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But she wanted to be supportive. “What would you like to do, if you could do anything?”
RJ traced the line of her thigh with his broad thumb. “I think I’m doing it.” His mischievous expression teased her. “And maybe I could branch out into this.” He lowered his head and licked her nipple, tightening it to a hard peak. “And this.” He raised his mouth to hers and kissed her with exquisite tenderness.
Brooke’s heart swelled inside a chest already very full with the wonder and excitement of their new relationship. RJ spoke as if he’d just discovered the love of his life—her.
Don’t get carried away! Up here in the clouds it was easy to forget all about the real world, but sooner or later they’d have to go back to it.
After another delicious dinner from the bounty in the fridge they watched a classic Hitchcock movie together. RJ held her tight during the scary bits and Brooke loved enjoying such a normal, everyday couple activity with the man who’d once seemed wholly unobtainable. After the movie they shared a dish of caramel ice cream, then kissed with cold tongues and warm hearts.
Sunday was a lazy day. They didn’t even rise from bed until nearly noon, and only then because RJ decided it was time to confront the manila envelope of memories his father had left him.
RJ brought a new sense of calm back into the study with him. He’d closed the door on Friday night determined to enjoy his weekend with Brooke. By Sunday, however, a sliver of guilt was intruding on their shared paradise. Sunday dinner was a Kincaid tradition. They all gathered in the big family home and shared a traditional roast or some other delicacy their mom had conjured up. Now she was in jail, the family tradition was temporarily suspended. How could they face each other across the table with neither the matriarch nor the patriarch of the family present?
Their dad would never sit there again. They’d stubbornly kept the tradition going at their mom’s insistence in the weeks and months since his death. It was no doubt his responsibility as the eldest to gather the clan in their mom’s absence, but he didn’t have the heart.
He’d spent two enjoyable days here on the outskirts of his life, with the lovely Brooke for company. But he had decisions to make and avoiding them didn’t sit well with him.
Brooke had cooked pancakes from a packet mix while he made coffee, and after they’d eaten she tactfully excused herself, saying she needed time to make a couple of phone calls. She went out on the terrace, where the reception was strongest, and he headed back into his father’s inner sanctum with a heavy heart.
The envelope lay there in the drawer where he’d left it. He wondered if his dad had prepared it all at once in a typical flourish of brusque efficiency, or if its contents were the product of hours of thought, packing and unpacking.
Probably the former. With a swift inhale he pulled the packet from the drawer and emptied its contents on the desk in a rude clatter and rustle. Amongst the yellowed papers was a crisp, new sheet, folded in two. RJ snatched it off the desk and pulled it open. His scalp pricked with discomfort as he saw the handwritten lines. Another letter. The letter he’d opened and read so hastily after the funeral had cut a dark scar in his heart and he suspected this would only reopen and deepen the wound.
While you bear my name, you are in truth not my firstborn son.
He’d seen Angela and her sons at his father’s funeral, but refused to believe the gossip about who they were. When he opened the letter, that one brief line had knocked away the foundation of his life. So swift and brutal was the blow that he’d been hard-pressed to act like himself for the rest of the day. He no longer was himself. Since birth he’d been Reginald Kincaid, Jr., chip off the old block. All he’d wanted was to be just like his dad, a proud family man, successful in business and in everything else he turned his hand to, from fighting foreign wars to scoring birdies on the club golf course.
In that letter his father had revealed he was not the man they’d all assumed him to be. Fathering a child before his marriage was one thing—and as he’d posthumously explained, he didn’t know about his son Jack until years after his birth—but resuming his relationship with his son’s mother and maintaining them as a second family went beyond the common accusation of adultery and into the realm of almost criminal deception.
Steeling himself, he focused on the handwritten script that covered most of two pages.
Dear Reginald,
We all make choices in life and, as you are by now well aware, I made choices that many would disapprove of. You may well be angry with me, and knowing your proud and honest spirit, I bet you are. You’ve had some time to think about how all this affects you, and above all I want to make you aware that you have choices, too.
