Diablo Blanco Club: Rite of First Claim (32 page)

“I swore I’d never leave you, Lys, and I won’t. But for tonight you aren’t allowed any contact with me.” He picked up a blanket folded at the foot of the bed and moved around to the other side. “I’ll be right here all night. I won’t leave,” he assured her, laying down and draping the cover over himself. “But you can’t touch or speak to me.”

A quiet sob slipped past her guard as Mike rolled away from her and turned out the light. She inched her hand out from beneath the covers to hover near his shoulder before pulling it back. Fingers curled into a fist around the edge of the bedding, her voice hoarse with unshed tears, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Silence filled the darkness. There was no response from Mike. Nothing to acknowledge her apology.

Lyssa stayed mute. She
was
sorry, but after all she’d done, after all she’d said, would he believe her? Could he?

* * *

Lyssa hadn’t argued with the punishment he’d given her the night before. The dark circles under her eyes and the wounded look in her gaze attested to her awareness of how many times he’d eased her body away from his during the hours before dawn. He’d fought his own battle to keep his hands off her.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, both of them were eager to leave the bed. Lyssa looked almost sick as she hovered on the edge of the mattress.

“Are you hungry?” Her question was cautious, hesitant.

“You take your shower, and I’ll fix us both something before you leave.” He wondered if she’d ask about the length of time her punishment would last. He could see the question in her gaze.

But she only nodded and moved into the bathroom. The question remained unasked until they were both dressed and he helped carry the pies and appetizers she’d made earlier in the week out to her car.

“Drive safely,” he cautioned, careful to keep his hands tucked into his pockets. They’d both been very diligent at avoiding touching one another.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, Lyssa kept her gaze turned away from him. “When may I touch you again?” The words were soft, her voice full of longing.

At least he hoped it was longing as he squatted beside the car and waited for her to look at him. “Do you
want
to touch me or do you
need
to touch me?”

The flush on her cheeks assured him their coupling on the dining room table had shown her the difference. “I—I—”

Mike shook his head. “You have all morning with Mattie to think about it, hon.” Standing up, he offered a reassuring smile. “Drive careful. I love you.”

She stayed silent. He watched her car ease down the drive and out of the cul-de-sac. The crisp scent of pine and pumpkin pie filled his lungs. Around the neighborhood, other families were loading up kids and food or unloading the same as the holiday got underway.

Would he be standing in this same spot next year? The year after? Uncertainty sat like a stone in the pit of his belly. He had a week left. If her response to the punishment he’d given her was any indication, he’d finally made some kind of impression on her. Maybe by the time Thanksgiving was over, he’d receive an early Christmas miracle and Lyssa would finally admit she loved him.

Three hours later, after brooding at Lyssa’s, he finally headed for the warehouse to collect his daughter. The sound of Tuma turning on the shower greeted Mike as he entered the apartment above his studio. Dropping his jacket on the couch in the living room, he gathered a quick change of clothes from his bedroom and moved downstairs to the second bathroom adjoining his office. He ignored the exhaustion dragging at him. He’d survived on less than four hours of sleep before. He could do it again.

He’d showered and shaved at Lyssa’s earlier, but Bryce took holidays seriously. Suit and tie serious. Mike grimaced. Twenty minutes later, as he climbed the stairs to the studio, he wondered about making his leave from the unit permanent. Frustration at not seeing his assignments through gnawed at him. Until he married Lyssa, any other decisions would have to be put on hold.

“Tuma, are you ready—” Mike’s sentence went unfinished. The sight of her brought a smile to his face. The rich gold-colored silk skimmed the curves of her body.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tuma asked, twirling around to show off the flare of the skirt around her knees. “My nina, she makes magical clothes, doesn’t she, abani?”

The corners of his mouth drew down the slightest bit before he nodded. “Yes, anuli, Lyssa makes beautiful clothes. But you,
basha
, you make them look even more beautiful.”

“Do you think your family will like me?”

Tuma barely stood still while Mike helped her into a coffee brown, knee-length coat. The way she clutched his hand as they walked down the stairs to the garage reminded him of the first day he’d taken her to the boarding school in Northampton.

“They are going to love you, Tuma. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to the back of the hand he held.

