Love Takes Time (9 page)

“I hope that everyone will come back here in a couple of months when we'll have another wedding to celebrate,” he said.

She glanced up. Who was getting married?

“My son
Quentin
has recently gotten engaged, and his mother and I couldn't be more thrilled.”

Alyssa's wineglass slipped from her hand and crashed against the table. All eyes shifted to her.

“Excuse me.” She stood and then raced out of the pavilion.

Q
uentin cursed under his breath as he cradled his head against the palm of his hand. It took everything he had not to race after Alyssa. Mainly because to do so would definitely get the gossip tongues wagging. His gaze cut back over to his father, who was still standing and holding court. He didn't doubt for a moment that his father made that little announcement specifically for Alyssa's benefit.

For now, all Quentin could do was sit there and stew. When the toast was
finally
over and the music began to play again, an avalanche of congratulations rained down on him. Heavy hands whacked him on the back, while women sent calculating glances his
way as if wondering whether he was truly off the market, which in his mind, he wasn't.

As far as he was concerned, this marriage was nothing more than a way for him to ensure his inheritance, since his father had held firm and kept him financially cut off. The question now was how was he going to explain this situation to Alyssa? And he definitely wanted to explain.

After having the taste of her lips more than once, his body now craved more. After seeing the astonished and hurt look on her face, Quentin gave himself a mental kick. Soon the hired waiters came and delivered everyone's meal. Quentin thought this was the perfect time to excuse himself from his table.

Sterling clamped a hand down on his shoulders and stated bluntly. “Let her go. I think you've done enough.”

“I have to talk to her.”

Sterling shook his head. “And tell her what?”

“You know, you have this annoying habit of putting your nose where it doesn't belong.”

Sterling leaned in close. “And you have a habit of thinking with the wrong head.”

There were only a few times in Quentin's life when he wanted to punch his brother in the face, mainly because Sterling was much stronger than he was and could kick his butt, but now was one of those times.

“It's none of your business what I do,” Quentin hissed. “It's bad enough that I gave my future away so that our old man can get his much-wanted merger.
But I never promised that I would be faithful or a good husband.”

“So life goes on as usual. You're going to do whatever the hell you want to do no matter who gets hurt, right? Tell me. What has little Alyssa done for you to think so little of her in all of this?”

“Trust me. I'm thinking about her feelings and everything else if you want me to be honest.”

Sterling's jawline hardened. “Careful. If you think for one second that I won't break that glass jaw of yours, you have another thing coming. I won't let you hurt her. She doesn't deserve that kind of treatment from you.”

An unmistakable hostility wrapped around the two brothers. No doubt to onlookers it looked as if they were just seconds from throwing the first punch.

“So how is it going over here?” Jonas asked, slapping his hands on each brother's shoulder. “Looks like you two may need a referee.”

Sterling and Quentin settled back into their chairs, their gazes still combative.

“We're cool,” Q lied, chiseling on a smile. “I was just about to excuse myself.”

“Then maybe I should come with you,” Sterling said, pushing back his chair.

“Whoa. Whoa,” Jonas said, smiling and glancing around to gauge how much attention they were drawing. He leaned closer and hissed. “I don't know what in the hell has gotten into you two, but I suggest that you squash it.”

Sterling and Quentin tried to chime in. “But—”

“But nothing,” Jonas snapped. “Sit here, smile and act as if you're having a good time.”

They both eased back into their chairs.

Just then Alyssa returned to the pavilion. She'd changed her clothes and was now wearing a simple blue dress that made her skin look like rich chocolate.

Quentin's gaze locked on to her while he mentally willed her to look his way.

“Good.” Jonas exhaled. “Looks like my work here is done. I expect you two
boys
to behave yourselves.” He smiled and then returned to his own table.

Quentin ignored his older brother. All that mattered was him being able to talk with Alyssa—to get her to understand. What he needed was a plan.

A few people at his table tried to engage him in conversation, but he wasn't interested. He could barely do more than nod and shake his head while waiting patiently for Alyssa to spare him a fleeting glance. One look would tell him all he needed to know. Whether he'd lost her before he really had a chance to have her.

It was time for the couple's first dance and Quentin knew his chance was coming. After this, the guests would soon crowd the dance floor and he would be able to get away.

Alyssa watched her father and new stepmother as they glided across the floor to the orchestra's rendition of Nat King Cole's “Unforgettable.” Either she was a burgeoning actress or she really didn't give a damn about Quentin anymore.

The thought disheartened him.

The dance came to an end and the crowd applauded. When everyone climbed from their chairs to rush the dance floor, Quentin sprang up, as well. Sterling may have been stronger, but Quentin was quicker.

