed in and drove home.

  Once there, he pulled up the website of his favorite vendor, ordered the supplies he needed for a new project for delivery to the old falling-down barn at the back of Knox’s property. He would inform Knox later that he had appropriated his barn for an unspecified period of time and his services as an artist’s assistant.

  Maybe he had a chance of squeezing Ford out of her mind after all.

  * * * * *

  Eilis went to bed that night and looked long and hard at Morning in Bed.

  Usually she fantasized about what it would be like to be painted by him, that dark and dangerous, beautiful nude man, made love to by him.

  She remembered when she’d bought the painting: In Spain, years before, at a gallery that had only had it for three days. She’d already begun collecting Fords by then and she knew with the certainty of a connoisseur that though the subject was male, Ford had painted it. The strokes were off, though, different somehow, slapdash, as if the artist had some measure of contempt for the subject.

  Her obsession with the painting hadn’t begun until she’d married David, lived through the hell he’d visited upon her, felt her self-esteem shred with each cruel word David spoke—knowing she had to stay with him until she figured out how he was stealing from her and where he hid it. She might never have survived that time, much less emerged quasi-victorious, but for her garden and Morning in Bed.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind during that time, she’d known Ford would find her beautiful, would make love to her to give her that precious flush of orgasm, then paint her and present her to the world as beautiful.

  Rubens . . . painted goddesses.

  So did Ford. While she didn’t like the Fords that displayed rubenesque women, she did take comfort in the fact that he loved them well, painted them, made them beautiful.

  Valued them.

  She still wanted that, but she was no closer to finding Ford than she ever was; she had private investigators in Chicago and Atlanta and New York, LA and Taos and Seattle searching—and had for three years—to no avail.

  It occurred to her to expand her reach to Europe, but tonight it didn’t seem quite as important while snatches of her date with Sebastian—had she agreed to a real date?—kept interrupting. She smiled when she remembered the kiss in the garden, when he had told her she was a master gardener and that what she had created was a work of art.

  The old beat-up pickup truck he drove surprised her, but more than that, the sight of Sebastian in old faded jeans over battered black cowboy boots, with a plain white tee shirt tucked in his waistband, had made her catch her breath. She’d stood at her window watching him flirt with her flowers, muscles rippling under his shirt. His jeans rode low on his hips and caressed his tight butt with a lover’s touch. His tousled hair shifted colors from black to iridescent navy in the sunlight as the breeze played with it.

  He was forty, her age, and looked thirty, yet she’d seen the white scattered amongst the black. He would never go completely white, but ease into a salt-and-pepper perfectly suited to that sculpted face and those ice blue eyes that randomly darkened to lavender, then violet and back to ice.

  She’d seen a weapon, a matte black gun, in his waistband at the small of his back. She hadn’t asked about it and he hadn’t volunteered any information, but after their incredibly enlightening conversation concerning the fate of Knox’s bride, it made complete sense. She wondered if he had worn it while in her office building and decided it didn’t make any difference; he was who he was and for some reason, she found herself feeling . . . Safe. Warm. Protected.

  She knew Knox carried a weapon. During the course of David’s trial, she’d noticed that all the attorneys in his office did and she wondered if that happened in the other counties in the metro or just Chouteau County.

  She gave Fen a cease and desist order at the point of a gun.

  Then there was this mysterious cousin Giselle who carried, to whom Sebastian had briefly referred as “Boudicca with a Glock” with more than a little affection of the brotherly sort in his voice. Eilis felt bereft at that. She craved that sort of affection from her brother, a man who didn’t know he had a sister—and would hate her if he did know.

  Eilis had never met anyone who could stand Fen Hilliard down on any level. She knew CEOs who cowered at the thought of incurring his wrath—certainly Eilis was one of them—and yet this family, Sebastian and Knox and Giselle, had declared war on him with no trace of intimidation. She wondered what it would be like to not fear Fen Hilliard.

  She knew Sebastian had never married and it didn’t take a high IQ to figure out why: looks and money. She wondered if he had ever been pursued by a woman for his brain, but somehow she doubted it. All that genius and sensibility wrapped up in pretty paper and a handsome bow, going to waste.

  Today, she’d had a nice date with a nice man. Not King Midas, not Sebastian Taight, not anything but an interesting and attractive man who made her laugh, made her think, and made her tingle . . . there. She hadn’t met a man who’d made her do that in . . .

  Her brow wrinkled and her lips pursed.

  Well, not in a long time, she supposed. David had done her no favors and she barely remembered any one of the long string of lovers before him. She swallowed. No, not lovers.