RJ growled. Did his father think he was some beardless sixteen-year-old looking for a pep talk? He’d been a man himself now for a decade and a half.
My parents took away my choices when they forbid me to marry Angela, the woman I loved.
RJ suppressed a curse. How he wished he’d never heard the name of Angela Sinclair, or her accursed son.
Being an obedient son, I didn’t marry her. Instead I ran away from them all, from all of their plans and hopes and dreams for me. As you know, my time in the service was a defining period in my life that shaped me like a blade in the furnace, and I look back on it with pride as well as regret. I’m enclosing the ring I wore for many years as a symbol of my commitment to my unit. It was a wedding ring of sorts, when I wore it, as I had thrown away all other allegiances. I sought to escape my former life and forge a new one all my own. I also enclose the pilot’s license I earned all those years ago and that you used to tease me about. As you can see, it really does exist, along with the other, less savory, realities of my life.
Escape is an illusion. No matter how far you run, or how fast, the truths of your life—of who you are and what you’ve done—dog your heels over all terrain, and sooner or later you have to turn and face them. When I returned home I had to face the parents who’d waited and worried every day I was gone. This time, obeying their wishes that I take a suitable bride and start a family seemed a far more livable kind of escape, and I soon met and married your wonderful mother. My happiness was complete and I barely thought of the lives I’d left behind, until I learned by chance that the woman I once loved had borne my child and raised him in my absence.
By this time I had children of my own with your mother and knew the force, and felt the commitment, of the paternal bond. I hope you’ll one day understand that there was no way I could turn my back on my own flesh and blood. When I met Angela again, I felt the full power of our grand passion that I’d tried so hard to leave behind in my attempts to be a good son.
Don’t be a good son, RJ.
RJ blinked and thrust the letter down, growling with a mix of fury and disbelief. All his life he’d been proud to fulfill his parents’ goals and dreams, to now be told it was all some kind of colossal mistake? He snatched the pages up again, anxious to get to the end.
All your life you’ve been told where to go and what to do. Your mother and I carefully chose the best schools and groomed you for your future role in The Kincaid Group. We never asked you what you wanted. RJ, my son, I want you to take this opportunity to look inside yourself and decide what you truly want from your life.
RJ threw the letter down with another curse. How arrogant of his father to assume that he’d blindly followed along with their plans for him. He’d been successful in school and in business and everything in between because of his own hard work and dedication and because he’d wanted to. He knew plenty of men with all his advantages who’d thrown them away and run off to pursue alternate dreams. His old pal Jake ran a beach bar in Jamaica, for Chrissakes. He could have dropped out of the Caine Academy, or flunked out of Duke and opened a surf shop. He hadn’t done those things because he’d chosen the life he was living. He’d fully intended to spend his entire career building The Kincaid Group until his father decided to pull the rug out from under him.
He was nearly at the end of the letter anyway. Blood boiling with a mix of anger and frustration, he focused his eyes on the neat handwriting again.
The defining fact of my life, son, is that I loved two women.
RJ shook his head. Surely love was an act of choice. In his opinion his dad should have told his parents to shove it and married Angela. Of course he would never have been born, but right now that didn’t seem like such a bad deal.
I never claimed Angela and our son during my life as my role in society was important to me. I wanted those invitations to the black tie affairs, the yacht club memberships and the satisfaction of being a leading member of Charleston society.
RJ snorted. Thanks for setting fire to all that and leaving us in the ashes.
His father had always put a lot of stock in what other people thought. More than a man of his standing should have to. It likely went back to the Kincaids never being on quite the upper tier of Charleston society. His mom’s family was one of the old guard. In retrospect he could see that was probably the chief reason his dad married her. And now look where marriage to Reginald Kincaid had put her.
