Chapter 9 #2
Resigned to keeping up the charade for the foreseeable future, I cover my face with my hands.
Grace’s scent is on my fingers and once again I’m reminded of stroking her soaking wet panties.
A growl reverberates through my chest and I’m filled with the same carnal desire that had me making outrageous threats to Grace when she suggested leaving Chicago. I won’t let her go. I can’t let her go.
As I continue breathing in her scent, I use my free hand to adjust my cock straining against my zipper. I’d waited a year to have Grace in my arms again and now I have to wait some more.
I squeeze my shaft through the straining fabric, seeking relief from my frustration while my mind replays one of my many fantasies of having Grace in this office. Reclining back in my chair, I thrust my aching cock against my palm.
Within seconds, I’m close to blowing my load.
I need to get to my private bathroom, and I’m about to heave myself up and yank down my zipper when Rory barges into my office without knocking.
A few seconds later and my brother would have caught me fisting my cock and I’d never live that down.
I sink back into my seat, my raging hard-on hidden from view.
“What the hell were you playing at this morning?” Rory demands, voice booming.
It’s often hard to tell how mad my eldest brother is when his default volume is set at a bellow, but in this particular instance, I’d say he’s pretty mad, and I’m the cause.
“Don’t know what you mean,” I reply as casually as I can while my body deals with unreleased tension.
Rory stops in front of my desk, but he doesn’t take a seat.
My brother claimed the lion’s share of our Viking genes and if you didn’t know him, he’d be an intimidating sight.
My family are renowned for their thick red manes that are more embers than flame.
It marks us as Moncriefs, which is why it was a novelty to have my hair closely cropped for a while.
But our coloring is our heritage, a source of pride and while my shade of hair isn’t as striking as Rory’s, I like being part of our clan. Mostly.
“I was sitting in a fucking breakfast meeting with Noah for an hour before we worked out neither of us had set it up.” His scowl deepens. “It transpires that you created the urgent meeting last night, then sneakily took yourself out of the list of invitees.”
“Ah, sorry, that was me,” Edison says from the door Rory hadn’t closed behind him. “I put it in the calendar after one too many tequilas. I cleared it from Duke’s schedule once I realized my mistake, but I must have left it in yours.” He scrunches his face. “Sorry.”
“Damn it, Ed!” I rage. “This just isn’t good enough. You’re fired.”
Rory looks from me to the PA I don’t deserve. “You two are fucking hilarious,” he says, heaving a sigh. “Ed, you need to stop falling on your sword for this asswipe. Go away before you drip blood all over the carpet.”
Once we’re alone, Rory drops into the visitor’s chair in front of my desk. The chairs in all our offices are oversized, but big brother makes it look like children’s furniture. Ginger hair and legs like tree trunks are the curse of the Moncrief line.
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” I ask.
Ed had booked a table in the rooftop restaurant on the floor above our heads, part of the plan to get Rory and Noah out of the way so I could have Grace to myself.
Rory’s scowl softens. “I don’t think I’ve had Lorne sausage that good since I came back from Scotland.”
My father was born in Scotland, and my siblings and I spent long summers and the occasional Hogmanay at our estate in the Scottish Highlands growing up.
I don’t know if it’s because Rory is first in line to take over the family business, but he’s maintained the strongest connection with our ancestral roots.
He’s the one who insists our chefs include a Scottish cooked breakfast on the menu.
I’m the reason there’s also a vegetarian version, which some might call sacrilegious. Rory certainly does.
“Sounds like it wasn’t a complete waste of time then,” I try.
Rory rests an ankle on his knee and his scowl returns. “What are you up to, Duke?”
“Nothing. I just thought you needed a break. You’ve been working non-stop for weeks and I know you didn’t get any rest over the weekend.”
“The work doesn’t just disappear,” Rory replies, not ready to forgive me. “I have board papers to read, phone calls to make and people I still need to convince that dismantling a global empire is the right thing to do.”
“I presume Ash Griffin is just as busy,” I say since the multi-billion-dollar empire in question is one that’s recently fallen under the control of the Griffins.
My brother and Ash are best friends, and Rory had volunteered to help despite there being no direct benefit to the Moncriefs, or the Griffins for that matter. Rolling back years of exploitation is a labor of love for both of them.
