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BRIAN
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THE BLOODY TEL-URUGH!
I couldn’t blame anyone else except myself for the fact that Armand the Axeman, the good-looking, blue-blooded sonofabitch and Elizabeth’s self-appointed dark knight, was now sharing the office with her five days per week. And I had to sit in Copper Ridge, twiddling my thumbs.
The bastard had gone to great lengths to ensure she was not in danger. From me! And he wouldn’t mind knowing her better, to put it mildly. He was attracted to her; that was clear as day. He didn’t even try to hide it.
I was mad at Elizabeth as well. She wasn’t completely innocent either.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her as soon as the door closed after the Blakes and His Grace, sharper and louder than I had intended.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Because I promised Christian I wouldn’t. Because I knew him from before. Alain and Rick trust him. Livia and Tristan know him. Do I need to remind you how he ended up working with me?”
“No, you don’t. Elizabeth, Christian is a dangerous man.”
“As well as you. Come on, Brian, you know that I am not in danger from him.”
“Because he’s in love with you.”
I thought she would vehemently deny it, but Elizabeth knew better than that. “He’s intrigued by me, that’s all. I haven’t been in contact with him until a few days ago. He didn’t have time to fall in love with me.”
I didn’t want to remind her that I had been intrigued by her long before I had had a chance to spend a day with her. And look where we ended up. “I want him out of this. I’ll help him to open a company somewhere in the States, preferably in Honolulu, although I doubt he needs anybody’s help. I don’t want him on this project. I’ll talk to him.”
Elizabeth slowly unfolded her hands and moved them to her hips. “You will not,” she said in a stern voice, her stubborn chin up. “Christian stays. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He bloody did! He tricked his way into this!”
“After you asked Lily to hack his computer, tamper with his email account and invited him to come!”
Now we were both angry and yelling. It wasn’t how I had imagined this afternoon. We should have been in the bedroom making love instead of shouting at each other.
She took a deep breath and let her hand drop. She suddenly looked tired. “Do you doubt my feelings for you, Brian?” she asked quietly.
I closed the distance between us in two strides and took her in my arms. “No, cariad. No. I’m a possessive idiot. I feel helpless sitting here, like a fucking invalid, waiting for you to return on Friday.”
She cradled my head between her hands and kissed me. “I know it’s not easy for you. You don’t need to worry about Christian. I’m not the woman for him and he knows that. He’s an amazing architect and restorer. With his help, we’re going to be done much faster. Okay?”
I gave her a gentle, lingering kiss. Her full, round lips were soft and tasted fruity. “Not completely, but it is better now,” I said. I took a step back, studying her face. “How many hours have you slept in the last week?”
She gave me a guilty smile. “A few. Okay, maybe not enough.”
“Your assistant doesn’t need much sleep, but you do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what he’s doing in the night. He stays in a hotel, courtesy of you.”
I’d had enough of Christian for one day. Fuck him. I needed Elizabeth. I felt an aching longing for her. “Let us feed you first and then I’m going to attend to your other needs.”
“There is hunger,” she gave me a sexy look, “but then there is a greater hunger. Food can wait. My other needs require your immediate attention.”
She took my hand in hers and towed me toward the staircase.
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“HOW MUCH DO YOU KNOW about Christian?” Elizabeth asked me later as we ate another dish my son had taught me how to make: pasta primavera. I was quite proud of my culinary achievement—Elizabeth had just refilled her plate.
“Can we not talk about His Grace tonight?” Or ever.
Elizabeth looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “Stop calling him His Grace! You two behave like adolescents.”
“It’s how you address a duke. And that’s his bloody title, defunct or not!”
“Look who’s talking. Your father used to be a viscount, if memory serves. Not to mention his present title, the Lord Einhamir of the Northern Lands.”
“My father’s title, not mine. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m unfair. So, about Armand St. Mère, a.k.a. Christian Enescu. I heard about him for the first time during the war with Salvatore de Burgos. He was one of the heroes of the war; he continued hunting the war criminals once it was over. All I know is that he pursued his prey with zeal. Even obsession. It was impossible to hide from him.”
“And then he’d just kill them?”
“No. That’s what’s interesting. He didn’t take justice into his own hands; he would turn them over to Tel-Urugh civil authorities. Most of the time, at least. I admire him for that, damn him.”
My last statement had earned me a smile from Elizabeth. “Where are Alba and Brasov?”
