by Lucy Farago
“I’m getting hard just thinking about it. The way you pushed back every time I pounded into you. And that … God … sweet sound you made when you came … heaven.” He breathed. “I could listen to that all day, all night. So yes,” he said, his eyes popping open and gazing at her with such heat, she had to clamp her legs shut. “Even now.”
Temporarily mute, she said nothing. But she wasn’t going to let his trying to fluster her change her mind. “I don’t want your family to think you’re fucking a bimbo.” Her blunt words drove her point home. She shocked him because he said nothing, only looked at her like she’d lost her mind.
Then quietly and calmly he spoke. “I’m not fucking a bimbo. I’m fucking you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Are you talking about your profession? Is that your problem?”
“You’re a Scottish aristocrat. I’m going to look like … damn … like an opportunistic skank.” And if she was pregnant? How would they react to that news? “You shouldn’t have brought me. You have a title. And I … I have a whip.”
“Did you bring it with you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow with a sly smile.
She groaned. It was her fault. She’d made the joke. How was he to take her seriously? How was anyone going to take her seriously?
“You’re being ridiculous. Rhonda, I understand how you feel. I do. If you don’t like the road life has taken you on, then you think no one else would either. But—”
“The road life has taken me on? Seriously? I take my clothes off for money. You think your grandmother will see it as a shitty road life took me on? Or will she think me the biggest whore she’s met who’s after your money?”
“You are not a whore! I never want to hear that word out of your mouth again.” He was angry now.
“Damn straight I’m not,” she shouted back, then took a deep breath and began again. “But you’ve told me what she’s like. A smurf like her wouldn’t approve of her grandson sleeping with someone she’d consider unworthy of her family genes.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “Yes, you can find my family’s name in the history books, but I’m a smurf too, you know. And my blue blood doesn’t care how you earned your living. It doesn’t make you less of a person. You sacrificed everything for your father. In my books that makes you far more honorable than any of my ancestors.”
She returned his smile, believing he meant what he’d said. “And I appreciate that, but you aren’t going to tell me your family would see it that way. You’re going home, and you’ll have to face your brother’s loss of his child and your grandmother’s demands. I’m the last thing you need to deal with. They’ll know I don’t belong in their world. Whatever this is between us, I don’t want them spoiling it. They won’t approve, and it will make me feel inferior. So they can’t think we’re sleeping together.”
She was a good person. She didn’t kill anyone, steal anything. Back home she was almost the norm. No one really cared about who she was, what part of town she’d come from … what she’d done. She lived in a world of secrets, some big, some small. She fit in—for the most part. In a blue blood’s world she’d be so out of her comfort zone. What normal person wouldn’t feel inferior?
“You’re selling yourself short.”
“And if they see my scar? Are we going to lie about how I got stuck in the middle of a serial killer targeting strippers, at a club I worked for?”
“If you don’t want to tell them details, don’t, but I’m not returning to that big old manor and not sharing a bed with you. Being home is hard enough. I need you.”
Her heart melted at his words. The man she loved needed her. But she couldn’t allow it to sway her. This, whatever this was, was going to end. She’d always thought that decision would come from Blake, but now, better it come from her. So maybe this trip was for the best. In Scotland she could distance herself from him. In the end it would be easier for her to do what needed to be done, without having slept with him in his home. A home she had no business being in.
“Please, Blake.”
“Fine,” he growled and stood. “I’ll tell them we work together or something.” He pointed a finger at her. “But I did a lot of sneaking around in the dark in that manor house. Don’t think I won’t be doing it again.”
The open laptop on the table in front of them chimed, halting any further comment. Her body tensed, and judging Blake’s suddenly stiff spine, he wasn’t exactly eager to take this call either. He smiled, his attempt to reassure her. They were in the air. No harm could come to them. So why wasn’t she assured?
He motioned for her to change seats, to get out of view of the computer’s camera. They weren’t certain if Krupin had identified Rhonda and they weren’t going to do it for him. Once she was out of sight, Blake sat and answered the call. She was amazed they had video reception. Then again, this was Ryan’s plane.
“Dobrey vyecha” Good evening.
“Nyet, dobrey utra,” answered the caller.
Blake looked at his watch. “I guess you’re right. It is morning. Three AM?”
“Long time no see,” he said in an understandable Russian accent.
Blake nodded, wearing a friendly expression. Rhonda knew better.
“Not long enough.”
Krupin laughed. “Same cocky bastard. It’s nice to see things don’t change.”
“And yet the last time you and I saw each other, you warned me what would happen if we met again.”
“Wounded pride. You stole my date,” he said, shocking Rhonda.
If she didn’t know better, she’d say these two were friends.
“If I recall, you had two other women with you.”
“Yes, but that one was special.”
“And she is safe and far away from you.”
Krupin laughed again, this time in a not so affable way. “Not a good idea to bring up our past.”
“You brought it up. There’s a Russian proverb that says, ‘He who mentions the past will lose an eye.’ ”
“True enough. So let’s put it behind us.”
