by Elise Noble
“Moving on…with an American?”
“What’s wrong with Americans?”
“You live in England. You shouldn’t waste your time on a man who won’t stick around.”
For fuck’s sake, Alaric was standing right there. “I actually have dual nationality. My mother’s British.”
“So you live here?”
“Right now I do.” For another few days, at least. “I like to move around. See the world.”
“And your parents?”
“What about them?”
“Where do they live?
Why did that matter? “In Berlin.”
“Berlin? Interesting choice.”
And a poor one, judging by the man’s tone. Alaric allowed himself a tight-lipped smile.
“My father’s the US ambassador to Germany.”
Alaric may have disliked his father, but he did appreciate the way Bancroft McLain’s position left Bertram Stafford-Lyons fumbling for words.
“Oh, right. And what do you do, Alaric?”
“I’m a consultant.”
Which covered a multitude of sins. And yes, he did mean sins.
“Profitable?”
“Daddy, this isn’t an interrogation.”
Stafford-Lyons draped an arm over Bethany’s shoulders and pulled her away from Alaric, a move she was clearly uncomfortable with, but short of starting a tug-of-war in the middle of the living room, Alaric couldn’t get her back.
“I just want what’s best for you, Bethie. A suitor needs to be able to take care of you. To provide.”
“I can take care of myself.”
It was as if Stafford-Lyons hadn’t even heard her. “He’s, what, thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?” Close. Alaric had turned forty last December. “And he ‘moves around.’ A man should be putting down roots in his twenties. Buying property. Planning for the future, not gallivanting across the world.”
No wonder Bethany hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Her father wasn’t just a prick, he was a walking, talking, gonorrhoea-infected cock. He’d probably get on famously with Bancroft McLain.
Still, Alaric refused to let himself be cowed. “I have an estate in Italy. Does that count?”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly shut it again as she shrugged off her father’s arm.
“Daddy, I promised to show Alaric the gardens before it got dark. You’ll have to excuse us.”
With that, she grabbed his hand and practically strong-armed him through the house, her mouth set in a hard line as she ignored a woman calling her name. Only when they reached the lawn and her heels sank did she stop.
“Shit.” She choked back a sob as she tried to free herself from the earth’s clutches. “I knew we shouldn’t have come. He’s like this every damn time. Rude, condescending, just all-around obnoxious. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Alaric plucked her free and swung her into his arms the way he had at the stables. “If you met my old man, I’d be the one apologising.”
“Is your father really an ambassador?”
“He is.”
“Is that why you speak so many languages? Because you grew up overseas?”
Alaric nodded. “We used to move every couple of years, and I had to learn to fit in fast. I preferred hanging out with the locals to being just another privileged kid who shuttled back and forth between a residential compound and the international school. My parents never understood it. They both love the lifestyle—parties, prestige, a smattering of politics.”
They reached the terrace, and Alaric set Bethany on her feet again. He didn’t particularly want to. No, he wanted to carry her along the driveway, slide her into the Aston, and get the hell out of there. But then her father would have won.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I tried hanging out with the locals once. When I was sixteen. I snuck into the pub with some friends from the Pony Club.”
“You got drunk?”
“No, one of my father’s friends saw me there and I got grounded. But I might get drunk tonight. That seems like a good option.”
Tonight, Alaric was driving, so it didn’t matter. “Then let’s get the mud cleaned off your heels and find you a drink.”
“Oh no!” She stared at her feet and gasped. “My poor shoes.”
“Where’s the sink?”
She took his hand and led him towards the house. “This way.”
In the utility room off the kitchen, Alaric lifted Bethany onto the counter beside the sink and removed her shoes. The water wouldn’t do the leather much good, but it was better than being caked in dirt. He picked up a sponge and dabbed gently.
“Bethie?” he asked.
“He’s called me that since I was little, and even then, I couldn’t stand it.”
“How about Beth?”
“Beth’s okay. Do you really own an estate in Italy?”
Did he? It was a good question. “That, dear Beth, is a long story.”
“Well, now that I’m here, I need to stay until the birthday cake comes out.”
Alaric swallowed a sigh. How much of his past did he want Beth to know? Now that she was working for Sirius, she’d find out parts of it at least. He’d never tell her about the really dirty stuff, but too many people knew of his time with Emmy for that to stay a secret.
“Technically, I own part of an estate.”
“Technically?”
“As far as I know, my name’s still on the papers, but I haven’t been there for years.”
Eight years, to be precise. He’d bought it six weeks before the Emerald incident. They’d bought it. Emmy and him. He’d had business in Rome, and she had a job in Milan, only they’d both finished early. The sun was shining, and it was as if fate had dictated they have a dirty weekend. Or as Emmy had put it, “I need a good dicking. Meet you in Tuscany.”
She’d picked him up from the railway station in a Ferrari. He never did find out where she’d got it from, but there was a picnic basket in the trunk and a blanket on the front seat.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Fuck knows. I’ve had the week from hell—again—and I just want to get lost. Okay?”
