One Night To Forever

Lachlyn Latimore was Trouble with a capital T and if he was as smart as they said he was, he’d stay far, far away from her. She wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t the here now, gone tomorrow woman he was looking for.

“Stop scowling,” Linc said. “You’re scaring my guests.”

“Wasn’t.”

Reame cursed silently as Linc gestured for Lachlyn to join them. Reame saw her send a quick look toward the exit, as if she were judging how quickly she could escape. Her shoulders slumped as she started to make her way toward them through the crowd, and Reame couldn’t decide whether to feel insulted or to sympathize.

Linc picked up Reame’s whiskey off a tray and appropriated the drink as his own. Reame tossed him a hot insult and considered wrestling the glass out of his hand. Deciding to be an adult, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and ordered another drink. Hopefully, it would arrive soon.

“Why the frown?” Linc asked.

Reame shrugged, deliberately not meeting Linc’s gaze. “You know how much I loathe these society events. I’d rather be in a firefight than here.”

Linc smiled. “I know and I appreciate your sacrifice.”

Reame narrowed his eyes at Linc’s gentle sarcasm. Turning his back to his approaching fantasy-come-to-life, he spread his legs wide and folded his arms across his chest. He studied Linc and saw the worry in his eyes, the tense muscle in his jaw. “What do you need, bro?”

Before he could reply, Lachlyn stepped up to Linc’s side and sent Reame a cool look. “Hello, Reame.”

“Lachlyn,” Reame replied with equal ice. Look at them, he thought, pretending that they hadn’t just imagined each other naked and writhing five minutes earlier. “You look nice.”

If nice meant sensationally and spectacularly sexy.

Those blues darkened to violet as a blush crossed her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Linc was just about to ask me something...” Reame turned back to Linc who tossed back the rest of his whiskey and then rolled the glass between the palms of his hands. Keeping his voice low so that he wasn’t overheard, Linc answered his question. “The reaction to the news that Lachlyn is a Ballantyne and that we have accepted her into the fold has been bigger and more intense than any of us, including Cady, expected. Lachlyn has moved into The Den, Reame, and for the last few days the press have camped on the sidewalk. None of us can get in and out of the house without being harassed. Lachlyn tried to go out yesterday and they nearly ripped her apart. She ran into the house looking like the hounds of hell were on her tail.”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Lachlyn interjected.

“Shh.” Reame hushed her, wanting Linc to continue. Before he could, Linc was distracted by an old lady with diamonds the size of quail eggs and wrinkles as deep as the Mariana Trench.

Linc turned his attention to the Grand dame and Lachlyn took the opportunity to launch her small elbow into his side. “Don’t you shush me!” she hissed.

“I wanted to hear what Linc was saying and you were interrupting him,” Reame replied, willing her eyes to flash violet again. “Maybe kissing you to shut you up would’ve worked better. Far more enjoyable...”

Yep, violet, with sparks of silver. “Are you drunk?”

Drunk on... Do not even complete that thought, Jepsen. What the hell is wrong with you? Reame’s thumb found the pulse point on her inside wrist and, yep, there it was, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wing. His wasn’t far behind. He glanced at Linc, made sure he wasn’t listening before speaking. “I know that you were imagining us naked.”

Reame just managed to stop himself from lifting her hand to kiss the delicate skin under his fingers.

Lachlyn jerked her hand away. “Your illusions are insulting and annoying. And I need a drink.”

He could relate. “Bring me one? A double whiskey on the rocks?” Reame asked, his tone teasing. He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes and flounced away from him, her compact and curvy body radiating annoyance.

Reame sighed. Not the way to make friends with the new Ballantyne...

But, dammit, even before he’d met her, she’d bothered him. Bother was now too small a word to use to describe how she made him feel...

And why—when there were at least thirty women here whom he could hit on, if he excluded the married ones and he so did—was he wanting to get up close, very close and very naked, with her? With his best friend’s new sister?

Screwed, he decided. If he didn’t get a grip he would be so screwed.

Reame lifted his eyebrows when Linc turned back to him having given the Lady of the Big Diamonds sufficient attention. “You were saying...”

Linc pushed a hand through his blond hair. “Someone dug up Lachlyn’s phone number and her phone has been ringing off the hook. She’s being harassed on social media and it doesn’t look to be dying down anytime soon.”

Reame nodded his understanding. “I’ll get my cyber guy to bury her social security number, to take her off the Net as much as possible. He’ll change her address to your box number and get her a new phone number under one of my companies. We’ll put firewalls around her social media accounts. You know the drill.”

Linc should. He and his guys had done the same thing for Connor and all the Ballantynes after him. High-profile families attracted criminals and nutcases, and sometimes the nutcases were criminals, too.

Reame waited, knowing that there was more. Linc scratched his chin, his eyes flat with worry. “Tate has to film in the Rockies this coming week and I was planning on joining her there with the kids.”

