STORM: A Standalone Romance (78 page)

There were questions.

Questions the police wanted to ask about Dominic. Questions I wanted to ask Miles. Questions Miles wanted to ask me. But Joan stepped in, along with a team of lawyers she’d procured from somewhere, and arranged for it all to take place later. And then she looked at me, a sad smile on her face, and said the words I’d been waiting to hear all evening: “You’re free to go.”

Miles took me to a hotel nearby where someone had already arranged a room for the two of us. The shock, or whatever, that had settled over my mind when Dominic forced me onto that plane, was still in full force, making it impossible for me to pay attention to anything around me. I had no idea where the hotel was, what city we were in, or even what country. I was still pretty sure everyone around me was speaking Italian, but I’m not that great with languages, so it could have been some other Latin-based language for all I knew. If not for Miles, I might have gone wandering through the streets without benefit of money, a sense of direction, or even knowledge of my own name.

He carefully directed me into the bathroom as soon as we were in the room and ran water in the tub. My hands shook as I tried to undress myself. Without saying a word, Miles helped me with buttons and snaps, careful not to touch me where it was not necessary. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him, all these thoughts spinning through my mind.

Did he think I’d gone with Dominic willingly? Did he think that Dominic did something horrible to me? Should I tell him what had happened? Should I tell him about the goons and the guns and the threats? Did he know what Dominic had planned? Did he know what Dominic told me? What would he think when he found out everything that had happened between Dominic and I? Would he still want me?

It all spun so quickly that I could hardly catch a single thought and hold onto it long enough to examine it as it required. Tears fell and fear—a different sort of fear from what I’d felt when Dominic touched me—burned in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, as Miles slid the shirt I was wearing from my body.

His eyes widened slightly, the dark cloud that had been in them from the moment I first set eyes on him at the police station spreading and growing darker.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his tone deep and full of emotion. “I should have protected you better. I should have…” He shook his head, his hands stilled just inches from my bare ribs. “This is not your fault.”

I just nodded, not sure what else there was to say.

When I was naked, he helped me into the bath, once again being careful not to touch me in any way that might seem even remotely sexual. It hurt to see the control he was exercising. It made me wonder if we would ever move past this. And then I wondered if there was an ‘us’ to move anywhere.

“Why did you bring me on that ship?” I asked, as Miles poured body wash on a washcloth and rubbed it into a fine lather. He studied the washcloth for a long minute, apparently fascinated with the bubbles he was creating. And then he looked up, his face so full of emotion that it hurt to meet his gaze.

“I thought Dominic was under control. It never occurred to me that he would show up on the ship.”

“What do you mean, ‘under control’?”

He just shrugged. Then he lifted my arm and began to wash me as though I were an invalid, or a helpless child. He grunted when he saw bruises on my upper arm that I hadn’t realized were there, perfect fingerprints from where Dominic and his goons continuously grabbed me over the last few days. They didn’t hurt. Not like the bruises on my face from the blows both Dominic and his goon had delivered. I’d caught sight of myself in the elevator door. The bruises were angry, dark marks that made my already pale skin seem ever paler. Maybe that was why Miles couldn’t quite look me in the eye.

Or maybe it was something else. Something deeper.

“He told me about Rebecca.”

Miles nodded, as he reached for my other arm, sliding the washcloth over my flesh there.

“I kind of thought he would.”

“He told me you took the blame for the accident.”

“It’s a complicated story.”

“But it’s true? Robert was dating Rebecca, and she died as a result of an accident in his car?”

“Yes.”

I nodded, tears burning my eyes again. “And you stood up for Robert and he paid you back by marrying your fiancée?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

But he was clearly uninterested in telling me the rest. He seemed more interested in running the washcloth over my legs, though he was very careful not to move too high up on my thighs or to touch anything that might be hidden by a modest pair of panties and a low cut bra. I sat up and took the washcloth out of his hand, finishing the job myself. I couldn’t stand to watch him try so hard to be respectable, no matter what his reasons might be.

I scrubbed my body until my pale skin turned a bright red, then lathered my hair with shampoo—twice. I felt like I couldn’t quite get the smell of that dirty sweatshirt off of me, or the heavy spice of Dominic’s cologne. Miles sat on the toilet and watched, staring at his hands as they twisted over and over. When I stood, he jumped up and grabbed a towel, wrapping its heavy warmth around me like a hug.

But, still, he backed away, clearly unwilling, or uncertain, about crossing some line I hadn’t drawn. He watched as I brushed my teeth—three times—combed my hair and used nearly an entire travel-size bottle of mouthwash. I couldn’t quite get the taste of Dominic off my tongue, either. I knew it was mostly in my head, but…I just wanted this thing to be over.

