You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (24 page)

“Nigeria…why?”

“Does he know about Kenya?”

He wrenched the phone from his coat rapidly dialing Kenya. Seamus’s words about what Kenya would bring to their family, being a black woman blackened his mind. She will bring in the African American dollar. He had to get back home to his woman. She could be in danger if Graham planned to sabotage the family.

“Kenya’s not Nigerian.”

“He could spin a negative light on your relationship with her. All the work we’ve put on getting the African tourist dollar, Kenya will seem like a ploy. We could be blackballed.”

Jaime pulled out his cell started making calls. Jonathan got Kenya’s voicemail. He flipped over his wrist. Lunchtime in the States. Tossing the cell on the bed, he dropped down slipped on his shoes and called his pilot. Phone pressed between his shoulder and ear he waited. Hearing the man’s voice, he gave a quick list of instructions before ending the call.

Phone back in his coat pocket, he removed the remaining bullets from the gun on the dresser. Wiping the gun down, he unsnapped the clasp on the leather box. Tucking the gun into the leather bed he closed the lid. Jonathan slid the gun in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

“This smells of Brian. If he can keep a negative light on me, the shareholders will vote to give him controlling shares.”

Jaime removed the gun from his back and holstered it under his arm.

“Be careful cousin. I’ll get to the office and get things cleaned up here, but the minute ye verify your woman’s safety, yer need to get back down here. Doona want our family on Brian’s greedy grip.” His baroque slid out broken as if his mind moved faster than his mouth.

“It’s started, cousin, the day I’ve dreaded my entire life. Taking down my father.” Jonathan jumped on his private plane for the states. Time to find out what sort of woman he had in Ms. Claiborne.

In her kitchen, Kenya opened the refrigerator, pulled out some eggs, setting them on the counter. She moved to the cabinet and pulled out the canister of flour to make a batch of cookies as she waited for Jonathan to arrive. His flight landed a few hours ago from Ireland.

This had been an amazing week at work with the new client. The foreign accounts were asking for her by name. It became imperative she and Jonathan broke it off. If any of Brian’s words were true she couldn’t be a game piece. The more important aspect of the blackmailing centered on Jonathan’s life being in jeopardy if they stayed together. Not an option.

She turned on some jazz. Music would at least relax him if not her. How do you even broach a subject like this?
Hi, honey, how was your day? Oh by the way your dad wants to kill you.
Would he even believe her? Was that the type of family he came from and threats were the norm? It didn’t matter regardless of what happened…she had to leave Jonathan Blakemore. She wasn't trapping him into marriage by getting pregnant nor talk him into keeping all the land under Blakemore and steal his mother’s property.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Kenya froze hearing the knock on the door. Jonathan’s handsome face filled the peephole from the other side. The pulse in her neck threatened to strangle her if it thudded any harder. Flexing her fingers, she turned the knob opening the door.

“Jonathan, hi,” she hadn’t realized how much he resembled his father yet there was something more…human or humane, in Jonathan’s eyes and the set of his chin.

Jonathan slid his arm around her waist cradling her against his hard chest. “Hey, I missed you, Pretty Lady,” his Gaelic thick and warm on her neck. Kenya gave in when his mouth closed over hers and accepted the kiss, possibly their last. Her heart said otherwise. Jonathan’s hands cupped her beneath her jeans. Snug to his groin she felt how much he’d missed her. When he lifted away, his eyes sparkled with arousal. “You feel good.”

“I'm glad you're here, we need to talk,” she said, watching him shrug his coat off as she grabbed a hanger from the closet behind the door. After he hung the coat and scarf, he moved in behind her, wrapping his arms around to settle over her stomach.

“You smell nice, Mo Ru’n,” he spoke in Gaelic, a warm caress down her neck. This had to be quick or she'd chicken out. Hurting him ate a hole in her heart, a big funky gaping hole.