“In Romania,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “I know that. Where exactly?”
“In Transylvania, I believe.”
She choked out a laugh. “If you said Wallachia, I think I would freak out.”
I took the wine bottle and leaned forward to refill Elizabeth’s glass. “Rest assured, Elizabeth. I wouldn’t let you work with Count Dracula.”
“Only two fingers,” she said, pointing at the glass, then added, “He is a noble man, you know. Christian. Not just by birth.”
God. Christian Enescu couldn’t be more present tonight even if he sat with us at the table. “I wish I’d never invited him to come here, but for all I know, yes, he’s an honorable man.”
“As he said, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t mind him.”
“Not a bit. And if he falls in love with someone else, I could be the best man at his wedding.”
Elizabeth tapped her lips with the napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Relax, Brian. I like you better,” she said. She stood up, walked to me and straddled me. Blood rushed to my head. And to my cock— under her sexy dress in cherry print, she wore nothing but her soft, silky skin.
I pulled the straps down her shoulders, first one then another, and her breasts bobbed free.
“You do?” I said, kissing them. “Prove it.”
She leaned in and kissed me slowly and softly, rocking her hips against my groin. “Let’s go upstairs.”
It wasn’t meant to be, but neither of us minded. Before we made it to my room, my phone rang.
Astrid was in labor.
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ELLIOT CANAGAN WAS born twenty minutes after midnight.
Tristan, who delivered the baby, informed the family and closest friends gathered in the waiting area that the labor had been easy.
Despite Astrid’s occasional loud and very unladylike remarks during the delivery, a testimonial to some less easy moments, she looked radiant when Tristan let us into the delivery room. My dazzled son, however, looked pale and exhausted, as if he had done the job, not his wife.
My grandson was a fair-sized little lad: eight pounds nine ounces, twenty and three-quarter inches long, with a turf of thick, dark hair and smooth, clean skin. He looked very much like his mother when she was a baby.
“Brian, Dad, come closer, please,” my smiling daughter-in-law said in her resonant voice. “You two weren’t here when Rosie was born. I want you to hold Elliot.”
My hands shook a bit and my heart pounded when I took the tiny bundle from his father’s arms, clutching it to my chest. Hal stood a half-step behind me, his mesmerized eyes fixed on the baby’s miniature, perfect face.
After a while, I passed my grandson to Hal, and he further to James, and so on. Everyone in the room had a chance to hold him, to breathe in his scent, and welcome him by memorizing it, making him one of us.
Except for Elizabeth. She stood in the corner, alone, unsure of her position among us: neither a stranger nor part of the family. I moved to her and put my arm around her shoulder. She gave me a grateful smile.
It hadn’t skipped Astrid’s attention. “Elizabeth, please come closer,” she said softly and patted a place on her bed.
When Elizabeth sat down, Astrid passed her son to her. “Isn’t he perfect?”
Elizabeth nodded, taking in the tiny face. Her wide-open eyes misted and her heart thumped hard.
At that moment, I was sure I had never seen anything more beautiful than Elizabeth holding a sleeping newborn.
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FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, thanks to the festive atmosphere and spontaneous celebrations due to the birth of the youngest Canagan, I had seen more of Christian Enescu than I had bargained for. He was Liv and Tristan’s guest and they felt obligated to take him with them wherever they went. Since they were invited everywhere, so was he.
I realized that he was not only going to continue working with Elizabeth but had a feeling that he might also become a part of Red Cliffs and Copper Ridge’s social fabric. Many people here had heard of him; quite a few knew him. None of them seemed to mind him. On the contrary. His role in the war with Salvatore de Burgos and his fierce bounty-hunter reputation afterward elicited respect among men. They appreciated his assistance in bringing Seth down.
By the way women flocked around him, it was clear they found him irresistible. Not a big surprise: power, combined with an air of mystery and danger could be a mighty aphrodisiac. On top of that, he had polished manners, an excellent education, a good sense of humor and—I’d give him that—decent looks.
Yeah, we were likely going to see a lot of His Grace in the future, Devil may take him. And I didn’t mind as long as he found his own sentimental interest, rather than sniffing around mine.
When on Monday morning the Cessna took off, taking Elizabeth and Christian back to Rosenthal, I pulled out my phone and called Lottie Fontaine.
“I need your help with something, Mrs. Fontaine,” I said when she answered.