Whispered Surrender Read online

  The motorized coach waited at the end of the drawbridge. Raoul stood at the door and helped Abby inside. Brett took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before she sat down. A light mist had begun to fall again.

  He slid onto the seat beside her. What looked like two white cake boxes, tied with lush black ribbons and bows, perched on the seat across from them.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “Dinner.”

  “To go?”

  “Do you think we’re the only ones who’ve ever forgotten to eat at Whispers?”

  She shook her head. “They think of everything.”

  “We aim to please.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. “Did we succeed?”

  She sighed and leaned deep into the leather. “I don’t know who we is, but you certainly did, Mr. Kincade. Touchdown and a two-point conversion.”

  On the ride to the parking lot, Abby snuggled close to Brett. There were still several hours left before dawn. Would they spend the night at her place, or his? She mentally inventoried what she had left in the fridge and pantry. Enough to wow him in the morning with an omelet extraordinaire.

  She wondered if he cooked. He must if he lived alone. Or did he have a household staff that took care of cleaning and cooking? She couldn’t imagine the luxury of that, nor the other end of the spectrum, the lack of privacy.

  She kissed the sensitive spot beneath his ear. “My place or yours?”

  Beside her, Brett stiffened. She lifted her head and saw they’d reached the circular drive that led to the entrance to Whispers by the Sea. Her heart sank and the words stuck in her throat. Trin, the doorman, stood beside the open driver’s-side door of Brett’s Porsche, while Carlton waited at the open rear door of the limousine.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he began…or ended.

  Suddenly, he’d gone from her lover to a stranger, uncomfortable, obviously eager to move along. “I’m sorry, Abby. I should have said something sooner. I have…ah…an early day tomorrow.”

  Embarrassment warred with humiliation. Her stomach churned, and the memory of the sweet whipping cream curdled. I’ll just bet you do. Slam bam, thank you, ma’am. “It’s okay.” She forced a smile. “I have an early day too. Lots of deliveries, and then back to the shop to work on the Gala flowers.”

  Brett took a step back, although he still held her hand. “I’ll be in and out all day. You have my number.”

  She pulled her hand away from him. She had his number all right.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you Saturday—at the Gala.”

  She didn’t answer, just turned and quickly walked to the limousine. She was inside when Brett called out to her again, “Call me.”

  * * * * *

  I will not cry. I will not cry. Abby repeated the phrase over and over, grateful that Carlton had closed the privacy window separating them. If she did break down, he’d be spared her curses and wails.

  She loved Brett Kincade. She knew it the moment he walked into her life, and for a few hours tonight, she’d actually begun to believe he at least cared for her. Damn it. He had been so smooth, but why wouldn’t he after all those years of practice, all those gorgeous women at his beck and call in every NFL city across the country. Now that he’d retired, with likely more money than Ft. Knox, he probably had his pick of the entire female population of Seaside—hell, the entire state.

  Damn it, Abby, you are so stupid!

  What did she expect? She wasn’t one of the hopping harlots that decorated the sidelines at the games, she wasn’t an actress, or the star of a reality show, she wasn’t even a pole dancer, but heaven knew, she’d certainly acted like one. He’d snapped his fingers and she’d dropped her drawers—in the parking lot, and now tonight, when they’d done each other every which way they dared short of hanging from the ceiling. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  Abby welcomed anger. It was so much easier than the pain of rejection.

  She’d known Brett what, twenty-four hours? He was gorgeous, generous, kind and an amazingly skilled lover. What more could any woman ask? He hadn’t made any promises and she hadn’t asked for any. He’d invited her to Whispers. She knew what that meant and she went willingly. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d foolishly leapt to the next level while he kept his feet on the ground.

  They’d danced, they’d eaten, they’d fucked. A good time was had by all.

  Then, damn it, why did her chin keep quivering, and even a dozen swallows didn’t force down the golf ball stuck in her throat.

  Shit!

