She hesitated.
He smiled. “Trust me, I’m not interested in Lionel’s dog-sitting mandates and endless house rules.”
What are you interested in? She shoved the book in his hand, thankful she’d managed not to say that out loud. In her head it had sounded sexily suggestive. Best she’d left it right there.
“Good God,” Trevor murmured, juggling the book and the flashlight.
“You’re skimming.”
“Is there an index to this thing? How long are you staying, anyway?”
“Twelve days. And the section on my accommodations is in the front.”
“Ah. Says here you can choose any room in the upper east wing.” He looked up. “You were in the west wing when I found you.”
She shrugged casually. Or so she hoped. “I’m better with left and right than east and west.”
He eyed her for a moment longer, then flipped the book shut and handed it to her. “Follow me.”
As they left the kitchen for the front hall, the air got noticeably cooler.
“Uh-oh.”
“What, uh-oh?” Emma said.
“No heat.” He started trudging up the main staircase. The dogs wove their way between them, with Martha quickly out in front, and Jack trying his best to kill them both by sending them falling backward as he nudged through their feet.
When Trevor got to the main landing of the second floor, he said, “Change of plans. Follow me.”
“What change of plans? Wait a minute.” But she had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged stride.
“We can look for the generator switch and whatever else we need in the morning when we have daylight. And, hopefully, some sun to go with it. But for tonight, we can huddle in here.” He paused in front of a pair of double doors and swung them open. “Follow me.”
Emma stuck her head inside the door. As Trevor moved inside, the small beam of yellow light illuminated enough furniture to show that it was a sitting room or parlor of some kind. A rather large one.
“Aha,” he said, flashing his beam across the room to highlight the detailed filigree in the masonry surrounding a huge fireplace. Another flick of his wrist showed the wood stacked next to it. “That’ll do. For the night anyway.”
“Wait a minute. You’re proposing we both stay…in here? Together?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Conserve heat. There are a few bedrooms with fireplaces, but not in your designated wing. Of course, we could break Lionel’s rule book and go find one with—”
Just the brief visual of her and Trevor stumbling together through the dark house, looking for a bedroom with a fireplace—where they would both, presumably, stay for the night—was enough to make up her mind. “Here is fine.”
She walked in with Jack on her heels. Martha obviously knew the room as she trotted right over to the long curtains covering one of the windows and nosed it aside. Not even a glimmer of moonlight trickled in. Once Emma’s racing heartbeat subsided a little, she realized she could hear the steady tapping of ice hitting the windowpanes. Great.
She heard the scrape of a match on flint, and minutes later the room was filled with a warm yellow glow as Trevor nursed a fire to life in the fireplace.
Emma slid her satchels to the floor and watched him as he alternately blew on the embers and added more wood. Was there anything sexier than a man building a fire?
He turned and looked at her right then, and smiled. The firelight captured his features in stark relief, making his smile brighter and his eyes glow with life. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you warmed up in no time.”
Oh, have no fear, she thought as she purposely turned her attention to the dogs. You’ve got me plenty warmed up.
4
T revor could feel her gaze on him like a tracking beam. Oddly, it didn’t bother him overly much. He’d had more than his fill of being stared at in his thirty-one years, but he’d long since made peace with the DNA gods, and no longer denied the reality that being a relatively good-looking guy came with its fair share of perks. But that didn’t mean it didn’t occasionally bother him anyway.
In business, it was an admitted advantage. Unfair as it was, people were more willing to open doors, and their checkbooks, for attractive people. That fact that his last name was Hamilton hadn’t hurt, either. And yes, he’d taken advantage of both. For a cause.
But there were other times when it would have been a lot easier if he were a bit more invisible. Doors might open to him, but he hadn’t missed the other comments made. The thinly veiled compliments that were intended to make it clear that those less fortunate didn’t appreciate the “free ride” given to the “beautiful people.” Especially beautiful people named Hamilton.
If they only knew.
Which was precisely why he had stolen into his great uncle’s home in the middle of an ice storm. Because he had to know.
Had to know, once and for all, if he was really a Hamilton.
At the moment, however, he was only aware that Emma was watching him. And, for some unknown reason, that fact intrigued the hell out of him. Which made no sense. Because, while he’d come to terms with the reality that his smile and his name opened business doors on occasion, he was thoroughly done with either of those commodities getting him attention in any personal way. Sure, he’d met his fair share of women whose heads weren’t completely turned by a pretty face, but once they found out he was a Hamilton…well, things invariably changed. Even if they claimed otherwise.
He could have told them that he lived off whatever he made, not what he’d been born into, and, in the beginning, he’d tried to do just that. But he quickly learned it made little difference. The fact that he had a healthy seven figure trust fund out there, untouched or not, was far too intoxicating not to send even the most sensible and levelheaded woman off on at least a short-term trip to “what if” land. And once he saw that particular gleam in their eye, short-lived or not, it pretty much killed the attraction from his end.
