Читать книгу One Night To Forever - Joss Wood - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBack at The Den, which was situated a block or so from Central Park, Lachlyn was being guided by Linc down the hall to a set of stairs leading to a great room on the ground floor. A small picture on the wall to her left caught her eye and she sucked in a quick gasp. That couldn’t possibly be a Picasso, could it? They walked past a nineteenth-century drop-leaf table, every inch of its highly polished surface covered with heavy silver frames containing photos of the current members of the Ballantyne family. Lachlyn hauled in a breath, trying to get some air to her too-tight lungs.
Up until her fifteenth birthday, being a normal girl—being part of a normal American family—had been her deepest desire, the one thing she wished for above all else. Living with an emotionally checked-out mother and an older brother who’d been forced to work to help supplement their mom’s meager income, she’d grown up mostly alone. Lachlyn had comforted herself by imagining another life, cutting out pictures of wholesome, happy families from magazines and carefully pasting them into scrapbooks. She’d covered the walls of her shoebox bedroom, naming her pretend brothers and sisters and weaving fantasies about midnight snack parties, days at the beach, family arguments and Sunday lunches.
She’d made scrapbooks filled with smart and witty friends, fantasy boyfriends and carefully cut out pictures of men who looked like they’d gallop into her life and rescue her.
Then, one summer’s night, her illusions about family, about the bonds that tied people together, had been shattered. Lachlyn’s crash with reality had been brutal—she’d ripped the pictures from her wall, shredded her scrapbooks. What was the point, she’d decided, of living in a dream world? Lachlyn had finally accepted that she was alone, that she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, expect anyone—not family, not a friend, not a lover—to run to her rescue, to be there to support her when her world fell apart. She was the only person she could rely on, would rely on. She’d decided, then and there, not to ask, or expect, anything from anyone ever again.
She’d been young but she’d made the right choice and she still lived her life around that decision. Few friends, no boyfriends, some contact with her brother. But damn, those photos made her feel just the teeniest bit envious.
“Are you okay, Lachlyn?” Linc asked. “You look a little pale.”
She wasn’t used to fancy houses containing amazing artwork, she’d just met the first man who’d ever managed to set her skin on fire and she had no idea of the agenda of this upcoming meeting with the Ballantynes. Was it any surprise that she felt a little, well, stressed?
Lachlyn stopped and half turned to look at him. She wanted to say something smart or charming but she saw sympathy in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that she was feeling overwhelmed, by who the Ballantynes were and the fact that there were so many of them. But it had been a long time since Lachlyn had confided in anyone about how she was feeling. “I’m fine.”
Linc’s gentle smile suggested that he didn’t believe her and Lachlyn realized how very good-looking he was. Actually, all the siblings looked like they could grace magazine covers and, if she wasn’t mistaken, they all had at one time or the other. Sexy, educated, talented and successful, the Ballantynes were the American dream personified. Yet Lachlyn, the only person who carried Connor Ballantyne’s direct DNA, was anything but.
“I understand that this is a lot to deal with, Lachlyn,” Linc said, his deep voice reassuring. “For that reason, it’s just us tonight, the siblings. You, me, Jaeger, Beck and Sage.”
Four against one...
One meeting, a discussion, and she would be done with them, Lachlyn thought, walking into a great room that rolled from a gourmet kitchen into a dining area and then a messy, lived-in space filled with comfortable furniture, books and toys.
Jaeger and Beck stood up and both shook her hand. Sage sent her a hesitant smile from the corner of the huge couch, her feet tucked under her bottom. Her face looked drawn and she had purple stripes under her eyes. Man trouble, Lachlyn decided. And the man causing the trouble was her brother Tyce.
Cue another awkward moment, but she couldn’t ignore Sage’s pain so she stopped next to Sage, bent down and touched her arm with the very tips of her fingers. “Is everything okay? The baby?”
Sage nodded and Lachlyn noticed that Sage’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “The baby is fine but your brother is driving me mad,” Sage told her, trying to sound jaunty but failing miserably.
Lachlyn wanted to tell Sage that Tyce was a product of their past, of a family that had no idea how to do family. Or relationships.
