Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (38 page)

“All because of James’s properties and money?” Anne asked, looking both stunned and outraged at once. “I can’t believe it. And to think, we had no idea he was so affected by your arrival when you were a child, Ian.”

“It changed the outline of his life, my showing up here one day out of nowhere. It’s disappointing, and it’s very upsetting, what Gerard did,” Ian said quietly. “But it’s not outside the realm of believability.”

James sighed, and again Francesca’s heart ached for him. “We’ve never mentioned it, but Gerard did frequently wonder about your mental stability in our presence. I suppose it was all part of his manipulation to make us think it was possible you could take your own and Francesca’s life. We were concerned for you, but we never doubted your sanity, Ian. We knew your torment was of the emotional variety.”

Ian stroked the back of Francesca’s hand. She turned over her palm and squeezed him for comfort. “It was a hard time for me. And I suppose people really have gone over the edge from less. There were times in the months when I was at Aurore, before I returned to Belford, that I could almost agree with Gerard’s insinuations. I’m not surprised you were worried,” he told his Grandfather sincerely before he exhaled. “At any rate, once Gerard learned what I was doing in my absence, and understood who Trevor Gaines was, he must have been ecstatic to be provided with such an ideal setting for my downfall. I was at the desolate country manor of a condemned criminal and obsessed madman. The perfect place for Trevor Gaines’s son from rape to finally tip over the edge.”

“I can’t believe these thoughts ever went through his mind,” Anne said numbly. “I can’t believe
that
, let alone that he’d
act
on them. He shot that man Brodsik in cold blood, right in this house?”

Ian nodded. “I suspect he invited him here, although we’ll probably never know the exact circumstances.”

“It’s positively diabolical,” James said. His face looked gray. Francesca looked at Ian anxiously.

“It’s over,” Ian said firmly. “It’s all over, and we’re safe. I only wanted to tell you because Markov also wanted to pass the news on to you. The murder occurred in your home, after all, and he owes you an explanation about the resolution of the investigation. I told him I would break the news first.”

James inhaled slowly. “And I appreciate it, son.”

“Are you all right?” Francesca asked James softly after a moment.

James seemed to try and rally, but she saw his struggle to do so. He grabbed Anne’s hand. “I’ll be better, to be honest, after a good night’s sleep,” he said with false cheerfulness. “I’d like nothing better than to leave all this in the past.”

“I agree,” Anne said. “Especially on such a beautiful night when we’ve just put up Francesca’s painting and have so much to be thankful for.”

“We
do
have so much to be thankful for.”

Anne blinked, her gaze sharpening on Francesca when she spoke so fervently. Francesca smiled, knowing her secret was undisguised in her eyes, and that Anne, who was no fool, was reading it. An uncanny expression flickered across Anne’s face. Francesca exchanged a meaningful look with Ian. It’d felt like a miracle, to be able to share such a precious gift with him, but to share it with Anne and James felt wonderful as well.

“We have more news,” Ian said. “Much, much nicer news.”

“No . . .” Anne whispered. “
Yes
?” she asked hopefully when Francesca just continued to beam at her.

“What? What’s going on?” James asked dubiously.

“Ian and Francesca are going to have a baby?” Anne asked tremulously, hope and incredulity twining in her voice.

Ian pulled Francesca close and she hugged him in turn, pressing her cheek to his chest while still looking at Anne and James.

“Yes, we’re going to have a baby,” Ian said, his deep voice gruff. “Francesca is always telling me I need to think about the future, not the past. Now it’s all I think of.”

James gave a bark of exultant laughter, all of his weariness over the talk of Gerard vanishing, twenty years seeming to melt off his visage in an instant. Anne gave an adorable little whoop of joy and took an unladylike gulp of her brandy, her eyes shining with happiness as she hugged her husband.

Francesca put her hand on Ian’s chest, silently absorbing his warmth and the steady, strong beat of his heart, and basked in the moment.

