Insidious

  “In essence, isn’t that the way it is with every marriage proposal?” Lisa asked. “In marriage, doesn’t the woman give herself over to her husband in exchange for his protection? When she does that, doesn’t she usually choose to take her husband’s name and financial support?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but…” The next words sat heavily on my chest. “…most women marry for love. I never imagined marrying anyone, but if I ever entertained those fantasies, I imagined candlelight dinners and walks on the beach. I assumed I’d know—really know—my husband, and he’d know me. I never, in a million years, imagined a fifteen-page contract and a twelve-hour deadline.”

  Lisa looked down. There truly was no answer. No one imagined his or her life would be orchestrated the way I found mine to be. Well, no one in the twenty-first century. Maybe as Stewart said, kings, queens, and nobility did it in the sixteenth century, but not today.

  I continued, “This isn’t even like an online dating service. With that I’d at least be able to look at his profile.”

  A spark of excitement came to Lisa’s light blue eyes. “Did you Google him?”

  My nose wrinkled. “No. I guess I’ve been a little busy with these contracts.”

  “Do that, dear. Google him. Learn all you can.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I’ve worked for him for over ten years.” She didn’t offer any more.

  “And?” I asked when the silence began to loom.

  “The death of Mr. Harrington’s father was difficult for him on many levels. By the time I was employed his father had passed, and he’d taken over Harrington Spas and Suites, International; however, I heard things. I knew that assuming responsibility for his father’s business presented him with many challenges. During that time, Mrs. Harrington was the light of his life, and he was a devoted husband.” A shadow cast over Lisa’s features as she looked toward her lap. “Her death changed him in more ways than I can say. In the time since, he’s different.”

  I didn’t like the foreboding feeling I felt from her words. “What do you mean more ways than you can say? Are there restrictions on what you can tell me?”

  Her bright eyes looked up. “No, not at all. Mr. Harrington implored me to be honest with you, and I am being honest. He’s a private man. Even after all of these years, I know that there are sides to him that I know nothing about.”

  “Like at his work?”

  She shook her head. “That, but something else. I know that he has another apartment, one he sometimes frequents. I don’t know why he has it or what he does there. I just know that he doesn’t talk about it. I inquired a few times, but was told that it didn’t concern me.”

  I sat with a huff. “I’m nuts! I’m absolutely crazy for even considering this.”

  “Miss Conway, I’ll always be honest with you. I don’t know what I’d do in your situation. I know that there could be worse offers from far worse people. I believe that Mr. Harrington is seeing his youth pass by. I believe that in you, he hopes to recapture some of that. I also believe that the person with whom you should be discussing this is him.”

  She went on, “You’re right, there isn’t love, but there can be respect. The best way to facilitate that is honesty. I know Mr. Harrington expects and respects honesty. In return, he’ll be honest with you.”

  You won’t be a whore, but you will be my whore. If those words were spoken in honesty, what did they mean?

  As I contemplated, Lisa stood. “It’s getting late. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, thank you. Thank you for talking with me.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Anytime. I’ll admit, for selfish reasons, I hope you agree.”

  I didn’t answer, but raised my brow.

  “Ever since Mrs. Harrington died, the house has been quiet and often boring. I’m excited to have someone else to care for and talk with.”

  Her smile warmed me. When had someone wanted to take care of me? It was another emotional question I wouldn’t allow myself to contemplate.

  “Thank you, Lisa. I’ll start my Google search right away.”

  “If you want anything to eat, there’s plenty in the refrigerator. Help yourself.” With that, she was gone, and I collapsed on the bed with my phone. Opening the browser, I entered Stewart Harrington into the search engine. Most of the recent findings were business related. It wasn’t until I searched further back that I found anything personal. It seemed that before he married Lindsey Harrington and after her passing, he went through a rather wild time. There were pictures and articles about his escapades. As time passed, I kicked off the yoga pants, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and climbed under the incredibly soft covers.

  With the clock nearing midnight, my cavernous bedroom filled with the sound of my rumbling stomach. Perhaps I was hungry?

  Still barefooted, I quietly made my way down the long corridor, down the stairs, and to the kitchen. I’m sure there was a more direct route, but with the dimmed lighting, I was unsure of my surroundings. Once my feet hit the textured flooring of the kitchen, I searched for the refrigerator. There were many, all filling a corner of the restaurant-grade kitchen. They were stainless steel and large.

  I’d lived most of my life in boarding schools. I didn’t know much about cooking, but this kitchen was nothing like the one at my mother and Randall’s house. Without turning on the lights, I saw wall ovens and multiple stovetops with large hoods. Near a row of cabinets there was a stand-alone refrigerator. I decided to check in there first.

  When I opened the door, the bright light flooded the kitchen. As soon as my eyes adjusted, my cheeks rose, revealing my smile. On the first shelf were multiple containers with notes that all read Victoria. Pulling the first from its place, I opened it and discovered a salad, complete with a container of dressing. The second was filled with fresh fruit. Each one was a gift, made especially for me, by someone who truly wanted to help me.

