Shattered Virtue (17 page)

“I wouldn’t trumpet that about.”

“Why not? He deserved to die for what he was doing to her.”

“Mitchell, use your head, for fuck’s sake. If the burglars didn’t kill him, somebody else did. And if the police discover you and she were lovers, they won’t have to look too hard for a suspect.”

“I didn’t kill him. I wish I had, but I didn’t.”

“Somebody did. Somebody who owns a 22-caliber pistol.”

There’s a rustle behind me. I turn to find Madrigal at the entrance to the study. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.” And then I whisper into the phone, “I have to go.” And hang up.

She crosses her arms against her chest with a mulish look on her face. “Don’t lie to me, Steele. I’ve had enough of lies.”

“I was talking to Mitchell.”

“Uncle Mitch?”

“Yes. I called him to get his bead on things.”

“Did you tell him what my father did to my mother?”

“I did. He never suspected a thing.” That much is true.

“You shouldn’t have told him. It was not your secret to tell.”

I can’t tell her Mitch loved her mother. That revelation will need to come from him. “He knew your parents. He’s a trusted family friend. He cares about you and Madison. If we’re to have any hope of discovering what happened that night, we need his help.”

She shrugs. “We know what happened. My father killed my mother.”

“You don’t know that. And even if that’s so, we need to find out who killed him.”

“Does it matter?”

I walk up, put my arms around her. “Yes. It does. We must get to the truth. For your sake and your sister’s.”

She rests her head on my shoulder. “You’re right.”

When she looks up at me, I cup her chin and tweak it. She slept for five hours. It’s now midmorning. “You hungry? I can whip up a brunch.”

“I don’t feel like eating.”

“You need to, sweet girl.”

A dark curl has fallen across her face. She swipes at it. “I’m not going to starve, Steele. It’s okay if I skip a meal once in a while.”

Memories of my past rush through my mind. So many nights I lay in bed with my stomach cramping from hunger, praying for morning to come so that I could go to school and eat the government-supplied breakfasts. Many a time that was the only food my brother and I ate all day.

Her brow scrunches. “What’s wrong?”

Did I reveal my pain? I must have. But I’m not about to talk about my past with her. “Nothing. Come.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the kitchen where I pull out a stool and point to it, indicating she should sit.

I retrieve a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, pop the cork on a bottle of champagne, and mix it with the juice. I pour the concoction into a flute.

She guzzles it right down. “Ummm. Mimosas. That’s good.”

When she stretches, the shirt she’s wearing outlines her luscious breasts. I grow hard at the sight.

“Do you mind if I shower? I jumped in my car and came right over last night.”

“Of course not.”

By the time she emerges fragrant from her bath wearing one of my college football jerseys, I’ve whipped up chocolate chip and peanut butter pancakes and beaten eggs, gruyère, and Black Forest ham into an omelet. I slice a baguette of French bread and smear it with fresh butter to complete our feast.

After I serve her, she polishes off the plate of food in nothing flat.

I smile. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I never said that.”

“Coffee?”

“Um, no. That’s not what I want.”

Walking up to her, I run my hands over her bare thighs. She’s wearing nothing underneath my jersey. I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I head for the bedroom. She kisses my open mouth. “You taste like maple syrup and coffee.”

“And you taste like orange juice and champagne.”

“I like your mimosas. I like your food. I like you.”

CHAPTER 27

Madrigal

“Like?” He quirks a brow. “I suppose that’s progress. You hated me at first.” He falls backward on the bed with me on top of him.

Straddling his hips, I lean forward, suckle his bottom lip. “Not hate. Dislike. Your arrogance turned me off.”

“And you resented being forced to spend the summer at the law firm.” He nibbles my lips while rolling his hips beneath me. He’s thick and long and hard.

“Yes. But it turned out for the best, in ways Gramps could never imagine.”

“It’s fair to say your grandfather never imagined me doing this to you.” He sits up, curls his hand around the back of my neck, and devours my mouth.

