Sweet Talkin' Lover EPB

by Tracey Livesay

  “Good.” Having delivered her directive, Kendra seemed ready to end the call. “I believe in you and I’m fighting hard for you. But by doing so, I’ve entwined our fates. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

  Caila received the message loud and clear:

  Get it done or else.

  Caila gasped when the car crested the hill and the palatial estate came into view.

  Wyatt’s family lived in the house she’d seen during her run!

  The Georgian architecture was more impressive up close, with its two-story portico entrance, wide symmetrical structure, and numerous black-shuttered windows. Against the lush pastoral surrounds, including the sculpted shrubbery and running stone fountain in the front yard, the house trumpeted the status of its occupants.

  Wyatt came around and opened her door.

  She took his outstretched hand. “Why did I agree to this again?”

  “Because they’re my family and they asked.”

  “But they didn’t ask. I believe the word you used was ‘summoned.’”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Rather polite for them, actually.”

  Caila studied him. He always looked great, but she’d never seen him so polished. He was flawless in a well-fitted black suit and open-collared white shirt. Heat pooled heavy and thick in her belly. The moment she’d seen him walking up the B&B’s sidewalk, she’d wanted to drag him to her room, strip him naked, and run her tongue over every inch of his body.

  She glanced down at her deep red V-neck sheath dress. It was one of her favorites for business presentations, but for tonight . . . “I should’ve worn something else.”

  He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. “You look beautiful. You elevate everything you wear.”

  That accent. Those eyes. Still as potent as ever.

  She took a deep breath. Exhaled. “I don’t understand why they need to see me. They know we’re not a couple, right?”

  “We may not be a couple, but you hold the fate of this town in your lovely hands. I’m only surprised it took this long.”

  “No pressure or anything,” she murmured.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said, bringing their entwined fingers to his lips and brushing several lingering kisses along her knuckles. “Let’s go. I’m sure they know we’re here.”

  She expected to go up the brick front steps so she was surprised when he ushered her around the side and led her through a glass-paneled door.

  “Is this how you snuck all the girls up to your room?” she whispered.

  “Nope, I met them in the pool house.” He winked at her. “I hate using the front door. It always feels too formal for entering a home.”

  He led her down a long hallway with expensive-looking paintings on the wall, and turned into an exquisitely decorated room on the left. A woman with light brown hair and flawless makeup sat in a high-backed chair, holding a glass of amber liquid. She wore a cream sweater, fawn pants, and sensible heels, and her legs were crossed at the ankles.

  He went over and kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Wyatt.” The woman smiled and studied him from head to toe. “You look wonderful. Very dashing.”

  “And you’re beautiful as always,” he said.

  He turned to the tall, slim, older man who possessed the straightest posture Caila had ever seen.

  “Grandfather.”

  He returned to Caila’s side and placed a hand on the small of her back. “I’d like you both to meet Caila Harris. Caila, this is my mother, Renee Bradley, and my grandfather, Asher Bradley.”

  Asher stood with an arm braced on the fireplace’s mantel, his expression holding a hint of disapproval. “So, you’re the young woman who’s thrown my town into a tizzy.”

  Caila bristled, but she’d been raised better than to go to someone’s home and treat them rudely. “I guess, but that wasn’t my intention.”

  “Intentions are irrelevant,” Asher said crisply. “Perception is what counts.”

  “Grandfather!” Wyatt snapped.

  Caila rested a calming hand on Wyatt’s arm, but kept her gaze on Asher. She knew men like him, knew that sussing out weakness in a person was akin to breathing.

  She arched a brow. “Then yes, I am that woman.”

  “Where are you from, Ms. Harris?” Renee asked, taking a sip of her drink.

  “I live in Chicago. And please, call me Caila.” Caila envied her the alcohol. She didn’t know if she’d make it through the dinner without a drink.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Wyatt asked, “Would you like a drink?”

  Bless you! She smiled. “I’ll take a glass of whatever red wine you have.”

  He squeezed her hand and strode to a gold ornate bar cart against the wall.

  Renee brightened. “I love Chicago. The shopping on Michigan Avenue is amazing.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The smile Renee directed her way was a few degrees warmer. “And your family is there?”

  “No, I moved to Chicago after business school.”

  Renee waited, as if she expected more, but Caila, keeping her expression pleasant, offered nothing. She didn’t feel a need to provide more information about her family. They had nothing to do with her reasons for being here.

  “Here you are,” Wyatt said, handing her a glass of wine.

  “Dinner is served,” a voice behind Caila said.

  She turned to see an older black woman wearing a simple dress and a crisp white apron, holding a silver serving tray in one hand.

  Dizziness disoriented her, and Caila clenched her fingers to keep from dropping the crystal glass in her hand. Why was she surprised? She shouldn’t be. Renee Bradley wasn’t cleaning this big-ass house and she certainly wasn’t cooking in the kitchen. Who else would they have hired to be keeping house?

  Thankfully, no one appeared to notice her lapse. Asher walked over to Renee and offered her an arm. Renee deposited her empty glass on the tray and they left the room, like some couple in a Jane Austen novel.

