The Forbidden, page 3
Can’t say I blame either one of us, given our history.
After my shower, I work at breakneck speed to dry my hair enough that I can put it in a messy topknot. I don’t bother with makeup because I’m not trying to impress anyone and I slip into my favorite jeans before tugging on a Blackburn Farms T-shirt and a worn pair of Adidas. I glance at myself in the closet’s full-length mirror, smirking as I think of the contrast between my casual comfort and someone like Gabe Mardraggon who dresses in only the finest designer clothing. I suppose if I made an effort to dress nicer, he might see me as more professional, but I really don’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks of me. I’ll never care about that.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I’ve got enough time that I can probably swing through a drive-through for a hamburger on my way to see the Mardraggon. Nowhere near on par with Miranda’s cooking but at least my stomach won’t be threatening to eat itself.
I snag my keys, phone and purse before heading to the door. I switch off a tasseled lamp as I move past it, crossing the entire space in about ten steps.
My abode is small but full of charm and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Yes, I live above the main tack room next to one of the training barns but this place is wholly mine, not only in possession but in character. I’ve spent time over the years upgrading and decorating the place, mostly by myself, but sometimes with Trey and Wade helping out with the heavier lifting. The walls are beadboard, painted a soft cream that contrasts beautifully with the natural wood beams that stretch across the ceiling. A squishy, deep-blue sofa adorned with throw pillows featuring horse motifs is the focal point of the living area which is only big enough to hold said couch. There’s a small, antique coffee table overloaded with The Saddle Horse Report and National Horseman that I really need to clean out.
Adjacent to the living room is the kitchen, separated by a breakfast bar made from reclaimed barn wood that Trey and Wade helped me install. The kitchen is practical yet charming, with open shelving that holds mismatched plates and cooking pots above the compact, four-burner stove.
My bedroom sits on the other side of a sliding barn door, reclaimed from one of our yearling barns that we renovated a few years ago. The space is so small it only fits my queen-size wrought-iron frame and one tiny wooden nightstand with a vintage coin glass lamp with a beaded shade.
It’s cozy but perfect for me.
When I throw open the front door, pausing to pat my back pocket to make sure I do indeed have my phone, even though I know in my head I picked it up just seconds ago, I’m brought up short by Sylvie standing on my stoop at the top of the wooden staircase. Her right hand is raised as if poised to knock.
She gives a startled yelp and then a sheepish grin. “You scared me.”
Laughing, I press my hand to my own beating heart. “Ditto. What’s up, kiddo?”
Her smile falters a tiny bit. “Can we talk?”
I don’t glance at my watch or try to calculate how this will cause me to miss a swing through a fast-food joint or even possibly be late to my meeting. I only see my niece, who I’ve known for just a handful of weeks but for whom I would lay down my life.
Brave, sweet Sylvie who has the weight of the world evident in her eyes but is still trying to keep my worry at bay by projecting a shining smile.
“Of course. Come in.” She slides by me and I set my purse, phone and keys on the kitchen counter. Sylvie moves to the blue couch and settles in. We’ve had a few movie nights here and I’m happy to see she’s comfortable in my place. I didn’t know I was born to be a doting aunt until I became one. I plop down on the opposite end, throw my arm over the back. “How was school today?”
I know she came here to talk about something specific but figured a little chitchat would be good. Today was her second day back as Ethan kept her out all of last week. Not only did he want Sylvie to have some more rest after her overnight hospital stay necessitated by the allergic reaction after her grandfather intentionally dosed her with penicillin, but Ethan knew the town would be rife with gossip following Lionel’s arrest. He wanted Sylvie to have time to settle into the notion that her grandfather is a very bad, evil man and people are going to be extremely interested in following this developing story.
Sylvie lifts a shoulder. “It was fine. I mean… most of the kids were nice but a few were assholes.”
