Wait for Me (5 page)

“He locked me in his elevator,” she teased.

Jonathan cut a glance to his cousin and squeezed Kenya’s knees, flexing his fingers over the tender skin. “She helped with one of my ski trip’s with the kids.”

“Still playing Pied Piper, cousin?”

“It’s a vice,” Jonathan said. Kenya sensed closeness between the two men, she envied. 

As the dirt road morphed into a paved winding road closing in on spiked roofs of a castle, Kenya leaned over Jonathan’s lap and gloried in the magnificent sight of Jonathan’s family home.

“Is that the estate?” she questioned and sucked in a breath, feeling Jonathan’s hand slip over her behind. Remembering Jamie sat beside her; Kenya planted her behind on the seat catching Jonathan’s hand beneath her. 

“You like it, baby?”

Jonathan asked. Kenya’s breath lodged in her throat, loving the sound of his voice and the term of endearment. “It’s beautiful and your hydrangeas are huge. I think they're the most beautiful flowers in the world.” Jonathan’s smile slipped from his handsome face. “Outside of white roses, of course,” she clarified. She nudged his thigh and caught a smile creasing the skin around his eyes.

“You sent Kenya white roses, cousin?”

Kenya removed the hand she placed absently over Jonathan’s heart. Was that his calling card, she wondered slightly wounded. “You send white roses a lot?” Kenya asked.

Jamie tapped her shoulder. She turned into him and followed his hand, pointing out past the graveled parking lot in front of the exquisite castle. “Aye, Kenya, did they look like those?”

“Exactly,” Kenya said, eying Jonathan.

“Those are our grandmother’s flowers. Nice to see such a beautiful woman received those prized petals.”

Not caring that they weren’t alone, Kenya held Jonathan’s chin and brushed a sweet kiss over his mouth. Yeah there was no such thing as just friends for them as his tongue moistened her bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth. Gripping her hip, he deepened the soft kiss.

“She’s very worth the effort.” Jonathan kissed her face in front of her ear, his five o’clock shadow rasped along her cheek. Something tells her sixteen dozen roses had been the tip of the iceberg of his romance skills. Those blue eyes instructed her to hold on with both hands and that’s exactly what she planned on doing. This was new and she’d never had a romantic relationship so solidly based on a friendship before—casual yet formal. 

Stepping out as a man came around to open the door closest to the flowers, Jamie said, “Well, welcome to Blakemore Estates, Kenya.” She accepted Jonathan’s hands lifting her from the leather cradle of the limousine’s seat. A low overcast sky held a chilly, almost cold air. A flush of the river peaked through the purple flowers. She stroked a finger over the dry, papery petals as she moved up the walkway behind Jonathan.

Motioning toward the gorgeous flowers, Kenya smiled. "They dry on the stem? I’d assumed Hydrangeas were treated or something," she admitted, a bit embarrassed she didn’t know. Her domestic side needed work. Kenya shrugged. Finance was her domestic side along with baking cookies. Jonathan knew enough about flowers for the both of them. At least the white roses he’d sent her…all sixteen dozen of those luscious beauties. 

"Our gardener fills the guestrooms and the pub daily,” Jonathan informed her with a high measure of pride in his words, baroque thick and heavy. His scent crowding her, him so close up behind her, he continued, “Gran leaves them to dry like that," Jonathan told her.

She could imagine him running around as a little boy. She caught the sounds coming off the water, she asked, "Is that coming down from the mountains, the river, or lake?” Clutching the lapels of her wool coat under her chin, Kenya sighed in awe of the beautiful surroundings.

“We’ll visit Twelve Bens before we leave. I'll show you the fish and sheep farms,” he suggested linking his arm through her. “Dinner will be served soon and there’s a few people I want you to meet before we go up to our room.”

Pleasantly surprised by the cozy interior of the beautiful castle entry, Kenya let her eyes roam around the lobby. She expected a cold, velvet-clad dungeon. Kenya ran her hand across the worn leather banquette along the wall beside the entry. Years of wear polished the back of the tough leather. A row of porcelain capped inset hooks, overflowed crowded with patron’s coats and jackets. She could smell well-seasoned meat decorating the space, and Kenya felt her stomach gurgle.

Jonathan’s fingers caressed her hip through her wool trench. “No telling me you’re not hungry when I order us some breakfast.” His brows rose and she blushed at his gallant nature.

Weathered frames dotted the walls with aging pictures of little children. Stepping forward tracing a finger over one particularly handsome young man, Kenya grinned. Jonathan with a mop of red hair brushed over his eyes.

