Blame It on Paris (24 page)

He fumbled, fast as he could make his thick fingers work, and finally yanked the blindfold from his back pocket and whipped it over her eyes.

“What's this?”

He didn't answer directly, because she had to know perfectly well what it was. “I figured a silk scarf wouldn't hold for long. Or else you could peek. So I needed a real-life blackout blindfold, which was harder to find than I could believe. But just so you know—this is
not
for fun.”

“Sure it's n—”

Her tone was teasing again, as if she assumed he was handing her nonsense. So he kissed her.

Only this time, he kissed her differently than before. He closed his eyes, because he wanted to be immersed in her, wanted to be blind to everything but her, aware of only the world between them, the world where only their senses alone communicated to each other.

He eased her back down to the blanket, taking her lips, skimming his tongue inside, offering a soft, dark, openmouthed kiss that silenced her. And him.

Her hair had started tumbling from its updo, loosened when he put on the blindfold, and loosened more now when he threaded a hand through those silky strands, just because it felt good. Good the way touching Kelly, any way, anyhow, always felt.

Her heartbeat quickened when he shifted, sliding a hand from her head to her bare throat, down to the loose drape of fabric at her neck. That damn dress was soft, but not as soft as her skin. Nothing was as soft as the swell of her breast. One stroke, and the tip pebbled for him. One stroke, and he was harder than stone. Hot stone.

Somehow he didn't think he'd be able to talk for long.

“Kel?”

“Hmm. I think we have an awful lot of clothes on.”

“Yeah. I'm about to take care of that. In two seconds. But I need to tell you something.” He tried talking again and found his vocal cords malfunctioning. A guy had priorities. Obviously before trying to complete the conversation, no matter how critically important it was, he wasn't going to be able to concentrate until he'd taken care of other pressing business first. So easily, smoothly, he shifted her to a semisitting position so he could pull that sweet wisp of yellow silk over her head.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

He'd guessed that from before. And she'd admitted it. But it was another thing to actually
find
her body completely naked, her breasts already swollen tight, her skin flushed with warmth. Her breath was so quick…for him. Her body hot…for him.

“Kel, the thing is, I didn't know you were going to show up with no underwear.”

“Good. Surprises are good.”

“Yes. But I'm just saying I thought I'd have to do the seducing.”

“You do. Go to work, boy.”

He smiled, kissed her again, but he wasn't suckering into that wicked mouth of hers quite yet. “I will, I will. But I want you to know that I specifically picked this house because you'd never seen it before. And I wanted you to wear the blindfold so everything else would be unfamiliar, too.”

She stopped stroking him, as if finally hearing the seriousness in his voice. Her palm touched his neck, then his chin, then his cheek, reading him like Braille, studying his expression through texture. “Why?” she murmured. “Why did you want everything to be unfamiliar to me?”

“Because you've been so worried. About all the unfamiliar things in your life. Discovering you had a father. Discovering the beliefs you grew up with were partly lies. Discovering that you felt different—about yourself—since Paris.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And because of all that, you've felt really thrown. As if you didn't know who you were anymore.”

“Yes,” she whispered again, sounding fierce, sounding grateful that he'd listened to her and really heard her.

“Well, this was the point of the blindfold and the unfamiliar place, Kel. No matter what's unfamiliar to you, no matter what's throwing you, I'm here. And I know who you are.” In moments, he'd pushed off the slacks, unshackled the buttons of his blue dress shirt.

“Who you are,” he said, “is my lover. Just like I'm your lover. And this is the thing.” He took a long, slow breath. “I love you, Kelly. I want you. All of you. Whoever you are, whoever you were. I love the before and after. I love the during. I love the everything about you.”

She ripped off the blindfold and faced him with fierce eyes. Just like that, there was a power shift. He'd tried to direct this whole thing, for her, because he believed she needed to hear not just that he loved her, but that he loved all the incarnations and reinventions of Kelly Nicole Rochard.

Even when she was aggravating the hell out of him, he loved her. She was suddenly winding around him. The seducee turned seducer. The cherishee became the cherisher.