Miles pressed his hand to the small of my back and led the way into the bedroom. It was a lovely room, dominated by a king-sized bed, my familiar suitcase open on the valet. I walked to it and rummaged through it for a soft t-shirt I could wear to bed. I heard the door open and turned, a part of me expecting to see Dominic standing there. But it was only Miles trying to sneak away.

“Don’t go.”

He hesitated, his back to me.

“I thought you’d want some space.”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me, tears again rolling in large drops down my cheeks.

“Please…I…”

He turned and the anger and whatever else had been written all over his face was suddenly gone. He rushed toward me, but, as before, he didn’t touch me. He stood inches in front of me, his eyes moving over me like a caress. I stepped into him, releasing my hold on the towel and allowing it to fall as I slid my arms around his neck.

His hands slid around my waist and then all hesitation disappeared. He dragged me tight against him, his lips finding mine with an intensity that had been missing—that I had missed in him—until this moment. I moaned, a pain slicing through my jaw as I opened to him. Yet, it was outmatched by the pleasure of his familiarity, of his taste, of his touch.

His hands on my ass, he lifted me to the bed, falling with me as his mouth moved from mine and began to explore my throat. I pressed my head into the pillows, sighing as his palm found one of my nipples, rubbing it in a lovely circle that sent waves of pleasure through the length of my body. And then his teeth were nibbling at my other nipple like it was the most delicious morsel he’d ever tasted, the nibble turning into the lovely pressure of his suckling mouth.

For the first time in days, my mind completely shut down. All those thoughts that were speeding through my head so quickly were suddenly slowed and then gone. My hands in his hair and tugging at his shirt were my only thoughts, my only needs. I needed his flesh against my hands. I needed the feel of his weight against my body. I needed the security of his familiarity, the reassurances of his touch. I needed the life-affirming pleasure of this, of sex, of love-making, of whatever this was. I needed him.

He must have felt my eagerness. Or he was just as full of need as I was. Whatever the cause, he tugged at his pants, pushing them out of the way as quickly as he could, sliding inside of me with almost no warning, with no preparation. But I didn’t care. It felt so good to feel the length of him, to feel that connection that I’d never experienced with anyone else. I wrapped my body around him, moving with his every thrust, my nails digging into his flesh to pull him closer, always closer. We had a rhythm, but this was different. Wilder. More passionate. This was instinctual.

I cried out again and again, refusing to let go of him, even when an orgasm had ripped through my body and tore screams from his lips. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him inside of me until reality had become something I could understand again. He rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, our limbs intertwined as he peppered my face with kisses.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against my temple. “This never should have happened.”

I pressed my mouth to his throat, the vibration of his words numbing my lips.

“Just hold me.”

And he did. For hours he held me, our bodies rushing to pleasure once more before exhaustion finally forced my eyes closed, his nearness keeping the nightmares I was afraid would come at bay.

I didn’t want to open my eyes when I first woke the next morning. I could feel the heat of sunlight on my face and the warmth of the blankets resting over me. For a minute, I could make myself believe that I was at home in my own bed, that everything was safe and normal and perfect. But then my hand snaked across the mattress and found nothing but empty space.

Miles was gone.

I opened my eyes to confirm what my hand told me. There was still a satisfying dent in his pillow, but he was gone.

I didn’t get up right away. I lay there a little while longer, avoiding reality for just that little stretch of time. But then…my body stiff, my limbs sore, my face aching where the bruise marked my fair skin, I climbed out of bed and slipped into my favorite old bathrobe, a thin terrycloth thing my aunts gave me when I started high school.

Miles was sitting on the balcony that overlooked the city, a mug of coffee between both his hands. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair tousled in a way he would never allow anyone outside of his most intimate friends and family see. I stood there for a long minute, just enjoying the view. It reminded me of the few casual mornings we shared in the last month of our marriage, mornings when we woke together, made breakfast side by side, and shared it in the breakfast nook before curling up on the couch with the Sunday paper or a couple of good novels, so busy playing footsie or allowing our hands to wander that we never read a word.

The mornings I thought would last forever. Mornings that ended much too soon.

He looked up when I stepped out onto the balcony, immediately sliding over on the loveseat to make room for me. I sat beside him, tucking my feet up under my bottom as my gaze wandered out over the city.

“Where are we?”

“Rome.”

I nodded, remembering how much I’d wanted to come here since I was a small child and saw a documentary on the city in school. It seemed almost ordinary, this busy city with cars rushing here and there, pedestrians walking too quickly, just like any other city. It wasn’t how I’d imagined it would be.

“You sleep well?” Miles asked.

“Better than I thought I would.”