“I just worry…” She nibbled her bottom lip. She seemed afraid to continue her thought.

“Worry about what?” Mike helped her into the passenger side of the truck, allowing her a few moments to compose her response while he rounded the hood and climbed in behind the wheel.

“That you haven’t told them about me because there is something you are afraid they will take offense to.”

Firing up the truck, Mike shook his head. “No, honey. I didn’t tell my family about you because I knew the second I did, Dad and Bryce would be on the first plane across the Atlantic, packing you up and bringing you home.”

“But I would have liked that.” Tuma laughed.

“No, anuli. I assure you, it would have driven you crazy.” Mike backed out of the garage and waited until the door had shut before continuing. “Do you remember what happened the first time you asked to spend the holidays with a classmate?”

Tuma shuddered. “Yes. Abani Trent compiled a full dossier on everyone in the family, the servants, the neighbors, and the neighbors’ servants.”

“That’s nothing to what my brother and father would have done, love. What was it I told you the first time I had to leave you at the boarding school?”

“Halseys protect what’s theirs.”

“You’re a Halsey, Tuma, even if you chose not to carry the name. You belong to us, and we protect what’s ours.” Mike glanced at her and grinned. “Whether you like it or not.”

Tuma laughed and relaxed into her seat.

In the hour-long drive out to his brother’s home, Tuma alternated between anxious and excited at least three more times, so the sight of the Folly’s roof over the trees was a welcome one.

“Oh my.” Tuma gazed through the windshield as they pulled into the drive and Mike silenced the engine. “This is even more beautiful than your home, abani.”

Mike laughed. “Come on, brat; let’s get this over with.”

Aware of the nervousness plaguing her, Mike helped Tuma from the truck and held her hand as he led her up the steps onto the wraparound porch. He took his time getting to the broad, double doors, allowing Tuma the opportunity to take in the tranquil view, the soothing sounds of the ocean, and the homey feel inspired by the rocking chairs and porch swing.

Before he rang the doorbell, he looked down at her. “Ready, basha?”

Tuma nodded. “Ready.”

Mike knew Bryce would have something to say the instant his brother opened the door. His ice green gaze flicked over Tuma, pausing for the longest moment on the way Mike held her hand wrapped in his. “Lyssa mentioned you would be bringing a guest, Mike.” His brother’s tone transmitted his displeasure.

“She did?” Mike led Tuma into the broad foyer of the Folly. A staircase leading to the second floor worked as a line of demarcation in the center of the stone floor. Doors on either side of the steps were open, and the sound of voices and laughter filtered toward them.

Mike stayed quiet and watched as his brother politely helped Tuma out of her coat and hung it in the closet with several others. He knew Lyssa hadn’t explained his relationship with Tuma to his family when he passed his overcoat to Bryce and received a “don’t think we won’t discuss this” look. Discuss interpreted to interrogation when it came to Bryce and his determination to know and control situations.

“Is everyone in the sitting room?” Mike asked, taking hold of Tuma’s hand again and heading toward a door halfway down the left hall.

“Yes.” Bryce followed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, the charcoal gray suit coat left unbuttoned to reveal a deep green shirt and patterned tie. He waited until they’d reached the sitting room before separating Mike from Tuma. “I need to have a word with my brother.”

The grin Bryce gave Tuma had often been likened to the smile of a great white shark.

Tuma’s smile wobbled as she looked at Mike. “Abani?”

Mike patted her hand and reassured her. “It’s okay, basha. Go help Lyssa.”

The ice in Bryce’s gaze dropped another ten degrees, and the glare Jacob turned on Mike as he moved toward them would have unnerved him if Mike hadn’t already suspected what they were so pissed about. Bryce stepped away from the center of the room, putting distance between them and the women.

Bryce kept a careful eye on Lyssa and Tuma, and it drew a curious mix of pride and resentment from Mike. Pride that his brother cared about Lyssa’s happiness. And resentment that Bryce actually assumed he’d betray the woman he loved by parading a lover in front of her. As much as Mike had anticipated this reaction, it still irked him that this scene was unfolding. If Lyssa had arrived with him and Tuma, his brother and father would have been curious, not irritated. Mike reined in the negative emotions, refusing to ruin Tuma’s introduction to his family. He’d let Bryce and his father lecture him, and then—after he told them the truth about his daughter—sit back and enjoy their discomfort. That’s what little brothers were supposed to do, at least in his experience.

