The Proviso (52 page)

As far as her nonexistent experience with actual
relationships went, she suspected he wanted one with her. She dared
not fall in love with him, though she feared it would be only too
easy to do so—if she’d even recognize it for love, since she didn’t
know what that felt like.

From everything she could gather, when a woman was
in love with a man and began a relationship with him, she shared
herself, her life, her past. The one thing Eilis dreaded most in
the world was Sebastian’s rejection if she opened her soul to him.
Sebastian would despise her for what had happened, what she’d done.
Any normal man would.

As a matter of fact, Eilis had no wish to share her
past with
anyone
and she’d buried it as deeply as possible.
She simply lived as if those years had never existed.

She had never cried over her childhood, her
adolescence. She had cried once in her biological mother’s
presence, begging for some acknowledgment, and had been sneered at,
slapped, for her weakness.

I’ll not acknowledge a girl who snivels and grovels
for what she doesn’t deserve. If you’d come here proud, demanding,
I might have considered talking to you for a moment. I could have
respected that. But you’re weak and I despise weakness.

She had cried once in Knox Hilliard’s office when
she related every second of her marriage and, again demonstrating
that he was not the man the city vilified, he had taken her in his
arms and hugged her for a long time. She had felt no threat from
him, no interest in her as anything other than someone who needed
some protection and a measure of vengeance. He was the only one who
could give her both and he’d done as well as he could.

She’d never shared a moment of anything before she’d
testified to David’s evil at his trial, and had refused to talk
about anything before David.

Yet she almost couldn’t regret telling Sebastian
what little she had.

She glanced up at
Morning in Bed
, seeing it
shadowed on the wall in the dim moonlight.

Ford.

Ford was the key, because he wouldn’t care. If she
found him, if he deigned to see her, he would make love to her, he
would paint her, he would make her look and feel as beautiful as
she wanted to feel, and then he would send her on her way, prepared
to meet any man romantically on her terms.

He would throw the final shovel full of dirt on the
grave of her past.

* * * * *

46:
MORNING IN BED

DECEMBER 2006

It was Friday, Sebastian’s day to visit, and going
on three o’clock. Eilis was very nervous today. She intended to do
something she’d never done before. Ever.

He walked in the building a little after three and
stopped at nearly every cubicle if its occupant caught his eye or
ear. It was the same way every week and his journey from the front
door to her office was going on an hour. Nobody wanted to ask
advice; they just wanted to thank him for what he’d done, chat a
little, joke around, share food. And he accommodated everyone with
ease and grace. She couldn’t help feeling some jealousy. They
didn’t treat her like that—and it was her own fault.

Her persona had been easy when she’d had to make
deals she couldn’t get as anyone other than the excruciatingly
proper Miss Logan. Now with enough credibility to drop the charade,
powerful allies, a decluttered staff, and a happy workplace, she
missed what she’d never had: a camaraderie with her employees.

Sebastian still never smiled or laughed when he was
in a suit, but it didn’t seem to matter. He radiated warmth and
humor like a cat’s purr. How did the financial world not see this?
Why had she never heard this from a CEO he’d rescued? All she’d
ever heard was how dangerous he was.

Of course, he’d been very dangerous the day he’d
threatened to smear her with a cold concrete then lick it off. She
closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She almost wished she’d been
courageous enough to call his bluff, but that was too risky.

Fridays now were a treat because alwaysalwaysalways,
Sebastian took her into her wood-paneled private office to greet
her with a kiss, then left her with a kiss. Sometimes it was short
and sweet, a drop on the forehead, on the back of her hand, in the
palm of her hand, butterfly kisses. Sometimes it was playful and
sweet, not too deep, not too flippant. Once, and only once, he had
wrapped his arms around her and kissed her long and deep,
searching, sucking her soul, devouring her senses. Every week was
an opportunity to hope for another one of those.

