Mr. Hyde’s Assets

by Sheridon Smythe

  Yet, even knowing this, the thought of blurting out the truth terrified her. Howard’s scathing comments about her “foolish little hobby” still haunted her. And old habits were hard to break.

  But suddenly that last realization deepened the appeal of letting this funny, sensitive man have the run of her house. He was fast becoming the light at the end of a dark and difficult tunnel. With him, she felt safe, she felt cared for, she felt alive again. And if Mr. Hyde had a hidden agenda for wanting to move in, then she would deal with it when the time came.

  If she wanted to. And if she didn’t… then she was certain to have the experience of her life. Either way, it was her choice.

  Her choice. She actually had a choice.

  A rush of renewed relief enveloped her. She was strong. Resilient. In control of her own life now. Nobody would tell her what to do ever again. She had made this decision, and she felt good about it, knowing it was the best thing for her and her baby, and maybe even for Mrs. Merryweather. With Mr. Hyde around, maybe Mrs. Merryweather could take a little time for herself instead of spending every waking hour making sure Candice wasn’t bothered, or hungry, or just plain alone.

  She took such a deep breath, it left her giddy. Or was it the promise of an adventure? “Give me time to prepare Mrs. Merryweather.”

  Austin cut his gaze to the ceiling, rubbing his shadowed jaw. “That might take a while,” he muttered. Then he stuck out his hand. “Meanwhile, let’s shake on the deal.”

  Candice stared at his big hand. Her mouth went curiously dry, and her toes curled into the carpet as if they sought mooring. She hadn’t forgotten how that hand had felt clamped to her waist as he held her against the hard length of his body. Lord, how could she forget? The man must have soaked up a lot of sun today to hold that kind of heat!

  Finally, she placed her hand in his, her eyes flying wide when instead of shaking it, he turned her palm up and began to explore her fingers with the intensity of a fortune-teller.

  “What’s with these callouses?”

  Trapped in the powerful beam of his gaze, Candice stammered, “I—We had to let the maids go.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either. She couldn’t bear the possibility of his laughing should she tell him that she’d earned the callouses mostly through hours of carving and sanding, painting and varnishing.

  In an effort to distract him, she blurted out more than he had a right to know. “The court froze Howard’s assets until it reaches a decision, and the amount I’m allowed isn’t enough to support a household staff.” That was an understatement. Oh, why was she telling him this anyway? Chances were he already knew, despite his assurance that he didn’t read the papers. Since Howard’s death, Candice had discovered that nothing was confidential, nothing was sacred, and everyone could be bought.

  Jack, Luke, and Mrs. Merryweather were about the only people she trusted these days.

  And now… maybe Mr. Hyde.

  She tugged at her hand. He let her go, but his mouth was set grimly. When he spoke, his tone was flat, accusing. “So you’ve been scrubbing floors.”

  She fidgeted in her chair, tearing her gaze away. “Mrs. Mexryweather would never let me scrub floors, silly.” If he didn’t stop looking so concerned, he might convince her he really did care. And then she would really feel like a fool. Because nobody could care that much about someone he had only just met—and about an unborn child that was not his own.

  And who would care about a rich widow the tabloids proclaimed to be conniving and so immoral she would impregnate herself using her dead husband’s frozen sperm just to keep her fortune?

  Mr. Hyde couldn’t know this wasn’t true, yet he hadn’t questioned her about it. And if he didn’t yet know all the sordid details, then he was the only person on earth who didn’t. She admitted she was naive, but she wasn’t that naive.

  Maybe Dr. Jack could shed some light on this strange situation. Yes, if anyone could help her unravel the mystery of Mr. Hyde, it would be Dr. Jack. Austin had revealed their lifelong friendship, and—

  No. Not Austin, but Mr. Hyde. When he stopped being Mr. Hyde, she was in deep trouble.

  She stood, relieved to find her legs steady. “I think I should go home.”

  “I’ll walk you to the house.”

