wrong about the intimacy, Scar needed touch.
He didn’t know who needed Black more, her or him, but even now, he believed he’d done the right thing.
Eleven
In Jerricho’s opinion, it seemed neither Killian nor Scarlet wanted a dinner party, and yet here they were, playing happy family while they mingled with guests. Even less clear was the reason for his own presence. Just how much had Killian’s money bought?
It had only been a week, and he was still finding his place between paid companion and houseguest. The result was a somewhat relaxing, somewhat frustrating blend of comfortable and awkward. Scarlet’s company was comfortable; Killian’s awkward. Being in the company of their acquaintances and friends? Well, he hadn’t decided on that just yet.
Twelve other guests were present, walking around and mingling, drinks in hand as they talked and laughed. Jerricho stood off to the side and sipped his drink, content to let the atmosphere wash over him rather than be a part of it. Besides, he liked looking out to the water, after years of looking at desert; he didn’t think he was ever going to tire of the ocean.
Sarah, the Bailey housekeeper and cook, came outside and called everyone in for dinner. He’d been seated diagonally opposite Scarlet between a willowy brunette named Lana and a friendly man named Marcus.
“Lana, I thought you were going to be home earlier in the year,” Marcus said across Jerricho as they all sat.
“Hmm, but then I got invited to spend the last six months in France.” Lana smiled at Jerricho, including him in the conversation. “Lyon. Do you know it?”
“As a matter of fact, I know it well.” He returned her smile. “I studied there.”
“The Université Claude Bernard?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrow rose. “And you are?”
“Jerricho Black.”
“And just how is it you’ve fallen into the Baileys’ den of vice, Jerricho?”
“Killian hired me.”
“Oh, an employee?”
“Of sorts.”
“Lyon? I heard Louis was hanging out there…” Scarlet interjected.
“He is. We caught up. He asked if you were back to singing yet.”
“I didn’t know you sang.” Jerricho looked at Scarlet.
A faint blush rose in her cheeks as she smiled and shrugged.
“Will you sing something for me?” Jerricho asked.
“Now?” She seemed startled.
For a moment, it seemed the diners around him were intrusively interested in their conversation.
Ignoring them, he leaned forward, the gesture creating a sense of intimacy. “Only if you want to.”
That seemed to perplex her further.
“Only if you like singing,” he joked, hoping to ease the tension, hers and for some unknown reason, the people around them.
“I love singing.” Her response was quick and from the heart.
He shrugged. It was that simple.
She looked into his eyes. “There are worse things than not doing what you love.” It came out as barely a whisper.
He nodded.
“Maybe one day, when you’re ready.” Still smiling, he leaned back. No pressure. There was obviously more going on than he was aware of.
“No.” The response was so quick, as if she sensed an opportunity disappearing as he pulled away. “No. I’m ready today.” She pushed her chair back as she stood.
It was then that he noticed Killian watching them with wary interest before the man’s gaze followed his wife as she walked across the floor to the baby grand piano sitting in the corner of the large open living room.
Anticipation crawled under Jerricho’s skin. From the first phone call, he’d been attracted to her voice. With the sultry husk that coated all the delightful sounds that fell from her lips, she was a born siren.
He knew something was at play, could tell by the way she settled in front of the piano, uncomfortably shuffling on the seat.
Her fingers brushed over the silent keys, seemingly lost and undecided before they came to rest. She inhaled deeply as if gathering strength.
For a moment, he wondered what he had just set
He didn’t know who needed Black more, her or him, but even now, he believed he’d done the right thing.
Eleven
In Jerricho’s opinion, it seemed neither Killian nor Scarlet wanted a dinner party, and yet here they were, playing happy family while they mingled with guests. Even less clear was the reason for his own presence. Just how much had Killian’s money bought?
It had only been a week, and he was still finding his place between paid companion and houseguest. The result was a somewhat relaxing, somewhat frustrating blend of comfortable and awkward. Scarlet’s company was comfortable; Killian’s awkward. Being in the company of their acquaintances and friends? Well, he hadn’t decided on that just yet.
Twelve other guests were present, walking around and mingling, drinks in hand as they talked and laughed. Jerricho stood off to the side and sipped his drink, content to let the atmosphere wash over him rather than be a part of it. Besides, he liked looking out to the water, after years of looking at desert; he didn’t think he was ever going to tire of the ocean.
Sarah, the Bailey housekeeper and cook, came outside and called everyone in for dinner. He’d been seated diagonally opposite Scarlet between a willowy brunette named Lana and a friendly man named Marcus.
“Lana, I thought you were going to be home earlier in the year,” Marcus said across Jerricho as they all sat.
“Hmm, but then I got invited to spend the last six months in France.” Lana smiled at Jerricho, including him in the conversation. “Lyon. Do you know it?”
“As a matter of fact, I know it well.” He returned her smile. “I studied there.”
“The Université Claude Bernard?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrow rose. “And you are?”
“Jerricho Black.”
“And just how is it you’ve fallen into the Baileys’ den of vice, Jerricho?”
“Killian hired me.”
“Oh, an employee?”
“Of sorts.”
“Lyon? I heard Louis was hanging out there…” Scarlet interjected.
“He is. We caught up. He asked if you were back to singing yet.”
“I didn’t know you sang.” Jerricho looked at Scarlet.
A faint blush rose in her cheeks as she smiled and shrugged.
“Will you sing something for me?” Jerricho asked.
“Now?” She seemed startled.
For a moment, it seemed the diners around him were intrusively interested in their conversation.
Ignoring them, he leaned forward, the gesture creating a sense of intimacy. “Only if you want to.”
That seemed to perplex her further.
“Only if you like singing,” he joked, hoping to ease the tension, hers and for some unknown reason, the people around them.
“I love singing.” Her response was quick and from the heart.
He shrugged. It was that simple.
She looked into his eyes. “There are worse things than not doing what you love.” It came out as barely a whisper.
He nodded.
“Maybe one day, when you’re ready.” Still smiling, he leaned back. No pressure. There was obviously more going on than he was aware of.
“No.” The response was so quick, as if she sensed an opportunity disappearing as he pulled away. “No. I’m ready today.” She pushed her chair back as she stood.
It was then that he noticed Killian watching them with wary interest before the man’s gaze followed his wife as she walked across the floor to the baby grand piano sitting in the corner of the large open living room.
Anticipation crawled under Jerricho’s skin. From the first phone call, he’d been attracted to her voice. With the sultry husk that coated all the delightful sounds that fell from her lips, she was a born siren.
He knew something was at play, could tell by the way she settled in front of the piano, uncomfortably shuffling on the seat.
Her fingers brushed over the silent keys, seemingly lost and undecided before they came to rest. She inhaled deeply as if gathering strength.
For a moment, he wondered what he had just set
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