by Mara McQueen
Tiny droplets of rain fell onto the floor, from her clothes, shoes, and soaked hair, as she made her way swiftly to Mrs. Bolton’s side. She held on tightly to a makeshift bouquet of roses—if the six welted red sprigs could be called that. “Red roses. Just like the birthday girl asked for.”
“Emma, your left thumb’s bleeding,” Olivia said, her eyes widening. Tiny little crimson clashed with Emma’s pale skin.
“These roses are harder to cut than they seem,” she said sheepishly. “But Mrs. Bolton has been asking for roses since you got here, so...”
Placing the roses on the table, Emma leaned down and kissed Mrs. Bolton’s cheek, to the old woman’s delight.
Olivia tilted her head, eyeing the roses carefully. They looked menacing.
One Of Those Lucky Mistakes
“You think Emma’s got a gentleman suitor?” Olivia asked, tucking Kieran's shirt tighter on her body.
She loved wearing his clothes. The feel of the silk against her hot skin reminded her of his lips ghosting across her collarbone mere minutes before.
The back of the armchair dug into a slowly fading muscle strain between her shoulder blades—she couldn’t remember exactly how she got it—she'd been too lost in a myriad of sensations, whispers, and moans—but she'd enjoyed every second of it.
Kieran quirked an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving the chessboard. This was quickly turning into a habit, playing these games with the air crackling around them.
They'd already won a game each, and the sun had only been up two hours at most. He was impossibly sexy, sitting there shirtless and way-too-serious.
But Olivia wanted his attention on her right now. She extended her legs across the small coffee table and rested them against his thigh, nudging him.
Kieran chuckled and grabbed her ankles, repositioning them across his legs. He drew small patterns on her shin, keeping his gaze on the damn chessboard. “Do I strike you as someone concerned with what’s going on in people’s personal lives?”
It was Olivia’s turn to raise a plucked eyebrow. “Reeeeally? And Bertha’s drinking?”
“Everyone with a nose would know about that.” Kieran moved a chess piece. In two moves, he’d win. Again. Olivia was trapped. He reclined back in the armchair with a satisfied smirk, engulfing both her ankles in his large hands. “Why do you care anyway?”
Olivia moved her own chess piece, inching closer to defeat. But as long as he kept massaging her feet with those slow moves of his, she didn’t care. “She came back soaked and carrying some roses. Just saying. Or do the laws of dating not apply to Nottinghamshire?”
“I suppose Charlotte’s brother is about Emma’s age. And Nan told me they’re spending the summer at the estate before they sell it,” he said as an afterthought.
“Charlotte?” Olivia asked distractedly, watching his neck muscles flex as he swallowed. The rays of sunshine danced on his bare arm, highlighting his glorious tattoo in the most delicious way.
“Yeah, she’s...” he trailed off, crouching over the chessboard.
Olivia tilted her head, suddenly curious. The sudden hot coil that wormed itself in her stomach took her by surprise.
Huh. She suddenly wanted to know if this Charlotte was tall. Or smart. Or beautiful. Or maybe all those things combined in the perfect little package, with the perfect long legs.
“She’s....a distant cousin?” she asked, feigning ignorance. Mentally, she kicked herself. What business did she have asking about this Charlotte? As long as Kieran wasn't dating her and cheating with Olivia, it was none of her concern. Or at least shouldn't have been.
She’d met Kieran a few days ago, and in a few days, she might not see him again except for some paperwork. That thought made her frown. It was the truth, but...suddenly, she wasn’t such a fan of reality.
“Nan’s a fan of hers,” he said at last.
Instead of satisfying the petty, nagging part of her, his mumbled answer only fueled her curiosity. Yeah, she was curious. That’s all.
Thankfully, she could put two and two together—better than Mrs. Bolton apparently. “Oh my God. Did your grandmother try to set you up with the neighbor's daughter?”
And did she succeed? Olivia didn’t realize her muscles had tensed until Kieran’s answer relaxed her.
