Special Delivery (The Great Outdoors Book 4)

by Shayne McClendon

  “I believe it.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve forgotten your last name. I’m sorry.”

  “When I introduced myself, I told you I was Spencer Krupin but Krupin is my great-grandmother’s maiden name. That was the only lie I’ve told you and it’s important that you know that.” Staring into her eyes, he said quietly, “My name is Spencer Bishop III.”

  Her entire body stilled instantly. Barely audible, she said, “Bishop Memorial Wing, Bishop Computer Systems…that Spencer Bishop III?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…you’re a bike messenger. You deliver and pick up my packages! You can’t be that Spencer Bishop. He doesn’t have time for that shit.”

  “I bought a courier service before my grandparents passed. I wanted to try something new before I took the reins of the company. I’m not an idle trust fund baby.”

  Her green eyes widened with what he thought might be terror. For almost a minute, she didn’t speak. The confusion on her face was reflected in the utter stillness of her body beneath him.

  Then, “You’re Spencer Bishop? Upper East Side Spencer Bishop? Haven’t you been one of New York Magazine’s most eligible bachelors like four years in a row or something?”

  “Yes.” Spencer smiled gently.

  She stared at him the way she did when she sketched him. “I’ve seen pictures of you. Photos never even captured my attention. I barely spared them a glance the hundred times I’ve had them shoved in my face. I would have recognized you. There’s no way.”

  “I wear sunglasses almost constantly. When I’m not wearing shades, I’ll sometimes wear non-prescription glasses and a hoodie to conceal my identity. At social events, I attempt to limit the photos taken of me.”

  Her lips parted on a small gasp. “Why are you here? How have you been here? Don’t you have things to do?”

  “There’s nothing on my list as important as you.” He could tell she was in shock. “Shower with me.”

  He stood and helped her from the bed, guiding her into the bathroom. After he disposed of the condom, he turned on the water and pulled her inside.

  She stared at the glass tiles deep in thought. “Oh god. Your grandmother was Genny Bishop?” He nodded. “I met her at a nursing event for the hospital with my mother during my first year in college. She told me I had an arresting beauty.”

  He washed her body and then his own. As the last of the soap flowed away, she got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her, and dashed from the room.

  By the time he joined her, she was frantically pulling sketchpads from the box on the table.

  A little confused and more than a little worried at her reaction, he wrapped a towel around his waist and watched her.

  “I feel like I should help. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need to find something.” Her voice sounded strange and there was no denying her stress.

  One book after another was set aside as she checked the dates she always wrote at the bottom of her sketches.

  To herself, she mumbled, “It would have been before these but after the summer…” Another book was set aside. “Right around the time these were done. Wait…yes, here it is!”

  She began flipping through the pages, searching for something specific. There were pictures of Shania’s mother, others of people in his circles, and a lot he didn’t know.

  After a long time, she straightened and approached him. Turning the sketchpad, he took in the drawing and sat down hard in a chair.

  She’d done at least a dozen sketches of his grandmother with Arabella, alone, and with children who were obviously ill. It looked to be one of the many charity functions Genny had attended over the years.

  On a separate page, at the end of the event set, there was one of his grandfather leaning down to kiss his Genny.

  Spencer was speechless.

  “He came in at the very end of the event that day. He’d been delayed with business and she was so happy to see him walk into the room. She watched him make his way through all the people who wanted his time. He only had eyes for her.”

  “Shania…”

  She’d captured the perfect love between his grandparents. He’d seen the finished product of her sketch hundreds of times and never made the connection.

  A painting by Shania Murphy – his soulmate – had been hanging in his grandmother’s sitting room in the house he grew up in for years and he never once thought to ask about the artist who created it as a gift for them.

  She said softly, “I gave them the painting when I transferred it to canvas. To thank them for their donations to my mother’s favorite charity for children.”

  He stared at the sketch for a long time and didn’t move to wipe the tears that slipped over his cheeks.

  “You were right, Spencer. Theirs was a perfect love story.”

  Raising his face, he smiled. “I know.” He kissed her quickly and added, “Get dressed and come with me.”

  As he dressed and waited for her to join him at the top of the stairs, he could tell she was overwhelmed.

  Spencer was pretty much in awe himself but he knew she’d settle into the idea of everything once he showed her the house and explained more about his life.

  They left her brownstone after she checked in on Arabella. He started to hail a cab and laughed.

  Motioning to his security detail, they pulled forward and stopped directly in front of them in a Lincoln Towncar.

  His head of security and a man Shania recognized got out and nodded to him as he opened the door.

  “Good morning, Sax.”

  “Sir. Ma’am.”

  They slid in the back and he held her hand. She was pale and a little shaky but once they had a long talk, everything would be fine.

  He’d sprung a lot on her to take in at once.

  When they pulled to a stop in front of the enormous brownstone the Bishops had inhabited for decades, she pulled her hand free and got out of the car on her own.

