A burst of annoyance exploded in Cate’s stomach. She knew Maurice had instructed the staff to say stuff like that, but she was so sick of hearing it.
“Go on ahead,” her grandfather urged, his dark eyes fixated on his phone. “I have a few more calls to make.”
With a nod, she crossed the grand parlor toward the twin staircases that curved upward. She climbed the steps on heavy legs, then made her way across the expensive Aubusson rug toward the master suite at the end of the wide hallway.
A moment later, she walked into the elegant sitting area she’d visited a thousand times before.
“Catarina!” Mimi, the dark-haired maid with gentle brown eyes, greeted Cate with a warm smile. “Perfect timing—your mother’s masseuse just left.”
Like the butler, Mimi addressed her in German, the same way she spoke to Cate’s mother. Maurice insisted that Ariana preferred it.
As Cate headed for the bedroom, Mimi took a discreet step to the door. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
Cate hesitated in front of her mother’s room, then took a deep breath and pushed open the French doors.
“Hi, Mama,” she said softly.
As usual, the woman on the bed didn’t respond.
When Cate was a little girl, she used to pretend not to notice her surroundings. She would look at the bed and see her mother’s petite form tucked under the thick, gold-hued duvet. She’d see long blond hair fanned on a crisp white pillow, beautiful chocolate eyes peering up at her with love and adoration. She’d even hear her mother’s voice, melodic laughter that tickled her ear and warmed her heart.
But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she no longer pretended she was seeing anything other than sad, grisly reality.
Ariana lay motionless on a bed flanked by machines on either side. Her dark eyes were open and unblinking. There were tubes everywhere—the feeding tube that gave her nourishment, the ventilator that kept her breathing, the IV drips dangling from metal poles and sticking into her arms. A kidney dialysis machine tended to her failing organs, while her heart monitor released a steady series of beeps that sounded deafening to Cate’s ears.
She collapsed in the comfortable wingback chair next to the bed, but didn’t reach for her mother’s hand—Ariana’s skin was always cold, bringing chills to Cate’s body.
She swept her gaze over the vast amount of equipment keeping her mother alive, then focused on Ariana’s face, which held a fake rosy hue courtesy of the makeup Maurice insisted that the staff apply daily. It was just another one of the macabre details that made Cate extremely uneasy, but she’d come to accept her grandfather’s delusions.
No matter what the doctors told him, no matter how many times they threw around words like “brain-dead” or “unresponsive,” Maurice refused to admit his daughter was gone, and that she’d been gone since before Cate was even born. Several years ago, one of the nurses had confessed to Cate that Maurice had ordered Ariana’s doctors to keep her alive so she could carry the pregnancy to term, but after her baby was born via cesarean section, Maurice had continued to keep Ariana on life support.
For seventeen years she’d lain there with no brain activity, no chance of survival, dead from the bullet that had entered her right temple all those years ago. And for seventeen years, Maurice Durand had lived in denial, unable to accept that his daughter was never waking up. He demanded that everyone treat Ariana as if she were alive and functioning, and Cate was no exception to his rules.
“You look well,” she told her mother, the lie burning her throat before it left her lips.
Ariana didn’t answer. The soft whoosh of the ventilator echoed in the air.
Cate swallowed hard, wringing her hands together in her lap. She spared a quick glance at the door, then lowered her voice.
“I saw my father today.”
No response. The heart monitor beeped in a constant rhythm.
“He wanted me to go home with him, but I said no.” Tears stung her eyes as she pictured the devastation on James Morgan’s face. “He was upset. I think I hurt him.”
No response. The IV lines continued to drip.
“I know I have to tell Grandpa about it, but I’m nervous. He’s going to be so mad.” Cate gazed at her mother imploringly. “Why did he tell me my father was dead? What happened between the two of you?”
Ariana’s vacant gaze stared back, triggering a spurt of anger. God, she couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t look into those lifeless eyes and hold those ice-cold hands, talking to a woman who couldn’t hear her. A woman she felt no connection to.
She’d been battling the guilt her whole life, wishing she could feel something for the woman on that bed, but she didn’t. Ariana Durand was a stranger to her.
No. Ariana Durand was a corpse.
The tears spilled over and streamed down Cate’s cheeks. She hated herself for even thinking such a terrible thought, but it was the truth. Her mother was dead. She’d died a long time ago.
When she heard footsteps behind her, Cate whirled around to find her grandfather in the doorway.
A deep frown puckered his mouth when he glimpsed her tears. “Catarina,” he said sternly. “You know how much tears upset your mother.”
He strode into the bedroom and swiftly reached for Ariana’s limp hand. “Don’t mind her, darling,” he clucked softly. “Catarina is just crying because she’s so happy to see you. Isn’t that right, Cate?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “That’s why.”
Maurice smiled broadly as he stroked his daughter’s hand. “See, your daughter is just happy to see you.”
Cate wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and mustered a smile.
