“Yeah, I know.” Elana shrugged. “I’m ignoring it.”
“It might be your fiancé,” Jarrod said, his tone amused.
“And do you take every call of Finola’s?”
The corners of Jarrod’s sexy mouth lifted. “Point taken.”
Elana tipped her head upward and dragged her fingernail over her right breast, watching, fascinated, as her nipple pebbled. “So, tell me, what does Finola think of the mirror?”
“Dunno. She hasn’t seen it yet.” His voice dropped an octave, and sex coated his words. “Do you like it?”
Elana’s core throbbed, and the moisture in her mouth disappeared. “I love it. I love watching you slide into me.”
“You up for another round?” Jarrod asked.
Elana nodded. “I haven’t seen you for two weeks, so we have some lost time to make up.”
Jarrod tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Do you want to try something different?”
Elana’s heart stopped, stuttered to life again as adrenaline flooded her system. She’d heard rumors about Jarrod’s dark side, about his taste for certain practices, and she was intrigued, and curious, enough to find out what he had in mind. Her phone rang again, and she released a harsh curse. “This damn thing won’t shut up.”
A quick glance at the display told her that it was Thom. Again.
Elana slapped the phone upside down to silence the ringer. Annoyed, she opened the heavy bedside drawer and tossed the phone inside. Whoever wanted or needed her could wait.
Jarrod, and what he wanted and needed, came first. Or, as her previous experience with Jarrod had taught her, she would come first. Multiple times.
* * *
Mariella, lipstick reapplied and makeup perfect, walked from the elevator into the waiting room of the ICU, the three-inch heels of her designer shoes tapping the tiled floor. Joe’s fingers held her elbow in a light but reassuring grip, but she wasn’t about to fall apart. She had to be strong for Harrison, for her children, their company, for their future. They would get through this—they had to. Any other scenario was unacceptable.
Mariella stopped, pushed her oversize sunglasses into her glossy black hair and immediately looked at Luc, approaching her from the other side of the room. Her firstborn was a perfect mixture of her and Harrison, Spanish heat at war with European ice. Her olive skin, his father’s gorgeous blue eyes. Luc was steady, dependable, not one to rock the boat. An easy child, Mariella remembered, but consistent excellence could be, dare she admit it, annoying. Unlike Rafe, he didn’t have an artistic side that allowed him to be emotionally accessible. She wished Luc would allow himself to be a little more open; he needed to relax, be less analytical and more spontaneous. But those traits, she admitted, did make him an incredible doctor. Luc always did what was expected, what looked good. His latest girlfriend, the all-American beauty, was a case in point. Rachel Franklin was such a cliché...a spoiled blonde bombshell with fake breasts, shiny teeth and all the depth of a puddle.
Mariella pushed her chest out, thinking that her breasts had provided both pleasure and nourishment and were still fully natural. Big, bountiful, womanly—there wasn’t an ounce of plastic in her body. Okay, maybe a little Botox, but that didn’t count, surely?
Mariella waited for Luc to reach her and opened her arms, sighing when Luc lowered his head to drop a perfunctory kiss on each cheek. Why couldn’t he be warmer, why wouldn’t he allow her into his head and his life? Luc was, and always had been, fully independent, and Mariella hated—and admired—it. The world saw her as a strong matriarchal figure running herd on her family, staff and friends, but Mariella had little—no—control over Luc. He was completely independent of their money and did not need their influence. She couldn’t help him, advise him or protect him, and that made her feel twitchy. A mother should be able to do all, or at least one thing, for her child, but Luc? No, he had to forge his own path. Stubborn boy.
Luc pulled out of her grip, far too soon, and shook Joe’s hand. “How is he?” Joe asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his chinos. Dear Joe—what would she do without him?
Luc shook his head. “It’s not good. He’s in a coma. He has extensive injuries. Mom—” Luc placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed “—you need to prepare yourself. There’s a good chance...”
Mariella shook her head as she lifted her fist to her mouth. Digging deep, she sucked up some strength and looked her eldest in the eyes. “No, Luc. Don’t think like that. He will be fine.”
“Mom, he’s very badly injured.”
Mariella narrowed her eyes at him. “Get a second opinion. Get the best in the world. Get them here, get them now. Once those doctors have examined him, I will listen again, but, until then, we will have no talk of the possibility of your father dying. Are we clear?”
“I am a doctor. I do know what I am talking—”
Mariella couldn’t listen to any more. This was her life partner, his father, Luc was discussing. He wasn’t another patient; her life lay in a hospital bed beyond those doors. If she didn’t believe, who would? “I said, am I clear?”
Luc’s eyes slid away to look at Joe, but Mariella didn’t drop her gaze. Until Harrison recovered, she was head of this family. Luc closed his eyes in frustration, and when he opened them again, he gave her a curt nod. “As you wish, Mariella.”
Dammit, he only called her Mariella when he was pissed off with her. Mariella held out a hand to grip his, but Luc took a step back, retreating into his cool, calm shell. Luc handed her a mocking smile. “Rafe needs you. He’s taking this hard.”
He didn’t say it out of concern for his brother, Mariella realized as she walked toward Rafe, who stood by the window, ignoring their conversation. As she always did, she ignored Luc’s subtle dig about her preference for Rafe. The two boys were born competitive, and growing up their sibling rivalry had sometimes descended into outright war. But Luc refused to see that he had the advantage over Rafe, that the prosaic, unemotional attitude he’d inherited from Harrison made the world an easier place to deal with. Luc was an oceangoing liner, steady, stable, and Rafe was a rickety raft, at the mercy of the ebbs and swells of life. If all was well, he could be charming and ebullient, but when the tide turned, and he was faced with criticism and rejection, he didn’t have the resilience to ride the waves. She was his life jacket, his rescue craft, the person he leaned on. It made Mariella feel like she still had value as a mother.
Rafe turned to her, his gaze filled with despair. But when his arms went around her, when his hand rested on the back of her head, Mariella knew that he was trying to comfort her, to ease her pain. Darling Rafe. He was trying to be brave, but Mariella felt the shudder that passed through him, and she tightened her grip. She was his mother—it was her job to provide strength and comfort, leadership. She could do this—she could support Rafe, and the rest of her family, through this horrible time. Mariella drew big circles on his back, wishing that Rafe had a man in his life, someone who could comfort him, support him, when she wasn’t around. But he didn’t, and right now she was his chief source of comfort. No matter how much she had to do, how worried she was, she’d take on that role with alacrity. After all, she’d been doing this for most of his life, and she was damn good at it.
It only took a minute or two, and Rafe’s grip on her eased. He sniffed, lifted his head and sent her a watery smile. “Mom.”
Mom. The sound from those lips still had the power to melt her heart. She would die for this boy, she realized. She would die for any of her children. They were the beat of her heart, the reason she did what she did, the essence of who she was.
Mariella pushed Rafe’s hair off his face and swiped her thumbs under his eyes, wiping away the traces of moisture with her thumbs. She planted a kiss on his mouth and squeezed his cheeks.