Somehow, Linc and Tate managed to combine his hectic and pressurized job as Ballantyne CEO with Tate’s job as a travel presenter without neglecting Shaw or Ellie, their adopted daughter.

“I don’t want to leave Lachlyn in The Den by herself but she adamantly refuses to move in with Sage and Tyce or with Jaeger or Beck.”

Since she’d be the third wheel wherever she went—all the Ballantynes were still in the cooing and billing stage of their relationship—Reame didn’t blame her.

“What’s her apartment like?” Reame asked.

“Small, I imagine,” Linc said.

“Would it be feasible for one of my female personal protection people to move in with her?” Reame asked.

“I don’t think so but what do I know? Lachlyn doesn’t talk!”

Reame knew that Lachlyn still hadn’t accepted their offer to become a full Ballantyne partner but in the eyes of the world she was assumed to be a very wealthy woman. As such, she was a target. Linc was right, she needed a bodyguard and to live in a place with excellent security.

And security was his business. “How does she feel about having security?”

Linc pulled a face. “She thinks I’m overreacting. She has this idea that she’ll be able to go back to work next week, that the furor will have died down by then. She’s dreaming if she thinks a haircut will make her look less recognizable.” Linc lifted his chin in Lachlyn’s direction and Reame finally, finally had an excuse to look at her again.

As he’d noticed earlier, her hair was now short and choppy. Her bangs twisted away from her face, revealing high cheekbones, those incredible sin-with-me-eyes, her made-to-be-kissed (but not by him) lips. Despite her two-inch heels, she still only reached his shoulder, and without her stilts she barely scraped five-two. Her body, despite her being a fairy, was all woman. Full and perky breasts, a waist he could span with his hands, long legs and round hips.

And a truly excellent ass.

“She needs protection, Ree.”

Reame groaned, wondering whom he had to kill to get another drink. He ignored the action in his pants and focused on business, on what Linc was asking him to do. He swallowed his sigh. If it was anyone else but Linc making the request, he’d decline the business. He didn’t have enough staff to meet the demand for personal protection officers as it was. Liam, his head of operations, was going to kill him. And Liam, being ex-military, as well, actually could follow up on his threat.

But this was Linc asking... “Let me call around tomorrow and have a chat with her, and you. What time are you leaving?”

“Midmorning,” Linc replied, briefly grasping Reame’s bicep in a show of his appreciation. “Thanks, bud. Will you please charge me or the firm? God knows we can afford it.”

Reame shook his head and, as he always did, ignored Linc’s request. After he left the military, Connor gave him his first job, had recommended him to his rich friends and clients and he’d lent him the capital to start up his security business. Together with Linc, Connor had been his biggest supporter and his best advertiser, and it was because of their support and loyalty that his company was now regarded to be the best in the city. His business had put his three sisters through college, paid for the fancy apartment he lived in, the repairs on his mom’s house. It employed many of his ex-army buddies and sent ridiculous amounts of money into his personal bank account.

For as long as he owned Jepsen & Associates, he would swallow any costs the Ballantynes’ personal security needs generated.

He owed Linc, his brothers and Connor a debt he couldn’t repay but he’d sure as hell try. Because, unlike his father, he believed in loyalty and responsibility.

He looked at life straight on, readily accepting that it was a series of waves and troughs, shallow waters and depths. All one could do was just keep swimming.

Reame looked across the room at Lachlyn and studied her exquisite profile, the horrible thought occurring to him that she might be the one woman who could make him drown.

* * *

The next morning, Lachlyn glanced down at the screen of her phone, thinking it was another call from a super-pushy reporter, but instead she saw the familiar number of her supervisor at the New York Public Library. Annie was not only her direct boss but the closest person she had to an older sister and best friend.

“Hey, hun, how are you holding up?” Annie asked as Lachlyn placed her flat palm against the cool window of the small upstairs living room of The Den.

“Fair to horrible,” Lachlyn said, pulling the drape aside to look down at the sidewalk. The crowd standing behind the wrought-iron fence was talking amongst themselves, although many cameras were pointed toward the front door. Somebody caught her movement and, almost immediately, a dozen cameras lifted in her direction. Lachlyn abruptly stepped back and ignored the muted roars for a comment, a photo opportunity, an interview. Rubbing her forehead, she slid down the wall until an expensive Persian carpet was all that separated her denim-covered butt from the rich wooden floors. “I can’t wait to come back to work next week.”

There was a long pause and Lachlyn’s stomach jumped. Annie was usually incredibly voluble and she didn’t do silence. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon, Lach.”

Lachlyn felt her headache intensify. “What do you mean?”

“There’s too much attention around you, on you. The phones have been ringing off the hook, people asking anyone and everyone for information on you. It’s mayhem, Lach, and you aren’t even here.”

