by Moriah Jovan
“And hit the button on World War III? That’s not my style. I’d rather Knox rat himself out than put myself in the line of fire like that.”
“You’re as sneaky as he is.”
“Oh, I’ll never be that good.”
They climbed up the back porch stairs and walked into the main kitchen. Justice had made herself at home to cook, but Knox was nowhere to be found.
“He’s hiding,” Justice said in answer to the question that no one asked. “Didn’t want to get his head ripped off—and before you ask, I told him not to do that.”
“What’s that?” Vanessa asked, coming up behind her and looking over her shoulder.
“It’s sauce for apple dumplings.”
“I could’ve had some for you when you got here, if you’d asked.”
“Uh, I didn’t know I’d want some until about an hour ago.” She looked at Vanessa, her face full of excitement. “I’m pregnant again!”
“Fabulous!”
“I just got past puking everything up and now I’m into eating everything in sight.”
“I’m guessing Knox is happy?”
Justice flashed a swift, dreamy smile. “Oh, he’s thrilled.”
“I’ll bet,” Vanessa muttered absently, dipping a spoon into Justice’s sauce to taste. “Damn, that’s good. Love that kick. I still can’t figure out your secret ingredient. Please tell me?”
“Absolutely not and quit asking. Oh! I saw Mister Thompson walking down the highway with just a rucksack and his iPod. Where’s he going?”
Vanessa felt Eric’s gaze and bit her lip. “Montana.”
Justice stared at her, incredulous. “He’s walking?”
“That’s how he got here, remember? Walked and hitchhiked from West Virginia.”
“I swear, I do not understand that man.”
Vanessa risked a quick glance at Eric and felt the heat rising in her cheeks at the smirk of satisfaction on his face.
Then he looked at Justice. “Hellooo, Miss McKinley.”
Justice looked over her shoulder. “Oh, hey, Eric. Knox about had a heart attack when he saw your car.”
“Yeah, I bet. How’s Provo?”
“Weird,” she replied. “I’ve never lived in a college town before, so that alone was strange. Not like UMKC, where, you know, there’s a campus in the middle of a huge city. It’s almost like BYU is the city. The culture is strange. The jargon’s a foreign language and it was very odd listening to Knox speak that language. He had to give me a crash course in Mormonism so he wouldn’t have to stop and translate every three minutes.”
“You never talked about it before?”
“Not much. You know how much I despise organized religion and I don’t get how his family can claim either Ayn Rand or Joseph Smith, much less both in the same breath. I mean, I thought I married into a semi-intelligent family.”
“They’re on the cafeteria plan,” Eric drawled. Vanessa began to chuckle when Justice shot Eric a quizzing glance. “Take what they want, leave the rest. Like a cafeteria.”
Justice laughed. “How much of it did you take?”
Eric raised his hands. “Hey, I’m a Lamanite. I don’t have to believe a damned thing. As one of God’s chosen people, I get a special dispensation all the way through life.” Vanessa grinned at him then. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, I do.” Vanessa chuckled and glanced at Justice, who looked confused, albeit resigned to her confusion.
“Eh, I’ll ask Knox later.”
“Are you spending the summer here or what?”
“Oh!” Justice said, tasting her sauce. “No. We moved back, living in Eilis’s house until ours is rebuilt. Just got back three days ago, actually. Spent a couple of weeks in California so Knox could surf all his favorite spots. We’re going to go to Australia over Christmas.”
“What happened?”
“Well,” she said with a snicker, “seems the law school somehow didn’t bother to get the church’s approval before pushing Knox through the hiring process. It took the powers that be a little bit to figure out that the Knox Hilliard was teaching for them. You know, the same Knox Hilliard they excommunicated sixteen years ago.”
Vanessa gasped. “He got fired?”
“Oh, c’mon,” Eric said. “I was shocked they got away with hiring him at all, and I’m surprised he lasted all of two semesters.”
