Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (10 page)

Greer felt herself relax against Jason. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been. The drawback of working in an establishment selling alcohol was the risk of serving someone with a low tolerance. Pepper usually monitored the number of drinks he served to any particular person at the bar but it was different with table service.

Jason dropped his arm. “Are you all right?”

She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m good. How about you?”

“I’m okay.” He would’ve been better if the scene hadn’t occurred. What, he mused, was there about Greer that brought out the worst in some men? He’d watched her while he was on stage and, at no time, had he observed her flirting or being overly friendly with any of the male patrons. Although he’d never been involved in a bar fight, Jason knew he wouldn’t back down if confronted.

Greer patted his shoulder. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I’ll see you later.”

The rest of the night went smoothly for Greer. She got word to Doug that she would sing with the band, but no more than two songs each night, and he would have to let her know when and where they would rehearse. The members of the band had packed up their instruments and sound equipment, Danny was stacking chairs in a corner, when Jason walked over to where she and Bobby sat.

“May I sit down?” he asked.

Bobby waved a hand. “Of course.”

Greer noticed he’d slipped on a black leather jacket over his cotton sweater. Light from the overhead slanted across his face, and she caught her breath. He’d become a bust of black and gold. His short raven hair shimmered like a sleek fur pelt. Initially she had thought the flecks of gold in his large brown eyes were similar to tortoiseshell, but upon closer inspection, they were more similar to polished amber.

Placing his hands on the table, Jason gave Bobby a long penetrating stare. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I never would do anything to put Greer’s reputation at risk.”

Bobby covered one of Jason’s long slender hands with his much larger one. “Come on, son. You did nothing wrong. If you’d thumped his ass, I would’ve extended you complimentary food and drinks for a year.”

Jason looked directly at Greer. “I’m not one for violence, but I won’t walk away if I feel threatened.”

Bobby removed his hand, picking up the snifter filled with Jack Daniels. “I like you, Cole. There’s something about you that reminds me of myself back in the day. I wouldn’t let anyone look at my woman wrong or I’d—”

“I’m not Jason’s woman, Uncle Bobby,” Greer said in protest.

Bobby took a sip of his drink, then blew out a breath. “Either Mr. Daniels is getting stronger or I’m getting too old to drink the hard stuff.” He gestured to Jason. “Can Pepper get you something from the bar before he closes down completely?”

“No thanks. I have to drive home.”

“Good for you. Now I know I can trust you with Greer. You have my permission to ask her out.”

Attractive slashes appeared in Jason’s lean cheeks when he smiled. “You’re a little late because I’ve already asked her out.”

“And what did she say, son?”

Jason’s smile grew wider. “She didn’t say no.”

“Bobby! Jason! Don’t y’all talk about me as if I’m not here.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jason winked at Greer. “You can join the conversation at any time you want.”

“Hey, Cole!” Doug shouted. “We’re going into Portland to visit a few clubs. You coming?”

Jason shook his head. “Nah. I’m going to hang out here for a while.”

“Next time maybe. And thanks, Greer, for agreeing to sing with us.”

She smiled. “No problem.”

It was no problem when Jason had just told Bobby their business. She didn’t have a curfew or need to report her whereabouts to her uncle, but she didn’t want to advertise that she had a date. Pushing back her chair, she stood up. “Tonight I think I’m going to have something stronger than coffee.”

Jason popped up. “What do you want? I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t know what I want until I get there. What are you doing?” She practically hissed at him when he followed her.

“Getting something from the bar.” She stopped and he bumped into her, his hands going to her shoulders. “Careful, darling. I wouldn’t want you to fall on that beautiful face.”

“I’m not your darling just because I agreed to go out with you.”

“You deserve to be a man’s darling.”

Turning slowly she faced him. There was an arrogant tilt to her chin. “What if I was your darling, Jason? What could I expect from you?”

Jason studied the delicate face with the wide-set eyes, stubborn little chin and nose that turned up slightly at the end. “You would never want for anything.”

“I’m not talking about material things.”

“If I were in love with you, then I would protect you at the risk of giving up my own life. And if you loved me enough to marry me, then I would spend the rest of my life making you as happy as I’m certain you’d make me. My family would become your family and your family mine. Our children would be heirs to a dynasty that spans generations. A dynasty that is ever expanding to even greater heights than what my grandfather could or would have ever dreamed. Does that answer your question,
darling?
”

Greer felt as if the very oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs. Self-confidence radiated off Jason in waves she couldn’t see but feel. Was it because he was
that
certain of his rightful place in the world? He’d been born into wealth, did not have to concern himself about what he wanted to do or be. When his father had relinquished control of his company, Jason had taken his place in what had been a smooth and uneventful transition.

“Yes it does,
dah-lin’.
”

Taking her hand, Jason led her to the bar where Pepper was busy stacking empty bottles in plastic crates. “You sound just like a Southern girl.”

