“Charles got the unlucky draw.” His belly tightened, suddenly wanting to hit something. “I’m sorry for what the Wynters did. I had no idea.” Such inadequate words …
Alexander stretched his neck as if moving on. “It was a hard time, but the social climate is better now.”
“We’re still not there.”
Those sharp blue eyes settled on him. “No. I suppose we’re not.”
Eric bent forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “My family accepted me as I am. My mother asked me if I was going to ask Mary Brickman to my ninth-grade dance. I told her I’d rather go with Daniel, my best friend at the time.”
“Brave.”
“He was my first.” He shrugged. “I never thought I had to pick sides. Men. Women. Why limit yourself to only fifty percent of the population?’
Alexander blew a breath. “Then you are unusual.”
Pivotal moments were something Eric was very, very good at identifying, like the one now presented by Alexander’s deeply personal sharing. Faced with a fork in this strange road he’d been asked to travel, he’d chosen right when he’d pushed for more. Fortune favors the bold.
“I guess we both are.” He placed his hand over Alexander’s, and holy-motherfucking-hallelujah-guardian-angel-on-high, the man didn’t yank his fingers away. “I’m glad you got your revenge. Getting this house.”
Alexander’s lips twitched upward. “I got revenge. Now every time Marston visits his mother’s grave, or sees the trees, the house, the headstones … he will know they belong to me.” The steel in Alexander’s eyes returned, obliterating the pain he’d seen when Alexander had been retelling his story. This was the Alexander he knew.
“Remember the Christmas scavenger hunt he sent us on?” Rebecca’s soft voice drifted into the room. She pushed off the doorway, and Alexander broke contact with him. She laid Alexander’s jacket over the farmhouse table. “We’d find a clue and then that would lead to another until we got to our presents? He loved giving us things.”
She’d been listening? Eric wondered how she felt about all this.
“Charles amused himself so easily.” Alexander reached to his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper in the pocket, and handed it to Rebecca.
She scanned it, her mouth stretching into another sad smile. Her gaze lifted and turned to Eric, and light returned in her eyes. “I’ll bet you there are more hidden letters. I could help you look.”
So, Rebecca wanted to stay, too. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She was pleasant enough, but … his expertise wrested control from his ridiculous schoolboy jealousy. I got this. He knew exactly how and where to start. “You ever notice how many paintings in this house include birds?” he asked.
Alexander’s smile was all he needed. Hell, yes, he was going to help this man settle a few scores.
15
“This is where you found it?” Alexander held his chin and stared at the nondescript brown paper backing of the Tobias Stranover.
“Yep.” Eric studied the framing. “The curator at the Dia Foundation would kill for this.”
“He can have it.” He could give a rat’s ass about the artwork. The real treasure, found taped to the back of this pheasant painting, crinkled between his fingers. The words rang in his ears as if Charles’ voice spoke straight from heaven.
Charles Durham Wynter Note Number 217 or thereabouts. Bluebirds, cardinals, the vicious peacock. Everyone loves the beautiful birds. Yet it’s the females that do the heavy lifting, and have you seen a female cardinal? Those brown feathers look like they bathed in a mud puddle. Don’t you agree? Say something if you’re going to go sneaking about looking for my hidden letters.
His stomach churned. The nostalgia was getting to him—that or the mold and dust they’d inhaled for hours. At least Eric had found something. He had sat in the library seeking long lost love letters, flipping through pages of old books like a historian. His phone buzzed in his pocket for the nineteenth time that day. He’d kill for forty-eight hours in one day.
“Check on Rebecca, will you? She should be sleeping.” He’d ordered her to take a long hot bath while he kept going. She was then to take a nap.
He lifted his phone. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Alexander?” Ryan’s voice was edged in panic. “How soon can you get back to D.C.?”
“Hold on.” He held the phone away from his ear. “Eric, we’ll go out to dinner … in town. If she’s awake, tell Rebecca.” He strode to the front of the house to deal with whatever had Ryan in a snit.
“What’s going on?”
“Remember Michael Headler?”
“How could I forget?” To think he’d wasted countless hours on trying to reform that abuser. “Don’t tell me Seraphina is giving up on him, too?”
“She will now. He’s here with an attorney, crying about sexual abuse. He named us specifically, Alexander. Told this attorney you run a secret sex club called Accendos.”
Irritation bubbled up. He didn’t have time for this. “Not the first time someone’s tried that stunt.”
“Yes, but this attorney is wearing the $600 shoes. Headler is well funded, which means only one thing.”
“Someone is using him to get to us.” He sighed. “I’ll make some calls.”
“Do you want to tell Carson or shall I?”
Shit. The club’s attorney wasn’t going to like this. More than likely his head would explode after learning the former abuser of Carson’s now-wife wanted to sue them for sexual abuse. “I’ll do it. And get ready for some furniture throwing.”
Ryan chuckled nervously. “Already battening down the hatches. So, when do we expect you?”