God, she’s so cute cursing with her sweet French accent. I don’t chastise her. I’m the cool aunt who lets her get away with that stuff when times are tough and she’s been swept up in a shit show. Six weeks ago, her mother died. Five weeks ago, she came to live with Ethan, the father she’d never met, and with him, she inherited the motley Blackburn lot. It’s been a difficult adjustment, but Sylvie is starting to flourish. Then, ten days ago, her own grandfather tried to kill her, all so he could gain control of the winery his daughter Alaine had left to her daughter.
My inclination is to pull Sylvie into my arms to comfort her, but she looks at me with pleading eyes, not to help her fracture but to be strong. “Bullies feed on reactions, my dear sweet niece. Starve them of it, and they lose their power.”
She considers my words and nods. “I know.” She then lifts her chin. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s my warrior girl,” I praise.
“Much,” she adds on. “It doesn’t bother me much.”
“You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t affect you in some way.”
Her gaze drops to her hands and I know she wants to get to the heart of the matter, the reason she sought me out. When it comes, I’m not prepared for it.
Her green eyes—same as Ethan’s, same as mine, same as all my siblings and my sweet Irish mom—rise to meet mine. “I know you’re going to see Gabe. I overheard you and Dad talking.”
“Oh,” I murmur, mind racing to the conversations I’ve had with Ethan the last few days about this meeting with Gabe and whether we specifically talked about Sylvie, or rather… Sylvie and Gabe’s relationship.
“I was wondering how he is.”
“How who is?” I ask, not trying to play dumb but to give myself more time to make sure I will say the right things. Gabe is dangerous territory to discuss.
Sylvie rolls her eyes, knowing I’m being deliberately obtuse. “I want to know how Uncle Gabe is. I want to see him.”
“Oh, wow. Um… okay, that’s not up to me, kiddo. That’s your dad’s call.”
“I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and settling back against the cushion. “He doesn’t want me to see him, but I thought maybe you could talk to my dad. And since you’re going to be seeing my uncle today, I was hoping you could… you know… let him know that I don’t blame him.”
I ignore that for the moment. “Honey… have you really talked to your dad about this? Does he know how you feel?”
She shakes her head. “I only asked once but he’s got a lot of worries on him. I don’t think he wants to hear that I want to see Uncle Gabe because he hates the Mardraggons so much.”
“He’s just protecting you.”
Sylvie’s face screws up with frustration. “Yes, I know. But I don’t believe Gabe had anything to do with it. Do you?”
I can’t tell Sylvie that I probably know Gabriel Mardraggon better than any Blackburn does, including herself, and while what I know gives me far more reason to despise him than any of the others, I truly can’t see him being involved in a plot to kill Sylvie. I know he was close to Alaine. I know he loves Sylvie.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think Gabe had any idea Lionel was going to do that. But it’s very complicated, Sylvie. That’s his father and he will be loyal to his family. Maybe not to Lionel in particular but to the Mardraggon name. Gabe’s interest in protecting that worries your dad.”
“But Uncle Gabe wouldn’t hurt me,” Sylvie insists, and my heart constricts painfully as I see how tortured she is about this. “He’s the last tie to my mother.”
“I know,” I murmur, reaching over to rest my hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what… I’ll talk to your dad after I meet with Gabe, okay? We’ll try to figure out something.”
“And you’ll tell Uncle Gabe I don’t blame him?” she presses.
“Of course I will. In fact, would you like to write him a note and I’ll give it to him?”
Sylvie’s eyes light up and she nods exuberantly. “Yes, that would be awesome.”
I have no clue if Ethan would approve of this, and I fully intend to let him know what I’m doing.
But after I hand the note over.
This is important to Sylvie and I’ll take the heat if it pisses Ethan off. But at this point, I can’t see the harm in making her feel good about maintaining the hope of a relationship with the one person who loved her mother the way she did.