  He didn’t understand the expression on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer as he guided her up the steps. Gerald met them at the front door. “Hi, Gerald. This is Shania Murphy.”

  Gerald’s expression turned to one of sincere pleasure. “A pleasure to meet you ma’am. Shall I expect you for dinner, Spencer?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that. I need to check something.”

  Tugging her up the stairs was literal because Shania resisted following him. A small knot of worry formed in his stomach.

  As the he opened the door to his grandparents’ bedroom, the scents and memories assailed him. It made him hesitate a moment before stepping over the threshold.

  With a deep breath, he walked to the sitting area where Spencer and Genny sat together every morning and evening for so many years.

  A little alcove off the main room, the couple started and finished their days there for decades. Having coffee, talking, or just sitting together as they read their own books.

  It was the most important space in the house to them. It remained so to Spencer because of what it represented.

  In a beautiful gilt frame on the wall between two windows covered in delicate lace was Shania’s painting. A tiny plaque was affixed to the bottom.

  To Genevieve Bishop,

  On behalf of the Children’s Research Foundation, please accept this painting in sincere thanks for your unmatched kindness and endless generosity, enabling further research and the lives of children to be saved. Everyone should experience the love apparent in this painting at least once in their life.

  Warmest regards,

  S. Murphy

  Spencer stood in front of it for a long time, his mind reeling from the connections that had been in front of him for so long. From the corner of his eye, he watched Shania back from the room, her lips parted and her breathing rapid.

  He turned as she took off running.

  Confused, he caught up with her in the upper hallway that overlooked the foyer. There were tears
in her eyes and he stroked her hair to calm her.

  “Shania, what is wrong?”

  “I-I don’t belong here. I’m just a girl from Georgia. I draw. The child of a nurse and a logger. You need to let me go.” She tugged at his hands, anxious to get to the stairs.

  Spencer hugged her against him. “All my life women have thrown themselves at me for no other reason than my money. I’m not losing the one woman I want because she’s afraid of it. Shania, I love you.”

  He kissed her and she moaned into his mouth, responding because it was what they were meant to do. When he lifted away, tears tracked silently down her cheeks.

  “Listen to me. I need you to accept who I am. I need you to embrace it because I can’t give you up. Not now, not after all this time. I’ve waited for you forever.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about the kind of life you lead. I won’t fit. You told me the press loves to gossip about you. Can you imagine what the press will say about me? No, Spencer. This won’t work.”

  His arms hugged her closer. “You don’t have to know anything about this stuff. Do not do this…don’t. I’ve handled the press since I was a kid. Let me worry about them.”

  “I need to think. I need to wrap my mind around things.” She stopped struggling and stared into his eyes. “I’m overwhelmed and I feel out of my depth.” Her hands squeezed his shoulders. “Give me time to think, Spencer. I need you to give me that.”

  “Shania…”

  “Please, Spencer.”

  He loosened his hold and she raked her fingers through his hair. Then the only woman he’d ever loved turned and ran down the stairs, red hair streaming out behind her.

  She opened the front door and closed it softly behind her.

  His head of security appeared in the foyer. Spun out, confused, and aching, he barked, “Double her protection, Sax. Do it now.”

  “Immediately, sir.”

  Gripping the rail, he tried to gather his thoughts. Nothing made sense and he wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong so quickly.

  Just an hour before, he’d been buried in her beautiful body and enjoying the best sex of his lifetime.

  For a single hour, everything he’d always wanted came together. He glimpsed the future and saw them sharing it.

  He didn’t understand.

  “Spencer.” The confusion and devastation were impossible to hide as he met the eyes of his butler on the first floor. “All will be well. Give her a couple of days to think.”

  Spencer couldn’t respond. He stood staring at the door and fought himself not to go after her.

  What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Standing in his office in the Manhattan high-rise that represented the heart of Bishop Industries, Spencer stared out at the skyline, his heart leaden in his chest.

  He hadn’t seen Shania in two days. She didn’t respond to his calls, texts, or emails. The security assigned to her assured him she was safe despite her obvious sadness.

  “Spencer,” his personal assistant called from the doorway. “Hudson Winters is here. Shall I resched…”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hudson interrupted. “Thank you, Blythe.”

  “Sir…”

  “Let’s not fight. You’re one of the few assistants in this city who doesn’t tremble with fear when I approach.” He crossed his hands at his back. “He’ll be fine.”

  Without turning, Spencer said, “It’s alright, Blythe.”

  The door closed softly and he listened as Hudson poured a drink from the mini-bar.

  Appearing at his side, he ordered, “Drink.” The man had a way about him.

  Spencer accepted the crystal rocks glass and took a long pull of the scotch. “I don’t usually drink in the middle of the day.”

  “Exceptions. The stuff of life.”

  “You’re an unusual man, Hudson.”

  “I’ve been told.” Black eyes stared at the side of his face. “What’s your plan?”

  “Plan? There’s no plan.” He shook his head. “She won’t talk to me.”