  As I reached for the last container, the energy of the room shifted. It wasn’t that I heard anyone or physically felt anyone, but I knew. I knew I was no longer alone. Before I could speak, a large hand came from behind and held open the refrigerator door. I didn’t need to turn around to know Stewart was there.

  STEWART’S WARM BREATH skirted across my hair, a stark contrast to the coolness coming from the refrigerator. Goose bumps materialized on my arms and legs as I became hypersensitive to his proximity, as well as keenly aware of my clothing. I was standing in Stewart’s kitchen in nothing more than a long t-shirt and panties.

  “May I help you?” he whispered near my ear.

  Shuffling my feet, I reached for the final container. With a quick turn and a confident smile, I replied, “No, thank you. I think Lisa has taken care of everything.”

  Now, nearly nose to nose, Stewart took a step backward and scanned me from head to toe. “Pity.”

  I arched my brow.

  “I hoped there was something you needed, something Ms. Madison wasn’t able to give you.”

  “I-I didn’t eat earlier. She said I could get something…”

  He stepped closer, his firm chest grazing my erect nipples. Taking the container, he reached for my hand. “Come, Miss Conway, let me show you the view.”

  Like an animal to its slaughter, I followed, bare feet silently padding the hard tile surface until our destination came into view. Seeing the small table with the flickering candle, I gasped. Once he led me through the glass doors, the salt-scented humidity assaulted my senses while the warmth brought back feeling to my air-conditioner-cooled fingers and toes. Glancing at the table, I watched as the small flame protected within a glass chimney illuminated the beautiful balcony, creating a contrast to the dark ocean beyond.

  “Stewart, this is beautiful. Did you talk to Lisa?”

  His expression blanked. “I have, but not recently. Why?”

  Was he an honest man? Could I take his reaction to mean that he’d planned this himself, perhaps, without my
comment to her about candlelit dinners?

  I shook my head, my dark hair cascading around my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. It was just something I said to her.”

  “You don’t like the ocean breeze?”

  “No, I do. I like it very much. I always wanted to spend time at the beach, but even growing up near Miami, I rarely did.”

  Stewart reached for my hand. “Tonight I don’t want to talk about your decision or the contracts. If you have questions, ask me tomorrow. We’ll talk, early. Tonight, I want to learn more about you, and if you want, I can tell you more about me.”

  My lips pursed. “Do you swear you didn’t talk with Lisa?”

  “I swear.” He crossed his heart with his finger. “Our last conversation was about breakfast tomorrow morning. It’ll be at six.” He glanced at his watch. “Which is getting closer by the minute.” With a raised brow he asked, “Do you want me to double-dog swear? I will.”

  “No.” I giggled. “No need to go to all that trouble.” I looked out at the water, the same water I could see from my room a floor above. “This is beautiful.”

  “It is,” he agreed, though his eyes weren’t on the water, but on me. “More beautiful than I dared imagine.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks as I looked down to my lap. Before I could respond, his fingers reached for my chin. “Tori, don’t look away. Never look away. You’re much too beautiful for that.”

  “Tori?” I questioned. No one had ever called me Tori.

  “I like it. I like that it’s my name for you and mine alone. When I call you Tori, you’ll know it’s our connection.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Our connection? Did we have a connection? “Stewart, please tell me more about you. I know you lost your wife—you mentioned that. Did the two of you have any children? Do you have any children?”

  He shook his head. “No. We tried. Lindsey even tried in-vitro. Some things even money can’t buy.” The cloud of sadness took away his self-assured façade.

  “I know you said not to talk about the contracts, but there’s a lengthy clause about children, about not having them. Can you tell me why?”

  Stewart opened the container that held grapes and popped one into his mouth. “I can, and I will, but not tonight. My turn to ask questions. Why didn’t you run? Why did you stay here tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m scared and intrigued. I’m trying to not make a rash decision. After all, this will be the biggest decision of my life.” I sat straighter. “Can I believe you?”

  “Implicitly.”

  “So everything you told me about Randall and about his debt is true? His life is truly in danger?”

  “That’s the reason for the deadline. If he doesn’t come up with the money by tomorrow afternoon… well, I suppose technically it’s this afternoon. He needs the money by this afternoon.”

  I reached for the grapes, feeling the rumbling of hunger. When I did, Stewart pulled the container from my reach. “Let me,” he offered.

  “I’m capable—”

  “Shush, let me…” Taking one grape from the container, he held it near my lips.

  Obediently, I opened my mouth. The grape was sweet and juicy as I closed my lips and bit through the skin. By the time I swallowed, he had another one waiting.

  As I opened my mouth, he spoke, “Tori, I didn’t know how this would work. I still don’t. I didn’t plan on truly wanting you, but since you walked out of my office this afternoon, you’re all I can think about.”

  When I closed my mouth on the next grape, his finger and thumb lingered between my lips. Instead of moving away, I sucked them, pulling them into my mouth and licking them clean. The groan that came from deep in Stewart’s throat told me what I’d suspected: I had power. Over this wealthy, older man, I had power. The realization gave me strength.