  Wyatt kissed the maid on the cheek and motioned for Caila to join them.

  “Violet, this is Caila Harris.”

  Violet’s eyes shot back and forth between the two of them. She looked as uncomfortable as Caila felt, but she nodded. “Ma’am.”

  “Violet’s worked for my family for years.”

  Of course she has.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Violet’s face softened and she took Caila’s extended hand. They smiled, both acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation while standing next to the man they both . . . cared for.

  Excusing them, Wyatt cupped Caila’s elbow and steered her across the hall to the formal dining room. Asher and Renee were already seated at the beautiful dining table, Asher at the head, Renee to his right. Wyatt held out the chair next to his for Caila, then took his own place across from his mother.

  “I read the minutes from the last meeting, Wyatt. Good job on keeping things from escalating.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Wyatt said.

  Beneath the table, his fingers trailed over the bare skin of her knee, sending sparks up her thigh. She crossed her legs, trapping his hand, and squeezed, sending a silent admonishment.

  Stop that!

  “That type of leadership will eventually serve you well as governor,” Asher said. “Which reminds me—”

  Segue, party of one!

  “—did you sign the forms required by the Department of Elections?”

  Wyatt smoothly slid his hand from between her thighs. “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for? If we don’t jump on this opportunity, it’ll set our plans back another six years.”

  “We don’t have to discuss this right now. I know what I have to do. You’ve been lecturing me about my duties and responsibilities since I was a little boy.” Wyatt rested his hand on the table.

  “If I don’t continue to guide you, you’ll go off course.” Asher’s face tightened. “I made that mistake with
your father and look how that turned out.”

  Ouch! Caila widened her eyes at the older man. That was a low blow.

  Wyatt’s hand tightened into a fist, at odds with the tablecloth, silver, china, and crystal. “I’m not my father.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Damn.

  She’d attended her fair share of awkward family dinners, but the coldness and formality of this superseded anything she’d ever been forced to endure.

  “This all looks lovely, Mrs. Bradley,” she said, trying to change the mood. “The lamb is wonderful.”

  “Thank you, dear. That’s all Violet’s work. She’s a wonderful cook.”

  “I’m sure,” Caila said, a tickle of disquiet in the back of her throat.

  “You work in business,” Renee said, appearing to want to do her part to disperse some of the strain between the two men. “That must be fascinating. Where did you go to college?”

  “UVA,” Caila said, using the abbreviation that everyone in the state would know.

  “Ah, the University of Virginia. An excellent school,” Asher said. “Wyatt’s refusal to attend VMI wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d decided on Virginia. But no, he had to go to some school up north.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “You’re right. I threw my life away deciding to attend Princeton.”

  “It was expensive and it won’t help you as much politically as if you’d stayed here and gone to Virginia,” his mother said.

  “Seriously?” he asked, throwing Caila a conspiratorial can-you-believe-them look.

  “Sorry,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. “I agree with your family on this one.” Her love for her alma mater was strong. After all, it’s where the Ladies of Lefevre first met.

  “Outnumbered, even when I bring a guest.” He laughed.

  The tension seemed to ease a little with the exchange, and Caila breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  Wyatt pointed to his mother. “It had nothing to do with the cost. You just wanted to keep an eye on me.”

  “Of course. I know my son.”

  Silence descended again, but this time it was more relaxed. It wasn’t the warmest dinner she’d ever attended, but the food was outstanding, and Wyatt had gone back to making small, delicious circles on her inner thigh.

  Caila was trying her best to keep it together. All she wanted to do was jump him. And be with him. And laugh with him. And talk to him.

  To tell him that he needs to get you that information now? That you’re leaving early? And to speed up the time when he finds out what you’ve done?

  The thought completely stole her remaining appetite.

  “The Harvest Ball should be fun this year,” Renee said. “The planning committee did a wonderful job. And holding it at the lodge is always a hit. Are you going to attend, Caila?”

  Caila glanced at Wyatt before responding. “I don’t know, but it seems the entire town is excited about it.”

  “It’s one of the most popular events each—”

  “I can’t take another moment of this inane conversation,” Asher exploded.

  “Asher!” Renee said, her eyes going wide.

  “No! This has gone on long enough! We’re going to sit here and pretend everything is normal? That this isn’t the first time Wyatt has brought a woman home to have dinner with us?”

  Wait, what?

  Caila turned to Wyatt. “I thought you said they invited me.”

  He was staring at his grandfather. “They did.”

  “Of course we did. You haven’t been seen with the same woman more than twice in public in years. And now the only person you’re ever seen with is her.”

  “Do you not remember why she’s here? I’m the mayor, which I know you haven’t forgotten. It’s my job. I’m showing her around town.”

  Caila flinched. He wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know, but hearing the words out loud, after what they’d shared, felt stark and wrong.

  Asher narrowed his eyes. “I’ve hosted important people in this town. I know how it’s done. And I don’t think I’ve ever taken any of them on a private hayride at Anderson Farm!”

