When You Are Mine (12 page)

I
t’s disgusting how beautiful of a bride you are, Kerris.” Jo shared a small smile with Kerris in the mirror.

Kerris studied herself as a bride for the first time. The exoticism of her own face set in ivory satin and tulle snatched her breath. Her full mouth was painted a deep berry, like ripe fruit. Her amber eyes stared back at her. She’d been called beautiful more than once in her life, but now she felt it truly for the first time. She assumed every woman did on her wedding day.

“Cam may run up the aisle to snatch you.” Jo said it like a joke, but her face held no levity.

“He’s kind of doing that already, isn’t he?” Meredith zipped up her chocolate-colored maid-of-honor dress. “Isn’t he meeting you halfway?”

“Yeah, he is.” Kerris tugged at the neckline, needing something to occupy her. “I didn’t have anyone to give me away. He says it reinforces that we’ll have each other from now on.”

Jo met Kerris’s eyes in the mirror again, and this time the other woman barely caught the tears before they drifted down her cheeks. Kerris knew Jo and Cam were nearly as close as he and Walsh. She must be as happy as a sister would be to finally see Cam settled.

“You love Cam, right, Kerris?” Jo’s voice held such emotion, Kerris found herself blinking back tears, too. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of him, Jo, and yes I love him.” Kerris felt this vow somehow was just as important as the ones she would exchange with her groom.

“It’s time.” Jo’s smile was a mere pull at the corners of her mouth. “Cam’s waiting for you.”

“It’s time?” Kerris’s hand flew to the ivory snood encasing her long, dark fall of hair, the netting barely containing it all.

She had forgone a traditional veil, and was glad to at least feel good about what she was wearing from head toe, including Iyani’s bracelet. She cast one more rueful glance at the cymbidium orchid Jo had insisted wasn’t in keeping with the army of lilies they’d ordered, its velvety yellow petals uselessly beautiful. She picked up the bouquet of lilies Jo had selected.

Kerris crossed the few feet of grass to Cam, who waited halfway down the garden aisle to take her to the preacher. Goose bumps broke out over her skin and a cold trickle of perspiration slid down the center of her back. It was early October, and they were experiencing a classic Indian summer. Summer and fall split custody of the weather, yielding defiant bright sunshine and cool air. It wasn’t just the light breeze cooling her, though. She looked into Cam’s face, so sincere and open and earnest in a way she didn’t deserve. Apprehension trembled along her nerve endings like a premonition. This was permanent. This was forever. An irretrievable promise.

Her eyes snapped to the tall, silent man already waiting at the clearing, facing Meredith. She felt the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes. All eyes but Walsh’s, which were trained on some point over Meredith’s shoulder. Her heart contracted into a tightly muscled ball, frozen between beats. Her feet faltered, causing the tiniest of stumbles.

She looked back at Cam, hating herself for the question unfurling in his blue-gray eyes. She’d always thought of them as thundercloud eyes, not only in color, but the tumult that lay behind them. Ever since she’d accepted his ring, they had been placid and cloudless; they had settled into a peace that had been a long time coming. Her resolve returned. She, whose own parents had not seen her worth, and who had never in all her years as a child inspired one couple to adopt her, brought someone peace. Was necessary to someone’s happiness. Walsh had made people happy all his life, and he had an enviable circle of friends and family, people wanting to be with him, to know him, to cater to him. The world was at his feet; he was a charmed prince oblivious to the void she and Cam had lived with their entire lives.

This is right. This is right. This is right.

The rhythm of that chant drowned out the whisper of Walsh’s name, a raspy reminder of the closeness, the desire, the rightness she’d felt with him and no one else.

If he had been anyone else. If she had been anyone else.

You don’t believe in soul mates?

Walsh had whispered the question in a darkened gazebo, the air thickened with the lingering intimacy of shared nightmares and cleansing tears. She wouldn’t leave this choice to her soul, or to her heart, those fickle twins who leaned on the caprice of emotion.