“Now,” her grandfather said briskly, “why don’t we tell your mother all about the lovely day you had?”
Chapter 24
Nineteen years ago
They met in the same park that Jim had taken her to last month, where they’d danced in the fountain before getting chased by a security guard, and Noelle couldn’t help but smile as she looked around. What a wonderful night that had been. Then again, every moment she spent with Jim was wonderful.
She wished he were here right now. She’d wanted so badly for him to meet her father, but Douglas Phillips had been adamant that she come alone. He’d sounded so agitated on the phone that Noelle had experienced a pang of worry, but she’d told herself it was no big deal. Her father had always been overly paranoid, and considering the covert nature of his job, she didn’t really blame him.
But tonight he was acting even more paranoid than usual. He hadn’t stopped checking his watch since he’d emerged from the shadows and joined her on the bench, and she got the feeling he was eager to go.
“Are you all right?” she asked in concern.
His blue eyes softened. He was still as handsome as ever, looking so much younger than his forty-two years. His blond hair gleamed beneath the glow of the lampposts, and he was as muscular as she remembered, his black wool coat stretching across a pair of broad shoulders.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m sorry. I know I’m acting a little strange tonight, sweetheart, but these last few months have been stressful.” He smiled at her, but his mouth seemed strained. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
She brought her gloved hands to her collar and wound her wool scarf around her neck a second time, hoping to ward off the chill. It was cold out, and both of them were bundled up in their winter coats, drinking hot tea from the thermos she’d brought. She wished they could just go to a café, or a restaurant, or anywhere warm, really, but her father had shot down the suggestion when she’d raised it.
“Listen...Noelle...” She detected the trepidation in his voice. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I have to go away for a while.”
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Her forehead creased. “How long is a while?”
“Might be a long time,” he admitted. “Months...years, maybe.”
Alarm shot through her. “Years? Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Is it for work?”
He nodded.
Noelle’s lips tightened in an unhappy line. “Will I be able to visit you?”
“I don’t know.”
Those three frank words were like a dull knife to the heart. Her father was leaving for months, possibly years, and she couldn’t see him at all during that time?
Suspicion crawled up her throat as she searched his gaze, but it was veiled as always. It was impossible to read Douglas Phillips, especially when he didn’t want you to.
“I don’t like this either,” he said sadly, “but I don’t have much of a choice.” He hesitated. “And I want to tell you something else.”
“More bad news?” she muttered.
Douglas sighed. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”
She lifted her head, not bothering to mask her misery.
“You’re a warrior, Noelle.”
She blinked in surprise.
“A survivor,” he went on. His tone rang with both pride and regret. “When I look at you, I see my greatest achievement.”
“Dad...” she started warily, but he didn’t let her continue.
“Even though it might be a while before we see each other again, I’m not going to worry about you, sweetheart. I raised you to take care of yourself. I raised you to be strong and fearless.”
Her confusion intensified, bringing a queasy feeling to her stomach.
“You’re going to have to be strong and fearless for me now,” he said softly. “You might hear some things about me—”
“What things?”
“—but I know you’re strong enough to handle it. I know you won’t believe what they tell you.”
“Who’s they?” she blurted out in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but then his jaw slammed shut. He glanced around before turning to her with narrowed eyes.
“Who did you tell?”
Noelle had never been more flustered in her life. “What?”
“You told someone you were coming to meet me. Who was it?”
His outraged voice startled her. And it brought a rush of guilt to her chest, because she couldn’t even deny the accusation.
“I told you not to say anything,” Douglas hissed out. “Who did you tell, Noelle? Was it your mother? René?”
Her heart started pounding, and her hands shook so wildly she almost dropped the thermos. The fury in her father’s eyes was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. And the betrayal burning there...
She’d told Jim about the meeting.
Just Jim.
But only because she’d been so excited about seeing her father again and she’d needed to tell someone.
And because she’d trusted Jim to keep it a secret like she’d asked him to.
How had her father known? And why was his gaze darting around like that? It was as if he sensed a threat, as if he expected someone to pop out of the bushes any second, but that was insane because they were the only ones there. They were the only two people in this stupid park. Just him and her, just the two of them.
When a booming voice broke through the silence, Noelle realized just how wrong she was.
Chapter 25
Present day
“I’m going to check on Morgan,” Liam announced.
As he started to rise from the couch, Noelle stopped him by raising her hand. “For fuck’s sake, Macgregor. He’s not a child who needs to be ‘checked on.’”
“He’s been holed up in that room for more than an hour,” Sullivan protested, also starting to get up.
She stifled a sigh. “Sit down, both of you. If you’re so worried, I’ll go, all right?”
She didn’t wait for a response, just marched to the corridor and headed for the bedrooms, growing more and more annoyed with each step she took. She was supposed to be on her jet, damn it. Curled up in a plush cabin chair, sipping cappuccino, getting serviced by the delectable Joachim. Her pilot had been on standby since before they’d left for the Eiffel Tower, but instead of going straight to the private airport, she’d come back to the penthouse with the others.
