Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy) (17 page)

His breath goes ragged and his movements become jerky, no longer the clever lover, but a primitive being bent on claiming me. He sinks in deep, so deep, he’s almost touching my heart. And with a groan, he spills inside of me.

I come down to earth and smile—happy he’s home, happy to be in his arms, happy to be his.

Chapter 22

______________

Elizabeth

THE SCENT OF SOMETHING DELICIOUS COOKING wakes me. Next to me, the bed lies cold. Where is Gabriel? His rumbling voice drifts in from the office outside our bedroom. He must be working on some business deal. Better leave him alone. I take a quick shower before heading downstairs in search of Jorge’s cooking.

“Morning, Ms. Watson,” our premier chef says.

“Good morning, Jorge. What’s for breakfast?” Whatever it is, I want some of it.

“Blueberry French toast with berry butters and maple syrup. Would you like some eggs?”

“Yes, please, scrambled.” With a soft smile, Marisol places a cup of decaf in front of me. Five minutes later, the French toast and eggs follow. I bite into the rich, cinnamony goodness and moan. “Jorge, if you weren’t all ready taken, I’d marry you for this French toast alone.”

A feminine laugh drifts in from the kitchen.

“I think my Marisol would have something to say about that.” Through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room, I spot him giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Yeah, I just bet she would.

Leaning on his cane, Gabriel stutter steps into the dining room and drops a kiss on my lips. “You taste good.”

“French toast.” I mumble, my mouth full.

He takes a seat at the head of the table, more gorgeous than ever. Even the daylight is good to him. As soon as he sits, a cup of hot tea and a plate of the French toast and eggs is placed in front of him.

“Thank you, Marisol. That’s lovely.” He gives her a charming smile which she returns with a soft one of her own.

She has a little bit of a crush on him. I don’t blame her. No female can withstand that charm. I should know. “What were you working on?” I ask.

“This.” He slides a batch of papers toward me.

He trusts me enough to take a gander at business documents? The thought perks me up. “Something you want me to look at?”

“Something I want you to sign.” He lays down his gold-tipped Montblanc pen on the pile, the one he used to sign the closing agreements. “Jorge and Marisol can witness your signature.”

I stare at the papers like they’re a stinky bug of some kind. “What is it?”

“The settlement papers. I wanted to make sure some provisions had been included, so I called my solicitors in London and asked them to make some key changes. It took about an hour for them to revise the documents and email the finished ones to me.”

And he used the machine upstairs to print them out. “Settlement papers?”

“Your dowry. The Storm Family Trust will settle ten million pounds on you the day we marry and ten more once our son is born.” He picks up
The Wall Street Journal
that Marisol laid next to his plate, rifles through it until he finds whatever he’s looking for, creases it to his satisfaction and calmly reads it, like he hasn’t dropped a bomb on me.

Suddenly, I lose my appetite. I push the papers back to him, push back my plate as well. “I don’t want your money, Gabriel.”

Beneath hunched brows, his gaze darts toward me. “As you will see once you read the documents, it’s not MY money. It’s the money in the trust. Every Storm bride’s entitled to a certain sum. Our investments have done well. The pre-determined five percent distribution comes to ten million when we marry, ten more when our child is born.”

If twenty million represents five percent, that means the trust is worth 400 hundred million. Pounds. Good lord. I may have agreed to marry him, but I didn’t agree to this. “I don’t want it.”

Breathing a heavy sigh, he lays down his fork. “Last night you were fine with it all. What changed?”

“I’m not
fine
with you paying my school loans, but I accepted it as part and parcel of it all. But this is obscene. My debt amounted to seventy thousand dollars, a pittance of the twenty million
pounds
you wish to ‘settle’ on me. I won’t have it.”

“Why do you have to make things so difficult? Why can’t you for once say ‘Thank you, Gabriel,’ and leave it at that?”

“Our marriage will only last one year. That is the arrangement, is it not?”

“Yes. That’s what I promised you.”

“This settlement is meant for a bride who intends to remain married. That’s not me.”

“The trust disburses funds to the fiancee regardless of any private arrangements between the heir and his bride to be. In this instance, it happens to be you.” When I open my mouth to argue further, he raises his hand to stop me. “I don’t care what you do with the bloody thing. Keep it, burn it. Spend it on your trousseau. ”

“Trousseau? Why do I need a trousseau? We’re getting married at the courthouse, aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not.” He snaps the paper. “Our wedding will take place at Winterleagh Castle where every Storm heir has gotten married for the last six hundred years. Well, except for the one whose wedding took place in the Tower of London before he got his head chopped off.”

“Winterleagh Castle?” His family’s ancestral seat. “You said the ceremony could be a civil one. That a court clerk would do.”

“A courthouse ceremony would stink to high heaven. It would make it look like we were getting married just to give our child my name.”

“But that’s what we’re doing!”

“Yes, but I don’t want the rest of the world to know that, or our child for that matter. I want them to think we married for love. And
that
requires a ceremony at Winterleagh Castle, not a havey cavey one in some dreary courthouse.”

Jorge and Marisol have disappeared, probably to allow us the privacy we need to argue.

He pushes his plate back, temples his hands above his plate. “Liz. I'm not the product of a grand love affair, or any love affair at all. I was conceived to fulfill the agreement my parents made before they married. My mother promised my father an heir and a spare, no matter how many conceptions it took. My father got the heir he needed with me, and the spare with Edward. After the succession was assured, my father reverted to his old ways. Gambling, drinking, endless affairs. One weekend, he even brought a paramour to Winterleagh Castle. Needless to say, my mother did not take it very well."

