Whiteout

Chapter Fourteen

Ian’s gaze locked on hers.

Sorry, princess.

He had to appear indifferent. To keep his fist from connecting with Derek’s jaw. To stop himself from bending Breanna over that bar, slipping her little silk panties to the side, and slamming his cock home. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed.

With a brief kiss on Pamela’s cheek, he leaned past her, waving the bartender over. “Bourbon, please. Neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don’t give me the cheap shit.” Nothing against Jim Beam. Normally he didn’t mind it, but not today. “Make it Van Winkle.”

“You got it,” the bartender said with an easy nod.

While Ian needed to keep his mind sharp, fortification was required to make it through this sham of a family dinner. He picked up the crystal Glencairn placed in front of him, and swirling the whiskey around the bowl, he sniffed it before raising the glass to his lips. Smooth and rich, he welcomed its nuanced flavor.

From the corner of his eye, he chanced a glance at Derek, stroking Breanna’s skin. Oblivious to his touch, her bewildered blue eyes turned to Jordy.

“You know what, my friend? Leave the bottle.”

Pamela’s eyes widened.

Fingers plowing through his fresh haircut, he snickered. “Give her a citron and tonic, will you?”

“Someone’s on edge.”

“I’m fine.”

The bartender returned with the Van Winkle and Pamela’s drink. “Oh, and that’s why you’re setting out to drink a thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon?”

“Exactly,” Ian said and tossed back the contents of his glass, only to pour himself another.

“You best keep your wits about you, darling.” And with a knowing smirk, Pamela took a sip of the lemony vodka. “Derek isn’t stupid. The girl isn’t, either.”

“What do you know about her?”

“I know I like her,” she answered with a shrug.

“I like her, too.”

He almost wished he didn’t. It’d make things easier. But no, Fate had to go and throw Breanna in his path, and now it was too late. The one girl he shouldn’t feel anything for, except loathing, perhaps, captivated him. How in the fuck did she do that? Ian Maynard had more than his fair share of women through the years, yet somehow he’d managed to remain immune to their vain attempts to claim him.

Francie poked her head out from the formal dining room. “Are we ready?”

“God, yes,” Pamela piped up. She dipped her head to his ear and lowered her voice. “Good. Don’t fuck it up, then, dear.”

Right.

Glass in hand, Ian walked over to Jordy. “Staying for dinner, my friend?”

Her fairytale blues glaring, Breanna looked at the sheriff before turning them on him.

“You know, as much as I’d love to stick around for this…” He pressed his lips together. “…I, uh, think I should be going.”

Snickering under his breath as Jordy made his farewells, Ian took his place at Breanna’s side. “Enjoying yourself?”

Hera sat at her feet.

Breanna sipped on her drink, declining to answer him.

Derek absently trailed his fingers up and down her arm.

“Try the salmon, princess.” Ian picked up a morsel from his plate, and holding it to her perfect mouth, he winked. “I hear it’s delicious.”

The six of them sat at the long table that could easily accommodate twenty. Ridiculous. The family dining room would have been much cozier, but Francie did things as Valerie had always insisted upon, and Thanksgiving dinner, with George Dalton’s oil-painted eyes staring at them, had always been held in here.

Across the table from Ian, Breanna pretended to eat her food, moving it around on her plate and taking the occasional bite, while pretending his presence didn’t affect her. She acted as if she’d never seen him before. Never felt him inside her. That’s how he wanted it. Even so, it stung.

Because he craved more of her. From her. With her. Right now, more than anything, he wished they were back inside that cabin in the storm. Without Ted and Francie hovering. Without Pamela’s whispers in his ear. Without Derek’s lecherous glances her way.

Don’t look at him, baby.

He wanted her eyes on him.

Ian toed his shoe off beneath the table. Dare he? Why yes, he certainly did. Chuckling to himself, he reached for her with his foot while sipping on his bourbon. Making contact, his toes rubbed up along her shin, then down and up again.

No reaction whatsoever.

Nothing.

A fork poised at her mouth, Breanna swallowed, her gaze flitting over to the avaricious motherfucker sitting there beside her.