Cam’s hand had been extended mere seconds, but long enough for that question in his eyes to fully form. She answered with a sure smile and a firm clasp of fingers. Yes, she would be his only. And he would be hers. She took her cue from Walsh. He had it right. Better not to even look into the green eyes she’d never figured out how to hide from. Her path was before her and she would not stray.

Walsh settled onto the couch where he’d lost his virginity, in the living room of the guesthouse. He looked down at the cellophane bag that had been thrust into his hands. It was filled with the petals of lilies to toss at the bride and groom as they drove off to their honeymoon.

Their honeymoon.

Walsh’s gut pretzeled at the thought of Cam initiating Kerris into lovemaking. He hoped she’d found time to tell him about TJ, and that Cam would be gentle and patient and sensitive and selfless and considerate. All the things Walsh would have been if that privilege had fallen to him.

He clutched the bottle of Kauffman he had found like it was a rope dangling him over the fires of hell. Walsh knew he’d need plenty of vodka to eradicate the hundreds of images that had tortured him all day. Kerris walking up the aisle to his best friend, like a fairy tale with a tragic ending. Cam’s face, lit with joy when he reached back for the ring buried in Walsh’s pocket. Kerris’s solemn face when she’d promised to love, honor, and obey a man,
a friend
, Walsh wasn’t sure could ever be worthy of her. He knew Cam’s weaknesses as intimately as his own. What if Cam hurt Kerris as he’d hurt most of the women who had passed through his life? What if he was unfaithful? Unkind?

A growl slid from Walsh’s throat, low and vicious. The hurt and anger and confusion he’d held back all day penetrated the wall of self-control set rigidly in place since the sun rose on what felt like the worst day of his life.

He kicked the coffee table in front of him, relishing the pain that shot through his foot and leg. He strode over to the small kitchenette, rifling through the cabinets in search of a tumbler, a plastic cup, anything to drink from. Hell, he’d drink from his shoe if he didn’t find something soon. He banged the counter with the palm of his hand before taking a long draw from the bottle, sucking it down inelegantly, rivulets of the liquor sliding into his starched collar.

“Mind sharing?”

Walsh looked over his shoulder, surprised to see Sofie.

“Not in the mood, Sof.” He hoped she’d take the hint and clear out before he said something that would hurt her irreparably. “I thought you’d already left.”

“I was talking with Jo.” Sofie sidled up beside him to run her long fingers down his arm. “She told me I’d probably find you here.”

Thanks, cuz.

“She shouldn’t have sent you.” He drew another quick swig of the deceptively smooth liquor. “I’m not in the best mood.”

“And why’s that?” Sofie knit her brows into a beautiful puzzle, looking at him from beneath her heavily mascaraed lashes. “I mean, your best friend just married a lovely girl. They looked so happy. And that toast you gave. It was perfect.”

Walsh tightened his lips, remembering the hardest part of the farce. The toast. As the maid of honor, Meredith had shared her best wishes first. Under the cover of the light applause, she’d leaned up to his ear.

“Your turn, big guy.” The knowing sympathy in her eyes had jolted him. “You can do this.”

“I couldn’t tell who you loved the most.” Sofie jerked him back to the small guesthouse that still smelled of vanilla and brown sugar. A scent that would haunt him forever. “You were so generous with your words for both of them.”

He looked at Sofie, sure that she was sniffing around the truth, trying to figure out something he didn’t want her to know. Something no one could ever know.

“I haven’t known Kerris long, obviously.” Walsh kept his tone neutral and caressed the vodka bottle. “But she makes Cam happy, so I’m happy.”

“Yeah, you look real happy.” Sofie drenched her words with sarcasm, gesturing to the bottle of vodka.

He walked over to sit on the couch, placing the bottle of liquor carefully on the coffee table. Control. That was what would get him out of this conversation, with Sofie none the wiser.

