He leaned back in his chair, draping his elbow over the back, and turned his attention to the ocean. “Yes, except for staff. But I rarely see them. I’d always hoped to have a wife and children here to fill the house with love and laughter. Things I didn’t experience growing up.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I can’t imagine Mr. Monty not being a loving father.”
Whit grunted dismissively. “I told you before, my father was not the saint you imagine, Zellie. I have no doubt he loved me in his own way, but I was raised by nannies and tutors, with an occasional visit from dear old Dad when he wasn’t traveling on family business or enjoying his latest conquest.”
This was all entirely at odds with the Montgomery Proffitt I’d known—a man who was kind, genuine, caring. “How could your dad and the man I knew be so different?”
Whit swirled his wine thoughtfully before answering. “I was a disappointment,” he finally said. “I wasn’t interested in the traditions that mattered so much to him. I didn’t care about preserving his legacy. And I certainly didn’t give a damn about my stepmothers who were barely around long enough to get to know, let alone care about.”
“How many did you have?” I asked. “Stepmothers, I mean.”
Whit shrugged. “I stopped counting.”
“I thought my mom was bad with her boyfriends,” I murmured. “Was he still married when he died?”
Whit shook his head. “Widowed. His wife Jessamine died after they’d only been married a few years.”
“Jessamine?” I repeated, the unusual name tugging at something in my memory.
“Heard of her, have you?” he asked, catching something in my expression. Before I could respond, he added, “June and Earl don’t talk much about their daughter, so I wasn’t sure if they’d mentioned her.”
I shook my head, then asked, “So, Addie…?”
“Is my sister,” he said, lifting his glass and finishing off his wine. “June still hasn’t forgiven my father for Jessamine’s death, nor me by extension, I suppose.”
When Whit didn’t elaborate on what he meant, I let it drop, though what he’d shared explained the tension I’d sensed between him and June.
By the time we finished dessert, stars filled the sky, reminding me how remote we were. Even thelocationof the house felt lonely and withdrawn. When Whit took my hand and turned to lead me inside, I instead pulled him gently toward me and took his face in my hands.
“You’ve been lonely too long, Whit,” I told him softly. “But you don’t have to be lonely anymore.”
I pulled him down to press a kiss to his lips, but that one kiss turned into another and another until we were lost in each other. At some point, we began to sway together to the music that still drifted out from the library, my head resting against his chest.
I don’t know how long we danced under the stars before by unspoken agreement, we finally stepped apart. And this time when he took my hand, I let him lead me inside, through the library and down the hall. But as we passed one of the rooms, I released his hand and wandered inside.
The furniture was dark, masculine, the stark white walls and deep blue bedding and rugs a striking contrast. But there was also an airiness to the décor, the ocean breeze coming in from open French doors lifting the white gauzy bed curtains in a hypnotic ballet.
I immediately realized it was Whit’s bedroom.
I don’t know how. I justknew, like I’d been there before—perhaps in one of mymanydreams of him. Had they actually been prophetic and not just fantasy?
I swallowed hard, erotic memories of my dreams rushing back to me.
“Zellie?”
Whit had entered the room and stood just inside the doorway, his hands deep in his pockets, his brows drawn together as if struggling against the urge to move forward, to embrace what was before him for fear of what the wrong move might cost him.
But I was tired of struggling, of denying what I wanted, what I needed.
I said nothing. Instead, I slipped one of the dress straps from my shoulder and then the other, letting the dress slide down my body.
“Zellie,” he said, his voice rough, “I didn’t bring you here expecting anything from you.”
I held out a hand to him. “I know.”
He swallowed hard, hesitating. But then he turned and gently closed the door. As he came toward me, his movements were controlled, restrained. He took my outstretched hand, pulled me to him. His eyes drank me in, exploring the lines of my face, every curve of my body. His fingertips followed, lightly skimming my shoulder, along my arm, the curve of my waist. And then, so slowly, so gently, his lips pressed against the curve of my jaw, my throat, my shoulder…
“Whit,” I breathed, my fingers sliding into his hair as he kissed the valley between my breasts.