  “You didn’t expect to want me?” I questioned. “Then why would you offer to marry me?”

  He ran his finger over my lips. “I expected to want to fuck you. Who wouldn’t? But that was all, as I said, to have you available, to not have to mess with the uncertainty of buying companionship, or the annoyance of dating.”

  Shaking my head, I tried to comprehend. “You would choose marriage over dating?”

  “I told you that I didn’t want to talk about specifics of the contract, but you did read both of them, didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Dating requires time and commitment. I don’t want to do that. If you sign the contract, our future is secure for at least the next ten years. You can get mad at me, I can piss you off, or…” His words slowed. “You may be happy and content. The point is, for ten years, it won’t matter.”

  “There was a clause to void—”

  “Yes, there is a clause that gives either one of us the right to void the contract and our marriage. However, as I’m sure you read, it comes with serious repercussions. While we’re married, you’ll have access to my wealth, more access to more wealth than you can imagine. If you decide to void our contract before the ten-year benchmark, you forfeit everything: everything you’ve accumulated during our marriage, anything you stand to gain in a divorce, and anyone else who benefits personally from your generosity as a result of our marriage will be subject to terms of repayment.”

  I’d read that part. “Like Randall?” I asked.

  “Yes, and your sister if you choose to pay for her continued education.”

  My eyes widened. “I can do that?”

  Stewart brought another grape to my lips. “As Mrs. Stewart Harrington you can do almost anything you desire.”

  The almost floated in the air as I swallowed the sweet juice and accepted another.

  Stewart continued, “After ten years, you’ll have claim to a quarter of my fortune with no clause for repayment by any of the benefactors of your generosity.”

  “You keep saying my generosity. It’s your money.”

  “As long as we’re married, it will be our money. I have no deep-seated desire to help your family. If helping them makes you happy it benefits me. The decision to help them will be solely on you.” Another grape brushed my lips. “After twenty years of marriage, you’ll be entitled to half of our accumulated fortune. If I void the contract before ten years, you’ll automatically receive fifty percent.” Stewart leaned forward. “My darling, that is more money than you can even comprehend. I assure you that I will not be voiding the contract.”

  “Tell me more about Val, Marcus, and Lyle—mostly about Val. As long as we’re married, I can pay her undergrad and graduate school?”

  “Tori, we have already spent more time than I wanted discussing the contract. However, if it eases your mind, I’ll repeat: once we’re married, you’ll have access to enough wealth to allow your siblings carte blanche at any university they desire. Now…” The flickering candle reflected in the shimmer of his heavy gaze as his finger lingered on my lips. “…tonight I want to learn more about my possible future wife.”

  His touch was cool and tasted sweet from the grapes. While the gentle ocean breeze blew wisps of my hair around my face, I watched Stewart’s lids grow heavy, as if he were seeing me, yet imagining more than was before him. How did he expect to learn more if he didn’t want me to speak?

  With only the hum of the waves stories below, the silence on the balcony grew louder until the only sound I heard was the swish of my pulse resonating in my head. Without my realizing it, Stewart had moved from his chair and was mere inches away: his cologne lingered in a cloud surrounding both of us with the masculine scent. Moving his finger from my lips, he traced my cheek and a line along my chin. Without thinking, I inclined my face toward his soft touch.

  “Stand for me,” he said, offering me his hand. Though his command was soft, it was a command.

  I obeyed.

  “Tori, all I can think about is pushing you against that wall, ripping off those panties, and showing you what it’s like to be with a real man.”

  With each word, I became s
uddenly aware that my t-shirt did little to conceal my sensitive, disloyal nipples. Trying to not give myself away, I fought to keep my eyes on his. It didn’t work.

  Looking down, a smug smile came to his lips. “You want that too, don’t you?”

  “You said that you wouldn’t… that we wouldn’t…”

  “And I meant it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

  Taking my hand, he rubbed it over his not-so-hidden erection. What he offered behind his jeans was big and hard. I wondered what his cock would look like if it were released from its denim confines. The image of him inside of me scared as well as fascinated me, all the while making me wet with desire. His blue gaze drank me in as I continued to allow my hand to rub up and down the bulge.

  Humming, he continued, “You have no idea how badly I want to free myself from these jeans. Just having your hand there…” He nuzzled my neck. “…knowing you’re this close. You have me ready to come right now.” His warm breath on my collarbone, he purred, “Tell me you don’t want the same thing. Tell me you don’t want to be fucked right here, against this wall. Tell me you don’t want me to fill that void you’re feeling and satisfy the tension building within you.”

  God! He was so right. My insides ached with need.

  “You’re wet for me already, without my even touching you, aren’t you?”

  “Y-Yes, I’m wet.” Part of my brain told me that this was wrong, and that even having this conversation was wrong. The problem was that I could barely hear that part of my brain: the blood thundering through my veins as well as the sound of his heavy breathing overpowered everything else. As the stubble of his cheek brushed against mine, he pulled me closer, pressing me against the wall.

  Before I registered the sense of entrapment, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his neck.

  “Fuck,” he growled, pushing his knee between my legs, spreading them apart.