Beth Kery - Because We Belong

James gave a bark of exultant laughter, all of his weariness over the talk of Gerard vanishing, twenty years seeming to melt off his visage in an instant. Anne gave an adorable little whoop of joy and took an unladylike gulp of her brandy, her eyes shining with happiness as she hugged her husband.

Francesca put her hand on Ian’s chest, silently absorbing his warmth and the steady, strong beat of his heart, and basked in the moment.

* * *

Anne and James celebrated with them for a while and asked all the usual questions: How far along was she? Eight weeks. How long had she known she was pregnant? Since last weekend; Ian and she had gone together to a doctor in Belford. Where would the baby be born? At Belford, if it was all right with Anne and James. (It was beyond all right of course. The couple was ecstatic at the idea.) Ian and she had liked the doctor at the hospital in Belford very much, but they’d also guessed at Anne and James’s reaction to the plan. They’d agreed they wanted to give their grandparents that gift.

After their joyous impromptu celebration, Anne and James said good night and gave them one last congratulatory hug before leaving them alone in the sitting room.

“Happy?” Ian asked her quietly, his gaze running over her face.

“What do you think?” she asked, grinning.

“I think you look like a thousand suns in my eyes. I’ve never seen you so radiant.”

Her smiled faded. No matter how many times she experienced his sudden, sober intensity, it never ceased to leave her breathless.

“When I was looking at your painting,” he said thoughtfully, “I realized how nice it would have been to have been married here, in the springtime. Do you think I was selfish, insisting we marry while I was still in the hospital? It wasn’t the most romantic of settings. I only know that suddenly, I couldn’t wait.”

“I know,” she, touching his chest, holding his solemn gaze. “That’s what made it so special . . . your having the faith to take a leap into the future. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But if it would make you happy, we can renew our vows here anytime. Every spring, if you like,” she said, smiling.

He stood, her hand still in his. “Come with me,” he said.

They walked together out through the screen doors onto the small stone terrace. It was a resplendent June night. The distant forest seemed to clamor with fertile life—tree frogs croaked, grasshoppers chirped, and a breeze rustled the tops of lush trees, making a soft sound like a sigh. She breathed the scent of freshly mown, dew-wet grass and honeysuckle as she followed Ian off the terrace into the yard. They walked without speaking. Ian paused after a moment. There was enough moon and starlight for her to make out a sitting area, one she hadn’t discovered as of yet, hidden behind a thicket of rosebushes. When Ian sat in one of the wooden recliners, she made for the one next to it, but he pulled her toward him.

“Come here,” he said. “You can’t think I’d let you sit over there when I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Of course not,” she said drolly, laughing. She started to sit in his lap, her back to his front, but he stopped her.

“No, face me,” he murmured. “And lift your dress.”

Her laughter faded and her sex clenched at his taut demand. She’d heard the need ringing in his voice and it ignited her own. She lifted the hem of her sundress to her waist, saying nothing when he put one hand on her hip and the other on her bare belly. They both watched him touch her in the moonlight, his masculine hands looking dark next to her pale skin. He moved, caressing and stroking, his hands seeming to spin a sensual spell over her. She felt her sex dampen and the familiar, sweet ache swell inside her.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, caressing her belly.

“I expect it’ll take both of us some time to get accustomed to the idea that a baby is growing in there.”

“I don’t mean the baby. I mean . . . I do. But I didn’t mean just that. I meant I still can’t believe you’re mine. Most of the day I do, but at moments like this it seems so . . . incredible.” She saw the gleam in his eyes when he looked up at her. She palmed his jaw tenderly. Their gazes held as he lowered her panties. His fingers moved deftly in her outer sex. He grunted softly when he found her damp. “Thank you for not giving up on me. Not in the beginning, when I didn’t understand what was happening between us because I had no yardstick to compare it to. Not when I left you. Not even when I came back, and still felt I couldn’t offer you what you deserve.”

She sighed as he stimulated her clit and pushed a finger into her slit. It felt sublime. “You didn’t give up on me, either. I thought you had, but you hadn’t. You knew better than me what was required to make you feel whole.”

“What I need is you,” he said, a steely thread of urgency entering his tone. He removed his hand and she saw the glimmer of his belt buckle as he unfastened his pants. In a matter of seconds, she was sitting in his lap facing him, his cock embedded in her flesh. For several moments, they just sat motionless in the moonlight, touching each other’s face and neck and arms, fused.

“It seems impossible,” Ian said in a strained voice, “that I lived all those months without you. Even when I’m away from you for days, I start to feel like I can’t breathe. I honestly don’t know how I did it before.”

“Some part of you knew it was required for you to heal,” she said. “You did it because it was necessary, and you couldn’t think much beyond that.” His hands moved on her bottom, palming her buttocks. She quickened, tightening her vaginal muscles around him.

“It was like living in hell.”

She blinked at his stark, raw confession. He’d never described it so blatantly before. He groaned in agonized pleasure and moved her on his cock. A muscle twitched in his tense cheek. “Tell me I never have to go back, and I’ll believe you,” he said between a tight jaw.

“Never,” she whispered fiercely. “You walked through that hell for us, but now it’s over. We’re together. For always.” She lifted herself and then sunk him deep, squeezing him tight. “Believe it, Ian. We’re exactly where we belong.”

