Page 1 of A Little More Forgiveness

Chapter One

Leo

“I want that property and its land sold, understood?” My stepfather’s voice rasped out of the phone’s speaker, the harshness of his tone echoing around my tiny office space. “You hear me, boy?”

Grinding my teeth together, I swallowed down the retort on the tip of my tongue exactly the way he’d taught me, instantly resenting how automatic it was to not answer back. Instilled from childhood, Malcolm Taylor’s words were the only ones allowed to be voiced while he spoke, so you’d better keep quiet or else.

The beating I’d taken for interrupting him the one and only time I disobeyed had been a swift lesson in what to expect if I stepped out of line again.

I was a damn quick learner and since the age of six had kept my end of the bargain.

“I said, do you hear me, boy?”

Now I could speak. “Yes, sir, I hear you.”

“Well?”

“No, sir, I won’t screw it up.”

He let out a harrumph. “Make sure you don’t. You’re well aware of the consequences if you do.” Asshole. In addition to my inadequacy being the reason he would lay off his own staff and turf me out of my office, as he owned the building and a whole load more in town, he’d also gone for my one major weakness.

My sister. He’d stop paying the medical bills for Caitlin.

“This is your last chance, Leo.” Then there was silence as he abruptly ended the call.

I’m twenty-fucking-nine for Chrissake, and he still treats me as if I were that same cowering six-year-old. More disturbing was the fact I allowed him to do so. I slouched in my chair, exhausted by the whole conversation and annoyed at myself for kissing ass. Again.

You’re well aware of the consequences if you do.

He’d used the same threat, for years, to ruthlessly keep me in line. My overwhelming guilt had made me the perfect target to assuage his own. It’d been fourteen years, half a lifetime ago, but the sight of Caitlin’s inert body floating face down in the swimming pool never diminished. Arms extended, skin pale, her long black hair fanning out around her…

Deliberately pushing the haunting images away, I carefully packed them in my imaginary mental box, shut the lid, and locked them up tight.

Swiveling the cheap vinyl chair around to face the street beyond the picture window beside me, instead of the relic-of-the-seventies, wood-paneled, second-floor office I worked in, I stared out at the snow lazily drifting down for the fifth day in a row. The amount this year had been unusually heavy, but unlike everyone else, I welcomed it, watching in fascination as the fat flakes covered the sidewalk in a thick white blanket, concealing all the imperfections underneath. With little over a week until the holidays, Melrose Bay had turned into the perfect picture-postcard scene. The large Christmas tree standing tall in the town square had been decorated in the same multicolored lights strung along the rest of Main Street. The silver star on top glowed brightly, and with the snow falling all around, the whole place felt magical—my favorite time of the year.

A large black Mercedes SUV glided by below my window, snagging my attention. The car slowly drew to a halt before the driver parallel parked like a pro on the other side of the street.

A minute later, the door opened wide, and a man emerged. Same as the vehicle, he’d dressed head to toe in black. Heavy, tailored, black, woolen overcoat, black suit, black leather gloves, black shoes, he was a stark contrast to the blinding white of the snow all around him. His coat shifted open as he moved in the cold air, revealing a white shirt and the pale lilac of his tie, the single hint of color in the monochrome attire.

With his naturally olive-toned skin and dark, almost-black hair pushed up and off his face, he could have stepped right out of a gangster movie from the 1950s. Looking both ways before crossing the street only accentuated the strong set of his jaw, the high slash of his cheekbones, and his perfectly straight nose.

He walked with a confidence I’d rarely ever seen, even in Boston, causing my pulse to tick up a couple of notches. Cocky? Very likely. Arrogant? Almost definitely. But on him the lazy swagger and don’t-fuck-with-me attitude worked like a charm, making him seem larger than life.

Still ogling him as he made his way toward the sidewalk on my side of the street, it wasn’t until he disappeared from view, directly below my window, things rapidly fell into place.

He’d come here to meet me, and taking a quick glance at the sunburst clock on the wall, I noted he’d arrived a half hour early.

This guy is the one I had to try to persuade the prickliest man on earth to sell his cabin and land to. The man who’d make the difference between me basking in my stepfather’s praise for five minutes, or being made to feel like the inadequate disappointment Malcolm had come to expect, responsible for him having to lay off his staff and my sister losing complete funding for her medical care.

The footsteps on the stairs grew louder, until my 12:30 p.m. appointment stood outside the glass-paned door to my office. “Do not fuck this up, Taylor,” I mumbled under my breath. “Do not fuck it up.”

My eyes locked onto the man’s beautiful face, and when he raised his head to look straight at me, our gazes connected. The intensity of his eyes hit me right in the chest, and thank goodness I remained sitting because when he smiled at me, I actually went dizzy at the sight of those gorgeously full lips parting as the corners of his mouth tilted up.

The door opening, the sound grating loud on the hardwood floor, and him walking inside immediately brought my gawping to a halt. I had to be smart, professional, and make a good impression on the guy, so how come it got more and more difficult to concentrate on doing so, the closer to me he got?

He paused in front of my desk, the exotic fragrance of his cologne teasing my senses as blackcurrant and spice assailed me. I breathed him in deeply, sucking his scent into my lungs, imprinting his essence. He removed his gloves, taking his time to pull each manicured finger out of the leather encasing them before extending his right hand. I stood and absently noted he wasn’t as tall as I’d originally thought. Not surprising as I’m well over six feet. He was likely five ten, five eleven tops. Amazing how his persona made him appear so much bigger, and so much more confident.

As I gazed down into his face, this close, I clearly saw the color of his eyes. Dark jade green around the pupil but growing paler closer to the edges of his iris. They were mesmerizing, and being the sole focus of his attention was slightly unnerving, yet oddly exciting at the same time.

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