A Lover's Mask (9 page)

“Would you believe it's business?”

“Not in a million years. What's her name?”

Fernando debated, stroking his jaw as he hesitated on answering. “Mick's friend. Contessa Warren,” he revealed finally.

“Ahh…the publisher.”

“That's right and Ma please don't lecture me, all right?”

“Lecture you about what? I think the girl has spunk like Mick and Ty…and Mel.”

Fernando was silent, hearing the sadness in his mother's voice when she spoke of Yohan's estranged wife.

“The family needs more women like them. Not fools who let themselves get run over by conniving bastards.”

Knowing exactly who his mother meant, Fernando cleared his throat and decided it was the perfect time to introduce the reason for his call. “Ma, what can you tell me about
The Wind Rage?
You ever hear Pop mention it?”

“What? His boat?”

“Boat?”

Josephine muttered something inaudible. “Excuse me,
ship,
” she clarified. “Your father always got on me for referring to that thing as a boat.”

“Well, um, what sort of ship is it?” he asked, his brows drawn close in expectation.

“I don't really know, baby. I always thought it was some cargo ship for Ramsey. I'd never seen it, only heard about it.”

“When did Pop buy it?”

“About seven years after we were married,” Josephine said, a twinge of disgust coloring her words, “he didn't own it outright, just went in with about four friends. Sweetie, why are you so interested in this?”

“Because it's mine,” Fernando shared without hesitation.

“Yours?” Josephine gasped.

“Mmm,” Fernando confirmed, a smirk souring his handsome features. “For the life of me, I can't see why he'd hand somethin' like that over to me.”

“Must be going bankrupt because that's the only reason that fool would
give
anything away. What'd he'd say when he gave it to you?”

Fernando shook his head. “He didn't tell me about it. I found out on my own.”

“Honey what's going on?”

Reaching for the e-mail, Fernando's translucent brown gaze held no trace of its usual warmth. “I don't know Ma, but I'm damn well gonna find out.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me you were stopping by?” Mick laughed, while pulling her mother-in-law into a hug. “I would've started lunch if I'd known.”

“Please,” Catrina said with a wave, “you know I wouldn't hear of it. I've been meaning to stop by and check on you for a while now.”

“Well, I'm fine,” Mick said as they strolled out of the foyer, arms linked around one another's waists. “What'll you have?” she called, once they entered the living room and she headed toward the bar.

“That looks good,” Catrina noted, referring to the tall glass of apple juice Mick was preparing. “Make it two,” she requested.

“You got it,” Mick said.

“So…is everything
really
all right?” Catrina asked, after watching her daughter-in-law for a while.

Mick crossed the room, carrying the apple juice and wearing a knowing smile on her round, dark face. “Did Quest ask you to come over here?”

“Quest?” Catrina parroted from her relaxed position on the sofa. “I told you I'd been planning to visit for quite some time.”

“Mmm…” Mick replied, sipping her juice and fixing Catrina with a stern look.

The woman broke finally. “He's very concerned, honey.”

“You can tell your son that I'm fine,” Mick requested in a pouting manner.

“
You
can tell
him
that,” Catrina decided, watching the juice swirl amidst the ice cubes inside her glass. “I want you to tell
me
the truth.”

“Catrina—”

“The truth,” she insisted, setting the glass aside and leaning forward. “Whatever it is, it stays between the two of us.”

Setting aside her glass as well, Mick braced her elbows to her knees. “I want this baby so much,” she swore, pushing back her unruly curls with her fingers. “I want to be a great mother, a great role model.”

A frown tugged at Catrina's arched brows. “Sweetie of course you'll be those things.”

“Then why am I scared to death that I won't be?” Mick blurted, allowing the fear to shine in her amber gaze.

“Oh…” Catrina soothed, moving close to hold Mick as she cried. “It's all right, it's all right…” she chanted, knowing the younger woman's cry was long overdue.

“Please don't tell Quest,” Mick begged once her tears were spent. “He's so on edge because of me. He jumps every time I stand up.”

Catrina laughed. “Sweetie, he's just a nervous, expectant father.”

“Which is why he sent you,” Mick noted, searching Catrina's eyes for any trace of denial. “All right then,” she sighed, slapping her hands to the cotton fabric of her sky blue sweats, “lay it on me. Tell me I'm overreacting, that this is all expectant mother stuff.”

Catrina smiled and made a little room between herself and Mick. “Your fears are perfectly understandable,” she acknowledged, stoking Mick's curls in a reassuring way. “Baby, your life hasn't been easy. The things you've been through…of course, you'd feel this way.”

“Then how will I know what's best for it? How will I know what to do?” she asked, swallowing down more sobs.