But there was something about the way Emma was looking at him that didn’t shriek gold digger or player. She was clearly not the latter, having given her affections far more easily—totally, actually—to the two-and four-legged beasts in the house. She hadn’t even pretended to flirt with him. As for the first part, though, well, he couldn’t be sure. She was a pet sitter, and, though he had no clue about her personal circumstances, one would assume she wasn’t exactly rolling in it. She might be looking at him as a potential ride. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen so much as a glimmer of that avaricious spark in her eyes when she’d found out he was a Hamilton.
Still, whenever he looked up and caught her staring at him, her expression wasn’t so much calculating as…hungry. Like she’d been deprived of her favorite dessert for a very long time and had just been handed the keys to Willy Wonka’s place. Only, for whatever reason, she was going to force herself to be content with keeping her nose pressed to the glass, staying outside and just looking in.
And, something about the idea of being her taboo dessert turned him on. A little. He looked back toward the banked fire and poked at the glowing embers. Okay, maybe more than a little. But that was strictly the atmosphere talking. Storm raging outside, power out, a roaring fire. He found himself glancing at her again. A woman who wouldn’t have likely caught his eye in a crowd, but was presently making his fingers itch to take all that long, curly hair and spread it out to see what it looked like by firelight.
He held her gaze a moment too long, that moment where she realized they were staring, at each other, and saying nothing. His body reacted, and he wondered what the state of her body was at that moment, and spent another too-long moment wondering if he should push it. Just to see. Because…why not?
Which had him jerking his gaze immediately back to the fire, and, after arranging another log on top of the now piping flames, pushing himself to a stand. He was here on what was, hopefully, going to be the most important night of his life. Why in the hell he was letting her
distract him like that, or at all, really, he had no idea.
He scooped up the flashlight. “You’ll be okay here for a while?”
She seemed to have snapped out of that momentary reverie as well, as she was presently making quite the production out of rummaging through her satchel. “Yes, of course.” She glanced up, and it appeared ever-so-casual, except he was far too aware of her every move at this point. Therefore, he didn’t miss the quick, hungry once-over she gave him, standing there in front of the fire, before going back to searching for whatever the hell was so important in her bag. “What are you going to do?”
“Hunt for candles,” he said. Amongst other things. He willed his body to subside, and prayed it wasn’t obvious in the shadows cast by the fire. But honestly, did she have any idea what that kind of swallow-you-whole look did to a man?
A quick glance showed the dogs had already collapsed on the rugs lining the floor, quite content to doze by the fire. He walked over to the door, stepping over a prostrate Jack on his way. The basset thumped his tail a few times, but didn’t bother to pull himself out of his hearth-induced stupor. Trevor smiled as he paused in the doorway and looked back at Emma. It was quite the picturesque winter scene. Fire roaring, dogs sprawled, windowpanes frosted over. Emma curled up on the couch, still rummaging. But he could just as easily picture her with a throw over her lap and a book spread across her knees. He wondered if she wore glasses to read. She’d look all studious, he thought, and sexy as all hell. He shifted in the doorway to hide the reaction that little visual had caused. Really, he had to get out of here, for his own good. And hers.
If things went as he suspected, there would be quite the uproar when word got out. Lionel wouldn’t be pleased. And he didn’t want Emma getting caught up in fallout not of her own making. No, he’d have to find a way to make sure she took no blame in what he was about to do. Which meant he couldn’t even think about entangling himself with her. Even for one, stormswept winter night. “Do you—” He had to pause to clear his throat and the thickness from his voice. She really knew how to…impact a guy. “Do you need anything else at the moment?”
“No, I’m good.” She pushed her hair back from her face with one hand as she kept digging with the other. “How long will you be gone?”
It rather stunned him, the strength of will it took to keep his hands to himself in that moment and not go straight to her and drag her down on the couch. Nose pressed to the window, indeed. If only she knew how badly he wanted her to come into his candy shop. That hair of hers was like a living, breathing thing. And he wanted his hands all tangled up in it. He shoved one hand in his pocket, out of apparently irreversible necessity. The other merely gripped the flashlight a little more tightly. “I’m not sure,” he said.
“We have the fire, and plenty of wood. I don’t mind keeping it stoked so it lasts till morning. You don’t have to hunt for candles.” She had no idea how easily she was keeping things stoked already.
He really needed to get the hell out of this room. “I’d just feel better if we had more alternate light sources. If we need to move around during the night. Restroom calls, refrigerator raids…”
“Okay.”
So dismissive. The epitome of casual disinterest. Very “I’m not even paying attention to you.”
Yeah. Right.
Clearly, not true. Well, not clearly, but certainly he wasn’t the only one with the whole heightened awareness thing going on. Just moments ago, she’d looked at him like a woman craving a sugar rush, and he’d been a giant Everlasting Gob-stopper.
He really needed to refocus. “Okay, then,” he said, because apparently his ability to be a witty conversationalist had vanished. Right along with his common sense. “I’ll check back in with progress reports.”
“Fine.”