  “Is this junior high?” Frowning, he turned. “You’re wallowing.”

  “I’m not wallowing.”

  With a slight lean in his direction, Hudson stated, “Bishops do not wallow.” Straightening, he looked out over the city. “The legacy passed to you, has it ever been wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there ever a woman who might have been but wasn’t? Trial and error?”

  “That’s not…I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  One side of Hudson’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I thought not. I’ll ask again. What is your plan?” He waited, unblinking.

  The fog surrounding Spencer for two days cleared with a snap. “She’s afraid, confused. I lied by omission for months and then sprung everything on her in less than an hour. I took her from a safe cocoon and dropped her into my world with security and butlers.”

  “That was poor planning.”

  Spencer laughed and relief bubbled up. “Her reaction to who I am isn’t rejection.” Pulling himself straight, he finished his drink and set the glass down. “I’d wager every penny I own she’s as miserable as I am.”

  “Worse. You’re also her muse.”

  Jerking his head to the side, he whispered, “You’ve seen her?”

  “Tour of the building, a pleasure to finally meet her in person, and so forth. She’s clearly hurting.” A slight pause. “The plan?”

  “Simple. I introduce myself.”

  “Excellent. I’ll leave you to it.” With a nod, he turned and walked toward the door.

  “Don’t we have a meeting?”

  “We had it. See you at the gala.” Then he was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

  “Thank you, Hudson,” he murmured.

  Staring out at the skyline he loved most in the world, Spencer smiled for the first time since leaving Shania’s home.

  He had work to do.

  * * *

  Shania felt as if she was losing her mind.

  In the four days since she’d run from Spencer and the life he lived, she’d struggled to find her way.

  Not to the brownstone that represented the height of wealth but to her sunny studio on the day he’d made love to her for the first time.

  She’d assumed theirs would be a simple life, a simple concept. One lived by millions of other people. She loved him, he loved her. They’d work during the day, draw and make love every chance they got.

  The moment he confessed who he was, that simplicity was shattered and she didn’t have a moment to think before she was in a world with highly trained security, drivers, and a butler who inquired about dinner plans.

  It was surreal.

  As she stood in the former bedroom of Spencer’s grandparents, all she could think was that it was bigger than the entire one-bedroom house she lived in with her mother when Arabella returned to school to become a nurse practitioner.

  They went from circling each other without so much as a kiss to her first sexual experience to Spencer being one of the wealthiest people on the planet.

  It was clear from his messages the first couple of days that he didn’t understand her reaction at all.

  In hindsight, she wished she could have explained but she was in shock. A part of her felt like the little country girl she’d been with skinned knees and hand-me-down clothes playing dress-up in a fancy house.

  On the third day, she received a message from Spencer saying he would give her time to think but refused to give up. It was the first time she felt capable of taking a full breath.

  She missed him so bad she couldn’t think.

  Barely sleeping, unable to eat, and staring at blank pages without the spark to fill them up, she was lost.

  Since they’d been apart, she’d done her research on Spencer Bishop III and understood why she’d never recognized him.

  He’d been fiercely p
rotective of his privacy.

  Every beautiful woman – and a few men – who appeared in a photo with him were subject to relationship rumors. While he’d certainly engaged in more sexual scenarios than she had, he appeared to date rarely and never seriously.

  His philanthropy was legendary. The Bishops historically gave back massive sums of their profit to benefit those in need. She’d seen that herself. Their massive wealth could only be estimated.

  He was the only heir to the Bishop dynasty and incredible responsibility rested on his shoulders.

  According to everything she read, he bore the weight with brilliance, style, and a firm view of the future. That he was beautiful and genuinely kind were icing on the cake.

  As much of a catch as she recognized Spencer was, Shania was uncertain she was the right choice for him. Not in the life he led.

  It was so much simpler to imagine them together when she believed him to be a bike messenger with a penchant for chocolate chip cookies. Still, she circled back to the same thought over and over.

  How could she survive without her muse?

  No one had ever inspired her as much. She’d never produced the work he stimulated. No subject had ever had the patience to sit for her, hours on end, the way he did.

  She needed him to create.

  Her inability to sketch a single line was making her sick with stress and worry. Art wasn’t a hobby for her. It was sustenance. It was essential.

  Without him, she didn’t know what would happen.

  Then there was the matter of her heart. Since spending their single idyllic hour together, her body felt as if it vibrated constantly in expectation of more.

  That was nothing compared to the pain being apart from him caused her. The steady throb in her chest made it hard to concentrate and impossible not to think about him.

  After months of spending so much time in his presence, the loss was agony.

  “You did this to yourself,” she pointed out in a whisper for the hundredth time in four days.

  A soft tap on the door made her turn from the window. Patti held an enormous bouquet of wildflowers in brilliant colors.

  “Prince Charming just had these delivered,” her assistant pointed out with a touch of frustration. “I don’t know what your issue is but you need to resolve it. My envy is out of control and I have shit to do.”