Catrina fixed her with a sympathetic albeit amused smile. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this. But, the sad truth is that you won't really know a damn thing.”

“Thanks.”

“Now, now,” Catrina soothed, patting Mick's damp cheek, “it's the same with every parent regardless of their upbringing. But there
is
one thing you can count on and if you put your trust in that, the rest will fall into place.”

“What?” Mick blurted, her eyes widening with hope and expectation. “Catrina, what?” she cried, clasping her hands to her chest.

“What's in here,” Catrina asked, pressing Michaela's hands closer to her chest. “Trust in the love you feel for this tiny man or woman. Love your child. Trust your instincts,” she said, tapping Mick's chin with her index finger. “You've got wonderful instincts and ethics and they're all
yours,
not your mother's. So stop being so hard on yourself, all right?”

Mick's shoulders slumped as though she'd been relieved of some tremendous weight. Love her child? She did—so much and she hadn't even met him or her yet. Trust her instincts? She knew she'd give her life to protect its own.

“That really
is
all I need to know,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Catrina laughed. “Well, what are you doing now?” she called, watching Mick race to the phone and begin dialing furiously.

“I'm calling Quest! We've got a doctor's appointment to keep!”

 

“Pay dirt!” Spivey announced when he burst into Contessa's office late that afternoon.

“Aw Spivey, can't it wait?” Contessa whined, massaging her tired eyes as she spoke. “It's been a very long day.”

“Not a chance. I found out where the dancers are working.”

County rolled her eyes. “I thought we knew that already? This travel agency.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Spivey confirmed, perching on the edge of his boss's desk. “The agency hired the girls as hostesses for a cruise ship.”

Slightly intrigued, County remained silent and waited for her editor to continue.

“My contact got this on good authority from one of the secretarys at the agency.”

“Are you sure you can trust this guy?”

A grin broke on Spivey's handsome vanilla-toned face. “For the money I'm payin' him, I'm sure of it.”

“Hmph.” County shrugged, relief filling her at the discovery that there wasn't more to the story. “Well, I'm sorry you hit a dead end, but we've spent long enough on this and we've got more than enough to move on.”

“But County wait. I haven't reached a dead end.” Spivey corrected, waving his hand as he rounded the desk. “This isn't just some fun in the sun cruise ship. It's some sort of gentlemen-only thing.”

The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach warned Contessa that she wouldn't care for the rest of Spivey's report. “Why would it—uh—need to be a
gentlmen-only
ship?” she inquired cautiously.

Spivey's expression was one of sheer cunning. “Baby if we knew the answer to that, I believe we could blow some big names out of the water. All we have so far, is that gambling's involved. Beyond that, no idea,” he said, clasping his hands while he shrugged beneath his green pin-striped suit.

“Beyond that…” County sighed, massaging the sudden tension tightening her neck. “Gambling and possibly prostitution on the high seas? What more could a guy want?”

“How 'bout the name of one of the ship's owners?” Spivey announced, watching County's eyes narrow. “Fernando Ramsey,” he said.

H
is voice brought on that familiar shiver down her spine and an instant later she was fluffing her hair. She made sure her lipstick was perfect. Standing was best, she decided, and chose to pretend to scan a file instead of sitting primly behind her desk.

Fernando's voice lowered and Sheila pouted, knowing he'd stopped to take a few extra moments to speak with someone. Then, she heard him biding them farewell and her heart pounded wildly in anticipation of seeing him.

“What's goin' on Sheila? You doin' all right?” Fernando greeted, having no idea of the effect of his entrancing smile and deliciously deep voice.

“Morning! Morning Fernando,” she spoke softer that time.

Fernando, of course, had no idea his partner's secretary felt anything other than respect and friendliness toward him. He'd be a shabby businessman if he allowed the adoration of every woman who worked for Dark Squires to go to his head.

“Stef in?” Fernando asked, pausing just past Sheila's desk.

“Just stepped out Fernando. Sorry,” she whispered, though her eyes continued to sparkle. “Could I take a message?” she added hastily, realizing she'd been staring.

Fernando grimaced. “I really wanted to speak with him today,” he said, casting an impatient glance toward Stefan's door at the end of the hall. “Any idea when he'll be back?”

“I have no idea,” Sheila said, her tone soft and apologetic as she rounded her desk, “is anything wrong?”

“Nah, I'm on my way out of town.”

It was clear to see that Fernando was quite pleased over the fact and Sheila felt her confidence dwindle a little. “Off to Chicago again?” she guessed.

“That's right,” he shared, the grin on his face practically shouted that this trip had nothing to do with business. “Look, just tell Stef I'll call,” he said and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Sheila's cheek. “Thanks.”

