Wait for Me (12 page)

"Jonathan," Kenya said, placing a hand on his arm. "Randall, my neighbor back in the States, is from Nigeria and has family. I'm certain if I ask he'll help." The man also wanted Kenya in his bed so of course he would do anything for Kenya.

"I don’t want you owing favors to other men. We'll do this my way." They shared a look that said he'd showed his jealousy for the other man in her life. "We have contacts, Kenya. Thank you."

"Well if you change your mind, he's going home in the next couple of weeks. I can ask," she offered freely, yet the moment grew more and more personal between them, as Jonathan felt the heat of jealousy building within him.

"Kenya let me have someone drive you up to the castle. I need to speak with the men about other business." He tucked his coat around her shoulders as she said her goodbyes to the men. He ushered her through the stables until they were out on the path to the estate.

Kenya stopped and placed a hand to his chest. The soft breeze pushed the fine hairs around her face. He lifted the wayward strands, smoothing it back behind her ears.

"I'll drive you back, it's getting dark."

Kenya pivoted at the waist and looked up the hill then back to him. "No, I'll walk. I can see the pub doors from here and would like to enjoy the cool air coming off the river for a minute."

"In those shoes?"

She blew out a breath. "Proving my worth is getting tiresome, Jonathan. I just wanna enjoy Ireland for a minute…alone. I need the fresh air."

"What else, Mo Ru’n?"

Kenya folded her arms and rested back on one foot, hip jutted out. "If there was anything between me and Randall, I wouldn’t be sharing your bed. Think about that the next time."

He had no words. Her steps echoed off up the path toward the castle. He had to fix this and jogged up to close the distance between them. Coming up behind Kenya, he wrapped his arms around her waist, cradling her round behind to his groin. She said nothing as he rocked her the entire way up the path, their footsteps echoing on the cool night air. Kenya had no idea he was never letting her go back to the States. He'd fallen in love with his woman and she didn’t know it.

At the door he whispered along her face. "Cion, Mo Ru’n."

"What does cion mean?" Kenya closed her hands over his, twining their fingers together.

"Once you figure it out, without asking anyone, I want to hear you say it to me." Releasing her hand, he caught her chin and held her face at an angle and kissed her deep from over her shoulder. Soft low moans eased from her mouth into his. He never lost his hunger for her taste. It only grew after each kiss. She'd become an addiction. His right hand dropped from her chin and he ran his hand over her shoulder. "Get something to eat. I'll be awhile."

"How can you kiss me like that and hold suspicion for me? I saw it in your eyes in the stables. You have to start trusting me, Jonathan, or that kiss will be our last."

Chapter Six

Kenya sat at the furthest table she could find from the entryway of the pub hoping to blend in, not likely. You’d notice one chocolate cake in a sea of vanilla cream pie. Crossing her legs, she propped an elbow on the leather barrel chair’s arm and rested her cheek on her fist. Staring at the old pictures on the wall, she let her attention move through the room before it landed on a magazine highlighting the Inn. Picking it up, she flipped through noticing the articles centered on getting the Irish and the Nigerian people to interact more. Fiona's name stuck out on the forth page. She was a frequent visitor to Nigeria, helping to set-up tours to Ireland during the harvest season. She helped in getting the two countries to learn the others agriculture more. Graham's in Nigeria, Fiona's visiting Nigeria. This is starting to smell. This wasn't just family anymore. Kenya couldn't get involved in something this deep. She’d help Jonathan with the account then get back to the States. No Born Identity for her.

She had to leave. Her world consisted of less culture and more diversity.

People spoke Gaelic around the tavern-style pub, some excited, and some murmurs but all glanced at her every so often. Easing her purse open, she dug out her cell; certain she would see empty bars. Three green lights and twelve messages brought a smile to her face.

Digging through her purse, she pulled out an envelope and wrote down the messages. After a series of “be careful honey” from her mother and aunt, Julia's voice sang through the line.

“Hey girl, I know you and sixteen dozen are in Ireland. That's my new name for him and I'm sticking with it. Anyway, I’m so glad you went. He may just be the perfect guy for you. I had to tell you, my boss is sending over Global Learning as a client next week. The man said you were referred by another client that you handled last week. You know I sung your praises. You are on fire, Kenya. Have a great time and be careful. Love you sweetie, bye.”