Soft hands stroked him closer. Dark eyes took him in, looking at him—at his face, at his nakedness, at his erection, at all of him. “You are,” she murmured, “everything I ever dreamed of in a lover.”

Well, hell times three. If she expected him to have any self-control after that, she was dreaming.

But then she didn't seem to have any self-control after that, either. She loved his body as if she owned it, as if she'd never met an inhibition.

An hour later, an eternity later, he lay on the blanket, Kelly curled naked next to him. She'd dozed off like a baby—her own fault, for turning making love into a marathon. He was just as whipped, just as wiped. But he couldn't erase the smile off his face. Didn't want to give in to sleep.

Will didn't care what was rational or irrational, what the world thought or didn't think.

He knew, in his gut, that everything in his world was right as long as Kelly was with him.

Nothing could stop him when they were together. They could go anywhere, be anything, do anything. He'd gone into this night with Kelly, knowing his dad wasn't going to be laid up forever—knowing that his chances of being able to stay here were steadily deteriorating.

But he
had
to believe Kelly valued who they were together. She'd come to see it his way—that it didn't matter where they were, as long as they were together.

And for the first time in years—maybe in his whole life—he really believed that things were going to turn out okay. They'd go to Paris. Be together. The rest didn't matter; it would sort itself out.

“Will,” Kelly murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Go to sleep.”

All it took was her permission. He draped his arm and the blanket over her, then dropped off into deep sleep.

W
HAT WAS WITH
this Tuesday? Kelly put down the phone in her office, stared at it for one long dark second and warned the device, “If you ring one more time in the next half hour, I'm going to throw you against the wall.”

It immediately rang.

“Yes,” she barked into the receiver. “This is Kelly Rochard.”

It was the construction guy she'd contacted—one of three construction companies who were giving her estimates. She couldn't very well
not
take the call. She had to hear the price, their terms, get their schedules, their references.

She'd just hung up when Brenna showed up at the door. “There's someone in the lobby who—”

Her phone rang before she could answer Brenna. Her coworker threw up her hands and gestured that she'd track her down later. Good thing. This call was from a painter, who was prepared to come in and start the job as soon as this weekend.

Only Kelly couldn't start that quickly. She had to pick out new counters for the bathroom first. And she was a
long
way from settling on colors.

“But I thought you wanted it done fast, and I got an opening—”

“I do, I do, and I'm grateful you could squeeze me in.” Her mom had given her the reference, so she knew the painter was trustworthy. Only holy kamoly, did everything have to hit on Tuesday morning?

She finished the call and pointed the royal finger at the phone.

It didn't help. It rang again.

“My heavens, I've been trying to get you all morning,” her mom said. “I'm sorry to call you at work, honey.”

“That's okay.” It was. Somehow just airing all the old history about Henri Rochard had brought her closer to her mom. For all the turmoil, all the worrying that her relationship with her mother would be scarred in some way, the opposite seemed to be true.

“Well, I needed to know for sure if you could come early on Saturday. They're claiming this block party is for me, but you know how it really goes. Everybody helps set up, and I'm stuck working late on Friday—”

“I'll be there by nine-thirty. Is that early enough? You want me to bring anything?”

“Nope, just yourself. And the time's perfect. Thanks, sweets.”

The phone rang again almost as soon as she hung it up, but this time she ignored it. She
had
to get some real work done, and that included the project she was doing for Will. The hunt for John Henry, his mystery employee, hadn't required tons of time, but she wanted the job completed faster than yesterday.

Brenna showed up in the doorway again, but before she could say a word, Kelly said firmly, “There isn't a client I haven't spoken to this morning who should need me for
anything.
I just need a few minutes without interruptions!”

“But—”

“Five! Just five whole minutes! Hold the calls!”

She turned back to the computer. It bugged her, the house Will had thrown so generously in her lap. In fact, a lot of things had been bothering her since the weekend.