Threading his way through the crowd tried his patience, but he made it to her table before Antonio could lead her to the dance floor.

“I need to talk to you,” he rushed.

“Maybe another time,” she said coolly and without looking at him.

“It's important, Alice. I—”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, her eyes alive with fire. “My name is
not
Alice. It has never been Alice!”

He lurched back in surprise. “I'm sorry. I've upset you.”

“I'm not upset,” she lied. “Why would I be upset?”

Quentin's gaze shifted to Antonio. “Could you please excuse us for a few minutes?”

Antonio didn't move. Instead, he waited to get the okay from Alyssa.

After a couple of deep, calming breaths, she finally gave him a slow nod.

Antonio marched off, but Quentin clearly saw that his father's driver was none too pleased with him.

“All right. He's gone,” she said. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

Quentin looked around and caught his father's gaze. “We should go somewhere so we can talk in private.”

“Why? What could you possibly say to me that you can't say right here—or
last night?
”

Quentin cocked his head and tried to bedazzle her with his puppy dog expression. “Please?” He held his breath.

Alyssa stared. Her face washed with doubt, but finally she said, “Two minutes.”

“I'll take it.”

She stood up from her seat while he came around her table and then looped his arm through hers. When they finally stepped out onto the pavilion, Quentin surprised her by walking her through the evening's cool breeze toward her favorite oak tree. The one she spent most of her childhood climbing. Somewhere on one of the tall branches was both her and Quentin's initials.

“All right, talk,” she said, pulling her arm from his and stepping back a bit.

He'd hoped to take her a little farther away, but judging by the look on her face that was out of the question.

“Look, Alice. I know I should have told you about…about…”

“About your engagement?” she filled in for him.

“Yes. About that.”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head as though he was now just wasting his time.

“It's not an engagement of love or anything,” he started. “It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like an arrangement.”

“You're marrying someone you don't love,” she asked for clarity.

“Yes.”

She waited and then asked. “Why? Is she pregnant or something?”

“No. It's not like that at all. In fact, I hardly know the girl.”

Alyssa's delicate brows clashed together. “Come again.”

“Well, I've met her once or twice. Like I said it's more like an arrangement.”

“What? She's an illegal alien or something?”

“No.”

“Will you just spit it out. What kind of arrangement are we talking about?”

Quentin took a deep breath and just went for it. “I'm sure that it's well-known around the grapevine that my father cut me out of his will some time ago and has even cut me off financially. Well, given how much I like to eat and wear clothes, we came up with a little arrangement that would get me back into his good graces.”

“You mean this is a
real
arranged marriage…like in the thirteenth century?”

He laughed. “Kind of.”

She appeared at a loss for words.

“The last thing I expected was to come back here and find you…to be swept away by you. Trust me when I say this whole thing has taken me by surprise.” He moved closer to her and brushed his fingers
beneath her chin. “Make no mistake about it…I do
feel
for you…and I want to
be
with you. Will you meet me tonight? Say in about an hour out in the solarium?”

Alyssa stared into Quentin's eyes, feeling every inch of her body melt beneath his intense brown eyes. He wanted her. Tonight she could have him.

“Please,” he whispered, pulling her into his embrace. “Please.” He lowered his head and once again their lips pressed together and dissolved all doubt in Alyssa's mind. She was floating on that magical cloud again. By the time he drew back, she was breathless and tingly.

“Say you'll meet me in an hour.”

Alyssa slowly licked her lips and made her decision. “I'll be there.”

S
terling glided Tangie effortlessly across the dance floor, but his attention wasn't on the beauty in his arms, but on the entrance of the pavilion.
Please, Quentin. Don't do anything stupid.
The words were more than a mantra inside his head, they were a prayer.

True, it had only been a few minutes, but Lord knows it didn't take his brother long to get into trouble.
If he's not back by the end of this song, I'm going out there and dragging him back here.

As if hearing Sterling's thoughts, Quentin strolled back into the pavilion.

Sterling relaxed.

“What is it?” Tangela asked, stretching her neck around to see what had caught his attention.

“Oh, it's nothing,” he lied.

A few seconds later, Alyssa popped back in with her face flushed with new color and her lips swollen as if she'd been thoroughly kissed.

Tension returned to Sterling's shoulders. A renewed anger simmered in his gut. “Ms. Graham, could you excuse me for a moment?” He bowed out of the dance before she had the chance to respond. In just a few smooth strides he made his way across the pavilion and then clamped a hand on Q's arm.

“You're just determined to be hardheaded, aren't you?”

