Model Fantasy (16 page)

The plane was over the Atlantic and he was still working on the…well, he couldn’t consider it a problem. All men should have such problems! No, he corrected, he did not want any other men to have Francine. And that, he realized, made the situation extraordinary. He’d never had a woman he didn’t want to share. A woman he didn’t want to be touched by another man.

The situation with Kalley had been mostly pride. A young Dominant’s confidence shaken at the realization that he couldn’t meet the needs of a submissive. Even Sheila, before her blackmail attempt, hadn’t aroused this possessive streak in him. Again, that had been pride. And a desperate need to extricate himself from the mess he’d gotten into.

Francine was different. It hadn’t been just sex, despite him repeatedly telling her that. He’d hated the brief pain in her eyes when he’d said it. He’d wanted to soothe the hurt and make sure she didn’t feel that way again. He’d never felt that way for anyone outside his family. They’d talked, laughed, argued, and in twenty-four hours he’d become closer to her than he ever had with another woman. He wanted that again. More. Deeper. Not just the sex. But the woman he’d…the woman he’d made love to.

Grant finished off the whiskey and shook his head when the steward offered more. It had been more than sex, more than fucking. He’d never touched a woman with emotion. Until her. Especially that last time. The need to possess every inch of her and never let her go had overwhelmed him. His emotions had spilled over as he’d spanked her. He’d seen that in her body and had been furious with himself. He could have seriously hurt her! He’d struck her with emotions. Worse, he’d struck her in anger.

Fuck, he told his reflection in the window. Why would she want anything to do with him? A Dom who couldn’t control himself wasn’t worth being in charge of anything besides a poodle parade. Echoing Peter’s remonstrance of nearly twenty years ago didn’t make him feel one bit better. Just worse. He couldn’t call her. He couldn’t contact her. It would be better for them both if he left her alone. Now, if he could just figure out how the hell he was going to maintain control whenever he saw her picture. Shit.

Chapter Ten

Grant emptied his suitcase in his usual, methodical way. Suits and shirts were taken to the front closet for his housekeeper to take to the dry cleaner’s. All the rest of his clothing went in the laundry hamper in the master bathroom. Before returning the hanging bag to the closet, he repacked it for the next emergency—two suits, four shirts, six ties, and the rest of his clothing. He checked his shoes, frowning at the scuffmarks. Dammit, you’d think he had been channeling Bronson or something. He set those aside to polish that weekend.

“Grant! Grant!”

How the hell did his cousin do that? He’d only thought of him and the man had to pop up! Knowing Bronson, he probably wanted to borrow a bottle of whiskey. Or a paddle from the playroom.

“Grant, dammit, I know you’re back!” The voice came down the hall accompanied by the usual heavy footsteps. Grant frowned. Someone was with Bronson. “There you are.”

Grant glanced at his cousin. Just behind Bronson was an agitated Ben. He put the hanging bag on its hook inside his closet.

“Bron? I just got in from…”

“It’s Francine. Do you have any idea of what’s been happening to her?”

Grant felt the blood drain from his body. Forget jetlag. Forget the complexities of deals and contracts that had normally been able to command his complete attention. All he could see was the look on her face of that last orgasm. That smile. The light in her eyes. All he could hear was her laugher, her husky voice.

His eyes narrowed. “What about Francine? What happened?”

Bronson began pacing immediately. Ben leaned against the wall and began drumming his fingers against the paneling. Grant frowned. He couldn’t imagine what had happened that would agitate the two to this extent.

“Your plane probably hadn’t taken off when they started. It was so low that it took a couple days to build up steam...”

“Who and what?” Grant cut to the chase. Feeling he would need it, he reached for the drink he’d poured. “Stop beating around the bush. I’m not some jury you need to convince. Spill it, Bronson.”

Ben nodded when Bron glanced at him. “Kevin and Delilah. In case she didn’t mention them…”

“Her former fiancé and the woman she found in bed with him. Another model.” Grant nodded, finishing his Scotch. “What about them?”

“They started rumors. Among other things, Kevin said Francine had tried to do cocaine in his apartment and had taken all the money in their shared account. Delilah said she found Francine downing vodka and unknown pills…”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Grant exploded.

“That’s not all,” Bronson said quietly.

“What else?” Grant took a deep breath and leveled a steady gaze at his cousin.

“Kevin said Francine seduced him to get company secrets. They’ve been crucifying her, Grant. Heather called me. Her roommate’s a model who was on the shoot with Francine in Fiji. Francine came to see me Wednesday and we’ve been working on it…”

“Why the hell didn’t you call me or…”

“I was a bit busy trying to protect her and straighten things out. They went after her professionally,” Bronson continued. “Her agent and I have been working non-stop since Wednesday. We’ve filed all sorts of legal motions and they’ve already backed down on most of it. The account thing was easy to disprove because Francine never had a joint account with him.”

“Is Francine all right?” Grant asked sharply, now pacing about the room.

