Rare and Precious Things (19 page)

“Payback’s gonna be fun
for me,” I said, looking back over my shoulder and narrowing my eyes.

“Promise?” he said at my ear. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh…I don’t know. Maybe something…like this—” I spun around and grabbed his crotch, finding my target easily, giving a little squeeze to his prized possessions. “A tug on your balls for a slap to my ass sounds about fair.”

The look on his face was priceless.
And the very surprised open mouth.

“I have you by the balls, Blackstone,” I reminded him.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss me. “This is not new information to me, my beauty.”

“IT’S a surprise, I told
you. You have to trust me.” I led her along carefully, a silk scarf over her eyes serving as a blindfold. “I want to show you before everyone begins swarming down upon us for your Thanksgiving.”

My girl
had decided that she wanted to do a Thanksgiving dinner at our place and invite everyone to join in the US holiday we didn’t officially celebrate in England, but with such strong influence from our American friends across the pond, was certainly gaining momentum in the UK. Brynne wanted a nice house party to serve as a housewarming of sorts, so we were hosting—and would be circled in another half day. My dad and Marie were traveling up together, as were Neil and Elaina. Fred, Hannah and the kids of course, plus Clarkson and Gabrielle. We’d have a house crammed with guests and I would have to share my girl with everyone else for a few days.

I never wanted to share
her.

She sniff
ed the air. “I smell cloves so we must be near your office?”

No more smokes in the house.

I was back to my once-a-day habit after my slip the night of the Senator’s—
cocksucking bloody serpent
—ultimatum. Make that, Vice-President of the United States of America. Or he would be come January, once the new president was installed in the White House. Colt-Oakley had indeed won the US election earlier in the month by a sweeping margin. Having a hideously wounded soldier for a son was a helluva way to stir patriotism and win votes. And apparently, it was inconsequential if the same son abused young girls with his friends at parties, and made videos of it happening. The landslide was no surprise for any of us.

Brynne seemed resigned to putting her past behind her
for good, and for that I was very grateful. She didn’t offer much about Oakley, nor of their meeting, to me. She had said she’d felt less troubled by the visit than expected, but I hoped she’d worked through it with Dr. Roswell, because I couldn’t bear the idea of her suffering anymore because of his problems. That hospital visit was hard enough on me, so I couldn’t imagine how she felt having to see him, speak to him…and touch him. I closed my eyes and shoved the thoughts of Lance Oakley down and away. I breathed in my girl’s intoxicating scent in front of me and focused on what I wanted to show her instead.

“Yo
u are relentless right now. I forget sometimes just how competitive you are.” Which was straight-up truth. Brynne was a scrapper at her core. A girl who went in with her fists up—ready to deal a blow, or take a hit on the chin. I loved it, and thought it made her just that much hotter. “And I think it’s fucking hot, baby.”

She laughed softly at my last comment, the sexy sound of her making my cock bone hard
and my mind race with possibilities.

“All right, we’re here,” I said at her ear, positioning her body exactly how I wanted so the view would be the best it could be when she saw the surprise. “And I think you should know that I’ve been waiting for this for six months. Six long months
I’ve thought about this moment,” I said dramatically.

“That
is
a long time, Ethan, I agree with you. Kinda feels like I’ve been waiting six months to get this blindfold off.”

I tapped her lips with a
finger, and then traced around them slowly. “Such a smart mouth, baby, and I have busy plans for it later…but right now I want you to see the surprise, so I suppose I’ll take this blindfold off you now.” I began unknotting the scarf as her breathing picked up the pace. My words had turned her on. “This silk scarf is sexy as hell on you, by the way. I think I should remember to use it again sometime,” I whispered at her neck.

“Mmmm,” she moaned very soft
ly. Just a low breathy sound that told me a lot about her true feelings regarding the blindfold. I wouldn’t forget.

“Your
surprise,” I said, pulling the scarf away.

She blinked
up at the portrait of herself, silently observing. I wondered if she saw it as I did. The mile-long legs pointing straight up with crossed ankles, the arm shielding her breasts, the strategically splayed fingers between her legs, hair spread out on the floor to the side.

The same image
Tom Bennett had sent along in an email to me, when he asked for my help in keeping his daughter safe. The captivating photograph of her I’d seen in the gallery the night I met her, and bought on impulse, not knowing the gallery required six months of display before they would release it me. The portrait of my beautiful American girl—now in my sole possession.

