Chapter Fifteen
Landon
We sat in the back seat as James navigated the turns of Highway 1. Riley's eyes were riveted to the horizon, far out over the Pacific Ocean, but all I noticed was her hands. Her long fingers bent together and squeezed, then fanned out, turned, and fisted again. She didn't wear any rings or nail polish. I had never thought much about women's hands, but Riley's were mesmerizing.
Another tight curve sent Riley bumping against me. The brush of her soft arm against mine caused not-so-innocent thoughts to run through my head. I blinked but all I could imagine was her graceful hands sweeping over my bare chest, down my stomach…
I cleared my throat. "I hope you'll be comfortable at Golden Bluff."
Riley tore her gaze away from the ocean to quirk an eyebrow at me. "Didn't you say there are about forty-two guest bedrooms in the main house? Out of all those, I’m sure one will suit me just fine."
"I just want you to know you can relax there. The décor might be over-the-top, but you should treat it like a home."
Her fingers twisted and squeezed again. "Before we get there, I have to tell you something."
I grabbed her hands, pried them apart, and held on. "I don't have any expectations tonight. You're my guest, so everything is up to you."
She squirmed in her seat, and then blurted out, "I'm sorry about leaving without saying anything."
"What?" I flopped back on the leather car seat.
Riley squeezed my hands. "I'm sorry for leaving the gala without saying anything to you. I was upset, but that was rude."
"Feel better?" I asked. When Riley nodded, I laughed. "Apology accepted, though I think you had every right to leave the way you did, and," I raised my voice so my driver could hear, "I'm glad James helped you."
"You're welcome, sir." James shot me a quick, smug look.
I turned back to Riley. "Look, I know Lyla said something to you. She's not the most, ah, friendly person, and I saw her talking to you that night."
Riley pulled one hand free and looked back out at the ocean. "She’s very protective of you. Isn't that a good thing?"
"She insulted you, didn't she?" I gritted my teeth.
"I just needed to leave. It was all too much."
"I owe you an apology, too," I said. "I should have given you my full name and let you know who I really was before the gala. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, and then it was too late."
"Thank you." Riley slipped a little closer to me and leaned forward. "Is that The Sand Dollar on the hill?"
"Beautiful sight, isn't it? Especially since you're such a favorite with the bartender." I laughed. "You know that Andrew pestered the rental car guy until he found out your last name?"
"He didn't." Riley snorted but her smile warmed.
"Oh, and Rosalyn's furious about that dress. She says next time she sees you, she'll have a wardrobe waiting." I leaned forward with Riley. "James, will you take us through Main Street, please?"
He tipped his black hat and turned the car off the curving highway. Ahead on the cliff, we could see The Sand Dollar's parking lot filling up already.
"Wait, there's a main street?" Riley asked.
I laughed. "Michel's Beach is a hidden gem. Everyone thinks it's just that strip of buildings on the cliff. But this is home."
Her jaw dropped as we cruised onto narrow Main Street with its old-fashioned lampposts. I was proud that not a single building had a 'for lease' sign in the window. Lyla fussed about the low-end businesses, but I knew every business owner by name and was not about to evict anyone.
"Mrs. Rappaport runs the laundry mat. She's also a wizard at tailoring and works with Rosalyn a lot. The butcher shop is another favorite of mine; the Dugans. Mike Dugan went to school with Andrew and is the best rider I've ever seen."
"Horseback rider?" Riley asked. "He's a cowboy?"
I laughed. "Except for his tendency to wear polo shirts, yes, he helps out our cattle too. Mostly riding out to find strays."
"Cattle?"
James cleared his throat and I took the hint to slow down. "I like Main Street. You should see it dressed up for Christmas. Just like a postcard, minus the snow."
Riley grabbed James's seat and pulled herself forward for a better view out all the windows. "I missed all of this the night of the gala. Is that a creek?"
We turned off Main Street and went past the short avenue of houses and through the gates to the estate. "Yup. If you look up in that tree over there, you can still see some of the boards from my tree house."
"Wait! Can you stop the car? Is it okay if we get out for a minute?" she asked.
I stepped out of the car. Riley had slipped out and into the point of the switchback. In the narrow fissure of woods, a waterfall splashed over a stony outcrop.
"That's the beginning of the creek you saw,” I said. “It's part of a natural watershed that my great-great-grandfather insisted be preserved when they were cutting the original road. When I was young, one of my first land improvement projects was to forge a hiking trail from here up to the crest. I think it might have just been a way to get me out of my parents' hair, but I still hike that trail twice a week."
Riley's smile was bright even in the deep shade of the wooded switchback. When she moved past me to climb back in the car, she gave me a knowing smile and said, "You love it here."
"I do." The full realization of what I had admitted, or maybe the words I used, left me breathless.
We drove the rest of the way to the grand house in peace. Riley's hands tangled together again as James pulled into the large arc of the driveway and halted at the front steps.
"It looks a lot different," Riley grinned, "you know, without the whole carnival."
I helped her out of the car. "A lot of people think Golden Bluff is some wild whimsy, but it was built with reinforced concrete exterior walls. It's withstood the worst of earthquakes."