“There have been some developments here, and I need to attend to them. Tell Carson he can handle the legal counterattack. That should spare some of the furniture. Tell opposing counsel I’ll be back when I get back. I won’t be summoned anywhere by the likes of Michael Headler.” Or miss the chance to lock in Rebecca. A nice dinner and spectacular sex didn’t equal reconciliation. Somewhere between this morning’s kitchen confession to Eric and finding this last letter, he’d made up his mind. He was taking Rebecca home with him.
He killed the call and scrolled through his contacts. This was going to take a while, and if he was going to introduce Rebecca to Accendos, things needed to be buttoned up.
16
“Hey, you’re going to throw out your back.” Eric grasped the plastic sack Rebecca wrestled into an honest-to-God Little Red Wagon. He’d seen her from the parlor window, stomping around in a pair of old Hunters. “Didn’t you get ordered to nap?”
She laughed and dusted off her hands. “I’m willing to take the punishment.”
And, didn’t his dick do a little dance inside his pants at that? “I don’t blame you.”
“I thought you’d feel that way.” She tipped her head. “Want to help me fill Charles’ bird feeders?” She swept her hand across the land. “If there are any left. We can talk then.”
It seems all he’d done since he’d gotten here was talk, but okay. “I’d never leave a damsel to haul—” he peered at the bag. “—$78 worth of sunflower seeds around. Holy Christ, they better be handpicked and organic for that price.”
She laughed. “Come on. We’ll start with the castle.”
“The what?”
“He named them all. You’ll see.”
“You know this place well.” He grasped the handle of the wagon and followed her along the fence line.
“I do. My parents were friends with Raymond and Alice.” She paused to look him in the eye. “In both economic status and beliefs.” A delicate scoff left her throat. “I lived here after they died.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Me, too.”
Twenty minutes later, they’d filled two bird feeders, including the Castle, which looked like a gray wedding cake mounted on a dilapidated wooden post. She was a relatively open book, volunteering story after story about running around with Charles a
nd his friends instead of learning how to play tennis and pour tea, much to the dismay of Alice Wynter.
“Alice really called you a floozy?” He returned her laughter.
“Hand to God. It made me laugh then, too. You have family, Eric?” She lifted a scoop filled with black seeds, dumped them into a wrought iron and cedar fly-through feeder and handed it to him.
“My father died when I was too young to remember him. My mother remarried, but she died when I was in college.”
“I’m sorry.” Her gray eyes, a stormy blue if you really looked, warmed toward him. “Are you married?”
Married? Hells no. “Too busy traveling around.” He hooked the birdfeeder back on its perch.
“Ah, a gypsy like me. Well, you haven’t missed much.” She narrowed her eyes at him, as if studying him. “You’ve been a good friend to Alexander. He needed someone not close to this situation who could help him with this—” she waved her arm. “—house dismantling.”
“It’s what I do.”
“You’re also in love with him.”
Fishing, was she? His insides immediately threw up a brick wall. “I don’t fall in love.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Never?”
He shrugged.
“Well, I do. Consider yourself warned.” She made that delicate titter again. “I think you have Alexander’s best interests at heart, however.”
Okay, now was the time to be as direct as she was proving to be. “Are you in love with him?”
If she was surprised by that question, her face didn’t show it. “I can’t not love Alexander. He’s the single most important man in my life.”
“Then why were you separated?”
She didn’t answer, rather turned to the birdseed bag.
He may have overplayed his cards with that one. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, it’s fine. Truth is, it’s complicated.”
“Truth often is.”
She straightened and lifted a full pitcher of seeds. “The Wynters threatened to destroy Alexander. I made sure those threats weren’t made real. But I’m not really interested in the past.” He eyes clouded in thought. “I’m more of a future-oriented girl.”
“With Alexander.”
“I honestly don’t know. Since you’ve known him for the last few years, tell me something. Did he never find anyone? I’ve asked, but I think he believes it’s impolite to tell me about past lovers. I mean, have you and he …”
Ah, he was familiar with this interviewing technique. He’d used it himself a time or two. Let a question trail off, expecting the other would fill in the blank. “I’ve seen him with others, but I don’t think he’s ever loved.” That was as truthful as he could say, and he had no idea how much she knew about his life back in D.C. He was sworn to secrecy, as all members of Alexander’s circle were, but even absent the knowledge about his secret BDSM world, how could she not know of Alexander’s deep need for dominance?
“That makes me sad, actually.” She turned, and he followed her, pulling that little wagon meant for an eight-year old to a tall, cylinder, feeder tucked under a tree branch.
She lifted it off the hook and turned to him. “I’m surprised to hear no one snatched him up by now. To be alone that long is terrible.”
Join the club. “Yeah, I’ve wondered that about him for seven years. Now, I think I know why.” He gazed at the memorial. “Once you’ve touched magic, little compares.”
She cocked her head. “Magic. My word exactly. Alexander, Charles, and I defied the usual relationship, but then he told you that this morning.”
“Alexander’s life is unusual. Thank God.”
“Yes, thank the goddess.”
Her smile was guileless and warm, a nice contrast in his usual world full of pretenders. No wonder Alexander had been drawn to her—if this was who she was back then. People often change to suit circumstance.