  “Are you spying on me?”

  “I don’t have to spy on you. This is my town. I’ve been governing here longer than you’ve been alive. I have the right to know what’s going on in it, especially when it pertains to my family.”

  Caila was over the drama. She certainly didn’t intend to sit quietly and let them talk about her as if she wasn’t here and able to speak for herself.

  “With all due respect, sir, that may be true for Wyatt, but that doesn’t extend to me.”

  Asher squinted at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You should,” Caila said coldly. “Wyatt may have given you the right to check on him, but I didn’t. You have no right to spy on me.”

  “I do when you’re dating my grandson!”

  “We are not dating.”

  “That’s enough!” Wyatt slammed his hand down on the table. “Who I choose to be involved with is none of your damn business.”

  “So you are involved with her!” Asher said, pointing a finger in triumph.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Wyatt said.

  “Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain at my table,” Renee chimed in.

  Caila swiveled her head to stare at the other woman in disbelief. That’s what’s stood out to her in this conversation?

  “We are a very important family. You can’t bring just anyone home,” Asher said.

  Caila’s blood heated. “I’m not ‘just anyone.’ I’m an independent, successful woman who doesn’t require anyone’s approval for the things I do or the decisions I make.”

  She took her napkin off her lap and placed it on the table.

  Asher ignored her comment, focusing on Wyatt. “You’ve been a playboy for years and we’ve allowed it because we believed once the time came to settle down, you’d understand your responsibility to this family.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Wyatt said to Caila.

  “Wyatt, I’m speaking to you!”

  “Great job, Grandfather. Way to insult the woman who holds the fate of this town in her hands.”

  “If Ms. Harris is as successful and professional as she claims, then this family conversation won’t factor into her decision-making process.”

  His smugness was as evident as his perfect posture.

  Well played, Mr. Bradley.

  Either she held her tongue and allowed him to continue insulting her, or she spoke up, and if she decided to pull the contract, Wyatt would forever wonder if his constituents lost their jobs because of her hurt feelings.

  Either way, Asher Bradley got what he wanted.

  It would’ve been a genius move if her mission hadn’t already been set before she got here. And if she’d believed in the possibility of a relationship with Wyatt.

  In a strange way, this scenario reminded her of her own family. Why were the people who were supposed to love you always trying to change you? Make you into something you’re not?

  “You seem like a lovely woman, Caila,” Renee said. “Truly. This isn’t about you. It’s about what this family requires. Wyatt is going to be the next governor of Virginia, with possible plans beyond that. You don’t seem to be first lady material. That doesn’t appear to be where you want to go. You have a career in Chicago. It would never work.”

  Everything Renee said was true. So why did Caila feel as if her heart were being smashed into a million pieces?

  “This conversation is over,” Wyatt roared. He threw down his napkin and stood. “You both have gone too far. Let’s go.”

  Caila stared up at him, stunned. She’d never seen him so angry.

  She took Wyatt’s outstretched hand and followed him out of the room, amid calls from his family to return.

  What in the hell had just happened?

  He was quiet as they drove through the darkened streets and she was surprised when he pulled up in front of
the B&B instead of his house.

  “Do you mind? That was fucked up, and”—he sighed—“I need to clear my head.”

  What was she supposed to say? She did mind, but if she’d just gone through a familial ambush of that magnitude, she’d probably want to be alone, too.

  “Sure.”

  He stared straight ahead, as if in a daze, and when he didn’t respond, she got out of the car. She’d taken a few steps when she heard his car door open.

  “Caila, wait.”

  She turned, and he scooped a hand beneath her head and drew her to him for a hot, searing kiss. She clutched him tight, fueled by a desperation she didn’t understand.

  He pulled away and stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  She touched her mouth. “For the kiss?”

  “No, for how they treated you. And for not putting a stop to it sooner. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Wyatt slouched in the leather club chair in Dan’s study, his coat long discarded, his legs spread out in front of him, a tumbler of scotch dangling from his fingers.

  “It was insane. They went from attacking me to attacking her. How dare they say our marriage wouldn’t work?”

  From the adjacent club chair, Dan frowned. “Wait, who’s talking marriage?”

  “They were! I thought they’d invited her because of the situation with the factory. But no, it was my family asserting control over my life.”

  The ice clinked against the glass as he took a drink and let his arm fall back beside the chair.

  Dan pointed a finger at him. “If you let that drink fall onto this new area rug, Laura will kill you. And then I’d be required to arrest her, but I won’t. We’d have to go on the run together, which would be tough. All of that to say, get a better grip on that glass.”

  Wyatt’s laugh was halfhearted. He knew it was a joke, but he could see the conviction in Dan’s eyes.

  “You’d do it though, wouldn’t you?”

  “Let her kill you?” Dan tilted his head as if to ponder it. “Nah, I’d stop her. It’s hard to make new best friends at our age.”

  Wyatt ignored the wisecrack. “You’d give up everything you’ve worked toward? For her?”

  “Without batting a lash.” Dan finished his drink and sat it on the side table between them.