Fortune, page 18
Brock doesn’t follow me, and I listen through the door.
“You take care of everything?” Lamone says to Brock.
“I’m a man of my word.”
“I just want her comfortable. I’m going to see my mother—my birth mother—tomorrow. I hope I can get her to come visit.”
“Maybe you should be asking yourself why she doesn’t visit.”
“You’re a Steel,” Lamone says. “I thought you people were all about family.”
“If that were the case,” Brock says, “we’d be embracing you with open arms. Of course, you haven’t proved anything yet. Only that you’re the grandson of this woman. I haven’t seen any proof that you’re a Steel.”
I widen my eyes. There’s no proof?
“I’ll get proof,” Lamone says. “As soon as I talk to my mother.”
“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Brock says. “You agreed not to make any claims against the family fortune as long as we take care of the old lady.”
“Too bad we never signed anything.”
Brock chuckles. “I should have known. Anyone who would poison an innocent young girl. You, Lamone, are not a man of your word.”
“I just want to see what my birth mother has to say. I want answers.”
“So do we all. But the answers we need are inside this sedated woman’s head.”
“My mother may know what’s going on.”
“She may. She may not. But I think it’s safe to say that if she gave a shit about her mother, she’d be here. She wouldn’t have left her in your care.”
“She didn’t. Or…I don’t know if she did. I got an anonymous tip that this woman was my grandmother, and as you know, I had our DNA run and it’s true. I’m her grandson.”
“Another anonymous tip. How convenient.”
“Look, Steel, I didn’t ask to be dragged into your family chaos, but I’m here.”
“You certainly are. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re a direct descendant of Brad Steel himself. You’ll get nothing. Not after you violated Rory and Callie and poisoned Diana. You can burn in hell.”
Brock is angry. I can hear the tension in his voice. I don’t blame him. I’m angry too.
“I was a kid, damn it! And all those photos of Rory and Callie have been destroyed. We’ve been through this.”
“Funny. I don’t feel like it’s over at all. Call me a skeptic, but I don’t trust you, Lamone. I’m pretty sure you’re here to stay, and let me make myself perfectly clear—you will never get a penny of Steel money. I’ll die first.”
Brock whooshes out of the room. “Let’s go, Ava.”
“What was all that about?” I ask as we walk to the elevator. “He took photos of Rory and Callie?”
“It’s a long story, cuz. Suffice it to say that ten years ago, he and Brittany Sheraton drugged the Pike sisters, disrobed them, and took incriminating photos. Then blackmailed them.”
“Why?”
“Because they had proof that he drugged Diana.”
“Oh my God…”
“He’s not a nice guy, Ava. Don’t be getting all soft just because you’re cousins or whatever.”
“Oh, God. I am his cousin. His mother and my father are both children of…” I swallow back nausea.
“Like I said…”
We get into the elevator, and as it plummets, so does my stomach.
Just like the tower.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Brendan
I’m home.
I regard the text from Ava. It’s nearing midnight, and the bar is emptying out.
I text her back.
Do you want me to come over?
She doesn’t respond for a few moments, which troubles me, and then the three dots begin to move.
If you want to.
Women. Why don’t they just say what they mean?
I’m coming.
Then I head over. She’s waiting for me at the back door of the bakery. Her hair is soft and wavy around her shoulders, and the color has come back into her beautiful face.
“Did you eat?” I ask.
She nods. “Tacos. Brock made me.”
“Brock’s a good man.” I enter and follow her up the steps to her place. Once we’re inside, “Do you want to talk? About your grandmother? Or anything else?”
“Not especially.”
“All right. Let me get you some water.”
“I’m not thirsty, Brendan.”
I sigh. “Then why am I here, Ava?”
She shrugs. “That was your choice.”
I grip her shoulders. “Damn it, don’t do this. Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not.”
“The hell you’re not. Maybe it’s the age thing. Maybe you’re too immature—”
Her cheeks redden with anger. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. You’re not immature, Ava, which is why I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what the hell you want.”
“I… I don’t know what I want, Brendan.” She balls her hands into fists. “I’m twisted up in knots inside. Everything I’ve counted on, believed in, is a lie. How am I supposed to deal with this? It’s the tower.”
“I thought you were taking a break from the cards.”
“I am. But that doesn’t negate the tower and how it affected, and continues to affect, me.”
“Okay. So you don’t know what you want. What do you need, then? What can I do for you?”
She shrugs. “It’s crazy, but I want you to take me to bed.”
I smile, finger a lock of her pink hair. “Why is that crazy?”
“Because how can I be thinking of sex at a time like this?”
“Easy.”
“Easy for you. You’re a guy. You’re always thinking about sex.”
“Well…”
She shakes her head. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what?”
“For…” She sighs. “For…you know. I should have just told you I wanted you to come over and take me to bed.”
“Instead of leaving it up to me. But you knew I’d come.”
