SIX
“YOU WERE QUIET at dinner.”
“You’re welcome,” she said to the man seated next to her.
“I don’t think that was what I meant.”
“If it wasn’t, it should’ve been. Better I keep my mouth shut as much as possible.”
“Trust issues?”
Yeah, trust in herself. “You could say that.”
“I just did.”
Okay, Mr. Sarcasm.
The rest of the table finished up and Alice said something about coffee somewhere else that put everyone on their feet. She was slower to rise. If this was the part of the night where things got cozy and intimate, and personal, it was definitely time for her to slip out a side door.
“I’ll settle Buoy and join you in a few minutes,” Alice said, accepting another kiss from Benedict before he crouched to speak to his littlest boy. “Caber, will you show our guests to the west terrace?”
West terrace? Very nice. Very not her. What was she doing in that building with these—
When fingers slipped between hers, the thick weight of them interrupted her thoughts. Except what replaced them?
“Let’s go this way,” Darroch said, pulling her toward the end of the table as others went back the way they’d come in.
“Shouldn’t we stick with the group?”
“I’ve been getting lost in this house for three decades, I never missed a meal.”
Bursting through another exit from the dining room, the dim lighting in the wide hallway required adjustment.
This didn’t seem to be going a favorable way. Staying quiet was much more difficult with only two people in the conversation. How could she get out of this?
“Mr. Breckenridge—”
“Darroch or Roch is fine, Cherry. You start with that Breckenridge shit around here, you won’t hit the mark ‘til June. There’s a lot of us around.”
“People will notice we’re gone.”
“I’m okay with that, Cherry.”
They veered left. “Those are my colleagues; your dad is my boss.”
“Guarantee he doesn’t make personnel decisions in the Intimates department. He’s a happily married man.”
Screeching to a halt, he dropped her hand and turned to, dramatically, throw open glass double doors.
Then their hands were joined again, and he led her into a stone tunnel.
“Where are we going?”
A cool breeze suggested they were no longer inside. Up ahead stone stairs awaited, but they didn’t get that far. He diverted into a nook, flicked a switch, and dull light flickered behind a gauze curtain.
He drew the fabric aside. “What do you like?”
The bench around three sides reclined to a padded backrest strewn with scatter pillows. He swung around to sit right there, lights twinkling in the recesses above them.
“Is this your favorite spot for seduction?”
“You want me to seduce you, Cherry? Damn. If I’d known that, I would’ve worn different pants.” He played it well, but his smile eventually broke. He patted the bench beside him. “I’d rather we just talk. Come sit.”
“Okay,” she said and sat with him, about a foot away. “I appreciate your hospitality tonight. You have a wonderful family.”
“Don’t take them for granted?” he asked like he was finishing for her. “A lot of people assume we take our privilege for granted. We don’t. Our mom wouldn’t allow it.”
“Buoy is adorable, do you spend much time with him? A five-year-old must be a damper on your social life.”
“You know what strikes me about you, baby?”
“About me?” She was almost afraid to find out. “I’m not refined or expensive or—”
“You jump to conclusions.” When her gaze met his, her body relaxed into a sort of trance. “You’re beautiful.” His curled fingers met her jaw. “I get the feeling you don’t know that.”
“Doesn’t sound like talking’s on your mind.”
“I’m whatever you need, baby. What do you like?”
He’d asked that before. “What do I like?”
The heat of his hand trailed to her chin. “Roses? Diamonds? Kittens?”
“Kittens?” She exhaled a laugh. “You plan to fill my apartment with felines?”
“I’ll fill your apartment with anything you want.”
She shifted away from his caress. “Just because I said you are hot, doesn’t mean I’m easy. You are hot. You’re very, very hot, not that you need me to tell you. It just—it wouldn’t be a good idea to—I’m not easy.”
“If I thought you were, I’d have taken you upstairs to my bed.” His bed. Oh, geez, he had a bed in the building. That thought mired her in the moment. “I’m obsessed.”
“Obsessed with what?”
“The sound of your voice.” His palm skimmed over her knuckles on the cushion between them. “The second you touched me… Shit, baby, I can’t get you out of my head.”
No way. It didn’t make sense.
“Why would a man like you ever want—”
“No more of that.” His fingers slipped between hers on the lush fabric. “I’m attracted to you and I want to explore this. My dad’s rich and my mother’s kind. You want to get to know me?” Instinct fueled her nod. “Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up and I tend to be decisive. I value loyalty, family, and women with their eyes on the prize.”
“What’s the prize?”
“Devotion. Growing up with parents like ours, we’ve got a pretty good idea what a healthy relationship looks like.”
True. Put that way, their confidence and courtesy made a lot more sense. Talk about pressure on a generation.
“That’s a lot to live up to. And your mother wonders why her boys aren’t married?”
“Yeah, it’s all her fault. Someone should talk to her about that.”
Even in an intimate setting with serious words in the air, he could still relax her with his easy humor.
“Maybe talk to your dad,” she played a little. “See if he’ll drink some more or start a few extra arguments.”
“Oh, he argues… in defense of her, whenever it’s needed.” Wonder must’ve painted her expression. “Yeah, sick really, they’ve been married thirty-five years, and he swears he loves her more every day.”
She shrugged. “Sex life can’t be too shabby either.”
And there she was talking about sex again. At least his mother wasn’t around this time. She’d take the victories wherever she could, no matter how small.
His brows rose before his smile broke loose. “Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?”
Seemed dumb to state the obvious. “They have sixteen children.”