“That’s because I am a Southern girl.”

“It looks as if I have to get to know you better.”

Pepper stopped what he was doing and approached them. “What can I get for you folks?”

Jason bowed low. “Ladies first.”

She studied the bottles. “I’ll have a martini.”

Pepper shared a look with Jason, their eyebrows lifting a fraction. “Don’t you mean a Cosmo?”

“No. I want a martini with Bombay Sapphire. Extra dry
and
extra dirty.”

“Damn-m-m,” the two men chorused, drawing out the word.

Greer called on all her self-control not to laugh. She’d never been much of a drinker, nursing a beer for an hour while her friends were drinking margaritas, Jack and Coke and doing shots. Once she had joined the male-dominated ATF, she had graduated from beer to gin.

Pepper ladled ice into a shaker. “What can I get for you, Jason?”

“Cîroc, straight up.”

Greer nudged him. “You go, playa.”

Jason winked at her. “I could say the same thing about you. Somehow I figured you for a fine wine woman.”

“The only time I drink wine is with dinner.”

He ducked his head, the gesture so endearing Greer wanted to hold him close. “I’ll be certain to remember that whenever we share dinner.”

Pepper shook the shaker with the ingredients for the martini. “You kids go and sit down with Bobby, and I’ll bring your drinks.”

Resting his hand at the small of Greer’s back, Jason escorted her to the table. “I’ll follow you when you leave to make certain you get home all right.”

“Who’s going to make certain you get home in one piece?” she teased.

“Come home with me and find out. And it’s not what you think, Greer,” Jason said quickly when she frowned at him.

“What am I thinking, Jason?”

“That I’m going to try and get you to sleep with me.” He shook his head. “It’s not about that. I thought, if you don’t have to go to work until the afternoon, then I could test your voice and go over possible songs for the mixed tape. I could also help you rehearse the songs for tomorrow’s playlist.”

“If I rehearse with you, will I still have to rehearse with the band?”

“No. I’ll let them know I went over everything with you.”

She stopped before they were within earshot of her uncle. Getting close to Jason was progressing faster than she’d planned. If Chase proved not to be a person of interest, then she would have to redirect her focus.

“Do I get to choose my own bedroom?”

Jason’s smile was dazzling. “But of course.”

“If that’s the case, then you’ve got yourself a houseguest.”

Chapter 9

Los Angeles

W
ebb Irvine walked into his bedroom, towel tucked around his waist and droplets of water glistening on his sable skin from an ice-cold shower. It was as if nothing was going well for him. He hated anything and everything to do with Slow Wyne Records. He didn’t like the employees, the artists signed to the label, and he loathed rap and hip-hop.

He still didn’t understand how Basil had put up with the antics of street thugs who really believed their own hype. Webb felt few, if any, of them had any talent. What they had were hard bodies covered with so much ink they could double for a collage. And then there were the women who followed them blindly, hoping for a piece of their stardom while attempting to lure them into bed where they would become their baby mama.

He hadn’t had a woman in twenty years, and it would be another twenty years plus twenty more after that before he’d want one. He didn’t trust himself around women; his hatred for the opposite sex ran so deep, he feared any contact with them would send him back to prison. Occasionally he dreamed he’d slashed the face of every woman he’d met or seen. And he didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him that he was internalizing what had happened to him as a teen. Spending his adolescence and early twenties locked up with other men had taught him to take care of his own sexual needs in private.

Webb knew his frustration had come from spending more time at Slow Wyne than at his own security firm. His interest in computers had begun while incarcerated. He’d learned to take them apart and reassemble them in record time. He was proud that he’d made good use of the thirteen years he’d spent behind bars. He had earned a high school diploma, and once paroled, he’d enrolled in college and graduated with a degree in computer science. Basil had given him the money he had needed to set up his own security firm, designing and selling state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.

Removing the towel, he dropped it over a valet stand. One of the three cells phones on the bedside table rang, garnering his attention. It was the phone Monk had given him. Taking two long strides, he picked it up.

“Irvine,” he said in greeting.

“Found him.”

Webb smiled. “Where?”

“Just verified he does have a place in Oregon. Still don’t know what city.”

“How long do you think that’s going to take?”

“Hopefully, not too long. And when I do find him, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Monk.”

There was no response on the other end, and Webb knew the man had hung up. The call had lasted exactly fifteen seconds. He set the phone down next to the other two. Once he gave Monk his final payment, he would begin the process of dismantling Slow Wyne. Then he and Basil would be even.

Mission Grove

Greer slipped into bed, sighing softly when the mattress enveloped her like a comforting embrace. She hadn’t taken more than two sips of the martini before setting it aside. Pepper had made it much too strong. When Greer had told Bobby she was leaving the pickup in the garage behind the restaurant because Jason was driving her home, Bobby had warned the younger man to drive carefully because he was carrying precious cargo.