He ran a hand up her bare leg. “Okay. Ever fucked in a Ferrari?”
“No, but I like a challenge.”
The adventure took them through tiny villages, down quiet country lanes in their quest to find a secluded spot where they wouldn’t get arrested because, face it, the car didn’t exactly fade into the background. Then they happened across the cracked walls and sagging gates of Casa Malizia, a faded Vendesi board screwed to one gatepost.
“Here?” Alaric asked, hard already because Emmy had driven with one hand for most of the way.
“Why not?”
It turned out that getting busy in a Ferrari was technically feasible but not exactly pleasurable, and after Emmy had hit her head on the roof for the third time, she huffed and climbed out.
“Where are you going?” His balls were tightening. So damn close. “I’m nearly there.”
“And I’m nearly concussed. Bring the blanket.”
She vaulted over the wall before he had a chance to argue, and they finished in the grass beside an old olive grove, the twisted trees providing respite from the midday sun. And after lunch, they snuck farther onto the estate, discovering a tumbledown farmhouse, crumbling outbuildings, a small lake, and rows of overgrown grapevines.
“This place was beautiful once,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
“It still is beautiful. A different kind of beauty, like an old black-and-white movie theatre or a retired racehorse.”
Emmy lay back on an old stone bench, staring up at the sky. A single puff of cloud drifted on the breeze, and the only sounds were the rustle of the olive trees and the occasional bird call. Rustic peace, almost eerily so. The calm before the storm, he now knew. But that day, they’d both been happy. Emmy smiled more when she was away from Black. When she wasn’t weighed down by the pressur
e he put on her.
Alaric sat on the ground, leaning one elbow on the bench as he watched her. “Sounds corny, but I wish we could stay here forever.”
He’d meant stay in that moment, that mindset, but she took him a little too literally.
“Then let’s buy it.”
The moment skittered away. “What?”
“This place. It’s for sale. Let’s buy it. Then we can come back whenever.”
Whenever they weren’t working, which meant roughly once a decade. It was a crazy idea. Insane. They both lived a world away, and Alaric didn’t know a thing about grapevines or olive trees. The house was a wreck. He opened his mouth to say “absolutely not,” but what came out was, “How the hell do we buy an estate?”
In rural Italy, it turned out that you went to the local café and asked who the owner was. By the end of Saturday, they’d agreed on a price with the old man’s heir, and Alaric was the part-owner, in principle at least, of a decrepit vineyard. Emmy put the bulk of the money in, of course, but when the papers arrived from the lawyers two weeks later, his share of the property had grown from ten to fifty percent.
“Wait a second…”
Emmy shoved a pen into his hand. “Just sign it. I don’t have all day.”
“You can’t give me forty percent of a million-dollar property.”
She leaned over to whisper in his ear while the lawyer studiously pretended not to listen. “You can pay me back in orgasms. I’ll get my money’s worth.”
So Alaric had signed. But he hadn’t kept up his end of the bargain, and he had no idea what had happened to Casa Malizia. Probably he should have enquired, but he hated to think of those days. Of what he’d lost. And besides, he’d never ask Emmy to sell the place. She’d loved it, and he figured he owed the hundred grand he’d put in as compensation for running out on her. For fucking everything up.
“Why haven’t you been there for years?” Beth asked.
“I… I bought it with a previous partner.”
Alaric decided to leave out the fact that the partner had been Emmy for now. He got the impression Beth wasn’t exactly fond of his ex.
“I see. But you’re still friends?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. The split was entirely my fault, and things were awkward for a long time. Still are awkward, if I’m honest. And so the estate…just sits there.”
Beth gave a high-pitched giggle. “Look at us—the king and queen of tricky break-ups. Speaking of which, did you see Andromeda?”
“Couldn’t miss her.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have stuck with Piers. Made myself more like her and lived with his cheating.”
“You wouldn’t have been happy.”
“Happy, no, but I understood that life. This…this is, well, sort of scary.”
“Don’t worry,” he murmured as he slid one of her shoes back on, and then the other. “I’ve got you. Ready to face the world again?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He lifted her down from the counter anyway, only to freeze when voices drifted through from the kitchen. Piers. Alaric would recognise that whiny Queen’s English anywhere.
“I still can’t believe Bethie showed her face.”
Another voice, deeper, followed by the suck of a refrigerator opening. “It’s her family.”
“But she’s never really fitted in, has she? Even when we were married, she preferred spending time with that nag to socialising.”
“So why’d you marry her?”
Ice clinked in a glass. “Her father’s connections, obviously. She may not have used them, but I did.”
“And the tits and arse were a bonus, right?”
If someone had said that about Alaric’s woman, ex or not, he’d have been taking his teeth home in a plastic baggie, but Piers only laughed.
“You’d think, but she was always something of a cold fish in that department.”
“What about Andie?”
“She could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.”
The voices faded, and Alaric turned to see tears rolling down Beth’s face. Ah, fuck. Yes, he’d sworn off murder, but he was fast rethinking that decision.
“I’ll speak to him.”