Utterly breathtaking.

“You finally have it.” Her voice was low and soft as she studied the huge canvas taking up the dominant wall in my office study at Stonewell.

“I do
indeed.”

“Having this picture of me really m
eans a great deal to you, Ethan.” She leaned her body into mine as we both looked at the image.

“Oh, yes it does.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, this image was the first part of you my eyes ever looked upon. I saw this picture and knew I had to have it. It was just a defining moment I can’t really explain properly, but
one I understand perfectly.”

I rubbed up and down her arms slowly, dropping my lips down to the base of her neck. I flicked my tongu
e out for a taste of her skin, loving how she tilted and exposed her neck for me. So generous all the time, she never ceased to amaze me.

“I had never met a collector before that night I met you
,” she said wistfully. “The idea that you’d bought my portrait, and then were meeting me in person…was a very defining moment for me, too. That night—you standing there in your dark grey suit—the way you looked at me from across the room—was something I will never forget as long as I live.”

Her words shot straight to the center of me. “I couldn’t forget that moment
even if I tried, Brynne. It’s seared into my memory.”

“Why, Ethan?”

“Come here.” I turned her so I could look into those beautiful brown-green-grey eyes of hers and rubbed my thumbs over her cheekbones. “I couldn’t forget you that night because when I saw you in person for the first time…it was the moment I came alive again.”

Her eyes got the glassy look in them. When she feels a great deal of emotion
I see it in her, so I knew my words were something meaningful to her. They were true. Seeing Brynne that first time…brought me back to life somehow, some way, and none of it was planned or expected. It just happened that way.

“It’s
true. You made me want to live, at a time when I knew I’d never really thought about, or cared much about, what the future held,” I repeated.

“I love you, Ethan.”

“I love you more, my beauty.”

Her expression changed from emotion to something else.
Something just as wonderful in my opinion—a sultry,
I-want-you
look.

“So, you said something about plans to keep my mouth busy,” she hummed in a low voice, her eyes darkening as the lids lowered
slightly.

“Are you offering, baby?”
I managed to ask without my voice cracking too badly.

She dropped to her knees on the thick Oriental carpet
beneath us, and gave me the most excellent response. With her equally excellent and very busy mouth.

“BRYNNE
, my darling, you are to be congratulated for an outstanding meal. To Thanksgiving,” my dad toasted enthusiastically with his glass of wine, “which I say is a lovely idea that I think we should repeat every year. Make it a tradition for this family.”

“
I wholeheartedly agree, Jonathan,” Marie began. “Yes, my sweet Brynne, it was so lovely. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed an American Thanksgiving meal as you’ve prepared it with the yams and the cranberry sauce. Fetches back some really happy memories for me. I am so glad you decided to bring Thanksgiving to us, and I would love to make it our new tradition, as Jonathan said.” She glanced over at my dad with a look of total devotion.

I knew
Brynne’s great aunt was half American by birth, but had spent all of her adult life in England. Marie had also caught the eye of my father. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on between the two of them, but I had a pretty good idea. I’d know after tonight for sure, depending on what rooms they used or didn’t use for sleeping.

Everyone went ’round the table in turn, giving their toasts and
acknowledging my girl for her efforts, as they should. Even Zara gave her sincere appreciation for the pumpkin pie, which reminded her a bit of gingerbread but much “squishier.”

Brynne thanked them
all for coming to share it with us, blushing under their praise, so graceful and humble. She was an accomplished cook, but this I already knew. She had been cooking for me as soon as we’d gotten together and I just chalked it up to my tremendous capacity for luck in getting a girl who was good at everything she did.

There were two areas of my life when I’d been blessed with luck. One of them was at cards—for a time—until I left it behind me. The other was in finding her. And that gift was for forever—
until I drew my last breath.

“I have a toast,” I said, raising my glass.
Looking at all the faces of my family and our friends who’d come to be with us, and share in a celebration of thanks together, it all felt very fitting.

I realized
thankfulness
was
my truth for the first time.

“To my beautiful American girl, for remi
nding us all to be thankful.” I put my eyes solely on her. “But mostly me…because she’s helped me to see all of the blessings in my life I didn’t notice before. She’s the reason I have anything at all to be thankful for.” I spoke the truth out loud for everyone to hear. “She is
my
thanksgiving.”

WINTER

As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts

Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms

Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?

For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt

Mumford & Sons ~Winter Winds