“I did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be manipulative.”
“Yeah, you were.”
She frowns. “Hey, wait a min—”
“Look, Ava. I love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. But I’m not going to use kid gloves with you. I respect you too much for that.”
She plays with her lip ring. My groin tightens.
“So let’s make a deal. You tell me what you want when you want it. I’ll do the same. I understand you’re going through some major stuff right now with your family, and I can’t even begin to understand just how much seeing your grandmother tonight affected you. I’ll talk to you about it if you want. I’ll listen. Or I’ll throw you onto your bed and fuck the daylights out of you. Whatever you want, Ava. All you have to do is tell me.”
She looks down. “The second one.”
I tip her chin up so she meets my gaze. “Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want you to throw me onto my bed, Brendan. I want you to fuck the daylights out of me.”
“Good enough.”
I lift her, sling her over my shoulder, and march into her bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ava
“Undress,” Brendan commands, after he throws me onto my bed.
I don’t hesitate to obey. Within a minute, my clothes and shoes are flung onto the floor, and then I watch, mesmerized, as he gets rid of his clothes. Then he hovers over me, naked, his hard cock pressing into me. He kisses me, deeply, and then he breaks it and slides his tongue over my breasts, down my abdomen, until he stops between my legs.
“God, you’re slick and wet and gorgeous.” He cups my pussy. “I’m going to eat you until you can’t take it anymore.”
Though I desperately want him inside me, this sounds good too.
I close my eyes—
“Oh, no,” he says. “You keep those eyes open. You watch me eat this sweet pussy, Ava.”
Then I gasp as he slides his tongue over my wet folds. I want to relax, to close my eyes, but I don’t want to disobey Brendan. Strange, but true, so I watch.
I watch as he slithers his tongue over my slit, down to my perineum, and then back up to my clit. My flesh is on fire, and with the touch of his tongue and of his lips, I grow hotter.
“Mmm, delicious.” He groans as he continues licking me.
“Brendan…” But it comes out more like a soft moan.
He works my pussy, licking, sliding, nipping. My nipples are hard and aching, and without thinking, I cup my breasts, still focused on Brendan.
“Yeah, baby,” he says. “Play with those nipples. Make yourself feel good.”
Careful not to close my eyes, I obey him again. I touch both nipples, squeeze them gently. The sparks travel straight between my legs—where Brendan is feasting.
Each tug on my nipples makes the currents running through my pussy more intense.
And watching Brendan… His handsome face between my legs… His hair unbound and tickling my thighs…
“Oh!”
The climax sneaks up on me and rocks through me like an earthquake. When Brendan shoves two fingers inside me, the rumbling strengthens, and I cry out his name.
“Easy, baby,” he says, his chin glistening. “We’re just getting started.”
“So good…” I sigh, still plucking at my nipples. They’re hard and needy and still aching, and I twist them, loving the sensation.
Brendan removes his fingers and sinks his tongue deep into my pussy. The sensation is less intense, but the velvety softness of his tongue is heaven.
In a flash, though, his lips are around my clit, his fingers tunneling into me once more. I’m on the brink of another orgasm, and I tug at my nipples—
“Yes!” I come with more force this time, arching my hips and grinding against Brendan’s face. His stubble scrapes my sensitive inner thighs, and God, it feels heavenly.
I come again and then again, and when Brendan finally pulls his fingers out of me, I’m a heap of mushy flesh.
Mushy flesh that wants to be fucked. That aches to be fucked.
He crawls toward me, his eyes on fire, but instead of plunging into my pussy, he comes closer, dangles his dick between my lips.
“I need to feel your mouth on me, Ava. Please.”
I open for him, and he slides his cock inside my mouth.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “That lip ring. Nothing like it.”
He fucks my mouth slowly at first, but then he glides in and out faster. Part of me yearns for my pussy to be filled, but another part is loving his groans of pleasure as I suck his big cock.
And it’s a damned big cock.
I don’t want to stop, but he pulls out swiftly. “Fuck. Need to be inside you.”
And then he is…thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…
That ache… That empty ache… It’s filled. Completely filled by Brendan’s magnificent cock.
He slides in and out of me, each time jarring my clit, and each time sending me closer, closer, closer…
Until I shatter once more, clamping around him as he thrusts.
“Yeah, baby.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “So. Fucking. Good.” He pounds into me one last time, releasing.
I’m still on the edge of my own climax, and I feel each contraction as he spurts inside me.
And for a moment…
I forget about my grandmother.
I forget about the tower.
I forget about my family’s secrets and lies.
Only Brendan and I exist.
And I wish it could stay this way forever.
Nothing lasts forever, though. The alarm clock wakes me early, and I rise and pad into the shower. The warm rainfall on my head is both relaxing and exhilarating, and I give myself a good exfoliation with my shower pouf.
Until—
A warm body touches mine.
I turn into Brendan’s arms. “Hey… What are you doing up so early?”