* * *

Anne and James celebrated with them for a while and asked all the usual questions: How far along was she? Eight weeks. How long had she known she was pregnant? Since last weekend; Ian and she had gone together to a doctor in Belford. Where would the baby be born? At Belford, if it was all right with Anne and James. (It was beyond all right of course. The couple was ecstatic at the idea.) Ian and she had liked the doctor at the hospital in Belford very much, but they’d also guessed at Anne and James’s reaction to the plan. They’d agreed they wanted to give their grandparents that gift.

After their joyous impromptu celebration, Anne and James said good night and gave them one last congratulatory hug before leaving them alone in the sitting room.

“Happy?” Ian asked her quietly, his gaze running over her face.

“What do you think?” she asked, grinning.

“I think you look like a thousand suns in my eyes. I’ve never seen you so radiant.”

Her smiled faded. No matter how many times she experienced his sudden, sober intensity, it never ceased to leave her breathless.

“When I was looking at your painting,” he said thoughtfully, “I realized how nice it would have been to have been married here, in the springtime. Do you think I was selfish, insisting we marry while I was still in the hospital? It wasn’t the most romantic of settings. I only know that suddenly, I couldn’t wait.”

“I know,” she, touching his chest, holding his solemn gaze. “That’s what made it so special . . . your having the faith to take a leap into the future. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But if it would make you happy, we can renew our vows here anytime. Every spring, if you like,” she said, smiling.

He stood, her hand still in his. “Come with me,” he said.

They walked together out through the screen doors onto the small stone terrace. It was a resplendent June night. The distant forest seemed to clamor with fertile life—tree frogs croaked, grasshoppers chirped, and a breeze rustled the tops of lush trees, making a soft sound like a sigh. She breathed the scent of freshly mown, dew-wet grass and honeysuckle as she followed Ian off the terrace into the yard. They walked without speaking. Ian paused after a moment. There was enough moon and starlight for her to make out a sitting area, one she hadn’t discovered as of yet, hidden behind a thicket of rosebushes. When Ian sat in one of the wooden recliners, she made for the one next to it, but he pulled her toward him.

“Come here,” he said. “You can’t think I’d let you sit over there when I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Of course not,” she said drolly, laughing. She started to sit in his lap, her back to his front, but he stopped her.

“No, face me,” he murmured. “And lift your dress.”

Her laughter faded and her sex clenched at his taut demand. She’d heard the need ringing in his voice and it ignited her own. She lifted the hem of her sundress to her waist, saying nothing when he put one hand on her hip and the other on her bare belly. They both watched him touch her in the moonlight, his masculine hands looking dark next to her pale skin. He moved, caressing and stroking, his hands seeming to spin a sensual spell over her. She felt her sex dampen and the familiar, sweet ache swell inside her.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, caressing her belly.

“I expect it’ll take both of us some time to get accustomed to the idea that a baby is growing in there.”

“I don’t mean the baby. I mean . . . I do. But I didn’t mean
just
that. I meant I still can’t believe you’re mine. Most of the day I do, but at moments like this it seems so . . . incredible.” She saw the gleam in his eyes when he looked up at her. She palmed his jaw tenderly. Their gazes held as he lowered her panties. His fingers moved deftly in her outer sex. He grunted softly when he found her damp. “Thank you for not giving up on me. Not in the beginning, when I didn’t understand what was happening between us because I had no yardstick to compare it to. Not when I left you. Not even when I came back, and still felt I couldn’t offer you what you deserve.”

She sighed as he stimulated her clit and pushed a finger into her slit. It felt sublime. “You didn’t give up on me, either. I thought you had, but you hadn’t. You knew better than me what was required to make you feel whole.”

“What I need is you,” he said, a steely thread of urgency entering his tone. He removed his hand and she saw the glimmer of his belt buckle as he unfastened his pants. In a matter of seconds, she was sitting in his lap facing him, his cock embedded in her flesh. For several moments, they just sat motionless in the moonlight, touching each other’s face and neck and arms, fused.

“It seems impossible,” Ian said in a strained voice, “that I lived all those months without you. Even when I’m away from you for days, I start to feel like I can’t breathe. I honestly don’t know how I did it before.”

“Some part of you knew it was required for you to heal,” she said. “You did it because it was necessary, and you couldn’t think much beyond that.” His hands moved on her bottom, palming her buttocks. She quickened, tightening her vaginal muscles around him.