"A solid foundation," Riley nodded. The golden flakes around her pupils glowed and made me hope that maybe someday she might say that about me.
I cleared my throat. "People also don't realize it's not just one enormous house. Golden Bluff Estate has the main house, three guest cottages, a sports pavilion, and a private airstrip. Not to mention one hundred and fifteen acres of gardens, terraces, and pools."
She took my arm and nudged me with her hip. "All right, tour guide, tell me your favorite place. In all of the acres of Golden Bluff, where do you like to go the most?"
I squeezed her arm against me and leaned down until our lips were inches apart. "Past the high gardens, there's an overlook with a hot tub."
She blushed and steered me toward the colossal front doors. "I want to see the foyer without all the decorations and people."
We walked in and her laugh echoed across the marble. Riley let go of my arm and found the spot directly below the massive crystal chandelier. She craned her neck to look up and smiled in delight.
"Better than the big top?" I asked.
"Better than anything I've ever seen." Riley's big brown eyes swept over everything as we moved from the foyer into the dining hall. "There are actual cherubim on your ceiling."
"Both painted and hand-carved," I said.
"There's a balcony in your dining room."
I bit back a smile. "Actually, most people call it a dining hall, and the balcony is for musicians."
Riley blinked at me. "A live orchestra for dinner music. That's outstanding."
Watching her explore Golden Bluff was the best homecoming I had ever had. Riley didn't try to hide her awe or stifle her enthusiasm. Most women tried for a bored nonchalance and hoped it hid their nerves, but Riley didn't look nervous at all. I watched her try out the leather wing-backed chair at the head of the table. "You look comfortable," I said.
She leaned back in the overbearing chair and tapped her fingers on the carved wooden arms. "And you look awkward. I suppose it's weird living in a house that’s part-museum, part-showcase." She stood up and held out one hand. "Show me the places you like best."
"The hot tub?" I raised my eyebrows.
"The rooms that you use the most, the places you’re most comfortable." Riley waved her hand impatiently. "How about that place in the kitchen where you did homework?"
"It's the chef's night off," I said.
Riley marched into the main hall and crossed her arms. "If you don't show me your favorite spot, I'll be forced to test the amazing acoustics in here."
"All right, all right, fine. We'll skip the rest of the tour and go to my office." I took her hand and led her up the grand staircase. "I know you're going to crack a joke about me not having a job, but everyone has always called it the office, so I do too."
Her head whipped from side to side as she took in the blur of famous paintings along the second-floor gallery. At the end, I pushed open the double doors and let her go first into my office.
Through the arched doorway, Riley's eyes were naturally drawn upward to the domed, Gothic ceiling. Threaded through the ornately carved molding were massive exposed beams. Down the center of the room hung wrought iron and glass lanterns as big as refrigerators. In the soaring arches, the lanterns looked small but bright with a golden hue.
Riley drifted past the long, wooden table. Its dark polish was so glossy the lanterns reflected perfectly on its surface. Past the table were two sofas and two large armchairs forming a rectangle around my great-grandfather's prized Persian rug. Books lined the walls, preserved behind hand-crafted cabinets with lead-glass doors.
She went up the three steps to the dais that held on the left a large stone fireplace and on the right a massive cherrywood desk. Ahead of her was another set of arched doors leading to my private balcony.
I leaned on the polished wooden table. "This has always been my favorite room in the house. My father never used it. My grandfather explained it skipped a generation, mainly because my father was only invited in here to be scolded."
"It's comfortable," Riley said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the details are overwhelmingly rich, but it feels like a safe retreat, tucked away from the rest of the house."
It felt strange but exhilarating to watch her walk around, admiring all the details of the room. I had never so much as imagined another woman in that space. As a child, it held a mystique, an aura of my grandfather's notable power. The furnishings were masculine in taste and color, making Riley's flowing hair and breezy sundress an eye-catching contrast. I could have watched her there for hours.
My phone buzzed, rattling against the table. I scowled. "I'm glad you think this room is comfortable because I might have to leave you here for a little while. A very little while. Now that I'm home, Lyla's got some papers for me to sign." I looked up at Riley. "Will you be okay in here?"
A waiter appeared behind me with a bottle of wine and a platter of antipasto.
Riley grinned. "I'll make do."
* * * * *
I strode through the main house to the newer wing just off the front door. There Lyla had repurposed a sunroom for her office. I pushed open the door and fought the ever-present urge to flinch. No matter how many times I walked through the door to Lyla's office, it was always a shock.
The original, gleaming hardwood floors had been covered with a white Carrara tile. Woven rugs of dove gray and white delineated her sitting area with its white leather sofas, and her meeting area with its stainless steel and glass table.
Dove gray wainscoting reached as high as my head and stood in contrast to pleated, white silk wallpaper. The only original facet of the room left untouched was the large gray stone carved fireplace.
Lyla looked up from where she sat at her desk.
Before she could speak, I asked, "In this house, no, on this entire estate, is this the place you feel the most comfortable?"