Little by little, he was seducing her, pulling her
into a relationship she didn’t want, but Eilis wasn’t quite sure he
wouldn’t do it anyway no matter how hard she resisted. He
was
ruthless after all and he tended to turn into a
bulldozer when he was opposed.

“Good afternoon, Eilis,” Sebastian said cordially as
he dropped his backpack on the table, then entered her office and
closed the doors. “I hope you’ve had a good week.”

Eilis smiled, wondering what would be in store for
her today. Alas, today was a kiss on the cheek. She hid her
disappointment as he returned to the table outside her office
doors.

“I think so,” she said evenly, drawing up every
ounce of her persona to help her through the next couple of hours.
As usual, the reports were prepared and he sat to look them over.
All was quiet as he read, flipped through papers, scratched out
comments in red.

“Well, Eilis, you’ve done well.” Same as usual. He
pulled a piece of green paper, folded in thirds, out of his suit
coat’s inner pocket. It was the checklist he’d written and worked
from so long ago—had it really been only four months?—and opened
it. He looked it over, red pen in hand.

“Your client sales are picking up a little here, a
little there. I suspect you may have tapped out that market, but
who knows? It seems the management of the 401(k) plans is
exceptional.”

“Yes, thank you for getting us in with Blackwood
Securities. Quite a few of my colleagues are amazed and
jealous.”

Sebastian looked up at her, a twinkle in his eye.
“Jack Blackwood’s a miracle worker, isn’t he? When we go to New
York, I’ll introduce you, but I warn you, he’s different.”

“I’ve spoken with him on the phone several times. I
can only imagine.”

“His wife kicks his ass and his CFO keeps him from
floating off into the stratosphere.”

“Melinda Newman?”

“Yes. Brilliant woman. She saved my bacon a few
years ago when Jack was, ah, unexpectedly incommunicado for a week.
Now
that’s
a story. I expect that once word gets out about
how well managed those accounts are, that’s where you’ll get most
of your business. That and managing the health insurance issues.”
He looked back down. “The screening tests are out on the market and
selling,” he said absently, then crossed it off the list. “Your
revenue from that is picking up and I’m impressed with the success
you’ve had with it. I’ve been hearing rumors of its effectiveness,
so very good.”

Eilis preened under his warmth and regard, even
though he couldn’t tell because she was “on.”

“The beta for the small business software is due in
three months. How’s that coming along?”

“Actually, Michael has an alpha version right now. I
expect it’ll be in beta testing next month.”

“Oh, very good. The auction is on February fifth and
I think, from looking at these numbers today that after the
auction, with or without the beta software, you’ll be in the black
and we won’t need to wait until August to start the IPO process. In
fact, if the auction goes well, we can start it while we’re there.
Jack’s ready for it whenever we are.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

“Yes, really. All you needed was a little time and a
little help.”

She turned back to the window and watched the hive
below her, afraid to ask. Afraid he’d say no. Afraid she may have
alienated him somehow that she didn’t know, kisses notwithstanding.
He joined her at the window then, just as he had the first day.

“I have a present for you, Eilis,” he said, low.

She started. “You do?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to deliver it to you. When would
you be free and have a couple of hours?”

Eilis paused. “Tomorrow, but— I had something to ask
you. A favor,” she said in a rush. “I was wondering if you’d help
me decorate my house for Christmas? You know, climbing ladders,
heavy lifting, that sort of thing. I haven’t dressed it since
September eleventh.”

“Of course I’ll help you, Eilis. I love Yule, but I
don’t decorate because I have the Plaza lights out my front
windows. When would you like me to come over?”

“Well, since you’re coming over tomorrow, maybe you
could make a day of it? I’ll make a povitica. Blueberry cream
cheese is my favorite.”

She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t
look at him because she was so embarrassed about having had to ask
for help in this particular matter, from a man, and from a man
who’d rescued her once already.

“Povitica sounds good. Do you have any mulling
spices?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll bring the wassail.”

She did glance at him then. “Yule? Wassail? You
sound like you’re from merry olde England.”