  “No, I—”

  “Yes.” His voice deepened, sending a shiver down her spine. “You shouldn’t be out walking alone, especially at night.”

  Candice started to remind him that she had walked over by herself but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. Besides, she liked the idea of lingering in his company a few moments longer. Despite their differences tonight, and despite the upheaval he had caused in mind and body, she had had a good time.

  They made the trek downstairs and onto the garage drive, through the narrow path behind the house to the sliding doors leading into her bedroom before another word was spoken.

  Austin broke the silence. “I’m going into town tomorrow to pick up a few things from my apartment. Do you need anything?”

  Candice curled her fingers around the latch of the door before turning to look at him. The faint glow of the pool lights failed to reveal his expression. But then, she had no business wondering if he might want to kiss her one more time.

  She tried to sound brisk as she said, “Mrs. Merryweather does our shopping.”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “Need any baby things?” he suggested. “We could go together, and I’d be there for you in case you got nabbed by a reporter.”

  She narrowed her eyes, wishing she could see his eyes. Why in the world did he keep bringing up the baby? She started to ask him outright, then hesitated. Maybe another day. Right now she didn’t want to ruin a lovely-well, almost lovely—night. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think—”

  He sidled close, cutting off her words with the simple motion of placing his hand over hers where she grasped the door latch. Candice jumped at the instant heat, the strange electric charge that raced up her arm. Now she could see his expression, the slow, heated way his eyes traveled over her. The man could do indecent things with those eyes.

  “You could wear my shirt,” he drawled softly. “I guarantee you nobody would recognize the formal Mrs. Howard Vanausdale in that get-up.”

  Candice sensed a subtle insult behind his smooth words, yet she couldn’t manage a spark of anger. He was right. Nobody would recognize her. “I’ll—I’ll think about it.” He couldn’t know that the thought of spending an entire day in his company made her feel giddy.

  “Good enough,” He sent the door sliding open, frowning down at her. “You left it unlocked?”

  Flushing at his censorious tone, Candice quipped, “Taking your bodyguard duties seriously, aren’t you?”

  “Someone needs to.”

  He moved her gently aside and strode into her bedroom, flicking on the lights as he went. Frozen in surprise, Candice waited dutifully by the door until he searched her closet, the bathroom, and the small sitting room she planned to convert into a nursery. By the time he returned to her, she was having a hard time keeping a smile at bay. It just felt so darned strange having someone care so much. It felt good. Great, in fact.

  But why would he care? She couldn’t banish the question from her mind. She trusted so little and so few that it was next to impossible not to question his kindness and the possible motives behind it.

  “Okay, it’s all clear.”

  Candice stepped into the room with a silent sigh and turned to let him pass her. “Thank you for—”

  His arms closed around her from behind, pulling her gently against him. She felt fire on her neck as he whispered, “Hold still. I just want to feel you against me again.”

  She was helpless to say no to something she wanted just as much, so she did as he asked, taking shallow breaths and hoping he’d let the strength return to her legs before he let her go.

  He made no move to release her. Instead, he shifted his arms, splaying one hand beneath her b
reasts as the other settled over the slight swell of her stomach. Candice felt the room whirl. Every ridge, every muscle of his pressed along her entire length.

  He held her this way for long, delicious moments. Candice had never felt so cherished, so desirable. And when he trembled, her body thrummed in answer.

  She tried not to think about his hand on her stomach and what it meant as she basked in the glorious sensations ricocheting through her body.

  It was no use. Her baby was too much a part of her to forget, even in an unforgettable moment like this.

  Was there a significance in the gesture? Had he forgotten about the baby—Howard’s baby?

  The question flew from her mind as he pulled her hair aside and placed a hot kiss on her neck.

  Then he released her.

  Thank God he did so slowly, Candice thought with a shaky inward laugh. Otherwise, she was certain she would have fallen to the carpet in a helpless heap of quivering desire.