As huge and insistent as he is beneath me, I’m cramping with need to have his cock inside of me. I want him there more than my next breath. When did this happen? When did I become this ravenous, sensual creature who craves sex this much? “I want you.”

“Good. That makes two of us.” He flips us, and I’m below him. After tossing his sweats to the side, he rubs his cock across my slick clit, and I moan.

A gorgeous smile teases his lips. “You like that, sweet girl?”

I nod, breathless. “You know I do.” I want him so deep in me that he’ll touch my heart.

He opens the nightstand drawer and retrieves a foil-wrapped package. They’re so readily at hand. “If you never bring other women here, how come you have those stashed in your night stand?”

That wicked grin of his makes an appearance. “Easy to grab on the way out.”

“So you’re always prepared?”

“Have to be,” he says, rolling it over his erection. “I don’t intend to have children.”

“Never?”

“I’d make a lousy father.”

“How do you know?” Why am I asking? It’s none of my business. I don’t intend to have children with him. But still, I’m curious. Maybe it’s the legal beagle in me.

“I’m selfish, self-centered, arrogant.”

I cup his cheek. “And yet with all your faults, you’re helping me. And you’ve represented many pro bono clients.”

“That’s different. I only represent those unjustly caught in the system—and friends.”

“And me. I’m none of those things.”

“Your parents’ case fascinates me.” He pushes the hair off my throat and licks the vein throbbing there. “And so do you.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” His tongue explores a fiery trail over my jaw, my chin, and ends up at my lips, where his mouth takes possession in a heated kiss.

“Why?” I’m not asking for vanity’s sake. I’m just trying to understand. According to the office grapevine, he dates women in their thirties who are infinitely more sophisticated than me.

He curls his big, masculine hand around my face and drops kisses on my brow, the corner of my eyes, my cheeks. “I love the way you taste, your scent, the things you cry out when I make you come.”

I flush with heat. “What do I cry out?”

“Moans and
yes
and
please
. I especially like that last one.” Right on cue he inserts a finger in my pussy, and I cry out with need. My hands clutch his shoulders as he inserts another finger and circles my hot button with his thumb. “More, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Please,” I gasp.

He leans forward until his breath tickles my nipples. In the next second he sucks one into his mouth. “Ummm, ambrosia.”

Sobbing with need, I grind my pussy against his cock while he jams his fingers in and out. It won’t take much for me to come, which I do in the next minute, bowing off the bed and screaming his name.

Leaning over, he mumbles something into the valley between my breasts, but I’m so lost in the aftermath of passion, I can’t make out the words. “What did you say?”

“I love—”

My phone rings, interrupting what he’s about to say.

“Let it go to voice mail, Madrigal. I need you.” With his cock rising proud between us, I want to obey him. I do. But I left home hours ago. By now they’ve probably discovered I’m gone. I reach for the phone, which I’d dropped on his night table. Caller ID tells me who it is. “Gramps.”

Grunting, he rolls off me. “Of course it is.”

“Hi.”

“Where are you?” Gramps’s voice is gruff, angry.

I trot out my same excuse. “With Cristina. She called late last night with a crisis.” No way can I let him know I’m with Steele. No telling what Gramps would do.

“You need to come home,” he barks.

“Anything wrong?”

“Come home.” This is the second time I’ve vanished without letting him know where I am. Of course he’s upset.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Which means I can’t linger in bed with Steele.

He stands and takes me in his arms. He’s hard and aching for me. No wonder. He gave me satisfaction while I gave him nothing in return.

“I’m sorry . . .”

He grabs me by the ass and hauls me into the bathroom. “I’ll take your apology in the shower.”

Curling my hands around his neck, I whisper, “Okay.” It’s the least I can do.

We linger over our good-byes. He doesn’t want to let go, and I don’t want to leave.

“I’ll take the elevator down with you.”

“You don’t have to. My car’s parked across the street at the hotel.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“Okay, fine.” I’m not going to win this argument, so I give in.