  Fucks.

  Meaningless, worthless, some of them nameless, and, worse—not fun or pleasurable enough to make up for the transience. Eilis couldn’t remember when or even if she’d ever truly enjoyed sex with anyone other than herself.

  Not worth remembering, particularly as compared to Sebastian.

  Who had only kissed her.

  Three times.

  Slow and easy, in a way she had never been kissed, and her breath caught again at the memory of how he made her feel.

  But now she also feared that about him, how he made her feel. He was dangerous to her in ways she had not expected, in ways Fen Hilliard wasn’t.

  Yes, Sebastian would sell her paintings, but she would have done that anyway had she had time to clean out her staff herself. Their salaries would have decimated t
he proceeds from the sale of those paintings and the good cash would’ve been thrown after bad. Pointless. He comprehended that decision based on her inability to get rid of her dead weight and respected her for it.

  But no, he didn’t want to take her company or hand her over to Fen, as she’d originally assumed. He wanted her company to recover from what David had done to it, wanted to put her back on her feet. He understood her.

  Sebastian threatened her with his warmth, his magic.

  As far as her nonexistent experience with actual relationships went, she suspected he wanted one with her. She dared not fall in love with him, though she feared it would be only too easy to do so—if she’d even recognize it for love, since she didn’t know what that felt like.

  From everything she could gather, when a woman was in love with a man and began a relationship with him, she shared herself, her life, her past. The one thing Eilis dreaded most in the world was Sebastian’s rejection if she opened her soul to him. Sebastian would despise her for what had happened, what she’d done. Any normal man would.

  As a matter of fact, Eilis had no wish to share her past with anyone and she’d buried it as deeply as possible. She simply lived as if those years had never existed.

  She had never cried over her childhood, her adolescence. She had cried once in her biological mother’s presence, begging for some acknowledgment, and had been sneered at, slapped, for her weakness.

  I’ll not acknowledge a girl who snivels and grovels for what she doesn’t deserve. If you’d come here proud, demanding, I might have considered talking to you for a moment. I could have respected that. But you’re weak and I despise weakness.

  She had cried once in Knox Hilliard’s office when she related every second of her marriage and, again demonstrating that he was not the man the city vilified, he had taken her in his arms and hugged her for a long time. She had felt no threat from him, no interest in her as anything other than someone who needed some protection and a measure of vengeance. He was the only one who could give her both and he’d done as well as he could.

  She’d never shared a moment of anything before she’d testified to David’s evil at his trial, and had refused to talk about anything before David.

  Yet she almost couldn’t regret telling Sebastian what little she had.

  She glanced up at Morning in Bed, seeing it shadowed on the wall in the dim moonlight.

  Ford.

  Ford was the key, because he wouldn’t care. If she found him, if he deigned to see her, he would make love to her, he would paint her, he would make her look and feel as beautiful as she wanted to feel, and then he would send her on her way, prepared to meet any man romantically on her terms.

  He would throw the final shovel full of dirt on the grave of her past.

  * * * * *

  46: MORNING IN BED

  DECEMBER 2006

  It was Friday, Sebastian’s day to visit, and going on three o’clock. Eilis was very nervous today. She intended to do something she’d never done before. Ever.

  He walked in the building a little after three and stopped at nearly every cubicle if its occupant caught his eye or ear. It was the same way every week and his journey from the front door to her office was going on an hour. Nobody wanted to ask advice; they just wanted to thank him for what he’d done, chat a little, joke around, share food. And he accommodated everyone with ease and grace. She couldn’t help feeling some jealousy. They didn’t treat her like that—and it was her own fault.

  Her persona had been easy when she’d had to make deals she couldn’t get as anyone other than the excruciatingly proper Miss Logan. Now with enough credibility to drop the charade, powerful allies, a decluttered staff, and a happy workplace, she missed what she’d never had: a camaraderie with her employees.

  Sebastian still never smiled or laughed when he was in a suit, but it didn’t seem to matter. He radiated warmth and humor like a cat’s purr. How did the financial world not see this? Why had she never heard this from a CEO he’d rescued? All she’d ever heard was how dangerous he was.

  Of course, he’d been very dangerous the day he’d threatened to smear her with a cold concrete then lick it off. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She almost wished she’d been courageous enough to call his bluff, but that was too risky.

  Fridays now were a treat because alwaysalwaysalways, Sebastian took her into her wood-paneled private office to greet her with a kiss, then left her with a kiss. Sometimes it was short and sweet, a drop on the forehead, on the back of her hand, in the palm of her hand, butterfly kisses. Sometimes it was playful and sweet, not too deep, not too flippant. Once, and only once, he had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her long and deep, searching, sucking her soul, devouring her senses. Every week was an opportunity to hope for another one of those.