  At Rose’s house, after Carlton parked in the drive, he insisted upon seeing Abby to her front door. “Mr. Kincade asked me to make sure you arrived safely. Would you like me to have a look around before I leave? Make sure everything inside is secure?”

  He’d looked away so quickly, she wondered if he’d seen the sadness in her smile. Made her wonder how many times he had played a part in this scenario before.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

  The chill of the night had invaded the house, along with the darkness that matched the feelings in her heart. She stepped out of her shoes in the foyer and climbed the stairs without turning on a light. In her room, she pulled the dress over her head without unzipping it, dropped it in a heap and tossed her purse aside. Still wearing her necklace and earrings, she flopped down on the bed and closed her eyes. “I’ll laugh about this one day,” she said. “A day my heart isn’t hurting as much as it is now.”

  And with that, she rolled over, buried her face in her pillow and cried.

  Brring! Brring!

  Startled, Abby sat up. Was that the phone? She turned on the lamp on the nightstand. The time on the clock radio said one-thirty-five.

  Oh god, please don’t let this be bad news. Breathless, she answered, “Hello.”

  “Hi, baby.” That voice, as rich as fine mahogany purred back at her.

  She flopped back on the bed. “Brett?”

  She swore she heard the smile in his voice before she heard his words. “It’s not the Tooth Fairy.”

  “I’d already guessed that. No quarters under my pillow.”

  “How ‘bout you under me?”

  She sucked in a breath. No way he was getting away with that. “Aren’t you the one with an ‘early day’?”

  “Yep, the same stupid one.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if there were others within earshot. “I miss you already.”

  How did she answer? She hated men who played games. She’d thought he was different. “I miss you too—inside me.”

  This time, she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Geez, I need my head examined.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “Didn’t you tell me the ‘Babe Mobile’ does zero to ninety in three seconds? If you mean it, put your money where your mouth is.”

  “I wish I could, Abby.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Or who?

  He exhaled a breath that sounded sharp and irritated. “I told you, I have an early morning.”

  “We all have choices, don’t we?”

  “I can’t, sweetheart, not tonight.”

  “I’m heading back to New York on Monday.”

  “Maybe.”

  “For sure.”

  His voice stayed serious. “Abby, there are no certainties in life. We’ll talk about Monday later.”

  “Maybe.”

  Over a thin laugh, he said, “Stop it. You have my numbers—my cell, office, my private line. Call me tomorrow when you have a chance.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Sleep tight, love. Dream of me.”

  Abby waited until Brett disconnected the line. Then she jammed the phone into its charger.

  Chapter Twelve

  The third time the snooze alarm buzzed, Abby forced her eyes open. She’d slept more soundly than she had in years. The snooze alarm buzzed again. She sat up, threw the covers aside and swung her legs off the edge of the b
ed. The fragrance of the massage oil Brett had used last night wafted up at her, the love bite on her thigh smiled at her.

  She regretted waking up alone, but she’d never regret the evening they’d shared. What woman in her right mind would? How many yearned to be brought to orgasm even once during lovemaking? What an unforgettable gift Brett had given her.

  With a spring in her steps, Abby ducked in and out of the shower then dressed for the long, long day ahead. Because of her lack of design skills, she’d play delivery gal today, along with two or three other drivers Judy hired for holidays.

  This might be fun, she thought. She stepped into a pair of jeans and sneakers, and pulled on a brightly colored pullover. Love In Bloom’s logo, a bit like one of Mary Englebreit’s designs, struck Abby as whimsical, but it added the perfect touch to the matching windbreaker Judy had given her.

  Abby arrived at the shop promptly at eight to find everyone scurrying like a horde of mice.

  Judy rushed over, hugged her and stayed only long enough to say, “Before we finish up tonight, you’re going to share every detail of Whispers, right down to the last crumbs of dessert.” Then she rushed off to crack the whip in the studio.

  Abby took a few phone orders, ate a small container of yogurt, then walked back to the loading dock. Once Ronn shut the doors on her van, he walked over carrying a clipboard with a half-inch-thick sheaf of paper.