CHAPTER 4
Gabe
The office in this new house was also a major selling point for me. It doubles as a library, stocked with shelves upon shelves of classic books bound in rich, brown leather. It’s not that I’m an avid reader, although I do read on occasion, but it’s the room’s atmosphere that speaks to me. White paneled walls, fabric-draped windows and dark hardwood floors softened by a deep blue and white geometric-patterned rug underfoot gives me the warmth and casual comfort I never had at my parents’ home. A buttery caramel leather couch sits before a hand-carved mantel, also in white, and the cherry desk is ornate and old-fashioned.
It’s traditional and charming, the absolute antithesis to the minimalist décor and concrete gray walls of the Mardraggon estate that screamed of order and strict boundaries.
In the early twilight, the moss-covered oaks and the edge of the pool house are visible outside the panoramic windows with a hint of horse pasture beyond, but those fields are empty. I’m not a horse person nor did I buy this estate to fill it with such. I don’t appreciate the scenery and only spare it a glance before focusing on the thick sheaf of papers before me. I’m three hours deep into plotting the careful dismantling of Lionel Mardraggon’s legacy. I plan to remove him from the head of our empire.
A knock pulls me from my thoughts and I’d nearly forgotten I had an appointment this evening.
It’s her—Kat Blackburn—and I’m immediately tense with anticipation of a fight.
I’ve put off this meeting as long as possible. Just days ago, I was hounding Ethan to meet with me because we have some major business decisions to make about the winery and I can’t make a move without his approval. But now that Ethan has delegated his duties to his sister, I don’t want to be bothered with any of it.
Okay, that’s not quite accurate.
It’s Kat I don’t want to be bothered with.
Of all the Blackburns I would’ve preferred to deal with on a business matter, Kat would be the last. She’s the least preferable to have to pass on opposite sides of a busy street because even that close of a proximity invites disgruntlement.
It’s always been that way, some occasions stronger than others, and it will never change.
But as it stands, if I want to have a pathway back to Sylvie, it seems the winery is my best chance. Therefore, I’m going to have to deal with the raven-haired beauty.
When I open the front door, she stands there in all her perfect glory, her green eyes burning promises of mayhem as they pierce me. She’s a horse girl through and through and always has been. Although I’ve seen her at high-society functions in dazzling gowns, Kat Blackburn is most comfortable—and admittedly, most beautiful—in faded jeans, her face scrubbed free of makeup. She’s got a purse over one shoulder and a three-ring binder tucked under her arm.
“You’re late,” I say, having glanced at my watch on the way to greet her, even though I lost track of time myself. I don’t let her know that.
“Tough shit,” she replies as she pushes past me into the house.
“Come on in,” I mutter with an exaggerated sweep of my hand from behind her while shutting the door.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I watch as Kat’s head tips and she takes in the cathedral ceilings with coffered beams. The heavy chandeliers are dimmed and cast a warm glow on the parquet floors. Another selling point of the house—the softness of the lighting.
She glances back at me. “Could you have picked anything more ostentatious? What do you need all this for?”
I shrug, the corner of my mouth quirking. “What’s the point of having money if you’re not willing to spend it?”
“Spoken like a true shyster of a Mardraggon,” she purrs.
“Spoken like a snot-nosed Blackburn brat,” I retort.
“Better a brat than a murd—”
“Careful, Hell Kat,” I warn in a low growl. “You can throw venom all you want at me, but don’t you dare put me in the same category as my father.”
Those green eyes flash with ire that I stopped her tirade but I see something deep within that she probably doesn’t want to concede to me.
Contrition.
But she wants the last word, so she waves a dismissive hand. “This house is over the top and you know it.”
“Sorry if I don’t relish living in barns and smelling like horseshit,” I drawl with a slow rake of my eyes down her body.
I’m not sure what it says about me when her cheeks flush red and those eyes light up with something close to hellfire, and it looks like she could happily punch me. Instead, she takes a long step and leans in close, whispering, “I just took a shower, so I know I smell good.”
