by Joss Wood
“Liam Christopher’s office.”
After greeting Duncan, Teresa demanded to know where Liam was.
Duncan, being the professional he was, refused to tell her. “I’m sure if Liam wanted you to know his whereabouts, he would’ve told you himself, Teresa.”
“Duncan, don’t make me turn mean.” Teresa kept her tone pleasant.
“Threats won’t work on me but feel free to try your luck,” Duncan said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Teresa winked at Joshua. “Really? Tell me, Duncan, how much of a pain in the ass is Catherine Christopher?”
“Huge. Massive. Freakin’ ginormous.”
“All that and she’s only Liam’s mother.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Duncan asked, all humor now gone.
“I fully intend to be Liam’s wife and I can either be utterly wonderful or so obnoxious you’ll think Catherine is a pussycat. You telling me exactly where Liam is will help me make that decision.”
“You’re too nice to be a bitch.”
“But do you want to take that chance?”
Duncan replied something inaudible and muttered out an address. Teresa grabbed a pen from the container and wrote the name of the hotel on her hand. “Thanks, Duncan.”
“Sure. It’ll be your fault if he fires me,” Duncan said.
“Duncan, if he fires you, I’ll hire you. Deal?”
“At a ten percent salary increase and an extra week vacation time,” Duncan stated, as quick as ever.
She could never afford Duncan. He was too highly paid for her company but it was a moot point because Liam would never let Duncan go. Ever.
She didn’t think.
“Thanks. I owe you,” Teresa told him before disconnecting the call. She looked at Josh and allowed him to see her sudden uncertainty. “Am I doing the right thing?”
“Are you asking me?” Josh clarified and when she nodded, he shrugged. “I don’t have a clue but at least you’re trying. That’s got to count for something.”
Man, she sure hoped so.
* * *
Nic wound her arms around her knees and watched as the Caribbean sky turned from blue to pink as the super-hot day faded away. She looked down at her arms, thinking that she couldn’t remember when last she looked so tan, how long it had been since she’d had a proper vacation. When last had she felt so utterly relaxed?
That would be...never.
But time was running away from them and tomorrow they would be on an Abbingdon jet and heading back to Seattle and real life. Except that she had no idea what her real life entailed. Over the past week, she and Brooks had laughed and loved and talked but they’d both avoided talking about the future. It was as if they were both trying to circumvent what came next, living utterly and absolutely in the moment. But Nic needed to know where she was going to sleep tomorrow night, whether she’d be in her own bed or his. She was legally married to him but their marriage was, despite spending every moment together lately, one of convenience. They were both getting something they needed from the deal and that was all that had been promised.
She was such a fool for wanting more, for wanting everything. She’d been raised by a tough cookie grandmother who refused to feed her a diet of princess and happily-ever-after stories. Life is what you make it, she’d said. It’s hard and tough and cold and there isn’t a prince out there who is going to hand you a shoe or awaken you from a deep sleep with a kiss.
You buy your own damn shoes and don’t put yourself in a position where you require rescuing.
Except that she did, sort of, have a prince and he did own jets and luxury vacation houses with private beaches.
But everything good comes to an end, Nic. You know this. Do not expect anything from Brooks but his contacts to get your documentary flighted because if you do, you will get your heart broken.
You don’t need him; you will be fine on your own. Always have been, always will be.
Nic felt the air move and looked up to see Brooks dropping to the sand next to her, stretching out long legs and digging his heels into the sand. He dumped a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of Moët between them and she saw the two flutes in his other hand.
Champagne on the beach. It was, Nic supposed, the perfect way to end a perfect week.
Brooks didn’t say anything as he popped the cork and poured the pale liquid into her glass. Nic waited for him to pour champagne into his glass before clinking hers against his. “Thank you.”
Brooks took a sip of champagne. “For what?”
“The best week of my life. I’ve loved every second,” Nic said. She sipped and smiled when the champagne bubbles popped on the back of her tongue. That was what happened to her skin when Brooks kissed her, well, anywhere.
“I love it here,” Brooks admitted. “I try to come as often as I can. Which isn’t, I admit, nearly often enough.”
Nic felt the hot flash of jealously. Who else had he brought here and had he loved those women in the same bed, in the shower, in the damned Jacuzzi? Ack.
“This has always been my bolt-hole, the place I come to be alone. You’re the first person I’ve brought here.”
“Oh.”
Brooks nudged her with his shoulder. “I saw that streak of jealousy, Mrs. Abbingdon.”
That title sounded weird but right. So damn right.
“Admit it. You were jealous thinking of me sharing this space with someone else.”
Play it cool, Nic. Shrug his comment away. He was just teasing her. She wanted to utter something pithy, something horribly sophisticated but she couldn’t form the words. So she went for the truth. “Yeah, I was, am, jealous.”
Brooks was quiet for a minute and when Nic looked at him, she saw something in his eyes that made her heart stumble and the champagne-flavored moisture in her mouth disappear. “What?” she asked.
“The thought of you being anywhere, with any other man, makes my head want to explode. Hell, the thought of you, being with anyone else, ever, makes my skin crawl.”