Somehow she doubted a Russian mobster could do that, but it was a game Blake seemed to know how to play.
“My condolences on your nephew. I swear I had nothing to do with his death,” he said, sounding sincere. “I didn’t like him, but neither did I have anything to gain by killing him.”
“Last week I wouldn’t believe you. But yesterday I discover one of mine was shot in Florida. And his partner,” he said, with clear disgust, “is nowhere to be found. It lead me to believe they knew what would happen if I discover they take contract on their own, to kill you. Which,” he laughed, “let’s be honest, I would not shed a tear.”
Blake inclined his head. “Right back at ya.”
“Yes. But then I wonder, on whose authority they act? Not mine, I say to myself. So who?”
“Do I need to point that out to you?”
“Nyet. And it would seem I have war on my hands.”
The man didn’t sound happy about it.
“What do you want me to do about it?” Blake asked.
“Let me get right to the point.”
“Please.” Blake inclined his head.
“The girl had something that belong to me and now it’s missing.”
“Are you insinuating I have it?” Blake’s eyes darkened.
This guy may not have contracted a killer, but if he thought Blake had something that was his, they’d be right back where they started.
“Do you?”
“Nyet.” Blake shook his head.
Blake’s answer was simple. But what was the Russian looking for? Was it the diamonds?
“Care to tell me what you’re missing?” Blake asked.
“Nyet.”
Well that was productive. What was it he expected to get out of Blake?
Blake gave the computer screen a blank stare. “Why are you calling? Even if I had whatever it is you’re looking for, I wo
uldn’t give it to you.”
Krupin laughed. “But I would know if you are lying.”
Blake’s eyebrows twitched before returning to his blank expression. He was as confused as Rhonda but didn’t want Krupin to know.
“Are you a human lie detector now?” he asked blandly.
“Instinct. I have a deal for you.”
“I don’t make deals with known criminals. Goes against my better judgment.”
“You might want to consider this one. If you find what I’m missing and return it to me, I will give the authorities enough dirt on our mutual acquaintance to put him away for life.”
Blake’s hesitation was short, but she saw interest in his eyes. The Russian was being careful about revealing anything that could come back and bite him in the ass, but their mutual acquaintance could only mean Sorrentino.
“What do I care? I’m not a cop.”
“Yes, but old habits are hard to break. And that lying piece of shit nearly got your woman killed. Think about that before you turn me down.”
“Let’s say I agree to it, are you going to tell me what I’m looking for?”
“Here’s what I can tell you. My nephew disagreed, but he was blinded by love. His fiancée was conspiring against us. And she had help.”
“Conspiring how?”
“Moving merchandise that does not belong to her.”
The model had been selling the diamonds and what, pocketing the money?
“And you know this how?”
“You know it too, Highlander. You are not the only one with friends in Dubai.”
He meant the necklace given to the hotel for safekeeping. Blake had told Rhonda that a woman matching the model’s description had sold the stones to a jeweler in London. Rhonda shook her head. The saying was true: there was no honor among thieves.
“Can you tell me who she was working with?” Blake asked the question, but from the monotone of the words, he wasn’t expecting an answer.
“As much as it pains me, no. My colleagues are in need of him. So for now, he’s … How do you say? Off limits? Talk later, Highlander.”
From his worried brow, Rhonda knew the computer screen had gone blank.
He got up and went to the bar. There he tossed ice into a glass.
She was about to protest, to tell him alcohol wasn’t a good idea when she noticed him pour soda water. He wasn’t her father, wasn’t anything like him. Blake was strong and her hero. If he hadn’t come along to rescue her, who knew what would have become of her?
He set his glass down and glared at her. “Take your clothes off. Pretending we’re just friends will be very hard if I arrive home with a hard-on.”
“You’re an ass, you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that on several occasions.” He stalked toward her. “But I’m your ass.” He put his hands on either side of her seat, effectively pinning her in. “Now, are you going to take them off? Or am I tearing them off?”
“Asshole.”
“You’re repeating yourself.” He bent down and pressed his mouth to hers.
It was a kiss that let her know she had little say in the matter. It was a kiss that demanded she take what he offered. A kiss that turned her knees to jelly and liquified her body. A kiss she returned. On this plane, he was hers. On this plane, she could pretend tonight was forever. She could love him with all her heart and imagine him loving her back. Because the next time she got on a plane, this love affair would be over. She did as he demanded, and took off her clothes.
Chapter Nineteen
Blake wasn’t prone to motion sickness, but the drive from the airport to Oakley Manor made him carsick. That, or he didn’t want to admit he was dreading going home. Well, not so much home itself, as butting heads with the old crone. He’d be glad to see his brother, to tell him face to face how sorry he was for his loss, and to let him know he’d no intention of trying to claim the family fortune.
Sarah would leave Colin, of that Blake was certain. She’d married him for power and money. Rhonda had said his family would think she was after his money. What she didn’t realize was they had no problem with it where Colin was concerned. Even though his brother’s circumstances were special, why shouldn’t Colin have been given a fair shot at love?