She felt, rather than heard, his laugh and he still
hadn’t smiled, but his mouth did quirk a little. “I’m pagan,
Eilis.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t found another way, did
I?”

“No.”

“What time would you like me to show up with my
present? Remember, a couple of hours.”

“Nine-ish, I guess,” she said, feeling as if she’d
just missed something important about him.

“Okay. Dress in your warmest worst clothes.”

And he was gone.

Without kissing her.

* * * * *

She was waiting in the courtyard once she had opened
the gate for Sebastian’s old pickup, then closed it after he was
through. As he drove closer, she gasped and clapped her hands over
her mouth, then began to laugh.

“You brought me horse manure!” she squealed and knew
she should be embarrassed about being delighted about feces, but
she wasn’t. The entire bed was full and piled high with horse
manure, a blue tarp over the whole thing.

“I did,” he said as he leaned over the seat to open
the passenger door for her. “Let’s go get it unloaded.”

There was a box of wines, juices, and spices on the
floor of the passenger side and she said, “Hold on. I’ll take this
in.”

Quickly enough, she was back and had hopped in. He
drove down the path to the compost, then over the stone bridge. She
told him where to park so they could unload it where she needed it
to go.

“Shovels?”

“Oh, no. Bobcat.”

Sebastian grinned as she went to the backhoe,
climbed in, started it up, and drove it the very short distance to
the bed of the pickup. He leaned against the truck to watch her and
she felt rather nervous all of a sudden. He had never seen this
side of her and she was a little embarrassed. She set the levelers,
then lowered the bucket carefully so that she didn’t damage the
truck—not that anybody’d notice—and scooped up a good portion of
the pile. The cab swung around and she dumped it.

It took ten scoops to get all she could, then she
lifted the levelers and drove it around to a different spot and
parked.

“Eilis,” he said, a corner of his mouth turned up,
“I never would’ve thought I’d get turned on by the sight of a
beautiful woman shoveling shit with a backhoe.”

She blushed and ducked her head, then he laughed.
“Shovels and brooms now.” When she came back from gathering those,
he was thumbing through a CD sleeve. “I don’t work without music,”
he muttered, “but I can’t decide what’s good for such an auspicious
occasion. Here.” He gave her the sleeve and took a shovel.

“This is all classical,” she said.

“I very rarely listen to anything not classified
that way, except for zydeco.
Carmina Burana
’s my
favorite.”

“Well—”

“Not that,” he said shortly. “That’s for another
time. When you hear it, you’ll understand.”

“Okay, then. Old Christmas chestnuts.
Messiah
or
Nutcracker
?”

Sebastian pursed his lips. “
Messiah
.”

She blinked. “For a pagan?”

“Good music’s good music and spirituality is
spirituality. I have no problem with Jesus of Nazareth. It’s
religion I don’t like. It’s said that
Messiah
is the most
perfect score ever composed. Not sure I agree because there’s just
way too much perfect music out there, but it
is
divine.” He
paused. “No pun intended.”

Eilis laughed and she marveled at how easy it was to
laugh with Sebastian, a man reputed never to laugh at all. It was
her own delicious little secret, to know Sebastian Taight laughed
and that he laughed with her.

The music began to pour out of the truck’s speakers
and they began to finish unloading the manure. There was much left
that the backhoe couldn’t get, but that was better than having to
do it all by hand.

“So you won’t get your air conditioner fixed, but
you have a state-of-the-art sound system.”

“Of course,” he grunted and heaved. “I have my
priorities straight.”

“And the zydeco?”

He slid her a glance and his gaze flickered over her
hair. “
Jole blon
,” he said, then began to speak in what
seemed to her
very
lazy French.

“What
is
that?” she asked, interrupting
him.

“Cajun French. Fascinating patois and culture. I
love
it.”

“What did you say?”

He smirked. “It doesn’t translate, but trust me, it
was vulgar.”

She blushed and turned away from him when he
laughed.