What was he trying to say? Nic pulled her finger through the sand. When she realized that she’d drawn a heart, she hastily swiped her palm across the sand. The sky was now shot with tangerine flames but all Nic’s attention was on Brooks. “What happens tomorrow?”
“We go back to Seattle.”
Nic sent him a don’t-be-obtuse look. “I mean with us. We discussed getting married and what we wanted out of it but we didn’t discuss how we were going to live in this arrangement.”
“Yeah, it did get a bit mad,” Brooks admitted, scratching his left shoulder with his right hand. Nic watched his muscles ripple and told herself to concentrate. This was not a good time to get distracted; who knew what she might find herself agreeing to next?
“What do you want to do, Nic? We can live together or apart. It’s up to you.”
“If we lived together, would we be living together? I mean, sleeping together?”
“Damn straight,” Brooks answered in his typical, no-nonsense way. “There is no way I could live in the same house as you and have you sleeping in another bed.”
“Oh.” Nic waved at the sunset. “I thought that you might want to leave this all here?”
“Why would you think that?” Brooks asked, his voice tender.
“Because this is pretend, Brooks. This is warm seas and good food, no worries, no stress. This is a vacation thing. It’s not real life. You haven’t lived with me when I have PMS, when I’m on a deadline, when I’m so tired I get super-bitchy.”
“And you haven’t lived with me when I’ve had a bad day or am arguing with my grandfather or I’ve lost a deal. I understand that this isn’t real life. Real life is messy and hard and gritty and generally crazy.”
“And you still want me in yours?”
Brooks leaned sideways an
d placed a kiss on her temple. “Yeah.”
Brooks wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder and Nic leaned into him, immediately finding that super-comfortable spot to rest her head.
“Nic?”
“Mmm?”
“I’m not telling you that I love you—” Nic pulled away and looked up into his masculine face. In the fading light his eyes turned lighter and brighter. But it was his words that transfixed her, that kept all her attention on his beautifully masculine face “—but I’m not telling you that I don’t, either. I like you. I like you more than a lot. More than any woman I’ve ever known. I want—”
Brooks pulled a face and Nic was charmed by the sudden redness in his cheeks. “I want you in my bed, for you to be there when I come home or to be waiting for you to come home if you are late. I want to share showers and breakfasts and my body with you. But—”
Oh, God, here it came, the big but.
“But a part of me also wants you to go back to your place so that I can pick you up for a date. I want to take it slow so that I can seduce the hell out of my wife. I want to take you to Paris for the weekend or skiing in Tahoe. I want it all and I want it all right now.”
Nic released the air she was holding, feeling like every part of her was smiling. Turning, she swung her leg over Brooks’s thigh and when she faced him, wound her arms around his neck. She pressed her forehead against his and crossed her eyes, making him laugh.
“Well, Mr. Abbingdon, then I have a proposal for you. I’ll live with you over weekends and I’ll date you during the week.” She kissed the tip of his nose before pulling back. “And if you’re very, very lucky, and if you play your cards right, I might, sometime in the future, agree to marry you.”
The corners of Brooks’s sexy mouth lifted. “Let me think about that, Mrs. Abbingdon. It’s a big step. A lot of factors should be considered.” He brushed his mouth across hers, lifting his lips to murmur a “Hell, yes” against her lips.
“Yes to what, Brooks?”
“Everything, darling. For the rest of our lives.”
Twelve
Liam sat down at a table situated on the balcony of The Veranda, the trendy meeting place just off the lobby of the luxurious Kahala Hotel. He glanced over the beach, pool and dolphin lagoon and wished Teresa was here, knowing she’d get a kick out of this luxury hotel located just a few minutes from the famous Waikiki Beach.
Liam ordered a Manhattan from a waiter and wiped his hand on his thigh. He couldn’t remember when last he’d been this nervous. This was nerves on a whole new level. Damn, he really wanted Teresa here. Somehow, she had a way of calming him, of silently reminding him that it was okay, that he was okay. That he mattered...
Liam thanked the waiter for his drink and picked up the brown envelope he’d placed on the table earlier. He’d spent hours looking at the photographs Dutton sent him, had read his report a dozen times, maybe more. His father was John Hamilton. He’d been born and raised on the island, and had three college-aged daughters. Liam paused, thinking that he had three sisters. He’d always wanted a sibling—someone to help share the burden of his mother’s cloying love, protectiveness and general craziness. Now he had three. Well, intellectually he had three; he didn’t know if he’d ever get to meet them.
He had to meet his father first, and John Hamilton had agreed to meet him here, at The Veranda, in, Liam glanced at his watch, three minutes.
Liam lifted his hand and grimaced at his trembling fingers. This was big, this was huge, this might all blow up in his face.
What did he want from John? What did he need? Would they keep in touch or would this one meeting be it? Would he meet his wife or would he want to keep Liam separate from his real family? Would he want money? Was he only meeting with Liam because he was loaded? God, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea...maybe he should go.
“You’re Liam.”