She led him into the living room trying to think of something quick and one person popped into her mind, Fiona. She watched him ease into the chair across from her.

“It's snowing pretty heavy today. You want to go somewhere warm for the weekend?” he offered and she pictured them laying on the beach somewhere and had to rouse herself to keep from jumping up to pack a bag. No this was for his safety.

“No, that sounds amazing, but I think you and I have to face reality on something.”

Jonathan set his phone on the table and reclined in the chair. “I have a private plane, Kenya. We can be out of the country in a matter of hours.”

Perched on the arm of the sofa, gliding her foot back and forth over the floor she gathered her composure enough to go through with this. “That's not what I'm referring to, Jonathan. I meant, what Fiona said back on the mountains and seeing the picture of your family. You need to concentrate on building a relationship with someone who wants that lifestyle.”

His nostrils flared the instant the words had left her mouth.

“Where’s this coming from?” he questioned, wringing his hands. “Who have you spoken to, Kenya?”

“No one. While you were gone, I just—Jonathan, we’re not right together.”

Anger poured from his body. Kenya fought not to chew her lip.

“So you used me to get the volunteer hours for the promotion?” he rasped sitting forward body tense. “My services are no longer needed, Kenya?”

His defensive tone smothered her. “You knew from the start why I went on the trip, why I avoided getting involved, Jonathan, but you kept pushing for more, for a relationship and I’m not ready to be that person for you.” he let her fear for his life carry the conversation and not her heart. It lay crushed in her chest gasping for air under the lies she fed him. “The fact we had a few good weeks together afterward is just that, two adults enjoying the other's company.”

Kenya pushed off the sofa, bumped around the chair past Jonathan, surprised his hand hadn't shot out and grabbed her around the waist. Padding into the kitchen tears pushed at her lashes. Hate for Jonathan's father and his greed filled her heart. A vulture circling its offspring. In the kitchen, she kept her eye on him from over the counter. His fingers steepled under his chin eyes focused on her wiping at a counter she cleaned minutes before he’d arrived. The tips of his ears flushed red.

“This was a game to you, Kenya?” The weighted pain of his voice crashed to the floor and she felt it bounce up her leg when he spoke.

“No...”

“Then it's Randall,” he snapped, angling his body around to face her at the counter. 

Her fingers lost strength on the sponge and it bounced off the counter and landed on the kitchen floor. 

“Randall? No, Jonathan we're not right for each other. We have a great time together when it's us, but you have responsibilities that'll come between us in the end.” She bent down picked up the sponge and took a deep breath. That hurt like hell. Holding on to the counter she got to her feet.

“So I doona know what or who I want now, Kenya?” he said, getting to his feet. Kenya's heartbeat jacked up hearing his Gaelic. He was pissed in a matter of seconds. He stormed across the short distance to her kitchen, rounded the island counter to brace his body between the fridge and her counter, blocking her if she tried to leave. “What did Fiona say to ye…or has someone else gotten to you?”

Kenya squeezed the green sponge under the flowing hot water. Wiping around the faucets and backsplash, she couldn't look at him. Letting him go would save his life making that the only thing that mattered. There was no other way to protect him than to end their relationship. He would never believe what his father said to her. After all, they'd only known one another for a month.

“Who came to you when I left the country?” His skin flushed around his ears. The veins in his neck raised under the strain of his anger.

Her eyes widened. Did he know? She couldn’t tell him about Brian. He’d confront the man and if he denied it how did she ask if he used her because she's black? “You’re the heir to an Irish castle estate, Jonathan,” she said picking at the back splash with the sponge, “We live in two different worlds, different people. I belong here with my family, not in your world.” Heavy chest pressed her against the counter's edge, his mouth on her neck. Kenya closed her eyes his hands sliding down her arms threading their fingers together squeezing them under his palm. His face buried in her neck.

“This is about Fiona. Nobody tells me who I have in my life and I want you in my life, Kenya. Tell me you know this baby! Tell me you want me as much as I want you!”

