Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
EVERS
Iwalked down the wide hall of Rycroft Castle re-familiarizing myself with the layout now that it was occupied. The cook was busy in the main kitchen preparing the evening meal.
That afternoon, while we were arguing about the party, the rest of Cynthia's staff had arrived. She was traveling light, only bringing her stylist and trainer. Angie, the stylist, had disappeared into the master suite to deal with Cynthia's wardrobe.
Cynthia herself was in the gym on the lower level with Viggo, her trainer and masseuse. I had a feeling he was more than her trainer and masseuse. None of my business.
Cynthia was going to be a handful. The second she'd curled her fingers around my leg, I knew she hoped to pick up where we'd left off all those years ago. I didn't want to bruise her ego. Cynthia was bossy and demanding, but she'd been a friend.
I had to set her straight. Before Summer, I might have been tempted. Who am I kidding? Before Summer I might have taken her straight to bed.
Since Summer threw me out? Not even the spectacularly-beautiful Cynthia Stevens could hold my eye. There was only one woman I wanted, and she despised me.
I didn't need to walk the house. I knew the layout of Rycroft Castle better than I knew my own place. I'd been through the blueprints multiple times, had inspected every inch of the more than 16,000 square feet.
No, I was pacing the halls so I could end up in this narrow hall behind the kitchen, outside the closed door of the housekeeper's office, now Summer's domain. Her voice bled through the door, drawing me like a magnet.
If Griffen touched her, smiled at her, fucking winked at her one more time…
I ran out of steam at the thought. What was I going to do about it? Beat him up? He was only doing it to get under my skin, and we both knew it. It shouldn't have worked.
I knew he was messing with me, knew he had far too much loyalty to ever make a move on a woman I had feelings for.
I knew I could trust him. And still, if he so much as laid a finger on her again… The brush of his fingertip across her bare shoulder played on a loop in my brain.
Griffen wasn't allowed to touch her. Not when I couldn't.
I was alone in the hallway, no one to see my weakness. Slouching against the door frame, I rested my forehead against the cool, thick wood of the office door, absorbing the clear, light tones of Summer's voice.
"May, you're an angel. I owe you one. I owe you a million. I'll be by tomorrow morning if that's not too soon." A pause, punctuated by light tapping as if she were bouncing a pen against her desk.
She laughed, sounding delighted and a little relieved. "That would be absolutely perfect. I can't thank you enough." Another pause, then, "Well, their bad luck is my good fortune. This is a huge weight off my shoulders. I'll see you tomorrow, no earlier than ten. Thanks again. Yep, you too."
Summer fell silent. I was reaching for the handle before I realized what I was doing. Snatching my fingers back, I moved away from the door, away from Summer, down the hall until I reached the stairs to the lower level.
I had to get my head on the job. Cynthia had a crazy husband out there, and she was famous enough that we had to worry about garden-variety fans and stalkers. Axel had given me the rundown from her L.A. detail, some of whom would be rotating in here in Atlanta, so I knew this wasn't a vanity job.
Cynthia needed tight security, and I needed to stay sharp. She'd hired Sinclair Security because we're the best. She'd asked for me because she assumed I'd take a special interest in the job.
She couldn't have known how right she was. The one person I wanted more than any other was living inside the walls of Rycroft Castle. I would do whatever I had to do to keep Summer safe.
No one was getting in this house. No one was getting on the property. Not while I was around to stop them.
The lower level of Rycroft Castle was as expansive as those above.
I took a quick look through the wide double doors to the Roman spa, a decadent indoor pool and hot tub.
Crowned by a painted domed ceiling held up by white pillars, the entire space was built entirely of white limestone, including the custom gourmet kitchen and bar.
You could throw a hell of a pool party in Rycroft Castle.
I passed the workout room and yoga studio, strains of music and the clang of weights interrupting the silence of the empty hallway.
Then the wine tasting room, six hundred square feet of custom woodwork, high-tech temperature-controlled storage, and every accoutrement a wine lover could ask for.
A little further down the hall was the small interior storage room we'd repurposed into our command center. I gave a single rap on the door to alert Griffen and swung it open.
He sat in front of the L-shaped desk, lounging in his chair, feet up. From the back, he looked half-asleep, entirely relaxed. His eyes gave him away. Sharp, alert, they moved from screen to screen, resting just long enough to absorb every detail before checking the next.
Without looking up, he said, "Everything good?"
"Fine. Cook's making dinner, the two maids are straightening, Cynthia's with Viggo working out, the stylist is unpacking in Cynthia's suite, and Summer is in her office trying to make miracles happen."
At that, Griffen tore his eyes from the screens and looked up, his expression of disappointed scorn almost driving me a step back.
"What?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Griffen shook his head in disgust. "You are one of the smoothest bastards I've ever met.
I've seen you charm a woman into your bed in five minutes flat.
So how did you fuck up that meeting so badly?
" He laughed, shaking his head at the disaster that was my life.
"Seriously, I wish I had that shit on video, otherwise no one would believe me. Fucking idiot."
"Yeah? Like you could have done better," I said, trying for scornful and hitting pathetic instead.
He was right. I had fucked up the meeting. When it came to Summer, that was par for the course. I opened my mouth, and I fucked up.
"I wouldn't have called her Winters for one thing. Jesus, what is she, one of the guys on your softball team?"
"I don't play softball, asshole."
Griffen just shook his head again. "And acting like you didn't know she worked here? What the fuck was that?"