I’m not proud of the choices I made. I’ve long carried the burden of keeping Angela and her sons secret. In making my will I tried to redress some of the wrongs I committed against Jack. He grew up on the sidelines of society, as the child of a single mother, and without many of the advantages you enjoyed. In giving him a majority share in The Kincaid Group I aimed to give him the opportunities he was denied as a boy. I realize this may seem unfair to you, but I also know you’re wise enough to understand my reasoning and strong enough to forge ahead and make a success of your life, either in the company or outside it. If you’re reading this letter it’s because I’m dead, of natural causes or otherwise. I wrote it to explain myself to you after you’d had some time to reflect on the terms of the will, since knowing you as I do I suspect you tore up my first letter and threw it on the fire. I love you, RJ, and I’m proud of you.
Dad.
RJ sank into the chair. His anger had evaporated, replaced by a wounding sorrow. Apparently his dad hadn’t known him as well as he’d thought. Far from tearing up his first letter, he’d carried it with him since the day he received it. Maybe his dad really hadn’t known how much he’d loved him? They’d never been much for words or hugs.
Angry as he was at the choices—no, the stupid mistakes—his father had made, he’d give almost anything to see him just one more time.
But life—and death—didn’t work like that.
He folded the letter and thrust the ring, the license, the photos and other stray bits of paper that commemorated milestones in his dad’s life, back into the envelope.
His dad had given him permission, perhaps encouragement, to leave The Kincaid Group if he wanted to. He could move away, start a new life in a different city.
A cold shiver ran through him at the limitless possibilities, the many routes his life could take. Right now the only thing he wanted was to see Brooke’s lovely smile again.
“Brooke! You promised you’d tell me everything!” Evie’s voice rose with exasperation.
Brooke moved the phone further from her ear. “I’m trying. The weekend’s not even over yet. I’m sitting on a balcony with a ridiculous view over what must be the entire range of the Great Smoky Mountains.” The morning “smoke” or fog had evaporated, leaving a crystal-clear vista of wooded slopes and sapphire blue sky. How could she even describe what she’d experienced over the last two days? “It’s just a romantic weekend. You know what that’s like.” She wanted to downplay the whole thing. It was their first weekend together. Yes, it was fantastic. More than fantastic. But it didn’t mean RJ would be shopping for a ring later.
“You had sex with him?”
“No, we meditated together.”
“Oh, stop! Okay, that was a bit crude. You slept together.”
“We did that, too. He’s a very heavy sleeper, who makes this adorable purring noise right before he’s about to wake up.” A vision of his powerful chest rising and falling filled her brain. She’d watched him for over an hour, afraid that if she moved she’d wake him and spoil the pleasure of watching him sleep in her arms. He’d looked both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Irresistible.
“Aw, like a big kitty. So when are you seeing him again?”
“I imagine I’ll see him first thing tomorrow when I give him his mail.” She swallowed. Would she be able to maintain her usual professional demeanor now that she knew exactly what he looked like beneath those elegant pin-striped suits? Now that he knew exactly what she looked like beneath her tailored skirts and blouses.
Her nipples pricked to attention as she remembered his blue gaze raking over her skin, drinking her in like a long, tall glass of water in the desert.
“Hmm, mad passionate love on the office desk, papers sliding forgotten to the floor while the phone rings.”
“Definitely not.” Brooke blushed at the vivid image her friend had conjured.
“Never say never. Would you have thought a week ago that you’d be locking lips in his office?”
“Not in a million years. I won’t say I didn’t fantasize about it, but I never thought it would happen.”
“See? Anything could happen. Before the year is out you could be Mrs. Brooke Kincaid.”
“I very much doubt it. The Kincaids are apparently obsessed with their social standing in Charleston. In addition to being illegitimate, I don’t have a drop of blue blood in my veins. RJ’s father didn’t marry his mistress because she wasn’t from the right social class, and from the sound of it not much has changed since then.”
“Don’t be silly. RJ’s crazy about you, and he’s far too self-assured to worry about other people’s opinions of his lovely bride.”
“Stop! I thought you were the one warning me to go slow in case it all ends in tears.”