  “You ready to roll, sweet cakes?”

  The papers, she discovered, were maps and directions from one of the internet’s map sites. “Did you stay up all night printing these?”

  He fanned the bottom edge of the stack. “As long as you keep the pages in order, they’ll take you to your first delivery and lead you back to the shop after your last. Make sure you’re here no later than ten-forty-five. You have another run before lunch, and two this afternoon.”

  “Then what?” She hoped he’d say she was done for the day.

  “Your boyfriend’s flowers should be your last delivery this afternoon. No hanging around making goo-goo eyes at him. Judy has you down to work on the Gala flowers.” He sighed. “I suppose even you can do some of that.”

  “He’s not my ‘boyfriend’.”

  A smirk lit up Ronn’s face.

  “And I don’t make ‘goo-goo’ eyes at anyone.”

  “Oh, pul-leeze, sweet cakes, we all do. Even your aunt.”

  “No way. Not practical Rose Granger.”

  His expression softened. “What a shame you never took time to see Rose in action.”

  Hadn’t Brett said something similar to her?

  “She must be quite a woman.”

  “Ditzy, charming, funny, and tough as a longshoreman. Characteristics I admire, even in women.”

  “From the stack of orders I’ve taken this week, the shop does far better than I expected.”

  “All of Rose’s businesses are successful. But you ought to know that.”

  She didn’t know her aunt owned other businesses. “Why would I?”

  Ronn rolled his eyes again. “As heir apparent, I thought you’d know about all of it.”

  “All of what?”

  He rested his hand on his hip. “You’ll never catch Ronn telling tales out of school.”

  Yeah right.

  “Let’s just say your aunt has her fingers in dozens of pots, one you ought to know very well.”

  Abby shook her head. It was too early to play one of Ronn’s prissy little mind games.

  She took the clipboard from him.

  “Follow the directions carefully,” he said, “and keep the pages in order. Otherwise, we might have to call in the Marines.”

  * * * * *

  Abby had no trouble following the maps. She loved working outdoors on such a gorgeous day, and no matter how many times she handed over an arrangement or bouquet, she never tired of the excitement in the young and not-so-young women’s eyes and bright smiles. Made her wonder if there was another fleet of vans delivering brightly wrapped boxes of Viagra to men all over town.

  A little after ten, and only a few blocks from the shop, Abby stopped to refuel. She’d made nearly $100.00 in tips, something she hadn’t expected nor intended to keep. The design staff did all the work. That money belonged to them.

  While gasoline poured into her thirsty tank, she pulled her cell phone out of her breast pocket. Her heart sank. No missed calls. Brett had asked her to call him. If he really wanted to talk to her, wouldn’t he call her? She snapped the phone shut.

  After she topped off the tank and climbed back inside the van, she opened her phone again. She thumbed to his cell number and hit send. Straight to voice mail.

  Next she tried his private line. Straight to voice mail.

  She closed the phone and tucked it back in her pocket.

  By late afternoon, Abby had checked her cell a dozen times to make sure it still worked. No calls, no texts, no voice mail messages, except from Ronn or Judy. The spring had left her step, and the squeals and oohs and aahs had definitely lost their charm. Now they annoyed her.

  Throughout the afternoon, the temperature rose. By the time she pulled into the parking lot at Kincade Associates, her cotton pullover clung to her. In the heat and humidity, her hair frizzed. To keep it off her neck, she’d piled it high and fastened it with two clips. Escaped tendrils now brushed the sides of her face. Her reflection in the visor’s mirror showed a woman who looked tired and hot.

  Kincade Associates occupied a two-story brick and stone building in the most upscale commercial area of town, alongside other “old money” firms—attorneys, accountants, private jewelers, and some of Kincade’s financial competitors.

  Meticulously mown lawns and blossoming flower beds, winding tree-lined streets with little traffic. No pickup trucks spewing exhaust, no pounding bass pouring out of the windows of cars and vans stopped at the signal, and few vehicles that left the dealerships for under eighty thousand. Where the Kincades pitched their tent, money was old, quiet and plentiful.