He stared at her bent head for another too-long moment, frustrated that she didn’t seem to be having as much difficulty fighting this…whatever it was, as he was. That, and he was wondering what her smooth, bare skin would look like by firelight. Which, when he realized what he’d been thinking, had him swearing under his breath and ducking abruptly out of the room. Considering she could have presented a major obstacle to him getting what he’d come here for, she was making his premeditated plan perfectly easy for him to execute. Even with the added problem of the power loss, he couldn’t have asked for a better resulting scenario. Candle hunting. It was a brilliant off-the-cuff plan, if he did say so himself. So, why in the hell was he not racing to take full advantage of it?
“Because,” he muttered, as he wound his way back to the main stairs, “the only thing I want to take advantage of is Lionel’s hot little pet sitter.” Except there was nothing little about her. And, on any traditional scale, she wasn’t exactly pretty, much less hot.
So why was he smiling as he went down the stairs and made his way to Lionel’s personal study? He wasn’t sure, not entirely. But maybe it was because, although she looked at him like forbidden fruit, she talked to him like he was an annoying fly in her pet-sitting ointment.
God, he’d never thought himself perverse when it came to women, but apparently, there was a first time for everything.
Well, he’d simply use that as motivation to find the proof he’d come for as quickly as possible, and get the hell out. Complications he didn’t need. And he didn’t want to complicate things for her. She didn’t know what she was possibly getting into by just being here at the same time as his little visit. And he was sure as hell not going to tell her. Find the Bible, get out of the house. Simple plan.
He let himself into Lionel’s study and flashed the thin beam of light around the room. He groaned. Simple, huh? He’d been in this room many times, but he didn’t remember there being quite so many books. Possibly because he’d never faced searching through them before.
The room was octagonal and formed part of the corner tower built into the mountain retreat. Four panels of the room contained floor-to-cathedral-ceiling bookcases, each crammed full of books. This library section of the room came complete with rolling ladder to climb to the upper echelons of each stack. He supposed he should be grateful for that much. Another panel contained the nine-foot-high door he presently stood in, and the remaining three contained windows that started around two feet from the baseboards, and, in multiple panes, covered the entire length of each section of windowed wall. Heavy curtains were drawn over them, but they barely muffled the sound of the ice pinging against the many panes of glass. In fact, the sound was far more prominent in here, possibly because the room itself protruded away from the rest of the structure of the house, making it more vulnerable to the elements. The rapid-fire tattoo of ice pellets brought with it the disturbing reminder that, even if he did find what he sought, he might not be able to get out in the morning.
In fact, given that the rural roads weren’t high on the county’s list of what to plow or treat in inclement weather, he could be stuck here for a few days.
A few long days. With Emma. By the fire.
He groaned and quickly made his way over to Lionel’s cherrywood desk. It was a massive thing with heavy, carved legs, squatting ominously and gleaming in the center of the octagonal room. He felt a momentary pang for what he was about to do, but pushed that aside and ducked around behind the mini-fortress before he had a change of heart. This was his one chance. Once Lionel heard he’d been here, he would contact his great-nephew and demand to know why. And Trevor would tell him. And that would be the end of Trevor’s visits to the mountain retreat. So, he had to make good with the one shot he was ever likely to have. Because he certainly wouldn’t ask Emma to lie and say he hadn’t been here, especially when she was already in potentially enough trouble just by associating with him at all.
He skimmed the light over the drawers, then knelt before the first set of books stacked on one side. The chances that Lionel kept the ancient family Bible, or any other family documentation, right in his desk drawer was slim, but he’d feel better when he’d eliminated
it from the possibilities. He had to at least check it out.
Another possibility that hadn’t escaped him was that Lionel might have locked the thing up in the family vault. Only Lionel had access to that code, but possibly, if the Bible wasn’t in the desk, the code would be. Somewhere. Possibly jotted in a journal. Something personal, perhaps, that would trigger awareness of it’s purpose in a family member, but not with a common thief.
At the moment, he felt like both as he slid each drawer open and carefully rifled through the contents. He didn’t bother with worrying about things like fingerprints. If he found the proof he sought, Lionel would know soon enough, as Trevor had every intention of confronting him with it. If he didn’t find it, then Lionel would never suspect him, a family member, of snooping around anyway.
Unless someone mentioned it to him. Someone like Emma.
He rocked back on his heels and ran his plan through his head. Again. Nope, he concluded, he couldn’t involve her. Besides, who was to say she’d be trustworthy anyway? Her loyalty, if she had any, would be to Lionel as he was the one ultimately responsible for handing over her paycheck. And a very healthy one he imagined it would be. Lionel could be a real stick in the mud about, well, pretty much everything. But he paid people enough to put up with his bullshit. Trevor was certain he was taking good care of Emma as well.
Good enough not to risk getting herself involved in a lie. He was a virtual stranger and she owed him nothing. Of course, a little voice said, there are other ways to sway her into wanting to protect you….
No, he resolutely answered. Absolutely not. He was not that type. Hadn’t he spent most of his life loathing the users and hangers-on? And, given that, he was the last person on earth who would ever use another person for personal gain.
He scooted over and started on the next set of drawers. And put any thoughts of seducing Emma right out of his mind.
5
To All a Good Night Page 4