I slumped against the closed door and let out a gust of air, admitting, "I don't know. I don't fucking know. She just—"
I ran out of words. How to describe what was wrong when I didn't even know myself?
I'm charming. I'm good with women. I'm really fucking good with women. I open my mouth, and the perfect words come out. I always know exactly what they need to hear, when to reassure, when to challenge. When to flirt and when to be blunt.
Then I met Summer, and all of it went out the window. First, I bossed her around, then I started calling her Winters when I saw how much it annoyed her.
Like an elementary school boy pulling a girl's pigtails, I did anything for a reaction. For her attention. At first, it was fun, the way her eyes sparked blue fire when she was pissed off. I hadn't planned to take it further. Not really.
She was my sister-in-law's best friend, and that had complicated written all over it. My thing was fun. I'd never been interested in complicated.
But I couldn't get her out of my head. The silky blonde curls, her round ass, her full, pink lips. That laugh. The way she glared at me when I pissed her off. Fucking hot.
And then the wedding. Her hotel room… I'd never had sex like that in my life. It wasn't fucking. It wasn't just getting off, having some fun and scratching a mutual itch. It was more.
I hadn't believed in more, hadn't particularly cared about it. That weekend with Summer woke something inside me.
A need I'd never acknowledged.
A need that hadn't existed until Summer. It was feral and hungry, and she was the only thing that could satisfy it. I saw her, and I wanted. Straight from my gut, from the marrow of my bones, I had to have her.
It was fucking terrifying. My brother Knox was right. She scared the hell out of me. I didn't need anybody. I’d had my shit on lock until she came barreling into my life.
Suddenly, there was a black hole right in the middle of my world, and only Summer could fill it.
I'd run from that hotel room determined to live without her. My head was clouded with lust. It would fade if I just stayed away. Except it didn't fade. It got worse.
I'll never forget the sheer, brutal relief when Cooper tossed me her file and said someone had to keep a closer eye on her.
I wasn't giving in to the need, I was only doing my job. I thought I'd figured it out. Keep an eye on her, talk my way into her bed, and get the girl without risking anything.
"Yeah, well, you fucked that up," Griffen said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
For a moment, I wondered if he'd been reading my mind before I remembered he was talking about the meeting. I scrubbed my palms over my face and shook my head.
"I know, man, I know."
"You have got to talk to Cynthia. If you're not going there—"
"Of course, I'm not going there. Jesus. You think I'm going to sleep with Cynthia?"
"Hey, no one would blame you—"
"Don't be an asshole," I said. "I want Summer. I'm not sleeping with Cynthia. I'm not sleeping with anybody."
"No shit. That's why you're so cranky." He chuckled at his joke.
"You're fucking hysterical," I grumbled.
"I know, it's a curse."
I opened my mouth to insult him again when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Turning, I opened it to see Summer standing there in her navy shift dress, blonde curls still caught in their professional bun, silky strands falling around her face.
She shifted her weight nervously, drawing my eyes to her hips, my hand starting to reach for her before I thought better of it.
Slow. I had to take this slow.
"Do you have a minute?" Summer asked.
I wanted to say, For you, I have eternity. I opened my mouth and out came, "Sure, Winters, what's up?"
She was a fucking mojo vampire. She came near me and she sucked up all my game, leaving me nothing more than a stuttering adolescent.
Scrambling, I said, "Let's go down the hall to the wine room so we don't distract Griffen."
I reached out to take her arm, dying a little as she smoothly sidestepped out of reach. Fuck.
I followed her the short distance back to the wine room. She leaned against the rustic wooden table in the middle, half sitting on one of the stools made from an old wine cask, looking down at her fingers, fiddling with a ring.
So many things I wanted to say.
I'm sorry.
There's nothing going on with Cynthia.
Tell me what to do to fix this and I'll do it. Anything.
I asked, "How are the party arrangements coming along?"
"Pretty well, actually. I got lucky, and one of my favorite caterers had a last-minute cancellation. I'm stopping by tomorrow to review the menu, but I think we can transition everything to Cynthia's party."
"Lucky for both of you," I said.
The side of her mouth quirked up in a grin. "Lucky for me, lucky for May. Not so lucky for the groom who walked in on his bride servicing his best man a week before the wedding."
"Ouch."
"I know. I feel bad that I'm so relieved, but it solves a huge problem.
I can finesse almost everything but the food.
I'm headed out in a few minutes to pick up a special order from my favorite stationery shop.
I'll be up all night addressing the invitations to have them ready for the courier to deliver first thing tomorrow.
Then I just need to find musicians and arrange for flowers and decorations.
Those are the easy parts. Well, easy compared to swinging catering for seventy-five in less than a week. "
"Good news," I said. I wasn't lying. For Cynthia to demand a party for seventy-five with barely a week's notice and expect Summer to pull it off… I had a vague idea how much work went into something like that. A week didn't come close to being enough.
With no idea what I planned to say, I took a step closer and opened my mouth, "Summer, I—"
"I thought of some things that you might need to know," Summer said, her head down, eyes on the ring she twisted around her finger.
It couldn't have been clearer that she didn't want to hear my apology. I wasn't sure I blamed her. I should never have lied to her in the first place.
When she caught me, I should have done anything but stare at her in silence. She'd been so angry. The guilt, the fear of losing her, had choked me until all I could do was walk away.
That was the past. I had my second chance, and this time I wasn't walking away. I pulled up one of the wine barrel stools and sat.
"Tell me."