As she poured the seeds into the feeder, he studied the full length of her. Her high society upbringing was evident in her elegant carriage, the way she handled a bulky scoop like it was an escargot fork. She was pretty, not stunning, or cute, or sultry. No, “pretty” fit her perfectly. Also, “provocative.” Why the hell was he assigning adjectives to her anyway?
“I gather you three were close.” He wanted more from her.
She snapped on the feeder top and handed it to him. “The three of us were interlocking pieces that formed a whole. Back then it was so easy to love— physically, emotionally, spiritually. We were young and romantic and, oh, so naive.”
Her grey eyes stormed and, yeah, Eric could see how Alexander would be captivated. All that sunset red hair framing a face with so much life … When was the last time he was with a woman? At that yacht party during his stay in Barcelona two years ago?
He hung the feeder. “It would be good for Alexander to have love again.”
“Why, Eric Morrison, you’re a romantic after all.”
Or a wuss where Alexander was concerned. “Perhaps.”
She dusted off her hands. “Then, I’m right about you. You are good for him.” She stepped closer. “Can I confide in you? I’m concerned about him. The past is stuck to him like old wallpaper or something. He’s still so angry.”
“He has every right to be. What about you?”
She paused to take a deep breath. “I spent some horrid days on Greyhound buses terrified to fall asleep because I was so worried about Alexander. The Wynters let me in for the funeral, and I now know it was meant to be cruel to him, to see that everyone in his life was behind that gate—” she tipped her head to the front entrance of the estate “—and he couldn’t be. It was the last time I saw him until now.”
Eric wasn’t a violent man, but hearing this? How could the man not be bitter about the past? “They hated him.”
“No. They were afraid of him.” A bird rustled out of the tree at that exact moment, and for one brief second this “signs” thing she believed in felt very real. She leveled those pale gray eyes on him. “You see all that power he exudes? Well, he’s always had it. He didn’t need money, a Patek Phillipe on his wrist, or a Mercedes. Everyone who met him just knew. He had a certain inherent … ”
“Gravitas?” He didn’t know where the word came from, but Rebecca’s gray eyes sparked recognition.
There was that smile again. “Exactly. He couldn’t be influenced and those kinds of people scare others who are so concerned about appearances. Like the Wynters. But even they recognized his … ” She trailed off again.
“Substance?”
They stared at one another for a few seconds as if they’d just discovered uranium. Alexander was remarkable, but everyone knew that. Now he and Rebecca were on the inside on how he became that way. Well, more her than him, but he’d take whatever scrap he could get.
“That doesn’t mean he’s invincible, however,” he said.
“No one is.”
Alexander didn’t need to be like Teflon, though. Perhaps Rebecca knew nothing about the Alexander of today. “He has something that the Wynters don’t. He has friends. You have no idea the number of people who would go to the mattresses for that man.”
“You included?”
“More than.” He’d not thought of having to defend Alexander before, but, shit yes, he would. Would he have to where she was concerned? He still didn’t trust her completely. “So where does that leave us?”
“Friends. United in helping Alexander.”
Friends? He pursed his lips a little, and the word rattled around in his brain. He liked her, despite his suspicions, so why was he hesitating? He could keep an eye on her, and jealousy was for small people. If he wanted to play in the big leagues, for that was Alexander’s world, he needed to get with the program. Besides, true love was a myth. He’d hoped merely to become a friend with benefits where Alexander was concerned.
“Okay, then.” He picked up the wagon handle, circled her shoulder and turned her toward the house. “We
should get back inside. Alexander wants to take us to dinner.” More birds squawked overhead. “So, Charles was into birds, huh?”
“He loved them. He was an eighty-year-old ornithologist inside that cute boy exterior.”
“Alexander has quite an extensive garden at his home in D.C. Lots of birds there. Has he asked you to go home with him yet?”
She stilled. “No.”
The shock on her face was a surprise. How could she not expect that? He could see that next step a mile away. “He’s going to ask you, and, when you do go—” because she would “—consider me your navigator.”
“Will I need one?”
“Most definitely. You should know something about his home. Once there, you’ll never want to leave. But, his life is … large.”
“Okay, then. Navigator.” She held out her hand and he took it. Warmth seeped into his palm on contact.
Yeah, he liked her.
“Speaking of the man,” she whispered. She lifted their hands together in a wave as Alexander crested the hill. “Hi. The bird feeders needed us.”
Alexander smiled down at the two of them. “Guess who’s playing at the Grafton tonight.” His rich voice carried on the wind. “Wolfstone.”
Her lips parted, and she spun toward Eric. “You like Irish music?”
Oh, please, no. He plastered a smile on his face. “Who doesn’t?”
“Then it’s a sign.” She hooked her arm in his and pulled him closer. Shit, she smelled good, too. Okay, he officially had a new friend, united in helping Alexander get over someone dead for forty years. Yay, him.
17
Irish music wasn’t so bad, especially when you got to watch Alexander Rockingham in jeans and boots move in time with the bagpipes, guitar, and drums. He twirled Rebecca and her long red hair fanned out like a belly dancer’s scarf. The two of them made Irish music sexy and damned if his feet didn’t start to tap in time with the rousing beat.
Invincible (Elite Doms of Washington Book 6) Page 7