No Simple Sacrifice Read online

  As Peter Perizkova’s heavily accented voice once more attacked my mind.

  ‘My daughter deserves a good life, Mr. Newland. An easy life. She’s a smart woman, kind and generous. She has a heart bigger than most.’

  ‘I agree with you completely, Mr. Perizkova. I’ve never met anyone like her—and I intend on making her the happiest woman on the planet.’

  ‘You and that friend of yours? Or is that just a game you like to play?’

  ‘Fletcher Ford is my closest friend, yes. He’s the finest man I know. Loyal and honorable.’

  ‘Honorable? Bah. You take me for a balvan, boy? An idiot who knows no better, who does not see? Two men. My Talia. Oh, I see your game just fine.’

  ‘This is anything but a game for us. Fletcher loves her as much as I do.’

  ‘And how does your ‘love’ work, exactly? In the real world, Mr. Newland, when you are out in public with my Talia? People will stare at my daughter. They will call her names behind her back. Bad names. Our family has honor, Newland. A reputation we have earned—and which we protect.’

  ‘Those are problems we’re equipped to handle. People will get used to it in time.’

  ‘In time? That is what you think?’

  ‘I know it’s unconventional—’

  ‘Not good enough! Not for my daughter. She is a treasure!’

  ‘Fletcher and I treasure her above everything. We would give our lives—’

  ‘But you are robbing her of hers. She is a fine woman. She deserves to hold her head high, with honor. With love and respect.’

  ‘We both respect her, Mr. Perizkova. And honor her. We want to make every one of her dreams come true. We see those dreams. Listen to them. Certainly more than you or your wife, as far as I can tell.’

  He’d surged forward by a step. I’d braced for his punch. In the end, he’d only turned dark red, narrowing his furious glare. I’d let him have every fuming moment. He had every right to it. I’d dealt a low blow, but there’d be no apology for it—or for the solid case of pissed off behind it. He could voice his concerns—justifiable ones—as much as he wanted. But no way in hell could he accuse me and Fletcher of not loving Talia. I wasn’t even sure I’d stopped my heart at love. What had consumed me because of that woman, from the moment I’d first experienced her passion, felt far beyond anything I’d known of love…pushing into words that, to me, always belonged on the same list as Nirvana and Atlantis. Terms like destiny and meant to be and even preordained…

  ‘Nobody gets it right all the time with their children, Mr. Newland—but we have loved Talia for twenty-six years. Laughed with her, cried with her, tended her, sacrificed for her. Talk your big talk about loving her in the same way, but when you finish, take some time to think about what you will put her through because of that ‘love.’ Think about her feelings and her reputation before insisting on knowing what’s best for her.’

  I hadn’t said a damn thing in return. There’d been nothing to say. No argument to make.

  Not when the bastard was so goddamned right.

  So I’d stood in the doorway, gut churning and soul breaking, while watching the man climb into his sensible little car.

  ‘Sensible’.

  A word that had never entered our arguments with Talia.

  That had barely entered our psyches.

  Instead Fletch and I had been too busy…redecorating. And altering our schedules, trying to find more open spaces for trips to California. Talking about getting a bigger place, perhaps with an extra office for Tolly…

  Uprooting our lives—but never stopping to consider the upheaval to hers. The real price she’d have to pay for being with us.

  But once I had considered it, I’d known only one thing.

  Peter Perizkova, in all his pomposity and righteousness, had a point.

  Meaning somebody had to make the sacrifice. Become the asshole.

  I slugged the rest of the drink, not stopping until my cup was drained. My senses finally cooperated, dulling to a tolerable level—or maybe that was just the commiseration I felt from the sky, pouring out more freezing crap…resembling the exact same muck that roiled in my heart.

  * * * *

  An hour later, I finally found a date for the gala.

  Six hours after that, I flogged myself for making the call. If there was a sure-fire way to guarantee Talia moved on from me because of sheer disdain, this would be it.