“Showering with the love of my life.”
“You should sleep.”
“Mmm.” He kisses my lips. “Can’t. I’m meeting my father for breakfast, and then we’re going to go see Lauren Wingdam.”
“My aunt.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think about them.
“Yeah. In a technical sense.”
“In a genetic sense,” I say. “I wish I could come along.”
“Can Luke or Maya take care of the bakery this morning?”
“No.” I squeeze some shampoo into my palm. “Maybe. If I get the morning bake started. But I don’t like to be out of the bakery during business hours.”
“I know what you mean.”
I kiss him. “I know. And you’ve been really good about leaving your place of business when I need you.”
“You’re number one with me, Ava. But don’t feel like you have to be there this morning for my sake.”
“You don’t need me?”
“I always need you. But this is more for my dad.”
“All right. But tell me everything.”
“Of course.” He lifts me, sets me onto his hard cock. “But first…”
I sigh. True completion. In the shower, only Brendan and I exist, as if we’re in a secluded pond under a waterfall.
I close my eyes and let myself slide into the fantasy…for as long as I can.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brendan
Dad and I drive up to a large brick ranch house on the edge of Snow Creek’s sister town, Barrel Oaks, Colorado. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. Barrel Oaks makes Snow Creek look like a thriving metropolis.
But this house…
It’s sprawling, and the lawn is green—not always the norm in the dry desert climate of Colorado—and well-kept.
The driveway is fine gravel and leads to a detached three-car garage. Instead, we park on the street and take the stone walkway to the front door.
An ornate antique door knocker graces the door that’s painted dark red. I choose the doorbell, pressing it lightly.
No response.
I ring it again, while Dad lifts the door knocker and brings it down loudly once. Then again.
Finally the door opens. A young man in jeans, a white button-down, and a bolo tie—seriously—stands there. His reddish-brown hair is cut short in a professional style.
“Yeah? Can I help you?”
“We’re from Snow Creek,” Dad says. “We’re looking for Lauren Wingdam.”
“What for?” he asks.
“That’s between us and her,” I say.
“And me,” the man says. “She’s my mother.”
I stop myself from dropping my jaw to the ground. Pat Lamone has a brother. Now that he says it, I see the resemblance, although this guy is much better looking than Lamone. Perhaps they don’t share the same father.
“Good enough,” Dad says. “We have some questions about your grandmother. Dyane Wingdam.”
“Then we can’t help you,” the man says. “My mother had a falling out with her mother years ago.”
“We’d still like to talk to her.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Brendan Murphy.”
He doesn’t take my hand. “Murphy?”
“Yeah. This is my dad. Sean Murphy.”
“Sean Murphy?”
“I’m not getting out my ID,” Dad says, “but yeah, I’m Sean Murphy. Now that you know who we are, maybe you can clue us in on your name.”
He looks to me and then to Dad. Then he finally takes my outstretched hand and gives it a firm shake. “My name is Jack. Jack Murphy.”
This time I let my jaw drop.
Have we just found the link between us and the Steels?
The reason why we’ve been getting the same messages?
“I think,” Dad says, “you should let us in. Seems we may have more to talk about than we thought.”
Jack holds the door open. “Yeah, maybe. Because Sean Murphy is…”
Dad walks in. “Me. Sean Murphy is me.”
The foyer is tiled with marble and leads into a lush living area, complete with a baby grand piano in black lacquer and white-and-gold wallpaper.
“Have a seat.” Jack points to the blue-and-burgundy brocade chairs and sofa. “I’ll get my mom.”
“Thank you.” I take a seat.
“I’ll send Margaret in. She’ll get you a drink if you want one.”
“That’s kind of you.” Dad sits in a chair across from mine.
They have help? I mouth to Dad.
He simply shrugs.
Clearly Lauren and Jack aren’t hurting for money, which is a good thing. If they’re somehow related to the Steels, maybe they won’t go after more money.
A young woman in a blue maid’s uniform enters with a smile on her face. “Good morning, gentlemen. Could I get you a cup of coffee? Some breakfast?”
“We’ve had breakfast,” Dad says, “but I could go for a coffee.”
“Of course.” Margaret—presumably—smiles. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black.”
“And you, sir?” She nods to me.
“Same. Coffee, black.”
“I’ll be right back.” She turns, still smiling, and leaves the living room.
Margaret returns a few moments later with a tray and sets it on the glass-topped coffee table. Fine china cups and saucers and a silver coffee service. The Steels themselves don’t put on this much of a show when they serve coffee. Margaret pours us each a cup and then leaves again.
I take a sip. Strong and a little bitter. Perfect.
“She knows how to brew a damned fine cup,” I say to Dad.
He doesn’t reply right away. Until, “Red hair.”
“Jack?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’d call it reddish brown.”
“It’s still red.”
“We’re not related to every Murphy in the world,” I tell him.