“No!” Beth grabbed Alaric’s arm and hung on in a death grip. “Just forget it. Please? I’ll skip the cake and go home. Look on the bright side—at least Mother hasn’t asked me to serve canapés yet.”
Alaric fished the handkerchief out of his top pocket and dabbed at Beth’s cheeks. Don’t ruin the mascara. He needed to keep her presentable.
“No, you won’t leave. If you run, they win. You’re going to go out there and prove everybody wrong. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, and you’re not a cold fish.”
Five minutes with her, and he already knew that. If it hadn’t been for his twisted past, for the fact that he was her boss and the balance of power lay with him, at least on the surface, he’d have taken her home and put her to bed with him in it. But life was never so straightforward.
“But he’s right. I never sucked him like a hose. I mostly gagged.” Beth clapped both hands over her mouth. “Dammit, you didn’t need to know that.”
He tugged her hands clear and wiped away a smear of red lipstick. “Tonight, you don’t need to suck. Just drink a glass of wine…” Or three. “And do what I tell you.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me?” he asked softly.
Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and her lips curved into a tiny smile before she nodded.
“I trust you.”
Good. Alaric ran a finger down her spine, then caressed her ass, gritting his teeth when she moaned and leaned into him. This was gonna be hard. He was gonna be hard.
“See? If you were a cold fish, you’d have slapped me for that and then stormed out.” He trailed his tongue along her jawline. Still no slap. “You’re more of a dormant volcano. Hot under the surface, biding your time for the right moment.”
“You really think that?”
This time when he slid an arm around her waist, he didn’t even pretend to go for decorum. His fingers splayed right across one ass cheek.
“I really do. Let’s go.”
He only hoped that when she did finally erupt, he didn’t get burned.
CHAPTER 29 - ALARIC
“SO YOU WATCH a lot of movies?” Alaric asked as they walked into the living room. Although “living room” didn’t quite do it justice. There must’ve been sixty people in there, and even with a grand piano in one corner and a string quartet in another, there was plenty of space for the waitstaff to dodge past the groups of partygoers with trays held aloft.
“Too many. Guilty pleasure.”
He snagged two glasses from a passing waiter—one of champagne, one of orange juice—and handed the bubbly to Beth.
“Thanks.” She drained it without coming up for air. “I needed that.”
The waiter headed back the other way and did a double take when Alaric swapped the empty glass for another full one. Did everyone in this place judge?
“Who’s your favourite actress, Beth?” Alaric took his hand off her rear for a second to move a stray hair out of her face, then returned it to its new favourite spot. Riding that horse sure gave her a peach of an ass.
“I… My favourite actress?”
“Not Andromeda, clearly.”
Beth shuddered. “Andromeda isn’t even that good. Her biggest claim to fame is playing a nurse on six episodes of Casualty. I guess if I had to pick someone… I’d have to say Violet Miller. I know she’s only done a couple of movies, but in real life, she seems human rather than Hollywood plastic. Or maybe Dana Hansen. She’s always so graceful.”
“Let’s stick with Violet Miller. You saw Hidden Intent?”
Beth blushed, her cheeks turning an adorable rosy pink because Hidden Intent was that kind of movie.
“Yes.”
“Tonight, you’re Veronica.” That was Miller’s character, a cop-slash-temptress who always got her man in more ways than one. “Confident, dirty, and sexy as hell. Don’t let anyone in here tell you otherwise.”
“I-I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You can.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m just a prop. Is that your sister over there?”
“Priscilla? Yes. And her fiancé. He’s basically a younger version of Piers, but she’s a social climber who loves to shop, so they’re perfect for each other. He’s cheated on her already. She knows, and she doesn’t care.”
“Your family makes mine look normal.”
“Please, don’t remind me.” Beth pasted on a fake smile and held out both hands. “Priscilla! How lovely to see you.”
They worked their way around the room, making polite conversation with one conceited idiot after another. Alaric didn’t meet a single person he’d want to be friends with, and if he had to spend more than an hour with Andromeda, he’d throw her out of a fucking window. Beth started off stiff, but when he whispered “Veronica” into her ear, she made an effort to relax. By the time they made it back to the piano, she’d downed four glasses of wine, dumped the last empty onto a polished wood sideboard despite a glare from her mother, and pressed a hand against his chest. The other was already underneath his tuxedo jacket, wrapped around his waist.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” she said with the faintest hint of a slur. “But it’s so stuffy in here. Can we get some air?”
A pair of French windows were propped open, leading onto the dimly lit terrace, and Alaric steered her outside. How she was still standing in those shoes, he had no idea.
“Feet okay?”
“A little tired.”
There was a chill in the air, so when he lifted her onto the stone balustrade that separated the terrace from the lawn, he wrapped his arms around her too. A good thing, because he noticed Piers glance at them from the corner of the room. The ex had abandoned Andromeda in favour of a group of city-boy types, all standing around with glasses of Scotch as they discussed stock prices or call girls or whatever it was douchebags talked about. For good measure, Alaric leaned down to kiss Beth on the forehead, and she snuggled closer, purring like a cat.