“You must be hungry. We can order something up, if you want.”

“In a little bit.”

I dragged my fingers through my hair, lifting the weight of it off my shoulders. I twisted into a knot, and then undid it. My hands were no longer shaking, but I could feel this deep vibration, almost as though my soul was trembling.

“I suppose you want to know everything that happened,” I said after a minute of heavy silence.

Miles’ shoulders moved ever so slightly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t, really.”

He touched my hand lightly. “Then maybe I’m the one who should be telling a story.” I glanced at him and nodded. “I promised you the truth. I guess late is better than never.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say. What if his story was different from Dominic’s? What if he lied to me? Or he told the truth? What if he admitted that this had all been a scam, that he was still using me, even after all this time. Even after everything we shared in that last month of our marriage? What if…but I really couldn’t do that anymore, could I? I couldn’t keep pretending that not knowing was better than the truth.

He moved his hand away, holding his coffee with both hands again like he was trying to warm them. But it was warm out here, almost hot. A little breeze offered some relief, but only a little. Sweat dotted my forehead, but only some of it was caused by the temperature.

“Robert is something of a Lothario,” Miles began. “He’s always bounced from woman to woman, sometimes before the last knew that he’d moved on. And I was always bailing him out of trouble, ever since high school. He was a freshman the year I was a senior. I had to save him from a couple of cheerleaders who were determined to castrate him for cheating on them. And it just continued from there, year after year. I don’t think a month passed by when I wasn’t running interference between him and some woman.”

Miles set down his coffee and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “It was all fun and games to him. It never crossed his mind that there would ever be consequences to his actions. And then he met Rebecca de Luca.”

I glanced at him as he said her name, catching something I hadn’t expected to hear in his voice. Sadness. Grief, almost. I couldn’t see his eyes, but the set of his jaw and the way his hands clenched when he sat up showed an emotion I didn’t understand.

He stood and walked to the railing, leaning over a little to look down at the street fifteen floors below us.

“She was twenty-two, newly arrived back in Massachusetts after spending most of her teens and young adulthood in Europe at some of the best prep schools and universities in the world. She was ready to stretch her legs, to live an adventure. And when she set eyes on Robert at a cocktail party my mother threw, you’d think Cinderella had just seen her prince for the first time.”

I tried to imagine that moment. Robert was a good-looking man, but he had a cockiness about him that I disliked. But I could see how a young, sheltered girl would find him very attractive. Adventurous, even. Reckless was the word that came to my mind when I thought of Robert, but maybe my vision of him was a little jaded by all I knew.

“They began seeing each other soon after. I didn’t find out about it until more than a month later. By then, all the warnings and admonitions I laid on him fell on deaf ears. He was beyond smitten. It was the first time I ever believed my brother when he said he was in love. And it had to be with her.

“I knew her family would be trouble, so I wasn’t surprised when Robert came to my place one night and told me that Dominic de Luca had warned him to stay away from Rebecca. He wanted me to talk to him, to try to smooth the way for him. He wanted me to make the de Lucas see that he loved her. But they weren’t having any of it.”

“You actually spoke to them?”

Miles turned to face me, leaning back against the railing with his ankles crossed. He studied my face for a minute, then his eyes fell to the ground.

“Martin de Luca and I had done some business together. We knew each other fairly well.”

“You did business with Martin de Luca?”

“Nothing illegal,” he said quickly. “Martin had a legitimate construction business just outside of Boston. I was working for my father at the time, with his business clients. Martin’s company was one of the clients I worked with. I learned a hell of a lot from Martin.”

“So you talked to him about Rebecca and Robert.”

“I wanted to. But he came to me first. Told me that Dominic had caught them together and he was worried he might do something to Robert. Told me to keep them apart.”

“That went well, I suppose.”

Miles looked up. “We Thorns don’t listen very well when someone is trying to keep us from the women we love.”

My eyes dropped from his, tears filling mine. There was a lot of implication in those words. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of me when he said it.

“One night, Robert shows up at my place. He’s bleeding from a gash on his forehead, blood smeared all over the front of his tuxedo shirt. There’d been an accident, he’d said. They were arguing, she was drunk, she grabbed the steering wheel, and his Porsche slammed into a tree less than a mile from her father’s house.  She didn’t have a seatbelt on.”

I shook my head. “He just left her?”

“He thought she was dead. He thought her brother would kill him if he found him there. And he was right. Dominic was insanely possessive of his sister. I truly believe Robert would be dead if he had stayed there that night.”