As she stalked down the hall, she tried to convince herself that she’d stayed in the city to make sure there was no fallout from Jim’s meeting with Catarina Durand, that she was simply looking out for herself. And checking on Jim right now? Well, she told herself she was only doing that because his men were worried about him.
But she wasn’t worried in the slightest. She didn’t care that he was hurting right now. Didn’t care that he hadn’t said a single word during the ride back, or that the second they’d entered the penthouse, he’d disappeared into the guest room and hadn’t emerged since.
Nope, she didn’t care at all. The only reason she was checking in on him was because his men had asked her to.
They didn’t ask...You offered.
“Same fucking difference,” she muttered to herself.
With a sigh, she paused in front of the guest room and tried the handle without knocking. It was unlocked, so she strode into the room, and found it dark and empty. She shifted her gaze to the bathroom. Light pooled beneath the door, and she heard the muffled sound of the shower running.
Well. He was alive, at least.
Comforted by the fact that he hadn’t put a bullet in his head, she cautiously approached the bathroom. This time she considered knocking, but with the shower on, she figured she wasn’t about to catch Jim on the john, so she walked in without bothering to alert him.
The air was damp and steamy, causing beads of sweat to pop out on her forehead. Frowning, she spotted Jim behind the foggy glass doors. He had one arm braced against the tiled wall, his forehead resting on it, shielding his face from view. Water coursed down his naked body, sliding over the defined muscles of his back, clinging to his firm ass, pooling at his feet. For a second she thought he was jerking off, but a glance south revealed his free arm hanging loosely at his side.
That was when she noticed the shaking. His long, muscular body shuddered violently as he stood under the shower spray, face buried in his arm, shoulders hunched over.
Shock torpedoed into her when she realized what was happening.
He was crying.
And seeing him like that evoked the most startling response inside her. Something happened to her chest. It got hot and tight and achy, and the strange emotion circling her heart felt way too much like...compassion.
It was so incredibly rare to see a man as powerful as Jim look so vulnerable, and all she could do was stand frozen in the doorway, watching in wonder as silent sobs racked his body.
She should have walked away. He hadn’t spotted her yet. She could simply duck out. Pretend she’d never been there.
Instead, she found herself undressing.
Her hands trembled as wildly as Jim’s broad shoulders. Her heart stayed lodged in her throat, perilously close to breaking for him.
When she opened the shower door, Jim’s head snapped up and his harsh intake of breath echoed in the air.
His red-rimmed eyes met hers, and she inhaled just as sharply as he did. He looked...broken.
Noelle didn’t say a word. Locking her gaze with his, she stepped into the stall and moved in close, until their naked bodies were inches apart. Whatever torment he was feeling, his cock clearly didn’t share, because it thickened right before her eyes, until an impressive erection jutted out and brushed her stomach.
Drops from the faucet sprinkled her naked flesh, bringing a flurry of goose bumps. She swept her gaze over his magnificent body,
watching the water snake down the carved muscles of his chest, his trim hips, his muscular legs.
Without a word, she reached out and encircled his erection with her fingers.
He instantly thrust into her hand, his blue eyes still fixed on hers. The emotion she saw swimming there floored her. Sorrow, anger, and agony, with a flicker of pleasure soon joining the fold when she gave his cock a slow stroke. He leaned into her, his chin dropping against her shoulder, as if he needed to draw strength from her. The notion sent ripples of self-loathing through her, because she hated herself for bringing him comfort.
But the steam from the shower must have clouded her mind and stolen her judgment, because suddenly she was sinking to her knees in front of him.
She opened her mouth and took him in, and his answering groan mingled with the steady rush of the water. He filled her mouth and her body loved it. Her nipples puckered into tight buds. Her thighs quivered. Her clit swelled with need.
She ignored her rising desire and cupped his heavy sac with both hands, continuing to move her mouth along his shaft.
“More. Take it all in.” His hoarse voice bounced off the tiles and vibrated against her lips.
She licked her lips, then sucked him deep, all the way to the base. She didn’t slow the pace, not even when his tip nudged the back of her throat; she’d performed oral sex on enough men that she knew what she was doing, knew she could take every inch of him without gagging.
But Jim wasn’t other men. When she was sucking Jim...God, it was different from all the other times, all the other men. She loved every second of it. Craved more every time. All she had to do was peer up and see his features go taut with pleasure, and her heart pounded so hard it was a miracle her ribs didn’t crack.
“Fuck. Yes,” he mumbled.
His hands tangled in her hair, but he didn’t guide her head. He just stroked the wet strands, rocking his hips into her mouth as she worked his cock.
Noelle was so turned on she could hardly breathe. She squeezed and fondled his sac as her mouth kept a tight suction on his cock, as her tongue danced around his blunt head on each upstroke.