“She’s held it together,” Bronson assured him. “She’s got some strength to her, but I’m not sure how much longer she can hold on.” He paused until Grant looked at him. “The girls are all at some breast cancer fundraiser right now chaired by Elizabeth MacLauren.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Francine surrounded by those he knew would be attending any MacLauren event.

“Sonuvabitch,” he muttered.

“Yeah, I know.” Bron nodded. “I just talked to Heather. Everyone’s treating Francine like she has the plague or something. PR and legal-wise, we’re winning there. But this is the upper crust of society, Grant. You know what they’ll be doing to her.”

Grant nodded. He knew what that could be like. “Is Kevin there?”

“Yeah.” Bron nodded. “It’s his grandmother’s event. Delilah’s with him.”

Clenching his jaw, Grant shook his head and paced over to the window. Francine was going through hell and he wasn’t there to defend her from the catty remarks and cold shoulder treatment he knew could hurt like hell. He hadn’t been there all week! He knew damn well how the press could rip a person to pieces. Whether she wanted him there or not, he was going to protect her. And God help MacLauren if Grant got his hands on him.

He strode to the closet and reached for the hanging bag that protected his tuxedo. He paused. Did he really want to waste time showering and fussing with a damn tux? What the hell was he going to do to make sure no one messed with Francine? The plans he’d made on the flight home went out the window. Keep it simple, stupid, he told himself. Two part plan—punch MacLauren’s lights out, find Francine. Simple. Easy.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, turning around. “Let me get something from the safe and we’ll go. Get a hold of Heather. Tell her to stay there with Francine. But don’t tell her I’m on my way.”

Bronson and Ben blinked as Grant headed for his study.

“What is he doing?” Ben muttered as they followed him.

“Not a fucking clue.” Bron shook his head as he dialed. “Heather? Stay with Francine. Don’t leave. Stay put.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just trust me, okay? Thanks.”

Standing in front of the open safe, Grant pictured the perfect features and wondered just what it would be like to have her for more than just one night. He could hear her voice in his ear. The joy of life, the strength, the grace. The warmth. His. She’d been his and he’d let her go. Every fantasy he’d ever created had been real for one perfect moment and he’d walked away from it.

“Not this time,” he vowed, grabbing the blue velvet pouch.

A minute later, Grant reappeared, tucking something into his pocket. Pulling on his sheepskin coat, he checked for his wallet and keys.

“Let’s go.”

“Heather will have your head,” warned Bron, closing the door behind him.

“Why’s that?” Grant wondered, pushing for the elevator.

Ben lifted his cell phone and murmured for someone to meet them with the car.

“I’m taking my car,” Grant told him. “Bron, why will Heather come after me?”

“She’s on a vegetarian and organic kick. Nothing to do with harm to animals or something.”

“Right.” Grant nodded as the elevator doors opened. “Note to self. Cancel full-length mink for Heather’s birthday present.”

Bron and Ben chuckled.

Reaching the hotel, Grant handed the keys and two bills to the valet, whispering to him. Eyes wide, the young man nodded. Getting in, he moved the Mercedes fifteen feet, pulled to the curb and turned the engine off.

Grant looked at Bron.

“Where’s Heather right now?”

“Left as you enter the ballroom. Halfway down under the largest pink ribbon.”

“Kevin?”

Bron murmured in the cell phone. “On the dance floor with Delilah. She’s wearing a barely legal pink mini dress with a long-ass train. Heather says with Delilah’s red hair it hurts to look at her.”

Nodding, Grant strode in, ignoring security who tried to stop him. Flanking him, Bron and Ben intercepted the men and shoved them aside. Ben’s three men took care of the rest. Grant didn’t notice anyone or anything. Reception line? Hell, no. He was intent on two things.

Seeing his first target, Grant shoved two people aside, pulled one couple apart and grabbed the tuxedo jacket. Nearby, Keith turned from his date and stared.

“What the…” Kevin MacLauren sputtered. “Franklin, what the fuck…”

“Francine is mine, asshole. Spreading your lies was a mistake. She doesn’t like to drink and has trouble taking an aspirin. She sure as hell would never touch drugs.”

He shot a dirty look at Delilah who stared at him blankly. Turning his attention back to Kevin, Grant snarled. “You ever say another word about her again and I’ll deal with you in ways that go beyond your worst nightmare. You understand me, you sonuvabitch?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” screamed Kevin. He looked at Delilah, who’d moved behind him. “What the fuck did you say to—”

Grant simply pulled his fist back and let it fly. Kevin staggered back, tripped over Delilah’s train as she tried to get out of his way and crashed to the floor.

“I’ll do the same to anyone else I hear spreading lies about Francine,” Grant announced in a firm voice. “We clear?”

He glared at the formal-clad society members who shrank back from him. Except Keith, who moved to stand with Bronson and Ben. Grant acknowledged the support against the man’s half-brother with a nod.

“You boke by bose!” Kevin protested, the hand over his nose already covered in blood.

“You’re lucky that’s all I’m going to do,” Grant told him. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Eyes searching, Grant found the largest pink ribbon hanging on the wall to his left. The elite of New York City society scrambled to get out of his way.

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