“Well, did and didn’t. He and the dean were summoned to Salt Lake about halfway into the first semester, but they were stuck and needed him to finish out the year. The law building pretty much blew up the minute his students heard the whispers and went googling. He was very popular the second semester.”
Vanessa watched Eric laugh, and she was entranced. All those years—gone. She was thirteen again and he was eighteen and she watched that brilliant smile in that dark, carved face that had always made her want to laugh, too. But this time, when he caught her staring, he didn’t stop laughing, didn’t turn and walk away.
His smile did fade a bit, but only enough for him to touch his tongue to his bottom lip suggestively, then burst out laughing yet again when Vanessa felt her blush deepen.
Embarrassed, she turned away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed, the last time she’d met a man who could make her blush.
“So, uh, Justice,” Eric said, his laughter winding down, “what’s he going to do now?”
“Teach at UMKC and have actual office hours. Write. Publish. And otherwise be a stay-at-home dad.”
“What are you going to do?”
She stopped stirring and looked straight at him. “I’m going to go to the new Chouteau County prosecutor and prostrate myself at his feet for my old job back.”
“Pretty sure he’s not going to have a problem with that. Where’s Mercy?”
“Knox is probably out trying to make her ride a sheep. Those two are attached at the hip.”
“I’m guessing he’s fine since he’s as obnoxious as he ever was.”
“Yes, back at full strength, thank heavens. My hand was getting tired.” There was dead silence for a beat before the entire kitchen staff started to laugh. Justice, her face still perfectly straight, rubbed her tummy and said, “This? First time out of the chute since the man died. He’s potent, I tell you.”
While everyone else howled, Justice calmly put Eric to work peeling and coring the apples she’d picked.
“Justice, I didn’t know how much I missed that nasty sense of humor of yours.”
She grinned. “I had a good teacher.”
Once the hilarity wound down, Vanessa wrapped an apron around her waist and stepped up to the stove to direct one of her apprentice chefs. Two waiters roamed in and out for foodstuffs that were always on hand for the guests who had rooms.
Vanessa heard the sound of pie crust being worked with a fork. Then, “How many pies do you need this weekend, Vanessa?”
“None,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re pregnant, you just got here, and I didn’t plan for it.”
“Oh, good. Just me and my apple dumplings.”
“I’d rather the entirety of the Ozarks not automatically associate your presence with cherry pie. It’s bad for business and bad for you. Scarcity is a fine thing.”
Just then Vachel burst into the kitchen from the back door. “Why are you here?” he barked at Eric.
Vanessa and Justice turned to gape at him. “Vachel!” Vanessa snapped once she’d recovered herself. “What’s the problem? You guys got along just fine last month.”
“Yeah, in Kansas City,” he said snidely. “Not in Mansfield.”
“Uh oh.” Knox’s voice came from the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “Looks like we’ve got territory problems. C’mon, Vachel. We’ll go get Curtis’s prescription filled and have a chat. Eric, you can thank me later.”
Knox, one arm full of gorgeous squirming strawberry blonde toddler, clapped his other hand on Vachel’s shoulder and steered him gently outs
ide. Their voices floated back through the open windows, getting quieter as they walked away from the mansion toward the private garage. “Look, I know this is probably really weird for you.”
“Uh, yeah. First my mom and now my aunt. I mean, I knew she liked him but—”
“Apples and oranges, and let me tell you why . . . ”
Vanessa swallowed, the sting of tears in her eyes and a sharp pain behind her nose. She turned away from Eric—the reminder that she was tied up in the same family as Simone and LaVon Whittaker too much to bear. She could feel the pull of Chouteau Acres Mobile Home Park dragging her back into the cesspool.
It never went away completely.
Regardless of how famous and successful she was, regardless that her past wasn’t littered with one-night stands and illegitimate children and addictions of one sort or another, regardless that her education was impeccable—
“Stop it,” Eric whispered in her ear, his hand around her arm and tugging her around to him. “You’re not Simone, you’re not LaVon. You’re better than that. Remember, you took the trailer park out of the girl.”