Dipping beneath the hem of her dress, he went higher. With the feeling of her delicate skin and the enticing taste of that sweet cunt fresh in his memory, Ian’s foot slid over her tights, toes pressing, up the inside of her thigh.

Her blue eyes going round, Breanna’s pupils flared.

Got your attention, now, don’t I, princess?

He winked and, inching to that place between her legs, Ian pushed forward. The thin, stretchy tights an ineffective barrier, he prodded, stroking her pussy as deftly as he would with his fingers.

The fork slipped from her grasp, falling to her plate.

Without missing a beat, Derek picked it up and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” Breanna sputtered. Face strained, she bit her lip.

His partner none the wiser, Ian continued his deviant game of footsie. How wet was she? Knowing his dirty girl, those tights she wore were more than damp. Ian bet he could push his toes halfway in her hole if he tried. Should he make her come right here?

Might be fun with Derek right next to her.

Nah.

As much as he wanted to, he enjoyed toying with her. He’d rather keep her needy and wanting until after Derek left. Once the nuisance was gone, he would be more than happy to remind her just who this pussy belonged to.

He pressed into her clit. Me.

“No more.” Breanna kicked his shin.

Turning their heads, everyone looked at her.

“Food,” she added, raising her napkin to her mouth. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I’m so stuffed.”

Not yet. Ian snickered under his breath, teeth raking over his lip.

“Me, too,” Pamela said, patting her toned belly. “I could use some coffee.”

“I’ve got it ready and waiting for us.” Francie got up from the table, her husband going over to her.

“Dessert, too?”

“Yes, Pam.” With a soft chuckle, the eyes behind her horn-rimmed frames rolled.

“Come on, dearest.” With a smirk, Ian glanced at Breanna while assisting Pamela from her chair. “You’re the only woman I know who can claim to be full and ask for sweets all in the same breath.”

Much better.

Coffee service laid out on a square low-set table, Ian made himself comfortable on the sectional in front of the fire. Derek stood over at the bar, pouring brandy into snifters. Pamela took a seat beside him, while Breanna sat down on the other end, as far away from them as she could be.

“Come on over here, sweetheart.” Fixing herself a cup of coffee, Pamela fixed her gaze on Breanna. “We can’t carry on a conversation if you’re all the way over there, can we?”

“I suppose not.”

With a somewhat apprehensive smile on her face, which Ian already knew wasn’t like her, she moved to sit directly across from him on the big U-shaped sofa. Hera jumped up beside her, the dog settling her head on Breanna’s lap.

He grinned at that. Traitor.

“Coffee, dear.”

“Yes, please.”

“Ian?”

“No, thanks.” He tipped his chin at the bottle of Van Winkle. “I’m good.”

“Uh-huh.” And returning her attention to Breanna, she asked, “How do you take it, dear?”

“Sweet,” Ian answered with a wink, bringing the glass of bourbon to his lips.

Breanna shot him a look. “Just cream, thanks.”

“So,” Pamela said, handing her a cup. “My son tells me you’re going to college in Portland—which school?”

“Son? You’re his mother?”

Ian had to stop himself from laughing because the slack-jawed expression on Breanna’s face was truly comical.

“Course, dear.” She graciously smiled and took a sip of her coffee. “What did you think?”

“You look far too young to be…” Her cheeks turning pink, Breanna shrugged.

“Thank you,” Pamela said, waving off the compliment. “Botox is my friend. I was already thirty-three when Ian was born. So then, which school?”

“Portland State.”

“Lovely campus. Beautiful city.” She nodded. “And you’re an English major?”

“Yes,” Breanna answered, glancing at him. “I graduate in May.”

“And then what?” His mother went on with her disguised interrogation. Ian knew how she rolled. “What are your plans after that?”

“I applied for an editorial internship with Penguin Random House.” Her voice becoming animated, Breanna’s face lit up. “It’s only twenty hours a week, but it’s a paid position. Gets my foot in the door, you know?”

“You’ll be moving to New York, then?”

“No, it’s remote. That’s the best part. I can work from anywhere.”