Jason heeded Bobby’s warning, maintaining the twenty-mile-an-hour speed limit; they stopped at her house where she packed a bag. The drive to Bear Ridge Estates was even slower, given the lateness of the hour and the fog coming off the lake that made visibility nearly impossible. Instead of stopping at the gatehouse, Jason continued along a private road for residents with remote devices that activated the electronic gates.

Once inside, she reminded Jason—because it was her second visit to his home—that she was no longer a stranger and could find the bedroom without his assistance. Greer had chosen a suite decorated in the style she recognized as Colonial American, and as soon as she closed the door, she stripped off her clothes and headed for the bathroom. Turning on the faucets in the bathtub, she added several capfuls of foaming bath oil; she cleansed the makeup off her face, brushed her teeth and then slipped into the sunken bathtub while emitting an audible sigh. The Jacuzzi worked its magic. After a leisurely bath, it was with a great deal of reluctance that she climbed out, patted herself dry and liberally lathered her body with a scented body cream. Her eyelids were drooping when she pulled on a cotton nightgown and got into bed. She hadn’t quite dozed off when something startled her. Sitting up, she stared at the door.

“Jason?”

“Are you in bed?” he asked on the other side of the door.

“Yes.”

“May I come in?”

Reaching, Greer turned on the bedside lamp, while pulling the sheet and blanket up to her chest. “Come in, Jason.”

The door opened and he walked in with a mug of steaming liquid in each hand. He’d changed into a pair of blue pinstriped pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His biceps were firm, muscled. Jason had a swimmer’s physique. Broad shoulders, muscled upper arms, flat middle.

“I brought you something that’ll help you to sleep.”

Greer wanted to tell him she had been falling asleep already. Then she remembered he was a musician and two in the morning was much too early for him to retire for bed. Maybe, she thought, he should’ve joined Doug and the other bands members who’d gone to Portland.

“Thank you,” she said instead.

Jason handed her one of the mugs topped with whipped cream. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Smiling, she patted the bed with her free hand. “Please.” She was now wide awake.

Jason got into bed, lying on the comforter instead of under it. He kissed Greer’s cheek. “You smell wonderful.”

She kissed him on his cheek, as well. “So do you. What cologne are you wearing?”

Gripping the handle of his cup, he supported his back against the headboard. “It’s a special blend.”

“A blend made especially for you?”

Jason nodded. “There’s a shop in Palm Beach where a family of chemists have been blending perfumes and colognes for at least seventy-five years. My uncle turned me on to them. I don’t know how it’s done, but they’re able to match certain oils and notes with your body’s pheromones and the result is extraordinary. I’ve worn the same cologne and aftershave since I started shaving.”

“It must be nice to have a personal perfumer.”

“It has its advantages. Take a sip of your coffee—decaf—to see if you like it.”

Greer did, moaning softly. “It’s delicious.” She had drunk cappuccino many times, but this taste was slightly different—sweeter. “What did you put in it?”

“Take a guess.” She took another sip, and then attempted to lick the cream off her lips. Jason angled his head, pressed his mouth to hers and his tongue flicked over her parted lips. “You missed a spot.”

With wide eyes, Greer stared at the man sitting so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, while her heart beat a runaway rhythm against her ribs. Her lips burned as if someone had touched them with heated metal. She wondered if he was aware of the effect he had on women. Whenever she had circulated throughout Stella’s, she had overheard women telling one another as to what they wanted to do
to
Jason and
with
him. There weren’t too many things she’d seen or heard when undercover that could shock her, yet she had found herself blushing at their vulgarity.

“You didn’t bring napkins.”

Jason stared at Greer under lowered lids. He hadn’t planned to lick her lips, but he hadn’t been able to resist tasting her lush mouth. “I’ll go downstairs and get some now.”

Greer stopped him when she rested a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you get some tissues from the bathroom?”

“Hold my cup. I’ll be right back.”

A minute later he returned with handful of tissues. It looked as if he’d emptied the box.

Biting on her lower lip, she shook her head. “We don’t need that many, Jason. I’m going to have to teach you how to eat in bed.”

He got back into bed, dropping the tissues in her lap. “Which type of eating are you referring to? Because there’s one technique I believe I’ve perfected.”

Her jaw dropped when she realized what he was referring to. “I was talking about food.”

Throwing back his head, Jason roared with laughter.

His laugh was so infectious that Greer laughed in spite of herself.

He sobered, dimples winking at her. He pressed his shoulder to Greer’s bare one. He’d been forthcoming when he had told her that he wasn’t trying to get her to sleep with him, but that didn’t belie the fact she was in a bed under his roof, and he was reclining in
her
bed. Jason knew nothing was going to happen only because he didn’t want to do anything to derail their easygoing friendship.