“I
am
happy.” He forced one of his old rakish grins. “Who doesn’t love a wedding? Especially when it isn’t yours?”

Sofie crossed over from the kitchenette, her rolling hips and easy stride better suited to the catwalk than the small living room above a garage.

“Weddings make me horny.” Her voice was a hot rasp, and she towered over him like a Nordic queen, contemplating a subject she planned to reward handsomely.

“Yeah?” His tone didn’t want to give her any ideas, but it looked like she already had them.

“Yeah.” She nodded her silvered head, green eyes gleaming with building desire. “You know why?”

She didn’t wait for him to ask, but lowered herself onto the couch beside him, leaning in to slip a hot-breathed whisper in his ear.

“I think of how the bride and groom are going to be fucking all night, all day for the next week.” Her lips brushed his ear with her words. “I’m pretty sure Kerris was holding out on Cam. There’s just something so…innocent about her, don’t you think? Like she’s never been touched. But Cam’ll touch her tonight, won’t he? All over her, inside her. Riding her. Doesn’t it make you just a little bit horny, too?”

It made him sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes, his jaws wired together with tension. Sofie leaned one perky breast into his shoulder, followed closely by a mile-long white leg over his thigh, exposed by the short dress she wore. She grabbed his hand, dragging it under her dress and between her legs.

“Weddings make me so horny, I don’t even bother to wear underwear.”

She tilted her head as if she hadn’t placed his hand on what should be most private. He didn’t move a muscle, waiting for desire, repulsion, disgust, passion—anything.

Nothing.

He hated that Kerris had neutered him this way, that he could remain completely numb in such an intimate position with a woman whose picture half the men in America jerked off to at night. Taking his stillness as compliance, Sofie pulled herself up to straddle his lap, her fingers working at the buttons of his stiff white shirt like she could do it with her eyes closed, apparently not noticing or caring that it was the only thing
stiff
in this situation.

He didn’t stop her wandering, insisting, deft hands from unzipping his trousers. Sofie was no innocent. She’d been around the block more than once. Blocks in New York, Paris, Milan, LA. Surely in all of her sexual travels, she had figured out how to arouse one physically disinterested male. He looked up into the eagerness of her clear eyes, wanting to ignore the emotion he saw there.

Guilt was a bayonet piercing his gut. This was Sofie, who’d knocked a hole the size of Manhattan in the piñata at his sixth birthday party. Sofie, who’d gone with his family to Disney World the last happy summer of his parents’ ill-fated marriage. Sofie, who had cried when he took Greta Von Stratton to the prom instead of her. He knew because Sofie’s maid told Sofie’s mom, who told his mom, who had told him. He’d pretended not to notice the long looks she had cast over her date’s shoulder at him that night. He couldn’t do this to Sofie.

“Sof, get off.” He gritted the words out, grasping her hips to move her off him.

“No, Walsh.” She moved his hands from her hips to cup her ass. “You shouldn’t be in here drinking alone. Let me make it better.”

Nothing could make it better. Certainly not a quickie with his longtime friend.

“Sofie, I can’t take advantage of you this way.”

“It’s only taking advantage if I don’t know what I’m getting into.” She leaned down to suckle his earlobe before sitting back up to stare at him. “My eyes are wide open.”

Walsh averted his eyes from the vulnerability he saw behind all that bravado. A glimpse of yellow caught and held his attention.

Beneath the table was a single orchid. Discarded, left on the floor, trampled. And he knew that it had been Kerris’s first choice, not the lily she’d carried in her bouquet. She’d discarded the choice of her heart, allowed herself to be persuaded by other forces, other factors, other priorities. Just like she’d ruthlessly trampled on the possibilities brewing between them since the first time they’d laid eyes on each other.

Anger surged in his veins, a ruthless battalion squashing the rebel tenderness he felt for Kerris. Squashing the kindness of his refusal when he looked into Sofie’s eyes again. He no longer saw the girl he’d grown up with, but the supermodel siren who knew the score. He slid his hands up her thoroughbred thighs, pushing the silk of her dress even higher.