  As his hands fell away, she turned around, fully intending to seek his kiss.

  But he was gone, the whisper of the door sliding shut the only evidence he’d been there at all.

  Candice placed a trembling hand over the spot on her neck he had kissed and closed her eyes. It was just as well, because she was terribly afraid she would have begged him for more than just a kiss.

  Tomorrow, she would call Dr. Jack—before she placed her complete trust in this stranger and invited him into her home.

  And very possibly into her bed.

  After that, she would call Dr. Robinson. Unfortunately, Candice feared that no prenatal vitamin he might offer her would cure what ailed her.

  ———

  The next day, going on ten o’clock, Austin came to collect Candice. When Mrs. Merryweather opened the door to his knock, she glared at him for a full thirty seconds before waving him inside.

  “She shouldn’t be going out, you know,” she grumbled, slamming pans around on the counter with unnecessary vigor. “Those bloodhounds will recognize her, mark my words. They always do.”

  Austin’s heart did a funny flip-flop. “She’s going, then?” He didn’t realize until now how much he’d been looking forward to the outing, or how afraid he’d been that she wouldn’t go.

  Mrs. Merryweather continued to glare as if he’d invited Candice to join him in a bank robbery instead of an ordinary trip into town. “Oh, sure. You’re happy as a lark, aren’t you? What do you care if she gets hounded by reporters? It won’t be you who lies awake all night wondering what kind of sludge they’re going to print the next day.”

  A good portion of Austin’s happy anticipation faded. Mrs. Merryweather was right; he was taking a big risk inviting Candice out.

  But he wasn’t ready to change his mind.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised, meaning it.

  The housekeeper raked him with a scornful glance. “I’m sure you will. But even you, with all your brawn and bluster, can’t stop those vultures from making up their own pack of lies about Mrs. Dale.” She sent a metal colander clattering into the sink. “Have you considered what they’ll think if they see her with you?” she demanded.

  He hadn’t, he realized. Hadn’t thought about anything much beyond spending time with the intriguing Mrs. Dale, of getting her away from this museum and showing her how to have some fun. Hell. “Maybe you’re right, Mrs.—” Austin began.

  “No, she’s wrong,” Candice interrupted, startling him.

  He turned to find her staring at Mrs. Merryweather with something akin to defiance. He felt a surge of pride at her show of spunk, and in a way that was fast becoming familiar, his heart kicked into overdrive at the sight of her.

  She wore her hair in a youthful ponytail, but she was clad in a pair of expensive khaki trousers and a familiar looking neutral silk blouse, not his football jersey. How many of those damned boring silk shirts did she own, anyway? Austin wondered.

  “It isn’t fair that I’m forced to hide from the world,” Candice continued.

  Mrs. Merryweather plopped her hands on her hips and seemed to make an effort to temper her stridency. “It’s just until after the hearing.”

  “Which could take months,” Candice retorted, her saucy ponytail bouncing with life.

  Austin wanted to grab it and tug her forward for a big sloppy kiss. Wouldn’t Mrs. Merryweather be shocked?

  “I’m sick of hiding, I’m sick of this house, and I’m sick of these clothes.” She lifted her chin. “I’m going out, and whatever happens is not Mr. Hyde’s fault, is that clear?”

  Mrs. Merryweather opened her mouth as if to protest, then apparently changed her mind. She presented her back and began scrubbing the sink with a vengeance. Austin heard a pathetic little sniff and actually found himself feeling sorry for her.

  “You’re old enough to know your own mind, I suppose,” she mumbled.

  It was their cue to leave. Austin surprised Candice by grabbing her hand and leading her to the back door. Just as he opened it, Mrs. Merryweather spoke again. The anger was gone, but the worry remained.

  “If you’re gonna be out anyway, would you mind picking up a dozen eggs?”

  Candice broke free and crossed the room, hugging the plump housekeeper. “Of course I will. And don’t worry, I’ll be fine. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “I don’t want to imagine,” Mrs. Merryweather grumbled, hugging her in return. Then she pushed her toward the door. “Go, and have a good time. Make it worth your while.”