Really, she didn’t want to cry in front of her staff. They had never seen that, never seen her lose it, but—
“How did you know?” she whispered.
“I’m very observant. The tip of your nose turns red when you’re feeling insecure.”
She looked up at him. “Really?”
His smile flashed. “I have no idea. I’m teasing you because I know I can make you smile.”
“You’ve always been able to make me smile.”
“Well, look at that,” Alain crowed from the door. “She does have a libido and a taste for men. Go get a room, Boss, and let me have my kitchen. It’s Friday.”
“Oh, Alain,” Justice called. “Apple dumplings. Could you have someone put them in the oven for me, please? I’m going to go get dressed for dinner.”
“No problem.”
Vanessa leaned into Eric and his arm snaked around her waist to pull her to him. She murmured, “I’m afraid there are no vacancies, sir. Would you care to share a cottage with the owner?”
“That’d be an acceptable arrangement,” he purred.
Vanessa smiled. “Did you bring suits?”
“That’s what you told me to do.”
“You can eat with Knox and Justice. I seat the guests myself and then schmooze during dinner. Part of the Whittaker House gimmick is me seating, possibly serving, personally.”
“Why doesn’t Vachel live in the cottage with you?”
She pulled away from him a bit and took his hand. She drew him outside and down the stairs, headed for her cottage.
“He’s very claustrophobic. He refuses to go into any of the cottages for any reason whatsoever. His room is above the kitchen, across from my office, which used to be the conference room. He needs a lot of space, a lot of light. Windows. He won’t even sleep in a twin bed. Apparently Simone—probably at the suggestion of my mother—decided that a closet in a single-wide was the perfect place for a crying toddler. That’s why he can’t sleep when it’s dark. He will, but he has to be really tired or I have to be close by.”
Eric scowled. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not. The first thing I did when I got him here was take him to a doctor and a shrink. He was more malnourished and screwed up than I expected. He was very clingy for a while, but that wore off as he started to get some good food in him and feel more secure. Curtis tells him about being in a concentration camp, how he survived. The missionaries help because they’re always so cheerful. The highland games definitely helped. He needed to be surrounded by confident, happy, strong men. I’ll tell you what, though. If I thought I could get blood out of a turnip, I’d sue my mother for the cost of his therapy.”
“Is that why you can feel good about letting him have his freedom?”
“Oh, no. That would have never happened without the highland games. The men all love him, but they won’t tolerate dishonorable behavior. I can ask any one of them to knock some sense into his head. He’s only gotten really out of line once or twice and even then, I only had to say the two magic words.”
“Knox Hilliard.”
“That’s it. He didn’t believe Knox would actually get on a plane just to crack his head open.”
“Oh, he should’ve known better than that.”
“He does now.”
It only took a moment to get to her cottage and Eric actually looked at it this time as Vanessa made a beeline to her bedroom. It was maybe five hundred square feet of open area heated in the winter by the relatively big fireplace opposite the corner kitchenette. On the other side of the fireplace was the narrow staircase going up to her bedroom. He had to duck the ceiling when he climbed it to get to her bedroom, where he saw Vanessa’s beautiful ass sticking out of one closet. She muttered the occasional curse word as she sorted through the mess of clothes, shoes, and accessories.
Still bent over, she looked at him through her legs and gave him a cheeky grin. “I’ll let you clean out my closet for me while you’re here.”
Eric smirked and rolled his eyes, then turned and left to get his things, finally deciding to just drive his car back there and park in her private garage, since he wasn’t going any place for the week if he could possibly help it.
He brought in his clothes and hung them on a hook near the bathroom door. She’d gotten back in the shower in the time it had taken him to bring his car around and park. Then, without a trace of hesitation, Eric stripped and once again got into the shower with Vanessa.
“We have a little bit of time,” she whispered.
