by Calista Fox
“In the Hamptons?”
“Yes. Though he wasn’t a fan of the high-society scene. He was very low-key. Salt of the earth. And those are the kinds of people he tried to surround himself with. Needless to say, he and Mitcham weren’t the best of pals, despite being brothers. They tolerated each other is the best way to describe their relationship.”
Scarlet bit into the slice of pie he’d heated up for her and swallowed it down before asking, “Did Phil Bert like Michael, or just tolerate him as well?”
“He liked Michael. Didn’t see too much of him because Michael’s never been one to hang around the stables. But they had a good rapport and found other things in common.”
“Yet Michael didn’t get five million dollars in cash from his uncle—his biological uncle—when he passed. And you did. That’s a little strange, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Sam said. “The majority of the estate was liquidated and went to numerous horse farms—mainly a couple of facilities that take in retired or lame race champions so they’re not mistreated or euthanized. Or ground up for the meat.”
“Ugh.” She crinkled her pert nose.
“It happens. Anyway, Uncle Phil Bert knew his father had bequeathed an entire sugar plantation to Michael. Took some time for all the legalities to be worked out, but eventually that land was Michael’s. He was able to subdivide and sell a plot. The end result was that he had acreage in Hawaii, a business, and available funds.”
“And you had…?”
“Still just a handful of nickels to rub together,” he told her.
With a small nod, she said, “So Phil Bert evened the playing field.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. He left me the exact same amount as he knew Michael had made on the flip. Along with two horses. And a lifetime of knowledge that allowed me to start up this equestrian ranch and pursue a passion I’d never have known existed within me if I hadn’t met Phil Bert. If he hadn’t taken an interest in me. Hadn’t trusted me to take good care of his horses.”
“That’s very heartwarming. But … How’d Michael respond? Did it cause any sort of riff between the two of you that Phil Bert had bequeathed you something and Michael nothing?”
“Michael’s not that way. Yes, I know he can be very intense and completely wrapped up in acquisitions and the market and building a bigger and bigger empire. Yet one thing that both vexed and shaped him as a person was Mitcham’s decree that Michael and I were supposed to make it on our own. If we wanted what Mitcham had, we had to figure out how to achieve it without simply being handed a golden ticket.”
She seemed to give this thought, then said, “Michael did mention this, though he phrased the dynamic a bit differently. Basically, he summed it up by saying he was privy to luxuries, but they weren’t really his by right until he’d earned them.”
“Precisely.”
Scarlet stared off into the tall flames for a few seconds. Likely piecing together some of the puzzle before posing her next round of questions.
Sam admired her profile. Found her just as mesmerizing when she was lost in thought as he found her when she was gazing intently at him. Or flirtatiously. He wondered if she knew the latter came so naturally to her. That he responded to it innately.
He finished his pie with the exception of some of the crust and fed that to the pup. He really did need to name the little guy. Especially since the Lab was finally starting to come around, eating more, and he’d drained his bowl of water. Was doing his business regularly.
In addition to the multitude of toys, the bed, the food and treats, and the other accessories and supplies Sam had splurged on at the pet store in Kalispell, he’d also picked up a stretch of fake turf that emitted a feral scent that enticed the dog to relieve himself there, rather than on Sam’s expensive hardwood floor. Since the pup was only a few inches from the ground at this point, he couldn’t get through the mass of snow that had piled up. And Sam hadn’t had the chance to use the blower on the deck and walkways during this latest storm.
As the mutt wandered off, Scarlet turned back to Sam. She asked, “How’s the relationship between your mom and Mitcham?”
“Good. Strong. She’s crazy about him. Was from the time she met him. She didn’t even know who he was at first. That was probably by design on his part. But he fell hard for her, too. I honestly believe he’d do anything for her. He’s a different man when he’s with her.”
“Not quite the foreboding hard-ass?”
“Not quite.” He grinned.
“Hmm. So you approve of their marriage?”
“Initially? No, not really. I had no desire to move to the Hamptons. But the fringe benefits made up for that hesitation. And then seeing how happy she was…” He shrugged. “What more could I have wanted for her?”
“What indeed.”
They put their plates in the dishwasher and Sam said, “I’ll show you to the loft. Take your bags up for you.”
“Thanks. It’s been a long day. And I appreciate the hospitality.”
“Anyone in these parts would have done the same.”
She gazed up at him and smiled beguilingly. “Maybe.”
It took a few seconds for him to come around. He collected her belongings and headed into the great room, which she took interest in. On either end of the split-level room was a curving stairwell made of wood and brushed-nickel railing. The railings also extended across the open rooms upstairs. Sam’s office on the right side, his bedroom on the left.
At the top of the stairs, Scarlet stepped into his private space and marveled over it with soft “oohs” and “ahhs” as she noted the oversized sofas and chairs, the enormous fireplace, the big bed. Farther beyond was a large bathroom and walk-in closet, both of which separated the suite from his office.
She glanced up at the wood-trimmed ceiling and said, “You have skylights. I’ve only ever seen them in home magazines.”