I shouldn’t resent the time they’re putting into the project, but Ash’s current distraction has a direct impact on my life. I shift in my seat. The only sign of my earlier hard-on is the damp patch I can feel in my boxer shorts and the ever-present longing.
“I was hoping Ash would have convinced Katarina to agree her exit plan by now.”
Rory’s mouth twists with guilt. He knows I hate being manacled to that woman.
He just doesn’t know how unbearable it’s become in the last twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry, Duke. We all know what a nightmare she is, but please don’t think Ash has forgotten you,” he says.
“You helped out in a crisis and he really appreciates it.”
“I owed him a favor,” I say simply. I might go as far as to call it a life-debt.
After my accident, I didn’t fight the misery I believed I deserved, and I would have stayed in that state if it hadn’t been for two people. One was Ash Griffin. The other was Grace.
As I rake my fingers through my thick hair, it’s her fingertips I recall on my shaven scalp. Tracing my scars. Kissing me better. Healing me. I’d almost convinced myself that the world was better off without me when in walked someone who made me see I had so much more to give.
It was Grace who inspired me to seek help, and it was Ash Griffin I turned to.
He’s a genius when it comes to problem solving and with his help, I was able to fill in the gaps surrounding my accident.
The truth was painful to hear, but it was also freeing.
I owe Ash the new life I can almost see ahead of me, or that I would be able to see if only Katarina would move out of the way.
Rory’s foot jiggles where it rests over his knee. “Is she behaving?”
I give him a look. “I think you already know the answer to that,” I reply. “Vasili wants us married before her twenty-first birthday in six weeks’ time or he’s recalling her back to Russia. It looks like he has some sick bastard lined up if this falls through.”
“Isn’t that good news?” asks Rory. “His threat is the kick up the backside she needs.”
“He was already breathing down her neck, and if it were as simple as putting a pin in a map, she’d be gone by now. I have a horrible feeling Katarina is up to something. I just haven’t worked out her game yet.”
“For fear of repeating myself,” Rory says, “I am sorry for dragging you into this mess, but if you want to break the engagement here and now, you’d have my full support.”
“I can’t do that. However badly she behaves, I won’t throw Katarina back to the wolves. No woman deserves to be treated the way the Barkovs and their friends treat them.”
It’s a valid enough reason, but it’s not the only one. Rory and the Griffins don’t need to know the added pressure Vasili has applied to me personally.
Rory tilts his head. He still feels guilty, but not enough to forget why he stormed into my office.
“You’re still not forgiven,” he says. “And I don’t think Noah is too pleased with you either.
He had someone new starting today but had to stand her up for a fictitious emergency.
” His eyes narrow. “Her name’s Grace Hamel. I believe you know her.”
“I pointed Noah in her direction, that’s all,” I say with a shrug, playing down my role.
In truth, I’d been dropping Grace’s name to Noah for months, and he’d eventually taken the hint and head hunted her.
“I thought the Exemplar had pushed our branding a little too far from its origins. The links to our heritage were clever, but so subtle that blink and you’d miss it.
I’d seen Mrs. Hamel’s work featured in a few trade magazines and thought she might offer a fresh perspective. ”
Rory’s foot stops dancing. When he’s deep in concentration, my brother goes statue still.
And I fucking hate it when I’m the subject of his intense scrutiny.
Anyone with any sense would. “Mrs. Hamel,” he repeats, emphasizing how I’d highlighted Grace’s marital status.
It was supposed to throw him off the scent.
The only way to divert Rory’s attention is to hit him with a curve ball. Fortunately, I have one prepared. “I’ve been toying with some ideas for Corbyn House.”
The house in question is a mansion we’ve recently acquired in a small town called Brimstage in southern Illinois.
Not only is it Grace’s new assignment, it’s Rory’s pet project, one with strong links to the Griffins.
I know it’ll be tough wrestling it from him, but while my current situation prevents me from socializing with Grace, I can still work with her, and I intend to work with her very closely.
“Since when were you interested in renovation?” Rory asks, remaining stubbornly suspicious. He hasn’t realized I’m pitching for the job yet.