Frailty of Things Read online

  The tightness in his chest didn’t let up as Kit and Marco turned and glided to the other end of the dance floor. It took everything he had to fight his primal urge to intervene. It wasn’t that he thought Kit was going to jump into the other man’s bed, but Garret was jealous, ridiculously so, of the time they were spending together and of the ease they seemed to share. And he couldn’t help wondering if Kit would ever feel that comfortable in his arms.

  Finally, the song ended. Baresi continued to hold Kit in his embrace as he finished saying something to her, but the couple stopped moving. Unable to stay away any longer, Garret took the last sip of his champagne and set the glass down on a nearby table.

  “May I have the next dance?” he asked, having moved across the floor.

  With a surprised gasp, Kit spun. Baresi released one of her hands when she turned, but kept his arm wrapped around her waist as she stayed tucked against him.

  “Garret?” she said, sounding as confused as her expression looked. “What are you doing here?” Her perfectly framed eyebrows came together. Then came together even more, and not in surprise.

  “Let me guess, my brother sent you?” she asked, all but turning away from him. Dismissing him.

  “Actually, Kit, your brother is back in New York. I came because I wanted to be here.”

  For a moment, she was speechless and just stood there staring at him—while she was still in another man’s arms. He was going to have to change that. Soon.

  “Darling, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” Marco Baresi said, nudging Kit out of her silence. She gave herself a little shake and eyed Garret warily, but dutifully turned to Baresi and spoke.

  “Marco, this is a, well, this is Garret Cantona. Garret, this Marco Baresi, my good friend and the reason for this party.”

  Garret didn’t miss the lack of a qualifier attached to his name, but ignoring that for the moment, he turned to the author. Garret acknowledged that the man—though bald, just a hair taller than Kit in her heels, and more than a few years older—might hold a certain appeal to women. He was unquestionably okay looking, but he also had the kind of confidence and easy sensuality, judging by the way his hand remained on Kit, that women might find attractive.

  “I hear congratulations are in order, Mr. Baresi. I’ve been a fan for many years.” But not so much anymore, he appended in his head.

  His statement not only surprised the author, but Kit too. She drew her head back and looked at him as if she was trying to figure out if he was poking fun. But he wasn’t. And to prove it, he continued.

  “I’ve heard rumors that you had a muse for 10,000 Yearnings, and from what I gather, most people have assumed it was Kit,” he said putting two and two—and two—together, from everything he’d read about Baresi. “But,” Garret continued, “I think that if you’ve ever based a character on Kit, it would have to have been Marta in Comings Away.”

  For a beat, no one said anything. Then Marco Baresi threw his head back and laughed. Garret glanced at Kit—who was frowning at him, or maybe at Marco—and took a moment to study her. He was relieved to see she still looked well rested, though if it was possible, he’d wager she’d lost a pound or two in the past two days.

  When he finally stopped laughing, Baresi smiled at Garret. “You know her well, then,” the author said in his thick Italian accent.

  “Well enough for now,” Garret answered.

  Baresi gave him a speculative look that he soon turned on Kit.

  She met her old friend’s gaze for moment then Baresi turned back to him. “No one has ever suggested Marta was based on Kit. Most of them assume it was the lovely, lithe, and seductive Genevieve from 10,000 Yearnings. But you are, of course, right, my friend,” he added. “I’m curious, if you will, what made you see that?”

  Garret could tell from the look on Kit’s face that she was anything but curious. In fact, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere in the world but in the middle of this conversation. Too bad.

  “There is no denying the appeal of the young Genevieve,” Garret started. “Her sensuality, her seductiveness, is rather,” he paused searching for the word. “It is rather irresistible. And easy for one to attribute to Kit without reserve.”

  Kit shifted and looked away. Still looking for an escape she wasn’t going to find.

  “But Marta,” Garret continued, keeping his gaze on Kit, who finally, with obvious reluctance, met it. “She possesses a spirit, a will to not just survive but to make her life better. To live better, to love better, to be better. A strength that goes beyond the sexual realm—one that is more subtle but stronger than any aspect of Genevieve’s character. And that,” he said, his eyes locked on hers, “is Kit.”

  He felt more than saw Baresi’s eyes bounce between the two of them. But in his mind, in this place, there was no one in the room but him and Kit. Her golden eyes watched him as he noted the flush of her skin and the rhythm of her pulse beating in her neck.

  “I suppose then, mi amore, that tonight, I shall be lonely.”

  Garret heard the words, but it seemed to take more than a few seconds for them to register with him—and with Kit. But after a moment, she gave a little shake of her head and turned toward her old friend.

  “Marco, don’t pretend you’ll be lonely tonight,” she chided. “We would have stayed up drinking, smoking Cuban cigars, and rehashing old times. But you know Cara is always willing to accommodate any of your other companionship interests.”

  Marco gave a good-hearted tsk-tsk and shook his head. Saying something in Italian, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across Kit’s cheek before facing Garret.

  “She is my muse in more ways than one, my friend,” he said. “And she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, as I well know. But do not assume that because she is competent, she needs no one.”