The elevator dings on the way down. A stop on the tenth floor. Holding hands, we scoot back toward the elevator wall to allow room for the next passenger. To my surprise, it’s my best friend and her new beau.

“Cristina!”

“Mad.” When her gaze zeroes in on our linked hands, my face flames. I don’t want her knowing about Steele and me. But it’s too late.

“This is Trenton Steele.” The words emerge in a strained whisper.

Her brow curls upward almost to her hairline. She knows exactly who he is. But she knows better than to say anything right now.

She sticks out her hand, and he shakes it. “Cristina Sanchez, and this is Scott McCarthy.”

“Pleasure.” Scott, unaware of the current of tension between Cristina and me, smiles and does the polite thing.

“Going out?” Cristina asks.

“No. I’m headed home.”

“Oh.” Well that should give her something to think about.

“And you?” I ask.

“The zoo to see the baby panda.”

“Well, have a great time.” Leaving them behind, I drag Trenton from the elevator and race to the exit of his building.

“What’s wrong? That was rude, and you’re never rude.”

I gaze up at him while we wait for the light to change. “She’s my best friend, and she saw us. Together.”

His nostrils flare. He’s angry. At me. But as I start to cross the street, he pulls me back to protect me from a car making a turn right into us. It’s Sunday afternoon, for heaven’s sake. There shouldn’t be this much traffic. When we get to the hotel, I hand my ticket to the valet.

While he gets my car, I dart nervous glances at Steele. “I’m sorry.”

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me.”

“You’re my boss. She’ll read me the riot act. I just know it.”

“So not only do you worry about your grandfather ruling your life but your best friend as well.”

“Her opinion matters to me.”

He pounds a hand against his chest. “What about mine? Does mine matter?”

“Of course it does.”

“I’m what? Third on the list. No. Not that high. There’s Olivia and Mitch and your sister, of course. Is there somebody else you’d like to consult before you take another step?”

“Why are you angry at me?”

I yank a hand through my hair. “You need to take control of your life and not let anyone rule you. Not your grandfather, not your friend, not even me.”

“You? You’re nothing to me but my boss.”

His face turns to stone.

I realize what a shitty thing I’ve said, but it’s too late to take it back. As my car pulls up, I whisper, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, you did. You’re right. I am your boss. Maybe it’s time I remembered that. Good-bye, Madrigal. Have a nice life.”

And then he strides away, beautiful and strong, leaving me bleeding inside. How could I have said such a thing after everything he’s done for me? Because I’m terrified of what will happen if I let him in, that’s why. But the thing is I already shared my dreams, my fears with Steele. So that’s not it. The truth is I don’t want to acknowledge I care for him, because one day he’ll leave, and it will devastate me. Fighting back the tears, I tip the attendant and get behind the wheel. Once I’m on the road, I debate calling him to apologize, but before I can do that, my phone rings.

My Bluetooth’s attached to the steering wheel. Hoping the call’s from him, I press the right button. But to my disappointment, it’s Cristina.

“I thought you were on the way to the zoo,” I say.

“We are, but I had to call. Mad, what are you doing?”

“At the moment? Driving home.” That’s not what she means, I know, but I can’t help the snark.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not going to conduct this conversation with your latest boy toy listening in.”

“That’s not—
querido
, you’re not my boy toy.”

A masculine laugh rolls over the phone. “I don’t have a problem with that. You can play with me all you want,
querida
.”

Great. She’s taught him her favorite pet endearment.

“Ooh, is he a keeper or what?” she asks.

I have to give credit where credit is due. “Yeah, he is.”

“So Trenton Steele?”

“Yes.”

“You do know who he is?”

“Of course I do. I work for him.”

“I’m not talking about his profession. I’m talking about his reputation with women.”

“How would you know about his reputation?”

“He’s got quite a rep at Justice. Women throw themselves at him all the time. He catches them too. A different woman for every season.”

“So I’m supposed to be summer? Is that it?”

