The Cornerstone (12 page)

I shook my head and drew a deep breath. I could accept my little sister being married. I could tolerate the general concept of her having sex. I could not handle specific details about her sex life, and I was morally obligated to execute her husband if they were having anything other than bland, infrequent, missionary sex.

“Tell me you didn’t go there. You know why? Because if you fucking went there, I’ll have to scramble a wet team to dispose of your brother’s body when I’m finished with him. And that’s not on our agenda for today, peanut.”

“I could be bluffing,” she said. I spared her an impatient look while backing out of the parking space. “Could be. But you’ll have to give me my phone back.”

I didn’t respond until we were on the highway and well past the city limits. Everything seemed brighter out here, greener and less congested. I hated the closed-in feeling of urban areas, the wall-to-wall concrete, the noise. The beaches and wide-open spaces were for me.

“You can go a few hours without screwing around on your phone,” I said.

Shannon shifted, tucking her foot under her leg, and faced me. “Do you have any idea what I do?”

“Explain it to me,” I said. I met her glowering expression with a shrug.

She sighed and leaned against the center console. “My brothers—and Andy—handle the architecture. They draw the designs, they manage the builds, and they select the materials. They’re phenomenal at what they do but that’s
all
they do. I handle the purchase and sale of all our investment properties, manage billing, accounting, and payroll, file taxes, titles, and permits, and keep the office running so my brothers can focus on their projects. I handle the legal shit, too. Plus,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’m the point person for everything external. That includes media, branding, and dealing with the local bullshit. The preservation societies, the city council, the planning boards, the neighborhood committees…and there’s never a moment when one of them isn’t going apeshit over something.”

“You’re a beast. I know.” I scratched my chin. “Can none of that rest for one weekend?”

“I buy and sell properties on the weekends, too,” she said. “And family businesses are—they’re about more than business. Running this operation is just as much about scheduling Sam’s medical appointments and getting Riley’s trousers dry cleaned as it is managing a revolving line of credit and making sure our contracts are water-tight.”

Shaking my head, I frowned at Shannon. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

Shannon’s indignant face was enough to make my jeans feel too tight. “You’re ready to claw my eyes out over dry cleaning? Do you tuck your brothers into bed, too? Maybe wipe their noses or read stories until they fall asleep?”

She held up a finger, her mouth still twisted in an angry pout. “That’s not what I was saying—”

“Do me a favor,” I said, “and don’t tell me you can’t take a weekend off because you need to fetch some goddamn dry cleaning. I’ve known for a long time that you’re too good for that. Your brothers are adult fucking men. They might even be smart guys, though I have my doubts. They’ll figure it out, and it annoys the shit out of me that they let you do all of that on top of everything else you just listed.”

“But they don’t have any—”

“Dry-cleaned pants. Yeah, you mentioned that,” I said. “The world won’t fall apart if you step away this weekend, peanut. It might teach them something about handling their own shit.”

“It’s charming that you think you can walk in and explain my life to me, but you know
nothing
,” she said. “Maybe I do too much, but there is one thing I will never stop doing, and that’s taking care of my family.”

Shannon turned her attention out the window. She didn’t speak again until we boarded the ferry in New London. The journey across Long Island Sound would last about an hour, and while I was interested in getting some ferry head, Shannon hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind her, before I pulled the parking brake.

I found her on a bench near the bow. It wasn’t hard to spot her. The wind caught her ponytail, and my eyes snapped to those flowing red strands. Big, dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Her feet were propped on the railing and her arms were folded over her chest. A smart man would have handed over the phone and walked away. Fuck, a smart man would have bailed last night and been surfing right now.

I sat down beside her without a word.

The ocean air wrapped around me like a loving embrace. Minutes passed with nothing more than the sound of wind and water, and that was enough for me. I leaned against Shannon, hungry for her warmth. I was kidding myself if I thought this was only about sex.

Shannon glanced in my direction and then jerked her chin toward the bridge. “Can you drive one of these? Is that one of your commando skills?”

“A ferryboat?” I scratched my chin and scanned the deck. This vessel was a hell of a lot smaller than the pirate-held oil tanker my team assaulted some years back. “If I had to, yeah.”

“That would probably be strange for you,” she said, the sarcasm heavy in her voice. “You probably aren’t used to handling something this size.”

My thumb passed over the callous on my trigger finger. “I’m pretty sure you say that so I’ll pull out my dick and prove otherwise.”

She shrugged and stared off into the Sound. “So there’s ferryboats, stalking, and breaking into apartments. What else does a commando do?”

“Whatever it takes,” I said.

A sharp laugh slipped from her lips. “Right, me too.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got the global war on terror. You’ve got the war on lazy pussy-men. By comparison, I have it easy.”

She sighed, and her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Do you ever wish you could take a break from your life? Like…run away, even for a minute?” She glanced at me, and if it were possible, her eyes were the greenest I’d ever seen them, even through the dark layer of her sunglasses.

“I think that’s what we’re doing right now.”

She frowned. “Is that why we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe we both need a break from life, and…and that’s all this is.”

“Just a break? From life?”

“Yeah,” I said, and as we stared at each other, we knew it was a lie, just like all the others that’d brought us to this point.

*

Kaisall’s place was
on the north end of Ditch Plains, the legendary Montauk surfing destination known for its rocky-bottom shore. The house sat on a narrow slice of beachfront property, with a dense cluster of trees and bushes hiding it from the main road. The interior was simple and comfortable, and the screened-in porch with its wide lounge chairs and sea breezes was the closest thing to heaven New York could offer.