Sheila stood there next to her desk, her eyes following Fernando as he made his way down the hallway. “Anytime.” She almost swooned and brushed her fingers across her cheek where he'd kissed her.

Standing quietly in a hidden corner of the hallway, Stef took in the sweet scene. A deadly look darkened his face as he studied Sheila's reaction to his partner.

 

Tykira leaned over the black tiled counter and browsed one of the cookbooks she'd discovered in the kitchen.

Quay strolled in and appreciated the lovely scene greeting him. After satisfying himself by admiring the picture she made from behind, he slowly closed the distance between them.

Ty expressed a tiny shriek when she felt her husband's hands beneath the snug T-shirt she wore. The other disappeared below the waistband of the boy shorts she sported. “I'm trying to decide on dinner,” she sang, clearing her throat when his fingers grazed the sensitive bud of her femininity.

“Forget dinner. I'll have you,” Quay decided.

Tykira's laughter perched atop another gasp when his fingers found their destination. Her head fell forward as overwhelming sensation threaded throughout her body. She began to thrust madly against his fingers before turning in his arms. “Why do you need all these cookbooks when you never cook?” she asked as they shared a heated kiss.

“I bought them when you were here recovering, when you'd broken your ankle,” Quay explained, his mouth now clinging to the line of her neck. “I thought I'd give it a try.”

Ty pulled back a little to stare into his gorgeous dark face. “I thought you were just teasing when you told me you'd cook.”

Quay pressed his forehead to hers. “Don't you know by now I'd do anything for you?”

Another kiss was in order, this one sweet and unhurried. Yet it lacked none of the fire. Quay cupped Ty's thighs and placed her neatly atop the counter, never breaking the kiss. The sound of a ringing phone was smothered amidst moans and words of desire. The couple had no intention of answering, knowing the machine would pick up by the fourth ring.

The fourth ring never sounded. The phone stopped ringing only to start up again seconds later. The pattern continued two more times, before Quay lost his patience and snatched the wall phone from its holder.

“Yeah?” he practically growled.

“Calm down,” Michaela ordered, not at all affected by her brother-in-law's tone. “Why aren't you and Ty answering the phone?”

“One guess.”

“Nasty.”

“Look who's talkin',” Quay teased, chuckling softly when he heard Mick's haughty sniff.

“Listen, I promise not to hold you long. I'm just calling to remind you of the shower.”

Quay bristled and stood. “This a family thing?” he asked.

“Of course it's a family thing.”

“I'm out.”

“
No.
You have to be there.”

“Dammit Mick,” Quay rolled his eyes. “I can't make it, that's all there is to it.”

“Why can't you?” Mick snapped.

“Work,” he tried.

“You're the boss,” she countered.

“I'm a newlywed.”

“And your wife's one of my hostesses, so she'll be at my house and not there for you to tie to the bed,” Mick threw back, hearing the weary sigh he uttered. “Oh, honey, don't you want to know whether it'll be a little niece or nephew you'll have to spoil?”

“Quest'll tell me.”

“I'll see to it that he doesn't.”

Again, Quay groaned. “Damn you,” he said after another minute or two.

Mick laughed. “May I take that as a yes?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Quay grudgingly agreed after a moment.

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Right, I'll speak with your wife now to tell her you've accepted.”

Rolling his eyes, Quay pressed the phone to his chest and fixed Ty with a dark look. “Mick,” he announced, passing her the phone.

Unfortunately, it was virtually impossible for Ty and Mick to hold a conversation. Quay began a sensuous assault with kisses to his wife's thigh, the moment she began to speak into the phone. Ty couldn't concentrate on a thing and could only promise Mick she'd get Quay there before the call ended.

“I expect you to get me out of this,” he ordered, his voice muffled against her throat.

“You shouldn't have promised, then. Besides, don't you want to know about the baby?”

Quay fixed his wife with a narrowed stare. “Sure I do, but you know how I feel. This thing'll be a big disaster if I get there and see Marcus. He'd get everything I want to lay on Houston.”

“Shh…” Ty soothed, brushing her fingertips along the furrows on his brow. “You shouldn't worry about that. Quest'll be there and he won't let you do anything and neither will I. Besides—” she shrugged and gave him a saucy wink “—you know Mick will kick your ass if you ruin her party.”

Quay couldn't contain his laughter. “Damn right,” he agreed.

“Are you okay now?” Ty asked, tilting her head just a bit to gaze more steadily into his eyes as her fingers curled into the neckline of his white T-shirt.

He nodded. “I am.”

Tykira sighed and glanced back at the cookbook she'd been studying. “So, what are we gonna do for dinner?”