A crease formed between her eyebrows as she tried to grasp my meaning. "Yes, everything I need is here."
"That's right." I circled one of the white leather sofas. "You still insist on using the guest suite here. You know it was intended for the butler, to be near if the front bell was rung."
"Exactly. My office is here where I can be available at any hour." She walked to the long, elegant white dining table she used as her desk.
"And you wonder why you don't have a life outside this job?" I followed her across the sleek, modern room. "If you moved to one of the guest houses, you'd at least be able to go home at night."
She leaned on her desk and crossed her arms. "This is more conducive to work."
I sighed. "You know Golden Bluff was originally a camp retreat, right? Where our ancestor brought his family for peace and quiet?"
"I'm well aware of the history here."
"Do you remember when all the cousins got to spend the night in the teepees at Middle Camp?" I could remember a gangly Lyla grumbling and stumbling her way up the hiking trail from the main house.
"Yes, I remember. Andrew was there too, but let's not be nostalgic, Landon. No one has camped here for a long time. You only bring up the rare fond childhood memory when you're avoiding some other conversation." She narrowed her eyes and saw right through me. "You want to get this over with so you can go on to other things. When are you going to learn that this, all of this, should be your priority?"
I opened my mouth then stopped myself. I didn't want to tell Lyla about Riley. I had seen the way she stared down her nose at Riley, and I was sure she was the reason Riley had left the gala so abruptly. "Not everyone works the same, Lyla. I just met someone who has great ideas and ambitions, but he can't function on a nine-to-five schedule."
She slapped her hands on her pencil skirt. "Why can't you take anything seriously?"
I waited for her to stalk around her desk and sit primly in the chair. Then I leaned on her gleaming desk with both hands and looked her in the eyes. "We're not having this conversation again, Lyla. Where are the papers you want me to sign?"
I spotted a stack at the edge of the conference table and went to investigate.
She shot out of her chair and swooped in front of me before I could reach the paperwork. "Where have you been?"
"Does it matter?" I asked. "Now I'm here to work and all you want to do is distract me."
Her eyes narrowed again. "Where have you been? Messing around with Andrew at that dive he calls a bar? I know you stay in that attic sometimes."
I held out a straight arm and gently pushed her aside. "You need to stop harassing Andrew. You’ve been on his case since we were kids. What’s with that?"
She tapped her foot and ignored my question. "Or were you on some bender? Did some of your jet-setter friends happen to be in Santa Cruz for the surfing or something?"
"If I tell you, will you let me sign these papers and be done for the night?"
Lyla widened her eyes and waited to hear my explanation.
I raked a hand through my hair and stuffed the other in my pocket. "I ran into an old friend on campus. We decided to catch up, so I decided to stick around for a little longer."
Her lips puckered as if she tasted something sour. "No drunken college nostalgia?"
"I went to Ivy League," I said. "Not that she shouldn't be proud of graduate work at a state school."
Lyla pounced. "She?"
I involuntarily took a step back as Lyla stalked over to poke a finger in my chest.
"She? I can't believe you, Landon. How could you be so stupid as to party with a bunch of college girls?" Lyla rammed her finger against my sternum.
"Ouch, Lyla, come on. I said she was in graduate school." I chuckled. I knew not taking her accusations would make her even madder.
"This old friend was worth blowing off work just so you could hang out and chat about old times?" Lyla asked. "What's her name? If she's an old friend, I'm sure you've mentioned her before."
I pressed a hand to my heart to guard against Lyla's jabbing finger. "Actually, you've met her before."
"Really? When was that? What's her name, Landon?"
"Yes, really. Her name is Riley, and she was at the gala. She wore that stunning gold dress."
Lyla's eyes flashed, but she feigned confusion. She even tapped her mouth with the finger that had just bruised me. "Riley, gold dress, hmmm. The only Riley I remember meeting is that sneaking opportunist who faked a rental car breakdown in order to accidentally run into you at The Sand Dollar."
A muscle in my jaw ticked. "You met her —I saw you two talking. If you met her, then you know that none of that is true. Riley Cullen is one of the most honest and open women I've ever met."
Lyla threw her perfectly manicured hands into the air. "That's what they all want you to think!"
"Who's 'they?'" I asked. My stomach was already roiling at the answer I knew was coming.
"Gold-diggers," she said with heavy disgust.
Something in my brain cracked under that weight. "Do you even care about my feelings at all? I brought a date to the gala for the first time in years and you ran her off. Now, when I tell you I ran into her again, all you can do is put her down?"
"Of course I care about your feelings, Landon, otherwise I wouldn't be warning you to stay away from women like Riley."
"And you don't care that what you're saying upsets me?"
Lyla rolled her neck one way and the other, stretching. "Just like you know that it upsets me when you blow off your schedule."
"Whatever. I’m signing the papers, and then I’m out of here." I moved around her and finally reached the stack of papers on the glass conference table.
"Face it, Landon, this is your life." She handed me a pen.
I began working my way through the first stack of papers. Lyla leaned on the table, too close to ignore. She tapped her foot and sighed. I signed all the papers in silence. Then I dropped the pen on the table and left without another word.