“I’m sorry, Sage,” Lachlyn murmured, feeling obligated to apologize. Latimores sucked at relationships in general; she needed her solitude and Tyce had his own hang-ups. She and Tyce were masters of the art of self-protection.
Jaeger waited for her to sit before handing her a glass of red wine and then resumed his seat between Sage and Beck on the big sofa. Linc sat down on the ottoman between her and Sage and took a long pull from the bottle of beer Jaeger had offered him. “So, let’s get to the heart of the matter of why you’re here,” Linc said.
Lachlyn placed her wine on the coffee table and clasped her hands together. Linc was going to offer her a payoff, a lump sum of money to go away, to fade into anonymity. They would buy back the Ballantyne International shares Tyce had bought for her and they would squash the reports surfacing in the press about her parentage and connection to the family.
All would go back to being normal. She couldn’t wait. People exhausted her.
“We had a discussion about you, about your arrival in our life and what that meant to us,” Linc said, his eyes not leaving her face. “The past year has been one of phenomenal change...six months ago we were all single. Now we have life partners.”
Jaeger flashed his pirate’s grin. “A hell of a lot of babies on the way. Piper, Cady, Sage...”
“Some by blood, all by love,” Beck murmured. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Linc, who instantly shook his head.
“We have a five-year-old bandit and an eighteen-month-old bandit-in-training,” Linc retorted, answering the unspoken question. “We’ve got all we can handle at the moment.”
Lachlyn shook her head, trying to keep up with their banter. She hoped pregnancy wasn’t contagious. Oh, wait, you had to have sex to get pregnant. Just then the image of a pair of grape-green eyes in a tanned face appeared in her mind. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen...ever.
“It would be a manageable three but Jaeger had to be his usual obnoxious self and one up the rest of us by impregnating Piper with twin boys,” Beck muttered, hooking his thick arm around Jaeger’s neck and pulling it tight.
While Lachlyn enjoyed Jaeger and Beck’s banter, she just wished Linc would get on with his little speech. There was more to come and Lachlyn preferred quick and nasty to kind and drawn out.
“Let’s get back to why we are here,” Sage suggested and Lachlyn smiled her appreciation. She’d listen, finish her wine, refuse their payoff and leave...
Linc pushed his hand through his hair. “When Tyce told us that you were Connor’s daughter we were shocked, Lachlyn. Connor, as you know, died a few years ago but he suffered from Alzheimer’s so even if he was alive, we couldn’t ask him. But DNA doesn’t lie and you are part of this family.”
Wait, that didn’t sound like a brush-off...
Linc continued. “If Connor knew about you, you would’ve been raised by him, of that we have no doubt. Connor was anti-marriage and commitment but he was not anti-responsibility and he adored us, kids who weren’t his kids. He would’ve loved you.”
Lachlyn wanted to ask Linc to back up, to repeat what she thought she’d heard. They considered her to be a part of this family, a Ballantyne? They wanted her to stay in the fold? What? She wasn’t part of this family, she didn’t want to be!
“And, as Connor’s child, we believe it’s only fair that you receive a portion of his estate.”
They weren’t offering to pay her off but were offering her more. Lachlyn pushed the words up her tight throat and through her bloodless lips. “A portion?”
Linc leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs and his beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “As siblings, we own many joint assets and we want to share ownership of those assets with you.”
“Assets?”
Linc nodded to a file on the coffee table. “Shares, art, property, gemstones. They are all listed in there. We’ve also agreed to each pay you a fixed amount from our personal bank accounts to reduce the cash disparity between us.”
“Uh...how much?” Lachlyn asked, her thoughts reeling.
Linc’s eyes cooled and Lachlyn knew that he was disappointed by her response. It did sound grasping and gold-digger-ish but she needed to know the amount of money they were talking about, how serious they were. Ten, twenty thousand?
“We thought we’d start with ten million each but that could be negotiated.”
Ten? Million? Forty million in total? Whoa...!
Lachlyn placed her head between her knees as the air in the room disappeared. She’d been expecting a brush-off, a couple of thousand to go away, and they were offering her tens of millions. Most frightening of all, they were asking her to stay. They wanted her to be a Ballantyne...
No, that wasn’t possible. She didn’t do people, relationships, family...
Lachlyn felt Sage perch on the arm of her chair, a small hand landing on her curved back. “Honey, are you okay?”