“Madrigal, I don’t want to see you hurt. That’s all. You never even dated in law school. And now? You skipped the farm team and went right to the majors with him. He’s a wolf in wolf’s clothing. He’ll eat you up and spit you out.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it because I’m pretty sure he just broke up with me.”

“Oh, honey. What happened?” She tones down her voice. “It wasn’t me and my big mouth, was it?”

“No. This time it was mine. Look, I have to go. It’s starting to rain, and I have to pay attention to the road.” A lame excuse, but it’s the best I can do.

“Okay. Call me later if you want to talk.”

“Bye. Thanks, Cristina.” I know she means well, but right now I don’t need to hear about Trenton’s reputation. I know women fall for him. Hell, I see the way they look at him around the office.

I arrive home to find a clearly disturbed Olivia at the door. She’s trembling, and her eyes are red.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as soon as I step inside.

“Madison’s gone.”

My heart plummets to my stomach. “What do you mean
gone
?”

“She discovered your mother’s diary on your bed.”

Oh, God. I’d been so upset that I hadn’t bothered to hide it before I ran out. And Madison read those words? “Her screams woke me. When I came into your room, she was sobbing so hard I could barely understand her. I tried to calm her down, but she ran downstairs to your grandfather’s study. They argued, loud, hurtful words. When she ran to the stables, I went after her, but she saddled Marigold and took off.” Goodness knows Madison is an accomplished rider, but in her current mood she might not be as careful and could end up harming her horse or herself.

“Why didn’t Hartley stop her?” Hartley is our head groom.

“He’s not scheduled to work today. Your grandfather sent another groom after her. Neither has returned.”

“Where’s Gramps?”

“In his study with Hartley. He called him in. They’re rounding up more riders to search for her. Hopefully they’ll find her before she gets hurt.”

Shaking, I knock on Gramps’s study.

“Who is it?” he barks.

“It’s me, Gramps.”

“Come in.”

Trembling with emotion, I walk inside.

The look he shoots me skewers me to the spot.

Hartley stands in front of Gramps’s desk, cap in hand, wearing his usual riding pants and boots. “I should have news soon, Mr. Gardiner. Riders went out half an hour ago.”

“I want to know what they find. Good or bad. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Hartley’s head bobs up and down along with his Adam’s apple. He probably blames himself for not being in the stable. He shouldn’t. He can’t be here twenty-four hours a day.

“Oh, and that idiot groom that allowed her to saddle her horse? Fire him.”

That’s so unfair, but there’s no sense arguing that point right now. Not as angry as my grandfather is.

“Thanks, Hartley,” I say.

Our head groom nods to me before striding out the door, no doubt glad to be out of the line of fire.

“Hartley will find her,” Gramps says.

“I hope so.” The rain’s coming down harder now than when I left Steele. Not a soft summer rain either, but one of those late-afternoon storms with thunder and lightning. With visibility a factor and the terrain uneven, Marigold could step into a hole and break a leg.

“She shouldn’t have run out like that,” Gramps says.

“She was upset after reading our mother’s diary. Did she tell you what was in it? About what our father did to our mother?”

He stomps to me and grips my upper arms so hard it hurts. “You can never tell a soul. Not ever. If it ever got out, your chances of marrying well would be ruined.” The look in Gramps’s eyes tells me he’d known about the abuse. How could he know such a thing and not do anything about it?

I wrestle free of his grasp. “You knew what he was doing to her and you let it happen?”

“I didn’t know. I swear to you. Not at the time. It was only after . . .” A wave of sorrow rolls over his face, and his anger fades. Stumbling to the chair that he and his father and his father’s father have occupied for centuries, he collapses into it. “You have to believe me, Madrigal.”

In less than a minute, he’s aged over ten years. Grief has vanished that veneer of pretense he trots out every day meant to show that everything’s fine in his world. At some point in the future, we’ll need to deal with his hiding the truth from me. But right now something else is more important.