How convenient.

“Fingers crossed you get it,” Pamela said to her, doing exactly that. “Your father was a writer, you know. Well, that’s what he aspired to be.”

“No, I didn’t, but then I don’t know much about him.”

“Why is that, dear?”

“It makes my mom sad to talk about him.” Petting Hera on her lap, she shrugged. “So, we don’t.”

“Oh, sweetie, we have to fix that.” Pamela reached across the table and took Breanna’s hand. “You should know everything you possibly can about your daddy. And your family. They’re such a big part of who you are.”

Annoyed, Derek put a tray of brandy down on the table. “And just who is she, Pamela?”

“A Dalton, that’s who.” Looking smug, she picked up a glass from the tray. “Now, where is my pie?”

“Get her some pie, Ian.” Shooing the dog off the sofa, Derek claimed his place beside Breanna.

His lip curling, Ian stood. “Can I get some for you, too, Miss Dalton?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

“What kind would you like? Pumpkin?” He winked. “The banana cream from Hank?”

Yeah, baby, I know all about that.

“Uhh…” She bit her lip. “…both?”

“Why not?” Chuckling, Ian noticed Derek lifting his brow. “What’s that face for, Derek? Miss Dalton can have two pieces of pie if she wants to.”

“Of course she can.” Throwing his arm around her shoulders, he hugged Breanna to his side. “That’s too much for her, though.”

Jesus Christ.

What are you, now? The motherfucking food police?

He needed Derek to go back home to Sacramento, where he belonged. Ian never cared to get involved in this goddam mess. But Fate handed him Breanna for a reason, right? She was no match against the devil on her own.

Returning with the pie, Ian found Breanna rubbing at her temple, trying to put some space between herself and Derek. “Here we are. Pecan for you…” Handing his mom her pie, Francie and Ted sat down with plates of their own. Then, turning to his princess, he winked. “And pumpkin, with a side of banana cream for you. I put extra whipped cream on it. Thought you’d like that.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned.

“Randall was right,” Francie noted, looking through the glass. “It’s snowing.”

“Just a dusting,” Ted said with a squeeze to his wife’s knee. “Six inches, they say. Another big one’s supposed to hit come Monday, though.”

“Jesus, is that all it ever does here?” Attacking the pie with her fork, Breanna licked the cream from her lip.

His dick twitched. Course, it didn’t take a lot for that to happen when he was around her.

“Feels like it sometimes. Last season was insane. Started in December and didn’t let up until April. We got what? Seven hundred inches, wasn’t it?” Ted asked his wife.

Francie nodded. “Seven hundred and twenty-two, dear.”

“Pure bedlam. We were snowed in here for a good long while with the pass closed.” Shoveling pie into his mouth, Ted shrugged. “Makes for good skiing over in Tahoe, I suppose.”

“Holy sh—” But Breanna stopped herself and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Do you ski?”

Of course, Derek would ask her that. Diamond Peak. Sugar Bowl. Palisades. He’d been addicted to the thrill of the slopes from the time they were kids.

“Oh, no.” Breanna put her plate down with a shake of her head. “Tried it once and nearly killed myself. I have no desire to ever do it again.”

“Shame.” Derek looked from Breanna to Francie and Ted. “I should probably head back to Sacramento tonight—just in case.”

Yes, you definitely should.

Ian caught Breanna pressing her fingers to her temple again. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just a little headache.”

Derek and Francie turned where they sat to scrutinize her.

“It’s the alcohol, I think,” she said and narrowed her eyes at him. “I probably shouldn’t be drinking with a concussion.”

“Why don’t you go lie down, hm? Get some rest.” Hugging her to his side, Derek kissed the top of her head.

Fucking bastard. Ian poured himself another shot. So much for staying sober.

Breanna’s fingers fidgeted on her lap. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

“I’ll take you up.”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to.” She stood, smoothing the pink dress down her thighs. “I know my way.”

“I’ll come see you before I go.”

If Breanna responded to that, Ian couldn’t hear it. She wished them all a good evening, and with a brief parting glance, went upstairs.