“Why the hell not?”

He possessed the mouth poised over his, ignoring the howl of his darkening soul.

One Year Later

W
alsh opened one eye and then, carefully, the other. Either his head was having contractions, or he was really hungover. In addition to the bass drum echoing inside his mind, whatever he drank last night roiled around in his stomach. He drew a quick, stale breath, fighting back nausea. Worst of all, the night before was a huge, dark, gaping void. The last lucid memory he had was of Sofie dragging him into his bedroom as he’d complained that the party in the living room was getting out of control. He had come home from a late meeting with the Merrist VP only to find Sofie already there directing a caterer on the best placement of canapés.

They needed to have the talk.

They’d been dating for almost a year. She slept at his apartment most nights and had carved out a niche in his closet for a full quarter of her wardrobe. Walsh focused enough to see her silver-blond head lying peacefully on the pillow beside him. He knew they were coming to a fork in their relationship road when the sight of her naked body barely covered by the sheet did nothing for him, even this early, when he pretty much woke up at attention. He kicked himself for letting it go on for as long as it had. After the wedding—

He pressed his swollen eyelids back together. Despite the pounding headache, the thought of Cam married to Kerris made him long for the oblivion of his vodka. He was drinking too much. Fucking too much. Playing too hard. Working even harder. Hoping something would ease the near-constant ache surrounding his heart.

Kerris.

Could he not wake up one morning without thinking of her before even getting out of bed? He shoved the thought of her aside, focusing on the svelte form beside him. If he was pushing the envelope, Sofie was ripping it up and tossing the shreds in the air like confetti. She had never been a shy girl, but her meteoric modeling success jettisoned her into another social stratosphere. Unfortunately, as her plus one, he’d been dragged, kicking and screaming, into the spotlight with her.

He hated the attention they received wherever they went. Couldn’t get used to finding photographers waiting at the entrance of Bennett Enterprises. Despised their frequent appearances on Page Six. Abhorred the stupid moniker the media had given him once they discovered his philanthropic leanings.
Do-Good.
That was maybe the worst part of all. He wanted out.

Yes, it was time for the talk.

He’d known a romantic relationship would only ruin the friendship they’d always shared, but Sofie had been available, willing, and hungry. And the woman he really wanted…

He and Sofie were both living a little wild. Every night took him further down a path he wasn’t sure he wanted to travel anymore. Sure, the liquor, sex, and parties had dulled the pain, but it never went away. And in the process of trying to forget, he was losing too much of himself. He’d probably already damaged his friendship with Sofie beyond repair. He had to end things, and sadly, hurting her was unavoidable. Who knew what boneheaded move he’d make next if he didn’t pull himself back into check?

“Mornin’,” a husky voice drawled at his back. Walsh stiffened, shocked when a silky thigh slid between his legs from behind. “
You
are something else.”

Walsh looked in slow dread over his shoulder, jumping a little when he saw the beautiful face and perfectly rumpled auburn bedhead hair. She rose up on her elbow, a grin stretching across her face.

“Um, who are you and why are you in my bed?” Walsh’s voice croaked like a hungover toad’s. His vocal chords must have atrophied overnight.

“Wow, you really were out of it, huh?” She gave him a naughty look and laugh. “Your girlfriend wanted to play some three-way. Ring a bell?”

“Honestly, no.” Walsh snapped his teeth together over a curse. “Did we, um, did I…I don’t remember anything. Maybe you could fill in the blanks?”

“First blank, it seems, is my name.” She had the nerve to sound offended. “I’m Lynda.”

“Nice to meet you, Lynda. I need you to get the hell outta my bed.” Anger roughened Walsh’s voice even more.

“You got some nerve. First you pass out before I even get any action—”

“Thank God for that.” Walsh celebrated the first good news of the morning. “So we didn’t have sex? Nothing personal. I just like to actually remember the women I’ve had sex with.”