“Yeah, they do. I get how you could figure that translates to great sex.”
She hadn’t said great sex, but okay. Maybe she had said it. Who could be sure about anything anymore?
“If it wasn’t good, they wouldn’t keep doing it, would they?” Something else lit his gaze. “What am I missing?”
“You want some wine or—”
“Darroch,” she said, grabbing for his thigh.
His glint of amusement matched his surrender. “Two things Breckenridge men don’t share.”
“And the second is women, I remember. What’s the first?”
“Genes,” he said, inspiring her frown. “Most of us, well, some of us, are adopted.”
“You’re adopted. All of you?”
“Some are biological, some are not. We never ask or talk about it. We’re family. It’s important to our mom that we’re equal.”
Huh, gosh, complex, compassionate, and… How did that feature in a person’s psyche? Were the boys curious? Were they allowed to know? Did they care? Any of them? That layered something else into the family, a perspective she hadn’t considered.
“Are you adopted?”
His fingers came to hers, stroking between them, reminding her she’d planted a hand on his leg. With his strength above, she couldn’t withdraw.
“Would it make a difference?”
“A difference?” she asked. “Maybe if you needed a kidney.”
“To you, Cherry. Would it make a difference to you?”
“It’s none of my business.”
Right, so maybe she shouldn’t have asked. The query slipped out all on its own. In a kneejerk response to the statement, she’d just blurted out an insensitive question without considering its repercussions. But, come on, cutting herself a break, could she be surprised by her lack of tact around him?
He didn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Sure it is.” No offense to be had. “Your guy’s business is your business.”
“You are not my guy.”
“Humor me.”
Man, her head was foggy, her senses drowned in this proximity. How could a man so hot live and breathe right there in front of her like that?
Basic functions became more difficult by the second. Focus. Focus .
“Okay,” she said, doubling down on her effort to concentrate. “What was the question?”
“Would it matter to you if I was adopted?” The thought lingered. The longer she sat there the harder it got to figure out. “Guess no answer is—”
“I’m trying to—why?” she asked, squinting.
“Why what?”
“Why would it make a difference to the woman in your life? If you’re together, why would adoption factor into anyone’s feelings? Because you’re not sure of your genetic history or something? Do people really make decisions about who to love based on their gene pool? What else could it be? Why would a prospective partner care?”
“You want me to answer that?”
“Would I have asked if I didn’t?”
Maybe it wasn’t wise to be obtuse when they were alone, and it was hot, and… shit, he was hot. There was that lip again, enticement, oh so close, oh so almost within reach.
“Because some, on the outside, might worry the non-blood Breckenridges aren’t entitled to an equal portion of the pot.”
“The pot?”
Were they talking about brownies again? This guy really scrambled her brain. Know what it was? His cologne. She could practically taste it… in a good way, like how it might be on her tongue if she licked him right—
“Inheritance,” he whispered.
And, damn, did that cool the mood fast.
She recoiled, flat out appalled. “You want a woman to love you for your means? Is that your measure of love? Will you only love someone whose fortune matches yours?”
“No,” he exclaimed, choosing now to be smacked by offense. “I don’t give a shit about money.”
Easy to say when he had it.
“There’s only one reason finances would become a problem for me in a relationship.”
“When’s that?”
“If my guy squandered it. Not that every cent should be accounted for or that he can’t spend his own money. But if he was throwing it away on hookers and cocaine, that would upset me.”
“If he’s squandering it on hookers and cocaine, your relationship has bigger problems.”
“I’m serious, Darroch. There are people in this world with real issues and money can make a difference to—”
“I know.” He scooped up her hand to kiss the back of her fingers. “Man, you sound like my mom.”
“Warning you hookers and cocaine aren’t a good long-term investment?” she teased. “Is that what your mother’s always telling you?”
“No hookers or cocaine in my life. I’ll submit to a physical and pee in a cup if you want.”
She laughed. “That’s romantic.”
He leaned in, intoxicating her with another whiff of those pheromones. “I can do romance, flowers, wine, trips to Florence. Anything you want.”
Their mouths got closer. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
Inhaling drew their lips together, tasting, in a gentle somehow confident yet hesitant kiss. Kissing Darroch Breckenridge was a bad idea. Beyond bad. She should stand up, walk away. Apologize, move on, and never see him again.
In sync with his hand skimming onto her waist, hers slid up his chest to his strong shoulder. That synchronous signal of acceptance parted their lips, granting the wish of their tongues to meet. Pleasure encircled, prompting her closer and… God, passion hadn’t tormented her for so long. She’d forgotten the heat, the rush of endorphins, the tug of desire that swallowed good sense.
The bulge on her hip was—was it? No, her purse, her buzzing purse. Forcing herself back fast, she grabbed for the device inside.
“I—uh—hi,” she answered her phone.
“Where are you?” Celeste demanded.
“I was—” quick thinking, come on, work, “in the restroom.”
Yes!
“Hurry up,” Celeste huffed. “We’re leaving.”
Leaving, right, that meant—hanging up, she leaped to her feet, tucking her phone away.
“I have to…” As she backed away, he set his hands on the bench behind him. “Everyone is—”
Man, he was hot. Too hot. Pure art for the eyes. Nourishment for long dormant hormones. And this could be her last chance to ever touch such a gorgeous specimen. Leaping forward, she couldn’t resist another taste of that incredible mouth.
The moment they parted, he reached for her hips. “Baby—”
“I have to go.” Oh, if not for inevitability. “Thank you, I—I have to go.”