Gripping hands encircling her waist she angled back. “You?”

“I think I was seven.” Pointing past her face, Jonathan indicated the little boy beside him in the photo. “Jamie and Fiona are here to my left. We went sailing on the Atlantic that day.”

Jamie stepped up and propped a shoulder against the wall. Crossing his ankles, he set his attention on her hands over Jonathan’s. “Take Kenya out on the boat before she goes back,” he suggested.

“If we have time. Kenya’s only here for the weekend,” Jonathan informed him.

Kenya caught the frown creasing Jamie’s forehead. Seems she had a friend in Jonathan’s cousin.

“Aye, Jonathan, me boy, tell me this is Kenya?” Seamus Blakemore clasped his grandson before tucking Kenya within his deceptively, strong embrace. “Welcome to Blakemore Castle, Ms. Claiborne.”

Kenya reeled back cautious after the lurid greeting she’d received from Brian Blakemore and held her body away from this man. She didn’t’t want to know anything personal on him. However, Seamus eased her tension, hugging her in that grandfather teddy bear way.

“Mr. Blakemore,” she started. Jonathan said nothing watching his grandfather check her over. She didn’t’t care for that and could see the family measuring stick being brought out to adjust her if she fell short of perfection. “Glad to meet you.”

Then a man with Jamie’s handsome features approached from behind the mahogany bar. The same wood as Jonathan’s bed and intricately carved as well.

"Calder Blakemore, Jamie's father. Welcome to the family estate, Kenya. I hear you've met my Fiona?"

Kenya nodded as he helped her from her coat, handing it Jamie. He hung it on one of the pegs beside the door.

"Yes, yes Fiona and I got acquainted back in the States. Not my biggest fan."

"Hear you are not hers, young lady,” he confessed and his baroque was thicker than Jonathan's and Seamus's.

"I never had the opportunity. When we met in the mountains, she presented herself as Jonathan’s woman to scare me off. Not a lot to misread about her feelings for me after that little horror show."

"Well if me nephew brought ye all this way there's something special about ye and not just your pretty face."

"I appreciate the welcome," she said moments before large hands grasped her wrist. 

“Turn around, sweetheart,” Seamus said.

She shot a glance between all four men standing around her.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

Seamus’s big hand closed over her hand, held it up in the air and spun her in a circle. When he released her, she caught the weight of Jonathan’s scrutinizing stare. His hooded eyes labeled the jut of her hip to the shrug of her shoulder. Suspicion ruled everything about him, judging her reactions to his family. 

“Did I pass? Do I have birthing hips, Mr. Blakemore?” She frowned and didn’t dare fix her stare on Jonathan.

“You’re not shy, and perceptive,” Seamus replied. “Good. I don’t bite my tongue and I say what’s on my mind.” He took a second longer look, letting his eyes drift from her four inch heels to her shiny, brown hair. “A woman built to make me a grandfather.”

Kenya smoothed a hand down her lap, refusing to look at Jonathan. They were sizing her up for maternity wear.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When I start to look for a husband.
She bit her lip. She came to help Jonathan and everyone else started planning a wedding. Things moved entirely too fast for her. 

“Grandfather, we had a long flight,” Jonathan started. “We’ll be down for dinner in an hour. Is Fiona around?” he asked and Kenya hated that hearing the woman’s name gave her acid reflux.

“She’s in the office,” Seamus said. “Kenya, Jonathan says you work in finance.”

“Yes, I do,” she said and watched him point out over the low sofa in front of the fireplace of the reception lobby they stood in.

“There’s Internet connection down here at the bar and back in the office. You’re welcome to use it.”

Kenya stepped away from Jonathan to touch Seamus’s cheek. “Thank you. I appreciate you thinking of me.” A swath of red and silver stubble covered his jaw. Not raggedy stubble, but model magazine five o’clock shadow, trim and neat.

Seamus’s large hands clasped hers, holding them over his thick chest. “You modern women don’t stay where there’s no Internet.” He kissed her forehead. “And ye have birthing hips. I’m overdue for a great-grandchild.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Hell the estate is overdue for its first great-grandchild.”

Kenya blushed. 

“Jonathan’s here, that's enough reason for me to stay.”

Brian clapped Jonathan on the shoulders. “Fire, son…she’s pure fire.”

Resting a hand on the gentle swell of Kenya's hip he tucked her along his chest and away from Brian. "We'll join everyone for dinner, then I'll show Kenya around the grounds before it gets dark."