  When the door closed behind them, Candice cast him a shy glance. “She’s a bit like a mother to me.”

  “I noticed,” Austin said with a quirk of his brow.

  Their gazes met. He smiled and chucked her beneath the chin, gaining an answering smile in return.

  Austin led the way to the garage, where he kept his truck parked out of sight at the insistence of Mrs. Merryweather. As they entered the cool, shadowy interior of the building, he said, “We’ll take my truck so we don’t attract unwanted attention.” He pointed to the rusty old Dodge pickup parked between the Rolls Royce and the Cadillac.

  Candice stopped abruptly. “You call that inconspicuous?” she squeaked, then clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked immediately contrite. “I mean, I’m sure it’s safe, but—”

  “It is.” Austin knew it was ridiculous to feel offended by her obvious distaste, but he did. Embarrassed, too. Of course she’d be more comfortable in her BMW, or the Rolls Royce her husband had driven when he was alive, or even the Cadillac Mrs. Merryweather used for errands, but she would also be noticed.

  “Austin… I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Forget it,” he said briskly. The fact that she had called him by his first name softened the offense. A lot. He just wished she would do it more often.

  As he opened the passenger door, he stepped back in dismay. Where had all the junk come from? Funny, he’d never noticed the tool kit sitting on the front seat, or the old box of paintbrushes on the floorboard. And where in hell had all the newspapers come from? He seldom even read the newspaper!

  Glancing at Candice across the hood of the truck, he tried to sound casual. “I need to clear out a few things before you get in. Would you mind grabbing a trash bag from my apartment? They’re beneath the coffee machine, I believe.”

  “Of course,” Candice agreed readily.

  When she had disappeared from sight, Austin went into a frenzy of cleaning. He shoveled the newspapers into the back seat of the Cadillac, cursing when he noticed the dates. He should have thrown them out years ago. If Candice saw them, she would probably never believe he no longer read the paper. And he didn’t, and hadn’t since the day he’d opened the paper and found an ugly, detailed article about his father.

  What would she say if she knew that her baby’s grandfather had once been a drug smuggler? Oh, Drummond Hyde had owned legitimate money-making companies as well, but those properties had only been a front to hide the real business of s
elling illegal drugs. And though the government would have loved to seize his illegal gains, he’d managed to launder enough to leave a sizable amount behind.

  His inheritance. As if he could ever touch it without feeling sick.

  Austin slammed the Cadillac door and got back to work, never willing to dwell for long on something he’d rather forget. He made himself a mental note to retrieve the papers later, before Mrs. Merryweather found them.

  He pitched the tool kit into the back along with the other odds and ends already rattling around in the truck bed and hefted the box of paintbrushes into his arms. Turning, he surveyed the garage, looking for a place to temporarily stash the box.

  Ah, a nice dark corner. Striding quickly to the spot, he dumped the load onto the floor and returned to the truck. The seat was relatively clear, but the floorboards remained knee-deep in crumpled fast-food sacks, paper cups, and a few objects Austin didn’t care to try to identify.

  “Here you go. The bags weren’t where you said, but I rummaged around until I found them. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Austin swung around, deciding she could rummage all she wanted if it meant he’d get to see her smile. With the elusive, sexy scent of her perfume lingering pleasantly in his nostrils, he took the bag and began stuffing trash into it. Finally, he could see the black rubber floor mats. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the sticky remains of a Coke he’d spilled yesterday.

  With a flourish he hoped disguised his embarrassment, he stood aside and waved an arm. “Your carriage awaits you,” he drawled, dropping the bag of trash behind her.

  Candice hesitated, glancing inside. “Seat belts?”

  Austin gave his head a mental slap and began to dig around in the seat in search of the safety belts. He wasn’t entirely confident the truck possessed seat belts, but he held on to hope for as long as he could.