“We got pretty far, but I guess all that vodka you kept downing caught up with you.” Lynda crinkled her face and rolled her eyes. “You weren’t really…um…
up
for the challenge.”

Walsh never thought that particular insult would make him happy, but he gulped with relief.

“Mornin’, Lynda. Mornin’, Walsh,” Sofie rasped from the other pillow, her voice still roughened with sleep and liquor. “Walsh, baby, can you fix us some coffee? My head kills.”

“Sofie, what the fuck.” Walsh spoke as loudly as his pain-addled head would allow. “I get drunk and you pull me into a three-way with some chick?”

“The chick’s got a name,” Lynda piped up from the rear.

“I told you to get dressed and get out,” Walsh said over his shoulder to the half-naked succubus behind him. “I don’t even know this woman, and you coerce me into bed with her?”

“You were safe.” Sofie sat up, stretching her arms over her head, letting the sheet fall to display her naked breasts. “Check the one-eyed monster. He’s covered.”

Walsh jerked the covers aside, confirming that he was completely naked, wearing nothing but an apparently unused condom. Walsh released a breath he’d been caging in his chest. He climbed over Sofie, graceless and awkward, wrapping the sheet around his waist in belated modesty.

He paused by his discarded suit pants on the floor, reaching down to grab his wallet from the pocket. He extracted a hundred-dollar bill, walking back to the bed and offering it to Lynda.

“What’s this for? I’m not a prostitute.”

“I know.” Actually he didn’t know for sure, but he needed to placate her into a peaceful, drama-free departure. “I was rude, so let me cover your cab fare. It’s the least I can do.”

Lynda grinned, her open, outstretched palm waiting.

“When you put it that way.”

She unfolded her shapely self out of the bed, slid into her jeans, and bent to retrieve her shoes from beneath the bed. He had to admit it was a nice rear view, but he wasn’t even tempted. He strolled back toward his awaiting showerheads, praying their powers of rejuvenation would get him in gear. He had a flight to catch.

Aw, damn. To North Carolina.

He wouldn’t be able to avoid Kerris. It was Cam’s birthday, and there was a party tonight. And it just so happened to coincide with Unc’s summons home. Uncle James wanted him to go to Haiti. He was ready to move forward on their plans for an orphanage there.

Walsh was eager to do some globetrotting for the foundation. He’d been benched too long finalizing the Merrist acquisition, which had stopped and stalled so many times over the last year he’d lost count. He had been to Kenya only one other time since Iyani’s funeral. He’d actually taken Cam with him. That was a compromise that allowed him to see Cam without having to see Kerris. As a courtesy, he’d invited Kerris along and held his breath until Cam told him she’d refused. Was she avoiding him, too?

Dammit, Kerris, why didn’t you listen to me?

His front door slammed. Lynda was gone. Sofie had drifted back off to sleep, and he was headed for a much-needed shower. Walsh stepped under currents of life-giving liquid force coming from every direction.

Seeing Kerris was more dangerous than anything he had done over the last year. He dropped his forehead to the tile wall of the shower, swallowing against the pain of her living with Cam as his wife.

“Nice butt.” A pair of pale, slim arms slid around his chest. Fingers twisted and pulled at his nipples.

Behind him, Sofie wore only a mischievous grin. Even naked and sliding to her knees in front of him—nothing.

“Sofie, get up.” He tugged her arm as gently as he could, pulling her to her feet.

She fell back to her knees, reaching for him again, that wicked, who’s-a-bad-girl gleam still in her eyes.

“I said get up.” His voice was sharp, like the water pinging against the shower wall. He closed his eyes against the hurt he’d caused on her face. “I mean, not this morning, Sof. I’m still upset about finding…”

“Lynda,” she supplied helpfully, standing up to reach for her shampoo and lathering her long hair. “We didn’t actually have a threesome, so chill.”