“It was like living in hell.”

She blinked at his stark, raw confession. He’d never described it so blatantly before. He groaned in agonized pleasure and moved her on his cock. A muscle twitched in his tense cheek. “Tell me I never have to go back, and I’ll believe you,” he said between a tight jaw.

“Never,” she whispered fiercely. “You walked through that hell for us, but now it’s over. We’re together. For always.” She lifted herself and then sunk him deep, squeezing him tight. “Believe it, Ian. We’re
exactly
where we belong.”

Keep reading for an excerpt from the next novel by Beth Kery

SINCE I SAW YOU

Available May 2014 from Berkley Books

Part of the Because You Are Mine series

Because You Are Mine

When I’m With You

Because We Belong

L
in Soong hurried down the sidewalk, her face coated in a thin layer of perspiration overlaid with an autumn mist. Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks, and she’d finally ended up just walking the three quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in high heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her wielding a comb and a hair straightener like a warrior’s weapons.

“You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was like everything else in a person’s character: something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish.

Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart. She despised feeling flustered, and this situation called for even more than her usual aplomb.

By the time she entered the crowded, elegant restaurant, she’d repinned her waving, curling hair and used a tissue to dry her damp face. She immediately spotted him sitting at the bar. He was impossible to miss. For a stretched few seconds, she just stared. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbled in her belly.

Why hadn’t Ian mentioned that his half brother looked so much like him?

She soaked in the image of him. He was very good looking, even if that frown was a little off-putting. He wore a dark blue shirt; the rich brown of the rugged suede jacket brought out the russet highlights in his hair. Kam Reardon didn’t know it—and she’d never tell him—but she herself had picked out the clothing he wore. It’d been part of the mission Ian had assigned her to make his half brother presentable for a potentially lucrative business deal here in Chicago. Ian had suggested a new wardrobe for his trip to the States. Kam had grudgingly agreed after some skillful nudging on Ian’s part, but insisted upon paying. It’d been Lin who had actually chosen the items, however, and sent the articles to Aurore Manor in France. It warmed her to see him wearing the garments, firsthand evidence that he’d considered the clothing suitable to his taste.

Her clothing selection hadn’t done much to help Kam blend in, however. He was too large for the delicate chairs lined up at the super sleek, minimalist bar. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the trendy establishment, all bold, masculine lines and unrelenting angles.

No . . . not like a sore thumb, Lin amended. More like a lion that found itself in the midst of a herd of antelope. His utter stillness and watchful alertness seemed slightly ominous amidst the sea of idly chatting, well-heeled patrons.

Suddenly, she realized his gaze had locked on her from across the crowded dining area.

“Hello, beautiful. We have your table waiting,” someone said.

Lin blinked and pulled her gaze off the man who was a stranger to her, and yet wasn’t; her boss’s infamous half brother—the wild man she’d been sent to tame.

She focused instead on Richard St. Claire’s smiling face. Richard was a neighbor, friend, and the manager of the restaurant, Savaur. He owned the world-renowned establishment with his partner, chef Emile Savaur. Lin was a regular here.

She returned Richard’s greeting warmly as they hugged and he kissed her on the cheek. “Can you hold the table for just a moment, Richard? My dinner companion is waiting at the bar. I’d like to go and introduce myself,” Lin said, turning as he began to remove her coat.

“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scowling?” Richard muttered under his breath as he draped her coat elegantly over his forearm, looking amused. He noticed her surprised glance as she faced him again. How did Richard know her dinner companion was the man at the bar? “You mentioned you were having dinner with Noble’s half brother on the phone when you made the reservations. I noticed the resemblance. I can’t wait to hear the story behind this little scenario,” Richard said with a mischievous glance in Kam’s direction. “He’s like Ian Noble posing as a Brazilian street fighter.”

Lin stifled a laugh at the apt description. “He’s actually cleaned up quite nicely. Not six months ago, the people from the village near where he lived thought him homeless and mad. And he’s not Brazilian, he’s French,” she said very quietly, dipping her head to hide her moving mouth. She smoothed her expression, acutely aware of Kam’s sharp gaze still cast in her direction.