Jacob was the first to weigh in. “I never believed there would come a day when I would be ashamed to claim one of my own sons. Boy, have you lost all sense of honor?”

Bryce didn’t give Mike a chance to defend himself. “Did I not make it clear, little brother, just how much shit would rain down on you if you even
thought
of hurting Lyssa?”

Mike waited, knowing neither his father nor brother were ready to hear his explanation. Glancing past Bryce, he saw the mixed expressions on the women’s faces.

Tuma’s was concerned. Mattie looked incensed. And Lyssa had a confused but stunned look on her face. A poke from Bryce’s finger drew Mike’s attention.

“Not one month ago, Mattie and I both told you not to play with her. Were you not listening? Did you think we were joking? Damn it, Mike, where the hell do you get off invoking the Rite of First Claim if you had no intention of making things permanent?”

“He did what?” Jacob’s growl was ominously soft.

Bryce nodded at his father. The Southern accent he’d never quite gotten rid of thickened. “Oh yes. Lover boy here made quite a show of claimin’ ownership of Miss Lyssa during the Midnight Masquerade. Plucked her right out of Dayton Kringle’s hands.”

Across the room, Lyssa’s eyes went wide as Jacob’s and Bryce’s voices grew softer. Though it was difficult to hear exactly what they were saying, the general tone of the conversation was clear. Jacob and Bryce were livid that Mike had dared to bring another woman to the family dinner. And their anger was obviously shared by her sister. The old saying about looks being deadly had exited the building long before Elvis had. If Lyssa was hearing her sister’s muttered ramblings correctly, Mike would need a food tester for the next sixty years. At least.

“I cannot believe the gall—” Mattie cut herself off as Dylan trotted over to ask for a treat. She handed her son a cracker with cheese on it before urging him to go play with his brother, Duncan.

“Mat, what’s going on?” Lyssa asked. There was no way Bryce and Jacob could be taking Mike to task over her? It was inconceivable.

“Mike’s getting his ass chewed, the bastard,” Mattie fumed. The disconcerted protest Tuma started to make was soothed into silence as Mattie patted the girl’s hand and smiled at her. “It’s not your fault, honey. Mike knew better. Bryce flat-out promised to kick his butt if he wasn’t gonna do right by Lyssa. He should never have dragged you into this.”

“But, Mat, he’s family,” Lyssa pointed out before turning her attention back to the men across the room.

“Not when I get through with him. He’ll be lucky to be fish food. Hell, he’ll be lucky to be food for fish food,” Mattie declared indignantly.

Lyssa tore her gaze from the three men and stared in confusion at her sister. Mike was their flesh and blood; Lyssa wasn’t. “Mattie, I don’t want to make trouble for you.” She swallowed back the nausea burning in her throat.

“It’s not you making trouble, Lys,” Mattie assured her.

“You have to make them stop, Mat. Why should—” Her head swam. She clutched at the back of the sofa beside her. Across the room, she saw Mike’s concerned gaze as he moved toward her, ignoring his brother and father.

“Lys?” Mattie’s face grew concerned.

Mattie reached out to her as Lyssa felt herself sway. Her grip on the sofa tightened, and she drew a deep breath, hoping to clear the dizziness. “Why, Mattie? Why would they care about me? I’m nothing. Nothing to them,” Lyssa demanded. As much as she wished Mike would hold her, the expression on his face warned the punishment she’d earned last night was still in effect, despite the worry darkening his eyes.

Before her sister could respond, a tiny hand reached up and patted Lyssa’s belly. Bright green eyes gazed up at her as Maggie smiled. “You belong to us, Aunt Lys. Halseys protect our own.”

“Very well said, munchkin.” Mike lifted Maggie into his arms and kissed his niece’s cheek. He watched Lyssa but made no move to get closer to her.

Freeing one arm, he wrapped it around Tuma’s waist and turned her to face his brother and father. In the area beside the coffee table, the blond-haired boys crawled around on the floor, pushing toy trucks and attempting engine sounds. Sean, the youngest of the children, was curled up asleep in a playpen set up at one end of the sofa.