“No, of course not.” He grimaced. “I mean, she invited her over a few weeks ago. Without telling me, I might add. But Charlotte’s...difficult. Works as a broker or banker and thinks anyone who doesn’t isn’t a “winner”. Whatever that means.”
“Awww,” Olivia cooed and scooted to the edge of her seat, narrowing her eyes. “You poor baby. Getting fixed up with a smart, successful, rich, and probably gorgeous woman.”
His eyes roamed her almost naked body, that delightful mischievous glint returning. “Yes, because I can’t meet one on my own. Obviously.”
Olivia squirmed under his gaze, fighting the urge to melt into the armchair.
Or jump on Kieran, whichever got her into more trouble.
His slow, unassuming caresses turned more demanding, as he inched his fingers up her calves. A whirl of desire sprung to life when his soft touch stopped to tease the sensitive skin on the underside of her knee. Olivia was powerless to prevent the sharp intake of breath that escaped her lips when he pressed lightly into her flesh, the other hand splayed possessively over her lower thigh. Gods. Who knew such a small section of skin could be so enticing? Kieran, apparently.
He shifted his body forward, eyes trained on her with the same relentless attention she adored. His gaze soaked in every eyebrow crease, every tremble of her lips.
He eased out of his seat with feline grace, careful to not stop the torturous movement of his hands, and inclined his head toward hers. She tilted her lips forward, clutching the armchair handles to center herself. His hot breath danced over her cheek.
He wet his lips. The tension turned unbearable. Her eyelids fluttered.
The phone rang.
Olivia groaned and slammed back into the armchair. Kieran narrowed his eyes, cast a furtive glance at her, and bolted into his study. Damn reality, barging in on them every chance it had.
But if the landline was working—
Olivia jumped up and darted toward the first light switch in her path and flicked it. The tiny fixtures on the walls blinked and lit up.
Thank. God.
In a flurry of movements, she threw Kieran’s shirt on the bed and made quick work of gathering up her things and stuffing herself into her minuscule borrowed pants. By the time she barged into his study, she was still buttoning up her shirt which had a curious rip near her ribcage.
Kieran barked unintelligible words into the phone and rested it against his chest, giving Olivia an apologetic look. Maybe it was the way the sunshine illuminated his face, but Olivia could swear he pouted.
“Sorry. Business,” he whispered so low, the only way Olivia could make out what he said was by the movement of his lips. “Perhaps breakfast’s ready. Darryl should’ve come back with the groceries by now. I'll make it up to you later, promise.”
"I'll keep you to it." Olivia gave him a stern military salute, topped it with a kiss, and barreled into the hallway.
As soon as she closed the door, he started yelling again in that foreign language she couldn’t place. Portuguese, maybe?
What job allowed him to stay in the middle of nowhere for so long and also required a thorough knowledge of other languages?
It seemed British heirs to large fortunes were more sophisticated than their American brothers. And boy, she'd met a shit-ton of those back in college. They traipsed all around campus, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and broken hearts. She had a firsthand account of that.
And speaking of pompous prats, where the hell was Milo? She’d figured he’d be back by now. His time was ticking along with Olivia’s patience.
Maybe if the dolt had bothered to leave a coherent message, then she would’ve exactly where he'd run off to. Or pranced, mo
re likely. Milo seemed like the kind of guy who’d prance away from his problems.
But with the power back on, she could tell him that. Back in her room, she plugged in her charger, ignoring the tiny hissing noise coming from the socket. For all its hidden and dusty glory, Bolton Manor was sure to become a money pit for whoever bought it.
It was going to be a tough sale. Her tough sale.
The phone was mercifully charging, but it wouldn't let her open it until the battery was at least thirty percent full.
She’d have to come back to it in a few hours. Maybe Milo did have a point behind his superficial insults—she needed a new phone.
No. She deserved a new phone. She'd use the full Bolton Manor commission for her debts, but maybe she could start saving up for a new device, all thin and silver.
After an icy morning shower, Olivia walked down to breakfast refreshed and ravenous.
Perhaps she’d bump into Milo, and fight him for the last scone. He was probably in his room anyway, sleeping off the effects of his hasty and insane decision.