"I'm sorry." I am. I just fail to see what this has to do with me.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I don’t want our marriage to be like theirs or for society or our child to think we married for duty, only to give him a name.”

Last night I thought I was done giving in. Should have known better for I’m no match against his plea. I do not want our child to suffer like Gabriel has. “Fine. We’ll marry at Winterleagh.”

“In public, we’ll need to appear as if we actually care for each other. No arguments, no disagreements. Can you work with me on that?"

Sheesh, how much more does he want from me? “Okay.”

“And you’ll accept the settlement.”

I hitch up my chin. “I won’t spend a dime of it, you know. You’ll get back every cent when we divorce.”

“If that’s your wish.” He snaps the
newspaper, sips what must be by now lukewarm tea
. “Casey called.”

“He did?” I flip through my cell’s phone logs. No record of any incoming calls. “I don’t see one here.” Wait. How would he know? Gabriel doesn’t have access to my phone.

“That’s because he called
me
. He doesn’t feel comfortable accepting my loan until I’ve eaten at the Ragin’ Cajun. So he wants me to come by and check it out. I made dinner reservations for eight. Does that work with your schedule?”

“Fine.” I’m planning to study the rest of the day. I’ll need to call my friend and get her notes on last night’s classes too. My law studies can’t suffer simply because I’m about to marry the Lord of the Manor.

“Wear that—”

“You going to tell me how to dress too? I’ll wear whatever I damn well please, Storm.”

“Well it didn’t take long for you to breach your no arguing agreement.”

“We’re not in public, Gabriel. Here in the home you forced me to accept I can say whatever I want.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He snaps the paper.

“Good.” I stomp to the elevator, before he can get in the last word.

Chapter 23

______________

Elizabeth

SILENCE PREVAILS DURING OUR RIDE to the Ragin’ Cajun, but just before we arrive, Gabriel opens up about the security details.

“Rick will pull up in front of the restaurant. Samuel will jump out to open our door and accompany us inside. Martha Rawlings is already on site. She made sure the place is secure.”

“What do you mean ‘secure’?”

“She checked out the restaurant. As you can imagine, Casey was very accommodating. He doesn’t want you hurt any more than I do.”

When we arrive, Casey’s hostess, Jeannie, welcomes us as soon as we step through the door. She’s worked for him since he opened the restaurant and has become a good friend.

“Lizzie! Look at you. I won’t ask how you’re doing. You’re glowing. Obviously, pregnancy suits you.”

Knowing what Gabriel expects of me, I smile like I’m absolutely thrilled to be here. “Doing well. Thanks for asking.” With the familiarity of old friends, I kiss her cheek.

“And is this . . .?” She lets the question dance in the air.

“Gabriel Storm, my . . .” I don’t know what to call him. Baby Daddy. The guy who knocked me up.

“Boyfriend. A pleasure to meet you, Jeannie.” He kisses her on the cheek like
they’re
old friends.

And, of course, like every other female on the planet, her eyes go wide, her mouth hangs open. “Uh, your table isn’t quite ready. Would you like to spend a few minutes in the bar area?”

“That will be fine.” He smiles that devastating smile of his. Honestly. I think he’s incapable of dialing back the charm.

He rests his hand in the middle of my back. Even through the blue velvet dress I’m wearing, his warmth sinks into my skin.

Once we’re seated at a small round table by the bay window, he says “You can stop smiling now. She’s gone.”

I relax my face muscles. “Good. My cheeks were starting to hurt.”

He laughs as he picks up the small menu on the table, the one that lists a wide selection of drinks, wines, and appetizers. “Would you like an appetizer? These oysters bienville look quite good.”

I snort. “Last thing you need, Storm, are oysters. You’re quite potent on your own.”

He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Am I, darling?”

“Cut it out. Nobody here but me.”

Rather than take offense, he scoots his chair closer to mine and whispers in my ear. “Smile. They’re looking in our direction.”

I do as I’m told. That is the arrangement, after all. “Who?”

“That couple by the bar.” He nibbles on my ear, and heat streaks to the juncture between my legs.

I start to turn my head toward the bar, but he cradles my chin, kisses my lips, roams lower where he bestows the same benediction to my throat.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, setting off little sparklers, before fixing a sleepy-eyed gaze on me. “There, that’s the look I love.”

“What look?” All I can do is whisper, what with oxygen being at a premium.

“The one you wear after I fuck you silly.”

“You’re killing me, Storm.” But there’s no heat behind my words. He’s
kissed
me silly.

Thankfully, the waitress chooses that moment to take our order. I ask for hot tea; Storm orders a glass of the dark lager. The same brew he drank that first night at my townhouse.

Hoping to break the spell he so easily winds around me, I allow my gaze to wander around the almost empty bar area. “That’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“It’s Friday night. Usually the place is packed.”

“Maybe the weather kept people home.” Atypical for early November, the wind’s howling and temperatures have plummeted to the low thirties. On top of that, it’s raining. Again.

“You’re probably right.” A lot easier to hunker down at home in front of a roaring fire than to be out in this bit of nastiness.

While we wait for our drinks, Gabriel studies the area. With so few people present, he can get a really good view of the space.

"Casey wants to put in a stage over there where a jazz trio could play during weekends,” I volunteer.

"That's a terrific idea."

“The space next door is available, but the lease is more than he can afford.” They discussed this point last Sunday, but it’s important. So I’m reminding him of it.