“The way I see it, you’re in over your head already. Might as well enjoy it and worry about the tears later. Did you ever figure out what to get your mom for her birthday?”
Brooke gasped. “I can’t believe it. I totally forgot! And it’s tomorrow. No, it’s today, Sunday! I haven’t even called her. I’m supposed to be at her place for dinner.”
Becoming involved with RJ had totally derailed her brain. She hung up and called her mom to confirm they were still on. As she was speaking, she heard the sliding door to the balcony whisper open, and RJ stepped out. She waved hi and finished the conversation, telling her mom to book a table wherever she wanted.
“I missed you.” RJ’s deep voice wrapped around her at the same time his arms did.
“We weren’t apart more than twenty minutes.”
“Felt like an eternity.” He nuzzled her neck, then rested his head on her shoulder for a moment.
“Are you okay? Did you read the letter?”
She felt his chest rise as he sucked in a breath. “I read the letter. My dad apparently gives me permission to abandon all my responsibilities and seize a new life by the …” He looked up and his gaze met hers with blistering force. “All I can say is thank heaven for you being here in my arms right now.”
“Don’t let it get to you. Maybe we should go for a walk in the woods to blow off steam.”
A sparkle of mischief crept into his eyes. “I can think of another way to blow off steam.”
Brooke wasn’t at all nervous on the flight back. Hand in hand with RJ, she felt they could stride across the world together and nothing could harm them.
Back in her condo, she shrugged out of the chic “country attire” she’d bought for her weekend in the woods, showered and dressed in something her mom would approve of. “You have such a nice body. You should let people see it.” By people, she meant men. Barbara Nichols’s life revolved around men and the chance of being admired by them.
She stopped by a mall and picked up the most expensive tennis bracelet she could find. Expensive was always good as her mom would know exactly how much it cost. When she arrived at 14 Pine Grove, as usual her mom was dressed for a night on the town. “Oh sweetheart, you shouldn’t have!” The sparkly bracelet hit its mark, and was immediately added to the collection of bling on her thin wrist.
“Where’s Timmy?” Her mom’s boyfriend had been a regular fixture around the house for nearly two years.
“Moved to Charlotte.”
“Why?”
“His job transferred him to their plant there.” She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. Brooke could see the lines in her face had deepened.
“Oh, Mom, I know you two got along well. Did you talk at all about going to join him?”
Her mom’s pale blue eyes had a hollow look. “He said he thought it was better if we made a clean break. He started talking about kids and you know how that goes.” She swatted the air dismissively with her manicured hand. Timmy was at least fifteen years younger than her. This had happened before.
“I’m sorry to hear that, because I thought he was nice.” Not interesting, or funny, or charming or gorgeous, like RJ, but he treated her mom well.
“Yeah, well. Sooner or later it’s time to move on. Maybe we’ll meet Mr. Right tonight. I booked us a table at Dashers, it’s a new place just up the road.”
Brooke’s heart sank. The prospect of sitting at a bar booth, eyeing potentially eligible males with her mother, was enough to suck every last breath of wind from her sails. Again, this had happened before. Still, it was her birthday.
Twenty minutes later they sat in the shiny black booth, which looked just as Brooke had imagined it. Her mom’s sculpted legs were artfully draped outside the booth where they could catch the eye of any passing males. “How about you, sweetheart? Are you still spending the weekends holed up in your apartment practicing yoga or do you ever go out into the world?”
All of Brooke’s better judgment told her to keep quiet about RJ. “Actually I’m seeing someone.” Apparently her better judgment had disappeared with her first sip of Frascati.
Her mom’s mouth and eyes widened. “Who? Someone from work?”
Brooke gulped. “Um, yes, actually.”
“Did you finally catch that gorgeous boss of yours?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m always telling you you’re beautiful enough for even the richest man in Charleston, if you’d just shine a light on your assets.” She glanced approvingly at the cleavage revealed by her blouse. “You do have a glow about you, now I’m looking closer.” Her penciled brow lifted. “Well, don’t sit there in silence. Tell me more!”
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