  The punishment began from about the first second she slid into the limo Killian had sent. Octopus arms and snake-slithery hips. Porn star gasps, bursting from red lipstick painted on with a broom.

  You told yourself not to do this.

  Assured yourself that going stag was better than this.

  You should have listened, you know.

  I sucker-punched the prig of an angel on my shoulder while prying two gangly hands off my neck. “Hello, Janelle.”

  “Mmmm.” She pushed in to kiss me. I ducked just in time. “I am so happy to see you, Mr. Newland. You still like to be called that, I’m guessing?”

  She drew out a long wink, leaving behind black flakes of mascara from her false eyelashes. My gut soured.

  “Just call me Drake. That will be fine.”

  “Mmmm.” It was one her favorites. As the reminder stabbed in, bringing more bile with it, I contemplated turning it into a drinking game. “I’m fine with that, as well.” As we pulled away from her building, she circled a curious stare toward the other seats. “So…where’s your buddy? Fletcher, right?”

  “He won’t be joining us.”

  Her face fell like a sinkhole after a rainstorm. A second later, her coy smile was back in place. “Well, that’s fine, I suppose. I’m sure you and I can cook up some mischief on our own…hmmm?”

  Sign from the universe. Let the drinking game commence.

  “Care for something?” I tossed back a shot of Jameson, savoring the shock of the burn. I didn’t want Janelle getting any ideas, even by accident. I was human, and hadn’t even jerked off for the last five days. Martyrs were moronic like that.

  “No, thanks. I’d like to keep my head clear…for other things.” She stroked my tuxedoed arm with red dagger nails. Scraped those lethal weapons up to my jaw, where she traced them around my ear. A smile slipped across her glossy lips, just before she sent a knowing glance downward.

  My johnson didn’t twitch by a millimeter. Doubted it would’ve even without the Jameson.

  I laughed—more from curiosity than anything. Had I actually thought this woman was hot…ever?

  She crinkled her forehead. Well, attempted to. Botox had a way of fucking with things like natural facial expression. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” I meant it. “It’s…nothing.”

  “So…what is this big to-do all about? And where are we going? I wore a gown like you asked. Do you like it?”

  “It’s…bright.” I inflected it like a compliment and that was how she took it. In truth, I wagered that if the car broke down and we needed something to flag down a service truck, she’d be the easy choice. Some commissioned saleswoman had probably told her the yellow slinky thing was bold and sexy. I supposed it was—if we were going to a Sesame Street cast party.

  “We’re headed for the Waldorf.” A subject change was in order. “It’s an event for one of the businesses I work with. I also serve on their board.”

  “Which company?”

  “Stone Global Corp.”

  “Oh!” Her kohl-lined eyes flashed wide. “They’re big.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “And you’re on their board of directors?”

  “Yes.” Fuck, I miss Tolly. “SGC holds this dinner twice a year for their key shareholders and prospective investors. I’m speaking tonight, and my date—well, her plans changed—”

  “But not showing up isn’t an option for you.” Intelligent she wasn’t, but the street smarts were all there. I appreciated that at least and yanked on her hand to prove it.

&n
bsp; “You were awesome about the last-minute notice. Thank you.”

  She smiled with dopey pleasure. “No worries, Mr.—errrr, my big Drakie. No worries at all. After all the fun we had the last time?” She roamed her fingers across the fabric of my tux-covered thigh. This time, down instead of up. “You can bet I’ll pick up the phone any time you call.”

  I stopped her hand, clutching firmly. “And I’m thankful—enough to be up front with you. Tonight is about business for me, not ‘fun’—and certainly not sex with you.” When she slanted her head, peering in disbelief, I returned her hand to her lap. “It’s the truth, and if you can’t respect the boundary, that’s okay. We’ll handle the issue by turning around right now and I’ll take you home. I really did need a date for tonight, and—”

  “Figured I was a sure thing?”

  “No offense.” I pushed out a decisive breath. “Janelle…you’re a lovely woman…”

  And I’m a complete ass.