“I know—the accent. Not that he said much. He’s been sitting at the bar looking like he’s been chewing nails for the past ten minutes. Victor doesn’t know if he’s scared to death of the man or in love with him,” Richard murmured, referring to the bartender serving Kam. Indeed, Victor was surreptitiously studying the tower of whiskered, glowering brawn seated at the bar with a mixture of wariness and stark admiration as he dried a glass.

Lin threw her friend an amused glance and walked over to meet Ian’s brother. Kam was one of the few people seated at the teak bar, a half-full glass of beer in front of him.

“I’m so sorry for being late. Work was crazy, and there wasn’t a single available cab to be found when I finally did get away. You must be Kam. I’d have recognized you anywhere,” she said when she approached him, smiling in greeting. “Ian never told me how much you two resembled one another.”

He turned slightly in his chair, giving her an unhurried once-over. She remained completely still beneath his perusal, her expression calm and impassive. Inwardly, she squirmed. Ian had also failed to warn her of the fact that Kam Reardon oozed raw sex appeal.

Although it couldn’t have been any more than a second that he studied her, it felt like minutes before he finally met her stare. She recognized the sharp edge of male appreciation in his eye. A strange sensation rippled down her spine. Was it excitement? Or that uncommon brand of lust that strikes like lightning during a rare, uncommon rush of attraction. His face and form were similar to Ian’s, although up close, there were notable differences: the nose was slightly larger, the skin swarthier, the mouth fuller, the hair not quite as dark, with hints of russet in the thick waves. Ian would certainly never go into public with a day-and-a-half growth of dark stubble on his jaw. Although Kam’s clothing was suitable for the restaurant, it was far more casual than Ian’s typical Savile Row suits. It was like seeing Ian in some kind of magical mirror—a shadowy, savage version of her debonair boss. Kam’s silvery gray eyes with the defining black ring around the iris were certainly strikingly unique. Or at least the effect they had on Lin was.

“Ian probably never noticed our similarity. He’s never seen me without a full beard,” he replied. Another stark difference. Much like her grandmamma, who had learned English in Hong Kong, Ian’s accent was all crisp, cool control. This man’s French-accented, rough voice struck her like a gentle, arousing abrasion along the skin of her neck and ear.

She put out her hand. “I’m Lin Soong. As you probably already know, I work for Ian. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”

He took her hand but didn’t shake it, merely grasped it and held on. His hand was large and warm, encompassing her own. The pad of his forefinger pressed lightly against her inner wrist.

“Does my brother make a habit of overworking minors?” he asked.

She flushed, the temporary trance inspired by his voice and touch fracturing. She knew she looked younger than her age, especially with her makeup faded from the mist and her hair curling around her face like a dark cloud. Besides, she
was
young for the position she held at Noble Enterprises as Ian’s right-hand woman.

“I’m hardly a minor. Ian seems to find me capable enough for all my duties,” she said smoothly, arching her brows in a mild, amused remonstrance.

“No doubt.” His finger moved on her wrist and she suddenly pulled her hand away, afraid he’d notice the leap in her pulse.

“Actually, I’m twenty-eight,” she said.

“Isn’t that young for the position you hold at Noble Enterprises? Ian can’t seem to function without you,” he said, studying her narrowly.

“You might say I was groomed for the role. My grandmother was the vice president of finance for Noble. She’d get me summer internships during college and graduate school.”

“And one day you ended up in Ian’s lap?” he asked, silvery-gray eyes gleaming with what appeared to be a mixture of humor and interest. “Does your grandmother still work for Ian?”

“No. She passed two years ago this Christmas.”

Her breath stuck when he reached around her waist. Was he going to
touch
her? She jumped slightly when a chair leg made a scraping sound on the wood floor. She exhaled when she realized he was pulling back on the chair next to him so that she could sit.

“Our table is actually ready,” she explained.

“I’d rather eat at the bar.”

“Of course,” she said, refusing to be flustered. She set down her briefcase in the seat next to her and reached for her chair. A frown creased his brow and he stood. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprised when she realized he’d grudgingly stood to seat her. Maybe he wasn’t so rough around the edges after all.