Showtime. Liam hauled in a deep breath and stood up, giving his hands one last swipe. He turned slowly and saw himself, plus thirty years. Gray-flecked dark hair, lined eyes and the same long nose. Liam stared at his father for a minute and eventually lifted his hand for a handshake. John gripped his hand and Liam thought, just for a fraction of a second, that he wanted to pull him in and hug him. But grown men seldom did that, and Christophers never.
Liam gestured for John to sit and they stared at each other. John was the first to break the awkward silence. He rubbed his chin as he propped his foot on his opposite knee. “I never expected to hear from you.”
Liam reached for his Manhattan and then realized that John probably needed something to drink, as well. He called over a waiter.
“I think this conversation calls for some liquid courage,” Liam said as the waiter approached him. “What would you like?”
“Whatever you are having.”
When the waiter left, Liam spoke. “Did you know about me?”
“Yeah. Initially, your mother refused to admit it but I knew that you were mine. The dates worked.” John dropped his knee and leaned forward. “First off, you need to know that I am not proud of myself. She was married and she should’ve been firmly off-limits but damn, she was entrancing.”
“How did you meet?” Liam asked.
“Linus was building a hotel here and I was working for the landscaper who was building the gardens. Your mother loved horticulture and your father gave her free reign to do whatever she wanted in the grounds. God, she changed her mind a million times and it made us crazy. Eventually, the boss couldn’t deal with her and handed the project over to me. One thing led to another...”
“How long were you together?”
“Nearly a year. Linus wasn’t always around. He was establishing the tech arm of your company at that point and he was consumed by that. Catherine was about five months pregnant when he sold the hotel and she left the island.”
“Did you want her to stay?”
John winced. “Honestly? Probably not. But I sure as hell wanted you. But Linus was her husband. He could give her, and you, everything I couldn’t. Then.”
“Then?”
John’s smile held a hint of pride along with sadness. “If she’d just been prepared to hang tough for a few years, I could’ve given her most of what Linus could. I opened my own landscaping business and then a garden supply store. Within five years I had ten. Now I have a lot more.”
Liam’s agile mind connected the dots. “You’re the Hamilton of Hamilton’s Home and Garden Stores?”
John nodded. “I handed the day-to-day running of the company over to a group of young, sharp business people and I spend my days surfing or in my garden. Or bugging my wife.” John smiled. “I’m keeping the business for a couple of years to see if any of my kids want to run it but none of my girls have shown any interest. Do you want it?”
Liam jerked back, shocked. “You can’t give it to me!”
John cocked his head. “Why not? You’re my kid, too.”
Wait, this was madness. “You don’t know me, John.”
John picked up the rucksack he’d walked in with and pulled three bulging files from the bag. He put them on the table and slapped the top cover. “Part of the deal with your mom to keep my mouth shut about you was that she send me all your school records, achievements and a monthly report. There’s thirty-plus years of info on you in there, most of which you’ve probably forgotten. I might not have raised you but I know you.”
Liam rubbed the back of his neck as he flipped open the cover of the top file. His Apgar scores jumped out at him, as well as a picture of him a few minutes old, looking like a pissed-off monkey. Liam flipped through the file, reports, his first karate belt, a spelling bee he entered. More photos. John wasn’t lying; this was his life, in three files.
“Why didn’t you contact me when I was older?” Liam quietly asked.
“Catherine promised to tell yo
u who your real father was when you turned eighteen. We agreed that it would be your choice as to whether you reached out. You didn’t so I assumed that you weren’t interested in meeting me,” John said and Liam heard the hurt in his voice.
“Yeah, my mother isn’t great at keeping her word,” Liam replied. “I only recently figured out that someone with my blood group couldn’t be a product of their combined DNA.” Liam blew air over his lips. “My mother is a piece of work.”
John nodded. “Am I allowed to say, as respectfully as possible, that I know that I dodged a bullet? Heidi, my wife, who knows about you by the way, and I have been married for twenty-six years and we’re ridiculously happy.”
Liam’s mouth curved up. “That’s wonderful. And encouraging.”
John tapped his finger against his tumbler. He smiled knowingly. “Who is she?”
Liam thought about lying but decided he didn’t have the energy. “Teresa St. Claire. We’ve had this crazy, crazy relationship, thanks in part to my mother’s interference and machinations. It’s been...complicated.”
John frowned and clicked his fingers, something Liam realized that he also did when he was thinking. “Teresa St. Claire. Didn’t she inherit a large portion of your father’s shares of Christopher Corporation?”
“Twenty-five percent and how do you know that?” Liam asked, surprised.
John nodded to the folders. “When you turned eighteen your mother cut off my supply of Liam-related information. I hired a PI to keep me informed.” Liam wanted to think that was creepy but he just felt...treasured. Cherished. Like he had a father who really, really cared about him.
“St. Claire, damn, that name sounds familiar.”
Liam frowned. “Teresa’s dad briefly worked for my dad but that was before I was born.”
“That’s it! I remember Catherine talking about him ad infinitum.”
Liam leaned forward, immediately interested. “Do you remember those conversations?”