“But to just leave her…”

“It wasn’t right.” Miles dragged his fingers through his hair as he leaned back, a sigh slipping from his lips. “I woke Claire and asked her to take Robert to the family home in the Berkshires. I figured it would take a day or two to smooth things over with Martin. I never imagined that things would explode the way they did. I honestly thought she might be injured, but she more likely passed out from alcohol than anything else. I never imagined she’d die. I thought Robert was exaggerating the extent of her injuries.

“I got a call from Martin not even an hour later. He wanted to know where Robert was. Wanted to know why he was with his daughter that night. He was slightly incoherent, jumping from subject to subject without making a lot of sense. The next morning, news of the accident was all over the local news. Rebecca was reported to be in a coma with severe head injuries. Robert called me in a panic; he wanted to come back; he wanted to go see her. I had to drive out there and calm him down in person.”

Emotion danced over his face as the memories played themselves out in his mind. He focused on me for a long second, then looked away again, almost as though he couldn’t stand to look at me as he relived some of the darkest moments of his recent past.

“Rebecca died a week later. Martin was inconsolable. My father and I went to the funeral, out of respect for Martin as a client. He took one look at me and…I have never seen such naked hatred before or since. He confronted me afterward, in his house, told me he was going to tell the police everything he knew; he told me he wanted to see Robert pay for what he’d done. But the police were already investigating the accident. I spoke to them. They’d had a reconstruction completed, taken fingerprints, and spoke to people at the local bar. As far as they were concerned, Rebecca was driving the car. And her blood alcohol levels upon entering the hospital were three times the legal limit. They were ready to close the book on the whole thing. But Martin…he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I had to do something. I couldn’t let my brother go to jail. But I also couldn’t let my father know the role Robert played in the accident. My father was already put out with Robert. He’d warned him over and over again that he would cut him off if he screwed up again. I mean, this wasn’t the first time Robert did something stupid, or had some girl’s father chasing after him. This was just the most serious thing he’d ever done.”

I remembered the things Jackson had said at the hospital the night his wife collapsed. I remembered how his wrath was not just focused on Miles, but Robert, too.

My wife is dying. She might die tonight. And my children—my legacy—consists of a son who thought nothing of stealing his brother’s fiancée, and a son who ran when things got to hot. Some legacy I’ll leave behind when it’s my turn to go.

Jackson was clearly disappointed in his sons. And this definitely explained some of that.

“What did you do?”

Miles shrugged. “The same thing I’d always done. I protected my brother.”

Again he ran his fingers through his hair, making the tangled curls even more unruly. I wanted to go to him, to run my own fingers through his hair, to smooth away the worry lines between his eyes, to feel the roughness of his five o’clock shadow under my palm. But I didn’t. I stayed where I was, waiting for him to finish his story.

“I told Martin that I was driving the car that night. That I’d taken Robert’s car to his house so that Rebecca would come out with me, so that I could tell her that they had to stop seeing each other for their own safety. I told him that Rebecca had been drinking already and that she became so distraught with what I had to say that she grabbed the wheel and caused the accident.”

“Did he believe you?”

“Not at first. He had some of his people searching for Robert. They found him some weeks later, and Martin confronted him. But, of course, by then I’d told Robert what I’d done. He backed up my story. I don’t think Martin really believed him, but he went along with it. He needed to believe something. He needed something to hang it all on, someone to blame. And I gave him that.”

“But he would have wanted revenge.”

“He did. He wanted…”—Miles stopped, his eyes coming up to mine again—“…he wanted to destroy my family. He wanted to use my father’s company to promote his illegal dealings, to turn our family legacy into something dark and twisted and…” He shook his head. “Robert dropped a bomb on us, and I was the only thing standing between detonation and destruction. I couldn’t go to my father because it would have devastated him. I couldn’t go to Robert because he was so lost those months after Rebecca died. I really do believe he loved her. And I believe it had everything to do with what happened next.”

“With Claire?”

“Yeah.”

He came back over and sat beside me. “Everyone thinks that I left Massachusetts because of Claire and Robert. But that’s not true. I saw what was happening between them when I went up there to calm him down when the news hit the fan. Even then it was obvious that something was going on. As the weeks passed and they spent more and more time up in the Berkshires alone, it just became more obvious. And, to be honest, I was heartsick over it. And angry. And resentful. But I wasn’t surprised. I would have been okay with it, eventually. Maybe. But I wouldn’t have run out on everyone just because of that.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“To buy time. I had to find a way to stop Martin. I couldn’t let him destroy my father’s company or a reputation my family had built over many generations. We’ve been a lot of things, we Thorns, but none of it was ever illegal. And I wasn’t about to be the first to take us down that road.” He shook his head. “I simply didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I resigned from the company, if I disappeared for a while, Martin would finish grieving and start to see reason. Unfortunately, I was only partially correct.