  “Well, thank you.” She cleared the hair off her neck with genteel scrapes of the dragon nails. “No offense taken. And why don’t we just…play things by ear? You may just change your mind later. And for the record, when it comes to you and Fletcher? I’m definitely a sure thing.”

  Again with her ridiculous wink. Between that move and ‘Drakie,’ I’d be lucky to get through the night without vomiting.

  All over the woman who really has nothing to do with you being an ass?

  As we waited for the car to inch forward in the drop-off line, I forced myself to confront the real source of my strain.

  Talia and Fletcher were somewhere in that glittering crowd ahead.

  I’d hoped—perhaps prayed—that they’d just sit this one out, but I knew Fletch better than that. I’d bet my eye teeth he had a whole strategy mounted about leveraging the event to corner me in private, Talia at his side, and assault me with their thousand arguments about why we belonged together. Half of me—fuck it, more than half—already agreed with them, but no way could I ignore the conviction in her father’s eyes, preying on the fears that had already lurked in my gut.

  This was in her best interest. I knew that. Knew that. And no matter what, that part would reign supreme.

  When the car arrived, I made no effort to take over for the attendant after Janelle climbed out. I simply started toward the door, leaving her trailing behind.

  Alert, alert. You have teleported out of the asshole mother ship, and are now on Planet Prick. Proceed at your own risk, motherfucker.

  My own risk, indeed.

  I shouldn’t have been shocked that Janelle was a goddamn track star in her stilettos. She was back in range before I hit the first bank of photographers, snaking her arm smoothly beneath mine, making it painfully clear we were there together. Grinding my teeth, I observed the faces behind the camera lenses. The gossip columns had sent their A crews tonight, meaning there’d be at least a little respect for those of us on this side of the velvet ropes. Thank fuck.

  “Mr. Newland,” a voice called out. “A picture?”

  “Not tonight, gentlemen. Sorry, I need to get inside. I’m speaking.” I ducked my head in gratitude, but a few flashes went off anyway. I glared in the general direction of the strobe, but it was too late. If they’d wanted their shot that badly, they’d gotten it. At least Janelle and I weren’t cozy close when the lens snapped, but she was definitely right beside me.

  It is what it is.

  Grandfather had taught me that one. Over the years, it had served me well in a variety of crises. Did tonight qualify as such a predicament? And did I care? I’d bend the rules to make it fit, needing the man’s subliminal hand on my psychological compass right now. If I trusted myself to run the thing, my sanity would end up in the middle of some jungle, searching for bugs for breakfast.

  I found our table quickly, knowing they’d likely group the presenters near the front stairs for easy access to the stage. I pulled out Janelle’s seat and she slid into the chair with practiced grace, perching on the edge with flawless posture.

  “Do you want something from the bar? I’m heading over. I’ll be right back.” That was as indirect as I could be, hoping Miss Street Smarts got my gist. Stay there—don’t follow me. I needed to limit the time I was seen with her. Already, I recognized the error of having decided to call her. As weird as it would feel to show up alone at this thing, it couldn’t feel more wrong than this.

  “Champagne?” she replied. “And, Drakie, champagne, please. Not sparkling wine.”

  I gritted a smile. “Sure thing, Janie.”

  The smile grew as I set out for the bar—confident I’d finally killed off ‘Drakie’. Men in tuxedos milled around, gathering drinks for their dates and themselves. It was the same shit at every one of these things. I figured out where the line was haphazardly formed, joining in while exchanging surface pleasantries with a few people I knew. I smiled when required, nodded when necessary, even tossed out a few appropriate quips about everything from the Bulls’ chances in the new season to the latest episode of The Walking Dead.

  In short, I was bucking for the trophy of World’s Biggest Fraud.

  I was charming on the outside…a wreck on the inside. And I couldn’t stop scanning the room, sick about the prospect of seeing them…thinking of nothing else.

  I headed back to the table, whiskey neat in one hand and champagne in the other.