“You can't walk away from your legacy to date me. It'll only come between you and your family...your responsibilities…” The breath clogged in her throat as she tried ushering him from her life. She choked on the lie.

Jonathan ground his body tighter to hers. “Aye, turn around...tell me to leave, Kenya. I can smell a lie rolling off your body, but I've told ye before if yer doona want me then just tell me.” His hands moved over her stomach, caressing the underside of one breast, stroking with his thumb. “It’s not physical. Nobody pleases you the way I do. And it’s not money…”

He squeezed her ribs. The moment held still. His breath warm on her ear.

“I want you, Kenya. Have I over pressured ye about going to Ireland?”

Lord, he rubbed her stomach down her hips. Fingers brushed along her sex.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the words out. “I'll never forget you, Jonathan.” She found herself being spun around, hips bumping along the counter. Her elbow bumped a glass tumbler crashing it to the bottom of the sink. Jonathan wrapped his arms tight around her body nudging her thighs apart holding them tight till his heartbeat rang in her ears. 

“Tell me you doona want me, Kenya.”

She had to do this. She said reluctantly voice thick, “Goodbye, Jonathan Blakemore.”

Dropping her hands, he braced his to the counter pinning their bodies together.

“Tell me yer doona want me any longer, Kenya, TELL ME!” He nearly screamed along her throat. Dangerously quiet, the vibration shot to her breast tightening the buds pushing at his chest.

“Let me do this for us. Stop fighting me—please!” her anguished plea rang through the space.

He glared at her. “For us!” Jonathan seethed, and grasped a handful of her shirt’s hem, bunching the material. His knuckles smoothed over her bare skin. Kenya tipped her glance down over his hands. His fingers traced the edge of her jeans waistband and pressed one digit behind the material against her stomach. Kenya let her eyelids close, already missing his touch even as his finger slipped in deeper caressing the sensitive skin above her clit. Her body trembled as the heat slid up and out of her pants when Jonathan's hand moved up to cup her cheek. The scent of her skin coated his fingers on her face.   

“This isn't just Fiona, its Morgan. You're gonna let her jealousy come between what we have, Kenya?”

“Please don't hate me, Jonathan.” Kenya couldn't stop the tears from falling down her face, or her heart from breaking knowing she'd never see him again. She wanted this man, wanted to run away with him to some remote island where no one could threaten them. She raised her hand to wipe away the tears, and Jonathan grabbed her wrist bringing it to his mouth. Kenya watched as he dropped kiss after kiss across the palm of her hand.

“I could never hate you, Kenya,” he said smoothing a hand over her face; he held her hand to his chest. “I'm upset. No, I'm confused on the verge of being pissed, but don't hate you.” Kenya's tensed as Jonathan kissed the tears staining her face. “These tell me you're lying to me and you've never lied to me, Kenya.”

She sniffed and held her head back to gain her composure. She had to let him go.

Kenya laid her hand against his cheek, took in his beautiful eyes one last time, then said, “Your family responsibilities can't be dismissed because we like each other.”

“Like--like,” he barked backing away from her to pace like a caged lion. “You think I like you, Kenya? Doona lie to me or yer self, woman. I love you and ye love me.” Jonathan baroque filled her ears and her heart. He loved her. Why did he have to tell her that?
Leave before I give in and mount your body until your baby sits in my womb and never let you go.
She trailed his movements afraid to say anymore it would only prolong the agony of watching him leave.   

“I'll leave,” he said a hand in one pocket, moving toward the front door. He turned and flashed her with a look filled with pain and anger. “If there's another man in your life...tell him to start running, and never stop running. Nobody takes from me and you're mine, Kenya Claiborne.”

Jonathan slammed the front door knocking the coat rack from the wall. It hit the floor and broke in half. It hadn't been the only thing to break. Kenya spun around gripped the sink seconds before her stomach lurched and she threw up.