“Mine are heated with a drainage system so that the snow doesn’t accumulate. Just melts and runs off. If the sky were clear tonight, you’d be sleeping under the stars.”
“That must be incredible.”
“I do enjoy it.”
“You really have the perfect place here. Impressive. How come you never joined a firm?”
He popped into the bathroom to get the clean set of sheets. As they stripped the bed, he told her, “I’d planned to work in Manhattan after I’d graduated. But I had some freelance design jobs that kept me busy. Then I realized I wasn’t into the rat race, wasn’t too keen on the Wall Street way of life, and decided to try something different. I came out here for a visit when I was twenty-four. Fell in love with it. Decided what I really wanted was a wide-open space for a house and horses.”
“A man who follows his dreams,” she mused as she tucked in corners of the fitted sheet. “Even more impressive.”
“Well, I couldn’t have done it on this grandiose a scale were it not for Phil Bert or Michael.”
Her brow knitted. “What do you mean—Michael?”
Sam snapped open the top sheet and they settled it on the mattress as he said, “Michael advised me on how to take my five million and turn it into twenty-five million. Took some time, mind you. I had to start out with a small slice of this property, plop a single-wide trailer on it, and live there while I built the house myself. Eventually from investments, I had enough capital to buy more land, finish the house, and add the outbuildings.”
“Commodities?” she ventured.
“That and some real estate investments we partnered up for.”
“Quite the whirlwind existence you’ve led thus far.”
As they draped the bronze-covered down comforter over the bed, he told her, “No more so than establishing a global network of black markets, auction houses, and curators.”
“Let’s not forget all the ins I have with domestic and international police departments and federal agencies. Mostly because of my gran.”
“Who does what…? Work for the CIA
or MI6?”
“Hardly.” Scarlet laughed softly as she reached for a pillow, discarded the former case, and slipped on a new one. “She’s L.C. Seymour.”
“Ah.” Sam whistled under his breath. “So the inquisitive nature runs in the family.”
“Exactly.”
They finished up and then Sam brushed his teeth and grabbed his drawstring pants and a fresh batch of clothes for the morning. He stoked the fire and told Scarlet, “There are plenty of blankets under the bench seat at the end of the bed if you get cold in the middle of the night. Help yourself to anything.”
“Actually, it’s perfectly toasty up here. And absolutely stunning. I like your style, Sam Reed.”
He stared down at her, knowing it was foolish to get lost in her eyes, but it was so damn easy. He said, “You are insanely beautiful, Scarlet Drake.”
She stretched on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for everything, cowboy. You’re a real hero.”
“I don’t know about that.” He had too many hellish nightmares of the car accident to buy into her compliment. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
He continued to gaze at her. And couldn’t help but lower his head and brush his lips over hers.
He’d only been wanting to do that all damn night.…
NINE
Scarlet felt the heat. The lust. The high-voltage current.
It was a simple kiss, really.
Sam’s supple lips sweeping over hers.
Feathery light. A whisper of a kiss, in truth.
One that was amazingly perfect.
One that kindled every fiber of her being.
Her lids had fluttered closed for the briefest of seconds. Now she looked up at him and wondered how on earth she’d step away and go about her business. Let him go about his.
Because that wasn’t at all what she wanted to do.
Her heart stammered in her chest. Adrenaline flowed through her veins.
She waited with bated breath for him to make another move. For him to recognize that she was still standing there, open to whatever came next.
But the “next” seemed to trouble him, for Sam was the one to take the step back. Physically as well as mentally, she noted with dismay.
He said, “I’ll let you get some sleep. Don’t worry about your tire. I’ll call over to a guy I know in Lakeside and we’ll get it worked out.”
“That’s very kind of you.” What else was she going to say? He was retreating.
From the torment in his eyes, clouding the blue irises, she surmised he was torn by the idea of staying and what that might entail … and leaving when he apparently believed that was the right thing to do.
Because of his fiancée?
Because he still felt loyalty to Cassidy? And Scarlet wasn’t just a bar or a nightclub pickup?
She didn’t know of course. Could only speculate. But the uncertainty in his eyes made her heart ache for him.
To ease both their consternation, she said, “Dinner was wonderful, and I know I’m going to get a good night’s sleep. Thanks again.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.” He dragged his gaze from her. Then took the stairs to the first floor.
Scarlet watched him go, catching his reflection in the oversized windows.
Sam was definitely the soul-stirring type.
But he was clearly caught up in emotions and memories that plagued him. Didn’t loosen their hold on him.
Scarlet could relate. At the same time, a burning desire to help him assuage that pain he clung to—that continued to claim him—gnawed at her insides.
She slowly circled his room, her fingertips gliding over his books, his knickknacks, his furniture. It was a damn shame the bed wouldn’t smell like him, because she found warmth and security in his virile scent. Had the overwhelming urge to snuggle against him. To be close enough to him to be enveloped in his presence and surrounded by his muscles.
A wholly unfamiliar sensation.
Then again, when Michael had climbed into bed behind her last night and spooned her she’d been thrilled and aroused to be engulfed by him. That, too, had been a wholly unfamiliar sensation.
