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It wasn’t the release, it wasn’t that she wasn’t protected, because she was. Bailey didn’t leave her protection in any man’s hands. It was the knowledge that this intimacy had never been shared with another. Not even Trent.
She had felt this, known this. She had never given this to another man, until now.
John held something Trent hadn’t.
Her soul.
CHAPTER 11
MARY GREER’S MOUNTAIN cabin was a twenty-five-room three-story mansion set in a pristine valley surrounded by aspen, oak and huge fir trees. A large lake bordered one side of the property while stables and a snowmobile shelter bordered the other. A huge evergreen garden maze stretched out behind the house, while the front and side were reserved for the driveway and a multicar garage.
Limos were lining up in the huge circular driveway as the Serborne vehicle pulled in. Chauffeurs, butlers and housemen were carting luggage into the house and following the directions of Mary’s excellent staff in the placement of guests and their possessions.
There were more than two dozen couples attending. Invitations were much sought after and prized, even among the social elite who spent most of their winter in Aspen.
Dressed in winter-white cashmere pants, sweater and long coat, Bailey allowed John to help her out of the limo two days later as she stared up at the imposing structure overlooking them and wondered once again whatever possessed these people to live their lives as they did.
Bailey would be bored silly within two weeks and she knew it. A life of balls, parties, social luncheons, and shopping had never been her thing, as she’d proved when she left home just after she turned eighteen.
It had been her mother’s life, though, as well as that of her mother’s friends. They had lived for the next party, the endless rush of social functions and were crushed if invitations to their own weren’t accepted.
Security had been doubled from previous years, Raymond had assured her on the phone that morning. Every precaution had been taken to make certain that there would be no risk to her.
Bailey was beginning to believe that Raymond was truly upset over the attempt to kill her the week before. He had placed a security team outside her cabin, while inside both John and his bodyguard Travis ensured her protection.
Living under the constraints of that “protection” was starting to get on her nerves. She wasn’t a hare-brained debutante, she had assured them. She knew how to take care of herself.
“Nice place,” John commented as he let his hand linger at the small of her back to lead her to the open double doors to the marble foyer of the cabin.
“Do you think so?” she muttered. “I always felt it was a bit ostentatious. Too large and much too glitzy. It’s the one piece of property that Mary owns that causes me to question her taste.”
No one else heard the muttered insult, though John doubted Bailey would care if it had been. It was rather a known fact that Bailey shared housing and clothing tastes with few other people.
He could hear something more in her voice, though, a sense of disappointment, a soul-deep ache as she stared at the glittering, glitzy dwelling and those who were entering it.
Chauffeurs and house staff called back and forth. Luggage by the ton was being hauled in for a two-week stay, and many of the twenty-four guests had retreated to the ballroom and the buffet and drinks provided there.
“Ms. Serborne. Mr. Vincent.” Raymond and Mary’s butler met them at the door. “The Greers have requested your presence in a private gathering in the library. If you’ll follow me.”
Nose in the air, highbrow, and definitely status-conscious, the middle-aged gentleman led the way through the foyer to a marble-floored hall that in turn led to another wing of the house.
“Mr and Mrs. Greer.” The butler opened the door with a flourish before addressing his employers. “Ms. Serborne and Mr. Vincent.”
John placed his hand on Bailey’s back as they entered, felt the fine tension that held her muscles tight, and ached for her. She hated Raymond Greer. There hadn’t been a single noted confrontation between the two when they had been in the agency that had ended with anything less than animosity. She had known her former boss was on the take. Had known it, and had been unable to do anything about it.
Until now. But the road to the final goal was paved with heartache and pain for her. He had seen it in her eyes before their arrival, and he felt it now emanating from her body.
“Bailey, John.” Dressed in black silk pants and a matching black sweater, Raymond rose from where he sat with his wife in front of the fireplace and approached them with a friendly smile.
“Greer.” John accepted a hearty handshake and watched as Raymond turned to Bailey, gripped her shoulders, and gave her a warm kiss to the cheek.
A smile curled Bailey’s lips, even sparkled in her eyes, but it was no more than a testament to how hard she was reaching inside herself to carry on the charade.
“Call me Raymond, John.” Raymond clapped him on the shoulder as he turned back to Bailey. “Let me get you a drink. What are you having?”
Bailey’s voice was soft, gentle, so sweet it was almost enough to give him a toothache. Raymond’s smile was pure charm on a weasel’s face as he turned back to John. The illusion the man presented was almost amusing.
Requesting a straight whiskey, he kept his hand at Bailey’s back as Raymond motioned them to the small gathering. Ford Grace and his ex-model mistress Rose sat on a love seat parallel to the fireplace. Mary sat on the love seat directly in front, which left another free for Bailey and John.