As they drove the last few miles, his thoughts went to Rhonda and how Krupin had referred to her as his woman. He hated the bastard, but he’d gotten it right. Sorrentino had tried to take her from him. And to keep her safe, Blake would strike a deal with the devil.
He watched as she took in the countryside, smiling from ear to ear. As much as he cared for her, he couldn’t allow his own wants and needs to get ahead of Colin’s. If there was any chance, any chance at all that a new doctor could give them a child and Sarah would be appeased, then Blake had to wait to find his own ever after.
He squeezed Rhonda’s hand just to have her turn and look at him.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she said, her eyes all aglitter. “It’s so big. I never thought of myself as a nature girl, seeing as the only green thing in Vegas are palm trees, but this, this is breathtaking.” She returned to gawking out the window.
“Aye, lass,” he said in his heaviest brogue. “’Tis God’s country, as my grandfather used to say.”
“I think he got it right,” she said, still grinning like someone had handed her the best Christmas gift ever.
It did a number on his heart to think of the childhood she’d had, of the things she’d gone without. It wasn’t fair and he promised to rectify that. He didn’t like to think about how rich he was. As a rebellious youth, he’d squandered enough to feed a small country. Then he’d left home and found a purpose.
“Holy shit,” Rhonda squealed, as a silver Bentley drove past them. “I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore?”
He didn’t bother to tell her it was his grandmother’s chauffeur and secretary, most likely sent on some errand too beneath her to do herself. “If you tap your heels three times maybe we can go home.” He was serious.
“Wow, you’re more nervous than I am.”
“I’m not nervous, so much as I am dreading the whole thing. I haven’t been to the manor in a while and hoped to only return for my grandmother’s funeral.”
“You don’t mean that,” she scolded.
“I don’t want to see the old woman dead, but yes I do mean it.” And the more he stayed away, the better for him not to wrap his hands around Sarah’s neck.
“And you’re dragging me here,” she said. “Nice. What’d I ever do to you?”
If only he could tell her what she’d done to him. If she were growing half as attached to him as he was to her, he’d have to let her go sooner rather than later. Before he broke her heart. His own might never survive without her. He was growing to love her, if he didn’t already. He held her face and kissed her, not caring that the driver would see. Then knowing they were near, he snuggled her closer and covered her eyes with his hands.
“Don’t look yet.”
“Are we close?”
“Yes,” he whispered into her ear. “Every time I’m with you, I’m close.”
She shivered and he smiled to himself.
He waited for the car to turn the bend and removed his hands. If she’d been impressed before, she was dumbstruck now. There in the distance, sitting on two thousand acres of land, stood his ancestral home, Oakley Manor. Even to him, the effect was breathtaking. And he was raised here, the woods surrounding the stately Georgian house his playground, its gardens, the place he’d first kissed a girl. Once the seat of a powerful duke, Oakley Manor had its place in history.
Rhonda practically jumped up and down in her seat. “Would it be rude to roll down the window and stick my head out?” She giggled. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you grew up here.”
Blake caught the driver’s flustered expression in the rearview mirror as he suddenly realized who his passenger was. Embarrassed, Blake half-smile
d. This was one of the reasons he’d moved across the ocean.
“I’m sorry, My Lord. I dinna recognize you.”
“It’s all right. And please, drop the formalities.” It’s why he’d hired a cab instead of sending for a driver. “It isn’t necessary.”
“Her Grace would have my head if she found out I wasn’t addressing you by your proper title. My wife works at Oakley Manor as a prep cook.”
“I won’t tell my grandmother if you don’t.”
“However it pleases you, sir.”
The cab driver was a perfect example of his grandmother’s tyranny.
He turned and saw Rhonda grinning, a smartass comment just waiting for his attention. “Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?”
“Whatever dig you have on those beautiful lips.”
“Me? A dig? Never.” She returned her attention to the scenery. “Your Lordship.”
He let it slide with only one poke to her ribs. If the cab driver liked to gossip, and most of the townspeople enjoyed talking about his family, it would get back to his grandmother that he’d been acting in a manner unbecoming to the family name. And he’d never hear the end of it. He’d lordship her once they were alone, and she was beneath him, legs curled around his hips.
When they arrived, two uniformed, white-gloved and stiff footmen were there to greet him. Bloody hell, this was going to be a nightmare.
Rhonda looked at the two of them, then at him. She pressed her lips together, thankfully refraining from laughing just as his mother came out of the front door.
“Blake,” she said, her arms open for a hug.
“Mother.” He embraced her, her spicy perfume reminding him of his childhood, of stolen late-night kisses his grandmother would have considered coddling.
She eyed his arm and frowned. “I’m so glad you’re home. What happened? You’re hurt.”
“Flesh wound, nothing to concern yourself with.” He’d made sure to wear long sleeves, but nothing could cover the bandages on his hand and wrist.
“That’s a lot of gauze and tape for a flesh wound.”
As he’d expected, she wasn’t buying it. “I didn’t say it was a flesh wound. Now, leave it alone. I’m healing and that’s all that counts.”