Will was a darling. He couldn't help that. But it troubled her that she hadn't been pulling her weight. No, she didn't have money like he did. But he'd asked for help, tracking down his employee, and that
was
one thing she should have been able to do for him.

Will's father was going to be on his feet in another week or so. At that point, Kelly knew perfectly well it was time to sink or swim.

Go with Will to Paris.

Or stay here.

“No,” she muttered to herself. “You're not going to think about that now. You're going to…” She narrowed her eyes at the figures popping up on the screen.

She'd become an expert at locating people who didn't want to be found, but people living right out in the open were notoriously harder to trace. They actively and regularly covered their tracks and all their personal histories. Real people, of course, didn't have blank spots of years. When someone had a blank spot, they'd been somewhere and done something.

Like John Henry. A blank spot of five and a half years, to be precise.

Will was right. His employee had something to hide. She just wasn't positive what it was yet. Down the pike, she could call a cop friend if she needed to. Sullivan wouldn't give her confidential information—even though he was practically her godfather and she'd babysat his firstborn—but he would confirm information if she already had it. And then there was Father Donovan, who always, always honored the sanctity of the church, but he did like his gin and tonics, and he happened to have access to Catholic university alumni records.

Their boy, J.H., had been to a Jesuit school.

Just a few more minutes….

Brenna showed up in the doorway again, this time looking peeved. “
Don't
tell me to go away again. There are three women in the lobby to see you. They don't have an appointment. They know that. But they're absolutely positive you'll be happy they're here.”

“Right,” Kelly said ironically, but she rose out of her chair. “I'm sorry I've been a bear.”

“You have been,” Brenna concurred.

“And I'm sorry you had to put them off if they're for me.”

“You should be.”

“Two Hershey's dark chocolate do it?”

“Three.” Brenna sniffed.

Peace again. Kelly rounded the corner into the lobby and then stopped in surprise. The three blondes waiting for her were Martha, Laurie and Liz—Will's sisters.

“Well
hi!
I'm so sorry—I didn't realize you three were out here. I was so involved with a project that I wasn't listening—”

“No problem, no problem.”

The three of them looked like an advertisement for Saks. Martha looked like an urban young mother, arched collar, blue skirt, hair perfect for any weather. Laurie was wearing blue, too, but an artsier batik watered silk skirt with a white silky top. And Liz looked totally hip, her tank top dipping low, brand sunglasses used as a headband, her denim skirt from the top-of-the-brand heap.

Martha swiftly took the conversational lead. “Will said you'd been working incessantly. We thought you might like to go to lunch if you had time. We know you have to be back soon, but there's a place just a skip from here, Barney's, that serves the best lobster salad…”

“We all decided at the same time that we'd like to get to know you better, and we'd been talking about going to Barney's…and then we thought, why, your office is just around the corner, Kelly, so…” Laurie filled in.

By the time they were seated in Barney's, Kelly knew perfectly well she was being suckered. She didn't mind. Why turn down a lobster salad and a raspberry iced tea? She liked Will's sisters, wanted to know them better, and frankly, she'd have done the same thing in their shoes—vetted their brother's girlfriend.

The questions were subtle, buried in girl talk about shopping and brands and school history and movies. And Will. They readily volunteered little tidbits about Will. The beat-up dog he'd brought home when he was eleven. The girls who chased after him in his high school football days. The time he'd driven their dad's prize antique Morgan into Julianna Raymond's swimming pool—after a National Honor Society induction, besides—and Will had his clothes on, but Julianna sure didn't.

In the meantime, Kelly filled them in on her background…her school, her single mom, the whole nine yards. No point in pretending she came from blue blood. No reason to. Will knew it all, and she was proud of who she was, just as she was. They'd never get along if she felt she had to put on a mask around them. Eventually, though, they ran out of personal questions and moved tactfully toward more serious material.

“Your dad…” Kelly propelled into the conversation.

“Yes. That's one of the reasons we wanted to talk with you.” The three of them sobered fast, but Martha was the one who answered. “Dad's getting better, but I have to say, we all believe he
has
to slow down. His blood pressure's out of control. He and Mom want to do some traveling, not just vacations, but really see something of the world while they both still have the energy and the health. But there's no way he'll even consider retiring…unless Will stays.”