The only reason I knew any of this was because I’d been here before. We could have been in any city, any house. It didn’t matter where we were because all I could see was Shannon. I had her half-naked, on the floor, and riding my cock before the front door clicked shut. From the sound of the waves crashing on the beach below, it was an ideal surfing day, but the ocean wasn’t going anywhere. The clock was running on this weekend, and the real world was waiting for both of us on the other side.

Day passed into night while we indulged in each other, and if it weren’t for my growling stomach, we would have stayed in bed straight through to morning.

The walk into the heart of town was short, and filled with Shannon’s commentary on area property values. She stopped in front of a real estate office with glossy fliers advertising local homes for sale in the front window, her head cocked to the side and her lips pursed as she read. I didn’t see a single listing for less than seven figures.

“Huh,” she murmured, frowning.

“None of these up to par?”

She shook her head and stepped away from the window. “Not my style.”

I stared after her, captivated by the flex of her lean calves as she walked. It was strange seeing her without the neck-breaking heels. They seemed like her trademark, right along with her vibrant hair and infinite freckles, and the dark purple flip flops belonged to a side of her only I knew.

She darted into a gifts and home goods shop, the door chimes clanging in her wake, and I followed. A display of silver bowls in the shape of starfish and sand dollars drew her in.

“Hang onto this,” she instructed, handing over a large dish.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, and I didn’t miss Shannon’s smirk.

The woman could hold her own, and it was hot as hell. Giving orders and expecting obedience was natural to her, much like it was natural to me. It made this battle of wills even sweeter because I earned her surrender every goddamn time.

“Can you get that one?” Shannon pointed to a long tray on the top shelf. It was a good arm’s-length beyond her reach.

“Yes, ma’am,” I repeated, passing her the tray. “You going to start calling me your errand boy now?”

“No,” she said, “that’s what I have Tom for.”

“Tom? How many brothers do you have? Which one is Tom?”

Shannon knelt to the bottom shelf and selected three sets of miniature knives, each adorned with a silver lobster handle. “Tom’s my assistant. Or…he’s more like a chief of staff who also gets coffee and anything else I ever need.”

Maybe I was a dickhead with an overactive sense of possession, but I didn’t like this jack-of-all-trades already.

“
Anything else you need
?”

“Oh, aren’t these to die for?” We glanced over when an aproned woman appeared at the display. “These are from a local silversmith. Everything is one of a kind.” Her gaze dropped to the items in our hands. “Can I get these boxed up for you?”

“These are wedding gifts,” Shannon said. “Can you gift wrap and ship them directly?”

“Of course,” the clerk said. “You keep browsing, and I’ll get started.”

When the clerk was out of earshot, I leaned into Shannon and said, “So what’s in a chief of staff’s job description?”

She rolled her eyes and inspected a shelf filled with regional photography. “Not what you think, commando. He’s my consigliere, and a little brother to me. And we’ve…” Her voice trailed off as she fingered a small print of Montauk Harbor. “We’ve been through a lot of the same things. Things other people don’t understand.”

The photography no longer held her interest, and she wandered off. It was her way of telling me that, yes, her comment demanded further explanation but no, she wasn’t saying a damn thing more. Her hand glided down a rack of afghans and quilts, then over the surface of a fully-dressed dining room table. Finally, she stopped at a carousel of jewelry.

“What’s the deal with the wedding presents?”

Shannon’s index finger traced a row of silver and gold charm bracelets. “People got married. I owed them gifts. Before you kidnapped me for the weekend”—she sent a purposeful glare over her shoulder, which I summarily ignored—“I was planning to go shopping.”

“You strike me as the type of guest who wouldn’t dare show up empty-handed.”

She tried on several bracelets. Replaced all of them. “That’s usually the case. I didn’t go to any of these weddings, though.”

“Why not?” I shook my head as she held a hideous pair of octopus earrings to her lobe. “I thought you loved weddings.”

She returned the earrings to the carousel. “Everyone says that,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I don’t understand why.”

“Because the first time I saw you, you were telling Lo’s wedding planner how to do her job. Then you were bitching about flowers and appetizers and tents. And after that, you ran the reception. I could be wrong, but you might have officiated the marriage, too.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding while rubbing her thumb over a thick metal cuff. “I wanted to give my brother and my best friend an incredible wedding. It was project management with cake and flowers, not wedding fever. There’s a big difference.” She pivoted, her arms folded over her chest. “You want to know who has wedding fever? Andy. She wants the whole damned thing, and you know what? She deserves her Cinderella moment. Not me. I don’t need any of that. I’ve never thought about getting married, but if I did, I wouldn’t want a big, frilly event.”

“No buying out beachfront inns for you?”

“No.” She walked away to pay and sign the enclosure cards for her gifts, but I was insane. I wanted to know everything about Shannon, and I wasn’t done with this topic.

“What would you want?” I asked.

She paused, then returned to writing the cards.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t given it much thought, but…the wedding is just one day. I don’t believe in that one day being the best day of your life. That’s a lot of pressure for the universe. It’s too easy for little things to go wrong, and make it seem like the marriage started on the wrong foot. I want the best day of my life to be a lazy Sunday morning with raspberry pancakes and open houses and
my person
. The wedding is a party with legal documents, and I don’t want a party to matter more than a marriage. But that’s just me.”

With a shrug, Shannon slipped each card into its matching envelope and placed them beside the gift-wrapped boxes.