  Abby checked her cell before loading the flatbed dolly Ronn had given her for this delivery. Still no messages, so she tried Brett’s private line one last time. Like before, straight to voice mail. She took a deep breath and started unloading.

  Inside the building, Abby stepped into a foyer of white marble floors, two clusters of guest chairs and bronze tables resting atop plush oriental rugs. The wheels of her dolly crunched across the lobby to softly played chamber music.

  The nameplate at the reception desk read Shari-Lynn Walton. Instead of Shari-Lynn sat a young man dressed in a crisp long-sleeved shirt and tie, a $500.00 haircut and gold wire-rimmed glasses. He dragged his eyes away from the spreadsheet on his laptop long enough to smile and look over the oval marble enclosure to check out what made the noise.

  “They’re on the second floor waiting for you.” He pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Elevator’s to the left and no, I’m not Shari-Lynn.”

  “Which way on two?”

  “Follow the giggling.”

  The elevator doors opened onto a great room where the decorator had carried out the lobby’s theme. More marble, more oriental rugs, more opulence. At the far end, a wall of glass offered a view of more beautifully maintained lawns, a mix of flowering trees and several stately old weeping willows. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of the ocean.

  On each side of the window, mahogany pillars and panels stood like sentries in front of two closed office doors. Each bore a bronze nameplate. Brett W. Kincade, Sr. was inscribed on one. Brett W. Kincade, Jr., on the other. She wondered what the W stood for? She’d touched and tasted every inch of him last night, but didn’t know his middle name.

  Directly across from the reception desk, Abby saw another office, door open and with the nameplate Jordan Ito, Brett’s assistant.

  A marble corridor, with a runner of forest green carpet, ran in both directions. To her left Abby heard muted laughter. She followed the sound.

  Inside a break room, seven of the most
beautiful women Abby had seen outside a runway or a movie set, gathered around a table, laughing and chattering.

  Three bottles of champagne, two open, rested in a large pewter ice container. Instantly, Abby’s thoughts flew back to The Castle and the pewter dishes and goblets she and Brett had used last night.

  Two heart-shaped candy boxes sat alongside the ice bucket. Only a few chocolates remained from what must have been enough to fuel a moon shoot.

  She knocked on the open door and called, “Excuse me. I’m looking for Jordan Ito.”

  Conversation abruptly stopped. The women turned, and two of the three who had been seated, rose from their chairs. The third remained seated with her back to Abby. When she slowly turned, her beauty took Abby’s breath away. She’d never seen a more stunning woman. Shiny black hair, chopped and layered in a style that might look ridiculous on anyone else, but only added to her exotic appearance. Delicate Eurasian features, slim legs, tiny feet, and about an eleven-inch waist. Abby felt like a giant—a tall, frizzy-haired, sweating giant.

  “I’m Jordon Ito.” Although she smiled, Abby saw no warmth in her smile. Nor in the critical way her gaze swept over Abby from head to toe. “I presume you’re from Love In Bloom.”

  Abby looked down at her shirt, at the whimsical logo, and a few spots of brown and green she’d picked up along the way. What gave you your first clue? “The arrangements are out here. I’ll be glad to drop them at the right desks.”

  “Is each properly tagged?”

  For one so tiny, Ms. Ito had a commanding presence. Abby nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jordan turned to the others and looked at her watch. “Beau and Brett are probably back by now. I know they’ll personally want to see your flowers and wish you a good weekend.” She nodded toward the door and like the Stepford wives, they walked in single-file past Abby to fetch their “properly tagged” floral arrangements from her cart.

  None of them even peeked into the largest bouquet. She wondered why they weren’t curious to see what Judy had designed for Jordan. Or maybe they knew better than to look.

  Jordan swept past Abby without showing any interest in the remaining arrangement. Abby stood beside her cart and waited to see what Jordan did next.