“Me? Hardheaded? Never.”

“Don't play games with me.”

Ignoring his brother, Quentin casually ordered a drink at the open bar.

“I need to speak with you.” Their father suddenly materialized into their small space.

Q rolled his eyes. “I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait. We're at a wedding—or have you two forgotten?” He took his drink from the bartender and started to take a sip when Roger placed his hand over the glass.

“No. It can't wait.” Roger's gaze cut to Sterling. “Both of you, in my office—
now.
”

Feeling like an errant child, Sterling marched before his father and led the way back to the main house. By the time he eased into the burgundy chair next to his father's desk, his temper was nearly volcanic.

Quentin, on the other hand, entered the office cool
as a cucumber, his stroll overly confident, his eyes twinkling and his grin too cocky by half.

“If I was you, I wouldn't try me, boy,” his father warned. “Sit down.”

As if to prove a point, Q remained standing while his father shuffled around his desk and then plopped into his chair.

“Do you really want to try me?” Roger asked in a dangerous
Dirty Harry
voice.

Quentin swallowed hard, but he made his way into the chair.

Roger straightened and kept his hardened stare on his youngest son. “Now, I don't know what kind of game you're playing but when you start messing with my money, you're messing with my emotions—and I will
not
stand for it.” He slammed a fist onto his desk. “I need to know right now, do we or do we
not
have a deal regarding your pending nuptials?”

Quentin hesitated, shifted in his chair.

“Before you answer,” their father continued, “let me make myself clear. This is the
final
chance I'm giving you. I've given you plenty of chances to get your act together. But all you seem to think is that life is one big party. I sent you to the best schools, gave you cushy positions in my companies. Hell, your brothers have even tried to whip you into shape.”

Uncomfortable in witnessing this, Sterling dropped his gaze and braided his hands.

“So, I cut you off. Hoped that would send a clear message that it's time for you to grow up. Be respon
sible. Why can't you be more like your brothers? They've made a name for themselves—launched successful companies one after another. Instead, you prefer to have women pay your way. Back in my day we had a name for that. And it certainly wasn't anything to be proud of.”

Quentin's cocky smile disappeared.

“Then finally, like I knew eventually you would, you came crawling back. And I—” he leaned back in his chair and covered his hands across his chest “—being the good father that I am, gave you one more chance.”

“And under one condition,” Quentin reminded him.

“
Everything
has conditions.” Roger leveled with him. “I would have thought that you would have learned that by now.”

For a long while, the office fell as silent as a tomb.

“Now!” Roger sat forward again and steepled his fingers together. “I've laid all my cards on the table. You
know
how much this merger means to my company. These are hard economic times we're living in and I have too much riding on this. But if you back out, I swear by all that is holy that your mother and I will make sure you'll never see one dime from this estate. Do I make myself clear?”

Their gazes warred with each other.

“You think I'm bluffing?” Roger asked.

Both brothers knew that their father
never
bluffed.

Sterling finally looked at his brother again, who seemed to have shrunk in his seat.

“I want an answer,” Roger pressed.

At last, Quentin dropped his head and mumbled.

“I can't hear you.”

Quentin swallowed his pride and lifted his chin. “I
said
we have a deal.”

“Good.” Roger smiled. “I knew that you'd come around.” He finally glanced over at Sterling. “Your brother here can make your apologies to Alyssa in the solarium. I'm sure she'll understand.”

Quentin's eyebrows spiked in surprise. “How did you—?”

“What?” Roger shrugged, standing up. “You think I don't know everything that goes on around here? I have eyes and ears
everywhere.
You're not going. Sterling will handle it.”

“Me?”

Roger glanced toward Sterling. “Problem?”

Sterling's irritation mounted. Once again he was being sent to clean up Quentin's mess.

“You—” Roger turned back toward Quentin “—have other things to tend to.”

“Like what?”

“Like your fiancée. I called the Wildes and let them know that you were in town. Told them to come over and join the party.”

“You invited them to crash a wedding?”

“I'm sure that Alfred and Estelle won't mind.”

That shifty move even surprised Sterling.

“Besides, there's no time like the present for you two to get to know each other.” He walked around his
desk and laid a hand against Q's shoulder. “And what better place to do that than at a wedding? It's even kind of romantic.”

Quentin shook his head. “You've gone too far.”

“Have I? Or maybe I should let you risk everything so you can chase after a servant's daughter?” The hostility returned to his voice. “That girl has been running around here since she was five or six. Do you have
no
shame?”

For the first time, Quentin colored.

“Sterling,” their father barked.

“Yes, sir?”