  Little by little, he was seducing her, pulling her into a relationship she didn’t want, but Eilis wasn’t quite sure he wouldn’t do it anyway no matter how hard she resisted. He was ruthless after all and he tended to turn into a bulldozer when he was opposed.

  “Good afternoon, Eilis,” Sebastian said cordially as he dropped his backpack on the table, then entered her office and closed the doors. “I hope you’ve had a good week.”

  Eilis smiled, wondering what would be in store for her today. Alas, today was a kiss on the cheek. She hid her disappointment as he returned to the table outside her office doors.

  “I think so,” she said evenly, drawing up every ounce of her persona to help her through the next couple of hours. As usual, the reports were prepared and he sat to look them over. All was quiet as he read, flipped through papers, scratched out comments in red.

  “Well, Eilis, you’ve done well.” Same as usual. He pulled a piece of green paper, folded in thirds, out of his suit coat’s inner pocket. It was the checklist he’d written and worked from so long ago—had it really been only four months?—and opened it. He looked it over, red pen in hand.

  “Your client sales are picking up a little here, a little there. I suspect you may have tapped out that market, but who knows? It seems the management of the 401(k) plans is exceptional.”

  “Yes, thank you for getting us in with Blackwood Securities. Quite a few of my colleagues are amazed and jealous.”

  Sebastian looked up at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Jack Blackwood’s a miracle worker, isn’t he? When we go to New York, I’ll introduce you, but I warn you, he’s different.”

  “I’ve spoken with him on the phone several times. I can only imagine.”

  “His wife kicks his ass and his CFO keeps him from floating off into the stratosphere.”

  “Melinda Newman?”

  “Yes. Brilliant woman. She saved my bacon a few years ago when Jack was, ah, unexpectedly incommunicado for a week. Now that’s a story. I expect that once word gets out about how well managed those accounts are, that’s where you’ll get most of your business. That and managing the health insurance issues.” He looked back down. “The screening tests are out on the market and selling,” he said absently, then crossed it off the list. “Your revenue from that is picking up and I’m impressed with the success you’ve had with it. I’ve been hearing rumors of its effectiveness, so very good.”

  Eilis preened under his warmth and regard, even though he couldn’t tell because she was “on.”

  “The beta for the small business software is due in three months. How’s that coming along?”

  “Actually, Michael has an alpha version right now. I expect it’ll be in beta testing next month.”

  “Oh, very good. The auction is on February fifth and I think, from looking at these numbers today that after the auction, with or without the beta software, you’ll be in the black and we won’t need to wait until August to start the IPO process. In fact, if the auction goes well, we can start it while we’re there. Jack’s ready for it whenever we are.”

  That surprised her. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. All you needed was a little time
and a little help.”

  She turned back to the window and watched the hive below her, afraid to ask. Afraid he’d say no. Afraid she may have alienated him somehow that she didn’t know, kisses notwithstanding. He joined her at the window then, just as he had the first day.

  “I have a present for you, Eilis,” he said, low.

  She started. “You do?”

  “Yes, but I’ll have to deliver it to you. When would you be free and have a couple of hours?”

  Eilis paused. “Tomorrow, but— I had something to ask you. A favor,” she said in a rush. “I was wondering if you’d help me decorate my house for Christmas? You know, climbing ladders, heavy lifting, that sort of thing. I haven’t dressed it since September eleventh.”

  “Of course I’ll help you, Eilis. I love Yule, but I don’t decorate because I have the Plaza lights out my front windows. When would you like me to come over?”

  “Well, since you’re coming over tomorrow, maybe you could make a day of it? I’ll make a povitica. Blueberry cream cheese is my favorite.”

  She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t look at him because she was so embarrassed about having had to ask for help in this particular matter, from a man, and from a man who’d rescued her once already.

  “Povitica sounds good. Do you have any mulling spices?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring the wassail.”

  She did glance at him then. “Yule? Wassail? You sound like you’re from merry olde England.”

  She felt, rather than heard, his laugh and he still hadn’t smiled, but his mouth did quirk a little. “I’m pagan, Eilis.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t found another way, did I?”

  “No.”

  “What time would you like me to show up with my present? Remember, a couple of hours.”

  “Nine-ish, I guess,” she said, feeling as if she’d just missed something important about him.

  “Okay. Dress in your warmest worst clothes.”