“I don’t do quickies, Vanessa,” he murmured as his lips brushed her shoulders and neck. “I told you that— I take my time and since we got interrupted this afternoon, I want all night. What I’ll do right now, though, is soap you down, then help you back into that corset I know you had on at your father’s wake.”
* * * * *
24: May I See You Home?
He was serious! Vanessa held her breath while Eric—wet, cut—poured shampoo into his hands and washed her hair. This wasn’t arousing so much as feeling taken care of, cherished. He washed her head to toe, taking his time between her legs.
Then he rinsed her off and let her return the favor.
She loved feeling his body under her hands and, because he was a head taller than she was, he knelt in front of her so she could wash his hair. He wrapped his hands around her hips, his thumbs in her pubic hair, and pressed his lips to her belly.
“Breathe, Vanessa,” he murmured. “We only have so much time and soap in my ass makes me itch.”
She burst out laughing then, and she finished, making sure to rinse his ass well. He caught her hands and wrapped them around his cock while he kissed her, long and deeply.
Then he hustled her out of the shower, dried her off, then himself. He discarded the towel on the way out of the bathroom, sat on the bed, and drew her to stand between his thighs. He kissed her between her breasts and breathed deeply. Vanessa thought her legs would give out on her right then. He seemed to have remembered where she laid each piece of her clothes out because he grabbed her lacy pink tanga shorts from behind him without moving his mouth away from her skin.
She stepped back when he leaned down, holding her panties open for her to step into. He pulled them up her legs slowly, his hands caressing her softly, carefully, teasingly. He cupped her buttocks in his big hands and drew her back toward him so that he could nuzzle under her breasts.
“Mmmm, yes, I’ll make love to you all night, Vanessa, even when I’m not touching you. You’ll go do what you do and while you work—while I watch you work—you’ll remember me washing you, dressing you, touching you, kissing you.”
Vanessa’s eyes had closed long ago, her fingers buried in Eric’s wet black hair.
“You’re getting wet,” he murmured, his nose and mouth between her breasts now. “I can smell you. Every man in your dining room ton
ight’ll want a piece of you and won’t even know why.”
“Eric,” she sighed as her hands left his hair to stroke down his neck to his shoulders and back, not caressing so much as kneading the muscles there.
“Vanessa,” he sighed in return.
She missed the feel of his mouth when he turned to get her white merrywidow. He stood and wrapped it around her, hooking it up the back for her, slowly, carefully, his knuckles grazing her back and his lips brushing her nape. When she raised her hands to adjust her breasts in the demi cups, he brushed them away. He dug his hands into the cups and adjusted her breasts himself to his satisfaction, and it satisfied him to make sure her nipples, now hard as pebbles, were not covered by the lace.
“Eric, I can’t work the dining room like that,” she whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back. “But it was a nice thought while it lasted.” And then he adjusted them properly, which was even more tantalizing when lace brushed up against her stiff nipples, his thumbs adding to the sensation.
Stockings. Barely-there white shimmer stockings with French seams. He knelt behind her and drew one up her leg, keeping the seam perfectly straight. She caught her breath when he pressed his lips into the crease between her thigh and buttock.
“Eric, I can’t do this much longer. I’m dying.”
“Mmmm, so am I,” he muttered against the back of her thigh. “It’s the good kind of dying.”
Vanessa didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel what Eric was doing while he dressed her; she couldn’t imagine what he’d do while undressing her.
The other stocking, and Vanessa was about to faint.
“Hand me your shoes, Vanessa.”
She leaned over the bed to get to them and then gasped when she felt Eric’s mouth high on the inside of her thigh, then his finger slowly drawing her panties aside.
Stretching farther and putting her hands flat on the bed, Vanessa spread her legs wider apart. He accepted the invitation, wrapping his hands around her hips and drew himself closer into her.
His tongue dipped up inside her, tasting, drinking. His fingers slid around her, between her legs from the front, and he teased her clitoris.