Global Learning. She'd turned down Brian's bribe so why did Global Learning still want to be her client? She didn’t have the track record for an account that big yet. Grateful the Inn had Wi-Fi she searched the Internet. The company, stationed in Chicago held international status around the world and a reputation for excellence in the education realm like America, Germany, Japan, Brazil, Korea, Nigeria, and Ireland. Her head snapped up as Ireland glowed on the screen and she peered around the pub, certain she would see someone watching. No one paid her any attention. 

Had Jonathan suggested this company to look her up when they were in the States? Was he sending business her way as a way of supporting his woman before they’d left? He supported her promotion more than anyone had, so it wasn’t a stretch to see him doing this. Well, Julia hit it dead on, Global Learning…major client. Tonight she’d make herself familiar with the company. Nigeria. Could it be possible, Randall directed this client? Tucking her iPad into her purse Kenya looked up to see a young man approaching her table.

“Ms. Claiborne,” he greeted, baroque thick and young. He set a plate of deliciousness in front of her. “Potato skins, sausages, vegetables, and the bartender says you might prefer a mineral. Hadna care if ye could handle a pint. We have wine if ye dinna care for mineral. ”

She sniffed the clear drink, pleased it was a lemon soda. “The soda’s or mineral as you called it is fine,” she said, pulling a napkin down over her lap. “Thank you. The food smells amazing, but I didn’t order anything. What’s your name?”

“Carl,” he said, setting down a small stack of napkins and a straw. “Mr. Seamus Blakemore, said to bring these over because ye might like a little American Fare.”

Of course. She grinned. Seamus would feed her the same as any father would feed a woman who he thought to be his future daughter-in-law. “Where is he now, Carl?”

“Aye,” he groaned pivoting around, scanning the pub. “I doona know. He left the moment he placed ye order, Ms. Claiborne.”

She popped a potato skin. The buttery flavor screamed through her mouth and Kenya could have moaned. Remembering her manners, she said, “Carl, call me Kenya.” Extending her hand, she shook the man’s strong hand. “Thank him if you see him, will you?”

He nodded. “If there’s anything I can get you just wave one of those napkins, I’ll see you over the crowd.”

Never cared for eating alone, she pushed out the chair beside her. “Would you care to join me, Carl? You’re more than welcome.”

He shoved the little notepad into the strings of his apron and gave her a kind smile. “Tending bar, but if any of the guests bother you I’m a dart’s throw away.” He offered, leaving her to her meal.

Kenya dug into her potato after Carl walked away and reclined as the delicious taste coated her throat behind the first swallow. Closing her eyes, having forgotten her last meal was on the plane, she let the butter take her away. They'd made love twice, then walked around the estate. Of course, she’d be starving. Opening her eyes, she caught a pair of long legs planted before her at the table. Wiping her mouth with the napkin, she raised her head to see Fiona.

“Nay waiting for an invitation, this is me home,” Fiona warned and sat across from Kenya, setting her dark beer on the table. Kenya eyed the strong dark beer and it was the same as Jonathan drank before they went to the vault. She’d tasted the intense flavor on his lips when they’d had sex on the counter.

“Fiona, I’m not much for press-on smiles, so what do you want?” Angling her body forward, Kenya took a sip of her drink and waited.

“Good because this is my family you’re messing with. My cousin needs an Irish woman to continue the Blakemore line. No offense to you being black, I’m just looking out for what’s in the best interest of the family.”

“Where do you fall into all of this, Fiona?” Waving her hand around, Kenya indicated the bar and the castle. “Because once you marry don’t you become that man’s, whoever he is family?”

“Keep your hands off my family,” Fiona snarled.

Kenya held her tongue. She’d be gone in a day so this gold digger wasn’t worth showing her tail.

“How much will it take to get rid of you?”

“You’ve been misled, thinking I want Jonathan’s home, and two, can be bought.” 

Fiona leaned forward and the wooden table creaked under the pressure. “Kenya, I’ll do whatever I have to, to take care of this family. Seeing as my cousin can’t keep his pants up long enough to see what’s going on with the estate.” Her thick accent climbed over Kenya while she finished her pork chop.

