Since I Saw You (34 page)

“I’m okay,” she said, stroking his strong biceps and squeezing it lightly, enjoying the dense texture. “I don’t want to sleep. Not now. I want to be with you.”

He kissed the top of her head and scooted into a sitting position. Dislodged from her resting place, Lin flopped back against the pillows. “Good,” he said. “Because we’ve got champagne.” Lin stared up at the ceiling dreamily, feeling ridiculously happy to be home. With Kam. He had turned and was opening the bottle of champagne. She sat up in bed, holding the sheet over her breasts, and accepted the filled flute from him several seconds later.

“To our four-month anniversary,” she said, grinning and holding up her glass.

“I was hoping today could be another anniversary.”

She paused in lifting the glass to her mouth when she heard how sober he sounded. Her gaze leapt to meet his stare. “Of what?” she asked.

He slipped a box into her free hand. She stared at the dark red ring box, frozen.

“Is this . . .”

She trailed off, going dry mouthed at the implication of her unfinished question.

“Yes,”
Kam said. She met his steady stare. He looked so calm. So solid. So certain. It was an amazing sight. Shivers cascaded down her spine and down her limbs. “Will you?” he asked her quietly.

“God
yes
,” she replied fervently, and just like those other times she’d given him important answers, it felt entirely right. “I . . . I doubted at times this would happen to me,” she said falteringly.

He caressed her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it happen to such an incredible woman?” he asked, his light eyes gleaming with emotion. “You’ll always be number one with me. Always. Nothing and no one will come before you. That’s what I promise you. You deserve nothing less.”

“I promise you’ll always come first, too, Kam,” she vowed shakily. He’d known that solemn oath was precisely the one she would hold most dear. Tears of happiness prickled behind her eyelids.

“Open it,” he urged in a gravelly voice, taking her champagne glass to free her hands.

A smile spreading on her lips, Lin followed his instructions, opening the lid to their rich, vibrant forever.

Keep reading for a sneak peek of the new erotic serial romance novel by Beth Kery

THE AFFAIR

Available September 2014 from InterMix

A
good night’s sleep would end her odd ruminations. She flung her purse over her shoulder and started for the exit. She came to a sudden halt and gasped.

“Oh my God, you startled me,” Emma said to Mrs. Shaw, who stood in the entryway to the suite, unmoving.

“I’ve come to get you. Mr. Montand would like a word,” she said unsmilingly.

Her mouth fell open. “With . . . with
me
? Mr. Montand? Why?”

“He didn’t tell me his reasons, but I assume it’s about your work here. He’s very particular in regard to his stepmother’s care,” Mrs. Shaw said with a tiny smug smile.

“I see,” Emma said, even though she didn’t. To her knowledge, Montand had never spoken to any of the nursing staff individually. His expectations had been discussed with Dr. Claridge, who was the hospice doctor, and Monica Ring, the nurse supervisor. A flicker of anxiety went through her. What if this request was somehow associated with the armoire incident? Was she about to be called out or accused? Her heart started to beat uncomfortably in her chest.

There was only one way to find out.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she said briskly, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder.

She followed a silent Mrs. Shaw down the hushed staircase past the lavish workout facility and indoor pool, her heartbeat pounding louder in her ears with every step. Mrs. Shaw left the staircase behind on the next level. She led Emma into the luxurious living room she’d seen last night, the lush ivory carpeting hushing their footsteps. Emma could almost feel the housekeeper’s disapproval and dislike emanating from her thin, stiff figure back toward Emma.

Mrs. Shaw paused before a door and swung it open.

“Ms. Shore is here,” she said to someone in the room.

She stepped aside and gave Emma a glance of loathing before nodding significantly toward the interior. Her heart now lodged at the base of her throat, Emma stepped past Mrs. Shaw into the interior of the room. She had a brief but vivid impression of a stunning dining room consisting almost entirely of black, white, and crystal. A huge white modernist china cabinet and wet bar structure dominated the wall closest to her. The long, grand dining room table was made of African blackwood and was surrounded by more than a dozen handsome blackwood and white upholstered chairs. Two large crystal chandeliers hung above the table. The far wall consisted of warm brick in beige and reddish tones, offsetting the cool luxury and sleek lines of the room. On the brick wall hung a huge painting that she recognized in a dazed sort of way was a modernist depiction of an engine.

She heard the door shut and glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Shaw was gone.

