She nods, and he signals to one of the boys in his division. “Why are you late?” he asks, glancing at his phone.
“Board meeting. Uncle Mikie wanted me to attend.”
That brings his attention to her, and she shivers.
There have always been rumors around the Morgan sons. Tabloid gossip and speculation. It centered on Seth, more often than not. He was alive and vibrant, a hot vortex of emotion and sex. People gravitated to him.
Caleb was always the more reserved brother, the one who brooded in the background, all sharp edges and biting comments—but when he stared at her like this, all of his intensity focused on her, searching, she was reminded of just how similar the brothers could be.
Caleb tried very hard to convince the world that he was an unfeeling bastard. Most people even bought it. But she was different. She had always been different. She was the only daughter of the syndicate. There were other cousins, distant ones. Emma was special, though; Gabe had taught his sons by example that she was to be cared for and protected.
“You learn anything?”
“Irving wants a new pool,” she says, shrugging. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he sits back as one of the boys sets Emma’s vanilla latte down. She toys with her spoon and watches him. Finally she kicks him lightly. “Quit brooding. It was just a meeting. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Caleb refocuses on her, his blue eyes staring. “Drink your coffee, Em.”
She makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of her throat, but does what she’s told, settling into her seat with the coffee and dragging out a notebook. As she starts her homework, Caleb watches her. She’s acutely aware of his attention. It doesn’t fluster her, not the way Seth’s did, before he left.
“Will you stop teaching me, when he comes home?”
She looks at him from under her lashes, and because she’s watching for it, she catches the spasm of pain, so minuscule that it’s almost gone before she sees it. His gaze goes icy and severe, that imperious look that scares the shit out of her, if she’s completely honest.
Caleb so rarely looks at her like that.
She ducks, refocusing on her homework. The door to the little café swings open, and a wave of tension ricochets around the room.
Caleb’s voice is a soft murmur, almost lost in the sudden movement, as his client approaches and she settles back into quiet anonymity. “ Never.”
.
Bethania’s Brownstone, New York City. October 4, 2012.
Caleb’s eyes hurt, and he resists scrubbing the heel of his hand over them as the Bentley comes to a stop. Emma is fidgeting next to him, all anxious nerves. He spooked her, when she asked that earlier. But dragging up Seth’s ghost—fuck, he wasn’t used to having his baby brother thrown in his face like that.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs now, and his gaze slips to her, lazily.
He sighs, a disgruntled noise. “Don’t be sorry, Emma. You surprised me.”
“But you were mad,” she says softly.
How the hell did Dad do it? Work lessons into everything. He doesn’t have that subtly, or the desire to learn it. He looks at his cousin head on. “I’m furious, Emma. With him, for being gone. And Mikie for sending him. It’s hard to process that and separate it when I’m caught off guard. You caught me off guard.”
She’s quiet, and then, “You scared me.”
His heart twists. That wasn’t what he wanted. Never.
“Emma,” he starts.
“Uncle Gabe scared me, sometimes. I knew he’d keep me safe, but every once in a while, he’d slip and I’d see what terrified everyone else in the family.” She sidesteps the word that better describes their family. His lips twitch. “It was like that.”
He goes still. This is the second time in only a few hours that she has managed to startle him, and he’s not sure how to react. Emma studies him for a long minute. With this expression, so open and serious, she looks like Seth. She will never have his brother’s
“Board meeting. Uncle Mikie wanted me to attend.”
That brings his attention to her, and she shivers.
There have always been rumors around the Morgan sons. Tabloid gossip and speculation. It centered on Seth, more often than not. He was alive and vibrant, a hot vortex of emotion and sex. People gravitated to him.
Caleb was always the more reserved brother, the one who brooded in the background, all sharp edges and biting comments—but when he stared at her like this, all of his intensity focused on her, searching, she was reminded of just how similar the brothers could be.
Caleb tried very hard to convince the world that he was an unfeeling bastard. Most people even bought it. But she was different. She had always been different. She was the only daughter of the syndicate. There were other cousins, distant ones. Emma was special, though; Gabe had taught his sons by example that she was to be cared for and protected.
“You learn anything?”
“Irving wants a new pool,” she says, shrugging. Caleb’s eyes narrow, and he sits back as one of the boys sets Emma’s vanilla latte down. She toys with her spoon and watches him. Finally she kicks him lightly. “Quit brooding. It was just a meeting. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Caleb refocuses on her, his blue eyes staring. “Drink your coffee, Em.”
She makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of her throat, but does what she’s told, settling into her seat with the coffee and dragging out a notebook. As she starts her homework, Caleb watches her. She’s acutely aware of his attention. It doesn’t fluster her, not the way Seth’s did, before he left.
“Will you stop teaching me, when he comes home?”
She looks at him from under her lashes, and because she’s watching for it, she catches the spasm of pain, so minuscule that it’s almost gone before she sees it. His gaze goes icy and severe, that imperious look that scares the shit out of her, if she’s completely honest.
Caleb so rarely looks at her like that.
She ducks, refocusing on her homework. The door to the little café swings open, and a wave of tension ricochets around the room.
Caleb’s voice is a soft murmur, almost lost in the sudden movement, as his client approaches and she settles back into quiet anonymity. “ Never.”
.
Bethania’s Brownstone, New York City. October 4, 2012.
Caleb’s eyes hurt, and he resists scrubbing the heel of his hand over them as the Bentley comes to a stop. Emma is fidgeting next to him, all anxious nerves. He spooked her, when she asked that earlier. But dragging up Seth’s ghost—fuck, he wasn’t used to having his baby brother thrown in his face like that.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs now, and his gaze slips to her, lazily.
He sighs, a disgruntled noise. “Don’t be sorry, Emma. You surprised me.”
“But you were mad,” she says softly.
How the hell did Dad do it? Work lessons into everything. He doesn’t have that subtly, or the desire to learn it. He looks at his cousin head on. “I’m furious, Emma. With him, for being gone. And Mikie for sending him. It’s hard to process that and separate it when I’m caught off guard. You caught me off guard.”
She’s quiet, and then, “You scared me.”
His heart twists. That wasn’t what he wanted. Never.
“Emma,” he starts.
“Uncle Gabe scared me, sometimes. I knew he’d keep me safe, but every once in a while, he’d slip and I’d see what terrified everyone else in the family.” She sidesteps the word that better describes their family. His lips twitch. “It was like that.”
He goes still. This is the second time in only a few hours that she has managed to startle him, and he’s not sure how to react. Emma studies him for a long minute. With this expression, so open and serious, she looks like Seth. She will never have his brother’s
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