Forking the last piece of the juicy meat into her mouth, she followed it with a healthy drink of her soda. “Fiona, get a hobby. I don’t have the time or the care to watch you melt down. Stick to writing your little articles for the magazine.”

“You bitch,” Fiona barked slamming down her beer. Kenya jerked back as beer sloshed over the edge of the mug. 

Around the pub, people turned in their chairs with mouths open. A few stood. She wouldn’t allow this woman to make her show her ass. She wasn't gonna go hood on a room filled with strangers in a foreign country. “Fiona, we all have our bitchy days and it appears this one belongs to you. I've been nothing but cordial to you since we met, out of respect for Jonathan. But you come at me one more time and I'll bust you in your face.” Fiona drew back in her seat, eyes burning. "You seem to think you can speak to me anyway you please. I don’t know where you got that from, but it's in your best interest to stop thinking that way."

Fiona's tight lips paled out around the edges. Kenya could see her point hit home. “He’ll never marry you, just use you to get an heir, the way his father did with his mother. Only Jonathan won’t let you take a child away from this home.”

Kenya dabbed the napkin to her mouth before dropping it on her plate and pushed away from the table. She snatched up Jonathan’s jacket she’d draped around the back of the chair earlier folding it over her arm. Rifling through her purse, Kenya dug out two pennies and nodded to Fiona before slapping them beside her beer on the table. "Thanks for your two cents, now here's mine. Stay out of my way." Heels clicking across the stone tile floor, Kenya skirted around the tables to the entrance of the Pub’s lounge. Guests were coming and going, one woman gave her a dazzling smile that she returned with a dip of her head. Others only hesitated before giving her a weak smile, which she took as the universal stranger face, little eye contact before moving past one another. There was nothing offensive behind the gesture. She made her way down the back hall, her heels clacking over the stone floor, the sound echoed off the walls. 

Up in their suite she showered, washed her hair, and dried off. Noticing the chill in the room she tied her robe then moved to the stone fireplace and hoped they converted these old things to gas. Hidden behind a picture on the mantle was a small black remote with the room number label stuck to the back.

Grabbing her purse on the console table, she fished out her iPad, and grabbed the note pad off the desk along with a pen. If she got a program written out for Jonathan’s farmers, she could be on a plane back to the States tomorrow.

Fire crackled its fake flames, threw off considerable heat, warming the space. Stepping out of her house shoes, she padded to the window and eased down onto the cushy upholstered seat on her knees to peer out over the lake. Something moving out in the field caught her attention. Jumping from the cushion, she bolted across the room, flipped the light switch, and plunged the room into shadows. Crawling up on the upholstered window seat, squinting, Kenya slid the iPad and paper over, barely able to make out the outline of the couple. Kenya focused her stare again and heat moved up her neck.

All she could make out was the woman’s hands on the tree and her head going back and forth before dropping in exhaustion. “What in the…get a room people.” Shaking her head, Kenya covered her mouth. Did all Irish men have sex the same?

Another form moved in close behind her and, Kenya bit her lip eyes wide. The man went for an Olympic gold medal the way his hips were pounding into that woman. For a split second, she wondered if that woman was forced. Then they changed positions. 

Squinting, Kenya slowly cranked the windowpane out, edging her hip close to the edge of the window to see the man’s face under the setting sun. Remembering they were on the second floor, she clutched the window frame to keep from falling out into the river below. A curse range through the air then she caught a glimpse of the hard jaw line. She jerked her head, angling her stare away, but the pull to watch tore at her until she found herself eyeing a familiar face. Jonathan’s father was wearing some woman out against that tree. Why would he have her out in the woods? Didn’t he have a suite in the castle? She couldn’t tear her attention away from the bizarre display. Like watching a tornado, she knew she should get out of the window, but the sight paralyzed her ability to move. 

Kenya about came out of her skin feeling something behind her and spun around. Judge panting beside her feet nearly gave her heart palpitations.

“You need a bell, boy.”

She crossed to the sofa and began setting up a mock account to let Jonathan fill in the names of the farmers and the deposit amount. She made a three-column chart on the note pad and scribbled in some fictitious names. Creating a personal account for each person that fed into the mother account wouldn’t raise any suspicion from Graham if he takes the bait opening his account. This allowed control of individual deposits and if someone wanted to deposit the years’ worth of rent and have it automatically withdrawn to the mother account.