Lachlyn shook her head. “No,” she muttered.
“You’ll get used to the idea,” Sage said, her hand rubbing the length of her spine. “After a while you realize that it’s just money, just another tool.”
Lachlyn’s eyes widened and she held herself still. Oh, God, they thought that she was freaking about the money? Yeah, it was king’s ransom but...so what? No, they had it all wrong. It wasn’t the financial side that scared her, it was their offer to include her as a part of a family, their family. She was a loner, someone who was comfortable on her own, who liked living her life solo. She didn’t do family...hell, she barely did friends!
But God, forty million dollars. How did one just dismiss that much money? Lachlyn looked inside herself and realized that she could, easily. She didn’t need wealth, she needed emotional security, and keeping her distance from people, family and men, gave her what she needed.
It was a hell of a generous offer and she couldn’t just toss it back in their faces. Lachlyn started to speak but Beck held up his hand.
“As you might be aware, the press has cottoned on to your connection to us and we’re predicting a lot of media attention,” Beck said, looking grave. “And when I say a lot, I mean a firestorm.”
Damn, just what she needed. Four sets of eyes rested on her face and Lachlyn knew that they were waiting for a reply to their offer, some sort of indication of what she was thinking. All she knew for sure was that it was all a little too much and far too soon. She didn’t know them and they sure as hell didn’t know her. They all needed time before some massive decisions were made that could, and would, have huge ramifications.
Lachlyn lifted her head and sat up straight. She looked each of the Ballantyne men in the eye before sending Sage the same determined look. She took a sip of her wine and stood up, begging her knees to lock. “I very much appreciate the offer but I’d like to suggest that we not make any major decisions, especially financial ones, yet.”
Linc exchanged a long look with his siblings and Lachlyn sensed that she’d somehow passed a test, that their approval of her was climbing.
“I came here,” Lachlyn said, sounding hesitant, “thinking that I would have a drink and then go back to my life, my very normal, solitary life. However, hearing about the impending press attention changes that. I can’t ignore the impact this will have and I can’t just walk away. Nor can I accept your very generous offer.”
“Do you think that there’s a chance that you might be able to one day?” Sage asked.
“I don’t know,” Lachlyn said, standing up. “I need to think. And I need to go.”
Too much information, too many people. She had to leave, get out, find a quiet spot where she could make sense of this crazy turn her life had taken. Lachlyn, needing air and needing to get away, snatched up her bag and ran.
* * *
The news that Lachlyn Latimore was Connor Ballantyne’s daughter had not generated the firestorm of attention Beck had predicted. It was far worse than that, Lachlyn decided. She could only describe the constant media presence as the love child of a swarm of locusts and the apocalypse. Because every word she uttered was dissected and every step she took was monitored, Lachlyn agreed to take a two-week vacation from her job as an archivist at the New York Public Library, hoping that the furor would soon subside. She also, reluctantly, agreed to move into The Den because journalists and photographers blocked both entrances to her apartment in Woodside.
To a woman who craved solitude and privacy, Lachlyn felt like she was under siege and that there was no end in sight. She was, mentally and physically, about to jump out of her skin.
It was Cady, Beck’s wife and Ballantyne’s PR guru who finally persuaded her that it wasn’t in her interest to hide from the press—the sooner she gave them the access they wanted, the quicker the attention would die down and life would return to normal. Well, a new type of normal. Cady suggested a photo shoot, interviews with Ballantyne-friendly journalists, and a live spot on morning TV watched by—eeek!—millions, along with other magazine and print interviews.
Lachlyn said no to everything and prayed that some celebrity would do something truly shocking to draw attention away from her. Sage provided some distraction by accepting Tyce’s proposal and their engagement was an excellent excuse for a ball. It was also the perfect vehicle, Cady decided, for the Ballantynes to introduce Lachlyn to their friends and business associates. And that was the only reason Lachlyn was standing in the fantastic ballroom of the iconic Forrester Hotel, dressed in an on-loan-from-Sage designer cocktail dress that cost more than she earned a year, making small talk with people who were sometimes sweet, sometimes rude, and always curious.
It was a shark tank, Lachlyn thought, taking a tiny sip of her now flat champagne. And she was the minnow trying not to be a snack.