He hated this intimacy with her. The fact that they were having a conversation in his shower. That her shampoo sat proudly beside his body wash as if it belonged there. Her underwear nestled by his boxers in the top drawer. Her shoes sat under his bed. And he had no one to blame but himself.

“Sof, we need to talk.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“No, not that kind of talk. A real, grown-up talk.”

“Can we talk on the plane?” She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, blocking one of his showerheads. “Are we on the Bennett plane?”

“No. Dad has it in Hong Kong.” Walsh tried to keep his tone even. He really did. “I don’t remember inviting you to go with me to North Carolina.”

“Walsh, we’re together.” Her hands slowed their lathering. “I don’t need an invitation, do I? And Trish can get me on the flight easily enough.”

“I want to go alone.” He stepped out of the shower, as much to get away from her as to get dressed.

“I bet you do,” she said, low enough for the water to almost drown her out.

“What’d you say?” He reached for a fluffy towel and glanced back at her, still in the shower.

“I can understand you wanting to go alone.” Sofie amended what Walsh knew he had heard. “I just have a little break before I have to be in Paris, so I thought we could spend it together. Besides, I haven’t seen your family in ages. Not since the wedding.”

He dried off and got dressed, barely paying attention to what he put on or tossed into the personalized Louis Vuitton luggage his mother had given him a few Christmases ago. Not seeing his mother had been the hardest part of staying away from Rivermont. Guilt settled hot and heavy in his chest.

This was the first year since his parents’ divorce that he’d spent so little time with her. Even though his father had insisted on custody when he was growing up, wanting him to have a New York private school education, Walsh saw his mother several times each month, and spent every summer with her, traipsing all over the world to Walsh Foundation camps and orphanages.

“I love your Pegase.” Sofie entered the bedroom and eyed his roll-on. She slipped on a silk robe from his closet.

“I’m taking that with me,” Walsh lied, extending a hand for the black silk robe he rarely wore.

“Oh, I…I’ve never seen you wear it, so I thought it was okay.” She handed it to him and slipped on one of his T-shirts instead, inhaling. “You always smell so good, babe.”

“Thanks.” Every word reminded him how deep her feelings went, and how much this breakup would hurt her. They had been friends and he had screwed it up with sex.

“Look, Sof, I need to go, but we really have to talk when I get back.”

“Well, I was gonna drive you to the airport.” Sofie scrambled to slip on the designer jeans she’d worn last night. “Lemme just find my keys. I know they’re somewhere around here.”

“Don’t bother.” He slapped his watch on. “Pierce is taking me.”

“Who’s Pierce?” She paused in her search for the keys.

“My dad’s driver.”

“Oh, well, I um, guess I’ll see you when I get back from Paris.” She deflated like yesterday’s party balloon. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna hang here for a little bit then.”

He did mind. He wanted her to go to her own overpriced apartment and vacate his when he wasn’t here, but these were the small intimacies he’d allowed over the last year. He couldn’t snatch them all back because he’d had an epiphany waking up with a strange woman in his bed.

“Whatever.” What was he? A thirteen-year-old girl now? “I’ll wait for Pierce in the lobby.”

“Wait.” Sofie grabbed his wrist. “I don’t even get a good-bye kiss?”

By all rights, he should be pouncing on Sofie at every opportunity. Five eleven. Body most women could achieve only through surgical enhancement. Blond hair down to here, and legs up to there. He leaned down and kissed her, knowing this might be the last time.

“Mmmmmm.” She pressed her perfectly perky breasts into his chest. “I wish we had more time so I could send you off properly.”

What could he say to that?

“I’ll see you when you get back from Paris, Sof.”

“K, I love you.”

He saw see the vulnerability in her eyes. He couldn’t fake it this morning. He nodded once, brushing past her, hurrying to the door. As much as he didn’t want her, she still deserved better than this.

She was in love with a real asshole.