She didn’t have to worry. Still, her legs carried her quicker in the direction of his room.
Halfway to his door, she heard low murmurs coming from one of the rooms.
To Olivia’s surprise, not far from the doorway stood Darryl and Emma, caught in a heated discussion. In fact, it looked a little too much like a lovers’ spat. She gave him that upset pixie look she wore whenever Bertha would badger her, and Darryl grumbled low in his throat, a bit peevish.
Okay, Olivia definitely shouldn’t have witnessed this.
She took another step. The floor squeaked loud enough to draw their attention.
Darryl’s piggish eyes snapped to hers, widening comically for a few moments. Emma froze in place, lips parted with whatever words she didn’t get a chance to say. In two large steps, Darryl grabbed the door and slammed it in Olivia’s face.
“Well, hello to you too!” Olivia yelled in a high-pitched voice, mimicking dear sweet Addie. Honestly, the people in this house. As if she’d fucking care what Emma and Darryl did behind—preferably closed—doors.
She had expected Darryl to behave like a brute caught rutting, but she thought better of Emma. Clearly, she had been wrong.
And if they hadn’t had anything to hide, they wouldn’t have cared if they’d had witnesses. Whatever. Addie was going to mangle them both.
Shaking her head with a grimace, Olivia barged into Milo’s room.
Clean. Cold. Empty.
“For fuck’s sake, Underwood,” she muttered and did a hasty sweep of the place. All his things were gone, the bed left untouched.
The maniac had packed his bag to get away for two days. And had left Olivia in a pit of deranged vipers that reeked of weird at every turn. If it hadn't been for Kieran...
Turning on her heels, Olivia marched downstairs. If the lines were up again, she’d make use of them in the best way she knew how.
The line at Heatherton & Associates was busy. No matter, she could pass the time by screaming Milo's ear off.
She grasped the foyer phone, not bothering to recoil from the dust this time. She punched in his number and waited, tapping her foot impatiently.
A scratchy noise upset her ear. Everything in the house was either broken, dirty, or decaying.
A soft wheeling sound drew her attention. Emma pushed a very cheery Mrs. Bolton into the drawing-room, her head hung low. Bertha rushed behind them, carrying a heavy tray of biscuits, jams, and tea.
“Dear, you’re right on time for breakfast for once,” Mrs. Bolton clasped her frail hands in front of her, a huge grin lighting her face.
Olivia forced a smile. “Just one of those lucky mistakes.”
Mrs. Bolton laughed, the warm, pleasant trill filling the lifeless space. “I can see why my grandson is positively smitten with you, he's always had a thing for women with a little bit of cheek.”
The air rushed out of Olivia’s lungs. She didn’t know they’d been that obvious.
“Don’t look so stricken, dear.” Mrs. Bolton waved her off and patted Emma’s clenched hand on her shoulder. “It’s good you came along. He’s been spending too much time in that room of his all alone. He doesn’t even come to play bridge most of the time. See that you smother that little habit out of him, okay?”
Unsure what else to do, and painfully aware her face had heated up, Olivia nodded. Bertha scoffed and entered the drawing-room, the cutlery ratting on the metal tray. “Come on, the food’s getting cold.”
“In a minute. I need to call Milo and scream at him for a bit.”
“Fine, fine," Mrs. Bolton said. "But I’ll be waiting for you at the table. I have some lovely ideas on how to fix up your hair.”
Olivia stifled a groan. Now she knew why Milo hung on Mrs. Bolton's hip every chance he got. They made a perfect pair—good intentions, awful delivery.
She locked eyes with Emma, who watched the exchange intently. The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Olivia shook her head and clenched her jaw, making her thoughts clear. Emma’s business was her own and Olivia didn't want any part of it.
Emma closed her mouth in a tight line and wheeled Mrs. Bolton into the room.
Olivia dialed Milo’s number again, and inhaled deeply, hand on her hip, shoes tapping up a storm. But screaming at Milo would have to wait. His phone was disconnected.