“Are you okay?”
Lachlyn felt fingers on her elbow and turned around to see Sage. Sage glowed from the inside out, her blue eyes luminous with happiness. Her brother’s declaration of love had done that, Lachlyn thought, proud of her sibling. Tyce had taken a chance on love and looked as happy as Sage did.
Brave Tyce.
Sage’s inquiring eyebrow reminded her that she’d been asked a question. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Are you thoroughly sick of everyone asking the same questions?” Sage tilted her head to the side, her bright blue eyes frank.
Lachlyn pulled a face and nodded her agreement. Sage took her half-empty glass from her hand, half turned and nodded to a large ornamental lemon tree in the corner. “You look like you need a break.”
“I really do,” Lachlyn agreed. She was thoroughly peopled out.
“Behind that lemon tree is a small spiral staircase. It leads up to a small, secluded balcony with a great view of the ballroom. It’s not big enough for any illicit shenanigans so nobody goes up there, but it’s a great place to hang out for a little while and get your breath back.”
Lachlyn looked up and she could see a tiny Juliet balcony, partially obscured by a wrought-iron trellis. Yes, that was exactly where she needed to be, for an hour or three. For the rest of the night if she got really, really lucky. Then Lachlyn remembered that she was one of the reasons for the ball and frowned. “Are you sure it will be okay?”
“Just go, Lachlyn, because Old Mrs. Preston is heading in your direction and she’s wearing her ‘I’ll harangue the truth out of her’ expression. I’ll head her off while you make your escape.”
Lachlyn flashed her a quick smile. “Thanks, Sage.”
“Sure.” Sage returned the smile and moved to intercept the super-thin, super-Botoxed specimen heading in her direction. Lachlyn skirted two men in tuxedos who looked like they wanted to talk to her, ignored the call for her attention and headed for the waiter standing near the hidden staircase. She picked up a fresh glass of champagne and ducked up the spiral staircase, holding her floor-length chiffon dress off the stairs. She stepped onto the small balcony and rested her back against the wall. A little peace, finally.
Needing to mentally escape, her thoughts drifted to the collection she was in the process of archiving for the New York Public Library. The grandson of a noted French art collector and critic had recently bequeathed his grandfather’s entire collection of diaries, letters, art and mementoes detailing the Parisian art world of the 1920s. It was a fascinating look back into the glamorous era between the two World Wars and the project of a lifetime.
She couldn’t wait for her two weeks’ vacation to be over so that she could get back to work, to her quiet, empty-of-people apartment. Hearing shouts of laughter, Lachlyn looked through the trellis onto the ballroom below. She took in the exquisite gowns and breathtaking jewelry, carefully made-up faces and sophisticated conversation. A jazz band played in the corner and a few couples were on the dance floor, swaying to the 1940s ballad.
Lachlyn’s eyes drifted over faces, easily finding her brother Tyce, his arms wrapped around Sage’s baby bump. Tyce couldn’t understand her need to hold the Ballantynes—and the world—at an arm’s length. However, their agreement that she deal with the Ballantynes on her own terms was holding. Just.
Tyce didn’t realize that Lachlyn was perfectly fine on her own, that he needed this amazing family, a great love affair, more than she did. She hadn’t told him, or anybody, what happened that summer so long ago...
She didn’t need to try hard to remember the sour smell of his breath on her face, the taste of his slimy tongue, the feel of his rough hands inside her shirt, between her legs. She’d yelled and screamed but her mom—thanks to depression, sleeping pills or, most likely, disinterest—hadn’t lifted her head to help her. Before the assault had turned from horrible to devastating, Lachlyn’s elbow had connected with her assailant’s nose. She’d followed that up with a knee to his scrotum and he’d scuttled off. She’d sat on the floor of her bedroom, weeping and alone. As a result, asking for any type of support or help, emotional or physical, transported her back to feeling like a helpless little girl, and that was something she never wanted to be seen as. Yeah, it also stopped her from making friends, from having normal relationships with normal men, but that was a small price to pay.
Sometimes, in the early, honest hours of the morning, she suspected that she still might be that girl who didn’t want to do it on her own, who might want a man, a family...that she might want to, sometimes, lean. What stopped her from exploring that terrifying scenario was remembering the past, the experience of looking for support—asking for help—and finding no one there.