  “Marco!” Kit protested, but he silenced her by raising her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there, like a gentleman from days gone by.

  “Be good, be kind, and if she comes back to me,” he said, placing Kit’s fingers in Garret’s hand, “rest assured, I do know how to heal her and will not hesitate to do so again.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the two of them standing on the dance floor as the orchestra struck up another song.

  Garret hesitated for a split second before he pulled her into his arms and began moving to the music. Judging by Kit’s silence, they were both contemplating what Marco had said, and what he hadn’t. Then again, she could just be plotting his demise for crashing the party and disrupting her evening.

  “Kit?” he asked, pulling back a bit to see her face. Her eyes were fixed over his shoulder for several strains, then finally met his gaze.

  “I don’t want to talk about it tonight, Garret. I don’t want to talk about why you’re here or what Marco said. I just want to dance and visit with my friends and then go back to my room, alone,” she added. “And get a good night’s sleep before I fly home tomorrow. Can you just let me do that?”

  He studied her, not just her eyes, but the feel of her body against his, the way her feet moved with his, the tilt of her head, and the feel of her fingers brushing his neck. What she was asking wasn’t what he wanted—good god, it wasn’t what he wanted. But if it was what she needed, then yes, he could do that.

  CHAPTER 8

  KIT WALKED into her kitchen and smelled coffee. And maybe something cooking. She paused. Since Carly was usually gone by the time Kit returned, she wasn’t used to entering her home after a trip to find someone there.

  “Caleb,” Garret said from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him and not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours did she wish things could be different between them. He’d stood by what he’d promised her the night before, and they’d spent most of the evening mingling with her friends, talking, and even doing a little more dancing. A few times, he had brushed her hair or her hand with a light kiss, but at the end of the night, he’d seen her to her room and left
her. She hadn’t seen him again until he’d shown up to take her to the airport. And she was mostly sure that his leaving her alone was a good thing.

  But after her time with him in Rome, then their time cooped up together on the flight from Rome to New York, and then again in the car for a few hours on the way to Windsor, Kit found herself beginning to wonder—to wonder if maybe Garret could be good for her. He was definitely good to her, of that there was no doubt. But he was also good company and an easy traveling companion. They’d talked when the mood struck, laughed a time or two, and enjoyed some companionable silences. She’d learned that when he wasn’t working, he liked to explore cities and often spent hours roaming the streets of various metropolises. And she had told him her favorite places to travel and why. All in all, over the past fourteen hours, she had been more comfortable in his company than she’d ever imagined, especially considering that she still wasn’t sure what had motivated him—or her brother—to come back after all these months.

  But even though the wall she’d built to keep him out was starting to show signs of fracture, she couldn’t forget that what he could offer, what his lifestyle offered, just wasn’t what she wanted to sign up for. And though it was hard, she kept reminding herself that what she did want, a partner that stuck with her, wasn’t actually all that much to ask for. And she’d compromised enough in her life with the men closest to her, and learned enough of a lesson from it, that she didn’t want to let go of this one fundamental thing she wanted from a relationship.

  Taking off her coat and boots, she stepped into the kitchen as Garret went to deposit both of their bags upstairs.

  “There’s coffee,” Caleb said, appearing at the top of the stairs that led down to where he slept. “No more lunch,” he said gesturing to the dishes in the sink, “but there’s coffee,” he repeated.

  She murmured a thank you, poured herself a cup, then joined Caleb at the kitchen island. She didn’t normally drink coffee, but sliding onto a stool, she wrapped her hands around the liquid energy—energy she knew she’d need for whatever was coming next—and looked at her brother. Really looked at him.

  His eyes were the same unusual color as hers and their skin was a similar tone as well, though her hair was auburn while his was closer to blond. But where Caleb had inherited their father’s bone structure, she’d taken after their mother. Despite her height, which she had inherited from her father, her features were fine, almost delicate.

  “How was your flight?” he asked.

  For a moment, she thought about answering, about engaging in small talk. But she was tired, both physically from the jet lag and mentally from everything that had happened in the past week.

  “What do you want, Caleb?” she asked instead.

  His eyes didn’t leave hers as he drummed his fingers on the countertop. Garret pulled up a seat beside her.

  “You came here for a reason, so just tell me what it is and then we can both go on our merry way,” she added when his silence extended.

  Finally, he let out a breath. “What do you know about Henry Michaels? The dad and the son.”

  She’d been expecting to hear the name, but even so, she felt her fingers constrict against her cup and a tightness spread across her chest. Again, she thought about just answering the question. But if she was going to go through hell, she damn well wanted to know why.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

  Predictably, Caleb’s eyes narrowed on her. Next to her, Garret made some sort of noise she assumed was meant to warn Caleb from doing or saying anything stupid, but she kept her focus on her brother. Caleb’s eyes moved to Garret, then came back to her. His hand fisted on the table as he studied her.