Lin Soong hurried down the sidewalk, her face coated in a thin layer of perspiration overlaid with an autumn mist. Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks, and she’d finally ended up just walking the three quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in high heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her wielding a comb and a hair straightener like a warrior’s weapons.

“You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was like everything else in a person’s character: something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish.

Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart. She despised feeling flustered, and this situation called for even more than her usual aplomb.

By the time she entered the crowded, elegant restaurant, she’d repinned her waving, curling hair and used a tissue to dry her damp face. She immediately spotted him sitting at the bar. He was impossible to miss. For a stretched few seconds, she just stared. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbled in her belly.

Why hadn’t Ian mentioned that his half brother looked so much like him?

She soaked in the image of him. He was very good looking, even if that frown was a little off-putting. He wore a dark blue shirt; the rich brown of the rugged suede jacket brought out the russet highlights in his hair. Kam Reardon didn’t know it—and she’d never tell him—but she herself had picked out the clothing he wore. It’d been part of the mission Ian had assigned her to make his half brother presentable for a potentially lucrative business deal here in Chicago. Ian had suggested a new wardrobe for his trip to the States. Kam had grudgingly agreed after some skillful nudging on Ian’s part, but insisted upon paying. It’d been Lin who had actually chosen the items, however, and sent the articles to Aurore Manor in France. It warmed her to see him wearing the garments, firsthand evidence that he’d considered the clothing suitable to his taste.

Her clothing selection hadn’t done much to help Kam blend in, however. He was too large for the delicate chairs lined up at the super sleek, minimalist bar. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the trendy establishment, all bold, masculine lines and unrelenting angles.

No . . . not like a sore thumb, Lin amended. More like a lion that found itself in the midst of a herd of antelope. His utter stillness and watchful alertness seemed slightly ominous amidst the sea of idly chatting, well-heeled patrons.

Suddenly, she realized his gaze had locked on her from across the crowded dining area.

“Hello, beautiful. We have your table waiting,” someone said.

Lin blinked and pulled her gaze off the man who was a stranger to her, and yet wasn’t; her boss’s infamous half brother—the wild man she’d been sent to tame.

She focused instead on Richard St. Claire’s smiling face. Richard was a neighbor, friend, and the manager of the restaurant, Savaur. He owned the world-renowned establishment with his partner, chef Emile Savaur. Lin was a regular here.

She returned Richard’s greeting warmly as they hugged and he kissed her on the cheek. “Can you hold the table for just a moment, Richard? My dinner companion is waiting at the bar. I’d like to go and introduce myself,” Lin said, turning as he began to remove her coat.

“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scowling?” Richard muttered under his breath as he draped her coat elegantly over his forearm, looking amused. He noticed her surprised glance as she faced him again. How did Richard know her dinner companion was the man at the bar? “You mentioned you were having dinner with Noble’s half brother on the phone when you made the reservations. I noticed the resemblance. I can’t wait to hear the story behind this little scenario,” Richard said with a mischievous glance in Kam’s direction. “He’s like Ian Noble posing as a Brazilian street fighter.”

Lin stifled a laugh at the apt description. “He’s actually cleaned up quite nicely. Not six months ago, the people from the village near where he lived thought him homeless and mad. And he’s not Brazilian, he’s French,” she said very quietly, dipping her head to hide her moving mouth. She smoothed her expression, acutely aware of Kam’s sharp gaze still cast in her direction.

“I know—the accent. Not that he said much. He’s been sitting at the bar looking like he’s been chewing nails for the past ten minutes. Victor doesn’t know if he’s scared to death of the man or in love with him,” Richard murmured, referring to the bartender serving Kam. Indeed, Victor was surreptitiously studying the tower of whiskered, glowering brawn seated at the bar with a mixture of wariness and stark admiration as he dried a glass.

Lin threw her friend an amused glance and walked over to meet Ian’s brother. Kam was one of the few people seated at the teak bar, a half-full glass of beer in front of him.

“I’m so sorry for being late. Work was crazy, and there wasn’t a single available cab to be found when I finally did get away. You must be Kam. I’d have recognized you anywhere,” she said when she approached him, smiling in greeting. “Ian never told me how much you two resembled one another.”

He turned slightly in his chair, giving her an unhurried once-over. She remained completely still beneath his perusal, her expression calm and impassive. Inwardly, she squirmed. Ian had also failed to warn her of the fact that Kam Reardon oozed raw sex appeal.

Although it couldn’t have been any more than a second that he studied her, it felt like minutes before he finally met her stare. She recognized the sharp edge of male appreciation in his eye. A strange sensation rippled down her spine. Was it excitement? Or that uncommon brand of lust that strikes like lightning during a rare, uncommon rush of attraction. His face and form were similar to Ian’s, although up close, there were notable differences: the nose was slightly larger, the skin swarthier, the mouth fuller, the hair not quite as dark, with hints of russet in the thick waves. Ian would certainly never go into public with a day-and-a-half growth of dark stubble on his jaw. Although Kam’s clothing was suitable for the restaurant, it was far more casual than Ian’s typical Savile Row suits. It was like seeing Ian in some kind of magical mirror—a shadowy, savage version of her debonair boss. Kam’s silvery gray eyes with the defining black ring around the iris were certainly strikingly unique. Or at least the effect they had on Lin was.