No, she was better off alone.
Lachlyn felt the change in atmosphere and she stepped up to the trellis, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Yep, and there he was, the alpha-est of alphas. Lachlyn took a sip of her cool champagne, enjoying the way it replaced the moisture in her mouth. She’d only met Reame Jepsen twice, the first time at The Den and she’d had another brief encounter with him at the art gallery when Tyce proposed to Sage. But despite not spending more than ten minutes in total with the blasted man, she was irritated that he was the star of some of her very sexy dreams.
Like most alpha males, Reame was big, six foot three, six four? Lachlyn’s fingers curled around the trellis as she watched him move across the ballroom. Greeting someone she knew was important, Reame gripped the other man’s hand, flashing a practiced smile. Mr. Important dipped his head, a clear indication that he was submitting to the alpha male. Reame stepped into the group Mr. Important was standing with, and all four men, two CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, an investment banker and a world renowned economist, took a tiny step back. Reame Jepsen dominated the space, claiming it as his own. He was the super-alpha in a room of men who were accustomed to calling the shots and taking charge.
Lachlyn released a long sigh. Reame Jepsen bothered her.
No, he bothered the hell out of her.
And here came the moths to the flame, Lachlyn thought, amused. A tall, thin blonde spun around from the next group, squealed and all but threw herself into Reame’s arms. Cheeks were kissed before the blonde was elbowed out of the way by a redhead, then a brunette. She supposed it was business as usual for Reame. With his caramel-colored hair, olive skin, masculine face and light eyes, he made female eyes water, ovaries quiver and brains start to churn. Linc’s best friend, or so she’d heard, was the most eligible bachelor since Connor Ballantyne, and that list had included, up until very recently, her very hot and rich brothers.
He was a catch, a prize, a goal.
Lachlyn wasn’t a game-playing girl.
She was about to turn away, about to pull her eyes off his angles-and-planes face when his head shot up and their eyes clashed and held. He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, his light eyes not leaving her face, ignoring the woman hanging off his arm. Lachlyn stared down at him as the air between them fizzled and crackled.
She wanted him.
She was pulsing with lust, attraction, desire, need. Hot, spiky lust. Her womb was as tight as a drum and her lungs had lost their ability to breathe. Lachlyn felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle, goose bumps lifting the skin on her arms. The thought of that sexy mouth on hers, what it would feel like, how he would taste—whiskey, mint, man—drowned out rational thought. The fantasy of her dress up to her waist, his hands on the back of her thighs, her back against the wall as he slid into her was as strong as a memory from yesterday, as powerful as reality.
She understood why. He was the biggest, most powerful, highest-ranking man in the room and millions of years of biology had programmed her, and every other woman there, to want to mate with all that strength and power. Mating with him would ensure her offspring would be given the strongest chance of survival, the best genes. Her attraction to him was pure animal instinct and nothing to cause her any concern.
But Lachlyn didn’t date alpha males. Hell, she didn’t date at all. It would be easy to chalk it up to what happened to her so long ago, but Lachlyn refused to give that rapist-in-training that much control over her sex life.
Sex wasn’t the problem, that much she knew. No, thanks to her mom’s disinterest, her lack of response, her fears had taken on a different form. Lachlyn refused to ask for anything, to give up even a small measure of her independence, to make space in her life for a man, to allow herself to ask for anything, even his company.
Men liked to feel needed and Lachlyn refused to need anyone ever again. Stalemate.
Lachlyn shook her dark thoughts away, refocusing on The Alpha Male’s face. She could appreciate him for what he was, a fine specimen, and her response to him was normal, natural even. Looking at him was like looking at a Botticelli painting or a Rodin sculpture...she could admire him, appreciate his masculine beauty, but unlike art, there was a personality behind it, quite a forceful one if she read him right. He was tough and strong—someone people relied on. He would expect his woman, his mate, to allow him to protect her, to shelter her, to slay her dragons.
Lachlyn had expected the person who should love her the most to help her slay a dragon once and she’d been left to do it herself. Luckily, she’d won the battle, but she’d never put herself in the position of allowing anyone to disappoint her again.