No Respite
Olivia slammed the phone down after failing to connect to Milo’s phone at least a dozen times. At one point, Martin and Sarah had walked by her, off on another attempt to find a bone or a famous skull, and she had only grunted in reply to their cheery hello.
Olivia ran her hands down her face. Any respectable estate agent had their phone on at all times—unless they came to the edge of the world called Bolton Manor.
It was possible that Milo was actually on his way, in his Jag, and his phone's signal was jammed. But Olivia had never been a believer in coincidences.
But there was one other person who Milo might've confided in.
“Missed me, did you?” Janice’s voice cut over the phone.
Olivia leaned against the cleaner part of the wall. “I miss everything about civilization.”
Except for the fact that Kieran had removed himself from it.
“Don’t know, Olly. The number’s still weird. That seems a bit high-tech to me.”
Hmm. A nice little chat with Kieran was in order. She couldn’t sell a house with jammed telephone lines. But...someone had called him less than an hour ago.
“First of all, I got the contract. Signed, sealed, and soon to be delivered,” Olivia said, letting a hint of pride tint her voice.
“Great! Maria can finally stop pestering me about it. As if I know what’s going on five hundred miles up North.”
“Janice?”
“Yeah?”
“Nottinghamshire’s in the South of Leeds.”
“Oh...What was I thinking about then?”
Unicorns, most likely. Or cats in ballerina costumes.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Olivia saw Addie slinking into view. The woman narrowed her eyes, tossing her long hair over her shoulder before entering the drawing-room.
Weirdos. Weirdos everywhere she turned in the house.
“Listen,” Olivia began, clearing her throat. “Can I ask you something on a strictly confidential basis?”
“Acid. It dissolves everything. Don’t do it in the tub, though, it gets messy.”
“What?” Olivia asked, screwing her eyes shut.
“What?” Janice said in an innocent voice. “Oh, you meant like something personal. Yeah, sure. I can keep a secret.”
“It’s not a secret, it’s just—don’t tell Maria. Or anyone else.”
“Yeah...so a semi-secret. Gotcha.”
Olivia took a deep breath. On the one hand, her strategy might backfire; on the other, everyone had seen Janice and Milo making out at the last company party. “Has Milo...called you?”
�
��No. But he called the firm. I answered,” Janice said, voice turning cold and professional.
Olivia waited for Janice to elaborate. When it became clear she wouldn’t say anything else without the proper prompt, she went on.
“Wheeeen?”
“Yesterday.”
Olivia bit her lip and clenched her fist. Walking the fiery plains of a supernova would’ve been easier than this. “And what did he say?”
“Nothing important,” came Janice’s clipped answer. Olivia briefly indulged in a fantasy where she was the only human on Earth. Because she had killed everyone else.
“Janice, I need to know exactly what Milo said. Now.”
“Okay, jeez. I don’t know what’s gotten into you two. All cranky and rude,” Janice said. “He just wanted to inform me, very cordially, I might add, that he was taking an unscheduled vacation.”
Olivia sighed. Milo was the embodiment of a painful, untreatable, unrelenting toothache.
“Where to?”
“He obviously didn’t say,” Janice said, her voice rising. “I’m not privy to that information, apparently. Because why in the world would I need to know where he’s off to. Or who he’s going with, that might’ve been something—”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? And he had the nerve to hang up on me. Who does that? I mean, he was all lovey-dovey before he left, bringing me protein bars and asking me to show him how to yoga. How to yoga, Olly. I mean, if you’re going to use such a bad pick-up line, at least do it right.”
Beyond Janice’s relationship drama, Olivia got a hint of something shady. Milo had that competitive streak that wouldn’t vanish overnight.
He hadn’t known the contract was hers when he'd supposedly left to get his Jag, so why run off on an impromptu holiday for no reason? Then again, maybe he’d gotten tired of the protein bars, and had lied to Janice.
“And he wants me to cover for him. Like what am I? His personal servant? Like I would’ve blabbered." Janice scoffed. "Leaving on vacation while out for a listing. Who does he think he is?”