  She sighed. “Look, Caleb,” she said. “You haven’t been around for the past fifteen years or so, so let me assure you that I’m a big girl. You know who some of my friends are, you know some of what I do, and though my life may not be what you thought it was, I’m an adult. So I’ll ask again. Why are you interested in the Michaels men?”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he sat back, ran a hand through his hair and over his face, and spoke. “You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked.

  Kit blinked in surprise. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting to hear, but she could see the honest, though reluctant, curiosity in Caleb’s expression.

  And so she thought about it, really thought about it.

  She knew deep down she loved Caleb as her brother. But as for liking him? There had been a time when the sun rose and set on him. Five years older, he’d watched out for her, played with her, indulged her to the extreme—especially after their mother had died when she was ten.

  But then he’d left. Without a word. Without any explanation, without leaving any contact information, and without telling her where he was going. He hadn’t called or written. He’d just vanished. Leaving her to the hell that was their home.

  She’d been fifteen and confused as hell when it happened. She’d felt hurt, then angry. But looking at him now, sitting across from her, with the expanse of time between those events years ago and now, she realized she was no longer angry. Just hurt. Deeply hurt. Because everything she had gone through after he left, she’d had to do on her own.

  She looked down at her coffee cup and blinked back tears. When she was sure she had herself under control, she looked up again.

  “Honestly, Caleb, I don’t know you enough to know if I like you. I love you as my brother. But any more than that?” she shrugged, letting her voice trail off.

  “But you’re angry with me,” he pressed.

  She tilted her head in acknowledgement. “Yes, but more hurt by what you did.”

  “By what I did?” he asked, looking confused.

  Kit blinked at him. His confusion seemed genuine. How could he not know how much his leaving had affected her?

  “You left, Caleb. You left without a word to me. Without letting me know how I could reach you or where you were going or when—or if—you’d be back.”

  For a moment he stared at her. Then he ran his hands over his face again. “I can’t. I don’t want to get into that right now, Kit,” he said with a look at Garret.

  Of course he didn’t. The strength of the anger that Kit had thought she’d mostly gotten over came roaring back. It took a moment to rein it in, but she’d be damned if she was going to let Caleb control this conversation.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice cool. “Then tell me why you want to know about the Michaels men.”

  “Kit,” Caleb responded, his voice holding a hint of what might have passed for pleading if it had come from anyone other than her brother.

  “Tell me,” she demanded. She set her cup down with a sharp thunk to make her point.

  Again, Caleb’s eyes went to Garret, lingered there for moment, then swung back to her. “I don’t want to tell you why, I just want to know if you kept in touch with them or know what either of them is up to now.”

  “I don’t care what you want to tell me, Caleb. If you want me to answer the question, you don’t have a choice.”

  “So you do know something,” he responded, his eyes narrowing on her.

  She took a sip of coffee but said nothing.

  “Kit?” he pushed.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked again, aware that Garret, still at her side had said nothing, hadn’t even moved, throughout the exchange.

  Caleb pushed himself off his stool and spun away from her. Several seconds passed before he turned back. “Why can’t you just answer the fucking question?”

  That got Garret to move. Not that she needed him to, but he too came off his stool and positioned himself even closer to her side. Presumably in a show of support.

  “Back down, Forrester,” Garret said.

  “This is none of your business,” Caleb shot back.

  “Like hell, it’s not.”

  Kit turned and looked at Garret, then swung her head back to Caleb. Both men looked ready to do some
damage if needed.

  “Tell me,” she said. “And you have five minutes to decide because after that, I’m going to bed. And after that, you’ll be leaving.”

  Doubt flickered across Caleb’s face. He didn’t believe her. Fine.

  She rose from her seat and headed toward the sink.

  “You don’t want to know, Kit,” Caleb said.

  She turned back and didn’t bother to bite back the harsh laugh that escaped her. “I don’t want to know? How could you possibly know what I want or don’t want, Caleb? Do you have any idea what my life was like after you left? Do you have any idea what I know and what I’ve seen? Oh, I know you think you have the corner on life’s horrors, Caleb, but you need to get over that. Now, either tell me why you want to know or get out and leave me alone.”

  She saw doubt flicker across his face and mentally she started counting down from ten. If he didn’t speak by the time she reached zero, she was done.

  “It’s about Dad,” he said. Finally.

  If he had expected to shock her, he fell far short. She let out another not-so-nice laugh. “Dad?” she said.

  He gave a hesitant nod.

  “Just what is it you think you can’t tell me about our father, Caleb?”

  She paused and spared a glance at Garret who was standing, arms crossed, watching them.

  “Do you honestly think anything you have to tell me about our father is going to shock me?” She was incredulous at the thought. And even more so when she saw the expression on Caleb’s face that told her he had assumed she knew nothing about their father’s activities.

  “You left me in that house, Caleb. What did you think was going to happen? Oh, we both know how it looked from the outside, all perfect and beautiful and grand. A house worthy of Southern gentry, filled with the prodigal son and beautiful daughter and doting father.

  “But it was all a lark, wasn’t it, Caleb? And you left me to figure that out on my own.” Kit was breathing hard and not done yet. Fifteen plus years of pain, frustration, shame, and anger continued to pour out of her.