Fuck if my lungs don’t betray me, my nostrils flaring just so I can be proven wrong. Yeah… she smells like spring flowers and spicy citrus.
I never want her to know that I need space from all that she represents so I turn on my heel and head toward my office. “Might as well get this over with,” I say brusquely.
She’s whisper quiet behind me but I can feel her presence as she follows. To keep things professional, I take a seat behind my desk and point to a chair on the opposite side. She settles into it, dropping her purse to the floor and placing the binder on her lap.
Kat glances around the office, eyeing the bookshelves with interest before her gaze settles on me. “So, really… what’s the deal? Why did you move out of your parents’ mausoleum?” She inclines her head in faux apology. “I’m sorry. I mean home. Did you buy this monstrosity because you’re trying to compensate for something?”
I’m not sure why she needs to keep making her digs but I suspect it’s just to get a rise out of me. I decide to quell it quickly. “You of all people know I don’t need to compensate.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to explode with rage. I can feel the air crackle between us, the undeniable tension that speaks of a shared past that neither of us dare acknowledge.
But she breaks it by smiling, scoffing with amusement before her expression turns hard and unyielding. She holds up the binder. “I read the trust agreement and the other financials. I’m ready to discuss the winery.”
“And like I told you when you reached out to me, we don’t need to do anything right now. This meeting could have waited.”
Which isn’t exactly true. There are things we need to move on but I didn’t want to deal with her and was hoping Ethan would come around and deal with me himself.
“Yet you were so eager to talk to Ethan,” she counters with narrowed eyes.
No sense in lying. “Because I wanted to have a way in to see Sylvie.”
She’s unfazed by my proclamation and ignores it, probably to piss me off. “No, you told my brother that decisions had to be made regarding expansion plans. So I’m curious why you’re avoiding it? Is it because you have to deal with me?”
Chuckling, I steeple my fingers, appraising her a moment. “You’re no peach to deal with, Hell Kat.”
She glares at me. “Stop calling me that.”
“Why?” I probe, feeling like I have the upper hand for a change and enjoying the leverage. “You used to like it.”
“That was a long time ago,” she says primly, her voice a cool brush-off that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s defiance in her words, challenge in her eyes. And for a moment, I remember why she’s so attractive beyond her physical beauty.
Because she was unattainable in all ways and that only makes something more desirable. But as she said, that was a long time ago.
“Look,” I say, giving a pointed glance at the binder in her hand. “You need to review more than a few profit-and-loss statements to be able to talk intelligently about the winery.”
“How about you just lay it out to me like I’m a fifth grader and I’ll pass it on to Ethan,” she replies coolly.
“Fine.” I lean forward in my chair, clasp my hands on the desk. “We have a major investment opportunity which will expand the wine distribution network. There are some innovative but risky marketing strategies I’d like to implement. Each decision could significantly impact revenue and market presence, thereby building more profit, which is ultimately all to Sylvie’s benefit.”
“You mean make her a bigger target to your dad,” she says, her words so scathing I’m taken aback.
I slam my hand on the desk hard enough Kat jumps in her seat. My voice is low, bitterly cold and deadly calm. “I’m not going to repeat this ever again. I had nothing to do with my dad’s plot to hurt Sylvie. Had I known about it, I would have stopped it. As it stands, I turned him in to the police, thereby ensuring her safety. So, while a little fucking gratitude would be nice, I sure as hell don’t expect it from the likes of you. I would, however, appreciate you leaving the caustic remarks behind because all it does is make me want to boot your ass out of here so I can get back to more important things.”
Kat’s eyes burn with fury but she keeps that pretty mouth shut. After a moment of continued silence, which I accept as her affirmation she understands me, I say, “I will send over the expansion plans to you. I’ll even summarize the important points. You pass it on to your brother and let me know what he thinks. We can communicate by email. No sense in meeting. Will that work for you?”