The monster chomping its way through her stomach took another huge bite. “What exactly are you saying, Annie?”

“My supervisor is suggesting that you take all of your vacation time. It adds up to about two months.” Annie said in a tone that suggested she’d been practicing how to break the news.

“I don’t have a job anymore?” Lachlyn whispered, terrified that what she was hearing was her new reality.

“You don’t have a job for the next few months. After that, we’ll see,” Annie said, trying to sound jaunty. “Since, according to the press, money is no longer an object, you could tour the great libraries of the world, visit the museums you always talk about going to, see the amazing art you look at in books,” Annie said, her voice turning persuasive. “This is an opportunity, Lach, not a punishment.”

But Annie didn’t understand that, while she didn’t mind being alone, she hated not being busy, not having a purpose. Having nothing to do reminded her of her childhood, of long days and nights without company or conversation, with only an old television set for entertainment. Her mother would come home from work, pop some sleeping tabs she bought from the guy on the corner and pass out for the next fourteen or sixteen hours. Tyce was always out, selling his art in the park so that they could pay one of the many bills her mom couldn’t cover. The local library had been her favorite place to hang out and books her constant and unfailing friends. These days she spent most of her time alone but her work kept her busy.

“Lachlyn? Lachlyn?”

Lachlyn forced herself to blink, concentrating on the cool floor beneath her hand, allowing the noise from the photographers to drift up to her. Then she saw that the display screen on her phone still showed that she was connected to Annie.

“I’ve got to go, Annie.”

“Look,” Annie said, “if your situation changes I can have another talk with Martin.” But Lachlyn heard her underlying frustration, her Why would you want to spend your days digging through old papers when you could be shopping and seeing the world, playing the role of the Park Avenue Princess?

Nobody realized that accepting the money was the easy part. It was just a couple more zeroes—okay, a lot more zeroes—in her bank account. She could take it or leave it, spend it or give it away. It was the people involved that made this difficult, the fact that this wasn’t just a matter of moving cash around. The family dynamic of who and what the Ballantynes were and stood for made this situation complicated. A cold hand squeezed her lungs together and she deliberately slowed her breathing down and released her grip on her phone, shaking her hand to put blood back into her fingers. A few months earlier, when Tyce had told her that he was making plans for her to meet her biological family she’d thought that she’d meet the Ballantynes, have a meal with them and that they’d all go back to their very different lives.

She never expected to be offered a fat bank account, a limitless credit card, to be moved into The Den and to be hounded by the press. The possibility of being accepted as part of the family never crossed her mind. She was touched by their actions, amazed at their generosity but underneath it all, she was running scared, bone-deep terrified. Beneath the fame and money, the Ballantynes were people, and people meant relationships.

She didn’t do relationships... How could she make them see that?

“Lachlyn?”

Lachlyn heard Reame’s low, deep voice and scrambled to her feet. She ducked her head and dashed her fingers against her cheeks, annoyed when she wiped away moisture. The last thing she needed was Reame to see her tears.

Lachlyn looked at the now empty doorway, looking for Linc. His presence would, hopefully, stop her from making an ass of herself with his best friend.

“Hi.” Lachlyn placed her shaking hands into the back pockets of her jeans and felt a hole in the corner of one of the pockets. She was wearing ragged jeans, a long-sleeve white T-shirt and banged-up sneakers, while Reame looked fantastic in his dark jeans, pale blue shirt and cream jacket. The royal blue pocket square was a nice touch. He pulled designer shades off the top of his head and tapped the glasses against his empty palm.

Reame managed a tight smile and his eyes skittered off hers. Huh. “Where’s Linc?” she asked, darting a hopeful look at the door he’d closed behind him.

“Shaw.”

Reame didn’t have to say any more; in the few days that she’d spent in The Den, there had been a few “Shaw” moments.

“Ah, enough said,” Lachlyn said, rocking on her heels.

Reame walked over to the window and, standing to the side, pulled back the drape so that he could see out without being photographed. “The crowd looks bigger than it was twenty minutes ago.”

“I just wish they would go away,” Lachlyn muttered. “I don’t understand why they are so interested in me.”

“You’re young, pretty and you’ve just won the family jackpot. You are news,” Reame said in a flat voice, his back still to her. “You’re a modern-day fairy tale playing out in front of their eyes.”

Reame turned around and gestured to the comfortable couch. “Take a seat. It’s a lot more comfortable than the floor.”

Since he noticed she’d been sitting on the cold floor, Lachlyn knew that there was no chance that he’d missed her red-rimmed eyes and her wobbly lip. Reame Jepsen, Lachlyn suspected, didn’t miss a damn thing.

Pride had her forcing her shoulders back, lifting her chin as she made her way to the couch and perched on the edge of the cushion.