“To answer your question as to how I made the cappuccino, actually it’s caffé mocha. It’s one-third espresso, one-third hot chocolate and one-third steamed milk, added to the cup in that order. Tonight I added mocha syrup, enough to coat the bottom of the cup before adding the espresso. I topped it with whipped cream and ground sweet cocoa.”

“Did you ever work as a barrister?”

“No. Regina me taught how to make caffé mocha.”

“Isn’t she the cousin who lives in Brazil?”

Jason gave her an incredulous look. “You remembered.”

Greer wanted to tell him that she’d been trained to remember whatever she heard or saw. Like when she observed Chase in the parking lot giving a package to the biker. She reminded herself to talk to Bobby about installing closed-circuit cameras in and around the restaurant property. No one had complained about their vehicles being vandalized or stolen, but if someone was dealing drugs or selling illegal guns out of Stella’s, then they would be caught on film.

“I remember because you’d mentioned she wanted you to come to Brazil for Thanksgiving.”

“Speaking of Thanksgiving, I took your suggestion and sent out a mass email inviting everyone to come here for the holiday.”

She smiled. “Did you get any responses?”

Jason nodded. “So far the New Mexico folks are coming.”

“They’re not that far away.”

“Word,” he drawled. “Tyler’s wife just gave birth to a baby girl last week, so by that time, she’ll be okay to travel.”

“Where do they live?”

“Mississippi.”

“That’s not too far, either,” Greer said. “How many are you expecting, and do you have enough room to put everyone up?”

“I’ll find out once I get a final head count. If not, then I’ll ask Chase if some of them can stay at his place.”

“How many bedrooms does he have?”

“Four. He usually goes to Hawaii to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with his parents.”

Jason mentioning Chase gave Greer the opening she needed to ask him about his elusive friend. “Does he work?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m asking you, Jason.”

“Chase and I have remained friends because I don’t get into his business. If he doesn’t disclose, then I don’t ask. The only thing I’m going to tell you is that he has a weakness for beautiful women. I’m certain if you ask him, he just might tell you.”

Greer successfully schooled her disappointment behind an expression of indifference. “I told you before, he’s not my type.”

“I thought most women liked the strong, silent type.”

“I’m not most women.”

Dropping his arm over her shoulders, Jason pulled her closer. “I guess that’s why I like you because you’re not like most women.”

She shivered, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Because you like the way I sing?”

“It’s more than that. You’re incredibly feminine and natural. I don’t like women with embellishments.”

“Don’t you mean enhancements?”

“No. Embellishments, like exaggerated breasts and over-the-top hair extensions that I’m not allowed to touch. Nothing turns me off more than a woman who tells me I can’t touch her hair or her breasts.”

“What if she has short hair? There’s more upkeep in maintaining a short style than one that’s longer.” It was easy for Greer to fix her shoulder-length hair in different styles even when she didn’t visit a salon.

“I’ve paid for women to have standing appointments to get their hair done, so that’s no excuse.”

Greer took another sip of the coffee. “Then that means you’re a very generous boyfriend.”

“It has nothing to do with generosity, Greer. It’s about making her happy. If she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

“You must be very easy to please.”

Jason chuckled softly. Either Greer was extremely perceptive or he was that transparent. “Somewhat,” he drawled.

She folded several tissues, using them as a coaster when she set her cup on the table on her side of the bed. Sliding down to the mound of pillows cradling her shoulders, she stared up at the reflection of the light on the ceiling. “Tell me what makes you happy.”

“Music.”

“That’s a given.”

Jason handed his cup to Greer, who placed it beside hers. Shifting slightly, he pulled her close until her head rested on his shoulder. “Silence. It is when I’m surrounded by nothing but silence that I’m able to hear the music in my head. Sometimes it’s loud and raucous like rush-hour traffic, and sometimes it’s soft and melodic as the trilling of a canary. There are times when I’m happiest when I’m alone. My mother claims I’m selfish, but maybe it’s because, as a twin, I was forced to share the same space with another human being for nine months.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love Ana, yet there are times when we both decide we need our own personal space. Ana was sixteen when she told me she was leaving home to live the bohemian life in Key West. She’d saved some money, and I gave her what I had, then she made me promise not to tell anyone where she was going. When Ana didn’t show up for dinner and my father asked where she was, I told him I didn’t know.”

Greer heard the slow, strong, steady beating of Jason’s heart under her ear. She didn’t want to believe she was sharing a bed with him as if it was something they’d done many times before. “Did he believe you?”

“Hell, no. My folks knew Ana never went anywhere without telling me and vice versa. He issued a litany of threats—from withholding my trust fund until I was thirty to grounding me until it was time for me to leave for college—but I continued to deny that I knew where she was.”