Emma turned back to the single inhabitant of the room. He sat at the head of the table turned toward the wall that faced Lake Michigan. For a few seconds, she just stood there, speechless. He matched the room in almost every way. He wore a black tuxedo with careless elegance. His brown hair was not cut short, necessarily, but it wasn’t long, either. A woman could easily fill a hand with the glory of it. It was thick and wavy and had been combed back from his face. A dark, very short goatee seemed to highlight a sensual mouth. He was all precision lines and bold masculinity: an angular, strong jaw; broad shoulders; straight, handsome nose. The only way he didn’t match the immaculate, stunning room was the way his tie was loosened and the top collar of his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at his throat.

He was even better looking than the actors hired to drive cars and drink champagne for his company commercials. Impossible.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, just a hint of impatience in his tone. He set down the fork he’d been holding. Emma blinked. It hadn’t even registered immediately that he’d been eating, she’d been so captivated by the image of him. “Come here,” he prompted when she remained frozen.

She stepped forward, a surreal feeling pervading her. As she drew nearer, she realized that his eyes were the same color of the lake on a sunny day—a startling blue green. The lake would serve to soften and warm the cool, sharp lines of the beautiful, austere dining room during the day, however. This man’s eyes would soften nothing. They seemed to lance straight through her.

His mouth quirked slightly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded quietly.

“Am I looking at you a certain way?” Emma asked, surprised and set off balance by his question. “I hadn’t realized,” she fumbled. She yanked her gaze off his compelling visage and glanced around the room, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen a room like this. It was a little like walking into a photo from a magazine or something.”
Especially with you sitting at the end of that grand table it in that tux.

She looked at him when he laughed mirthlessly. “Cold and uncomfortable, you mean. I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to my architect and interior designer.”

She matched his stare. “That’s not what I meant.”

He frowned slightly but didn’t respond. Nor did he look away. “You’re Michael Montand?” she prodded in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

He nodded once and glanced at the chair nearest to him. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

“Would you mind telling me why you asked me here first?”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. They were a shade darker than the hair on his head and created a striking contrast to his light eyes. Clearly, she was just supposed to follow his command without comment.

“You’re taking care of my stepmother. Surely you don’t think it odd that a family member would want to speak with you about your work,” he said.

“You haven’t called anyone else from the nursing staff up here.”

“Nobody else has directly disobeyed my orders.”

She swallowed thickly at the ringing authority in his tone. Her heartbeat began to roar so loudly in her ears, she wouldn’t be surprised at all if he heard the guilty tattoo. What could she say that wouldn’t betray what she’d accidentally seen last night? Had that man—Vanni—told Montand something?

Was
he
Vanni? she wondered wildly. No, Vanni wasn’t a nickname for Michael. Plus, the man she’d partially seen last night had long hair. She opened her mouth to utter some feeble excuse—she had no idea what—but he cut her off.

“It may seem random to you that I asked for the drapes to remain closed in my stepmother’s suite, but I can assure you that I did so with a reason.”

“I can explain . . .
What?
” she muttered.

He gave her a nonplussed glance.

“The drapes,” he repeated.

Relief swept through her. He’d meant the drape incident, not the armoire one.

“What did you think I was going to say?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” she lied. “Of course I’ll respect your wishes about the drapes.”

“I’d appreciate if you respected my wishes in regard to everything I have specified with your supervisor.”

She held her breath for a split second. Had he emphasized the word
everything
, or was that her panicked brain jumping to conclusions.

“Of course,” she managed.

He nodded once and then picked up his fork. Emma had the distinct impression that she’d been dismissed. She wavered on her feet.

“It’s just that the sunshine . . . it might do Cristina some good.”

He regarded her with glacial incredulity. Emma felt herself withering from the sheer chill.

“It’s such a beautiful view. I see no reason to deprive her of it,” Emma rallied, despite his intimidating stare.

He set down his fork, the clanging sound of heavy silver against fine china startling her. He sat back in his chair. He possessed a honed, muscular . . . phenomenal frame, from what she could see of it. Clearly, he hadn’t built that elaborate workout facility for show. Emma wasn’t sure what to do with herself in the strained, billowing silence that followed.

“It may be beautiful to you,” he said finally, nostrils flaring.

“It’s not to you?” she asked, bewildered. “Why did you have this house built then? The view dominates every room.”
At least, when you’re not in it, it does.

One look at his frozen features and she knew she’d gone too far. His gaze dipped suddenly, skimming her body. If another man had done it, she would have been offended. In Michael Montand’s case, it was like a mild electrical current had passed through her. Her nipples tightened and something seemed to prickle in her belly, like a hook of sensation pulling at her navel. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her wisp of confidence evaporating.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful to me,” he said. He glanced away and Emma knew she’d imagined that flash of heat in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate. “How is she doing?”