“You’re a cool one,” he said as he sat back down next to her, his jeans-covered knees brushing her hip and thigh.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze glittering on her face. “I thought you’d take offense to sitting at the bar.”

“Don’t you mean you’d hoped I would?” she challenged quietly. She transferred her gaze to Victor when the bartender approached, speaking before Kam had a chance to refute her. “Victor often serves me at the bar when I stumble in after a long day’s work. He takes good care of me,” she said.

“It’s always a pleasure. The usual, Ms. Soong?” Victor asked.

“Yes, thank you. And will you please let Richard know he can give our table to someone else?”

Victor nodded, giving Kam a nervous, covetous glance before he walked away.

“Goodness, what did you do to that poor man?” Lin asked in a hushed tone, leaning her elbows against the bar and meeting Kam’s gaze with amusement.

“Nothing. I asked him to give me a beer.”

“That’s all?” Lin asked doubtfully.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe not. Might have said something like, ‘Forget all that crap and just give me a damn beer.” He noticed her upraised eyebrows. “He was trying to get me to buy some fancy drinks and two bites of food and a sprinkle on a plate.”

“Imagine him suggesting you eat and drink in a restaurant.”

Much to her surprise, he grinned full out, white teeth flashing against his dark features. “The guy’s got balls, doesn’t he?”

Lin forced herself to look away from the magnetic sight of Kam Reardon’s smile. It was a tad devilish, no doubt, and full-out sexy, but there was also just a hint of shyness to him in that moment, as if his interest was unexpectedly piqued by meeting her. And like her, he hadn’t been prepared for it. It was potent stuff, to be sure. Perhaps she could forgive Ian for not giving her warning about his half brother, but surely his new wife, Francesca—as a fellow female—should have hinted at something that might prepare her for the impact of Kam.

“Most people who belly up to the bar expect a friendly chat with the bartender,” she chided lightly.

“I’m not most people,” he said, watching her as he also placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, matching her pose.

“Yes, I think we’ve established that,” she murmured humorously over her shoulder. They sat close. Much closer than they would have if they’d been seated at a table. Their elbows touched lightly, their poses intimate. Too much
so for having just met. She instinctively glanced downward, taking in his crotch and strong, jeans-covered thighs.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She fixed her gaze blindly on the glassware hanging behind the bar.

She silenced the voice in her head telling her to lean back and gain perspective. Lin Soong didn’t hunch down over bars flirting with rugged, sexy men. His face fascinated her, though. She wanted to turn again and study it, the desire an almost magnetic pull on her attention. And . . . she could smell him. His scent was simple; soap and freshly showered male skin. No, it
should
have been simple, but was somehow light-headedly complex. Delicious.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you by saying I’d rather eat at the bar,” he said, referring to her earlier subtle jibe that he’d intended to offend her. “I’m more comfortable here. I don’t like fancy places like this,” he said, glancing around without moving his head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I wasn’t trying to be pretentious by asking you to meet here. Even though Savaur might seem upscale, I consider it the opposite. It’s almost like a second home for me. I’m good friends with the owners—they’re neighbors of mine, in fact.”

“Was that one of them who you were laughing with—presumably over me—when you walked in?”

She stared at him, aghast. “We weren’t
laughing
at you.”

He arched his brows and gave her a bland look, as if to say it was all the same to him if they were or they weren’t. Lin had the distinct impression his impervious manner wasn’t for show. He really must have built up a thick skin living like an outcast for all those years. She couldn’t help but admire his nonchalance about what other people thought of him. It wasn’t a thing she encountered much in this day and age. His concise observance mixed with his cool indifference and flagrant good looks left her unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry if I gave the impression I was laughing. I was—
am
, I mean—very eager to meet you.” She cleared her throat. It suddenly struck her that they were speaking in hushed, intimate tones. She was glad to see Victor appear with the menus. “May I order for you?” she asked Kam politely. She saw his flashing glance and knew she’d made another misstep.

“Which do you think? That I don’t know how to place an order myself, or that I can’t read?”