"Introduce her to Red or Max," Brian suggested, smiling at Kenya.

"Who are they, friends?"

"You can say that. Red's my prize falcon and Max is my large Connemara work horse."

"Kenya," Brian said, waving off Jonathan's subtle description. "Connemara bred its own horses to plow the field’s years ago and Jonathan has one of the largest in the stable. He's a bit ornery, but he suits my son."

"Then they're a great match. Your son is easy on the eyes, but a whole lot of man to handle."

"You handle me well, Pretty Lady," he teased and it held a nice ring. She liked hearing him happy. 

Settling her purse strap on her shoulder after it slipped down her arm, she allowed Jonathan to lead her up the back stairs to the second floor. His arms encircled her waist. His hard length bumping along her hip told her making it down to dinner might be a problem. 

Jonathan led Kenya around the pub lobby entrance, down the back hall to the family’s wing of the castle up the back stairs.

~~~~

“Jonathan, grandfather said you were here,” Fiona said approaching from the office door off to the right of the hallway. He didn’t appreciate the way she eyed Kenya, although he expected her salty reception for his woman, it didn’t’t make it any better.

“Fiona, you remember, Kenya Claiborne.”

“Kenya, I thought you didn’t’t work for my cousin? Well no matter,” she said, waving her hand, “we can find you a room. I think there’s one available on the first floor.”

“Fiona, how are you this evening?” Jonathan was impressed Kenya stayed cordial under his cousin’s rude behavior.

“Fiona, Kenya is my guest and she’s staying with me.” 

“Cousin,” she said. “I need to speak with you about some family business.” Her cold tone focused on Kenya. Kenya deserved better treatment.

“We covered everything in the States, Fiona, but if something needs my attention, I’ll look into things tomorrow. Tonight I’ll show Kenya around the castle then the estate. We’ll see you at dinner.”

“Jonathan, family business—”

He grasped her shoulders with a light shake. “Never direct me, Fiona. I said tomorrow.”

Kenya felt the heat of Fiona’s frustration seconds before she spoke.

“Kenya, since you seem to have a hold on my cousin, why don’t you convince him to attend to his family. We’re not accustomed to…visitors on this end of the estate.”

“Jonathan’s a grown man, Fiona. It’s not my place to convince him of anything.”

“Aye, me cousin has you
trained
already.”

Jonathan gripped Fiona’s forearm, setting a scathing stare not liking her tone with Kenya and ushered her away from his woman. Although, judging from the fire in his woman’s eyes, Fiona might have met her match.

“I’m not the one dog-collared to this estate, Fiona. I’m Jonathan’s guest,” Kenya tossed back then smoothed her thick hair over her shoulders. Watching his woman stand up to Fiona tightened his groin. Kenya held a suppressed fire she never showed toward her sister, but wore proudly with others. Did Morgan hold something over Kenya she doesn’t want coming out? He’d worry about that later, Fiona was his problem right now. 

His cousin had gone too far. He’d deal with her in private. Kenya didn’t need to see this side of him where he took on the Laird of the castle and disciplined accordingly. He glanced down where Kenya’s fingers caressed his waist.

“Unless you need me, I’m gonna get a shower. Is the room up those stairs?”

“Yes, last door on the left.” Tipping her face with his finger, he kissed her deeper than necessary, sending a message to Fiona. Kenya was staying. Smiling against her lips, he whispered over her face. “Mo Ru’n’, wait for me, I’ll join you.” His second kiss told her what was to come. “I’ll be up in a minute.” He watched Kenya pad up the stairs, shoulders tight. He’d have to fix that— thanks to Fiona. Kenya felt unwelcome in his home.

As she turned the corner, Jonathan grasped Fiona’s arm and shoved her into the hallway behind the stairs.

“You’re teaching her Gaelic now. Calling her dear says you’re more than friends, Jonathan.”

“If you ever speak to her like that again you’ll find yourself on my darker side. Kenya is a guest whether you like her or not.”

“Jonathan, she’s…not Irish.” She fisted her hair, dragging the thick, black tresses over her shoulders. “This family needs an Irish woman, not a black woman.”

“Get over her being black.”

She hissed out a breath. “I don’t care that she’s black, Jonathan, I care that she’s not Irish. This family has taken so much abuse over the years it’s time we restored everything about our heritage, the mountains, the falcons, and the people. We need to make certain the next generation holds Blakemore blood.”