  Before a twinge on my nape stopped me where I was.

  I didn’t move a muscle. The tiny claws of intuition dug in again.

  I turned, sweeping my gaze toward the ballroom’s entrance.

  There they were.

  “Natalia,” I rasped.

  Fuck…

  Talia.

  She clung to Fletcher like her life depended on him, lips thin, eyes wide…utterly stunning. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Perfect. No word in my pathetic vocabulary came close to describing her well enough. Her shiny sable hair was swept up in a classic twist, reminding me of a style my mother used to wear to formal parties. Her dress was the most amazing shade of green, setting off her olive skin, making her seem like a goddess in a room full of mortals…including me.

  She consumed me. Froze me. Turned me into a completely stupid sap, standing there like some fool in a movie, gazing at the woman he’d never have. What a crock, those fucking films. They pulled you in with the soaring music and the artsy camera angles, never telling you about a heart that threatened to break through your ribs, the lungs that throbbed in their battle for air, or the legs that turned to ice because all the blood in them was rushing between your thighs.

  I dragged in air. Talia’s head snapped up as if she had heard, though she and Fletch were still across the room.

  And instantly found me.

  Her dark eyes widened as soon as she took in my awestruck gaze. At once, my cock lurched and thickened, craving to give her that look as I slid into her wet tightness. I remembered every detail of what that had felt like…only weeks ago.

  No. It would be different…because she’d become more beautiful since then. Her body more sensual. Her elegance more pronounced. And, damn, those electrifying, enormous anime eyes…locked onto mine, as if for dear life…

  And I looked away.

  Like the fucking coward I was.

  But not long enough.

  I couldn’t help glancing back—to see if Fletcher had discerned my location, too. With an encouraging nod from Talia, he beelined through the crowd toward me. I fired off a warning glare, but he kept approaching. When we stood toe to toe, I was determined to get in the first—and last—word. He wouldn’t escalate this. Not here. Not now.

  I modulated my voice even lower than usual. “Fletcher—”

  “What?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t?” His eyebrows jumped up as the word seethed out. “Don’t what? Give me specifics, asshole, because I’ve got a long list for you right now.”

  “All of it,” I gritted back. “Just…don’t.”

 
His upper lip curled. “Fuck. You.”

  “This isn’t the time or place, and you know it. We’re here for Kil—and the relationships we both have with most of this room.”

  I didn’t give on my stance. Neither did he. But after a moment, his expression wavered. Just enough to let me see the plea behind his aggression.

  It was damn near my undoing.

  “Go back to your date, Mr. Ford—and enjoy the evening.” I tried—and failed—not to growl the word date. Thank God I had drinks in my hands to keep steady and a destination for my lead legs. I turned and forced myself to keep walking away—thankfully, in what seemed the opposite direction to the table to which he and Talia had been assigned. I would have to thank Britta, Killian’s version of a talented Moneypenny, for unknowingly seating us on opposite sides of the room.

  I set Janelle’s champagne flute in front of her. She was deeply engrossed in a gossipy conversation with two other women at the table and that was fine by me. Better than fine. I was content—or the closest thing I could get to it tonight—flashing a curt smile and parking my ass in silence until this rodeo started. A glance at my watch confirmed that wouldn’t be long now, thank God. The sooner I gave my presentation, the sooner we could leave.

  As the thought hit, I jolted a little. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant.

  We could leave.

  Well, why not? There wasn’t a law keeping me here. No chains locking me in for the night. And only a fool hung out in the torture chamber if he wasn’t chained.

  I leaned over, tugging Janelle away from her chat for a second. She was a bit peeved—some ‘blow job skank’ in Hollywood had just screwed somebody over for a part, after all—but she changed up as I spoke.

  “I don’t want to stay long.”

  Her purr went along with she-cat eyes. “Mmmm. I knew you’d change your mind.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to be here any longer than necessary. After I give my speech, we’re slipping out that door.” I nodded toward the object of my statement, making certain she followed the trajectory and understood.