Ian slammed his glass down on the table, his finger pointing at Derek’s face. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” With a shrug of his shoulders, he smirked.

“Don’t give me what,” Ian seethed. “I saw you—we all did. Keep your grubby paws off of her.”

“Why should I?”

“Well, from what I could see, dear, she doesn’t want them on her.” Smirking, Pam swallowed a healthy dose of brandy.

Ignoring her, Derek sniggered. “Plan B—if we can’t get Breanna to sign, I’ll convince her to marry me instead.”

We?

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

He had to be, not that Ian would ever allow it. And besides, Derek was practically married already. He and Miranda had been a thing since he got out of law school, so he couldn’t be serious, could he?

“No. Rightfully, all of this should be ours, and if I have to walk her down the aisle to get it, then I will. I have to marry and make a few little St. Johns soon, anyway, don’t I? Having Breanna for a wife wouldn’t be that much of a hardship.”

“What about Miranda?” Ian shouted. Head cocked, he stared at Derek in disbelief, daring him to cast aside the girl who, it seemed, had wasted the last seven years of her life with him.

The man didn’t even blink. “What about her?”

“I think she might have something to say about that.”

“So Miranda won’t get to change her last name.” He shrugged as if it was of no consequence to him. “We can still be together when I’m in Sacramento.”

Francie gasped. “Derek…”

“You’re a pig,” Pamela spat.

A laugh, dark and deep, rumbled from his throat. “Come on now, Auntie, I’m willing to take one for the team.”

“And you’re delusional.” Her disgust clear, his mother slammed the empty brandy glass on the table. “Just like your father was.”

“No, he wasn’t, and neither am I.” Leaning forward, he smirked, then said with all seriousness, “The Daltons owe this family.”

“All the money in the world can’t change the past, Derek,” Pamela beseeched him. “And that poor girl had nothing to do with it.”

“She’s hardly that. Would’ve been better for all of us if she’d never made it out of that storm.”

Without another word, Derek stood, and turning from the room, left the four of them reeling, silent in his wake.

“Our boy’s been nipping too much Hennessy, I reckon.” Ted broke the silence, taking the last glass of brandy from the tray. “He’s blowing smoke out his ass. He didn’t mean it.”

“Francesca.” His mother turned toward her sister. “Did you know Derek was up to this?”

“No, of course not.” Glancing at Ian, Francie shook her head and grabbed onto her husband’s hand. “I thought he was genuinely concerned about the girl—that’s all.”

Nodding, Pamela worried her lip. “Well, it’s a long drive back to the city. Ian, walk me out to my car, will you?”

Out on the drive, glittery frozen stars tumbled softly from the night sky. Derek’s Jag was missing from its spot underneath the porte-cochère, and presuming he’d already left for Sacramento, his mother spoke openly, “I don’t like this, son.”

“I don’t either.”

He didn’t. Not one bit.

“You can’t let him—”

“I won’t.”

Her fingers brushed snowflakes from his beard. “You need to tell Breanna.”

“You know I can’t.”

Not yet.

Ian kissed her cheek. “She wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

“You’re not giving the girl enough credit.” Pamela opened her car door. “I have a feeling she’s going to surprise you.”

“Heh. Maybe so.” Of that, he had no doubt.

“It’s up to you to look out for her.”

“I am.” And he had, from the moment he saw Breanna at Hank’s. Holding her by the hand, he assisted his mother into her car.

“I raised you right, Sinjin.”

“Love you, Mom.” He kissed her again. “Text me when you get home. Drive safe.”

By the time he went upstairs, the room next door to his was dark. Ian took his dog and his half-empty bottle of bourbon out onto the deck and tossed a log into the fire. How the fuck was he going to pull off this shit?

He kicked a shot back straight from the bottle.

The faint scent of oranges mingled with crisp, wintry air and burning wood. Ian sensed her presence even before she made herself known.

“You sonofabitch.”

“Don’t say that about my mother, princess.” And turning around to look at her, he smirked. “She likes you.”

But Breanna didn’t appear to be amused.

“You left me.”