The wolfish smile disappeared on Quay's face as he threaded his fingers through her tumbling tresses. “We're already doing it,” he said and drew her into a satisfying kiss.

 

Contessa tugged on the lapels of her ankle-length leather trench and strolled off the elevator. Her gait was alluring and unhurried as always, but still she looked like a woman with a lot on her mind. She'd replayed her conversation with Spivey five times already and was always left with the same question: Why did Fernando own a cruise ship for gentlemen only? Of course, there was always the same answer: There was more going on than gambling. There had to be, right? She remembered when she'd questioned him about The Spot
.
She'd believed him and felt bad for doubting when he insisted there was nothing illegal afoot. But what about this? Should she ask him? Would the story be the same?

“Hey Drake,” she greeted the evening security guard.

“Evening, Ms. Warren,” Drake replied, turning around the log for her to sign out.

“Night,” she whispered, leaving the middle-aged Haitian with a warm smile before turning toward the row of glass doors. Her steps slowed the closer she drew to the exit.

Asking him would be best, she decided. Just put all the damn cards on the table and let the chips fall. Would he fly off the handle? Would they argue and decide to end things? At least then she'd be free to handle her business without guilt. But then, she'd be without him.

“Are you hungry?”

The depth of his voice, riddled her spine with the most delicious sensation. Closing her eyes briefly, she rid her mind of unwelcomed thoughts before turning to greet him with a brilliant smile. “I'm starving,” she told him.

Fernando's smile relayed curiosity as his vibrant brown eyes narrowed. “Are you referring to food?” he inquired softly.

“'Course I am!” County laughed.

A broad shoulder rose in a shrug. “Just checking.” Fernando said, pretending as though he'd been confused.

They headed outside the building and into the biting cold. Fernando drew her close and Contessa wanted to snuggle into the warmth that radiated from his massive form.

“Damn, Chicago winters are as ferocious as its summers are gorgeous,” he noted.

County smiled and blinked up at the darkened sky. “That's why I love it so—from one extreme to the next. Makes me feel alive,” she praised.

Fernando ushered them inside the back of the waiting Mercedes limo. He turned to County and extended his hand. Familiar with the routine, she dropped her keys to his palm.

“James, take care of Ms. Warren's car after you drop us off,” he instructed his driver.

“So, um, where are we going for dinner?” County asked, while removing her coat.

“We're here,” Fernando announced, winking devilishly when she frowned her surprise.

County shook her head when she noticed him waving the bag which carried the logo of a well-known deli in town. “I can't believe you'd want to feast on messy subs in this car,” she said, shaking misty rain from her chic cut.

“I don't want any interruptions when we get back to your place,” was his simple response. “All right, we've got a monster turkey sub for me and a toasted chicken salad sub for the beautiful lady,” he announced while peering into the large white-and-green checkered bag.

“I'm gonna miss all this when it's over,” County lamented, resting against the cushioned backseat and watching Fernando extract the sandwiches.

His movements halted at her words and he slanted her a curious look.

“Being pampered,” she clarified, watching the expression leave his handsome face.

“Are you expecting that?” he asked, setting aside the food in order to remove the black leather bomber jacket he wore.

County closed her eyes and sighed. “Things happen.”

“Yes, they do,” he agreed, tossing his coat to the opposite seat. “Things are definitely going to happen,” he promised, facing her fully, “but that's not one of them.”

In a split second, Contessa found herself scandalously entwined with his powerful form. Fernando's big hands cupped beneath her arms while he arched her into his kiss.

County moaned breathlessly. She was completely content allowing this man to bend her to his desire. His kiss demanded participation that she willingly obliged. Their tongues dueled slowly and with a shocking thoroughness that elevated their arousal to an even fierier pitch.

County tugged her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle her cries, soon to become screams of delight. Mouth trailing her neck, his hands roamed every inch of the mulberry cashmere cardigan shirt she wore with figure flattering black slacks. She writhed against him unashamed of the way he affected her. Fernando toyed with the buttons momentarily then made quick work of them. He broke the kiss when more of her body was exposed to his view.

Trailing her fingers through her glossy, boyish cut, Contessa chanted Fernando's name. Her nipples strained madly against the lace cups of her bra as though they were begging for release. Fernando seemed to hear their plea, but freed only one of the rigid buds, capturing it between his perfect teeth. He began to suckle just as a cell phone chimed in the distance.

“Damn,” he growled, amidst the voracious feasting of his mouth against her bosom. Expressing clear reluctance to leave her, he pulled away slowly. “Don't you dare,” he commanded, when County moved to fix her bra. “What?” he snapped into the receiver. His hypnotic gaze following the path his thumb trailed around one nipple.