“Please send Alyssa Quentin's regrets, but at the moment he's indisposed with his fiancée for the rest of the evening.”

Dread crawled up Sterling's spine. “Yes, sir.” He climbed to his feet and noticed how his brother refused to look at him. He marched out of the office.

As he made his way back outside, he thought how disconcerting it was for his father to still be barking out orders at them. But in this case, he agreed with his father. Quentin was being more than a little careless and predatory toward a woman he knew full well harbored childhood fantasies about him. That kind of behavior was unforgivable.

He only hoped that Alyssa handled the news well.

Exiting the main garden, Sterling was instantly greeted with the haunting tune of “Unforgettable.” The beautiful music dusted off some more feelings that he was trying to ignore. There was nothing like
a wedding to help Sterling realize how lonely he was. Weddings had a way of making you stop and take stock of your life.

By the time he reached the pavilion, he was humming along with the song. On the dance floor, he saw couples rocking back and forth, smiling. Everyone still seemed to be having a good time. His gaze then skimmed the crowd and he realized that he'd missed Alfred and Estelle's departure for their honeymoon.

He smiled, thinking of Alfred. He truly hoped his friend fulfilled his dreams.

“Unforgettable” ended and the orchestra launched into a string version of Luther Vandross's “Any Love.”

Sterling's loneliness returned. “One bottle of champagne and two glasses.” He stuffed money into the bartender's tip jar, and then accepted the bottle and glasses. Alcohol always eased bad news, he reasoned.

As he headed toward the solarium, he felt like a dead man walking.

When he finally arrived at what most referred to as his mother's sanctuary, he took a deep breath and entered. The music was clear and a sliver of moonlight cast the flowers and plants in an ethereal romantic glow.

“Quentin?” Alyssa's soft voice drifted from behind a tall plant. When she stepped out into view, it was like a star stepping out into the spotlight.

Sterling sucked in a small gasp. She seemed to grow more beautiful each time he laid eyes on her. How was that possible?

“Oh, Sterling.” She smiled awkwardly. “I thought you were someone else.”

He smiled. “I kind of gathered that.” He stepped forward, hating more than ever that he was the bearer of bad news. “I'm sorry to have disappointed you, but um…”

“He's not coming. Is he?”

Sterling drew in a deep breath and then slowly shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“I see.”

After a long silence Sterling felt the need to fill it. “Something's…come up.”

She nodded absently, but at the same time, she looked so small. Was she embarrassed?

“He wanted me to send his apologies.”

“Did he now? Or did your father send you?”

Sterling didn't know what to say. For a few seconds, the music just drifted between them.

“What do you have there?” She straightened her shoulders.

Sterling had forgotten about the champagne. “I, um, maybe we could share a drink.”

Alyssa smiled. “You always were the nice one.”

“And nice guys always finish last,” he joked.

Her smile broadened with a hint of sympathy. “That's not always true.”

They smiled.

“So how about it?” he asked. “Want to share a drink with an old friend?”

“Are we?” Their gazes locked. “Friends?”

“I've always thought so.”

“Really?” she asked dubiously. “You don't look at me and see me as just the servant's daughter?”

“No.” But he had hesitated.

Her smile melted. “Maybe I
need
that drink.” She reached for the bottle, and when her hand brushed his, there was this weird staticlike spark that caused his whole arm to tingle. Out of reflex, he stepped back.

“I'll open it,” he said, covering his reaction. He handed her the glasses while he worked the bottle's cork.

Maybe it was the music or even the moonlight, but Sterling was suddenly nervous being alone with his…
friend.

The cork popped and a small rush of champagne bubbled over the top.

“Whoa.” He laughed.

A smiling Alyssa held up their glasses while he filled them. He placed the bottle down on a stone ledge and took his glass.

“So what should we drink to?” Alyssa asked. “My making a fool of myself?”

“Of course not,” he admonished. “You're being too hard on yourself. Quentin is very charming.”

Silence, and then, “Is he really getting married?”

Sterling stared. Her dark gaze shimmered beneath the moonlight. “Yes.”

“Does he love her?”

Sterling started to answer, but she stopped him.

“Don't answer that.” She laughed and shook her head. “It really doesn't matter.”

“Why don't we toast to you?” he asked, and then lifted his glass. “To your success, your independence. You've come a long way from being that cute little girl climbing everything that stood still.”

She laughed and then clinked her glass against his. “Thank you.” She sipped her champagne while the orchestra played “Isn't It Romantic?”

“Care to dance?” Sterling asked, holding out his hand.

Alyssa chuckled. “I never thought of you as much of a dancer.”