by BETH KERY
“I felt like an interloper, being in here . . . knowing you were about to come to the Durand Estate.”
“You felt like an interloper?” she asked slowly, looking slightly dazed by his reluctant confession. “Because this was Alan Durand’s house? Because of your history with him?”
“Because it was no longer my room. No longer my home. Not since you came. Period.” Regret sliced through him at his harsh tone when he saw her lush lower lip quiver.
“I’m sorry,” he said, frustrated. “It’s just that sometimes you keep pressing. And it’s hard to know when you want the truth and when you don’t.”
“I know,” she said quickly. She, too, looked regretful. “And it’s not true, what you said. Of course Castle Durand is your home. You own it, don’t you? You bought it?”
“Yes, but only because Alan Durand offered the house to me as part of the special contract he created to make it possible for me to purchase Durand shares when he made me CEO. I wouldn’t have been able to afford it at that time in my life if he hadn’t offered me certain concessions.” He exhaled as the memory of their negotiations for his taking over Durand entered his brain. Alan had been so stubborn. So insistent. So generous in contriving a way to set terms which would allow Dylan to smoothly and completely take the helm of Durand Enterprises. “In the olden days, a lord’s title was tied to the land. That’s what Alan explained to me once,” he recalled with fond, wry amusement. “Alan loved his European history. He insisted that I’d be taken more seriously as the head of Durand Enterprises if I was master of the company’s symbolic domain.”
“The castle,” Alice said, a small smile flickering across her lips. She sobered. “And you are the master, Dylan.”
“No. Not entirely.”
He cupped her jaw, trying to ease her sudden troubled expression . . . her abrupt fragility. She looked up at him through her spiky bangs, her glance reminding him again of that of a cautious, wild thing.
“It’s just so impossible to believe, Dylan,” she said in a rush, and he knew instinctively she meant his revelation that she was the true daughter of Alan and Lynn Durand. “I mean, it’s not that I think you’re lying. Why would you? It’s just . . .” Her expression grew a little desperate as she seemingly searched for words to explain. “You can’t just start thinking of the world as round in a second when you’ve thought it was flat for your whole life.” She gave a sharp bark of laughter, as if she’d just absorbed the meaning of her words only upon hearing them. “It’s not a bad analogy, really,” she mumbled to herself. “I sort of feel like I might fall straight off the earth into nothingness every time I think about what you told me.” She looked up at him entreatingly. “Please understand.”
“I do,” he assured quietly, his fingers delving into her thick, short hair. He cupped her head. It was hard to be the rational executive when it came to Alice. It was hard to be clearheaded in this situation, period. But he had to try. So much was at stake.
“What do you think would help you most to make it real, Alice?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. Just time, I guess.”
He nodded, lowering his head until her upturned face was just inches from his. “Do you think it might help to see tangible proof?”
She blinked. “Like what? More photos?”
He pulled her tighter against him. Her T-shirt felt cool and slightly damp against the naked skin of his torso. Despite the chill of the fabric, it was the sensation of her full breasts pressing against his ribs that made his skin roughen. Her erect nipples were a fierce distraction. He forced his mind to focus.
“Not just photos. You’ve said yourself you don’t experience any connection to photos of Adelaide Durand.”
“What, then?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Alan and Lynn Durand’s physician still practices at Morgantown Memorial. He still possesses some of their genetic material. They will be able to tell you without a doubt who your parents were.”
She stared up at him blankly. “You want me to go for genetic testing?”
“Only if you’re up for it. It doesn’t have to be now,” he said, caressing her neck. He’d learned from experience in the past week that his touch helped to ground her. Soothe her. Distract her from her phantoms. He wasn’t above using that fact proactively to help her through this process.
He wasn’t above using anything, in that cause.
“You mean . . . it doesn’t have to be now, but it does have to be sometime.”
He strained to keep his expression impassive, very much aware that he was once again walking through a minefield.
“I don’t need any proof that what I told you is one hundred percent true,” he said firmly, holding her stare.
“But there will be those who will demand it,” Alice added warily.
An imagined vision of a roomful of somber, suspicious Durand executives and attorneys—all the potential doubters and naysayers—flew into his mind’s eye. “There will be plenty who will eventually demand it.” He repeated the obvious as calmly as possible.
She bit her lip and glanced aside. Aside from all these bizarre circumstances she found herself in, Dylan knew Alice Reed was typically a practical, down-to-earth young woman with a brilliant brain for mathematics and business. Never let it be said that genes weren’t telling. Alan Durand had possessed one of the finest business minds he’d ever known, and Lynn had been an outstanding scholar. She’d been an assistant professor of mathematics at the University of Michigan when Alan had first met her.
Dylan was glad to experience Alice’s sudden, intense focus on the issue at hand.
“I don’t want anything of Addie Durand’s, so why should it matter?”
“You don’t know that yet.”
“I know what I want and don’t want, Dylan.”
“Then do it for yourself,” he suggested without pause. He’d been prepared for her response. He’d been prepared for her stubbornness.
“Myself?”
He nodded. “That’s what I meant before. You need tangible proof. Not just my word. You need evidence you can hold in your hand. It’ll be something solid to grasp onto.”
“A start,” she whispered.
“A start,” Dylan agreed, relief sweeping through him because he’d seen something click in her eyes, and knew she’d go for the genetic testing. He needed that tangible proof for what was surely to come.
He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. His kiss was meant to be gentle and reassuring, but Alice was having none of it. She put her hand on the back of his head, pushing him further down to her and going up on her tiptoes. He responded to her invitation as always: wholesale.
Their kiss deepened. His lust flamed higher on the fuel of her reciprocated need.
So sweet.
So Alice-like, to be suspicious and doubting one moment, and then taking him to the center of the flames within two seconds flat. He would have to have her again tonight, experience her melting beneath his touch, laid bare and submitting to the bond between them. He needed it for Alice’s sake.
He required it for his own.
Beth Kery is the New York Times bestselling author of over thirty novels, including Glimmer, The Affair, Since I Saw You, Because We Belong, and When I’m With You. She lives in Chicago with her family.
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