One she craved to feel again.
She craved a lot of forbidden pleasures when it came to these two men.
As Scarlet removed her tank top and bra and unzipped her jeans, she imagined Sam doing it. While Michael watched.
Although her internal temperature soared, she went into Sam’s closet and found sweaters folded in dresser drawers. She selected a navy-colored one that almost matched the hue of the T-shirt he’d worn this evening, which complemented his lighter eyes, and pulled it on. Then she settled in the large bed, thinking it was way too much space for one person. And finding that reality a somewhat disturbing one, particularly on Sam’s behalf.
He should have gotten his full dream. A wife. A child. Maybe several kids. Hell, he had the acreage to add on. Fill this house with tons of laughter and lots of puppies.
A tear formed on the rim of her eye. Whereas Michael appealed wholeheartedly to the adventurer in Scarlet, Sam’s damaged soul called to hers.
Not exactly something she was at ease owning up to. It would be in her best interest to keep all of her past pains locked up tight. Not speak of her parents and their tragic, harrowing deaths.
It was saner that way.
Yet she couldn’t deny that hers and Sam’s heartbreak made them kindred spirits. And Scarlet found solace in that.
So much so, she was able to stare up at the glowing pink clouds and the soothing snowfall captured in the hint of moonlight and breathe a bit easier. Although it was apparent there was a need for release from the overwrought emotions that permeated this stunning house, a surprisingly peaceful synergy flowed through her.
At first, Scarlet had no idea how that could be possible—when two wrecked people and one abused puppy were currently residing under the same roof and the entire space was rife with distress, she shouldn’t have found even a small measure of tranquility.
But she did.
Because the fires snapped and crackled, warming the air.
The snow fell in fat, pristine-white flakes.
The scent of venison roast and caramelized onions still lingered. Mixed with the tinge of apple-cinnamon.
So beyond the suffering, there was an inviting degree of comfort.
No hustle and bustle. No shoving thoughts and dismal feelings under the rug, because they’d pretty much been laid at both Scarlet’s and Sam’s feet. Like Michael, Sam had many layers to him that she wanted to strip away. In due time.
Admittedly, her interactions with both men helped Scarlet to expand her tunnel vision on work and humanize the case she was focused on.
Not something she normally did. But in this instance, it felt right.
Michael wasn’t her thief.
She was convinced of that.
Nor was Sam.
So … Who was?
Mitcham had nothing to gain, aside from recouping the initial expenditure on the collection. But seriously. The man was worth more money than she—and pretty much most of the global populace—could comprehend. So that didn’t make sense. Not to mention, he’d purchased the artwork for his new bride. What sort of monster would gift the woman he loved with such a rare treasure and then turn around and rip it from her hands?
It wouldn’t exactly be a clever way to welcome her into his home.
And Karina wasn’t a fathomable suspect herself. By marrying Mitcham, the woman had just scored everything she could possibly want—a rich, handsome husband, a mansion, and a prestigious art collection.
So who the hell would benefit from stealing the works?
An aficionado outside the mansion walls, sure. As Michael had implied. But something crucial Scarlet had learned from Jewel when it came to high-end collectors was that they wanted to show off their prizes. Put their acquisitions—no matter how those acquisitions had ended up in their possession—on display. Like trophies.
Scarlet’s brain churned as her thoughts ran rampant.
She’d be exhausted come morning if she kept this up, but she’d yet in her twenty-eight years of existence figured out where the off switch was.
So she mulled over more scenarios and possibilities. But like the FBI, she was coming up empty-handed.
Fatigue would eventually catch up to her. Until it did, she allowed everything from the probable to the absurd traipse through her mind. Knowing if she hit upon one tiny feasible concept, something bigger might gel.…
Morning came with the soft rays of sunlight penetrating the thin clouds and the glorious aroma of strong coffee wafting through the air. Scarlet grinned while still in that groggy state between a sinful dream of two magnificently built men in the form of Michael Vandenberg and Sam Reed and the reality of a hearty cup of joe awaiting her.
She wouldn’t have left the two magnificently built men in lieu of coffee, of course. Were they not a mere dream. One beyond her reach.
Shoving away the covers, she didn’t think of dragging on her jeans and top while she brushed her teeth, swept a hand through her hair, and then headed downstairs. Wearing nothing but Sam’s sweater and a thick pair of socks.
She followed the delicious scent of caffeine and breakfast. Jonesing for both. And for Sam.
Strolling into the kitchen, she was greeted by a lumbering puppy. His paws were a bit too large for his short stature, and then there was the matter of him being in obvious pain that made it difficult for him to actually scamper across the hardwood floor.
Prompting Scarlet to ask Sam, “Did the vet prescribe anything for the bruises and cuts?”
“Low-dosage aspirin and an antibiotic. I’ve been giving him both.”
“Right.” Scarlet really had nothing ingenious to contribute on the subject of healing a dog. “I’ve never actually owned a pet, so I have no clue what taking care of an injured one entails.” Still, she gently scooped the pup up into her arms. And was rewarded with a soft lick on her cheek. She laughed.