Laurie shook her head. “He's tried to leave the place with managers before. They're always good people. And he'll plan to take three or four weeks off with Mom, but he never makes it more than a few days. The only one he actually trusts with the company is Will.”

Kelly was starting to worry whether the lobster salad was going to stay down. “And how do you all feel about that?” she asked honestly.

“We can't intervene,” Liz said bluntly. “Getting in between Dad and Will is like being between a lion and a tiger in the same cage. We love Will. He needs to do what he needs to do.”

“Yes,” Martha agreed. “We all feel that way.”

Now Kelly knew she was going to have trouble with the fabulous salad, and man, she loved lobster. It was so unfair. But the three of them were too ready with their lines, too prepared. She knew something was missing—just not what that something was.

“So…” she said. “How do the three of you feel about the company? Have you ever worked for your dad? Have you any interest in a particular job there? How does it all work in your family?”

None of them had any business sense, they freely admitted. But they were in the middle of exciting lives, doing things they loved. Family came first, of course. Which was partly why they wanted Will to come home. They loved him. They needed him. He was critically important to all of them.

Martha had plans to buy a cottage on Lake Michigan. Kelly had already been on the boat, right? So she'd likely seen the place. Everyone in the family could take advantage of it in the summer, all the kids could congregate there, learn to sail and swim, be together. Will was probably the only one who could make that happen, because his vote in the family could sway it into happening.

Liz had a different agenda. “I'm trying to get out from under my dependence on Dad. I finally got my degree in interior design. I told Will my plans.” Liz, all animated, relayed her plans to open an interior-design studio in Chicago. She didn't want to need Maguire's anymore, wanted to stand on her own. Will understood, Liz claimed. She just needed a stake to get her business going.

And then there was Laurie. So pretty. Closest in age to Will, Kelly knew. She was the one with classy, quiet looks, a sweep of blond hair, no bling, just elegance in the way she looked and spoke and tilted her head. “I have no plans to move away. I want to live here, by my family and friends, have a quiet life. Will knows I've got a guy. He's a fabulous, fabulous artist.”

“He is,” the other two sisters agreed.

“Naturally it's hard for an artist to get started, but I don't have to live expensively. He's so wonderful. Will's going to meet him at Mom's birthday party a week from Sunday. I'm hoping you'll get a chance then, too.”

Kelly was still smiling and waving goodbye when the sisters dropped her back at the office, but her smile died the instant their Pacifica was out of sight.

She stood in the heat, feeling hugely sick to her stomach.

Every time…every darned time she started to really believe she and Will could make it, something happened. The other night, at the house, the way they'd made love, the way they'd talked, Kelly could feel it again. Not the fantasy of Paris. But the plain old, real wonder of love. She adored that man. He seemed to adore her right back.

And she'd come home from that believing that surely the love they had was strong enough to survive and solve their complicated family problems.

But now she thought…not.

The problem was that she was plenty tough, but Will wasn't. He thought he was, but the wrangling with his dad tore him apart, sliced at his ego and his heart relentlessly. And now Kelly saw how it was with his sisters.

She liked all three of them. They were fun and funny and smart. But they were also so determined to get what they wanted. They'd set up the lunch to lay out their agendas. Of course they wanted Will home. Martha wanted her house. Laurie wanted her guy subsidized, and Liz wanted stakes in a new business.

In many ways, they were totally wonderful. But Will had tried to tell her they were on the spoiled, self-absorbed side. She hadn't believed it before. Now she understood that he really was trapped here. Possibly so trapped that there simply were no answers except getting out and living elsewhere.

What was she supposed to do? If she loved him, really loved him, would she let him go? Or follow him to a life in Paris, where nothing important to him—or her—was resolved?

Damn it all. She'd found her knight, so how come there seemed no possibility whatsoever of a happy ending?

 

“W
ILL
?”