“Cristina?”

He nodded once and picked up a roll from a basket. Emma noticed he possessed strong-looking hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. She repressed a shiver with effort. “She’s in a great deal of pain. It’s getting worse. I’ve asked the doctor to increase her pain medications.”

He looked up sharply.

“It’s not uncommon, as the cancer spreads,” Emma said, reading his glance of unease.

“Won’t increasing her pain medication make her more confused?”

“Possibly. But it’s better than forcing her to suffer. She’s living the last days of her life. We’re not talking about a headache here. This is severe, mind-numbing pain. When she’s in the midst of it, she’s not very cognitively sharp anyway. None of us would be,” Emma said pointedly.

They stared at one another for a few seconds. Again, his gaze dropped over her, so fleeting it might have been her imagination.

“Why do you dress that way for work?” he asked, returning to the task of buttering a roll.

He mouth fell open. “I like to be comfortable. My hospice doesn’t have an issue with it. Do you?”

He began slicing a filet of beef, his gaze averted from her. When he didn’t reply for a moment, her anxiety ratcheted up, but it was accompanied by a spike of defiance. “Is it not
formal
enough for you?” she asked, as if determined to dig her own grave. He looked up, and she glanced down significantly over his tuxedo-clad form.

He gave a small, unexpected smile, white teeth flashing against tanned skin. Her heart stalled.

“You’re wondering if I put on a tuxedo to dine alone at midnight as a custom.” He raised his fork to his mouth and took a swift bite of beef, watching her as he chewed. Emma became highly aware of the movement of his lean, angular jaw and then the convulsion of his strong-looking throat framed by the stark white open collar as he swallowed. He reached for a crystal goblet of red wine. “That would be pretty pitiful on my part if I did, wouldn’t it?” he asked before taking a swallow of wine. Emma heard the thread of humor in his voice and didn’t know how to reply.

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. And no, I’m not a formality hound. I just came from a public relations event in the city sponsored by my company. I didn’t get hungry until now. I always lose my appetite at those things. All those cameras. All those vampires,” he added distractedly. He took another bite of beef, and for a moment, Emma wondered if he’d forgotten she was there. “I didn’t mean that I object to your clothing,” he said quietly after a pause. “I just asked because I noticed it was different than the other nurses.”

His words seemed to hang in the air
. I noticed
. There was only one way he could have noticed since he never visited Cristina’s suite. He’d taken notice of her on the surveillance camera. Maybe his thoughts went in a similar direction because his expression suddenly grew sharp and then went carefully blank.

“I thought it might relate to your age,” he said, picking up his knife. “You seem much younger than the others.”

“You thought my dressing habits related to my age? Or my difficulty in not following your instructions did?”

“Both.”

Her back stiffened at that. “I’m twenty-three.”

His succinct nod seemed to say,
Well, it all makes sense then
. Irritation shot through her.

“You’re not
that
much older,” she said impulsively. The cool glance he gave her revealed she was mistaken; it made her feel about twelve years old. What she’d said was technically true. He didn’t look much older than his early thirties or so, but he
seemed
decades older. Maybe her blurting out those words was her desperate attempt to even the playing field.

He took another bite of meat. “I’m thirty,” he said with infuriating calmness after a pause. “And years are one thing. Experience another.”

“I have a master’s degree in palliative and hospice nursing. I’m very well qualified to take care of your stepmother. And I have
plenty
of experience,” she defended.

That small smile quirked his lips again. “How did you manage all that in twenty-three years?”

She hesitated, frowning. She realized she was being defensive, but his aloof contempt annoyed her. “I have an early birthday. Plus I did my bachelor’s degree in three years,” she mumbled, already regretting her outburst. Despite her flash of annoyance at his small, patronizing grin, the thought struck her that he had a very sexy mouth. He gave a small shrug.

“Even if you weren’t as experienced as you are,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t complain. You’re very good with my stepmother. She likes you.” He shot her a hard—or was it bitter?—glance. “And that’s rare. Please just follow my instructions from now on,” he said after a moment, picking up his water glass.

“I will,” Emma said shakily. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, to respond so defensively with a patient’s family member. She normally let criticisms or suspicions in regard to her youthful appearance slide right off her. Her work always ended up being a testament to her worth.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” she said under her breath.

Despite the fact that he’d been looking at his plate when he dismissed her, the prickly sensation on her back gave her the distinct impression his gaze was on her as she left the room.