Reame sat opposite her and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his legs, his hands dangling between his strong thighs. This morning, his eyes were a cool, light peppermint and, as always, invasive. She felt like he could see into her soul, read her thoughts. Lachlyn felt exposed and uncomfortable. God, she hoped that this conversation wouldn’t take long.

“Let’s talk security, specifically your security,” Reame said, his eyes cool and tone brusque.

Lachlyn forced herself to maintain eye contact and responded with a nod.

“Linc is concerned about you being on your own.”

“He doesn’t need to be. I’m used to being on my own.”

“If you were the ordinary woman you were a month ago, I’d agree.”

“But you’re not Lachlyn Latimore anymore, you’re now a Ballantyne—at least in the eyes of the press—and that changes the picture,” Reame continued, the warm waves of his voice rolling over her skin. “You’re the newest member of a very prominent, very interesting family. The residents of this city have grown up with the Ballantynes. They remember when Connor took in three orphans. They cheered when Connor adopted Linc alongside Jaeger, Beck and Sage. They mourned Connor’s death. The interest in the Ballantynes has never wavered and the fact that you are Connor’s daughter is big news. The Ballantynes pulling you into the family and sharing Connor’s wealth with you is huge news.”

“I’m not taking the money,” Lachlyn blurted out. For some reason she couldn’t articulate, it was important that he understand that she wasn’t a gold digger and that she had little interest in the Ballantyne fortune.

“You’re not?”

Lachlyn squeezed her hands between her thighs. “No.”

Lachlyn thought she caught a flash of surprise on his face but a second later his expression turned inscrutable. Linc lifted a big shoulder in a don’t care shrug. “That’s between you and them. I’m just here to talk about keeping you safe.”

Nothing in his body language, voice or eyes suggested that they’d shared a hot look across a crowded ballroom and that electricity had sizzled and sparked between them. He was all business, only business.

Good. Then why did she feel a tiny bit disappointed?

Linc sat up straight, leaned back and placed his ankle on his opposite knee. He tapped his finger on his thigh. “Linc also wants me to give you a PPO—”

That didn’t sound very nice. “A what?”

“A personal protection officer, a bodyguard,” he explained, sounding impatient. “You need a shield between you and the press. And any crazies.”

“Crazies?”

“There are eight million people in this city, most of whom have heard or read about you. More than a few are delusional and a handful might think of you as their new best friend, as a potential lover or something more sinister. Until the attention dies down, it’s wise to take precautions.”

Lachlyn tried to assimilate the barrage of information, to make sense of what he was saying. It didn’t help that every time she looked at him, she wondered what his lips would feel like on hers, whether his hands would be rough or smooth against her bare skin. God, she’d never looked at a man and felt her saliva dry up, her heart bang against her chest.

What was it about him that yanked her libido out of its coma?

Let’s think about that... Did it have anything to do with the fact that he was the sexiest man she’d met? Ever?

Frustrated with herself, frustrated in general, Lachlyn refocused. What were they discussing? Right, bodyguards.

Reame played with the laces on his trendy shoes. “So in order to give you the best protection, I need some information about you. Let’s start with the easy stuff, your job. You’re a librarian?”

Lachlyn shook her head. “I work as an archivist at the NYPL.”

A small smile touched Reame’s mouth and a butterfly in her stomach took flight, followed by another ten. “I love that building.”

The Beaux Arts building was her favorite place in the world. “I do, too.”

Reame kept his eyes locked on hers, penetrating and steady. “And do you like your work?”

“I love it. Libraries, books...documents make me hot.”

Reame’s eyes heated and turned speculative and Lachlyn cursed her choice of words. She’d opened the door and flat-out desire walked in and plonked itself between them, its smile mocking. “Uh... I...” Lachlyn stuttered.

Reame looked away from her and Lachlyn saw his chest rise and fall as he took a big breath. His expression was so inscrutable that she couldn’t tell if he was feeling the attraction too or whether he was just making an attempt to hide his irritation. So far, she’d seen nothing of the heat she’d seen in his eyes last night...maybe she’d just projected her attraction onto him. Because she was an emotional hermit, she was inexperienced with men so it was entirely possible.

“Let’s talk about your living arrangements. You live in Woodside?” Reame asked, smoothly changing the subject and ignoring her flaming face. God, she had all the poise and grace of a walrus.

Lachlyn thought about her bright, cheerful space packed full of books and sighed. “I live in a small apartment above a bakery.”

“And that’s where you would like to be?” Reame asked.

Lachlyn darted him a hopeful look. “Oh, God, yes! But Linc seems to think that’s not a good idea, that it’s too small and too far away.”

Reame didn’t look too concerned. “I’m in the business of making life easier for my clients, not my staff. My paramount concern is your safety.” In that statement Lachlyn saw the hard businessman, the tough commanding officer. She had no doubt that when Reame said hop, his people asked how far they should jump.

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