Chapter Eight
Harlow sat in her swing chair, rocking back and forth and looking up at the stars.
It was a beautiful night. Peaceful. Deceiving.
To get any semblance of serenity, she would have to block her mother from calling her.
It wasn’t an easy decision. It was important to know what her father was planning.
But her mother had called ten times in a row.
She didn’t leave messages, she just rang and rang and rang until Harlow wanted to scream.
The more often her mother called, the more the tension in her grew.
Her stomach churned and her temples throbbed.
She needed a clear head so she could think, so no wine or alcohol, even though she would have liked to dull her senses a bit.
It was just that her mother wouldn’t be calling the way she was if her father hadn’t commanded it.
That meant the senator was planning something that involved her.
She’d known her father would eventually make his move.
It had only been a matter of time. She wasn’t ignorant; she’d kept abreast of the situation, reading everything written on the disappearance of the young girl last seen in the senator’s company.
The girl had made complaints against him despite the threats of being deported.
Her father, Alan Dunstin, was American; her mother, Este, Mexican.
Her mother worked for the Fryes as a housekeeper.
Her sixteen-year-old daughter, Oliva, would come with her to work during the summers, weekends and holidays.
If Harlow’s parents were entertaining, she helped.
There was an outcry of protest from many of the senator’s constituents, most saying he had watched the missing girl grow up and would have been her protector, just as he had been Harlow’s protector.
Many were angry with Harlow for not coming forward to defend her father.
She’d received many reprimanding or threatening letters from his loyal voters.
Many of the women throughout the state had formed groups to support him.
They held their protests and prayer circles in front of cameras, scolding Harlow, looking straight into the lens to inform the world she was a disloyal and terrible daughter. Her name was dragged through the mud.
The phone continued the incessant ringing and she tipped her head back to stare at the glittery midnight sky.
The stars were terribly blurry. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
Not just crying. Sobbing. Ugly crying. She didn’t try to stop.
Her chest was so tight she felt actual pain in her heart.
Her eyes and throat burned, felt raw. She could barely catch her breath; her lungs felt raw and starved for air.
There was no one around, and she gave herself permission to have a breakdown. She cried for Giselle Gentry, for Lawyer, for Helen. She cried for the girl who had disappeared and was most likely dead. She cried for Raine and Wilder. And she cried for herself.
She was a control freak, and she knew it. She kept her world very small and orderly and didn’t let many in because…well…just for this reason. Her life outside Knightly was total chaos.
“Mon rêve?”
The voice, softer than velvet, was so low she heard it as a whisper over her skin instead of a sound in her ears. He walked so quietly he seemed to be more jungle cat than human. Or maybe she was just crying too loud to hear anything.
Harlow covered her face with both hands.
She wasn’t a pretty crier. She really wasn’t.
She knew her eyes were red and swollen and her face blotchy.
She was a redhead and had the very fair skin of a redhead.
Crying put large splotches of color amid the white.
Every freckle stood out in that horrible strawberry gold.
She had far more freckles than most people thought, because usually they were faint. Not when she cried.
“Harlow, talk to me.”
She couldn’t. She shook her head and waved him back toward the open door. In fact, she pointed imperiously. She might have gotten away with it, but just then, she hiccupped, and another gut-wrenching sob was torn out of her.
Wilder loomed over her, lifted her right out of her swing chair, sank into it and cradled her on his lap. One hand went to the back of her head to press her face against his chest. He rocked the chair gently, holding her safe in his arms, his chin on top of her head.
“I’ve got you, Harlow.” He whispered the promise against her temple, lips moving against her skin. “You’re safe here. You aren’t alone.”
The phone continued to ring and ring. Hang up.
Ring again. Harlow squeezed her eyes closed as tight as she could, wishing the screaming in her head would drown out the sound.
Instead, she snuggled closer to Wilder, allowing the heat of him to seep into her body.
His strength surrounded her like a fortress, and his energy, peaceful and serene, calmed her.
How often had he quietly stood with her? Reassured her? He was always the calm in the center of her chaotic world. She had known him only two years, but he’d been consistently in her corner. There had never been a single time that he hadn’t stood for her.
Harlow rubbed her face against his shirt, over his heart.
That steady rhythm was like him. Reliable.
Comforting. She ran her palms up his chest and circled his neck with her arms. He hadn’t once told her to calm down, that she was acting like a hysterical, dramatic female.
He hadn’t acted impatient with her. He was gentle and comforting, nothing like her father.
She concentrated on shutting down the waterworks, and while she did, she thought of the times she’d been annoyed with Wilder.
He had no problem with getting his way when he thought he was right.
And he did so physically. When he believed she was in danger, he gave an order once, and if she didn’t comply, he simply picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and proceeded to take her out of the situation, ignoring her protests.
She had resented him for those few times he bossed her around.
She’d told herself he was overbearing and far too dominant for her.
She couldn’t live with someone like Rainier, and Wilder’s personality was very close to Rainier’s.
But Wilder and Rainier were nothing like her father.
Nothing. She thought of all the times Wilder had stepped in front of her to protect her.
He’d shielded her, and she didn’t doubt that he always would.
“Why are you always so good to me?” The question came out muffled because her lips were pressed against his chest—his heart. She loved the way his heart sounded so strong, and the heat of his body made her feel warm and cozy.
“Because you deserve it. You deserve the world.” He glanced at the phone. “Is that what’s making you cry?”
She hesitated but decided on the truth. “It’s a combination of things. That just might be the catalyst.”
“Why don’t you block them? Or turn off the ringer so you can’t hear?”
Both were easy solutions. “Those are good questions. I think I’m torturing myself. I know sooner or later I’ll have to pick up and deal with my parents.”
“That’s who is continuously calling in the middle of the night? Your parents?” He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. Strands of her hair caught in the rough stubble along his jaw, tying them together.
“Yes.” She whispered the answer, ashamed of being the senator’s daughter.
Others believed him innocent. She knew in her heart he was guilty.
Worse, she knew he didn’t feel remorse. He felt entitled to do whatever he wished to women, and for reasons Harlow couldn’t fathom, her mother reinforced that opinion by covering up for his disgusting crimes.
“I would like to take care of it for you.”
There was something in his voice that had her tipping back her head to look up at him.
He sounded infinitely gentle. Comforting.
Yet…lethal. He didn’t exactly ask her a question, yet there was a questioning note in his voice.
It was that single lethal intent that told her he might be asking, but he had already decided what he was going to do.
“He’s a senator, Wilder. A United States senator.
He might be in what looks like trouble now, but he has a tremendous amount of power.
He always has. You can’t get on his radar.
I appreciate it so much, more than you’ll ever know, that you would go out of your way to help me, but I don’t want that.
He would do everything in his power to annihilate you.
Destroy your reputation. If you have enemies, and it is clear you do, he would expose you to those enemies. He is absolutely ruthless.”
It sucked that she had to admit those things to anyone. The senator was her father. His blood ran in her veins. He was a despicable man. A criminal. And he would destroy Wilder.
Wilder ducked his head to run his nose along hers in a gentle caress.
“Baby, you persist in seeing me as sweet. I’m only sweet to you.
I’ll only ever be sweet to you and our children.
The rest of the world I’ll leave alone, as long as they leave us alone.
The senator is not leaving you alone. What that means is, I need to make sure he knows you’re off-limits.
” His lips brushed the tip of her nose and trailed fire to the corner of her mouth.
Her stomach muscles contracted. She felt a melting sensation in the region of her heart. Still…“Wilder, I can’t say enough how much it matters that you care, but you have to listen to me when I tell you how dangerous it would be to cross him.”